Banana Tea Bread

Lorna Whyte

It was a summers day in the 1980's, our family consisted of me (mum) plus 2 boys, Simon was 9 years old and Lee just five, we were on what was then called Social Security. That's 'Benefits' to the uninitiated, our claim to fame was being the first single parent family in our street. It had only taken a couple of years of married life for me to make the decision that it was not for me, and rightly or wrongly I felt it would be better for the boys growing up without their father living with us. When he realised that I meant business, he disappeared for 4 years. His family claimed they new nothing about his whereabouts, later on I discovered that he moved to small remote village in the north of Scotland.

Obviously money was tight, devising all kinds of ways to keep money in our possession became a challenge, I even managed to save a bit for the odd day out. The kids got bathed in the kitchen sink using a couple of kettles of water, a lot of our clothes were bought from jumble sales, or made from scratch using the treadle Singer sewing machine. Feeding two growing boys with healthy filling food was another challenge. A friend lived in Holland and when I worked over there in my early twenties I ate dinner with them quite a bit. I must say I wasn't all that interested in food at the time, but she was always making different meals with mince. Well, that experience came in handy, what I could do with a half pound of mince was nobody's business. Meatballs, meatloaf, burgers, there was even a soup with balls of mince floating around in it along with noodles. Usually, it was served with loads of tatties and fresh veg from the van.

The fruit and veg van came round every Tuesday and Friday. Gerry, the man who owned it was about my age, in his early thirties, about 5ft 8ins tall with a grizzly Adam's beard and masses of dark frizzy hair, he kept his back ramrod straight, as if he was having trouble balancing his large belly. His hands were strong and calloused, invariably grubby, as were his clothes, no doubt from lifting wooden crates onto the van, filling it with the days profits. By the looks of it, the old and rusty transit had been picked up for next to nothing at the auctions. I bet he knew a man, who knew a man, who could sell him an M.O.T. Two wobbly steps took me into the rear, where there was just enough room to stand and view the shelves which held various fruit and veg. On the counter he had those old fashioned scales, where you put weighted round disks on one side, while the other side held an ample stainless steel scoop.

I was out regularly to see what he had on offer, see what my purse could afford. From my vantage point in the queue I would watch him, talking shyly to his customers, always respectful and polite, smiling under the beard.

Those were the days when you could only buy what was in season, so every couple of months something different would be proudly displayed on the counter. Even something as mundane as turnip was an adventure, they appeared coming up for Burns Night and I immediately thought of tatties and neeps with spicy haggis. More exotic fruit like strawberries came into view in the summer months. My mouth would salivate when he placed two or three punnets strategically on the counter, the smell caught my breath as I stepped onto the van. I waited patiently until further into the season when he brought the price down and occasionally they were in the reduced basket. 'What a joy', in the kitchen I washed them lovingly, cut them into quarters sprinkling them with vanilla sugar, then placed in the fridge for as long as possible, preferably overnight, (if we could wait that long). Sweet and juicy, served with ice cream they were to die for.

For some reason unknown to me, bananas seemed to be the number one fruit for going rotten. He would put a dozen or so in polly bags, which he sold off for 20p. They looked awful, black and slimy, but you got a lot for your money. This day he told me when they were in that condition they were really sweet and great for baking, encouraging me to buy them.

Before Delia, there was the Be-ro Book; it was the only book on baking I possessed, I'd found it years ago in my mothers kitchen drawer, the pages stuck together with bits of pastry and uncooked egg. I loved making scones and my boys loved eating them. Adding a teaspoon of mixed spice to the mixture, gave it a hint of the exotic, (remember it's the 80's and I'm on the Social). I put them in the oven about 10 minutes before the boys got out from school, so this wonderful smell of home baking filled the house, just as they were walking through the front door. They came running in, jostling each other vying to be first in line. This day as a special treat strawberry jam and whipped cream sat beside them on the kitchen table. We cut them in two spread the jam thick on both pieces then smothered them with cream. They were delighted, but what about the banana's?

Inside the trusty Be-ro book there was a recipe for Banana Tea Bread, so I went to work on those over ripe banana's, making 3 banana loafs, with a wee bit of mixed spice they were delicious.

Its 30 years on and I still bake, for my grandchildren now, mostly cheesecake and carrot cake. Their faces light up, same as their dads did when my old scales come out for a baking session.