Back in 1951, I had a summer holiday with my Aunt Sarah who lived near Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk.
No electricity (paraffin lamps) and no mains water (well in the garden).
Now that's rural!
We had similar holidays at my Grandparents tiny country cottage, in darkest Shropshire around 1971
Only a rough, earth farm track to within 200 yds of it.
Rest across a field of cows. Mum was terrified we'd get trampled
The well hand-pump (like a draught beer bar pump) kept breaking but my Dad could fix it at the well end somehow with pairs of my Mum's tights. No idea what he did exactly.
Chemical Lav in one of the large unused rooms in an outbuilding,
It was like poohing in the middle of an empty barn. Very disconcerting.
Us kids collected milk and eggs from the farm half a mile away every morning
Dad shot a few pheasant with Grandad's shotgun and cooked them superbly on the woodburning Aga (he was a Chef)
Lots and lots of rats around. Dad set many traps for them (like small Bear Traps, vicious things)
I had to hold the torch for him one night, but I let it drift beam.
SNAP! And lots of swearing.
He didn't lose any fingers but he did get a huge blood blister