• About

Candia Comes Clean

~ Candid cultural comments from the Isles of Wonder

Tag Archives: Thornton’s chocolate

Balls

13 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Family, History, Humour, Literature, Politics, Religion, Social Comment, Suttonford, television, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Cadbury's Creme egg, Call the Midwife, Cato, coronet, De Agri Cultura, Discovery Trail, Easter Bunny, gastropod, Gladstone bag, Istanbul, Judas, kelim, Laetare Sunday, Mary Berry, marzipan, mollusc, onesie, Paralympian, placenta, plakous, plebeian, Simnel cake, souk, Thornton's chocolate, Tortoise and Hare, Wyvern Mote

Simnel cake 1.jpg

Great-Aunt Augusta was ready and waiting for them.  She was

ensconced in her usual corner of Snodland Nursing Home for the

Debased Gentry and the tea trolley had been parked beside her little

enclave.

Her gimlet eyes had already detected the Thornton chocolate egg that

Drusilla was bearing.  The old lady smiled broadly and greeted them with

an invitation that could not be refused:  Go on- have some placenta cake.

It’s that time of year.

Snod sat down in one of the institutional high-backed chairs.  What did

you just say, Aunt Augusta?  I need to have my ears syringed.

Placenta cake.  One always has it from Laetare Sunday onwards.

Oh, I see.  You are drawing an analogy with that plakous cake so beloved

of the Greeks?  But I thought that was made with dough, cheese, honey and

was flavoured with bay leaves.  Wasn’t there a recipe for it in Cato’s De Agri

Cultura?

Possibly, replied Aunt Augusta, but people have linked it to our Simnel cake

and Matron has allowed us to have one for afternoon tea.  So, you be

mother, she directed Drusilla.

Dru looked relieved that she was not going to be faced with something

slithery from Call the Midwife.  It looked fairly innocuous, but shop-bought.

Mary Berry BBC Good Food 2011.jpg

It’s to a recipe from that youngster Mary Berry, Augusta informed them.

Ah, simila, meaning ‘fine flour’, Snod pontificated.  It was going to be a

long afternoon.

And you know all about the balls?  Augusta interrogated Dru, distracting

her while she was pouring, so that she slopped some tea into the saucers.

Balls?  Coronets had them and now simnel cakes.  They were ubiquitous. 

Balls? Dru repeated gormlessly.

Gus looked a little red-faced.

They represent the Apostles.  Minus Judas.  But when I baked mine, I

always used to add him in. After all, he did repent.

Hmm, mused Dru.  I’ve been thinking about that during Lent.  I would like to

be inclusive in my attitude too.

You see, Augusta said.  I knew we think alike.  So, assuming that you don’t

have one of those dreadful tramp stamps, I can now give you an Easter

present.  Fair exchange, as I see you have brought me a Thornton’s

chocolate treat.  Just something mother picked up in a souk in Istanbul,

or somewhere.  Don’t get too excited.

Dru looked puzzled as Aunt Augusta opened a kind of Gladstone made

from a Turkish saddle-bag. Or maybe it was Anatolian.  Dru wasn’t an

expert.

This is for you.  Don’t open it here.  I’ve been hiding it ever since I came in

here, in case one of the inmates took a fancy to it.  I was going to give it to

your father, but he has had the proceeds from quite a few of Mother’s kelims

in the past, so now it is your turn.

She picked off a marzipan ball and popped it into her mouth.

Like a hole in one, Snod thought.  Not much evidence of a significant

handicap.

Dru thanked her and together they managed to wrap her up and wheel

her out for the afternoon.  Of course, they went to Wyvern Mote, where,

I am afraid to relate, Aunt Augusta whirled her wheelchair around a

children’s Discovery Trail, as if she was a Paralympian, and bagged

all the Cadbury’s Creme Eggs which had just been secreted by a giant

Easter Bunny in a ridiculous Onesie.

Sugar is very bad for you, she justified herself.  I heard it on the news. 

It doesn’t matter at my age, but I am saving the little ones from future

health problems.

And she stuffed a whole one into her mouth, much as she had done with

the marzipan ball, leaving a trail of slivers of silver paper behind her, like

an orienteering trail, or the shiny slime from a sweet-loving snail.

(I was going to write ‘toothed’ instead of ‘loving‘, but the metaphor didn’t work

for gastropods and molluscs.)  Tant pis, as the escargot race are wont to say.

Once she had been delivered safely and they had driven off, Dru raised a

subject that she had been saving for a private moment.

I had a letter from someone whom I haven’t heard from for quite some time,

she said to Snod, after they had reached a straight section of road.

Oh, who was that? Gus asked, only mildly interested.  Get out of the way,

you plebeian!  It’s 30mph, or can’t you read?  It’s the hare and the tortoise

all over again!

