First the bad bit. With the extreme heat and lack of rain this year, the apple trees have produced very little fruit and most of those have critters living in them. Completely different from last year’s bounty. I predict I’ll be out of apples by midwinter (last year was so good that I still had apples in store in May, though by then they’d reached end of storage life).
Now the good bit. Two of the pippins that I grew from seed have produced their first fruit and are eatable! As in, actually nice to eat, not “could eat them in an emergency”. These trees are in pots and have perhaps benefited from being on the north side of the house (slightly less full sun) and fairly regular watering.
Both pippins were grown from seeds taken from apples that were given to me late in 2025 and were described as “Cox-like”. They came from the orchard at Kittyfield farm near Galashiels. The two trees look fairly similar in growth / leaf type but the apples are quite different.
Tree A: four apples. One fell off, one I picked today. Both these were quite blemished but I cut off the good bits and they were tasty, reasonably sweet, definitely nice to eat. Two larger apples (maybe 6cm long?) remain on the tree. They are slightly elongated in shape.
Tree A: germinated seed in 2021 from an apple grown in 2002 at Kittyfield farm near Galashiels and described as “Cox-like”. The apples are hiding round the back but there are three good ‘uns!Tree A: three apples still on the tree. The bottom one is smaller and blemished, that’s the one I picked today.Apple from tree A, suffering from what I think is “bitter pit”, a disorder due to stress and not a diseaseApple from Tree A. Quite a lot of blemishes but the eatable portions of apple were good.
Tree B: six apples. One fell off, the others have disintegrated on the tree, alas. I ate some of the fallen one, and again it was tasty. These were smaller apples, maybe 4cm for the biggest, and more flattened, similar in shape to a russet, but still bigger than a crab. They are not unlike the Wyken Pippin apples in appearance, and that produced really tiny apples its first year or two, so I hope this tree will grow larger / better apples in the future.
Tree B: same origin (Cox-like from Kittyfield) but the apples have gone bad on the tree, alas.Tree B: fallen apples
Both are worth planting out if we can find a space!
Last year, two other trees produced their first fruits but they were small, sour crab apples. One has been planted in the hedge and the other should also be found a place out in the hedge.
Crab A (first fruited in 2025), grown from a Cripps Red (France) that germinated in May 2021. I think this was an apple that I bought and the seeds were germinating in the apple, so I planted them.Last year this tree had several apples, this year only one. It’s a perfect miniature apple but very small and last year they were sour crabs, not worth eating raw.The other tree that produced crab apples in 2025 and it was planted out early summer 2026 in the hedge. It’s put on a fair bit of growth and I hope it will carve itself out a space between the hazel, dogwood etc. We really ought to hack the surrounding hedge trees back while it gets established…Pretty crab apples on the orchard tree. This grew from a Gala bought September 2020 at the Co-op in Kings Sutton, germinated in spring 2021
Five years into the Quest for the Pippin of St Rumwold, and I have:
82 (approx) mystery pippins in pots, various sizes and conditions
2 crab apples
two eaters!
I count this as a win. My original guestimate was at least five years to get any results, and we have two valid candidates for the Pippin of St Rumwold. The plan is to plant out the two eaters and the remaining crab, which will free up a bit of space on the patio. I also need to weed and pot up most of the remainder, and hope that we’ll see some more fruiting next year.
I will begin with my riddle, then proceed to spoilers and discussion!
Confront me, and you will be as Frithuswithe's bane, Disarmed and defeated like that unwise thane. But I'm your daily guest, jolly and round. Under my gaze, warmth and light abound. Yet, in a girl's life came one strange hour, My blessings dimmed though I was not lower. The shadow's eye revealed a wonder And a fool's glance confirmed - I was grown slender, My body curved like a farmer's sickle, Twin to my sister so pale and fickle. A prayer restored me, full and ample, And soon my sister spread her starry mantle. So riddle me this, by Saint Peter's shoon: When did the sun become the moon?
This riddle has two possible answers:
29th October 878 CE
17th June 912 CE
So what happened on those days, and why did I compose this riddle? You may know that there was a total eclipse of the sun on the 12th of August 2026, with totality visible in Iceland and parts of Europe. Here in Rumwoldstow (just south of Banbury, UK), we saw around 92% occlusion of the sun’s disc, which prompted me to wonder what people in Early Medieval England would have known about eclipses.
At the time of maximum occlusion, it was very obvious to us that the sun was dimmed but not why. We could see crescent shapes in shadows – e.g. from a colander, or by making a tiny “eye” with your fingers. A friend of mine said she glanced at the sun and had a crescent afterimage for some minutes (do NOT try this for yourself). A welding mask showed a clear crescent.
But would our nuns have noticed, or known what was happening? The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records the dates of various total solar eclipses and at least one that was total in Continental Europe but not England. However I’ve found no evidence that anyone in the UK would have been able to predict an eclipse. And when we experienced a 45% eclipse in 2025, we wouldn’t have known it was happening if we hadn’t been prepared with viewing equipment at the right time.
Our methods for viewing the 2026 eclipse:
Camera obscura – made in a cardboard box. Worked, but underwhelming.
