The Simple Joys of the Jam Butty
I’ve been getting a little nostalgic in the midst of the lockdown. It’s just me in the house. My dad died in December, and it’s hard being in the house, wondering why he’s not where he usually is, (under my feet, that is). I have my favourite food, and he had his. He had a taste for jam, and has left a couple of jars behind. I used to enjoy jam a lot when I was young, but somewhere and somehow I lost the taste with the passing of time. I love visiting the supermarket, it’s like a day or a night out for me, but I’ve decided to stock up and stay away for the duration. Alone in the house wondering what to eat, to liven things up a little, I decided to dabble with my dad’s jars of jam. In the process I have rediscovered the pleasures of a good old fashioned jam butty.
'What's a jam butty?' I hear people asking. I don’t know the exact origins of the name, but it was grace of the good working class folks of the north of England that the posh and refined sandwich, named after John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich (1718-1792) no less, came to be called a ‘butty.’ I don’t know who coined the phrase. I doubt that he was an Earl, or even a Lord. But he may have been called ‘Butty.’ I read that the surname ‘Butty’ came to England in the great wave of migration that followed the Norman Conquest of 1066. The name ‘Butty’ is a reference to the family's origins in Boteri, Falaise, in Normandy, before the Conquest of 1066. The Magni Rotuli Scaccarii Normanniae listed "Roger de Boteri, Alvered, John, and Roger occur in Normandy 1180-1198." The Butty family lived in Buckinghamshire, which is nowhere near the north of England. I think if we are searching for the origins of the ‘jam butty,’ an occupational name seems more likely: as "derived from an official title 'at the buttery.' The keeper of the butlery, or store for liquor; 'buttery-bar.' (Shakespeare).” (C.W. Bardsley, A Dictionary of English and Welsh Surnames 1901). I don't know what I'm talking about, really, and it’s not important in any case. The ‘jam butty’ is the creation of the working class of northern England, and that's all anyone needs to know.
These are my roots and origins, so I grew up thinking the jam butty perfectly normal. I had a shock when friends at university looked askance when I made reference to ‘butties.’ 'What on Earth is a butty?' one uncomprehending soul asked. A simple sandwich, which northern folk turn into a treat by way of jam and butter. As Selwyn Froggitt would say, 'magic!'
I read that the jam butty has gone out of fashion. I was brought up with them, so I presume everyone knows what they are and they are still popular. It seems that they are simple treats and delights for simple folk. My dad never lost the taste. We are spoiled now, stuffing our faces with prepared sandwiches, ‘cookies,’ and cakes. Cookies! I ask you. What an utterly juvenile word. It makes me think of the Cookie Monster in Sesame Street. I loathe these Americanisms taking over the English language. It's not on. Why can’t people use a good old-fashioned English name like ‘biscuits’?!
I used to eat jam butties a lot. I then lost the habit and acquired others. Biscuits, basically. I have good memories of jam, though. My favourite was damson, although every now and then I looked forward to lemon curd. I was never keen on raspberry on account of the seeds. Strawberry was better. I never liked marmalade.
I remember developing an obsession with Hartley’s jam in 1971-1972. To be more precise, I developed an obsession with jam jar lids. Being even more precise, it was the image of the footballers on the lid that was the attraction. All of this feverish interest on my part was the result of a promotion of jam which involved putting an image of a footballer on the lid. They knew the kids would fall for it and the poor long-suffering parents would have to join in, just to keep the peace. The lids fitted into a folder which went by the name of ‘Hartleys Football Stars 1971-72.’ I never had the folder and wasn’t too interested in collecting all the stars, either. There were fourteen of the best British footballers of the day to collect, including World Cup winners like Bobby Moore, Bobby Charlton, Gordon Banks, Martin Peters, Alan Ball, and hat-trick hero Geoff Hurst. There were also rising England stars like Colin Bell and Peter Osgood. Wynn Davies from Wales, and Jimmy Johnstone from Scotland. I remember them all well. And then there was Georgie Best, considered the greatest British football star of the time and even of all time. I didn’t want any of these, though, not even Bestie. Best may be remembered as the greatest, but I remember the kids singing in the playground, to the tune of 'Jesus Christ Superstar' 'Georgie Best, Superstar, Wears frilly knickers and he wears a bra.' I don't care for him. I only ever wanted Billy Bremner, to be honest, my boyhood hero. And Billy was nowhere to be seen. There we were, every week in Krazy Kuts, mother, father, myself and my brother searching high and low, on our knees, examining every jam jar in an effort to track down Billy Bremner. Nothing but Gordon Banks! It was as if no-one wanted poor old Banksie. Here was there, left on the shelves, every week! And lots of Bobby Charlton. I couldn’t work it out. I could find England captain Bobby Moore and George Best easily. But never wee Billy. Never once. And we searched every Thursday when the family went shopping. I can still remember the anticipation as we approached the aisles containing the jam. I can still see the shelves. The memory is so vivid I feel like having one last look.
In fact I have only ever seen the Billy Bremner jam jar lid the once, on offer on e-bay for £75. And the image of wee Billy the Bold has been desecrated. Billy was eight stone of barbed wire and played football like a commando, and clearly rubbed more than a few people up the wrong way over the years. I liked him, though.
I did some quick research on the jam butty, and found people admitting that they have not had one in years (the ones who know what a jam butty is, that is). You don’t hear of people eating jam butties anymore. I got used to the jam butty as normal because we always at them at home. Come to think of it, I never hear anyone referring to jam butties any more, and I don’t see people eating them. On the other hand, the shops still sell jam, so I presume they are slapping it on slices of bread.
