Toto’s Tea Set

Objects and Stories – 13th February 2018 – Ann Young 

My father’s only sister was called Constance. However, their younger brother could not manage to say Constance or even Connie. He called her Toto and the name stuck with her for the rest of her life. She did not marry and so she took a very keen interest in the lives of her two nephews and two nieces ( my sister and myself). She had very dark hair in her youth and even when her hair turned snow white, she still had very dark eyebrows which complemented her lovely dark brown eyes. I particularly remember her sense of humour and her little Pekinese dog. Toto passed on a bone china tea set to me when I was married over forty years ago. As you can see, it is an all over floral pattern with a pale green background. My grandmother had had a similar tea set but the background was pale blue. It was passed on to my cousin. When I was growing up, my favourite colour was NOT pink, but green, especially pale green, so I was delighted to be given the green set rather than the blue one.

Looking at the tea cup reminds of some of my relatives, not just Toto who would have been 100 years old on New Year’s Day, this year.

My father was a physicist and if there was a debate about whether milk should be added before or after the tea is poured, he would insist that adding the milk after the tea made the resulting liquid the correct pH or level of acidity which suited his weak stomach. I believe the real reason for adding the cold milk first was to protect delicate china cups from the hot tea.

My mother and I enjoyed taking my daughter in her buggy shopping in Belfast. I would always say “Let’s have a cup of tea” and we would head for the nearest café. One day, Jennifer, aged about 2½, suddenly piped up from her buggy “Are we going to the cup of tea shop?” Ever since then cafés have been called cup of tea shops in our family.

My English grandmother was like myself, a bit of a butter fingered person. She once asked if we could take her to buy a tea set “just for breaking” in other words an everyday tea set.

I used the other china tea sets we were given as wedding presents but a lot of pieces got broken and eventually I was using mugs to dunk tea bags in. Nowadays afternoon tea is fashionable and vintage china is often used to serve it. I had my first formal afternoon tea in the foyer of a Dublin Hotel before they became so popular. I had noticed the menu in the lobby and was keen to try it. As this was before it became so fashionable, the rest of the family scoffed at me and won’t come with me. I was determined to have an afternoon tea and so sat by myself in splendid isolation. I felt like a grand lady with my silver tea pot, hot water pot and cake stand. I thoroughly enjoyed my dainty sandwiches, scones, cakes and pastries. These days afternoon teas are very popular and many hotels and cafes serve afternoon teas; often at eyewatering prices. I feel very smug that I was one of the first to sample one. My daughter and I enjoyed a lovely afternoon tea complete with a glass of Champagne at the Merchant Hotel in Belfast as part of my 60th birthday celebrations.

 

Anyway, back to Toto’s tea set. I had always just thought of it as a very sweet old-fashioned tea set – too delicate for everyday use and only to be used on very, very special occasions. Nothing particularly special about it. Then one day, while looking at the magazines in Eason’s, the cover of the BBC Homes and Antiques magazine caught my eye. It showed some flowery china including a jug which looked just like the pattern in Toto’s tea set. Intrigued, I looked at the article inside and decided that I would have to buy a copy. I kept the relevant pages from the magazine and hunted them out to prepare for this talk. I had thought that it must be about five years but certainly no more than ten years since I had bought the magazine. I was astounded to see the date on the magazine – September 2017 – over twenty years ago!

The article was written by Paul Atterbury of Antiques Roadshow fame. He states that “This type of flowery patterned china is called Chintzware”. I had only heard the word chintz being used to describe flowery patterned fabrics for curtains and sofa coverings. I happen to like chintz in moderation but some people would be a bit sniffy about it.

Mr Atterbury continues; “The sudden flourishing of collectible chintzware is largely thanks to our American cousins. The good news is that we may have valuable pieces blossoming at home.” Apparently, the craze for collecting this type of china started in 1996 and this is when it became known as Chintzware. Previously it would have listed in catalogues by the initials A.O.F, i.e. All Over Floral.

