Well you have had lots of facts, here's some fiction !!!!........................

A short story by Alan Higgs

LIKE FATHER LIKE SON

Chapter 1

THE CHICKS

The year was 1910 and I was a seven years old boy by the name of William. I lived just outside of Bradford with my Mum, Dad and my older sister Amy, aged nine, in a small house with a nice big garden. One weekend in April, when we were out shopping, Dad found an old copy of a book about chickens written by a Mr Lewis Wright in a second-hand shop and bought it for 2s-6d. When we got home my sister and I just loved looking at the bright coloured pictures in the book; the beautiful birds and their lovely plumage.

Dad used to like the Modern Game Bantams and he said he would not mind keeping some of them in our garden. "Goody, goody," We exclaimed, "When can we get them Dad?" Mother overheard us and said, "Make sure you look after them because I've more than enough to do without having to feed chickens!". Dad explained he had learnt something of this breed and the art of showing them from a friend of his and it would not be easy to acquire good birds unless you had lots of money, but money was short.

We pestered Dad who eventually made some enquiries of his good friend, Fred, and one weekend Dad and Fred set off to see someone who might help. It turned out he was very lucky, Fred took him to see one of the top breeders, a Mr. Dan Clayton at Box Tree Mill, Bradford. Apparently Mr Clayton was retiring shortly and selling his stock which was beyond the price Dad could afford, but on this occasion he let Dad buy two dozen hatching eggs at a reasonable price. Mr Clayton said, "I've never sold hatching eggs before but as I'm retiring I'll break my rules".

Dad returned carrying these eggs as if they were the Crown Jewels and related this story of his good luck. Fred said, "Don't count your chickens till hatched!" and went home to fetch his incubator. What a contraption this was, an old Hearson's Model, a big box, all rods and levers containing a paraffin heater. Fred set this up on a table in the corner of the kitchen and showed Dad how to regulate the heat, read the thermometer and how to turn the eggs. Mother was not too pleased with this contraption in her kitchen, but Dad said, "These eggs are far too valuable to have them anywhere else other than where we can keep an eye on them". The next day when Dad was sure the temperature was stable, he put the eggs in and I am sure his hands were trembling with excitement at this stage. My sister and I also shared this excitement and I think even Mum was getting carried along with events by now.

We all watched those eggs like hawks for 20 days. Fred used to come round regularly now and showed Dad how to shine a light through them. They threw away five eggs away after a week because they said they were infertile. Us kids were not allowed to touch anything and sensing the importance of the occasion and the complexity of the incubator, we strictly obeyed for once, but we could not help looking and looking for those 20 days becoming more excited as each day went by. Eventually, on the nineteenth day we could hear a quiet "cheep, cheep" occasionally, and you can imagine the excitement of the whole family. Even Mum was as excited as anyone after having this palaver in her kitchen for so long. "Must not open it yet," said Dad, "Because you have to keep up the humidity at this stage"

The next morning we could hear lots of activity coming from the machine and Dad said we would be able to open it that evening. We could hardly wait! When Dad arrived home from work Amy and I were standing by to witness the event. "Eat your dinner first," Mum said to Dad, and our agony of waiting continued. At last Dad opened the door and we saw quite a mess! A mass of broken shells, but surrounded by the most perfectly formed little, black chicks you have ever seen, but some were very bedraggled. Fred had arrived by now and said, "We cannot take them out yet as some are not dry and a few are still breaking out". So all the old broken shells were removed and the incubator was closed again until the following day. We suggested they might die and need feeding but Fred explained that they have sufficient food from the egg yolk absorbed in their stomachs to last them 24 hours. Luckily Dad had Mum's support by now because I asked "Where are we going to keep them tomorrow?" Dad replied, "In the front room".

We had a kitchen range, always burning in a fireplace and behind this was the front room fireplace and the warmth was carried through the wall, so that evening we helped Dad remove the grate. We stuffed the chimney with old hessian sacks to stop the draught coming down and with the fireguard in position it became a little warm cage. Dad explained to us that these bantam chicks would be able to do everything for themselves except keep themselves warm. I remember thinking how clever this was because we had studied blackbirds and thrushes in our garden and their babies could do nothing for themselves and the parents had to feed them for three weeks even when they first flew to the lawn.

