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Before the Second World War, while I was still a child, I lived with my Mother and Father on my Grandfathers farm at Lower Bevendean,' wrote Norman Allcorn, born 1932.
'When my Grandfather first took the tenancy in 1908 it was a farm of 260 acres. In time, ownership passed to Brighton Corporation and the town began to expand onto the land. Soon the houses were only one field away from the farmyard and the acreage was down to just over 100.
However my Grandfather made use of this 'market on his doorstep' by rearing 50-60 geese for Christmas. For this purpose he kept half a dozen mature geese and one very necessary gander.
Now this gander was greatly protective of his females and would chase anyone who came near with a lot of hissing and flapping. I had to be especially careful as even the blunt beak of a gander could inflict a nasty nip on the bare legs of a schoolboy in short trousers.
When the eggs were laid, some were 'set' under chickens at four eggs each. The hens were Light Sussex or Rhode Island Red. The rest were hatched in an oil-heated incubator. This was a tricky business as the temperature had to be kept just right. The paraffin container had to be kept toped up and the wick on the burner was trimmed every day.
The eggs were turned daily and for this reason a pencil cross was put on one end of each egg and a circle on the other. The humidity was controlled by the rather crude method of sprinkling some tepid water over the eggs with the fingertips.
After about a month, most of the eggs had hatched. The baby goslings were put under a hurricane lamp for warmth for the first few days. Then they were reared in coops in the orchard.
Later on, the young geese grazed the hilly field at the rear of the farm. They made quite a sight flying down at feed time. They also made a lot of mess when the weather was wet, despite the farm being on free draining chalk.
A few weeks before Christmas, the geese were brought into a cattle yard with a high fence around it. The strongest fliers had some feathers cut from one wing to stop them escaping.
Feed was put into half round galvanised or iron pig troughs. Buckets of water were tipped in the bottom and corn was floated on top for the geese to gobble up. This was their final fattening.
About a week before the big day, the killing and plucking began. This was done in a small building with a loft that had been a granary. The farm workers did this in the evenings for some extra money that was very welcome at that time of the year as wages were low.
They were Norris, the shepherd, Baldwin and Howse the carters, and my father who was herdsman. (My Grandfather, with that touch of Victorian class distinction, always called his workers by their surnames).
My father caught the geese and tied their legs together with a webbing halter. They were then suspended from a beam downstairs and their necks wrung. The big wing feathers were removed, despite a lot of involuntary flapping.
Later, the soft down was saved for pillows. The geese were then laid on the floor of the loft with their heads hanging down the stairwell as this drained the blood from the body.
Upstairs was a magical scene, especially to a small boy allowed out at night and excited by the impending festivities. An oil lamp was hung from the roof in the centre of the loft. Around the circle of light sat the pluckers on three legged milking stools or up-turned wooden beer crates.
Each had a goose across his knee and was removing feathers as fast as possible. White down was everywhere, like a snowstorm, piled in drifts behind the men and covering the floor several inches deep.
When all the geese had been plucked for that evening they were taken over to the farmhouse. There my Mother and Grandmother singed the hairs from their bodies over an oil stove or the kitchen range if it was still alight. Those that were to be trussed were sliced open along one side and the intestines and giblets removed. Most though were sold as they were as this was cheaper.
All the geese were then placed in the larder. This was a long narrow north facing room with zinc gauze at the window. This kept out the flies in summer but let air through. One side had small wooden shelves from floor to ceiling, on the other and across the end was a wide shelf of inch thick slate.
Underneath were several glazed earthenware crocks containing 'Isinglass', a preserving liquid in which were stored the surplus hens eggs from the spring for use in winter. The naked birds were laid on the cool slate slab, heads hanging down, the labels tied on the necks giving the weight, price, and who had ordered them.
Christmas Eve saw a steady stream of customers collecting their dinner for the next day. Some who had not booked their bird in advance were disappointed but we always managed to keep a good one back for ourselves.
It is not surprising that I was a teenager before I realised that most people had turkey at Christmas.'
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