PREWD'S
PRUNINGS
Being those portions of the Mousehold Press book
'Prewd and Prejudice' deemed too long, short, irrelevant, irregular or downright
irreverent for inclusion in the original publication.
"Season
of misses and mellow fruitiness."
3 October, Monday
When I called on Rev
Mullett some ten days ago he was engaged in the preparation of what he called a
'sweet corn dolly'. At the time I
thought little of it, being somewhat preoccupied with orgies and human
sacrifice. When it did come to mind
again I assumed that this was some sort of local craft, whereby cheap toys were
prepared for the children of the poor. In
my worst nightmare I could never have imagined the truth as it was revealed to
me today.
It happened just after
I had taken tea. A parcel arrived,
intriguingly wrapped with brown paper and string.
Attached was a note form the vicar. It
read; "Dear Mrs Prewd, I thought that you might like this little rustic
charm. It is said by some to bring
luck in certain matters. It should
be hung in the bedroom at the appropriate angle for the results required".
I must confess to being
charmed. I have always liked
presents, and opened this one with alacrity.
Inside, carefully wrapped in an old copy of the Cromer Clarion, I found
what seemed a truly delightful object. It
had been fashioned from a single head of maize of quite giant proportions, being
at least nine inches in length, and of prodigious girth.
Pieces of corn had been removed in such a way as to create patterns,
with, most strikingly, a ring removed about one inch back from the tip.
As I examined it I found it really most pleasant to handle, and I duly
did so for some ten or fifteen minutes, trying to think the while just what it
reminded me of.
Maud entered to collect
the tea things, but stopped by the door when she saw me.
"Sorry Maam", she said, with a peculiar leer; "I didn't
know you was thinking of Albert". She
left at one, without the tea things. Why,
I wondered, should I be thinking of her awful brother?
If I thought of any man it would be Doyley Silver-Darling.
Then, as I did indeed think of dear Doyley, I realised with slow horror
just what my present resembled. Rushing
from the room I threw open the front door and hurled the disgusting thing from
me, over the hedge and into the lane.
Now that I am calmer I
have come to the conclusion that the vicar must be forgiven, for he knew not
what he was doing. I must confess
that I had not hitherto thought of him as being unduly filled with unworldly
innocence, but no other explanation is bearable.
I feel sure that he has been abused by the local people into believing
that the sweet corn dolly is something akin to a lucky horse-shoe.
Now I face the dilemma of whether or not to disabuse him of this notion,
and, if so, how?
**********************
It hardly needs me to
point out that the traditional sweetcorn dolly was regarded as a potent
fertility symbol. It may not be so
obvious that it was also used in reverse. It
all depended how the dolly was hung. With
the stalk downwards it promoted fertility. With
the stalk upward it acted as a form of contraceptive.
Sid: When the corn was ripe
all the women would go down to the field - or up to the field if they lived in
Lower Trunch - and select from the first fruit to make their dollies.
Then they used to dry them off in the sun.
Then they made up the dolly by picking off bits of corn to make the
shape. That was a wonderful sight in
the autumn to see them all sitting together on the village green, working on
their dollies and laughing a lot.
Each woman added her own individual details.
There were big ones, small ones, and so on, but they always said size
didn't matter, although when they said that they gave each other funny little
looks. All except for 'Little'
Carter's wife, who used to moan that Farmer Trout had put on too much muck, and
she couldn't find one small enough.
Each village in the
area had its own traditional pattern of dolly making, although all of them were
more or less the same shape. Dr.
Desmond Miller, Professor of Humane Genetics at the University of Life, Aylsham
Annex, has made a particular study of these dollies.
I quote, without his kind permission, from his paper 'Some Tentative
Thoughts On The Possible Cause Of Something Or Other':
In an attempt to investigate the properties of the 'sweetcorn dolly' I
decided to ask for a number of student volunteers to sleep in mixed couples
under controlled conditions in my laboratory.
I was pleasantly surprised by the enthusiasm for scientific exploration
which was demonstrated by the numbers forthcoming.
