THE BUSH FIRES WHICH RAGED THROUGH SOUTHERN AUSTRALIA HAVE CLAIMED MANY LIVES, my heart goes out to all who have lost loved ones, friends and colleagues as well as their homes, pets, livestock and possessions. There is so little we in the UK can do to help, but this is a step in that direction: Victorian Bushfire Appeal








READING:

I am fascinated by local history and although I have never lived in the East End of London, for many years I sat as a magistrate in Bow, and like thousands of others I have flown in and out of London City Airport several times, so the area is not completely unfamiliar to me, but my knowledge was patchy to say the least.

Recently a friend recommended I read Silvertown: An East End Family Memoir by Melanie McGrath, and what a wonderful book it turned out to be.

Written almost as though it were a novel, the author documents the lives of her maternal grandparents, particularly her grandmother Jenny Page, who lived and worked in Poplar and Silvertown from the start of the 20^th century. The reader is transported to a way of life now gone, to a part of London that has changed so much that it is virtually unrecognisable. That part of east London was dominated by the huge docks along the northern edge of the Thames. In those days London was one of the greatest shipping ports in the world. Cargoes and people arrived from every part of the British Empire and beyond; manufactured goods were sent down to London and exported to all points of the compass. The area was a hive of activity, with a vibrant cockney culture, and the story of Jenny and Len Page covers the heyday, decline and eventual extinction of the docklands community.

I became totally absorbed by their life and times: the horror of Jenny having all her teeth pulled out by a local butcher when she was 17 to avoid future dental expenses; the terror of the Blitz when night after night the East End was pounded with bombs and incendiaries, and thousands were killed; and the seemingly bizarre medical treatment of TB which was a common disease in those days. All the life of the East End flows through the pages of the book, the crime, the scams, the unthinking xenophobia and anti-semitism, nights out at the dog tracks, the hunger in childhood and during the two wars, and the struggle to keep up appearances.

Jenny Page’s life began when women wore corsets, horses pulled hackney carriages, and most streets were unlit. To be an East Ender then was to be among the lowest of London’s poor, and yet she never thought of herself as low. She died aged 91, a tiny woman with no teeth who had borne two children but had never seen a naked man; a woman who had been born in London but had never visited the Tower or St.Paul’s. An unlikely heroine, very ordinary and yet totally compelling. A true Londoner.

Rated 5*

RANTING:

Babies have been hitting the headlines in no uncertain terms just recently, and none of the headlines have been doing my blood pressure any good.
The photograph, prominently published in all the newspapers, of the 13 year old boy beside the baby he has apparently fathered (and I have my doubts about whether he is in fact the father and so have others) has triggered some very extreme reactions from the British Public. Some think that the lad should be arrested by the Police charged with statutory rape and severely punished (in Britain it is a criminal offence to have sex with a girl who is under sixteen), some feel that this proves that the whole country is going to hell in a handbasket, and others seem to think that with supporting parents' support it will all be okay in the end. I hope it is, but I am not holding my breath.
My first reaction when I saw the photographs was to feel very sad for the baby who may well end up in care, and sad for the boy and girl neither of whom seem to realise the magnitude of bringing a child into the world. The sadness was then overwhelmed with anger; anger at the parents of both boy and girl - who had let this whole thing happen by not exercising proper parental care and control of their children and then sold the story to the tabloid press; anger at The Sun newspaper for cynically using two vulnerable youngsters in the most sensationalist way in order to boost circulation figures; anger at the wishy-washy attitude to proper and appropriate sex education in this country which could help prevent such situations, and finally, anger that yet again we taxpayers will have to pick up the costs.

How on earth do we start explaining to children why they should wait until they are grown up before they have children of their own? There is a wonderful children's book called Flour Babies by Anne Fine. It is about a class of 10 year old boys who take part in a science project. They are each given a 3Kg bag of flour and are told that for the next three weeks they must treat it exactly as if it were a real live baby. They are given a set of rules:

1) The flour babies must be kept clean and dry at all times. All fraying, staining and leakage of stuffing will be taken very seriously indeed.

2) Flour babies will be put on the official scales twice a week to check for any weight loss that might indicate casual neglect or maltreatment, or any weight gain that might indicate tampering or damp.

3) No flour baby may be left unattended at any time, night or day. If you must be out of sight of your flour baby, even for a short time, a responsible babysitter must be arranged.

4) You must keep a Baby Book, and write in it daily. Each entry should be no shorter than three full sentences, and no longer than five pages.

5) Certain persons (who shall not be named until the experiment is over) shall make it their business to check on the welfare of the flour babies and the keeping of the above rules. These people may be parents, other pupils, or members of the staff or the public.

The boys quickly learn just how much hard work it is looking after a baby, and how being responsible for one changes your life, you are no longer free to do as you please.

What a pity that coupled with some basic sex education, all children are not made to look after a flour baby.

And as for that woman in California who, with no income of her own and six children under the age of seven, deliberately goes and has eight embryos, conceived by IVF, implanted....don't get me started, I might explode.

RECIPE:

Every year I make something edible to give people as a Christmas gift, and last year it was these crunchy cucumber pickles. They proved so popular I have had several requests for more, so yesterday I set about making another batch. In these financially straightened times, a simple Ploughman's Lunch is an inexpensive way of feeding guests on a Saturday, and these add a touch of class when served in place of the commercially produced brown pickles or dubious chutneys. For those who don't live in the UK, I should explain that a Ploughman's (as it is usually called) is a platter of fresh bread or a crusty roll, a lump of cheese - usually Stilton or Cheddar - some chutney or pickle, and an apple, washed down with a mug of beer. It is served in pubs up and down the land, and the quality is VERY variable They are also delicious in sandwiches and with hamburgers, and are simplicity itself to make.

