Hop flavoured cheese

I know that there are many varieties of cheese- Cheddar, Cheshire, Edam, Gorgonzola, Brie, Leicester just to name a few.  And like the wine buffs who go on (and on, and on) about the different vintages and so on  trying to put you down if you admit to drinking plonk,  there are cheese buffs as well.  I have met a lot of these, and of course many of them are quite knowledgeable and clever although when they try to tell you that they can tell what kind of clover the cow was eating the day before, well ..........

Anyway, when I meet these types, I have a little game and ask their opinion on "hop flavoured" cheese.  Many of course get a bit snotty cause they  look down on flavoured cheeses anyway, only fit for tesco types not those who order from Harrods, but most have to admit they have not come across "hop flavour".  There are hop flavoured cheeses these days of course, but that was not what I had in mind.

The hop flavoured cheese that I recall  always had a limited clientele and is not even available anymore, as it was handmade just before being eaten.

During the last war (can we still call it that considering the number of "conflicts" since ?) agricultural labourers used to get a larger cheese ration than city citizens, so when the east end families continued to go to the Kent hop-fields, they got extra cheese as well.  Not surprising then that lunch most days was cheese sandwiches.

Picking hops resulted in fingers covered in a sulphuric kind of black coating, impossible to wash off, and in any case lunch was taken in the  fields.  So cheese sandwiches eaten with blackened fingers had a taste like no other, and is quite impossible to describe.  The taste of hops was not unpleasant as imbibers of real ale will tell you, and it had an affinity to cheese.
I am not suggesting you go out and buy the modern speciality hop flavoured cheeses to see what I am on about as it is not the same thing at all.

Seven year old stole a silver teapot

I nearly acquired a criminal record at the age of seven by being accused of stealing a silver teapot !

It was all a case of mistaken identity.  My accomplice and I mistook a family heirloom for a common old teapot which was never used and we could not find anything else to use to collect conkers.

As this was during World War Two it is surprising that the irate owner didn't accuse us of being enemy spies or at least saboteurs.

As London evacuees in Guildford, my mate an I already had a record as it were.  We had originally been billeted on two spinster sisters in Shalford, who despite being teachers could not cope with having two unruly seven year old boys actually living in their house.  So after one scrape after another, usually involving not arriving home from school in Guildford at least a couple miles away, until it was dark, we were moved on.

Our next billet was with a family who had only one child, a daughter.  Again it was a question of a lady, her husband in the army, and having no experience of the ways of little boys,  not really knowing how to deal with this species of wild animal.

All went reasonably well for a while, apart from the odd misunderstanding during the school holidays when we boys found it difficult it conform to the restrictive regime regarding our comings and goings.  We were not far from the Quarry park where were quite a few horse chestnut trees and it was the conker season.  We looked around for a receptacle to use to go and collect conkers and all we could find was an old tin looking teapot that was never used.

We took that and off to the park.  As was our won't we did not return to the house until dusk and found a policeman there.  Our landlady had called the police and claimed that we had stolen the valuable teapot and absconded.  As far as she was concerned we were no doubt already back in London with Fagin, Oliver, the Artful Dodger and the rest of that crew.

Despite being assured by the policeman that it was a misunderstanding and no harm had been done, she refused to allow us to remain in the house being convinced that our next act would be to murder her and her daughter as soon as the policeman was gone. So the poor fellow had no alternative but to march us off the the police station to await arrangements for another billet.


And that, as they say,  is another story .

Walking to see grannies

Walking to see Grannies

Hopefully children frequently visit their grandparents.  But of course it is not always easy, time, distance etc.  How many primary school age children today walk to see their grandparents, do you think ?  There has not been a study, as far as I know, but I would guess that there has not been . (Do think there is a research grant out there for this ?)

Up to the age of five, I and my siblings (except we didn't have any siblings, only brothers and sisters) spent Sunday afternoons alternately visiting our grandmothers. Both the grandfathers had died before we were born so we did not know either of them 

It wasn't that far, about three quarters of a mile, and the route could be varied.  Normally,  straight up Green Bank,  past the Gibbs toothpaste factory which always smelled soapy even on Sundays when there was no work going on.   The factory building, by the way, is still there, unlikely many of the other structures we would pass on those Sunday afternoons.

