Cider, Songs and S......?

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Well here we are again at the end of October and for the last two weeks the shops, and especially Asda, have been full of ‘tat’ for the children. The tills have been ringing and of course in this day and age, that is all that matters. Five hundred years ago the celebrations would have been for very different reasons.

The ancient feasts to mark summer’s end or the end of the Celtic year gave rise to a cluster of customs collectively called Hallowtide. The medieval church denounced these as diabolic and supplied its own sanctified versions in the form of All Saints Day (November 1) and All Soul's Day (November 2).

It was widely believed in early days that the souls of the departed needed sustenance and in England special “Soul Cakes” have been made for centuries.

Now ‘Souling’ or ’Soul-Caking, where children visit other houses requesting cakes or other small gifts, is, or should be accompanied by traditional songs.

Soul, Soul, for a Soul-Cake,

I pray you, good missus a Soul-Cake!

An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry,

Or any good thing to make us all merry.

One for Peter, Two for Paul,

Three for Them who made us all.

Up with the kettle and down with the pan,

Give us good alms and we’ll be gone.

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Not wishing to miss out on a good ‘sing song’ and a ‘tipple’ or two, perhaps after a couple of glasses of ‘Lamb’s Wool’ I might just join in.

"Lamb's Wool" ?

Yes, a heady concoction of cider, the pulp of roast apples, sugar and spices stirred well until the brew froths up like the fleece of a lamb.

Take 4 large Cox’s Orange Pippins, slit the skins around the centre of each and core them. Bake on a tray in a moderate oven until soft and pulpy.

Heat 3 pints of strong cider with spices (cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger) and lemon rinds in a large pan….not too hot or you will drive off the alcohol.

Remove skin from roast apples and mash well. Add to pot, with more cider and sugar to taste. Remove any bits of peel etc. that you don’t fancy and then whip the mixture until it froths up.

What you do then is up to you!!!!

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Glow-in-the-dark lingerie!

The designs are the brainchild of Australian Jan Hawley.

She said: "In this range the underwear is much smaller and sexier. We've called it the Boudoir collection because it's strictly for the bedroom after dark.

"When the lights go out, the lace on the bra and knickers glow beautifully"

Could come in useful I suppose when you come home from the Pub after four pints of Lamb's Wool?

Or perhaps not?

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I'm taking up 'Land Art'.

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No more of this Mucking about for me!

I have just read two articles which are ‘Music to my ears‘.

Mind you, I’ve been going this way for years. Low maintenance and all that.

Garden writer and television presenter Monty Don has called on gardeners to stop their diligent digging and weeding in favour of letting nature take its course.

Monty decided to change tack. From now on, he has announced, his intention is to create "land art", altering the wild landscape as little as possible to create a more natural garden with paths winding through long grass and hedges left to grow bushy rather than being clipped.

“Fighting nature is a losing battle, whether you are growing wheat or wisteria,” he said.

His comments come as scientific research revealed that the average British garden often contains more wildlife than the countryside, which has been stripped of life by intensive farming.

Yes, yes, yes........leave it nice and wild, like this.

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This little fountain is in my 'meditation' patch, right down at the bottom of the garden. I don't really meditate, I just call it that.....it's really my fern garden in the shade of vine covered pergola.

The second report was encouraging biodiversity....

Dr Thompson, who was speaking at the British Science Festival, said that people should actually do less to increase biodiversity.

“Relax, don’t do so much gardening,” he said. “Let it grow. Let shrubs and lawns grow. By increasingly the volume of your garden you will increase the number of creatures living in it.”

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Good , I can sit back and do my bit for horticultural diversity and let nature take its course.

This morning the vine leaves were a gorgeous red and many beginning to drop. I took those two pics. a couple of weeks ago.

Adam and Eve in the Garden dwelt,

They thought vine leaves were jolly.

I wonder how they would have felt,

Had all of those leaves been Holly?

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All work and no play.

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Popped over to Harmony Club this morning to see what Deb was up to.

She had had an e-mail.