In the article Mr Atterbury says Chintz ware was made cheaply and cheerfully in good quantities between the two world wars. It is a group of china patterns featuring an overall design of flowers and leaves. The design became popular with English makers about 1928. Chintz ceramics went out of fashion in the 1960s when newly weds wanted simpler dinner sets.

Among the best known makes are Royal Doulton, Shelley, and Grimwades. There is a story that Lenard Grimwade of Royal Winton was inspired by the patterns of the aprons worn by the girls working in his Staffordshire factory. The patterns are certainly more like dress fabrics that curtain fabric patterns. Toto’s tea set was made by Shelley and the pattern is “Melody”. I love the names of the patterns which were often as pretty as the pattern for example Primrose, Sweet Pea, Marguerite, Sweet Nancy, although I think that some of the actual patterns are a bit sickly.

The patterns were applied as a transfer as opposed to being painted by hand. In the article, there is a photo of a Sweet Pea teapot lid from a Christie’s auction catalogue. It shows the join where the two edges of the transfer are not perfectly joined. Reading this made me examine Toto’s tea set more closely. Sure enough, it is possible to “see the join” on the sugar bowl.

I am not sure if the Chintzware fans are still as enthusiastic about this pretty type of china but I still like it. I have resolved to not to leave it gathering dust in the top cupboard in the hall. I plan to display some of it and use it more often. Why not enjoy it, even if some pieces gets broken along the way. After all, what could be better than a nice cup of tea, served in a pretty bone china cup.

Ann Young

 

 

Our December Meeting

Members brought along items that have associations for them with Christmas past and shared their stories.

Key

1. Audio Cassette recording a family Christmas in the 1970’s. Tom Adair
2. Christmas decorations made by boys in Coleraine Secondary School as a business project (1980’s) . Kathleen MacFarlane
3. Hand carved wooden bird bought in a Christmas Market in Mombasa. Marlene Reid
4. Austrian egg decoration painted with edelweiss. Ann Young
5. Old family bible rescued from an artist who planned to take it apart and make it into art works. Venie Martin.

 

November Meeting at Waterstone’s Coleraine

 

 

 

 

 

A Significant Date

By Ann Young

My objects are two of my favourite Girl Guide badges – the “Little House” Emblem and the “Woodcraft” Emblem and my story is about how I became a Girl Guide.

A lot of my school friends were in the Brownies.  Any pupil who was a Brownie or a Guide was allowed to come into school on Thinking Day in February, wearing their Brownie and Guide uniforms.   I was very envious of them and very keen to join too, but my parents always seemed to find an excuse not to allow me to join.  One of the main reasons was that there wasn’t a Brownie pack at our Church and also my father was very particular as to who would be in charge.  We moved house and joined a new church, Windsor Presbyterian Church on the Lisburn Road in Belfast.  By this time, I was too old to be a Brownie, so what about the Girl Guides?  I was delighted to learn that Windsor had a Girl Guide Company.  However, my father decreed that I could not go as the meetings were on Tuesday nights and so would get in the way of my homework. (In those days fathers set out decrees and all obeyed them without question.)  Foiled again.

When I went into First Form, I discovered that some of the other girls had joined the Guide Company in St John’s Church of Ireland Church at the top of Osborne Park. This was very near my home in Osborne Drive and, joy of joys, they met on Friday nights.  I was allowed to join – I was triumphant!

So I duly went along and was very impressed by all the Guides in their uniforms with their sleeves full of badges.  Two in particular caught my eye as they were larger than the others and worn at the top of the shoulder.  The “Little House” Emblem was awarded to Guides who had passed six badges out of a list relating to domestic matters.  My six badges were Child Nurse, Homemaker, Cook, Hostess, Laundress and Thrift.  The “Woodcraft” Emblem was also a group badge and related to outdoor activities.  My six badges in this category were Camper, Stargazer, First Aid, Emergency Helper, Map Reader and Pathfinder.  My husband is very doubtful about my being awarded Map Reader and Pathfinder as I have absolutely no sense of direction!

