Episode 1 The Mary Berry Story

Well, they're certainly different.

Today, Mary Berry is known as a fair

and knowledgeable judge on The Great British Bake Off...

You looked a little worried all the way through,

but you've come through fine, haven't you?

That looks a bit like a crown, doesn't it?

She's the undisputed queen of cakes for Britain's growing

band of home bakers, who religiously follow her reliable recipes.

Mary Berry!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

But the doyenne of British baking didn't earn this reputation overnight.

Things have changed since I started. It really was meat and two veg.

She's spent over half a century teaching the nation how

to cook good food at home.

I've got four chicken joints here.

Don't be afraid it's going to cost the earth,

because it's made with chicken, not the classic beef.

For the girl who struggled at school...

I've still got that sinking feeling. Am I going to get a detention?

..and the teenager struck down by polio...

I couldn't lift my head or my arms.

-It must have been terrifying?

-It was very frightening.

You might like to add a little mustard.

..cooking gave Mary a focus in life

and a career that's lasted a lifetime.

I love sharing the subject that I enjoy.

The best way of sharing that is to teach.

Mary was in her 20s

when she first wrote recipes for the nation to enjoy.

50 years later, and now with children and grandchildren

of her own, she's still teaching us how to be better cooks at home.

This is the Mary Berry story.

Mary's life began in the hills overlooking the city of Bath.

Today she's returned to her family home,

the place of her early formative years.

Goodness gracious. It's over 60 years since I've been here.

I must have been about 15.

It looks massive, far bigger than I remember.

Mary Rosa Berry was born here on the 24th March, 1935,

to Marjorie and Alleyne Berry,

a Conservative councillor who later became the Mayor of Bath.

Their second child, Mary grew up alongside older brother Roger.

Looking up at the house again, I can remember

I was in a bedroom on my own.

You imagined all sorts of creeps and noises,

and I used to see shadows and things.

I would creep out and go to my parents' room,

and Mum and Dad would be each reading a book, either side of the fire.

You certainly wouldn't go across to Dad to sit on his knee,

but you'd creep in, hoping Dad didn't notice, to sit on Mum's knee.

And you knew all the demons had gone.

My mother was really the heart of the family

and she always welcomed all our friends.

And gosh, they came in great numbers.

We were really very frightened of Father.

We didn't talk a lot

when I was young.

I can remember my parents having conversations

and us not being included in them.

It was a little bit children were seen and not heard.

So we always went out to play,

because there was lots to do.

This was our secret place.

And it was a great hidey-hole.

I think our parents knew exactly where we were,

but we thought they didn't.

Living here was wonderful.

We had lots of space, lots of fun.

I didn't like school, so immediately I came through the gate there,

that was play time, fun time.

I just remember it as freedom.

But as Mary enjoyed her youth, the world outside was falling into chaos.

In 1939, the country went to war.

With food in short supply, the people of Britain were called on to do their bit.

-NEWSREEL:

-This Dig For Victory leaflet number one

tells you how to plan your spring planting campaign

so you can have fresh vegetables in your garden

next winter and all the year round.

During the Dig For Victory campaign,

sports grounds and public parks were transformed into allotments.

Alleyne Berry was keen to do his bit.

As well as serving as an air raid warden, he turned his lawns

and flowerbeds over to grow fruit and veg.

We were fortunate in the war to have our own vegetables and we had all sorts of different fruits.

I can remember exactly

where each one was placed in the garden.

And then we kept goats,

because milk was scarce.

On occasions, Mum would let the milk sit

until the cream came on the top.

She would then put that into

a jam jar with a screw-top lid and shake it violently.

And you just got the smallest amount of butter.

When butter was rationed, that was a great bonus.

For the self-sufficient families of wartime Britain,

the summer months were the good times. The challenge was

to make their supplies last through the dark winter months.

In the war, we kept chickens.

In the summer, we had an abundance of eggs,

cos that's when the chickens lay most.

In the winter, the eggs were sparse.

So you had to preserve them in some way.

Mum did this with Izing glass.

It comes from a jug here.

It looks a bit like starch.

So you pour that in.

Just enough to cover the first layer of eggs.

This Izing glass

was made from fish swim bladder, whatever that is.

It meant that you kept the oxygen from the egg,

and that means bacteria can't make the egg go off.

Then, as time goes by,

you add more eggs,

maybe two or three a day,

and you have another layer of Izing glass,

and they would preserve for six or nine months.

They were good for baking,

but you couldn't make meringues, because the whites were runny,

and as time went by,

the whites go runnier and runnier.

But it was wonderful to be able to have eggs all the year round.

Waste wasn't tolerated in the Berry household, and Mary's mother,

Marjorie, would rustle up meals, depending on what she had to use up.

Stale bread featured regularly, particularly in one

of Mary's childhood favourites, bread-and-butter pudding.

70 years on, in her own kitchen,

Mary is going to recreate the dish using her mother's 1940s recipe.

She was always cutting bread,

because that was a big part of our diet.

