March: a final thought

Photography: Catherine Frawley

Please enjoy our back page chalkboard message and a seasonal haiku

Our ‘Seek’ issue has been a veritable romp through spring sights, quirky curiosities and all sorts of magical things that you only spot when you’re really looking. We hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as we have.

Here’s a March haiku in homage to all that. Do have a go at your own and leave it in the comments below. We send a lovely book to the author of our favourite each month.

Light, bright mornings and

A breath of bulbs on the air.

Spring is really here.

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British Summer Time: a brief history

When you put your clocks forward this Sunday spare a thought for the man who began it all

Talk of adopting different times in summer has been discussed since ancient times and Benjamin Franklin, one of the founding father’s of the United States even mooted the idea of everyone getting up a bit earlier in summer. Franklin is often credited with being the inventor of daylight saving but in fact, the chap we really have to thank is one William Willett of Chislehurst, Kent.

Willett was out riding his horse early one summer’s morning in Petts Wood, he noticed how many blinds were still down and began mulling the idea of daylight saving.

In 1907 he published a pamphlet called ‘The Waste of Daylight’, in which Willett proposed that all clocks should be moved forward by 20 minutes at 2am each Sunday in April and then back by 20 minutes at 2am each Sunday in September. It’s not a bad idea, and does negate the loss of a large chunk of sleep on ‘move the clocks’ day in Spring. Though we’d be quite sad to lose our extra hour in bed come October, it must be said.

Progress was slower than a watched clock, however, and by the time Willett’s plan was gaining the required support, World War I was on the horizon.

So eventually, it was not until 1916 that the Summer Time Act was passed, introducing British Summer Time as being GMT plus one hour and Dublin Mean Time plus one hour.

Sadly, and rather ironically, this came too late for William Willett who died in early 1915. If only he could have turned the hands of the clocks back just a little more.

Since 2002 the Act has specified the last Sunday in March as the beginning of British Summer Time. We’ll miss the hour in bed but like Willett, we’ll be glad of the extra light evenings. We might even take our horses for a little trot around the village in the semi-light dawn to celebrate.

In our March issue, our regular ‘Analogue’ feature is about a horologist and her love of clocks and watches. The issue is on sale now.

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Five plants for making allotment booze

Advice from the Two Thirsty Gardeners, Richard and Nick on what to grow to stock an allotment pub

In our March issue we have an inspiring feature with two chaps known as The thirsty Gardeners. Here we share their ideas for what to plant for allotment tipples and how best to use it.

NETTLES Harvest a kilo of young nettle leaves and simmer in a large pan of water for 10 minutes. Strain the liquid into a bucket, add 3 cups of demerara sugar, the zest and the juice of 3 lemons, then cover. When cooled, add ale yeast and ferment for 3 days before storing in expandable plastic bottles. It’ll be ready to drink a week after bottling – it tastes like a zingy, herbal ginger beer.

MARROW Hollow out the insides of a large marrow from one end, and stuff it with 2½ cups of demerara sugar, a 3cm piece of ginger, 1 tbsp black treacle and the juice of 1 orange. Add red wine yeast. Stand the marrow upright in a bucket. After 4 weeks, poke a hole in the base of the marrow and collect the liquor. Pour into a fermentation jar, fit an airlock and allow fermentation to finish before bottling (around 2 weeks). You’ll get a rummy brew to impress guests.

BEETROOT To make Eastern European beet kvass, place 500g of washed, peeled and chopped beetroot in a fermenting bucket, along with a scant cup of sugar, the juice and zest of 2 lemons, a toasted slice of rye bread (yes, really) and a pinch of caraway seeds. Add ale yeast and leave to ferment quietly for 4 or 5 days. Strain and store in bottles for 2 weeks to mature. The resulting beverage is mildly alcoholic, with a unique, sour tang.

HORSERADISH Scrub, peel and chop a cupful of horseradish root. Add 15 black peppercorns and a spoonful of honey and pour into a jam jar, with a 70cl bottle of vodka. Let marinate for around 3 days before straining and serving.

ROSEMARY Use a sprig or two to liven up a G&T. A stripped rosemary stalk also makes an ideal cocktail muddler

Read more from the Two Thirsty Gardeners in our March issue, in shops now.

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How to: build a woodland den

Find a likely looking spot with a few decent branches and an afternoon’s fun beckons

1 Find somewhere with plentiful natural debris (dead leaves, pine needles, ferns, bark, grasses). Avoid areas with water or where you can see animal tracks running through.