The next evening to be sure we were just dying to open the incubator again and even Dad could not wait to eat his dinner. First of all, Dad filled two hot water bottles and placed them in the front room fireplace. He told us the chicks will need these night and day for warmth for about two weeks. Then we opened the incubator and saw these pretty small black chicks properly for the first time. They were startled and frightened at first and it must have been a shock for them to be exposed to the light and have our large hands sweeping down to pick them up. There were fifteen chicks in all as four eggs had not hatched. We thought they looked pretty yesterday, but today they were even more adorable and so appealing. We put them in Mum's wicker basket covered them with a tea towel, and took them in the front room to their new warm house in the fireplace. We could not take our eyes off these chicks and Dad said, "You watch them whilst I eat my dinner". Mum said "Your dinner is all dried up now" but we do not think Dad minded what he ate at this stage of the proceedings. After dinner Dad boiled some eggs, mashed them up and put just a little in for the chicks. Amy and I laughed and I said, "It's as though they are eating chicken for their first meal".

It was amazing to see these birds just slowly start pecking this up and it seemed like a miracle to us kids that such wee creatures could feed themselves at a day old. That evening Dad changed the hot water bottles, turned off the gas lights and we all went to bed late that night. The next morning Amy and I have never got out of bed so quick to rush down and see the Bantams. Dad had already refilled the hot water bottles and the fireplace was a hive of activity. The tiny chicks were all pecking and some were even scratching with their legs. We watched them until it was time to go to school and when we got there we excitedly told our friends that we now had fifteen baby chicks.

The next day was Saturday and it started with a calamity. One of the chicks was upended in the drinking pot water and had drowned. Fred came round and told us to put some pebbles in the drinking water and was sorry he had not warned us. That poor little, bedraggled body fitted into a matchbox as a make do coffin. Amy and I dug a little grave in the garden, buried it and poked in a little cross which we had made from lolly sticks and string. We realised we had a big responsibility to look after the tiny chicks and we felt we were responsible for the death, but Dad reassured us we could never have anticipated the chick drowning. When we had put stones in the pot we could see how the chicks scampered over them and would no longer be able to drown. Later that morning, Dad told us to try and forget about the incident and took us shopping which helped us take our minds off it. Firstly we went to the corn merchants and bought 7lb of meal, then we went to the ironmongers where Dad bought some wire netting, nails, screws, tee hinges and creosote. "We've got work to do now," said Dad, "We must build a proper house for those Banties".

From then on the weekend was a hive of activity and we soon forgot about the untimely death. We helped Dad by sitting on the long ends of the wooden planks while he sawed them and we fetched, carried and held things in place while he nailed them together. Dad was clever with his hands and by the end of Sunday he had made a little sleeping house which would eventually contain the penning room complete with a little "pop" hole so that the Bantams could get out to an outside run. It looked finished to us, but Dad said, "Next weekend we'll put the felt on the roof, fit some guttering, install the perches, nest boxes and then we have to creosote the whole thing". Mum was amazed at the speed Dad had worked and remarked, "I'll remember this the next time I want a job done around the house". I think Dad was generally a little slow at doing jobs for Mum. It was amazing how those chicks grew! We fed them titbits from the table like mashed potatoes, lettuce and bread soaked in water. They soon learnt that our hands were friendly and came running to us at all times. After one week their little wing feathers had grown and by the second week they could jump about and fly a little. At this stage Dad gave them the hot water bottles at night because the heat from the kitchen range was sufficient during the daytime. Fred explained that their wings developed first so they could escape from enemies and also keep their bodies covered to keep warm.

Chapter 2

THE SHOWS

It was now June and time to move the chicks outside on their own. Mum was pleased, since she always said, "My front room smells like a chicken house". As soon as we let them have access to all that space they were slow to move at first, but by the end of the day they were running about and then posturing at each other and then randomly running again. Dad said, "They look like children playing". Fred said, "They are shaping up at each other," and explained these are game fowl and this stance is heredity from their great ancestors, the fighting fowl of yesteryear".

