December 26, 2010

For many, once Christmas Day has drawn to a close, so does the merrymaking and special activities. This is not mandatory, however, as Hone hints. Just as modern celebrations emphasize Santa Claus' arrival between the late night news on Dec. 24 and 3am, certain obscure customs were once carefully observed in the days following Christmas.

December 26 is called both St. Stephen's Day and Boxing Day. The former designation marks the death of the first Christian martyr, and includes ancient traditions involving horses. "S. Stevens-day it is the custome for all horses to be let bloud and drench'd," reads one old book. Yet there is a record of at least one gentleman refusing the bloodletting offer. "He answered, no, sirra, my horse is not diseas'd of the fashions." By the end of the 19th century, this gentleman's skepticism had spread to the medical community, both horse and human.

Less gruesome customs are connected with the day, perhaps best remembered in the Good King Wenceslas carol. Acts of charity are shown to the poor man gathering fuel, and this tradition was cemented into place by the second term for Dec. 26. Historically, Boxing Day was a day for distributing gifts specifically to tradesmen and the poor. Sometimes, the presents and money would flow forth as a matter of course. Other times, a little prompting helped to open the coffers.

In Malcolm's London, an anecdote from 1731 reveals the annoyance felt by one fellow. While he readily gave Christmas-boxes to his "brewer, baker, and other tradesmen," an "innumerable tribe" of those tradesmen's servants also turned up at his doorstep for their gifts, too. His disgust was complete after going into town with a friend, in order to see how the money was spent. At one alehouse, roast beef and plum pudding were on hand, but a card game ruined the good cheer when a fight broke out. At a barn, the pair of friends found themselves surrounded by a hundred people, some in costume, dancing "to the music of two sorry fiddles."

"This horrid place seemed to be a complete nursery to the gallows," writes the fellow, who rejoices when the police come to break up the party. No word on whether this Scrooge ever loosened up, but in Yorkshire, the celebration and charity of the season continued without fail:

On the feast of St. Stephen large goose pies are made, all of which they distribute among their needy neighbours, except one which is carefully laid up, and not tasted till the purification of the virgin, called Candlemas. [EDBv1]

Image from Queering the Church

Week of December 19 (Mini-Update)

Weekend shopping, if not entirely consigned to gift selection, probably includes items for the pantry.

Hone records the changing customs of holiday meals, starting with a few overwhelming lines from Philip Massinger, the 17th century playwright:

Men may talk of country Christmasses,

Their thirty-pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carp's tongues,

Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris, the carcasses

Of three fat wethers bruised for gravy, to

Make sauce for a single peacock; yet their feasts

Were fasts, compared with the city's.

City Madam, act ii, sc.1.

Whether or not you have three fat sheep primed for your gravy boat, a taste of the old days may be recalled with Christmas games and stories. Traditional tales include those of Sir Thopas, Bevis of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell, and Clymme of the Clough.

To conclude the day, try a bed-time posset. Part drink, part pudding, this favorite dessert has been employed by the rampaging Macbeth family (with a little poison), to dispose of the King's guards. It's also popped up in another epic adventure, where it demonstrated temporary restorative powers. [EDBv2]

Image from the Goerwitts' Christmas 2005 album

Week of November 28 (Mini-Update)

As December opens, a note from Hone about past tendencies to mark the winter months:

[Christmas] is the holiday, which, for obvious reasons, may be said to have survived all the others; but still it is not kept with any thing like the vigour, perseverance, and elegance of our ancestors. They not only ran Christmas-day, new-year's-day, and twelfth-night, all into one, but kept the wassail-bowl floating the whole time, and earned their right to enjoy it by all sorts of active pastimes.

Hone then summarizes a range of colorful and boisterous activities--which we will return to in the coming days. You, too, will learn "the way to turn winter to summer." [EDBv1]

Image from the Simplify Christmas blog

Week of August 2 (Mini-Update)

August 5 - You: at the coffee shop, pretending to read W.B. Yeats. Brown knitted sweater, frizzy hair, worn jeans. Me: tall, soaking wet and my nose pressed against the window. Something passed between us when you noticed me. Please call mailbox #8675309 .

Ever see those ads searching for missed connections? Here's one from this day in 1758, originally published in the London Chronicle:

A young lady who was at Vauxhall on Tuesday night last, in company with two gentlemen, could not but observe a young gentleman in blue and a gold-laced hat, who, being near her by the orchestra during the performance, especially the last song, gazed upon her with the utmost attention. He earnestly hopes (if unmarried) she will favour him with a line directed to A.D. at the bar of the Temple Exchange Coffee-house, Temple-bar, to inform him whether fortune, family, and character, may not entitle him upon a further knowledge, to hope an interest in hear heart. He begs she will pardon the method he has taken to let her know the situation of his mind, as, being a stranger, he despaired of doing it any othe way, or even of seeing her more. As his views are founded upon the most honourable principles, he presumes to hope the occasion will justify it, if she generously breaks through this trifling formality of the sex, rather than, by a cruel silence, render unhappy one, who must ever expect to continue so if debarred from a nearer acquaintance with her, in whose power alone it is to complete his felicity.

Hone comments that "a description of the various afflictions and modes of relief peculiar to the progress of this disorder would fill many volumes."

There's no word on whether A.D. ever cured his heartache, but one wonders if contemporary approaches to the same illness are more successful than his. [EDBv1]