The smell of baking bread...

[bryna]

Anne Bassett smiled, whacking the lump of dough down on the counter with a resounding thud. As the cloud of flour settled, she set about kneading it, folding it and flattening it out again, over and over. It was a long time until she was satisfied, but eventually, she lifted up the whole ball of floury dough, dropped it into a baking tin, and slid it under a dishcloth.

There was already a good batch of six loaves in the oven, as well as two sponge cakes, but it didn't much matter to her. She was alone, for once, in the kitchen - no interfering staff, no pupils coming to annoy her, and she was even glad that Kate wasn't there. She was alone, she didn't have anything much to do, and so she was doing what she most liked to; she was baking.

Scones next; she reached for her mixing bowl and the box of flour. As she added this and that, a little cinnamon here, a little dried apricot there, she started whistling to herself. Scones were one of her favourite things to make, especially fruit scones, and she would be able to take at least some of them home this time - to the best of her knowledge, there was no good reason why anyone was going to order the eight batches of scones she was planning - so it was all the better.

All in all, she was pretty happy with the way things were going. Breaking off her mixing to tug the oven open, pull out the six loaves and slide in four more, she was so contented that she started singing happily as she slammed each scone out onto the floured counter.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair..." Bam "Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme..." Bam, bam, bam, bam

The kitchen echoed with her voice and the sound of the dough hitting the side.

"...Who once was a true love of mine!"

[Ayu]

Amira paused at the door, hearing the song filling the air. She smiled. She'd never learnt many English folk songs, and her children did love them so. She could only sing the songs her mother had taught her, passed down for centuries. In Persian.
But at the back of her mind was the nagging thought that Anne singing meant Anne wanting to be alone. Which would be fine if it weren't for the long-standing arrangement which enabled Amira to grab the tiny slot of totally free time in order to prepare the evening's meal.
Eventually, after four verses, she decided to face the wrath of Anne. Quietly she pushed the door open and cleared her throat.

[bryna]

"Tell him to cut it with a sickle of leather, parsley, sage, rosemary and thy- oh." Anne spun on her heel, shoving the second tray of scones violently into the oven and kicking it closed. Her smile vanishing, she glared at the intruder for a moment before even realising who it was.

When she did, her expression softened slightly. She had something of a soft spot for Amira, if only because the younger woman at least asked before barging into Anne's kitchen. Not enough to stop her scowling, but enough that there was no real menace there. Besides, she was still in something of a good mood, even if her sanctuary had been broken into, so she settled for a bitter shrug.

"There's some cold mutton under that plate, if you want some," she said, then turned back around, stony-faced, and slid the cakes out of the oven. "I've already made the supper," she added to the baking trays, "so anything else not plated up is free for the taking."

She stood there quietly for a moment, staring into the open oven, then slammed it shut again and straightened up. Quietly, she started singing again.

"And when he has done and has finished his work, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, then let him come for his cambric shirt, and he'll be a true love of mine..."

[Ayu]

"Thank you," Amira replied quietly, her voice thickly layered with the accent which made it painfully obvious that she'd learnt English from a book. She'd been in England for four years now, but her voice was very foreign.
She gave Anne an apologetic smile and went over to the cupboard in which her spices were stored. Taking down the carved wooden box, she walked over to the counter and opened it, letting out the exotic scent of twenty different spices. The colourful powders which filled the compartments of the little box didn't come cheap, being shipped from the East, but they were what she knew how to cook with.
She borrowed a pan from the draining board and set to chopping vegetables into it, shredding a slice of the mutton and chucking it in as well. Her mind fixed on the task and hand, she too began to sing, quieter than Anne. It was a soft, smooth melody, which she sang to her daughters when they were little. "To hamayonande khorshidi, haer keh beh to, biendi-i-isham, ruzeam monaev ver es, lotfean, dair eshghaim beh to sheik naikon. Aiz vaighti keh didaimet donyaam ka-a-aamel shodeh, lotfean, dair eshghaim beh to sheik naikon..." You are like the sun, thinking of you brightens my day, do not doubt my love. Since I found you my world has been complete, do not doubt my love.
She sprinkled saffron and turmeric into the vegetables and went to put the pan on the range. "May I?"