It was a lovely summer and we spent many hours with Dad just watching those Modern Game bantams develop. They became so tame, jumping onto your shoulders, onto your head, or into your arms when you went into their house. At the end of the summer Fred came round with some collapsible cages and told us these were show pens. He had bought them second-hand very cheap and we had to help Dad wire brush them in order to remove the rust. We erected the cages on a low shelf and then started to take the birds one by one to train them to be used to the pens and reach up for food. Dad told us that if we fed them titbits whilst he was at work to always hold the food so that the birds would have to reach up to eat. He explained that when we showed these birds we wanted them to stand tall when the judge approached".

One evening after we had gone to bed Fred came round to dub the cockerels, and in the morning when we saw them we were amazed at the transformation. They were none the worse for their operation and all eating heartily, but the cockerels now looked exactly like the birds in that great big book we had indoors written by Mr Lewis Wright. In fact, the birds were just six months old and their plumage just seemed to really blossom; they looked so beautiful and the cockerels were strutting about like little dandies.

That autumn Dad started showing the birds. He acquired some old wicker baskets and asked Mum to sow in some stiff, linen compartments; each compartment having its own lid so the birds could not escape when the main lid was opened. Mum agreed to do it but only if Dad would finally fix the kitchen sink waste which regularly blocked up. Dad had been really lax at doing jobs for Mum since we had the birds. However the baskets were finished so the birds were certainly going to travel in style and comfort. Alas, we were not able to go to Dad's first show because he was determined to go with Fred. He agreed we could go when he had been himself and became accustomed to the procedures.

However we were able to help him get the birds ready. It was a week before the show and Fred came round for "bath night". They selected six good birds and poor Mum's kitchen was in disarray again. The kettles and saucepans were on the gas stove and another on the kitchen range. The sink was filled with the first wash and we filled two galvanised tubs with successive rinses. The birds were brought in one by one and went through the process. A soap flake wash in the sink, with an old toothbrush to carefully scrub across and gently under the leg scales. Dad did the main wash whilst I supported their legs so that Dad could scrub the legs and feet easily. Fred was doing the rinses. Amy was doing the drying in towels and Mum was doing her nut! Dad instructed Amy to rub the feathers along the line in which they grew in and also the tail along its line so that "nowt" was damaged. By this time Mum, aghast at the mess, decided to clear off out saying, "You'd better have cleared this lot up by the time I get back" Dad had the fire alight in the front room and had put some old newspapers down. He also had Mum's clothes horse with a sheet on it. Those birds did look funny after their bath. Amy and I just roared with laughing at each one wrapped in a towel with only its head poking out. Dad had some canary seed and they still managed to peck this up, wrapped in a towel, so they could not have felt too bad about it all.

They were all taken in the front room, placed in front of the fire, with the clothes horse behind them to stop them escaping. They just loved the fire and they were all looking very comfortable. Amy and I lay on the floor and watched them around the side of the clothes horse. The birds began to preen themselves, spreading their wings in the warmth. Eventually when we had to go to bed, Dad explained he would put them outside in their show cages but not until they were completely dry, if you put them outside whilst still damp they could die of cold. The following week we helped prepare the six chosen birds. We let them run loose on the lawn when we came home from school so they could eat the grass. They had extra rations of canary seed, a little bread and milk and chopped up meat for extra protein. Dad had bought a judging stick which we were allowed to put in the cages to get them completely used to it. I remember how they really shone with colour in the pen, although basically black and lemon, they had an iridescent green shine to their plumage which Dad called "beetle green sheen" because it shone like the backs of the big beetles we used to find under the dustbin.

Early on Saturday morning Dad and Fred carefully put the birds in their hamper and departed for the show. We could barely wait for them to get home. At the end of the day Dad arrived with a big smile on his face. He had won a First, Second and Fourth with the three females and Second and Fourth with the cockerels, one not being placed. He was over the moon, he placed the rosettes along the mantelpiece in the front room. Mum was pleased for him and suggested we all went to the next show as a family because Dad had now had some experience. "Yippee!" we exclaimed. We could hardly stop gazing at the rosettes, especially the red one. The following day, Dad explained that the judge was very pleasant and had spoken to him in the afternoon. The judge had liked the female winner but the cockerels were "long in the back" and "overlaced". We went into the penning room with Dad and he took out the birds and showed us the good points and the bad points.

