Mary MacDougal (Letters, June 15) reminded me of when I was a boy just after the First World War. Living in south London, I used to collect manure off the streets with friends.

I had a home-made barrow, a bucket with holes in it, in which I put a piece of cardboard, and a shovel borrowed from our fire grate.

I would walk to a posh area, such as Dulwich, where fresh horse manure around rose bushes was a status symbol.

One gentleman had a dozen rose bushes in his front garden and gave me the job of surrounding each one with fresh manure.

It had to be left on the surface so it was visible to his neighbours.

-Phil Everest, Brighton