Cornflower

Up-to-date Kate

My name isn't Kate (though it is the Scandinavian form of Katherine) and one thing I am decidedly not is up-to-date. Trends leave me floundering in their wake, I am the last to hear the gossip, and the world could have ended before I would know about it (if you see what I mean). However, should anyone have visited Cornflower and seen a row or two of knitting and wondered if they were ever followed by another row or two, today I shall be "Bringing you up-to-date Kate".

The Kate whose name I have borrowed was a feckless character in the comic "Diana" which I read avidly as a girl. I remember this publication as being slightly less 'fast' than its rival, "Jackie", though both were tame in the extreme compared with their equivalents today, I believe. Kate was a dedicated follower of fashion (just like me, ha ha!!) who had a more sensible friend called Hermione. I thought that was pronounced 'Her-me-own'.

My knitting knowledge has increased to a lesser degree than my vocabulary but my skills have grown a little, so here are a few shots, just to show that things are progressing:

Alpaca silk scarf complemented by silver birch bark

Sun in the rowans seen through Kidsilk Haze

A sock

I doubt Kate would have been impressed.

Male preserves

The men of the family were on the golf course by eight o'clock yesterday morning (which is not bad going for a Sunday when you consider it's a forty five minute drive from here). Having battled the wind for a while they came home and took possession of the kitchen to make pickled onions.

They used Oded Schwartz's beautiful and comprehensive book, "Preserving" for guidance, but each adopted his own style of doing things. Will, whose taste runs to the strong and spicy, and who is an afficionado of all things allium, went for the Sarson's pickling vinegar approach, while Gareth, with a touch more finesse, chose to reduce cider vinegar flavoured with peppercorns and bay leaves.

And not content with that, they whipped up a batch of macaroons later in the day -

I could soon be redundant.

A box of delights

"The country was tumbled out before her like the contents of a lady's workbox, spools of green and silver and pale yellow, ribbed squares of brown stuff, a thread of crimson, a stab of silver, a round, polished gleam of mother of pearl." This line from "One Fine Day" reminded me of a workbox I have, not the everyday, utilitarian one for missing buttons and school nametapes,  but a special one I found in an antiques shop in Ballater, on Deeside, a few years ago.

I keep ribbons and embroidery threads in it along with an unfinished piece of Alice's work which she would have consigned to the bin -

Although it shows signs of comprehensive use over many decades, its fittings are intact and there are even a couple of fine needles in one of the two needle cases

There is a square of mother of pearl set into the lid on which is inscribed the following (difficult to make out in the picture):

"Oldmeldrum Primary School Elizabeth MacPherson Memorial Prize awarded to Maggie S. Innes 1909".

Feeling that the box was a very lovely but quite grand school prize, I wanted to find out more about the recipient and the person in whose name it was given. I had some success.....(stay tuned!).

A life in a day

I don't often re-read books. I feel there's always some new wonderful thing to discover, so I follow the inviting-looking path winding off into the hidden distance and see where it takes me, but occasionally I revisit well-trodden ways. This book is one to return to. One Fine Day by Mollie Panter-Downes describes the events of a summer's day in 1946, charting the post-war world and the shifts in society as seen through a typical family in a typical English village.

Although it describes a vanishing - and now almost antique - way of life, it is a rhapsodic book, written with a poet's sensibilities, and the eye of a true observing recorder. Its brevity only intensifies its focus so that every word counts. Each page contains a carefully drawn sketch of a world found within an apparently insignificant moment, and its quality never wavers:

' "When I think how you were brought up," Mrs. Herriot had said reproachfully, conjuring up geranium-urned terraces over Italian lakes and tennis-party lemonade by the sweep of her knitting needle.'

'[Laura's] mind was a ragbag, in which scraps of forgotten brightness, odd bits of purple and gold, were hopelessly mixed up with laundry lists and recipes for doing something quick and unconvincingly delicious with dried egg.'

I discovered Mollie Panter-Downes through two collections of her short stories -

"Good evening, Mrs. Craven" and "Minnie's Room", which I recommend highly, too. In fact, so much do I admire her work that I called one of my dogs after her, and really there can be no higher praise.

Bookshops

I made a special pilgrimage to two small London bookshops last week. The first was Heywood Hill in Curzon Street where Nancy Mitford worked for part of the war years, earning £3/10/- a week and holding court for her many friends. She once forgot to lock the shop on a Friday night and didn't go in on the Saturday so that when Heywood Hill himself happened to look in (briefly home on leave from the army) he found the shop "full of wandering people trying to buy books from each other". The shop is, I imagine, much as it was in Nancy's day: a mix of old and new books, carefully selected titles arranged on tables, the place resembling a library in a country house. I went with the intention of buying one book in particular:

"The Bookshop at 10, Curzon Street" is a collection of letters between Nancy and Heywood written over twenty years. I haven't even dipped in yet as I don't want to spoil the treat that reading this will be, but it's going on the bedside table soon, and I shall report back.

