The Old Baker’s Shop in Smallthorne by Doris Machin (nee Tyler)

Dad was a miner. He worked on the coal face at Whitfield Colliery. When I was a
small child I used to meet him sometimes from work — he’d pick me up and I
can still remember the smell of coal-dust, sweat and tobacco all intermingled.
But surprise, surprise, when he had cleaned himself up, scrubbed all the coal
from under his finger-nails, he used to crochet lovely fine cloths, with intricate
butterfly patterns around the edges. He also wrote lovely, romantic poetry, but best
of all, he could cook. Not the ordinary, everyday kind of cooking, but fancy cakes
and pies. All his apple pies had fancy. professional looking edgings.

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