One of the most common festive sounds is that quaint old English ditty of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’. But what are the origins of the unusual gifts attributed to the misguided generosity of the narrator’s truelove? In this treatise I’ve rooted out the truth behind the seemingly cryptic lyrics.
A Partridge in a Pear Tree – The first of our festive gifts has its origins in a Medieval folk tale that appeared in the appendices of ‘Gawain and the Green Knight’ after the poems ‘Pearl’, ‘Cleanness’ and ‘Patience’. In it, Gawain, having returned from his beheading ordeal to Camelot, is given a challenge by King Arthur to redeem his good name.
In the court of Sir Clarence of Ypres there lies a pear tree, from whose branches it is believed that Saint Bartholomew’s flesh was hung out to dry once he’d been flayed alive by irate Armenian gentiles for converting their king. In its higher branches, Satan had sent that most evil of birds, a partridge, to torment and mock the faithful. It’s chirruping call seemed to ridicule the people of Ypres, foretelling of poor brassica harvests and questioning the morale virtues of their women.
When he arrived at Ypres, Gawain was greeted by a great wailing and gnashing of teeth from the Ypresians who had entered into a kind of pessimistic despair. So much so that none had shaved for at least a fortnight and both men and women were uncomfortably hirsute: “Whenne Gawain didst seest him the folke of Ypres hirsute in visage both manfolke and womanfolke alike, he was sicketh in gutte and fram his mouth great chunks did issue.“ (The original text is here translated into early modern English by playwright Christopher Marlowe – not one of his finest moments).
Gawain first tried lobbing a rock at the gobby bird, but although his aim was true, the rock simply bounced off Beelzebub’s fat chaffinch. Next he shook the tree with all his might, yet Lucifer’s lardy poussin but flapped briefly, called him a ‘one who generates his own gratification frequently’ and resettled. He then took his lance from where it lay strapped to his horse, Guido, and proceeded to poke the bird, assuming that such vociferous proddage would dislodge it once and for all. And yet far from agitating Mephistopheles’ rotund dabchick, the creature seemed to revel in such attention and clung ever tighter to the branch and shouted to Gawain statements that questioned the validity of his parentage.
Such taunting and numerous failed attempts to dislodge the partridge would have caused despair in a lesser knight, and indeed for a while it did so in Gawain, but having gone through the whole head chopping palaver with the Green Knight, Gawain had developed a bit of resilience and remembered something his mother had said to him when he was a small boy being picked on by the bigger boys. She’d said ‘just ignore them and they’ll get bored eventually and stop’. And so this is what he did to the partridge, and what he instructed the people of Ypres to do as well. At first the partridge’s verbal barrage continued at its accustomed pace and cruelty with comments on the identity of the person born out of wedlock who favoured ebony vestments; the insistence that Gawain be in someway violated and also that this same violation be acting upon his equine means of transportation; and his mother’s familiarity with sailors.
But without any form of response from Gawain or the people of Ypres, the partridge became increasingly disheartened to the point when three months later without nary a sniff of a reaction from anyone, it declared “sod this for a lark“ and flew off, leaving the partridge tree and Ypres for good. There was much rejoicing, and Gawain was declared a wise and noble knight and returned to Camelot with his reputation restored.
Thus the partridge in a pear tree became a symbol of the virtues of patience and wisdom, and therefore a rather thoughtful gift.
Two Turtle Doves – In his 1896 science fiction novel ‘The Island of Dr Moreau’, H.G. Wells describes the exploits of a mad scientist who creates hybrid creatures by fusing together different animals in brutally cruel experiments. He produces creatures such as the Ape-Man (later immortalised by ‘The Kinks’), the Sloth-Man, and the Ocelot-Man (this final one famously led to a legal battle between the Wells estate and Marvel that Stan Lee’s lot lost and consequently they had to use a radioactive spider bite instead).
Wells got the idea for the novel from the work Claude Henri, the French vivisectionist who had inherited a fortune when his father, Henri Henri the world famous zoologist and cellist, died. As a result, the junior Henri found himself with an estate full of zoological specimens from around the world and far too much spare time on his hands. In a somewhat gothic horror way, he started to cleft these creatures in twain and stitch them together in random assortments to see what he could make, and invite famous people around to stare at the results. It is said that Marguerite Boucicaut screamed when she saw his skunk beaver, and that the sight of his ring-tailed helmeted water toad made Monet faint clean away. He could only be revived by Henri slapping him in the face repeatedly with a clump of water lilies. The most famous of his creations however was the turtle dove. It had the head and wings of a dove, and the shell and body of a turtle. They are the inspiration for seaplanes with Howard Hughes describing his ‘Spruce Goose’ as the “turtle dove I gave to the nation“.
