Neglected Things

Last year we had a reasonable crop of blackcurrants so I decided to have a go at making some blackcurrant vinegar.  

I made a small batch in a kilner jar - just cider vinegar, blackcurrants and some sugar.  Initially I was filled with enthusiasm and remembered to give the jar a shake each day.  After a week or two I forgot all about it. 

 

Until yesterday, when I was cleaning that part of the pantry.  Ooops!

It is a large pantry, time was when I would empty the entire thing and clean it out all in one day.  Those days have passed, I now do a shelf as and when I get the urge to do it...obviously that is not as often as I should!

I opened the lid expecting to find a mouldy mess but, no, the vinegar is wonderfully dark and delicious.  The blackcurrants should have been removed after a few weeks, but they were left in all the time.  No harm done, in fact when I tried one or two they were delicious.   

I strained the liquid and poured it into a couple of small sterilised wine bottles.   It will be used on salads and as a dipping sauce.  Best of all, unlike so many Balsamic vinegars, this didn't trigger a bad headache, and that has to be a bonus.

The signs are looking fairly good for a reasonable crop of blackcurrants this year.  Fingers crossed!

Several years ago I made some vanilla essence, just vanilla pods and vodka.  It needed plenty of time to mature but it is excellent.  Much better than the commercial ones.  

Time to get another batch of that made then I can let it sit and mature in peace.

A couple of months ago I made a sourdough starter (again) followed all the directions, nurtured it and coddled it, then forgot it.  Dead as a do-do (or should that be a dough-dough) it just fell off my radar.  

I could blame it on the fact that George suddenly developed an interest in baking bread (it soon waned) and he took over the bread-making for two or three weeks, but I won't. 

I will own the neglect.  I totally forgot it was there.  

For St George and for England

 

I have been in and out of the house today, waiting for the wind to swing around in the right direction to properly unfurl my St George's Cross.  It has played games, so has the camera.  

Just as the grandchildren were eating their tea, I stepped outside for one last go and managed to get this one.

Not brilliant, but it will do.  It is high above the arched gate, normally this picks up any breeze.

MSM would have you believe that far right hooligans were causing trouble, earlier.  No they were not.  The met police suddenly formed a barricade across part of the planned route, this is not a little trick they would do during one of the hate marches which take place each weekend.  It was calculated to stir up trouble, it was provocative.  It worked for a short time, they got the photographs the MSM wanted.

Back to my normal platform, a couple of old-style farming sayings.  According to weather lore experts these are tried and true:

'When on Saint George's rye will hide a crow, a good harvest may be expected.'

'At St George's the meadow turns to hay.'

Happy Saint George's Day!

 

A Town without Walls

 After doing the shopping I had a little time to spare so I called in at Louth library.  

The shelves of local history books are in a quiet corner, perfect.  I found a book which gives the history of virtually every street in town.  Jonny and MingMing have a house in town, not so much a house, more a rather large project.  I was hoping to be able to discover some of the history of the old building.

I couldn't find anything directly relating to their building but there was plenty about some of the people who lived in the same road, Northgate, which is only one of the names it has been known by since medieval times.  

The other names are rather more fun - in 1317 it was known as Padehole (toad-hollow).  'Northgate', was recorded first in 1450 then, for a while, it became known by the nickname Finkle Street (stinking street or fart street). 

 

There were a couple of small schools along the road, but given the Finkle Street name it probably wasn't a particularly good part of the town, nor were they especially good schools.   The Poor House and House of Correction were also sited on Northgate.  These days part of the workhouse building has been converted into flats, after having been a butcher's premises for quite some time.  You can see it in the photograph.

The modern building to the right is the library.

Records show there was a baker and flour dealer on Northgate,  Edward Fields,  this is of particular interest as some of the old deeds to J & MM's house show that the building was formerly a bakery and shop, could that be their building?  I wonder.  Unfortunately the paperwork they have doesn't go back quite far enough. 

Back to Louth, the town itself.  It is a fairly small market town, steeped in history.   The number of gates which are listed, given that it is not a walled town, is intriguing.

• Eastgate
• Westgate
• Northgate (No Southgate)
• Kidgate
• Upgate
• Ramsgate
• Gospelgate
• Cisterngate
• Ludgate
• Chequergate

These are all street names which can be seen around town.  However, there also used to be:

• Hollowgate
• Walkergate
• Enginegate
• Lowgate

According to another book this is because this part of the country was conquered by the Danes in 9th century and a strong Danish influence of the language remained long after.  The Danish word for road was 'gata', which over time became the suffix 'gate'.