2 Build facing downwards, using a long branch as a ridge pole. Prop one end into the crook of a tree (or create a support from branches). Slope the pole downwards diagonally, propping the other end onto a stone.

3 Add ‘rib’ branches coming off your ridge pole. Use twigs to create a lattice. Don’t forget to leave a way in.

4 Layer inside with your debris (the driest and softest stuff) – leaving enough space to just be able to lay inside. If you twist handfuls of bracken before placing them they’ll have more staying power.

5 Cover outer framework with more layers of natural debris, until at least 60cm thick.

6 Once you’re inside, fill the doorway by pulling in more debris. Sleep well!

This how to was featured in this month’s March miscellany. The issue is on sale now if you’d like to read more.

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Five favourite fictional frogs

We take a look at some famous amphibious creatures

1. Jeremy Fisher

The daddy of fictional frogs - Beatrix Potter’s dear little amphibian who wore a read coat (a frog coat presumably) and had a near miss with a trout while catching minnows for a dinner party to which he’d invited his good chums Isaac Newton (a newt) and Mr Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise.

2. Kermit the frog

This muppet must be the most famous of all frogs worldwide. With his endearingly skinny legs and rubbery mouth, he lives a much more ‘Hollywood’ life than most of his fellow fictional frogs. But as he’s often said, it’s not easy being green. He uses his fame to good ends though. Here he is taking the ice bucket challenge [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mmax3yEZX58] in 2014.

3. Frog from ‘Frog and Toad’

Arnold Lobel’s fictional friends, Frog and Toad, enjoy simple adventures together such as flying kites, cleaning their homes and providing short stories for early readers. Lobel’s daughter Adrianne has suggested that Frog and Toad were a little more than friends (now we’re wondering about Jeremy Fisher’s chums, too…) and were in fact the beginning of her father coming out. Lobel himself said they represented different parts of himself (the squatter brown part and the leaner green part, perhaps?)

4. The Frog Prince

The tale dates back to Roman times but the best known version is by The Brothers Grimm and tells the story of a princess whose ball is rescued from a well by a frog on the promise that he can be her constant companion. Against her better judgement she is forced by her father to hold good on her promise, but loses her temper with the frog and hurls him against a wall. Whereupon he turns into a prince and they live happily ever after. Note the lack of a kiss in this story; all that schmaltzy nonsense was added much later.

5. Oi Frog!

A recent entry but this is one frog sure to become a classic. The first in a series of rhyming books by Kes Grey and Jim Field features a bossy cat who tells Frog  he must sit on a log because frogs sit on logs. He can’t sit on a stool (mules sit on stools), he can’t sit on a sofa (gophers sit on sofas) and so on. Frog objects to sitting on a log (“They’re all knobbly and give you splinters in your bottom”) but Frog’s day gets worse when he asks what dogs sit on… (no spoilers here but it’s a heck of an ending).

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Cake facts

Cakeformation you need to know

Carrot cake -  that unlikely yet winning combination of cake and vegetable. With its natural sugars and ability to bring delicious moistness to any dry ingredients, it’s perhaps not such an unlikely idea at all, but we salute the person who first dug up a carrot and then went renegade with the flour, eggs and sugar.

No one is entirely sure when carrot cake was first invented but food historians think it is likely to be a descendant of carrot puddings, which were eaten in Medieval Europe. By the 16th and 17th centuries, carrot pudding was being served either a savoury side dish or a sweet pudding with an egg custard. This would have been baked inside a pastry tart, like a pumpkin pie,  and served with a sauce. Other versions may have been steamed, more like a plum pudding, and served with icing, so you can see how the carrot pudding edged slowly but surely towards cake.

The exact point at which pudding morphed into cake no one is sure but it was certainly during World War Two that carrot cake as we know it today became popular. As Britain was urged to ‘dig for victory’ carrots were in much more plentiful supply than sugar, which was rationed, and they had the double benefit of being both a sweetener and a bulking agent in a cake. We imagine a slice went down very nicely with a strong cup of tea during a tedious afternoon in an air-raid shelter, too.

In our March issue, we have a recipe for the Chai Carrot Cake with rose and lime icing pictured above from Feasts of Veg (Kyle Books). Recipes & photography by Nina Olsson.

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The rules of Pooh Sticks

Simple and such fun: here’s how to play properly

Pooh Sticks, the game that’s made for anyone who just can’t help but pick up sticks in the forest, and is best played with a big crowd of friends, was originally invented (by Pooh himself, obviously) all alone and using pine cones. But Pooh had such larks dropping pine cones of the bridge in the Hundred Acre Wood and rushing to the other side to watch them come through, he shared it with all his friends.

