It was a bit like a cement mixer, Jackaroodave. But the inside was lined with what I believe is called carborundum (just an abrasive surface) One filled it through a hopper, then set it turning (electrically)

The porter who used to come up with the large sacks of potatoes was a black chap called Sam. There were hardly any black people in Edinburgh in those days, and I fancied him like anything!

The artificial cream was a ghastly liquid (nothing like cream) which came in huge drums. I remember our school dinners had puddings liberally coated with this muck. It had to be whipped, and the machine for this was very big (up to my waist) It stood in a room called the Confectionery Pantry, and I always struggled to lift the drum and pour the gunk in the top of the whisker. I had no idea how much to put in. I closed the door and left it whisking, and the foam produced built up to astounding proportions. When the door was opened, the machine was being muffled by a massive tsunami, which forced its way round me and into the main kitchen. It was about two feet thick and everyone was engulfed. I had to fight my way back into the Confectionery Pantry to turn off the whisk. It reminds me now of the Sorcerer's Apprentice!