Family life: A dinner date, Sunshine of Your Smile and Nanny’s sponge cake
please note this post is not by Jay Clapp Photography but from the photography news at the guardian for your viewing pleasure please feel free to use the share buttons at the bottom.
Readers’ favourite photographs, songs and recipes
Snapshot: Mum and Dad on a night out
This is a picture of my parents in the early 1960s – they look young, glamorous and happy. This wasn’t the first time my dad had asked my mum out; that was a few years earlier in the lift at City Lit, an adult education college in London. Mum had started doing a law degree at evening class, which she never managed to finish.
I don’t know where the picture was taken (another thing I wish I had asked when I had the chance). It looks as if Dad had splashed out on a fancy restaurant to impress her.
Despite the ups and downs of life, Mum always said he made her laugh.
They are both gone now, my dad 10 years ago and my mum only last April. When we (her three children) were sorting through the documents on her computer – she was one of the original silver surfers – we found some poems she had written about Dad. I knew she loved poetry, but not that she had written any.
I was lucky enough to be with her when she died. I held her hand and read her one of her favourite poems and she slipped away. This is one of the poems she wrote about our dad.
If only I could stroke your face
and see you smile
your ears fold back.
If only you could see your children,
and see yourself in them
as I do now.
Thank G-d I had time to say
Thank you for those happy years –
children, grandchildren too
your face puckered up
You spoke no more to me.
Sometimes you’d say to me
“Will you miss me when I’m gone?”
I’d say … low key –
“There’ll be a big hole where you were”
Well, there is – and it’s a very big hole …
Now there’s a big hole where they both were, for their children and their whole family. Naomi Thomson
Playlist: My world lit up by your smile
Sunshine of Your Smile by Mike Berry
“Give me a smile, the love light in your eyes, / Life could not hold a sweeter paradise. / Give me the right to love you all the while, / My world for ever, the sunshine of your smile”
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Of course you don’t know this, as I’ve never told you, and besides I doubt if you have even heard this song before. I played it again the other day, for the first time in ages. No change: all those memories came flooding back once more, quite literally.
Separation from your child is a tough thing to expect your little girl to understand, and I wonder if you ever realised just how it affected me. A dad is supposed to be big, strong and protective, and certainly not seen to be touched by the words of a song that remind him of his little girl’s smiling, happy face, and instantly making the tears run down his face.
When you were only four, we were destined to spend a very long time arranging Saturday meet-ups, when we would relish a day in each other’s company. Mostly we would walk, talk, shop (your favourite pastime), ride our bikes, go to the cinema and do all the things Saturday Dads do.
Much later, I recall the day you were joining your school pals for a trip to the movies, a Saturday afternoon when you were cutting our visit short and your new boyfriend was going to be there. That was the day I knew I was losing my little girl, and from then on things would be different.
I can still see this smile when I look at my beautiful granddaughters, but I loved you then and I love you still because of that sunshine in your smile.
We love to eat: My nanny’s sponge
Four eggs weighed in their shells
Same weight of caster sugar
Same weight of margarine
Same weight of self-raising flour
Splash of milk
Preheat the oven to 180C/gas mark 4. Line two round sponge tins with baking paper. Cream the sugar and margarine together. Add the eggs, but don’t over mix. Add the flour and mix. Then add the splash of milk and stir in. Pour the mix into the cake tins. Place in oven and wait for 20 minutes (maybe have a little sit and a cigarette, if that is your thing). You will know when they are done when you press the middle and it springs back up. Turn out to cool, and sandwich together with a filling of your choice.
My maternal grandmother, or “Nanny” to her five grandchildren taught me how to cook. And I love to cook, and so have much to thank her for. Her food was solid, hearty fare, made with love and regular cigarette breaks.
I often used to go her house when I was a child to escape my rather noisy family. Nanny and Grampy would always be happy to have me stay and, when I wasn’t playing behind the drinks bar (complete with tiled roof) in the lounge, I was in the kitchen making all types of food with Nanny.
Dinner was always at lunchtime at the table, and tea was on our laps in front of Emmerdale and the fire. Sponge cakes were often a feature of those on-lap meals, along with my favourite, salad cream on toast (give it a go) and a piece of fruit. My husband and I often have this type of “bits and pieces” tea on a Sunday evening and it is my favourite meal of the week.
This cake isn’t exotic or showy, but it is reliable and comforting, much like the woman who taught me to make it, and whom I miss every time I bake it.
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via Art and design: Photography | guardian.co.uk http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2013/apr/13/night-out-sunshine-smile-sponge Thanks for reading Jay
Posted on April 13, 2013, in Photography News and tagged Art and design: Photography | guardian.co.uk, arts, guardian, IFTTT, info, information, journal, news, newspaper, photo, photography. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.