THIS photo of a packed Morecambe beach, which we ran in the Telegraph & Argus recently, sparked many fond memories among readers.

The Lancashire coastal town was, of course, known to many as Bradford-on-sea. It was a popular resort for Bradfordians to retire to, and many families flocked to B&Bs and caravan sites there in the holidays. You could even buy your T&A in Morecambe!

FRANK HEALY remembers the seaside town well from his childhood.

Writes Frank: I was told that many of the Bradford mill-owners used to travel in daily from Morecambe - back in 1947.

I have a tale from back then: My sister and I went to Morecambe with my grandmother and aunt. It was the first time we had seen the sea, my uncle drove us over and I remember seeing a lot of men working at the roadside and my grandma commenting they were POWs.

We stayed in a boarding house and I recall the thrill of banging the gong to say meals were ready - well, I was only six-years-old. I had my seventh birthday there, although it was spread over three days because nobody was sure of the date.

One day we were on the beach and Grandma and Aunt were sat in their deckchairs keeping an eye on us whilst we played around the groins - for those that do not know ‘groins’ are built to stabilize a stretch of natural or artificially nourished beach.

My grandmother was holding forth about how people did not seem to take care of their children (we seem to say the same things these days) and my aunt had to sit and listen. “Just look at that Joyce,” she said, observing a little lad who had fallen in.

“Mother that’s...”

“Be quiet Joyce, don’t interrupt when I am talking,” says my grandmother.

“But Mother,” says Joyce. “It’s our Frank!”

Of course that triggered the ‘Don’t Panic’ mode as I was pulled out and taken back to the boarding house to change.

Another day we had gone for a walk and I discovered the amusement arcade. I kept winning boxes of matches and was selling them in the boarding house until Grandma put a stop to it.

But one day I had run on in front and slipped into the arcade - this was not noticed and Grandma, Aunt and my sister had carried on along the promenade. When they missed me they re-traced their steps and found me happily winning boxes of matches.

So it was over Grandma’s knee and several sharp blows to my rear (they did not hurt, except my pride at the indignity) when a Brown Muff van went past. “Joyce, stop that Brown Muff van! We will send him back to Bradford.”

Of course the threat was empty, but it did the trick. No more sliding off into the arcades.

* Share your Morecambe memories at emma.clayton@nqyne.co.uk

Emma Clayton