FROM her window she can watch rooks spiral and sport in the watery sunlight — their rasping caws mingling with the drone of traffic on the busy Callington road beyond.

Dorothy Batey celebrates her 101st birthday next month. Longevity and a sharp mind have made her something of a celebrity at Muralto House Nursing Home, Tavistock — her home for the past nine years.

She rarely strays from her snug room with its view towards a patchwork horizon of winter fields. Her only regret is that the window isn't lower. A higher seat isn't an option. Dorothy informs you with a faint hint of impishness that it would lift her legs 'off the floor . . .'

These days she likes to think back over a lifetime that has spanned three centuries and an infinite number of changes.

On the wall hangs a framed telegram from the Queen; near it a picture of the mayor wishing her a happy 100th birthday.

There are some sepia glimpses of the past — a framed picture of her parents, and a photograph of herself as a young woman wearing a mid-wifery cap holding twins, one in each arm.

During her 10-year career she delivered three sets of twins — and 'a few hundred babies'.

Dorothy trained as a district nurse and midwife in the thirties. Before that she was a shorthand typist.

It was a doctor seeing her care for her mother who suggested she should become a nurse. Ironically it was another doctor who later suggested she give up nursing to care for her invalid father — which she did.

'The doctor said it was my place to be with my father and I thought that was right. People today don't treat their fathers and mothers like we did. There isn't the same respect.'

Raised in Sunderland she moved to Essex after completing her training in London. When her parents died she moved to Gunnislake with her spinster sister, and lived there for nearly three decades.

One of Dorothy's earliest medical memories was having her tonsils and adenoids removed at home when she was eight.

'I recall coming downstairs to see what was happening. They had laid the dining room table out for me to be operated on,' she said.

'I think the doctor was aiming to be a surgeon and wanted to practice on me. He was a young Scot — I remember that vividly.'

It was remarkably risky — but as Dorothy dryly reflects: 'He must have got it right'.

Certainly, she has enjoyed a long and healthy life and would argue that hard work and a world devoid of today's comforts and convenience did no one any harm.

'I think people were happy in those days. People didn't want so much. They had very low wages but spent accordingly.'

She often had to make do with little rest in her dual role of midwife and district nurse in the village of Bloomfield just outside Chelmsford.

'Many times I only snatched two hours' sleep. I'd be up all night as a mid-wife — and when the day started it was the general nursing. I liked the job very much. I liked helping people.'

She got to know the people very well — delivering three children to one family.

Transport came in the shape of a bicycle. Cars were few and far between and she can remember the first 'Tin Lizzies' — Fords — that cost £100 to buy and half-a-crown (12.5p) for the petrol.

'But there were no cars in the early days. Doctors and everybody had to cycle or walk,' said Dorothy.

'I had a cycle and the area I was working in was a bit hilly so I often had to push it. People said "are you taking your bike for a walk?" But it kept me fit.

'I was out in all weathers. Sometimes it was snowing. But whenever you got a knock on the door you had to get on your bike and off you went.'

In those days she said although they had gas downstairs they used a candle to light their way to bed. Life consisted of simple pleasures.

'They were happy-go-lucky days. People wanted more money like anyone else. You got £2 a week wages if you were lucky — that's children's pocket money these days. Now people spend as much on toys as we spent on living. But maybe I'm old and out of date!'

Dorothy never married.

'I'm an old maid, that's why I have lived so long!' she laughs.

'The right man never came along. And I thought I would be better without than with a wrong man.

'There was a war and so many were away fighting. I never regretted staying single . . . '

Her father would have a bottle of port at Christmas but Dorothy has never drunk alcohol.

'Once on holiday, just for devilment, my sister and I bought a packet of Woodbines for tuppence. I nearly choked. I never had any more cigarettes after that!'

Dorothy has a serene air of contentment about her. She was always happy — and had little time for life's moaners.

'I wouldn't want to be born now and have all the things people have today,' she says.

'I have a television. I put it on a week or two ago — and turned it off again.'

She prefers to sit and think instead of TV-watching. Her own world is far removed from the frantic pace of today's lifestyles.

'When you live a long time you forget other people are getting old as well. Some people you knew are not around any more.'

She has a sister-in-law who phones Sunday mornings: 'But she is 90 and I'm a 100 so we haven't got much to talk about because we are both deaf — you cannot win!'

Dorothy used to go to the pictures. 'Everyone would fall in love with the stars. I love music and good songs — not all this tommy-rot they sing now.

'We had a gramophone you wound up. It had a little dog on it called His Master's Voice.'

She says thinking back it has been a fascinating life — some people have suggested she puts it into a book.

'The things I talk about are so strange to younger people. They see it on television but it isn't the same. Things were more simple then.'

These days her greatest pleasure is 'Chicken day.' And that is Thursday.

'That's the day we have chicken for lunch. I really love chicken.'