Memories of harvest customs

Where, earlier this year, there were gooseberry bushes growing wild and thick with berries, there are now masses of rosehips, haws, elderberries, brambles, sloes and crab apples.

Not far away on the moors a day or two ago, I found bilberries galore, some raspberries growing wild and lots of rowan trees heavy with ripe berries which looked almost like small orange lights shining in the late sunshine.

In years gone by, this harvest of free food was an important supplement to the diet of country people. Furthermore, it ripened around the same time as their cultivated field crops such as wheat, barley, oats or potatoes, as well as their smaller plots of garden produce like soft fruit, apples and vegetables.

The autumn season, therefore, was one of some urgency because these crops had to be gathered in and stored for future use, and one problem was that everyone's harvest ripened at almost the same time.

Lending a hand to one's neighbour was therefore rather difficult, although in most villages the farmers helped one another in the full knowledge that their biggest threat would come from our unpredictable autumn weather.

Now, of course, sophisticated machinery has taken over where men, women and children would physically help to bring in the harvest from the fields.

It was this mutual assistance that generated a form of thank you known as the mell supper. It was held at the farmhouse belonging to a family whose crop of corn had been harvested with the help of friends and neighbours, and its purpose was to thank everyone over a memorable meal.

Strictly speaking, it was a kern supper which should have followed the cutting of the last sheaf, and a mell supper which marked the safe gathering in of the same harvest.

Gradually the two celebrations were merged into one, which became known as the mell supper.

Changes coincided with the increased use of machinery in the harvest field and, over the years, those mell suppers gradually left behind their pagan origins to become a distant memory in some areas.

The precise format of the supper varied from farm to farm and depended heavily upon the personality of the hosts, but some were noisy affairs with a good meal of pork, ham and beef, plenty of liquor to drink and lots of music, dancing and games. By contrast, others were a sober affair comprising little more than a meal and a word of thanks from the host.

At some mell suppers, specially-baked mell cakes (a form of scone) were eaten and, in some cases, a mell doll was placed in the barn as the merry-makers danced around it.

These dolls, thought to represent the Mother Goddess or harvest spirit, were crudely made of stems from the final sheaf. They were variously known as kern dollies, corn dollies, mell dolls, mell queens or harvest dolls and, in time, the making of these corn dollies became a distinct form of rural art.

Some were paraded on top of a pole which was later erected in the stackyard and others might still appear in churches during harvest festivals, or on display in rural museums.

A similar creation was placed at one end of a freshly thatched stack and this was known as a dozzle, being shaped variously like a cockerel, an animal of some kind, a heart, a cross or some other significant object.

Most, if not all, of these customs faded away after the Second World War. So-called mell suppers continued to be held, but not for the original purpose and not in the former tradition.

Mell suppers have given way to a new celebration called harvest festival. Harvest festivals probably began in 1843 when a Cornish clergyman in a small village called Morwenstow invited parishioners to a new service he had devised.

He called it his harvest thanksgiving and it comprised a church service followed by a joyful supper. His idea was immediately copied by neighbouring parishes and, within a very few years, the notion of a thanksgiving service for the harvest became an established part of the church year.

Churches throughout the country, both Catholic and Protestant, held harvest festivals where the interiors were decorated with fruits of the harvest.

I can recall with great pleasure the harvest festival in my own church.

It was always held in the evening when it was dark outside and the lights from the candles illuminated the wonderful show of produce which, quite literally, covered every possible surface, including the altar, window ledges, organ and even part of the aisles.

There would be a supper in the church hall afterwards and once the celebrations were over, the wonderful display of fresh produce would be removed and taken to a hospital, old folks' home or other deserving place.

I was delighted to learn of the unexpected arrival of bee-eaters in a quarry near Bishop Middleham, near Sedgefield in County Durham.

The bee-eater is a very exotic bird with multi-coloured plumage, but the species has not been seen in this country since 1955.

On the occasions it did arrive here, it had usually been swept off course by winds to settle in the south-east of England, although there is a record of a pair unsuccessfully nesting in Edinburgh in 1920.

They were last recorded in this country in Sussex, when they bred. Consequently, a sighting in the North-East is of considerable interest. In this case, there was additional interest because there was a male and female and they nested in the old limestone quarry.

The bee-eater is a surprisingly large bird, almost a foot (30cm) in length, but its plumage is so colourful that it can hardly be mistaken for anything else.

The upper parts are a reddish-brown with yellow markings and blue-green tips to its wings and tail. It has a very prominent yellow throat edged with black, a black stripe through its eye and a distinctive white forehead. Its beak is quite long with a noticeable downward curve and its middle tail feathers extend a fraction beyond those on the outer edges.

The presence of the bee-eater near Sedgefield created wide interest and crowds of people went to watch the bird, hoping to see the youngsters, probably six or so, leave the nest.

The quarry is now a nature reserve, and those little bee-eaters have flown. Whatever happens to them, and wherever they go, they have provided ornithologists with a fascinating sight.

Shortly before compiling these notes, another colourful visitor graced our garden on a hot sunny day. It was a dragonfly, a massive and brilliantly coloured insect which settled on our south-facing wall to enjoy a few moments basking in the sunshine.

With a wingspan of more than 4ins (10cm), it appeared a formidable and somewhat frightening creature, yet it is harmless to humans.

Although I did not see our visitor (my wife noticed it and it had flown away before I could inspect it), it was emerald green and this could identify it as either a female emperor dragonfly or a brilliant emerald.

The male brilliant emerald has a beautiful metallic green head, thorax and abdomen, but is a mere 2ins long (54mm) with a wingspan of 3ins (76mm).

My wife said her sighting had a massive wingspan, which is why I feel it was a female emperor.

The male has a bright blue abdomen with black markings and green thorax, and the female also has those black markings on her abdomen.

I felt it was unusual because we are some distance from the nearest stream and even further from some small lakes, both likely patrolling grounds for emperors.

They like to fly up and down stretches of water, often at speeds of up to 18mph, as they seek their prey.

This can comprise almost any other type of insect, even other species of dragonfly.

The male emperor has his own territory which he guards fiercely and he can sometimes be seen attacking others which might trespass onto his patch.

The only patch of water in our garden is the bird bath, but I doubt that would appeal to a serious-minded emperor