Local papers are the platform for debate

AREN'T local papers grand? They're the one place, and in some cases the only place, we get to state our views, to say things that affect our town, and us.

'They' won't always let me say all what I want, but then you can't have everything.

I want to thank you for your letters, I am pleased that so many entered into the debate, it's important all views and sides of an argument are heard so thanks, and keep 'em coming.

SO, they have decided that girls under 16 don't need their parents' permission to have an abortion, or the doctor doesn't have to let the parents know about their daughter's abortion. Is that not a recipe for disaster?

What sort of a message is that sending out?

'Now, don't you bother your pretty little head my darling. No don't bother with the morning after pill, just you run along and that nice doctor man will take the nasty problem away from you.'

How many of these ops will she be able to have and what will they cost? Not just in terms of money but in terms of self-respect, in loss of faith in men, and in herself?

It's bad news, and shows that the government is once again taking the easy option, ignoring the real problem.

Teach biology in schools by all means, teach love, teach morals, teach shame, but don't teach sex.

And what is it with pregnant mums? They seem determined we see their big bare frontages; I do think a little more of the fashion after the passion would be nice.

BOGIANNA'S Ice-cream Cart! Can't remember if that's how you spelt it but I do remember how it tasted, delicious!

What our 'health police' would have made of that lovely donkey and cart I don't know, but he was still trading long after the blue Wall's 'Stop me, and buy one' bikes had disappeared.

On those long ago Saturday afternoons my brother Tom would take me to the 'Plad' at Mill Hill. It wasn't his choice but it was take me, or get no money for the pictures.

Across the road from the Palladium was Longworth's paper shop that had a tuppenny window, displaying all those little things dear to a small girl's heart.

Our Tom would say grandly 'go on take your pick' and after a lot of deliberation, a choice would be made, then it would be off home, playing at cowboys and indians along the canal bank.

Now, it was payback time, I was always the bad indian, be shot at, to fall off my horse and die, horribly, gurgling noisily clutching my chest. Then home.

My mum would have to listen how Buck Rogers had survived a fate worse than death, only to be left facing yet another desperate dilemma at the end of this afternoon's latest episode.

And how 'naughty Billie Thompson' had been hit with the long cane the cinema attendant wielded to keep us all under control.

It measured exactly half a row of seats so there was no escape.

Did we have any 'human rights' on our Saturday afternoons? None! It was behave yourselves or else!