Snapshot: The annual I waited 90 years to read

Ninety odd years ago – I’m 98 now – I was praying in my bedroom in Gorseinon, south Wales, that Father Christmas would bring me the latest Pip and Squeak annual, which was published by the Daily Mirror. They were the cartoon adventure stories about orphaned animals who formed their own family. There was a dog called Pip, the father, a penguin called Squeak, the mother, whose favourite word was “luvly” and Wilfred, a rabbit, was the child. They all lived happily together in a house in London.

In those days, the usual things you would find in your Christmas stocking were dates and chocolates. Tangerines were a novelty. Christmas trees – not the norm for working-class people – were unheard of. Outside flushing lavatories were also a rarity, but our four-bedroomed semi-detached house had one. The whole street opposite had what was known as a dry toilet and the night soil was collected weekly.

Come Christmas morning, I was bitterly disappointed. In my stocking was the consolation prize of three leaden Pip, Squeak and Wilfred figurines, which were considerably cheaper than the annual. I felt swindled and robbed.

The wonders of computers are beyond my understanding but I am now, thanks to my daughter Helen’s searches on eBay, the proud owner of a 1928 edition of The Pip and Squeak Annual, which cost 6/- and was once owned by a Joyce Layland of Mansion House, Dartmouth. The book I yearned for all those years ago. Ah well, better late than never!

John Vivian Hayes

Playlist: A cracker of a work placement for Lucy

True Blue by Madonna

“True love / You’re the one I’m dreaming of / Your heart fits me like a glove / And I’m gonna be true blue baby I love you”

In late 1986, my daughter Lucy was 15 and went to “special school”. When Lucy and her class approached their final year, they were sent on work experience, which began with a four-week placement at an industrial unit in the fens where they learned to make Christmas crackers.

However, my daughter was adamant she didn’t want to go – it would be boring and why, because of her disability, should she have to? Unsure, I went in to see her class teacher who assured me Lucy would learn about routine and other life skills required for the workplace, and that it might help her to decide if she’d like to do a course at the local college before looking for work.

That night, I told Lucy it might be a good idea for her to at least try the placement – it would be an experience, if nothing else.

She glared as she got on the bus with her classmates bound for the industrial unit the next morning. Then when she returned home each night, she’d stomp off upstairs and refuse to talk about it.

But one evening, towards the end of her stint there, I heard her humming a song when she returned home. It was True Blue by Madonna.

“Good day?” I asked.

“I hate it there!” she said, complaining that they played the same songs all day on a loop as she and the other kids stuffed novelties and mottoes into the crackers – the latter she couldn’t even read to break the tedium. It was too late to pull her from the unit, and the fact she wouldn’t talk about it further made me feel guilty for years after.

As Lucy got older, she continued to struggle with her disability, along with the stigma attached to it, because of the ignorance of others, but despite this double whammy she’s done well – she has her own flat and has a job at an animal shelter. But when I recently heard True Blue again, I cautiously asked about her experiences at the industrial unit. “Oh, the cracker factory?’ she said, “Yeah, I had a great time there! It was my best ever memory of school!”

“What!” I asked her. “So why did you come home so damn miserable every night then?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged. “Cos I was a teenager?”

I’m not a great Madonna fan but now I can hear that song – and pull a cracker – without feeling bad!

Jenny Spence

We love to eat: Our family’s own clootie dumpling

Ingredients

12oz (340g) self-raising flour
8oz (225g) mixed dried fruit (raisins, currants and sultanas)
4oz (115g) soft brown sugar
4oz (115g) suet
1 tsp mixed spice
½ tsp baking powder
1 peeled and grated eating apple
1 tbsp treacle
Small glass milk

Mix the dry ingredients and grated apple in a large bowl. Add the treacle to the milk then pour little by little into the bowl and mix to a soft, even consistency. Bring a large pan of water to the boil, plunge a cotton dishcloth, or cloot, into it and remove and wring before laying out flat. Douse with flour and place the mixture on the cloot, draw it together evenly, leaving room for expansion, and tie at the top with string.

Put a plate in the bottom of the boiling pan, then carefully lower the clootie in. Simmer for three hours topping up with boiling water from time to time. Remove from the pan and allow excess water to drain. Untie the string and gently pull the corners apart. Place a plate on the top of the dumpling and turn over, then remove the cloot completely.

Dry the dumpling in a medium oven until a firm skin has formed. Traditionally this would have been done at the fireside hearth and turned regularly to ensure an even finish. Then it’s ready. The raisins will now be plumped up by the hours of steaming.

The smell of the spice and the sound of the plate rattling in the bottom of the pan stir memories of my birthdays past. Silver threepennies wrapped in greaseproof paper secreted inside. Judicious slicing when serving meant we bairns were always lucky. Those small silver prizes, retained for future use, were exchanged for the more common 12-sided bronze coin – this was before decimalisation. Perhaps a health warning should have applied: “This pudding contains a choking hazard.”

Every Scottish family has its own recipe for clootie dumpling – some use stout instead of milk, some add ginger to the mix. Our version is neatly written in a hardback notebook that belonged to my wife’s grandmother, but the origin of it is lost in the mists of time. It was used for my 60th birthday this year when a beautiful dumpling adorned with candles was presented to me by my family.

We transcribed for our daughter, Kathryn, on her 27th birthday, so that she can make her own clootie dumpling for future celebrations.

Sandy Tuckerman

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