The Teddington Gardener

A Grand Day Out – 100th Wensleydale Agricultural Show, Leyburn, North Yorkshire. And a Poem/Paeon to the Yorkshire Pudding

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A Grand Day Out – 100th Wensleydale Agricultural Show, 23rd August 2014

Leyburn, North Yorkshire

A traditional agricultural show – rather a very excellent Agricultural Show with sheep, cows, horses (and carts) and poultry on show, sheep dog trials, baking to outshine any Bake-Off, knitting, painting and home crafts being expertly judged, tractors and steam engines, vintage cars and bouncy castles, motor cycle dare devils and aerial acrobatics, fudge and enormous leeks, polished onions and dazzling dahlias, bacon butties and what a Grand Day Out it was.

I feel that the pictures from the Horticultural Marquee allow me the right to include all of the other photographs, since the fruit and vegetables on show were fantastic, with floral arrangements that were often outstanding too. Very, very competitive, I’m sure, so I am glad to be a spectator (though I might have a Kirstie Allsopp moment if the opportunity ever arose!).

By way of a final poem for this Yorkshire Odyssey, something lighter

Yorkshire Pudding

Yorkshire Pudding
Eh waiter, excuse me a minute
I’m not findin’ fault, but dear me
‘taties is lovely and beef is alreit
But what sort of pudding can this be?

It’s what? Yorkshire Puddin’? Now cum cum cum cum
It’s Yorkshire Puddin’ yer say?
I’ll grant yer it’s some sort o’ puddin’, owd lad
But not THE Yorkshire Puddin’, nay, nay.

Now reit Yorkshire Puddin’s a poem in batter,
T’mek it’s an art, not a trade
So just listen t’ me and I’ll tell t’ thee
How t’ first Yorkshire puddin’ were made

A young angel wi day off from ‘eaven,
Were flyin’ abaht Ilkla Moor,
When t’ angel, poor thing, got cramp in a wing
An’ cum down at an owd women’s door.

T’ owd woman said “Eee – it’s an angel.
By ‘eck, I’m fair capped to see thee.
I’ve noan seen yan afore – but tha’s welcome,
Come on in, an’ I’ll mash thi some tea.”

T’ angel said, “By gum, thank you kindly.”
Though she only supped one mug o’ tea,
She et two drippin’ slices and one Sally Lunn.
Angel’s eat very lightly yer see.

Then t’owd woman looked at clock sayin’
“Ey up, t’owd feller’s back soon from t’mill.
You gerron wi’ yer tea, but please excuse me,
As I’ll atter mek puddin’ fer Bill.”

Then t’ angel jumped up and said gie us it ‘ere,
Flour, water, eggs, salt an’ all,
An’ I’ll show thee ‘ow we meks puddins,
Up in ‘eaven for Saints Peter and Paul.

So t’ angel took bowl and stuck a wing in,
Stirring it round, whispering “Hush”
An’ she tenderly ticked at t’mixture,
Like an artist ed paint wi a brush.

Then t’owd woman asked ” ‘ere wor is it then,
T’secret o’ puddins made up above?”
“It’s nowt i’ flour or watta, said t’angel,
“Just mek sure that tha meks it wi’ luv.”

When it were done , she popped it i’ t’oven,
“Gie it nobbut ten minutes”, she said.
Then off t’angel flew, leavin’ first Yorkshire Puddin’,
That ivver were properly med.

An’ that why it melts in yer gob just like snow.
An’ as light as a maiden’s first kiss,
An’ as soft as the fluff on t’breast of a puff,
Not ELEPHANT’S LEATHER like this

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