[bryna]

Anne shrugged. "Go ahead," she replied bluntly, turning to a nearby cupboard and pulling out a pig's head. Tugging a drawer open, she pulled out a large carving knife, sharpened it quickly on the sharpener hanging by her head, and slammed the pig's head down on a chopping board with a meaty thud. "That's a nice song," she said over her shoulder as she started slicing the fatty meat off the snout. "What does it mean?"

After a moment, she tossed the slithery pieces of snout into a large pot next to her, and wiped her bloody hands on her skirt before turning her attention to the pig's cheeks, which were rather less fatty. The knife slid through the meat easily, guided by her strong hands, but it still made a rather nasty noise. It didn't take long for the pig's head to look thoroughly un-piglike.

"Wheear 'ast ta bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee? On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at... Wheear 'ast ta bin sin' ah saw thee, ah saw thee? Wheear 'ast ta bin sin' ah saw thee? On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at, on Ilkla Mooar baht 'at..." she started, smirking, as she tossed the next handful of meat into the pot and reached for the kettle. "Tha's bahn' to catch thy deeath o` cowd, o' cowd, on Ilkla Mooar baht 'at..."

She glanced sidelong at Amira, then turned her attention back to the brawn, still grinning. "Then we shall ha' to bury thee, to bury thee, on Ilkla Mooar baht 'at..."

((Remember that one?))

[Ayu]

With a smile, Amira began to mix up the vegetables over the heat, putting in a little water and a little oil as she brought it to the boil. "It's a love song. The chorus is 'Do not doubt my love'." She tucked her hair back, scraping at the bottom of the pot, and sang again, "Lotfean, dair eshghaim beh to sheik naikon."
She added a few more pinches of various spices, turning the mixture crimson, then reddish-orange, then buttercup yellow. It had already begun to bubble and smelt wonderful. Splashing in a few more drops of oil, she gave it a good stir and left it to simmer.
While she searched through 'her' cupboard for rice, she said to Anne, "I liked that song. The one you were singing before. Could you teach me it? I think Roya and Haifa would like to hear." Her questing hands located the twisted paper bag and she lifted it out carefully. Like the spices, rice wasn't the easiest thing to buy on a low budget, but with a little flatbread and a little rice, she could make a brilliant meal.

((I remember them all. 'Oh lordy, pick a bit o' cotton, oh lordy, pick a bit a day' 'Australian dogs they have no tails, heave away, heave away' 'I can a-zimbazimbazimba, I can a-zimbazimbazee'))

[bryna]

"What, Scarborough Fair?" Anne shrugged, picking up the remains of the pig's head and wrapping it in greased paper; she could use what little was left later. Dodging past Amira, she slid the kettle off its hook by the door and vanished outside. When she got back in, a few minutes later, she slid the now-full kettle onto the stove next to Amira's pan, then wiped her hands on her skirt again, pulled the oven open, and pulled out the first tray of scones, now perfectly cooked and with their tops a pale golden-brown.

"What were you saying, sorry? Oh, aye, the song. It's a love song, too. In a manner of speaking." She smiled, thinking about a certain gentleman who had sung it to her once, long ago, when she was just a village girl and he was just a young man from the far-off city. Then, because thinking about her and her Tom as they were then always gave rise to thoughts of how that particular story had ended, her smile faded and she went back to the mixing bowl with a sigh.

"The first verse," she said, after a moment in which she was uncharacteristically silent, "goes, Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme... that bit is in every verse... Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine. 'She once was a true love of mine', that's in every verse too, or something like it."

Wasn't there one about a wheel? I seem to remember the tune and the actions, but not the words... [/size]

[Ayu]

Tipping the rice out onto the scales carefully, not spilling a grain, Amira smiled at the older woman, a touch of worry in her eyes. But sympathy to Anne always seemed about as useful as a glass of water to a drowning man. She checked the measurements and scooped a bit back into the bag, pouring the rest of the rice into a pan of water to stand.

"They're always love songs, aren't they?" she remarked wryly. Both of them being widows, Amira felt that Anne might understand a little when she talked about love and loss. On the other hand, of course, Amira hadn't really ever been in love. From what she gathered, which wasn't very much, Anne truly had loved her husband.

She chuckled, putting the rice on to boil. "Carry on."