That evening we got out Mr Wright's big book again and read some more about the Brown Reds and the "Standard" and we began to understand what it was all about. Dad said the judge told me, "Your birds are very fit and well put down" "Surely you put the birds up into the show pens, not down.?" I asked. Dad explained this peculiar phrase to us and said this was a compliment to us for helping prepare the birds and getting them fit and conditioned.

From then on we went to shows as a family and we also started sending our birds to shows by rail. In this way we managed to exhibit at bigger and better shows. This was very exciting because we took them to the railway station first thing in the morning in their hamper, away they went for the day to places as far away as Birmingham, very often arriving back home at by 7 o'clock the same evening. It was then even more exciting to discover red cards and prize money inside the lid of the hamper. We could never afford to go to such places ourselves, but Father was making quite a name for himself and the rosettes had to be relegated to the penning room because they became too numerous for the mantelpiece.

Fred visited frequently and Amy and I soon learnt about lift, type, style, cushion, keel, coarseness, fineness, stilt legs, duckfooted, squirrel tailed, shaftiness, etc. All fancier's terms. Very soon February was upon us and the shows were nearly finished. Fred suggested to Dad, "You'll soon have to work out your breeding pens, Arnold". "This is where the real science comes in". Dad had already given this some thought because he had already purchased a new stud cockerel that was really short in the back and real black-eyed. Dad hoped to improve his male birds because all season his females had consistently taken the top honours at the shows. Luckily, we had plenty of room in the garden to build more pens and I was becoming experienced at assisting in this process.

We decided to make a completely new penning room, the old one being turned over to breeding pens. Dad split his birds into one "cock breeding pen" and two "pullet breeding pens". When I first heard this I wondered how they just breed males and females from these pens respectively. Dad explained, they would all breed both sexes, but from the former only the cocks would be of show quality, and from the latter just the pullets would be show quality. The opposite sex birds bred would be good for further line breeding. "But we are breeding bantams Dad", I said, "not lines". Dad explained line breeding was mating Father to Daughter or Granddaughter, and likewise Mother to Son or Grandson. Again that evening Mr Wright's big book came out and we referred to suggested breeding patterns. We had an excellent breeding season. Mum was pleased with the new sheds and her kitchen was clear because the incubators were outside and

Dad had purchased some second-hand paraffin operated brooders. Dad bred 85 Brown Red chicks during the year 1913 and it was just as fascinating and exciting as the previous year. When you have not seen a new born chick for a year you cannot but help marvel at nature and the control mankind has in the making of Poultry going back to 3000 BC.

We all worked hard rearing those birds and went through the same selection and conditioning as the previous year, but this year Dad was able to sell some surplus stock, and some of the folk who came to our house to buy birds were most distinguished. People came in fancy motor cars and did not seem to mind that we were poor. Mum made tea for them and she was surprised at Dad's notoriety. The visitors did not take much notice of the tea and cakes. They were just waiting for Father to let them loose in the penning room.

Dad told us most of these folk were die-hard fanciers and many were competitors at the big shows. Dad sold about thirty birds and it must have paid handsomely because he treated us all. The show season began and we did quite well. We won some and lost some and Dad explained that it was only the judge's opinion on the day.

That year in December he had entered the big Bradford Show and he asked me and Amy to do a really good job for him and pay particular attention to the training two weeks before the show. We remembered our drill and really worked hard with those birds after school every day before Dad got home from work.

On the day of the show we all went as a family. There were nearly 300 Modern Bantams on show and we won both the male and female classes for Brown Reds. We were absolutely delighted and then watched as the judges deliberated to choose the best Modern Game. Dad nudged me and said "We are in with a chance, they keep looking at my pullet". The judges went to Dad's pullet, they had placed it in a special row with the Duckwing male and Black Red female. Back and forth they went, removing the birds from their cages, popping them back in again. Then they would run the judges stick over them again.

