Jill Hayman, 44
Running into the kitchen, I found my mum, Barbara.
‘Mum, please can I have some bread?’ I asked.
‘No, you can have something else,’ she said.
‘I don’t like anything else,’ I sighed.
Wandering out to the backyard, I shouted over to our neighbour, also called Barbara.
‘Can I get some bread, please?’
I asked.
‘Sure love,’ she said, handing me a few white slices over the fence. I was only four, but this was something I did often to get my bread fix. It was the only thing I could tolerate eating.