I must now go back to the start of my time as a Guide.  I wore my school uniform when I started attending Guide meetings.  A Guide uniform could not be worn until the Tenderfoot Badge was passed and you made your promise at an enrolment ceremony.  Every week I looked enviously at the other girls in their uniforms of heavy navy serge skirts, blue shirts, green scarves and navy berets.  The most impressive part was a leather belt with a metal clasp in the shape of the Guide trefoil and a lanyard and a penknife dangling from the hooks on either side. In those days it did not seem odd that girls had to wear a heavy skirt for lots of very active games and outdoor activities.   As I recall, trousers were only worn at camp.

Girl Guide Uniform for the era of Ann!

One Friday, the Guide Captain said that it was about time I was enrolled and whizzed me through the last few stages of the Tenderfoot Badge.  She then told me that I would be enrolled the next week and so would have to get a uniform.  I was thrilled to bits at the thought of finally becoming a Guide, especially as I had missed out on being a Brownie.  When I got home I rushed to tell my mother, full of excitement.  Then my mother asked me where would we get the uniform.  Crestfallen, I realised that, in my excitement, I had forgotten to ask.  Looking back, I suspect that Captain had told me but I had been too distracted to listen.  The fact that such relatively simple news so thrilled me says a lot about my level of sophistication at the age of eleven.  I can’t see any current eleven year olds reacting in the same way.  Maybe the fact that I had waited so long to join a uniformed organisation and was now finally catching up with my friends was something to do with it. Then Mummy remembered that one of her friends was a Guide Commissioner and surely she would know.  My spirits soared again as Mummy went to ring her friend, Ann Bailey.

I can vividly remember standing beside Mummy in the hall.  The black, bakelite telephone with its cotton plaited cord sat on a small table with barley sugar legs, which had belonged to my grandmother.  A framed drawing of the Bridge of Sighs in Cambridge was on the wall opposite.  The carpet was a dense floral pattern of magentas, blues, greens and beige.  An oil heater was sitting in the corner in an attempt to counteract the bitterly cold draught from the wind blowing down from the Black Mountain.  I really was literally hopping from one foot to the other, bursting with excitement.  Mummy looked up the number, dialled it and then started to ask her friend about getting a uniform.  Then her expression suddenly changed as she said, “That’s fine Ann, very sorry to interrupt, I’ll ring back tomorrow.” and she put the receiver down.  She looked very shocked but managed to stutter out these words.  “Ann Bailey says she can’t talk now as they are watching the television……..President Kennedy has been shot”.  So that it is how I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news about Kennedy’s assassination.  I don’t remember what we did next.  We must have gone rushing into the lounge to tell my father.  What I do remember is the contrast of feeling so exhilarated and euphoric and suddenly being plunged into disbelief, shock, horror and sorrow.

Alas, I can’t remember what became of my much longed-for uniform.  I grew out of the shirt and had to get the then new style of uniform which I thought was hideous.  I unpicked all the badges from my old shirt and sewed them on to the new one.  I don’t even have my promise badge, which I had polished so enthusiastically every Friday that the pattern in the centre had worn away.  All I have left are the cloth badges and every time I look at them, I remember that November night when the world seemed to turn upside down.

Ann sharing her story

November 2017 

 

 

 

 

 

A First Bereavement

By Lesley Wishart

Treat for a cat

 Playmates were few when I was growing up in a midland small town: no siblings and few children of my own age. Despite this I have no sense of ever being lonely. My days were full: lessons and associated homework at the twelve-pupil school, dogs to accompany me on bicycle rides, pinkeens to be caught on bent pins where watercress divided on Ballyduffy stream, men to shadow around the farmyard and Nelly, our maid was my constant companion. She was in her teens and from country stock, flaxen haired and full of devilment and humour. She believed implicitly in fairies and leprechauns. Her home was a neat thatched cottage in the shadow of Knock Moille.

