Trisha Ashley - Twelve Days of Christmas

Then, approaching from the direction of the barn behind the pub, I heard the sound of a fiddle and Richard appeared, playing a lively air as he walked and dressed in a long green fur-edged velvet robe over (I hoped) lots of warm clothes.

Following him into the circle of light from the braziers jogged six Morris Men dressed in traditional white, with bells jingling and red ribbons flying, but carrying long swords and with painted black masks across their faces, which gave them a strange, slightly sinister look.

‘Those are the Rappers,’ Becca whispered.

I recognised George Froggat and Nancy’s husband, Will, but not the rest. They formed a set and danced, using their swords a bit like staves (so I hoped they were blunt!), and then fell back into two rows, leaving the centre free for the strange figures who now came forward in procession, each introducing himself to the spectators with a short, rhyming couplet.

There was Auld Man Christmas, the diminutive Nicholas Dagger, in a blue velvet robe, an evergreen crown, and carrying a club almost as large as he was; a scary Red Hoss, painted scarlet and with jaws that could open and close with a loud snap; the Dragon, green and leathery, with a fearsome head and long tail that dragged on the ground and the strange Man-Woman figure. From the front he — or perhaps that should be it — looked just like the Rappers in white shirt and trousers and straw hat; but then he turned around, revealing a woman’s mask over the back of his head and a long skirt.

‘That’s Liam as the Man-Woman,’ giggled Jess, as he began to circle round, handing out circlets of ivy and mistletoe to any woman who seemed to catch his fancy, which included an excited Jess, Nancy and Oriel Comfort. But he didn’t give me one and I felt quite left out!

Richard stopped playing for long enough to bow and introduce himself to the crowd as the Doctor. And then, finally, Jude in his guise as Saint George walked out of the darkness to large cheers: a huge and strangely fearsome figure, wearing a white surcoat with a red cross and a helmet with a nosepiece. He was carrying an even bigger sword than the Rappers. . and in his other hand, a gilded, sparkling circlet of ivy and mistletoe. He strode over and placed the circlet on my head, and I was so surprised by this that I expect my jaw fell lower than Red Hoss’s (who was Henry, by the way — I’d spotted him inside when he snapped his jaws in my face).

Then Jude walked back to the middle of the circle while Nancy, who was standing nearby, giggled. ‘He used to give that to me, not having a lady of his own!’

‘I am St George,’ boomed Jude, ‘a bold and brave knight. In Egypt with a dragon, I did fight.’

‘Why Egypt?’ I whispered to Becca.

‘The Crusades made some of the elements change: other places have Saint George kill a Turkish knight, but we carried on with the Dragon — and here it comes.’

From somewhere inside the great, leathery beast a voice that was unmistakably young Ben’s from Weasel Pot shouted, after a couple of opening roars:

Then he and Jude rushed at each other and a mock fight ensued — only for the Dragon to kill Saint George. The crowd gave a united groan.

‘That shouldn’t happen, should it?’ I asked Becca worriedly, looking at Jude stretched out on the grass.

‘It’s all right,’ whispered Jess, who had edged up beside me. ‘Wait and see!’

Auld Man Christmas, Red Hoss and the Man-Woman, whose roles had so far consisted of working the crowds and scaring small children into fits, now turned inwards to face the tragic scene and said as one:

‘Alas, poor Saint George!’

The Dragon moved into the middle of the circle, leaving poor Jude lying on the cold half-thawed turf, though fairly near the bonfire, so I hoped he wouldn’t entirely freeze to death.

Richard struck up another air on the fiddle and the six Rappers began to dance again, this time their swords weaving together, to form a series of intricate patterns that culminated in a sort of knot with a hole in its centre. The Dragon approached — and then suddenly they lowered the knot of swords over its head, tightened it with a scraping clash of metal — and the Dragon’s head flew off, to land with a soggy thump near my feet.

I nearly had a heart attack and it was a huge relief when I realised it was hollow!

The dancers fell back into two rows again, revealing the headless Dragon lying on the ground, and there was a round of applause and some cheers.

