Stories Online
The theme 'Memories of Play' is a universal one that allows families to share their experiences between generations. Children love to hear stories about their parents' childhood, and we hope that these stories will be enjoyed by many people, will encourage children and others to read and maybe write their own stories as well.
These stories have been produced by a group of multi-ethnic, multi-lingual women, who live in Cheetham Hill, North Manchester.
You can read or listen to the stories in English, or listen to some of them in other languages, such as Urdu, Malay or Indonesian. Happy reading!
Memory Lane
I'd give my right arm to be back in the midst of my play-days.
No money, no television and no worries.
I can't remember how we played or what we played and I don't know how the hours passed, but we stayed out all day.
Looking back, Cheetham Hill, in the early seventies, was an adventure ground, sandwiched with back entries, gulleys, alleyways and crofts.
The cobbled streets made from natural stone flags, were where we would hang out, chill.
The slow, rhythmic trotting of the horses' hooves and the clattering of the cart is missed. I never really ever worked out what the 'rag and bone man' used to 'holler' as he approached each street corner.
I used to watch with enthusiasm the coal tipping out of the sack into our coal cellar in preparation for the winter months ahead.
Favourite Playground Pastimes included 'Chase', 'Poison', '1,2,3, Red Lights', 'Statues', 'Pig In The Middle', 'A Sailor Went To Sea', 'Hop-Scotch', 'Hula-Hoops', 'French Skipping', 'Rope Skipping', 'What's the time, Mr Wolf?', ball games (such as 'Billy Balloo'), and so on.
My childhood memory of Cheetham Hill.
Outside school, we were streetcred, streetwise. We were with it. We knew our stuff. The right stuff.
We would 'knock on' or 'call' for each other and begin our adventures.
Sometimes we would just sit on our doorsteps and spend ages, chatting, giggling, playing and having fun.
Other times, and these moments form some of my fondest memories, we would hang out on the streets and find our way into derelict houses and other buildings like old petrol stations.
These were what we called wendy houses. The real monty.
Occasionally, our curiosity would get the better of us.
We thought we were being daring and really clever when we challenged each other to be brave enough to knock on doors of empty warehouses and old cinema halls, which we convinced ourselves were inhabited by witches, and then run off, of course!
It was enough to get the adrenalin going. This was the only thing we found scary in those days.
We were mischievously silly.
Life was carefree. Not complicated. Our parents didn't have to worry about us.
'Real' toys came much later on.
'The Space Hopper'.
'The Chopper'.
'The Scooter'.
Kids don't seem to have the time, the energy, or the want to play nowadays.
Life has become a fast lane - the cobbled streets are gone.
The Lost Age.  Memory Lane
An Army of Caterpillars Came Marching In
Mango tree
I like to play on a mango tree outside in my garden,
The tree was so leafy and the mango fruits were so juicy,
Strong wind
Sometimes when a strong wind came blowing, I have to hold to the tree very tight,
Sometimes when it's getting dark, I thought a monster behind me was trying to give me a fright,almost fallen off from the mango tree.
Shocked
One morning, an army of caterpillars came marching up the tree,
The caterpillars were so many that I have to flee, caterpillars climbing up the mango tree.
Mum Freaked Out
Mum came out shrieking and shouted to my brother,
"Go get the axe and chop this old dear!" Brother was chopping the tree.
Fallen
Now the tree has fallen and left me feeling sad,
I said "Everything has gone terribly bad" looking at what was left.
In Bed
"Don't worry", said Mom. "I have a surprise for you",
"It's time for you to to learn something new", Mum trying to cheer me up.
Surprise
The next day, dad gave me a pleasant surprise,
Out in the garden, a shiny new bicycle was waiting to be tried, on a new bicycle The Story in Malay
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