Sheila’s posts make fascinating reading and I have happily been reliving many of our shared experiences as rather naïve flat sharers fifty years ago. No matter how oddball Sheila’s anecdotes are, somehow I am never that surprised – well, yes, I am really taken by her creative talents; apart from a few rather large sweaters she knitted for Stewart, I can’t remember her showing needlecraft skills.
She certainly showed her scrounging-cum-scrumping skills at an early stage of independent living. We were consistently hard up as students and we had to be creative with food. One of Sheila’s methods was never to visit anybody or any place without a large plastic bag in her handbag. She had a list of motherly ladies that she would visit at weekends – especially the ones who were good bakers. That was most of them, as most Scottish housewives of that era baked. Sheila would return to our flat after a foray with a wondrous mixture of baked goods. Mmmm – I can still taste the cherry cake. We once returned to her family home, where her father and stepmother had laid on a splendid party, I think it was to celebrate Sheila’s sister Leslie’s twenty-first birthday. Sheila and I did not revere stepmothers then but we both agreed that her stepmother knew how to lay on a feast that couldn’t be missed. At that time, parties we went to were classed as well catered if there were cubes of cheese on cocktail sticks, and possibly some sausage rolls. At this party a two tier array of roast chicken, baked ham, cheeses galore and salads of all sorts met our eyes – as well as innumerable French sticks, deemed quite exotic in 1960s Glasgow.
Sheila had a plan. We had to wait until the dishes had been cleared to the kitchen and just before we were leaving make a raid. With bulging bags, we retreated to get our coats for the journey back to the flat. And then, an after thought; we just had to have some of the French sticks – after all, they would be stale soon. My coat had wide sleeves, as did Sheila’s and she had the brainwave of pushing a French stick up each arm so we could exit with our bounty unnoticed. Unfortunately, the elders were waiting at the door to shake hands; it was rather difficult to do this with arms effectively in splints. I suspect one end did pop out. Nothing was said and with hindsight, I suspect we, and possibly some of the other flat dwelling guests, were expected to do a bit of salvage.
Sheila’s food gathering went as far as America where two of Sheila’s Scottish aunts had settled. At least one was roped in to send food parcels, and they always contained at least a couple of Betty Crocker cake mixes. Devil’s Food Cake was our favourite, especially if the appropriate frosting had been included. Now, I think it must have been about the time of Stew’s twentieth birthday and Sheila had hoarded a Devil’s Food Cake Mix to make him a birthday cake. Sod’s law said that something would go wrong – like the gas meter running out towards the end of cooking and Sheila having no shillings to feed it with. The centre was soggy, the rest fine, so Sheila used an upturned glass to cut out a neat circle of soggy cake. Sadly, Auntie hadn’t included the frosting mix so Sheila improvised. She thought pink icing would be nice. (This was before pink was associated with a sexual preference and I think it was more a reference to Stewart’s politics being a paler shade of red). I don’t know what she used but she ended up with a huge lump the colour of pink bubble gum, and of a similar texture. The ‘frosting’ was ‘spread’ in stringy pink swirls over the scrumptious dark brown cake; we all ate and enjoyed Sheila’s improvisation. Sheila’s more recent improvisation in Brown and Pink (chocolate cake with pink blancmange – check out this post if you didn’t see it) reminded me of this incident.
Recently Sheila was wondering what she would eat on Kilimanjaro. A few months ago I was in Southern Africa, doing the ‘Baby Boomers’ Bucket List Safari Holiday’. There I came across a fascinating menu board; the raw materials would have set Sheila’s heart beating with anticipation at ‘Catching Lives’. The ingredients may have been exotic, but the outcome was sadly mundane. However, I imagine that the Wednesday cooks at ‘Catching Lives’ would have produced something that would have been much more enjoyable.
This one really had me laughing out loud – particularly the bit about shaking hands with Sheila’s parents whilst concealing French loaves in your sleeves. Worthy of a French and Saunders sketch!
Hilarious, Jean. I’ll get a French stick and give it a whirl so I can fully empathise 🙂
I have absolutely no memory of this occasion – but I know it must be true: I am always on the look out for a freebie!