The Brussels Post, 1950-8-30, Page 3SwAo
His Piece
By Richard 8111 Wilkinson
Without realizing it Aniline had
been watching the young man with
the black hair and blue eyes. She
admitted to herself that he was good
looking, Also, he wore his even-
ing clothes with just the right de-
gree of casualness; his face was
pleasant and guileless, Dangerous,
she thought, The type of mall who
couldn't he trusted, Deceptive. Like
Loring Brookes, Mere thought of
Loring gave her a funny little pang,
And then the young man with the
blue eyes and black hair started
towards her, IIe weaved his way in
among the dancers and tapped
Seaver Clark on the shoulder.
"Mind if I cut in?" he asked,
"Hope you don't mind? Believe
me it took courage."
"Did it?" asked Amine coldly,
"Ant I to feel flattered?"
He grinned broadly. "Sorry,. I'll
quit if you say so?" -
"And leave etc stranded in the
middle of the floor?"
"Well, then, when the music
stops." But when the music stop-
ped they weren't on the floor at all,
They were out on the terrace,
looking up at the moon, and Ar -
mine was saying, "I do wish you'd
take me back, I'm cold,"
"You can't be cold. It's a warts
night. Besides, if you start to go
back alone I'll grab your arm.
And that will stake a scene,"
She looked at !tint angrily, but he
only grinned. "I've half a mind to
..lo it. It might teach you a lesson."
"It probably would," he admit-
ted. 'But please don't. You see,
I've been watching you all evening
and planning this campaign—bring-
ing you out here, I mean,"
"The idea!" Aniline tossed her
head. "Well, you can bring me
right back again,"
"Not until I say what I have to
say."
... "Oh, Loring, what stupid
little fool I've been!"
"Indeed! And what makes you
think I'm interested in what you
have to say?"
Suddenly he sobered. "That's the
trouble with you—you're never
willing to give a fellow a chance.
You take him at his face value and
let it go at that. It's not fair."
"What) Certainly you can't 'be
serious. If this is some sort of
joke, it's a poor one. Please take
me back!"
"Wait," He gripped her arm. His
face was tense. "You've got to hear
me, I know it all sounds crazy. But
it isn't. Last year, when I went
away in such a hurry it was because
. my brother had been hurt in a foot=
ball game. I wrote you the day after
I arrived in California. Air mail. It
wasn' t till a month later that I
learned the plane crashed aa burn-
ed. Then I knew it was too late. I
came on east, bringing my brother
along with me, He got well—"
He broke off. She was staring at
hint in amazement, He gestured
helplessly, "I tried to look you up,
but you'd gone south for the win-
ter. And then in the spring the
university sent etc up to Canada to
do some research work. I got back
a week ago, learned you were in
town and carte here tonight, hoping
to see you, I ... " He leaned for-
ward and grasped her shoulders,
said fiercely, "I love you, have al-
ways loved you, You haven't been
out of my thoughts for a minute.
You've got to believe that, t thought
at first you did ... when you didn't
object to costing out here with rate."
He turned away, got half -way to
the door when she called, "Loring!"
Ile swung back, and she came up to
hint. "was .. , Robert Brookes ...
your brother?"
"Yes, f-Iow did you. know?"
"I didn't ltnow, But I read about
hits in the papers. And I read about
the crash of the plane, too , .. Oh,
Loring, what e stupid little fool
I've been 1"
She was in iris arms, sobbing
hysterically, Loring held her tight;
presently tilted her chin and kissed
her mouth, "Darling) 1 1 hate
to think of what might have hap-
pened if you had objected to coming
out on the terracce."
"(Jb,iectetil \Vhy, my precigvs,
if yOu hadn't brought Inc
out 1 would have died!"
About The Pleasures O
Pig - Curing At Home
By Geoffrey Boumphrey
is there any more beautiful word
in the language than 'ham' --unless
it is 'bacon ---or, better still, 'bacon
and eggs' --or 'haat and eggs' for
that matter? Yes! They are beau-
tiful words, I think, and l am pre-
pared to argue about it, Who was
IL who said that beauty lies int the
eye of .the beholder? Someone with
trtthority, I know. Well, you have
only. 'to substitute another sense -
organ for the eye, and ham passes
the test with flying colours.
But, you knew, I have an awful
feeling that I may he talking to
part of a generation that does not
know what haat is, or at any rate
what it can be. By ham 1 do not
Mean that bright -pink, moist stuff
that tastes so much of salt. Real
ham is a soft, almost greyish -pink,
and the lean is not moist, it is
almost dry, and the fibres have
matured and softened until the gen-
eral texture is almost crumbly.
