‘Fanny’s Christmas Pudding’

Posted on November 28, 2013 by Heathermargaret

It happens every year. The diary fills up with special things to do and all of a sudden everything else that has mattered for the past eleven months becomes background activity and thinking. Well at least I have to admit to that happening to me. Try as I may I struggle to keep my mind free of end of year gatherings, fruit cakes, shortbread and plumb puddings.  I fail miserably to stay focused. I do however love cooking the festive fare that my mother and grandmothers cooked in their day.

For the last three years I have made the plum pudding from a recipe handed down from my great-great-grandmother, aptly named Fanny’s Christmas Pudding. The first year that I attempted this was the year after my own mother had passed away. My son, who happens to be a very experienced chef, shared the day and the pudding making. He worked with a professional swiftness that was a delight to watch. Since then pudding making has been shared with my husband.

I love the old smells of mixed spice and cinnamon combined. I shudder at the use of suet but I also love the fact that the recipe is authentic. I love the fact that my grandmothers made this pudding in exactly the same way that I make it today. Of course they would have to have put the boiler on the wood stove to boil and kept the wood up to maintain a steady heat for the pudding to be boiled to perfection. I wonder, did they see the pudding making as a special event? I certainly do!

‘Fanny’s Christmas Pudding’

6 ozs plain flour, 8 ozs beef suet, 8 ozs sultanas, 6 ozs brown sugar, 2 ozs almonds, ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon, ½ cup rum or brandy, grated rind and lemon juice, 6 ozs breadcrumbs, 8 ozs raisins, 8 ozs currants,¼ lb. mixed peel, ½ packet mixed spice (1 oz), 1 grated carrot, 6 eggs 

Method:   1. Put saucepan of water on to boil.  2. Sift flour.  3. Shred suet and rub into flour.  4. Add breadcrumbs and fruit.  5. Add spice, sugar, grated lemon rind and grated carrot.  6. Beat eggs well and mix in well.  7. Add lemon juice.  8. Cook in basin with cloth tied on top or in a scalded, floured pudding cloth for 4 hours.  9. Hang in cool place till required.  10. When required, boil for another 2 to 3 hours, remove from cloth and serve with custard.

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This is a very old recipe from a book produced in the 1830’s, my great-great grandmother made this pudding and it was passed down through the generations, it’s still made today in our family. The suet is not the healthiest choice in this day and age but once a year it’s a treat if used sensibly. The pudding is delicious and any left overs freeze well. Enjoy!

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‘People Like Us!’

Posted on November 24, 2013 by Heathermargaret

Recently, I was involved in a conversation with another person who used demeaning language about public housing tenants. The person in question referred to the government as ‘putting them’ in certain areas.  As the flavour of the conversation continued, I wincingly objected, only to be told, ‘well you know what I mean!’ No, I didn’t know what he meant but I was getting a very clear view of his biased view toward anyone who happened to live in government housing.

Okay, I can get on my high horse easily and perhaps the person in the conversation hadn’t bothered to think through the ramifications of generalising groups of people. The offending person lives in a lovely home of which he privately owns. So, why deride others less materially fortunate? Was his behaviour an attempt to remain superior in his own perception of self, because somehow, despite the material advantages he didn’t feel so good about himself anyway? Or did he, heaven forbid, actually think that some people are of less worth than others according to their monetary and living arrangements? Of course he did! That became obvious to me as the conversation proceeded.

The referencing troubled me and the human devaluing made me angry.  I actually expect more in this day and age! ‘Well hello’, I am hearing you say as you read this, ‘what planet are you from?’ One of the difficult aspects of these encounters can be, what to do about it. If I say nothing I feel I’m colluding with the suggested innuendo and if I object I stand the chance of offending (I usually do!) and causing a difficult social situation…!  But really, I get tired (oh so tired!) of the aspiring well off and the well off middle classes building their own self-esteem at the expense of undervaluing others.

As I ponder this issue I am reminded of an occasion many years ago, when I attended a lecture by a very prominent psychologist/medical practitioner. As well as being very competent, experienced and respected in the particular work that she practised, she was also hilariously funny and down to earth. She relayed a story about her ‘very snobbish’ mother who had a particular saying when enquiring about others. She would ask ‘are they PLUs’ dear?’ In other words ‘are they people like us?’ Says it all really! For some people they hold clear notions about what divides us as human beings. It might be the schools we send our kids to, the amount of money we earn, the cars we drive and the houses we live in, all of which equate to nothing more than material wealth and opportunity.  But, unfortunately in our society, the worth of many people and families still seems to be made according to the above criteria.

I’m still angry!!

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‘Christmas Bug’

Posted on November 15, 2013 by Heathermargaret

Yesterday, I went to our local shopping centre with a small shopping list of items. A couple of birthday cards, a particular book for a birthday present for a friend and envelopes. It’s November and I haven’t caught the ‘Christmas Bug’! But as I fight my way past the fifty stands of Christmas decorations, wrappings, chocolates and kids toys, I start to dawdle (the Christmas bug pursuing me, teasing me into submission). ‘Deck the halls with….’!

