Rose aspires to be a doctor, impossible in the 18th century, but uncovers evil village secrets in Cornwall-- and love in the most inappropriate place.
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But let's explore the lighter side of the eighteenth century, especially the celebrations of Twelfth Night, as Christmas cheer continued into January.
Twelfth Night, usually January 5th or 6th, was celebrated as the end of the Christmas Season since the Middle Ages. It marked the Feast of Epiphany, when the Three Wise Men visited the baby Jesus in Bethlehem. It also evolved from Pagan fertility rights, celebrating the end of winter and the soon to arrive spring.
In the 18th c., it was the perfect excuse to throw lavish parties. Great spreads of food, especially enticing desserts, were the centerpiece. Over-indulging in food and drink, people partied hard, before returning to the drab winter of their lives.
The Twelfth Night cake was the highlight served to guests. Martha Washington's (wife of the famous George) recipe included 40 eggs, four pounds of sugar, and five pounds of dried fruit. A bean or coin, sometimes a metal Baby Jesus, was baked into the cake, (people were warned to chew carefully) and whomever received that piece became the King. This king caused mischief as he presided over the festivities.
The ale-based drink with spices and honey, called Wassail, was put in huge bowls and passed around the revelers. The name is derived from the Old English term "Waes hael", meaning "be well."
People donned costumes and danced and performed plays in the village streets. Some dragged plows house to house, seeking treats and alcohol. While the Upper Crust held elaborate balls.
Mervyn Clitheroe's Twelfth Night party, by "Phiz" |
Live birds were hidden in empty pie casings, so when opened, scared the recipient. Traditional foods were anything spicy or hot, such as ginger snaps. Or anything with apples; apple tarts, apple-walnut cakes. And lots of Port and Sherry to drink.
The common folk partied, drank to excess, releasing the frustration of their hard-working lives. One Pennsylvania upper-class man of the time said of the commoner, "were a set of the lowest blackguards, who, disguised in filthy clothes and ofttimes with masked faces, went from house to house in large companies, ...obtruding themselves everywhere, particularly into the rooms occupied by parties of ladies and gentlemen, (and) would demean themselves with great insolence."
This holiday as a time to party is largely ignored today.
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Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.