But enough of this preliminary
appetite -whetting; let us get down
M brass tacks. One of the reasons
for living in the country (if any
reason needs to be given) is that
in the country it is generally pos-
sible to keep a pig.
One of the many grand things
about pigs is that they are far the
most efficient food -converters of
any domestic animal. You can
reckon that of all the valuable food
you give them (during adolescence,
that is,) about one-fifth remains in
the pig. largely as bacon—or ham.
There is another advantage, too,
in the single-mindedness with which
a pig concentrates On its life's work
of putting on weight.
Long before the butcher comes,
you will be estimating the -weight
of the hams, and even visualizing
the long flanks neatly divided into
rashers—all this without the slight-
est feeling of tactlessness. I will
admit that my first pig -killing day
did not dawn without a slight sense
of uneasiness; but I was raw, and
did not quite know what to ex-
pect.
Now, those two occasions in the
3'ear are- red-letter days, as they
have been in Merrie England for
hundreds of years. The butcher ac-
tives in his van, bringing his as-
sistant with him. The pig has not
been fed for twenty-four hours, and
so is interested in nothing in the
world except the contents of the
bucket that he follows obligingly
to the appointed place. There is a
slight report and he is wafted to
the Elysian fields, in the final be-
lief that, at last, he is going to get
his head down' in that bucket that
smells so good. A beautiful end—
which of us, with his mentality,
would ask for anything better?
Perhaps an hour later, Mr.
Brown, as I will call him, and his
assistant, come into my kitchen;
and we drink a tankard or two of
beer. The conversation follows
rather the lines tiscd when you go
to see somebody's new baby. I am
left with the impression (just as
the mother ought to be) that I
have been a very efficient producer,
and that the product is one of
the finest specimens seen round
these parts for many a long day.
Also, there is the great fun of
guessing the weight. Mr. Brown
thinks it will snake every pound
of twelve score; I say, modestly,
that I should think it will top eleven
score, at any rate.
There was an occasion when the
weight was eighteen score, and,
there, hanging from the beams, was
a vast carcass like a mammoth's;
but, nowadays, apart front the
kudos of having reared such a pig,
I like them about ten or twelve
score. Brightwell Brandy—what a
pig site wast 'I'lie quint-c"sence of
food conversation!
As soon -as the carcass has been
weighed, it is let down with block
and tackle, and cut up ready for
Luring. 'There are malty different
ways of doing this, according to
whether you want a long ham or a
round one, how much you are go-
ing to use fresh as roast pork, and
so on. Personally;; I always find
there are so many bits and pieces
which have to be used up more
or less fresh (to say nothing of
brawn) that I cure almost every-
thing possible; two hates cut short
and round), two shoulders, two
Bath chaps (or cheeks), and two
sides of ba con, including the neck.
Many Different Methods of Curing
I did not start out with the idea
of doing my own curing, ,when I
first kept a pig. I meant t0 send it
away to a bacon factory to be cure.
for toe,- as most of my friends do.
In facts I made a tour of their
houses in turn, to taste their pig
and see which factory's cure I
liked best. But, as toy pig grew
fatter, memories of the hams I bad
eaten long ago came to haunt toe,
and I decided I would cure the
the hints, at least, myself, and send
the rest away to be done.
Even that reservation perished
after a chat with a farther friend
of mine, and a taste of his home -
cured bacon and hath. He said it
was easy enough, and' he offered
to lend me the tub he cured his
haat in, I borrowed a wooden
trough front somebody else to do
the sides of bacon in. That sounds
a lot of equipment, but I have
simplified things since then. I found
that an ordinary earthenware bread -
crock just holds one haat and one
shoulder, and a curing trough is
not necessary if you have a long,
narrow table and an outhouse floor
that you do not mjnd getting in
rather a mess.
Then I started collecting recipes
and analyzing them. I should think
I got about forty in all—and they
all boiled down to about four differ-
ent methods of curing, with minor
variations. I went out for simplicity
and quality. With my first two pigs
I tried about eight different cures,
and kept notes to compare with the
results. Now I have standardized
on two, a simple one for the every-
day bacon, and a more exotic one
for the less frequent haat,
Both start in the traditional way
—a good rubbing all over with salt
and a small proportion of saltpetre:
sap half an hour's work in all; the
sante next day, only shorter. On the
third day, when the salt will have
drawn most of the surplus moisture
out of the meat, the cures divide.