If you wish to play on the actual bridge Pooh and friends used, you’ll need to head to Ashdown Forest in East Sussex, on which A.A. Milne based the books. The bridge itself is a footbridge which crosses a tributary of the Medway in Posingford Wood. It’s a lovely day out and - pro tip - if you fancy a Little Smackerel Of Something, the nearby village of Hartfield has a cafe named Pooh Corner with cakes a plenty and plenty of Milne memorabilia, too.

Pooh Corner’s owner Mike Ridley wrote a little booklet with the rules of Pooh Sticks in back in 1996 to mark the 70th anniversary of Winnie-the-Pooh. It’s rather charming and we think every spring picnic to somewhere near a river needs a copy of these rules in order to play Pooh Sticks Properly (A.A Milne capitals intended). So here they are:

First, you each select a stick and show it to your fellow competitors. You must agree which stick is which - or whose, as it were.

1. Check which way the stream is flowing. Competitors need to face the stream on the side where it runs in, under the bridge (upstream). Note: If the stream runs out, from under the bridge you are standing on the wrong side! (downstream).

2. Choose someone to be a Starter. This can be either the oldest or the youngest competitor.

3. All the competitors stand side by side facing upstream.

4. Each competitor holds their stick at arms length over the stream. The tall competitors should lower their arms to bring all the sticks to the same height over the stream as the shortest competitor's stick.

5. The starter calls, 'Ready - Steady - Go!" and all the competitors drop their sticks. Note: the stick must not be thrown into the water*.

6. At this point in the game all the players must cross to the downstream side of the bridge. Please take care - young players like to race across. Remember, other people use bridges and some of them have vehicles or horses.

7. Look over the edge of the bridge for the sticks to emerge. The owner of the first Stick to float from under the bridge, is the winner.

Remember: Falling into the water is SAD (Silly And Daft)!

*Eeyore apparently suggests dropping it ‘in a twitchy sort of way’ but we think doing so might risk disqualification.

In our March issue, which is in shops now, our Outing feature, In Search of Spring, looks more closely at Pooh Sticks (and how to win) as well as other days out for those seeking spring.

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Interview: on the couch with Carl Jung

Photography by @coloursofmyday

In our March issue, we’ve looked at mandalas so we thought we’d get to know a little more about one of their most famous fans

TST: Hi Carl <pats couch>. Take a seat and make yourself comfortable. We’ve a few questions for you that might help you achieve a sense of selfhood (more on that later). Let’s get started. Tell us about your childhood.

CJ: I was born on 26 July 1875 in Kesswill in Switzerland. My father, Paul, was a Protestant clergyman but was lapsing by the moment. My mother, Emilie, suffered from very poor mental health, and when I was three, had to leave us to live temporarily in a psychiatric hospital. Now that I mention this, I wonder if perhaps this had some influence on my career as an adult. Ha! Funny the things that come out in therapy, eh? I was alone a lot as a child, having no brothers or sisters, but I wouldn’t say I was lonely. I enjoyed observing the many adults around me and learning from them. In fact, I believe I was always happiest when alone with my own thoughts. I say ‘alone’. Obviously, I always had my sense of self to chat to, as well...

TST: Well, quite. What was your education like?

CJ: I attended my local village school but my father also taught me Latin at home. The village school wasn’t all that if I’m honest. I was a keen student and interested in many aspects of science and the arts. It was expected that I would follow my father into a career in religion. But that hadn’t worked out so well for the old man himself, it seemed pretty clear. So I decided to study medicine and went to Basel University to study in 1895 and in 1902 I received my medical degree from the University of Zurich. Later, I decided to specialise in psychology and went off to study in Paris… Is this all strictly relevant?

TST: No, but it’s nice to have some context. Let’s move on to affairs of the heart…

CJ: I met the great love of my life, Emma Rauschenbach in 1903. We married and had five children together. As well as being my wife, and bringing up my children, she was my scientific co-worker for many years. You could say I kept her pretty busy. We were together until her death in 1955…

TST: Do help yourself to a tissue. They’re on the table. Let’s talk more about your work life. How did you come to be a psychologist?

CJ: While studying in Zurich I worked as an assistant to Eugen Bleuler, who you may now know as one of the pioneers in the study of mental illness. During this time, I and a few others, worked on the ‘association experiment’ which looked at groups of subconscious ideas in the mind (I tend to call the mind ‘the psyche’. It sounds much posher don’t you think?). I digress… The unconscious associations or ‘complexes’ can bring about anxiety or other inappropriate emotions. Around this time, I read Sigmund Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams which confirmed all my beliefs on complexes. Sigmund, it must be said, had a filthy mind and thought everyone was subconsciously thinking about sex most of the time. Lord! You could barely peel a banana without the man having something to say about it. I was more interested in mysticism and ‘higher things’. But that didn’t stop us becoming firm friends. For a while.

