Mum and I made butter with little wooden butter pats, one of my favourite jobs (and there were plenty!). She also made cheese and grew all our vegetables. I suppose it was the good life, but I am sure very hard work for everyone. My dad would kill the pigs. He loved trotters (pig’s feet) for breakfast with wild mushrooms - it took me a long time to like pork.
[I remember the night of the fire. I was very young at the time – perhaps three or four? I was woken by the sound of a huge roar and a crackling, spitting kind of noise. In hindsight, I imagine the roar was the sound of the chimney catching fire, and the other noises must have been the wooden beams in the ceiling burning. My only other memory is of someone lifting me out of bed and then being outside watching sparks shooting out of the chimney. I’m not sure about the last part. I don’t know if it’s something my mind has added in the intervening years but the sounds have stayed with me all this time and like Sue, I’m terrified of fire... Barbara]