WHEN I was a teenager, we moved from one side of Darfield to the other (my mother always said she lost her favourite Yorkshire pudding tins in the move, and she said that her Yorkshire puddings were never the same again because something precious had been lost but that's another story for another day) and I remember standing in the sunlit front room of our new home on that first afternoon when the removal men had gone and hearing gentle jazz piano music through the wall.
