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Post by meganl on Oct 28, 2016 9:31:20 GMT
Weel folks hids nearly Halloween again whaur his this year gaan. I wis in the shops the ither day and they are fu o pumpkins, fancy costumes and toffee apples. Hid made me think on when I wis a bairn we wid spend ages hollowin oot a neep tae pit a peedie stump o candle in (nane o these tea lights then).
Mum would get oot the auld heavy bottomed pot and mak toffee apples wie good sharp cox apples. The toffee would be boiled til it went hard when dropped on a cold saucer then the sticks wid be poked intae the apples and they were gently rolled in the pot while it was tilted a wee bittie so the toffee got right up to the stick, then it wid be carfully laid on an oiled tin to cool. If I wis very lucky there wid be a tray o cinder toffee as weel .
Then it wis on tae the costume, I mind a winter curtain that did service as a sari the year i wanted tae be an indian (Dad had been reading me Rudyard Kipling) and after being liberally coated in liquid gravy browning neepie lantern in haun I wis sent aff tae the neighbours wie the admonition "Mind Jist this block" (we lived in a toon at that time. Nae self respecting bairn wid go oot withoot a party piece cause yed aye be welcomed in and asked "Whit dae ye dae." I wis ontae a guid thing the year i learned Burns's To a Mountain Daisy. We sang danced and recited poems fur peanuts, still in their shells. If ye wur very lucky ye might earn a bit barley sugar twist or a toffee for chocolate was a rare treat back then.
Translation
Well folks it’s nearly Halloween again where has this year gone. I was in the shops the other day and they are full of pumpkins, fancy costumes and toffee apples. It made me think on when I was a child we would spend ages hollowing out a swede to pit a small stump of candle in (none of these tea lights then).
Mum would get out the old heavy bottomed pot and make toffee apples with good sharp Cox apples. The toffee would be boiled till it went hard when dropped on a cold saucer then the sticks would be poked into the apples and they were gently rolled in the pot while it was tilted a little bit so the toffee got right up to the stick, then it would be carefully laid on an oiled tin to cool. If I was very lucky there would be a tray of cinder toffee as well .
Then it was on to the costume, I remember a winter curtain that did service as a sari the year I wanted to be an Indian (Dad had been reading me Rudyard Kipling) and after being liberally coated in liquid gravy browning turnip lantern in hand I was sent off to the neighbours with the admonition "Remember Just this block" (we lived in a town at that time. No self respecting child would go out without a party piece cause you would always be welcomed in and asked "What do you do." I was onto a good thing the year I learned Burns’ To a Mountain Daisy. We sang danced and recited poems for peanuts, still in their shells. If you were very lucky ye might earn a bit of barley sugar twist or a toffee for chocolate was a rare treat back then.
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maeve
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Post by maeve on Oct 28, 2016 11:11:33 GMT
Nae translation needed, Hen. Lovely to read, thank you, Megan!
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Post by sandrainsydney on Oct 28, 2016 12:58:50 GMT
our shops are also full of cheap Halloween rubbish - & cheap Christmas stuff!
Halloween wasn't celebrated in my day (sez the old woman of 64) but the Americanisation of Australia has been massive ovder eth past few decades.
Scots Australians probably celebrated halloween back in the olden days but I never saw it. My surname is Scottish (a Borderer name actually!) & some of my ancestors came from Scotland as well as Ireland & England, but they were so far back we didn't have any ancestral cultural habits. Dad's grandmothers were Irish & Scottish so he might have memories from these grandmothers, but ...
sandra
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on Oct 31, 2016 12:41:41 GMT
Halloween must have been a lot of fun for you, Megan. I can't imagine hollowing out a turnip, though. What a lot of work!
I'm a tad older than you are, Sandra. We celebrated Halloween in Canada when I was a child. Going door to door seems less popular now.
Neighbours would give us apples from trees in their own gardens, and homemade popcorn balls. We'd have apples to take to school in our lunches for weeks afterward.
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Post by meganl on Oct 31, 2016 18:55:41 GMT
I mentioned barley sugar the other day 3 cups sugar, 2 cups water, 1 lemon, 1 teaspoon cream of tartar.
