Where my fascination for ovens began?

All this recent talk about baking and ovens brought earlier experiences with 'proper' ovens to mind. I had an inkling that I had some old photographs somewhere and, much to my surprise, I came across them almost as soon as I started looking. They were taken with my first SLR camera sometime in the summer months of '66, '67 or '68, when I had a holiday job as a general dogsbody at a coke/coal-gas producing plant in my home village of Trethomas. Indulge my nostalgia whilst I elaborate.

The operation of the plant is, at its most basic, quite simple. Coal is burnt in large ovens to produce coke (sent to smelters at various steel works), the gas is washed free of contaminants (processed to make a host of coal-tar related products) and then piped to Newport for use. Or that's the way it was: the plant has been long closed - a casualty of the closure of the South Wales coal field (and I still bear a strong grudge against Thatcher for her part in this).

Students were employed in the summer months to cover shift holidays and it was a much sort after job as the wages were very good for the area (a 60 hour week could bring in a magnificent £19!). There was also considerable kudos attached to working in such an industrial environment - it was seen as a man's job and a definate step up from lazing around as a labourer with the erstwhile Bedwas and Machen Urban District Council (I know as I'd served my time there as well!). About ten of us would be taken on and allocated across the four separate shifts. I had a regular place on the ovens themselves and this suited me just fine. There was always something going on and the regular workers were a great bunch to spend time with. In retrospect, I learnt quite a bit about life from them, particularly in the area of politics. To a great extent, the political discussions (and they got quite heated at times) we had helped me shape my own views, the core of which remain largely unchanged from those days.

What about the work? No concessions were made to the fact that we were students and, apart from being given a pair of wooden clogs if you were working on top of the ovens, no protective clothing was issued. These were the days before Health and Safety! There was no training: you were just told to whom you had to report and they showed you what had to be done. Because we were all classed as 'brainy students' we were expected to pick things up quickly, otherwise hoots of derision came our way and, if we did something particularly daft, word quickly spread from shift to shift. But there was never anything malacious behind these comments: if anything there was a collective pride in the fact that some of their own were going to university and 'getting on'.

Here's just a little about what I spent a lot of my time doing: working on top of the ovens and charging them with fresh coal. Every batch of coal (maybe 20 - 30 tons at a time) was burnt in the oven and the resultant coke pushed out (the oven doors were taken off to allow this and then put back on - but I won't go into this just now). When empty each oven was ready to be refilled. This was done through four capped holes on the top. The caps had to be removed to do this and the first photograph shows the burst of flame that shot up as each cap was removed. In case you are wondering, the caps were shifted using a hooked rod, which was not as long as you might expect! Speed and agility were of the essence. Once the caps were off the 'trolley' (a coal hopper on rails) came up and, after some fiddling around, discharged their contents into the oven. This was accompanied by yet more flames and smoke, in the middle of which we had to go to make sure that the coal flowed through quickly. When it was all out, the trolley went back for more and we had to put the caps back on the oven. We did this with a pretty ordinary broom! I haven't seen these photographs for years and I'd forgotten how dramatic they look. Yes, I am that person with the funny hat: it kept my luxuriant locks of hair from being burnt off. And, yes, every now and again the bottoms of our jeans would catch fire. Oh, how we laughed as we hopped around trying to douse the flames! It was certainly not the place to wear anything other than your oldest and most dispensable clothes. Ah, I forgot to mention the clogs. They had soles about 3 inches thick and embedded with two steel strips. They were necessary because the tops of the ovens were hot (we regularly cooked bacon and eggs on a clean-ish patch, I kid you not) and made quick work of melting rubber and burning leather. I know: a prank for new starters was to get them going without giving them their clogs. Oh, how we laughed as we hopped around with burning feet!

Happy days! And that's why I love ovens.

What? More baking!

