Archie Greenshields was born in his grandmother's cottage in Tower Street, Chichester in 1920, where he spent the first three years of his life before moving a few cottages away. There he lived with his parents, sharing the house with 7 siblings. Obviously, with that amount of children, and not much income, Archie's parents struggled to make ends meet.

Archie has written a couple of books in recent years and this story is taken from one of those which shares with us some of his childhood memories:

As I write, I notice that once again the Lavant Course is in full flood. Time after time when we were driving northwards out of Chichester and passed through the outskirts of Lavant, (getting its name from the water course) my wife and I often commented on whether it would be running or not.

We watched out with interest as we passed a small stretch of its course before turning on to the main road. If the weather we had experienced had been poor for a couple of weeks before our trips, this had a considerable bearing on whether there would be a steady flow. But also according to the amount the local Water Company extracted. Many millions of gallons used to be diverted from the River Lavant, much due to the demand for irrigation in those days.

As a boy there hardly seemed a time when the Lavant did not run in full spate, but of course this is a false conviction and can be explained by the telescoping of memory in the passage of a lifetime. However, to me it was always a wonderful experience to walk along its meandering banks as a child together with older children, with never a thought for the dangers that were ever present should one slip and fall in.

The depth may never have been more than 225 mm at the most and where the gravel bed was free from weeds, the water was crystal clear.

The nearest point of the River Lavant from where I lived in Tower Street was no more than ten minutes walk away, where it crossed the entrance to the Westgate Fields at the end of Mount Lane. Here there was an iron gate over a culvert to gain access to a footpath across the fields that would take you towards Fishbourne and Appledram.

For us children our tracks might often be westward along the bank which bordered the rear of the Tanyards (today the buildings form part of the County Council Planning Department). The grass always seemed lush and long, full of meadow flowers and the hiding place of frogs at the right time of the year. If you were quiet enough you could watch out for water voles and moorhens and the further along you travelled, the Lavant became over hung with willows.

Climbing one of the trees that grew from the bankside once, a duck that had nested in the crook of a branch startled us - of course it was a special duck as far as we were concerned. We gave it the name of a tree duck, whereas now I am aware it was a mallard. (It was near this point of the Course in June 1946, that I asked my wife, Barbara, to marry me).

Here the fields extend to the main railway line and we needed to get from one side to the other without crossing the tracks, even though it was before electrification. We could stoop and crawl through a culvert, which of course, proved that the watercourse did not flow continuously.

On a Sunday afternoon, having noted the flash of brilliant blue of a bird disappearing into the bank, we mounted an expedition to search for the nest of a kingfisher. Helping myself to one of Mum's serving spoons to dig to the nest the next day, I am pleased to say that we were unlucky.

The fields for the rest of any exploration were often waterlogged, giving rise to wet feet, and the A27 has since been constructed over them. These waterlogged spaces were ideal for the nesting places of lapwings and by spreading out to search, you might find prized eggs. Even if you did not, one might be lucky enough to discover another delicacy - mushrooms, for father's tea.

Several of us on one journey along the bank stopped at a small secluded spot in the corner of a field that was sheltered by overgrown bramble bushes. It had obviously been used as a trysting place for lovers, for we discovered a used condom, which caused great merriment. (They were not called condoms by us lads, who preferred the name 'dirigibles' for the similarity of shape to an airship or other guided balloons, popular in those days).

I doubt very much if we understood the full mechanics of their use and we were more interested in the half-crown coin (worth a pound by today's valuation) that I was lucky enough to find at the site of the unknown lover's dalliance. I remember that we quickly made a return back to the start of the walk to spend the coin on sweets at Charlie Hooker's shop, now an Indian Restaurant on the corner of Westgate and the Avenue de Chartres.

Had we changed direction and turned more southwards, you would leave the course of the Lavant, which in a very short while would find its exit in Chichester Harbour. The course would become wider and tall reeds would be growing thickly with willow warblers and other reed birds being heard, but hardly ever seen. The greyish silt from tidal movement stained the vegetation because of the controlled sluice gates at the exit of the Lavant into the sea.

Some way before reaching this point, by turning back towards the south of Chichester, one could still follow its course by the side of deep ditch works. This was because part of the Lavant was diverted at Southgate round the fields, for the purpose of easing the amount of flow during extreme conditions. By following this direction, it allowed you to pass a wooden shack, used by the cowman who looked after cattle, which grazed the fields.

