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ancientbrit · 4 years

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Natter # 12 12/06/2020

Subject: Re: MI MG Natter # 12 12/25/20 - The Christmas edition

On Wed, Dec 9, 2020 at 11:28 PM Gordon Polson <

> wrote:

Today, (Sunday 12/06/20) - I was reminded of the course we ran at Shoreline a couple of years ago on 'Latin for Gardeners'. If you didn't see it, the Seattle Times ran a great article on the selfsame topic in their "At home in the NW" Sunday supplement and it too makes great reading. It rather simplifies the subject and makes it very digestible, which is probably why our class went down so well. If you have never given much thought to horticultural Latin you should check this article out, it is very refreshing and understandable.Let's face it, the use and understanding of it is vital to really knowing what you are growing, and if you have any intent to raise plants from cuttings or divisions to be sold at the Plant Sales, it is essential. With positive ID you will have access to correct soil treatments, pruning, if it is poisonous or fragrant, has spines or flowers and so on. The article was based on a new book entitled "The Gardeners Botanical: An encyclopedia of Latin Plant Names" written by Ross Blayton who comes via the University of Reading (UK), Kew Gardens (UK) and Heronswood. The writer of the article proposes that a little botanical Latin self-study might make better use of some of your gardening off-season hours than re-watching that TV series that you already watched umpteen times already. 'Sounds reasonable. The book costs $30 - $40 or so at Amazon and I have ordered my copy already locally. Our veggies have not done quite so well this year and the outlook is not exactly encouraging either. Jean has a double row of 3 foot high pots along our southern exposure. Well, not exactly an exposure anymore. When we first lived here, we were able to grow a mass of all different veggies, fruit and flowers. Then after a few years another couple built a house next door to the south and erected a close-together row of evergreen trees right on the property line. I complained at the time to the husband that they would grow to be too big and he agreed that he would top the trees when they had knitted together. I wasn't going to tell him that topping was a bad idea - I wanted the trees gone. Two years or so on, they divorced and now the trees are higher than our roof and totally block any sun from reaching the pots until high noon on the longest day of the year. They have also bushed out into our garden, further reducing usable space. In addition, my Banana grove has now reached around 12 trees which effectively blank the western end so that the setting sun, which used to help out, is now totally blocked and it looks like this will be the last year we will be able to grow there. I can and will reduce the bananas but that will only allow a minimal amount of light in, unfortunately. In addition to this, the borrowed raised beds in which I used to grow tomatoes, onions. leeks, lettuce etc, have now been removed as the house has been sold. Right now I am trying to find out if the PeaPatch program will still be operating in 2021 at Luther Burbank and if so, will there be any going spare, 'Not having a deal of luck just yet, but we shall see. Now with Christmas just around the corner, I get a bit maudlin and my thoughts tend to dwell on the past a lot. All the wonderful Christmasses we had during the war, which somehow seems a contradiction in terms. My Dad was one of eight children and my Mum one of four sisters and thus our Christmasses were crowded, exuberant, noisy and memorable. Uncles, Aunts and cousins wherever you looked and the food was to die for. I frequently threw up! Christmas Eve was always lovely. Walter next door would always take his daughter Mary, my sister Joan and me to the Watch Night Service at St Dunstan's church in the village, right at the top of the hill. Just across the road is ' Whitehall' - a large wooden house from Henry VIII time and still standing and in use today, It always seemed to be freezing cold on these nights and the footpath would sparkle with frost and would ring as you walked on it. It was about a mile and a half to the church I suppose, but we talked constantly on the way and it seemed to take no time at all to get there. These sort of night walks were pure magic during this early part of the war when nothing much was happening, The Blackout was total. No streetlights, not a trace of a chink of light from houses or pubs and only the occasional glow from a bus or commercial vehicle driving slowly behind headlamps that were about 90% covered over. The night was like black velvet studded with millions of stars. There were so many to be seen, all twinkling away, from horizon to horizon. The number of shooting stars were legion - they would pop into view every few seconds. As I said, it was a magical time. This was before my Dad joined the Navy in 1942 and was sent to India, never to be seen again until 1947. Before he left we would frequently visit his sister Jessie and family. They lived about 45 minutes away by 213 bus down by the Beverly Brook. Uncle Jimmy had a large aviary in his back garden which I loved and of course, there was always my cousin Janet, for whom I always had a crush. Our visits always seemed to last for ages, which meant that when we left it would usually be in darkness. Leaving their house we would walk about half a mile to the bus stop and catch the 213 again which would drop us near the end of our road about 45 minutes later. Halfway along our road there was an intersecting alleyway that sort of crossed the road. It provided rear access to people's gardens and was okay during the day - everything could be seen. But this was now, and now was as black as the ace of spades with nothing in either alleyway visible - just a deep black void.

