THE boys looked shocked when I told them. It was as if I’d just announced a death in the family.

“It’s closing? Woolworths is closing?” said the nine-year-old incredulously.

“No, no, no,” wailed the six-year-old. Even the 13-year-old was stunned. “But it’s the best shop there is,” he said.

Children love Woolies. When my boys have pocket money to spend, that’s where they head. The older three browse the shelves of DVDs, CDs and computer games while the younger ones marvel at the brightlycoloured plastic toys, books and art and craft sets. All of them love the pick-’n’-mix, and I can pick up some Ladybird children’s pyjamas, black school pumps and everything from a tin opener and newspaper to a fluffy cushion while we’re there.

You might find more cut-price bargains in the supermarkets but, on a rainy day, Woolie’s has the cheapest entertainment on offer in the High Street. And a proper variety show it is too. Children can happily tear around the aisles of this modern-day Aladdin’s cave of bits and pieces for hours on end, without being stopped in their tracks by a disapproving jobsworth shop assistant.

Yes, it’s slightly dated, tired and tacky. At times, I feel as if I’m in an episode of TV’s Life On Mars because it’s like being transported back to a bygone era. Either that, or I expect Norman Wisdom to appear from behind a set of shelves calling out for Mr Grimsdale.

But that is all part of Woolworths’ charm. When I was a child, it was the coolest store in town. Then known as FW Woolworths, with its huge glass windows and smooth, shiny floors, it was the ultimate, ultra modern store.

I remember roller skating round the shop with friends, although the manager wasn’t too pleased.

This was where I bought my first single (David Cassidy’s I Think I Love You) and first experimented with make-up testers. My friends and I loved cramming into the photo booth, where we would make goofy faces or pose like models. The old strips of black and white photos still make me smile.

It was where I bought naff birthday presents for my mother, which she always pretended to adore. Many of my friends got their first Saturday jobs there. And it’s where naughtier schoolchildren started their shoplifting careers – usually on the pick-’n’-mix.

(“Where are children going to learn how to shoplift now?” I heard some wag ask the other day.) My boys’ grandparents also grew up with Woolworths, which is 99 years old this year. Granny, 82, remembers it was a treat to visit the store once a year just before Christmas when she was a child. She bought soap, perfume and talcum powder, all for 6d. And she will never forget the huge box of chocolates she got for one shilling.

It was heartening to see that constant thread of High Street history pass down the generations as far as my children.

They have always loved the fact that, almost anywhere they go, they find that iconic red W and they are drawn to it like magnets. As well as in my home town, in the west of Ireland, there is one in their dad’s part of Kent.

When we go to Whitby or Scarborough on a day trip the older boys prefer to spend an hour or two in Woolworths – even though they have a store at home – because they think it’s much more exciting than a walk on the beach with us. They discovered a store when we travelled to a remote part of Scotland. And when we came across one on holiday in the middle of New York, it generated just about as much excitement as the Empire State Building.

And now they are all closing. So I told the younger children I would give them some pocket money for a final trip to Woolworths, before it’s too late, at the weekend. And what a sad, depressing place it was. Many bargain hunters, expecting dramatic, everything- must-go reductions were disappointed by the poor discounts. Some were grumbling, rudely: “The sooner it goes the better,” and “It can’t close soon enough for me.”

I felt sorry for the shop assistants, about to lose their jobs. One customer, in front of me at the till, laughed heartlessly as she was handed her receipt: “I don’t suppose there’s any point in having this, is there?” she guffawed.

The forlorn looking shop assistant said nothing.

But the boys and I weren’t there just to chase bargains, we were marking the sad demise of an old family friend.

We knew his time had come, but that didn’t make it any easier. The six-yearold bought a light sabre sword with sound effects for £1. The nine-year-old spent his £1 on pick-’n’-mix. I bought a DVD which, even though the price was cut by ten per cent, turned out to be more than £3 cheaper in the supermarket.

I know the light sabre sword will probably only last a week and the sweets are already gone. But our fond family memories of Woolies will last much, much longer.