A tale of two Christmases: 1918 and 2011

All of us on the beach

We had a really lovely family Christmas this year. Eighteen of us gathered together in a large welcoming house, with log fires, warm comfortable beds and lots of good food. We had a lovely time just being together: going for walks, playing games, cooking in teams, and taking turns looking after baby Thomas. We aren't together all that often, and now that the children are older it is a lot of fun seeing them all getting along and contributing so much to the family in different ways.

When we got back from our week away, I had an urge to tidy up the attic. I came across some letters and diaries written by my French great-grandfather, Docteur Athanase Linard. He was called up to serve as a doctor in the First World War, and spent the best part of 4 years away from home, traveling from one place to another, setting up field hospitals, or following troops into battle. In the Somme, he was on horseback, at other times and places he traveled by train. He wrote letters - often daily, though we don't have them all - back to his wife Marie, and his three teenage daughters: Genevieve (my grandmother), Jeanne, and Madeleine.
 

Interrupted letter

I noticed some of the letters were written in December 1918 and I was curious why he was still away from  home (since the war was over), and how he spent his Christmas.

Postcard of Kreuznach

He seems to have been sent here and there - moving on at an hour's notice - in the weeks before Christmas 1918. He keeps referring in his letters to the fact that he hopes to be home on leave for Christmas, though he has given up hope of being 'liberated' (demobbed) because of what he refers to as the Germans 'causing trouble'. In the week before Christmas he is in Western Germany, in the Rhine valley - drinking Rhineland wine - in Mainz, , Langenlonsheim, Kreuznach, St Wendel.

As he says on the 19th Dec from Mainz: "Je fais de l’occupation et j’ai franchi le Rhin en vainqueur comme nos ancêtres il y a cent ans." (Just like our ancestors a hundred years ago, I've crossed the Rhine as a victor and now I'm part of the occupying forces.)

In every letter he refers to his hope of getting leave for Christmas and how much he's looking forward to seeing his daughters. It's not till the 21st that he gives up hope and tells them that he is to be serving at Mainz hospital for Christmas and until he gets demobbed.

On the 26th he writes a long letter home describing how he spent Christmas. This was his day:

Letter describing Christmas day

• 10am mass in the cathedral
• 1pm present distribution around the Christmas tree at the hospital for 100 wounded soldiers and 700 liberated french POWs with Mrs Rothschild (pearls the size of cherries in her ears) very busily involved in everything
• lunch for the above in two sittings of 400 each
• 2pm Generals Mangin ("petit, noiraud") and Marchand arrive
• Marseillaise is played
• Film show for everyone 

Despite being surrounded by so many people, I think Dr Linard felt alone - missing his wife and daughters, and not being home for Christmas. He enjoyed the day, but was no doubt making mental notes of things to write home about.  Writing on the morning of the 26th he even promises his girls a second letter in the afternoon. I am so thankful that in 2011 we are in peacetime, in plenty, and we could be all together as a family.

Making lavashak (fruit leather) in Iran

It's the depth of winter here, and I've been eating lavashak -  which to me is like essence of summer. 

Lavashak is a fruit puree dried into thin strips which look (and feel) like leather. In Iranian villages, it is a widely used way to preserve fruit for the winter - it is a nutritious snack and a fantastically flavourful, slightly sour addition to soups and stews.  In the pictures below we were processing about 20kg of fruit from our orchard.

Here's how to make it (as taught to me by  Mahboobeh, our Kurdish neighbour).

 1. Pick a lot of fruit. A good mix is about 50% plums of any colour (for sweetness), 40% apple (for bulk), and 10% sour cherry or albaloo (for colour and sour-ness).

Picking albaloo

Picking different kinds of plums

2. Wash the fruit and let it dry. You don't want any excess water.

3. Boil it all up together in the biggest pan you can find. As soon as it's soft, take it off the heat.

Sieving a batch into a bucket.

4. Now sieve it all to remove pips and stones and make it as smooth as possible. Keep scraping handfuls of the fruit around the sieve to get as much of the pulp out as possible. You might get tired of sieving it and end up chucking out some of the pulp with the stones (as I did). You should end up with a handful of stones and skins - throw these away.




5. Boil it all up again, this time for longer - the aim is to boil off as much water as possible without the thick fruit concentrate sticking and burning to the bottom of the pan. Do not add sugar - if you've chosen your fruit well, you don't need any other ingredients.

Laying down the non-stick baking paper

6. Now prepare an area to spread the liquid fruit onto. This is usually plastic sheeting in Iran, but I prefer to put some non-stick baking paper down on top of the plastic. The plastic can give a bad taste and is harder to peel off the 'leather'.

7. Pour your fruit puree onto the prepared sheets.

8. Spread it out evenly so that it is not more than about 3mm thick (like tomato paste on a pizza base).



9. Leave it in full sun for about 2-3 days (in Iran). In the UK you might need to put it on trays in an Aga or airing cupboard, unless you have guaranteed 7-10 days of sunshine. Protect from dust, flies, pets, birds, and accidental watering with mosquito netting or similar.





10. When it's ready (it peels away in one piece and doesn't break unless  you tug hard), cut up the lavashak into strips or convenient pieces for storing in a tin or plastic box. It doesn't need to be in the fridge.  We made about 5kg on this occasion which is a lot, believe me.

Rolls of lavashak on display in Tajrish market, surrounded by sour cherries (darker) and fresh barberries (zereshk).