The old thatched farmhouse that was our family home for over 150 years recently changed hands. It fell to me to get it ready for the new owners and this included clearing out the dairy, where all kinds of rubbish and discarded household items had been dumped over the years. The dairy, a big, airy, high-ceilinged shed, was a busy place once. It was here that the separator extracted the cream from the milk, which was then placed in the big wooden churn, with the handle on the side, to make the butter. But that was all in the past, and here I was now, sitting in the middle of all the clutter wondering what in the name of God I should keep and what was for the skip. As I moved through the cobwebby books, mattresses, broken chairs and antiquated tools memories came flooding back. Then I had a mad idea. Why not string together all the highlights of growing up on a farm, in the forties and fifties, so that the life of that era could be remembered? The old dairy almost seemed to be whispering encouragement!