Pastry Cooks Shops & Twelfth Day Cake 

William Hone’s Every Day Book, or, A Guide to the Year, Vol. 1 at 24-26.

Such are the scenes, that, at the front and side

Of the Twelfth-cake-shops, scatter wild dismay;

As up the slipp’ry curb, or pavement wide,

We seek the pastrycooks, to keep Twelfth-day;

While ladies stand aghast, in speechless trance,

Look round—dare not go back—and yet dare not advance.

In London, with every pastry-cook in the city, and at the west end of the town it is “high change” on Twelfth-day. From the taking down of the shutters in the morning, he, and his men, with additional assistants, male and female, are fully occupied by attending to the dressing out of the window, executing orders of the day before, receiving fresh ones, or supplying the wants of chance customers. Before dusk the important arrangement of the window is completed. Then the gas is turned on, with supplementary argand-lamps, and manifold wax lights, to illuminate cakes of all prices and dimensions, that stand in rows and piles on the counters and sideboards, and in the windows. The richest in flavour and heaviest in weight and price are placed on large and massy salvers; one, enormously superior to the rest in size, is the chief object of curiosity; and all are decorated with all imaginable images of things animate and inanimate. Stars, castles, kings, cottages, dragons, trees, fish, palaces, cats, dogs, churches, lions, milk-maids, knights, serpents, and innumerable other forms in snow white confectionary, painted with variegated colours, glitter by “excess of light” from mirrors against the walls festooned with artificial “wonders of Flora.” This “paradise of dainty devices,” is crowded by successive and successful desirers of the seasonable delicacies, while alternate tapping of hammers and peals of laughter, from the throng surrounding the house, excite smiles from the inmates.

. . . .  

To explain, to those who may be ignorant of the practice. On Twelfth night in London, boys assemble round the inviting shops of the pastrycooks, and dexterously nail the coat tails of spectators, who venture near enough, to the bottoms of the window frames; or pin them together strongly by their clothes. Sometimes eight or ten persons find themselves thus connected. The dexterity and forms of the nail driving is so quick and sure that a single blow seldom fails of doing the business effectually. Withdrawal of the nail without a proper instrument is out of the question; and, consequently, the person nailed must either leave part of his coat, as a cognizance of his attachment, or quit this spot with a hole in it. At every nailing and pinning shouts of laughter arise from the perpetrators and the spectators. Yet it often happens to one who turns and smiles at the duress of another, that he also finds himself nailed. Efforts at extrication increase the mirth, nor is the presence of a constable, who is usually employed to attend and preserve free “ingress, egress, and regress,” sufficiently awful to deter the offenders.

Scarcely a shop in London that offers a halfpenny plain bun to the purchase of a hungry boy is without Twelfth-cakes and finery in the window on Twelfth Day. The gingerbread-bakers—there are not many, compared with their number when the writer was a consumer of their manufactured goods,--even the reduced gingerbread-bakers periwig a few plum-boxes with sugar frost to-day, and coaxingly interpolate them among their new made sixes, bath-cakes, parliament, and ladies’ fingers. Their staple-ware has leaves of untarnished dutch gilt stuck on; their upright cylinder-shaped show glasses, containing peppermint drops, elecampane, sugar-sticks, hard-bake, brandy-balls, and bulls’ eyes, are carefully polished; their lolly-pops are fresh encased, and look as white as the stems of tobacco-pipes; and their candlesticks are ornamented with fillets and bosses of writing paper; or, if the candles rise from the bottom of inverted glass cones, they shine more sparkling for the thorough cleaning of their receivers in the morning.

How to eat Twelfth-cake requires no recipe; but how to provide it, and draw the characters, on the authority of Rachel Revel 'a “Winter Evening Pastimes” may be acceptable.

. . . .