Turn left into Old Gravel  Lane  which for some reason is now called Wapping Lane , past the small group of closed shops up towards the  bridge. Going  past St. Peter's church we would be careful to keep to the other side of the road; being good Catholic children we didn't know what terrible things could happen to us if we went too close to a Protestant church.

Sometimes the bridge which went over a short canal which joined two sections of the docks was closed so we would have to wait for some barges or a ship went through, but was not often on a Sunday.   The bridge and the docks  are gone now of course but the one on the right hand side was filled in and trees were planted on it and called "Wapping Woods".  It was not a particularly successful project. 

Up to the Highway at the top of Old Gravel Lane.  Sometimes via a short cut through St. George in the East  church yard, even though by then it was a public gardens, there were still gravestones around the edge so we still had to be careful of any dead Protestants that might still be lurking.

 By then,  if we were going to "big Granny"  we were nearly there. She lived in Shovel Alley, at least that is what they called it, buts it's proper name was Mayfield Buildings.  During the summer months she would be sitting outside the front door on a wooden chair with a thick Sorbo cushion.  Invariably she asked "have you got a hankie". Whether we had or not she would always produce some from underneath the cushion.  We never stayed long, she was not a cuddly sort of grandmother, very stern of face which seemed to disapprove of you, even if you had been good. I have the impression that most grandmothers were like that in those days, not like the huggy kissy Nannas and Pops of today.

So it was question and answer sessions, and then, duty done  off we would go on the return journey.

If we were going to see our other grandmother "little Granny"  then it was a slightly longer walk as she lived with our Uncle Joe and Aunt Martha further along the Highway in Pell street.  We much preferred this visit, we only had to go into grannies room and say hallo as she was always unwell in bed.  Then we could go and look at the rabbits that Uncle Joe  kept in the tiny yard out the back, which also contained the outside toilet, so you could never tell where the worst smells came from. 

The return journey would often take us along Pennington Street passed the house that my father was born in, but that is not there either.

When we got home to our top floor council flat, we passed by the front door of the flat occupied by our family friends, the Connolys.  That flat was sold a couple of years ago for £295,000.

You could make this same journey today using Google Earth, but you would see very little today that we saw then.

My Great Grandad went to Brazil in 1857.

My Great Grandad went to Brazil in 1857.

There was no World cup of course and there was no organised Carnivale either, the only street processions in those days were on religious festival days.



He was on board HMS Ganges a Royal Navy sailing ship, which at the time was the Flag ship of Rear Admiral Baynes who had recently been appointed Commander in Chief of the Pacific Squadron based in Valparaiso.

They arrived in Rio in November after 71 days after leaving Sheerness without any of the crew having been ashore.  The ship spent two weeks in Rio and it is hoped that the crew were allowed ashore there to sample the delights of this special city.

My Great grandfather, Alphons Eder was a bandsman on Ganges and had been born in Laibach (now Ljubljana) in Slovenia.  He was 20 years old and would never have experienced anything like what he found in Rio.  It would not have been just the distant scenery which was a new experience for Alphons and his band colleagues. There was the tropical heat even in November and there was no football !!

In most respects Rio was a modern city for its time with some fine buildings including an opera houses amongst the numerous churches, gas street lighting and electric trams.

HMS Ganges went on to go round Cape Horn and on to Valparaiso and other ports in Chile before going on to Canada.

Alphons Eder and Ganges finally returned to England in 1861. Two years later the Football Association was formed and thus changed the world forever. The first Football international took place in 1870 between England and Scotland and it seems as though the match isn't over yet..

Ten signs you may think you are getting old

• One.  You are the only man in a restaurant without designer stubble and  wearing a tie
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• Two:  you don't wear shorts in the street until the sun comes out
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• Three:  you give up your seat in a bus to a young woman carrying a baby
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• Four:  you consider shaving  every day
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• Five:  you are surprised  at the price of a pint of beer
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• Six: you press your jeans with creases down the front
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• Seven: when you were young you didn't know any girls called Kylie 
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• Eight:  you keeping waiting for a tune in a modern song 
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• Nine: you wonder why boys shorts are longer than girls skirts
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• Ten:  you now understand the meaning of "second childhood" - nobody listened to you when you were young and nobody listens now .

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• Eleven:  you can't keep count
• Twelve:  You remember this ad
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