.Aged six I became the sole owner of a large tabby cat called Monty. Over weeks of persistent training by me he had come to tolerate being dressed in a baby’s long sleeping gown tied neatly at the back, a white knitted woollen cardigan and a linen bonnet tied securely under his chin. He knew the routine: getting dressed before being expertly lowered into a large doll’s pram, head slightly elevated on a white embroidered muslin pillowcase, getting tucked in with a fluffy blanket and then the bottle, a half naggin Jameson filled with milk and topped with a teat punched with three large holes. There he would lie, legs up to support the bottle while he chewed on the teat with his back molars squirting the milk down his throat. Bottle finished, he would sleep on his back, eyes demurely closed beneath the frills of his bonnet, his whiskers forming an arc above the bow at his grey chin. He particularly liked being wheeled and there were many muffled shrieks as ladies bent to look into the pram thinking to complement me on my doll.

Dressed to kill

On the particular day I went to lift him and found him stiff and cold my parents were away. Nelly was in charge. Tears tripping me I went to find her. She certified the death, and hunkering down she encircled me in her arms and consoled, “Now child, take a good look at him…..didn’t he have a grand death altogether….all peaceful and in his own bed?….lovely, lovely and he’ll be waiting now for his journey to heaven”. She straightened, already forming her plan to allay my sadness. Appointing herself as funeral director she continued, “We’ll have a great funeral when the men come down from milking. First we’ll need a box and it will have to be lined.” She set to busily while I followed, distracted from my grief.

Later, in the sunshine of that summer’s evening, Nelly continued to direct as we lined up outside the kitchen door. “You’ll be the chief mourner and carry the coffin”. She led off. I followed, carrying on outstretched hands the satin lined and clad Clark’s shoebox firmly tied with string. Behind me came Paddy and Peter well primed as to the procedure. We set off past the scullery, past the coal shed, through the archway to the garden en route to the orchard where the grave was prepared. Up front Nelly boohooed pitifully dabbing her eyes with a white tea towel while behind me the two men quietly began the rosary. Nelly joined in loudly between the sobs. “Holy Mary Mother of God”, she crescendoed, instructing me to repeat the strange words. Sob, sob, now fortissimo, “Blessed is…..sob, sob” followed by a bass boom from the men behind me, “The fruit of thy womb, Jesus”. The men were warming to the task. The procession reached the lawn and continued towards the vegetables. By the time we passed the shallots our exhortations were loud and frenzied and I was word perfect in the Holy Rosary. When the ceremony was duly completed we returned light-heartedly towards the house. It was a triumph for Nellie in the management of a child’s grief.

Victorian postcard – long before Lesley’s story!

Story of an Ancient Shipwreck

By Kathleen MacFarlane

China from the shipwreck of the Tek Sing, bought by Kathleen and her husband at an auction in Dublin

 

This story starts with an old and rare book by an Englishman, James Horsburgh, titled  ‘Directions for sailing the East Indies.‘  Since the C15 men like Horsburgh had been compiling such books to provide guides for mariners.   In the 5th edition of this book published in 1843 there was a brief entry.

‘The Belvidere Shoals…a large Chinese Junk was wrecked on these shoals, part of whose crew reached Gaspar Island, and others, who were found floating on fragments of the wreck, were saved by the laudable exertions of a country ship belonging to Calcutta.’

That was all there was. That was the starting point for Nigel Pickford, a maritime historian, to research ancient shipwrecks in South East Asia and for shipwreck expert, Captain Mike Hatcher, to search beneath the South China Sea for a large Chinese junk.

The Tek Sing

In January 1822 a large ocean-going junk, fat bellied with squared off bows and stern rising out of the water was lying at anchor in Amoy harbour on the east coast of China. On the stern was a brightly painted long necked bird and on the prow end were depicted 2 huge oculi [eyes] which all sea going junks were decorated with – staring eyes constantly scanning the horizon for danger.  The junk’s name was Tek Sing which means True Star and its destination, with a valuable cargo, was Bratavia (now called Jakarta) the most important town on the island of Java. Recently the junk trade to Bratavia had been dwindling because more and more ships had been trading directly out of Canton. In earlier years 4 or 5 junks would have sailed to Bratvia together but this year Tek Sing was sailing alone.

