Like Nigel, we didn't too bad on the home cooking front although there were some foods I wasn't too keen on – the skin on rice puddings, and horror of horrors, pork crackling. Even now, I can still feel slightly sick at the thought of all that fat dripping off it. Yet my parents loved it. Tripe & onions wasn't that bad, although I wouldn't have it today. And beef drip on a slice of shop bought bread as Mum didn't like baking bread, yet her mother, who lived next door, always made it herself. One thing I do remember was eating anything up to 1/2 a large loaf of white bread with a Polish, (Krakus) jam out of a 2lb jamjar at a time. I don't think I was greedy, just a normal unfillable teenager.
Another was beestings milk which is the first milk produced by a cow after having had a calf. Dad used to like this stuff in some sort of pudding or cake. Sad to say, I wasn't impressed. I've a feeling that Dad got it for free as otherwise the farmer poured it away. I don't remember that phase lasting very long, maybe up to about 1950 as I can only just remember it.
As a WWII baby I was entitled to concentrated orange juice, ok from what I can remember, and cod liver oil, which wasn't ok so it got fed to the hens (Dad had them in the back garden, then across the road in a fenced off area and finally in battery cages in an outhouse at the rear of the house). When he first got the hens, he said that the first egg was for me. I turned my nose up at it! Sorry Dad.
Similarly, I don't remember anything really bad about school meals. Ok, the tapioca/rice pudding which was so sticky that it remained on the plate even when the plate was turned upside down – the silly things we did as school children! Probably the most memorable thing about school dinners was that grace was always said by the teacher whose lot it was to be on duty during dinner – except for the man who was a communist and didn't believe in such things as grace, instead we got a moments silence, and then "Sit Down"!
I also remember free milk at school – 1/3 pint, as I recall, and if there was any surplus, a mad scramble to get our hands on it – for those of us who drank it, that is. I must have had at at least a pint at times.
But you know, we didn't know any better, so we didn't feel hard done by, except when we got told off for turning our noses up at something or other.
Peter G. Shaw