My father was a great gardener. In the winter he would get manure delivered from the Castlemains farm, and he would work it into the soil ready for the spring. At one end of the garden was a couple of rows of rhubarb. We had more than enough rhubarb to give away to anyone who wanted it.
My dad hit on the idea of making rhubarb wine with the stuff. No matter that it was as bitter as hell with lots of oxcalic acid. It was red and therefore would produce great red wine.
He did not have any fermentation equipment and he used a big green bread bin to do the fermentation in. The rhubarb was cut up and mixed with sugar then topped up with water. Before the lid was placed on the bin 4 slices of toast were floated on top of the liquid. I have no idea what the function of this bread was but apparently it was an intregal part of the process.
After a suitable period of time the liquid was filtered through a muslin nappy and bottled. The bottles were stored in the sideboard in the living room. My father would have kept them there forever, being under the impression that a good wine needed time to mature, but this was not the opinion of Big Billy who persuaded my father that there was a need to crack open a bottle or two to test its quality.
Big Billy was renowned for being able to hold his drink, no matter what he drunk, so it came as a surprise to my father that after the drinking session Big Billy had gone home and spewed up in bed. The story went that his mother had found him bleary eyed and lying in his vomit, and the only word that came out of his mouth was "Bob".
The rumour went around that my father had poisoned Big Billy, but my father always maintained that after consuming 2 bottles of perfectly good rhubarb wine Big Billy had gone and drunk 8 pints of stout, and as anybody will tell you.
Beer before wine
makes you feel fine.
Wine before beer
makes you feel queer.
I believed my father, and still do.
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