Tales of my dad, the Bard and an unusual old fruit
I NEVER had my father, John, a Master Butcher for 50 years, as a man of Shakespeare but, all these years after he passed, there may need to be a reassessment.
To explain, My dad was a proper old fashioned countryman, hunting, shooting and fishing and all that stuff and we had a wonderful little butchers shop in the village of Sutton Bonington, seven miles from Loughborough.
He was a showmanbutcher, with a ready smile, hearty laugh and with an undoubted twinkle in his eye and he was very good at what he did.
Many of his expressions and quips are with me still. His stage was the counter, his ready audience were the customers and his favourite comedian was Tommy Cooper, so in some way the following should come as no surprise.
Imagine the scene, a lady walks in and asks for a dozen eggs and my dad fires back completely straight-faced, ‘Which would you like, cocks or hens?’ And, believe me, it was not unusual for a bemused customer to reply, ‘Oh, I didn’t know there was any difference Mr Wood!’
For a slightly more imaginative leap of imagination, that line was definitely something Shakespeare may have thrown in somewhere, which brings me to a lovely connection between the Bard and my dad.
Many of my dad’s expressions, some unrepeatable here, I just knew, they were part of the fabric of my childhood and I still use them myself and, generally speaking, have never questioned them until this morning.
Joanie asked, ‘What are we having for tea?’ and I fired back, ‘Mixed medlars for ducks.’ ‘What?’ Joanie asked. I explained it was something my dad always said if we asked about food. ‘What on earth is a medlar?’ asked Joanie. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘You might well ask.’
Medlar trees are usually grown for their ornamental value these days, even though the fruit was once highly prized.
Medlar Nottingham is the only variety still available for commercial growing, thanks to its well-sized fruit, disease resistance and regular harvests.
This is a low, spreading tree with lovely twisting branches and thick, slightly downy foliage that begins life pale green, flushed with a hint of rosy pink and then darkens with age.
The simple white flowers are carried on the tips of the branches and are often surrounded by a halo of leaves, like a white iris in a green eye.
Medlar trees have excellent autumn colour, as the raised surfaces of the leaves glow with shades of pink, red and orange while the leaf veins hold their green pigment for a bit longer, creating an exotic tropical effect.
The fruit are quite unique and were once considered to be among the finest of delicacies, reserved for those who could afford them. They are still very popular in Greece, Turkey and the Middle East.
There is no getting around it, though, both Shakespeare and Chaucer both likened their shape to a person’s bottom.
This would have really tickled my dad and, for all I know, he may have been aware that, in the play Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio teases Romeo about his love for Juliet with an innuendo involving medlars and pears. ‘Now will he sit under a medlar tree, and wish his mistress were that kind of fruit as maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were an open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Mercutio, Romeo and Juliet, act 2, scene 1.
However, it is modern squeamishness, not their appearance, that is the reason that these gorgeous fruit have fallen into obscurity.
They have to be bletted before they are edible, which is a nice way of saying that they should be kept until almost rotten and it is this which some people find off putting. A well over-ripe medlar, with its wrinkled brown skin and mushy insides, tastes like gourmet apple and pear sauce that somehow got inside a fruit - sweet, sharp and irresistible.