All my school days were spent in the shadow of the Great War (WW1 as it's now known) or shortly after, but living in the country with chickens at the end of the garden, a pig in the sty, rabbits for the taking in the fields and a large vegetable garden, we certainly knew no shortage of food.

A large stockpot was always on the back of the kitchen range and a bowl of soup was always available.

At school, once a week, we girls were escorted to the grammar school for cooking lessons. It may have been the fact that the ingredients needed were sometimes in short supply or it may have been the fact that I did not really like cooking, but I never seemed to be able to make anything of use!

Therein lies the tale of the Lentil soup, the memory of which has remained with me all my years as the worst dish I ever made.

On this day, when we arrived the teacher said we were to make Lentil Soup. As far as I remember, we had to cook the lentils then put them through a sieve, and then we had to add something called a 'Jarvis cube', which to me looked and smelt something like cattle cake. Anyway, whatever it was it resembled a nasty pale brown lump. We then seasoned the mix and finally at the end of cooking we added grated potato.

At midday we were allowed to buy what we had made for 1/2d, so bowl in hand I went to my Aunt Lizzie who lived near the school.

When I arrived Aunt Lizzie smelt it and asked whatever the mess was supposed to be? In my best but meekest voice I said 'Lentil Soup'. She put some in a bowl and said to me, well, you made it; you eat it if you like it!

Again I sniffed and muttered 'what rubbish' but I felt obliged to put my spoon in and taste – Ugh, it was horrid as I quickly pushed it away and had my proper cooked dinner. While I was eating this Uncle Jim came in from the farm across the way.

With a grin on his cosy face he sat down and looked at me and finally said 'well - where is it', what have you made, I'm hungry. Aunty Lizzie put the bowl down in front of him. I saw a puzzled look on his face but eventually he put his spoon into the bowl.

Fascinated, I watched a look of horror cross his face. Bravely he swallowed, his Adams apple going noticeably up and down. He put the spoon down and said 'what did you say this is?' as he reached down for the dogs bowl. 'Come on Bess and into the dogs dish went the brown mess.

The cat washing herself in the arm chair by the range jumped down and wandered over to see if it was anything interesting, but one sniff and tail in the air she walked indignantly away. Bess then came over and with one sniff retreated back under the chair.

Uncle Jim finished his dinner than said 'never mind, Susie will have a treat' and with that he picked up the bowl and said 'come on'. Hand in hand carrying the bowl in his other we walked to the end of the garden.

Susan the pig put her pink snout and front trotters on the gate and snorted 'welcome'. Uncle poured the contents into her trough. With a snort, snort she put her nose into the food then to our surprise jumped back and went into her sty, which said all that was needed.

I was ready to cry but Uncle Jim bless him saw the funny side, He just burst out laughing and I confess I had to grin as well.

He looked at me and said, 'well anybody can make a soup anybody can eat, but to make a soup that even a pig can't eat, that's what I call real class'.

Back at school, I put the washed up bowl with the others and asked my friends 'did your parents like it' 'Yes' they all said and one girl even wanted to write up the recipe out to take home.

Where did I go wrong? To this day I still don't know but I do know that it must take some skill to make something even pigs won't eat.

Grace Poole