Winter in Scotland and it’s been driech, which in plain English means it’s been raining doggedly since Thursday, when Murphy’s Law being in good working order, the family arrived. We’ve been trying to defend the appeal of a seaside town with sideways wind and twilight at 3 ever since. For our part, we’re combatting the weather this evening by drinking a late pot of Kashmiri Chai. It’s lighter than most chai, with a base in green tea; we discovered this pouring out, when the colour initially suggested the tea was understeeped. In fact it’s meant to be a golden colour. It’s further embellished by cinnamon, nutmeg and marigold flowers. And being chai, it is the ideal antidote to winter, whatever the weather.
We haven’t had much time spare for poetry hunting of late, what with trying to acclimatise three Canadians to Scotland. But last Sunday we were gifted a new carol by the conductor of our choir who told us to open Carols for Choirs to ‘Myn Lyking’ as if everyone knew of it. They should, so here this evening is both the Middle English text for you, and the carol to accompany it.
15th Century (set by R. Terry)
I saw a fair mayden sytten and sing
She lulled a little childe, a sweete Lording.
Lullay mye lyking, my dere sonne, my sweeting.
Lully mydere herte, myn own dere derling.
That same Lord is he that made alle thing,
Of alle lord is his is lord, of alle kynges King.
There was mickle melody at that chylde’s birth
All that were in heav’nly bliss, they made mickle myrth.
Angels bright sang their song to that chyld;
Blyssid be thou, and so be she, so meek and so mild.