Café To Café as it used to be - Jack Riegen

Does the name Twyford mean anything to you? Oh! yes! Of course, Twyford Down and the M3. But the name has much pleasanter memories for me, for I called a number of times at a fine old capital Jacobian building, Seager's House, occupied by Miss Colliss and her father. He was a retired seaman, and the memorabilia of his travels adorned their spacious living room. This was a popular bed and breakfast venue for cyclists, for one was always sure of a warm welcome. One Christmas, being at a loose end, I thought I would try a short winter tour of the West Country, so I wrote to Miss Colliss asking if she could provide supper, bed and breakfast for boxing night. She replied that she could, but she and her father would be going to the pantomime in Winchester that even, so she told me where I would find the key! I arrived about 7pm, let myself in, and found the table sumptuously laid out with Christmas goodies. All I had to do was stir the embers in the large fire-place and put on some logs.

Another popular caterer was Mrs Payne, who ran a dairy in the marketplace in Kingsclere. She was famous for her rabbit pies. I shall never forget an occasion when four of us, heading for a weekend in Wiltshire, wrote asking if she could provide Saturday lunch, - "And please may we have a rabbit pie!" We duly arrived, and so did a marvellous rabbit pie. Feeling very comfortable we sat back awaiting a pudding of some kind to round it off. What we didn't know was that to Mrs Payne that pie had only been for starters; for in came a cut off the joint and more veg. It was a full hour before we dared stagger onto our bicycles again.

Before the days of deep freezers and microwaves it wasn't easy to get a midday meal, unless you were content with bread and cheese with your beer at a pub. One day that had turned very wet I called by chance on Mrs Payne to see if she could provide lunch. No, she was sorry, she hadn't anything. I fell back on my usual recourse: "how about boiled eggs and bread and butter?" Yes she could manage that if that would do. First she lit a fire, "because it's such a miserable day." I warmed and dried out as I waited for the eggs. But no eggs came. Instead a great comb of cream potato garnished with sausages followed by rhubarb and cream.

Sometimes when my father was on a long ride and wanted to keep going he would call in at a dairy, (nearly all towns had one), and order a pint of milk with a raw egg beaten up in it. Then he would go on twenty miles or so and repeat the dose. That was before we worried about salmonella!

Names of these extra special catering establishments were passed from cyclist to cyclist. Mrs Braithewaite of Kendal was one, Mrs Popham of Lynmouth was another. I once called on Mrs Popham for tea. She dumped the crockery on the table and left me to arrange it. Then a cottage loaf ("there's more for'e if 'e wants it.") and left me to cut it. Next a large teapot, a large plate of cakes and raspberries and cream. As I paid my one/sixpence (7.5p) she gave me three apples ("just to keep you going!").

Many a Scottish farmhouse provided wonderful meals too, though I remember one dear lady glowering at my pal when he mistook the oatcake for the tea-pot stand! Happy memories!

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