The man we knew as 'Keyser', had one arm and carried a wicked looking cattle stick, which we knew he would use if he managed to catch us. Luckily we somehow always managed to keep a field's width away from him. Once, several of us boys got our own back on him after a chase across a couple of fields that had ruined our afternoon's fun, by getting into his hut, when each of us 'peed' into his wellington boots!

I bumped into him after this incident at the Cattle Market, a fascinating weekly attraction. We met almost face to face. I was sure he recognised me, for no doubt my guilt readily showed.

To return to Mount Lane mentioned earlier, the Lavant ran on the outside base of the wall of the Bishop's Palace Gardens with its orchards and fruit trees, some of which could be seen overhanging the wall. During full spate of the Lavant Course, these trees were well protected. During a dry spell, however, the most daring amongst us, would shin up the wall using creepers and ivy, finding foot holds to get at the apples, pears and even peaches in the right season.

Readers have every right to criticise our behaviour, but we knew that some parents boasted they had poached and it was not unknown for Dad to bring home the odd rabbit, so perhaps a bad example was set. Because trees offered fruit for the picking, we 'scrumped'.

It is interesting at this point to jump forward in time, some twenty-five years or so. Having decided to make the Police Force my career, there was an occasion when I attended Court at Worthing and was offered a lift back home by two clerical men in a limousine with a chauffeur. During the journey we got into a discussion regarding the youth of that age.

I confessed that I had reformed by taking the Police as a profession, but that my past history might allow one to doubt, more especially as I had been guilty of robbing the then Bishop of his fruit on more than one occasion. At the end of my journey one of the clerical gents introduced himself as the Bishop of Chichester! No doubt he had a story to tell at a dinner, just as I relate it now.

But to return to the Lavant Course. It enters the Westgate fields from Southgate via a long culvert system, which passes under South Street. Nowadays, where the Lavant emerges, the culvert is firmly barred, so no unauthorised access can be gained. It was not so in the 1930's and when the Lavant had dried up, the lads of Chichester could gain an experience of caving.

A certain amount of preparation was necessary and every member of our gang was sworn to secrecy about the time and day of the expedition. None of us could afford the luxury of battery torches, so burning brands had to be constructed by wrapping old rags on the end of sticks. Obtaining matches was the easy part, it was the paraffin with which to soak the rag, that caused a problem. Although plentiful in our houses, due to the type of lighting most had, a watchful eye would have been kept on it. That it had cost hard-earned money for our parents to purchase was not considered.

So all was prepared and the time for the exploration was fixed. Anyone seeing us intent on our mission, carrying sticks wrapped at one end with rags and carrying a stoppered bottle of paraffin, must indeed have wondered what mischief we were going to get up to. The shortest route to the culvert would be via South Street, so perhaps we cut through the Cathedral Cloisters to avoid prying eyes, or perhaps via Westgate and into the fields that way.

Whichever direction was taken, on our arrival, as quickly as possible, we slid down into the dry bed of the Lavant and doused the torches with paraffin and lit them. In single file, we entered into the culvert tunnel with warning shouts at places where you needed to crouch under crossing pipework. There would have been moans and groans when someone stepped on things unseen, hearts thumping when someone shouted 'rats', or screeches when somebody got too close to the boy in front of him with his flaming and smoking torch.

I am sure each of us would have relished a decision to abandon the trip at any time once started, but boyhood bravado goaded each other on. Sooner or later, a glimmer of light would be seen by the one in front and the string of boys behind would put on extra speed to get to the end of the tunnel. If there was a grating at the end into the private gardens of Market Avenue, it would be pushed down and, no doubt, an apple tree raided.

As there was a high wall preventing access to the road, we could do nothing other than retrace our footsteps, possibly with regret, but many, I suspect with relief, especially by the younger explorers. It must have been with trembling guilt that we arrived home and our physical state seen by parents. What lies we told, or truth embroidered I cannot tell, suffice to say that Mum must have guessed that much mischief had taken place.

Her sense of smell was legendary and must have told her that fires had been lit somewhere, as smoke and paraffin fumes would have contaminated our clothes. Once again we earned her wrath and felt the keen edge of her tongue, as well as the flat of hand, as one or other brother who shared the adventure would have blabbed. No reward for what I had been assured by the gang leader, was a privilege in being allowed to join in. But what chance had I to escape any punishment as a result, and in addition getting banned from going with the gang in the future.