Molly, mum and the rhubarb man

My mum had a friend called Molly. She was a near neighbour of ours and, as a small child, I thought she was marvellous. Apart from being the fastest knitter I had ever set eyes upon, she was a real Glasgow girl. Full of fun and laughter, she always dressed with style, looked great with her slightly outrageous (for the 1950s) blonde perm, bold earrings and (shocking!) she wore an ankle chain. Molly also had a perfect house, with an immaculate kitchen, with everything in its shiny, Formica place. I adored any excuse to call in, because there were always treats in store. Don’t tell my dentist, but these were goodies such as brown paper pokes full of fudgy brown sugar, jelly cubes or sugar lumps.