Jean Rennie Every Other Sunday: The Autobiography of a Kitchenmaid (1955). An excerpt is found in Food: An Oxford Anthology (1995) edited by Brigid Allen.
[The Chef] used to come in with the game or rabbits in his hands, throw them on the floor, and say, casually, ‘To-morrow’ or ‘Dinner,’ or ‘Now.’
This Sunday morning, early in the year, he had brought the two pheasants in and thrown them on the floor and said, ‘To-night.’
I’d noticed they looked rather bloated about the necks, and they had certainly hung quite a few days.
I put them on my table, and went to get some old newspapers to take the feathers, taking a few feathers off the breast first
When I got back, those pheasants had moved!
Gingerly, I pulled at those feathers on the neck, and the skin came away in my hands …
Certainly I had seen maggots before, had even enjoyed throwing them on the hot stove and watching them wriggle before they were swept into the flames.
But this teeming, crawly heap of obscene life was something I’d never seen before, or since.
Gives new meaning to the expression “well hung.”
And so for day 711