was about as close to a mother figure as we’d ever got, and it was comforting that night to have someone trying to mollycoddle me, even if, as predicted, she did make me drink a herbal brew that tasted as if it had been strained through an old sock.
Miss Grinch had been an absolute tower of strength, but Gloria was glorious.
Skint Old Cook, No. 1
How to Tell Your Mushy Peas from Your Pease Pudding
These two northern delicacies are easily distinguishable from each other. Mushy peas are simply, as the name suggests, dried marrowfat peas soaked overnight and then cooked until they go mushy and give off liquid. Much runnier than pease pudding, they are often served with chips or pies. The canned variety can be an interesting shade of green – try them with potatoes and gravy for an enticing mixture of colour combinations. Your dinner guests will never forget it!
Pease pudding is a solid, grey-greenish stodge, sometimes sold in little tubs. Made from split yellow peas boiled to a thick paste, it’s cheap, filling and full of fibre. For the desperately hungry and/or hard up, use it as a sandwich filling.
It tastes better than it looks, as so many regional delicacies do: after all, weren’t jellied eels once memorably described as looking like a bad cold in a bucket?
Chapter 7: Enlightenment
Chivvied by Em, I walked reluctantly down to Hoo House to meet Inga early next morning before all the children arrived at the nursery. I was worried that she wouldn’t take me on, and worried that she would, but I needn’t have bothered; I suppose if I had two heads or something she wouldn’t employ me, but after seeing some of the other members of the commune with their feet in the trough at breakfast, I wouldn’t bank on it.
They couldn’t know I was a murderess yet – but they might well have regarded it as a sort of minor peccadillo when they did find out.
The nursery was called Rainbow of Enlightenment, which is as close as they can get to the Japanese original. I’ve never heard of it, so it obviously didn’t take off like Steiner or Montessori.
Inga, a squat, damp, limp Scandinavian (no, they’re not all tall, blonde ice maidens) gloomily took me around the two big, square front rooms of the house that formed the nursery, pointing out the arrangement of the equipment: apparently the children have to complete a series of tasks in their right order. ‘Building the Rainbow of Endeavour to the Further Shores of Enlightenment …’ or something.
Susie, the other helper, was setting out paint pots and brushes.
‘We have sixteen childwen,’ lisped Inga, ‘including my own – Gunilla – who is in the gawden, being at one with Natuwe.’
‘Natuwe?’
‘Ja, Gunilla loves Mama Natuwe.’
‘Oh, right. Does she also love the Rainbow of Enlightenment?’
‘Gunilla is being bwought up by obsewving the behaviouw of The Gwoup. But it is also impowtant that she mixes with other childwen. She often chooses to join in with her fwiends as they complete thewe tasks.’
‘I see,’ I said, and so I did; no wonder staff didn’t stay long, if Gunilla was doing her own thing while the other children were put through their very structured hoops. I mean, I knew nothing much about nursery education, but it sounded a recipe for disaster.
Still, maybe Gunilla was a sweet little thing, and it would all work beautifully. Yes, and I’m Pollyanna and everything comes up roses.
I left just as the first children were arriving in a series of mammoth people carriers driven by Mummy or the nanny. The Rainbow must be trendy.
Inga greeted the children by name in the same gloomy tones: China, Poppy, Zoë and Josh were just a sample. I expected I’d get them all hopelessly mixed up.
‘Ah, Caitlin,’ Inga said to one little girl, her voice warming up to blood heat. ‘You awe eawly. Is Daddy hewe? I wanted to speak with him.’
‘Gone,’ Caitlin said succinctly. She was wearing a teddy-bear suit, the head, which I now saw was a
Miss Grinch had been an absolute tower of strength, but Gloria was glorious.
Skint Old Cook, No. 1
How to Tell Your Mushy Peas from Your Pease Pudding
These two northern delicacies are easily distinguishable from each other. Mushy peas are simply, as the name suggests, dried marrowfat peas soaked overnight and then cooked until they go mushy and give off liquid. Much runnier than pease pudding, they are often served with chips or pies. The canned variety can be an interesting shade of green – try them with potatoes and gravy for an enticing mixture of colour combinations. Your dinner guests will never forget it!
Pease pudding is a solid, grey-greenish stodge, sometimes sold in little tubs. Made from split yellow peas boiled to a thick paste, it’s cheap, filling and full of fibre. For the desperately hungry and/or hard up, use it as a sandwich filling.
It tastes better than it looks, as so many regional delicacies do: after all, weren’t jellied eels once memorably described as looking like a bad cold in a bucket?
Chapter 7: Enlightenment
Chivvied by Em, I walked reluctantly down to Hoo House to meet Inga early next morning before all the children arrived at the nursery. I was worried that she wouldn’t take me on, and worried that she would, but I needn’t have bothered; I suppose if I had two heads or something she wouldn’t employ me, but after seeing some of the other members of the commune with their feet in the trough at breakfast, I wouldn’t bank on it.
They couldn’t know I was a murderess yet – but they might well have regarded it as a sort of minor peccadillo when they did find out.
The nursery was called Rainbow of Enlightenment, which is as close as they can get to the Japanese original. I’ve never heard of it, so it obviously didn’t take off like Steiner or Montessori.
Inga, a squat, damp, limp Scandinavian (no, they’re not all tall, blonde ice maidens) gloomily took me around the two big, square front rooms of the house that formed the nursery, pointing out the arrangement of the equipment: apparently the children have to complete a series of tasks in their right order. ‘Building the Rainbow of Endeavour to the Further Shores of Enlightenment …’ or something.
Susie, the other helper, was setting out paint pots and brushes.
‘We have sixteen childwen,’ lisped Inga, ‘including my own – Gunilla – who is in the gawden, being at one with Natuwe.’
‘Natuwe?’
‘Ja, Gunilla loves Mama Natuwe.’
‘Oh, right. Does she also love the Rainbow of Enlightenment?’
‘Gunilla is being bwought up by obsewving the behaviouw of The Gwoup. But it is also impowtant that she mixes with other childwen. She often chooses to join in with her fwiends as they complete thewe tasks.’
‘I see,’ I said, and so I did; no wonder staff didn’t stay long, if Gunilla was doing her own thing while the other children were put through their very structured hoops. I mean, I knew nothing much about nursery education, but it sounded a recipe for disaster.
Still, maybe Gunilla was a sweet little thing, and it would all work beautifully. Yes, and I’m Pollyanna and everything comes up roses.
I left just as the first children were arriving in a series of mammoth people carriers driven by Mummy or the nanny. The Rainbow must be trendy.
Inga greeted the children by name in the same gloomy tones: China, Poppy, Zoë and Josh were just a sample. I expected I’d get them all hopelessly mixed up.
‘Ah, Caitlin,’ Inga said to one little girl, her voice warming up to blood heat. ‘You awe eawly. Is Daddy hewe? I wanted to speak with him.’
‘Gone,’ Caitlin said succinctly. She was wearing a teddy-bear suit, the head, which I now saw was a
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