Richard swung round on his heel and pointed his violin at the lifeless Saint George, declaiming loudly:

Then he took a small bottle out of his pocket and pretended to sprinkle something over the recumbent knight. I watched, riveted, as Jude slowly stirred, sat up and then got to his feet and bowed, to more rapturous applause.

‘That’s it — come on!’ Becca said, and she and Jess and everyone else rushed into the circle and joined hands, dragging me with them. Somehow in the crush I found myself with Jude on my left and the Dragon, without his head but with his tail looped over his arm, on my right, as we all joined hands and danced round. I could see Michael, Jess and Becca among the circle of dancers — and George, holding Oriel’s hand. She looked flushed and happy, her ivy and mistletoe circlet tipped over one eye.

No-one else seemed to have a gilded one. . and it was just as well that Jude had pushed it down firmly onto my head, because he suddenly whirled me round and round until I was too breathless to go on.

‘It’s no use, I’ll have to have a rest!’ I begged, panting, and he laughed and walked with me over to the pub, his arm still around my waist, though he took his rather scary helmet off first: that was a bit of a relief. We stood talking to Noël, Tilda and Old Nan and I accepted a beaker of the warming punch. . and then possibly another. In fact, I lost count of how much I’d had, but it tasted innocuously of warm apples and Nancy had said you could give it to a baby. .

My foot started to tap in time to the music and Jude’s arm tightened around me a little as Nancy took the beaker from my hand and replaced it with a fresh one.

‘Nancy,’ I said suspiciously, focusing on her cheerful, flushed face with an effort, ‘when you said you could give this to a baby, were you serious?’

‘Yes, if you wanted it to go to sleep for a couple of hours. Maybe not, these days though, when they’ve even taken the alcohol out of gripewater.’

Richard played the music for what looked like a final mad bout of strip-the-willow, then handed his fiddle on to someone else and joined us.

Michael, who’d followed him, said, ‘It’s been really fascinating to watch. It’s such an interesting mixture of pagan fertility ceremony and miracle play.’

‘That’s very astute of you,’ said Richard. ‘The red ribbons, holly, ivy and especially the mistletoe wreaths the women are given are all to do with rebirth and fertility.’

‘And the triumph of good over evil, that’s what the Saint George and the dragon part signifies,’ Noël put in.

‘Doesn’t the pagan element bother you, Vicar?’ Michael asked.

‘Oh no,’ he said cheerfully, his white hair blowing in the breeze.

It was certainly now starting to unsettle me, despite the soothing effects of large quantities of punch!

We waved Michael off, and then the actors in the Revels went to the barn to remove their costumes, reappearing in normal guise. By then, the last of the wassail and the Revel Cakes had been consumed and people started to disperse: some home, and some into the Auld Christmas. Edwina dragooned Tilda, Jess and Noël into the car and drove them back to the lodge, but Becca walked off home, a Revel Cake wrapped in a paper napkin in her pocket for later.

‘They’re supposed to be a lucky talisman if you keep it for the year,’ she’d told me, ‘but I think I’d rather eat it.’ Then she’d looked at me and added, ‘And perhaps you’d better eat something as soon as Jude gets you home, too: that wassail packs a lot more punch than you think.’

‘That’s because it is punch,’ I said, and giggled.

‘I’ll look after her,’ Jude promised, putting his arm around me again, probably because I was swaying slightly.

‘Yes, that’s what’s worrying me,’ Becca said grimly, and he laughed.

Driving back with Jude I felt warm and cosy, but also strangely limp and boneless too.

‘That was lovely,’ I said dreamily.

Then the phone in my pocket rang, waking me slightly. ‘Can you stop here? Only I’ll lose the signal if you go past the lodge and it must be Laura.’

‘Or Sam?’ he snapped suspiciously, pulling in to the side of the lane.

‘Why on earth would it be Sam?’ I blinked at him, trying to focus. ‘He doesn’t even have my number.’ I’d managed to dig out the phone by now and said, ‘Hello?’

‘Holly, are you there?’ demanded a strident voice.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ I sighed. ‘Yes, I’m here, Ellen. . but I’m not entirely with it.’

‘Why, you’re not ill, are you? Did Laura tell you about the London job? Only it’s next week and I have to know now if you’ll do it. You will, won’t you?’