Glemsford Station House

This range was our only source of heat (except for a log fire in the front room on Christmas Day) and means of cooking.
The ash from the fire had to be removed each morning and the fire re-lit.
My father got up very early to do this so that by my breakfast time the fire was going well and the room was warming up.
It was my brother’s weekly job to chop firewood into sticks small enough to fit the grate, which he did reluctantly.

One advantage of the range was the delicious toast we could make by holding slices of bread in front of the fire.
It cooked very quickly and tasted much better than the toast I ate in later years.
No doubt the bread we used contributed to this. It came from a baker in the village who used a woodburning oven.
My father advocated that only a woodburning oven could bake good bread, so he was delighted to find one close by.

Everyday cooking took up much of my mother’s time as she tried to stretch our wartime rations as far as possible.
We were fortunate, of course, that we had a large vegetable garden and so much fruit that my mother could preserve it for the winter by bottling it and making jam.

Our only way to light the house was by paraffin lamps, which involved another time-consuming routine for my mother.
The lamps had to be looked after in a precise way if they were to burn with a flame that gave a good light and did not fill the room with smoke.

Avoiding the latter was largely due to the correct trimming of the wick (a strip of cotton that went from the oil in the bottom of the lamp and up into the glass chimney).
The oil soaked all the way up the cotton and the end was ignited with a match. A small wheel at the side allowed the wick to be raised or lowered according to how much light was needed.
Then the glass chimney had to be cleaned thoroughly, and finally the brass base of the lamp had to be polished. I looked forward to lamp-cleaning day a lot more than my mother did!

Also, I liked the warm yellow glow that the lamps gave off. Sitting reading under one of these was a huge pleasure. Later, when we lived in a house with electric light I found it too harsh and cold and the room suddenly vast because all corners were illuminated.

First attempts by my father and brother led only to a spluttering and a trickle of water. My mother despaired of ever having water again.
But by experimentation and determination my father eventually developed the action needed to make it work effectively. It was necessary to pull up the pump handle sharply, as far as it would go, then push it down hard but very slowly and the water would gush out.

Much amusement was gained from encouraging unsuspecting relatives to use it and watch their expressions of bewilderment when their efforts yielded only a few drops.

It was only when I was older that I fully realised how much strenuous pumping must have been involved to provide the amount of water that four people needed for drinking, cooking, house cleaning, washing ourselves and our clothes and linen.

The water that the pump drew up came from a well just outside the kitchen window. The shaft was covered by a wooden trap door and I was terrified that if I stood on it accidentally it would break and I would drop to the bottom of the well.