An Artist’s impression of the Tek Sing

 

All was extremely busy at the harbour of Amoy, with sampans moving between the quay and the junk loading its hold with the most extraordinary variety of goods.  At the bottom of the hold were packages of porcelain – teapots, plates, dishes, cups, ginger pots, bird feeders, oil lamps, water carriers, soup spoons etc etc. On top of the porcelain was stowed black and green teas: hyson, pekoe, gunpowder and imperial.  Then came raw silk and other fabrics followed by bamboo, inks, glass beads, tortoiseshell and mother -of-pearl.  Boxes of incense – sandalwood, olibanum and myrrh were followed by medicinal drugs which were stowed with great care so that they would not be damaged by seawater. Of these, camphor was the most valuable, more valuable than silver.   Powdered rhubarb, used as a purgative, ginseng and musk were among many other medicinal drugs included in the Tec Sing’s precious cargo. Even when the holds were full still more cargo was added. Bundles of rattans and canes and any other items impervious to seawater were strapped to the outside of the hull of the ship.  The bulk of the cargo was aimed at the wealthy Chinese community in Java and also at the Javanese people who were fond of acquiring Chinese, porcelain and silks.

Little did the individual merchants, whose valuable exports had been loaded on to the ship and some of whom travelled with their cargo, realize that the severity of the Chinese recession meant that this was probably one of the last of this type of voyage and is now thought to have been the end of a long and great Chinese maritime tradition.

However, there was one item of the Tek Sing’s cargo that did indicate that all was not well with the Chinese economy. This was the human cargo.   There were, besides the crew and merchants, some 1600 men, women and children aged between 6 and 70 on board – Chinese emigrants hoping for work on the sugar plantations of Java. Conditions on board would have been horrendous. The enormous numbers on board indicated a growing crisis in China. The level of imports of opium into China had reached such proportions that the Chinese economy was being turned upside down. So we can imagine the sight of this ocean going junk sailing out of Amoy harbour on 14 January 1822 on a long journey south with a valuable cargo destined for Java and a human cargo hoping for a better opportunity working in the sugar plantations away from their home country.  What does that remind us of?

Map showing the likely route taken by the Tek Sing

 

The details of the tragic sinking of the Tek Sing  will be brief. The captain, who was a very experienced seaman and had made at least 5 previous voyages to Batavia, was called Io Tauko.  Some of the journey was in the open sea where the usual route would have led them along the east coast of Malaysia through the Banca Straits and finally along the coast of Sumatra, a tried and tested route for many centuries.  However, for whatever reason, the Captain decided to stay out in mid-ocean and then sail through the Gaspar Straits. Was this because of pirate activity in the Banca Straits or because the Gaspar Straits offered a quicker passage? We will never know.  The waters of this route were still far from being charted and the decision resulted in the Tek Sing foundering on a hidden reef at the Belvidere Sholes in an area south – west of Borneo just a short distance from Java. In what was to become a bigger tragedy than the sinking of the Titanic, and due to her size and the weight of cargo she was carrying, she sank quickly with the loss of over1600 lives. Only a few hundred people survived.

The Indiana

Meanwhile in Calcutta, the proud owner and captain of a fine ‘country ship’ named the Indiana was standing on the deck of the  ship  watching cargo being loaded. James Pearl, formerly a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, decided to seek his fortune in the Orient. He worked for a powerful trading company Barretto & Co. and they appointed him captain of the Indiana. He prospered and within a few years bought the ship and traded on his own behalf as a ‘country trader’ – a European ship owner whose area of trading was confined to inter-island trading in the eastern archipelago including India and China.

And what, you might ask, did James Pearl trade in?  Opium, which had been described as  ‘this most gentlemanly trade’.  Free traders like Pearl bought supplies of opium from the English East India Company who, incidentally, did not permit its own ships to carry the opium to China. Instead it sold the opium to free traders like Pearl to do the onward risky business of shipment.    In December, Pearl purchased 175 chests of best Behar opium at 1,500 rupees per chest.  Anticipating a profit of over £10,000 he described it as ‘a voyage of great speculation.’ This would be a considerable fortune in today’s money.

