During the Stuart and Georgian times, in the UK, mince pies were a status symbol at Christmas. Very rich people liked to show off at their Christmas parties by having pies made in different shapes (stars, crescents, hearts, tears and flowers). The fancy shaped pies could often fit together a bit like a jigsaw! They also looked like the ‘knot gardens’ that were popular during those periods. Having pies like this meant you were rich and could afford to employ the best, and most expensive, pastry cooks.
Mince Pies, like Christmas Puddings, were originally filled with meat, such as lamb, rather than the dried fruits and spices mix as they are today. They were also first made in an oval shape to represent the manger that Jesus slept in as a baby, with the top representing his swaddling clothes. Sometimes they even had a ‘pastry baby Jesus’ on the top! Now they are normally made in a round shape and are eaten hot or cold.
A custom from the Middle Ages says that if you eat a mince pie on every day from Christmas to Twelfth Night (evening of the 5th January) you will have happiness for the next 12 months!
On Christmas Eve, children in the UK often leave out mince pies with brandy or some similar drink for Father Christmas, and a carrot for the reindeer.
Here’s a recipe for Mince Pies
175g Sweet Shortcrust Pastry (see below) 225g (about 12 tablespoons) mincemeat icing sugar for dusting Sweet Shortcrust Pastry 225g plain flour pinch of salt 50g butter 50g lard or vegetable shortening 25g caster sugar 1 egg yolk a little water
Sift the flour and salt into a mixing bowl. Cut the fat into the flour and rub into a breadcrumb consistency. Mix in the sugar. Beat the egg yolk with 2 tablespoons water and stir in to bind to a fairly firm dough, adding a little more water as necessary. Knead lightly until smooth but do not overwork it. Leave to rest in the refrigerator or cool place for at least 30 minutes before rolling out.
(Makes 225g of pastry)
Roll out the pastry very thinly, 2.5 mm / 1/8 inch thick. Cut out 12 rounds with a plain or fluted cutter and grease the pastry trays / tins. Place a round in each section of the pastry tray / tin. Prick the bottom of each pie and put a teaspoon of mincemeat in each one. Damp the edges. Cut out 12 more rounds with a smaller cutter, cover the filling in each tart. Press down with the blunt end of the smaller cutter so the lids are secure. Cut a small cross in the centre of each lid to allow steam to escape.
Place the tarts on a baking sheet and bake in a preheated hot oven at 220°C / 425°F / Gas Mark 7 for 12 to 15 minutes or until well risen and golden. Dust generously with icing sugar and serve hot. When cold the tarts can be stored in an airtight container, or frozen.
Have a go at this festive Crossword Puzzle – the first person to send it in with all the correct answers will win a prize! Some of the clues are easy, but some are more difficult.
The crossword can be completed online on computers, but there’s no guarantee it will work on phones or tablets! Good luck 🙂
1. The place where Kanakaloka might bring you your presents (6) 2. Who King Herod killed (6) 4. Sound a cracker makes (4) 7. The first Carol: Angels ____ (4) 9. Hark the ______ Angels Sing (6) 10. What candles first represented on Christmas Trees (5) 11. _____ Peter who sometimes travels with St Nicholas (5) 12. What Epiphany is known as in Spain: ______ de los tres Reyes Mages (6) 14. Another name for things like a Nativity crib scene (4) 15. A decoration found in a lot of homes (4) 16. The instrument that Silent Night was learnt to (6) 17. Two of the legendary Wisemen had these (6)
1. Where a yule log is put to burn (6) 3. People who started Wassailing, the Anglo ______ (6) 5. The place where the thickest ice was found: The _________ (9) 6. One of the gifts from the Magi (4) 8. A plant you can kiss under! (9) 11. The 26th of December is also known as ______ Day (6) 12. Some people do this during advent to help them prepare for Christmas (4) 13. Who told the Shepherds about Jesus? (6)
Over lockdown, Dr Parolin introduced me to the Stephen Spender Trust’s competition for poetry in translation. I couldn’t wait to get started, as it brought together two of my favourite things: poems and foreign languages. This year, the competition had more than 1300 entries. I submitted 3 poems translated from Italian, Latin and Polish. The Trust had a separate category called the Polish Spotlight; the spotlight is a strand of the competition for the UK’s community languages. Next year, for example, they are holding an Urdu Spotlight! I was extremely happy to find out that I had been commended in the U18 Polish Spotlight for my translation of Adam Zagajewski’s ‘I dlatego’! As a result, I was given the opportunity to attend a brilliant poetry workshop, with award winning poet Kate Clanchy. I also got be a part of an online awards’ evening on the 18th November. It was such a great experience, and I would urge anyone with an interest in MFL to enter next year.
