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Recollections of the dairy at The Gables Farm come flooding back to Jack Hill who was born on the farm between the wars.
A spare room, at the corner of the L-shape in the main house was used as the dairy. A sliding window faced east down the street and was used by our neighbour Mrs Law to purchase milk and other items. It saved her quite a few steps, as she would otherwise have had to walk to the end of the house and then back again, as it were, to the rear door of the kitchen.
It was a useful vantage point to allow Mum or me to gaze out on the street without having to venture outside. A quarry tiled shelf or thrall at knee height extended along three walls and had been constructed for stacking cheeses.
Next to the door was a huge limestone block with a screw lifting device which was never used. Its intended use was as a cheese press but the idea was dropped at an early stage of occupation of the farm.
In the middle of the floor was the cream separator standing on a plinth, and as one passed by, the usual procedure was to give the handle a twirl and set the innards working. The whirring noise was quite loud so it was always done with a guilty feeling. The machine was never used in earnest as it would have required lots of milk which was already earmarked for the Co-op.
Basically, the dairy was used as a large larder and crockery store with the dinner plates kept in a wooden rack on the wall close to the door. I was allowed to keep my own stache of currants or sultanas, and also allowed to take swigs from the icy cold milk stored in jugs. On one occasion, a dark green wine bottle was standing on the thrall, and being full of curiosity, I removed the cork and took a long swig. Immediately I realised I was drinking paraffin, which made me retch and feel very ill for the rest of the day.
The bread pancheon was kept covered with a cloth because bread was an important element of meals especially at teatime. This was the time for bread and butter sandwiches with lots of homemade jam
or for toasted bread smeared with butter and Marmite.
John Richardson was provided with his tea as part of his wages and so teatime was at a set time. There was always a farmhouse cake on the table as well as lots of milky tea. John of course came into the kitchen in his work clothes and boots and so tea time was associated with cowshed smells. It didn't matter if the parson or another visitor was there, John was a member of the family.
A strange influence was exerted on John, who started working for us when he was quite young. When at home or in the street, Big John was noted for his use of the common expletives, but the moment he walked across the threshold of the property he found he had no wish to use phrases more coarse than 'lousy rotten.'
Mother was very fond of John and relied upon him to do the odd jobs which Dad considered to be beneath his dignity. Jobs such as clearing out the thunderbox loo container and carrying the contents to the muck heap.
John's son by his wife Ada was another John and so he was called little John. He and I used to get on quite happily and spent lots of time playing in the cowsheds. I remember the smell of floor polish when we went to their house in Newbold Road. I also recall the newspapers spread out on the floor to protect the newly buffed up surface.
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