Westbury Wassail

It was not my usual Saturday night, I joined some wonderful folk touring the local orchards in the bitter night air, watched St George fall fowl of the Dark Prince and found myself singing with gusto to several dozen apple trees. 

No, I hadn't been smoking anything controversial (although I did partake of a goodish quantity of wonderful local mulled cider), but was indulging in my first spot of Wassailing, Westbury-sub-Mendip style!

The event began at Old Ditch Farm where friendly local villagers of all ages (plus a few interlopers like myself) thirstily tucked into the first of the barrels of estate cider which had been skilfully mulled and huge trays of homemade apple cake were passed round much to the delight of the children. 

The Green Man (Andrew Buchanon) then barracked the assembled tribe repeatedly for our (admittedly) timid singing of the Westbury Wassail song until a minimum standard was achieved to not embarrass the able musicians who were accompanying us.

Old apple tree, we'll wassail thee, and hoping thou wilt bear,

The Lord doth know where we shall be to be merry another year.

To blow well and to bear well, and so merry let us be,

Let every man drink up his cup, and health to the old apple tree.

This hurdle overcome, the Wassail King and Queen were selected by the drawing of walnuts until the two golden ones were selected. Their duties were to offer toast and cider to a chosen tree in each orchard to nourish the good spirits before a gunman scared away bad spirits from the tree's vicinity with a round or two and the Wassail Shout was taken up by the crowd:

Apples now, hatfuls, capfuls, three bushel bagfuls. Talletsolefuls, barns floorfuls, and a little heap under the stairs. Hip, hip, hip hooray!

The conclusion of the orchards circuit lead back to the start where the fabulous Langport Mummers, a highly acclaimed folk drama group, performed an irreverent and hilariously cutting contemporary play which caused many a titter. The labouring sheep in the neighbouring barn and two new lambs just hours old were interested in the unusual turn of events unfolding next door.

More mulled cider washed down a scrumptious traditional supper of sausage rolls, crumbly tasty cheddar, exquisite homemade pickles and delicious soup following the traditional ceremonial burning of the Ashen F a g g  o t (curse you profanity filter)

I have been looking forward to attending a Wassail for many years and was utterly enchanted by the tradition and jovial spirits in which it was undertaken. Thank you to all those involved, I am hooked and will be back for as many future Twelfth Nights as nature sees fit to keep me around for. WASSAIL!

To see photos from the event, see gallery 1 and 2