THERE were two very good reasons why little Michael Manning was leader of the street-corner gang.

At seven-and-a-half, he was six months older than the rest of the urchins. But, far more importantly, his decorator dad had a good supply of planks in his yard.

And planks, with a bit of time, effort and the scrounging of spare parts, could be transformed into 'tut-tuts.'

For the benefit of the younger mob who might not know what these were, reader Harry Bradbury provides a detailed explanation in fascinating correspondence taking us on a trip back to his 1950s St Helens childhood. This was a time when kids could safely roam the side-streets from dusk to dawn without fear of coming to harm.

Harry says: "Out of his good nature, Michael's father, Arthur Manning, decided to make us a tut-tut (a sort of free-wheeling trolley) basically created from a plank of timber on four old pram wheels."

The basic model had no steering device and was a bit hopeless except for straight-line riding which generally ended up with bumping into the kerb or a gable end.

But Arthur Manning (locally renowned as a star swimmer) decided to make a de-luxe version for son Michael and the rest of the gang, comprising Harry, his brother, Mike, and Harry Flood.

Harry Bradbury, now of Loughrigg Avenue, Moss Bank, remembers with enthusiasm: "It had large rear wheels and two small ones at the front. A separate wooden front-axle piece was fitted to the front, complete with a swivel bolt which allowed the tut-tut to be steered by means of rope connected to either side of the front wheels."

The driver, pushed by the rest of his mates, was perched on a padded home-made seat half-way along the the mobile plank.

"I'm sure," says Harry, "that we were the first in St Helens to have 'power steering' and we had many hours of pleasure pushing the tut-tut up the back entries and along our Wilson Street patch.

"This was ideal, because it was the only nearby street surfaced by tarmac . . . and the cobbles along the neighbouring stretches could quickly make a young backside sore!"

Harry, who has a genuine gift for prompting happy reminiscences, wonders how that tut-tut title came about. Certainly, there was more than a little tutting when these pram-wheel racers, which had no brakes, made death-defying plunges down the steeper district slopes such as Croppers Hill, Moss Bank Brow and Crank Hill.

"Being about seven was not a bad age to be in those happy days," sighs Harry, "there were no video games or multi-channel TV sets. For us likely lads, fun was what you made it. While the girls played hop-scotch on the pavements or tried juggling three old tennis balls against a gable end, we lads had more adventure in our mind . . . such as tut-tut racing."

It was set against a background of street hawkers with their distinctive shouts. The fruit and veg seller, the fish-man and, perhaps most memorable of all, the rag-and-bone merchant.

As his horse and cart threaded slowly through the side-streets, he'd be ready to hand out balloons to the kids in exchange for a few rags; or a donkey stone which mothers would use to brighten up their front doorsteps. A good bundle could be rewarded with a cup and saucer.

Harry has a couple of other golden memories.

There was the hot-chestnut seller who used to set up under a gaslamp at the corner of Wilson Street and Kirkland Street, roasting his wares on a small brazier attached to pushbike. "I think they cost a penny for a bagful, a very tasty treat."

Another familiar character was the itinerant knife-sharpener. He used to prop up his bike on a special stand. On the front of the bike was a grinding wheel and this turned, via a pulley belt, as he spun the bike pedals, sharpening a cluster of knives for just a copper or two.

HARRY promises to be back soon with further memory-jerking episodes from a kind of St Helens that is fast disappearing.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.