by PHILIP WHITE
Without seeming too curmudgeonly, it's tricky to decide on the credible Christmas drinks yarn after writing them forty years in a row.
You have a young lass and her carpenter husband on their way to pay their taxes in Roman-occupied Palestine when she, a virgin, gives birth to the son of god in a stable out the back of a packed pub in Nazareth.
Or you have something a touch more credible about Siberians eating fly agaric toadstools - Amanita muscaria - to warm up and trip out in the frigid weeks of darkness around the winter solstice.
The author with a fly agaric, consumption of which is threatening to normal health and well-being, and possession of which is illegal in Australia ... photo Leo Davis
Like all good yarns both these legendary seeds grow mighty branches of nonsense to provide the polished bullshitter fabulous opportunities for extrapolation.
One can start presuming that whoever Jesus' father hired as a ghost writer was instructed to endorse the paying of due tax. This is something the incredibly wealthy churches hot-listed in the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse should be paying like everybody else, at least while they insist on maintaining their pious immunity from the common law and their protection of the money-changers in their extravagant temples.
As far as the hallucinogenic mushrooms go, it seems reindeer love the polka-dot ones that grow beneath "Christmas" trees and gave Santa his red-and-white attire, while their kidneys conveniently remove the fungi's toxins which make humans feverish and bilious.
So the best way for those old northerners to enjoy the trip was to drink the reindeers' urine, where the good bits were concentrated. Reindeer with tell-tale red noses are thought to offer the highest quality.
The fly agaric made reindeer so frisky the hallucinating humans thought the beasts were preparing to fly. If there were no tripping reindeer handy, it is said a shaman type human would risk the sweats and vomiting and eat the mushrooms so the rest of the group could safely drink his urine.
While there's not much along the lines of recreational or ritual drinking of your actual piss going down, the purpose of a yuletide drinks column is to suggest lists of superior ethanols to replace that traditional seasonal libation. It's illegal to eat the toadstools, which don't grow in summer anyway. Being the first person to be busted and convicted for possession of psilocybin mushrooms after such adventure was suddenly outlawed here in 1973, I speak with certain experience.
One needs to journey above 60 degrees north to appreciate how small the Arctic is. The Mercator projection maps my generation sat beneath in our post-war schoolrooms stretched Greenland to the size of Africa. The point of geographic north was as long as the Equator. Take a look down on a globe from above the North Pole and you'll get my drift.
Mercator's ingenious formula for making the spherical world rectangular does this to his head
Those deep northern communities are really quite close to each other. It's easy to see how such ancient yarns, and indeed the yuletide rituals, traversed the icy northern lands with traded furs and fish and were spread by mobs like the Vikings, to eventually be melded into the Jesus story when the Norsemen adopted Christianity
We know that at about the time of this gradual conversion the Vikings were aficionados of four styles of ethanol.
In his Edda, the Icelandic scholar Snorri Sturluson (1179 – 1241) delineated this neatly with his Tilsagt verse. His book was a primer to teach aspirant writers the arts of addressing kings, and gives various pristine examples of poems and speeches, using the fading legends of the time to fill his templates.
Here are his four couplets, followed by the translations of Anthony Faulkes, who was Professor of Old Icelandic at the University of Birmingham:
- öl virdi esvá – fyrdum.
The King gives currents of yeast (that is what I adjudge ale to be) to men.
Thögn fellir brim bragna
Men’s patience is dispelled by surf (that is old beer) of horns.
Máls kann mildingr heilsu
The Prince knows how speech’s salvation (that is what mead is called) is to be given.
Strúgs kemr í val veiga
In the choicest of cups comes (this is what I call wine) dignity’s destruction.
In that brief lesson, Sturluson, who was eventually executed in his Iceland cellar by order of the King of Norway, showed the hopeful spindoctor one classic form of Viking verse by explaining the ethanols of the day.
CODA: This is a tragic example of the pagan filth hallucinogenic fungi can trigger in a clean Christian brain on the occasion of the Saviour's birthday: from my 1973 diary:
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