Christmas Cake That Lasted Until Easter (22 December 1977)

In Bletchley in the early post-war years the secular aspect of Christmas was heralded by the holding of special stock shows and poultry shows at the market.  It was those events which, each year, first brought a Christmassy look to the streets of the town.

As far as the farmers and butchers were concerned, the big event was the annual fat stock show and sale.  This was run by the show committee and there were some splendid trophies to be won and held for a year, as well as the prices which the winning animals fetched at the ensuing sale.

Auctioneer was Mr W S Johnson, whose premises backed on to the market and the whole of his staff seemed to be kept busy on this and other sale days – notably Miss Jenkins and Mr Bernard Bateman.

The fat stock show was well-named, for in those days the emphasis was on the fat.  Invariably the winner of the cattle section was a hulking great beast.  Often there were liberal traces of the farmyard still upon it, but that didn’t seem to matter.  What did matter was its size and weight compared with others.

This was in stark contrast to the kind of animal that took the cup in the market’s latter years.  Gone now were the hulking great beasts.  Their place had been taken by animals about half their size but possibly having more weight per volume.  The change was caused by the modern British housewife.  She now wanted beef without fat, heaven help her, for beef without fat is no more natural than pork without crackling.

I know little about animal husbandry, but my guess is that a little beast without fat takes at least as much rearing as a big one with fat.  And if that is so, then the modern housewife is as much to blame as anyone for the present almost prohibitive price.

Beef should be cookable entirely in its own fat.  It is tastier and juicier that way, especially if what remains of the fat is left on afterwards.

I wonder what our fathers and forefathers would have thought of the present waste-by-non-rearing?  In my schooldays the Sunday joint lasted until about Wednesday in various forms, with dripping still left for tasty slices of bread-and-dripping later.  And if the joint was mutton and the weather was wintry the spare fat was rubbed into our footwear.  It was better than any dubbin for keeping out the cold and wet and for keeping the leather supple.

In particular, I wonder what half the world’s people would think, supposing they had the chance to eat meat at all?   I rather think that for them the bible story of the seven fat kine and seven lean kine would still hold good and that they would plump for the fat kine every time.

The poultry shows and sales were jolly and lively.  This was where housewives and their husbands were the direct buyers and sometimes exhibitors as well.  Small and middling-size birds usually sold quickly, but big birds sometimes had to be almost given away at the end of the day.

But the prices were not always cheap for those times.  For instance, in 1950 the Gazette reported that at the last pre-Christmas sale all classes of poultry were very dear.  Hens made from 15s to £1, older sorts 12s, old cockerels 25s, killing chickens to 37s 6d, and geese to 32s.  Rabbits were also included in those poultry sales and these made to 15s 6d.  Turkeys presumably had all gone at previous sales.

One good thing about those and earlier days was that so much of the fare was fresh, home-made, home-produced and home-cooked.  Even after the war there were very few Bletchley homes with fridges, let alone freezers, both which are now considered essential by some.

Nowadays I am tired of hearing tv and radio cookery “experts” saying:  “and now pop it into (or take it out of) the freezer.”  I wonder how expert they would have been with nothing but a wood or coal fire for heating and a stone slab in the pantry for cooling?   Yet our mothers used to serve up rattling good Christmas dinners from nothing more.  And although they were very tired at the end of the day they seemed to enjoy themselves as much as anybody.

As a child I used to like helping to stir the Christmas stuff and especially being rewarded with sugar from the candied peel.  My mother used to make half-a-dozen or more Christmas cakes in ordinary loaf-tins and a few buns of the same mixture.  The buns were for neighbours to sample and (I expect she hoped) compliment her on, just as she would go and sample and compliment them on theirs.  The loaves had no icing or other needless decoration.  It was called “spice cake” and you were always expected to eat a bit of cheese with it though I never knew why.  The last loaf was always saved to be eaten at Easter, by which time it had probably “come again” several times over.  The mince pies and the big plum pudding – boiled in the “set pot” normally used for boiling clothes – had long since gone of course.  Rhubarb wine and ginger wine, both home-made, were all our drink and I have never tasted anything better at any of the weddings, cocktail parties, cheese-and-wine soirees, dinners and banquets I have attended since.

I have always found, however, that the main ingredient of a happy Christmas is family friendship.  My own family group has been shattered and scattered by events of the past two or three years.  Nevertheless, we who remain will be spending the season at one of our family homes.

So this is my last article for this, my fifth year of writing them.   I thank all who have helped me in any way, even the occasional critic.  I remember former helpers who have passed away this year – Mr Frank Howard and Mr Alfred Maycock among them.  And now all that remains to be done is to wish all my readers a joyful Christmas and a healthful new year.