[bryna]

Anne shrugged. "Love songs are easier to sing," she replied, laying the hot scones out on a cooling rack. "Ilkley Moor isn't a love song, anyway." She smiled, a little wryly. "One of the reasons I like it, aye?"

For a moment, she kept on arranging the scones on the rack, then she turned her head back over her shoulder to look at Amira. "Oh, aye, the song. Uh... where was I? Oh, right... um, Tell her to make me a cambric shirt, parsley, sage rosemary, and thyme, without any seams or overwork, and she'll be a true love of mine. Stupid verse. That's definitely possible." She snorted. "Actually, most of this stuff's possible. It's a pretty stupid song. But then you get the woman's bit..." Grinning, she pulled the oven door open, waving aside the steam that billowed out and pulling out a large flat loaf.

After a moment, she started singing again, as clearly as she could. "Tell him to find me an acre of land, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, between the sea shore and the sea strand, and he'll be a true love of mine... Tell him to plough it with one ram's horn, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, and sow it all over with one peppercorn..." She broke off suddenly, laughing. "Where I come from, that was our way of saying somebody'd gone gathering nuts in May. So-and-so and Whatshisface have gone off to sow peppercorns."

[Ayu]

Clearing her worktop, Amira smiled. "You'll have to teach me that too, someday. Almost all the songs I know are love songs or hymns."

She repeated the lines under her breath, and nodded. "No, it's not. I don't think. But you can't find an acre between shore and strand, and you can only sow a peppercorn once."

Paper rustled as she shuffled the rice bag into place, and her face broke into a grin, a low chuckle coming from deep inside her. "That's a good saying, right? We didn't have either of those. We said they were going to the market." She shrugged. "Not that that happened much."

[bryna]

"Happened all the time back home." Anne chuckled, lifting the kettle of the stove as at began to whistle, and poured the steaming water over the brawn in the pan. "Common as muck, mind, we were. Still am, come to that. Our Kate'll be a lady yet, though - maybe not a... normal lady, but she'll make something of herself. She's sharp." She grinned. "Whereas her mam natters on about the first thing that comes into her head, whatever that may be. I can't keep on the subject for more'n five minutes."

Pulling a bowl towards her, she whipped the teatowel off the top, wiped her hands on her skirt, and slammed the dough down on the sideboard, knocking it back neatly and kneading it as she spoke. "But, I mean, you've got kids, right? You know what it's like?" She laughed. "I'm probably all wrong 'bout Kate. She'll probably end up mudlarking on the Thames again before she's sixteen. I'm damn sure she'll not marry a lord or anything. But she is a smart girl, and she's stubborn. She'll make something of her life." Flipping the dough over, she slammed it back down onto the floured worktop, and her rueful, "More than her mam, anyway," was all but lost in the crashing.

[Ayu]

Amira laughed, leaning on the cupboards as she watched the bubbling pans on the range carefully. "Your Kate is certainly sharp, Anne. She knows how to take care of herself, too. I often wonder if I might spoil Roya and Haifa a little bit too much." She sighed. "But they aren't going to have it easy, are they, any more than Kate is? Being Persian and not rich, you know."

She pushed herself off the cupboard with a sigh and gave the curry a stir before taking the rice off the boil. "I do think they'll do well. Yours and mine. They aren't the kind of girls to let the world give them second best." Draining the rice, she gave Anne a sympathetic smile. "We haven't done too badly, you know, Anne. We've both got steady jobs and wonderful daughters, and we've both got our freedom. You've got more than the richest women back in Pakistan, I'm telling you."

[bryna]

"Oh, aye," Anne nodded, smiling. "I've got everything I need, right here, and alll the better for not always having had it. But it'll not be enough for Kate. Like you said, she won't go for second best." She laughed and looked over at Amira. "Kate'll charge through a brick wall to get what she wants. She'll definitely charge through other people. As for spoiling yours... well, I wish I'd had the chance to spoil our Kate."

Still smiling, she started to hum again. "Do us a favour,would you, love?" she added after a moment, reaching over to grab an oven glove and tossing it at Amira. "Top shelf in the oven, there's a fruit cake. Get it out for me, would you? I don't want it to burn while I'm doing this, and it should be pretty perfect by now."