The Dimpled Dumpling: A Bakewell Tart Surprise 🧁 ✨ Bedtime Stories For Kids | Rewind

[00:00:10] Hello and welcome back to Koala Moon, a podcast of original bedtime stories and sleep meditations for kids designed to make bedtime a dream. We're heading to the Dimpled Dumpling Cafe where Uma is about to have the most marvellous idea. She's going to invite the children from the village to come and bake with her. And to make the deal even sweeter, she'll tell one of her famous stories whilst they all bake.

[00:00:38] What a dream come true! But before we begin, let's start with a relaxation exercise written for us today by the fabulous Rahima and Gigi. Are you ready? Here goes. How was your day today? What were some parts that weren't fun? Maybe you made a mistake on a drawing or had a hard day at school. And what was your favourite part?

[00:01:07] Maybe a fun game you played with a friend or sibling or a yummy snack. Okay, it's time now to relax so we're going to take all those thoughts buzzing around in your head and blow them into bubbles. Take one memory from your day-to-day. Breathe in. And as you breathe out, imagine blowing that thought into a bubble.

[00:01:37] Now, take another thought, breathe in, and blow that one into a bubble. One more time. Get another thought, breathe in, and blow it into a bubble. Imagine all your thought bubbles floating gently around you.

[00:02:07] It's time to go to sleep now, so we don't need all those thoughts in our heads. So we need to pop the bubbles. Reach out your hand and pop, pop all the bubbles. Now, your mind is clear and you're ready to relax. But how about one more deep breath first? Breathe in. Fill your belly all the way up to the tippy top with air.

[00:02:35] And sigh it out. Now, we're ready to begin. Before we begin, here's a quick ad break. Then we'll start tonight's bedtime story. If you'd like to support our podcast, enjoy ad-free listening, and unlock all our premium stories, you can join the Cocoa Club. To join, follow the link in the show notes. Hey, parents, just a quick one before we get into tonight's story.

[00:03:05] Our 14-day free trial of Cocoa Club ends on September 14th, so don't miss your chance to join. As you settle back into your term-time routines, Cocoa Club is here to help make every evening feel a little calmer. Enjoy uninterrupted listening with ad-free bedtime stories, exclusive bonus adventures, magical compilations, and calming meditations. All designed to help little ones relax and unwind after busy school days.

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[00:03:59] Back to school can be a busy time for families, but Cocoa Club can help make bedtime a little calmer this September. This is The Dimpled Dumpling and the Bakewell Tart by Jane Thomas. The Dimpled Dumpling Cafe in Lower Starry Skies is the sort of place that's special every day of the year.

[00:04:27] Nobody has ever visited The Dimpled Dumpling and thought to themselves, well, I won't bother going back there again. In fact, every single person who goes in has taken out their diary before they've even finished their coffee and cake, and they're busy finding time, or making time, for their next visit. The cakes are that delicious, the drinks are that wonderful,

[00:04:53] and the stories, if you're lucky enough to hear one, are that enchanting that everyone wants to go back. Uma has been running the cafe for a while now, and just last night she came up with a brand new way to make the cafe even more wonderful than it already is. Not that anybody could think that was possible. She was sitting in her garden, watching the will-o-the-wisps dance by the stream,

[00:05:21] listening to the song of the late summer cicadas when the idea came to her. It positively marched up, sat down beside her and tapped her on the arm. So determined was this idea to be noticed. Why not invite some children to the cafe to cook with you? announced the idea, folding its arms and giving Uma a look that clearly said, I dare you to argue with that.

[00:05:48] And Uma had instantly picked up the idea and hugged it and held it close, and told it how brilliant it was, and set about deciding how she would get the word out. She recruited the robins of lower starry skies. Every evening after work, she would sit down and handwrite invitations to all the children in the village.

[00:06:12] For, by now, she knew each and every one of them, because they'd all visited her cafe a dozen times or more. Then, she would slip the invitations into colourful envelopes and blow on her special postal robin whistle. Robins will deliver a lot of letters in exchange for a handful of sunflower seeds, in case you didn't already know that. And these ones especially loved delivering letters for Uma,

[00:06:39] because she always made sure to add nuts and fruits and raisins to their treats. So it was that over the following weeks, all the children woke up to a letter on their pillow, their name in flowing floral letters on the envelope, and inside an invitation that smelled of cinnamon. On the last Saturday of the month, they were told,

[00:07:04] they were very welcome to just turn up at the dimpled dumpling and join Uma in baking some mouth-watering cakes. And they'd be allowed to take them home at the end of the day, too. And while they baked, Uma promised to tell them a story. There really was no reason not to go. Which is why, on that last Saturday of the month, when Uma went to turn the sign from closed to open on her cafe door,

[00:07:34] there was a long line of children, weaving their way down the road and around the corner and up the hill. Bo was at the head of the queue, dropped off by Aunt Tilly in mellow yellow. And just as all the other children were, he was carrying a large floral cake tin under one arm and a mixing bowl and wooden spoon under the other. The invitation had been clear in its instructions.

