Going A-Mothering

Mother’s Day is coming here in the U.S. I have been told with good authority that my Mother’s Day present will consist of something cinematic with dinner to follow. They know I like to be prepared. But some young ladies and gentlemen in the early nineteenth century in England also liked to be prepared, for Mothering Sunday.

From the seventeenth century, Mothering Sunday was celebrated on the fourth Sunday of Lent (which was March 10 in 2013). The original idea appears to be to celebrate services with the largest church, or mother church, in the area, like a cathedral, or at least to return to the church in which you were baptized. The practice was called going a-mothering. Most likely, however, in going to this church, you spent time with family, especially your mother. This tradition gradually evolved (with some help after World War I) into a celebration of mothers in general.

The practice was waning in the nineteenth century, but it still wasn’t uncommon for young servants and apprentices to be given Mothering Sunday off to go visit their families. It was said that many a young lad gathered flowers in the fields along the way to take home to his mother. As Mothering Sunday can fall as early as the beginning of March, I’m not entirely sure there were always many flowers blooming except daffodils, but it’s a lovely sentiment all the same.

In some households, apparently, cooks allowed the youngsters to bake a cake to take home to Mother. In some parts of England, the cake is called a Simnel cake, for the fine flour from which it was baked. It involves marzipan, fruit, and frosting, and had eleven knobs on the top to represent the eleven apostles who stayed true. I must admit, it looks particularly tasty to me. Some people felt it appropriate to break the Lenten fast to partake (oh, me! me!); some saved the cake for Easter Sunday. Other parts of England had sweet buns called Mothering Buns that were frosted and covered with sprinkles.

Okay, so maybe I should request that Mother’s Day present to involve cake. Who’s with me?

Pancake Tuesday

I realize today is neither a Tuesday nor the day before the start of Lent, but with our series on English Country Dance and our guest bloggers the time got away from me. A couple of weeks ago, those who celebrate Lent began the season once again. In nineteenth century England, young ladies and gentlemen also celebrated Lent. For 40 days leading up to Easter they had to refrain from indulgence foods like cakes and pastries on Monday through Saturday. Theatres withheld many programs. It was also considered bad luck to marry during Lent.

Lent began with a church service on Ash Wednesday. However, the day before Ash Wednesday was a time for a good deal of fun. Shrove Tuesday was originally the day you confessed your sins to a priest and got “shriven.” A more modern name is Pancake Tuesday. Because Lent was a time of fasting and abstinence, the lower classes generally attempted to empty the house of any rich foods before Lent. These foods included milk, butter, eggs, and fat. So, on Pancake Tuesday, you mixed all your milk, butter, and eggs with wheat flour and spices into pancakes, fried them up, and pigged out!

But Pancake Tuesday wasn’t just about eating pancakes. This was the nineteenth century’s version of Mardi Gras. Some communities held pancake parties, with people dressed up as the Protector of the Pancakes, First Founder of the Fritters, Baron of Bacon-flitch, and the Earl of Egg-baskets. At Westminster School in London, it was the tradition to have the cook come out and “throw” a pancake over the bar that separates the dining room between the younger and older students. The student who catches the pancake before it hits the flow (or grabs the biggest portion after it hits the floor) wins a prize.

Other communities held pancake races. At the sound of a pancake bell, often the bell from the local church, women ran a course carrying a frying pan with a pancake in it. They had to successfully flip the pancake at least three times before they reached the goal. My favorite course is still run in Olney in Buckinghamshire. In the nineteenth century, any woman over 16 could run the 415-yard course. The winner received a prayer book from the vicar and a kiss from the Pancake Bell Ringer, the fellow who rang the bell calling the devoted to church.

I picture him looking a lot like Hugh Jackman. Whip out those frying pans, ladies! On your mark, get set . . .