Monthly Archives: September 2025

The Vegetable that Won the War

The Vegetable that Won the War

“Les carrottes sont cuites, je répète, les carrottes sont cuites.”

For those of you who still remember a bit of the French you learned at school, yes, I have just informed you that the carrots are cooked. It comes from an old French saying based on cookery. In a stew, the carrots are the last vegetable to cook, once that is done the stew is ready. In French this has developed into an expression meaning that something is completed and nothing can undo it. If you were in the French Resistance and had heard that message on the BBC on June 5 1944, you would have known that the invasion was coming next day.

I was actually looking for information of frozen carrots when I found that snippet about D-Day. The hot weather, and thoughts of healthy eating, brought tales of wartime ice cream substitutes to mind. For a moment, I thought of making some authentic WW2 frozen carrots and eating them as a healthy alternative to ice cream. It wasn’t one of those lasting thoughts.

In 1914 we were caught out, as we imported 66% of our food from abroad. In April 1917, despite the limited capabilities of Great War U-Boats, we were reduced to six week’s supply of wheat, We weren’t any better in 1939, with 70% of our food coming from abroad. It’s 38% these days, in case you were wondering. We were, however, more experienced in the ways of rationing, shortages and blockades, and were much better placed to cope with wartime constraints. By the end of the war people were actually healthier on average than they had been at the beginning.

A number of old-fashioned vegetables made a comeback, such as Good King Henry, also known as Poor Man’s Asparagus or Lincolnshire Spinach. It can be eaten as young stalks or as mature leaves and its pollen has been found in Neolithic, Bronze Age and Roman sites. It comes from the same family as Fat Hen (now considered a weed), spinach and (more fashionably) quinoa. It is shade tolerant, could be grown almost anywhere, is self-seeding and can be grown as a cut and come again crop – all useful qualities when you are struggling for productive space. As a general rule, though I have eaten Good King Henry and Fat Hen, there is a reason they were replaced by spinach – the leaves are small so you need to pick a lot, and they are high in oxalic acid, which can be a problem. Having said that, it is packed with iron, which was seen as a good thing during the war as it prevented anaemia in female factory workers, a major concern in the literature of rationing.

Other vegetables assumed a more important role in the garden. Kale, currently experiencing a revival in fashion has always been grown in the north, where it stands up to the weather better than cabbage. It is a tough plant, has a long growing season, is resistant to pests and contains more calcium than milk, so was particularly good for young children. It is also one of the few brassicas that pigeons won’t eat. Other vegetables like swedes, once seen as animal food, became more widely eaten, being able to grow in poor conditions (including bomb sites) and containing more vitamin C than oranges. Parsnips were also seen as important – storing well in the ground, providing sweetness and being a high energy food, with more calories per pound than potatoes.

But out of all the vegetables, the carrot stands out. Potatoes had Potato Pete, and carrots had Doctor Carrot, but only carrots had cartoon characters drawn by Disney – Carroty George, Clara and Pop Carrot. They were also the only vegetable that helped shoot down German bombers in the Blitz, by enabling our airmen to see better in the dark.

Well, that was certainly what my mother told me when she was making me eat them as a small child. It isn’t really true though, carrots can help with night adaption, but only in people suffering from Vitamin A deficiency. To me “Cat’s Eyes” Cunningham was every bit as important as Douglas Bader and Biggles in my mental list of aviation heroes. Cunningham, it is said, was less than delighted with the publicity and the nickname.

This was not the first time my parents lied to me about nutrition. My hair, for instance, never did curl, despite my consumption of large amounts of burnt toast. It was just a propaganda story to confuse the Germans about the increasing losses to their night bombers. It might even have worked, but as the Germans already had airborne radar by 1941 they probably had a good idea of what was happening. It was also put forward as a cure for “Blackout Blindness”. This was just another of those wartime myths – “Blackout Blindness” wasn’t actually a medical condition, it’s just a tendency to walk into things when there are no street lights. However, lots of people were being killed and injured in the dark and any hope of relief was good for morale.

In December 1940 the Ministry of Agriculture sent out a press release. “If we included a sufficient quantity of carrots in our diet, we should overcome the fairly prevalent malady of blackout blindness.”

The truth was that carrots were in plentiful supply and the Government needed to encourage people to eat them. By 1942 the Dig for Victory campaign plus increased farm production gave us a surplus of 100,000 tons of carrots, and the race was on to find a way to use them. carrots. One BBC employee wrote that they could always tell when carrots were available in quantity, because there would be a press release from Dr Carrot – anything that increased the consumption of carrots was welcome to Government departments

In January 1942 they suspended the restrictions of the Home Grown Carrots (1941 Crop) (Control) Order and allowed growers to wholesale their produce free from restriction. Before this, carrot growers with more than an acre of carrots had only been allowed to sell to the National Vegetable marketing Co Ltd. Despite this relaxation, carrot growing as a farmer with over an acre of carrots was quite a complex business with different rules applied if selling them for animal feed, and depending on the time of sowing. It must have been easy to get the details wrong, In September 1941 the Ministry of Food brought 2,501 prosecutions for breach of food control orders, 2,280 were successful.

