A Cup in the Hand

A Cup in the Hand

I have heard a friend say, recently, that a certain social event does not stir his cup of tea.  Could it be the wrong ingredients or is it a rejection of a long-established practice of having the cup of tea as central to many outings?

The Young Crossfield Ceili Band won an award at a recent Fleadh when they played the reel, “Cup of Tea”.  Katherine Mansfield wrote a short story in 1922 entitled “A Cup of Tea”.  In the story she recommended that the cuppa be accompanied with brandy.  To me, this was anathema; Didn’t I fail to walk home in a straight line from a neighbour’s wedding at ten years of age?  I had also seen the effects of a teaspoon of whiskey on a famishing, newly born, bonham.  Alcohol was out.

Kate’s cup of tea included the ideal solution, namely, cream; cream skimmed off the top of a setting bowl of milk in the press and formed while every human slept.  I was not a night visitor to her house when there was tea for everybody, but I qualified as a neighbour’s child and a sometimes shopper. Perhaps, this was the beginning of the ” early bird” customer.

The cup of tea and the scone had not yet begun their alliance.  The milk separator had not yet been invented; we considered ourselves to be lucky to have a pulper for turnips and mangolds and, of course, the wireless with its high aerial attached to the tall beech tree.

The cup of tea stood alone as we spouted out the news of the day, wondered what Frankie Byrne would come up with in “Dear Frankie” and which ceili band was due on Saturday night.  If invited to have a cup of tea, the standard reply was “maybe, a cup in the hand” or “if you are making it for yourself” in complete denial of the purpose of one’s visit.  A spoonful or two of sugar was a necessity, except during the sugar strike of 1946 when the sugar was added directly to the teapot.

It was the cream that made the difference and no mention of clogged arteries or diabetes.  Nobody prophesied about an oncoming wave of cholesterol.  Cream, without tea, was unheard of but accepted for levelling a Christmas Trifle.  We depended on all our cream to make butter, some of which would be sold.  Even cream in a trifle could be considered wasteful.  I will forever be grateful for the cream that enriched and stirred my cup of tea and to my neighbour Kate, whose unofficial cafe provided a softer landing to any new day.  Put on the kettle.