Quickly I recognise its hovering power and hurry on, reminding myself that consumerism is becoming a major social and environmental issue (bug now hiding behind a cut out Santa!). How many Christmas tree decorations can hang on one small, medium or even large tree? What happens to the decorations from last year? Do they get thrown out with the tree in the heat of January or do they melt down into a gooey tinselled mess? Are the baubles and dangles so entangled with the artifical silver and gold glitter trees after the shine has gone off the celebrations, that their owners shake their heads and dump the lot? I’m feeling smug now; looking stern and unengaged I briskly walk toward the book section (bug distancing momentarily!).

I engage myself with rapid scanning of the book titles, I love books and quickly recognise the new releases, usually I’ve read most of the reviews. Somehow, my mind starts to wander back to Christmas decorations. I remember the old box that came out every year when I was a kid. Many of the decorations were worse for wear but special because they had witnessed the years of preparation, celebration and excitement of Christmas. Hardly ever as a child do I remember shopping for decorations. There may have been the odd additions along the way but mainly our stars, tinsel, baubles and angel were well-loved and well used symbols of a special time of the year. I also remember my grandmother’s tree. In particular, I recall small clip-on birds, she had about three or four of them. They were small and in muted tones of greens and blue. One of those little birds ended up in my collection many years later. Little clip-on birds have significance for me still. (bug bored!) 

Interrupting my musings I collect the book, and head back between the aisles of tinsel, coloured lights and colourful Christmas paraphernalia. Mind you, I’m tempted to have a peep at a box of bright red and pink baubles (the colours catch my eye and the bug dances excitedly!) but I check myself and continue my martyr march to the front counter (bug not happy!). I stand in the queue with my sensible purchases, safe from the clutches of the Christmas bug, at least for another day. ‘Deck the halls with….’!

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On a quiet Friday!

Posted on November 15, 2013 by Heathermargaret

The afternoon sun was streaming through my front window, warm on my face. I heard the yelling, then the crashing sounds. I sat disoriented, listening hard before moving.

A young man across the road in the back-end of a block of flats was the noise maker. He was leaping about, screaming and shouting and hurling objects toward a flat entrance and windows. In what seemed like minutes but in probability seconds, endless crashes and thuds occurred together with loud, ever so scary cursing. A young woman from another unit seemed to be trying to calm the thrower but to no avail, he was in escalation. Somehow he had injured his hand, there was blood everywhere. In a frenzied state he repeatedly ran up the steps to hurl yet another piece of brick or wood, then arrive back in the driveway to shriek obscenities to whoever it was in the flat. At one stage he kicked at a post and fell to the ground only to jump up, throw another object and fall over again. The falling over seemed to be in response to the intensity of his rage!

It was at this point that we decided to call triple zero. Through to the police immediately I was asked what seemed like endless but calm questions. Whilst I tried to answer the woman on the triple zero line the scene across the road became more menacing.
‘What is the address and what can you see?
‘He is now wielding what seems like a cricket bat, or something similar.’
‘Do you know the person?’
‘No.’
‘What is actually happening, does he have a weapon?’
‘Don’t think so but he is throwing anything he can find, at the flat door or window.’
‘What does he look like and what’s he wearing?’
‘He’s thin with very short, cropped hair and he’s wearing a singlet, either black or blue, jeans and that’s it. We need the police, he’s escalating!’
‘Okay. I’ve notified them.’
‘Is he dark-skinned or fair?
‘Fair’
‘How old is he?’
‘In his twenties, I think. Not sure.’
‘OK you’re doing well. I need to clarify the address again.’
‘Do you mind giving your name?’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘Still throwing things, cursing. This is getting bad!’
‘The police are on their way.’

We momentarily considered going across the road to try to help, but knew that we couldn’t risk it. I became anxious for the young woman who appeared to know the young man, he didn’t show signs of anger toward her but she was unable to calm him. Several times she walked toward him but ignoring her he continued his tirade, she walked away. There was a stream of cursing and screaming being returned from inside the unit but it quickly subsided as time elapsed. The only thing that didn’t subside was the young man’s rage. He leapt, screamed, ran and hurled broken items without what seemed, a smidgen of control.
The police arrived, two vans, four officers, two immediately walked briskly down the drive way. He spotted them and turned his tirade of abuse toward them, they moved in on him very hesitantly. He screamed blue murder as they got him on the ground, or did he throw himself to the ground? Two younger female officers, plain clothed arrived and ran toward the scene.

Then the sad, pathetic sound of the young man’s crying and sobbing like a baby, rang across the street. By now there were three police cars, seven police, four ambulance officers, a mica unit and an ambulance on the scene. Several minutes elapsed, the street fell quiet again. Soon, they led the young man to the ambulance. He was very subdued. A small tan and white foxy dog followed the man, police and ambulance officers. One police officer then picked it up, ever so gently and took it back to the driveway of the flats. Police officers rode in the ambulance with the young man. The vehicle however was forced to stop when the small dog returned. Likewise a police car leaving the scene slowed to miss the small creature. Was it the young man’s dog?