The Indiana, manned by a crew of 50 natives and 4 Europeans, set sail down the west coast of Sumatra to Padang and then through the Sunda Straits to Batavia on Java.  From there, the plan was to face the north-east monsoon and sail to Sinkawan on the west coast of Borneo which was the real lure of Pearl’s trading venture. Chinese junks had begun to visit around 1820 and there was a significant Chinese community there. That year opium could be sold free of taxes in Borneo and payment made in gold dust. For a brief period in 1820 the west coast of Borneo had the possibility of becoming a major free trade area of the east but the Dutch had other ideas and it was the newly founded port of Singapore that reaped this huge trading harvest.

On 7 February the Indiana, with her cargo of opium, had reached the treacherous reefs of the Gaspar Straits. The wind was blowing hard and there was a a heavy swell.  The lookout could hardly believe his eyes.  Gaspar island seemed to be surrounded by small rocks which had not been mentioned by any of the charts.  The rocks appeared to be moving towards the Indiana. Captain Pearl ordered sails to be reefed when it became obvious that the rocks were every conceivable type of driftwood – boxes, lengths of bamboo, bundles of umbrellas and all manner of debris.  And clinging to all this wreckage were enormous numbers of people.  In Captain Pearl’s own words -‘I discovered the sea covered with humans for many miles.’

The captain and crew rescued in all 190 folk from both the water and a small island which some of the people had managed to reach. One man who was rescued was able to describe, with the help of interpreters, what had happened: that the large junk was the Tec Sing, that it was carrying over 1600 passengers and that it had struck rocks of which the captain had not been aware.

Subsequently Captain Pearl of the Indiana sailed on to the small port of Pontiana on the west coast of Borneo where the shipwrecked passengers finally disembarked.  However he himself was in despair as he discovered that the Dutch were blockading all possible harbours where free trade with China might be conducted. He decided to sail to Singapore to try and offload his cargo of opium there, only to discover that he was only able to sell it at a severe discount on the original price he had paid.  He was later to write that ‘this necessary deviation from my voyage in the cause of humanity was the ruin of my speculation’. This entire episode affected his mental health.  He found it difficult to forget the sight of all those Chinese corpses drifting in the sea.  He also considered he was been personally punished for his own humanitarian act.  Fourteen years later, living in Liverpool, he was still trying to claim compensation for his losses from the Chinese.

 

 

Finding the Tek Sin

In April 1992 a motor yacht called the Restless M was making its way carefully in a westerly direction through the Java Sea.  It looked like a pleasure launch but the quantity of antennae on the ship’s bridge told a different story. The Restless M was equipped with very sophisticated underwater search equipment and its quarry was shipwrecks. The search activities were financed by an Australian firm and a number of the crew, including Michael Hatcher, the most successful shipwreck savor, were Australian.  It had been searching for a lost Portuguese galleon lost in the C16. in the Bangka Straits because that was the standard route for most sailing ships of all nations sailing in both directions at that time. The Belvidere Reef was the main area of focus, most of its length running north-east and south-west with the reef lurking about 2 metres below the surface.  Nigel Pickford and Michael Hatcher were both aware from  Horsburgh’s Sailing Directions that one large ship, a Chinese junk, had come to grief on the Belvidere. Weeks went by with one false hope after another. It wasn’t until the 12 May that the crew revisited a site which they had originally looked at 36 hours earlier.  On this occasion the first clue was a large iron ring about a meter in diameter followed by a whole series of rings spaced at regular intervals. The rings led to a wreck mound 50 meters long and 10 meters wide – clearly a very large construction. It was later confirmed by experts that the rings had been used to strengthen a mast of huge proportions.  As the divers swam towards it they caught a glimpse of a piece of blue and white porcelain, as pristine as the day it had been removed from the kiln. There were stacks of the stuff, rising in a pile from the sea bed.  It was awe inspiring.  Could this be the big Chinese Junk mentioned by Horsburgh?

The cargo  

Extensive research was able to prove that the wreck was indeed the Tek Sing. It was the largest cargo of its kind ever to be found.   The porcelain on the junk was from the C15 to the C19 although the majority would have been made in early C19. The task that lay ahead was a huge logistical exercise. It involved raising over 300,000 pieces of porcelain from the sea bed by hand and then documenting, photographing, wrapping and packing into containers each separate piece. Among the thousands of objects found in the wreck of the Tek Sing the bulk of those which survived was porcelain but other items are worth mentioning;  earthenware vases, a large millstone, Chinese lion statues, huge wooden beams and original rope made from bamboo.

