Go to work on an egg
Posted: 12 Oct 2012 @ 00:34
IT WAS 1941, and Mum was 13 when her parents arrived home with a
dozen day-old chicks, in the hope of fresh eggs during the war. All
of them died, except Dickie.
Dickie was a house-hen. When Granddad sat in his chair, she
would hop up and nuzzle his hair. On cold nights, she would sit in
front of the fire and spread out her wings. But hopes of eggs never
materialised: Dickie could not lay properly. She survived the
wartime pot because she had become a much-loved pet.
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