My Next Project

 One of my 1930's cookery books gives a wonderful description of a typical farmhouse kitchen - huge old flagstones, white scrubbed tables and brightly shining grate, delicious pots of food simmering on the fire.

Once a week bread (plain, spiced, fruited, wholemeal) Yorkshire teacakes, pies, cheesecakes, tarts and great big fruit cakes would be baked.  All the work of one capable and efficient pair of hands, the farmer's wife.  

The author could see the flames of the fireplace travelling under the brick built bread oven and enquired about how she managed to maintain the heat, did she use coal?  

No, she used only wood, didn't trust coal at all.  She knew wood, and could manage the heat very well with it.  

The table was laden with delicious-looking bread and pies.   When asked whether she used scales to weigh out her ingredients, she said she just knew how much flour, butter, lard, milk, water and eggs were required.

As you can see, I use my trusty scales, but then I am not a real cook.  I don't enjoy cooking, but I do enjoy baking bread.

Further on in the book there is a paragraph of the practicalities of using a brick oven, the work involved in firing up and cleaning one and that is before the baking can begin.  However, despite all these drawbacks, the writer says that no bread, spice loaves, or fruit cakes ever taste as wonderful as those baked in a brick oven...

I have asked that George build me an outdoor bread oven.  He can call it my birthday present.  

We have plenty of old bricks around the place and Owl Wood is the perfect place for me to get the wood to make into faggots for burning under the oven.  I know he will enjoy the build, in fact he is busy doing the research right now.

I will enjoy the bread-baking experiments.  No doubt there will be many failures.  I will post them on here.

Not sure how long this build will take but it has certainly got him fired-up (if you will forgive the pun) and energised.  Now that he no longer works it is all too easy for him to fall into the doldrums.  This should keep him happily occupied for a week or three.

Letterboxes

My mother and her relatives were prolific letter-writers.  So was my father, although his letters were either to my mother, when he was working away, or correspondence with fellow naval historians as he did his many decades of research.

I still have bundles of their old letters and postcards.  Every now and again I open the box and have a little read, enjoying the sight of their familiar handwriting.  

Almost every day the postman would push a pile of letters dropped through their letterbox, not the boring circulars which I receive, but personal letters.  I began thinking about postboxes around here and what a challenge it must be for temporary postmen when our lovely regular one has a holiday.   

 Here is a small selection of post and parcel boxes found on a rural postal round in Lincolnshire.  

The boxes range from cute to strictly utilitarian.

Some are positioned on fences, to save the postman a long drive down to the house,

while others are stuck on outbuilding walls.

Royal Mail postbox, built into a tiny section of wall which was specially constructed to house it.

A black painted mail box, barely visible through the ivy and attached to a tree trunk.  

The post is collected once a day, six days a week, from the red Royal Mail post boxes,  though that may soon change.

I got carried away talking to this interested spectator and forgot what I meant to photograph, the letter box is the red painted item, lower left, it is a nice chunky box which could also hold parcels.

This beautiful house was formerly a railway station.  Built into the actual wall of the house, between two windows, is a bright red post Royal Mail postbox where mail can be posted, while mail deliveries are through a typical letterbox in the front door.

An elderly woman lives there, I didn't take a photograph of the front of the house with the box as I didn't want to worry her.  That box also gets emptied once a day, though I doubt there is anything in it most times as there are only nine houses in this hamlet and two of those are holiday lets.

Not all country letterboxes are so cute, this one is the black slit you can see in the wall.  Definitely not parcel-friendly.

My post today: two circulars.  One personal email and a whats app msg.

One of my Walks

 One of my favourite walks.  If you click the link it will take you to a You tube video which I have just found.  

The three-and-a-half minute video belongs to someone else, but it is a good illustration of one of my favourite walks.  The terrain and the peace.  

Parsonage Cottage can't be seen because it is almost totally hidden by Owl Wood, but you do pass through 'our' barley field at one stage.

Not shown is the watermill, although the route takes you past it.  Along the lane and on through the fields.

Onward, past the dovecote (not shown) then up the small hill to the church where we have our Christmas Carol evenings.

Follow the very quiet lane, then we hit the tracks and the fields as we head out to Swaby.    Cut back through a long and narrow valley (formed during the last Ice Age) and back along the farm tracks, through some protected meadow and out to another church, the one which hosted the Angel exhibition.

More tracks and fields and the circular walk is complete.  About 5.5 miles of wonderful Lincolnshire countryside.

Hardly a soul to be seen, just the occasional car or tractor.

By the time I reach home I am more than happy to indulge in some bread and cheese.