Hertford Memories - The Book

[midget]

The one meal that was good was roast meat, of excellent quality and properly cooked. The Housemistresses had to carve at the table, which always gave rise to huge, but suppressed interest, as they queued to ask Mr Robinson the steward to sharpen the carving knives. Such coy looks from under fluttering lashes!!

[englishangel]

Sorry Kim, how can you miss Eccles cakes etc. when you live in the land of warm cinnamon buns?

[MaryB]

The one meal that was good was roast meat, of excellent quality and properly cooked. The Housemistresses had to carve at the table, which always gave rise to huge, but suppressed interest, as they queued to ask Mr Robinson the steward to sharpen the carving knives. Such coy looks from under fluttering lashes!!

Both the good quality meat and the romantic interest had gone by the 60s. Our "roasts" came grey and ready sliced in the tins, with murky gravy.

[Katharine]

Mary, the roasts did look good as they came out of the oven. Again it was one of the things I did to slice the Sunday roast. It was probably done too early, can't remember now the order we prepared the meal.

[chaosriddenyears]

The one meal that was good was roast meat, of excellent quality and properly cooked. The Housemistresses had to carve at the table, which always gave rise to huge, but suppressed interest, as they queued to ask Mr Robinson the steward to sharpen the carving knives. Such coy looks from under fluttering lashes!!

This is definitely one for the book I think! I just love the fluttering eyelashes. I wish we had had this but I don't remember roast dinner on Sunday being particularly nice, although the roast potatoes were much appreciated.

Not very romantic though!

[Kim2s70-77]

I went right off the roast potatoes after the Spudbashing experience in the bowels of the kitchen. That was the only time I had gone into the depths of the gormenghastic place - there were huge vats of slimy grey potatoes, riddled with eyes and sprouts and quite revolting!!

[chaosriddenyears]

Gormenghastic is definitely the right description for the kitchens - I remember the vast vats for brewing the tea. The tea bags were about the size of a small pillow and brown and there was a paddle to stir the vat which could have been used on a boat.

[Kim2s70-77]

My God!! We've made the kitchens sound like the bowels of Hades!!!!!

[icomefromalanddownunder]

My God!! We've made the kitchens sound like the bowels of Hades!!!!!

Who remembers finding a stone in the custard? Or toenails in the apple pie? (Yes, yes, I know that the bit that forms around the seed capsule can resemble a human nail, but the ones that we found would have come from an apple the size of a pumpkin).

And wasn't there a fag end in the hotsnot once?

Compounded with the idiosyncratic smell of the place, I reckon the analogy is remarkably accurate.

xx

PS: what was responsible for the weird smell of the Hertford stew? Not a mutton smell; nothing like any beef I've encountered. Could it have been horse meat? Or perhaps the smell wasn't from the meat, but from a previously unknown, and not since encountered, spice or herb?

[chaosriddenyears]

I shudder to think of all that may have been in the food we were given - and for some reason I was suddenly reminded of the cheese and hairy mango sandwiches we were given to take with us on outings. I quite liked them but have never tasted sandwiches like them since.

[Angela Woodford]

PS: what was responsible for the weird smell of the Hertford stew? Not a mutton smell; nothing like any beef I've encountered. Could it have been horse meat? Or perhaps the smell wasn't from the meat, but from a previously unknown, and not since encountered, spice or herb?

I know that, for a couple of years, I've tended to refer back to the all-pervading aroma of that Saturday stew, and now, in the current spirit of transparency, I admit that it caused in me a state of abdominal distension unmatched by any other food, ever. The stew would simmer furtively within me for perhaps an hour, then re-announce its bloating effect with a terrible flatulence that would remain with me for the rest of Saturday afternoon and evening. I would have to lurk in quiet places, or rush away suddenly to "gaze up into the mulberry tree" or... whatever!

(Actually, by the evening the flatulence would have subsided enought for me to risk going through the rituals of "Please may I speak to..." and visit 5's where they had the LP of the Beatles "Rubber Soul". Or perhaps that was on a Sausage Hotpot Saturday.)

Anyway, Saturday! The afternoon less rigidly organised! Inevitably, the richly foul miasma would linger on throughout the School and I believe and hope that I was never discovered and held responsible for adding to it.

Elizabeth! "The bowels of Hades!" How remarkably accurate of you to say so.

[Kim2s70-77]

CH is beginning to sound more and more Dickensian - I love it!! So - 'foul winds do blow' after Saturday stew, which is fashioned from unfathomable species and manufactured in mammoth paddle ridden vats in labrynthine cellars. Excellent!!! (Please Sir, can I have some more????) I am looking forward to this book immensely.

[Ajarn Philip]

...I admit that it caused in me a state of abdominal distension unmatched by any other food, ever. The stew would simmer furtively within me for perhaps an hour, then re-announce its bloating effect with a terrible flatulence that would remain with me for the rest of Saturday afternoon and evening. I would have to lurk in quiet places, or rush away suddenly to "gaze up into the mulberry tree" or... whatever!

Anyway, Saturday! The afternoon less rigidly organised! Inevitably, the richly foul miasma would linger on throughout the School and I believe and hope that I was never discovered and held responsible for adding to it.

Elizabeth! "The bowels of Hades!" How remarkably accurate of you to say so.

Girls will be girls and boys will be boys. At Horsham a disgustingly smelly fart was a mark of pride and distinction. There was a lot of mock horror, with people rolling around on the floor gagging and clutching their stomachs, but that was just for show.
Not just boys either - I remember a chap in Pakistan whose Hash nickname was the Curry Monster. I had the misfortune to share a house with him for a while. Thankfully he announced his impending explosions well in advance, but for some reason it was almost impossible to resist the temptation of getting just a teeny little whiff...

And while we're on the subject of wind, the beautiful and delicate Mrs Ajarn belches like a trooper - I'm so proud!

I can only close this post by thanking the ladies of Hertford from the heart of my bottom for introducing (has it cropped up before?) the topic of farting to the forum. Long overdue, in my humble opinion. May it, like a truly exceptional fart, linger for weeks... I would also like to know if there's a female equivalent of the old saying "Every man likes the smell of his own fart."

I make no apology for over-using the word 'fart' - it's one of the most evocative words in the English language!

[englishangel]

I have started something on the Non-CH section so this may remain unsullied. I am sure everyone has a favourite farting story

[midget]

The things our dog got blamed for!