The market reports for Northern Ireland in 1942 indicate that, despite the surpluses, home grown carrots were insufficient to satisfy the market and English carrots had to be imported to fill the need, highlighting what a complex business feeding a nation can be.

Apart from being an ice cream substitute and a vegetable, a propaganda tool and a cartoon character, carrots could be used as a jam ingredient. Carrot jam had been appearing to cook books for over six hundred years by the time war broke out. There were many recipes for it in Victorian cookery books. However, most of the recipes called for the juice and zest of oranges and lemons. Even one of the official wartime recipes uses them. In wartime Britain oranges were in short supply (and reserved for children), and lemons were virtually non-existent. I assume that it’s possible to make carrot jam without them, but I also assume it is not as pleasant to eat as the modern recipe suggestions on wartime food websites.

The same is true for carrot cake. The 1940s version is a small cake, and uses a few spoonfuls of grated carrot to add sweetness in place of sugar. It is not at all like the monster modern carrot cake. I just selected a modern recipe at random – the cake takes 390g (nearly 14 ounces) of sugar and four eggs. The average ration allowance per person was 8 oz of sugar and one egg a week. Frosting for the modern cake takes another 140g (5 oz) of sugar, though it was illegal, after August 1940, to put sugar on the outside of any “cake, biscuit, bun, pastry, scone, bread, roll or similar article, after baking.” For the duration of the war, ornate icing on cakes was replaced by a cardboard box placed over a plain cake.

However, a piece of dry cake could always be helped down by a swig of Carrolade, a drink made by grating equal amounts of carrot and swede and pressing the juice. Even thinking of it frightens me. The wartime kitchen was no place for the faint-hearted.

And when all other things have been tried, how about using a carrot to engineer the downfall of the Führer? The plan, hatched by the OSS (later to become the CIA) was to bribe a member of staff to inject Hitler’s carrots with oestrogen. This, they thought, would make him grow man boobs and lose his moustache – forfeiting the respect of the German people, or, alternatively, become a gentler person, with less interest in war. There are various theories why it didn’t work, including a double-cross by one of the German agents. Or, like subsequent CIA plots to kill Castro or make his beard fall out, maybe it was just a really bad idea.

Blogging Weekly

Sorry, everybody, I’ve done it again. Suddenly, a week has passed and I have not blogged, or read any blogs, or commented or replied. It’s strange how I was addicted to blogging at one time, and couldn’t settle unless I had posted something that day. I was, I admit, erratic, but addicted all the same.

I then made my delinquency worse by writing a post and, feeling it wasn’t good enough, putting it to one side to see to later. “Later” turned into three days and I’m still not sure it’s interesting enough to bother publishing. Any7thing in italics are todays additions to the draft from 3 days ago.

These days I have to almost force myself to make time amongst my busy schedule of procrastination and displacement activity.  Well, not quite a schedule. That implies a degree of organisation that is way beyond me.

In a rare out break of self-discipline I have started cutting back on displacement activity – so no games, no and less browsing. It’s still not perfect, but I have been much more productive in the last few days. It’s the middle of the month now, and I really need to start writing poetry again, bearing in mind the large number of deadlines looming.

As I sit here I have three pages torn from a notebook. IT has 23 items on it. One won’t be done because I have temporarily mislaid the item it relates to. One is not possible and needs moving to another part of the list, where it will become possible. Several need me to go out and take photographs, several need more research and some simply need an email or a phone call. It’s going to be interesting to see what I have done by the end of the day.

 

I actually managed to do a good number of them – six fully and 3 partially – but after performing the one that said “Tidy desk, recycle paper” I lost the list so will have to start again with a new list.

The reason for this activity – I just wasted an entire day on low-level admin, playing games, browsing Wikipedia, going through auction lists and watching TV. The auction lists were probably the worst waste of time. I don’t deal these days and I don’t even go to places where I could pick up a bargain – so why am I checking the prices of vintage toys? Come to think of it, my budget is empty after recent car repairs and the washing machine, so why am I looking at anything? Time to wind my neck in and accumulate a little more cash.

We are doing some family history at the moment – one of Julia’s great uncles was hit by a bus and killed in the blackout. Tomorrow I will post a piece I wrote on carrots in WW2. Not sure if I have already done it, but brace yourself for more trivia. Or, if you have seen it before, prepare for more dull stuff. 

The saddest bit is the report on the doings at the village show. Good news, we won’t be needing to move things round to accommodate an avalanche of rosettes and trophies. Bad news – most of the art prizes went to two people and most of the photographic prizes went to a different pair of people. It’s often the way with competitions, which is why I have mixed feelings about them. However, Julia had fun entering, and we enjoyed moaning about the results (good things won, but there wasn’t enough variety, was our conclusion). Next year, I am going to enter too. I may even enter the chutney competition and the baking.