[00:08:03] One bowl, one spoon, one tin per child. Uma was a little surprised to see almost every child in the village in that long, chattering, excitable queue. But, with a quick shift of a table here and a rearrangement of a chair there, everyone could just about fit inside the four cosy walls of the dimpled dumpling.

[00:08:29] The plants on the back wall rustled in excitement, sensing something new in the atmosphere today. And the china elephant on the counter moved slowly and steadily from one end to the other to be sure of giving himself the best view of whatever was about to happen. All the tables were covered in bags of flour and big yellow pats of butter,

[00:08:55] piles of flaked almonds and jars of ruby red raspberry jam. Eggs and milk and sugar and lemons also jostled for space, all squeezed in beside a set of scales per table. The sort of scales that had a big brass dish on one side and a stack of tiny weights on the other. And once the children were all squeezed in, four or five to a table,

[00:09:25] tins on the floor and mixing bowls and wooden spoons ready, Uma began. She explained that today everyone was going to learn what wonderful things could come from simply making mistakes. For this cake had only ever been invented because a cook had done just that. She had been given a set of instructions in one room and quite forgotten them by the time she reached the kitchen.

[00:09:53] And fumbling and bumbling her way through the memories had created the best sort of cake she could. It turned out to be one of the finest cakes ever created in Northern England. The perfect combination of almonds and raspberry, bringing them together in a gorgeous mouth-watering, oh so satisfying, Bakewell tart.

[00:10:18] It was over 200 years ago when a Mrs Greaves shared the instructions with her cook. And that cook was a young woman called Sarah. Sarah had been born in the wilds of Scotland, as used to seeing stags as she was sheep, as used to sleeping on a bed of soft sprung purple heather under the stars as she was a mattress in a home.

[00:10:44] Sarah could tame the wild pony so they came to eat from her hand, their soft lips nuzzling against her fingers as she shared sugar cubes she'd slipped from the pantry. And she had tamed the buzzards that soared in the skies, so they came to her when she called and rested on her shoulder, letting her stroke their feathered necks with her finger as they nuzzled against her ear.

[00:11:12] And while Sarah loved the wildness of her home, growing up with the seals and stormy skies, and rivers filled with salmon that leapt and danced, she also wanted to see more. So, one morning, she went to the shore and looked across to the Isle of Skye, and she sang a farewell to everything she had always known and loved,

[00:11:39] before picking herself up, gathering her small bag of belongings, and starting to walk south. She had no destination in mind, no particular place she wanted to end up. But young Sarah wanted more, and she wanted new. For many days and nights, she walked and walked, stopping to sleep in the heather just as she had learned as a child,

[00:12:07] washing in the cool, clear streams, and eating berries from the hedgerows and apples and pears from the trees. The further south she went, the lower the mountains. They were still there, but Sarah thought of them as hills rather than mountains. The way people spoke changed too, and this is how she knew she had come to England.

[00:12:34] She continued her walk down through Cumbria, where stone walls marched over the tops of distant hills, and sheep hung about in huddles, and down into Lancashire. It was flatter here, with hills that rolled green and yellow, separated by hedgerows that were taller than Sarah herself, so each time she came to a gateway, she had a special surprise, seeing what was on the other side.

[00:13:04] And she crossed into Yorkshire, where in places piles of rocks poured down hills, and little stone cottages sat snugly in the valleys, or out wild and alone in the middle of the moors. She walked further still until she came to Derbyshire, and as she walked along the narrow lanes

[00:13:29] and looked out at fields and hills and villages tucked into quiet corners. She started to see smoke puffed into the sky, as if from twenty chimneys at once. Curious, Sarah climbed to the highest hill she could find, and looking down, she saw her first ever great house.

[00:13:53] A vast building, four stories high, set in perfect gardens, where water was told where to go and how to flow, and where meadows were covered in deer, grazing peacefully in the late afternoon sun. And Sarah would never know what came over her that day. But with a new boldness and bravery she had never felt before,

[00:14:20] she followed the footpaths and the walkways, and went up over bridges and right across lawns, and walked straight up to the huge doors of the great house, and with all her muscle and might, raised the knocker and banged it hard. The sound echoed in the corridors inside, but Sarah waited, and sure enough,

[00:14:47] footsteps could soon be heard coming down the corridor. The click-clack, click-clack of low heels getting louder and louder. And then, with a creak and a groan, the huge door opened. Sarah caught a glimpse of shining tiled floors, and ceilings that reached higher than any home she'd ever seen before,

[00:15:13] and a fireplace that was bigger than her bedroom back in Scotland, and rows of hanging portraits of women in beautiful dresses, and men on horseback surrounded by hounds. A thick red carpet lined a staircase as wide as a river, and it flowed up and divided itself in two, so that a staircase drifted to the left, and another moseyed to the right.