"You know the type....list your whatever. This was a 'list you first' list. So here goes. Those readers that are bloggers can follow suit on you own blog."

Thanks Deb for the idea.

My First Boyfriend??????? My First Kiss?????????????

I think I'll give those two a miss.

But I do remember my First School and my First Teacher.

I have already put this little picture up before. I have loads of old pictures of me as a kid but this is the only one in uniform.

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The school was called Brunnaker, in Northfield Road, but was in fact in Kings Norton.

My mother proudly marched me off to the Co-Op to get my new uniform.

The Co-Op only sold three colours of caps and blazers in those days

"Navy Blue"

"Bottle Green"

and the one for this school was

"N****r Brown"

Now why on earth have I typed 'asterisks'...?

The Co-Op wasn't a racist organisation, the school had no racist leanings.........I certainly saw nothing wrong with singing "Eeny Meeny Miney Mow"...etc. as a child.

Anyway back to the first school and my first report.

It was called a 'Terminal' Report.

This sounds as if I was about to be expelled or go down with some dreaded disease!!

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Spring 1949

It was not a good report, but then I was probably not a 'good little boy' in those days.

I can't imagine why my mother kept it, but she did and I have a little bit of my past to ponder over.

"Bernards' work has been rather disappointing

this term as he has not tried very hard

in most subjects. However he has

made progress, especially in reading.

He must try to develop a sense of

responsibility towards his work and not

always be wanting to play.

Conduct. Fairly good."

My response..."All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy"

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And Times Late - 2 (I wonder if they do this today?)

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"And lightly skims the midge"

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The painting that I did on the organ front was done from a print as you may have guessed.

As attractive as Henley is, there was no way I could have sat on the tow-path and have produced an acceptable scene.

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To Henley tower and town;

And "Boats for Hire" the rafters ring,

And pink on white the roses cling,

And red the bright geraniums swing

In baskets dangling down.

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I see the winding water make

A short and then a shorter lake

As here stand I

And house-boat high

Survey the Upper Thames.

It was supposed to be a nice day but it remained overcast and grey all morning.

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What have we here .....a headless Cormorant putting his wings out to dry.

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Ah....that's better.

Sorry about the 'plastic boat in the background, but I needed the white reflection in the water to get the bird to stand out.

Across the waste of waters die,

And low the mists of evening lie

And lightly skims the midge.

Verses......John Betjeman.

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"If I had a Hammer"

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Schoolchildren are to learn basic DIY under the guidance of B&Q staff amid concerns that the skills are dying out.

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The series of lessons will educate pupils in the art of painting or papering a wall, putting up a shelf, fixing a leaking tap and hanging a picture.

The curriculum was developed by B&Q after research suggested that parents are no longer passing on basic skills.

The young are forced to rely on grandparents for advice about "old-fashioned" ways of maintaining the home, it found.

The first 100 schools to try the lessons, all in the North-East, will begin the course this month before they are eventually promoted to 5,000 schools nationwide.

Not having any B&Q music, although I suppose I could have used

"If I had a Hammer, I'd Hammer in the Morning", I shall finish with a skit to the tune of “Roll Out the Barrel” instead.

Bring me a nail and a hammer,

And a picture to hang on the wall.

Fetch me a strong step-ladder,

In case that I might fall:

Bring me a couple of waiters,

And a good old barrel of ale’

And I’ll bet you I’ll hang up that picture,

If somebody drives in the nail!

Have a nice day......I'm just off to Henley-on Thames.

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Yawwwwwn....

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Today will be the most unproductive day of the year, according to a survey, as workers' morale is hit by the darker evenings brought on by the clock change.

''The Winter Blues” are no joke.

''They can affect your work performance by making you unable to concentrate and carry out your normal routine”

''Feeling low as the nights draw in and the days get shorter is something many people experience, but some will struggle with lack of motivation, tiredness and depression.”

Yawwwwwn….

Zzzzzzzzzzz.....

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"Orpheus in the Underwear"

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Now here's a roll with three cracking tunes on it......

The Can Can

The Sun has got his Hat on.

