The year was 1955
I was 15 and 4 weeks into my first job.
We were village people whose only contribution to modern living was a washing machine and a telephone.
My new job, of which I was inordinately proud, was Office Junior for an insurance company, a 45 minute bus ride to the centre of the local town. In those days offices also opened on a Saturday morning.
I felt 'The Bees Knees" climbing aboard that bus with the grown-ups every morning.
This particular Saturday morning the Chief Clerk begrudgingly took a phone message from my Mother. I was to call at a butchers shop after leaving work to collect a parcel of dog meat she had ordered.
I finished work at midday and dutifully carried out my Mothers instructions collecting said parcel on the way to the bus stop for my return to 'the sticks'.
It was a cumbersome newspaper wrapped bundle and quite heavy. I already had a large handbag, a paper carrier bag and a brolly so it was a bit of a struggle.
The bus queue went on for ever. The notice on the bus platform stated that the bus seated 28 persons. I was one of the remaining 30 odd who squeezed themselves along the gangway all equally determined to get home.
I was squashed into what little space was left by an extremely large lady sitting in the seat to my left and hanging out halfway over the gangway.
The parcel gradually got heavier, my arms were fit to drop off. Eventually, in desperation I thought I would put the parcel into the rack above the seats. (Buses had parcel racks in those days).
No sooner the thought than the deed. I lifted my tired arms towards the rack over the large lady, the awkward package wobbled, split open, and the contents rolled down into the expansive lap of the said lady who screamed very shrilly and fainted.
I was so mortified that I fought my way up to the front of the bus, rang the bell and got off in the middle of nowhere walking the remaining five miles home.
The contents of the parcel?
Oh yes.
Three sheeps heads complete with fur, eyes and tongues.
Oh Tree of many colours,
