The two lads (brothers) who worked for my dad lived in a small one room house (in Drybeck) with a small loft to sleep in. The floor was packed earth and a big open fire just like that was on the end wall. They had a (clockwork) spit and a "crane" a sort of small jib that you could hang a kettle or similar off that was hinged from one side whilst on the other was a simple metal box into which bread or a pie could be popped to bake. Must have been like that well into the 80s when the last one of the two of them popped their clogs. The other end of the room was a couple of stalls for a cow or a pig or two.The old ways are the best... kick the aga into touch mate. You know you want to.
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One of your peasants, standing on a box outside in all weathers turning the handle that drives the fcking big wheel, easy to replace if he suddenly stops working and a damned good thrashing doesn't fix the fault.
Have a few of your tenant serfs collecting wood from the estate forests - they can do that at night after they finish labouring in the fields all day - and you will completely sever your reliance on all the new fangled modern shit that lets you down at the drop of a hat and has no place in Cumbria anyway..
They are the two far right. Note the waistcoat on Tom, the older of the two, A youthful truxx can be seen at the headboard end. The bloke we had loaded had the gig for removing soil etc from Southport zoo. Thus Truxx mum never tired of telling guests that her rhubarb was grown in tiger shit.
Their house is now painted pink and probably has an aga.