You would have the fruit from the garden, the plums and so forth

would be made into jam, and that was the sort of filler.

So we still have a bit left.

I'll leave that there. Then she would take these...

and take the crusts off.

There wouldn't be any waste.

The crusts would be baked in the oven.

Then, when it was all dried out,

it would be taken out and banged with a rolling pin,

and put in a jar,

and when you had fish,

the fish would be dipped in milk

and then into the raspings

to give a nice, crisp outside.

So in those days, nothing was wasted.

So I've got a bowl of margarine here.

Butter would have been too precious. You would have it on your bread

for breakfast and things. It would have been margarine.

Now I would always use butter.

What to do is take each piece of bread

and you just dip them in...

and I'll layer it up with fruit.

Mum would just have this sugar, spice and fruit,

but now I would add either grated orange or grated rind.

Really does bring out the flavour.

Mum didn't. It wasn't about.

So, in that goes.

It's a bit like making lasagne,

layering the bread,

then fruit, and bread.

It was really exciting the day that we had puddings.

It was usually on Saturday.

We'd all gather round as the pudding was being made

and couldn't wait for it to go.

Then it would come out of the oven, and we'd all be there. It was a real treat.

Lastly, dipping in

the marge

and with the butter side up.

So it was butter side down all the way up,

and then, the last one, it's butter side up.

I want a crispy top.

And then I'm going to add

the eggs and the milk.

This would have been goat's milk, but now when I make it,

I used semi-skimmed, but I put a dollop of cream in there,

cos it's nicer.

So that goes to the top.

And you leave that to soak...

into the bread.

There's only two eggs to quite a lot of milk.

So it has to soak into the bread, then you get a little custard round the outside.

Then on top, a little sugar.

Demerara sugar is nice.

So we did have puddings, because Mum had talked to us

at the beginning of the difficult times.

She said, "No puddings if you don't give up sugar in your tea."

That meant everybody in the household had to give it up.

Once you've given up sugar in tea, you never want it again.

I've been trying to tell my husband that

ever since I married him, but he still likes sugar in his tea.

Often he makes me tea and says, "Sugar?" and I say, "No."

After 46 years, he should know.

Mary's mum would leave the pudding for half an hour,

to allow the egg and milk to soak into the bread,

before putting it in the oven for a further 30 minutes.

What I want is for it to puff up,

the custard to set, and it to have that lovely

light-brown crust on top.

How about that, then?

Nice and puffed-up. Looks more like a souffle than a bread-and-butter pudding.

During the war, that would have fed six of us,

and we'd have been jolly grateful.

The very first portion, which was slightly bigger than ours,

would always be for Dad.

So that looks pretty good.

Let's have a taste.

Considering that's marge,

and not so much fruit and a little less sugar,

it really is very good,

but I would like a little bit of lemon in there,

and a nice blob of cream there.

But gosh, it's good, and it's a wonderful way

of using up leftover bread.

With food in short supply in 1940s Britain, Mary's father

continued his drive towards self-sufficiency.

Even a family picnic would be turned into a foraging mission

as the Berrys headed up the Avon

in search of wild fruit to make into jam.

For Mary and her brothers, Roger and William, these trips provided

great excitement and a real sense of adventure, and today, 60 years on,

the three Berrys are taking to the waters of the River Avon once again.

Father decided to build a boat. Right.

He actually steamed the timbers

to put the boat together. Do you remember that?

I can remember it because he steamed them in order

to bend the wood for the boat, wasn't it?

And we put it in the water,

and as soon as we set off,

the boat touched the bottom of the river.

And the propeller broke, and we went nowhere.

I remember that.

Of course you do.

Mother thought we were going to sink!

-We were in with the dog.

-The dog was called Rupert.

I used to like it when we went to Freshford

-and there was that weir that was covered in moss.

-Yes.

You could slip down the side and swim, and I had a hand-knitted

swimming costume.

The weight of the water all went down,

and you used to tease me and pull it. I don't know about your costumes,

but mine was definitely hand-knitted.

I had a common-or-garden costume and I think William did.

After we'd finished the swim,

Father would make the tea and sandwiches.

Mum was so good at picnics.

Wherever we went, there were things to eat.

I really remember that.

There were always games

and running about and bringing friends.

It was a very happy time.

Happy times indeed, but for Mary, as the middle child of three, there was

even better sport to be had finding ways to annoy her two brothers.

We used to sit for family meals and Sunday lunches, this sort of thing.

Mary used to turn round to me and say, "I saw Roger with so-and so."

That's right. Courting days.

-Yes, I was a spy.

-She said, "Look, Mummy, he's going redder and redder and redder."

That's right.

I felt very embarrassed about all this sort of thing.

I can remember you said, "Why don't we have a boxing match?"

-You obviously thought that you could win.

-I do remember that.

I realised that the only chance I had was to hit you first.

And I gave you the biggest whack on your nose.

-I can remember the blood streaming down onto a pale blue jumper.

-Yes.

And that was not funny.

I did make an awful lot of fuss about it, cos the only way to get any attention

from parents was to make a great, big scene.

