Trick Or Treating

All Hallows' Eve (aka Hallowe'en), a liturgical event in the Christian calendar observed on 31st October, used to be a simple act of respectful remembrance for the departed. I can remember in my own childhood the custom of burning a candle in a window on that night of the year, a light in the darkness for lost souls, or maybe a charm to ward off wandering spirits? I never really understood which and I never pressed the issue with my devout parents.

a light in the darkness

Yesterday evening as we drove through the streets of Blackpool to St Annes (to go to the cinema - Bugonia, brilliant new film from Yorgos Lanthimos), we passed lots of little groups of parents and children out trick-or treating after dark. Many of the children were decked out in costumes. The parents had torches or lanterns. There were a lot of bags and buckets being carried, full of treats that the children had collected from knocking on doors. 

Local shops and supermarkets have been full of Hallowe'en costumes, fake spiders webs, pumpkins and special packs of Hallowe'en themed chocolates, sweets and drinks for months. Somebody I know spent £35 on toffees to give to children who might come knocking on her door. (You'll note I chose to be out for the evening!) It seems as though in recent years Hallowe'en has become almost as big an event as Christmas. As a commercial bonanza, it's certainly pushed Easter into third place. 

I thought it might be interesting to delve a bit into the origins and history of trick-or-treating. I had assumed it was a US phenomenon that had made its way across the Atlantic some years before my own children were born in the late 1980s. I remember that 1978 John Carpenter movie Hallowe'en, and we certainly made pumpkin lanterns and went out door-to-door with the girls on Hallowe'en nights in the 1990s (as you can read later on).  

Trick-or-Treaters

It turns out, in fact, that it was a custom in Canada before the USA. Children in British Columbia around the start of the 20th century used to dress up in masks and disguises on 31st October and go house-to-house in their neighbourhoods collecting treats (fruit, sweets, biscuits) for their Hallowe'en night party. By the 1930s the tradition was well-established in the USA along with the spoken challenge "trick-or-treat". 

Even so, that's not the beginning of the story. Its arrival in Canada must have been as a result of emigration from Ireland and Scotland where the practice of 'guising' as it is called there dates way back to the 16th century, when children would dress in disguises on All Hallow' Eve and go collecting goodies (including special 'soul cakes' baked for the occasion) from neighbours in exchange for reciting verses of poetry or hymns - or leaving a curse if no treats were forthcoming.

And it didn't start there either. Imagine my delight when I came upon this snippet in Wikipedia:

The ancient Greek writer Athenaeus of Naucratis records in his book 'The Deipnosophists' that in ancient times the Greek island of Rhodes had a custom in which children would go from door-to-door dressed as swallows, singing a song, which demanded the owners of the house to give them food and threatened to cause mischief if the householders refused. This tradition was said to have been started by the Rhodian Cleobulus, a 6th century BC lawmaker, poet and native of Lindos, one of the Seven Sages of Ancient Greece.

I don't think there's very much tricking goes on these days, certainly not from parents with young children going the rounds of their local streets. I do remember stories from twenty or so years ago of teenagers going trick-or-treating and throwing flour bombs or eggs at houses where treats were not forthcoming. Nowadays I think the teenagers just dress up, buy food and alcopops and go straight to partying without the tedious business of knocking on doors for bounty.

I said I'd relate an episode from when my daughters were young. They'd dress up, we'd paint their faces and we'd go knocking on the doors of houses in ours and adjoining streets in Hemel Hempstead old town collecting treats, for the most part fun-size chocolate bars, little cakes, tiny boxes of candy or cartons of juice. We never recited poetry and certainly never tricked anybody. The girls, however, thought that they had been tricked at one house on the corner of a street, where upon knocking on the door they were presented with a Bible each rather than anything edible. It was quite a surprise, but they were suitably gracious in their disappointment. It was a reminder, I suppose, that All Hallows' Eve is at root a Christian festival as I stated at the outset.

I haven't written a political poem for quite a while (excepting about Gaza of course), but I've been getting a bit fed up with the antics of Fuhrage and the Nasty Party in recent weeks, and after listening to a political poem on the small boat furore at an open mic night this week, I've decided it's time.

