When I was young I lived in a small town with small town people with petty ideas about who was OK and who wasn't.
So those who lived across in Bridge Street were somehow not like us for there was a class divide except that Maisie Young was in the same class as me at school and when I looked at her she looked right back at me and smiled.
I used to walk her home and once over the bridge with the river running below I dared to hold her hand for it was soft and warm and that put a smile on both our faces.
It was my brother that told on us to my Dad who shook his head and I looked across at Ma who for some reason was looking down not saying a word as Dad raved on about finding a better class of girl to walk home with.
Later on as I was helping her with the dishes, putting them away and sorting out the cutlery she whispered to me, "I came from Bridge Street son, your Dad has forgotten that.
Childhood romances don't often last and that was such a long time ago but even today I think of her and wonder what lucky man married her.
Image found at www.picturesofengland.com