In the end, you got ticked off and you were the smaller one.

I approved of that.

Yes, I remember that.

The family river trips proved a welcome distraction

from Mary's weekday routine,

studying at Bath High School for Girls.

Today she is revisiting her old school. It's a place of mixed memories.

This is an amazing moment for me.

I was never allowed through that door. It was for prefects,

and I was never going to be one of those.

Dad was very academic. He told us he had no difficulty with exams.

I really felt very inadequate,

because I was never praised for any of my homework

or my exam results at the end of term.

Well, this is the classroom that I remember.

Gosh, it looks VERY different.

They were bleak, our classrooms.

There's so many pictures round, and students' work. There was none of that much at school.

Teacher would be at the end.

We would be behind,

in neat rows, all the way back.

I would always choose to be at the back.

In order to get this position,

you had to arrive very early on the first day.

That was the only day that I came early.

And I liked it here,

because you could stretch out

and look and see what was going on in the gym

and, with any luck, you didn't get asked to answer too many questions.

They usually went for the ones at the front, and all the bright, clever ones sat there,

and I used to get away lightly at the back.

But Mary's attempts to avoid the attention of her teachers

weren't always so successful.

This is Miss Blackburn's office, our headmistress.

I was summoned here far too often

for things I shouldn't have been doing.

And you'd knock several times,

and when that green light went on,

heart sinks,

fear and trepidation - you're allowed to go in.

I've still got that sinking feeling.

Am I going to get a detention,

a lecture?

She would be at the end there.

And she would say, "Sit down."

So I would come in,

not on comfy sofas like this -

a hard chair.

I would sit, and she would say, "Mary."

You knew that, when she said your name,

"What have I done this time?

"And what's going to happen to me?"

I was always terrified of her.

I can never remember in the whole of my life

having any praise from Miss Blackburn.

Or encouragement, really.

I think she'd given me up from the very beginning.

Miss Blackburn expected the best of her students and wanted the best

for her school, but in 1942, her world was rocked to its very foundations.

On the 25th April, when Mary was seven, Bath was bombed.

One of a series of raids ordered by Hitler on British cultural targets.

-NEWSREEL:

-The King and Queen have come to see how Bath

now take sits place in Hitler's plan of war.

Once again, the distorted German mind that conjures up hope of breaking British morale.

But the same indomitable spirit

that prevailed during the days of the Battle of Britain

is seen in our bombed cities today.

The people of Bath are famous,

and their majesties recognise this by going among them with words

of sympathy and praise.

In the attack, over 400 people lost their lives.

The sirens stick in your mind for the rest of your life.

As children, you're not worried at all,

because your parents are there,

well, my mother was there, and grandparents.

Then, in the morning, all the windows had been blown out,

and there was all the glass on the floor.

There were big holes in the road and craters.

It then became a huge shock.

My parents had Mr and Mrs Kelly, who'd been bombed.

They came and lived in our house,

and we had another husband and wife who worked for my father

staying in the house, cos they had nowhere to go.

So we had two extra couples.

All the women would be in the kitchen, cooking.

It really struck me then how terrible it was.

Over 19,000 buildings were damaged or destroyed. Amongst them,

Miss Blackburn's beloved High School.

All her pupils were safe,

but Miss Blackburn's classrooms were in ruins, and with rumour

that her school may shut down, the headmistress had to act fast.

To attract students she began to open a series of new courses.

Amongst them was a Domestic Science class,

and one of the first students to sign up was one Mary Berry.

When you reached 14, there were two options for school cert.

You either took Latin and Maths, that was for the clever ones,

or, if you were like people like me,

it was Domestic Science.

That was such a joy, I enjoyed every moment.

The best thing was the teacher, Miss Date.

Now, looking at this

school photograph,

I'm here, looking very severe.

And dear Miss Date, she must be along here somewhere.

Here we are, with a little twinkle in her eye.

We affectionately called her "Datey".

She really cared, she encouraged me.

I used to long to go to the lessons.

It was two-hour lessons and it was sheer fun.

I have seen her since I left school.

I saw her a couple of years before she died

in her home in Monkton Combe,

and she was still so jolly, so positive,

and a wonderful lady.

If I've had any success,

it is due to her.

She inspired me from the very beginning.

By 1949, the difficult years of the war were behind her,

but in October that year the joys of youth would to come

to a sudden end for Mary when she contracted polio.

To find out more about the disease that afflicted her,

Mary's visiting the Guildhall in Bath...

..where she'll search through their hospital archives

with Professor of Medicine, Dr Gareth Williams.

So this is the register of the admissions to the Bath Isolation Hospital.

I think you will probably view this

with rather mixed memories,

because I'm going to turn to October, 1949.

There is an entry here of some significance.

Because it's you being admitted,

you're aged 14.

And you were admitted with a diagnosis of poliomyelitis.

I can remember it very well.

I had no idea what was wrong

and I couldn't lift my head.

-Did they actually say, "You've got polio" to you?

-No.