Twelfth day is now only commemorated by the custom of choosing king and queen. “I went,” says a correspondent in the Universal Magazine for 1774, “to a friend’s house in the country to partake of some of those innocent pleasures that constitute a merry Christmas. I did not return till I had been present at drawing king and queen, and eaten a slice of Twelfth Cake, made by the fair hands of my good friend's consort. After tea yesterday, a noble cake was produced, and two bowls, containing the fortunate chances for the different sexes. Our host filled up the tickets; the whole company, except the king and queen, were to be ministers of state, maids of honour, or ladies of the bed-chamber. Our kind host and hostess, whether by design or accident, became king and queen. According to Twelfth-day law, each party is to support their character till midnight.” The maintenance of character is essential to the drawing. Within the personal observation of the writer of these sheets, character has never been preserved. It must be admitted, however, that the Twelfth-night characters sold by the pastrycooks, are either commonplace or gross—when genteel they are inane; when humorous, they are vulgar.

Young folks anticipate Twelfth-night as a full source of innocent glee in their light little hearts. Where, and what is he who would negative hopes of happiness for a few short hours in the day spring of life! A gentle spirit in the London Magazine beautifully sketches a scene of juvenile enjoyment this evening: “I love to see an acre of cake spread out – the sweet frost covering the rich earth below—studded all over with glittering flowers, like ice-plants, and red and green knots of sweetmeat, and hollow yellow crusted crowns, and kings and queens, and their paraphernalia. I delight to see a score of happy children sitting huddled all round the dainty fare, eyeing the cake and each other, with faces sunny enough to thaw the white snow. I like to see the gazing silence which is kept so religiously while the large knife goes its round, and the glistening eyes which feed beforehand on the huge slices, dark with citron and plums, and heavy as gold. And then when the “Characters” are drawn, is it nothing to watch the peeping delight which escapes from their little eyes! One is proud as king; another stately as queen; then there are two whispering grotesque secrets which they cannot contain (those are sir Gregory Goose and sir Tunbelly Clumsy). The boys laugh out at their own misfortunes; but the little girls (almost ashamed of their prizes) sit blushing and silent. It is not until the lady of the house goes round, that some of the more extravagant fictions are revealed. And then, what a roar of mirth! The ceiling shakes, and the air is torn. They bound from their seats like kids, and insist on seeing Miss Thompson’s card. Ah! What merry spite is proclaimed—what ostentatious pity! The little girl is almost in tears; but the large lump of allotted cake is placed seasonably in her hands, and the glass of sweet wine ‘all round’ drowns the shrill urchin laughter, and a gentler delight prevails.” Does this not make a charming picture?

Keeping Twelfth Night 

The New Monthly Magazine (1829) at 59-60

Twelfth night is perhaps the most agreeable of all the domestic holidays. It has not the novelty of Christmas day, which is the great breaking up of the dreariness of winter; but it is at once quieter and more social; select friends are invited, which is not always the case with the family Christmas party; every body becomes of importance, young as well as old, for every one on Twelfth-night has a ”character” and then there is the Cake, an eatable sacred to that night only; the Wassail Bowl also emphatically belongs to it, above all other nights in the season; the company assume the dignity as well as vivacity of a set of dramatis personae; games and forfeits derive a new piquancy from the additional stock of wit generated by the circumstances; and, as the mistletoe is still flourishing, the evening includes all the general merriment of Christmas with its own particular seasoning.

So much has been said of late years, in a variety of publications respecting the origin of Twelfth-night, and the way in which it is kept in different parts of the world, that it is needless to repeat them here. Suffice it to say, that all these great holidays originate with nature itself and the operations of her seasons; and that our European Twelfth-night (for all civilized nations partake of it) is a Christian version of one of the old nights of the Saturnalia, when the ancients drew lots for imaginary kingdom. The royalty of the Twelfth-cake derives itself from the Wise men of the East, who are said to have been kings; and those also who would keep the night in perfection, should sustain their royal character the whole evening, and run their satire, not on persons and things in general, but on the fopperies of courtiers, their intrigues, adulations, &c. To be more wise than nice however, belongs neither to cake nor wisdom; and they who prefer the general custom, should continue to prefer it. Animal spirits are the great thing, in this as in other holidays, especially in winter time, when the want of sunshine can be supplied by the fire-side and the blood to be spun round by a little extra festivity. Besides, all the follies may be invited to court, and the monarch not be the less royal.

