During the school holidays I had to drive the pony and trap round up where the Atom Station is now – wasn’t there then, nor the Aerodrome. From there to Chilton and collect the eggs ’cause each house had a few hens running round, so when the hens didn’t lay many, we didn’t get many of ’em. “The Eggs” was a great day in those days. They used to say the eggs would nearly pay the way in some places.
I finished up down at Upton, there was a railway connection there then, for Didcot or Newbury, and I had to put these eggs on board on the station. The pony was quite friendly – never acted about much – but this day I put the tailboard down (as those carts had); she was standing all right. I carried one load of eggs and she suddenly decided she’d let go – run away.
She went up the line, as it was then, and the eggs started dripping out of the back, till we got under the bridge and beyond. ‘Course, the station-master, he got on the telphone, or what connection they had in those days, to stop any train that was coming down. Anyway, the pony got tired eventually, and the station-master got scrambled eggs.