Ma, He's Making Eyes at me

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But out of those three, you can always rely on the Can Can to be the most popular.
When I took the organ up to Kidderminster to the children's party, the lawn was a mass of girls (and boys) kicking their legs up and really living it up.

The Galop from Jacques Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld is the tune most associated with the can-can.

The cancan is danced in 2/4 time, and is now usually performed on stage in chorus-line style.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries the cancan was viewed as much more erotic because the dancers often wore no undergarments or made use of the extravagant underwear of the period, and the contrasting black stockings. They lifted and manipulated their skirts much more, and incorporated a move sometimes considered the most cheeky and provocative—bending over and throwing their skirts over their backs, revealing their nude buttocks.

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And whilst on the subject of skirts...I read that....

Debenhams have been busy doing some research and now proclaim that:-

“Mini-skirts are increasingly being worn by older women, as changing fashions mean it has become acceptable to show bare knees up to the age of 40.

Two decades ago few women would have risked the shorter length after they passed the age of 33 - a figure unchanged since the mini's 1960s heyday, according to a study by the department store.”

After the age of 40 skirt lengths begin the journey South with 18ins the average until the age of 42 when they drop below the knee.

By the age of 51 the mini is a distant memory for most with maxi-skirts - 32.5ins long - the most popular choice.

Of course if you live in Australia , I suppose the skirt hem will “begin the journey” North!

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No comment.

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But I can manage a couple of ditties....

Auntie Mary had a canary

Up the leg o' her drawers,

She pulled a string

And made it sing

And it whistled the 'Cock o' the North'.

and

I married a bonny wee Yorkshire lass

She wore a utility frock

The only thing that she could say is

Stop your tick-e-ling Jock

I tickled her here

I tickled her there

I tickled her ev'rywhere

I tickled her here

I tickled her there

I tickled her ev'rywhere

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It's NOT my Meatless Day!

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I have just popped two pieces of oxtail into my slo-cooker to simmer away all day. The pack contained just the two chunks and put me back £2.40.

Now I don't know exactly how many knobbly joints an ox has in its tail....but lets say twelve of the largest with enough meat on them for cooking.

That makes the tail worth £14.40......just think how much a whole ruddy ox is worth?

And do you know it's classed as offal.....and that always used to be fairly cheap.

Do you want to see a picture of an oxtail?.....No.

Do I have any music about an oxtail?......No.

However there was a song published during WW1 about giving up meat to help the war effort.

I also read earlier this year that:-

"The Belgian city of Ghent is about to become the first in the world to go vegetarian at least once a week.

Starting this week there will be a regular weekly meatless day, in which civil servants and elected councillors will opt for vegetarian meals.

Ghent means to recognise the impact of livestock on the environment.

The UN says livestock is responsible for nearly one-fifth of global greenhouse gas emissions, hence Ghent's declaration of a weekly "veggie day".

Public officials and politicians will be the first to give up meat for a day."

Whilst I have nothing against vegetarian beliefs, I do hope this sort of this does not spread as part of this 'global warming' hoax.

Now back to the song......it was a long one, so here is just a knobbly bit.

For just one day a week, it's true,

I helps to win the War I do,

I don't sell flags about the street

I go without my piece of meat

And as I pass the butchers' shops,

I hear them shout "Buy, buy"

I draws me belt in four more holes

And sadly I reply.

It's my meatless day,

My meatless day

I'm not going to eat,

any sort of meat, meat, meat, meat.

As a farmer's boy, I lived near York,

On the day the pig died, we had pork,

Next day the old cow died and we

Had beef for breakfast, dinner and tea,

We had mutton when the sheep pegged out,

We all got overfed

Next day the Farmer's missus died

and this is what I said.

It's my meatless day,

My meatless day

I'm not going to eat,

any sort of meat, meat, meat, meat.

"Just Browsing"

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As requested in earlier comments. Click to enlarge.

For Foody.

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For Kath.

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And for Sage and any other interested readers.

