IN AN age when the idea of a snack is a carrot stick or a bunch of grapes, it's refreshing to look back on the era of Toffos, Pacers, Treets, Fruit Fizzers and Ringos, the type of snack that really made you want to go to the tuck shop.

Anyone who's fed up with being lectured on the evils of sweets, chocolate, crisps and all things naughty should invest in a copy of The Great British Tuck Shop, a tempting journey of nostalgia through the history of all those sweets which conjure up childhood memories.

Retro-nerd and writer Steve Berry, co-author of the book with Phil Norman, explains that many favourite sweets have disappeared because sweet, crisp and other snack manufacturers have consolidated their brands.

"You saw the rise of the brand manager towards the end of the Eighties," he says.

"Rather than your Willy Wonka characters in charge of the nation's sweets and treats, brand managers and accountants were in charge.

"One of the sad things is that kids today will be growing up with only their parents' favourite sweets, rather than having a whole collection of new stuff to choose from.

"Market forces inevitably decide what's going to be bought and sold, but the industry is more in pursuit of profit than experimentation."

Self-confessed sweet-toothed TV presenter Jonathan Ross clearly donned his rose-tinted spectacles before writing the foreword to the book in which he recalls treats of old.

"I could drink as many cans of Cresta as I liked, then wolf down my own body weight in Space Dust and still, it seemed, not gain an ounce.

"I still love sweets, despite the disastrous effect they have on my physique. Who doesn't? I know there are some out there who claim not to, but I am highly suspicious of anyone who doesn't occasionally pig out on large volumes of them."

Health campaigners may relish the demise of the tuck shop, as schools move towards more nutritious snacks.

"I think that people unfairly blame sweets and crisps for the obesity crisis," Berry counters.

"If it's not our health at risk, it's the planet. There seems to be a targeting of anything that gives you a remote bit of pleasure.

"Yes, I do believe in Jamie Oliver doing his campaigns, but there's a dearth of humour to them. We have this obsession with diets, weight and body image that I don't think existed 20 years ago.

"Even The Hairy Bikers' top-selling book is their dieting book. Everyone's congratulated Nigella on losing a few stone, but she used to be the one who enjoyed a treat.

"The things that used to be pleasures have now become guilty pleasures."

Traditional tuck shop treats and bigger sizes of crisp packets and chocolate bars must in some way have contributed to the ongoing problem of obesity, but Berry argues that our lifestyle in general isn't what it was.

"Of course, all of these things are supposed to be eaten by kids who are running around, chasing each other, riding bikes and having adventures, not by kids who stay in their rooms playing video games."

Is there a future for the tuck shop? "The independent sweet manufacturer in the Roald Dahl Willy Wonka mould has disappeared," admits Berry.

"But you've suddenly got the rise of 'ye olde sweetie shoppe' - and the retro appeal of buying your sweets out of a glass jar three shelves up has suddenly appealed to this generation.

"A quarter of midget gems weighed out and served to you in a paper bag takes you back to a comforting era of childhood when eating sweets wasn't such a problem."

He also points out that online sweet shops have also sprung up offering old favourites.

"One is actually called 'A Quarter Of' (www.aquarterof.co.uk) which is defiantly imperial in its approach, selling you a quarter of cola cubes, rhubarb and custard and other retro sweets."

However, tuck shops are unlikely to return to their former glory, he laments.

"Even leisure centres used to be full of sweets and crisps and pop and now they're full of Babybels and bottled water."

TUCK SHOP TRIVIA

:: Terry's Chocolate Oranges are not the only fruit. The company also made a lemon version, but it didn't go down well.

:: There were teething problems with the Crunchie in the UK, which is a copy of the Australian bar Violet Crumble, in that the honeycomb was too brittle and just kept snapping. To cure the problem, the factory workers had to use Bunsen burners to solder the snapped bars back together again.

:: At the start of the Second World War, one press advertisement advised: "The habit of taking a block of Cadbury's Dairy Milk per day has been medically recommended as a sensible personal precaution for this autumn and winter."

:: Flavoured crisps weren't invented until the 1960s. For the first 30 years of their life, they were either salted or plain.

:: In a recent poll asking people what snack they would like to bring back, almost one third voted for Burton's Fish 'n' Chips - savoury bites in the shape of the traditional British takeaway dinner, which came in a plastic bag made to look like biscuits.

:: In 1973 VAT was introduced on crisps and processed nuts which were classed as luxury items. Biscuits, however, were somehow considered a staple, provided they didn't have chocolate on them and therefore escaped VAT. As a result, some innovative products were launched to escape the taxman. KP brought out the Wigwam, a savoury biscuit which bridged the gap between cracker and nut, while Crawfords popped their cheesy biscuits into snack bags and called them the Mini Cheddar.

:: Chewits won unexpected endorsement in 1981 when a pregnant Diana, Princess of Wales, was reported to have been caught short of cash at a Gloucestershire sweet shop after having cravings for a pack of the strawberry-flavoured sweets.

:: In an effort to boost sales in pubs in the early Seventies - when they were largely frequented by men - Smiths launched a nut dispenser with a difference. On a cardboard placard, hidden behind the packs, was a large picture of a scantily clad girl, who became more exposed every time a purchase was made.

:: Evolving food standards mean certain ingredients have been removed from sweets for safety reasons. But those playground rumours that if you ate a couple of packets of Space Dust and washed them down with a can of fizzy pop your stomach would explode have long since been quashed.

:: The Great British Tuck Shop by Steve Berry & Phil Norman is published by The Friday Project, priced £12.99. Available now