Harvest Home

Farmers and landowners had long marked the end of the grain harvest with a big meal to which the workers, along with the ‘extras’ who had helped in the harvest fields, would all be invited.  It wasn’t solely for reasons of space that this meal would not take place in the farmer’s dining room.  The majority of the guests were not of his social class, and would feel out of place there.  Instead tables would be erected in a barn and straw bales piled up to form the stage for the entertainment, or for the band to accompany dancing after the meal itself.  The presence of the master, though an essential part of the occasion, was not the inhibition it would certainly have been had the event taken place in his own home, and the conviviality itself was as much part of the celebration as was the meal.  You can almost sense Thomas Hardy sitting in the corner to record the atmosphere for his next Wessex novel! 

Although thanksgivings for harvest have been offered in this and many other ways for many centuries, the traditional Harvest Festival, as celebrated in virtually every church in the land, originated in early Victorian times, when an enterprising Cornish clergyman decided to add a spiritual dimension to what had gone on in the village for years, and invited parishioners into church to give thanks to God. 

I used to work for a man who could best be described as a ‘gourmet’.  To say he liked good food was only to tell part of it.  When there was cause for celebration, a new contract signed, or a new customer to greet, there seemed always to be a bottle of Champagne in the office fridge ready for the purpose.  At the slightest excuse, guests and selected staff would be invited to a nearby restaurant for a meal.  It wasn’t the local Burger King either, but a select ‘Cordon Bleu’ establishment that boasted a celebrity chef.  That was also where we gathered for the annual Christmas dinner, many of us feeling a little over-awed by the sense of place.  Then one year, this ‘tradition’ lapsed.  We were invited, with spouses, to a nearby village pub for the festive gathering, and a jolly time was had by all.

So, what, I hear you ask, has this to do with the foregoing words about Harvest?  Look closely and you will see a common character in each element: the master.  The celebration is not complete without him; in many ways he is key.  But neither is it complete if it takes place on his own turf, on his terms.  To achieve completion, the master comes down to the level of the common man, and isn’t that what we celebrate, not at harvest, but a few months later?  

If you’re attending a harvest supper shortly, remember to look over your friend’s shoulder, into the middle distance, and think of another Master, joining his people as a babe in human form, to share for a short while the full experience of their lives.