À la recherche du temps perdu.

 

 

À la recherche du temps perdu. In Search of Lost Time 

by Marcel Proust

In his book, À la recherche du temps perdu, the writer invokes memories from the past by eating a Madeleine cake. Oddly enough, this happened to me the other day when I suddenly remembered Black Bun. It suddenly came to mind and took me back to my many visits to Scotland.

For those refined readers of mine who do not know what Black Bun is, let me explain. It is a rich Scottish fruitcake which is encased in pastry and then cooked. It is a particular delicacy up North on Hogmanay; and other celebratory occasions. You prepare the pastry first then fill it with the fruitcake ingredients and bake.

Normally the final product looks like a brick. I remember a nameless mother-in-law relative who made it so hard that I took my cake out and threw it at the ducks in the pond to eat. They threw it back at me. I threw it back in the water and eventually it broke up for them to eat. You should have heard them breaking wind all the way home. Have you ever seen a flying duck breaking wind? It leaves a trail of smoke behind it.

Anyway, such memories for some unconnected reason, took me to the day when my auntie's goldfish died. She was proud of that goldfish and always pointed it out to me when I visited her. She called him Rover. One day she went out to the shop nearby and left me at home alone. I accidentally dropped the side light into the fish tank and electrocuted Rover. I fixed the light OK and it worked properly; but Rover was never the same again. I quickly went to the kitchen where I knew she had some carrots. I sliced one all along its length and shaped it like a fish the size of Rover and put it in the tank leaning beside some water plant she had there. Then I flushed Rover down the toilet.

When she returned, I finished my tea and cake quickly and bid her goodbye. She never mentioned it to me. She probably thought he died a natural death. Drowned most probably!

Amazing how thinking of Proust led me to all these memories. I was quite well-read at school you know. The other children wrote all over me with their Biros. One day in Science lesson I meant to write on the blackboard that an octopus has eight tentacles. But I miss-spelt tentacles and the teacher was very upset and she sent me to the headmaster. He did not know how to write it either.

I remember when one day my English teacher said to me "Your grammar stinks!"

I was upset since my grandma always smelled of lavender.

I told my father what the teacher had said and he asked "Which grand-mother?"

He wrote a letter of complaint.

My teacher replied that she had never commented on, nor would she ever presume to comment on, my family's body odour!

On reading her letter my father gave me a clip round the ears and then wrote again to the teacher apologising for the misunderstanding.

On reading my father's letter the teacher gave me detention after school.

On the Saturday I went to Confession. Our church had an old fashioned confessional which was a wooden booth where the priest sat and the penitents would kneel on either side and confess through a small window.

I told the priest all that had happened. He said "Don't speak so loud I can smell your grandmother kneeling on my other side!" Although he did not specify which grandma he could smell.

Then he gave me an extra penance for speaking loudly and for drawing attention to old peoples' body odour. Which technically I had not done because it was not me who started all this; it was my English teacher who said "Your grammar stinks!"

I think the church got this whole question of confession and absolution wrong somehow. I got a penance for my teacher's sin!

Moral: So did Jesus.

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DISCLAIMER - No ducks or goldfish have been harmed in the writing of this Post. This article has been written to test whether you will click on the blue link above. Go on ... you know you want to.