The Farmer & His Wife
John Taylor is blamed for an expensive shopping trip.
WHEN Anne drives the car at speed into the yard, it’s a sure sign she’s annoyed about something.
The door burst open. “John, empty the car of groceries, and if you have any money in your pocket I’d be pleased to accept it as a contribution,” Anne announced. “You are too fond of filling that stomach of yours.”
I went, as any obedient husband would do and carted the boxes on to the kitchen table.
“Don’t just stand there, help me put them away.”
During the operation Anne gave a non-stop commentary on the price of things.
“It would be nice to have a cauliflower with cheese sauce. Do you know how much?”
“The cost of living is rising, dear,” I said tentatively.
“That’s just what she told me!” Anne snapped.
Anne went on about the price of things and how we’d have to cut down.
I almost asked why she’d bought so much at once, but decided it was wiser to keep quiet.
“I bought some loaves in Cupar and I couldn’t believe the price.”
“Why don’t you make your own bread, dear?”
When we were first married, Anne baked our own bread and we got the flour in white hundredweight bags, which were washed and used as pillowcases. So I suppose things have improved since those days.
I remember my granny doing the same. She bought bread in yard loaves, salt in blocks which I had to rub down, and if there was tea left in the teapot, she’d put it in a jug for later. Even the weekly paper was cut into squares for toilet paper.
Times were hard. Her husband died young and she had a big family. What she would have thought about buying so many groceries at one go I shudder to think.
Anne has odd ideas of economy. She’s just been on a long-distance telephone call for 25 minutes. I’ve timed her but I’ll be told that’s different.
It’s rabbit pie and bread pudding tomorrow – if there’s jam and eggs in the bread pudding I have no objection, and there’s nothing wrong with a rabbit pie, with onions and a nice brown crust. ■