To a Haggis

Yesterday it was Burns Night, when we are normally invited to share the evening with a gathering at a friend's house, but last year our little group decided to make the event a bit more special and so hired out the lovely Stanley Palace in Chester.  There had been a lot of planning going on to make it extra special this time.

Guests were bringing plates of food to share and so Sue was on duty arranging all of this...

Haggis, neeps and tatties were being prepared in the kitchen beside the beer... 



Fairy lights and tartan bunting were arranged throughout the building and it was nearly time to begin welcoming all the guests...



I regularly tell people that not all bagpipes are Scottish, but for this event I did dress the pipes up a bit...

At 8 o'clock the haggis was piped through the building...



We played the tune for a Burns' song 'A man's a man for a'that'.

Of course we had the 'Address To A Haggis'...

Then, as is now a tradition at our Burns Night celebrations in Chester, there was a little extra play on the story of the haggis.  This year it was a tale of how the haggis was once a widespread dish across Britain and how it came to be just a Scottish favourite.  It was a tale of medieval mystery, of secret societies, the gastronomic occult, exiled Italian abbots running coffee shops, archaeological discoveries and the revelation that the true origins of the haggis had been disguised in the words of a mummers' play.  Whether the gathering believed all of this, I'm not too sure...

The newly rediscovered play was enacted for the first occasion in modern times; Here's Haggis and Trencher...

And then Bread and Tripe ready to pounce with the knife...

Then it was time to judge the best dressed tankard competition... 

Followed by a Burns' song 'The Winter it is Past'...

 

And then it was off to eat, share stories, catch up with friends, play music and dance for the rest of the night.  The camera was put away then so you'll have to imagine all that.

 

Maybe it wasn't the most 'authentic' Burns supper, but the mood of sharing an evening with friends, music and song felt like an appropriate way to celebrate the event.

What's in the Well?

Recently we returned to Beeston Castle, to climb the crag and look out over the Cheshire plain.  The moles had been busy and we stopped regularly on the walk up to examine the miniature spoil heaps of their excavations for any traces of archaeology and were rewarded with a few sherds of 17th century slipware and blackware.  But it was also a trip to return to the well inside the inner bailey at the top.

 

 

The view from the top.  The white dot just about visible in the middle is the Lovell Radio Telescope at Jodrell Bank

There had been a hillfort at Beeston in the Iron Age but in the 1220s a castle was begun on the crag by Ranulf de Blundeville, the same Earl of Chester who, some will recall, had been saved from a siege by the musitioners of Chester and whereby the tradition of the Minstrels' Court began. 

Inside the inner bailey is a well, just as you expect to find in a castle.  But, with the location of the castle atop this rock, it is very deep, the deepest in Cheshire and one of the deepest castle wells in England.  It is supposed to reach down 365 feet which, being the same number of feet deep as days in a year, seems to have been picked to give the well more of a mythic quality.  And it does have a legend associated with it...

In 1399, King Richard II who was much beloved in Cheshire, though not well supported in the rest of his kingdom, travelled from Chester to Ireland in an attempt to reassert his authority there.  Before leaving he hid his Royal treasure at the bottom of the well at Beeston.  When Richard returned from Ireland via Wales he met with a challenge to the throne from his cousin Henry Bolingbroke and was imprisoned, deposed and eventually starved to death at Pontefract Castle, (he presumably didn't find the stash of liquorice there).  But the treasure was left unclaimed at the bottom of Beeston Castle well and some say it is still there, guarded by a demon.

Richard II, accompanied by his bodyguard of Cheshire Archers, riding through Chester's Water Gate en route to Ireland

Now, this is where I come into the story.  Eight years ago, my brother and I went out for a walk on a winter's day and stopped at the Dysart Arms at Bunbury for lunch, though it's important to note that I didn't have a drink.  We then went up to the castle, where we were the only visitors.  At the well we decided to drop in a coin to see how deep it was.  After a long pause, it is a deep well, we heard "grrr".  So, of course we had to do it again.  Another pause, then "Grrrrr!".  Then once again, and this would be the last time because after that I'd only pound coins left, "GGGRRRRR!". 

We made our way back down the hill faster than we might otherwise have done, and looking back behind us a fair few times.  Although we made light of it, saying it was probably an angry badger at the bottom, it was a little unsettling at the time.  Now, it was most likely the distorted echo of the coin falling to the bottom, and our ears getting attuned to it so it seemed to grow louder, but I can certainly see how this could seem like there is a demon in the well.  And if enough people have done what I did, there certainly will be a great treasure at the bottom of the well.

Oh, Apple Tree We Wassail Thee



Yesterday we headed off to Stretton Watermill for the apple tree wassailing.  Apple trees are very important to mills, their wood being used as the teeth of gear wheels in the machinery, strong enough not to be worn down by constant meshing with other gears, yet brittle enough to shear off in an accident and save the rest of the wheel.  The apples themselves would also be enjoyed as food and as cider.

It was a clear and mild winter's day as we drove through along to the mill, the bare trees allowing a clear view of the whole Sandstone Ridge and the low winter sun making Beeston Castle glimmer brightly.  The watermill itself is near the border with Wales, these marches being the traditional home of apple tree wassailing.


 

We set up as the light was dwindling and lanterns were lit to provide a warming glow.

 

 

Spiced cider was mulled and shared.  We used four gallons of it, the preparation was quite a task in itself, but well worth it.

 

Friends began to gather and the wassailing began with the telling of the tale of the Apple Tree Man.

 

 

Then the group collected rattles, timbrels and drums and set off in procession around the trees making noise to drive away evil spirits.

 

 

Toast was hung in the branches for the birds.

 

 

 

Then the procession returned back to the oldest most ancient apple tree.  'Young Ball' the horse from Jones' Ale Soul Cakers accompanying the procession.

 

A many handled wassail cup was shared around.

We sang the Apple Tree Wassail to the oldest tree.

 

Cider was poured upon the roots.

 

A gun was fired through the branches to drive away the witches...

 

 

 

Then it was done, and we headed off to the Carden Arms to share some tunes together.

 

 

The apple tree wassail at Stretton Mill is certainly a mixture of various winter traditions, but it's becoming established now and has its own character.  They certainly are very important, whether we're encouraging the sun to return after winter or crops to grow, or more simply a chance to bring people together for some merriment in a harsh cold season and the maintenance of good fellowship.

 

 

Many thanks to Paul Quigley for some of these pictures.