Malton: September 14. To us young lads, away from home for the first time, this month, September, in 1939 was the opening up of an entirely new world, away from our mums’ apron strings in the semi-quietude of North Yorkshire.

It was a time of learning of the ways in which the ‘other folk’ lived following a situation or two in 1939, where we stayed for short periods. There was Cottingham with the cookhouse on The Green; Bridlington, where I remember the air-sea rescue launches, and the storm which brought an RN Destroyer close into the coast for shelter, and sleeping in an artiste’s dressing room in the Spa; a winter period ‘on’t ward tops’ at the Early Warning Station on Staxton Brow, in bitter cold and snow, sleeping on concrete floors with no mattresses of any sort, eating meals which couldn’t have been any ‘rougher’.

However, we survived, and I was lucky to go into the Ack Ack RA with its HQ in Rusholme, Manchester, where life was almost a luxury and we got food on proper plates.

* Lancashire, a wonderful place, with open-hearted folk, it seemed, everywhere, and to the point where this introduction brings me. Milk bars. Do you remember them? Is there such a thing today I wonder? Close by our HQ in Norman Road, Rusholme, was a huge park, Platt Fields, so named after a local employer and benefactor, at the corner of which was a cinema, which on one aspect, housed a milk bar. I don’t think we actually referred to it as that, because one could get just any kind of non-alcoholic beverage, hot or cold, that one desired.

I’d found a girlfriend already, no use wasting time, despite the bombs. Pat, her name was. She worked at Cable & Wireless in Manchester, but lived not far from our HQ. I expect I’d met her at a Saturday dance. Anyway we nearly always made our way to this little drinks shop, where there was warmth and some seats, and, as I seem to remember, our regular order was a glass of hot sasparilla each. “Hot sas please,” was the usual request. My memories of hot sas still remain, and will do. I wonder if there are such things as soft drinks shops like this, today. It didn’t make us soft – we didn’t go the way of the alcoholic kind of life today, for we had a war to deal with for the next five or six years. I wonder what happened to Pat?

* I seem to recall that such an outlet was once started in Saville Street in Malton long after the war, probably where the book shop next to the café is today. Arthur Inman originated this venture, a sort of upmarket coffee shop, and I believe milk bar.

* A move to Burnley came next, where I looked after several sites in that delightful part of the country, driving to 10-men locations hidden at the point of equilateral triangles the country over. Here the interesting bit was in the bus station, for here was a tripe shop. Cattle producers were in plenty, as nearby was the UCP (United Cattle Products) Works, wherein Mr and Mrs Atkinson held sway, and where one of my mates was billeted. Useful for us, for there were huge wooden vats, about five feet deep and probably eight feet diameter, into which steam-heated water was introduced to clean and sterilise the cattle products.

Filled especially for a couple of us they were the best hot bath that one could imagine. They had a ‘thing’ about baths in Lancashire for there seemed to be public baths in most places. At the bottom of Gannow Lane in Burnley were the baths, where the army paid for us to go and have our weekly clean-up, and where one could relax in a hot tub, or spend the time swimming in the warm water of the swimming bath.

* However, back to the bus station. Here was a little shop, high counter on the right, and behind the glass display area, every different kind of tripe you could imagine, which most of us had never seen before. It was here that bus passengers, with a few minutes to spare, would head and have a three-penny saucer of tripe, till their next bus was due to arrive.

There were sauces to add, salt and pepper, etc, and to them, eating tripe was the most natural thing in the world. I tried it too, as most of my mates did. If it wasn’t for the extras added on top, I don’t think it had much taste, and anyway, I suspect that we would only try it once, but if you were a Lancastrian then there was a possibility that you’d grown up with a tripe fix, rather on a par with our bag of chips. Happy days.

* Still on food, I have a liking for vegetable meals and having come across a secondhand cook book of Linda McCartney’s, I was sort of persuaded to make an effort in the veggie direction. So, spotting some Quorn ready meals, I bought a couple. Two because if you sent the coupon in from two separate packs you could have a free cookbook, for the price of postage. I thought that a good idea, and when I got home, got out my magnifying glass to read the details (it’s the only way, isn’t it?). I was conned. It only applied if you applied via the website, so my enthusiasm was rather dampened, as I don’t have that facility.

* More and more people seem to be resorting to electronic mailing or similar. Even to send in a photograph for a competition it has to go by this means, and no advice about normal postage entries. Thus, my masterpieces will never be seen.

* Music-music: ‘- - Arm in arm, over meadow and farm’ – You’ll remember this one!

* A fervent wish: “You must come again when you have less time” Walter Sickert. German born British artist (1860-1912).

* Music line: “Walkin’ my baby back home.” An easy one, wasn’t it!