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Hard books, Musty books, Real books

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“The idea of 'collections' of media has been central for as long as there have been books, films and music. But once data can be stored in the ‘cloud’ and accessed by your device whenever you need it, the idea of 'owning' something starts to seem strange.”

To be honest the above statement is the thing that seems strange.

I am always hearing of people who have ‘lost everything’ when their ‘device’ crashes!

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I love books, especially old books, hard books, musty books, real books.

My belief is that if you can't read all your books, at any rate handle them, or as it were fondle them.

Peer into them, let them fall open where they will, read from the first sentence that arrests the eye, set them back on the shelves with your own hands, arrange them on your own plan so that if you don’t know what is in them, you at least know where they are.

Let them be your friends, let them at any-rate be your acquaintances.

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Just one of Bernard's libraries.

It has been estimated that 15 years ago, there were about 3,000 second-hand and antiquarian bookshops in Britain. By 2004, there were only about 1,500 left. Everyone in the trade knows someone who has had to close.

So what is happening to those wonderful old musty bookshops. Yes, many are going out of business.

In contrast, Oxfam opened its first bookshop in St Giles, Oxford, in 1987. Today, it has 130 outlets in Britain.

Last year, Oxfam made £19 million from selling books.

Its website boasts that it is selling around 11 million books a year. As a charity, it gets an 80 per cent reduction in business rates. It doesn't have to pay for stock and it attracts thousands of volunteers.

So we can pity these veterans of the trade, who say that they are struggling against the growing professionalism of charity bookshops like Oxfam (described by one disgruntled owner as the "Tesco of second-hand books"). Traditional booksellers have already faced many challenges: the explosion of online competition, increases in rent and rates, and the painstaking rise of the ‘Elf ‘n Safety culture, which has a deep-seated mistrust of the even the step-ladder.

Experience, atmosphere and dedication are all qualities that second-hand bookshops have in abundance, and which customers will continue to value. As long as second-hand bookshops can both adapt and hold on to their traditional strengths, I think customers will be found to keep them alive.

Just a thought.

"Here, in one of the world's most advanced societies, the level of illiteracy among schoolchildren is astonishing. This year, nearly a quarter of a million children left primary school unable to read, properly.”

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Made in Timbuktu

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My new 'bracers', or American 'suspenders', were covered in Union Flags and the strange thing was .....they were made in U.S of A.

I was going to blog on 'How China seems to make everything' and came across this little verse.

My cigar is made in Cuba

And my lighter in Peru.

My table’s made in Sweden,

My cruet set, in Corfu.

My towels are made in Turkey,

My sponge, in Mozambique.

My tapestry is made in France

And my rum in Martinique!

My sweater’s made in Iceland,

My toaster in Taiwan.

My tea is made in India

And sometimes Pakistan.

I’m waiting for the moment

I’ll be hanging out the flag…

As soon as I discover

A “Made in Britain” tag!

The only trouble is of course…

To leave me somewhat blue,

I’d likely find the flag I use

Was made in Timbuktu!

anon

That last mention of the Flag, reminded me that yesterday was Trafalgar Day and I had seen in the news that there was an auction of the last remaining Flag, (in private hands), that had been flown at the Battle of Trafalgar.

This pic. below is one from my collection of 'Song cards'.

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The Flag, used by the Navy at the Battle of Trafalgar had been discovered in a drawer. It had been flown from the jackstaff of HMS Spartiate, one of Nelson’s warships, as the battle against the French navy raged 204 years ago this month.

The 11ft x 7ft (3.5m x 2.1m) Union Jack was made by the Spartiate’s crew from 31 bunting panels and is riddled with holes made by shot and shell splinters during the battle.

It had been in the captain’s family since the battle and was only expected to fetch up to £15,000 at auction.
But it sold for £384,000, including a buyer's premium of 20 per cent, at the Trafalgar Day Sale in London. The hammer price was £320,000.

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It’s only a small bit of bunting,

It’s only an old coloured rag.

Yet thousands have died for its honour

And shed their best blood for the Flag.

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But it's the most expensive bit of of bunting that I have ever heard of.

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Bird Spotting?