In each of the rooms they occupied I had mounted a sweetcorn dolly,
stalk-up or stalk-down, and of differing sizes.
Three months later, when the results began to show, it was clear that
here was a most productive research topic. I
am currently distracted from that, however, defending a number of claims
regarding the unwanted pregnancies experienced by those who slept with the
stalk-down dollies, which proved amazingly potent in comparison with their
stalk-up fellow, which were distinctly impotent.
On further analysis of the data I have found that size is also important,
contrary to popular wisdom. The
effect of stalk-down dollies increases with size up to an optimum of about 8½
inches, after which it begins to diminish. It
is as if, above this optimum size, some sort of damping effect occurs, almost as
if the thing were frightened by its own magnitude.
In the case of stalk-down dollies smallness is desirable for the maximum
effect. The smaller the dolly, the
less chance of conception.
I have, as yet, reached only tentative conclusions on the causes of this
phenomenon. It may be that there is
a pheremonic effect, whereby highly potent chemicals leak out from the stalk
under gravity. However, while this
would explain the effectiveness of stalk-down dollies it does nothing to explain
the slackening effect of stalk-up dollies. It
may be that there is some, as yet undetectable, factor.
Unfortunately I have been unable to continue the experiment as my funding
has been stopped, under pressure from the University Medical Centre.
It seems that the money, and indeed my premises, are needed for a new
maternity wing. This is such an
important piece of work, however, that I have decided to undertake a more
personal study in my own time, and I am very grateful to the University Netball
team, who have been energetically assisting me for some time now.
It is too early to reach any conclusions at this stage, but I will review
the evidence during the summer vacation, when I may be in a better condition to
think clearly on the matter.
4 October, Tuesday
It is interesting to
note that Cecil Sharp makes no note of his meeting with Albert Kipper in his
diaries. Interesting to me that it.
Clearly it was not interesting to Sharp, or he would have noted it.
We only know about it because of the, seemingly superior, medium of the
oral tradition.
I find the whole thing
so interesting that I have noted the lack of his note in my own diary, which I
hope will some day be of interest to someone.
Certainly they will find the table of avoirdupois to grammes of
considerable interest, not to mention the tables of rates of interest in pounds,
shillings and pence. These are sadly
lacking from the diaries of both Mrs Prewd and Cecil Sharp.
10 October, Monday
Augustus Swineherd's
'The Come Between' is not strictly a work of fiction, being based to a large
extent on the romance between Doyley Silver-Darling and Maud Kipper.
It may even be that Maud herself provided some of the information for it,
since she worked for Swineherd for a while in the 1920s.
There is a passage in
the book which seems to throw some light on this episode in Mrs Prewd's Diary.
I quote it here, leaving the reader to draw their own conclusions:
Moyley was finding it increasingly difficult to see Daud.
Her mistress would rarely allow her out, and when she could get away she
nearly always had to bring along her younger brother, Walker.
So he eventually had to resort to subterfuge.
The idea came to him in London. Just
which part of London it came to him in he could never remember.
It might have been Westminster. It
may have been Kensington. He was
fairly sure that it did not come to him in Peckham, but only because he had
never been there. Or at least he
could not recall going there. But
wherever it came to him it was a brilliant idea.
Of course, it wasn't exactly his own idea.
Moyley was not the sort to have ideas of his own.
He considered ideas rather common, and left such things to others.
In this case the relevant other was Mr Doonan-Coil, the author and owner
of Sherlock Homes, a rather profitable housing development south of the river.
Coil told Moyley one day about a story of his, called the 'Dead Headed
Leaf' or some such, in which some chaps got the owner of a shop out of the way
in order to get up to no good.
Moyley was immediately interested, because he wanted to get up to no good
with Daud. So he asked his butler,
Mackerel, whether this might not be the way to do it.
It was Mackerel who refined the idea.
Moyley would invite himself round to his mistresses' mistresses' house,
suggesting that the latter mistress give the former mistress the night off.
At the last minute, after Daud had been released, he would send a note
saying that he could not come after all, and Daud would be free to come to him.
