Snapshot: The sister whom I grew to love – and lost
Summer in London, 1967. I love this photo. That’s me in the middle, with my hands above my head surrounded by cousins and siblings. I love the contrast between the six of us and my very still, formal, older sister Cate. We six are all exhibiting characteristics of our future selves. My sister looks like she is not really a part of the photo, as she edges away from the wall.
She was to die from a stroke 14 years later, at the age of 25. In this photograph it looks like she is already leaving. We didn’t really get on until she left home, and then I became fiercely devoted to her. She had her first stroke at 21. It didn’t stop her. She skied, travelled, graduated, loved, worked with mental health patients and made beautiful pottery, all without the full use of her right arm and leg. She didn’t survive the second stroke.
Her legacy is powerful. Live life to the absolute maximum and take risks. I do.
Liz Wilson
Playlist: Sound effects, silly voices and laughter
That Old Black Magic by Spike Jones
“That old black magic has me in its spell / That old black magic that you weave so well / Those icy fingers up and down my spine / The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine”
When I was growing up in the 1950s, we had a large collection of 78rpm records. If you wanted to listen to a Beethoven symphony you needed at least 10 separate records and had to keep changing them on the turntable. Amazing to think that was how we listened to classical music in those days. But my favourites were the songs by Spike Jones and his City Slickers. Jones was a band leader with an anarchic sense of humour; think Mad magazine. He has been credited with influencing the Goons, Frank Zappa and the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, among others.
My dad, an exact contemporary of Jones, was a semi-professional drummer in the 1930s, knew a thing or two about music, and always impressed on me what good musicians the members of the band were, even though, at times, it sounded like they couldn’t play the right notes! This, of course, was deliberate. They put their own spin on such classics as That Old Black Magic, The Blue Danube, William Tell Overture, Flight of the Bumble Bee, and I’m in the Mood for Love. What made the songs so different was the liberal use of gunshots, whistles, cowbells, shouts, laughing, outlandish vocals and other sound effects. For example, at the end of the line that goes “only your kiss can put out the fire” you hear a fire engine bell, or at the end of “every time your lips meet mine” there’s a loud, smacking-lips sound. They made us laugh.
Fast forward to 1974. I was 26 and living in Stuttgart (it’s a long story). My mum and dad were both 64. I was about to move back to England, and they came in the car to take me and my stuff home. Included was a double LP of Spike Jones and his City Slickers that I had bought in Germany. “Ein seltsamer Sinn fur Ordnung herrsicht in all diesem Chaos”! (I still have it, as well as five CDs.) My parents were staying the night in my room. I shared a flat with two other English friends and it was to introduce them to Spike’s music that I bought the record. Not sure they liked him as much as I did though.
After we had eaten, I played it to my mum and dad. I don’t think either of them had listened to him for years. First they smiled. Then they chuckled. Then they started laughing, and couldn’t stop. They were both sitting on the edge of my bed in hysterics. When one song finished there was just enough time to take breath before it all started over again. The sound of a silly voice, a gunshot, a shriek. They were laughing so much they were in pain. Tears were rolling down their cheeks. I don’t think I had ever seen my parents in such a state before. Not together. Not laughing at the same thing. Not being totally out of control.
My father died in 1984. My mother in 1996. When I think about them that evening, in my room, with Spike Jones, it brings tears to my eyes.
Walt Lenini
We love to eat: My grandmother’s Egyptian shakshuka
Ingredients
2 tins of Ful medames (fava beans) to be found at Middle Eastern grocers
2 large onions
Oil (sunflower)
One large tin of chopped tomatoes
Two large cloves of garlic, thinly sliced
One tbspn of chopped parsley (flat)
One tspn of mixed spices
One tspn of ground cumin
Salt and pepper to taste
One large egg per person
Peel and slice the onions. On a low heat, slowly cook onions in oil until transparent. Add the can of chopped tomatoes and simmer gently until sauce thickens. Add the sliced cloves of garlic. Simmer for another five minutes. At this point, turn off the heat and add ground cumin, mixed spices, parsley and salt and black pepper.
Transfer your thick sauce into an earthenware pot and break in as many eggs as you need.
Switch on your oven to 180C (350F) and slide in the pot. Cook until the egg whites are firm.
Ful is the staple food of 75% of Egyptians. People love it. It keeps them going all throughout the day and they need to eat nothing until dinner.
Shakshuka is a more sophisticated version and it is prepared on special occasions. My grandmother took a special pride in preparing it for Easter Monday. She never used tinned ful, instead she cooked her own fava beans with plenty of water and a tablespoon of red lentils that gave her beans that very special reddish colour. Cooked very slowly all night long on a small alcohol burner until morning, it was ready.
By serving the Shakshuka at that time, my grandmother was combining Egyptian conventional breakfast with the customary Easter eggs tradition. We ate it with the local baladi brown bread, dipping it in the sauce and breaking the egg yolk.
I still continue the tradition and organise a brunch for friends and relatives. My personal version is very similar, with the exception that I dish out the sauce in individual oven-proof dishes, so that every guest has their own shakshuka. I serve it with warm brown pitta bread and a large bowl of rocket leaves and spring onions. As it stands, the dish does not need any extra flavours, yet I have a friend who adds a few drops of chilli sauce.
Eva Dadrian
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