Principles be damned

Principles can be a dangerous thing to have.

I have always said that I will never not go to a quiz in the rugby club simply because I don’t like the quizzes from a particular setter. Yes I’ve missed quizzes because I’ve been ill or otherwise engaged. There was one setter whose quizzes I stopped going to because she made a very personal comment about me on the microphone. But there’s no one for whom I’ve said - they are so bad at this that I just can’t sit through another one of their quizzes. Even though I’ve wanted to say that.

Nobody who sets quizzes on a Thursday night in the Aberavon Rugby Club has ever tried to present themselves as a professional quiz master. Nobody has, to the best of my knowledge, received anything more than a couple of drinks for doing the quiz. You have to respect that.

But.

As much as I do really like last night’s setter as a person, his quiz was awful. Seriously dire and not even in a ‘so bad it has a certain ironic enjoyability ‘ way either. Our question setter committed many of what I would call simple yet serious blunders, all guaranteed to turn the evening into an unentertaining slog. We had:-

Some very turgid questions requiring very specific knowledge – for example How many metres in a nautical mile? If you’re going to ask a question like that, at least make it a multiple choice to give people a chance

Some questions where the answer did not match the questions as they were asked. For example – which three countries have capital cities whose capital city is less than 400 miles from Mount Everest? Check the wording of that question again. Okay – we put down Nepal, Tibet (which you can argue is not a country because it is not currently an independent sovereign state rightly or wrongly ) and Bhutan. Answer given – Kathmandu, Lhasa, Thimphu. He had asked for the countries, yet gave the capitals for the answer.

In two rounds he had to leave a question out at the end of the round because he had already asked it in a previous round. Once is careless. Twice – supply your own adjective.

He has difficulty pronouncing or reading his own questions. His very idiosyncratic way of doing this sometimes renders even straightforward questions much more difficult.

He would ask quite a few questions with multiple answers – for example, name the 4 chemical elements named after the Swedish town of Ytterby – and then only award 1 point if you had all 4. When challenged about the fairness he fell back on the ‘It’s my quiz!’ argument. I’ll be honest, that was the point where I really lost any sympathy for him. When you’re a question master it is NOT about you using and abusing your little bit of power. It is supposed to be about providing everyone else with an evening’s entertainment. Full stop.

There was a bit of a feeling of ‘couldn’t be arsed’ about some of his questions. He asked for a boxer’s nickname and when I pointed out he had more than one he replied ‘I know but I couldn’t remember the other.’ Which just shows that he couldn’t be arsed to google it when compiling the quiz. There really is no excuse for not checking your answers.

It’s difficult to be sure but I don’t think that the other teams, except possibly his own, are that fond of his quizzes. The poor guy was supposed to do this quiz three weeks ago, but he was ill. Now, back when it was announced that he would be doing the quiz, none other than Captain Slapdash himself called out ‘I can feel a headache coming on next Thursday!’ implying he wanted to avoid it. Now, okay, you might not like his quizzes but I think that’s unnecessarily rude, especially bearing in mind the crap that the Captain himself so often produces in his own quizzes. Whatever you think of the quiz, the tradition is that at the end of the quiz, after the QM has signed off, one of the audience will shout thank you  (supply name here)! And everyone will give them a round of applause. Last night no one else seemed to want to issue thanks so I shouted it, and hardly anyone joined me in a round of applause. In a way I understand, but again, it is a bit rude.

Now, if it was me, I wouldn’t mind anyone coming up to me and telling me what was wrong with my own quiz. We would talk about it calmly and rationally, I would explain the beauty and brilliance of the quiz they had just been fortunate enough to participate in and in the end we would agree that I was right and they were wrong. But there’s just no way I can do it with anyone else. Even though, in this case, I just don’t think the setter is cut out to be question master for a pub quiz. Not everyone is. We can’t all be brain surgeons. We can’t all be formula 1 drivers. We certainly can’t all teach. It’s nothing to be ashamed of if that’s not where your skills lie. Read the room and call it a day. But I can’t actually tell him that.

The trouble is, despite everything, I still probably take quizzes too seriously. If I didn’t then last night’s quiz would just have been the best part of two hours’ tedium. But I get so frustrated with bad quizzes that I honestly don’t think I can deliberately go through an evening like that again.

Principles be damned.

Cheers Balfie - we owe you one

I don’t often think about Balthazar Sanchez, but I did today. Who, Balthazar Sanchez? Why, none other than (reputedly) the first man to import chocolate to England. From 1995 to 2011 my mum used to live in Tottenham, not very far from the Bruce Castle Museum and on more than one occasion I’d take my kids for a walk along the road to take a look and play in the park. The museum is housed in a building that was once the home of the Royal Mail supremo Rowland Hill, the man who introduced pre-paid postage, and it has a courtyard which houses several pillar boxes. In the same area there was a large stone plaque, bearing the name Balthazar Sanchez. I did a little research and found out that he was a Spanish confectioner from Jerez who came to England in the wake of Mary Tudor’s husband Philip II of Spain, liked it and stayed. I believe he is the first person we know to have introduced chocolate to Britain. He seems to have done rather well. After settling down in Tottenham he endowed almshouses there and the stone plaque in the museum was removed from them when they were demolished.

