Do you recall that an article in Looking Back a few weeks ago mentioned cinder tea? It certainly started memories going again for Mrs Joan Foster, of Jubilee house, Moor Lane.

"I was reminded of my childhood days in the 1920s when I was cared for along with my younger brother by my aunt who lived in Todd Street off School Hill," she writes. " My mother was a young widow and had to work in the mill; my wonderful Aunt Lily was a brave mother to four children of her own, but had sadly lost one child with meningitis.

"She was completely blind and had met her husband, my Uncle Arthur, at the blind school. Aunt could see until she was 16, and uncle lost his sight through a smallpox vaccine, it is believed. In those hard times, home helps were unheard of; my aunt did every chore herself and we never realised her ingenuity in coping.

"We would go round to her house when mother left for work, and she would have lit the coal fire by then. On wash day her items would be set out, with the brick boiler in the kitchen stoked up with a small shovel of cinders. The table would have a bowl of starch, a bowl of dolly blue, and the big scrubbing brush at the ready. Something like a stick was called a posser, and she also had a rubbing board.

We came home for dinner and there was always a meal ready, broth or potato hash cooked in big pan on the coal fire. At tea time when we came home my aunt would be almost finished ironing - this was done with a flat iron heated near the fire, and to make sure it was hot enough she would spit on it to hear it sizzle. Wiping it carefully on a cloth, she would complete her weary day.

"Everything would be ready for my uncle at teatime; their way to relax was the radio from the Blind association, and I recall a lady coming with a satchel containing big brail books which they read in turn to each other. I remember going to Marsden Road to the annual concert and a speech being made by a man called Joe Whittam. My aunt loved to sing about her chores and we sometimes went to the Grand Theatre on Churchgate, in the Gods of course. My cousins would guide their dear mother up all those stairs.

"I remember her joy on hearing Cavan 0 Connor who walked on stage singing 'I am only a strolling vagabond', with sacks tied round his legs but still looking like a film star. We got ticked off for relaying all this to my aunt as it interfered with the other patrons.

"We would get pasties at Walsh's shop as a reward and go home tired but happy. I loved my aunt baking in the old fire oven. Her bread was a treat, and she always made my mother a flour cake, giant size, and one with a lot of currants in for her return from the mill.

"How did she do all these difficult tasks and never grumble? I feel amazed at the things as children we took for granted. The house was only two up two down, and yet she coped so well with her husband and son as well as three daughters. She could sew, and I remember her having something called a self threader for her needles.

"Friday night was dreaded as our hair had to be washed. I hated it. We had a big bowl - I think it was the earthenware bread bowl doubling up - on the peg rug, then the hateful Shepherd's soft soap which I can smell now. It was brown, and she rubbed it in well; next, after rinsing, we were rubbed with something that reeked, called sassafras oil.

"My aunt was not going to have us sent home with nits, so we were then almost scalped with the steel tooth comb. I used to think this was a form of torture.

"If one of us had misbehaved, the next child in would receive the slap - this was justified by my dear aunt as it would make up for when she missed us. After uncle died, I used to go to Tonge cemetery with my cousins and Aunt Lily, and we went on Saturday to a cottage in Barrow Bridge for roses. They sold jugs of tea as well, this was gratefully purchased as we had walked all the way; then on Sunday afternoon after dinner etc. we walked all the way to the cemetery.

We would spend some time in reflection with my aunt, and we would be on pins in case we had missed the ice cream cart. My cousins who were workers by now would get a slider . . . the younger ones like myself and cousin Edna a cornet, or if funds permitted, a double one.

"I remember a widowed lady in Todd Street doing my mother's washing for a shilling; one of our teachers lived at the posher end of the street, and two maiden ladies who made all May Queens clothes etc. They were such a mixture those days really. We had some hard times, but some happy ones too.

"Babies were all born at home, and the doctor there only if death was near. A bad chest? We used goose grease on brown paper, and something called Carron oil for burns. Fennings fever cure was horrid .. and Friar's balsam more so ? Then there was opening medicine, and bile beans. How did we survive it all?

"Well, we did, and many of us are still here . . . and I still remember in gratitude and amazement everything that my blind aunt did for us."