The alarm clock goes off first thing in the morning, when it is still dark, here on the little collection of islands between Europe and the Americas.
Conversations on the playground, as we watch children chase in mad circles and sup hot tea, bemoan the Rising In The Dark phenomenon. So hard to drag oneself out of bed when the night lies like a black eiderdown over the hushed roads and groggy houses.
But it has not always been this way.
In mediaeval times, the day started in an entirely different place: it started at sunset.
I am reminded of the start of the Jewish sabbath, which begins a few minutes before sunset on Friday afternoon. The house is cleaned, a meal prepared, and the Kiddush is recited: words which remind its listeners that in the great creation story used in Judaism and Christianity, God used the seventh day to rest.
It is time for pause. Time for meditation. Time for reflection. Time for family.
Oh, that we could all walk into one sunset a week with such a pause.
So in mediaeval times, and later, night did not follow a long day’s labour. Rather, day followed a night’s slumber: first, men surrendered to their dreams: then, latterly, they took care of the tasks which filled their waking hours.
Dreams first, reality later.
Every year, roundabout yesterday, some of our number pipe up: hold on, it’s only the eleventh night, isn’t it? Isn’t Twelfth Night tomorrow?
Well, yes, if you are a modern-day riser with the alarm clock. But if you were one of those revellers who celebrated the ancient feast when candles fought the darkness, tomorrow began yesterday at sunset, with the Twelfth Night, the final swan song of the season, not of Christmas, but of the Lord Of Misrule, who has been having his wicked way since Hallowe’en.
On this night, the world traditionally turned upside down. Tonight, kings would become peasants, and poor men noblemen, because the Lord of Misrule was out and about for one last night before all returned to normal.
One can almost see old Saturnalia standing in the shadows.
The Roman festival was around before Christ walked the planet. It feted the fertility god Saturn: and the Romans loved it. It started off as a masterly piece of misdirection after Rome suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of Carthage. Originally lasting one day, those Romans drew it out, filling it with gift giving, celebration and orgy.
Some Roman emperors tried to reduce it from the week-long celebration it became, but the Romans weren’t wearing it. They rioted when three, or even five days were mooted.
Seneca the Younger was in Rome for the celebration in about 50AD. He wrote: “It is now the month of December, when the greatest part of the city is in a bustle.
“Loose reins are given to public dissipation; everywhere you may hear the sound of great preparations, as if there were some real difference between the days devoted to Saturn and those for transacting business…”
I love the way history just mixes it all up, and spits out a small card with absolute nonsense on it like some fair ground fortune-telling machine.
The nonsense I have in mind for Twelfth Night is Wassail.
Wassail is hot cider, made from last year’s apples. it is a peculiar tradition which you can trace back to Southern England. To most of us, frankly, it sounds crackpot: but in the light of what we know, begins to make a little more sense.
I goes like this: you have a Wassail King and a Wassail Queen, and they set out in the dark of Twelfth night to visit all the orchards in the environs.
So in each orchard you choose a tree. You get the Queen to shin up into the tree. In order to wake up all the sleeping apples one uses the perfect alarm: a piece of toast, soaked in cider. Naturally.
And then everyone, now three sheets to the wind with all the wassail that’s sloshing about, sings something like: ” 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. Hurrah! Hurrah!”
If that doesn’t wake up the apples, nothing will.
And with that we must turn our eyes away from the oddity which haunts our fields and farms here on the island, and try a little of What You Will.
I’ve always loved the subtitle to Shakespeare’s carousing play destined to be performed on the twelfth night of Christmas.
When I was younger, I had this picture of the proprietor of the Globe going to Shakespeare and saying “Yes, it’s a great play, it’ll get bums on seats, darling. But what are you going to call it?”
And Shakespeare would wave his hand with a dismissive sweep, and say: “Oh, call it Twelfth Night…or what you will!”
But since one of Shakespeare’s contemporaries John Marston had already premiered a play called What You Will, it throws my fanciful conjecture into some doubt.
Whatever its origin, the playfulness of the title prepares us for what is to come. The main plot hinges around gender confusion. Authority is pilloried in the shape of Malvolio the steward, and the Lord of Misrule dominates the plot, as a drunken hanger-on of an uncle and a wily servant serve up a very pagan kind of justice to the house’s chief administrator.
What a very clever playwright, to weave together dreamworld and misrule, romance and revelry, debauchery and drunkenness; to give victory to the reprobates, and accord the fool a winsome wisdom – and of course the last word.
