Polly Gramut

Pomegranates remind me of Christmas. When I was a nipper my mother always tried to make sure I got one. It was always a bit of a race to see if she could buy them before father used the money on the guaranteed winner in the 3.00 at Kempton. But that was the same with all of her housekeeping. Poor woman.

They were a mysterious fruit to a child in the 50's. They appeared around Christmas time, I never knew where from (except it was from Mr Burrows the fruit and veg man). They were weird things, every little bead bursting with sweet flavour but the yellow membranes were disgustingly bitter and often eaten in the haste to fill your mouth with the red beads of sweetness. All I ever found out was that their origin was 'foreign'. Protestations of, "Yes I know but where from" was always met with "If you're not going to eat it I'll take it off you". I guess Mam didn't know either!

A few years ago I was off-roading in Spain and growing amongst the weeds and brush was a small pomegranate tree laden with fruit. Mystery solved!