Sometimes it was an effort to eat it all but being three healthy growing lads, we always gave it a damn good try.
Like most of the other families of the day, Sunday dinner was the highlight of our week’s meals. Not that we were ever really starving through the week, we all had enough to eat, but Sunday dinner was something special. The morning breakfast was the same as weekdays, usually fried bread or jam and bread, no cereals then and no bacon or eggs, especially in the war years.
I think everyone had a joint of beef. I remember the thick coating of fat on it which my mother drained off after cooking into an earthenware jar which when cooled we had spread onto a slice of bread. We loved it but the really tasty bit was the thick jelly gravy at the bottom that really was the best.
Then, there was the pudding, usually rice pudding made by my mam in a large enamel dish sprinkled with nutmeg on the top which formed a dark brown skin over the rice, sometimes burnt around the edges. When we all had our helpings, my brothers and I fought for the skin even scraping the burnt pudding off the sides.
At teatime, there were cakes, scones and tarts, all home baked, of course, by our mam. Sometimes it was an effort to eat it all but being three healthy growing lads, we always gave it a damn good try.