"Four Pigs Trotters ?"

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Today, well what’s left of it, is -

“The First Day of Christmas”.

I am reliably informed, as I am no expert on Church matters,

that these “Twelve Days of Christmas” represent

the ‘Coming of Men to God‘.

The culmination of the Twelve Days was the arrival of the Three Kings at Epiphany.

Try as I may, I have been unable to trace the origin of the famous song by the same name.

You know the one - ‘What my true love gave to me’.

Try, as I also may, I was unable to find neither the words,

nor the music in my modest collection of Carol Books,

even though they span a period if 150 years!

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What you will find though, from searching the web, is that there are dozens of different versions.

I expect that figure will get into the hundreds,

if you include all those from around the world and in different languages.

So, today, all you Lucky Lovers, you can expect, in addition to all those boxes you received earlier, ‘A partridge in a Pear Tree’.

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And on Tuesday,

just when you thought you had seen off the last of the turkey,

you can expect to have to sign for the delivery of ‘Three French Hens’.

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As I didn’t have the words and music -

and as I’m sure you don’t want me to go all through them anyway -

here is an unusual version for all you foodies.

"On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me;

One boneless stuffing,

Two breasts of veal,

Three joints of beef,

Four pig’s trotters,

Five legs of mutton,

Six partridges with cabbage,

Seven spitted rabbits,

Eight plates of salad,

Nine dishes for a chapterful of Canons,

Ten full casks,

Eleven bosomy maidens,

And ........

Twelve musketeers with their swords!"

If it sound a bit ‘Double Dutch’, you’re not far off.

The original song was in French!

Me? Well as they say in ordering a Chinese take-a-way.

“I’ll have a number four, a number ten and a double portion of number eleven”.

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"Go West, young man."

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To the north of me lurks Wycombe!

To the east there’s awful Slough:

A little south lies Maidenhead,

It’s the West, that calls me now.

And so it is, that most of my ‘Days Out’ take me off upstream to appealing places like Marlow, Henley, Dorchester, Thame and Wallingford.

I used to live in, and quite liked, Maidenhead, but forty years ago it was a town of character, now missing. I have never felt attracted to Wycombe and my feelings for Slough are not un-similar to those of John Betjeman -

“Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough.

It isn’t fit for humans now,

There isn’t grass to graze a cow.

Swarm over, Death !"

I read every day about ‘The Western World’,

about ‘Western Culture’ and ‘Western Values’.

So, where is the west, and is there a dividing line circling the globe?

East on one side, west on t’other.

Well, there are pages and pages on Wikipedia, but I like to think back to my

schooldays when, on opening my old school atlas, the east was on the right hand page and the west was on the left.

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My old Atlas.

There was a fold down the middle and it was always annoying to not be able to read names of places ‘on the fold’.

In those days I assumed anything to the left of the Greenwich Meridian was in the West.

It is also fascinating to notice how, in literature and song, that the West is portrayed as place of peace, a place of rest and a place of kindness and good.

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Of course, there are far too many references to this ubiquitous place ‘west’ to mention here.

I have often wondered which countries Australians consider in the west? For example, to us the USA is firmly in the west, but surely to them it is east across the Pacific.

And where to them is the ‘Far East’?

To me, there is only one west. A place of many wonderful holidays as a child. This is our very own ’West Country’. Here in England, usually meaning the counties of Devon and Cornwall.

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My old book of West Country songs.

Then, over at the extreme left of my atlas page,

is what us lads referred to as the ‘Wild West’,

with cowboys and covered wagons.

One of our favourites singers from those early days being Tex Ritter.

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Yes, I still have the LP.

One of my favourite tales comes from the pen of J.R.R. Tolkien.

His ‘Men of the West’,

his Elves going off to the west,

the ‘West’ - the realms and peoples opposed to Sauron (evil)

and favouring virtue and the Dunedin (good).

The West it is then.

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"A little grey home in the West."

Oh! And by the way, 'I am Spartacus'.

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Fashion

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I'm very busy at the moment removing all this

"Global Warming" from my front steps!

Forgive me. This is a re-blog...but topical perhaps.

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I found quite a number of musical ditties related to fashion. 'Champagne Charlie' came to mind, as did 'The Man who broke the Bank at Monte Carlo' but after a bit I decided on Fred, mainly because the front sheet was in colour.

I am often told that I have no 'dress sense' whatever, but having never tried on a dress this is hardly surprising!

I'm the sort of person that makes things last until they drop off me or get relegated to 'garden attire'. In fact this little morsel sums me up to a tee.

I never cared for Fashion,

I find a trifle tame

My fellow creatures passion

For looking all the same;

Let those those who please

Be like two peas,

But spare this poor old man,

It pleases me

To look and be

As different as I can.

Especially when Organ Grinding.

And before you enquire......Yes I have appeared in public dressed like this!!!!

PS Can someone tell me how to get those three little pictures of previous posts to appear at the bottom of the page......"You might also like this".

