Monday 23 January 2017

The Wiles of Farmer Giles

The Ploughmans Lunch.



It is as synonymous with England and the English as fish and chips, steak and kidney pie, bangers and mash, a sunday roast and a bacon butty. It creates a nostalgia for the agricultural backbone of the nation without which the subsequent industrial revolution and wide ranging Empire could not have developed as it did.

It remains a favourite pub fare for many and certainly in my case it was for many years the only thing that I would order from the menu.

When younger, on one of those balmy summer days that area so rare in this country I could think of nothing better than a drive or a cycle out to a countryside inn to have a beer and a plate of the unique and historic Ploughmans.

There is something about a lump of cheese, a bread roll, some lettuce leaves, apple slices, a dollop of Branston and a pickled onion that reminds us of our proud heritage.

Although usually sat at a table on an upholstered chair in a rural themed pub , just the savouring of those flavours would transport me back in time to a bygone age.

I could imagine myself in a roughly fashioned smock and leggings, rudely manufactured hobnail boots, wearing a woven cap and taking a hard earned rest amongst plough and sweating horse after a good morning's work up and down the acres making furrows in the heavy clay soil.

Out of my knapsack would come a linen cloth in which would be wrapped a veritable feast, the original Ploughmans Lunch.

I would feel, by taking this fare, in solidarity with my farming ancestors, not of any gentry status I should stress but of the journeyman, contracted worker moving across the countryside to hiring fairs following the work for each season and to boot with a young family in tow.

It was a tough life for meagre wages but with something honest and fundamental about ekeing a living out of the land.

Unfortunately my allegiances and sympathies were based on an utter fraud.

I, like the majority of the population had fallen victim to a clever marketing campaign by the Cheese Marketing Board (CMB).

The International Advertising Agency, J Walter Thompson were commissioned by the CMB in the 1960's to boost the demand for their products.

In that era, although there were many types of the dairy product available it was only really Cheddar that was accepted by the English consumers, that being based on tradition and national identity. There was no stomach for those French and other continental cheeses.

In a brainstorming session the Agency realised that the only place that people might want to eat cheese would be in their local public house.

The majority of these establishments were not geared up for cooking or with no facilities or skills so what better than to serve a cold platter of cheese and bread as the perfect accompaniment for a pint of beer.

The advertising, in the form of a 5000 leaflet run for individual pubs to attract customers was a great success and so the Ploughmans Lunch as it was known became a regular on the menu.

Such was the clever subterfuge of the campaign that we have accepted a purely fictional back story as historical fact.

I do feel a bit cheated by the whole fabrication but such is the sophistication of modern marketing that I will not have been the first nor will I be the last to be bamboozled in such a way for a myriad of products and services.


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