A Wassail night’s dream…

Last night was Wassail, the ‘old’ Twelfth Night under the Julian calendar - time to bless the apple trees and ask for a healthy crop come autumn.  I put on my old apple hat, my cloak of green, and danced the merry bell dance all jingly jangley in the light of the moon even though there wasn’t an apple tree in sight. WASSAIL! It must have been the mulled cider - 8.8% even without the Calvedos shots and far too much of it.

Wassail! Or in the Old English ‘waes hael’, meaning ‘good health’. All I needed was a folk band, a troupe of Morris dancers, a lone fiddler, an orchard, a bonfire, some shotguns, and a Wassail Queen. I had the mulled cider and the buttered toast, plenty of booze and toast, booze and the hats full, caps full, three bushel bags full … and into sweet dream I slipped…

‘Here’s to thee, oh Apple Tree Man, fine spirit of the oldest apple tree in this fair orchard.’

We make a circle around the tree, each taking a sip from the clayen cup and sing the Wassail song. The green garbed girls are lithe and laughing as young Tom Tit chases them around the trees. I steal a kiss from each as they pass – a swift fleeting blush as of the pinkest bloom of apple.

‘Here's to thee, old apple tree,
Whence thou mayst bud
And whence thou mayst blow!
And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
Hats full! Caps full!
Bushel—bushel—sacks full,
And my pockets full too! Huzza!’

‘Tom Tit - a toast to the trees!’

And as King I pour a ring of golden cider around the Apple Tree Man and lift my fair Queen up to his branches for she to place a piece of cider soaked toast in his ancient gnarled crook.

‘Fertility and fair harvest.’ Says she.

“Here's to thee, old apple tree, that blooms well, bears well. Hats full, caps full, Three bushel bags full, an' all under one tree. Huzza! Huzza!” I reply.

Bang! The hunter’s shotguns fire into the air, the evil spirits scatter far and wide, the Morris men dance, the young girls flutter, more from the cup, and more from the cup, and he’s here. The Apple Tree Man, in all his greenery, showing all his buried treasure.

‘Let the bonfire dance begin!’

Bang!

And then I wake up. Huzza! That punch really had a kick!

Wassail Punch Recipe:

2 small apples, washed, cores removed

1 litre strong cider

2 cinnamon sticks, crushed using a mortar and pestle

2 pinches ground cloves

Freshly grated nutmeg, to taste

1/2 lemon, sliced.

1 tablespoon honey.

2 shots Calvedos.

Method

Bung it all in a saucepan. Heat but don't boil.

Sweet dreams. Huzza!