Lord preserve us – An Irishwoman’s Diary on marmalade and Dundee

When the new bridge was being built across the Abbey river in Limerick, a dam was constructed to allow the base of the columns to be put in place.

With the water held back, the underbelly of old Limerick came to light. There were bicycle frames, animal bones, tin cans, 17th-century cannon balls and a conglomeration of unrecognisable bits and pieces trapped in the mud of this ancient city.

Pottery jar

A heap of that rubbish was put on display in the city museum and sitting on top was an old pottery jar bearing the inscription, “ James Keiller & Sons, Dundee. Marmalade”.

A couple of years ago, when I stepped off the train at Dundee in Scotland, I had fulfilled a long-time ambition by crossing the amazing railway bridges over the Firth of Forth and Firth of Tay.

‘Road to Dundee’

I suppose it was also a sort-of pilgrimage to see the places my father loved to sing about. No, he wasn’t Scottish but the songs suited his voice.

The Northern Lights of Aberdeen

, the

Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee

and

The Road to Dundee

were his party pieces. I swear that I could hear him singing softly on a zephyr that touched my face as I walked from Dundee station towards the town.

But Dundee is more than just a lilting ballad. Its claim to fame is three “Js” – “Jute, Journalism and Jam”. If you want to learn about the processing of jute for the manufacture of sacks, matting and string, there’s an interpretive centre to inform and educate you.

The biggest journalism money-spinners were the Beano and Dandy.

And the jam? That’s marmalade.

Aroma

Marmalade, they tell me, was invented in Dundee. Strange. I always thought that my mother invented it. How many times did I watch her up to her elbows in misshapen oranges and the kitchen full of that exquisite aroma.

“Only the very best Seville oranges for marmalade,” she’d say, as she washed each one carefully and sliced it in half.

She showed me how to squeeze out the juice on the spiked glass juicer while she removed the peel and sliced it finely.

Then she tied the white pith and the pips into a piece of muslin because while they flavour and set the marmalade, they can look unsightly in the glass jars.

Once I picked up a piece of orange from the table and bit into it. It was so bitter that I ran for water to rinse out my mouth.

My mother laughed. “Seville oranges are for cooking only just like there are eating and cooking apples,” she told us, as she gathered all the ingredients and put them into a big bowl to marinate overnight.

The following morning the careful cooking and bottling began. Of course, my mother didn’t invent marmalade, and I had to travel all the way to Dundee to be told exactly who did.

And this, they tell me, is how it happened. Once upon a time, in the late 18th century, a fierce storm raged in the North Sea. All along the east coast, fishing boats and great trading ships scurried into safe port for shelter. A Spanish vessel foundered somewhere outside Dundee’s harbour wall and its cargo of oranges was washed up on to the shore next day.

Crate

A member of the Keiller family brought home a crate of those oranges thinking that his large family would enjoy the treat. But just like me, they found the oranges bitter to taste and full of pips.

It took the resourceful Mrs Keiller to turn the crate of oranges into several pounds of what she called marmalade, from a Portuguese word, marmelo, which means a boiling and preserving of fruit.

Mr & Mrs Keiller, in fact, ran a grocery and confectionary business so it was no wonder that her new concoction found its way onto the shelves of their shop.

The Scots took a great liking to marmalade and from such small beginnings a huge industry developed.

Medals

Keiller’s Marmalade won medals for quality in Vienna and London in the late 19th century. James Keiller & Son took full credit for the making of marmalade, despite the fact that Mrs Keiller did all the work.

The reason why we spread marmalade on our toast at breakfast today is also a Scottish custom, for they found it to be a warming and cheap alternative to the traditional early-morning shot of expensive whisky in their porridge.