METHOD
dissolve sugar and water then add the rind of the lemon and cream of tartar. Cook to 240 degrees Fahrenheit or soft ball stage. Remove lemon rind and add the juice from the lemon and cook to 310 degrees Fahrenheit or hard crack stage being careful not to let it burn. pour into a buttered tray. The next bit takes care and timing. As it starts to set cut into strips twist them and place in the fridge to set.
Rags how do you make the popcorn balls?
Another thing I remembered was dookin for apples mum just used a washing up bowl but a neighbour still had her old tin bath from when she lived in the tenements. It would be filled with water and lots of cox's apples were tossed in (they were the best because they were small and you had a good chance of getting a good grip on one.) The braver souls would get a sheet wrapped round them then they would kneel by the side of the bath and plunge their face into the water to attempt to catch an apple. Those who were less brave or more pernickety about their appearance would kneel on a straight backed chair and grip a fork in their mouth attempting to drop it so that it speared the elusive treat.
One of the houses usually had a party so we made sure to end up there, the others would get fed up and wander off but I would curl up under the table with a mug of cocoa listening as the various adults would play a tune or sing.
There was one old man (Well he seemed ancient to me back then) I think he was my pals grandpa who when folk wanted to catch their breath would Tell ghostly stories from Scottish folklore like the murdered pedlar of Loch Assynt or tales of the BaoBhan Sith female vampires.
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Post by sandrainsydney on Nov 1, 2016 0:51:40 GMT
I was in inner suburbia last night & saw kids & parents wandering around with goodie bags. No-one was wearing the cheap & nasty halloween stuff from the junk/cheap shops, most of the kids were beautifully dressed in fancy costumes & their mums were too, mums also wore masks! My friends who don't live in apartment/entertainment land like I do said that people who want to participate decorate their front yards so the kids know where to go.
a different world - houses & kids wandering around (with parents)
sandra
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on Nov 1, 2016 6:47:08 GMT
Rags how do you make the popcorn balls? I've never made them. Parents made them for us when we were children, back in the dark ages. There is a recipe here: www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/popcorn-balls-recipe.htmlIngredients 2 cups sugar 1 1/3 cups water 1/2 cup light corn syrup 1 teaspoon white vinegar 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 18 cups popped corn Directions In a medium saucepan, combine sugar, water, syrup, vinegar, and salt. Cook over high heat until mixture reaches 255 degrees F (hard-ball stage) on a candy thermometer. Stir in vanilla. Pour over popped corn, tossing gently to coat. When mixture is cool enough to handle, press popcorn into 3-inch balls with lightly greased hands. Cool completely on waxed paper. Recipe courtesy of Paula Deen The ones I remember looked darker than these.
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Post by meganl on Nov 11, 2016 8:33:31 GMT
Thank you Rags.
Today is armistice day now I don't do heroes and believe governments only start shouting about them when they are planning another war and looking for more cannon fodder but I do believe in family and every person from all sides of a war are and have family.
Our war memorial is one of the most unusual I have ever seen and every time I pass it I think of my Grandmother who was left with five children to look after and her husbands last gift to her before he left, my mother who was born four months after he died. I wrote this poem about our memorial and all the women who were left to sit like that after the children had gone to bed and wonder how they were ever going to manage.
Stromness memorial
There is a lady head in hand Who sits at the turn of the road Her face is drawn in grief and pain As she ponders the depth of her load.
How will she keep the bairns fed And face lonely nights when they are in bed. How will she keep them on the path straight and true How will she keep them minding of you.
She is only a statue at the turn of the road. Her sides are covered with many a name. The lads of her parish who once went to war. Never to come to their home once again.
A name on a wall, a line in a book. So often forgotten throughout the land. But to her they are Father, husband and brother Her son, her uncle, her nephew, her lover.
There she sits at the turn of the road Her s the face of every woman who shares her load. She cannot forget them the ones who are gone. Yet for their love she wipes away her tears Kisses his children and just carries on.
She will remember them.