CREDIT CRUNCHY PICKLES

This will make about 1.5kg

Prepare several glass jars by washing in hot soapy water, rinsing in hot water and drying in the oven at 100°C.

900g small cucumbers
2 smallish onions
50g salt
350ml cider vinegar
350g granulated sugar
2 tablespoons yellow mustard seeds
2 teaspoons celery seeds
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
½ teaspoon black peppercorns


Cut the cucumbers into 5mm slices.
Halve and finely slice the onions.
Place the cucumber slices and onion into a large bowl.
Add the salt and mix well so that all the vegetables are covered with salt.
Place a plate inside the bowl, pressing down on the cucumber mixture (I weigh the plate down with another bowl containing two or three tins of food) so that it is really compressed. Leave it for 3 hours.
After that time there will be a lot of liquid in the bowl. Drain it off, and rinse the cucumber and onions under cold running water, drain again.
Put the vinegar, sugar, mustard seeds, celery seeds, turmeric and peppercorns into a large saucepan or casserole (do not use aluminium or copper pans for this recipe).
Bring to the boil, stirring with a wooden spoon to help dissolve the sugar.
Add the drained cucumber and onions; as soon as the mixture comes to the boil again, rremove the pan from the heat.
Spoon the pickle into the warm, prepared jars, making sure the vegetables are covered with the liquid.
Cover with airtight, vinegar-proof lids and store for at least 1 month before using.

THE RULE IS, JAM YESTERDAY AND JAM TOMORROW - BUT NEVER JAM TODAY.
Lewis Carroll

READING:

Starting to read a new book by Margaret Forster always feels such a treat. She is a very sure-footed writer, and I always feel, no matter what the storyline, that I am in capable hands. Her latest book Over is no exception, and I became absorbed by the characters almost immediately.

Over is the story of a marriage and of a family who are all grieving the death of one of the twin daughters of the marriage. It is narrated by the wife, Louise, a dedicated kindergarten teacher at a primary school, who has separated from her husband before the book begins.

She cannot cope with her husband Don’s obsessive quest to find who is responsible for Miranda’s death in a sailing accident. He is unable to accept that the death might have been what it really was, a very unfortunate accident with tragic consequences, and that there is nobody to blame.

Louise deciding that they must separate, and thus forcing the sale of the family home, and her purchase of a new flat, throws their son and daughter into turmoil. They too find the intensity of their father’s behaviour very difficult, as he seems determined that no-one in the family should be happy, or have any enjoyment ever again, and by implication that if they do they are failing to mourn their sister. When the surviving twin Molly insists on following her original plan to spend a gap year working in Africa, her younger brother Finn decides to leave school and slowly the family pulls apart as each member detaches themselves from what was the core, and deals with the aftermath of Miranda’s death in their own way.

For the first few chapters I completely identified with Louise, and felt that if only someone could persuade her husband that his behaviour was extreme then they could come together again. However, as the story progressed, and Don became almost deranged in his attempts to get at what he would find an acceptable “truth”, as he lost his job, and became one of those sad, lonely folk who scarcely bother to eat, wash or sleep, I began to think that he really needed his wife to help him out of the morass he had fallen into. Her stubborn refusal to connect with him in any way, struck me as very hard, even cruel, given that they had been together for many years and had raised three children. Louise’s way of grieving had been just as extreme as her husband’s; she had isolated herself from him and all the family.

What will the future be for them all, when will they get “over” Miranda’s death and move on in life, that is the final question.

Rated 3.5*

RANTING:

Earlier this week I thought I should look up the basic law on the rights of a bailiff to enter private property to recover goods, given that this government has plans for new legislation allowing them to effect forcible entry to a house or flat. What I discovered absolutely horrified me. Evidence of the widespread abuse of power by bailiffs has been gathered by the Citizen’s Advice Bureau, and I feel sure that these abuses would grow even worse under the proposednew powers of entry.

The concept of our homes being private places over which we have the right to control who may enter is no longer true. I learned that there are 266 ways in which people can enter your property without your permission, and in most cases, if you object you can be charged with obstruction and fined or imprisoned. The state grows ever more powerful, and seems to think that it can do as it pleases, entering our homes at will, stretching its tentacles into every corner of our lives.

Why are we so supine as to allow our civil liberties to be leached away like this ?

RECIPE:

I'm always on the look out for a new recipe to try out, and this week I found one that I know I'm going to be making regularly. What I was after was a salad to go with some chicken which had baked in a Malay influenced curry sauce. In one of my old Australian Women's Weekly cook books I came across this one and its a winner. Crunchy and cool, with a sweet sour spicy dressing.

NUTTY CUCUMBER SALAD WITH SWEET CHILLI DRESSING

Serves 4

1 medium large cucumber
100g pine nuts, toasted until golden brown (or raw peanuts)
4 spring onions, finely sliced
2 heaped tablespoons finely chopped fresh coriander

Dressing:
250ml white wine vinegar
125ml sweet chilli sauce
1½ tablespoons sesame oil
1 tablespoon nam pla (Thai fish sauce)
1 tablespoon sugar
1 crushed clove garlic

Halve the cucumber lengthwise, use a teaspoon to scrape out all the seeds.
Cut the cucumber halves diagonally into 1 cm thick slices and put into a serving bowl.
Put the ingredients for the dressing into a small saucepan, and boil, uncovered, for about 10mins until reduced to approximately ¾ cup. Cool.

When ready to serve, add the toasted pine nuts, sliced spring onions and chopped coriander to the cucumber slices, pour the cooled dressing over the salad and gently toss everything together.