The other bookshop I went to was Persephone Books, of which I have written before. I could have chosen a better time to call in as one of their regular discussion events had just ended and the small shop was (happily) completely full of chatting customers, but I managed a few words with the very friendly Emily and I made a couple of purchases

I'm not sure what will go in the notebook with its Duncan Grant endpaper, but I'm very much looking forward to reading Princes in the Land by Joanna Cannan.

The bookshop I went to as a child was this one:

The Lexicon Bookshop in Douglas, Isle of Man. I remember very regular visits there, usually weekly, on a Saturday when we went to town to shop. After the boredom of Marks and Spencer and the slightly more interesting Woolworths, I looked forward to spending my pocket money in the Lexicon's children's department which was then at the back of the shop. I still have those early choices:

many of which were by Josephine, Diana and Christine Pullein-Thompson, who are Joanna Cannan's daughters. And one of my other favourite pony book authors was Ruby Ferguson, whose lovely

Lady Rose and Mrs. Memmary was a recent Persephone favourite.

Does this point up some kind of circular - or spiral - pattern in reading over the years?

Long-distance cake

Happy birthday, Terence!

In praise of grannies

Finding the biscuit tin empty yesterday, Harriet and I looked through the books for something simple and quick to bake. We came up with 'Granny Boyd's Biscuits' from Nigella Lawson's treasure-trove, "How to be a Domestic Goddess". The eponymous relation belongs to Nigella's editor, we read, but the plate on which these little treats sit belonged to my Granny Andy.

Everyone sampled these, and tried them again just to make sure they were alright, and I doled them out for school breaktime (and had a nibble myself with some coffee just now) so they are almost all gone, but though they look a little uninteresting their taste is sophisticated, their texture melting and we shall be making them again soon.

Our children are very well off in the grandparent department, having four who are lively, fun, interesting, supportive and caring. My grannies were hugely important people in my life and I wish they were here to see the next generation. I hope they would have approved and I think they would have had a quiet smile to themselves.

Food (and other) heroes

Susan Hill wrote recently (21st. Oct.) about the professionalism and kindness shown by the food writer Claudia Roden when she was approached for a contribution to Jessica Ruston's book, "Heroines: The Bold, the Bad and the Beautiful". Our great friend Peter gave me a copy of Claudia Roden's "A Book of Middle Eastern Food" many years ago and it has been used ever since with great enjoyment (I particularly recommend the chocolate cake which makes frequent appearances in this house at birthdays).

The latest in a long line of excellent books given to us by Peter is "Moro" by Sam and Sam Clark. Having read the book and made some of the dishes, we couldn't not visit the restaurant while we were in London. We are so glad we did. Moro is an unpretentious place in Exmouth Market. The decor is simple, the service slick and the food sublime. Our table gave us a great view of the open kitchen in which Sam Clark was presiding with an air of completely calm enjoyment in all he was doing - he looked unflappable, an attitude other chefs could do well to adopt!

I ate wood roasted Middle White pork with pumpkin pisto and pine nuts followed by yoghurt and pistachio cake, and everything tasted exactly of what it was - testament to superb raw ingredients and a very sure hand.

Last night I made Moro's 'Pollo al ajillo': chicken cooked with bay leaves, garlic and white wine. The savoury aroma that filled the kitchen was appetising in itself, and amazingly, all the children really enjoyed it (there is usually at least one dissenting voice).

But to return to the 'heroes' theme, one added extra which we got at Moro and which was definitely not on the menu was the chance to talk briefly to one of our heroes:

Michael Palin, whose many television journeys we have watched and for whom Alice queued for three hours at a book signing, was lunching there as well and he couldn't have been more delightful!

Posh frocks

We spent an afternoon in London last week visiting the South Kensington museums. As the children craved 'interaction' and exhibits that move, they crossed the road to look at all things scientific, leaving me with a quiet hour or so by myself in the V & A. As the textiles gallery was closed and I couldn't find my way back to the John Fowler exhibition, I spent my time in the hushed and dimly lit fashion collection. My photographs leave something to be desired, so here are a few professional shots of some of the highlights from this inspiring place.

Above, from the left, are a 1959 silk organza evening dress by Jacques Heim, a Schiaparelli evening dress of 1953 made of Thai silk overlaid with appliqued and embroidered organza, and a ribbed silk dress made by Madame Vignon around 1870.

A British silk ballgown of c.1885 is seen with an evening dress by Callot Soeurs, 1922, of printed silk voile embroidered with pearlised sequins and gold glass bugle beads, and on the right, a printed wool dress made in Britain about 1850.

