I grew up in a small two bed roomed house in a cul de sac with no front gardens and a tiny little yard at the back. Highfield Grove comprised of a big triangular green with twenty eight houses around it, twenty four one storey and four two storey. Most people didn't know of the roads existence as it was reached by travelling up a sort of lane way off Highfield Road.

When it was first built, it was called Tramway Terrace and was a terminus for the trams and all of the tram drivers lived in the one storey houses. The inspectors lived in the two storey ones. Originally there had been a gate at the entrance to the road but this was long gone by the time we lived there. Despite the fact that it wasn't there anymore, as children we were warned daily, “Don't go down the gate!”

Because of the fact that we stayed away from the non-existent gate, we lived a very sheltered childhood. All of the older people said it was 'a great place for rearing the kids'.

I was the youngest of three with a gap between myself and my sisters so I never really played much with them on the green, but played with neighbours. There were loads of kids and I had at least four best friends who lived on the road.

Being a girl and the same age as yourself qualified someone to be your best friend, so of course the levels of friendship varied as we had the usual tiffs, which usually involved something like “I’m straight telling on you” or “I'm never ever talking to you again”.

That usually lasted a day or two. We played all day on the green or going around it's perimeter on bikes, carts or roller skates, whatever was the fashion at the time or whatever of the aforementioned you might actually be lucky enough to have!

Sometimes you might be allowed to wheel a neighbour's baby in their pram, around and around that triangle talking to friends. This was a novelty for me as I had no younger siblings, not so for my friends from big families who always seemed to have younger ones to look after.

On the green it was kick the can, statues, rounders, chasing, and red rover. Then in June the tennis rackets would come out, later in the summer the skipping ropes, playing skipping and making swings on the lamp posts. If someone had chalk, it would be hopscotch or piggy beds as we called it, having sourced a small shoe polish tin from someone’s Dad and placing some stones inside to give it weight.

Playing 123 O Leary against the gable wall of an end house, we must have tormented the elderly lady who lived there – Number 20 was Mrs. Cooke. We called it Cooke's corner.

We would play outside all day and then in the evenings the mothers would come to the door and call the kids in to eat. It was OK for my mam but one of my friends was the eldest of seven.

Every evening at 6pm, without fail you would hear, the call from her mother as she named them all personally from outside the door "your tea's ready! I spent a lot of time in their house - number seven - as I was friends with the eldest girl.

They also had ‘English’ television before us and I was fascinated by ‘Crossroads’ which always seemed to be on in the TV in the corner of the room, while their Mother sat by the fire knitting. In those days you had your 'dinner' at lunchtime and your 'tea' in the evenings.

We'd always try to get back out to play after tea for a while and no one wanted to be called in first. But it was nearly always me.

There always seemed to be something going on, or someone coming and going. The women going to and from the shops for their 'messages', the workers coming home for their dinner at one o clock, the parish priest, the bread man, the milkman, the egg man, the insurance man, the postman, the coal man, the pig man collecting slops, the man collecting for the Provident cheques, and if truth be known, probably a few moneylenders as well. There were a few times of particular excitement.

When it snowed, when the Corporation came to cut the grass and when the rag and bone man came. The rag and bone man used to come around from time to time on a horse and cart and collect old clothes. If you gave him something he would stop outside your house and sing. All I can remember of his song, always the same one, is “Give me a nail and a hammer, and a picture to hang on the wall”. I can hear him singing it. He used to give us balloons, or sometimes bubbles.

Making snowmen, and having snow ball fights with your hands numb with the cold. I don't think I ever had gloves but would go through about half a dozen pairs of socks on my hands. I would keep going back to the house and Mam would have the wooden clothes horse in front of the blazing coal fire drying them out for my next request for a dry pair.

One of the sides of the triangle had a very slight slope downwards, but to us it was 'the hill' and when the weather was really cold we would pour water on it when there were no adults looking so that we would have a slide in the evening time. Needless to say there weren't many cars around then.

The Corporation coming to cut the grass was a big deal in those days and caused great excitement. There were at least four or five men and the job would take a few days. They even had a hut and a watchman who stayed there after the workers had gone home. In the evenings groups of kids used to sit in the hut with him while he boiled water in a Billy can, to make tea on his stove and eat his sandwiches, always wrapped in Johnston Mooney and O'Brien bread wrapper. We would talk to him and sometimes play cards. It's hard to believe really. Imagine as a parent today, allowing your little girls to sit in a hut with a watchman! You would probably be arrested.

Everyone knew everyone. I could go around the twenty eight houses in my head and name every person who lived in each house. I did it sometimes as a child to put myself to sleep instead of counting sheep.

Then when I was about twelve an elderly neighbour died and a house went up for sale. I'm sure neighbours had died before but I hadn't been aware of it and this was the first time in my life in the Grove that I was conscious that a house was empty and up for sale.

So the 'yuppies' as they were called, started to move in. The houses were so small they were perfect for single business people. It was an ideal spot really as it was close to the city centre. Hard to believe that families of ten and more had been reared in those little houses in previous times.

So there were few if any new babies being born to live in the Grove for a few years. They started to extend, build up, build out and even build underneath. And over time the intimacy of the place seemed to die off as long term residents died and more and more new people moved in.

We all changed and grew up as well of course. Different secondary schools, new friends, boyfriends and then to the world of work and moving off to start lives of our own.

We still went over there every Sunday when my parents were alive and my kids played on the green with the children of my childhood friends, who were also visiting their grandparents, some of the games had changed of course but some stayed the same.

My Dad died in 1995 and after living alone in number ten for some years my Mam ended up in full time care so the day came when we had to empty the house and leave it and the Grove forever. I haven't been back much since but am happy with it that way as I prefer to remember it the way it was and with the sound of Mam's voice, saying “Don't go down the gate” inside my head.