Open Writing

A smile appeared on my face as I listened to my friend, a delightful lady named Anne, relating stories from her childhood, with a dreamy faraway look in her eyes as she relived bygone days. She told of a time just after the war ended, when bananas again began to arrive in England. To some this was a new fruit. What were they supposed to do with it? Eat it raw?

Anne’s parents bought three mottled brown and yellow bananas for the family to share. These were placed on one side, being saved for a very special Sunday tea. When Sunday arrived the skins of the bananas had turned black. Anne’s mother, after seeking advice and not being one for wasting food, took out a fruit bowl, which hadn’t seen daylight in years. The bananas were peeled, placed in the bowl in the bowl and mashed up.

The family stood around, watching the procedure. Mouths drooled at the thought of tasting the new fruit. Anne watched her mother’s every move as equal portions of mashed banana were spread on thick slices of bread.

Everyone sat around the table. A short thankful prayer was said. After a quick go-ahead nod from her mother, Anne bit deeply into the sandwich and chomped away. The big grin left her face as the banana hit her taste buds, to be replaced with one of complete horror. She wanted to spit out banana. It was the vilest thing she had ever tasted!

She knew she would be in big trouble if she didn't swallow what was in her mouth. She closed her eyes and gulped, but one mouthful was enough. She was thankful that she had only taken a small bite. She pretended that she was feeling sick, which got her out of eating the banana sandwich but left her feeling hungry until the next meal.

I personally didn’t become acquainted with bananas until around 1954. Myy aunt brought some home one day. I too didn't know how they should be eaten. I took a big bite and thought it was quite tasty - though I did find the skin a little hard to chew, much to the amusement of my siblings.

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