The stone-floor scullery was our baking HQ,
flour on the boards, on the upper arms, on hands,
on cheeks, in nostrils, a kitchen snowstorm
with mother bedecked in apron to lead the way.
Trays of plain and fruit scones,
sponge cakes and muffins,
gingerbreads, Madeira cakes,
fruit pasties, jam rolls,
currant squares and apple tarts,
shortbread and fairy buns,
all home-made and weighing heavy
on the Sunday tea table.
Over the years all those calories
acted like dietary muggers,
so its no wonder us kids ended up
as roly-poly but happy wee buggers.