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Thora Stowel

Uploaded by msnarayana on Oct 14, 2012

Thora Stowell was born on 31December 1969.Thora Stowell's The Anglo-Egyptian Cookery Book (Alexandria, Cairo & London: Whitehead Morris Limited; 1923) is a very rare book. The obvious: Thora Stowell lived in Egypt and wrote this cookbook. Quite likely, this cookbook was written by the same Thora Stowell who was a popular poet and children's author of the 1920s and 1930s. She may have been the wife of a British military or government official who worked in Egypt. "Thora Stowell" appears to be a pseudonym.

Most of the recipes in The Anglo-Egyptian Cookery Book are for standard early 20th century European cuisine, somewhat adapted to "the Orient", and for local ingredients prepared "to suit European taste". Most of the more "Egyptian" recipes are gathered into a chapter of their own, and the same is done for Indian recipes. (This is a fine example of how the British empire popularized Indian cuisine.) The book also contains useful hints for the European managing a household in Egypt, and Arabic vocabulary. Arabic (and French) titles are given for most of the recipes; their accuracy is questionable. Connie Chesterman said that he likes one of the poem of Thora Stowell : we kept a media clip

One of is poem is
I passed your garden yesterday,
The roses are all dead,
And the little desert sparrows play In the dry iris bed,
And all your other pretty flowers
Are faded in these burning hours,
I lingered by your garden wall -
You will not come again,
So there's no meaning left at all,
The beauty is sheer pain -
The wind that whispers to the leaves,
The sunshine on the lily-sheaves,
Beside the little garden door
Low in the dust I found The print of your gay dancing feet
In the dry, thirsty ground -
Do you come back at night to play
Where now your'll never come by day?
Out in the dusty road they'd thrown
Dead leaves and flowers, and there A little blue glass bangle showed Broken and dulled in the dusty road.
Only the ghost of the child I knew
And the wandering desert wind
Know where I hid a half for you
And nobody else to find-
Only the wind that flutes to the sky
When shadow feet go dancing by.
The other half goes soon and late
Wherever my feet must go,
Till they reach at last a Postern Gate
And a face I used...

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Uploaded by:   msnarayana

Date:   10/14/2012

Category:   Biographies

Length:   2 pages (516 words)

Views:   7636

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