Snapshot : Turkey or bust with two little girls
May 1987: “It’ll be fine,” he said, “and the girls will love it.”
Jeremy wanted to travel around Turkey and what should stop us with a four-year-old, Jennifer, and baby Helen, four months, in tow?
Everything was packed into a large faux leather suitcase (no wheels then) and a heavy, canvas rucksack (somehow more authentic, Jeremy thought than the lightweight, nylon rucksacks that were becoming popular).
Jennifer could walk, of course, but the baby needed a buggy. And a parasol. And the bouncing cradle she was used to at home. We did not know where we would be staying, or what would be available to buy in more remote parts of the country. So we took a month’s supply of disposable nappies. And bedding for wherever we found for Helen to sleep. And sufficient dry baby food “just in case”. And sterilising tablets and beakers. I intended to continue breastfeeding Helen throughout our travels, but who knew what might happen during the ensuing four weeks? Our plane landed in Dalaman and we took a dolmuş (shared taxi) to Fethiye, where we stayed for the first few days.
We travelled widely on public transport – it was tiring with two little children, but certainly memorable, and we have some great photographs.
Madly, perhaps, we still managed to bring back our full duty-free allowance of wine, along with a heavy camel-hair rug, a colourful kilim (tapestry), a brass coffee set, a glass chai set, a large decorated plate, two vases …
Penny Maris
Playlist So many happy yesterdays at Winnie’s
Yesterday by the Beatles
“Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away / Now it looks as though they’re here to stay / Oh, I believe in yesterday”
I had the most amazing childhood. It was full of fun, freedom and frolicking in the outdoors. My favourite neighbour was Winnie. She let us watch her television because we didn’t have one, and made me hot, sugary, milky tea in a huge mug every visit (with one to three digestives).
My brother was always glued to the TV, but I preferred sitting by the fire and listening to Winnie, or looking at the deer’s head on the wall (her lodger, Jim, told me that the deer ran down the hill and somehow got his head right through the outside wall. I suspect now that this may not have happened).
Winnie was a lovely neighbour and I miss her. When we went home after being at Winnie’s in the evenings, Dad would play records and one of his favourite LPs was Yesterday, by the Beatles. My auntie Susi once said, “It’s a bit morbid, isn’t it?” but it’s still one of my favourite songs and reminds me of, well, yesterday.
Patrick Winch
We love to eat : Mam’s cheese and potato pie
Ingredients
1 large baking potato per person
Strong cheddar cheese, grated (amount to taste)
Sliced tomatoes for garnish
Chopped onions, again to taste
Generous knob of butter
English mustard paste
Peel potatoes and chop into quarters. Rinse and place in a saucepan with salted water and some of the chopped onions, and boil for 20 minutes. When cooked, drain and mash with butter. Add three quarters of the grated cheese and mash again, adding English mustard, seasoning and the rest of the onions. Transfer to a pie dish and cover with the tomatoes, then cheese. Grill until golden.
My mother used to vary this by shaping the mixture into “burgers”, which were dipped in egg yolk and breadcrumbs before frying. On bonfire night, when we were children, this would be accompanied by hot chips in newspaper cones. We’d drench them in pickled onion juice, which dripped through and made our hands stink of vinegar.
There were five of us children and with our faces burning, we would make shapes with sparklers as we watched the fire consume Guy Fawkes. Dad would set Catherine wheels spinning on the coal-shed door before planting rockets that whooshed up before exploding into colourful waterfalls of sparks. Mam would bring out a tray of upside-down toffee apples, still warm.
Although there were painful times later when my mother developed a serious mental illness, I was an adult by then and had my own children. I have a photo of me and my children at an organised firework display. Our smiling faces are lit by the light and warmth of an enormous bonfire. I’m sad to think that my son and daughter, now grown-up, only knew a very sick grandmother. She’s been dead for more than 15 years, but I never fail to feel enriched by all the small events in my childhood that she made magical.
Sue Cutter
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