Skipton man Clarence Deakin, now 82, took a trip down memory lane to write about life in the town's Albert Street where he was born and brought up. His memories are reproduced here.

I WAS born and raised in Albert Street, Skipton, now known as Albert Square.

Back then Albert Street was a little community in its own right. Thirty families lived there and at that time it was one long row running parallel with Victoria Street. Amenities were very basic, no bathrooms in those days but a boiler in the kitchen to heat water for the weekly bath, a tin one which resided under the kitchen table during the time it was not in use.

Approximately half of the families had a journey of five to 50 yards to visit the toilet in the communal block, and some of the toilets were shared by two or three families.

At the top of the street nearest to Sheep Street there was a pawnshop, which was also a gent's outfitter, and at the bottom of the street opening onto Coach Street was Myers rag and bone shop, later to become an antique shop. I often tell an amusing little story of when I took some rags to be weighed and traded for pence and I put my mother's flat iron in the bottom to make the scales go down. Needless to say I didn't get away with it.

There were shops in the street that catered for most needs from grocers, confectioners, shoemaker, tailor and tripe shop. In fact the only food shop not in the street itself was the butchers which was round the corner in Sheep Street, now a greeting card shop.

For the inhabitants' medical needs Dr George Fisher, father of Annersley Fisher, lived in nearby Swadford Street, the back of which looked onto Albert Street, and he often took the local children for rides on the running board of his open tourer car when setting off on his rounds.

My father was a painter and a decorator and had his workshop at the top of the street where the china shop is now. My mother, although she had a large family, went out cleaning and also took in washing to make ends meet.

The accommodation was very basic, most houses only had two bedrooms and an attic, with a living room and a kitchen with one tap, all lit by opened flamed gas brackets.

The wash boiler was no more than a set pan in the kitchen heated by firewood. Any washing had to be either dried round the living room fire or hung outside across the street. Most houses had only one door and one key so that if the family was out and one member wanted to get in the window was wound down and the key put on the ledge inside.

The staircases were very narrow and winding, none going straight up. On one occasion when my father was ill in bed and he was visited by one of his friends, the visitor remarked: "By gow Hamlet (being my father's name) tha'd better not dee in bed, we'd nivver get coffin down ere."

At the top of the street there were two recesses where we supposed the "laying out boards" were kept.

The street used to be visited by Mr Denny during the summer selling ice cream either from a handcart or a donkey and cart and in winter he sold hot peas. The muffin man used to come round once a month and in the spring he used to bring watercress to sell at a penny a bunch. Two streets away was the oatcake maker whom we visited often.

There was a fish and chip shop 100 yards away where batter scraps could be obtained free and at the pub close by one could get jugs of ale or stout from the "jug and bottle" window.

The rag and bone shop also bought and sold second hand furniture and a house could be furnished for very little from here. My mother once bought a harmonium in good working order for five shillings and when I started work and went to night school she bought me a revolving bookcase to keep my books in which was kept in the family for at least 20 years after that.

Opposite the rag shop was Albert Terrace, a part of the Albert Street community. This little terrace was the "posh" part of our street as everyone had a toilet and rubbish midden of their own. This little terrace led to the back door of the billiard hall which, as youngsters, we used to use as a short cut to the Co-op.

My wife says she remembers visiting a family friend who lived in Albert Street in the 1930s and they had the biggest tomcat she had ever seen. It had its own place at the dinner table and ate his food with a paw just like Arthur in the television advert.

My family moved out of Albert Street in 1936-37 as we now had to care for three grandchildren when their mother died.

In the post war clearance, Albert Street was demolished and used as a car park for many years until the present buildings were erected. Whenever we come through from Coach Street to Sheep Street opposite the Shooting Lodge I will stop and say "this is where I was born".

The only other residents of the old Albert Street that I know are still living are: Sabina McGlincey, 100 and Gerty Neaves, 90.