Reform have been peddling their anti-immigration line, trying to suggest that immigration is at the root of all societal ills, pushing the boundaries of  'free speech' via their party canary Sarah Pochin, and canvassing quite hard to sign up members in the jewel of the north, so I thought I'd take the opportunity of today's blog to write something about disingenuous right-wingers, grifters, guising and political trick or treating. Here's the first attempt, not 'top drawer' poetry perhaps, but something I feel needs to be said, and it may evolve over time. 

Guising

Fear like a fog curls round street corners

and here they come looming in the swirl, 

feeling emboldened, quite without shame

spouting their thinly disguised racist bane.

Wise up. Foggy Frog Face is not your friend.

They'll knock doors, ring bells, insidiously

recruiting gullible souls. Don't let them in.

We know all is not well, but they'll tell us

the lie of the land, the illegals are to blame.

Wise up. Foggy Frog Face is playing a game.

Suddenly you're either a patriot or a traitor,

there's nothing nuanced in between, a trick

of snake oil conmen for generations to win

feeble minds to an egregious cause. Pause.

Wise up. Foggy Frog Face is untrustworthy.

A multi-millionaire and a narcissist, watch

as he toadies up to Putin and Trump, would

probably be Hitler's poodle if he were alive

today, out of lust for leadership and power.

Wise up. Foggy Frog Face is not good news.

In UKIP, then the Brexit Party, now Reform,

he's chanced his arm to win votes by plying

fear, sowing division and unrest, pretending

simplistic solutions treat complex problems. 

Wise up. Frog Face is no Prince in disguise.

Recognise the monster in his camel hair coat.

Even Enoch Powell refused to endorse him.

I think I'll get a sign made for my garden gate:

'No grifters, no conmen, no fascists, no hate'.

Wise up to foggy Frog Face before it's too late!

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Spookiness

I remember quite clearly sitting in the cafe at the Harris Museum and Art Gallery in Preston in about 2012 chatting with a guest for our radio show. He was telling me about the catacombs underneath Priestown’s cathedral and how the Spook and his apprentice, Tom Ward, confront their long-standing foe, the Bane.

For many people that will be enough to recognize our storyteller as Joseph Delaney. Born in Preston, Lancashire, in 1945, he attended Preston Catholic College and then worked as an apprentice engineer. He took his A-Levels at night school before studying English, history and sociology as a mature student aged 27 at Lancaster University.

Joseph Delaney

Following graduation, he studied at St Martin's College to become a teacher. He later became an English teacher at Blackpool Sixth Form College, where he started the Media and Film Studies Department. In the 1980s Delaney completed an Open University degree in an effort to become a computer programmer. In 1983, he moved to the village of Stalmine, where he learned and noted down that a priest had once encountered a boggart in the area.

He wrote adult science fiction novels under the penname J. K. Haderack but it was when he started writing books for children and young adults in his own name that he found wide spread fame. The first book, in 2004, was entitled The Spook's Apprentice and it was followed by a series of 20 other books set in the same landscape of a (very) fictional Lancashire called The County.

County fictional towns are thinly veiled modern-day cities; for example, the town of Priestown is based on Preston, Caster is Lancaster, Black Pool is Blackpool, and Chipenden is Chipping. (Actually, I’m not sure that the Black Pool is totally fictional).

The success of the second book in the series enabled him to retire from teaching and become a full time writer.

To give a flavour of the books, the first part of the series is called The Wardstone Chronicles, published from 2004 to 2013, follows Thomas "Tom" Ward, the seventh son of a seventh son who is apprenticed to the County's spook, John Gregory, a master fighter of supernatural evil. The Spook gives Tom practical instruction on tackling ghosts, ghasts, witches, boggarts, and all manner of other things that serve the Dark.

Tom soon discovers that most of John Gregory's apprentices have failed for various reasons, including being killed in the process of learning how to be a Spook. As the arc progresses, the focus expands to other characters, such as the young witch Alice Deane and the witch assassin Grimalkin. Overall, the series develops the plotline of Tom being destined to save the world or be tortured by the Fiend, the father of all evil, for all eternity.

All told the series sold around 4.5 million copies in over 30 countries. Indeed, during our chat Joseph was telling me about the trips he had made to countries such as Singapore and New Zealand to promote his work and meet his fans.