[00:15:43] And Sarah quite forgot why she had ever knocked on the door at all, because she was so amazed by everything she saw. The maid who'd answered, a stiff white apron hanging over a plain black dress, coughed and raised an eyebrow. Yes, she squeezed out, as if it hurt her to do so. I suppose, said Sarah, uncertain now.

[00:16:12] I suppose I'm looking for a job. The maid cast an eye up and down, looking at Sarah's boots that were thick with mud, her hair that was wild and filled with bits of bracken and leaves, her clothes that were torn from catching on brambles and bushes, and said, simply, no. She started to close the door,

[00:16:39] shutting away the chandeliers that glittered with candles and diamonds, the ceiling painted with sweeping frescoes, the corridors leading to endless shining dark wood doorways, and Sarah pushed back. Do you know anyone who does need help? She asked. For now she'd walked all this way, Sarah was suddenly very, very tired,

[00:17:06] and thought perhaps she needed a change from walking. Try the White Horse Inn, said the maid. It's in Bakewell, she added. And then, with a sigh, she stepped out of the door and pointed down the long driveway, the stones showing clear lines where carriages and horses had come and gone. That way. An hour that way.

[00:17:35] This time, she was not to be defeated and closed the door firmly behind her. It was late by the time Sarah arrived at the White Horse Inn, knocking as loudly as she could on the big black door that stood at the entrance. The lady who answered held a baby on one hip and a small child by the hand, and she wore a smile. Warmth spilled out of the doorway,

[00:18:04] and without even asking why she was there, Sarah was ushered in out of the cold. She found herself pressed into a chair by the fire. A soft, low chair, just like the one she'd known at home. And her boots were removed and placed closer to the fire so they might dry, and a bowl of soup pressed into her hands.

[00:18:30] The White Horse Inn was nothing in comparison to the grand Chatsworth house, where Sarah had just come from. The floors were worn and wooden. A single stairway, barely as wide as a stream, went straight up to the second floor, and the curtains were faded with the sunlight in age. Candles were stuck into bottles rather than a great chandelier,

[00:18:57] and the paintings on the wall were of horses and sheep and meadows, and all the things Sarah loved. It was cosy and safe, and in a single moment it had become home. Sarah worked in the kitchens. Mrs Greaves, that is the lady with the baby and the small child, gave her simple instructions, and Sarah found she could follow them all,

[00:19:25] learning to bake bread and make rich soups and stews. And then she turned her hands to cakes and biscuits. And before long, the White Horse Inn became known for miles around for the goodness of its food and the kindness of its owner. Sarah. One day, of all people to come to the inn, the maid from the great house appeared.

[00:19:51] She had removed the white apron but was wearing the same plain black dress, and her hair was tied up in the same severe bun as when she'd answered the door to Sarah many months ago now, and Sarah immediately recognised her. Sarah. When her order came in for stew and dumplings, Sarah made sure to give her the thickest, juiciest, most delicious portion of stew,

[00:20:19] and the fattest, most satisfying dumplings, sending them out with fingers crossed behind her back and holding the door open just a crack to see the maid's reaction to her cooking. The maid took one mouthful and closed her eyes, a smile settling onto her face. She took another, and her shoulders seemed to become a little less square and a little rounder.

[00:20:50] And she took another, and her whole face became softer and kinder. She ate every last scrap of stew and dumplings, running her finger around the bowl when she thought nobody was looking, to be sure of getting the final taste. And then she called to Mrs. Greaves and asked to meet the person who'd cooked such a delicious meal. Sarah was led out of the kitchen,

[00:21:19] pushed by Mr. Greaves and pulled by Mrs. Greaves, and together they presented Sarah to the maid, knowing full well the experience Sarah had had with her only months before. By now, Sarah's hair was clean and not filled with bits of bracken and leaves, and her boots were polished and shining, and her cheeks glowed with the warmth of the kitchen

[00:21:45] and weren't white with the cold and tired of walking hundreds of miles. The maid smiled and thanked her for the food, and said she worked in a great house called Chatsworth, and that she'd be very pleased to offer Sarah a job there in the kitchen. Not as the main cook, of course, just an assistant, but certainly better than here, she said, casting her eyes around the room,

