‘Tis the
season of hot cross buns, which reminds me that, as a student, I once had a
holiday job in a bakery, where one of my tasks was to put the crosses on top of
the doughy blobs before they were slid into the ovens. These seasonal treats were
baked originally to mark the beginning or end (I don’t remember which) of a Christian
fasting ritual. I could check online – if I could be bothered. But I take the
view that if we were to get too picky about the origins of our numerous traditions,
casual conversations based on commonly accepted heritage would be impossible.
Pedantry is an acquired taste. Nevertheless, I think it behoves bakers to make
some reference to the origins of the bun, lest another generation grows up in
ignorance of its religious conception. The story could be printed on the
packaging, in between the list of ingredients and the table of calorific and
energy values, where those who are habitually investigative might find
enlightenment.
But do the
details of religious history really matter in today’s more secular society? Perhaps
not so much for their own sake as for the fact that they are the foundations of
traditions we can share, thereby binding us socially and anchoring us to a place
and a past. In a way, this argument applies to the village of Buckland
Monachorum and its over-sized church. The unusual placename is a Latin
reference to the monks who lived at the nearby Abbey and who were probably
responsible for the jumbo church. On Sunday, when we visited a friend who lives
in the village, a very small congregation was visible through the open door of
the church, suggesting to me that things will end badly for the almost-redundant
building – unless it gets rescued by a heritage preservation fund and turned
into a tourist attraction, whereupon its back-story will be revealed in detail
for those who are interested. And as a concomitant, the village will become
even more quaintly attractive and further distanced from its original reason
for being.
Of course,
there is a view that neither the past nor the future is of much consequence in people’s
everyday lives; it’s the here-and-now that counts. Given the unpredictability
of events, it’s a reasonable stance, though it smacks of selfishness and,
actuarily, it might not stack up. While there is nothing to be done about the
past, the future could be rosy and, with a bit of planning, rosier still. Studies
of available statistics* show that, on the whole, humanity has more reason to
be optimistic for the future than is generally acknowledged. And if you have
won the postcode lottery of life and live in a peaceful, prosperous part of the
world, there is a good chance that forward planning will pay off eventually.
However, if your part of the world happens to be Britain, then you will find yourself
swimming against a tide of short-termism, as embodied in our political and
economic systems. What with our politicians preoccupied with winning votes from
a mostly ill-informed and disillusioned electorate and our businesses dedicated
to maximising shareholder returns in the shortest possible timeframe,
investment in the future, both socially and industrially, is not on the agenda.
Like most of
my generation, I used to enjoy a mass-produced hot cross bun, toasted and
slathered in butter. They gave me indigestion, so I laid off them for many
years. Nowadays, I get the sourdough ones from the artisan baker and scoff them
un-toasted and un-buttered. It’s a heritage product that has been through a
rough patch of industrial processing but is coming good with a return to
wholesome ingredients and craft baking skill. Past, present and future all in a
bun.
*Hans Rosling Factfulness (2018)
and Hannah Ritchie Not the End of the World (2024)