I was seven, my sister ten. The only illumination would be by small penlight torch, supplied by a #8 battery - which were always in short supply, so you rarely switched it on so as to save the juice - not that the light was ever more than a sort of sickly, flickering, yellow light! My Dad would take our hands, one on each side and as we walked down the road, with Mum trailing, he would start telling a made-up story that we loved, even though it terrified. And so, in a very low, slow and deep voice, he would start talking, timing the tale to culminate at the alleyway. "In a dark, dark town, there was a dark, dark road. And in that dark, dark road there was a dark, dark alley. And in that dark, dark alley - THERE WAS A GHOST! This last bit almost yelled loudly and quickly and we would both jump - every time. It was great! At the top of the hill in Cheam Village proper was St Dunstan's - my church and was intimately connected with the school I attended from 8 till 11 years old. All the Saints days were kept and the whole school would walk to the church in a crocodile. It wasn't a very 'high' church but it was special to me at any rate - I love it still. It is totally built of stone and although old it is not the ancient sort of building to be found in many other places. St Dunstans itself has been serving the community for over 1000 years, although this current building has only been there since 1864. Turning left off the main Malden Road up to the Lych Gate, through the graveyard, and through the main heavy oaken doors, deeply studded with large, square-headed iron nails, you would catch that delicious scent of pine and cedar, overlaid with an occasional whiff of incense as you walked to your pew, surrounded by candles, hundreds of candles, to the low muttering of the organ, as people talked in hushed tones. I love the feeling that these churches propagate in me. I always feel that my voice has to be low, quiet and reverent, as the history all around soaks in by osmosis. For this service, it always seemed warmer than on other occasions, although I doubt that it would have kept people away if it had been as cool as it normally seemed. The Reverend Dr Hayman, was our resident vicar - a very softly spoken, nice man whose large Vicarage is built next to the Whitehall, which was on the corner of Anne Boleyn's Walk. He preached great sermons and on these special occasions, it was a delight to hear him. There was always a Creche a little behind the.lecturn with bunches of chrysanthemums and greenery spread about. The service was liberally sprinkled with hymns and carols which I loved. My friend Ken Coleman was in the choir and he always looked out of character wearing his choirboy's surplice with it's high white collar. He was never able to convince me that he was as angelic as he appeared!I loved to sing but I could never summon the courage to apply to the choir, but I did sing descant to many of the carols and hymns for my own pleasure. The service always seemed to be over almost before it had started and then it was back down the hill to home. Goodnight to Walter and Mary, a mug of cocoa and so to bed, making sure that stockings were appropriately hung at the mantelpiece.

Four of my good friends were married at St Dunstan's, but Jean and I were married at St Lawrence's (built in 1636) as this was Jean's parish church in Morden, but somehow I always felt a bit cheated that I hadn't been married at St Dunstan's.

My sister and I always managed to wake early on Christmas morning, just to make sure that the stockings had been filled. The house would be quite cold at this time as there was no insulation - I don't think the technology existed at this level then. Some heating was provided by a coke-fired boiler in the kitchen which supplied domestic hot water via a hot water tank inside an airing cupboard in the bathroom above, making the bathroom a favorite place to start the day. To even the temperatures throughout the house meant lighting coal fires in the individual rooms each day so that the morning took a little time to reach comfort level. My Dad also had a great habit of preparing Sunday breakfast, frying tomatoes in pork or bacon fat in a tart pan on top of the boiler. They would simmer for ages and reduce to a jam-like consistency which was wonderful spread warm over bread and butter. The windows were all single glazed and a glass of water left overnight on the bedside table would be solid ice come the morning. It all had the benefit of making one move with alacrity first thing. There were no turkeys - I don't think anybody had even heard of them, I certainly hadn't, but there would be a chicken, a leg of roast Pork with the skin still on, which had been slashed through in parallel strips, - which went crispy when roasted and were delicious (Crackling) Plus the usual and expected, brussels sprouts, roast parsnips, pork chipolatas (thinnish delicious pork sausages) roast and mashed potatoes, stuffing, Yorkshire pudding and gravy. Dessert was a flaming Christmas Pudding served hot with custard or Brandy Butter and containing lucky silver threepenny bits, so you had to watch out for your teeth This was served around 1- 2 pm, following which the adults would collapse about the place after the dishes had been washed and put away and the children were expected to go for a walk in the park taking Jock, our dog.Taking an extended walk through Cheam Park and into Nonsuch Park we would return a bit muddy and Jock would be carrying his usual gift of a tree branch or quite frequently a lump or two of horse manure in his mouth! He was something of a gourmet! Coming through the door we would find everybody sitting around drinking tea or other brown liquids from glasses, the men smoking cigars whilst they reminisced about Christmasses past, with frequent and not understood (by us) references to past indiscretions - always good for a laugh from them. After a while, there would be a slightly uncomfortable movement towards getting tea ready, which meal was usually served around 7 pm. The table would be set with the usual stiff white linen table cloth on which were placed all manner of great dishes, almost all of which were served cold. There was cold, sliced pork and ham, celery sticks in a special crystal vase. This was a wonderful, slightly pink celery which would be eaten out of hand, dipping one end into a pile of salt on the edge on the plate and eaten with bread & butter. Unfortunately, this variety of celery seems to have disappeared ever since the easier to grow 'Pascal' green celery was introduced. I have never been able to find it in seed catalogues either here or back home, but the flavor was far superior to the self-blanching types extant. Under EU rules if you wanted to keep a variety growing you had to pay some exorbitant fee to the EU government and since the Pascal variety was easier to grow and thus cheaper to produce, this is the one that was sold and so it was too expensive to maintain the pink line I suppose and it is probably lost to cultivation now. So short sighted and sad - just one victim of hundreds. Then there were fruit jellies (Jello here) containing little bits of the appropriate fruit, blancmanges in strawberry and lemon flavors - all of these would be made in fancy-shaped jelly moulds and then turned out upside down on a plate and served from there. And trifle, always trifle! There would also be a bowl of Libby's fruit salad, plus hot Mince pies, sausage rolls and maybe slices of cold Christmas Pud and finally - 'The Cake'.This is a very traditional cake with minor variations served at Christmasses, Weddings and sometimes Christenings. It is based on a Dundee fruit cake which is NOT, I hasten to add, anything like the much-maligned, so-called fruit cakes I have seen here thank goodness. The ones that I have seen look like a pile of dried fruit, bound together somehow into a block, which then seems as if it was varnished all over to a high gloss. No wonder they have a foul reputation.