[00:22:14] and looking with an amused glance at the low ceilings and the staircase that was only as wide as a stream and not a river, and the paintings of the sheep and meadows, and not women in beautiful dresses and men on horseback. I'm perfectly happy here, thank you, is all Sarah had to say, turning and walking back to the kitchen with her chin held high

[00:22:43] and her shoulders back and a smile on her face. Mrs. Greaves shrugged her shoulders and smiled at the maid and said, well, you couldn't argue with that, and the maid left with a cold look and stiff shoulders and her lips in a thin, pale line. It was one busy, bustling Saturday, the one at the end of the month,

[00:23:11] when Mrs. Greaves asked Sarah to bake her a tart. Take this pastry, she said, and then add a mixture of flour and butter and almonds and sugar, and then on top of that pour jam and bake it in the oven. As she told the story, back in lower starry skies, Uma showed the children how to take their pastry and press it into the corners of the tins that lay on the tables.

[00:23:40] They trimmed the edges and bundled the extra bits together to bake as extra treats to dip into jam. And then Uma showed them how to spoon great scoops and cover the pastry in that. Then some of the children said, no, this was wrong. The mixture must go first. And here Uma smiled.

[00:24:07] This is how Sarah made it, she said, because she forgot the way Mrs. Greaves had asked. And thank goodness she did, because otherwise the Bakewell tart might never have been created. So the children scooped the jam and then mixed the flour and butter and almonds and lemon in their mixing bowls with their wooden spoons

[00:24:33] and carefully added the mixture on top of the jam. Everyone licked the spoons and wiped the bowls with their fingers and started hopping up and down, wishing the tart was ready to eat properly because, oh, how good it tasted. Then they covered the top with more flaked almonds, some decorating their tarts with perfect patterns, others creating flowers and others just piling them on.

[00:25:02] The more the merrier being their policy. While the tarts were placed in the ovens at the back of the cafe, the children sat on the chairs and swung their legs and twirled their hair with their fingers and licked their lips, imagining the treats that would soon appear. The china elephant on the counter walked impatiently up and down, when nobody was looking, of course,

[00:25:29] and his trunk twitched as he smelled the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. The plants on the wall rustled with anticipation. Then, one by one, the tarts began to emerge, Uma carrying them one at a time with a great-loved hand and placing each one in front of the child who had made it, getting it right every time,

[00:25:56] for she remembered how Bo had created a bumblebee with the almonds on his and how Jimmy had put flowers on his and Tara had a sailing boat of almonds on hers. But still, still the tarts weren't ready to be eaten, for now the icing needed to be rolled out. Wooden rolling pins rocking back and forth across the table tops

[00:26:21] and then great sheets of white icing being carefully placed on top of the tarts, the edges trimmed and made perfect. And finally, the perfect finishing touch. Uma handed a single cherry to every child and told them to place it in the very centre of the icing. And then they all stepped back to admire the tarts they'd baked

[00:26:50] and think about the story they had heard. For it was only because Sarah, an adventurous girl from the wilds of Scotland, had been taken in by the kindly Mrs Greaves and then, in a moment of forgetfulness, made the wrong tart that they were here at all. Uma helped them all settle the tarts into their tins, and off they went, two by two,

[00:27:20] heading home with floral tins and checkered tins and spotted tins and stripy tins, each carrying a precious Bakewell tart to their families for the dinner table that evening. Of course, it took longer than usual for Uma to close up the café that day. The floor needed sweeping not once but twice,

[00:27:47] and the tables needed to be wiped down a full three times before they were cleared of flour and sugar and little spots of butter that had melted and dollops of jam that had escaped from spoons. And she had to wash thirty tart cases and wipe thirty rolling pins and put away thirty sets of scales,

[00:28:14] stacking them carefully on the shelves in the pantry with the names of the owners on them so they could be returned with thanks. And hopefully, she said to herself, borrowed again in a month's time, when once more she would whistle for the postal robins to send out invitations to all the children of lower starry skies. Everyone in the village that night went to sleep,

[00:28:44] remembering the delicious Bakewell tarts they'd eaten with their dinner. The sweet raspberry and the almonds and the delicate pastry and the soft sweep of white icing lingered on their tongues. And for the children, the memories of Sarah stayed with them, imagining her walking from the wilds of Scotland,

[00:29:12] sleeping in the heather and feeding the wild ponies from her hand. Imagining her walking through the fields and over the streams and across meadows. And imagining her peering into the hallway of the great house with the shining tiled floors and the diamond and sparkling chandeliers.

[00:29:37] And the stairway that swept like a river and divided in two. And imagining her settling down into a warm chair by the fire, her boots taken from her feet and a warm bowl of soup pressed into her hands. The smiles of a stranger.

[00:30:04] The kindness of someone who gently removed the leaves from her hair and the coziness and safety of home.