Sexy elves, bandit country, and Welsh rarebit
With Steve Ely and Hannah Hayden
How fortunate we are to be surrounded by the ‘ever-living spirits of the dead’, as Steve Ely puts it in writing about the ghosts of Old Street — Old Street in Yorkshire, that is. Only connect: just the other day I stood waiting for the lift to take me down the brand-new smooth concrete tunnels leading to the Elizabeth Line at Liverpool Street: there you’ll find a plaque marking an ancient mass burial, excavated during construction. Walk a few steps away from Liverpool Street itself and there’s another Old Street, hundreds of miles from Yorkshire and yet connected in its name and sense of history and place.
The Gentle Author, whom we admire greatly at Boundless, writes in his blog Spitalfields Life that London’s Old Street was first recorded as Ealdestrate around the year 1200; by 1373 it was noted ‘Le Oldestrete’. If something’s old in the 13th century, you really know there’s some heritage there. I was born in the United States, where the built environment is much newer than what we’ve got in Britain; the American ooh-ing and aah-ing about all that old stuff is a cliché — but clichés remain because they have a ring of truth to them.
I’m always amazed and enthralled by the juxtaposition of the old and the new in London, now the city I call home — and especially in the City, where the contrast is always especially striking. Favourite views: St Helen’s Church, Bishopsgate, set against the glass rocket ship of 30 St Mary Axe; pockets of London’s Roman wall nestled within the Barbican. The Mithraeum, restored to its former glory by former New York mayor Mike Bloomberg and housed in his vast 21st-century edifice, set just across from the glory that is St Stephen Walbrook, reputedly the favourite church of its builder, Sir Christopher Wren.
Tell me a story, wrote the American poet Robert Penn Warren. ‘In this century, and moment, of mania,/ Tell me a story./ Make it a story of great distances, and starlight./ The name of the story will be Time,/ But you must not pronounce its name./ Tell me a story of deep delight.’ Of Yorkshire’s Old Street Ely notes ‘the persistence of the route’. You can forge your own path while also walking in the footsteps of the ancients.
Erica Wagner
Editor-at-Large
Sexy elves and alpha dwarves
Librettist and novelist Hannah Hayden on what men really want
The worst part about ghostwriting multiple erotic novels at once is when you type the wrong guy’s name during sex. I wonder if my editors feel that pang of infidelity in their gut: what do you mean Bryce and not Hank? Or whether it’s just a standard, known secret that everyone of us ghostwriters is secretly writing as other people, too.
After all, standard known secrets are the name of the game as a ghostwriter, which I’ve been for the past three years. During the time I have been pursuing extended degrees and making music, I’ve also been moonlighting as a popular writer of men’s erotic fantasy fiction.
They’re hyper-masculine hero stories that are supposedly ‘by a man and for men’, which is to say, by a 5’5 left-wing 20-something with three humanities degrees who lives in a janky flat in North London with bad water pressure. As a literary graduate, the world of online erotic fiction was not one that I was at all familiar with. But I’m pretty certain that very few of us with high-minded degrees and academic leanings are generally aware of what actually sells. And let me tell you from the sweatshop of the English language, that graphic sex absolutely sells.
Listen to Hannah talk to Patrick Galbraith about the threat of AI and holding her readers’ attention on the latest episode of the Boundless podcast.
Bandit country
Steve Ely on the far-reaching tendrils of Old Street
About a mile away from where I live on the west/south Yorkshire border, an ancient right of way passes through the parish. The right of way — sometimes a byway, sometimes a bridleway, sometimes a footpath, sometimes comprising sections of metalled minor road — can be traced on the map from banks of the Don at Conisborough to the outskirts of Pontefract, where it joins the main road that forks towards the former ford of the river Aire at Ferrybridge, before heading north to join Dere Street at York. That this is no ordinary right of way is signalled in its name: 'Old Street’; ‘Street’ being derived from the Roman ‘strata’ — the route was once an important Roman road. However, the historian David Hey contends that the antiquity of the route goes as far back as the Bronze age, and possibly into the Neolithic.
The reason for the persistence of the route is not hard to find. When travellers journeying north arrived in what is now South Yorkshire, they found themselves hemmed in by fenland to the east, and the high, broken ground of the Pennines to the west. Funnelled into this gap, they met another formidable obstacle in the form of the river Don. However, near Conisborough, conditions allowed a ford to be established, a ford that was still in use in the 18th century and was at that time named ‘Strafford Sands’ — ‘Strafford’ for the wapentake, ‘Sands’ denoting the material of the river bed that made a crossing possible. Old Street then, is the south/west Yorkshire branch of what was once a major highway connecting the peoples of the island of Britain.
Steve Ely's poem Orasaigh, paired with photography from Michael Faint, was published last summer.
Welsh rabbit with roast onion, from A Gothic Cookbook
Welsh rabbit, or rarebit, as it’s now more commonly known, signals the end of a discussion between Bessie and Abbot on the fate of ‘Poor Miss Jane’. She is, they conclude, to be pitied; or would be, if only she had a more pleasing countenance. Ultimately unmoved by the fact Jane (who is eavesdropping from her bed, far from sleep) is to be sent away to Lowood School, the pair declare they could just fancy this classic supper dish ‘with a roast onion’.
It’s so much more than posh cheese on toast, especially topped with shal- lots that have been roasted to sticky, caramelised perfection.
Serves 2
Ingredients
2 banana shallots, halved lengthways
2 tbsp olive oil
1⁄2 tbsp balsamic vinegar
120 ml brown ale
25 g unsalted butter
3 tbsp plain flour
150 g mature Cheddar, coarsely grated
1 tsp English mustard powder
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1 tbsp finely chopped chives
2 large slices of sourdough bread
Method
1. Preheat the oven to 200°C/180°C fan/390°F/gas mark 6. Slice the shallots lengthways and arrange in a roasting tin. Drizzle over the olive oil and balsamic, then roast for around 15–20 minutes, checking halfway through and giving the tin a little shake. They’re ready when they’re soft and caramelised. Set aside.
2. Gently warm the ale in a saucepan over a low heat, and set aside while you make a roux: melt the butter over a medium heat until it foams, then stir in the flour and cook for a further minute.
3. Gradually whisk in the warm ale, a ladle at a time, for a thick, smooth sauce. Add the cheese and, switching to a wooden spoon, continue to stir. It will become like a thick paste.
4. Add the mustard, Worcestershire sauce and chives, stirring to combine.
5. Preheat the grill to medium-high. Meanwhile, lightly toast your bread and arrange on a baking tray before spooning on the cheese mixture, spreading so it’s not quite at the edges.
6. Place under the grill for a few minutes, keeping watch, until it’s golden brown.
7. Serve topped with the roasted shallots, with a dressed green salad and perhaps a glass of leftover ale.
A Gothic Cookbook was published by Unbound last autumn