The Dundee top has a pattern of almonds on it and the whole outside is given a layer of marzipan, which is then coated in Royal Icing. It is superb. Well made, it is capable of lasting in edible condition for years if stored correctly. At weddings, where there are tiered cakes, any that remains is cut into slices, packed in special little boxes and sent to those friends and relatives who were unable to make the event. My brother-in-law Denis used to take prizes for this cake when he entered it in the local Summer fair. One tradition in eating this cake is to accompany it with slices of a strong, nutty cheese. it cuts the richness and seems to enhance the flavor the same way it does if eaten with apple pie! When once we get back to some semblance of normality, I will have to make one for our traditional 'Bun Fight.' This isn't an empty threat - I made my sister's wedding cake and it went over very well - a real labor of love. Do not imagine for one moment that I will take NO for an answer either! Along with delicious food, there of course, have to be Christmas Crackers and these are handed around, pulled and their contents worn, laughed over or played with. All this largesse was obviously not a daily event. Rationing was severe and continued long after the war was over, right into 1952 and became even more severe than it had been during the war. Ration coupons had to be saved for months just for this one special event. The Christmas puds were made a couple of months in advance and the whole family was expected to take a stir of the mixture (very stiff) as you made a silent wish. To get a true Christmas Pudding takes an awful lot of fruit and other goodies. It also takes about eight hours of steaming in a china basin. After it has cooled, the cloth covering needs to be changed for a clean one and the whole thing stored until needed. When that time arrives, it then has yet another cloth tied over the top of the basin and it is steamed for another four or five hours and served hot as I mentioned. I think it is a wonderful thing to eat, hot or cold but I cannot persuade our daughter in law to even try it. I have to admit that it is very rich but the flavor and mouthfeel are superb. I should also mention that the recipe was formulated when people actually worked physically most days, even if it was just walking to and from shops or whatever - nobody owned a car except our local MD Dr Kerr and so you could work the extra pounds off without even knowing that you were doing so. Then of course comes Boxing Day, a wonderful and most sensible institution. Christmas Day is so hectic and filled with - food, that you really need another day to recover. When you consider that in the States, people travel hundreds of miles to get home for just the one day and then struggle back, frequently battling snow and lousy weather to return the following day, it is positively savage. Boxing Day is all about relaxing. You wake up late-ish - if you want. Have a leisurely breakfast, maybe read the paper, then get dressed and walk around to visit friends. You are invited in and partake of maybe a glass of wine, sherry, beer or just tea/coffee, along with a few comestibles to nibble on as you talk about whatever. After an hour or so, you move on to another favorite friend's house, or not and repeat the process. This can go on all day, or you can return home and be visited in turn. Frequently a long bracing walk is called for after the previous day's excesses and so you are gradually allowed to return to normal.Of course one of the joys of the aftermath of Christmas is that there is always lots remaining, leading to cold meat sandwiches, eggs and bread fried in pork or chicken fat - absolutely delicious, toasted bread spread with both of those fats including the dark jelly at the bottom of the bowl. And one of my personal delights - 'stealing' strips of cold meat from the leavings.This all has to carry you through until Springtime as New Year isn't celebrated the way it is here.

As I reached my teens New Year was celebrated by my friends and me by trooping up to Trafalgar Square in London, but that is a tale for another time, so I will say goodnight for now. Your fearless leader. Gordon

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