We were becoming anxious…Then we heard them say "The Brown Red has just got it." We danced and hugged each other with amazement "We've won, we've won!" I shouted gleefully and we noticed onlookers smiling at our antics, but we just could not help but be happy, We felt ecstatic!. Not only had that little pullet won, but she went on to become the Supreme Champion of the show.

Mum and Dad were ever so proud and we were too. At the trophy presentation Dad had to go up and everybody applauded as he had won cup after cup. He won a cup for the Best Brown Red, Best Modern Game, Best Hardfeather, Best 1913 bred, and Supreme Champion.

However the one we looked at in awe was the Dan Clayton Trophy for the Best Modern. It was an enormous trophy, nearly as big as I was, with a base, pedestal and fluted column, surmounted by a cherub with wings blowing his horn to the sky. The base was inset with an enamelled portrait of Dan Clayton himself. Dad said it must be worth an absolute fortune because it was made from solid silver and he showed me the little lion impressed in it to prove it was solid silver.

When we eventually arrived home we were exhausted. But Mum packed away her ornaments from on top of the sideboard in the front room and there displayed all the silverware Dad had won.

I could not help keep glancing at it and on the Monday I brought my two friends home from school to show them what we had won. They were completely dumbstruck gazing up at that Dan Clayton trophy which glittered and towered up to the ceiling. "We have the best Modern Game in England" I exclaimed proudly. Time marched on and we continued to do well with the birds.

Dad was very well respected everywhere he went and people wondered how he was so successful? Dad pointed at me and Amy and responded, "What you need is two good helpers like I have to tend your birds whilst you are at work, to train them and feed them," and he turned to Mum, "Not forgetting a good wife who loses her kitchen at bantam bath night," and he gave Mum a cuddle.

Chapter 3

THE WAR YEARS

The next year changed everything, we were at war with Germany and Dad volunteered to go. He was very cheerful about it and said, "At least I know I can leave Mother and the bantams in the capable hands of my two children". By now Amy was thirteen and I was nearly eleven.

We said we would look after Mum and I said I would make sure the bantams were properly cared for. It was very sad but all around us men were going off to war. We really struggled after Dad's departure. The days were long and the work was hard, but we were determined to make it, and I was determined to keep the bantams going. We had to eat the culls and most of the eggs went for the table instead of breeding because food was scarce, but I did mange to master the incubators and breed a few birds to keep the strain going.

We wrote regularly to Dad but as the war got worse the messages took longer and longer to get through. Dad wrote back and told us the thought of his family and his beloved bantams kept him going. The poultry shows had stopped and all the wheat in the country went to feed the nation so the bantams rations were cut too.

We managed to buy bran and mother used to boil up all the potato scrapings, carrot scrapings, old bones, in fact anything edible. It used to smell absolutely horrible, but when mixed with bran became the bantam's staple diet, and the birds grew to love it actually. In the winter we served it warm and on a cold winter's morning they used to gobble it down with relish. A hot breakfast certainly seemed to go down well with them.

Then came that dreadful day when the telegram arrived on a Saturday morning. Mother knew this is how folks were notified of bad news so we all sat down together to read it. "We regret to inform you, Corporal Arnold Watkins had been killed in active service near the Somme"……….. We could no further, we all just clung to each other crying and sobbing. "We will look after you Mum" we said. It was so terrible, the neighbours were so good, the local priest also came to console us, but we had a dreadful time.

But with livestock life had to go on! The bantams still needed feeding and watering twice a day and they could not understand this awful war. In fact the work we did was our salvation in grief. We turned the whole garden over to vegetable production for food and Amy had a job at the local munitions factory to help make ends meet. I was only fourteen, still at school, but worked a long day with the chickens and vegetable produce in the garden.

At harvest time we managed to go on family picnics in the nearby countryside one of our few pleasures. A family picnic! But so was gleaning wheat and barley seeds for chicken food at the same time, after the fields had been cropped. It was such a hard life!

One summer afternoon a year later, I was working in the garden after school, when a gentleman arrived who introduced himself to Mother as Mr. Smith. He walked in with a stick and a bad limp and went into the house where Mother made him some tea.