Three French Hens – A popular Parisian comedy troupe that emerged out of the commedia dell’arte movement in eighteenth century France. The French comedian and playwright, Antoine Jean Sticotti had made his name playing Pierrot, the white-faced humourless clown and second Zanni in revivals of Molières ‘Dom Juan’ and Racine’s ‘Whoops Pseudopolis!’ before becoming bored of the role, and instead, with two fellow performers developing a comedy routine predominantly based around slapstick and acts of graphic violence performed upon one another. Bouclé, Laurence and Tondre, or ‘The Three French Hens’ as they dubbed themselves, having exhausted the Parisian audience’s patience for nose tweakage, face slappage and noggin-bashing, found themselves with royal patronage, living out the rest of their career in the court of King Frederick II of Prussia.
Frederick’s epithet of ‘the Great’ was partly earned by him being the first person on record to have discovered that by placing one hand in a slightly cupped shape in the opposite armpit then bringing the arm down swiftly, you could make a farting noise. It was his successor, Frederick William II who worked out that by varying the shape of the cupping, and the height that the arm descended from you could perform different tunes. Famously, in 1792, Frederick William performed the whole of ‘Cosi Fan Tutte’ with his armpit to a crowd of European dignitaries.
Anyway, having garnered the patronage of Prussian royalty, the ‘Three French Hens’ would appear a rather sophisticated and elite present to furnish one’s love with.
Four Calling Birds – Before the invention of the klaxon or megaphone, gaining the attention of anyone in a crowded situation was difficult. This is where ‘calling birds’ came into play. They are mainly types of water fowl that are held under the armpit. When you needed the attention, you’d simply squeeze like playing the bagpipes and the duck would emit a high-pitched call, an ‘oi’, thus drawing the attention to the person.
To own a calling bird was seen as a sign of one’s status, to own four would be quite the statement. An extract from Samuel Pepys diary indicates this: “I did find myself unto the house of Lord Dewkesbury invited. A great honour, as it is said he doth hath three full calling birds that he doth sport on alternate occasions: a young drake when he is at the House of Lords, a three year old female mallard for sporting occasions and an elderly dabchick for about his stately home and grounds. ‘Tis said that the old bird can be heard in the orangery all the way from the servants’ quarters.“
Five Gold Rings – It is a well-known fact that J.R. R. Tolkien’s jewellery-focused fantasy romp had its origins in a true story. During his years on the academic staff at the University of Leeds, Tolkien developed a taste for stage hypnotism having seen the northern music hall great, Dan Dini, persuade a blacksmith from Otley that he was Otto von Bismarck. So entranced was he by such skills that he became somewhat of a fanatic fan, in particular learning about a young Vaudevillian stage hypnotist called Dave Elman. Elman, as part of his act as the youngest and quickest stage hypnotist instead of swinging a fob watch in front of his hypnotee would waggle back and forth one of five gold rings on a chain – a different sized ring depending on the BMI of the audience member. Though one of the five was significantly bigger than the others and would work on anyone – or as he used to say ‘one ring to fool them all’.
Although Tolkien would once again become obsessed with his studies of Old English and its ilk, his youthful hypnotism fad did come in handy later on. Being such a popular show in the 1920s, Elman’s rings became absorbed into the song as a precious gift where once it had been five goldfinches, which seemed just rather a faff.
Six Geese A-Laying – The medieval practice of training birds to perform basic masonry work such as bricklaying arose out of necessity when the majority of labourers were wiped out by the Back Death, and yet Winchester Cathedral needed its apse completing. As technology and our ability to resist most major plagues became more sophisticated, the need for bricklaying poultry diminished and such birds became a rarity. Hence having six to give as a gift was a sign of being high status.
Seven Swans A-Swimming – this is obviously unseemly and rather bawdy medieval humour. Though if you have a look at some of the more graphic depictions in the works of Bosch or Brueghel then fitting seven swans up there for a bit of a swim would seem a breeze. Either way it does somewhat hint at the recipient of the gifts having masochistic leanings.