There I was,

and then a nurse came in,

after one or two days,

and read from the end of the bed...

"infantile paralysis".

The old name for polio, yes.

But I didn't know what infantile paralysis was.

For me, it could have been flu.

I still didn't know what was wrong with me.

And I couldn't understand

why I couldn't get about.

Yeah. This was quite a busy time for them,

-and one of the cases admitted just the day before you actually died.

-Did they?

Mary caught polio during one of the largest outbreaks the UK had ever seen.

The epidemic of 1949 affected 6,000 people and killed over 600.

A viral infection that attacks the central nervous system,

the disease left many patients suffering acute paralysis

and gave notoriety to the fearsome-looking iron lung,

a machine that helped patients with paralysed chests to continue breathing.

Showing symptoms of polio, Mary was rushed

to the Claverton Down Hospital in Bath for observation.

So contagious was the disease that she was immediately placed

in the isolation ward.

Just look how bleak... That's just how I remembered.

The side of the room I was in was total glass.

-The one thing you want is your mother...

-Right.

..and then Mum and Dad appeared the other side of the glass.

I knew I felt very unwell

and I couldn't lift my head or my arms.

And they were there, but they couldn't touch you.

So you'd see and Mum would be sort of waving, and I would sort of look.

It was the separation.

It must have been terrifying.

It was very frightening.

After 12 days in isolation, Mary was transferred to the Bath & Wessex Orthopaedic Hospital

where she'd spend the next ten weeks.

Well, this is the Bath & Wessex Orthopaedic Hospital scrapbook,

and there's a few things in here I think you might find interesting.

Here's a lovely piece of history.

-Goodness me, that's exactly where I was.

-Really?

I remember it was such a relief

to be with the other people.

The one thing that struck me as soon as I got there

was it was immensely cold.

The side of the hospital

was totally open at certain times,

so every day, you'd be pushed out there,

and it was nothing to do with the polio people,

it was the TB people,

-because they had to have fresh air.

-Yes.

There were polio and TB

all in the same orthopaedic ward.

-Right.

-That's jolly nice when it's sunny,

but when it's cold, it's not nice.

I remember we had little cupboards by our beds,

-and you had your toothbrush and water there.

-Right.

The toothbrush, in the winter, froze in it.

I know we had los of blankets, but it really was very cold.

Seeing this picture,

with all the beds out there,

-I have a surprise for you.

-OK.

While I was there,

-I was missing my family...

-Yeah.

..and I was also missing my pony.

Right.

-And my brother...

-Great.

..found this

and gave it to me, and I've only just got it.

There I am in bed. Gosh, my hair's quite short.

Well, it was then, yes.

Lying in bed, and my father walked

with the pony to the Orthopaedic Hospital,

-and that would have been at least three or four miles.

-Right.

Look at the ears. They're perked-up.

-I think that means he's recognised you.

-I think so too.

That's a lovely picture.

Well, I can tell you that brought great joy.

I bet it did.

-Also, it made me think, "I WILL get out of her one day."

-Yes.

I was so thrilled on that day to think that Dad, for me,

had walked with that pony,

-and you can see I look chuffed to bits.

-You look radiant.

Also, you can see that my hand

is strapped-up there,

-because it was the left hand I had most trouble with.

-Right.

They were trying to bring this thumb over.

-Can you see that mark there?

-Yes.

I had a lot of muscle wastage here,

and this arm's a bit smaller, and this side's a bit smaller.

-But how lucky I was to be as I am now.

-Yes.

I can remember a girl next door to me

in an iron lung,

and she became terribly thin.

She always had a smile on her face,

and the iron lung also made a noise.

All through the night, if you woke up, you could hear that.

One night, that had stopped.

-And that's when Buffy died.

-Right.

And she was just about 12, I think.

That was a huge shock.

You were in for about seven and a bit weeks, I think.

I'm not too sure. Can't remember.

I can tell you you came out the Orthopaedic Hospital

on the 28th of December,

because there...

is you with your dad on a horse,

and it's the 29th of December.

It says that,

"Daughter Mary, who was discharged only the day before."

So that's the day after you got out.

I can remember that.

-That horse is called Nelson.

-Right. OK.

-Dad with a bowler.

-Indeed.

Because I still had such a weak left arm,

they had - and you can see it so plainly there -

-a thing like a little hat.

-Yes.

I was allowed to be out,

as long as I kept my arm above...

A wristband, attached to the head?

You know all about it.

I've seen pictures of it, but I wasn't too sure

whether you were saluting your dad or the horse,

but that was attached, wasn't it?

That was attached, and for my parents, it was wonderful

that I was up, I could walk,

but I had to keep my arm up here.

-I've never seen that picture.

-Well, there we are.

He's looking very caringly down.

I think he is, that's a lovely picture.

Seeing me the day after I came out of hospital,

with Dad on his horse,

the look in his eye of care,

was very moving.

There was I with my hand on top of my head,

and I realised, looking at that picture of Dad,

he really loved me.

On leaving hospital, Mary returned to school,

but the effects of the polio meant she was excluded from team sports.

