Remember little Jack Horner who sat in a corner, eating his Christmas Pie? He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum, and said what a good boy am I? This is where Christmas pudding comes from.
In medieval times, at the end of the feast there was no Christmas pudding as we know it, but its ancestor was a wheaten porridge enriched by dried fruits, nuts and spices. In later times, flour was added to make it into the solid-type pudding that we know today. George the First, when he arrived from Hanover, really enjoyed his Christmas pudding, considered it a large fruit dumpling. Modern mince pies did not exist either, although there were Christmas pies, which were savory, meat-based affairs.
When Brits talk of "pudding," it's not a thin, gooey mess in a plastic cup, but a solid, sometimes stodgy cake-like affair made with suet, fruit and sometimes covered in jam or treacle, and finally steamed in a cloth covered bowl in a double boiler or steamer. Or in Mrs. Cratchet's case (A Christmas Carol), boiled in the wash-copper. The making of the Christmas pudding is a tradition that began in 18th century England when families gathered to supply all their luxuries saved through the year, such as white flour, dried fruit, currants, and large quantities of ale and brandy. Each member of the family took a turn in stirring the pudding with a large wooden spoon, but only in a clockwise direction, otherwise you'd be stirring up evil spirits. Silver charms were added for good luck, which often kept the dentists busy with broken fillings.
Even Agatha Christie, in one of her Poirot stories, had an emerald hidden in the Christmas pudding. The pudding should all be made and stored by Michelmas. And then steamed or boiled for hours and presented on a platter with a sprig of holly and flaming brandy. Hours of preparation with a wonderful result. But you can do equally well with the help of Mr. Cross or Mrs. Blackwell (Cross and Blackwell) in the package at your local supermarket. Top it off with Bird's custard, made to instruction, and enjoy.
Instead of Christmas cake, medieval revelers enjoyed Twelfth Night cake, decorated with sugar paste icing from the 15th century onwards. This cake was the centerpiece of Twelfth Night parties, involving the crowning of the King of the Bean and the Queen of the Pea. Whoever found these items buried in their slice of cake was crowned monarch for the night and had to be obeyed.
This idea was echoed in other medieval Christmas revels. In schools, colleges and churches, the traditional authority was shaken up by appointing a Boy Bishop- a young clerk or chorister who was given temporary power to direct the merry-making and revels.
At court, from the 15th century at least, there would be a Lord of Misrule- a person of low rank permitted to reign over the Feast of Fools, which included much music and dancing, men dressing up in women's clothes and drunken mockery of church and court. In the villages, sinister-looking mummers would wear masks or blacken their faces, don animal skins and perform traditional dances. (All this dating back to the Roman Feast of Saturnalia, which was topsy-turvy time when men dressed in women's clothes and wore animal skins).
Perhaps the biggest difference from modern celebrations is the fact that a medieval Christmas had little to do with children. The young joined in with the adult festivities but gifts (often little more than bribes) were a matter for adults and were exchanged at New Year between king and courtiers, landlord and tenants.
The boar's head is another early tradition carried on especially at King's College at Oxford University. The centerpiece of the medieval feast, the head arrived with due pomp and ceremony. It would be carried in state into the great hall, preceded by the master of ceremonies and followed by minstrels, singing carols composed for the occasion. Songs in honor of the boar are recorded from as early as the 14th century. In 1170, King Henry II carried the boar's head to his heir's table in his own hands with trumpeters going before him.
The traditional story goes that a student at Oxford was out hunting in a local forest when he was attacked by a wild boar. He slew the boar and brought it back for the Christmas feast. But the story I like better is that the student was in the forest studying an old thick volume of Aristotle when he was attacked by the boar. In response, the youth stuffed the book down the animal's throat, and it was apparently so dry that the poor beast choked to death.
So have a jolly, merry Christmas, observe the traditions, and donate something to the less fortunate.
TTFN.
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