He also mentioned that there was potential for a film adaptation of The Spook's Apprentice. This did happen a couple of years later and it was called the Seventh Son. Ben Barnes starred as Tom Ward, Jeff Bridges as John Gregory (the Spook), Julianne Moore as Mother Malkin, Alicia Vikander as Alice Deane. I highly recommend that you stick to the books.

the complete series of 'Spooks' novels

Joseph Delaney died in 2022. A proper teller of stories.

Spoiler Alert: I don’t want to stop you reading the books but just in case you are a bit alarmed then I should say that the confrontation mentioned in the first paragraph above occurs in the second book of the series ‘The Spook's Curse’ and in a final showdown Tom does vanquish the Bane, liberating Priestown (hence Preston) from its malevolent grip.

On Joseph Delaney’s website he had placed this poem sent by Brenda Gountis.

The Lamia Witch
(inspired by The Spooks Curse)

Spook Gregory
Mighty though he be –
Is, in the end, only a Man
Weak with Loneliness & Pity

He once had a witch,
Held fast with silver chain –
He aught to have left her thus,
And saved himself the pain.

Instead he quailed and let her go.
Then full of anger at her deceit –
Chained her once again,
And brought her to her feet.

Marching her through hard rain
After a bright and shining dawn –
He strode with purpose,
To the deep pit in Chipenden.

Dragged through brambles by her flaxen hair
Crows and foxes cringed with dread –
On she ranted and screamed,
Fit to wake the Dead.

Frozen on that dizzy edge
He could not force her over-
Poor wretched lonely Spook,
Had taken a Witch as his Lover!

He almost fell in, and then What Sin!
He embraced a Snake Marked One-
Now it is he who is chained to her,
One kiss – and then, he’s all undone!

He gained a silver chain
But lost his mettle to her charms-
What is to be done with a Wretched Spook,
Caught up in a Witch’s arms?

                                              Brenda Gountis

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Sailing

This evening I'm ruminating on the concept of sailing in the 21st century. Rewind a few hundred years and it was all fairly straightforward: body of water plus boat plus mast with sail plus a fair wind equalled sailing. But then along came fossil fuels and the wind was no longer requisite, nor the mast or sail - yet we still refer generically to boats or ships as "sailing" even if they are propelled by steam, coal, oil, diesel, electricity or nuclear power, and we call the people who man them "sailors". 

Wouldn't it be something to reclaim the terms sailing and sailors specifically for those who do things in the old-fashioned way, on craft with masts and sails which require wind to move them along? (You'll note that definition cleverly doesn't exclude sailboards, wind-surfers or even land-based vehicles.)

I imagine you thinking 'That's all well and good, but how then to describe all the rest and how they get about? The motorboats, ferries, cargo carriers, luxury liners, naval ships and submarines, cruise ships, oil tankers, and those giant container vessels?' 

Well, let me throw that back at you in the form of a competition. Have yourselves a little creative brainstorm. What words might serve as modern alternatives to sail, sailing and sailors for vessels that don't have sails? Post your suggestions in the comments below.

I've never sailed in the strict mast-sailcloth-wind sense. I've canoed in English and French rivers, punted countless times on the River Cam, rowed little boats on various rivers and lakes, voyaged as a passenger on proper big liners between this country and West Africa (where I grew up) but the closest I have come to sailing is reading about it in the novels of Arthur Ransome, Joseph Conrad or Erskine Childers - whose 'The Riddle Of The Sands', is my current engrossing bedtime reading.

At a time when spies and spying are making news headlines in the UK (and concerns over Chinese, Iranian and Russian attempts to steal state secrets), it's quite instructive to read 'The Riddle Of The Sands', one of the earliest espionage thrillers in a tradition that has given us John Buchan, Geoffrey Household, Eric Ambler, Graham Greene, Ian Fleming, John le Carré', Len Deighton and Stella Rimington.

I won't spoil the story for you. Suffice to say it involves two Englishmen in a small yacht sailing secretly off the North Sea coast of Germany to uncover infrastructure being prepared for a naval build-up in readiness for a sea invasion of Britain. Published in 1903, the novel was a sensation and did much to persuade the Admiralty to take seriously the possibility of the Germans readying for war, so that when hostilities began a decade later, the British Navy was in a much better state of preparedness.

