Which came first… the chicken or the egg?

Caroline Quentin doesn’t care – they’re both magical

DEVON, JULY 1963

I shut my eyes and reminisce… Dappled light on golden straw, the early summer sun filtered through gaps in the wooden planks of the hen house, the muted clucking of six brick-red hens. My sister Hazel guiding my hand into the nesting box, teaching me how to explore the warm hollow in the straw to find a big, brown, speckled, newly laid egg. Gently cradling it in the makeshift hammock of my gingham skirt, the overwhelming sense of pride as I tentatively took my delicate treasure up the green sloping path to the back door of the house to show Uncle Mike. Aunty Sheila, boiling it for the longest three minutes of my young life. Finally, dipping ‘soldiers’ into the yolk of the finest egg ever collected.

SUFFOLK, MAY 2002

My husband Sam and I go to a battery hen rehoming farm. Hens who no longer lay an egg a day are often slaughtered. So, for the princely sum of £20, we take home four Rhode Island Reds.

Shelly, Yoko, Henrietta and Constance brought such joy to our lives. Not only did they provide us with six eggs a week, but they were hilarious! I think because until they came to us they had lived such restricted lives, laying eggs like little feathered machines in dark, crowded cages, they were thrilled to be outside. For those birds, every day was a rollercoaster of excitement and discovery. They were so friendly, too – very soon after their arrival they would let us pick them up. It’s such a privilege to hold a hen. If you haven’t tried it, I really recommend you give it a go.

TODAY

I still keep chickens. Once you’ve eaten eggs produced by ‘friends’ it’s very hard to go back to bought eggs. Of course, it’s not possible for most of us to have a hen coop, but if you ever get the chance to keep chickens, go for it – you won’t regret it.

Of course, like anyone who has had chickens, I’ve had sad times. A fox can decimate a flock in no time and hens don’t live for ever, even if they manage to avoid predators. Ralph, a magnificent Dorking Cockerel, was always in and out of the kitchen, getting under my feet, helping himself to cheese. I went to the hen house one morning; Ralph’s harem came noisily out into the run to greet me. But no Ralph. He’d died in the night. It may sound silly to anyone who hasn’t loved a rooster, but I cried all that day.

‘It’s a privilege to hold a hen – I really recommend it’

THE FUTURE

I think I’ll always keep a few hens. I love eggs, they eat the slugs that plague the veg patch and, if that’s not enough, they are funny, lovable creatures too.

Why did the chicken cross the road? Hopefully, to come and live with me!