DAISY Naylor is 93, but vividly remembers her childhood on a farm near Stamford Bridge. It was both a harder and a freer upbringing than children know today, and her tale of rural life early in the last century makes for fascinating reading.

We have Mrs Naylor's granddaughter Kath Bonson to thank for preserving these memories. She was always interested in Grandma Daisy's stories and, while a student, began to nag her to write them down.

Gradually, the first stories emerged, often in the most unlikely places. Mrs Naylor would grab anything to write on when inspiration struck, and one episode was immortalised on a piece of cardboard from a new shirt.

Kath, who lives in Bradford, later began to tape record conversations she and her mother had about the past. And between them they created an evocative book based on her recollections, A Country Childhood. She is now looking for a publisher. Although initially for their own family, the book contains enough social history to interest a wide market. If you can help, see the contact details below.

Daisy Irene Naylor was born in February 1911, the youngest of the six children of George Midgley and his wife Elizabeth. George was a tenant farmer on the Darley Estate, Buttercrambe, and they lived at Birks Farm, a mixed farm of about 180 acres.

In these extracts from the unpublished book A Country Childhood by Daisy Naylor, edited by Kathryn Bonson, you are instantly transported to a place of childhood adventures.

The kitchen

"Enter the kitchen by the back door and you would see the red brick floor shining in the glow from the kitchen fire. A long, oblong, deal, well scrubbed table stood under the window and a bench went behind it to facilitate seating arrangements at mealtimes.

I know that it was well scrubbed, I did it myself every Saturday and many times in between. Saturday was a day for scrubbing. Everything got scrubbed, whether it moved or not!

When we had any men living in, the men ate at that table and the ladies had a round table to themselves. Two or three wins or chairs, and a number of straight backed oak chairs completed the seating plus an odd stool or two.

A painted cupboard housed the everyday crockery, 'lowance mugs and condiments and cutlery. A large and ugly looking bin was there by necessity. It housed the flour, which was always purchased in ten-stone bags.

The flour vanished at a fine rate. Batches of bread and pastry were made twice weekly with a supply of cakes and fancies being produced on Fridays ready for the Sunday extra treats.

All cooking was done in the oven or on the open fire, and of necessity we always had a fine selection of grimy bottomed pans. As I remember, a big steamer pan constantly needed renewing because of a burnt-out bottom.

A huge frying pan with a handle over the top hung on a bar over the fire. Father was an expert cook. Saturday tea, after a weekly visit to York market, was very often cod steaks cooked in this pan. Delicious!

We sometimes had smoky flavoured tea, if the fire was not burning too well and the fumes got into the kettle."

Podgy the pony

"The oldest boys had a pony called Podgy. I only remember it as 'Old Podgy', it was pensioned off in the Big Pasture. The Big Pasture, as its name implies, was a large field of rough grazing which was at the furthest extent of the farm and bordered on one side by the river.

We often wandered down there; sometimes of necessity as we got older to make a daily check and count up the cattle which were turned out there in the summer.

To go back to Podgy, as I first remember he had one ear missing, probably torn in thorns or barbed wire. I remember asking George about it.

The conversation went like this... Me: 'Why has Old Podgy only got one ear?' George: 'Well, when horses get old they begin to fall to bits, so an ear has dropped off. P'raps the other will soon go and then maybe a leg or summat!' I believed every word of it..."

Harvest time

"A while later my next job was 'picking on the stack'.

A team of three usually worked there. No 1 on the cart was teeming unloading. No 2 - picking and tossing the sheaf to the stacker, No 3.

This was a knack in itself. A flick of the wrist to turn the sheaf in mid-air to present it to the stacker in the correct position.

Working to a steady rhythm the stack grew apace.

It always fascinated me being on the stack. It moved like something alive. Rather like trying to walk on the bouncy castle that children love so much today."

The country calendar

"The country calendar was absolutely jammed with annual events from full blown agricultural or horticultural shows, feasts, fairs, sporting events, like the hunt point-to-point meetings in the spring and the Kiplingcoates Derby.

One race I vividly remember was at Acklam Sports when I was in my teens or twenties. It was a Ladies Only Cockerel Race, though I didn't participate in it.

It went like this. The contestants were all gathered up at a starting point, then the stewards would go ten or 20 yards away and let a cockerel out of the bag. The women then set off like a pack of hounds in full cry after this cockerel. There would be a scurry of skirts, petticoats and bloomers when the first one made a dive for it and perhaps fetched up a handful of cockerel feathers, while the bird squawked off in all directions.

When it was finally caught, the bird itself was the prize to be carted home in triumph as the star attraction at a future Sunday lunch."

Anyone interested in publishing the book should contact Kath Bonson at 25 Hallowes Park Road, Callingworth, Bradford BD13 5AS, or on (01535) 272405

Updated: 10:46 Monday, March 31, 2003