The bacon and Bath chaps stay on
the table and go on getting about
five minutes' rubbing a day with
the salt and saltpetre mixtures, plus -
a bit of Demerara sugar•—that is
said to keep the lean soft.
The hams and shoulders go into
their bread -crocks, and for them
I make up a wonderful brew of
strong beer or stout, molasses or
black treacle, a seasoning of all-
spice, coriander, and black pepper,
a handful of salt and saltpetre, a
shallot, and a good measure of juni-
per berries, This is boiled up, al-
lowed to cool, and then poured
over the joints. Each day, their
Gun but not forgotten—A plucky dare -devil, a Soviet spy, or
just a foolhardy feathered friend? Soldiers are t>r-oudering
lust how to classify the sparrow who'iierched on the muzzle of
a lethal tank gun during manoeuvres. After the weapon was
fired,and the last wisp of smoke had cleared away, then could
find no trace of the winged artillery observer,
"Water's fine, but it can wait," four-year-old Johnny Zeek seems to be telling his dad, Ed-
ward, as he applies the brakes to admire certain aspects of the view oh the beach. Who knows,
maybe if he does his double somersault she'll cut the cosmetics and give him a tumble. The
heart-throb is Judy Miller, four.
position is reversed, and they are
thoroughly basted with the brew.
• How long you continue the cur-
ing depends on how long y ou want
the meat to keep. I generally cure
one side of bacon for just over a
fortnight, which means it will keep
safely for six months, and the.other
I give about three weeks, so that
it is safe for a year. I do not think
a ham or shoulder develops its
flavor until it has matured for at
least six months, so they are kept
in the brew about eight or ten days
for every inch of thickness.
The catch about it is that the
longer you cure, the saltier the neat
and the harder the lean tends to be,
though you can offset this to a great
extent in the case of bacon by soak-
ing each chunk in water for a night
as you cut it off the side, before
slicing it into rashers.
And, by the way, does everyone
know the , best way to arrange
bacon for cooking—frying, or, much
better, grilling? Overlap the slices
like tiles on a roof, screening each
lean side from the •heat with the
fat side of the piece next to it: in
this way`you can cook the fat thor-
oughly, still keeping the lean stifc.
After curing, wash the meat in
cold water (soft water is best; and,
personally, I soak mine overnight
in it). Then hang up the joints or
sides to dry in a not -too -cold room
for three weeks or a month. After
that, they are best somewhere cool.
Sprinkle them with pepper, and
sew them up in bags, but not only
to keep flies away (which is the
idea of the pepper) but also to pro-
tect then from the light, which
turns the fat yellow.
Could anything ` be simpler? -
Hardly any equipment, half -an-
• hours work the first day; ten min-
utes the second or third—and then
Only seven or eight each day until
the cure is complete. And the re-
ward? Well, I have just finished
eating the last ham of Brightwell
Brandy, fifteen months old. It was
black outside, and hard as a board,
but it swelled out like a sponge
after a week's soaking,
Who talks of boiling ham? ,fit was
simmered gently for nearly four
hours, and then allowed to grow
almost cold in the water it had
cooked in. I skinned it tenderly,
drained it, and sprinkled it with
bread crumbs while it just still had -
the chill off. I wish I could describe
to you the aroma that filled the
dining -room when 1 cut the first
few slices.
I happened to have staying with
ate a friend who is chairman of the
kitchen and wine committees of a
big London club. His face was pos-
itively transfigured: `Why,' he cried,
'that ham has a bouquet like an old
wine!' We ate with some reverence,
and were not disappointed. Could a
factory cure have done that for
us?
The point' I would stake is that
here in home -curing is an age-old
craft not really very difficult to
barn, needing little oe no equip-
ment. We complain nowadays that
our food is dull, and we have to go
without many delicacies that were
once imported at reasonable prices.
But the humble pig, properly treat-
ed, can yield food fit for an epicure
or for the gods themselves, and the
mere process of curing is not with-
out fascination. The pig has been
the mainstay of English rural life
since Saxon times, and probably
before then. Call me a chow -bacon
—a yokel? Why shouldn't I be?
I am proud of it. (Broadcast in the
BBC's Hoene Service).
Gave Him Palace
But Wouldn't Pay
The eighteenth century was only
four years old when the French
armies were broken in a fierce battle
fought in the tiny village of Blen-
heim. And all'England went toad
in adulation of the man who had
won that great victory,
What form should a nation's gra-
titude
ra-
ttudc take? Queen Anne did not
consult Parliament, but declared;
"He shall have the ancient Manor
of Woodstock. The old, dilapidated
home of the Plantagenets shall dis-
appear: a noble palace shall rise
in its place."
