Streets are just streets really I suppose. My first street, was the street where I lived, but then it was younger than the photo. It was then alive with voices, actions and people that lived there. We had no traffic, there were just two squares separated by a road in between. The street was born in 1884 according to a large engraved stone on a wall. The street survived two world wars. The first passed the street on one side, there was no war damage on this street. War machines were still in the beginning phases. The seond world war was different, although there again this street was left, surrounded by the destruction of neighbouring streets, an island amidst ruins.

If you grew up on this street, as I did, you realised that everyone knew everyone else by name. The history of the inhabitants went so far back into time, that although many of the women were married, my mum still referred to them with their maiden names. It seems that the wives of the street were my mum’s childhood schoolfriends.

They were two-floored houses. We lived on the top floor and the bottom floor was occupied by grandad. My granmother died when I was 4 months old so I never really knew her and his youngest daughter married and moved into the top floor, that was us. This seemed to be the thing to do at the time and most houses had the grandparents still living in the house, their children marrying and moving into the top floor.

Our next door neighbours were no exception. There was the mother, who I really only remember as a little grey haired ancient creation. She had three daughters, Ivy, Emmy and Lizzie. Lizzie was the only daughter that married and where did she live? On the top floor of the house of course. They had no children, but they did have chickens in the back garden. We all had yards, just a small square with enough room for some flowers, a washing line, coal shed,  and yes, a chcken coup. Mum told me we also had chickens, and my grandfather even had a duck. He would block the sink in the garden and let the duck have a swim in the water. I am sure this duck must have suffered from claustraphobia as his limits for a good swim were very much restricted.

Just along the street we had a guy that kept pigeons, so his entire yard was just one collection of pigeon hutches. Mum said he used to race them. I only remember that once a day he would let them fly. His signal for them to return home was shaking a bag of pigeon food accompanied by the words “c’mon, c’mon”. They reacted quiet well and returned immediately. This guy seemed to be an animal lover as he also had a dog. I remember his wife would take the dog for a walk every morning dressed in her nightdress covered by a dressing gown and slippers on her bare feet. People were poor at this time. They had no children, just the pigeons and the dog.

Of course there were children in the street. The end house of the street was larger than the others and was occupied by a family with many children. The eldest daughter married and moved into the top floor of the house opposite ours. The younger sister also moved into the street after marrying, followed by the eldest brother. They were gradually taking over the street. There were two sons, both with Down sydrome. They were not twins: sort of born in between. I only have faint a recollection of the older of the two, but I remember the younger. I was perhaps 7 years old and it was my first confrontation of a handicapped person, but we just all grew up together in the street and played together. I remember the summer evenings outside. We all had our first skates and would roll down the hilly road between the two streets.

I remember playing kiss chase with the boys – we were all kids. If you got caught you got a kiss and if I remember rightly I rarely got caught as those boys did have quite grubby faces most of the time. I always had a clean face, as mum made a point of scrubbing it with a wet flannel before I went anywhere. Yes I always had a bright shiny face.

My aunt also lived in the street, opposite. She was my mother’s sister. It seems that all these little houses were passed onto someone who knew someone that lived in the street. I remember a lady living opposite. I think she was originally jewish because my mum said when she was a kid, she would earn some money preparing and lighting her fire in the winter on Friday, because her family had to observe the sabbath. This lady had a daughter who was sort of having an affair with a television repair man in a shop around the corner. When her husband left for work, the TV repair man arrived, or perhaps they had a TV that permanently was breaking down. Eventually a baby was on the way, and so the population increased in the street.

I left the street in 1966 when I decided to go to Switzerland, leaving mum and dad still in our little house. By this time grandad had been long gone and mum and dad had the complete house, three rooms upstairs and three rooms downstairs. No-one in the street had running hot water and the toilets were all outside in the yard. There was also nothing known as a bathroom, you just did the best you could under the circumstances.

Eventually it was decided the street should be demolished. The photo is from a newspaper of the time, showing only the ghosts of the people that once lived there and nature was taking over.

Today a small park has replaced this street of many childhood memories for me.

Daily Prompt: Street