Porrophagia

It was a misty day that never brightened but a plot of leeks made a cheerful sight above the harbour. They're an essential ingredient of the traditional Welsh cawl, a soup of meat and and root vegetables which, eaten with bread and cheese, keeps us warm and glowing in the wind and rain.

They are of course the emblem of Wales although the daffodil increasingly acts as a non-culinary substitute. In my Breconshire primary school, children came to school on Gwyl Dewi (St David's Day, March 1st) with fresh leeks pulled from the garden pinned on to their chests, and by the end of the school day these vegetables would have been nibbled down to the roots. (No need for Jamie Oliver's dietary advice then.)

How the leek became the Welsh emblem is not exactly clear. There is a theory that the wearing of leeks served to distinguish Welsh soldiers from the enemy in fighting the Saxons, and that, according to Shakespeare, Welsh soldiers wore them at the Battle of Crecy (1346) and again at Agincourt (1415).

The leek, Allium porrus, as we know it is a cultivated plant that does not grow wild here. In fact it was introduced by the Romans from a species native to the Mediterranean area. The infamous Emperor Nero, megalomaniac and murderer, who is said to have fiddled while Rome burned and so on, was an avid leek eater (hence his nickname, Porrophagus). He was proud of his singing voice and he believed that a daily helping of the vegetable ensured that he always won first place in the musical contests he staged. (What other reason could there have been?)

Now, Wales is known as the land of song so I can't help wondering if Nero wasn't on to something after all, and if our appetite for leeks hasn't served to lubricate Welsh vocal cords down the centuries. As a piece of corroborative evidence, I was never one of those kids who ate my raw St David's Day leek and I can't sing a note.