Alison's Memoir, page 3
As a child I was lucky because I had wonderful holidays. I used to go to Holton St. Mary[1] to stay with friends of my parents. They lived in a square Georgian house and there was a farm, run by a farm manager Gregori (?) who allowed me to go along with him. This is a perfect holiday for a child and I remember it with gratitude. Dressed in a scarlet red riding hood I was taken from Ipswich to Holton by carrier’s cart. This left Holton early, collecting orders from the villages he passed through, then spent the day doing his commissions in Ipswich and finally picking me up for the return journey. In those days towns had large livery stables, large enough to accommodate the carriages of the gentry who drove in for a day's shopping. The carriage drove in and stopped to put down the occupants on a raised embankment which was alongside and had a waiting room. Then the carriage drove to the back of the building where the horses were stabled. During the day parcels were delivered from the shops containing goods bought by the carriage owners. In the evening the owners re-joined the vehicles and parcels and drove home. I have vivid memories of driving back in the carrier's cart, sitting with the driver behind the horse, the oil lamps on either side lighting up the hedges. At every village women were waiting to collect their parcels from the cart. Finally arriving to these dear people and lying on a white fur rug in front of a blazing fire. Bliss.
My other holidays were spent in Dorset with my uncle and aunt[2] and these were enjoyable and I learnt to ride. They took me to Ireland to a small place on the west coast called Glenbeigh [on the South bank of Curagh Bay] where my uncle fished. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot like all the other children and was carried home on the back of an old woman with whom we had eaten potato cakes cooked on a griddle on a peat fire, and who took pity on my blistered feet.
In 1917 [aged 14] we moved to Cambridge and we went to the Perce School and led an impoverished life. But again I was saved by wonderful holidays. A very nice young man Gervas Wylde Hughes[3] [three years older than Alison] came to lodge in our house and we became friends. His parents lived in a country house in Wales and every summer they would invite me to stay. Every year they held a grouse shooting party and I used to go at 9 every morning with Gervas over the beautiful Brecon Beacon mountains. We were the only young ones there, the others middle aged. At that time I had little feeling about the beautiful birds that were shot, grouse and black cock. Now the idea appals me. At lunchtime the wives arrived in pony traps with a delicious meal, but the guns went on afterwards till the evening. It was here I suffered my first embarrassment. Gervas and I used to play chess in a corner of the room while the other guests talked. When it was getting dark I asked G to turn on a light. At this Mrs Wylde Hughes rose and in a fierce voice said "Alison, you must NEVER ask for the light to be turned on in someone else's house!" The result, dead silence and a terrific humiliation for me. I was 16 and flattened.
After leaving school after my operation I went to work in the drawing office of a tapestry factory that employed 600 men, all disabled in the war, who worked in the room where the stitchery was done. The main work was repairing old tapestry and making tapestry seats for chairs. In the drawing office designs were made to repair the old tapestry and chair seats. My lovely job was stretching canvas on to frames and then painting the design on to the canvas. This was difficult and it was some time before I was considered good enough for the design to be sent to the work rooms. At 17
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