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Sunday
By Margaret Renwich

The smell of dinner cooking, the kitchen all steamed up, Billy Cotton Band Show, wakey WAKEY, Forces favourites. Comic pages from the Sunday papers. All together at the table elbows banging, a huge pyramid of sprouts, carrots, turnip cabbage, butter beans and meat with Yorkshire pudding balanced on the top swimming in gravy.

Everyone red faced and full, the grown ups for forty winks the kids off to Sunday School. Maxwell Hall, John Clay St.Spelks from the worn wooden seats, the musty smell of old ,damp hymn books. Sunlight struggling through the windows, speckled with golden dust. Bible stories made familiar and multi coloured paper scraps of angels and flowers were eagerly collected as reward for good behaviour and attendance.

Back from Sunday tea, home baked apple pie, scones thick with butter, chocolate cake with a whole bar of Cadburys melted over the top and Smarties stuck firmly in. Tinned peaches with evaporated milk poured over them. A quiet game of snap or happy families until tea settles then out with the mahogany box with the wind up record player inside. Only two black plastic records, Wagon Wheels and River Stay Away From My Door. Turn the handle fast and the Goons sang out , slowly and Paul Robeson warbled away. Hours of innocent fun while the bath water heated up. Tin bath in front of the fire, a few Lux flakes sprinkled in. Roasted on one side and frozen on the other, hair washed and wrapped up in long strips of rags for ringlets the next day. Ready for school on Monday.

 

 

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