Chocolate. The Aztecs gave us chocolate while we Europeans gave them smallpox. Not exactly in the spirit of fair trade. (Incidentally, research has shown that it’s an urban myth that the Spanish conquistadores introduced syphilis to the Americas – apparently it had been present for thousands of years prior to their arrival.)

I found myself thinking about good old Balfie through a rather circuitous process. For Christmas my brother gave me a Princess Mary tin. In brief, in 1914 Princess Mary, the daughter of King George V and Queen Mary wanted to send a gift to all the British soldiers serving on the Western Front. She did not have the funds to do so but it was such a good idea that members of the public were invited to subscribe to the Princess Mary Gift Fund which proved so successful that eventually all members of the British and Empire Armed services received the gift, although it was 1920 by the time the last was given out. Many of these tins still exist. I have written in more detail about this in an article for a future edition of PASS, the Mastermind Club magazine and if you’re interested you can read more on this page from my other blog – click the link.

Princess Mary Tins

Through my Mary tin, I became interested in what I guess might have inspired the Princess Mary Tin. After the start of the second Boer War in 1899, Queen Victoria decided to send a gift to each soldier, NCO and officer serving in the British and Empire armies in South Africa. She decided to send each man a tin of chocolate. Victoria wanted to make sure that her boys knew she was sending them top quality merch and she was obviously a Cadbury fan since she commissioned Cadbury to make the gifts. This proved a tricky problem for Cadbury, though. The Cadbury family were quakers. They did not want to profit from war, nor to be seen to be doing so. However, such a patriotic commission from the Mother of the Empire was difficult to refuse. The solution was that Cadbury invited Rowntree and Fry, both also quaker-owned, to share the commission. Each firm would donate the chocolate within the tin. Victoria would pay for the cost of making the tins and sending them to South Africa. She wanted each company to put their name on their tins, but they refused and compromised by stamping their names on the chocolate within the tins.

The tins all followed the same design by Barclay and Fry of Southwark. However, each chocolate company used their own manufacturer for the tins. This means that even though they used the same design there are differences between them and it is possible to tell them apart even if the chocolate inside is long gone. I’ve collected a Rowntree’s tin and a Cadbury’s tin and I’m currently in the market for a Fry’s tin.

Top - Rowntree's tin
Bottom - Cadbury's tin. Wanted - a Fry's tin

I must admit that it does strike me that amongst the three companies, Fry’s seemed to me to be the runt of the litter – small fry if you should excuse the pun. When I was growing up, at the height of my chocolate eating days, it seemed as if Cadbury’s, with the mighty Dairy Milk and associated products and Rowntree’s with their wide range of confectionary dominated the market, along with the ubiquitous Mars company. Fry’s, well, what did they have? The dreadfully boring Fry’s Chocolate Cream and Fry’s Turkish Delight were all I ever noticed.

Yet actually, a little research shows that Fry’s were very much a big name in the 19^th century. Fry’s are credited with marketing the very first solid chocolate bar. They were responsible for several firsts in the 19^th century. They also created the first chocolate easter egg. The afore mentioned Chocolate Cream, still available today, is believed to be the world’s oldest surviving chocolate bar brand. Although they merged with Cadbury’s in 1919, forming the British Chocolate and Cocoa Company, they maintained their operational independence until the end of the 1960s. It was Fry’s who first made Crunchie although this was taken under the Cadbury brand by the time I was eating them.

You know, when I first started attending the Thursday night quiz in the Aberavon Rugby Club, all of the other regular setters and question masters were a minimum of 20 years older than me, and it wasn’t unusual for them to ask questions about things which were from their own youth. I remember one QM asking a question about Fry’s Five Boys Chocolate. Now, a quick google reveals that Five Boys chocolate was discontinued in 1976. Well, I remember 1976 and quite a few years before it for that matter, but I don’t remember Five Boys chocolate. If, like me, you don’t recall the product, the unusual name came from the branding. The wrapper of the bar showed not five different boys but 5 photographs of the same boy, wearing a sailor suit going through the 5 emotions one feels when anticipating then enjoying a bar of Fry’s chocolate. For the record these were Desperation – Pacification – Expectation – Acclamation and Realisation. Not so much the five stages of grief as the five stages of throwing a tantrum to get a sweetie. Don’t knock it.

Well, marketing and branding in 1902 when the bar was launched wasn’t what it is today. Mind you, it didn’t do too badly, since I’ve heard the bar described as the most recognised chocolate bar in the world in the middle of the 20^th century. Incidentally the young shaver on the wrapper was a real boy called Lindsay Poulton whose father and grandfather took the photos for which Frys paid £200 in 1902. For the record that’s the equivalent of almost £16,000 today – a nice little earner.

I have heard it said that the philanthropist, prison reformer and former tenant of the £5 note, Elizabeth Fry was a member of the family, and I’ve also heard it said that she was no relation. The truth actually lies somewhere between. Her maiden name was Gurney and she married Joseph Fry, who was a cousin of the chocolate making family.

The  business began in Bristol in 1761, becoming J.S.Fry and Sons in 1822. Compared with this Cadbury began in 1824 while new kids on the block Rowntree didn’t begin until 1862.

So, does knowing all this make me feel more determined to get hold of a Fry’s Boer War tin? I dunno, but it certainly doesn’t make me any less!