Here we come a-wassailing
Jan. 15th, 2019 12:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustFlass Vale is a wedge of woodland inserted into the western side of Durham City. There's a clearing in which the Friends of Flass Vale have been planting an orchard, and where there's an orchard, there must be a Wassail.
So at twilight on Saturday we followed the lantern-lined path down into the clearing (which will one day be an orchard), where we were greeted by fully qualified wassailers:
who urged us to drink cups of hot spiced cider, and to sing, and to drink more cider from the wooden bowl that was passed around the circle...
Now we set about the serious business of visiting each apple tree in turn, urging it - in verse - to flourish and bear apples (undeterred by mutterings from the tree-planters: that one's a cherry...) and tapping it gently with a stick to underline the message. The light was almost gone, so technically these are not great photos, but I like the effect:
There were fairy lights in the trees, and someone had made a lantern from a jar and a string of coloured lights: and we were just above the houses, which was strange:
But eventually we had admonished every tree, and drunk as much cider as we possibly could. Time to head back to the church hall for a shared supper and a Souling Play - which turns out to be a mummers' play on a familiar pattern (performed here very much out of season). It was preceding by a souling song, accompanied on the hurdy gurdy, but there is a fight to the death between King George (although in his red cross waistcoat and his high-plumed helmet, you could easily take him for the saint) and the Black Prince, and then there is a doctor (having a whale of a time) who cures the slain Black Prince. Revived, they fight again, until all resolves into a dance, and the doctor, not content with having stolen the earlier scenes, reappears having stolen the hobby horse.
Followed by an abundant tea of whatever people had contributed. I had been a little nervous about this, and was relieved to see that cheese rolls were indeed the right answer.
So at twilight on Saturday we followed the lantern-lined path down into the clearing (which will one day be an orchard), where we were greeted by fully qualified wassailers:
who urged us to drink cups of hot spiced cider, and to sing, and to drink more cider from the wooden bowl that was passed around the circle...
Now we set about the serious business of visiting each apple tree in turn, urging it - in verse - to flourish and bear apples (undeterred by mutterings from the tree-planters: that one's a cherry...) and tapping it gently with a stick to underline the message. The light was almost gone, so technically these are not great photos, but I like the effect:
There were fairy lights in the trees, and someone had made a lantern from a jar and a string of coloured lights: and we were just above the houses, which was strange:
But eventually we had admonished every tree, and drunk as much cider as we possibly could. Time to head back to the church hall for a shared supper and a Souling Play - which turns out to be a mummers' play on a familiar pattern (performed here very much out of season). It was preceding by a souling song, accompanied on the hurdy gurdy, but there is a fight to the death between King George (although in his red cross waistcoat and his high-plumed helmet, you could easily take him for the saint) and the Black Prince, and then there is a doctor (having a whale of a time) who cures the slain Black Prince. Revived, they fight again, until all resolves into a dance, and the doctor, not content with having stolen the earlier scenes, reappears having stolen the hobby horse.
Followed by an abundant tea of whatever people had contributed. I had been a little nervous about this, and was relieved to see that cheese rolls were indeed the right answer.
