Many villages were quite self sufficient and had lots of different businesses, but New Barnetby and Melton Ross, being very small, had only four.  The carpenter built farm wagons and anything else made of wood that people needed, whilst the blacksmith mostly shod horses and repaired farm implements.  The shop sold just about everything required for everyday living and if they did not have it they would somehow find it for you.  The post office was the passage inside someone's front door with a drop down counter across it.  The postmistress disappeared into her house to fetch out whatever you needed.

A couple of women ran a catalogue business and all our other needs were catered for by visiting tradesmen in their vans.  Thursday, which was Brigg market day, was used for buying more important needs and was an excuse for a good gossip and a chance to meet old friends.

Boys wore short trousers until they were about eleven years old, which gave many of the younger ones red, sore, chapped knees in winter.  Runny noses, coughs and colds were common as we all lived in cold, damp houses.  No matter how we dressed, we still felt cold, as the clothes then did not compare with today's clothing, and the winters then seemed much colder than they are today.

The man who cut our hair had no training but he was the only one with a decent pair of scissors so we all queued up to sit in the chair in his coalhouse.  We all went in looking different and all came out looking the same.  He cropped our hair short all over except for a tuft of hair at the front, which we called a donkey fringe.  I used to look with envy upon people, from other places, who had hair on the back of their heads, and thought that I would have hair like that when I grew up.

One of my favourite people was a man who seemed very old and seemed to do everything that needed doing for everyone.  His name was Benny and he swept the chimneys of the village, took people's rubbish to the tip, which was a hole in a field about half a mile outside New Barnetby and most important of all drowned unwanted kittens.  Our cat had unwanted kittens and he was called in to dispose of them.  I watched him as he filled a bucket with water and I was very near to tears, as I had known the kittens from birth.  To my amazement, he picked up all the kittens and, one at a time, threw them at the house wall then placed them in the bucket.  When he saw that I was puzzled, he explained that drowning was cruel as it took so long, but his method was kinder because death was instant, and he only put them in the bucket because people did not approve of his method.

There were many people who were vastly larger than life, mostly men, who enriched our lives with their, often outrageous, behaviour.  I would love to describe them, but their families might feel, completely without foundation, that I am ridiculing them.  I am so grateful to have been brought up in such a rich, delightful and fascinating environment. There was nothing bland about the lives we led as we seemed to be a collection of completely different individuals held together by an absolute respect for everyone's right to be different from everyone else, and the wonderful quality of being able to laugh at ourselves and each other.  Anyone who was pompous or proud would soon have been brought down to earth.  No one rose higher than anyone else's equal, and of course no one fell below that level.

You did not have to go far up the social ladder to be considered to be of a different class.  A farm foreman was way above ordinary mortals, as was any tradesman, shopkeeper, self-employed person, clerk of any kind, in fact anyone who was not a labourer.  A farmer or landowner sat on God's right hand side.  A stationmaster or manager was not far below.  A relation of mine was the manager of the Gas-works in Brigg and we were in awe of him.  He spoke with a posh accent as well, so that made him even more important.  Now I almost pity him and think that he was not very special.

People then were very aware of their place in society, and often showed too much respect to those who did not deserve it.  Through working on the railway, my father had easy access to railway sleepers, which were valuable and sought after.  I remember a fat, well-dressed man, dripping in gold chains and rings and smoking a cigar visiting my father and buying some railway sleepers from him.  Knowing how generous my father was, I was certain that he had been robbed and I took an instant dislike to the other, obviously very rich man, and felt very angry.  I feel the same anger now when I see people abusing their position to take advantage of good, honest decent men.

Those who thought themselves important were mostly midgets of no consequence.  We were sadly, a nation of class-ridden snobs and were the laughing stock of the world.  I cringe with disgust when I hear people use terms like middle, upper and working class.  Although it is dying out in most of Britain, it is still, sadly, rife, in London, on television and in the newspapers.  I am not in the least bit left wing, but I think it is an insult to the human race to put people into classes.  Religious leaders of all faiths should stand against it, as their gods teach that all men are equal.  It is very noticeable, however, that as people rise in the church hierarchy they become richer and move into homes that are more luxurious, and the people at the very top live in palaces, and live a life of luxury, wealth and privilege beyond the imagination of ordinary mortals.  I thought that a life of humility and poverty was the aim of true religious followers.

Now that, that is off my chest I can concentrate on all the wonderful things that happened to me.  I believe now, as I did then that my childhood was idyllic.  Any country person feels that no smell is nicer than new-mown hay.  With others, I often sat on the top of a horse-drawn cart pulling a load of hay through narrow country lanes. The heat of the sun, the smell of the hay the gentle clip clopping of the horse's hooves was worth more than any money could buy.  My memories are of flowers, blossom, butterflies and birdsong, lazy summer days and children laughing and playing.  I am quite certain that no child on earth had a happier childhood than I did.  The cool in the evening after a hot sunny day was so welcome, and relaxed us, so that we could sleep soundly, ready to wake up refreshed the next morning.

The only other smell that can compete with hay is the smell of May blossom, which is the smell of spring, and tells us that summer is just around the corner, although I have been reminded recently that Elder flower has a pleasant smell as well. [Continued]