Instead, the energetic teenager turned to her beloved horse-riding for exercise.

Then, in 1952, aged 17, Mary finished at the Bath High School.

With only two O-levels to her name, in Art and Domestic Science,

her options for further education were limited.

She applied to the Bath College of Home Economics

to study on their Institutional Management course.

Today, Mary has come to Bath Spa University to meet

the Vice Chancellor, Professor Christina Slade, who holds recently

discovered reports and letters, all referring to Mary's education.

What we've found here is your file

from the City of Bath Domestic Science Training College.

Gracious me, an awful photograph!

Look at my hair all flat,

and wearing navy blue, that would be just about right.

I used to wear a navy jumper, navy-blue skirt.

I think it's an absolutely marvellous file.

-We have the full application from Bath High.

-Oh, dear.

Not the happiest days of my life.

Well, obviously, you were very...

Try to be nice.

I think this is a very positive remark.

"For a long time, Mary has said

"that she would like to be a catering manager.

"She's read much concerning this

"and has, for a schoolgirl, a surprising fund of knowledge."

-Now, who's this...?

-Miss Ireland.

She was Assistant Headmistress.

I think I was pretty lucky Miss Blackburn didn't write it,

cos she hadn't a lot of nice things to say about me.

There we are. And then we come

to the letter to you

saying, "I have pleasure in offering you a vacancy in the Institutional Management Course,

-"subject," it says, "to your gaining three passes at Ordinary level."

-Oh, dear.

But the next letter is just a little slip of paper.

We think it's from the secretary.

"I spoke to Mrs Berry.

"She said that her daughter had obtained two passes only,

"and that she had spoken to Miss Neilson, who had agreed to accept her!" Exclamation mark!

-So there you are.

-Miss Neilson being the principal of the Bath College of Domestic Science.

What exactly was the Institution Management course you did?

It was a two-year course,

and the headmistress took us for sort of household jobs.

We did everything from table-laying

and making beds,

and also she taught us to clean loos.

She used to say...

"Flush, brush, flush."

We all giggled and laughed about it,

but the basic things she taught us about how to run a house,

and I'm grateful to her.

As part of the course, Mary took work experience at local butchers

and fishmongers.

I would arrive early, and they were pleased to have a girl there, of 19.

I was taught to skin a Dover sole,

to bone fish.

It gave me confidence, so when I'm now working

in television or talking about food,

I have the background knowledge, which I'm very grateful for.

Mary graduated from the Institutional Management course in 1952.

It was a time when enthusiasm for home cooking was gaining

momentum nationwide.

Innovations and labour-saving devices were transforming

the domestic kitchen, and electricity was at the heart of it.

The National Grid had been running since 1938,

but in 1949, the Government had given it an upgrade,

making electricity more accessible and usable.

Modern electric cookers became increasingly popular.

But many didn't know how to use them.

The Electricity Board needed people to teach

the housewives of Britain, and Mary, with her qualification

in Institutional Management, was the perfect candidate.

She was offered the post of home service advisor.

Her career in food had begun.

Armed with her shiny Ford Popular company car,

she travelled the Bath area demonstrating electric cookers.

It's here that Mary met her colleague, Maeve Patterson.

Today, the two lifelong friends have reunited to remember those heady days.

Oh, gracious, Mavis.

-Do you remember these?

-I do.

Ford Populars, rattling along.

It was the very first car that I drove.

-You really felt you'd arrived.

-Oh, gosh, yes.

Of course, they had no heater,

-the windscreen wiper hardly worked.

-You had to wind the windows down.

The gears - you had to sort of guide it into first, second, third and fourth,

but it was fun.

You were out and about.

A lot of our friends were secretaries and in offices.

It was the girls' job to visit the homes of customers who had

recently purchased an electric cooker and show them how to use it.

They would demonstrate by making quiches and Victoria sandwiches.

-I can remember the great move was when they produced glass doors...

-Oh, yes.

-..to be able to see what you were cooking.

-Oh, that's right.

People really couldn't belive that, and we used to have things like souffles,

and you put it in,

and they'd see the things rising and they thought it was magical.

And we had our own demonstration theatres in our showrooms.

And the Saturday morning "dems",

we got the husbands

-and a few young men.

-Oh, yes.

I always used to look forward to Saturday morning "dems",

in the showrooms,

because you never know who might come in.

A few glamorous chaps.

Once the working week was over, the girls would hang up their aprons

and head to town to let their hair down.

Saturday morning, if we weren't working,

we would go out for coffee first of all,

and the main thing was to find out who was about,

and then we'd all move on

to Geoff's to have a drink,

-and that's when Saturday night was planned.

-That's right.

All the girls would be there, the chaps would be down from London,

and what we do? Go to the Pump Room,

and there was dinner-dancing.

If you were lucky, you were asked.

You would never ask a chap to do it.

No way.

You had to usually, in the afternoon, watch the sport,

go to rugby or something,

in order to get the evening date absolutely fixed.

That's right. Do you remember, in summer,

all those camping weekends we went to Porlock.

