These really should be called the Mum memorial scones – our mum was a serious legend of scone making, in a time and places where pretty much every mother could make scones.
When she swung into action, it was like watching a master alchemist – she never measured ingredients but just knew what size lump of butter, how many scoops of flour would achieve the right result.
In the late 1960s, when we were all still in primary school and living just outside Adelaide, Sunday drives to the Barossa Valley meant boxes of fruit from the farm/orchard gate would become jam for the scones. One memorable effort was totally delicious, but made from quite small plums that were impossible to stone without losing half the fruit. Mum, ever practical, made the jam from whole fruit – and when anyone commented ‘I got a seed’, Dad’s answer was ‘Shhh, keep it quiet or everyone will want one!’
I really don’t know if mine are up to the cut of our Mum’s standard, but they still vaporise pretty quickly anytime they appear out of the oven.