I entered the world in a terraced house in 14 Marlborough Street in the year 1936. The TSB bank is the only remaining house today, from which was once a broad street. My earliest recollections go back to when I was about 3 or 4 years old. The traffic was few and far between and in those days and it was not unusual to see a pony and trap. Cars then, resembled boxes on wheels and were owned by doctors or shopkeepers, and generally the better off. The Northern buses used to run past our house and on around the comer to the bus station which was opposite the "Castlereigh '(Carlton) pub, next to "Darts sweet and paper shop". (later to become a cafe) At the outbreak of war, I was amazed to see the appearance of cross-pieced barbed wire structures near to the Docks. What could they be for I wondered?. I was soon to find out when my mother said that we could no longer go to the sea-side, as it was out of bounds. The beach had been mined and barbed wire defence walls stretched all along the coast. Shortly after the war started the wrought-iron railings that once stood outside our house were displaced and I found out years later they had been taken to help the war effort and were probably melted down and made into equipment to fight the enemy.

It was sometime in between 1939\40 when, much to my disgust, I was removed from my comfortable bed, in the early hours of the morning, to the sound of the wailing siren. Along with other residents of the house we entered a spider-ridden cupboard, under the stairs. This being considered the safest room in the house as the authorities had not got round to erecting the air-raid shelters yet. I overheard their talk of the "Jerry's" dropping bombs on us. Imagine my thoughts at the time; here they were, annihilating poor innocent people like myself, who had never done them any harm. I decided that I disliked these Germans very much for creating so much strife, and also for preventing my visits to the beach.

One evening I was playing in the living room of our house in Marlborough Street, and my mam was preparing for my dad's bath who was due home from his work at the Vane Tempest Colliery. The bath was positioned on the floor and not far from a bright blazing fire. It was a galvanised oval shaped tank which stood about 18 inches high. My mother poured steaming hot water into it from out of a smoke blackened kettle that had just been removed from the coal fire, which was set in a "black-leaded" range. My Grandma was trying to keep an eye on me as we awaited my dad's arrival. Water, in those days, had to be carried from a tap in the yard downstairs as there were no comforts like there is today. I was running around the house at the time when I suddenly stumbled and fell into the bath of hot water. My Grandma snatched me out and quickly wrapped me in dry clothing before my dad arrived. I was all right as it turned out, but shortly after the incident the Pit Baths opened at the Vane Tempest Colliery.

My dad, in his spare time would make things for us to play with and among our favourite toys were the go-carts, which were known locally as bogie's, which he made from using old pram, or push chair wheels. He could turn his hand to many other things too, and also made us wheel-barrows, scooters and sledges. Many gifts were provided by him which we gleefully accepted on christmas day.. He joined the local home guard, later dubbed "Dad's Army" and he told me, some years later of stories that were much funnier than those shown in the BBC programme.

There were no TVs in those days, only the wireless, as it was called and in some cases they were powered by accumulator batteries which had to be taken to the electric shop to have them recharged. Fortunately our radio, which was attached to a wind-up gramophone, worked from a two-pin electric point. We had great fun playing my parents records, which went back to the 1920s. "If I had a talking picture of you" "La Paloma" "Button up your overcoat", are but a few. In the 1940s we also listened to stories on the radio, related by a fellow called Valentine Dyalle, who would introduce himself as the "Man In Black" As far as our imagination went we considered him to be the ultimate in terror. We would talk and discuss his tales for weeks after.

We moved up to 60 Jasper Avenue in Deneside when I was about 5 years old where we had a semi-sunken air-raid shelter in the garden, and there was an ample number of spiders in that too. Occasionally it would fill up with water and had to be bailed out before use. One time we were in the

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