Batter-ry and theft...

Arriving home with the steaming packages, now damp and the newsprint rubbed and smudged against the clothing worn, the ‘dividing of the fishes and the chips’ would take place (did you notice the attempted religious connection?). My mother would direct the dividing of the fish and chips into equal portions (or autocratically by age and size). I remember over the several years my family lived in the area, on more than one occasion, when, upon opening those packages, my mother would immediately be on the phone to ‘the Dutchman’ if the size of the fish fillets did not meet her approval. In those days, all fish was battered or grilled only. So a good fluffy batter could easily hide an undersized fillet. But, not from my mother. There was certainly a dangerous tone when she felt her money was not being fairly collected for goods.

It was no cheap meal and she always insisted on getting good value, or, she would take the business elsewhere. And ten pieces of fish and serves of chips was a good weekly business. But every so often ‘the Dutchman’ would err and provide us with an undersized piece of flake (Shark) or two. Then it was withdrawal of our custom to another shop if the original phone call failed to reach an apology. Even if the nearest other fish and chip shop was a further two miles cycling, making for a longer walk, but it was the kids doing the cycling or the extra walking, so waiting for an apology, our mother could certainly take her time. We did change once, for some weeks, until my mother got a phoned apology from ‘the Dutchman’. It wasn’t so much from guilt for the provided pieces, but more from caving in to the look she gave him each time she walked past his store. We would end up back where we had been with the multiple packages from ‘the Dutchman’, until the next underestimation of size and customer dissatisfaction could raise its head.

So generally with no space in the kitchen and to make use of time, fish and chips were the order on a toffee apple making night. And when you realise because of the age spread of the children, attending over at least four different schools, and with the church, we annually would spend at least eight Fridays out of the fifty-two making toffee apples. Yes, that’s about 1 in 6 Fridays.

Now, in relation to the burning and searing of flesh, as mentioned earlier, given that at least three people would receive burns of one level or another (generally nothing worse than a first degree) during the toffee process, whether from hot stove top, hot saucepans, hotter toffee, cooling toffee, or hot taps. The family could expect to average 24 burns over a year while making toffee apples. How did that hold up to the Inquisition?

(continued tomorrow)