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The Guardian - Life & Style • Jan. 29, 2026, 8:30 a.m.
Country diary: Rowdy or charming, there’s no one way to wassail | Anita Roy
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Wellington and Wiveliscombe, Somerset: This movable pagan feast can be celebrated very differently, but it’s all to thank the apple trees and fire up their sap Old apple tree, we wassail thee, And hope that thou wilt bear Hatfuls, capfuls and three bushel bagfuls And a little heap under the stairs! We are standing around a little crab apple tree by the side of Wiveliscombe village hall, singing our hearts out between the car park and the high street.
It’s Old Twelfth Night, and in the orchards and gardens of the West Country, people are banging pots, swilling cider, hanging bits of toast in trees and yelling “wassail!”. Continue reading...
It’s Old Twelfth Night, and in the orchards and gardens of the West Country, people are banging pots, swilling cider, hanging bits of toast in trees and yelling “wassail!”. Continue reading...
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