There are four things necessary to a due keeping of Twelfth-night: -- The cake, the wassail-bowl, the installation of king and queen, and the sustaining of divers characters, illustrative of the follies of society. The satire, for the most part, runs on the fashions and affectations of the day, and the different excesses of gormandizing and grudging Fops and mincing ladies are always brought in. The prude who thinks herself most qualified to object to others, is sacrificed, in order to shew how much the season, for all its satire, sets its face against envy and ill-humour. The miser, if introduced, is sure to have no quarter; while on the other hand, the gourmand is allowed to cut a virtue more ridiculous than unsocial, to let us see on which side excess is the more pardonable especially at Christmas.

Misers, however, are seldom thought of, for they can hardly be present. Indeed, if they were, the subject would almost be too tender, especially if the caricature which introduced it (for these things are generally casual and arise from the pictures bought at the shops) attached to the master and mistress of the house. A miser giving a Twelfth-cake seems hardly possible. It is true, he may make a show once and away, but the privilege of being asked out to a hundred good dinners by giving one. We dined once with a rich old lady who used to have an anniversary of this sort, in a great room without a carpet. Never did she catch us there again. It makes us long to chuck the butter-boat over one’s host instead of the pudding. But miserly people cannot give a proper Twelfth-night. Something will be wanting—the cake will be large and bad; or good and too small or there will be a lacking in the Wassail-Bowl; or the worst fruit will have been bought for the dessert; or the company will detect one of the subtleties too commonly practiced upon children, and be malignantly pressed to eat heartily at tea. Now it would not do to satirize such persons. They would be too sore. The gourmand cares little for the character of Sir Tunbelly Clumsy. He thinks it in character with the season, and has it in common with too many. Besides, he may be as generous to other people’s bodies as he is to his own. The fop and the fine lady can bear as much, for similar reasons; and they have a reserve of self-love which is proof against bitterness; as it ought to be, if they are good-humoured. As to the prude, it might be supposed that the best way to satirize her would be to take her under a mistletoe and give her a kiss. Fancy it not. Of all persons in the room she longs for one most;--and with reason; for she and the scold are the only women to whom it is difficult to give one.

A Twelfth-Cake should be as large as possible for all to share alike (for there should be no respect of ages in cake), and it should be as good as possible, consistent with a due regard to health. It is easy to see what is spared for health’s sake, and what for the pocket’s. The plainer the cake, the greater should be the expense in some other matter. Large then, and good should be the cake, tall, wide, stout, well citroned, crowned with figures in painted sugar (things always longed for by little boys, and never to be eaten), and presenting, when cut open, the look of a fine pit of tawny earth, surmounted with snow. May the ragged urchin, who has stood half an hour gazing on it in the confectioner’s window, with cold feet, and his nose flattened against the glass, get a piece of the like somewhere! If you saw him, it was  and is a vagabond whom you knew,--the pot-boy's cousin perhaps, or one who has filial claims on the ostler,--send him a piece out by the footman.

For the Wassail-Bowl, which, as it has only been restored in the metropolis for the last few years, is still a mystery in the manufacture to some, take the following recipe from a good hand. It implies a good handsome bowl, and a reasonable number of people, not wine drinkers—any from twelve persons to sixteen. Those who prefer wine can have it alone.

“Imprimis,” quoth our fair informant, “direct a small quantity of spices to be simmered gently in a tea-cupful of water, for fifteen or twenty minutes; to wit, cardamoms, clove, nutmeg, mace, ginger, cinnamon and coriander. Put the spices when done to four bottles of white wine, not sweet, and a pound and a half of loaf sugar; and set them on the fire, altogether in a large saucepan. Meanwhile, let the bowl have been prepared, and the yokes of twelve and the whites of six eggs well beaten up in it. Then, when the spiced and sugared wine is a little warm, take a tea-cupful of it and mix it in the bowl with the eggs; when a little warmer, another tea-cupful; and so on, for three or four; after which, when it boils, add the whole of the remainder pouring it in gradually, and stirring it briskly all the time, so as to froth it. The moment it froths, toss in a dozen well-roasted apples, and send it up as hot as it can be.

