I KNOW that many of you like to write down memories of the past, and Doris Openshaw was no exception. She wrote at the start of a book in which she recorded times of her life: "They say that the first putting pen to paper is the hardest part - and I'm sure it's true.

After having this little (empty writing) book for such a long time and with so much in my heart to write but not the ability to find the right words, I am determined to make a start." And she did.

The result was a number of handwritten anecdotes, and although Doris (her maiden name was McMillan, but she was known in the area of Crescent Road, Great Lever, where she lived, as Doris Mac) died in 1998, aged 79, her widower, Harold - they were married for 57 years - has just shown me the book.

I thought you might like to read a selection of her works, because many of you might relate to them.

The first was entitled The Christmas Bird.

"Mother used to go into town every Friday morning for her pension. After paying any bills she would do her buying in for the weekend, then round off the morning by meeting friends in the Commercial on the Town Hall square for a Guinness.

When she bought her meat, usually a little half shoulder of lamb, she joined the Xmas Club around October, paying a small amount each week to ensure she got a 'nice bird' for Christmas. On Christmas Eve she collected it, brought it home, and cooked it.

The next afternoon when I took the children down with their presents for her I asked how she had enjoyed her chicken. 'Chicken!', she said. 'It must have been an old boiling fowl. Just waft until I see that butcher.'

The Friday after, she went to the shop and handed the young man who served her a note,asking him to read it there and then. He did so, and passed it to the other assistants. The customers were nonplussed to hear them all laugh out loud as they read it.

She had written down the words of a Music Hall song of years before I was born, but which I had heard her sing many times. It went:

'That bird must have lived,

When they built the Tower of Babel,

Been fed by Cain and Abel,

And lived in Noah's stable.

All the shots that were fired

On the field of Waterloo,

Could not dislocate

That elongated, armour-plated, iron-chested, double-breasted, Cock a Doodle Do'"

Next, a story called Cinder Tea

"When my first born, Jim, was nearly a month old, he had reached the required weight of 51b 4oz, which enabled me to take him home. One evening, after almost a full day of intermittent crying, I tearfully went into my mother and admitted I had tried everything I knew from nursing him, rocking him,

gripe water, the lot, and all to no avail. His little stomach was distended and hard with wind.

'Never mind, love,'she said, 'We'll make him some cinder tea'. She went to the coal fire and turned the damper on to draw. The fire gave a roaring sound and within minutes was growing red hot.

Mother had brought two cups from her kitchen, one empty and one containing cold, boiled water. As I watched fascinated at what my mother claimed to be a "miraculous remedy", she picked up the tongs and, choosing a glowing coal which was almost white hot, she dropped it into the cup of cofd water.

Immediately the room was full of that acrid smell of water on hot coals which only those who have smelt it will know what I mean. The sizzling stopped as the coal turned black again.

Next, Mother sieved it into the other cup through a piece of fine linen, and it was unbelievably clear. The tip of a spoon of sugar was added, and I was invited to taste - nothing only sweet water. Two or three spoonfuls were given to the crying baby. 'Just you wait,' said Mother.

Well, we didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes he gave the longest 'burp' I ever heard, and his little tummy went down like a deflated balloon. Very soon he was sleeping in my arms, comfortable and contented at last.

It was the only time I ever resorted to the cinder tea. When I think back to the 'black bits' floating on top of the water before it was sieved, I shudder.

Still, it worked like a charm."

I am sure that you will agree, that for someone who thought she did not have the ability to find the right words, Doris Mac could tell a good story.