TeasCompany.net

A Tall Tea Tale

A TALL TEA TALE
BY Mary Elizabeth Evans
Published in the April-May 2008

Tea Edition of the
Arizona Country Register

This event – yes really – did occur and is one of many tales from her Book to be published in the spring of 2009, namely ‘ Growing Up British’.

Like most British families during the early fifties things in Britain were good, in fact, as we were constantly told by our government, “We had never had it so good”. Family summer holidays became the norm and were usually of two weeks duration commonly known by the British as a fortnight.

Most summers my parents took my sister Annie and I to the seaside sometimes to the Isle of Wight and sometimes to Dunster in Somerset to Mr. and Mrs. Littles’ cottage, a place we absolutely adored.

Mr. & Mrs. Littles’ cottage was built from local stone with a thatched roof, and was situated on the edge of the village of Dunster, Somerset England. If you entered their home it was as if time had stood still. No matter what the time of year, a fire would always be burning in the hearth, the kettle singing away on the hob. It was inviting, homey. Mr. Little was a shepherd and worked for Mr. Cook who owned the cottage where they lived. Mr. Cook owned many cottages and was considered a gentleman farmer, which meant he was quite rich and did none of the hard labor on the farm himself. The farm was on the edge of Exmoor and Mr. Little would set out each morning as dawn approached, riding his horse Atom, two sheepdogs following close behind. His daily task was to take are of literally hundreds of Mr. Cooks’ sheep. Mrs. Little offer bed, breakfast and evening meal to tourists and holidaymakers, who found their way usually by word of mouth to her front door.

The cottage was surprisingly large inside and a little gloomy. It was built from local stone and even in the height of a British summer, if there is such a time, it was cool, so a fire burned continuously in the kitchen and living rooms. Above the kitchen fireplacewas a large oven in which Mrs. Little cooked the most wonderful, tasty and delightful food I have ever eaten. An abundance of fresh seasona l fruits and vegetables arrived daily from the big farmhouse, together with quantities of delicious clotted cream.

Times however, were changing and holidays abroad were becoming fashionable. Somehow for the next few years we forgot about Mr. & Mrs. Little, Spain and Portugal were where we wanted to be. Then I met Ted. He wasn’t tall or handsome, but he did have lots of lovely dark hair. Before too long we were engaged. Frugality should have been the order of the day. Then Ted arrived in his car! What a luxury! The car was actually quite old and the soft top leaked when it rained. However, I was impressed. None of our mutual friends had cars. With permission from our parents we set out, just the two of us, on our grand adventure driving to Dunster to spend a holiday with Mr. & Mrs. Little.

The Riley chugged along, the weather was lovely, sunny and warm no rain in sight. This was just as well, since besides the soft top leaking the windshield wipers did not work at all and the windshield leaked. Ted mentioned all this to me after we had left home, stating forewarned is forearmed.

We reached Dunster in daylight and set out in search of Mr. & Mrs. Littles’ cottage. We found the narrow road which lead there. It continued forever or so it seemed. Suddenly we were there.

“That’s it!” I exclaimed. “Look there is the cottage name on the front door – ‘Hedgerows’. Indeed it was. People in Britain often name their houses and have no street number. The postman always seems to know this. They also have a habit of naming their cars, ours was named Ermintrude (goodness knows why.)

We were tired, hungry. I knocked loudly on the door. We waited. Two collies approached – a good sign – they sniffed us and then lost interest. We opened the side gate. Cats and a multitude of chickens surrounded us. “Fresh eggs” I said “Roast Chicken” replied Ted.

‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained’ we both decided and turning the large iron doorknob entered inside.

No one came to greet us, so we decided to venture inside. The back door opened directly into the kitchen. We blinked several times to adjust to the dimly lit room. There a fire burned cheerfully in the grate, the kettle sang away on the hob. In the middle of the room stood a large kitchen table covered with a starched white tablecloth. We drew in our breath – we had never seen such a spread of wonderful teatime treats. My goodness even for Mrs. Little this was indeed a tea fit for the Queen.

There were sandwiches, cold cooked ham, sliced lamb, chicken and hardboiled eggs, a bowl of fresh lettuce and tomatoes. A bottle of Heinz salad cream the sort of dressing that only the British could love, stood ready to be slathered all over the fresh and tender lettuce leaves. There were plates of freshly baked scones, homemade jams and a big glass bowl of clotted cream. A large fruit- cake, assorted jam tarts and biscuits completed this visual and edible delight.

Our mouths were already watering in anticipation of such tasty treats – but what to do? Well there was indeed a lot of food. Who else would be coming? This spread must be for us. Thus convinced, Ted lifted the kettle from its swinging perch over the fireplace. Finding teapot, milk and sugar to hand we made the tea.

We tucked in. Everything was delicious. The amount of food was somewhat excessive enough to feed an army – well almost! We ate a great deal.

Replete, we climbed into the well worn but comfy armchairs placed either side of the fireplace and promptly fell asleep. We did not sleep long. Suddenly we were rudely awakened by the sound of many voices and the clatter of many footsteps along the stone path. Sheepishly, for surely that was the appropriate word, we opened our eyes. Glaring down on us were the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Little. Mrs. Little looked at her tea table in dismay. Mr. Little who was actually a very big man, looked very grim. “Oh dear, deary me.” Mrs.Little finally spoke “Looks as though you youngans have beat us to it”. “Eaten a great deal”. Mr. Little re-iterated. Silence followed. He waved his hands in our direction. We tried to say we were sorry but somehow couldn’t utter a sound. More silence. Then Mr. Little spoke once again. A large smile broke out across his weather beaten face –“No harm done – no harm”. I am sure the missus has more food” He said in a kindly tone. She did.

We were shown to our bedrooms and told to make ourselves comfortable. Sometime later, all their guests left. The table had been cleared. Mr. Little went to the local pub for a pint of bitter. Mrs. Little called us and said that dinner would be ready (miracles of miracles) shortly and why didn’t we take a walk down the lane it was such a lovely evening.

Indeed it was. We donned coats, rubber Wellington boots.. The lanes always seemed to be muddy. We re-entered the kitchen. I had to know. “Who was the tea for Mrs. Little? “ I asked. “Oh” was the reply “It was a wake for Atom, a good and trusty horse ‘he was you know ‘e deserved a good send off.

We said nothing, what was there to say?

 

 

  
‘A good and trusty horse’

An Exmoor Horn Sheep