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"You should try the Somerset levels Bernard, lovely and quiet, especially if you're a bird spotter."

Thanks Kath, for todays idea.

Here's your starter for One. ....Which song are these words from?

I’m the cat that’s got the cream,

Haven’t got a girl,

But I can dream,

Haven’t got a girl,

But I can wish, so I take me down to Main Street

And that’s where I select my imaginary dish!

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Standing on the corner watching all the girls go by.

Standing on the corner giving all the girls the eye.

Not the sort of thing us pensioners get up to anymore.

However this bit from the news caught my eye as it is yet another bit of 'useless research'.

The ‘average’ man will spend almost 43 minutes a day staring at 10 different women.

That adds up to 259 hours - almost 11 days - each year for heavens sake!

Who on earth is an ‘average’ man?

The ladies only ’sneak a peek’ then….

But researchers found that the males of the species are not the only ones admiring the opposite sex as women sneak a peek at six men for just over 20 minutes a day, on average.

Mark Ireland, spokesman for Kodak Lens Vision Centres, which carried out the poll, said: "Men are renowned for looking at women but it's interesting to find out exactly how long they spend eyeing girls up.

The poll of 3,000 people revealed the supermarket as the location for the most ogling, followed by a pub and nightclub.

But whilst the majority of men and women feel flattered at being gazed at, men are more likely to enjoy it with 19 per cent saying it makes them feel happy, compared to just 9 per cent of women.

Instead, 16 per cent of girls are just left feeling uncomfortable, while 20 per cent say it embarrasses them.

Strange that they should be embarrassed……why do they spend so much time and money on making themselves attractive only to feel embarrassed when they are admired……

.....I suppose there is a big difference between being ogled and admired.

I believe the song was also sung by a Canadian group called "The Four Lads" and was released in March 1956, becoming a hit in the British pop parade circa 1960.

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Enough with this kissing.

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"I was never Kissed before, in this kind of Way"

Just recently, every day has brought with it yet another puckered-up politician trying to look continental. The most embarrassing that I have seen so far was an image of Hillary Clinton's lips bearing down on poor, old Gordon Broon. The Labour leader, to give him his due, dodged the visiting Secretary of State's assault with that last-minute-head-swivel, burying his face in her collar instead.

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I'm not sure if Hillary Clinton qualifies as an angel, but our Mr Broon is certainly a sinner, selling off all our gold a rock bottom prices.

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We English are hopeless at it, well I am for sure. I find the ‘cheek to cheek’ greeting a total embarrassment when confronted by it. Why do we persist? What is this yearning for all things continental.

If we do insist on trying to make the kissing work, the answer is a dignified passing of one cheek against the other, with no contact, moisture exchange or residue of any kind.

And besides…..think of all those ’Pig flue germs’ that might be lurking there.

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Flying around the Chilterns

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To the south of the Aylesbury Vale, right under the shadow of the Chilterns, are the two Risboroughs.

There is Monk's Risborough and Princes Risborough.

Is was the later that I drove over to on Sunday.

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They are absolutely typical of English villages, grouped around their Churches. Princes Risborough is the larger of the two, and possesses this beautiful Manor House tucked away behind the High Street. It is a National Trust property but can only be viewed by appointment.

A 180' turn gives us this view of the church.

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Next to the church and right opposite the Manor is the Old Vicarage.

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An attractive little building, although I have to say I'm not too keen on that chimney stack.

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'High up in the Air' on the east wall is a plaque telling us that Amy Johnson the celebrated woman aviator, once lived here.

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Not particularly good pictures I'm afraid but the lane was narrow and in shadow.

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Amy Johnson’s most famous flight was her epic journey from England to Australia. Although she did not finish the trip in the fastest time achieved by earlier flyers, she did become the first solo female flyer to complete the journey.

She ended her flight at Darwin, Australia and then flew on to Brisbane to continue her celebrations. However, close to landing, Johnson overshot the aerodrome and crashed the machine. As a result of this unfortunate accident Johnson met her husband Jim Mollison, another pioneering flyer, who piloted her on to Sydney.

There is a link here to the Science Museum for more information on Amy Johnson.

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"Suspenders?"

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Just bought myself a 'cracking' new pair of suspenders.

None of your flimsy sort....a good strong pair.

A patriotic pair......all red, white and blue.

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Come on now....no giggling at the back please!

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You notice they were made in U.S.A.

I couldn't get any British ones with 'extra heavy duty, wide fasteners'.

They should go well with my Organ Grinding outfit, don't you think?

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I love the way the Americans and us, have different words for the same items.

I expect we all have our favourites and this discussion could go on for days.

I believe American ladies keep their stockings up with garters....but I did that as a boy. Mother used to sew up small rings of elastic to go under the folded tops of our socks. She never got the dimensions correct and we all ended up with not only red rings around our legs, but also a lack of blood to the toes!

Now I bet your all thinking.....he can't possibly have a song about a pair of bracers.

No......but I do have the next best thing.....a record about suspenders!

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It's all in the Chemistry

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Once upon a time, David, a young man from Swansea, decided to study chemistry. He said goodbye to his parents, Alfred and Ester and his brothers and sisters, Charlie, Tom, Martha and William, and went off to College in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire, England.

A few years earlier, Mr and Mrs Wright and their three children, Alice, Tom and Charles had left their home in Coleby Village, Lincolnshire. Alfred Wright had taken up the job of caretaker at the Bromsgrove College and he had taken his family down to live in Worcestershire.

Their daughter, Alice, was an attractive young lady and it wasn’t long before young David from Swansea took a fancy to her.

David passed all his exams and became a qualified pharmacist and soon after he proposed to Alice and the couple were married.

They bought a small chemists shop in Stirchley, a small village to the south of Birmingham. The old photo below shows David (left) with his assistant.

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Why I am I telling you this little tale?

Well last week at the Milton Keynes Museum, among the reconstructed shops, was a delightful little chemists. You were able to enter all the shops and as I sat there……I thought that this must have been just as it was in my grandfathers days.

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Yes, David and Alice were my paternal grandparents.

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My grandfather was a keen photographer and of course developed and printed his own films or plates as they were called then. I still have his old camera and if you would like see it I did a post here.

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A Soulless, Joyless Organisation

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Bin Police, Thought Police and now Music Police.

Get a load of this.

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Music police have told a grandmother to stop singing behind the counter of the corner shop where she works - or pay for a licence.

Sandra Burt began serenading customers at the A & T Food Store in Clackmannan, near Stirling, after the owners were contacted by The Performing Right Society and told they would have to pay an £80 annual fee to keep the radio on in the shop.

They decided not to bother and now 56-year-old Sandra sings as she stocks the shelves and weighs customers' purchases.

However, the PRS, which collects royalties on behalf of music industry bosses and artists, has told her that her 'spontaneous outbursts of joy' constitute live public performance, and she could have to pay for a licence.

The PRS said that Mrs Burt could be judged to be giving daily performances, which would require individual daily licences, taking the annual cost up to 'four figures'.

'She could be fined for not having a live performance licence, and if the fine isn't paid, then she could potentially be taken to court.'

Mrs Burt said, “I sing all the time, and I often don't even know I'm doing it. It's just a spontaneous, happy thing.”

“They'd have to put tape over my mouth to stop me singing these songs. Even if they threatened to take me to court, I don't think I could stop singing. I'm just a naturally happy person.”

The Performing Right Society said it was within its rights to charge for all copyright music played or performed outside of the home.

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So here we go…No Carol Singers. No whistling. No humming. Do not tap your fingers to a well known tune and should you break wind or belch, it could constitute music regardless of what key it is in!

I wonder what would happen if the PRS had gone onto a building site and demanded that a bricklayer stop singing, I bet his next stop would have been A&E to have the builders’ trowel surgically removed.

Of course Sandra could stick to singing tunes out of copyright, like Gilbert & Sullivan and other old songs in the public domain.

The PRS is simply a soulless, joyless organisation that has hit upon a money making scam and they are determined to squeeze as much as they can from anyone.

