Audrey and I are about the same age, fair, fat and pushing forty from the wrong side. She has five sons whose ages range from twenty-one down to nine and my five are of similar ages but a mixed bag.

Back in 1945 when Ron came back from abroad, we were married. What a day that was when his relatives met mine for the first time. My father, I remember, consoled himself over the loss of his darling daughter by imbibing too freely, holding himself very erect and making speeches liberally peppered with words like 'heretofore' and 'therewith', quite obliviously 'hamming' the part of 'mine host'. Dear darling Mother, with her flair for organising everything down to the smallest detail in her element, flitting about amongst the guests like a ministering angel. And afterwards, the slightly tearful goodbyes and the car driving me away from home to the thrilling but scared anticipation of my bridal bed.

When in 1947 our first little red crumpled bundle of humanity arrived we decided to raise a large family.

At some time or other you must have met people who say "I'd love a large family" and then set up home and produce one only, lonely child. "We couldn't stand any more sleepless nights, darling" and "Oh! the endless bottles, my poor husband got so tired" or "The baby simply ruined my health, darling." "My Doctor said ...." etc., etc. Well, by feeding my squalling infants as nature intended, some of those objections were happily overcome and now, in the year 1968, we can claim to have achieved our object. Malcolm is 21, Gay 19, Paul 18, James Frederick 14 and Hilary Jane is almost 9.

Unlike my Mother I had no 'live-in' nurse whenever I was pregnant. Ron and a capable Home Help kept everyone fed, clean and happy. Mother's nurse managed my sister Barbara and me like a Sergeant Major. I can close my eyes even now and feel her knuckle between my shoulder blades and hear her saying "Sit up straight, you don't want to grow up with a hump on your back, do you?" It's a wonder her prodding didn't of itself do some permanent damage, but I must have been a reasonably hardy specimen for I survived to face the porridge she made each morning which was always - like Daddy Bear's - too salty.

Because my young life was overshadowed by such phrases as "Speak when you are spoken to" and "Children should be seen and not heard." I vowed that my own children would be allowed freedom of speech if nothing else. Now after many years of meal-time bedlam - I begin to think my Victorian Father knew a thing or two.