“N.B. Should the wine be British, dry raisin is to be preferred; and three quarters of a pint of brandy should be added. It makes, perhaps, as good a Wassail as the best.”

The Twelfth-night characters purchased at the shops are best for companies in ordinary; and they are always pleasant to the children. Parties that dispense with them in their own persons, should still have them for the little boys and girls. It is hazardous, also, to invent characters to suit. Care should be taken that they trench as little as possible on actual infirmities, and that the drawers should be very good-humoured. The best way, provided there is enough wit in the room, is to see if the picture characters will do; and if not, to strike up some invention on the sudden. Merriment is always best when least premeditated. But a great help on these occasions will be found in the idea of a Court; which is undoubtedly also the properest mode of supporting the King and Queen. Courtiers, chamberlains, maids of honour, &c., are easily thought of, and suggest a great deal of mock heroic dignity. We have known evenings passed in this manner, when in addition to the other dramatic piquancy, the principal character spoke in blank verse; a much easier matter than might be supposed, and such as few lovers of books would fail in, if they took courage. The verse itself, be it observed, is to be caricatured, and may be as bad as possible, all advantages being taken of inversions and the artificial style. There is no finer ground for satire than a Court; the more imperial and despotic the better; and, on this account, the most loyal need not fear to represent it, especially in liberal times like these.Twelfth Day Eve Wassailing.

Wassailing

From The Gentleman’s Magazine Library Being A Classified Collection of the Chief Contents of the Gentleman’s Magazine from 1731 to 1868. Edited George Laurence Gomme. Popular Superstitions (1884)  at 16-20.

Originally published 1784 Part. I. pp. 98,99

In that part of Yorkshire (near Leedes) where I was born and spent my youth, I remember when I was a boy that it was customary for many families on the twelfth eve of Christmas (not on Christmas-eve as your correspondent mentions) to invite their relations, friends and neighbours to their houses to play at cards, and to partake of a supper, of which minced pies were an indispensable ingredient: and after supper was brought in the Wassail Cup or Wassail Bowl, being a large bowl, such as is now used for punch, filled with sweetened ale and roasted apples. I have seen bowls used for this purpose that held above a gallon. A plate of spiced cake was first handed about to the company, and then the Wassail Bowl, of which everyone partook by taking with a spoon out of the ale a roasted apple and eating it, and then drinking the healths of the company out of the Bowl, wishing them a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. The ingredients put into the bowl: viz., ale sugar, nutmeg, and roasted apples, were usually called Lamb’s Wool, and the night on which it used to be drunk (which was generally on the twelfth-eve) was commonly called Wassail Eve.

. . . .

Since the alteration of the style, the Wassail Bowl or Wassail Cup, as it was called, is so much gone into disuse in this part of the country, that I have scarcely seen it introduced into company these thirty years. Indeed, the festival of Christmas is not celebrated since that period as it used to be in my remembrance.

We have in this place a very ancient custom yet kept up, viz., the Curfeu Bells, called here Culfer, I.e., that is Cool-fire; which are two of the church bells rung alternately every morning and evening at seven o’clock, during the twelve days of Christmas only, and at no other time of the year. They make a most disagreeable sound.

JOSIAH BECKWITH.

P.S.--Furmety used, in my remembrance, to be always the breakfast and supper on Christmas eve in the country.

Originally published 1791 p. 116

A few days since, looking over The General Evening Post, among some old customs there noticed as being observed in the days of our venerable ancestor Alfred it says, “In Gloucestershire the custom much prevails of having on Twelfth-day, 12 small fires and one large one, made in many parishes there in honour of the day.” As I have some reason to think this custom is more generally observed with us in Herefordshire, and as I have myself been for many years a constant attendant on this festive occasion, I will beg leave to give you the particulars of the whole, as it is still kept up in most parishes here.

