The Nostalgia column with Margaret Watson

Last Sunday morning when I went for my “one walk of the day”, the sun was shining and there was that distinctive smell of spring in the air.

No other smell in the world reminds me more of those carefree days of childhood when Sunday was the most exciting day of the week.

They were halcyon days which I often refer to as my “Sunny Sundays in the land of lost content” because that is what they were to me and my friends.

We used to plan our Sunday mornings all week long, working out our plan of action, but first we knew those amongst us who were Catholics would have to go to Mass first.

For me and my siblings, Mass was at St Joseph’s Church, Batley Carr, and after that we were free to do whatever we wished, and our first treat was calling to see our Uncle Joseph on our way home.

He was a bachelor who lived in a little cottage in a yard off Mill Road, Batley Carr, and he’d often give us a few coppers to buy an ice cream from Spivey’s ice cream factory across the road. Absolute bliss.

Then off to Batley Carr Park we’d go to play hide and seek amongst the rhododendron bushes or pick bunches of bluebells which grew in abundance there.

Sometimes we just sat in the warm sunshine making daisy chains to hang round our necks, or picking buttercups to hold under our chins to see if we liked butter or not.

We never picked dandelions because they would make us wet the bed, and we certainly avoided another flower called “motherdies” which, as the name implied would result in our mother’s death.

These silly superstitions added mystery and magic to the lives of children who had few toys and no television or computer games to do it for them.

Making our way home, our appetites were sharpened considerably by the delicious smell of Sunday dinners floating through the open doors of every house we passed.

After dinner, we’d walk en masse up Boothroyd Lane to Burking Banks, where Mitre Farm (pictured above) used to be, where St John Fisher School now stands.

We didn’t take any sweets with us because this was during the war when sweets were on ration.

All we took were a few slices of jam and bread wrapped in newspaper.

In those days we made our own sweets, usually a few sticks of rhubarb dipped in sugar or a bag of cocoa and sugar mixed together which was the nearest we ever got to a bar of chocolate.

Burking Banks was an idyllic spot where we fished all afternoon in Secker’s Pond searching for tadpoles to take home in jam jars to place on the windowsill outside.

Next morning, it was like a miracle when we discovered our tadpole’s tail had split into two and developed two legs. Alas, it never developed into a full-grown frog.

Tadpoles were the nearest thing the kids up our street ever got because people had enough looking after a houseful of children without looking after anybody else.

Although, for a short time we did have a cat called “Blacky” which dad acquired to keep the mice at bay.

His stay, however, was short-lived when he ran off one day with the remains of our Sunday joint.

Later, we did got another little pet, a day-old chicken, sold to us for a penny by Frank Bates, a neighbour of ours who kept hens and other livestock on a piece of land on Caulms Wood.

We kept our newly-hatched chicken in a shoebox, with a few holes punched on top, under the kitchen table, and sometimes mother allowed us to let it run round the kitchen.

We didn’t have a garden where it could have roamed freely and we didn’t think it was unhygienic or cruel to keep it indoors, because nobody knew any better.

But, like our cat “Blacky” our little chicken was soon outstaying its welcome when mother said the smell was getting too much, and he too was shown the door.

Luckily, we found him a new home when Frank agreed to take him back to his ‘piece’ on Caulms Wood, allowing us to visit him every Sunday.

We spent hours just sitting there watching it happily hopping around and growing bigger by the week and we’d sing to it – “Lay little hen; when, when, when, will you lay me an egg for my tea?”

It never did.

Children were less demanding in those days and easily pleased, and we never got under our parent’s feet because we were always outside.

No, I’ll never forget those sunny Sunday mornings in our land of lost content.

We might be still in self-isolation and keeping our distance but no-one can take our memories from us, can they?

Keep safe.