For a poem on theme, I've chosen something quite famous by John Masefield. I've selected it for this reason: Arthur Ransome loved sailing and when he became literary editor of the periodical Temple Bar in 1905, he commissioned Masefield, who had some experience of sailing before the mast, to write a piece about sailing, shanties and sea songs. Masefield was happy to oblige, and Ransome was so taken with Masefield's article that years later he incorporated nine of the shanties referenced into various of his wonderful adventure stories, the likes of 'Swallows and Amazons', 'We Didn't Mean To Go To Sea', 'Peter Duck', 'Pigeon Post' and 'Secret Water'. 

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
                                                   

                                                                                         John Masefield, 1902

                                

Thanks for reading, S;-)

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Lancashire Dead Good Poets' November Open Mic Night

Make a date with us for Firewords Night - our November open mic poetry event on zoom...

Join us to read and/or listen along from the comfort of your own fireside. 🔥

Steve ;-)

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Sailing

The first visual depictions of sailing boats have been dated as far back as 5500 BCE, discovered on painted discs from Mesopotamia. Clay models and iconography depict reed boats—some with bipod masts and sails. Also, bitumen-stained reed impressions suggest sealed hulls suitable for seafaring.

Mesopotamian sailing boat

Egyptian artefacts show sailing vessels as early as 3100 BCE, with more advanced constructions like the wooden Khufu ship (buried 2500 BCE) representing complex hull building and explicit sail usage.

These peoples created simple vessels using natural materials available to them. For instance, Egyptians built boats from papyrus, a material abundant along the Nile, while Persians used palm leaves to make sails. These basic boats, with hulls suited to the calm waters of rivers.

Jennifer Cole is a freelance writer based in Vancouver, Canada. She writes:

‘For centuries sailing ships navigated the planet’s waterways, trading and delivering needed goods. Powered by wind, this mode of transportation endured until the advent of fossil fuels in the late 19th and early 20th centuries transformed global shipping. Today, propelled by oil and gas, huge cargo ships criss-cross oceans, transporting billions of products every day.

It was against this backdrop that Eileen Banyra, owner and founder of Hudson Soil Company in Kerhonkson, New York, delivers her organic compost using the Apollonia, a 64-foot-long schooner, to communities along or close to the Hudson River. The Apollonia is not alone. Around the world, sailing ships and wind-assisted ships are being reimagined as a carbon-neutral alternative to conventional fossil fuel-reliant cargo ships.

Starting this year the Apollonia will upon arrival in New York harbour transfer its cargo to the 170-foot Grain de Sail II for transport across the Atlantic Ocean to Europe. Founded in 2010 in Morlaix, France, by brothers Olivier and Jacques Barreau, Grain de Sail’s vision was to craft exceptional chocolates and coffees while minimizing environmental impact. At the heart of this vision was an ambitious goal: to build and operate the world’s first modern cargo sailboat.

Grain de Sail

The company currently has two ships: Grain de Sail I, with a payload capacity of 50 tons, travels at eight knots and is able to carry 26 pallets of approximately four feet by three feet. The larger Grain de Sail II is faster, at between 12 and 13 knots, and can carry over 200 pallets. “The unique selling point of Grain de Sail is its commitment to reducing carbon emissions and promoting sustainable transportation,” says Stefan Gallard, marketing director for the company. “Our objective is to avoid using the engine completely, but for safety reasons and port manoeuvring we do have an engine.” By using the power of wind, the vessels reduce CO₂ emissions by 90 percent compared to conventional maritime freight. In 2027, the Grain de Sail III will join the fleet.

But as impressive as the capacity of the ship may sound, when compared to the 15,000 or more containers a conventional cargo ship can carry, it’s a drop in the bucket. This is where the International Windship Association (IWSA) comes in. Founded in 2014, the IWSA is a not-for-profit membership association that facilitates, advocates and promotes wind propulsion for all commercial shipping by bringing together required parties to shape industry and policies in the development of a lucrative wind-ship industry.