A couple of years ago, I gave a talk on bread making to our local WI group. Not wishing to preach to the converted as so many of them were life-long bread makers, I chose as my theme 'making a little dough go a long way'. I went through the various types of flatbreads etc you could derive from a basic white dough mix. As a follow-up to that talk, I was asked to do a practical demonstration, which turned out to be an enjoyable evening. As several of Jan's friends could not make that particular session, we had three of them around last night for a hands-on try in our kitchen. Here's what we produced:

1. Rouquefort and walnut fougasse.
2. Raisin and fennel seed fougasse.
3. Moroccan flatbread with chickpeas, cumin and coriander seeds.
4. Ksra (a North African flatbread made with wholemeal flour and spiced with ground star anise and whole aniseed seeds).
5. Black olive and sun-dried tomato foccacia.
6. Pitta breads.

All done in a couple of hours and all (with the exception of the ksra) using a white dough mix as the starting point and just adding a few ingredients.

Yet another blogging dilemma...

..and, yes, it resulted in more bread being made! There are so many things that make me angry in the political sphere at the moment and kneading bread is an excellent way of getting frustrations out of the system. Today I repeated a batch of olive oil finger rolls, this time with a little more olive oil, and added some black olives to make a few other rolls. They all look OK but what will they taste like? We'll find out on our next Dartmoor walk.

Isn't it strange how the subconscious mind works? I must have been thinking about Posh Dave and Co when I was rearranging these rolls. They just fell out that way - honest!

And so it came to pass..

I thought that Posh  Dave had made a tactical error in commenting on the tax affairs of Jimmy Carr. Singling one person out as an exemplar is always fraught with difficulty. And so it turns out with our beloved leader feeling the tax dodging heat and facing charges of hypocrisy over his failure to condemn celebrity Gary Barlow’s tax avoidance.
When asked by an interviewer if he thought Barlow’s “tax affairs were morally wrong and should he give back his OBE”, the prime minister passed up the chance to censure his Tory chum, dodging the tax dodging question by saying he would not give a “running commentary on different people’s tax affairs” as “that would not be right”. By which he means ‘I’ll give a commentary on lefty Jimmy Carr, but not my Tory mate Gary Barlow’. Of course it’s not just Barlow; let's not forget Green, Ashcroft and others.

Someone more partisan and hyperbolic than I might say that Posh Dave's party looks like it's riddled with tax dodgers, avoiders, evaders and cheats - the real “scroungers” in society. The same person might also say that Dave seems attracted to them, surrounding himself with these shady characters, “all in it together” with the selfish few and not saying a word against them. Perhaps Posh Dave will prove them wrong but I wouldn't hold my breath.

Schadenfreude is not a noble emotion and it's one that I try not to indulge in too often but in this instance...........he he!

Summer Solstice Walk

June 21st - Summer Solstice - and, whilst the druids did their thing around Stonehenge, we did our thing around Hay Tor, on the eastern side of Dartmoor. Did you know that 'solstice' means a stopping or standing still of the sun? Yesterday it did just that; the sun stopped and the rain came...and came...and came! Not that it stopped us walking or, by all accounts, enjoying ourselves.A small but select band of six set out from Saddle Tor car park and completed a fairly energetic 7-miler taking in:
*  Saddle Tor*  Becka Brook and its eponymous clapper bridge.
* The mediaeval village on the slopes of Hound Tor (Hundatona - a group of thirteeenth century stone farmhouses, built on land originally farmed in the Bronze Age. The buildings were probably abandoned in the early fifteenth century).
* Hound Tor.

* Hay Tor Quarry and associated mineral tramways.
* Hay Tor

* Thence back to our starting point.

As and when the rain lifted, the scenery was very lush - and it doesn't get that lush without adequate supplies of water! As ever on Hay Tor, a highlight is the mineral tramway. I believe it is unique as the 'rails' are carved from granite, even down to the switching points. The tramway took the granite extracted from the quarries on Hay Tor down to a canal in a neighbouring valley and from there to Newton Abbott for loading onto ships. My photograph shows a small part of the tramway, with associated puddles.

And then it was all back to our friend's house in Bishop's Steignton (Bishop's Town on the Teign) for a meal. A very good day.

  

Blogging Dilemma!

A very difficult choice about what to blog on today. Electoral reform or bread rolls? You may be glad to know that bread rolls won! They didn't start out life as rolls, rather they were meant to be a Roquefort Cheese and Walnut Fougasse (impressed, eh?). But, I changed my mind - I'm that sort of wacky guy. They had a relatively high olive oil content and turned out OK. Good enough to eat, in fact.
And, fear ye not, thoughts on electoral reform are still being consolidated for another time.

