Half a loaf may be better than none, but a sourdough loaf's better than either

Preserving and developing its skills is vital for any society.

Back in the European middle ages, there was quite a structure for doing that. Young people, sometimes as young as 10, could bind themselves to a master craftsman in order to learn the elements of the trade. The master took the apprentice into his house (mostly it was his rather than hers, though some trades, such as seamstresses, included women) and had his cheap assistance for a period of some seven years in return for little more than board and lodging.

The apprenticeship ensured that the set of skills of one generation was transmitted to the next.

Apprentice bakers at work. A while back

On completion of this period of learning, the new craftsman typically became a journeyman. I used to think that journeymen were so-called because they journeyed from master to master. In reality, the name comes from the French word for day, ‘journée’, as journeymen could charge by the day for their work (it has to be said that it was also the word ‘journée’ that gave English the word journey, since the day was the unit for measuring a voyage).

However, it was not uncommon for journeymen to journey. Often they travelled for three years, as ‘wandering journeymen’. This was the way new technology spread. The journeyman might travel to a master who had some smart new technique, and learn it by working with him for a while. On his return, he would bring the new skills with him and, if he became a master, he’d pass them on to the next generation.

Incidentally, to become a master, a journeyman was generally required to produce a sample of his skill, to persuade the existing masters that he was worthy of being admitted to their number. That sample was called a ‘masterpiece’. It’s a glorious misuse of the term to apply it, as we do, to an outstanding work by an established master of a trade or, more commonly, an art – a masterpiece wasn’t an outstanding work by a master, but the final examination piece for admission to master’s status.

Overall, it was a pretty intelligently designed system. It meant craft skills could pass from generation to generation, and improvements to them would spread across society. It has, in part at least, survived right up to our days.

That made me delighted to learn that my wife, Danielle, was undertaking an apprenticeship. She recently became an enthusiastic convert to sourdough bread. And, as generally happens when she discovers a type of food that appeals to her, she has focused attention and energy on learning to produce it herself.

Jo's loaves for sale. Jo on the left

That made it all the more welcome when she found a local baker, Jo Bottrill, making a huge range of sourdough loaves, which she sells through Jo’s loaves. At first, Danielle was merely a client. Then Jo gave Danielle some starter dough, to get her going. Since then we’ve had more and more varieties of sourdough bread, and we haven’t bought a loaf from a shop for weeks.

Which led to the latest stage in Danelle’s journey into the sourdough world. She volunteered to work a day a week with Jo as an unpaid apprentice. And that’s what she’s been doing since last week.

So Danielle is a new recruit to a wonderful, time-tested system for ensuring that we maintain and extend our skills. And she’s using the system to keep us provided with excellent bread in a variety of forms. Win-win, I call it.

Danielle's latest load,
ready to come out of the Dutch oven, in our English oven

On the other hand, back then apprentices could start as young as 10, and not generally over 15. Does Danielle fit in that range? Not quite.

But hey, what’s half century between friends? Especially when really important skills are at stake. And some excellent loaves.