For Gavin Allwright, secretary-general of the IWSA, both retrofitting and building new wind-assisted ships are well worth the expense. “You’re looking at a return of investment on installing wind technology anywhere between three-and-a-half to five years,” he says. “If you were to put a new fuel system in, you would be looking at a very much longer period and possibly never getting your money back.”

future ship

But as Gallard found, some people remain sceptical, and it hasn’t always been easy for Allwright to change hearts and minds about the infinite possibilities of wind power. He recalls walking into industry meetings in 2014 where people would avoid talking to him about the crazy idea of using wind in commercial shipping. They’d ask him what’s in it for them and question why they should even bother. But those attitudes began to shift in 2018, when the IMO pledged to decarbonize shipping by 2050. “Now, I’m able to walk into the room and the question is: ‘When are you going to do it? Your competitors are now moving,’” Allwright says.

And what do the mariners who crew these vessels think? Gallard says the crews of Grain de Sail’s ships often receive messages of encouragement from the captains of conventional cargo vessels. “It’s great to encounter that type of support and showcase that there is hope and a real desire from within the industry to find better alternatives,” he says.’

There are quite a few poems about sailing and it was difficult to choose just the one, but I do like this:

Sail Away

Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our
pilgrimage to no country and to no end.

In that shoreless ocean,
at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies,
free as waves, free from all bondage of words.

Is the time not come yet?
Are there works still to do?
Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore
and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.

Who knows when the chains will be off,
and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset,
vanish into the night?

                          Rabindranath Tagore, 1910

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Sailing

 

How wonderful it would have been to go on the Moody Blues Cruise, or On the Blue Cruise as it was more recently known. A flight to USA then a few days sailing to wherever in the company of the Moody Blues and various rock bands. The entertainment, non-stop and first class. The expense, well, one lottery jackpot win could have got me there, and home again. There’s another problem. Me and sailing don’t go together well. Not at all, really, but, if money was no concern, I might have risked it. Too late to find out. I’m saddened by the passing of my favourite, John Lodge, but very happy to have met him on a couple of occasions and enjoyed many concerts. Only one MB member left.

In his retirement, my father took up boating and spend endless hours, days, seemingly forever, on the Lancaster Canal in his cabin cruiser, sailing up and down. His first boat was to see if he liked it. He soon upgraded to something bigger and nicer, even though it needed constant care. He was involved with the boat club, became Commodore then later, President. The boat was moored at Forton, when it wasn’t in dry dock for repair, and occasionally I would visit. Sitting aboard was lovely, until another boat sailed past. Immediately, I would feel queasy. It wasn’t too bad if we were moving, but apart from attending a couple of dinner dances with the boat club, I didn’t grow to love his hobby. It was good for him, even when he became the subject of some gentle ribbing for being very sea-sick sailing from Fleetwood to the Isle of Man, and back.

My desire to visit the Outer Hebrides out-weighed any sailing worries and I booked ferry routes with short crossings. It worked very well. We had CalMac ‘island hopper’ tickets with the intention of seeing as much as possible. The longest crossing was Stornoway to Ullapool coming home. It was so good, it filled me with confidence to return the following year to see Barra and Vatersay, which we had to miss out. The ferry from Oban to Barra was over five hours. Four of those hours was enough to put me off all planned sailing trips round the small islands and I dreaded the journey back. We reached Vatersay driving on a causeway and keeping mindful of the times of the tide. It was worth it.

This summer, we sailed to Guernsey. A brave decision on my part, which I regretted shortly into the ferry journey. Those wrist bands did nothing for me. We needed our own car, not just to explore the island, but to continue our holiday along the south coast when we came back to the mainland.

I loved sailing the River Thames on a sight-seeing pleasure boat in London. I enjoyed the same thing in Shrewsbury, too, so not all is negative.

On our trips to the Ayrshire coast, we go to look at Ailsa Craig, an island that has fascinated me for years. It’s where the microgranite for curling stones is quarried from. I wonder if I could cope with a boat trip, just to sail round and back? I’ll see what next summer brings.

Meanwhile, next Tuesday, New Brighton beckons. Justin Hayward in concert. A first for me. The last member of the Moody Blues. It will be moving.

My Haiku style poem,

Calm swell of the sea,

It’s such a gentle motion,

Roll from side to side.

 

Soothing? Not for me,

It’s torturous endurance

With nowhere to hide.

 

Too late to lie down.

These wristbands are not working.

