My mother was a small, bird-like woman, rather pretty, with dark hair and eyes, and a clear complexion, her slim girlish figure well set off by the pretty frocks, and she liked to wear on Sundays. She could sing like a lark, and at times was perfectly charming. But her temper was so uncertain that we lived in constant fear of an outbreak which often lasted several days.

My father always seemed to me one of nature's gentlemen. He had a gentle, kindly temper, was independent without being aggressive, and neither feared the rich nor despised the poor. His only weakness was his submission to my mother's temper, which grew worse with the advent of each child. She would fall into violent passions about the merest trifles and drive us all out of the house for hours; sometimes we would have to spend the night in the barn sleeping on the hay. My father seemed totally unable to combat these storms, or even to protect us. He was always the first to leave the house when they broke out, and the last to return.

The nearest school was five miles away by the shortest cut over the hill, which made daily attendance impossible… My father and uncle had taught us all to read… My uncle taught me to write and I taught the two younger ones to read and write… It was a long and difficult task as neither of them was keen on learning. My uncle bought exercise books and set lines for me to copy such as 'Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today'.

We had no dictionary, so when I came across a word I didn't understand, or could not pronounce properly, I copied it and listened attentively to the preachers at chapel, until one of them used the doubtful word… I cherished my new word as a pearl of great price. Perhaps the church parson, making his yearly round of a scattered parish, would call at the farm, and over a cup of tea would talk kindly to us children. I sometimes ventured to ask him a few questions about books, but my mother thought this was a reflection on her, and it usually earned me a beating.

The procedure was to parade the principal streets on Saturday and Sunday evenings, each sex in groups or couples, until some adventurous male would make the first advance with some fatuous remark such as 'Can I see you home, miss?' If the girls responded, this constituted a sort of introduction. The same groups would meet for several weeks and chat together before ultimately pairing off. Sometimes it all ended with nothing definite, and the groups began to parade again… I was agreeably surprised when we walked out with them to find they attempted no familiarities, beyond taking one's arm in the darkness, or a light kiss at parting. I began to feel more at ease, although most of the young men were much better educated than myself. But my very mixed reading, a good memory and a ready wit enabled me to hold my own so well indeed that I became known as 'Miss Repartee'.