Twelfth Day

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas my true love gave to me……an ultimatum: the Christmas tree must come down. In the Christian church January 6th, today, is Twelfth Day, celebrated as Epiphany and known also as the day that The Three Kings or wise men brought gifts to Jesus. The last day of The Twelve Days of Christmas.

But in our house there is some confusion as to which is Twelfth Night: the night that the Christmas decorations must be down before midnight in token of the end of the Twelve Days. And, if you're superstitious, so as not to bring bad luck. I think it's tonight – my Best Beloved thinks it's January 5th. Fortunately we could both be right.

According to some religious sources The Twelve Days are counted from the evening of the 25th December, which makes the 5th January Twelfth Night and January 6th the Twelfth Day. According to others, only the full days are counted which means that the 5th January is the eleventh day and the 6th January therefore the Twelfth Day and Twelfth Night.

In the 1600's the Christmas holiday lasted throughout January, and the evergreens would be renewed not taken down. But in the 1700's children would be out on Twelfth Day playing tricks on passers by. In the 1800's, as daylight faded in London, everyone would be drawn to the pastry cooks shops to admire the glittering windows: framed by evergreens and filled with candles reflected in mirrors and cakes covered in snow white icing sugar.

In many European countries children still dress up as Kings on January 6th and, carrying a large star, go from house to house singing carols and receiving treats. In some there are childrens' parties on Twelfth Night with a rich, dark, iced fruit cake and perhaps a game to choose the King and Queen and all their attendants for the night.

Not so long ago, on Twelfth Night, the shrivelled ivy leaves and dead tree would come down to be put on the bonfire: the burning of Christmas. In the USA some still remember the Christmas tree bonfire on 6th January and the family parties where treats from the tree and Stollen cake were eaten, washed down with warming Gluhwein: it's easy to see how this ritual must have travelled there from Teutonic Europe.

In some cider making areas of England the primitive ritual of Wassailing on Twelfth Night is still celebrated, ostensibly to ensure a good crop of apples for the coming season. Men and women – previously these would have been farm workers – go out to the orchards with a pail of warm cider: each takes a drink of the cider and throws the remains of their cup over the roots of an apple tree. A piece of cake soaked in cider is left in a fork of the branches for 'the robin' and sticks beaten against the branches or guns banged to wake up the sleepy spirit.

This Saxon ritual differed from place to place but the laughter and merriment that is part of it, still includes the toast of Middle English: "Waes hail!" (be in good health!).

I hope your trees will bear and bow
Apples and pears and plums, I do vow,
Hats full, caps full, three bushel bags full,
All under the trees, hooray, hooray!
And a little heap under the stairs.)

Songs like this were used to serenade the tree spirits and the ritual celebrated New Year not the nativity.

I'm afraid that January is now better known for its Bargain Sales than its wassails. Shame. But carols and good wishes still survive: "Good health to you, and to you and you and you, and we wish you a merry New Year, New Year, New Year, and we wish you a Merry New Year!"

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com

Cranford

Elizabeth Gaskell has long been one of my favourite authors; imagine how pleased I was to hear that Cranford, one of her novels, would be adapted on TV in five parts. Sadly, it's now come to an end and has left a gaping hole in Sunday nights: it's not often that a TV serial improves on a book but this production of 'Cranford' was one.

What I like in Gaskell's novels is her understanding and portrayal of social inequalities; many novelists of the time skated over the less savoury elements of society (Jane Austen for one) or made them into characters (Dickens) but Gaskell embraces the gritty and the grey without preaching. She was a good friend of Dickens, who encouraged her writing, and she helped to promote the talents of her great friend, Charlotte Bronte.

Gaskell was married to a church minister whose parish was in Manchester and it was there that her strong sense of social injustice was developed. Her harsh depictions of mill owners in Mary Barton was garnered from her experience helping the poor slum dwellers of her husband's parish. And her understanding of life's tragedies was partly based on her own experiences.

Her own mother had died when she was only one year old and her father rejected her, sending her off to live with an aunt when he remarried (fortunately she was kindly). Then her beloved brother was lost at sea and some of her own children died. She was therefore no stranger to sadness and loss.

In fact, Cranford is not one of my favourite Gaskell novels – nor are Sylvia's Lovers or Wives and Daughters - but Mary Barton and North and South are, I think, brilliant. Perhaps it was because Cranford was initially written as a short story and later enlarged on – at Dickens' suggestion – that I found it less than gripping.

Some have described the production of 'Cranford' as sentimental, self-indulgent stuff and rather tame. But I disagree. In the TV production there's not a lot of action but the story has been so well done – and so well acted -that what comes through are the subtle nuances of society, the deeply felt slights and the strongly felt emotions kept under control.

The main characters are a group of genteel women (played brilliantly by Francesca Annis, Eileen Atkins, Judi Dench and Imelda Staunton) who live in the village of Cranford (modelled on Knutsford, Gaskell's childhood home). They take tea, buy hats in the local store, play card games and gossip. Dashed hopes, unreasonable aspirations, petty jealousies are all there: so too is the poverty of a feckless family, the death of relatives and of beloved pets.

Gaskell's ideals shine through: the philanthropy of a good man who educates a poor boy and how he shames the lady of the manor into acting in a Christian like way. Cranford is a novel that shows the reader every day life – Gaskell set her novels in the present unlike Austen – and it was this that was so sensational. It drew her middle class reader's attention to what life was like in quiet village or industrial town.

Gaskell achieved fame and fortune in her lifetime – she was born in 1810 and died aged 55 from overwork and a poor heart – but she has been largely ignored and unappreciated as a novelist until the last few years. Recent biographies of her, along with the rise in appreciation of women novelists, women's studies and radio adaptions of her work, have introduced many new converts to her writing.

Gaskell's dry and wry humour is amusing when put into the mouths of the frustrated spinsters of Cranford: "She [Miss Jenkyns] would have despised the modern idea of women being equal to men. Equal, indeed! She knew they were superior." Perhaps this is why she is such a popular novelist at last!

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com