I love baking bread

Oh yes, I do! There's something very satisfying, and therapeutic, about baking bread. Today was no exception and two types came out of the oven - some rolls and a rye bread.

The bread rolls were based on a granary-type flour (Maltstar from Stoate's Mill in Dorset) to which I'd added some mixed grains and black-strap molasses. One of these filled with whatever takes our fancy makes for a substantial lunch on our Dartmoor walks.

The rye bread is a sort of pumpernickle. I say 'sort of' because a true pumpernickle would be made with a sour-dough rye culture but this one doesn't. I got the recipe from a blog run by a couple of Dutch baking enthusiasts (Weekendbakery.com) and they call it Frisian Rye bread or Fries roggebrood. It's an easy bread to make but takes about 4 days (12 hours in the oven!) to reach the cutting and eating stage. It's very dense and, at the end of kneading, it's more like moulding clay than shaping dough - weird if you are used to working with high gluten flours such as wheat. Sliced thinly and topped with humous, it's pretty good. And infinitely better than the cardboard rye bread you can buy in your local supermarket. Variants on the basic recipe include the addition of caraway or cumin seeds but, quite honestly, they are an unnecessary elaboration.

How does it compare in taste to 'proper' pumpernickle? I've baked a couple of pumpernickles using rye sour-dough and, yes, they did have that characteristic acidic tang. But the recipes were more involved and time consuming and, in my opinion, did not repay the extra effort with extra flavour. Having said that, they were great fun to follow and produced an impressively dark product. But take care not to drop them on your toes! Light and airy this type of bread is not.  

Why Posh Dave and I see the world differently.

Two photographs that explain why David Cameron and I have a completely different perspective on things.

The first is the man himself in his Bullington Club uniform (for those who do not know this is a notorious drinking club at Oxford, the entry requirements for which seem to be loads of money, contacts and not minding dressing up as a dick).

The second was taken in September 1936 outside of the Workmen's Hall in Bedwas just after the colliers had heard of the success of their stay-down strike at the Navigation Colliery. The sole girl amongst the crowd is my mother and my grandfather is just about visible to the right.

They say that a photograph (in this case, two) is worth ten thousand words. Get the picture?

There'll be tears before bedtime.

It was announced today that the centrepiece of the London Olympics 2012 opening ceremony is to be a pastoral idyll. Sheep and cows will star — Marie Antoinette would be proud. And there's more: real rain and clouds. Suddenly, my spaghetti hoop Olympic rings seem entirely appropriate. Can't wait. .

Entering the fifteenth year of blogging: why am I still at it?

I first started blogging on January 6th 2010 - it's my anniversary today! -  and since then I have posted 1337 entries and had just under 250,000 views. It seems a good time to consider why I'm still doing it. Here's what I thought when I first started:

January 6th 2010. The first day of my entry into the blogosphere. Why a blog? Certainly not because I think I've got anything particularly erudite to say. Certainly not because I want to inflict my views upon the rest of the world, although I will probably have a rant about certain things every now and again. Why? Simply because I've wanted to keep a journal for a while and keeping a blog seems to be as good a way as any of doing this. How often will I make an entry? As often as makes sense and with no commitment to make an entry-a-day.

Much to my surprise, I've pretty much kept to these objectives. Thinking about why I blog is essentially asking two questions. First, “why do I write?”, and second, “why do I write here?”. Each of these deserves a little attention.

As to why I write, the answer is that I always have. Throughout my studies and professional life, I wrote essays, dissertations, reports, reviews, papers etc. Through my involvement in a local newsletter, I've written pieces on various village activities and edited the work of others. But I've never kept a journal, the discipline of making regular entries seemed to be beyond me although I did keep several while we travelled abroad. I find writing crystallises my thinking on topics and helps me explore them more deeply than simply pondering about them. Sometimes I write so that I can understand the things I’m writing about. Sometimes just writing to relive an event or to expand on a thought is fun. And sometimes it's nice to just sit down and write whatever comes to mind, even though some of it has surprised me. I just don't know where the more obscure comes from. It can be a little worrying!

