I was sure I was savagely attacked by a white cockerel when I was a kid, that it pecked me hard and scarred my leg.  When I reminded Iris about this years later, she told me no, that my scar was a chicken pox scar!  A ferocious rooster (we kept chickens) had pecked and attacked her, chased her into the house and up the stairs, it had horrible sharp spurs and made her bleed.  “There was blood and feathers everywhere”, she said wide eyed.  Being so suddenly released from years of post fowlmatic trauma, I couldn’t help laughing (mild hysteria I think) as the mystery of the pieces fell into place with Iris patiently and stoically explaining it all to me.  As I think back, the whole conversation played out like a bizarre offbeat Joyce Grenfell and Alastair Sim routine, and I wonder now if she had nightmares about that day, not to mention being able to enjoy a Chicken curry?  I don’t think the nasty rooster who was called Gregory Peckingpah, hung around much past Christmas Day!