Eight Maids A-Milking – The ‘a’ here of course refers to ants. Ant’s milk has been considered a delicacy since the times of ancient Rome. The skill required in even finding an ant’s nipple, let alone being delicate and dextrous enough to squeeze milk from it means that there are very few humans in history who have been able to do it. Consequently, ant milk is worth an absolute fortune, demanding a higher price per weight than caviar. The concept of their being as many as eight ant milkmaids at any one time is of course farcical and reflects the hyperbolic nature of the song.
Nine Ladies Dancing – For a long time it was thought that this was a reference to the nine fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control, but modern scholars now believe that the line had a more literal origin.
Scholars now ascribe the line to Anne Boleyn, her seven ladies-in-waiting (Elizabeth Holland, Bridget Wiltshire, Margery Horsman, Jane Ashley, Mary Zouche, Mary Shelton, and Jane Seymour), and her sister, Mary Boleyn. Now seen as the original ‘girl-band’, Anne and the Ladies would do extravagant dance routines to hits such as ‘Greensleeves’ and very early versions of what would become Meatloaf’s ‘Bat Out of Hell’. In one of his many writings, Thomas Cromwell, enemy of Anne, described the act like “nine drunken peacocks trying to remove their pantaloons with their beaks.“ and “it put one in mind of the last days of Sodom and Gamorrah without any of the inherent sensual pleasures.“ One of the nine, Seymour, would go on of course to marry Henry VIII herself before embarking on a successful career as a fictitious doctor.
Ten Lords A-Leaping – The British political structure is full of anachronistic idiosyncrasies. For example, in the House of Commons it is compulsory to wear socks woven out of the wool of the Bluefaced Leicester sheep unless your uncle was or is a harbour master. The specific quirk that is relevant to the festive ditty is that of Bath & Wells’ Leaping Defiance. Back in 1567, so enraged was he by a law proposed by the then government to organise all livestock by the Dewey Decimal system, that the Bishop of Bath & Wells started jumping up and down in fury. Such was the vigorous nature of his leaping that nine other fellow Lords around him felt compelled to also rise to their feet and leap. Momentarily, it was though that Lord Askwith also joined the leaping protest, but it turned out that there was just a wasp in his ermine. A quorum was formed and the bill was sent back to the House of Commons where it got abandoned in favour of new legislation about the acceptable girth for a chaffinch. Even to this day, if ten members of the House of Lords leap in unison, a bill is automatically sent back to the House of Commons.
Eleven Pipers Piping – There is nothing more sonically joyful than the sound of the Scottish bagpipes. Except maybe the sound of eleven sets of Scottish bagpipes being played. At least, that was the thinking of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, great Victorian engineer and professional hat-wearer. When he married his wife, Mary Elizabeth Horsley in 1836, he decided he needed some form of audacious performance act to impress Mary’s family who were all extremely musical (her father being a composer and organist). Not being of a musical bent himself, Brunel decided to use his engineering skills to approach the problem. He thus created the ‘Great Eleven Pipers Piping Machine’, a steam-powered device involving a great deal of pumps and bellows that when powered up created a sound only Scotsmen and those residing in the City of Dis could withstand. The performance of ‘Flower of Scotland’ played at the wedding reception immediately led to fifty per cent of the guests bleeding from their ears, and Mary’s family ostracising the young couple for the best part of a decade. The whole venture had cost Brunel a fortune and so was added to the festive ditty for the grandeur of the gift.
Twelve Drummers Drumming – The talking drums of West Africa have been used to disseminate messages across several miles for the past three hundred years. The drums referred to in the lyrics are dùndúns used by Yoruba-speaking people. The story goes that King Ghezo of the Kingdom of Dahomey wished for his son to marry Sussex wicketkeeper, Thomas Box. The furore that this caused led to lots of strongly drummed messages flying from noble Yoruban families and the MCC with a dozen being played simultaneously at one point referred to as the ‘Abomey Cacophony’. The resultant aural chaos led to rioting in the street, and King Ghezo having to alter his request. As recompense for the disorder, King Ghezo suggested that the twelve drummers involved should be loaned to Sussex CC for the rest of the 1838 season. With no cricketing experience between them, this Sussex second XI lost all their games but provided far better lunchtime entertainment that the Arundel Morris Dancing Troupe.
Treatises of Gloria 