Diary of a Victorian Shopkeeper, 17th December

Top eat it or kick it?

There follows the tenth and final installment of the Victorian journal of Margaret Kirkness, cofounder of our family business. If you have not yet read the story of this document’s discovery, I suggest you do so before proceeding.

A huge uproar greeted my revelation of the barrel’s contents. There were gasps from the crowd, then laughter, even applause. Inspector Crambo unhanded James and poked a finger into a big white round of soft cheese that had tumbled out. Then he sniffed it curiously. ‘Brie!’ he said, in wonder. ‘I’ve heard of such stuff, but never seen it.’

James shook off Rosey’s grasp and leapt to my side. ‘Drop that shovel and give me your hand,’ he said, and embraced me.

 A howl of rage came from the foot of the tolbooth steps. ‘He’s a criminal!’ bogled the countess.

Crambo turned and glowered at her. ‘Madam, I’ve had enough of your accusations and imprecations. Mr and Mrs Kirkness are guilty of nothing but importing fine continental delicacies into Orkney. And I for one am very grateful to them.’

He dipped his finger into the Brie again and licked off the white goo with satisfaction. The word ‘slaister’ came to mind, yet I couldn’t help but smile at his evident enjoyment.

The crowd parted below us, and an amiable voice spoke up. ‘Monsieur and Madame Keerkness,’ said Mr Goldberg, ‘I hapologise for my part in any distress you ‘ave suffered. I seemply desired the good people of Kirkwall to hexperience the best products of my ‘omeland.’

James stepped forward and gave his friend’s hand a hearty shake. ‘And so they shall.  Kirkwall will enjoy a cheese feast such as it never has before!’

‘That’s music to my ears,’ said Crambo. ‘As for you, Countess, I suggest you leave this town and never return.’

‘Aye, away back to London,’ shouted Rosey from the tollbooth door.

The countess’s eyes blazed with fury, but from her lips escaped only a spluttering hiss. From behind the folds of her cloak the servant boy popped his head: ‘Dinnae be daft,’ he piped. ‘She’s nae fae London. She bides at Muckle Titaboutie, ootside Tarland.’

With a shriek the countess whacked the boy on the lug with her black-gloved hand, then the pair of them fled across the Kirk Green, followed by laughter and catcalls from the crowd. Friends and customers gathered around us, clapping James on the back, and congratulating me on my skills with the gravedigger’s spade. I spotted Andrew and Mary standing a little to one side, arm in arm. My brother was pointing out the barred window into the tollbooth cell. I approached, my eyes wide at their show of public affection.

‘Andrew was just telling me,’ said Mary, shyly, ‘How he got arrested deliberately when the whaler anchored in the bay so he’d be marooned when it sailed and never have to leave Orkney again.’

Andrew’s eyes crinkled. ‘And I’m right glad I did, lass, for now you have arrested my heart.’

A cheer went up behind us, and I turned to see Mr Goldberg crouched by the barrel, handing cheeses one by one to James. James in turning was throwing them into the crowd, where they were caught and carried away by the lucky and the long-armed.

‘Camembert,’ said Mr Goldberg. ‘The more the merry-er!’ cried James.

‘Comté,’ said Mr Goldberg. ‘Fly away!’ cried James.

‘Roquefort,’ said Mr Goldberg. ‘My favourite,’ said James quietly, ‘Hold on to that one.’

At last, all the cheese had been distributed, apart from one perfectly spherical one right at the bottom of the barrel. About a foot in diameter, it had a brown, black-brindled rind. Mr Goldberg looked at it doubtfully, then rapped it with his knuckles: it sounded as solid as our mahogany shop counter.

‘I am desolated, mes amis, but this Mimolette has suffered in transit. It is too hard to eat.’

I seized the cheese from our friend, and - propelled by some unknown instinct - took the few steps to the mercat cross. I tossing the boule from hand to hand, feeling its weight.

Below me, a boy in Sunday clothes loitered in the roadway. ‘What’s today?’ I called.

‘Today?’ returned the boy, ‘Why, it’s Christmas Day.’

‘Well, here’s a present,’ I laughed, and launched the Mimolette high into the air.

The boy gawped as it landed in the dirt at his feet, but immediately one of his chums scooped it up, which goaded the first boy into grabbing it back. Soon a whole scrum of urchins gathered around, rugging and shoving, the cheese quite lost in the melee. One army endeavoured to move the Mimolette up towards Victoria Street, the other brigade pushed doon towards Albert Street. Dreefs of spectators gathered to watch.

Old Locky Omand got very excited, dancing on the dyke at the edge of the Green, shouting and gesticulating, pointing first one way then another, flinging out instructions and encouragement. No one paid the slightest bit of attention.

James laughed. ‘Margaret Kirkness! Look what you’ve started!’

He put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a bristly kiss on the cheek. ‘Peace and goodwill,’ I whispered.

‘After all the trials and tribulations of the last few weeks, I certainly hope so,’ he replied.

As we headed off across Broad Street, Mr Goldberg called after us. ‘James, Marguerite, what shall I do with this beautiful Roquefort?’

‘Well, Nathan,’ said James, ‘I suggest you follow us to our apartment, where we can all enjoy a generous yuletide slice of our smelly blue friend.’

‘Joyeux Noël!’ cried Mr Goldberg.

‘What’s more,’ said James under his breath, so only Nathan and I could hear, ‘Somewhere around the premises, I do believe there is secreted a cask of ‘specially imported’ Vintage Port.’

‘Happy Christmas one and all!’ I cried.

Here ends the Diary of a Victorian Shopkeeper.

By an amazing coincidence, throughout December 2023 The Longship Clothes Shop - site of James and Margaret’s grocery at the time of her diary - has hosted in its window the Christmas Day Men’s Ba. Speculation has swirled for a century over the origins of the ba game. We may never know the true story. But then, we very often don’t know whether a story is true or not.

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 20th December 2023. A new diary appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.