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up a long way, we hoped that they would be awake, not asleep under their corrugated roof, in the pig-pen in the heat of the afternoon sun. But for most times, there would be a big pig looking after the baby pigs that always seemed to be awake...did pigs really drink the water they had trod in, and eat the swill that had dropped out of their feeding tray onto the muddy floor? Well, they did...

When you looked at the view from Mr.Deely's allotment, you could see the big hospital on the hill, and the Extramural Cemetery (another favourite haunt for the kids) with panoramic views of Brighton. The bus station in Lewes Road, the Preston Barracks, Schweppes soft drink factory, Allen West, Densply's up Coombe Road, and the whole of Moulsecoomb. Views of Brighton that I remember in detail to this day.

As you progressed further up the path to the allotments, you came to the Golf Links, a beautiful land of mowed grass and sometimes, though very rarely, you would see somebody playing golf (they must be ever so rich). I will always remember the poppies, the wild daises, the cornflowers, the beautiful afternoons we spent at the allotments and in the summers of our childhood...We'd better go home, I hope mum is in..."

Amy Berry was only 14 months old when her father died. Born in 1927 she lived briefly in one of the tied cottages behind the Moulsecoomb Place manor house ("we used to call it the big house") with her mum, dad and two brothers.

"My dad worked at Moulsecoomb farm for a man called Herroit who was a `wholesale pork butcher and market gardener' and only had one arm. My dad's main job was a pigman - my mum said he loved his pigs! When they were farrowing down to have their babies he'd stay up all night with his hurricane lamp and rub their tummies. They used to go down to the big hotels in Brighton for the pig swill _ my mum used to have lots of bits of cutlery like spoons from the Queens Hotel _ stuff that used to get thrown in the pig swill bucket by mistake. He was also known as a carter and he used to take all the stuff they used to grow on the farm up to Lewes on a horse and cart. They also had cows up there _ when I was born, my mum couldn't feed me so my dad would go up every night and milk Dolly and Daisy the cow and bring the milk down for me to have in my bottle.

My dad was killing turkeys for Christmas when he cut his hand. He never went to the doctors and in January he died of pneumonia. On March 2nd my mother was given notice to get out of the cottage. She had nowhere to go and so she hung on for

   

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