I dlatego – Adam Zagajewski
And that’s why – translation by Skye Slatcher
I dlatego chodziłem korytarzami Tych wielkich muzeów Patrząc na obrazy świata Na których Dawid jest niewinny jak harcerz Goliat zasługuje na nikczemną śmierć A na płótnach Rembrandta panuje wieczny półmrok Półmrok niepokoju i skupienia I przechodziłem od sali do sali Podziwiając portrety cynicznych kardynałów W rzymskiej purpurze Ekstatyczne chłopskie wesela Namiętnych graczy w karty albo w kości Oglądając żaglowce bitwy i chwile pojednania I dlatego chodziłem korytarzami Tych sławnych muzeów tych nieziemskich pałaców Próbując zrozumieć ofiarę Izaaka Smutek Marii i pogodne niebo nad Sekwaną I zawsze wracałem na wielkomiejską ulicę Gdzie wciąż trwały szaleństwo cierpienie i śmiech − Jeszcze nie namalowane.
And that’s why I walked the corridors Of these big museums Looking at paintings of the world On which David is as innocent as a boy scout And Goliath deserves fate worse than death Or on Rembrandt’s canvases an eternal dusk reigns A dusk of anxiety and focus And I walked hall to hall Admiring the portraits of cynical cardinals In Roman purple Joyous peasant weddings Passionate players of cards or dice Looking at sailing battles and moments of reconciliation And that’s why I walked the corridors Of these famous museums of these unearthly palaces Trying to understand Isaac’s sacrifice Mary’s sorrow and the serene skies over the Seine And I always returned to the metropolitan streets Where the chaos suffering and laughter continued – Not yet painted.
In these peculiar times of isolation and social-distancing, one form of entertainment I have found particularly comforting is a virtual museum or art gallery tour. So, when I was browsing the curated selection of poetry for the Polish Spotlight, and came across ‘I dlatego’ by Adam Zagajewski, I knew I had to choose it. It reflects on the beauty of paintings, concluding with a memorable statement about our lives, ‘not yet painted’.
One challenge I faced, while translating, was retaining the tone that Zagajewski introduces. The poem has a sort of reminiscent, contemplative mood; keeping this was very important. Therefore, I tried to stay as close as possible to the exact imagery in the original, as this plays a key part in setting the atmosphere.
I found that ‘panuje’ was a difficult word to translate, on line 6. ‘Panuje’ can mean ‘there is’, however I didn’t think that this was the best translation – I wanted to ensure the line was as poetic in English as in Polish. I chose to use the verb ‘reigns’ instead, as this maintains prominence of the dusk in the Rembrandt painting.
Often, we see Zagajewski using alliteration, for example /p/ on line 6. I decided that I would not keep this in my version, because I couldn’t find the appropriate words to fit both the tone of the poem and the repetition of a letter.
I think that the poem in its entirety poses a challenge to the translator as well as the reader. Zagajewski leaves the reason for the speaker’s journey through the museum to the imagination. He/she could be looking for inspiration, an escape from reality. To me, however, it speaks of searching for something in a painting that he is missing in his own life, a sense of peace and tranquillity.
Auschwitz – Salvatore Quasimodo
Auschwitz – translation by Skye Slatcher
Laggiù, ad Auschwitz, lontano dalla Vistola, amore, lungo la pianura nordica, in un campo di morte: fredda, funebre, la pioggia sulla ruggine dei pali e i grovigli di ferro dei recinti: e non albero o uccelli nell’aria grigia o su dal nostro pensiero, ma inerzia e dolore che la memoria lascia al suo silenzio senza ironia o ira.
There, at Auschwitz, far from the Vistula, My love, on the northern plain, In a field of death: frore, funereal, The rain on the rusted posts And the tangled iron of the fences: And not a tree, not a bird in the grey air, Or above our thoughts, but passivity And pain, which memory abandons To its silence, without irony, without anger.