It is here observed under the name of Wassailing (which I need not say to you is a Saxon custom), in the following manner: On the eve of Twelfth day, at the approach of evening, the farmers, their friends, servants, etc., all assemble, and, near six o’clock all walk together to a field where wheat is growing. The highest part of the ground is always chosen, where 13 small fires and one large one are lighted up. The attendants, headed by the master of the family, pledge the company in old cyder, which circulates freely on these occasions. A circle is formed round the large fire, when a general shout and hallooing takes place which you hear answered from all the villages and fields near; as I have myself counted 50 or 60 fires burning at the same time, which are generally placed on some eminence. This being finished, the company all return to the house, where the good housewife and her maids are preparing a good supper, which on this occasion is very plentiful. A large cake is always provided, with a hole in the middle. After supper, the company all attend the bailiff (or head of the oxen) to the Wain-house, where the following particulars are observed: the master, at the head of his friends, fills the cup (generally of strong ale) and stands opposite the first or finest of the oxen (24 of which I have often seen tied up in their stalls together); he then pledges him in a curious toast; the company then follow his example with all the other oxen addressing each by their name. This being over the large cake is produced, and is with much ceremony, put on the horn of the first ox, through the hole in the cake; he is then tickled to make him toss his head; if he throws the cake behind, it is the mistress's perquisite; if before (in what is termed the booty) the bailiff claims the prize. This ended, the company all return to the house, the doors of which are in the meantime locked, and not opened till some joyous songs are sung. On entering a scene of mirth and jollity commences and reigns through the house till a later or rather early hour, the next morning. Cards are introduced and the merry tale goes round. I have often enjoyed the hospitality friendship and harmony, I have  been witness to on these occasions.

J.W.

Originally published 1791 pp. 403, 404.

Your Herefordshire correspondent, J.W.’s account . . . of a custom observed in his county on Twelfth eve induces me to transmit you one not very unlike, which prevails in the other most noted part of this kingdom for cyder, the Southam's of Devonshire.

On the eve of the Epiphany, the farmer, attended by his workmen, with a large pitcher of cyder, goes to the orchard, and there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink the following toast three several times.

‘Here’s to thee, old apple tree,

Whence thou may’st bud, and whence thou may’st blow!

And whence thou may’st bear apples enow!

Hats full!--caps full!

Bushel!--bushel—sacks full!

And my pockets full too!

Huzza!”

This done, they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure to find bolted by the females, who, be the weather what it may, are inexorable to all entreaties to open them till some one has guessed at what is on the spit, which is generally some nice little thing, difficult to be hit on, and is the reward of him who first names it. The doors are then thrown open, and the lucky clodpole receives the tit-bit as his recompense. Some are so superstitious as to believe that, if they neglect this custom, the trees will bear no apples that year.

Yours etc., ALPHONSO.

Originally published 1820, Part II. Pp. 418-419.

. . . . .As I have many years been an attendant on these social and hospitable meetings, permit me to offer to your readers some particulars of this ceremony (Wassailing) as I have seen it kept up, with all due form, on the farm of Huntington, two miles West from Hereford, that for many years was occupied by my late respectable friend and neighbor, Mr. Samuel Tully, well known to the public and many of your readers, as a farmer and grazer, more particularly distinguished for his excellent and beautiful breed of cattle. Among many visitors to Mr. Tully at Huntington, to see his fine stock of cattle, I remember meeting the late Duke of Bedford, Lord Somerville, Sir Richard Colt, Hoare and other well-known amateurs in fine animals. A few years preceding the very unfortunate death of Mr. Tully, I, for the last time witnessed the joyous scene of Wassailing.