What a night they had. But
come, we must draw the curtain. We
have no business watching them. They
did not even have any business doing it.
('The Come Between': Chapter 8)
Could this be the
truth? Would a gentleman, a future
Peer of the Realm, behave in such a despicable way?
Of course. That's exactly the
sort of person who would behave in that sort of way.
13 October, Thursday
(regarding
the woman who helped Mrs Prewd understand the Norfolk accent)
Elizabeth Matthews
came to Norfolk from London with her husband, John, who was trying to follow a
career in nude modelling. This was
not a great success. People in the
area did not want to buy models, and if they had done it is doubtful that they
could have cared less about the state of dress of the modeller.
He was forced to take gardening jobs to make ends meet.
After a turn in prison he was forced to compromise even further by doing
the gardening with his clothes on.
They both retired
early, although John still played his concertina in the dance band, and
Elizabeth occasionally worked as a caller. This
was a trade whereby people of limited vocabulary could employ someone to go
round and call their enemies names. By
all accounts she was very good at it.
22 October, Saturday
After some thought I
have come up with what I think is a rather ingenious plan for next Trafalgar
Day. I will instigate a competition,
open to all, with a suitable prize. The
Prewd Plate, perhaps. The offer of
the prize will ensure interest in the event, which will, I hope, in turn lead to
interest in the day. Sometimes it is
better to lead people such as these gently by the nose, rather than chase them
with a stick. Only, however, if one
is wearing stout gloves.
The competition must
reflect the courage, bravery and downright Englishness of Horatio Nelson
himself. To this end I shall arrange
for the award to be made to the man who is able to eat the greatest number of
crumpets. Single handed, of course.
After all it must be a simple task, for such simple people, and what
could be more English that the crumpet.
I shall arrange with
Perch, the village baker, to provide the crumpets.
The expense should not be too great.
It will be a man of truly Nelsonian courage who can eat more than half a
dozen of his crumpets. The vicar
will be in charge of the event, and will award the plate.
Altogether I think it an excellent plan.
It will serve to promote patriotism, and perhaps it will perpetuate my
memory here.
Most importantly, it
will mean that I have not stood by and done nothing.
*************************
The Prewd plate did
not, in fact, last very long. It was
broken in 1912 by Herring, the butler at the Hall, who claimed that it was
dropped during dusting. This enabled
him to sack the servant who he falsely accused of dropping it, and promote his
favourite of the time, a girl called Doris.
The plate was at the
Hall having been won in the last contest by Doyley Silver-Darling.
Sid Kipper has the details:
I never heard of a plate perpetuating anyone's memory before.
My old father ate off plates all his life, when we reminded him, but his
memory was terrible. What's more,
everyone round here has got loads of plates, but when I asked them none of them
can remember a crumpet prize. But
I've done a bit of research, and I think I've found out what happened.
It was first awarded in 1905, and then for a number of years after that.
If you can count one as a number, that is.
I mean, one is a number, but then if you was to say 'there were a number
of people there', you wouldn't mean there was only one person there, would you?
Well, you might. To be Frank
I don't know what people mean half the time, and the other half I'm not
listening.
Where was I? Oh yes, the
Prewd Plate. Well, in 1905 it was
won by Percy Perch. He won by baking
himself especially small crumpets. The
next year he was unqualified by the judges, and Doyley Silver-Darling won by a
crumb.
Now, the next year after that was when it all went wrong.
They all got into the village hall and started eating the crumpets.
After an hour everyone was full, and the vicar was about to award the
prize to Ernie Spratt, who'd eaten the most, when my uncle Albert logged a
protest. Then, quick as a flash,
Ernie logged an antitest. Albert
said that as no time limit hadn't been set, then he hadn't finished yet.
He reckoned he'd have some more crumpets the next day.
Well, Ernie reckoned he'd have even more crumpets the day after that, and
so they went on. After four or five
weeks of this everyone had lost count of the crumpets, and, anyhow, Percy had
got heartfully sick of baking the things. So
it was declared a stalemate. They
were offered half the plate each, but they turned it down on the grounds that
the butter would keep running off half a plate.
