THE gate in question was at the end of a cobbled yard, and on the other side was the road that ran past Sandersons Farm and on down to the village of Hatton.

Charlie Dunston had lived at Sandersons Farm all his life, his parents having moved there soon after he was born.

On this Sunday evening at the end of December he looked out over the gate at the two farmsteads he could see, one was Shaws Farm, run by the Duncan family, the other was Rakeside, where the Batesons lived.

It was just growing dusk and as he saw lights bobbing about the Shaws Farm he thought to himself "ah that'll be the lads doing up the cattle and horses for the night."

The lads would each be carrying their own storm lamp as they moved from one building to another across the yard.

Rakeside, which was much nearer the village, was ablaze with light in contrast to Shaws, for just three weeks ago the Batesons had got the "electric" and it was still something of a novelty for them.

As Robert Bateson put it, "We hev to guarantee to pay fifty pund a year minimum, so we mun use it all we can".

Charlie listened to the sound of buckets rattling in the distance as the evening chores were being done on both farms and smiled to himself about "folks heving to use a fair bit of electric."

All his life they had been used to candles and oil lamps and he remembered how his mother had been so very particular that the wicks in the lamps for the house were trimmed every day so that, as she put it: "they didn't smoke t' place oot."

His face was wreathed in another wry smile as he remembered how, when they were lads, some folk over the Christmas period hung candles in jam jars along the front of the earth closets, the better for people to see their way in the dark after perhaps becoming a bit unsteady with the celebrations.

What he was really smiling at was his memory of the pranks that some of the lads got up to moving the candles onto trees or a barn wall with all the confusion that caused.

He remembered also another favourite pranks was to take the wheels off somebody's cart, carry them through a narrow doorway and then, after carrying the body of the cart through, assemble the cart inside the building so that next day some poor soul would scratch his head wondering how he was going to get the big cart out through the little door.

Harmless pranks, even if they were a bit of a nuisance, but world's apart from things you read about today, like attacking and robbing old people, stealing cars and so on in the towns and cities.

Charlie, along with all the other children from the village and the outlying farm, attended the village school where everyone was taught the three r's by the schoolmistress, at that time a spinster called Miss Binks.

Although she was a kindly soul, she would brook no nonsense and, when she ran the big handbell, the children had to take their places quickly or she would know the reason why.

As he looked again at the other farmsteads, Charlie noticed the smoke from the chimneys was going "plumb up" as he would say and to him that meant that tomorrow would be a fine day, the thought crossed his mind "It should be awreet fer em gittin t'weshin dry".

Just then, his wife Jane called him to supper, Charlie took a last look round at the oh so peaceful and familiar view, he shivered once and then turned and made for the warmth of the farmhouse and the welcome supper he knew Jane had ready and waiting.

Thought for the day: I'm not sure who said it, but the classic remark in the year 2000 has to be - More and more of our imports are coming from abroad.