Are we nearly there?

 

It feels so awful,

I’m not doing this again.

(Until the next time.)

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

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Wedding Cake

It's serendipitous that this was 40 years ago tomorrow. Susan and I moved house two days after we got married, and lived out of boxes and on wedding cake for weeks while we sorted out the Victorian townhouse we'd just bought, before honeymooning in Scotland in November 1985.

the ritual of cutting the cake

You want to know about the cake? It was a two-tiered rich fruit cake with marzipan and royal icing in a simple, classical design, made for us by a local village bakery/cake shop. I remember it was quite a weight. Some of it was served to guests at the reception with champagne, some was cut up, boxed and sent to friends and relatives who weren't with us on the day, and some, as I mentioned earlier, sustained us through our house move and into the following weeks. Had we known that our first child was going to be born almost nine months to the day after our wedding night, we might have saved some to celebrate that event as well (as used to be a custom, apparently). 

There have been other, very informative blogs this week about the whole history and tradition of wedding cakes from ancient Greek times onwards. They are well worth a read. I will just precis here. Originally they would have been made of bread (and you can see in the photograph above a bread wedding offering with a white ribbon that some friends brought back from Greece for us). Then 'bride cakes' as they were called went through a phase of being more like savoury pies in the 16th and 17th centuries before evolving into the rich sugar-rush confections that have graced wedding receptions since Victorian times (below, artist unknown).

cutting the cake at a Victorian wedding reception

I assume the symbolism of the wedding cake, its cutting (usually jointly by bride and groom) and the sharing with family and friends, is all about  good vibes for a happy and productive union and the sharing of signs of goodwill all round, rather than any show of ostentation, superiority or condescension on the part of the newlyweds or their families, though I am reminded of the maxim: 'More tiers, more tears.' Make of that what you will. 

For a poem this week, I've chosen something by Naomi Shihab Nye, a Palestinian-American poet of considerable repute.  She's given me permission to reproduce 'Wedding Cake' here. Thank you Naomi. It's from her 1998 collection, 'Fuel' (published by BOA Editions Ltd). If you like this beautifully constructed and resonant poem, I highly recommend you to check out her writings.

Wedding Cake

Once on a plane 

a woman asked me to hold her baby

 and disappeared. 

I figured it was safe, 

our being on a plane and all. 

How far could she go? 

She returned one hour later, 

having changed her clothes 

and washed her hair. 

I didn't recognize her. 

By this time the baby 

and I had examined 

each other's necks. 

We had cried a little. 

I had a silver bracelet 

and a watch. 

Gold studs glittered 

in the baby's ears. 

She wore a tiny white dress 

leafed with layers 

like a wedding cake. 

I did not want 

to give her back. 

The baby's curls coiled tightly 

against her scalp, 

another alphabet. 

I read new new new. 

My mother gets tired. 

I'll chew your hand. 

The baby left my skirt crumpled, 

my lap aching. 

Now I'm her secret guardian, 

the little nub of dream 

that rises slightly 

but won't come clear. 

As she grows, 

as she feels ill at ease, 

I'll bob my knee. 

What will she forget? 

Whom will she marry? 

He'd better check with me. 

I'll say once she flew 

dressed like a cake 

between two doilies of cloud. 

She could slip the card into a pocket, 

pull it out. 

Already she knew the small finger 

was funnier than the whole arm.

                                         Naomi Shihab Nye

                  

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Wedding Cakes

You can safely assume that wedding cakes are not an area that I have specialist knowledge of or indeed any knowledge of. I thought I’d better have a quick look to check on what sort of price I’d be paying if I ever came across the need to buy one. I figured about £250. Apparently the average price in 2025 in the UK is £650. Which was a surprise as was the fact that wedding cakes have a bit of a history.

I could find references to specific wedding cakes rather than cakes used in a wedding or other rituals as far back as the Greeks in 2,500 BCE and Rome about 500CE. Throughout the Mediterranean, there were a number of different traditions involving the wedding cake. Romans used cakes made of wheat or barley, and a cake was broken over the bride's head as a symbol of her fertility.

breaking the cake on the bride's head

Also, the wedding party would stack the cakes, one on top of the other, as high as they could be stacked. The bride and bridegroom then had to kiss each other over the tower of cakes without knocking them over. If they were successful, the couple looked forward to a lifetime of prosperity. Among Greeks and Romans, the bride and bridegroom took several wedding cakes to the local temple or shrine and sacrificed them to the appropriate deity.

