Jack Hill describes the home, at The Gables Farm, that he shared with his parents before the war.

The cupboard under the stairs housed the gas meter, and this was a strange place to hide for a few minutes and indulge in a spot of gas sniffing. The gas of the period was Town gas made from coal and so had a smell all it's own. One didn't stay too long in case something horrible might happen.

In summer time the front door was frequently propped open to allow some warmth to enter the house and a curtain was hung over the doorway to protect the paintwork and also give privacy.

A doorway next to the stairs led to a one-bedroom flat with living room and kitchen that was initially occupied by my cousin Dorothy and her husband Ted. I always knew her as Dofy. Later on, when they moved out to their own home in Manor Road, the flat was taken over by Jim and Vera Durham, who hailed from Wigston and Blaby which were, to me, places beyond my imagination.

Some strange matter of protocol prevented us from having a bolt on our side of the door, and so the occupants by dint of paying rent seemed to feel free to visit our part of the house whenever they felt like it. The uninvited invasion was often resented by us younger folk but Mum & Dad never breathed a word of reproach.

Sunday evenings were the times when Jim would come through invariably chewing on a large portion of cold Yorkshire pudding. I guess that, as they became stalwart members of the chapel that they felt this affinity. Vera took on the role of cleaner and Jim tended the coke-fired boiler with warm results, so there was a gain.

When my parents first came to the farm when it was acquired by Grandpa Hill, the roof was thatched but presumably was in a poor state so was replaced with red clay tiles called Rosemary's. The big barn and the stables were also covered with the same tiles and thus an architectural harmony was achieved. It involved quite an outlay so presumably Grandpa was not too badly off.

Roofs over the cowshed, the outhouses, the piggery, the Dutch barn and the implement shed were all covered in corrugated iron sheets painted black. The black paint of course absorbed the heat during the summer and, when the hay was being stacked into the Dutch barn, sweat would roll off everyone's brow.

The cowshed housed ten cows and had whitewashed walls on three sides with a corrugated half wall at the front. The floor was brick paviours with a wide channel for muck and urine. The floor was strewn with loose straw, which would be cleared out at intervals. Lighting was by two paraffin storm lanterns that were hung on a convenient nail.

Milking was carried out by hand by Dad and John Richardson, these two having their own three-legged stools that tended to fall over into the manure, but could be used as weapons when cows misbehaved.

There was little attention paid to hygiene and neither hands nor udders were washed during the milking process. On one occasion the Coop dairy in Leicester sent several samples of solids found in the milk and this caused consternation, but very little action in the way of upgrading.
On one occasion a particularly critical report from the Coop induced Mother and Hollick to launch an attack on the cowshed, and they washed every surface they could reach. This was done despite the disparaging remarks by John Richardson and Dad [which shows an appalling attitude towards hygiene standards. ]

Mother refused to allow me to learn how to milk as she knew that once I was proficient I would be pressed into regular service.

I was bothered by the large bumps on the cow's back caused by warble fly grubs and often I would try to squeeze them out of their burrows. The pressure would cause the cows to arch their backs and begin to get restless so Dad was disproving of the idea. I also used to curry comb their backs to try and get them clean, but once again the cows showed their disapproval by standing on my toes or squeezing me between their fat bellies. This to a small boy was quite frightening, as a cow weighs almost a ton.

Mucking out was a daily chore done by John Richardson and the spoils were carried to the muckheap close by. During the winter months the cows were often kept in overnight and so produced large amounts of refuse. They also required feeding with hay and vegetables such as cow cabbage or chopped mangolds plus a small handful of concentrated meal that came in sacks as nuggets or sometimes in slabs which had to be crumbled in a cutting machine.

Any liquids in the cowshed eventually dribbled through a hole in the wall to disappear into a cesspit in the paddock behind. This had a very small access hatch and so emptying was an unpleasant process. Thus for the greater part of the year the pit was allowed to overflow down the field and trickle into a small stream at the boundary.

When bullocks were turned into the paddock to eat the long lush grass their legs sank into the soft ground up to their knees and so the whole area was a danger spot for small legs like mine. A Wellington boot filled with black stinking goo is very unpleasant.

Conscience would prevail in the spring and steps be taken to empty the pit. First of all a tumbril or liquid carrying cart, used to collect the village night soil, would be borrowed from old Mr Richardson and then the foul liquid would be transferred by buckets from pit to tumbril and thence to the field selected for the spread. Dad always elected to climb down into the pit when level was lowered and clean up the remainder. On the other hand Dad never involved himself with carting work.

John would work in shirt with rolled up sleeves on the coldest of days and seemed impervious to the cold. Carting away the muckheap was an arduous job with the first stage being to cut the packed material with a hay knife and then lift it into the wagon with a hayfork. Once filled the cart would be taken to the arable fields and the material distributed in heaps over the area to be manured.

Additional manure was available from the night soil collection and this vehicle would be brought on the field and the sloppy contents gradually spilt out by jacking up the container on its pivots. The results each growing season would be quite spectacular with huge cow cabbages and lots of free growing tomato plants.

The casual way the cabbage plants were treated always amazed me. Having been bought at a market, the bundles would then be held in a water trough until the leaves were all turning yellow and someone decided that they would be better planted out, Thus a plot of land would be harrowed and the plants roughly heeled into the soil. The success rate was always high so the plants must have been a tough variety

The muck spreading was a laborious process and was put off till it just had to be done. This was Dad's job as it could be done at any time of the day. The process involved pulling a lump of the manure cum
straw from the top of the heap, walking to the halfway point with the next heap, and flinging the material around to ensure an even spread.
This was then ploughed under using a single blade plough pulled by two horses with John Richardson on the handles.