Broomhill Reminiscence Group (Mr. Robbie, Mrs. Robbie, Sandy Walker, Sandy Robertson)

Feedin a faimly oot in the country wis niver a problem tae a fairmer or a fairm servant. We'd meal, ay, oatmeal that is, milk, tatties, neeps, an hame made cheese. Brakkfast wis Brose as aften as no, an fur denner ye micht hae broth. A muckle pot o broth cud feed ye for a few days. Third day's broth wis caad Resurrection Broth....It should hae bin deed bit on the third day it rose again.

At nicht, ye micht hae suppit Flannel Brose... yon wis a funcy wird fur saps. The young eens nooadays winna hae tasted saps. Saps wis jist auld breid saftened wi hett ,sweet, milk.

Whyles, ye micht hae chappit tatties an girse....nae the girse the coos ett, no, size, the herb, steered throw yer tatties. And ivery byre, near, keepit a barrel o traicle fur the beasts. So if ye felt a bittie hungry ye cud dip a daud o raw neep inno the traicle an sup yon. Thon wid gie ye a guid clean oot, as weel as bein fine tae ett. It wis a laxative, traicle ye see.

At fly time ye micht sit doon tae a flee cemetary....A flee cemetary wis the name wi gied tae a piece wi a lot o raisins in o't...raisins div look like flees fin ye think aboot it.

Fowk think we niver ett meat in the country, bit we did, ay we did. I eesed tae cairry the fairmer's gun an sheet the odd pheasant fur denner. Whyles we killt a chucken. Bit maist aften, I gied oot snarin rubbits, or catchin them wi ma futterat.

Ma futterat niver eence bit me. No, he niver eence turned his teeth on me ava. I eesed tae cairry him in ma pooch...he jist curled up inno a baa an fell asleep. He wis a broon futterat, affa good at catchin rubbits.

The best time tae takk the rubbits wi the futterat wis November.Onywye,
fitiver time o year yer catchin rubbits, fin ye come tae the warren, ye cover aa the holes wi nets tae stop the rubbits escapin. Then, ye pit the ferret in doon a hole, an wait fur the rubbits tae come fleein oot. They're feart o the futterat, ye see. He eats them. Fin the rubbits rin intae the net, ye chap them ower the heid wi a stick an kill them. Then, ye takk them hame tae the wife.

It disna dee if the futterart's ower hungry afore he gis doon the hole, because if he is, an he kills a rubbit aneth the grun, he jist lies doon wi it an eats it then an there, an likely faas asleep. Ye cud wait lang enough fur him tae come oot syne. If the futterat lies doon like that, ye've tae dig him oot, dig doon intae the burrow an haul him oot.

Efter that, they'd tae be skinned, an gutted, an stuffed wi oatmeal. There wis nae mixxie fin we war young, the rubbits warna diseased like they are noo. There wis naething finer than a rubbit fur yer denner, naething finer. Of coorse aabody eats hamburgers noo!