Someone had cut him up and it wasn’t a policeman.  He reserved the

right to use the term, as a long-standing Classics scholar.

Mum doesn’t know, but it was from Murgatroyd.  He wants me to go up and

stay for a couple of days.  To see what he’s achieved in the restoration of his

house in the Borders.  Allegedly.

Indeed, remarked Snod.  This was a useful word which he employed to

good effect in difficult parental interviews.  Why do you say ‘allegedly’?

Because I think he misses me. He was in loco parentis for my first

formative years.

And I wasn’t, I suppose.  The latter was not expressed with any hint of

bitterness.

There was silence for a few minutes.  Then Snod responded.

In the light of our conversation on Judas, I can only say that we might as

well think of Murgatroyd as an extra ball.  He may not be the icing on the

familial cake, but he probably needs to be included.

Father, that’s generous of you.  It makes no difference to how I feel about

our relationship.

What about your mother?  Do you want me to keep the lid on this for the

moment?  She’s moving house and perhaps that is enough stress for her

at present.

I will think about how to tell her, but for now, it’s what I feel I have to do.

Snod dropped her off at Royalist House in High Street.  She was

exhausted.

Here!  You forgot your present! shouted Snod, handing her the parcel out

through the driver’s window.  It was quite heavy for its size.

He wasn’t going to come in.  He had some work to do for the new term

and he was so behind.  Would he change his name, or leave things

as they were? Decisions, decisions..

 

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

L’enfer c’est les autres

04 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by Candia in Arts, Celebrities, Family, Humour, Literature, Photography, Psychology, Religion, Social Comment, Suttonford, Writing

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Bradford on Avon, ergonomic stool, Gap Year student, John Hurt, Kim Kardashian, l'enfer c'est les autres, maxima culpa, moveable feast, penny dreadful, QE2, Sartre, The Inferno, Thornton's chocolate, Underworld

GB ER II 1969 QUEEN ELIZABETH 2nd LINER 2 BLOCKS --MINT

Drusilla Fotheringay, Housemistress at St Vitus’ School for the Academically-

Gifted Girl lifted the post from the entrance hall.  There was a personal letter

addressed to her in spidery writing.  She felt curiously excited, as when she

had anticipated a pound note, or a book token on her birthday, as a youngster.

It was so rare to be sent snail mail.  The stamps were curiously lumpy.

Obviously they been steamed off and re-used.  They depicted the QE2.

Hang on!  They are pre-decimal!  How did she get away with that? Dru

exclaimed.

Fortunately she had a free period before the onslaught, so she sat down in the

office and looked at the postmark.  It was from Rochester, Kent.

Aunt Augusta!  she sighed.  She had been meaning to write to the old bird, but

had been so busy.  No doubt she wanted her to visit, but she was supposed to

be clearing out her things in Bradford-on-Avon before Mum handed over the

cottage to its new owners.  Thank goodness she had already moved her harp

into the boarding house.

There was no pound note, but there was a Thornton’s voucher for a discount

on a second Easter egg, if you bought more than one.

Dru supposed that it was a hint that she should bring some chocolate down

with her on her next visit.  Easter might be a moveable feast, but there wasn’t

going to be too much leeway as far as dutiful attendance went.

A newspaper cutting fell out of the envelope.  It was headed The Rochester

Messenger and dated the 30th March, 2014.

Dru cast her eye over the column and nearly fell off her ergonomic stool.

Wasn’t that a bodily excretion peculiar to vegetarians? No, don’t go there!

The cutting was an obituary for Anthony Revelly, the man whom they had

identified as being her grandfather.  They hadn’t had time to work out a

strategy for revealing the information they had pieced together on their visit

to Wyvern Mote.

Mum!

Yes, dear.  Why are you phoning me now?  Aren’t you at work?  Are you all

right?

Mum, I’ve just had a letter and a cutting from a local penny dreadful from

Aunt Augusta.

You mean Great-Aunt Augusta, don’t you?

Whatever. (This lazy way of speaking was rubbing off on her from her

teenage charges.  It was technically called convergence, according to the

pedantic English teacher) Mum, Anthony Revelly is dead.

The Anthony Revelly from the nursing home?  Your-em-grandfather?

He died at the end of March.  Aunt Augusta has enclosed his obituary.

Did she know..?

No, we hadn’t told anyone, so that’s why we hadn’t been informed.

Why is she sending you the cutting then?

Because…well, it’s a bit awkward.  The truth is..

What?

..that she complained because he was suffering from dementia and wandered

around at night and attempted to get into bed with her.  He obviously thought

that she was her sister, Berenice.  They were so alike.

Tragic, said Diana.  I bet he didn’t get a very good reception.  From what you

said, she seemed to have never really cared for men.