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Goodbye to Bideford Rock

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He was the not-so-gormless Lancashire Lad who became the idol of millions......the favourite of Royalty......a legend in the history of Show Business.

He did it with a toothy grin, wonderfully comic, melody filled songs - and his famous "little ukulele".

Ladies and Gentlemen I give you George Formby.

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Is nothing sacred in this rather crass world of ours?

The forces that dumb down so many aspects of our daily lives have even been at work on that age-old seasonal gift……seaside rock.

No longer is our choice of lettering limited to “From Bideford” or “For Mum”.

You can now buy rock from an extensive range that lets you insult you nearest and dearest as you hand over your sugary memento.

Here are just a few of the ‘trendy’ options now available.

“Slaphead”, whatever that is! “Minger”, “Tosser”, “Slapper”, and the especially charming “Dipstick”.

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We seem to have come a long way in the wrong direction from those days of “Kiss me quick” hats and these saucy postcards.

Sad, don’t you think?

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PS Dennis tell me the amount raised at Saturdays Grind for MacMillan Cancer Support was £189.65.

A good days work and a good day out.

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"Toadstools and Strawberries??"

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Gather in the Mushrooms,

Put 'em in a pot,

Pop 'em in the oven,

And serve 'em piping hot.

One of many of Benny Hill's songs.....you either like him or loathe him.....I leave it to you.

But....

This damp, mild weather has brought up toadstools or mushrooms of all shapes and sizes all over the place.

I must have found six different species on my lawn yesterday.

Here's just one batch....... Pity you can't eat them.

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Ah, now what have we here......it looks like a mushroom with a red nob on top!

Actually the red object was on the grass behind and was.......a 'strawberry' that had fallen from my 'strawberry tree' above.

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The correct name for this tree is 'Arbutus unedo' and is native to the south-west of Ireland.

I planted mine about ten years ago and seems fairly happy here.

This tree is very unusual because it produces this fruit from last years flowers at the SAME time as it produces new flowers for next years fruit. If you click on the above picture you will see the little flowers which will produce fruit in twelve months time.

The word 'unedo' seems to imply that the fruit is inedible, but it is in fact not poisonous but totally unpalatable. I have tried......exceedingly tart and dry.

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It is soft and juicy just like a strawberry, but not to be recommended and even the birds in my garden give it a miss.

Well, we had a bit of music about mushrooms and yes there is also a song about an Arbutus.

I found it in my book of Irish ballads and I also found a choir singing it on YouTube here youtube.com/watch?v=CfhZbQEfKEk (I didn't bother with a link)

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My love's an arbutus

By the borders of Lene,

So slender and shapely

In her girdle of green;

And I measure the pleasure

Of her eye's sapphire sheen,

By the blue skies that sparkle

Thro' that soft branching screen.

But tho' ruddy the berry

And snowy the flow'r,

That brighten together

The arbutus bow'r,

Perfuming and blooming

Through sunshine and show'r,

Give me her bright lips

And her laugh's pearly dower.

Alas, fruit and blossom

Shall lie dead on the lea,

And Time's jealous fingers

Dim your young charms, Machree;

But unranging, unchanging,

You'll still cling to me,

Like the ever-green leaf

To the arbutus tree.

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October Winds

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This recent change in the weather from a very dry September to blustery October brough to mind the words from a lovely Irish lullaby.

The October Winds lament around the Castle of Dromore,

Yet peace is in her lofty halls, my loving treasure store.

Tho' Autumn leaves may droop and die

A bud of Spring are you.

Sing hush-a-by lull-a-loo lo lan, Sing hush-a-by lull-a-loo.

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As no-one knows for sure which Dromore Castle is referred to in the song, the above picture is of an anonymous Irish castle, which I thought had the right atmosphere for October.

There are three contenders for the claim, and the most popular choice seems to be the one at Blackwater Bridge near Kenmare on the ring of Kerry.

Apparently this one was built in the mid 1800's (c. 1840 or so) by a local Protestant family.

There are records extant of a visit by Harold Boulton to the family there and it is said (though this is not substantiated) that he wrote the song for the family as a thankyou after his visit.

I have both the Clancy brothers version & the Corries on old LP's.

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And in contrast to to above October winds and today's rain, we have.....

One fine October morning,

In April, last July,

The moon lay thick upon the ground,

The snow shone in the sky.

The flowers were sweetly singing,

The birds were in full bloom;

As I went down to the cellar

To sweep an upstairs room.

One early Tuesday morning,

On Wednesday late at night,

I saw, ten thousand miles away,

A house just out of sight.

Its door projected inwards,

Its front was at the back,

It stood alone between two more,

And it was whitewashed black.

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From a 1934 'Fag' Packet

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I could spend hours raking around in antique shops and flea markets. The only trouble is, if I spot something attractive and cheap, I usually end up buying it, even though I have no foreseeable use for it.

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This was the case with these artistic little cameos. These intricately designed “silks” were brought out by J. Wix & Sons Ltd., of London, manufacturers of Kesitas cigarettes in the 1930’s.

The colourful and beautiful woven first series of flowers, issued in 1934, ran to 60 in total, and a full set in good condition was recently valued for £1200.

I found 16, and they cost me £2.50. A long way off a full set….but I liked them.

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On the back of the packet was the message: “Why do we give you these inserts? Because Tobacco is a plant and we want you to realise that only the finest Virginia Tobacco is used in Kensitas. The clean centre leaves. These are the mildest leaves. They cost more. They taste better”.

They recommended that the delicate weavings could be protected by keeping them in a special little album available from J. Wix, post free, at the cost of one shilling.

"Cigarettes and Whiskey and Wild, Wild Women" was the music I was looking for. Could I find it? Nope.

It must be a Country & Western song or is it from a show? I'll have to look it up another time.

So here is a bit of 'Olde English'

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Tobacco’s but an Indian weed,

Grows green at morn, cut down at eve;

It shows our decay,

We are but clay;

Think of this when you smoke tobacco.

The ashes that are left behind,

Do serve to put us all in mind

That unto dust

Return we must;

Think of this when you smoke tobacco.

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Last Rose of Summer

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‘Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone,

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone!

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No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh

To reflect back her blushes,

Or give sigh for sigh.

The melody of ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ has a complicated history. In its earliest known form it was a street ballad of about 1660, purveyed by travelling harpers around Ireland. Over its life the traditional Irish tune has had many sets of words attached to it by various authors.

The verse above and I suppose, the most well known, was written by Thomas Moore and was published in 1813 as one of ‘his’ Irish Melodies. Many people at that time accepted Moore’s pieces as genuine Hibernian airs, but scholars were extremely critical of his handling of the originals. All Moore was doing in fact was to make the ‘rude country ballads’ more acceptable in the drawing-room of the day.

When true hearts lie wither'd

And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

this bleak world alone.

Leaving the dry garden and lawn, how about a bit of drying, as in preserving.

Wise Herb (Sage) was seeking advice of what temperature is best.

The following notes come from a Ministry of Food Leaflet of October 1946. I found a load of these leaflets when going through my mother's old cook-book, which was the subject on an earlier post.

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Drying is a very old method of preserving and is useful when there is a glut of fruit or vegetables. Drying should only be used for vegetables which will not keep if stored fresh as the food value of the fresh vegetables is greater than that of the dried.

Equipment necessary for drying is simple and inexpensive. Drying may be carried out in the oven, the airing cupboard or on the warming rack over the stove.

The essential thing is to have a constant gentle heat, the temperature, say, of a good airing cupboard, and a current of air to carry off the moisture as the food dries.

If the oven or a cupboard be used leave the door ajar to ensure the necessary draught.

If drying in the oven, use the heat left after baking. It may need to be continued on several successive days.

Some sort of tray is needed on which to spread the food for drying. It should fit the oven or cupboard and must allow air to circulate round the food.

Any one of the following would be suitable;

1. Oven racks (not solid trays) with muslin stretched over them.

2. Wire cake trays spread with muslin.

3. Strips of wood made into a square or rectangle to fit the oven or warm cupboard, with muslin stretched across and fixed.

4. For apple rings, a piece of clean twine or wooden rods on which to thread the rings.

The ideal temperature is 120’-150’ F, but it should NOT exceed 150’F.

This is much lower than any temperature used for cooking and is about the temperature of a good airing cupboard.

Greater heat cooks the food instead of drying it and may even produce scorching.

Slow heating prevents the outside hardening before the middle begins to dry.

"The larks, still bravely singing"

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In addition to sheet music of individual songs, I have boxes of these 'Song Annuals'.

They seem to have been very popular around the period 1910 to 1930. Being an annual, I would assume this one below had been going for 23 years. This one is from the 1914-18 war period with several songs related to the conflict.

Songs like "There's a Ship that's Bound for Blighty" and "When the Bells of Peace are Ringing".

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Not all the songs are serious and one amusing one that I liked is......

TEN DAYS’ LEAVE

When Private O’Malley got his ten days’ leave from Flanders,

He shook hands with the sergeant and he shouted “Hip Hooray”

He open’d wide his mouth to give his lungs a few expanders,

Then slung his pack upon his back and started straight away.

Ohhhhh,

On his first day’s leave,

On his first day’s leave,

He’d ev’ry kind of sport you could conceive!

He met a little French girl, they both got very pally;

She tickled him beneath the chin which made his spirits rally;

He gave her his German helmet and he missed the boat for Calais,

On his first day home on leave!

This now goes on day by day a bit like "On the First Day of Christmas", through the next ten days of his leave.......I think I'll just pick out a couple of the best.

The man next door, who always met him in town at the station,

Had eaten pickled onions till his voice had inflammation,

So Tommy put his gas mask on to hear the conversation,

On his second day home on leave!

He took his girl to church and there they married this old stager,

That night he got in bed with both his spurs on for a wager,

Next morning she had more stripes than a full-blown Sergeant Major!

On his fourth day home on leave!

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In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

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