Anyhow, Doyley Silver-Darling hadn't sent the plate along, so he was
allowed to keep it, and they never bothered to hold it again.
It seems ironic that
of all the things for which Mrs Prewd is remembered in St Just-near-Trunch, the
Prewd Plate is not one of them.
23 October, Sunday
This morning Maud woke
me with a cup of tea. As she
stripped the consequently sodden linen from my bed she seemed quite unconcerned
that she might so easily have scalded me, and chattered on in her usual inane
fashion. "Are you going to the
filch tomorrow", she asked. I
assured her that I would have nothing to do with any form of larceny, be it
called filching, borrowing or downright robbery.
Indeed I was so shocked that she could think to involve me in such a
thing that I forgot to punish her for her clumsiness.
I was still musing that matter as I polished the aspidistra later in the
morning when the Vicar called around.
"Mrs Prewd",
he said, twisting his cloth cap in his hands.
"I wonder if you could do us a favour?
We have been let down at the eleventh hour, and must find a third judge
to join Her Ladyship and my good self for the morrow.
Will you do it?"
I have always wanted to
be a judge. I feel that I would be
very good at sitting on high, looking down on those less fortunate than myself,
listening to the stories of their pathetic days.
I feel that I would be even better at handing down sentences to them that
would ensure that they never saw the light of those days again.
I am a great believer in British justice.
Of course, Rev Mullett
was not offering me a chance to sit at the quarter sessions.
The judging is to be of 'The Trunch Flitch', not, as Maud said, filch.
This flitch, or half a pig, is given, it seems, to any couple who can
demonstrate to the court that they have been married for a year and a day
without argument. I can assure them
that I shall be strict but fair. Nobody
will get half a pig from me without a great deal of persuasion.
Incidentally, I must remember to ask the Vicar what happens to the other
half of the pig.
********************************
Mrs Prewd need not
have worried about that other half a pig. The
Trunch Flitch, which has been offered on and off since the thirteenth century,
has never been awarded. I asked Sid
Kipper about the matter, but he was much more interested in the question of
judges in general:
Now my uncle George is the one you ought to ask about judges.
He's met a lot of them at one time or the other, in the way of business.
Their business, that is. As a
matter of fact he's still suffering from the last judge he met.
He wrote a song about it, called 'You Know That Was The Last Thing On my
Mind, Your Honour'. That did him no
good, either.
Mind you, judges today aren't what they used to be.
In them days they used to have what the called the 'No Quarter Sessions'.
They used to send Judge Post up from London to North Walsham, and he used
to hear all the cases that had been saved up for him.
I say he used to hear the cases, but he weren't really listening.
That was what they called deaf justice.
He waited while both sides argued back and forth, then when they'd
stopped talking he found them all guilty. He
was very even handed. He always gave
everyone 30 years. Of course most of
the jury got out on parole fairly quickly, but one persecution lawyer served the
full term, because he was so badly behaved in prison.
Mind you I could see old Post's point the other year when I was a
celebrity judge for the Trunch May Queen competition.
None of them was innocent, I can tell you!
24 October, Monday
This afternoon the
Court met to judge the Trunch Flitch. Lady
Silver-Darling, Rev Mullett and Myself processed to the village hall, where we
were installed on a rather precarious podium erected at one end.
Quite a crowd had gathered, and I was forced to use my umbrella more than
once to maintain a distance from the rabble suitable for one sitting in
judgement. Many of the crowd had
come straight from the New Goat Inn, which had just closed.
Their attendance may have had something to do with the fact that a bar
had been set up at the far end of the hall.
This was attracting its own crowd, who were being served by the odious
Ernie Spratt.
Mr Clerk, acting as
Usher to the Court, stood up and called for silence.
He did this no less than seven times before order was achieved, by which
time his legs must have been quite tired. Eventually,
however, he was able to make himself heard, and called for any couples who
wished to be considered for the Flitch to step forward.
