Come on my son, you are not dead;
Stop your sleeping, get out of bed.
I’ll wash you and warm you; I’ll turn you about;
And when you start growing, I’ll give you a clout.
I’ll bash you and thrash you; I’ll stamp on your head.
I’ll grind you and bind you; you’ll wish you were dead.
I’ll take you and bake you, and when you are done
I’ll soak you and mash you, my little son.
I’ll heat you and feed you on apples and pears.
I’ll give you some honey: the sweetness of bears.
I’ll leave you to brew for the length of my fingers.
I’ll watch as you grow a head, hope that it lingers.
And when you are ready, my little one,
We’ll lap up your essence, my fatherless son.
I came across this *modern henge* while out walking last week. See the notice. And I thought…
Well, it’s thought that people of old met at these henges to celebrate this or that feast. And it’s assumed that at such feasts the celebrants enjoyed an alcoholic beverage or two.
And so I give you my take on an ancient recipe… for Neolithic Ale! Excuse the anachronic apples and pears.
Reminded me of the folk-song John Barleycorn.
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I can’t say for certain that I wasn’t inspired by it, but only as to the plot!
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I enjoyed your take on it.
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I wanted to get an ancient feel. The details were gleaned from many an archeaology paper, but I slipped in the apples and pears, though native crab apples would have served.
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I love it! I picture it being recited as we dance around the tree…
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That’s the intent. I couldn’t go back to the Pancake Threaders after all this time. And kids have already done to death that one about In and Out of the Dusty Windows… or bluebells depending on your part of the world. So I had to compose something new. Yet old.
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And you did it seamlessly.
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Thank you. So now you know how to brew your own. It’s as close to a genuine neolithic recipe as I could discover. It’s thought that in places like Western Europe, grain was only grown for brewing… as indeed it was elsewhere 🙂
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I love it.
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Thank you. 🙂
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My pleasure.
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🙂
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Nicely done Crispina! 😀 ❤
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I thank you, Deborah. Good to know what your name is… or, I’m assuming that’s your name 🙂
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Yes Deborah is my name. I changed the setting s to display my first name instead of the name on my blog!
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Does make a difference. More personal. One of the reasons I changed mine
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I love it too!
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Thank you, Susan 🙂
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Wow.
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Thank you. 🙂
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Well now… It does feel like a chant to be sung whilst skipping around the tree… Can’t way I’d want to be bashed and thrashed into such a brew!
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But then you’re not the intended victim. He is the grain, be it barley or wheat.
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Well done! Crispina! An interesting take on a recipe! 😊
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Thanks, Jen. I’m not sure when it was last made in this way, though I’ve no doubt those experiment archeaologists have experimented. 🙂
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No doubt 🙂
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Yep. 🙂
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I really loved your poem. Great job!
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Thanks Jen 🙂
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Always welcome Crispina 🙂
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🙂 🙂 🙂
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😊
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Great fun but also seems authentic….
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The underlying recipe comes from various papers by experimental archeaologist, researched for a story I was writing way back. So yes, authentic at base.
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Beautiful poem!
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Thank you. Enjoyed putting it together
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