So why do I write here, in a blog? Why keep a blog and open it up to the world to read? There are many reasons for that too. Most of what I blog about comes up from things I read and see and about which I have a view. Things that intrigue me, anger me, pique my curiosity, p*ss me off. Trips down memory lane to remind myself of where I come from etc etc. Sometimes these views never quite fit into any conversation and, let's face it, there is a limit to the amount of my ranting that family, especially the long-suffering Mrs P, and friends can reasonably be expected to tolerate! Keeping a blog is like writing in a diary, but not a private one. It's a rather strange pseudo-privacy that only the internet can give. Ideas somehow become more real when they are no longer just in your head. There are a few people who read fairly regularly about what I’m thinking and, although I'm not writing for them, it's actually very satisfying knowing that they are out there. The occasional comments I get are always welcome and over the years I've struck up some rewarding virtual relationships with a few readers around the world. OK, I'll come clean: there is an element undoubtedly of ego, nay vanity, here as well. 

And there is another reason I blog and one that has emerged as I've continued: to have a witness to my life. As a family historian I quite often wonder what my forebears thought about and what they were like. Every now and again I compile my entries into a permanent record and I really like the idea of some future great great grandchild reading it. And if they think "what a miserable old git he was", so be it. Warts and all, eh? And I'll keep on blogging for a while longer. There's still lots to rant about and as long as it gives me pleasure, why stop?

Shock! Horror! A few words in support of a Tory.

.It's a funny old world, isn't it? Who would have thought that I'd find cause to feel sympathy for Baroness Sayeeda Warsi? I invariably disagree with her strident exposition of Tory policies but I do feel that she is being rather unfairly treated by Posh Dave at the moment. He is referring her to the adviser on the Ministerial Code for an issue over expenses. But he is not referring Jeremy 'Jezza' Hunt to the said adviser over the BSkyB bid. Spot the difference between the two of them? (I've downloaded a picture in case that helps…)

I'm not alone in thinking this is strange and the political tweet-o-sphere has been abuzzing over Posh Dave's double standards: saving “JH” while knifing the Baroness. Here's just a few to give you a flavour:

“So Cameron orders ministerial probe into Warsi but not Hunt. Is it cos she is black? Or cos she wasn’t in charge of BSkyB bid?”

“Hunt:White, Public School, Male. Warsi: Black, Comprehensive, Female. Tricky call.”

“Jeremy Hunt: son of an Admiral, Charterhouse, Oxford. Warsi: daughter of immigrants, State School, Leeds Uni”

“Warsi v Hunt. Female v male. New v old. Not part of the club v establishment. Sorry – but all inescapable thoughts of obvious Tory bias”

“BREAKING NEWS: The rest of the Cabinet finally notice that Baroness Warsi hasn’t got a winkle and the suntan’s not fading"

I don't believe that Posh Dave is racist; nor do I believe that he is sexist. But I do believe he is elitist. Once again, as John Prescott observes, we see an arrogant, out of touch Tory prime minister looking after his own, as witnessed in the budget. If you’re a rich boy, this government will thumb its nose at public opinion and go to the wall to defend you. They’re only “all in it together” with their own and if you’re one of them. Even if you’re a loyal Conservative cabinet minister, you’ll never really be one of them, one of the club, one of the team, one of Team Cameron. You can't but help get the feeling that Hell will freeze over before Cameron takes action against one of his public school chums.

Or am I being too harsh?

Sanity restored

Only in the UK........

.....would you get a chamber choir singing Land of Hope and Glory, on a barge in the Thames, in the pouring rain! Many thanks to the members of the Royal College of Musicians Chamber Choir for providing the one image of the Jubilee Pageant that I will remember.

The Long and short. Part 2: The Long

We spent a very pleasant couple of days last week with friends staying at an excellent B & B (Deer's Leap Retreat) near Dulverton on Exmoor. The weather was good and we managed two walks. The first followed an eight mile circular route, starting in Withypool and walking along both sides of the River Barle. The well-known spot, Tarr Steps, was the mid point and a very convenient place for a pub-stop. Tarr Steps is a typical clapper bridge and is reputed to date from 1000 BC. The second one was much shorter: a post-breakfast, pre-early lunch three miler on a lower part of the Barle Valley. Highly recommended. As I've said before we love walking.

