Yes. Or eighteenseventies he said. Time stood still on kippofarm. By the fifties tractors and combine harvesters had arrived and become part of life elsewhere. Not that your grandparents thought so. Horses were good enough for your grandad. Anything with an engine was the work of the devil. Besides he had lots of children for free labour and that included me. For sure a threeyea-rold can be made use of. I had arrived at kippo at harvest time. In early morning we mucked out in the byre. At seven we were given porridge and then we were off to the fields. Your grandad and the older boys used scythes to mow the grass. The sisters and erik and I raked the grass and put it to dry in stooks. By the time the last of the lengths were cut and stooked the hay in the first length was ready to be piled on the waggon. Erik and I were treaders. We treaded all day. First the hay in the waggon to make it hold as much as it possibly could. Next up on the hayrick to pack it down.

It is like a children’s story about about village life I said. Still it was more of the same when I was little. Work even when everyone else went off on summer holidays.

I wouldn’t have minded if it had just meant being made to work but your grandparents believed in chastisement as they said. Your 234gran did at least. Knocking a bucket of water over was enough to get you a beating. Mostly being there was quite enough.

At home I had never been hit. But the first day in their house I got thrashed. I was hungry. Had nothing to eat since breakfast. When everyone sat down at the kitchen table I realised there was no place for me. I stood and watched the family eat. Nobody seemed to notice me. In the end I steeled myself. Went to your gran. Patted her arm and asked if I could have something to eat.

She twitched her arm back as if bitten by vermin.

I hear the wee hare is hungery. But has he earned his keep then she said. Grabbed the hair behind my ear and pulled me up off my feet. Now the rest of us have worked but for all I know he’s been sitting on the floor picking at his scabs.

Still gripping my hair she marched me to the door and opened it. Hit me on the head so hard I fell out on the veranda. She slammed the door shut behind me.

I stayed outside until nighttime. Chewed on woodsorrel and firtree shoots. At bedtime our erik came out and called me. Weehare he shouted. Weehare come and you’ll get a carrot to gnaw on.

Seems he was born a swine I said.