Trying to buy a present for a two year old who already has everything, set me thinking back to my own childhood in Lincolnshire and how my secure and happy life there, coupled with a rich imagination, made up for any lack of material assets.
I was brought up in Sleaford in the 1940/50s. Sleaford at that time was a thriving little market town that had everything a child could possibly want; a busy high street, public swimming baths, a cinema, a recreation ground with maypole and a clear flowing river that wound its way through the centre of the town.
Every Monday on market day, people from the surrounding villages came into Sleaford and the market square was alive with colourful stalls of clothes and local produce. Because there was also a cattle market, stout red-faced farmers stood chatting and drinking outside the local hostelries.
We may not have had countless barbies or Game Boys but we did have freedom to roam, and almost traffic-free streets where we could play hopscotch, and bounce tennis bails up against house walls much to the displeasure of the occupants.
We were fortunate through that freedom that we knew and could safely speak to most people and the townsfolk thought nothing of chastising a child who was acting improperly.
In those days mothers were not wracking their brains as to how to occupy their children (during the long summer holidays; that was up to you). Although more was limited, there were treats, and tradition meant that each season brought its own particular pleasures. In summer there was the annual Sunday School outing to Whipsnade Zoo on a coach. In those pre-motorway days the journey took a long time and the excitement was endless. Our family holiday was usually a week in a friend's caravan on the bracing Lincolnshire Coast, and I remember running shivering from the dark, brackish water up the large expanse of beach to where my mother was waiting with a towel.
In the weeks before Christmas the house was filled with the delicious aroma of mincemeat and cakes. My mother was also famous for her coffee layer and lemon ribbon cakes, and these were made in the festive season and distributed amongst the family and friends.
My father was quite ingenious at inventing wooden board games and in the run-up to Christmas there was always some mysterious hammering taking place downstairs. My mother told us "he was just mending his shoes".
Spring-cleaning was a yearly ritual which we children disliked since everyday life was disrupted. Paintwork was scrubbed and carpets and rugs were laid over the clothesline and thoroughly beaten. Windows shone, bedrooms were tidied, and the smell of Mansion polish pervaded the house. Easter meant the first violets in the hedgerows on the way to Quarrington Church, and Autumn brought rich brown conkers and the collection of items for the Harvest Festival table.
We did live cheek by jowl with our neighbours, and obviously life wasn't always harmonious, but when only fences divided gardens, there was always someone to talk to or something going on to amuse a small child. Our garden was typical of that era, being functional with a vegetable plot, a long path surrounded by flower borders, and a tall wooden prop holding up the line of clothes billowing in the fresh air. There was an outside lavatory complete with spiders, and a coalhouse. The coalhouse roof was my refuge and could be transformed into anything I wished.
When I walk around the supermarket now and see the children begging their mothers for one of the huge collection of drinks on offer, I can still recall the excitement of hearing the White's lemonade lorry in the street, and being allowed to buy one large bottle which had to last for quite some time. Jelly and ice cream were special treats and only appeared at birthday parties.
My mother shopped daily, and the shops were all very individual with their own peculiar style. I remember the big outfitters shop which sold school uniform, with its wooden counters and fascinating little drawers containing socks, ties and handkerchiefs. The brisk dark suited manager would stand at the door and call an assistant forward as soon as a customer came in.
The co-op had marble counters and smelled of cheese, and the change travelled around the shops in pipes above our heads and fell out of a tube at the end. There was even a dolls' hospital in a side street and the little front window contained china heads and limbs of disjointed dolls.
There were few labour-saving devices, and despite preparing three good meals a day, my mother always seemed to have time to chat to neighbours and to go to the aid of an ageing relative. There were no t.v. suppers then. The family set round the table together, grace was said, and conversation was natural.
Having breakfast by a roaring coal fire is an image that will always remain with me. My mother made newspaper 'spills' to light the fire. Coal fires came at a cost, however, and it was my mother, usually the first up, who brought in the heavy buckets on icy winter mornings. A visit from the sweep was another memorable occasion. The sweep was a tiny man with a permanently sooty face who arrived pushing his bicycle containing all his brushes. My mother had to cover the furniture with sheets, and the highlight came when we would run outside to see the brush emerging from the chimney!
In the severely cold winter of 1947 I remember walking to my primary school through large banks of snow. We dried our socks, and drank our bottles of milk around the big warm stove in the classroom. My mother was always there to greet me when I came home from school. She would be listening to Victor Sylvester or "Mrs Dale's Diary". The radio played an important part in our lives, and even now the theme tunes of "Paul Temple" and "Dick Barton" can set my pulse racing.
The continuity of life in this small market town, however simple, together with a respect for the community and its traditions, has given me an important balance in today's ever changing and rather uncertain world. I am a thoroughly modern woman who has embraced the computer age with great enthusiasm. However I do feel privileged to have had such a peaceful and contented childhood and dependable loving parents in a county that still gives me so much pleasure.