Happy Twelfth Day: you have until sunset.
Kate Shrewsday 
Luckily it falls on a Friday and will accommodate my resolution of no wine on weekdays.
Enjoy it, Kate 🙂
You too, Cindy 🙂
Reminds me of the Norse myth to explain half year day half year night stuff (or variations)up there on top earth. The God of Misrule is the witch that steals the sun each year in this mythology bringing the months of darkness. Then their epic hero(insert Gilgamesh, Beowulf, St George Cincinnatts, ) kills the witch and brings home the sun and the light. We have a witch like that today in the USA. It is called the Internal Revenue Service and when they are done we are in the dark. Hey, I understand and support the fact that citizenry must support the government, but leave me a little light for myself and stop giving it to the non producers of light. Gee, I did mythology to politics and it’s only 4 AM.
That’s some serious lateral thinking there, Carl 😀 Brilliant!I love the deep North mythology. They tell stories so well there. And as for American IRS lore, that’s one witch I really wouldn’t care to mess with 🙂
It is 4 am here as well and I”m bustling about looking for rotten apples and bread. Yea! What a day I will have.
What fun this was to read, Kate. Thanks.
I can just see you up the tree importuning apples to do a good job next year, Penny 😀 The whole wassail business is cheerfully crackpot.
I feel sorry for the 13th night – no-one gives a stuff about him. “On the 13th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me….” a chance to return all the unwanted gifts from the previous 12 days – I hope he had a gift receipt for those, I mean – honestly – what do you do with most of it? But I bet she kept the five gold rings!
LOL I think my true love has already returned the unwanted gifts to Debenhams. And on about the fourth day of Christmas, when four birds should have been calling.
A gift receipt for lords a-leaping. erk.
Pity that I’m a bit under the weather today Kate. I”d rather be singing at the apple tree but alas, besides feeling poorly, I”ve also taken Cindy’s vow and have no wine until the weekend. As she said, good thing it’s Friday.
Sunset, Tammy, sunset 😀 Thats when Saturday starts if you are thinking medievally….
so sorry you’re feeling poorly. Hope everything cheers up for the weekend and you get to enjoy some leisure time.
I forgot all about this! Thank you for sharing this lovely story. As the sun sets so early here, I don’t know if I’ll have time to get a sip of wine in before it ends. But I should think it is a perfect excuse to leave work a little early.
Absolutely 🙂 Enjoy the glass of wine, Kristine.
Wonderful post, Kate!
Loved: What a very clever playwright, to weave together dreamworld and misrule, romance and revelry, debauchery and drunkenness; to give victory to the reprobates, and accord the fool a winsome wisdom – and of course the last word.
I love that fool in particular, Nancy. I always feel he is Olivia’s closest friend and confidante. As fools often were 🙂
Well good luck on your wassailing. I’m home with a glass of Rioja. Hehehehe -and a dollop of chile concarne to come. Minimum effort tonight.
It’s been a long week. And I’m feeling weak.
I heard radio 4 man saying 12th night stuff on 5th… maybe this explains it?
I had always thought Christmas decorations needed to be down before mid-night on 6th… he was suggesting another 24hours earlier. Too bad. At least the fairy who stayed up a whole year is now back in the Christmas storage box
Ha! Good to see the back of a fairy who has overstayed her welcome! Enjoy the Rioja….lovely… better than cider any day.
And if anyone who is not Count Arthur Strong says anything on Radio Four, I automatically believe them. It’s in my middle class genes. In any case, if this man is wrong about the 5th he will be roasted by the listenership. These Radio Four listeners, they are demonstrative types…look at the backlash to Nigel and the Archers…
it was ‘thought for the day’ – so weighty and with gravitas. 🙂
(Did you hear Nigel scream?)
Not nice, was it? What a closing line after decades with the dynasty. I loved Nigel. I’ve never forgotten his ice cream wars with Lizzy. I shall miss him dreadfully.
“Dreams first, reality later.” Somewhere along the way we’ve messed this all up. Let’s start a movement to right it!
Yay! You get the white charger, I ‘ll source the armour and the banner, Zoe….
Ah yes, and you, the very clever writer, Kate! There’s always so much to learn here. You keep filling gaps in my literary education – thank you 🙂
Thanks for reading, Naomi – this blogosphere is so full of opportunities to learn and your site never fails to broaden my horizons. Here’s to another year!