Hannah McVeigh from Tyrone and is studying International Relations and Global Development
When I moved to Wales, I found myself reaching for the PG Tips box of tea bags. I was disappointed I had to leave my beloved Thompsons Punjana at home.
Tea bag wars can be fierce. Punjana, Namberrie or Tetley. These three caused a lot of playful arguments growing up. I always was in the Punjana corner. I have to admit, when PG Tips was no longer cutting it, I did smuggle some Punjana tea across the Irish sea.
What I miss more than the actual tea, is the ritual that comes with it. Tea is part of every occasion. Wakes, weddings, job losses, new beginnings. There was always a pot brewing in the background, a quiet reminder that you were never alone
A pot of tea, in my opinion was the best way to have it. Not just a quick dunk of a tea bag in some hot water in a mug. Allowing the tea bags to brew for a few minutes in a huge pot always provided the best cup of tea. And of course a wee biscuit never did any harm. From custard creams and bourbons, to fifteens and caramel squares, there was always something on the go to add extra comfort. In Wales the best they have to offer are Welsh cakes. Take my advice, and avoid these.
It can be the smallest things that become anchors when you leave home.
Another anchor, oddly enough, comes from crisps. I crisp sandwich, I don’t think, is quintessentially Northern Irish. I’ve found many people, from the North of England in particular, appreciate the delicacy of a crisp sandwich. Nevertheless, you cannot beat a humble crisp sandwich, two heavily buttered bits of white bread, made with Tayto crips.
And by Tayto, yes I mean Northern Tayto. I fear I am in the minority here, but my preference was always Northern Tayto rather than Southern Tayto. Northern Tayto is much crunchier, greasier and much more flavourful then the Southern stuff. Much more suitable for a crisp sandwich.
However I would also like to pay homage to Hunky Dories crisps. No crisp North or South beats these. Specifically the buffalo flavour. I could live without Tayto and stick to Walkers (I know sacrilege), but I always have to keep my stock of Hunky Dories Buffalo crisps full. Nothing beats the smoky and salty tastes of these crisps and there is definitely not a GB equivalent. Friends here have even come to expect me to produce packets of these after a trip home. I believe I could start a revolution.
That being said, the South, however wins, when it comes to their chocolate. No chocolate in the North or the mainland, will beat Dairy Milk chocolate in the South. Laws mean the South gets to pile in more sugar. Unhealthy? Sure. Delicious? Absolutely. On boat journeys to Holyhead from Dublin, I always make sure to stock up.
A teabag, a packet of crisps, or a bar of chocolate might not seem like much, but they become markers of familiarity in a new place. But anchors aren’t always tangible. Some are rooted in memory, in smell and sound, in the things you can’t pack into a suitcase.
My memories of turf are both literal and metaphorical. Literally, the smell of turf still burns in my memory. The whiff reminds of comforting times, at home, particularly Christmas time, when it is cold outside but warm inside. The earthy smoky smell is something soaps and candles have tried, and failed, to recreate. Nothing will ever beat the real stuff.
Metaphorically, turf represents home. We’ve all used the phrase “home turf” at one time or another, but living away makes its meaning sharper. It’s a reminder that the comforts of home can’t always be carried with you. Some belong only to the place itself, waiting for you when you return.
Writing this has made me hungry, so I’m off to make a cup of tea and open my last packet of Tayto crisps. What do you find yourself missing when your own home comforts are out of reach?
This is a guest slot to give a platform for new writers either as a one off, or a prelude to becoming part of the regular Slugger team.
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