And there you have it – a post that starts with a weak pun and fizzles out, crushed under an avalanche of dull trivia. This is my life.

The Morning of the Show

The day started at some indeterminate time for me. My bladder is playing up a bit and it’s difficult to tell where the night ends and the day begins. It’s really just a continuum of decreasing darkness at this time of year. When winter comes it will be simpler as it will still be dark when we rise.  I was up several times in the night and when my 7am alarm rang, I turned over, muttered and decided an extra 10 minutes wouldn’t hurt. On the other side of the bed Julia was turning hers off and muttering too.  I thought this was a bit rich, because it was her fault we had to set the alarms.

Today is the local village show and Julia’s entries had to be taken across, with the hall opening at 8.30. It was clear that it had opened sooner because all the decent (eye level) spaces had been taken on the boards. Now, to me, this is not an insurmountable problem. They are secured by velcro dots and are easy to remove and reposition elsewhere, leaving space for Julia’s shots in the judges’ eyeline.  Of course, she wouldn’t let me do it. There’s nothing in the rule book to stop you doing it, but according to Julia it’s not right. Ethically, she’s probably right, but as an ex-antique dealer I am morally bankrupt, and have been for years. If my wife wants to enter a photographic competition, I want to secure every possible advantage for her.

If you want to discuss ethics, many of the people at the hall have big cars, some of them live in cottages that used to hold more than one family, most of them treat it as a dormitory rather than a home. We may have only moved in last year, but if you go back to the late 1960s I went to all the village schools, from infant through to secondary, I worked for a company based in the village, and I helped with various community projects. I have a right to be a cunning county dweller and try to get one over on the incomers. In fact, it’s not just a right, it’s a duty. A line of rural rebels is calling out for me to right the photo positioning wrong, including John Gregson the fugitive Chartist. Well, I have an ancestor called John Gregson, and the authorities were hunting a Chartist called John Gregson at the same time and in the same area that my ancestor was living there. It’s a possibility rather than a fact, but when the possibility is more interesting than the fact, print the possibility.

Come to think about it, it isn’t too late to sneak back and do it now . . .

Actually, Julia says it is too late, so that’s an end to that. Nothing for it but to sit back and wait for the results this afternoon. Can you believe she actually referred to i as “cheating”?

 

 

Modern Problems Future Predictions

Sorry everyone, it seems to have been eleven days since my last post. I managed to get all my submissions done before panic set in (though to be fair it was a very easy month) and have spent several days relaxing and feeling good about being able to organise myself. It won’t last, as this coming month is the complete opposite. Last month I had six easy submissions to do.  Two were for anthologies and one of them guarantees to include a submission from every member. The other guarantees to take one if you send five, so I send three, just to preserve an element of jeopardy. . Next month the target is twelve.  I really need to get a move on as a couple have to be done by mid-month and several are quite challenging.

I’ve had two or three acceptances since I last wrote. To balance that, I had two sets of results from poetry competitions where my entries sank without trace. It’s what normally happens, so it wasn’t a surprise. I have, of course, looked at the winning entries to see what they have, or what I lack, and, as usual, can’t come to any firm conclusions.

For one of them, I think I might be a bit too modern for the judge, when I look  at the winning entries. As I’m considered old-fashioned by a number of editors this came as a bit of a surprise. With the other one I couldn’t see anything wrong,. In that case, I suspect my words just didn’t grab the judges. That’s how it goes. One day I will write a poem that resonates with a judge and may get lucky.

The car is booked in for servicing and repair. It’s a lot less convenient than my previous arrangement, where the garage was a hundred yards from the shop, but that’s what happens when you move. The nurse at the GP surgery failed to find blood yesterday and there was nobody else on duty so I am going back tomorrow. And the washing machine has broken down. It’s 19 years old so I can’t complain, but having only just got on top of the light bulb replacement (they all seemed to blow/start flickering within a week or two) I could have done with a few weeks of nothing failing.

We have, I think, five different sorts of bulb/tube in use, plus at least three different for the lamps. I needed three different tubes and ended up having to buy two of them via Amazon – one is still in transit. Now we know they fit, I will be buying spares.

It seemed much simpler at the last house, but when I run through the bulbs we still used three sorts, with three more in lamps. I think it seemed simpler because we had spares for all of them  and knew where to get them from. A new town makes things more complicated.

I wonder if, in years to come, a research student will look up from his electronic reader in his environmentally controlled study cubicle (with built in whale music), drink a nutritionally balanced sip of plant-based smoothie and Google “light bulb” . . .

The language, to him, will be like reading the Canterbury Tales, and the things I mention will all be exhibits in museums. As he sits round with his contemporaries, indulging in mutual grooming and complaining about the bonobos down the street, I wonder what they will say about their hairless ape ancestors who ran the planet into the ground and are still rumoured to live in underground bunkers in remote mountain ranges.

Pictures are some recent ones from Julia. She’s going through an artistic phase. Sort of van Gogh meets Warhol.