Old Time Tay Treats – Reminiscences of Saffron Cake and Sugary Tay 

The Cornishman newspaper of the 31^st August 1905 contained this report from the Tribune Review of Butte City, Montana, of the ‘goings-on’ at a Cornish Tea Treat. Whether it is entirely true I do not know but the detail is fascinating and will stir the memories of those of a certain age. The report suggested that it will be read with interest by St Agnes and other readers.

“If there’s one thing more than another that I like to read about in the old country papers, it’s the tay trayts,” said Billy Rippin to his partner, Uncle Will Trevaskis, at the Pork and Beans mine the other night as the two cronies sat down to enjoy their midnight meal. “It recalls visions of saffron cake, sugary tay, mazzards with cabbage leaves for plates, rosy-faced maidens, kissing rings and music, bachelor weddings, and …”

“Hold on,” said Uncle Will, “don’t numerate any more, or not another blessed tap will I do to-night. I’ll never forget the last tay trayt I ‘tended. It recalls pleasures and it also opens up old wounds, wounds that will never heal, in fact lad, I never wish them to heal. First there was the procession headed with a man carrying a flag, followed by the village band consisting of eight able bodied men blawing liquid melody. The man who played the drum part had splendid muscular development and that drum, when the player was in good ‘ealth, could be heard from Higher Bal to Dirtypool. He was no ordinary drummer, and what he lacked in time he made in energy and could tap with one hand as with the other, and he’d never miss a beat. Then came the little tots in twos, brimming over with happiness and anticipation. Seems as though I can see them now trying to keep step to the music. Over the right shoulder every child wore a ribbon, at the end of the ribbon a cup. That cup meant business, Billy. Then came the grown-up scholars, most of them big enough to go courting. They were as likely a lot of young people as could be found in any country, Boy. The young women had rosy cheeks and were pictures of rugged health and happiness. The bracing air from the sea, Billy, paints the cheeks a prettier red than the stuff some women use from the drug stores. The young men were mostly pale. Working in the mines from early boyhood in poor air and powder smoke, and living on a fish diet, leaves its mark on the faces of the miners. I don’t know whether you ever thought of it, lad, but a very small per cent of the Cornish miners are buried in Cornwall. Conditions are against it. But I was speaking of a tay trayt. Through the village streets and lanes, the procession wended its way to a neighbouring field. Then the fun commenced. A sort of impromptu stage – l think impromptu was what they called it – was made out of a big wagon for the band. As best I can remember, Billy, the first piece they played was Vital Spark. I never could understand why they always played that piece, it’s neither an appetizer nor can one dance to it. By the time the band struggled through the heavy production and the bombardenist had wrestled successfully with the base runs for which that piece is noted, the tay drinkin’ was ready. I tell thee, Billy, ’twas a bad sight for one troubled with dyspepsia. The children were formed in a circle seated on planks raised from the ground by big rocks. Once in a while a rock would slip out of place and there would be a scattering of saffron cakes, sugary tay and children. In one corner of the field two men were kept busy boiling reservoirs of tay. In the eyes of the children, the men who peddled out the cakes were heroes and only second in importance to the man who played the drum in the band. From the big wagon – l mean the band stand – Rule Britannia rolled forth, and in perfect step and with healthy appetites, the school teachers marched into the circle where the children were doing things, and sat down at the tables to eat buttered buns, saffron cake and drink tay. The real enjoyable part of the affair, though, was after all the tay was drank and there were no more buns or cake in sight. People, you know are funnier on full stomachs than on empty ones. There were quite a few trees skirting that field, lad, but there weren’t enough trees to go around, that is to give each spoony couple a whole tree to sit under. Don’t you know, lad, it’s wonderful the amount of information young lovesick couple can give each other after being apart twelve hours. So it was that day. Every few feet there were couples saying soft things, looking soft things and eating mazzards from the same cabbage leaf. Then there were the kissing rings, Billy. By the way, were you ever guilty of being a party to a kissing ring, Billy?” 

“Was I?” ejaculated Billy. “Well, while I never held a championship along those lines, I have osculated some.” 

“Then you know something about it, lad,” said Uncle Will. “Some of the old folks joined in the rush at the kissing rings also. Don’t you know it’s surprising the energy they expended when running after some purty maid, but the real energy was expended when they caught her. The girls in Cornwall can run like a hungry mule after corn, but it ain’t hard to catch ’em, that is if they think anything of the party of the second part. The Cornish kissing ring is a preliminary test, lad, after which comes the parson and the banns. I’ve heerd said that marriages are arranged in heaven, but in Cornwall the kissing ring runs a close second. I remember a youngster who left his home the day after the tay trayt in question. With his maid, as fair as a little creature as God ever placed on this ‘ere earth, he monopolized one of those trees I was speaking about. ‘Going to America,’ said he, ‘but in four years from date we’ll marry and come the tay drinkin’. The next day he left.” 

“Was he on time gittin’ back?” asked Billy. 

“No cause for him to be on time, lad,” said Uncle Will. “Long before the four years were up, a long, straggling procession wended its way from the village by the sea to the cemetery on the hill. Loving hands carried all that was mortal of that little maid to the burying ground and tenderly laid her to rest. Sometimes she is with me in my dreams. Then again, when in the mines, surrounded by dangers seen and unseen, I feel her presence, for like a guardian angel, she is ever with me. I am he who pledged his troth to return in four years. I should have kept my pledge but return there and to find her gone – well, it wouldn’t be the same. The saffron cake wouldn’t be yeller, the sugary tay so sweet, the mazzards would look like aglets, there would no pop to the ginger, the music would be a dirge and the festival meaningless. Two score years have rushed into eternity since we plighted our troth at that tay trayt, Billy, but sleeping or wakin’, I see her as she looked then in all her virgin purity, as she looks to-day in heaven.”