THE early 1950s saw the school bus drop me off outside the Milk Bar adjacent to the Guildhall and with two pennies burning a hole in my pocket, this little short trousered urchin would scamper across the flinted Guildhall forecourt. Beckoning me, was the gold F W Woolworth on crimson background – a veritable emporium of boys stuff awaited. This is where HSBC is now.

Entering through the old double doors that somehow didn’t agree with each other, my nostrils would be regaled by that rich old Woolies smell of oily sawdust on the floor. It covered the unique creaky floorboards that ceaselessly moaned underfoot. Wow, Woolies seemed to go back a mile! There were the endless dark wooded fronts to all the counters with their little glass partitions keeping everything in its place and the big framed price signs on stalks surrounding the ladies in the middle who did battle with the “Arkwright” cash registers. Apart from “Made in Hong Kong” most things had the name Winfield on them and Woolies provided my first pair of football boots with that name Winfield stamped on the side. Being a six year old that was thoroughly with it!

I blacked out the name and copied Stanley Matthews signature onto them. They looked great. Then it rained!

One day I was carefully deciding which battery would fit in my new Dan Dare Pilot of the Future Torch, when a furtive individual suddenly appeared, grabbed a handful of batteries, and was out of the store in a flash. I couldn’t believe it. A new word had entered my vocabulary – shoplifter - not nice!

In days gone by Woolies sold all manner of things, but this youngsters’ pennies mostly went on the vast array of sweets. My favourites were rum and butter toffees. In fact, I liked ‘em all!

In teenage years the record counter was the attraction and Woolies had their own label. It was called “Embassy” and it was on a crimson background. The records were all covers of the originals and sold for a fraction of the cost of the real thing!! They are possibly worth a bob or two now.

I remember the late afternoon darkness which enhanced the shimmering coloured reflections of the shop window lights on the wet High Street and this added to the buzzy aura that always surrounded Woolies at this festive time of year. You could touch the happiness and contentment and somehow the reassurance that this grand old store provided.

So goodbye dear old Woolies, and thanks for the memories. I am so glad that I knew you in your prime.

John Porter Millway Road, Andover.