Tu non vuoi elegie, idilli: solo ragioni della nostra sorte, qui, tu, tenera ai contrasti della mente, incerta a una presenza chiara della vita. E la vita è qui, in ogni no che pare una certezza: qui udremo piangere l’angelo il mostro le nostre ore future battere l’al di là, che è qui, in eterno e in movimento, non in un’immagine di sogni, di possibile pietà. E qui le metamorfosi, qui i miti. Senza nome di simboli o d’un dio, sono cronaca, luoghi della terra, sono Auschwitz, amore. Come subito si mutò in fumo d’ombra il caro corpo d’Alfeo e d’Aretusa!
You do not want elegies, nor idylls: only A reason for our fate, here, You, sensitive to the conflicts of the mind, Unsure of a clear presence Of life. And life is here, In every ‘no’ that appears a certainty: Here, we can hear the crying of an angel, the monster, The hours of our future Beating at the beyond, which is here, in the eternity, And in motion, not in a vision Of dreams of possible pity. And here are the metamorphoses, here are the myths. Without the names of symbols or gods, These are chronicles, places on earth, These are Auschwitz, my love. Just as suddenly The dear bodies of Alpheus and Arethusa Were changed into the smoke of shades!
Da quell’inferno aperto da una scritta bianca: ” Il lavoro vi renderà liberi ” uscì continuo il fumo di migliaia di donne spinte fuori all’alba dai canili contro il muro del tiro a segno o soffocate urlando misericordia all’acqua con la bocca di scheletro sotto le doccie a gas. Le troverai tu, soldato, nella tua storia in forme di fiumi, d’animali, o sei tu pure cenere d’Auschwitz, medaglia di silenzio?
From that hell, opened by a white Inscription: ‘Arbeit macht frei’ The continuous smoke spewed out, That of thousands of women pushed out At dawn from the kennels, into the wall Of execution, or suffocated, screaming For mercy in the water with mouths Like skeletons under the showers of gas. You will discover them, soldier, in your History, in the shape of rivers, creatures, Or are you, too, ashes of Auschwitz, Medal of silence?
Restano lunghe trecce chiuse in urne di vetro ancora strette da amuleti e ombre infinite di piccole scarpe e di sciarpe d’ebrei: sono reliquie d’un tempo di saggezza, di sapienza dell’uomo che si fa misura d’armi, sono i miti, le nostre metamorfosi.
Long tresses rest enclosed in urns Of glass, still bound by amulets, And the endless shadows of little shoes, And Jewish shawls; they are relics Of a time of wisdom, of knowledge Of a man measured by arms They are the myths, they are our metamorphoses.
Sulle distese dove amore e pianto marcirono e pietà, sotto la pioggia, laggiù, batteva un no dentro di noi, un no alla morte, morta ad Auschwitz, per non ripetere, da quella buca di cenere, la morte.
On the expanses, where love and tears And pity rot in the rain, There, a ‘No’ pounding within us, A ‘No’ to death, dead at Auschwitz, Not to repeat, from that pit Of ashes, death.
Auschwitz by Quasimodo tells the reader of the horrors of the Holocaust. I decided to translate this poem, because, having visited Auschwitz myself, it was one I felt the most connection to. While I cannot imagine the terrible things he went through, I walked the same path as he would have, and I saw the same watchtowers and ‘tangled iron of the fences’. The poem is filled with metaphors, for example Alpheus and Arethusa, which is a reference to classical mythology, not surprising considering Quasimodo’s background in Latin and Greek translation, and creates an extremely moving atmosphere.
During the process of translation, I did face some challenges, for example the translation of ‘un campo’. In Italian, this can be interpreted as both a field and a concentration camp. While in the context of Auschwitz, concentration camp may have been the most obvious choice, I chose field, because, in the Italian, Quasimodo creates the assonance of f (‘fredda, funebre’) and I wanted to keep this. It also continues the image of the ‘plain’. Similarly, I chose ‘frore’ rather than ‘cold’ for ‘fredda’, as it used the f and sounded more poetic.
Lines 25-26 were also a challenge, due to the difference of word order in Italian and English. I chose therefore to switch the lines to ensure that my translation didn’t sound like an originally English poem.
Another difficult decision I had to make was the translation of ‘muro del tiro a segno’, which is literally ‘wall of target practice’, though this is not poetic and ‘practice’ sounded like the Nazis could miss or let people live, and this was not the case. I chose ‘the wall of execution’, because, although I lose Quasimodo’s metaphor, it is brutally direct, which was my intention, and it doesn’t take away from the meaning.