Fascinating, all that about wartime food substitutes. I remember the meat shortage, but I don’t remember those – my mother tried us on rabbits and (parts of) whales. Didn’t take to either. I do remember one Christmas when they splurged on a whole chicken. They got either side of the open back door and they pulled their own weight across the top to pull it apart. They had to deal with the innards, too. A decent meal, though.

I wonder if that’s the time they dressed me up as Father Christmas, red dressing-gown, cotton wool beard and all; they told my little sister (about 5 or 6) that silly old Ian had suddenly had to go to the toilet (it was at the end of the yard outside.)

When Father Christmas duly appeared, tiny Marguerite looked him up-and-down and quietly observed to her mother that he was wearing Ian’s shoes.

Never heard of Santa Claus in those days.