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Aunt Betty's Ice Cream 2004

© Pat Churchill

In the past few years I have done a lot of family history research. Some branches of the family I have managed to trace back to the 1600s. Others lead to the inevitable brick wall. Every so often a new living "cousin" pops out of the woodwork and we have a grand time exchanging photographs of our forebears and filling in details on each other's family trees.

However, at the end of the day, I have only six first cousins and the link with them is very close because, apart from one, we were in regular touch when we were growing up.

You cannot deny family ties. When you share grandparents, the links are very close and this was brought home to me at the weekend when one of my first cousins, Dale, was visiting Wellington and came round for dinner. Her mother and my father were sister and brother and we spent a lot of time together when we were children. Her parents had a farm and I spent many happy holidays there.

In the early days there was a long-drop toilet outside. Later a "real toilet" was installed inside.

There was an orchard next to the house and I remember us gathering unripe fruit and taking it down to the hayshed where we would climb up into the sweet smelling hay and try to find the sweet bits on the peaches, nectarines, plums and greengages. My memories of Christmas holidays at the farm are a mix of bellyaches from the green fruit and hives from the radishes and first strawberries. I still have vivid recall of being smothered in calamine lotion and nights of excruciating stomach cramps.

The nearest township was several miles away but occasionally we would go there so my aunt could lay in grocery supplies, or we would have a night out at the local movie house.

One of my favourite places was the dairy factory where the milk from my uncle's cows would end up. I have never again encountered such wonderful cheese - it had a real mouth grabbing sharpness that today's extra-aged mature cheese cannot match. My Aunt Betty would make berry jam and my idea of heaven was a slab of gum-tingling cheese on a doorstep of bread and butter, the top slathered with fresh jam. Coming a close second were the fried leftover potatoes topped with an egg for breakfast.

Another highlight of the farm visits was the great cache of comics Dale's brother Peter had. Batman, Superman, Archie, Disney comics... After my usual diet of Enid Blyton's boarding school tales and girls' annuals, this was pure escapism.

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