[john conway]

I was born in Clayton-le-Moors in 44 but after living in Church then Oswaldtwistle my Dad went to Canada on the £10 assisted package, but after six months he didn’t like it, so we never emigrated. When he can back we moved to 157, Higher Antley St in Accy , there was Joe, my Dad, my Mum Monica, (she is still with us at 98) and my sister Maureen (little Kathleen came some 14 years later???) and there I stayed until 1972 when I moved up into the Yorkshire Dales. Like Susie123 I also remember all the little shops, there was nearly one on every corner on each street and far more if that corner was an intersection of a main street. Ours main street was Omerod St that ran down from Willows Lane passed Howard & Bullough (where I served my apprenticeship as a machinist/fitter and later a draughtsman), and under the railway bridge next to the pit. However I can’t remember the names of all these little shops, other than there was a chemist, a general store, a clothes shop or was it florist? and the same at the intersection of Richmond Hill St, where there was a well visited chippy and a betting shop for my Dad. I can see them all in my mind’s eye but their names allude me. And there were many more on Omerod St’, itself, namely the news agents where I was a newspaper boy for many years.
When I was too old to share a bed room with my sister, I was moved into the downstairs front room, its window fronted directly onto the street. Even now I can hear the factory hooters calling the workers and I can hear the boots and clogs of all the men and women hurrying past my bedroom window. I remember the busses and the smell of cigarette smoke, and damp oily clothing.
Like many of you I went to the Arcs on Knowlmere Street and as I got older the Majestic Ballroom (Con club) and the Meccas at Blackburn and Burnley, I used to go to the folk club at the Stanley Supporters Club where I remember seeing Pau Simon any many other famous singers and groups. By this time I was very much into caving and every Friday evening after work I would hitch hike up to Ingleton in the Dales.
When my Dad died in 84 my Mum moved down to Potter Heigham in Norfolk, on the same street as my sister who’d move down a few years earlier, and my trips to Accy came to an end, although I have been back a couple of time in recent years to look at the old place, but it’s just not the same. The new road, well new to me, has dissected the town, the loss of Howard & Bullough, the pit, the railway up the valley through the clough where I played as a lad, and the mills, it’s just not the same. I’m not saying it’s worse, who would want the smoke, the dirt, the river stink which regularly change colour and the pea soup fogs were you couldn’t see the other side of the street, it’s just not the Accy I remember and still dream about.