As a schoolboy during the 1950s and 60s, I was constantly eating mince pies and currant cake. These were baked by my mother in the gas-fired oven of our Reading kitchen. We were a poor family, and Mum was a consummate housewife who saved money by baking all manner of things: apple tarts (using windfall apples from our back garden), apple crumbles, rhubarb tarts, jam tarts, treacle tarts, lemon meringue (which she pronounced ‘lemon meringoo’) pies, cupcakes, scones, sponge cakes and, most importantly, mince pies and currant cakes. Mum’s currant cake was better than any cake you could buy in the shops. It was dark brown, rich, heavy, sweet and delicious. I loved Mum’s baking. If I had a dollar for every mince pie and slice of currant cake I wolfed down during my formative years,
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