a farm that my brother and I used to visit once a year with our parents.РWe were city kids, brought up in the middle of London, and this was a working farm-----the real thing-----with cows in cowsheds, fields with ponds and a muddy yard full of smelly pigs-----we had the run of the whole place-----it was just paradise for us.РAnd then-----there was the food-----home-made jam and bread and cakes, milk fresh from the cow. And my aunt Lottie-----a farmer’s wife-----and her husband, uncle George and their kids, Katie and Ben, our two cousins who my brother and I really got on with. It was heaven that week we used to spend there. They moved from the farm when I was… how old? ----- about 14. So I’d never been back or seen it again.РAnyway, there we were, and I’d just seen the church-----, so we
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