Bridgewater Canal

My younger brother Russell and I grew up on Coniston Road in Stretford and one of my earliest memories was of going down to the canal armed with pickle jars that had breathing holes stabbed into the lid (a fork from mums kitchen was our tool of choice), some twine around the lip so we wouldn't drop our "catch" and a couple of fishing nets.

There were always some older kids or adults sitting on their wicker baskets with real fishing tackle to check out on our travels along the Bridgewater Canal in search of the magnificent fish of choice, that would be the stickleback fish (aw the stuff of a young lads dreams!).

I couldn't count the amount of hours we must have spent belly down on the edge of the canal, nets in the water waiting for the little slippery buggers to get far enough in the net to scoop em up and deposit our prize catch into the waiting pickle jar.

Of course mum would always tell us if we saw some blackberries on our "adventures" we were to pick them and bring them home so she could make us some jam tarts (I would kill for one of those now).

I would also pay a king's randsom just for opportunity to go back to a simpler "safer" time when you could leave the house and go have a great "adventure" and be back by tea-time without your mum or dad being worried the whole time you were out of their sight, or the people you came across for that matter.

As I am writing these memories of growing up in Stretford I believe I will go grab a kitchen fork and a pickle jar and some string, grab up Sydney, Chelsea and Madison my three daughters and go make some "adventures" for them.