"When the busy summer time and early autumn were over, the tourist trade finished for the season, and the harvest safely gathered in once more, then came the happiest time of the year for me. I used to rush about the house on Saturday mornings to get my work done quickly and to prepare an early dinner; then the children and I would go for happy, exhilarating walks along the country lanes which were edged with the golden-brown bracken. Sometimes we went down the rough path, red with beech leaves, beside the roaring torrent, or along the old Roman road that cuts through the farm and is lost in the drive. To take this long disused track we had to climb goodness knows how many six-foot dry-stone walls until at last we found ourselves away up on the moors amid the heather and the bogs where we could watch the storm clouds blowing in from the sea; then we would hurry back to get tea for Edward and grandma, and being as hungry as hunters ourselves we thoroughly enjoyed the meal. All through the winter those Saturday afternoon excursions were eagerly planned and gave us much pleasure, no matter what the weather might be.
When Rosemary was older she stayed at home sometimes to get tea, so that the other children and I might go farther afield and take a picnic meal with us. What joyous occasions those picnics were, sitting in the shelter of a wall with the wind whistling over our heads. In the keen bracing air those sandwiches and the hot tea from the flasks were food for the gods. I think those outings will hold happy memories for all of us."
~from the book Farm Wife, by Marion Roberts (1954)