Mrs Down's Diary

Over winter they have had the run of the foldyard, scrabbled amidst the rolled barley, pinched corn out from under the noses of the bulls, and waited with the ewes for the sheep nuts to be dropped into the troughs in the yard.

No longer. As far as I was concerned, the hens were nothing but a bunch of idle, loafing, criminals.

I have waited all winter for them to start laying again and earn their keep, and as soon as they start to pop an egg or two out of their rear ends, than they have committed the worst offence known to poultry '“ scratted out the plants in the water troughs in the yard.

Or that is what I thought. The biggest trough in the yard holds a passion flower which grows up against the back wall of the old dog kennels.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette April 16