Amy arrived home from work and Mother called us both into the house to meet Mr Smith. Mother explained Mr Smith was from Halifax, had been with Father when he was killed and they had been best mates. Mr Smith had been severely injured and this is why he had not been in contact with us earlier. He had been in a military hospital, but would never walk properly again, so had been discharged from the army. Mr Smith had some more tea and related some lovely tales about Father, how good he had been at keeping morale up in the Corps and how Father had told so many tales about these bantams of his. "The best Modern Game in England!" your Dad used to call them.

He then related that during his convalescence he could not stop thinking about these bantams and as he could not work because of his injuries, he considered getting some to keep him occupied. He reckoned he could look after them in spite of his disability. "Your Dad absolutely sold me on them", he said. Then he dropped the thunderbolt, "Would you sell them to me? I can pay handsomely." My head started to spin, It seemed like my world was ending.

We took Mr. Smith out to see the birds, there were twenty five left, five cocks and cockerels, and twenty hens and pullets. We left Mr Smith with the birds and went indoors together. Mother knew I was stunned and shell-shocked at the thought of the bantams going, but she said, "Soon you'll have exams William, education and work to think of. Amy and I couldn't cope with the birds alone. We could really do with the money Mr Smith is offering" I realised then that I was striving to maintain the birds for Fatherand there was a final sad realisation that he was not coming back home.

And I had to work for a better education in order to get good jobs to provide for Mother. They had become my beloved, I loved those bantams and I loved my family too and this was my growing up time. Sad as it was for me, The Modern Game were sold to Mr Smith.

How I missed those birds, I would not admit it to Mother, but the first night I just cried myself to sleep. I still got up early every morning and worked so hard to take down the chicken houses to make way for more vegetables, but with no cockerels crowing, no satisfied hens clucking when they laid an egg; even the neighbours said the silence was eerie in the mornings and it did not seem normal. I still used to look longingly at Mr Wright's big book and that was how I coped.

Chapter 4

ADULTHOOD

The year was now 1919 and I had done pretty well in my exams, and had a good job training in the local mill sales office. Amy had got married and lived in the next village. I had a girl friend whose name was Maisie and Mother had a companion called Albert who used to take her on outings to whist drives and socials.

Although the war was over times were still hard, but we all used to meet up on highdays and holidays. Amy and her husband used to visit and we made a lot of our own fun. Mum had acquired an old piano with brass candlesticks on it; someone had chucked it out! Mum became quite proficient and we all used to all sing around the piano.

Albert was a really nice gentleman and it was lovely to see Mum having some fun again but I still used to look at Mr Wright's poultry book now and again. Things slowly got back to normal as the years rolled by after the war.

For me they really improved because I married Maisie and we soon found ourselves with two lovely children. I was promoted at work to Assistant Sales Manager. Mum eventually married Albert and he turned out to be very comfortably off. We were delighted that Mother was so happy again. After what she had been through in the war she deserved some new-found happiness. We still all lived close to each other, so Mum saw her grandchildren very regularly.

In 1930, I was doing quite a bit of travelling for my job and one week I had to go and stay the night away in Halifax. I waved goodbye to Maisie and the children saying, "It won't take long. See you tomorrow night." I travelled by train and the gentleman with whom I was conducting the business turned out to be a very nice chap, about the same age as myself, by the name of Samuel Smith. We got on well and almost concluded the business on the first day.

Samuel mentioned he was married, so I asked if he and his good lady would care to join me at my hotel that evening for a meal together. He said that he had to check with his wife that evening and telephone the hotel early if it was possible to join me. He explained that he had to get a baby sitter and his recently widowed Mother would probably help.

Later that day Samuel confirmed they would be delighted to join me at 7.30 pm for a meal. We enjoyed our meal and Samuel explained to me that his Father had only recently died, so it was good for his Mother to do some baby sitting. She really loved the children and it helped her to keep busy.

Samuel went on to say, "My father was only fifty and he was wounded in the war. Put him in an early grave really. I still have to get rid of Father's bantams though!"

I froze in my chair and I could feel the hairs on my neck standing out. I dared hardly ask the next question. I just became speechless. "Are you all right", asked Samuel. "You look as if you've seen a ghost." I managed to stutter, "Are they Modern Game?" "Yes," replied Samuel, "How ever did you know? They were my Dad's pride and joy, the bantams kept him going for years and he lived for them. We have to find a good home for them now." "You've found it," I blurted out.

