Satur­day night visit by the Win­kle Man was the high­light of Mar­garet’s week

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It was set in stone in our house on a Satur­day evening around 5pm tea time.

The Win­kle Man, as we named him, ap­peared with his horse and cart loaded with seafood, a sight to be­hold with cock­les, win­kles, oys­ters and crabs, all fresh.

You name it, he sold it. Mother would pro­vide us with a big pin to get the win­kles from the shell. Lit­tle blighters, we called them.

Mother would send one of us chil­dren to the cart to buy a pint of win­kles, that is how they were sold.

The best thing I al­ways re­mem­ber is when my dad used to put all the lit­tle black seals from the win­kle shells around his mouth, con­sid­er­ing he ate with­out den­tures. It was com­i­cal, amused us chil­dren but was frowned upon by mother. The cli­max to this grand ban­quet was prunes and cus­tard. Great mem­o­ries of yes­ter­year. Mrs MAR­GARET FINNEMORE (nee LAMBERT) Good­wood Le­ices­ter­shire

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