The following is a true story about my Mother’s traditional English Christmas Cake…and how it saved my life and helped to sustain others….:and at the same time enhanced international relations………:)
In 1960 when I was 16 years old, my parents sent me to Holland for the summer. Travelling by ferry and train, I was to stay with friends who lived in the countryside outside of Eindhoven.
Before leaving my Mother made sure to pack some of her traditional Christmas Cake into my suitcase. No matter where I went this always happened. It was my Mother’s theory that if I got lost, or ran out of food, her cake would sustain me.
A traditional English Christmas Cake 
For those who are not familiar with traditional English Christmas Cake – a little more information.
My Mother made the cake months before Christmas every year. All manner of fruits and spices were mixed and liberally doused with brandy in order to preserve the cake.
During the several month standing process the cake would be fed with more alcohol during two week intervals…..then wrapped in a cheese cloth and put into a north facing pantry to settle. 
About two weeks before Christmas the cake would be covered in marzipan along with a thick white icing resembling snow….and then Christmas decorations added.
Given that the cake was very rich….there was always quite a lot left over….plus my Mother would make two cakes at a time….leaving one un-iced, filled with booze, waiting for any natural or man made disasters to occur!
After a wonderful summer in Holland…swimming in canals with local children, riding bicycles around the countryside – stopping at farms where we were given the most delicious fresh cheese and milk straight from the cow, and of course sketching…..even back then I carried a sketch book with me. Alas, it was time to return home.
This was the sort of canal we swam in…
I was put on a train heading towards the Ferry port at Calais France.
I am not sure when I realised that something was wrong…..I suppose when I arrived in Germany!!
In those days it was quite normal for trains to split – one end going to one country and the other to another, and this is what had happened. I got on the wrong end of the train.
This meant getting back on the right train, and then arriving at the Calais Ferry Terminal far too late to catch the ferry that my parents would be meeting me from at the Dover Ferry Terminal – which in turn meant a long wait.
And this is where Mother’s Traditional English Christmas Cake came into its own.
Calais France Ferry Terminal – just 29.4 miles from Dover UK. 
When I arrived at the Calais Terminal I joined many other young people from all around Europe sitting on the floor waiting for ferries.
Remember this was many years before fast food, mobile phones, and of course the Euro Star train – everything was simple and basic.
I was hungry as were many of my fellow travellers. I removed the tin containing Mother’s English Christmas Cake from my suit case and shared it with young people from around Europe. The Christmas cake brought us together.
Ferry docking at Dover Ferry Terminal 
After docking at the Dover Ferry Terminal, I found a policeman waiting for me. Clearly alerts had been sent out…..
The policeman took me and a young German boy I had befriended to the Dover Police Station. There we were given a slap up breakfast while we waited for my parents to arrive. I had assured the German boy that my parents would give him a lift to Canterbury and then he could hitch hike on to London. The German boy and I kept in touch for many years.
So what’s the moral of this story?
Be Prepared and always carry extra food – especially traditional English Christmas Cake.
(I was reminded of my story when recently a 100 year old fruit cake was found in Antarctica – perfectly preserved. I rest my case. )
I hope everyone enjoys a lovely holiday season and that we can all help one another during these difficult times. Janet 🙂
Mick Duff – photographer, musician
I was invited to their annual Yule celebration on the 21st December – celebrating the winter solstice. A lovely event, considered to be one of the most joyful celebrations of the year. 
For the first time in many years, I enjoyed carol singing. We went from house to house in one of the local villages and it was wonderful. I had forgotten how joyful an experience it is.
Leeds Castle – during the Solstice – The mid winter atmosphere was perfect. 
Geese in a row – Leeds Castle Kent
During this period, I realised that in so many ways we have lost touch with the rhythms and magic of each season.
Given the way we shop and live, we have come to believe that all fruits and vegetables are available at any time during the year.
All of this has brought to mind, the rapid and dramatic changes that have occurred for all of us during recent years.
Here is the lonely little cat wishing she could live in a nice warm cottage like the one across from her tree. 
“Sitting between mountains and watched by the moon, with magical hummingbirds weaving their love” this story takes place in The Magical Town of Crickadoon. 
During the long dark cold nights, every noise would give the little cat a fright, and sometimes she would cry.
One night when the winds began to roar and howl, the little cat had a visit from a wise old owl. The wise owl told the little cat to be patient and trust. To close her eyes and dream of magical hummingbirds.
The little cat began to make friends with the birds and animals that lived beneath her tree. After days of fun and play with her new friends the little cat would fall into a deep sleep and dream about finding a home of her own.
One of her new friends, a red robin, told the little cat that she would never be alone because hummingbirds were always near, helping her to find a new home of her own. 
One morning red robin and little cat woke to see that the Magical Town of Crickadoon was completely covered in snow. everywhere the little cat looked, there was a special glow.
Later that night when little cat was dreaming in her tree, a beautiful white hummingbird appeared. White hummingbird told little cat that there was nothing to fear, and that after a terrible storm, all would be clear. 
The next morning when the snow swirled and whirled and the winds roared and howled, the little cat felt so cold and alone was beginning to think that she would never find a home of her own. 
In her dreams the little cat heard White Hummingbird say – “Don’t give into your fear, soon all will be clear. – Follow the light through the storm and there you will find your home, so cosy and warm”. 
Janet the Artist scooped up little cat with tenderness and love, and from high above the Magical Town of Crickadoon, hummingbirds of every colour were flying under the moon. 
Janet the Artist named the little cat, Christeve the Cat because she had arrived on a very special Christmas Eve.
Christeve the Cat settled into her new home and sitting on her favourite chair. 
Christeve the Cat (on the left) with one of her friends sitting in her favourite place in the garden of her new home. 
I Lived in the States from 1966 til 1993 when I enjoyed many a happy Thanksgiving celebration. I always look upon this holiday with great affection.
We are reminded today to be thankful for each moment and grateful for all our blessings.
A Bientôt.
Mist over the Usk Valley – Wales – watercolour
Crug Howell – Usk Valley Wales – watercolour
A view from Curlews – overlooking the Usk Valley Wales – watercolour
Brecon Beacons Wales – watercolour/gouache
I will of course travel with the Magical Hummingbirds….
I have learned that the Iris symbolises love and wisdom – two elements that we can never have enough of…..
I add paint to the background and pull out certain areas with a clean wet brush….all the white areas showing are dry white paper.
I then decide to give the image more drama and add a dark wash into the negative space surrounding the Iris. I don’t use black…this dark is made up from a Burnt sienna/ Prussian Blue mix plus some of the purple I have used in the Iris. 
While the surface is wet, I scrape out some areas with a knife. I have also added a little Permanent White Gouache into the final frame….note how the gouache bleeds from the Irish into the surrounding paint.
My Life as an Artist (2) 