But there are walks and there are WALKS. By happenstance, I'm following the blogs of two people undertaking proper WALKS at the moment with a mixture of envy and admiration. They deserve a mention and, in the case of the first, your money!

A friend and colleague, John Wilmut, is currently on his way from Lands End to John O'Groats. He started on May 2nd and, assuming he maintains his present excellent progress, he should be reaching John O'Groats on 20th July, having travelled 1084 miles - or thereabouts! The keen eyed reader will notice that the sign says the distance is 878 miles: John is doing it the hard way by foresaking roads as much as possible and following footpaths and lanes. Why is John doing it? In his own words "I was thinking about doing this walk for some years before I made the commitment to do it, late last year. It started out as a walk to fulfil my own ambitions and then became a walk to support the education of children in the developing world." To realise his objective of supporting the education of children, John is raising funds for the work of Christian Aid in Sierra Leone. You can read all about this on John's website here You can also find information here on how you can make a donation to this excellent cause. John is hoping to raise £10000 and, at the time of writing, he has just over £4000 pledged. If you can, please consider supporting him. He's already walked 460 miles and has just (as per June 4th) crossed over the Derbyshire border into Yorkshire

The second walker is Keith Selbo. I do not know Keith personally (I hope he will forgive my familiarity in using his Christian name) and he is the brother of a very good friend of ours from North Carolina. His walk is taking him along the Appalachian Trail, from Georgia to Maine, a distance (as the sign at the southern trailhead shows) of some 2108.5 miles! Keith set out at the beginning of March and has done just over half the distance. He is currently in the mountains of Pennsylvania. His motivation for the walk is the realisation of a life time ambition and you can follow his adventure through his blog which you can access here.

Both John and Keith are keeping blogs and are making regular, almost daily, postings. They mention what they see, how they feel and the countryside they are passing through. Two different countries, two different writing styles but two extremely readable diaries. I commend them to you. And, as both walkers are of a 'certain age', gentlemen, I raise my walking poles to you! May you reach your destinations without any mishaps and too many blisters.

Heretical thoughts on the Jubilee

Amidst the orgy of deference that comprises the Jubilee celebrations, it appears to be a heresy to do anything other than tug the forelock and bow one's head in obesiance. Sorry, not my style!

According to a poll reported last week, the Royal Family is more popular than ever. Only 22% of those interviewed believed that Britain would be better off without a monarchy and a mere 10% would want an elected head of state after the Queen's demise rather than a regal Charles or William. As some parts of the media (but not Private Eye!) never tire of pointing out in what amount to hagiographies, the unelected monarch is far more popular than any elected politician.

If you think about it, it's not surprising that this is the case. The Queen never has to say anything controversial or allocate resources between competing claims of often equal merit or take decisions that provoke disagreement. If your job is largely confined to uttering bland pleasantries ("have you come far?"), shaking hands, cutting the ribbon at various events and distributing gongs ("arise,Sir Tom Jones"), it's actually quite difficult to be unpopular.

Yes, we British do like our Queen but I don't think this should be taken as a blanket approval of the monarchy. It is, in fact, quite easy for the Royal Family to gain the disapproval of the flag-waving British public. All they have to do is to step outside of the Ruritanian bubble we see as being their true abode and operate in the real world. Witness the ordure heaped upon Prince Charles for his opinions on alternative medicine, GM crops, architecture and so on. Witness how the Duke of Edinburgh is criticised when he expresses his views. Witness how the Queen's approval ratings fell in the aftermath of Princess Diana's death. 

The Queen's longevity is keeping the monarchy alive and well. But it will be interesting to see what happens when she's no longer around. Will the collective affection for Charles still prevent us from seeing what monarchy actually symbolises: hierarchy, hereditary privilege, deference, feudalism and unearned wealth. Surely democracy has a better story to tell?

Jubilee Fever hits the Veggie Plot!

I was thinking of how I could mark the Diamond Jubilee and decided to dedicate the compost bin I made today to her Majesty. Citizens of the Realm, I am proud to unveil the Diamond Jubilee Compost Bin, fittingly completed on June 2nd 2012.

For a small fee, that will be donated to charity, the design of my humble tribute is available to all loyal subjects who may be interested.