The pleated satin dress on the left is unmistakeably Fortuny (c.1920), while the neo-classical style dress dates from 1912 and was made by Lucile of satin trimmed with chiffon and lace with a silk velvet cummerbund.

Above is a detail from a Schiaparelli jacket.

All are beautiful but less than practical for the school run and this morning's very wet dog walk!

Regal stitchery

Apartment 12A at Hampton Court Palace houses the Royal School of Needlework. It is open to the public for classes, courses and occasional guided tours, but as my stay didn't coincide with tour dates, I had to content myself with a visit (or three) to the shop. I bought some postcards:

Here is a detail of silk embroidery from "Queen Anne's apron" which dates from the early 18th. century:

An example of contemporary whitework:

Another contemporary piece:

Silk and gold thread embroidery on an 18th. century apron:

Who could fail to admire the artistry, skill and patience which has gone into all this work.

Home from home

This was our home away from home last week. The Georgian House at Hampton Court Palace proved to be a most comfortable and welcoming place (despite reports of additional, spectral, residents!). Managed by The Landmark Trust, it sits within the palace complex, adjacent to the chapel and tudor kitchens, with the real tennis court nearby. We had unrestricted access to the palace grounds in addition to our own immaculate walled garden:

Here are the King's Beasts, supporters of the royal arms, which guard the entrance to the west front -

The brick and stonework of the palace exterior caught my eye, such as the intricate patterns on the chimneys:

the rain only added to their charm (and the ghostly atmosphere...)

The sun came out when we reached the south front, and we noticed details of a slightly more domestic scale such as this lollipop holly:

brilliant blue salvia patens,

and a robin who obligingly sat for a photograph -

                      ~~~~~

More on our London visit later.

Reds and greens

We have sunshine and blue skies this morning, and glowing light to show off some of the colours and textures in the garden:

One potato, two potato

It is half term for our children here in Scotland. While our modern-day detachment from the seasons means that to many, this week's holiday is much like any other, it used not to be that way. The October week was given over not to foreign mini-breaks or even visits to the zoo, but to the practice of "tattie howkin", whereby all rural children went into the fields to help with the potato harvest. Back-breaking work it may have been, but the 'bairns' (or 'quines' and 'loons' as they were known in Aberdeenshire) were all too ready to do it to earn a shilling or two. You can read a wonderful account of the tattie howkin by searching under 'history' here.

What is the link between potatoes and mathematics?

At the risk of meandering through non-sequitur land, this fellow has something to do with it. He is "Winter" by Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1527-93), and his vegetal composition made me look more closely at the contents of my veg. bag this week. It contained beetroot

all ruby red with emerald leaves, and this :-

a romanesco cabbage, or acid green curiosity.

In searching for more information on this specimen I came across an article called "Fractal Food". In a fractal the smallest details of an object are similar in shape to its larger structures, which in turn are similar to even larger ones, etc., and this characteristic is referred to as self-similarity, of which the romanesco is an example. In Norah Gaughan's fascinating book

I read that in mathematics, fractals are geometric representations of simple equations which produce intriguing patterns such as the Koch Snowflake and the Sierpinski Triangle (poorly reproduced here):

and which she has used to devise inspiring knitting patterns such as the Ogee Tunic

and the Coastline Skirt

Up to their ankles in 'glaur', the tattie howkers wouldn't have worn these.

Concentration, concentration, concentration

The sock I cast on a week ago has taken me into unexplored territory. "Here be dragons", the pattern ought to read, as I have reached the heel. It's a good idea in these circumstances to take advantage of the local knowledge of a guide, and I have to thank Helen for giving me some tips on the back of her experience of making these socks a few months ago.

Last night I sat in poor light (being too involved in wrapping stitches to move myself to a more suitable location) and was deaf to all requests for help and attention from children, dogs and husband (the latter was manhandling a fridge-freezer up a flight of stairs having just got off a plane after a highly intensive business trip). I callously ignored their entreaties and knitted on.

But finding myself going back and forth, slipping one, knitting one, wrapping one and turning, (and I've done less exhausting eightsome reels than this) in the words of the inimitable Sir Roy Strong I had to "lie down in a darkened room and dab my temples with Floris".

The sock is having a rest, too.

The Primness of Miss Jean Brodie

The town of Uddingston, near Glasgow, boasts as its main claim to fame the Tunnock's factory, home to Caramel Wafers and other delights. We Scots have the reputation of being dour people, so what Uddingstonians and the like would make of  Yarnstorm's "Dance of the Seven Veils" starring a Tunnock's Teacake (see 8th. Oct.) I dread to think.

Here at Cornflower we are committed to a "family viewing" only policy so, ladies and gentlemen, we present to you a 'correct' example of the baker's art, shortbread,

ably assisted and accompanied by "Pierette" china. No state of deshabille here, forsooth, and not a crumb out of place!

Very "Morningside".