Posted by murrisk on March 02, 2001 at 01:00:01:
In Reply to: "The Valley of the Squinting Windows" posted by Butch on March 02, 2001 at 00:11:47:
Great stuff Butch. Clearly you were slain by the slane - brest slane or foot slane - and footing the turf? My mother used to bake wonderful bread in a black pot like you described, hanging on a crook over the fire with coals on the lid to give an even temperature. It was great to get home early from school and get a slice of freshly baked brown bread with homemade butter (churned at home) and homemade blackcurrant jam and a steaming mug of tea. From time to time I would be told to bring home a fresh loaf of white bread from Lavelles bakery. After the first mile the ocras would set in and I'd start to eat the loaf starting with small picks. By the time I'd get home there would be a tunnel into the loaf as the white soft interior was always more succulent that the crust. However, at the end of the road was an upset and angry mother and all too frequently a switch. Memories memories...
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