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A day of Pictures

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After all these 'wordy' posts, I'm going to give my right forefinger a rest and put up a few pictures I took at Milton Keynes Museum.

When Milton Keynes was built as a 'new town', many small villages were swallowed up. I think it was thirteen in all. Very sad.....a lost way of life. The museum was set up to preserve some of this for future generations. There was loads to see....I reckon you need a couple of days to take it all in. And they said the museum is still developing!

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Of course a lot of it is what you would expect to find at a museum, except that this built up around and in an old farmhouse and its buildings. The Wolverton estate was owned by John Radcliffe, the very same man that the famous Oxford hospital is named after. There is a short video here filmed in Radcliffe's front room (shown above).

On the site there is also a 'Telephone museum', interesting to me, but I fear a bit boring to some. .

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Many of the rooms in the house are constructed and equipped to show how thing used to be....a working kitchen, a laundry and this schoolroom below.

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Behind the farmhouse the barns have been converted into 'streets' of shops, each one fully stocked. There were far too many to show here.

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Just two to give you an idea. Click on the pic. to see the detail.

The Haberdashery.

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What I liked most about this museum, is that you could go into nearly all of the shops and touch the items. All they ask is "handle all items gently and with care" and "do not touch paper or cloth items".

The Ironmongers.

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I used the word "haberdashery" above, but on looking it up it pertains to men's attire.

Now a milliner sells ladies hats ....but how would you describe the shop selling ladies 'bits and pieces'?

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"A Right Handed Stir-up"

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No, it's alright......I do know what date it is......but.....

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On visiting Foody’s blog on Monday, I read that she had been making her Christmas puddings.

I enquired if she had made wishes and stirred the mixture in the correct direction? And had she heard of “Stir-up Sunday”?

She had heard of the later and of the wishes, but did not know of the “direction of stirring”.

So I did a bit of research and found out that the Christmas pudding began as “plum porridge”….raisins, spices, meat broth and wine thickened with breadcrumbs. This mixture, with varying quantities of ingredients, evolved by the 17century, into the familiar solid pudding. In Sussex and many other English counties the day reserved for the making of the puddings and the important ceremony of stirring and wishing, was called “Stir-up Sunday”.

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Indeed, in old prayer books, the Collect for the 25th Sunday after Trinity begins with the words “Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord”.

This is of course nothing to do with stirring a pudding, more of “….the wills of thy faithful people”.

As the Sundays of the church year are governed by the movability of Easter, Stir up Sunday does not fall on the same day each year.

Good, then I can mention it today as I have no idea when the 25th Sunday after Trinity is.

Foody said she had made nine puddings, but on reading further I discovered that she should have made thirteen.....one for each month of the year and an extra one, known as the "Judas" pudding. This last one was not eaten but left to moulder......unless a beggar was seen on Christmas Day, in which case it could be given away.

I also discovered that it was a tradition that each member of the family stirred in turn, three times in the direction of the sun’s path (in winter it was as well to ensure that the sun would return next spring and to take any available opportunity to help it on it’s way).

The mandatory number of three stirs was important; in later years the number was conveniently associated with the Trinity and with the Three Wise Men though it had a far older significance, being a pagan good-luck number.

Finally, in order of age, each member of the family wished three times. Only one wish would be granted however, and the nature of the wish was never revealed or it would not be granted.

The pudding mixture was set aside for the return of any absent person so that no-one missed his chance.

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Five "Joey's" from my Grandmother.

The mixture itself gradually came to include, among the well-to-do, a number of silver charms. To begin with it was a silver farthing, then a penny. After the Great War, it was the smallest silver coin, a silver threepenny bit, or "Joey". When they went out of circulation it was a sixpence.

Finding a coin brought the promise of wealth to whomsoever found it on his plate on Christmas Day; a thimble denoted the prospect of a single life, while a silver ring forecast a wedding.

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My Mother's old cookbook again showing her recipe for the year 1951 (every year there was a subtle change....I can't imagine why). The silver threepenny bits are the actual ones used by my Grandmother and have been passed down in the family.

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