MHTBL November 09 2009 22:50hrs
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Post by sandrainsydney on Nov 11, 2016 13:18:01 GMT
One of my grandmother's brother's James Royal Lambert died at Passchendaele in 1917 & their mother wore a brooch with his picture everyday until she died 20 years later Brooch with very worn photo clearer photo Great grandmother wearing her brooch My father was apprenticed as an electrician in 1941 or 42 & worked as an electrician at Mort's Dock so didn't join up, unlike fathers of others of my generation.
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Post by meganl on Nov 16, 2016 7:13:51 GMT
our stories are fairly similar Sandra, my grandfather was killed at the battle of Aisne 14th September 1914 from then until her own death on the 8th may (I think) 1960 my grandmother kept a lamp lit in the window every night because all she had ever received was a telegram "Missing Presumed dead".
Dad had done his apprenticeship at Atlas Locomotive works in Springburn as an engineer. Just before the war he went to Connells shipyard to see about work he was shown around and spotted a man making pressure plates he asked how many they made a day. The gaffer looked at him strangely before telling him that the man he was watching was able to make three a week (precision pressure work was not a shipbuilding skill) Dad told him he could do three a day since it was a common skill on steam locomotives after a test the man who had been doing the job sighed in relief that he could go back to the work he knew.
All the men in the yard got their call up papers they went to the boss to let him know they would be gone and were told to get back to work that night just before the whistle went they were all called together and informed they were doing war work and had been exempted.
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Post by meganl on Nov 20, 2016 12:22:51 GMT
The chip shop
She stood close trying to be good, frightened by all those strange people yet more afraid of being asked to wait outside. Eventually she can take it no more and turns into his chest. He feels her quiver and grip a handful of his jacket.
He sighs a little in frustration then bends his head nose skimming through her hair till he can whisper soft reassurance. He listens to her frightened apology desperate for his touch, afraid to be sent to stand alone outside afraid he will send her away.
He pulls her closer a finger caressing her pale cheek. How could he ever send her away, this tiny woman, his wife, mother of his children and now the Alzheimer's has made her his small child frightened by the world.
The boy behind the counter handed him the parcel, one fish supper enough for both of them. He hands her the parcel to carry home and she beams up at him so proud she has been given this important task.
He opens the door for her when they are outside he turns to close the door and wipes his eyes she will never see him cry, she would not understand.
. . . . . . Whenever I got to the chip shop on a Friday night The old couple come in their order is always one fish supper it took me a few times before I realised what I was seeing.
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on Nov 21, 2016 2:05:48 GMT
Our war memorial is one of the most unusual I have ever seen and every time I pass it I think of my Grandmother who was left with five children to look after and her husbands last gift to her before he left, my mother who was born four months after he died. I wrote this poem about our memorial and all the women who were left to sit like that after the children had gone to bed and wonder how they were ever going to manage.
Megan, your poem is very moving. It's very sad that war not only affects those who fight, but also the many others who are connected to them. One of my grandmother's brother's James Royal Lambert died at Passchendaele in 1917 & their mother wore a brooch with his picture everyday until she died 20 years later Sandra, Your family is lucky to have you caring for family treasures. How sad for that mother to always have the reminder with her that she'd never see her much-loved son again on this earth.
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ragdall
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Post by ragdall on Nov 21, 2016 2:12:22 GMT
Whenever I got to the chip shop on a Friday night The old couple come in their order is always one fish supper it took me a few times before I realised what I was seeing. Megan you are a keen observer. You can see beyond what is in front of you and understand the unseen. Such a cruel disease. Before it takes the body, it slowly steals away the personality until all that is left are memories of who that person used to be.
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Post by sandrainsydney on Nov 25, 2016 9:30:26 GMT
a lovely cheese thread on Mudcat yum!
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maeve
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Post by maeve on Nov 29, 2016 11:13:50 GMT
"How sad for that mother to always have the reminder with her that she'd never see her much-loved son again on this earth." Or perhaps for her, how comforting to always have the reminder of her much-loved son, hoping she would greet him again with joy in heaven.
"Megan you are a keen observer. You can see beyond what is in front of you and understand the unseen." True- Megan's heart understands, then her words throw light. I suspect that slow road is the one a family member is on.
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