TST: So the friendship ended badly?

CJ: It did. One of my greatest sadnesses. Things were so rosy when we met in 1907. It was widely thought that I would continue Siggy’s work when he died (he was older than me, as well as more filthy-minded, you know). But it was not to be. Our temperaments and beliefs were too different. When I published Psychology of the Unconscious in 1912, Siggy took the right hump. I had deigned to disagree with some of his dearest beliefs and principles. The friendship limped on for a while but he shut me out of his in-crowd. It was no real loss to me, professionally. I’ve always worked better alone. And anyway, I was sick of his disgusting double-entendres. It was like living with Benny Hill.

TST: So where did life take you after Freud?

I launched myself into some deep self-analysis, hoping to discover my ‘true self’. I lived for a while among primitive tribes, everywhere from Mexico to Kenya, and travelled the world, studying various belief systems in hopes of discovering more about the archetypal patterns that inform the self. I brought back with me many fine ideas, one of which was that of using the mandala to discover one’s selfhood. If I’d known the darn things would be all over Instagram one day, I might have left them where they were. Still, I’m pleased to see their popularity has brought so many people a little peace in a busy world.

If you’re interested in mandalas, and would perhaps like to create one of your own, pick up a copy of our March issue, in shops now.

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Brunch: a potted history

How to really make a meal of it…

As we sit over French toast, fruit salad, yoghurt, pastries and fancy eggs of a Saturday morning, we often find ourselves thinking ‘Brunch is a genius idea. Who thought of that?’ Well, we’ll tell you…

It was the English writer, Guy Beringer, who, well acquainted with the weekend hangover, decided Saturdays and Sundays needed moulding more sympathetically to the average carouser of 1895.

Empathetic to the party-goer who, on being roused late morning, might not wish to partake of a heavy lunch, he instead proposed, in his essay entitled ‘Brunch: a plea’ that we partake of a more hybrid meal that took in some of the light components of breakfast - pastry, tea and the like - alongside more hearty lunch-type fare for those up to it. He even had the bright idea of making cocktails a part of the meal for those who like their dog a little more hairy in the mornings.

He also made clear that it should be a sociable occasion, ideal for dissecting the events of the night before: “Brunch is cheerful, sociable and inciting. It is talk-compelling,” he wrote.

The following year, Punch magazine gave more detail and even differentiated brunch from ‘blunch’, reminding its readers: “The combination-meal, when nearer the usual breakfast hour is ‘brunch’ and when nearer luncheon is ‘blunch. Please don’t forget this.” As if we would!

In our February issue, our ‘Gathering’ feature is a spring weekend brunch. Here’s one of the recipes from the spread, a spring vegetable frittata. For the rest of the menu, buy our March issue, in shops now

Spring frittata

Serves 6

1 tbsp coconut oil

1 onion, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, finely chopped

100g baby spinach

150g frozen peas

8 free range eggs

100ml semi-skimmed milk

Fresh herbs (we used thyme,  basil and sage)

50g wild rocket, to serve

1 Melt the coconut oil in a frying  pan over a medium heat and add the chopped onion and garlic. Fry for 3–4 mins until they soften.

2 Add the spinach (washed and drained) and frozen peas to the pan and stir for 3–4 mins until the spinach is starting to wilt and the vegetables are mixed in with the onion and garlic.

3 Whisk the eggs and milk in a large jug or bowl, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Pour into the frying pan and mix to evenly distribute the vegetables. Sprinkle fresh herbs on top and cook over a medium heat for approx 15 mins, or until you can easily slide a spatula underneath.

4 Heat the grill to a medium heat and place the frying pan under for approx 10 mins, checking at intervals to make sure the top doesn’t burn, until it is a golden colour and the egg is cooked.

5 Leave to cool before covering the frying pan with a large plate and tipping it upside down to release the frittata on to the serving plate. Sprinkle with more fresh herbs and some wild rocket to serve.

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Win | a hanging nest chair

Enter for a chance to win this prize to bring spring to your home or garden

Days are starting to get a little longer and brighter, and our thoughts are naturally turning to spending time outside in the fresh air again. As eager as we may be to fling open doors and windows, fully fledged picnic and barbecue season is still a way off. However, Garden Trading has just the answer for bridging that seasonal gap.

