Here is a rather squint photograph of daughter doing the prescribed 10 minutes whisking.
When I did domestic science at school (which is what cookery was then called), Swiss roll was one of the things we had to do. Of course, we had to do it all by hand, and I have bitter memories of my failure to beat the mixture enough, meaning my Swiss roll was a flat and rubbery failure. I wrote that one down to experience, thinking I'd never have to do it again.
At the end of each academic year, we did exams in each and every subject, including DS. We had to cook something we'd done that year. Miss Reed, the DS teacher, would write down the names of everything we'd done, put them in a hat, and we would draw one out. You can guess which one I drew out, can't you? "Oh Jane," said Miss Reed. "It would be you." Giggle, giggle, went the rest of the class. The iron entered my soul at that point. I was determined I was going to do a half way decent Swiss roll. I went home and subjected my long suffering family to numerous attempts, and I finally got it right and produced one they would actually eat (the dog had no qualms about any of my attempts but alas he was not marking the exam). The exam came and went, and the Swiss roll was a success, by my standards at any rate. I have never made one since.
Here is daughter's attempt, set off by some very unseasonal strawberries.
We did have a little local difficulty with the rolling bit, which it took us both to achieve, and even the unseasonal strawberries couldn't obscure the cracks. Anyway, I have passed on a skill. Sort of.