WHEN Mr Arnold Harrison wrote a few weeks ago about his childhood, and a visit to Deane Clough, it brought back memories to Mrs Joyce E. Robinson, who used to live in Bolton, came back to live here, and then returned to Somerset because she could not settle again in Bolton.

She has sent me this poem, which was written by her first husband, Robert Anthony, who was brought up in Sandon Street, Daubhill, but who died 26 years ago. 'He didn't get to finish the poem, as you will see,' she writes, 'but it did bring back a lot of memories, even to me.' And I am sure it will do to other people (should you remember Mrs Robinson and wish to contact her, she lives at 19 Parsonage Court, Bishops Hull, Taunton, Somerset, TA1 5HR.)

But please, dear readers, don't all start sending me poetry for this column. Today's use of verse is an exception; other such contributions should be sent to Poet's Corner! WHEN I was a kid and times were rough

We'd walk for miles and miles

Right up Scout Road or down Deane Clough

Our faces alive with smiles.

We'd have some bread and water too

And we'd climb and climb with zest

And when we'd got to top

We thought we'd conquered Everest.

Days full of fun, although we'd 'nowt'

With tattered shirt lap hanging out

Just an old bottle filled 'wi watter'

We didn't care, it didn't matter.

World were our Oyster then

We'd go up hill, down dale, and when

The evening sun started to go down

We'd set off back towards 'thowd' town.

Town Hall clock were our best mark

We could still see it when it were dark

With its face lit up all sounds and clear

As if to say -- 'Well I'm still here'.

Tired but happy, we'd get back to the house

Not noisy now, more like a mouse

We'd flop down tired with aching feet

er! we'd happy times when we lived in that street.

Sometimes we'd go up by 'Pea Bells'

Past Townson's Timber Yard, with smells

of wood all drying out

'with' Daisy fields somewhere about.

Up towards Thomas' Farm Lane

With three posts stuck up like a sentry

You'd never guess in a thousand years

It was called 'Squeeze yer belly entry'.

Down into dip o'er stream we ran

Down past Golf Links, then began

To feel our feet all wet and squelchy

Then over to the left we'd go past 'Milches'

Sometimes we'd go fishing 'theer'

or swimming, if there were no-one near

We'd follow 't' narrow twisting path

And then we'd come to Plodder Lane

To 'the little' shop down two stone stops

And off we'd go again

Next we'd come to top o'th heights

And on to Billy's brow

Piano house were up ont' left

It's been pulled down though now.

Down Sapling Road and Morris Green

There were no pub there then

Past Ellesmere Club and 'th allotments'

Then right back home again.