Then I related the whole story of how his Father had been wounded when mine was killed, how they had been buddies in the War and how his Father had come to us thirteen years ago to buy the birds from my Mother. We could hardly believe the coincidence and talked the rest of the evening.

I agreed I would take the birds there and then the following day, but I must recompense his Mother for them. We agreed to conclude our business by lunch time giving me time to sort them out before leaving.

That night I could not sleep, not unhappily though. I just thought of those Modern Game. My whole childhood flashed before me; looking at Lewis Wright's book, the first hatchings, the first shows, Father winning the Dan Clayton Trophy, the chaos when we bathed the birds in Mum's kitchen, Dad's achievements, how I shared it all and all the wonderful years.

I eventually succumbed to a very deep and satisfying sleep. Well, it was a good job the business was almost concluded the previous day, I floated through the morning, just one thing in mind, to get to Samuel's Mother's house as soon as possible.

We finished work at 11am and afterwards Samuel found some stout cardboard boxes, string and shredded paper. Samuel had related everything to his Mum the previous evening and he seemed as excited as I was. I could hardly eat so lunch was skipped and we went direct to Samuel's Mothers house. I expressed my condolences to Samuel's Mother at her recent loss, and she said, "Samuel told me last night, I'm so glad the bantams are going to a good home. My late husband talked about your Father and the war many times," She went on to relate how the banties had been her late husbands pride and joy.

She explained he never took them far to show them because of his disablement, but he had had some excellent winnings with them and they had certainly given her late husband a new lease of life. He loved them so much.

I went down to the chicken house gripped with fear, anticipation, anxiety! Well even panic! Thoughts flashed through my mind. Would I know how to handle them?. Would the strain be preserved? What was I doing? My whole life went through my mind. I need not have worried as I entered the pen and quick as a flash I saw: two cockerels, three cocks, eight hens, six pullets. They had lost a bit of eye colour, a few slate legs which could have been age? There was good lift on that pullet, real short back that one…they were brilliant.

We packed them in the four cardboard boxes using the shredded paper as litter and I insisted in settling the account and vowed we would keep in touch. I clambered into Samuel's Austin 7, and off we went to the railway station, homeward bound. Instead of walking from the station, I took a taxi home with the boxes, and it was only then when I thought, Goodness! what have I done?.

Maisie had never seen a live chicken to my knowledge! I looked down at my best business suit and it was in a right state, dust and dirt everywhere. I had no housing and no chicken food. I was gripped again by fear and trepidation! What on earth had I done? It was tea time by now and Maisie and the children were in the garden when they saw me arrive in the taxi and haul out the four boxes.

The children ran to greet me, "Daddy, Daddy" they exclaimed, "Have you brought us presents?" I answered "Sort of!" Maisie looked aghast at the mess I was in. "Whatever have you been up to?"

Well I need not have worried, once the whole story was related, Maisie was brilliant about it all. She told the children, "It will do you good to help look after the chickens", adding, "William, you work so hard at your career, a hobby at home will do you good as well". The birds were temporarily housed in the shed until all my old skills were put to work constructing new housing.

Fortunately I had not forgotten and we worked several weekends constructing housing, runs and a penning room. The whole family all met on Sunday after the work was finished. Mum and Albert, Amy, her husband and three children.

What a grand day we all had. Everyone admired my aviaries and those Modern Game. The birds seemed to know they were on display because they really showed themselves off. The cockerels strutting their stuff like little dandies. Amy's husband said he would love some himself. "Just wait till I get breeding again and I will fix you up", I replied.

That night when all the guests were gone. I thanked Maisie and gave her a hug. "Hang on", I said. I went upstairs to the bottom of the wardrobe and got out Lewis Wright's book of poultry. I came down and presented it to my children. "This belonged to your Grandfather who was killed in the war. You are old enough to take care of it now".

They looked at the huge book in awe their eyes opening wide with amazement as they saw the wonderful illustrations. "Thanks Dad, we'll take good care of it!" they replied. What a wonderful day it had been and my family seemed complete again with those Modern Game back home………