A stillness settled. Except for one police car and officers, obviously interviewing the occupant of the smashed up flat, the street returned to normal Friday afternoon activities. Except for the debris at the end of the units drive way, no-one would know that earlier a young man had lost control for some reason or other.

As I write this I’m sad. I know he’s someone’s son, maybe he has brothers or sisters even, does he have a family that can care or help out? And I wonder how it came down to this distressing event, for the young man in the singlet, on a quiet Friday afternoon!

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A tear for Julia!

Posted on November 3, 2013 by Heathermargaret

On Wednesday I walked the corridors of Parliament House. Just a casual tourist having a quick look around our National Capital. I walked (a little too briskly probably!) past the large portraits of our former Prime Ministers, desperately wanting to see a portrait of our only female Prime Minister, Julia Gillard. Of course disappointment was in store, no portrait yet! Well, okay I guess it’s early days and all of that! But one hopes they (whoever they are!) gets a wriggle on and hangs that portrait on the wall where it so deservedly belongs, sooner rather than later!

As a woman, I need to know that Julia will be honoured alongside the men. I need to know that when international visitors look at her portrait, they will comment on how she was the first female Prime Minister of Australia. And, I need to know that younger women can walk past her and recognise a little bit of themselves in her bravery and success.

Julia Eileen Gillard. Member of the Australian Labor Party. Twenty-seventh Prime Minister of Australia. A woman!

Yep, enough to bring a tear to my eye just thinking about it! Even without the portrait!

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Not just a House!

Posted on October 23, 2013 by Heathermargaret

Yesterday I looked at a house for sale. An old Victorian house with one of those original tiled paths that starts at the gate and continues to the front door. I stepped tentatively into the large hallway and consequently back in time. Actually, back into someone elses time, I suspect. It soon became obvious that the house was inhabited by an older resident. Photo’s of smiling and serious family faces, historical and modern, sat proudly on wobbly tables. Lovely old furniture, some pieces that had seen better days and many a family function, stood proud but tired in the splendid front room. China cabinets stood firm against green walls, it felt as if these furniture pieces had been in the same place for a very long time. Special china and glass pieces sat at odd angles within.

I walked quietly, not wanting to disturb the old place, somehow it commanded respect along with its owner. The bedrooms looked well slept in and on the tall hallway walls were old brass hooks with fabulous felt hats lined up on display. The back of the house represented an attempt to upgrade, go modern even, some time ago. The garden was overgrown but in a rather enchanting manner. The rain and the cold added a gloomy atmosphere.

My thoughts kept returning to the resident of the property. I knew nothing about her but had a strong sense that she had been there for a very long time. I tried to imagine what the circumstances could be for her to be moving now. Was she unwell and moving to be closer to family? Did she have family members that would care about her, look after her even? Was this lady moving to a smaller home, maybe a new unit that had all the modern commodities that older people, or their families like them to have in old age? The musings were endless.

I remembered when I was child and my parents bought a small farm. On the day when we arrived to take possession of the property the elderly farmer was leaving with his daughter. I wondered, as children do, why he was crying as he drove out of the long driveway for the last time. It transpired that he was ninety-two and had lived on the property all his life!

And yes, not all people live in properties or houses for long lengths of time these days.  In fact many people move about and live in dwellings all over the world but familiar space is very important as we age. Particularly I suspect, space that has significance or history attached to it.

So, today I’ve been thinking about the lady in the Victorian house. I will never know her story or her outcome. However, her old house has given me a chance to think about, try to imagine even, what it might be like to give up a meaningful attachment in older age.

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What is an olive?

Posted on October 21, 2013 by Heathermargaret

My son tells a story about sitting in a village pub in Essex, England,  with his then girlfriend’s brother. The chap turned to my son and in his wonderful Essex accent asked,

‘What is an olive?’

My son looked bemused and pointed to the olive dish in front of them.

‘They are olives!’

The young man turned his head on the side slightly and said.

‘No, I mean what is an olive, really?’

A deep and meaningful conversation about olives followed. And so, when I think about blogging I’m saying to myself. . .okay, I know what a blog site is, I’ve read a few blogs but what is a blog really? Why am I blogging?

I’m not prepared to throw words at a page in the hope that someone will read it and think it’s dull or clever, or disagree with it, or like it or dislike it. So, what am I doing this for, I ask myself?  Even as I’m typing I’m shaking my head in what is probably still a healthy ambivalence.  But. . .something about this process is holding me in. . .

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Muddled and Befuddled!

Posted on October 19, 2013 by Heathermargaret

Today I enter the new zone of blogging! Well, new to me anyway. This is a world that I cannot ignore anymore and so I sit in a blogging workshop muddled and befuddled! This has to be done.

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