This Whitnash cottage was surrounded by fields when this photo was taken in 1949.
In those days, Ceasail Cottage belonged to Harry Osborne, uncle of Kenilworth woman Doris McCaughan, who sent in the picture.
Mrs McCaughan remembers spending many happy hours playing in the fields around the house as a girl during and after the Second World War.
The 77-year-old grew up on the Rushmore Estate, and the family would walk up Brunswick Street, then almost a country lane, to visit their relatives, who squeezed a large family into the small cottage.
She believes part of the cottage is still standing today, although the scene around it has changed beyond recognition.
Mrs McCaughan said: "We always used to like to go there because it is a big wide open space.
"When you went there you were always welcome and there was always food.
"Whitnash was very different then. There were old houses and there was a farm on the corner. The house was practically in a cornfield."
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Click here to email your reportAnother reader with memories of a country childhood is Patricia Batstone, who grew up in Model Village in the 1940s.
Pieces about the winter of 1947 brought back memories of trudging through the snow to school in Long Itchington.
Mrs Batstone (nee Collins) now lives in Derbyshire but wrote a poem about her upbringing, of which this is an extract.
Warwickshire ChildhoodI remember the country.
Long treks to school in dark winter,
Snow up to my knees, icy patches:
The winter of 'forty-seven was the worst -
Drying out on coke stove,
Saying NO to strangers when it might have been YES,
Stone-filled snowballs hurled eye-wards,
Cruel teasing in wooded pathway,
The hazards of rejection;
Coming home late to no sympathy.
And in summer the barbed wire fences,
The cow-speckled fields,
The cowpats, flies and mire;
Squeezing through the kissing gate
As one trespassing on forbidden ground,
Just to reach the dangers of the road
And the narrow footpath over the canal bridge.
And when the buses came we saw our friends
Prostrate by roadside; those who couldn't wait to pass
Were mourned - and missed.