And we had two tins.

We had two bell tents,

-one for the boys and one for the girls.

-Yes.

I remember that, but I'm not talking too much about it.

In her efforts to train the housewives of Britain to cook electric,

Mary turned to one dish more than any other -

the simple but delicious Victoria sandwich.

Once again following the Women's Institute recipe

she used in the '50s, Mary will make two sponges, sandwiched with

a layer of raspberry jam and topped with a dusting of caster sugar.

I think all the flour is now incorporated.

Going out to do demonstrations in the Ford Popular,

you'd go to Midsomer Norton,

all these nice-sounding places.

It was very enjoyable, and people really appreciated the demonstration.

I can remember well going somewhere called Peasedown St John,

and I was nearly there and I'd left plenty f time,

but I got a puncture.

And I'm not one to do punctures.

I always think the chaps should do those.

Fortunately, I was outside a farm,

and fate was on my side.

Lovely farmer.

When you have things like this happening,

people are very, very nice.

Right, that looks just about level to me.

So squash them out,

and I've made thousands of these.

You really can't beat

a true Victoria sandwich.

The Electricity Board girls, the demonstrators,

were often called upon to go and judge village shows.

So that was a Saturday job.

I did that with great pride.

So, oven is set.

I like to do them on the same shelf, one behind the other,

Ovens have changed dramatically since Mary first cooked

this sponge in 1955, but the baking remains the same.

20 minutes at 180 degrees.

I'm so often asked how many

Victoria sandwiches have I made in my life?

I guess I've made several thousand of them.

They're cooled now,

beautifully risen, just the right colour.

Peel that off.

Then I'll spread that really generously

with raspberry jam.

Some people like a nice, thick layer of cream.

Whatever takes your fancy.

In our village, so many people make wonderful

Victoria sandwiches, and we have the church plant sale here

every year, and I always buy

Doreen's beautiful Victoria sandwich,

because I've never had time to make one myself.

So there we are.

And just a shaking of sugar on top.

I think we should cut this and see exactly what it's like inside.

Let's take a good wedge out of here.

Have we got a big enough knife(?)

There's nothing nicer

than a really fresh, just-cooled cake.

Nobody says no to that.

When I'm judging, I always,

on the Bake Off or whatever it is,

I always take a decent slice,

because I always think somebody's watching me,

and they would like me to try.

You know what?

I could eat the whole slice, right now.

But I have to be a little bit controlled,

cos it goes all on my bottom.

I'll actually have that little bit more. Delicious.

Mm!

Well worth making.

By the mid-1950s, Britain had started to recover

from the ravages of war, and the economy was booming.

Many of Mary's friends had left Bath,

heading to the bright lights of London to find their fortune.

Mary, now aged 20, was keen to join them.

I was desperate to work in London.

Dad had other ideas.

I was not allowed to go to London until I was 21.

So, as soon as I was 21,

I was looking for jobs. There were plenty for secretaries - that's what most of my friends did.

But there was a job in the Telegraph

for a home economist

for the Dutch Dairy Bureau.

Sounded right up my street,

developing recipes using Dutch butter and Dutch cheeses,

so I duly wrote to a Mr Sevink.

I got a reply back, "Come for an interview."

I went up to London

in my best bib and tucker and, believe it or not, I wore a hat.

That's what you did in those days.

And so I was offered the job.

I went home and I can remember going through the door

and seeing my parents and nonchalantly saying,

"Well, I got the job."

And Dad said, "Really?!"

I said, "Yes, a £1,000 a year."

And he said,

"£1,000 a year, for you?!"

He said, "Who interviewed you?"

I said, "A charming man. He was Dutch, he's called Mr Sevink."

"Right," he said.

So he went on the next train to London

to just check on Mr Sevink.

He came back in the evening, and I was waiting with bated breath.

He said, "You're quite right. It just sounds the job for you."

So I was away, I was thrilled to bits. Couldn't wait to get there.

My job specification, as they call it now,

was to invent recipes using Dutch

butter and cheese.

I would do any leaflets and booklets.

And I would do recipes for the press.

I had a very small test kitchen, but I enjoyed it enormously, because I love cooking.

I would go off in the mornings and sort of invent recipes.

When I arrived here, I was really thrilled to be

developing recipes all the time,

getting to know all the different magazines and newspapers.

I did think, "This is a stepping stone. I want to do this job really well,"

but I had ideas of moving on.

Mary's ambitions would soon take her away from London to Paris,

the centre of the culinary world.

She wanted to study at the famous Cordon Bleu cookery school.

Mary couldn't afford the astronomical fees,

but she knew someone who could.

My boss, Mr Sevink, had quite an eye for the girls.

I was pretty cagey...

but I knew how to play my cards.

Having done quite well at an exhibition,

I remember coming back and giving the figures and what have you,

and saying, "There's one thing I really want to do,

"to go to the Cordon Bleu in Paris.

"And I would pay for the accommodation.

"I wonder if you would give me a month's leave

"and pay for the tuition?"

