Fish & Chips with Fruits of Love
July 15, 2013
There might still be a few of you who remember the Fish & Chips of yesteryear. I do and remember well that The Daily Telegraph was the preferred newspaper into which the fish and chips would be wrapped in. Nothing will ever wipe out the memory of the fragrance of the newsprint embedded into those chips. The generous sprinkling of vinegar would help not only spread the newsprint bouquet but also actually imprint the black lettering onto the chips.
Who could ever forget or replace the joy of eating them and at the same time enjoy the luxury and opportunity to do some serious reading while picking at the lovely fish and chips. It was then as it is still now that juicy scandals were the preferred newspaper article. In those days a divorce could only be obtained if proof of infidelity could be obtained and presented into a Court. As the chips were being unwrapped so were the juicy divorce articles that I would eagerly devour as well. I was a randy teenager given to raging spontaneous erections no matter from which concrete reinforced steel park bench I was eating my chips.
Boy, oh boy (or, if you like, Girl, oh girl) did people go through trouble finding that proof. Nothing was more profitable that being a private detective stalking the guilty party. The best ones could name their price. Some had waiting lists as long as your arm and would even feature on the Sunday Telegraph social pages. They were the aristocracy of Australian Society on the move, almost on par with Nola Dekyvere who was the doyen of raising funds for charities and President of The Golden Ball committee. The private detective’s job was to get clear and unequivocal proof of sexual peccadilloes from anyone not being the conjugal and legal spouse (wedded bliss).
I remember reading (while devouring my chips) of a gabardine cloaked detective who had hidden underneath a bed into which, he feverishly hoped, an improper act would come to fruition. It did not take long for a couple to enter the room. He could tell they were man and women by just able to observe feet. One wore male shoes while the other had high heels. He ‘observed the undressing’ he told his Honor solemnly. It became very un-appetizing he went on to say.
“Why”, his Honor asked, keen to get to the nitty gritty? “Well, the detective offered,” while they were clearly enjoying the fruits of their improper behavior, they chucked the peeling onto my coat, he replied. “They did what,” His Honor clearly getting into his stride now, asked? “Not just once, the detective offered, but three times in one hour.” He followed this up by taking a small parcel from out of his suit pocket which the Court’s orderly, ever so solemnly, took to the Judge for damning evidence.
There was to be a short break for his Honor to contemplate this damning evidence. After resuming and the obligatory three knocks on the door, the ‘all to stand’ order was given, the divorce was granted. It was noticed by the detective, who had seen it all, that his Honor looked slightly flushed. Human nature is frail, he pensively reflected. He would not have been surpised if his Honor had a bit of private fruition just by himself. It’s not easy to listen to all those stories of human frailty and expect not to be affected.
It’s all so much Fish & Chips.
Tags: Australian, Divorce court, Fish & Chips, His Honor, Nola Dekyvere, The Daily Telegraph
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
I cant really recall fish and chips being served rapted in Newspaper, more the grease proof and then butchers paper as vivenne suggested, There was one place that did that though but not in our local area.
Nowadays we make our own chips and the fish comes out of the box and put in the oven or microwave.
LikeLike
My Aunt was divorced in the early 70s, prior to the Whitlam reforms. The ordeal meant one party had to blame the other of physical or mental cruelty, or unfaithfulness. In all cases witnesses would be produced, interviewed, cross examined. This is where our overcoated shamus had a chance to shine, photos of love trysts, recordings sweet nothings, copies of hotel receipts, etc. Of course, her’s was less dramatic, husband gone, ‘corespondent’ appeared in court, all over in half an hour.
I must admit, that, I too, have never had fish ‘n’ chips in newspaper, only in the manner described by Emmjay. Pretty boring!
LikeLike
I’ve never heard them called “peelings” before, Gez, but how apt was that and how clever the writing ! Witty and urbane – completely unheard of in contemporary journalism.
But returning to the contents of the aforesaid package – the fish and chips, I recall that the East Hills fish and chip shop never used newspaper (this was late 1950s and 1960s). It was always greaseproof paper first and shiny white butchers’ paper second. I disliked the vinegar, but salt was essential. Sometimes lemon on the fish (usually shark).
Our tabloid of choice was the Daily Mirror in the evening- always with some major crime like rape or murder in sensational circumstances. That was how I avoided the uncomfortable father and son chat. I allowed myself to be seen reading some sensationalist sex scandal in the paper. Dad asked me “So you know about all that stuff ?” “Yes” I replied. “Good” he said, and that was the sum total of my parent-supplied sex education.
As a final point – trying not to break the cardinal rule of comments being shorter than their host articles – we subscribe to the SMH online and if there was no local rag, the budgie would have nothing to crap on and I’d have nothing to start the wood fire to keep our lounge room warm and cosy. I reckon pretty soon, newspapers will become really scarce and valuable for all their post-news uses.
LikeLike
Exactly – in the 50s and 60s chips or fish and chips were first wrapped in grease proof paper and then butcher’s paper. Only salted with vinegar only on request. Some places did use newspaper as the secondary wrapping but not where I lived. 6 pence worth of hot chips on the way home from the pool – heaven.
LikeLike
“garbardine cloaked” rotflmbao (there y’ go …that’s wha’ you get … that’s long enough a comment, Gez … we’ve got some rules y’know and there’s the budgie’s cage to clean out. 😉 )
LikeLike