Winter Solstice

 

And so here we are, at the Winter Solstice. It’s the shortest day of light today. From tomorrow, the tops and tails of days will start to lighten again as we head out towards Springtime. Now THAT’S something to celebrate, is it not? That’s what Yule is all about. Celebrating what’s ahead of us to look forward to. That, and an excuse to eat a chocolate Yule log. Nom, nom, nom…

At Much Malarkey Manor, the hens can’t quite believe how successful the first two days of the Yule Festival have been. They are gathered around the kitchen table, going over final plans for today, this Grand Finale to all the events that have happened.

‘Who’d have thought that a few days ago we were in such dire straits?’ says Mrs Poo. ‘Just goes to show how much life can change in the space of hours.’

‘Yes,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘I believe we might be able to have a bit more than cheese on toast and Twiglets for our Christmas Day celebrations after all. And our bank account is looking a lot healthier than it did. But we still need to be a bit careful,’ she adds hurriedly, in case the others have extravagant Christmas ideas brewing in their little chicken brains.

‘Take us through the order of the day, Mrs M!’ says Jack Green. ‘We are on the homeward run. I can feel the energies of the Land growing stronger and stronger. One last push and then we can all relax.’

‘So,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘We have the Grand Yule Elf Hunt for the children this morning, culminating in the traditional leaving out of food for the house spirits. Where’s our Yule Elf?’

‘Here I am!’ says Ptolemy Pheasant, bursting through the kitchen door in a flurry of pirouettes and wing waving. ‘Apologies for my tardy arrival, but I was having trouble getting my tassels straight. How do they look?’ and he dances around in his elf costume, sending the tassel adornments swinging wildly.

‘Wild and swinging,’ says Jack. ‘As all Yule Elf costumes should be. You make a fine Yule Elf, my friend.’

Everyone agrees that, indeed, Ptolemy looks every inch the right pheasant for the part.

‘And do we have suitable repast to leave for the house spirits?’ says Mrs Miggins, looking at Mrs Slocombe, resident house chef.

‘We do,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘Although why they can’t be satisfied with a mince pie, a tot of sherry, a carrot and a bit of hay, like Santa and his reindeer are, I do not know.’

‘What did you make?’ says Jack, who knows how fussy house spirits can be.

‘I’ve gone for a smorgasbord,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘I got loads of smorgas and have presented them on little tiny boards. It’ll keep the crumbs off the carpets.’

‘Oh, they’ll like that,’ says Jack.

Mrs Miggins, keen to crack on, emits a polite cough. ‘After the Elf Hunt,’ she says, ‘we shall lead a procession to the woods in order to select the traditional Yule Log. Bambino has readied the old sledge. Did you get some horses to pull it?’

‘Horses unavailable at short notice,’ says Bambino. ‘Something to do with them all being seconded into delivering Christmas post this year. So I went to the farm up the road and got a couple of alpacas instead.’

‘Good shout,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘People like an alpaca. So, we choose a log, load it onto the sledge, bring it back to the ballroom and put it in the fireplace. There will then be a Grand Lighting ceremony, and the Yule Party. Jack will tell the story of Odin and Wild Hunt. Fancy dress optional, carriages at 11.’

Everyone claps and cheers! It is going to be an excellent Finale!

At 3.30 p.m, as dusk begins to descend, a procession of torches led by two alpacas pulling a sledge can be seen wending its way across the fields beyond the lawns of Much Malarkey Manor and into the woodlands. By 4 p.m, the shortest day of the year has landed, and darkness has fallen. The procession returns, the sledge loaded with an enormous tree trunk, a.k.a The Yule Log. A team of sturdy types gifted with rock hard muscles and hands the size of shovels heaves the log from the sledge and into the ballroom of the Manor, where it is installed in the grand fireplace ready to be lit.

Now, as anyone knows who has ever tried to light a fire using a slightly damp piece of wood, the lighting ceremony takes slightly longer than when using kiln-dried wood with less than 20% moisture content as per government guidelines to do with air pollution. (Sighs…rolls eyes…tries to forget all the very non-climate friendly hypocrisy that came with the recent football world cup.)

‘Is that many firelighters absolutely necessary?’ says Mrs Slocombe, watching as Mrs Poo, official fire starter, packs a goodly number at the base of the Yule Log.’

‘I’m sure she knows what she’s doing,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘And I’ve taken the precaution of hiding all lighter fluid and methylated spirits.’

Mrs Poo emerges from the depths of the ballroom fireplace. ‘Has anyone seen my can of petrol? The one I keep for fuelling the lawnmowers?’ she says.

‘EMPTY!’ shouts Mrs Miggins. ‘There are NO flammable liquids anywhere.’

Mrs Poo rolls her eyes. ‘Ah well,’ she says. ‘I’m sure the firelighters will do the trick. Stand back everyone.’

Everyone is already standing back. Mrs Poo puts a blow torch to the bottom of the log, there is a small ‘whoosh!’ and tiny flames take hold of the newspaper, kindling and firelighters and the Yule Log is officially…yuled! (N.B No eyebrows were injured in the lighting of the Yule Log.)

‘Hurrah!’ shouts the audience.

‘And now,’ calls Mrs Miggins, ‘if everyone would like to take their seats, the Lord of Misrule will begin the traditional Yule story of Odin and the Wild Hunt.’