Where’s My Markets Gone, Dude?
When I was a lad, the local market was a magical place.
It was where you went to buy those important things in life like books, magazines and toys, and the not-so-important things like schoolbags, school clothes and shoes.
The market was a wonderland of colour and noise. You entered through the fish section and held your nose until you reached the fruit and veg, which didn’t smell a lot better, but there was the promise of apples, oranges and cherries to buy if the going was good.
Then through a gap to the general market where people bustled around from stall to stall buying their budgie millet, dog food, sweets and chocolate, electricals and batteries, material, wool, curtains, haberdashasherry (whatever that was), and any manner of weird and wonderful items that were on sale. If you needed it, the market would have it.
The best toy stall was tucked away down a little alleyway. The entrance was narrow, but it widened into an Aladdin's cave of treasure, from Dinky and Corgi toys to Meccano, model railways, footballs and tennis rackets and cricket bats. From board games to magic sets.
Nearby was the book stall with all the latest titles, and magazines galore. Eagle, Victor, Beano and Dandy. War at Sea, War in the Air, Commando, Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly.
