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Sorry Fox, printed this off and never got a chance to read it until this morning.
Great stuff! The tone is decidedly different to the pieces on Thailand, which is absolutely the way it should be.
My first full time job was as a shedhand in the north west of Western Australia, I swear I could hear the slow steady murmur of bush flies and Mr Wilson’s laconic drawl between slurps of strong sweet, smoko tea and nibbles of fresh sultana cake. By the way, do you have the recipe? Can you replicate it or is it something only mum in her country kichin’ could make? Unfortunately our family, and the universe, lost the know-how to make my gran’s superb boiled sticky date pudding. It’s a travesty!
But you got work to do mate, don’t leave us hanging too long now. How’d McCloud get himself out of this one?
Well HG when I was writing that story I looked up sultana cake wondering if it wasn’t purely an Australian recipe like the pavlova. I didn’t know if anybody would know what sultanas are. Never fear there were numerous recipes on the net. Seems its Scotish.
I’m trying to cobble together a group of stories about life on the farm. They are all a bit sepia toned as they’re childhood and teenage memories. I’m kind of fond of them so I don’t want to taint them too much with my worldweary attitude to adult life; however, I’d like them to have an adult perspective something only time really affords.
You’re right about the loss of all those recipes, I have also been thinking about that. When was the last time any of us had a chocolate pudding or a triffle?
My mum turned 80 in February and at her birthday my brother-in-law, an ex navy chef, made a triffle. It was a disaster. Tasted OK, but texture and presentation wise man it looked like it had been scooped out of the scaps’ bucket.
When trifle fails, it’s no trifling matter. I think those plasticky sponge cakes are somehow crucial to the whole operation, but I’ve never made one.
Look forward to more instalments. My father’s been sending me some of his writing of late. He grew up on a farm in Quirindi in northern NSW. Quite amazing stuff in amongst it. As a histrory buff I love catching the snippets you can see potentially falling through the cracks of time. Just like your mum’s recipe. You’ll have to get her to show you next time you’re down that way.
It’s interesting you should mention your father writing down his stories HG. Because yesterday when I was posting my reply, I was about to mention that very idea. The reason I started writing these stories is that it occurred to me that whilst my own father, who died some years ago, had many interesting stories he took them with him. I think that’s a real pitty.
You’re right about things falling through the cracks of time. That is what had happened to this bloke, but whilst he was tumbling and turning he got wedged in an often forgotten little nook in our past. It’s all from the same series of stuff.
Mr. Tony Casperino