Whilst the
duty of purchasing provisions customarily falls within Cook’s remit, each November I savour the prospect of a
trip to the village when I personally acquire ingredients for my Christmas
puddings. Preparation begins on Stir Up Sunday, a ritual that has long been a
Gosworthy-Pringle tradition. As an impressionable young girl, indeed, this was
the one time of year when Mama granted me permission to access the bowels of
Farthing Hall. There I assisted Cook in washing and picking over bowls of
currants and sultanas before stoning a pound or two of raisins. How I recall my
euphoria when first handling a cleaver. Several ounces of mixed peel had never before
been so uniformly chopped.
(Such is my
fondness for the custom that the precious annual details are ritually
transferred to my calfskin monogrammed diary each New Year.)
Before
embarking upon my mission, I listed the necessary items. Heavens, their
familiarity requires little prompting yet the act of transcribing inevitably provokes
an invigorating level of exhilaration.
My shopping
assignment, however, served more to stem my enthusiasm than swell my dried
fruit. Suet was stocked neither in the ageing delicatessen nor boutique of a
food emporium that is more rustic superficiality than functional containers of ripened
ovaries of seed bearing plants. Nutmeg, I was assured, is only available in
powder form within small jars. Similarly, almonds are pre ground. Since one of my
pleasures is to crush said drupes to my required consistency, my disappointment
was tangible.
Such an
unacceptable situation cannot be allowed to flourish. Hence, whilst striding back to The Hall, I
determined to summon a meeting of the Parish Council to discuss villagers’
requirements and retailers’ priorities.
Meanwhile I handed
over responsibility of acquiring pudding components to Cook, though that is by
no means the end of my involvement.
In an
outreach gesture, I have decreed that mastication of my delightful Christmas
puddings will no longer be limited to seasonal Farthing Hall guests. Members of
The Promotion of Classic Garments in a Society of Falling Standards Association
are to benefit from the donation of more modest (in size, quality is to remain
unaffected) versions. Although the community was, initially, a little tardy in embracing
this recent haute couture initiative, my skills of persuasion have since
resulted in several housewives joining. In addition, I am compiling a growing
list of others who must be approached for I sense a spot of encouragement is required.
Members of the lower classes are, after all, rarely forthcoming in admitting their
flaws. It is likely that such women, whilst devoid of any tailoring instinct,
are equally failing in home economics. My input, therefore, will inevitably enhance
their lives on both levels.
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