Due to the sheer magnitude of the cargo, the Tek Sing porcelain was sold through auction in Stuttgart and attracted a great deal of interest around the world. The blue and white was auctioned mainly in lots of 20 or more pieces at a time which meant that collectors who would have wanted to add just one or two items to their own collection were prevented from doing so. However some antique dealers from UK and Ireland did purchase some of these lots and split them up . Local collectors were therefore given the opportunity to view and purchase single pieces at an exhibition of the wonderful Tek Sing blue and white porcelain at the RDS in Dublin in April 2004. ( the 2 pieces in the photograph, a large saucer and bowl were part of the exhibition)

November 2017

 

 

A trip to India

by Margaret Boyce

 

A Visit to Egypt

By Margaret Campbell

November 2018

 

Fish River Canyon – Namibia

Rock from Fish River Canyon

 

By Marlene Reid

I had always wanted to go on an overlander trip and when the chance came I grabbed it.  An eight week trip on a truck; starting in Zimbabwe, passing through Botswana and into Namibia, where most of the trip was to take place.  It was interesting to see life from the ‘other side’.  Truckers were not welcome on many sites and had a bad reputation for being filled with unruly, noisy people.  Our first night stop at the Great Zimbabwe Ruins was point in fact.  We arrived at sunset, jumped out and started to put up our two man tents, right next to a caravan outside which was a man sitting having a quiet drink which on seeing us arrive he swallowed quickly, folded his chair, jumped in his car and towed his caravan to the far side of the camp site.  Most camp sites had a special parking place for truckers!

In Namibia on of the places we had on our itinery was Fish River Canyon.

Fish River Canyon is in the South of Namibia in Southern Africa.  It is the largest canyon in Africa as well as the second most visited tourist attraction.  It features a giant ravine in total about 160 kms long and as much as 27 km wide in places and is about 550 metres deep.

Fish River is the longest interior river in Namibia and cuts deep into the plateau which today is dry and stony, sparsely covered with drought-resistant plants.  The river flows intermittently usually flooding in the late summer and the rest of the year is long narrow pools.

At the lower end is Ai-Ais a hot springs resort and camp site where we camped in our truck.  The hot springs were heaven, several of temperatures but most importantly there was plenty of hot water to wash some of our less than fragrant clothing.

It is one of the most popular hiking trails in Southern Africa and has a 2km descent into the floor of the crater.

In the very early morning we had to climb up to the view point to catch the sunrise which was about 4 30 a.m.  This was the most marvellous sunrise I have ever seen.  Unfortunately I only have it on slides.  A climb in the evening to see the sunset was equally marvellous.  The colours of the rocks in the Canyon were hi-lighted and seemed to take their rich colours from the sun itself.  I will never forget it.  This stone which I picked up from the top of the canyon reflects to some degree that range of colours I remember.  I have it on my windowsill as a constant memory.

October 2017

 

 

Making Butter with Mammie

By Venie Martin, October 2017

Daisy and Dolly are their names, our two Fresian cows: mother and daughter.   Shiny black and white coats and soft black eyes like ladies from Arabia.    Morning and night Mammie brings them from the home field to the byre for milking.  In the stall, they chomp on chopped up turnip at one end while Mammie sits on her three legged stool and squeezes out the milk  with her nimble fingers from the swollen udders.  The rhythm of milk squirting into a white enamel bucket is music. In the bucket it collects slowly, warm, white and frothy.

Sometimes as treat, Mammie squeezes the milk directly into my mouth.  Sometimes she misses and we laugh together at the milk dripping down my chin.

When the two buckets are full, the milk is divided.

Some for the rangy farm cats, to supplement their kit-e-kat on legs from the barns.

