'When I hear some people speak of their parents, I thank God for the ones I had. Kind, loving and firm with a real idea of right and wrong and I hope my children will feel the same about me.'

    So said Mrs Olive Sharman (nee Hewitt) who was born as long ago as 1908.

    'I learned to read early, books were not so easy to get, but every scrap of reading matter was kept and re-read.

    Now, I am older, I often read the interesting books in the Children's Section of the Library and marvel at the wide variety of subjects - books on travel, hobbies, jobs, fiction. So much one can learn and more in our brains for later years. Things to do when holidays come, on wet days, on the beach, in the country, lovely things to make for presents.

    You can learn many things to help you in later life. I find now I remember things, essays, poetry, that I learned at school. The little two roomed, two teacher school. Many of us remember with pleasure the years gone by and how often we would love to be able to go back down the years to when we sat and learned our tables and spelling.

    Our nature walks, our talks on how to behave to our parents and older people, also to each other. The books I was lent and enjoyed and still remember.

    When I was very young, I didn't like girls. Every time I was doing something I enjoyed one or the other of my two elder sisters would either stop me or call Mum and stop my fun. My one wish was that I would turn into a boy. They were never expected to get tables laid or help wash-up and do all the odd jobs indoors. They could work with Dad in the garden or woodshed and no-one grumbled if they got dirty.

    Since growing up, I have realised how good it is to have sisters. In times of trouble they have rallied round, they've shared my troubles and helped ease my grief.

    Practical help was always to hand and although we are apart, we meet and talk again of our childhood, the sister who died, our parents and how lucky we were to have such a good, if hard, childhood and good parents. I know how lucky I am when I compare my sisters to others in families that I know.

    I loved the woods at all seasons of the year, especially when the wind was wild and I was high up in a tree feeling the wind as it swayed the tree top, and it seemed to calm my restless self.

    My favourite place was up in the trees, reading -- far from the washing-up, etc. The woods were cool in summer and we found gum oozing out of certain trees, which we chewed and enjoyed. Autumn found us collecting acorns, firewood, pinecones or blackberries, conkers and nuts. We made trails through the bracken and made lemonade from powder or played tracking games but as dusk fell, the woods, with mist rising, had a ghostly look and we would tell each other stories and generally frighten ourselves. Then we would hurry home into our lamp-lit homes and shut the door quickly to keep us safe.

    Woods seem to change as night drew on, branches rubbed together and made queer sounds. Some trees seemed to talk together. Poplars whispered to each other and birds, night prowlers and animals barked and made noises.

    An owl goes by, a fox barks and bushes moved and you imagined shapes of... what?

    We took it in turns to help fetch meat etc. from town, help lay and clear meals, and help on the allotment. I recall walking Imberhorne Lane to get cans of milk from Blount's Dairy, where the milk was skimmed by hand and the skimmed milk was given to farm workers and what was over was sold to village children cheaply. We had quite a walk to the dairy and took our tin milk cans with lids and perhaps spare ones for older people who couldn't walk so far, perhaps a reward of one penny per week.

    Of course we had lots of gorgeous rice puddings, with fights over whose turn it was to have the skin. I can taste its richness now, plenty of nutmeg and a knob of butter and mugs of thick cocoa when we came in cold.

    Sometimes the stronger members of the family would take our little can and go to the Gasworks and collect coke. I loved the queer smell which greeted us.

    We went 'Wooding', (searching the woods and hedges for sticks and pine-cones after storms). We usually had a bumper cart full.

    We collected acorns and dried leaves for Uncle Wee Bonny's pigs. He was not a real Uncle, but Dad's friend, who usually gave us pennies for jobs we did for him or found a handful of ripe plums and sometimes a rare peach or a few grapes from his greenhouse. He had a little fat Dad and Mum and a parrot, who knew lots of bad words and we never dared repeat them to our parents but we did among ourselves of course.

    When we knew pigs were to be killed we always tried to be as far way as we could so we did not hear their squeals. Poor pig, who we have loved and fed since a small thing and rubbed her with a stick so she'd say 'Nuff, Nuff'. with joy. Dad and Mum did not want us to see animals killed, although we had endless sick birds and small animals Mum had to put up with and the funerals we gave little dead birds and things.'