Three couples did so, and the trial commenced.
The first couple, Clive
and Coral Cockle, did not detain us long. When
Lady Silver-Darling asked them how long they had been married they could not
agree on their reply. This led to a
falling out between them, and eventually they had to be dragged physically from
the hall, to continue their fight outside. Clearly
this disqualified them from the competition, as they were not available for
further questions.
The second couple
lasted a little longer. Willy and
Wendy Whiting were clearly out to impress the Court.
They billed and cooed like a pair of turtle doves, whatever they may be.
It was quite repulsive. I
decided at once that they must not win, although Rev Mullett and her Ladyship
seemed quite taken by them, and by any fair means they seemed to qualify.
What, I wondered, would uncle Wesley have done.
The answer came at once. he
would have used foul means. With
this in mind I turned to the Whitings.
"I put it to you
that you are lying. I believe that
you have in fact had one argument after another all year.
Do you agree?"
"Oh no", they
cried, as one; "We disagree absolutely".
This was just the
answer I had been hoping for. Now
was the time to deliver the coup de grace. Fixing
them with my eye I said "You have come before this court and sworn upon a
solemn oath that you have not disagreed all year.
Now you have the temerity to tell us that not only do you disagree, but
that you disagree absolutely". I
banged my umbrella on the floor for emphasis, and concluded "Fined one
hundred pounds". I was a little
disappointed when Mr Clerk pointed out that we had no power to fine anyone, but
it certainly ensured that the Whiting's hash was settled.
Now the third couple
stepped forward, and I knew at once that here was a real test for my mettle.
Before us stood Lady Silver-Darling's daughter, Cynthia, and her husband,
Ffreddy Ffooks-Ffordyce. Now the
Ffooks-Ffordyces are noted for their failure to hold any opinions whatsoever,
and Ffreddy is known in the family as the indecisive one.
The more intelligent reader will realise at once that if a man has no
opinions then he will be quite unable to hold an argument.
If, in addition, his mother-in-law is chairman of the judges, then he may
be held to have a considerable advantage in a contest of this nature.
I girded my metaphorical loins in preparation for battle, but I need not
have bothered. As soon as Her
Ladyship saw who the third couple were she squared up and rounded on them at
once.
"Cynthia",
she said, in a voice which could have cut diamond; "Take that wet fish away
before he starts to smell. Your
father and I opposed your marriage from the start, though I don't see what it's
got to do with him. I will certainly
not have you coming here and showing up the family in front of all these people.
You are disqualified, on the grounds of ...."
She ground to a halt as she searched for some grounds.
Her eye fell upon the vicar, and she seemed to gain inspiration.
"Disqualified on the grounds of insanity.
Case dismissed".
So our deliberations
were ended, and we had successfully defended the flitch.
I returned home feeling that for once I had contributed something
worthwhile to village life.
*****************************
The Trial of the
Flitch was not always as orderly as it was in the Edwardian era.
Over the centuries it had been banned many times following the disorder
and riots which often attended it. In
his book on the subject, 'Bringing Home The Bacon', Doctor C.O.D. Roe questions
whether or not the flitch was, on balance, a good thing:
In the several centuries of its existence the Trunch Flitch has claimed
at least fifty-seven lives, not including the dancing bear which perished in the
peculiar happening of 1772. It had
also led to innumerable divorces. It
might then be argued that as a symbol of peace and harmony it has not been a
great success. Some scholars have
tried to balance this against the hundreds of pigs which have not been halved as
a consequence, but I, for one, find the argument unconvincing.
One reason why the
ceremony was continually being revived was its popularity with the Lords of the
manor. It allowed them to
demonstrate their generosity without having to actually give anything away.
As the good Doctor points out:
Half a pig is not something to be sneezed at, and today this is truer
than ever, modern health regulations being what they are.
The Lord of the Manor was able to argue that he would be exceedingly
generous if only someone could convince him that they deserved it.
He would then refuse to allow himself to be convinced.