He thought I was being rather fair, saying I'd pay for the accommodation.

The accommodation was student accommodation,

which was next-to-nothing.

And I know the fees were very expensive.

So...he said yes, and so off I went.

To get this qualification would mean a lot to me,

because whatever you have on the CV

helps you get the next job.

I didn't dare tell Mr Sevink that,

but I had other ideas of what I wanted to move on to.

I was so excited, but very nervous, because as the train drew out...

I just wondered what I was going to let myself in for.

And then when I arrived I was on my own.

That's the first time I'd been on my own.

I'd been sharing a flat with four others,

and they were sort of, "Lucky thing, off to Paris for a month.

"Perhaps we'll come and see you." I knew they wouldn't,

cos they wouldn't have enough money.

I had to walk to the Cordon Bleu...

because I was wondering how far the money would go

and the very first morning,

I set off almost in the dark, because I had to find this place.

50 years ago, I was in this very spot...

coming to the Cordon Bleu,

and I checked the address on the top of the paper.

Yes, it was right,

but it didn't look a bit like a cookery school.

I was expecting something really big and grand,

big letters, a reception desk,

but all I could see was what looked like a bakery.

But I was in the right place, I was early, so I boldly went in.

Today, Mary's here to meet the current owner, Catherine Sabbagh,

who was brought up in the shop next door

and remembers the Cordon Bleu and its fearsome owner, Mme Brassart.

There was a formidable small lady.

I said, "I've come for the Cordon Bleu.

"Je veux Mme Brassart."

She said, "Je suis Mme Brassart."

And the Cordon Bleu... "En bas."

Absolutely.

Exactement.

I only remember one chef.

He was very big, very noisy and shouted.

I was very frightened of him.

We used to hear this big chef,

who was like crying very, very...

strongly against his little clients, American in general.

Exactly!

The one thing I remember, I thought, "I've come to Paris to the Cordon Bleu,"

and I expected everybody else to be French.

But they weren't. They were American.

It was fashionable. This is how I thought of it.

They were not concentrating and just wanted a few dishes

to go back to America to give to their cooks.

Then they would say,

"It was Cordon Bleu."

It was the name "Cordon Bleu", wasn't it?

True.

Mary took the cheaper professional course,

so while her contemporaries studied in a well-lit room upstairs,

Mme Brassart sent Mary "en bas" or "down there" into the cellar.

I remember this. As I came down the stairs,

there was sawdust on the floor.

It was dark, dingy, there were no windows.

It wasn't one bit what I expected.

I thought it would be a grand cooking school,

and the first thing I saw were these long tables

we were going to work at.

No sign of a stool.

It seemed a little bit depressing,

so in the afternoon, when we came up for a cookery demonstration,

it was relief to see light.

Despite the conditions,

Mary was determined to see the four-week course through.

Returning home without her prized Cordon Bleu certificate was not an option.

When not confined to the cellar, Mary absorbed the sights,

sounds and tastes of Paris.

It was so exciting to come to a street market

and see so many things I'd never seen before.

All sorts of fruits

and mushrooms and things I hadn't seen in England.

Things don't change in the market.

All these wonderful fresh herbs in bunches.

When I came in the '50s, that's the first time

I'd seen a selection of fresh herbs in season.

And here is just the same,

no sign of any plastic wrapping.

I was introduced to thyme

and wonderful flat-leafed parsley

and, of course, basil.

Basil, often in the markets,

still with the root on,

cos it keeps longer.

All we had at home was dried herbs

and mixed herbs.

It just didn't do the same thing as the real fresh herbs,

unobtainable in the '50s in England.

Mary returned to London determined to take the next step in her career.

In 1962, aged 27, Mary moved to Bensons,

a public relations company which represented some big-name brands.

I was employed to be the senior home economist. There was only one.

And I had a beautiful test kitchen too.

Mary's recipes, using her clients' products,

were printed in regional newspapers. She was enjoying the good times.

But Mary was about to go national.

Housewife magazine needed a temp

to fill in for one of their food writers,

and Mary got the call.

An immediate success, she was signed on as staff,

then, soon after, promoted to food editor.

I began to think, how can I make this different?

And so I thought it would be a good idea

to invite somebody who was really well-known,

a celebrity, to do a meal.

Usually they were quite keen to be featured in the magazine.

There we are.

I've got little stickers here to remind me. There's Eamonn Andrews.

He was really so famous, and This Is Your Life,

it was one of the things, every week, you wanted,

and you never knew who was coming.

And he did, I remember, Dover sole.

Those were sheer luxury, with almonds. And then Mary Quant.

That was one of my favourites. I remember it as if it was yesterday.

I'd read that she entertained a lot,

and we'd discussed what she was going to cook,

so I arrived at this house, rang the bell, and I was let in.

There was no sign of Mary.

I then went into this very minimalistic flat,

and in the dining room, they had blinds of foil,

which I thought was a bit unusual,

a stark white table, and nothing else whatsoever.

There wasn't a sign of any food.

I glanced in the kitchen, nothing was going on there.

