Giant leeks may be going out of fashion, but they still manage to astonish some

Leeks farm at Mugoya farm Matuu on April 15, 2014. PHOTO | ANTHONY OMUYA | NATION MEDIA GROUP

What you need to know:

  • Historians say the very first Leek Show was held in a village in Northumberland in 1846.
  • The rules require that three leeks per competitor are entered and their joint bulk measured.
  • Among the hazards that face police officers when they arrest someone is being spat at or bitten.
  • The Police Federation have called for the use of spit hoods nationally to protect officers.

Last week, this column remarked on the importance of September, the month of going back to school and, alas, the month when marriages tend to hit the rocks. On a more mundane level, it is also the month of the Leek Show.

This is an event which is native to the north east of England. It was started by coal-miners who found gardening out in the fresh air a much-needed relief after hours of working in subterranean darkness. Historians say the very first such show was held in a village in Northumberland in 1846.

Friendly competition as to who could grow the biggest leek (I suppose we all know what a leek is) gradually became formalised. Rules and regulations were laid down concerning the dimensions of white part, and the shape of the so-called “button” at the base of the leek and the stringy roots which it sent forth. A leek, which looks marvellous but has too much white, is ruled out as too long.

For the best display, the vegetables are polished bright, the green branching leaves scoured of dirt and the roots combed as lovingly as a lady’s hair.

Often there are side shows, for the heaviest onion, the most perfect tomatoes, perhaps six spotless fresh eggs, even flower arrangements.

The rules require that three leeks per competitor are entered and their joint bulk measured. The last national record I noticed was 14 pounds and 14 ounces (6.7 kilos).

Alas, the culture of the leek show is dying. Where once a small pit town in Northumberland would host anything up to 30 shows, usually based at and organised by working men’s clubs, now there are perhaps two or three. The end of coal-mining in the North has put paid to the pitmen’s major recreation. And lots of clubs have closed now that heavy industry has gone.

But a minority still hang on, partly because women have now joined in, tending the vegetable in the back garden of the house. Last week, I attended one of the few remaining shows. There were only 14 entrants, or “stands” to use the proper language, each showing thee leeks. And once again I was astonished at the size of these monsters, fatter than a big man’s biceps.

EARNED A HUNDRED POUNDS

The winner was a lady. Liz, and so was the last-placed, Rose. But the prize money was pretty good, and everyone got something; number 14 earned more than a hundred pounds.

And what happens to the leeks when the show is over? Why you make soup with them, of course. Gallons and gallons and gallons of leek soup.

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Among the hazards that face police officers when they arrest someone is being spat at or bitten. London’s Metropolitan Police have decided to counter such dangers by trialling spit hoods — mesh fabric helmets which are pulled over the heads of violent prisoners.

The hoods are to be kept at 32 custody suites across the capital from October.

The Police Federation have called for the use of spit hoods nationally to protect officers. Britain’s Transport Police introduced them in June 2014 and since then have used spit hoods 151 times.

But human rights groups are not happy, they say such gear belongs in horror stories. Martha Spurrier, director of Liberty, said, “A spit hood is a primitive, cruel and degrading tool that inspires fear and anguish.”

She said police already had authority to use handcuffs, arm and leg restraints, pepper sprays, Tasers and batons. “The suggestion that officers need to cover people’s heads and faces is frightening.”

A retired police detective, Hamish Brown, countered, “What’s the alternative? Putting a hand across someone’s mouth or stuffing a handkerchief in their mouth?”

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Scrabble is a game whereby you create words by placing individual letters on a board, left to right and up and down like a crossword. The most obscure words score the highest.

Since words have been my business, I always fancied I could be pretty good at it. But then I read about the World Scrabble Championship in London last week.

Brett Smitheram, 37, was the winner, picking up £5,873 (Sh800,000). His winning words:

BRACONID, a parasitic wasp; PERIAGUA, a dugout canoe used by American Indians; VARIEDLY, meaning in a varied manner; SUNDRI, an East Indian tree; GYNAECIA, a flower.

All new to me! Even his name reads like an anagram: Smitheram, I never heard that before.

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War of the Sexes cont. (but with a gardening slant):

Husband to stall holder: My wife told me to get organic vegetables only. Have these vegetables been sprayed with poisonous chemicals? Stall holder: No, sir, you’ll have to do that yourself.

Husband to florist: I need some special flowers for my wife. Florist: Certainly, sir, what sort would you like? Husband, Well, er, um… Florist: Let me help you, sir. What have you done?