On the eve of Twelfth day Mr. Tully and his numerous visitors, near the hour of six o’clock in the evening, walked to a field where wheat was growing and on the highest parts of the land one large and twelve smaller fires were lighted up. While burning, the master and some of his company formed a circle round the larger fire, and after pledging each other in good Herefordshire cyder, all the attendants joined in shouting and rejoicing. On the fires being extinguished, the company all returned to the hospitable mansion where an excellent and plentiful supper was provided for the family and all ranks of visitors. After the glass was circulated, and some songs had been sung, and happiness diffused through all the numerous company, near the hour of nine or ten o’clock, a second procession was formed, by all who joined in the concluding and more interesting ceremony. On coming to the out-house, where the oxen and cows were in their stalls, the bailiff attended with a large plum cake, which, when made, had a hole in the middle. Previous to its being placed on the horn of the ox, the master and his friends each took a small cup with ale and drank at toast to each ox, in nearly the following words (each of the 24 oxen having a name): the master began the first:

“Here’s to thee Benbaw,” and to thy white horn,

God send thy master a good crop of corn;

Of wheat, rye, and barley, and all sorts of grain;

You eat your oats, and I”ll drink my beer;

May the Lord send us all a happy new year!”

After the last ox was toasted, the bailiff placed the cake on the horn of the first ox, the boy touching him with a pointed goad. This induced the ox to shake his head, when the cake was tossed on either side; if on one side, it was to be the perquisite of the bailiff, who divided it amongst the company. On returning to the house, mirth and feasting prevailed till a later or rather early hour.

. . . . I have lately, near six o’clock in the evening of Wassailing, from our public walk, the side of the Castle if the evening proved clear, seen numerous fires on the hills around, particularly on the camps of Dynedor, Aconbury, Credenhill, etc..

Miscellaneous Twelfth Day Customs

Twelfth Day Celebrations from William Hone’s Every Day Book, or, A Guide to the Year Vol. 1 at 27-28.

There is some difficulty in collecting accounts of the manner wherein Twelfth-day is celebrated in the country. In “Time’s Telescope,” . . . . there is a short reference to the usage in Cumberland, and other northern parts of England. It seems that on Twelfth-night, which finishes their Christmas holidays, the rustics meet in a large room. They begin dancing at seven o’clock, and finish at twelve, when they sit down to lobscouse and ponsondie; the former is made of beef, potatoes and onions fried together; and in ponsondie we recognise the wassail or waes-hael of ale, boiled with sugar and nutmeg into which are put roasted apples,--the anciently admired lambs’-wool. The feast is paid for by subscription; two women are chosen, who with two wooden bowls placed one within the other, so as to leave an opening and a space between them, go round to the female part of the society in succession and what one puts into the uppermost bowl the attendant collectress slips into the bowl beneath it. All are expected to contribute something, but not more than a shilling, and they are best esteemed who give most. The men choose two from themselves, and follow the same custom, except that as the gentlemen are not supposed to be altogether so fair in their dealings as the ladies, one of the collectors is furnished with pen, ink, and paper, to set down the subscriptions as soon as they are received.

. . . .

It is a custom in many parishes in Gloucestershire on this day to light up twelve small fires and one large one; this is mentioned by Brand, and Mr. Fosbroke relates, that in some counties twelve fires of straw are made in the fields “to burn the old witch” and that the people sing drink, and dance around it, and practise other ceremonies in continuance. He takes the “old witch” to be the Druidical God of Death.

A very singular merriment in the Isle of Man is mentioned by Waldron, in his history of that place. He says that “during the whole twelve days of Christmas there is not a barn unoccupied, and that every parish hires fiddlers at the public charge. On Twelfth-day, the fiddler lays his head in some one of the girls’ laps and a third person asks, who such a maid, or such a maid shall marry, naming the girls then present one after another; to which he answers according to his own whim, or agreeable to the intimacies he has taken notice of during this time of merriment. But whatever he says is absolutely depended on as an oracle; and if he happens to couple two people who have an aversion to each other, tears and vexation succeed the mirth. This they call cutting off the fiddler’s head; for, after this, he is dead for the whole year.”