Ena was busy in the kitchen. Tuesday was baking day as well as wash-day and with Joyce having quinsies again, she had never stopped. To top it all, it was Margaret’s birthday in a couple of days and a large and scrumptious cake was needed.

There was a problem.

No Eggs. She’d saved a jar of raspberry Jam for the occasion and managed to put some butter by, but no eggs.

Audrey bounced into the kitchen and never stopped talking about Dad’s new bike.

“Mother, Dad says I can have a go on the waste ground at the back of Springhead” Audrey gushed.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve straightened that room and tidied up the scullery” said Ena.

“Oh Mother, it’s a 1938 Triumph Twin Speed that can get up to 90 miles per hour on a straight road” Audrey pleaded.

Ena gave one of her looks and Audrey reluctantly stomped off to fettle the Scullery. “And your Father ought to know better” Ena retorted. “He’s supposed to be bringing me some vegetables from the allotment. I’ll give him 90 miles per hour…..Crackpot!

Hmm, crackpot” she muttered. “Audrey! Quick go and tell your father that you’re going with him to the allotment and that I need a few carrots and raspberries”.  A plan was hatched and Audrey was briefed.

Ena knew that George wouldn’t let Audrey pull carrots as she got too enthusiastic and left half on them broken off in the soil. Neither was he keen on her picking raspberries as she had a tendency to check for taste every second fruit. Ena also knew that whilst George was pulling carrots, Audrey could collect the eggs.

George used to sell a few eggs on the side to make a few extra shilling and with rationing taking it’s toll and the money from selling a bit of home produce wasn’t to be sniffed at. George always brought the cracked ones home. Audrey was briefed and skipped excitedly out of the door.

Later that day, Ena sat tired but contented at the kitchen table. Margaret’s cake was in the oven, Joyce was on the mend and Audrey was pacified knowing that she was one step nearer to her motorbike ride. As Ena took a well-earned drink of tea, she couldn’t help but smile at George’s last words as he headed out of the door after dinner. “Can’t understand why them new hens are laying so many cracked eggs Ena. You can’t sell cracked eggs”. “Crackpot” chuckled Ena.

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