I recently found a box of wooden toys, hidden away in the attic.  Memories of watching my father making them from an ordinary block of wood, came flooding back.

      ‘This wood is perfect for making toys as it doesn’t break easily and doesn’t contain harsh chemicals,’ my father told me. ‘And the great thing is they will still be around long after you have finished playing with them.’ And they are!

      I can still smell the wood my father took hours and even days to chisel and shape. He would sit at his bench and smooth the timber just as I would smooth the cat and all the while he chewed on his old pipe, probably one he had made himself.

      Sometimes he would let me have a go and sometimes it would end in tears.

      ‘You’re too heavy handed,’ he used to tell me and then he would spend hours talking about when it was once a tree. He would sit there and smooth the wood almost as if he was sorry it had been cut down.

      At the age of ten I knew the names of all the trees in the woods around us and I was taught how to respect them. I remember the story of the Wishing Tree, where people hung ribbons and rags from the branches in the hope that good luck would follow. And the World tree, with its roots in the earth and its branches stretching up to the sky, uniting them together.

       I would sit and listen, my hands tucked in my lap, as my father talked about trees. He talked about folklore and religion and how, in Burma, the Talein will pray to the tree before cutting it down and in Africa, a woodman will place a fresh sprig on the tree before raising his axe.

      These stories were told in the perfect setting of my father’s workshop, tucked away in a forest. Watching him make me a whistle or a doll from wood was like watching him perform magic!  

As a child, my mother often took me to the village jumble sale. I remember the stampede of people that crowded into the small church hall seeking a bargain. It was a frightening experience and I often hid beneath the tables which were piled high with clothes, books and bric-a-brac.

     It was those times beneath the tables, that I discovered my love of books. There were endless amounts to choose from but Enid Blyton’s famous five were my favourite. And although I was very young, I could read them quite well. By the time I was eight, I was writing adventures stories and reading them to the hoards of rabbits that lived in our barn.     Those old books are still with me and sit on the shelves at our home for waifs and strays.

     Jumble sales were once a big part of village life and still are where I live in Wales. It is a great way to raise money for charities and one can have hours of fun picking up amazing bargains.

     When people come to visit our home for waifs and strays, there is always a story to tell about many of the items that I bought at a charity shop or a jumble sale.

As a child, my father told me that the crucial bridge between infancy and maturity in non-human mammals is breastfeeding. ‘They suckle their young until they become independent!’ he said, ‘whereas, in the western world, preparation for returning to work is the most common reason for human weaning!’

     ‘Did mummy feed me like that?’ I said pointing to the newly born piglets.

     ‘She did indeed!’ he replied and although I wanted to ask more questions, I didn’t! However, I remember thinking at the time that the whole subject of animals caring for their young was fascinating.

      The shortest nursing period of any mammal belongs to the hooded seal. Although they live for about thirty years, their childhood lasts just four days. You see, these seals must give birth out of water and the only surface available to them is floating ice. The warmth from the newly born pups melts the ice and they risk being separated from their mothers. And so the perils of life on a floating ice raft are avoided by a short childhood. Clever animals!

      The longest childhood goes to the Orangtans. These youngsters will ride on their mums and sleep in her hest for seven years or until a new baby arrives on the scene. The males will then wonder off but the females will hang around to learn the art of motherhood.

           My whole life has revolved around animals, wild and tame. I drove my grandmother crazy with the sick creatures I nursed in my bedroom as a child, and now fully grown, life at our home for waifs and strays is just the same.

Something very funny happened to-day, and it will make me smile for a long time to come!

     It all began when I walked down to the village shop to post a letter. There were a few ladies talking just outside and hushed when I approached.

     ‘How’s your dear and unassuming husband?’ said one lady, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

     ‘I hear he’s also very clever!’ said another.

     ‘He’s very well,’ I replied smiling back, ‘and yes, he is very clever, very clever indeed!’ It was all very confusing! How did these women know about my kind and unassuming husband? I frowned and looked at them suspiciously. They certainly didn’t look the type to use computers, let alone know what a blog page was. I can only imagine that word had got around. After all, it is just a small village where hardly anything goes unnoticed.

     I posted my letter and entered the shop to buy some milk.

     ‘Good morning!’ said the usually shy gentleman behind the counter, who hardly ever says a word, so you can see why I looked surprised. ‘And how is your kind and unassuming husband these days?’

     I sort of half screwed up my face and nodded. ‘Very well thank you!’ I replied in a voice that didn’t quite sound like mine and quickly paid for the milk and left the shop. Thankfully the women had moved on, so no more questions. But it didn’t end there. Oh no!

     Just as I reached the gate to our home for waifs and strays, I met the postman. He smiled a huge smile and I thought he had something delightful to give to me or to tell me, but all he said was, 'how’s your kind and unassuming husband these days?’ and grinned some more and nodded like a puppet. I actually smiled and nodded like a puppet back, in disbelief! So this is why he takes so long delivering the mail, I thought.

     ‘The whole village is talking about your tales and hoping you will write about the village folk too!’ said the postman. ‘I was wondering if you will be writing about me!'

     ‘Perhaps,’ I replied as I opened the gate. ‘But you will have to wait and see.’

     So I have written about some of the people in the village, but I will have to be careful what I say! For me, this could prove quite difficult, as one or two of you already know!

For those of you who suffer from alliumphobia, look away now, as I’m about to talk about a member of the Lily family....Garlic!

     Over 5,000 years ago the Egyptian slaves downed tools when their daily ration of garlic was stopped. This was probably the first ever labour strike. They used it in cooking and for medicinal purposes. And today, nothing has changed. Garlic (or stinking rose as some call it) is still grown and used all over the globe.

      So what has garlic got that makes it so desirable? Well I do know that it contains polysulphide allicin, ajoene and adenosine and these ingredients are the key to the bulbs health benefits.

      If you rub garlic oil directly onto psoriasis (a skin condition) it will possibly bring relief. Also, by rubbing raw garlic onto athlete’s foot this will speed up the healing process.  Or try placing your feet into a bowl of garlic water. This might or might not work but it is well worth a try. And should you find yourself with a splinter, place a slice of garlic over it then cover with a plaster or bandage to help draw the offending object out!

       And for those of you that keep hens, place a clove of garlic into their drinking water to keep them healthy.

      As for myself, I use garlic in cooking and for medicinal purposes. Here is one of my favourite recipes......

Garlic Potatoes

• 500ml double cream
• 500ml milk
• 3 garlic cloves
• 8 large potatoes
• 100g cheese (optional)

Heat oven to 190C/170C fan/gas 5. Tip the cream, milk and garlic into a large saucepan and bring to a simmer. Slice the potatoes very finely, about 3-4mm, add them to the cream and simmer for 3 mins until just cooked. Gently stir to separate the potato and stop it sinking and catching on the bottom of the pan.

Remove the potatoes and place in a wide shallow ovenproof dish so that they are about 5cm in depth. Pour over the garlic infused cream (discarding the garlic) – just enough to seep through the layers and leave a little moisture on the surface. Scatter over the cheese, if using, then bake for 30 mins until the potatoes are soft and browned – increase the heat for 5 mins if not brown enough.