Parliament, informed as to Her
Majesty's wishes, was also assured
that the Queen intended to foot the
hill herself. Accordingly an Act of
Parliament was passed. The burn-
ing question of the hour then 'was:
Who shall build this architectural
masterpiece for the nation's hero?
Everybody expected that the
choice would fall on Wren. But it
didn't. The Queen told the Duke
of Marlborough to pick his own
architect and he chose John Van-
brugh, architect, playwright, man -
about -town.
That decision laid the foundation
Merrily He Rollers Along—It's a jeep, but you'd hardly know
it. The weird vehicle is the result of ingenuity at an Air Force
field in japan. It' was born of the necessity for urgent haste in
handling air cargoes. As soon as cargo plane lands, the "Harvey
Special" jeep rushes to it with roller conveyors that speed up
loading and unloading.
fur something that nobody had fote-
seen—a lasting, bitter quarrel ba»
twecn Vanbrugit, the playwright -
architect, and Sarah, the hrifliantj,
forceful and power -loving Duelteso
of Marlborough.
"The Queen rules England—The
Duchess rules the Queen," was
what people said behind their hands.
And• iti was true!
Vanbrugh, tvhn had already de-
signed some magnificent great
houses, drew u1) even Inure elahot-
ate plans for the new palace, The
Duke rubbed his hands: "Excel-
lent!" he exclaimed, But the Ludes
ess became incensed against the
project. "Who will pay for all this?
she inquired. "And who would live
in such a place? Comfort comes
before such show."
So great a building involved the
problem of finding enough master
masons, In the end Vanbrugh got
masons from all parts of the mutt -
try and a colony of craftsmen and
Working men settled in Woodstock
Then the troubles began. The
local stone proved completely un-
suitable and an alternative had to
b.) used. That was bad enough,
But presently the contractors were
coming to Vanbrugh—who was do-
ing this immense work for a mo-
dest $2,000 a year—for money,
It was awkward. Who was to
pay? The Queen, from her private
fortune? Parliament, out of the na-
tion's resources? Or the millionaire
Duke himself?
Neither the Queen nor Parlia-
ment had stated what limit was to
be put on the cost of the project,
although official documents stated
that Vanbrugit had been appointed
Comptroller of the Works, author»
ized to act on behalf of the Duke.
During the long years that Blen-
heim Palace was being built this
unhappy situation led to much bick-
ering, There were constant dis-
putes about authority, There were .
incessant quarrels between Van-
brugh and the Duchess. There were
periods when there was no money
to pay the working people.
On one occasion arrears owing
to tate contractors, and wages owing
to the workmen, led to a strike and
threats of violence. The men said
that they could not pay for their
Iodgings, and that before they went
back to their homes they would
wreck the half -built palace,
Vanbrugh, meant this palace to
be his masterpiece. Unfortunately,
what he never considered was
money.
For example, as he had to come
down from London very often (he
was building the Opera House,
Covent Garden, at the same time)
he decided to renovate the olcI
Woodstock Manor House, He had
no authority to do this, and he put
to work on it sten employed on
the palace. Having spent over.
$5,000, he casually mentioned it
to the Duchess.
The great Sarah flew into a pas-
sion, accusing hint of having spent
$15,000 on himself, and calling him
insulting names.
From first to last, on the financial
side and in the human relations of
those most closely concerned int
this grandiloquent project, there
had been nothing but the sordid.
Nor did the death of the Duke
change the situation. -
He left over two million pounds,
a fortune equivalent to $150,000,000
today. But he made no provision
for the unpaid workmen or for
Vanbrugh's modest wage. When
the will was made public, Vanbrugh
wrote to a friend; "And yet this
Man would neither pay his Work-
men their bills nor his Architect •
his Salary. But he had given his
Widdow (may a Scotch Ensign
get her) £10,000 a year to spoil
Blenheim her own way; £1,200 a
Year to keep her Self clean, and
go to Law."
Thus to the end did bitterness
poison the air as there arose one
of the most magnificent palaces in.
the British Isles—Indeed, in the
whole world.
' * M
Nowadays, from all parts of the
world crowds are flocking to this
same Blenheim Palace, regal seat
of the Dukes of Marlborough, re-
cently opened to the public. Ai*
much as $1500 a day is being taken
"at the doors." And the first re-
quest of nearly every visitor is to
see the room where Winston
Churchill was born. So many people
gazing at his baby vest which in
on view, giggle and wisecrack, "I
bet he couldn't wear it today," that
the guides sometimes nearly scream.
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