Back then cooks and bakers made their sweets and pastries without ingredients such as refined sugar and chocolate and without leavening agents like baking soda and baking powder. First-century cakes were much more like flat cheese cakes or modern fruitcakes, using dried fruits like dates and apricots and honey or fruit syrup as the sweetener, or like raisin bread, small pieces of dried fruit added to standard bread recipes.

a first century wedding cake

These traditions followed the Romans when they invaded Britain in 43CE and over the centuries developed towards what we know today. But not entirely what we know today. 

Food historian Sam Bilton explored the origins of this symbolic wedding day treat:

During the 16th and 17th centuries it was bride pies rather than cakes that were most popular at wedding feasts. Some recipes, like Thomas Dawson’s Tarte that is a courage to a man or woman from 1596/7, included ingredients like sweet potatoes and cock sparrow brains, both of which were believed to have aphrodisiac properties.

Other bride pies were far more elaborate. Robert May’s 1685 recipe was in fact one large tart containing several distinct pies. Fillings included egg and dried fruit (rather like mincemeat); prawns, cockles and oysters; cocks’ combs and lambs’ testicles; artichokes and stuffed larks. The pièce de résistance was a central compartment filled with live birds or a snake, “which will seem strange to the beholders, which cut up the pie at the Table. This is only for a Wedding to pass away the time”. Recipes for bride pies were still appearing in the 18th century although their fillings were more likely to resemble a minced pie than the exotic ingredients of earlier centuries.

section of a medieval wedding cake

One of the earliest recipes for cake definitely linked to weddings appeared in the Compleat Cook by Rebecca Price (1655). It was called The Countess of Rutland's Receipt for making the rare Banbury Cake which was apparently highly praised at her daughter’s (the Right Honourable the Lady Chaworth’s) wedding. As well as currants and spices such as nutmeg, the cake was scented with musk, and even ambergris – whale vomit to you and me.

Gradually, enriched yeast cakes made way for ‘plum cakes’, known as fruit cakes today. It was common for such cakes to be glazed with a sugar icing. The whiter your icing, the better and more expensive the sugar. It was Elizabeth Raffald (1769) who first suggested icing a bride cake with almond paste and sugar icing. Although bride cakes were iced in the 18th century, fancy embellishments were only included in later years.

By the 19th century, the wedding cake would have looked completely unrecognisable to its 16th-century originators and much more like today’s cake. Which is about enough for me.

the world's oldest extant wedding cake (1898)

The Bride-Cake

This day my Julia thou must make
For Mistresse Bride, the wedding Cake:
Knead but the Dow and it will be
To paste of Almonds turn’d by thee:
Or kisse it thou, but once or twice,
And for the Bride-Cake ther’l be Spice.

                                            Robert Herrick, 1648

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Wedding Cake - Celebration

A cake is a recognised symbol of any celebration and has been for centuries. A wedding cake has always been a traditional centre piece to the occasion of a marriage, but it has taken different forms. Originally called 'Bride's Pie', it was a savoury dish and the main food shared by guests. There would sometimes be a 'Groom's Cake', which was a dark, rich fruit cake described as heavily laden with liquor. Over time, the savoury pie gave way to sweet cake, sugar coated and often tiered. The whiteness and refinement of the sugar and the number of tiers, was a sign of wealth.

The term 'Royal Icing' came from Queen Victoria's wedding cake. She wanted pure white icing to match her wedding gown and the icing had to be strong to hold the tiers.

Wedding cakes take many styles, becoming an artistic feature, like layered cupcakes of different flavours and assorted colours. Fruitcake, chocolate, carrot and sponge can all have a place. Instead of building tiers supported by posts, cakes can be placed one on top of another, or separated on to cake stands of various heights and linked together by ribbon.

My, or should I say, our, wedding cake was as special as it could be. It was made for us as a gift by a lovely lady, the mother of a long-standing friend. Her kindness and generosity meant a great deal. The cake, traditional dark fruitcake, in tiers, iced in ivory with pale peach sugar flowers and silver coloured tiny charms, was a breath-taking work of art. It tasted delicious and was commented on for years. 

A Good Wedding Cake

4lb of love

1/2lb of sweet temper

1lb of butter of youth

1lb of blindness of faults

1lb of pounded wit

1lb of good humour

2lbs of sweet argument

1 pint of rippling laughter

1 wine glass of common sense

A dash of modesty

Put the love, good looks and a sweet temper into a well-furnished house.

Beat the butter of youth into a cream and mix well together with the blindness of faults.

Stir the pounded wit and good humour into the sweet argument, then add the rippling laughter and common sense.

Work the whole together until everything is well mixed and bake gently for ever.

                                                                                                                     Anonymous

Thanks for reading. Pam x

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Bi-Polarity

Everyone knows that Earth is bi-polar. And many people (not all) are aware that Polar Bears inhabit the Arctic region and adjacent areas (Canada, Greenland, Norway, Russia) of the northern hemisphere, but are not found in the southern hemisphere; while conversely Penguins are to be found exclusively in the Antarctic and adjacent areas (Chile, Falklands, New Zealand) of the southern hemisphere but are not found in the northern hemisphere. So never the twain shall meet, except in zoos.

one cool polaroid glasses wearing Polar Bear

It would be tempting to think that the names Arctic and Antarctic were derived somehow from the word arc, as in the highest and lowest segments of the circle representing planet Earth. Not so, though also not so far removed. 

Arctic in fact comes from a Greek word ἀρκτικός arktikos, near the bear, (bear being ἄρκτος arktos), and is named in reference to the constellation known as Ursa Major, the "Great Bear", which is prominent in the northern sky. This appellation of the northern polar region dates from a time before the Greeks even knew of the existence of the Polar Bears (Ursus Maritimus) who coincidentally inhabit the frozen north.

Antarctic also comes from a Greek word ἀνταρκτική, antarktiké, literally opposite the bear. It follows the Greek rule of putting ἀντι, anti, in front of nouns to indicate their opposite, as in the naming of pairs of islands such as Paros and Antiparos, or phenomena such as cyclone and anticyclone. It simply denoted that region of the earth opposite the northern pole and it's quite serendipitous that the frozen southern region is actually devoid of bears.

However, the real inspiration for bringing together these creatures from opposite ends of the Earth in my polarity blog was a couple of articles in the Guardian some time ago, that have lingered in memory.

several cool Emperor Penguins sniffing the air

The first was a Q&A piece in which the columnist, in addressing the plight of polar bears and their ever-diminishing food supply, had floated a suggestion to relocate colonies of penguins from south to north pole as polar bear food, and wondering if that might be an ecologically sound move.

Rebecca from Leicester opined that there are probably too many land-based predators in the Arctic apart from bears, and the penguins would struggle to sustain numbers. Alexandra informed us that penguins had been introduced northwards in the early 20th century, but indeed the arctic foxes, mink, stoats and wolves had made short work of the breeding grounds, leaving nothing for polar bears to get their teeth into. Olly was more philosophical in stating that ninety-nine per cent of species that have ever existed are now extinct (was he exaggerating?), and that is usually due to a change in environment. It would happen to the polar bears one day, and to the penguins as well. The value in postponing their extinction seemed to him debatable.

The second was an article about declining polar bear numbers, which stood at between twenty and thirty thousand as of 2015, the rapidly diminishing area of sea ice on which they live, and their seeming inability to adjust in large numbers. Some hundreds have adapted to land-living and a land-based diet in places like northern Canada but for the majority they are trying to survive on both a reduced ice field and a reduced diet as populations of fish and seals also decline. It would appear that if anyone needs to be moving anywhere, it should be the polar bears, heading south for the Antarctic. What do you reckon?

Here's my latest poem, a work-in-progress about contrapolarity, and loosely connected to theme.

Pay Attention

Sugared his wounds that bleed that gape

dripping sticky onto the spread pages

of the Journal of Affective Disorders -

a piece about the role of mood markers

in plasma, the Eveningness chronotype

and irritable affective temperaments -

all theory of little consolation to a man

just stabbed by his wife with the knife

that had sliced through her birthday cake.

Turning 30 is a bitch at the best of times. 

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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