The very heart of Brighton was torn out
The sunny days were endless, or so it seemed to us then. The boys of course had their four-wheelers, made from soap boxes and old wheels off of a pram; some were very well made and could reach quite a speed. My two brothers were ten and eleven years older than me so they had different pursuits while I was still very young.
My eldest brother played football for the Preston Rovers and often I would take my dolls in their pram, and sit on the grass in Preston Park and watch him play. My other brother used to always be off somewhere on his bike. He and his friends used to go mushrooming; they would set off in the dark and come home in the mornings. Their bicycle lamps were carbide in those days. I remember he used to open the front of the lamp and have to light it, not without difficulty at times, and the smell was dreadful.
There are so many memories of my childhood days in Wood Street I will carry them with me with deep fondness forever. I shall always remember the people that lived there, little neat and tidy houses. I am afraid when, after the war and in the name of progress, demolition took place, not only in Wood Street, but other such streets as well, the community spirit, the very heart of Brighton was torn out. It never recovered.