Advent Calendar Day 11 ~ The Christmas Bough

Hello, everyone! Today’s treat is some time under the Christmas Bough.

Even in Jane Austen’s time, the Christmas Bough was an old tradition. It had made an appearance in the 14^th century as an effigy of the Holy Family surrounded by a couple of hoops festooned with greenery – holy, ivy, mistletoe, bay, rosemary or whatever was still green in the dead of winter.

The hoops were preserved from year to year, and the display (known originally as the Holy Bough) was hung just inside the door of the house, on hooks used for no other purpose. And every visitor would be embraced under the bough as a sign of peace, goodwill and neighbourly love.

But things changed as time wore on. Once it had begun to be frowned upon as idolatrous, the effigy of the Holy Trinity was no longer added to the bough. Instead, the greenery was enlivened with red apples, ribbons, oranges, gilded nuts and red berries dusted with flour. The mistletoe remained very much a part of the decorations, but some 300 years ago something else was added to the ritual: whenever a visitor was greeted with a kiss beneath the bough, a berry had to be plucked from the sprig of mistletoe. When all the berries were gone, there would be no more kisses – a requirement introduced to set a limit to the less-than-neighbourly kissing that had replaced the old customs. By then, the Holy Bough had become the Kissing Bough.

Christmas Bough at Osterley Park, Isleworth – Photo J Starnes

An enthusiastic supporter of the new customs wrote that in Staffordshire – which is right next to Derbyshire, by the way – the bough was put in place at about five o’clock on Christmas Eve, “with many a romp and a kiss… and indeed for the next day or two, kissing was the sole order of things under this bunch…”

No wonder that the custom found enthusiastic supporters. But others were less amused. This sort of conduct began to be regarded as unseemly in fashionable circles, so the bunch of greenery that encouraged such liberties was eventually relegated to the servants’ hall.

What do you think, shall we leave this prudish snobbery to grand ladies full of airs and graces (and to Lady Catherine, sourpuss extraordinaire), and imagine that the tradition of the Christmas bough was still kept in Mr Darcy’s household? At least at Pemberley, if not at his more fashionable house in town? I hope you won’t mind if I’m tempted to think so. A Pemberley Christmas just wouldn’t be the same without the Kissing Bough.

And on that note, I hope you’ll enjoy this excerpt from an oldie:

MISS DARCY’S COMPANION

(Excerpt from Chapter 9)

In the earliest hours of the morning, a large number of Pemberley’s people had walked out to gather ivy, mistletoe, bay, rosemary and red-berried holly. Georgiana and Miss Bennet had joined them for a while, before their amusements in the shrubbery, and were now assisting the maids and footmen in the joyful task of adorning the house. Bright garlands were already festooned around the columns in the ballroom and the entrance hall, as well as the banister of the great staircase. Several maids had been at work for hours to fashion them on the vast table in the servants’ dining hall, and then the footmen had skilfully fixed them into place.

Nothing like their usually quiet and unobtrusive selves – and uncensored for it at this time of year – the maids were now scurrying hither and thither with basketfuls of greenery to decorate the mantelpieces and most of the picture frames, while in the parlour Georgiana and Miss Bennet were putting the finishing touches to the Christmas Bough.

In time-honoured fashion, ivy and holly were entwined around its hoops and, as a result of the young ladies’ efforts, it now stood resplendent, ornamented with red ribbons, gilded nuts, fire-red apples and the customary sprig of mistletoe.

When Peter was summoned to take it to the entrance hall and suspend it in the designated spot from a hook never used for another purpose, Hetty and Margaret skipped after him, clapping and chanting “The Kissing Bough! The Kissing Bough!”, while the other three followed at a more leisurely pace, exchanging warm glances at their childish glee.

Once they gained the hall the girls stood aside to let Peter go about his task, but as soon as it was done and the ladder removed, they rushed to be the first to embrace under the bough and follow a custom they both loved, little as they understood it.

They could not know that for hundreds of years the bough had reigned supreme over Christmas celebrations as a sign of goodwill and new beginnings. With an embrace beneath it, all the ills and wrongs of the previous year were set aside and instantly forgotten, as relations, neighbours, friends or mere acquaintances silently undertook to go forth with gratitude, benevolence and a light heart.

Margaret and Hetty might have lacked this insight, but did not lack lightness of heart as they resumed their chanting and linked arms to dance under the bough. They only stopped when a voice called from the foot of the stairs:

“I have never heard such a racket on this side of the Channel. What strange and fearsome tribe has come to invade?”

Supremely undaunted, the girls ran to their uncle.

“The Kissing Bough is up, Uncle Richard,” Hetty piped up and both girls reached to clasp his hands and tug him forward, until he was standing underneath it.

He willingly obliged, yet shaped his lips into a mock grimace:

“Oh, is it now? Well, if needs must,” he said, and bent down to kiss Margaret’s upturned cheek, then Hetty’s. He scooped the youngest up, while she squirmed and declared that his whiskers were awfully ticklish and, with his giggling niece in his arms, he turned to drop a kiss on Georgiana’s cheek – and likewise Miss Bennet’s.

The latter blushed becomingly, but took it in good cheer. It was Darcy who frowned and, as soon as Fitzwilliam had straightened from setting down his wriggling burden, he stepped closer and lowered his voice to sternly deliver:

“Was that truly necessary, Cousin?”

The other grinned in the most provoking manner.

“Oh, quite. ‘Tis a time-honoured tradition. In fact, seeing as you are so mindful of old customs I wonder at your scorning this one,” he added, to Darcy’s growing irritation.

Miss Bennet’s heightened colour showed she overheard the flippant comment, and Darcy silently cursed his cousin for it – only to curse himself a fraction of a second later, when he discovered to his acute mortification that, of their own volition, his eyes were fixed on her full, perfect lips. His neckcloth suddenly too tight, he swiftly glanced away, while she turned to her former charges to ask if they wished to help decorate the music room. They eagerly agreed and the trio hastened on their way, followed by Georgiana, thus leaving Darcy with his cousin – and his roiling vexation. He could not stop himself from scathingly observing:

“Since you are such an authority on ancient customs, are you not forgetting something?”

“What is that?”

“Such licence is permitted only if you can pluck a berry from the mistletoe.”

Fitzwilliam glanced up with a grin.

“Either by accident or by design, you had it hung up too high. Besides, you know as well as I do that pecks on the cheek were not what they had in mind with that particular proviso. But fear not, when the time comes I will find a way to reach those berries,” he laughed, the aggravating show of confidence making Darcy wish he had instructed Peter to hang the troublesome thing a great deal higher. There was still time to do so. And he would, by Jove, if Fitzwilliam persisted in this infuriating manner!

“You will excuse me,” he abruptly took his leave.

(© 2016 by Joana Starnes)

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Have a lovely and peaceful holiday season, and a New Year a thousand times better than 2020!

 Sources:

Discovering Christmas Customs and Folklore – Margaret Baker (1994), Shire Productions Ltd., Princes Risborough, Buckinghamshire

Christmas Watching – Desmond Morris (1992), Jonathan Cape, London

Happy Holidays, and here’s to a great New Year!