Left to amuse myself in lockdown, cutting food to essentials and being sparing with biscuits – as my diet tells me I ought be – I looked at my dad’s old jam jars and decided to revisit the old jam butty. Two slices of bread, layer a side of each with butter, spread thickly, (or ‘spread thinly’ my nurses would say, I do the best I can), and then slap on huge dollops of jam and slap the slices together and dive in, jam oozing from the sides. Frankly, I got a real buzz. I remember these guys! Much better than stuffing your face with biscuits. A jam butty is a quick and easy thrill, and a real treat for those with a sweet tooth. Come to think of it, I think this is how you acquire a sweet tooth. As I am writing this I feel like stopping, going to the kitchen, and making a jam butty to tuck into. I really fancy one right now. This could get to be a habit.
It seems people have got into other habits. Like takeaways and pizzas. Gee, a jam butty is a no-nonsense, no frills, no fuss, straight ahead simple quick pleasure. You don’t have to waste time and energy picking all the ingredients to go on your pizza. Bread, butter, and jam and away you go. Slap it on and stick it in.
I’m reading people who say that they’ve never had a jam butty in years, despite once eating them all the time. Where on Earth did we go wrong? I feel the urge to go out to the supermarket and brave coronavirus and everything just to peruse the selection of jam on offer. Who knows, nearly fifty years on, those missing jam jars with Billy Bremner on the lid might even have turned up by now. Billy might be out there waiting for me to take him home. I feel like having a look.
I’ve gone back to eating jam butties as a little treat for ‘afters’ in the absence of cakes and biscuits (which I shouldn’t be eating too much in any case).
I do like a Victoria Sponge. It’s traditional for Sunday tea. A sponge cake is layered with jam and cream, coated in sugar. I think a jam butty makes for a healthier option. They taste good, give an instant thrill, and are really slight compared to a slice of cake.
I am just reading someone refer to a jam butty as a ‘jam sandwich.’ Good grief!!! No northerner would ever use such a term! It’s like asking for a slice of Eccles Tart! ‘I have jam sandwiches fairly often. Sometimes I have marmalade instead.’ Away with you, you soft southern middle class Jessie! Not that I am getting all tribal and xenophobic or anything. But a jam butty is a jam butty! And it has to be on white bread, none of this healthy brown bread rubbish. That’s for lettuce and things like that.
And that’s another point, do people even call jam ‘jam’ anymore? I am seeing people refer to 'preserves' and demanding posh labels. It’s jam. My dad used to buy Morrison’s own, and it tastes good to me. I am just remembering lemon curd, which back in the day was considered really exotic. At least in our house.
Jam butties are the ultimate in comfort food. You can eat them as a sweet or as a snack, any time you like. They take no time to prepare. They take no time to eat, either; they are so tasty you just want to wolf them down. I take my time and savour every mouthful.
And I have to say, in an age when everyone thinks they are an expert chef, much of the food I eat that is hugely praised and recommended is bland and tasteless at best, and not very filling. As I think of some of this food, I can’t help but think that I’d much prefer to be devouring a jam butty.
And top of the list at the moment is the strawberry jam butty. Strawberry jam was my dad’s favourite. He was brought up during the war and rationing, and acquired simple tastes. And he continued to enjoy simple joys. With all that was on offer, he stood by the humble strawberry jam butty. It was once the staple food of the humble folk of the north of England. And now I can see the attraction. As each day passes under lockdown, I am looking forward to making a strawberry jam butty as a treat after a meal. Not every day, mind, just here and there as a little treat to look forward to. One day at a time, with little victories, treats, and rewards. And that’s how a jam butty tastes to me, a treat.
History tells that the posh sandwich became the humble, and accessible, butty thanks to the good folk of northern England. And now in-depth research (a quick Google) reveals that the butty has gone out of fashion. Completely, it would seem.
The good old-fashioned jam butty is a vastly under-rated food form.
I’m only using medium bread at the moment, because that’s all I have. And I’m not spreading the butter thickly, either. But one day, when lockdown is over, I have promised to make myself a great big jam butty, thick slices with the butter spread thickly, and the jam slapped on and oozing out of the sides when I sink my teeth into it. I would imagine that to be very filling and fulfilling.
I’m looking at all the rivals to the jam butty that are on offer. People are not only spoiled for choice, they are spoiled. You don’t need any of this fancy food! How sad it is to read that the last time the jam butty appeared in the list of popular sandwiches was in the 1950's. My dad was born and brought up in the last glory days of the jam butty, and he remained loyal. Not to the memory, but to the taste. He loved them!
The world is changing, and not always for the better. I am reading that the favourite filling for butties – sorry sandwiches – is cheese. I can live with that. I love cheese. I am reading the British Sandwich Association – what a title, sounds very proper and official and everything. I think I’ll form a rival, called the ‘British Butty Boys.’ The B.S.A. (they sound even more grand when given an acronym) have revealed the top fillings: chicken and bacon (I feel like throwing up), prawn mayonnaise (ditto), BLT (no idea what that is and don’t want to know either), Ploughman’s (OK, but not as good as a quiche (a little in-joke for lovers of Aberystwyth)), tuna and sweetcorn (words fail). I also read that the British have acquired a taste for hummus (no, just no) and falafel (OK, but nothing to get excited about). And then there is chicken and avocado (!), and brie and grape (the mind boggles). It all sounds like posh nosh to me. Even the Ploughman’s. Ploughman’s is basically bread, cheese and pickle. They give it a fancy name to make it sound posher than it is. And people fall for it!
I have a feeling that things are going to go from bad to worse. I am in a mood to start a jam butty revival. The world has been at a loss since dear old Ken Dodd died. I’m in a mind to roll up my sleeves and reopen dear old Doddy's jam butty mines. Supply creates its own demand.