She seemed to have never really cared for anyone, Mum, though she is rather

keen on herself naturally!  To be fair, she cared for Dad practically when he

was at prep school.

Poor old Revelly was lonely, vulnerable and frightened.

It’s so sad and final.  Suddenly Dru brimmed over.  I never got to know him.

Diana felt guilty.  If only she had been honest about Dru’s real father being

Augustus, instead of fabricating her deception which had taken in Murgatroyd

Syylk and led to his honourably, if unwittingly, taking responsibility for Dru as a

daughter.

She had deprived Augustus of paternity rights and kept her daughter from her

grandfather. There must be a special circle in Hell for women such as herself.

(She had just been listening to a Radio 4 adaptation of The Inferno.  She

thought John Hurt was rather good in it; he was rather good in

everything..)

John hurt dinard cropped.jpg

Mea culpa!  Mea maxima culpa, she beat her breast.  Ouch! She might

have to share a gyre, or spiral thingy with Kim Kardashian.  That would be

a just punishment.  Who was that Kardashian woman again? Someone she

knew instinctively that would make her repeat Sartre’s statement: L’enfer

c’est les autres for all eternity.

Mother and daughter sobbed together.

Dru!  Come over to Sonia’s.  We need to sort this out.

But I have to teach at ten o’clock.  How am I going to cope?

You tell them that you have just had notice of a bereavement and the rest is

their problem.  They can double up the little blighters with another group. 

The Gap Year student can make up the extra adult presence, surely?

But she’s got a mental and emotional age of fourteen, Dru protested.

Just do it! She’s got the edge on them by a couple of years and at that age,

it’s a gulf never to be bridged.  Oh no, that sounded like a geophysical

feature of the Underworld again!

Okay, Mum.  I love you.

Sonia’s already worked out what’s happening, Diana soothed.

Well, she is supposed to be a clairvoyant.

Never mind that now.  Just get over here and we will think of how to

tell your father.

Okay, Dru sniffed.  She would just about have time to call into Thornton’s

on the way.

Boy, did she need some chocolate.

 

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook
  • Email
  • Print
  • Tumblr
  • Pinterest

Like this:

Like Loading...

My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Recent Posts

  • Street Scene in Cambridge
  • Chastleton Cat
  • King’s College Chapel
  • Merton Madonna and Child
  • Cat-holic

Archives

  • June 2023
  • May 2023
  • April 2023
  • March 2023
  • February 2023
  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • October 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • June 2022
  • May 2022
  • April 2022
  • March 2022
  • February 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • September 2021
  • August 2021
  • July 2021
  • June 2021
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • March 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • June 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012
  • August 2012

Categories

  • Animals
  • Architecture
  • art
  • Arts
  • Autumn
  • Bible
  • Celebrities
  • Community
  • Crime
  • Education
  • Environment
  • Family
  • Fashion
  • Film
  • gardens
  • History
  • Home
  • Horticulture
  • Hot Wings
  • Humour
  • Industries
  • James Bond films
  • Jane Austen
  • Language
  • Literature
  • Media
  • Music
  • mythology
  • Nature
  • News
  • Nostalgia
  • Olympic Games
  • Parenting
  • Personal
  • Philosophy
  • Photography
  • Poetry
  • Politics
  • Psychology
  • Relationships
  • Religion
  • Romance
  • Satire
  • Sculpture
  • short story
  • short story
  • Social Comment
  • Sociology
  • Sport
  • Spring
  • St Swithun's Day
  • Summer
  • Summer 2012
  • Supernatural
  • Suttonford
  • television
  • Tennis
  • Theatre
  • Travel
  • urban farm
  • White Horse
  • winter
  • Writing

Meta

  • Register
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

acrylic acrylic painting acrylics Alex Salmond Andy Murray Ashmolean Australia Autumn barge black and white photography Blenheim Border Terrier Boris Johnson Bourbon biscuit boussokusekika Bradford on Avon Brassica British Library Buscot Park charcoal Charente choka clerihew Coleshill collage Cotswolds David Cameron dawn epiphany Fairford FT funghi Genji George Osborne Gloucestershire Golden Hour gold leaf Hampshire herbaceous borders Hokusai husband hydrangeas Jane Austen Kelmscott Kirstie Allsopp Lechlade Murasaki Shikibu mushrooms National Trust NSW Olympics Oxford Oxfordshire Pele Tower Pillow Book Prisma reflections Roger Federer Sculpture Shakespeare sheep Spring Spring flowers still life Suttonford Tale of Genji Thames Thames path Theresa May Victoria watercolour William Morris willows Wiltshire Winchester Cathedral

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,570 other subscribers

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Follow Following
    • Candia Comes Clean
    • Join 1,570 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Candia Comes Clean
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
%d bloggers like this: