Chickens

Years ago, when I worked in an infant school, I was given the task of drawing a large chicken which was to be the centrepiece of a class project and would fill a classroom wall. I may have skills, but freestyle drawing is not one of them and I mumbled such to the teacher, who was very lovely and kind, but spoke to me like I was another of her 4 and 5 year old pupils and suggested that I try my best and might surprise myself. Hilarious, Miss! 

With good grace, and for the sake of the class who were going to make eggs, chicks, wheat and bread to be part of the wall covering, I accepted the challenge. It was difficult but my end result was acceptable in so far as it looked like a chicken, if only through the eyes of a child, and with the work of the class added to it, the scene looked like a fabulous reproduction of the story, The Little Red Hen. 

For anyone who doesn’t know, the hen lives on a farm with other animals. She looks upon these animals as friends. When she finds a grain of wheat and decides to grow it to eventually make bread, she asks for the help of her friends. All refuse. She plants the grain, looks after it, harvests the crop and every step of the progress she asks for help and doesn’t get any. The wheat is milled into flour and she makes bread. The others all want to eat some, but the little red hen refuses to share. She eats it herself with her own chicks. Through the story, the aim was for children learn about sharing tasks, being fair, being helpful and working together. The collage remained on that classroom wall all term. The Little Red Hen, my ‘wonderful’ artwork, for all to admire. Long gone.

Why are cowards or anyone refusing a dare, called ‘chicken’? There is a lot to learn about the origins and some of it is fascinating, but to give a brief outline, chickens, usually called ‘hens’ were considered to be weak, timid creatures and completely the opposite of the male ‘cocks’ which were strong and fearless. Cocky, perhaps. And from Wikipedia, ‘According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the earliest written instance of the word ‘chicken’ in the craven sense comes from William Shakespeare’s Cymbeline, circa 1616. “Forthwith they fly, Chickens,” he wrote, describing soldiers fleeing a battlefield.’

Back to the world of childhood for my choice of poems, written by Jack Prelutsky, former U.S. Children’s Poet Laureate.

Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens

Last night I dreamed of chickens,
There were chickens everywhere,
They were standing on my stomach
They were nestling in my hair,
They were pecking at my pillow
They were hopping on my head,
They were ruffling up their feathers
As they raced about my bed.

They were on the chairs and tables,
They were on the chandeliers,
They were roosting in the corners
They were clucking in my ears,
There were chickens, chickens, chickens
For as far I could see…
When I woke up today I noticed
There were eggs on top of me.

                                Jack Prelutsky


Ballad of a Boneless Chicken

I’m a basic boneless chicken,
Yes, I have no bones inside,
I’m without a trace of rib cage,
Yet I hold myself with pride,
Other hens appear offended
By my total lack of bones,
They discuss me impolitely
In derogatory tones.

I am absolutely boneless,
I am boneless through and through,
I have neither neck nor thighbones,
And my back is boneless, too,
And I haven’t got a wishbone,
Not a bone within my breast,
So I rarely care to travel
From the comfort of my nest.

I have feathers fine and fluffy,
I have lovely little wings,
But I lack the superstructure
To support these splendid things.
Since a chicken finds it tricky
To parade on boneless legs,
I stick closely to the hen house,
Laying little scrambled eggs.

                                Jack Prelutsky

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Chickens and Eggs: White vs Brown

Growing up in the US, white eggs were all I knew and they demanded mandatory refrigeration. At Easter, I loved colouring them. It was a bit challenging at times making holes in the shell and blowing out the innards, however it was worth the effort as there was great satisfaction dipping these small blank canvases into pots of different coloured food dyes and seeing the surprising creative results.

When I moved to the UK in the latter half of the 1990s there was not one white egg to be found. Also, to my initial horror, I discovered that eggs were not refrigerated. I learnt to accept this and thus far, touch wood, have never been stricken with salmonella.

So why white eggs and refrigeration in the States, and brown eggs stacked on open supermarket shelves in the UK? It all comes down to the types of chickens and processing.

Of the estimated thirty-three billion chickens in the world, there are hundreds of different breeds.

In the US, the most popular chickens for meat are a cross breed between Cornish hens and Plymouth Rocks. Hybrid White Leghorns are the most popular breed for egg laying, producing the bright white eggs that I was so familiar with in my early life.

In the UK, chickens raised for meat in factory farm sheds are typically Cobb 500, Ross 308 and the Hubbard Flex – sadly dubbed the ‘Frankenchickens’ because of so many abnormalities like being so fat their legs can’t support their bodies.

Popular UK breeds producing brown eggs include Bovans Brown, ISA Brown, Lohmann Brown and the Novogen.

Until the 1970s, white eggs were popular in the UK, then fell out of fashion. Preferences are attributed to numerous factors including cultural perceptions, marketing and branding, consumer preferences and production practices to name a few.

As the brown egg has been the norm for decades, consumers were again reintroduced to the whites during the pandemic due to stock shortages. Since then, they have been on the rise with many major British retailers supplying them due to changes in poultry management requirements (i.e. beak treatment) and consideration to sustainability (carbon footprint impact). Some of the white egg producing breeds are now more suitable to raise under new legislation. As in the States, the Leghorn is a popular breed.

Production methods are different between the two countries affecting storage requirements. In the States, eggs are washed stripping them of their natural protective coating, the ‘bloom’ or ‘cuticle’. The eggs become porous and thus, it is important to refrigerate them so bacteria can’t grow and penetrate the vulnerable shell.

Also, the current federal rules do not require vaccination of hens against Salmonella (they do require testing). Major retailers have implemented their own mandates on their suppliers in regards to vaccination, however they do vary.

In the UK and most other countries, the washing of eggs is prohibited. Therefore, the coating remains on the shells and eggs are seen as protected from bacteria.

In addition, since 1998 the British Lion Quality mark (shown above) guarantees that eggs have been laid by British hens vaccinated against Salmonella Enteritidis and Salmonella Typhimurium.

Over 90% of eggs sold in the UK carry this mark. Although refrigerating eggs in this part of the world is not critical, storing in a cool place is recommended.

And now to throw in something completely different and a bit of fun regarding chickens. Several years ago I visited the Rubber Chicken Museum in Seattle. Fun fact: It has the world’s largest and smallest rubber chicken.

The Rubber Chicken Museum

at Archee McPhee

will put a smile on your face
a must see and it’s free

rubber chickens galore
in all shapes and sizes

some smartly dressed
in familiar disguises

like Santa Claus suits
although most of them be

naked as jaybirds
with no modesty

some of them squeak
some are printed on towels

they all tell the tale
of this funny old fowl

yes the Rubber Chicken Museum
at Archee McPhee

will put a smile on your face
a must see and it’s free

Thanks for reading.
Kate J

Sources

Archie McPhee, 2025. Rubber Chicken Museum. https://archiemcpheeseattle.com/rubber-chicken-museum/ Accessed 16 January. 

Egg Info, 2025. British Lion Eggs. https://www.egginfo.co.uk/british-lion-eggs Accessed 12 January. 

Humane League, 2025. How many chickens are in the world and the us. https://thehumaneleague.org/article/how-many-chickens-are-in-the-world Accessed 12 January 

Poultry News, 2025. White turn. https://www.poultrynews.co.uk/production/white-turn.html Accessed 12 January 2025. 

Quora, 2025. Poultry: How did brown eggs become a standard market choice over white ones in the UK? https://www.quora.com/Poultry-How-did-brown-eggs-become-a-standard-market-choice-over-white-ones-in-the-UK Accessed 12 January 2025. 

Statista, 2025. Number of chickens worldwide. https://www.statista.com/statistics/263962/number-of-chickens-worldwide-since-1990/#:~:text=How%20many%20chickens%20are%20in,13.9%20billion%20chickens%20in%202000 Accessed 12 January.

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Death - Dreaming of Loved Ones

I was only four years old when I encountered death for the first time. My lovely great-grandmother had passed away during the night. My mother held my hands and explained that Nanna Mary had died because she was too poorly to get better. The angels had taken her soul to Heaven and if we blew kisses up to the sky, she would catch them. She loved me but I would never see her again because she had gone now and I had to be brave and not cry. So that was it. No more feeding the chickens in the back garden, no more cuddles in the big chair by the fire while we shared an orange, no more throaty laughter, no more Nanna Mary.

When I was born I had my parents, two sets of grand-parents, my great-grandmother, three great-aunts and a few uncles, aunts and a cousin. The angels took my family one by one, usually without warning and by the time I reached the age of thirty everyone had passed away except a couple of aunts, an uncle, a few distant cousins and my younger sister. For years I had the desolate feeling of emptiness associated with grief as I had to accept the changes and carry on like every bereaved person does. Even now I can feel the overwhelming sadness at the memory of someone I’ve lost, yet at the same time feel blessed to have known them as part of my family. My childhood was filled with love and joy.

Some time ago, when I was being treated for a serious illness, I had a recurring dream. Dreams don’t bother me generally but this one did.

In the dream I was entering a room full of people. The main source of light came from the blazing fire in a stone hearth that everyone was sitting round. Happy and smiling, they turned to greet me, saying my name. I felt more welcome than ever before, anywhere. These lovely, warm people were my family. Some of them I’d never known because they had lived and died before I was born. My mother was elated, reaching out to me. At that point, and always then, I would realise my father was not there and I would wake up.

The dream disturbed and upset me. Perhaps it was the medication or the condition of my illness. It’s the only time I’ve considered my own mortality.  I haven’t had the dream since I recovered. I decided that my father was missing because he wasn’t going to let me die. It made me wonder what death is like. Will my departed family be waiting to welcome my soul? Will anyone blow kisses up to the sky for me to catch?

 

Most of my dear departed are at rest in Southern Cemetery, Manchester or Brooklands Cemetery, Sale. These are my own photos.

 

 

This is my favourite sonnet from Christina Rossetti.

 

Remember

 

Remember me when I am gone away,

     Gone far away into the silent land;
     When you can no more hold me by the hand,
     Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
     Remember me when no more day by day
     You tell me of our future that you planned:
     Only remember me; you understand
     It will be late to counsel then or pray.
     Yet if you should forget me for a while
     And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
     For if the darkness and corruption leave
     A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
     Better by far you should forget and smile
     Than that you should remember and be sad.

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam xx

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What the Dickens?

Unfortunately this week Lara is unable to write a blog. Her replacement, Vicky, then went and got herself all broked up and everything. So, 'ittle peeps, you have me again.

This time I will attempt the subtle art of nonsense mixed with Dickens. A sort of Lewis Carroll / Charles Dickens mash up but without using their original texts. So nothing like a mash up at all, which is a good thing. Though it has given me an idea for a later blog.

So, standing in for Vicky, who was standing in for Lara, who had taken over from Vicky...

Here is the Thursday Blog.

What the Dickens?

 Did you know that Charles has chickens?

What the Dickens? Chickens?

Yes Chickens, and Kittens.

Chickens and Kitten?

What the Dickens?

He also has Rats.

Rats? in his flat?

Yes rats, wearing hats.

Rats wearing hats?

With Chickens and Kittens?

What the Dickens?

Yes Charles has rats,

And Chickens and Kittens

What the Dickens?

Charles also has snakes.

For goodness sake!

Make no Mistake, he has snakes.

Snakes in a flat with rats wearing hats

on top of chickens and kittens?

There is a petition.

A petition? What the Dickens?

To get rid of the chicken,

And the kittens.

What the kittens?

Yes the kittens,

Well they had lost their mittens.

Kittens losing mittens in a flat full of chickens

with rats wearing hats? Where's the sense in that?

And make no mistake, he has also got snakes.

Snakes with rats and Kittens and Chickens

And Mittens and hats in a flat?

What the Dickens?



Turned out more Dr Seuss in the end.

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What Price Loyalty?

Loyalty; a word so prized in every relationship. It is a term we associate with commitment. We give a weight of honour to it. Hell, we go in hook, line and sinker for the bugger. Loyalty, in terms of any relationship, is pretty much the big word.

Soppiness aside, the week following the fourteenth of Feb always holds something of a treat for football fans- a let off for the romantics to get back to the real world. It is part of the magic the FA Cup brings. At the time of writing this, Blackburn are set to dominate the back pages having 'dumped' the mighty Arsenal out of the competition. Appy days? Clucking great.

No secret will be made of the fact Michael Appleton has become the first person to manage three clubs in one year of the cup- and to be honest with you, I'm finding it hard not to find links with what this says of his character. There is obviously nobody else as despicable in the entire sport.

Appleton, like his predecessor Ian Holloway, left my club in the lurch. A lurch we are still in some three weeks (and three months) later. I make no secret of my love for the club and make no secret of my love for the sport, but there are always those niggling things aren't there.

We'll start with one of his own quotes. "Managers don't walk out on players they believe in," was a good one. Written up on the dressing room after Holloway left for big money, Appy became the first Blackpool manager in my lifetime to make it onto the top ten shortest appointments list- Judasing his way down the road for an arguably better offer.

Karl Oyston, the Pool chairman gets his stick. Whether for his famously deep pockets, his tactical shooting trips on transfer deadline day or his refusal to deal with agents, something about him  angers many. One thing that shouldn't be used to beat him with though is this contract business.

Holloway was on a rolling 12 month deal. He was effectively in a job forever, which to me sounds quite secure. Appleton was on a similar deal, and after the media blowout lately on managerial compensation payments, it has become well documented that our release fee stands just under the half a million mark- a pittence for what they could have paid.

Here then, for the sake of all football fans, I call out on the managers, owners and agents alike to stop this business. You are not politicians and for a start, we really do love our clubs. "I've got sky blue blood in my veins," Mark Robins said just five days before walking out on Coventry City for a job at Huddersfield. "I'll never walk out on another club," said Mr Holloway shortly after becoming Pool boss and Appleton, well, a month before going Chicken farming in the hills he was "joining a club with ambition". If you don't mean it, just don't say it.

We love our football clubs. We adore them. When we spend a month fretting about who the board will bring in, we expect that their time will be worthwhile, and that whoever it is that has fought off the other suitors will stick around. Nobody wants to be jilted.

Both myself and my girlfriend spent Valentine's Day this year worrying about who would take the helm at our football clubs. If I was in charge at either of them- I'd have the new gaffer sign a 'no other club' deal- similar to the one holding Adkins from a new job already. If they all did it, there'd be no further place for these scumbags, especially in our hearts on St Valentine's.

The Break Up

The poster comes down from the wall in two pieces
The autograph book is soon missing a note
You've gone- there's a shitstorm of media frenzy
Well the headlines can fade, we're moving on.

This is goodbye to you, Mr Judas Escariat
You are not the messiah here anymore
Be gone. Thanks for selling us into that legacy
You've let yourself down. Don't come back to our door.

Thanks for reading, Shaun

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