Dear Idlers,
Whatever happened to elevenses?
When I was growing up my Dad used to love elevenses. It was an important custom to him. At 11am, during the holidays, we stopped whatever we were doing and with great joy he would set out a little treat for my brother and me. Sometimes it was biscuits, sometimes a Tunnock's caramel wafer, and sometimes he made banana sandwiches on brown bread. He mashed up the bananas with a lot of sugar. I imagine he had a cup of tea with this little feast.
“Elevenses, elevenses!” he said, grinning and clearly relishing the sound of the word itself. There's something comical in it, isn't there? It sounds almost like a baby word, like an affectionate nickname.
Even today, though he is nearly 80 and lives an ascetic lifestyle on a meditation retreat near Oxford, he still loves stuffing his face with biscuits at 11, or, more likely, ten to.
Elevenses, like afternoon tea, is a little detour in the day, a break from toil. The word, or something similar to it, appears in the OED as a bit of Suffolk dialect from 1849. The entry also mentions “fours”: “RAYNBIRD Agric. Suffolk vi. 296 The name ‘fourzes’ and ‘elevens’, given to these short periods of rest and refreshment, show when taken.” Food historian Alan Davidson reckons the word first appeared in the 18th century.
So like the tea break, it's certainly been around since the Industrial Revolution, but surely the custom is ancient? I can imagine shepherds in Roman times resting under a tree after a hard morning's herding, and getting out a little cake to scoff. Perhaps the classical scholars out there will be able to quote me an occasion when elevenses or something like it in mentioned in Ovid.
Eleven o'clock feels like a very natural time for a rest. When I lived in the countryside and wrote books full-time, I made sure that on the dot of eleven I got up from my desk, walked into the kitchen and made myself a little “smackerel” of something, to use Winnie the Pooh’s expression. Pooh’s clock, you will remember, “stopped at five minutes to eleven some weeks ago,” meaning that the idle bear is blissfully trapped in a sort of eternal elevenses. In philosophical mood, he comforts his readers thus: “When late morning rolls around, and you’re feeling a bit out of sorts, don’t worry; you’re probably just a little eleven o’clockish,” says Pooh. That’s the time for some bread and honey.
That other literary and idle bear, Paddington, takes elevenses with Mr Gruber in his antique shop. Buns and hot chocolate were their choice of snack.
Tolkien says that the hobbits loved elevenses, and one of the Lord of the Rings films has this delightful little exchange. The hobbits are on a trek when hobbit Pippin suggest they take a break. The hard-working human Aragorn is all for pressing on:
Aragorn: Gentlemen, we do not stop till nightfall.
Pippin: What about breakfast?
Merry: You've already had it.
Pippin: We've had one, yes. What about second breakfast?
Merry: Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.
Pippin: What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn't he?
Merry: I wouldn't count on it.
“Second breakfast” is a good name for elevenses, and indeed the Polish custom of taking a mid-morning break, and snack, probably a sausage, is called exactly that: drugie śniadanie.
Personally speaking, I take elevenses most Sunday mornings, after a tennis game. The four of us repair to a café after our game and indulge in coffee and a ham and cheese croissant which is a hearty second breakfast indeed (my first breakfast generally consists of a poached egg with toast followed by a second slice of toast with marmalade). Though I think elevenses properly understood should consist of a sweet snack and tea, not coffee.
What about you? Do you observe the hallowed custom of elevenses? And if you do, tell us how you do it.
"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." — Tolkien
Live well,
Tom
PS Looking forward to A Drink with the Idler this evening. I’ll be talking to Irvine Welsh, and, as ever, Victoria Hull will host and Mark Vernon will offer philosophical reflection. Paying subscribers: thanks! For you, drinks are free. We will send you a direct link in a separate email.
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Idler 88: January/February. Out now. Available in selected WHSmiths, Waitrose, Waterstones, Sainsbury's, Easons and Booths. For subscription options, click here.
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