WW2 Eggs and Tomatoes

Instead of just telling how I wanted to write about a village like Cairndhu, this is turning into the story of my childhood among the gardeners of the village. My grandfather lived in the top house in his street and rented the plot next door on which he had built a greenhouse and a chicken run. Both were a boon during the war years, not just for us but for the local community. Gramps sold eggs and tomatoes and I was called in to feed chickens and pollinate the tomato blooms with a rabbit's foot. Pollinating was a springtime job and was often welcome if the weather was cold because the greenhouse was heated and always cosy. The chickens chased after me and pecked at my ankles when I had the feed bucket, and occasionally got cross when I discovered an egg hidden in the long grass at the edges of the compound. It was those eggs that were suspect and reserved for family use. Occasionally one was rotten and that put me off eggs for days - not for weeks - everything was rationed. If a hen stopped laying it went into the pot and was sometimes soft enough not to need mincing to make it edible.

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