Then in came Mary, looking as glamorous as ever.

And I thought, "Where's the food?"

I didn't say anything, and then she started,

she said, "You remember I talked to you about the recipe?"

It was going to be rice with crispy sausages and almonds and so forth.

And I thought, "Is she going to start cooking?

"Cos we're never going to get it ready."

And then the door opened and in came this wooden bowl

with the sausages and tomatoes, and it was a beautiful thing.

She had had it made in the restaurant on the corner.

She looked at it and sort of adjusted it,

and then things started to happen.

She had green napkins, a lovely jug of geraniums in the middle,

green bottles. The whole room came alive, and it was beautiful.

And in the front, she put her dish.

It's been 47 years since Mary became food editor of Housewife,

and today, to see if her recipes have stood the test of time,

she will recreate the meal featured in her first-ever article.

So this is the very first feature in Housewife magazine,

and I was doing a dinner party for four.

Magazines were very hard-up in those days.

They did employ two models there,

but this is Molly who I shared a flat with.

Everything was a tight budget in those days.

The pictures were from home. No stylist.

You know, for photographs now,

a stylist comes in and chooses all the china.

There is a home economist in the background.

There was only one person in the background and that was me.

So all the cooking, all the laying out. But what fun.

Tonight, Mary will revisit those early days by recreating that meal,

which featured Scandinavian herring, a rum dessert cake

and, for main, a roast.

So there's a boned shoulder of lamb.

My original recipe was with veal, just to be a little bit different.

In retrospect, I think lamb would have been better,

because it is more readily available.

And that's exactly what I'm going to do now.

So first of all, I'm going to fry the onion in butter.

And I'm just going to soften that a bit before adding the liver.

Getting the job as cookery editor of Housewife was my absolute dream.

So it was very important to get this right.

I wanted those recipes to have nice letters coming in from the readers,

straight to the editor, to say that they liked what I was doing.

I was very aware that I had to do it really well.

And I had to build a readership of my recipes.

So I practised this whole menu with friends.

I did the whole thing, like a play,

and then I could just adjust the recipe

before it goes into the editor.

Now, that just looks about right for me to add the liver.

And I've got lamb's liver here going in.

Just chopped up.

But that just needs a few moments.

This meal was really to impress.

In the '60s, you didn't have people round and eat in the kitchen.

And some people, like my mother, never ate in the kitchen.

She couldn't bear it.

To complete her stuffing, Mary has mixed the liver and onion

with sausage meat, breadcrumbs, lemon rind,

parsley, thyme and an egg to bind it all together.

So you may think that's rather a lot of stuffing.

I always make quite a lot of stuffing. I like stuffing.

And you will also notice over the years,

there's always a lot of gravy, always a lot of sauce.

I'm married to a gravy man.

So just spread that over like that and roll it up.

It's a bit like a Swiss roll. That's it, like that.

Then I'm going to tie it.

And I'm not a real expert at tying, but I'll see how I get on.

So I start off by putting one piece like that

and then go on down the line.

I was never very good at knitting, so that's why I'm doing it so slowly.

Knitting and sewing are not my thing.

And I haven't mended socks since I got married.

I always say it's because I had polio and I wouldn't be very good at it.

Joining Mary for her dinner party for four tonight

are her ex-flatmate and original guest Molly,

and in place of the models,

Mary's husband Paul and close friend Tom.

..do a lot of these dinner parties?

Were you pretty social in those days?

Here we are.

How delicious, Mary. That looks lovely.

-There we are. This is shoulder of lamb.

-That's fine.

Following her original recipe, Mary is serving the lamb

with buttered peas with cucumber and scalloped potatoes.

They're nice and even too, I think.

-So try and keep the stuffing together with the meat.

-Right-o, dear.

Here's to a good dinner.

-Yes. Yes. Yes. Thank you very much.

-Thank you very much.

I've got a surprise for you, Molly.

I've got the picture of Molly here.

-And here she is.

-That was your flat, was it?

-This was our flat.

-Had to put your best dress on.

-Absolutely, yes.

-Tidy up.

I'm glad I had a bit of a tan. And that's not a fake one, either.

You were always brown. Always popular with the boys.

-You haven't changed much either.

-Bless you.

Remember the kitchen was absolutely tiny, with a Baby Belling.

-You wouldn't know, Tom or Paul, what a Baby Belling was.

-Of course we do!

-I beg your pardon!

-A Baby Belling is the smallest...

As food editor of Housewife magazine,

Mary had got off to a good start.

But her career in food was only just beginning.

Next time, Mary's celebrity rises as she becomes a bestselling author,

before moving on to the nation's TV screens.

For chilli con carne, you need a can of minced beef with onions...

-Awful voice! Sounds like the Queen!

-It was so posh!

But with a flourishing career and a young family to raise,

Mary would be forced to make some difficult choices.

I did feel guilty, working, but I was really awfully nervous -

if I took time off, would I get my job back?

Mary's commitment would see her forge a lifelong career in food.

A career that continues to this very day.

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