All, that is, except the 17th Lord Silver-Darling, 'Geoffrey the
Generous'. He awarded the flitch
every year of his reign. He awarded
it, however, to every couple that entered, so his good intentions were always
confounded by Rule 4, paragraph 6, which states that "In the event of more
than one couple satisfying the judges, then none shall receive the prize".
Thus Geoffrey was always confounded by the writer of the rules, his
ancestor 'Lionel the Loophole'.
In conclusion I should
mention that at the most recent sitting of the court George Kipper came very
close to winning the flitch for the first time in history.
In the end he failed only on the technicality that he had not been in
residence in the parish all year, as he had been continuing his enforced, and
prolonged, stay in the Isle of Wight, and his wife had been unable to visit him.
(N.B.
- those lucky enough to have heard the album 'Spineless' may notice certain
differences of detail from this account. This
was a result of artistic license, and the strain of speaking in a high voice.)
26 October,
Wednesday
Poor Maud Kipper.
Not only was she working like a slave all day, she was also losing
occasional night of sleep with Doyley Silver-Darling.
But she was young, and seemingly in love, and that makes all the
difference, doesn't it?
Incidentally, Mrs
Prewd's reference to the Plimsoll Line is an odd coincidence, for Maud's
brother, Albert, once served as a steward of the Plimsoll line's flagship, the
QE2½ (wide fitting). He was less
successful in service than Maud, however, being forcibly put off the ship at
it's first port of call, Porthcawl. It
was here that he learnt to grow the gigantic leeks with which he turned many a
lady's head in later life.
30 October, Sunday
(further
remarks on divination from 'Know The Game - Divining', by Miss Fuchsia Shock)
One simple form of divining is the counting of fruit stones while
reciting a verse. The words vary
from area to area. We are all, of
course, familiar with "Tinker, tailor" and so on, but there are many
others. For instance, in the
Hampstead area young girls may be heard counting avocado stones to the rhyme:
Barrister, Broker, Brigadier, Doctor;
Rich man, richer man, Something in the City,
Private income.
In other areas the choice is less varied.
In one Northumbrian mining village the verse goes:
Miner, miner, miner, miner,
Pit man, winch man, deputy, miner.
Rosemary, placed under the pillow with a silver sixpence, was said to
induce a visit from your future intended. If
the sixpence had gone in the morning then this was a sure sign that it had been
a true visitation.
The Trunch area had
its fair share of divination in days gone by.
In fact Sid Kipper's parents met through it.
Sid: When father first met
mother he fell hell over heels for her. That's
because she was bending down at the time, trying to see what initials had been
made by the apple peel she'd thrown over her shoulder.
And it turned out they were HK. Well,
they certainly were after he'd re-arranged them.
Of course, it don't always work so well.
Maureen Moray did the dreaming one once, many years ago.
She put an onion under her pillow, and, sure enough, she got an exact
picture of the bloke she was fated to marry.
The only trouble is she's never met anyone who looked like that.
She's still looking for him today, even though she was 98 in May.
Anyhow, I expect he's changed quite a bit by now.
31 October, Monday
Readers may surprised
to find no mention of ghosts and ghoulies at this date.
Where, they might ask, are the hollowed out pumpkins, or the trick and
treat? In fact there were no such
traditions in this part of England. They
are recent imports from across the Atlantic.
In Norfolk this date was strictly of agricultural significance.
The 16th century agricultural correspondent of the Trunch trumpet, Thomas
Tosser, described the relevant practices thus:
At Hallowmas take ye your stock
And place each under key and locke.
Sort ye the goates from out the sheepe,
And each one neet and nimble keep.
Go forth this day and get thine oats,
Be there littel or be there lotes,
For ere the sod begin to warm
T'will be most frigid on the farm.
Hedge now your diches, and ditch each hedge,
Plow the middel and plow the edje.
Now early night, now late the dawn,
Jack Frost be here, and summer gone.
I should point out to
any readers thinking of taking up traditional, organic methods of farming that,
due to the calendar changes of 1752, the actual day for bringing in the beasts
is now some eleven days after October the 31st.
Or is it before?