Afternoon Tea, October 2024

 

When I was young, my grandparents lived in Oatlands Chase, in Weybridge. In a motorcar we used to saunter through Richmond Park every Sun for Sunday lunch. I thought nothing of snooker in the billiards room afterwards, nor croquet on the pristine-kempt lawn outside. Most of all, I became trained and accustomed into the rules of Afternoon Tea. "Something savoury, before something sweet".

 

Stephanie Belle

 

Once everyone had settled in, and made there way as far as they could through their allocations of jam and clotted cream, Stephanie played her music and Stephanie began to sing. By the time I reach Afternoon Tea, Stephanie will be singing Kylie Minogue, but today she harks back to the twenties and thirties as far as I recall. After adjusting the volume for keener ears at the back, I am sure that most will remember enjoying the melodies, but the bravest began to dance.

 

 

Helpers

 

We all came out of the woodwork. It was like a busy service kitchen in a restaurant. In my minds eye we were all dressed in white kitchen scrubs, chef with their high hats and moustachioed servers dressed in formal serving attire. Bellboys, waitresses, doormen out of pumkins perhaps. Arriving early, we swirl through the kitchen past plates piling high with sandwiches under celophane, cakes ready to be sliced and layered up for displays.

 

Behind it all was Penny orchestrating and I don't quite recall where all the tea came from. It must definitely seem fair therefore to suggest a certain magic was involved. There were sixty covers, meaning sixty pots of jam and sixty pots of clotted cream (at least). I remember because of the washing up afterwards.

 

 

In the center of each table were laid sweets aplenty. I forget where all the sandwiches went, surely a good indication of success. Dietary requirements were noted, added to and included in the dance. People carried in their contributions, everyone competing with Bill's consistent  cake recipes over the year. Everything ticked like clockwork, all pathways made to your tables. All we were awaiting were the kings & queens.

 

 

I began by laying their places. I was keen to match crockery to the cutlery, saucer to the cup much as in fine dining there is an order of the knives and forks for the fish course. With all prepared in its simplicity, in no time at all our guests begun to arrive. I don't have any little ones nor a partner myself so struggled with the lending of arms. Instead, I man the raffle. A computer programmer over-complicating the numbers. I began by taking phone-numbers against people's names but it dawned on me eventually that names and faces suffice. As the task complexified the strips of tickets quickly sold themselves, and the pot began to fill. Before long, I had to concierge, taking ticket books out to the tables, there was a definite joy to participate. I just hope I sufficiently balanced the books beforehand at stall. "I still have my champagne", one lucky recipient exclaims. The youngest member won some showergel and there were plenty of prizes to choose from.

 

Whilst everyone was devouring the food, several helpers were tasked with deciphering my handwriting. "Who is Pat?"" they enquire. About halfway through I remembered this was written as 'Dot', lamenting losing legibility of handwriting with all the keyboards of today. Dot won a prize.