The new Garden Room collection for spring encourages blending indoor and outdoor living, introducing a sense of flow from home to garden. Style wise, there’s more than a nod to the past, with macramé accessories and cane furniture bringing a retro 1970s feel to the collection, along with leafy greens, natural materials and woven textures. An update to Garden Trading’s popular all-weather nest chair is a shining example.

YOUR CHANCE TO WIN

A great blend of modern and nostalgic, the new hanging nest chair looks as at home in a living room or conservatory as it would in an orangery. And with its PE bamboo base, it’s safe to find it a home in the garden, too. Wherever you choose to keep it, this prize is set to become your favourite perch for a little time out all spring and summer long. Discover the full spring collection at gardentrading.co.uk.

HOW TO ENTER For your chance to win a hanging nest chair worth £350 from Garden Trading, click the button below to answer the folliowing question:

Q: Garden Trading’s macramé accessories and cane furniture bring a retro feel to the collection. But from what decade in particular?

Closing date: 10 April 2019.

TERMS AND CONDITIONS

The competition closes at 11.59pm on 10 April 2019. A winner will be selected at random from all correct entries received and notified soon afterwards. The prize cannot be swapped for cash or exchanged. Details of our full terms are on page 129 and online at icebergpress.co.uk/comprules.

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Playlist | Songs to greet the day

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Listen at thesimplethings.com/blog/morningplaylist

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Recipe: carrot houmous

Photography: Ryland Peters & Small

Shop-bought houmous comes in many flavours. This roasted carrot version is brilliant with savoury pancakes.

Serves 8

500g carrots, peeled and roughly chopped

1 tbsp olive oil

200g chickpeas

1 small garlic clove, crushed

Squeezed juice of 1/2 lemon

3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

1⁄4 tsp ground cumin

1 Preheat oven to 180C/Fan 160C/Gas 4 and line a roasting pan with baking parchment.

2 Place the carrots, olive oil, salt, pepper and 1 tbsp of water into the prepared pan, cover with foil and roast for 40 mins until tender. Set aside to cool.

3 Drain the chickpeas, reserving 3 tbsp of their liquid. In a food processor blitz the carrots, chickpeas and reserved liquid, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, cumin and some salt and pepper until smooth.

4 Serve, spread on the turmeric pancakes you can find in the February issue of The Simple Things, topped with seasonal raw veg, herbs and salad.

Recipe from Modern Pancakes (Ryland Peters & Small).

More fresh recipes for March…

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Why we love: rereading childhood books

Losing yourself in a good book is one of life’s great pleasures… rediscovering an old one is pure joy

In our March issue, to celebrate World Book Day, some of The Simple Things’ staff have talked about their favourite childhood books.

We’d love to hear about the books that have stayed with you since childhood, too - why you loved them, whether you have reread them as an adult, and what it was about them that made them so special. Please share your Malory Towers memories, Narnia nostalgia and Roald Dahl reminiscences with us in the comments below.

To whet your appetite, here’s our Blog Editor, Iona Bower’s choice:

The Borrowers 
by Mary Norton

Read by Iona Bower (blog editor) aged seven

Who, when they are small, could fail to love a story about little people lording it over big people? I was completely rapt by this tale of tiny folk who lived beneath the kitchen floor, making use of the everyday items of ‘human beans’ and repurposing them: cotton reels to sit on, matchboxes for chests of drawers… to this day I’d still love a living room decorated with giant paper made from sheets of handwritten letters.  

The book’s a proper thriller, too; I devoured the second half in more or less one go. It’s also a tale that never ages. Published in 1952, read it now and you’d swear it was an allegory for the current refugee crisis. I’ve read it as an adult, and what struck me was the very complex narrative structure for a children’s book. It has a framed narrative (which I credit for my later obsession with Wuthering Heights). It’s told by someone called ‘Kate’ but you’re never sure if that is her name, and she’s recounting a story by Mrs May, who is in turn recounting 
her brother’s story of meeting the borrowers. Still with us? Good. Because the story ends halfway through the book. The rest is mere conjecture. 

And that’s what I love about it. You know nothing. It’s a huge leap of faith but no one reads The Borrowers (even the gut-wrenching twist of a last line, which I won’t reveal) and doesn’t ‘just know’ they are real. My son read it at the same age. I knew he’d finished it when he came thundering downstairs demanding: “Are there more Borrowers books? It says in the back that there are. Are the borrowers real? Are they ok?”  And I said, “I don’t know. You’d better read the others and decide.” The Borrowers is a book that makes readers. Give that Mary Norton a medal

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