Some for the little calves.  This is my important job, presenting a small bucket of milk to each calf in turn.  The calf presses its mouth and nose into the milk, coming up for air with a ring of froth around his face. As the bucket is drained, the calf pushes its head downwards and then dunts it as if to say “more, more”.

The rest for the family.

Family milk is taken to the dairy, an outhouse with thick stone walls and a small window covered with a net curtain.  It is a cold place, even in mid-summer and large black beetles (bum clocks) live under the table.  Mammie has improvised a strainer, from an old tin can and two layers of muslin, tied on with a piece of knicker elastic.

The warm milk is passed through the strainer, removing cows’ hairs and bits of grass, as it drips into another large enamel bucket below.

Three pints of strained milk are transferred to Granny’s old delph jug with the picture of Pan playing his pipes to some milkmaids, on the outside.   This is for the house – for drinking, for tea and for making rice puddings.

The morning and evening milk remaining in the large bucket is placed in the separator.  This device has a large steel vat, under which sits a complicated system of funnels and two long curving steel exit pipes.  Mammie  turns the handle and the milk sloshes around in the vat.  Faster and faster.   Sometimes, when she was not too busy, she lets me turn the handle too but it is quite hard work and I get bored after a few turns.

Suddenly liquid appears from the exit pipes, one pouring out cream and the other skim milk.  The cream is thick and gooey and comes out in a slow, oily stream dropping into a large crock. I am allowed to dip my fingers in the stream of cream and lick them. The skim milk is watery and pale blue coloured and collects in a small bucket.  Nearby in their sty, the pigs grunt hysterically as they hear the separator and knew the skim milk is for them.

The next ritual is to wash and sterilise all the utensils we have used.

First we wash them in soapy water and then scald them with boiling water, carried to the dairy in two large black cast iron kettles , kept constantly boiling on the kitchen range.  When they have cooled a little I am allowed to take apart the ten little funnels inside the separator and wash each one. Then I arrange them in a pyramid to dry on the window ledge – four in the bottom row, three on the next, then two and then one.

When she has collected three or four days cream, Mammie is ready to make butter.  First she transfers the cream from the crocks into a large heavy glass churn.  Inside the churn are three flat paddles of steel which are attached to a rotor underneath. Mammie turns the handle and the paddles in the churn rotate.   It’s hard work as the cream is thick and resistant.

Through the glass we can see the cream flushing past the paddles and creating whirlpools.  Very suddenly, a few curdles of bright yellow butter appear, and as the beating continues, these are joined by more and more curdles floating on top of the buttermilk.  Granny always warns Mammie there is a critical point at which the beating has to stop, or the butter will be spoiled.

Then she takes the lid off the glass churn and lifts the butter carefully out on to a specially sterilised wooden board with little drainage channels round the edges.  She presses it with her knuckles, like kneading bread, and as she does this, the buttermilk between the curdles is pressed out.   Sometimes she added salt at this point.

When there is no more moisture in the butter, she divides the pile into pieces about the size of a fist, ready for the butter mould. This is a wooden cylinder with a disc inside it which can be pulled up and down by a handle on one side of the disc.   On the side of the disc with no handle, there’s an engraving of a thistle flower and two leaves etched into the wood.  Mammie presses the butter down into the butter mould tightly so that the oily butter goes right into the grooves.

( the original mould has been lost; this one is from E-bay – 77 pounds!)

 

When the mould is full, she leaves it sit for a few minutes while we share some buttermilk and Marietta biscuits.  There is no conversation. There is no need for it.

When the butter has set, she turns the mould upside down and presses the butter out on to a sheet of butter paper.  The best part is when she removes the disc from the butter and displays the pattern of the thistle on the top.  If a thistle leaf is broken and she has to sculpt a replacement.

If the butter is to be sent to the village shop for sale, she does not use the mould.  Instead, she uses two wooden paddles, like miniature cricket bats.   They have ridges on one side so that she can make lines or criss-cross patterns on the butter surface. She turns the lumps of butter into ingots of gold. Each one is wrapped carefully in butter paper and placed on a tray for sale.

Father takes them to the village shop in his old Morris Minor car.

My father always said Mammie made the best butter in the county.

 

Venie Martin, October 2017