Cider with rosy bottoms

I really don’t remember this incident at all personally – firstly, because I was very young at the time and secondly – well, you’ll soon find out about the other reason. However, it has been passed down as part of my family’s folklore and my mother still talks about it today, somewhat to my enduring discomfort!

I was four years old and our family were living in Yorkshire at the time. Mum had become close friends with another mother in the village, Hilda, who had a son the same age as myself called Andrew. Hilda had become a mother quite late in life, so was quite protective of Andrew. I had an older brother, so my own mum was somewhat more sanguine.

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