Welding mask – gave the best view, but didn’t get a good photo
Phone camera – didn’t work. Sun still too bright.
Colander – most fun! Clear projection of solar crescent instead of disc.
“Shadow puppet” – use your fingers to make a tiny hole in your shadow and look at the shadow on a wall or sheet of paper. Also very good fun! Clear projection of solar crescent.
Looking at the sun – accidental glance, no really don’t do this, but a person in the past might well have done this, wondering why the sun was shedding so little light. Did not try it myself, but apparently you get a crescent afterimage.
Reflection in a bowl of water – tried this last year, didn’t get much out of it.
The view from behind a welding mask. Not sure this is safe to look for long so we kept it to short glances. The double image may be a reflection of a reflection (sun reflected off phone screen, then back of welding mask) and does show a crescent above the main overly-bright image.
Did Anglo-Saxon women have colanders?
This was the prettiest image we got!
Shadow puppetry in the study – a tiny hole gives a crescent imageTwo tiny holes!
The colander and shadow methods use the principle of the pinhole camera, where light passing through a small hole projects an inverted image of a scene.
What might an early medieval woman have used to see the eclipse? Curiously, the Kentish spoons with holes in would likely have been perfect eclipse viewers!
I’m not saying that these weird objects were made for viewing eclipses, but I think they would have worked extremely well! Early Anglo Saxon sieve spoon, there are loads of these, purpose unknown, possibly Roman survivals?
The answers to the riddle explaned
Let us imagine an old woman in the Rumwoldstow monastery, born in perhaps 867 CE. She could have witnessed a total solar eclipse which was visible in central England in October of 878 (noting that the Anglo Saxon year started in September so the eclipse they recorded against 879 must be that of October 878 CE). This eclipse was total at Worcester, Abingdon, Peterborough and Canterbury, and almost total at Winchester, the attribution of the report:
A.D. 879. This year went the army from Chippenham to Cirencester, and sat there a year. The same year assembled a band of pirates, and sat at Fulham by the Thames. The same year also the sun was eclipsed one hour of the day.
There was a later partial eclipse visible from Coventry, so presumably also visible at Rumwoldstow, on 17th June, 912 CE, magnitude 0.813, peaking at 19:06 (just after 7pm). So I’ve based my riddle on this event, assuming that the abbess, Cyneswithe, had seen an eclipse before, and happened to be outdoors on a sunny evening in June (near midsummer, so sunset after 8pm) when this took place. She perhaps glanced at the dimmed sun, and maybe played with shadows to see the crescent of the partially obscured sun! Yes, this is a bit of a stretch. It was a long drive, I had to do something with my brain, so I composed my riddle based on what she could possibly have seen.
The sun becomes the moon when the moon’s disc hides enough of the sun that you see only a crescent. And it passes in a few minutes – the time taken to speak a prayer or two.
Frithuswithe’s bane is Alfgar, prince of Leicester, who made a nuisance of himself to her in Oxford and was struck blind for his trouble.
I took the reference to St Peter’s Shoes from the old song “Martin Said to his Man”:
I saw the man in the moon Sliding down Saint Peter's shoon
This last is likely anachronistic, I haven’t researched it in detail the age of the song or references to Peter’s shoes, but the reference was too apt for me to miss (and I was struggling for rhymes). Forgive me – it’s a long way to Devon!
It seems like spring starts earlier every year, it’s the middle of April and the fruit trees are flowering. Damsons, plums and pears have all flowered and are now showing set fruit. The quince is coming into flower. A couple of the apple pippins are flowering; so far only four of the eighty-odd pippins are at that point.
A local cat has started visiting regularly, she’s very friendly and also runs around climbing on everything, chasing everything and generally Being A Cat.
The latest excitement was a swarm of bees, which the local beekeepers have moved into a box and then left the bees to themselves for the rest of the day to settle in. The plan is to move the box up to their permanent home just outside the village this evening, once they’ve all settled in for the night.
Visitor to the cloisterFlowering pippinBee swarmFirst asparagusCats love being high upBut also fuss!Forge building under constructionWindow slits in the inner wallBees settling in to their new home
Last year the quince tree was sad and gave us no quinces, despite having produced a small crop the previous year (about 4). But this year, it grew lots of lovely quinces! I have been distracted this autumn and didn’t manage to harvest most of them, but I did gather a nice basket of them and have been pondering how to cook them. I learned from a friend that there are Greek recipes for meat with quince, which I would like to try, but someone else I met last week said “just cut them into segments and bake them with cinnamon” so I tried that, and om nom nom!
I cut off the manky bits but didn’t peel them, as advised, cut them into eighths lengthwise and cut out the core. Not peeling them is a big process improvement! A raw quince is very hard and peeling is a lot of work.
I shoved the fruit in a dish, sprinkled it with cinnamon and distributed a teaspoon or two of honey around. Into the oven at 180 C for about 25 minutes, stirred round halfway through to coat the pieces in the honey.
Have I adjusted to the taste of quince? I dunno, but when I poached quince in syrup in previous years, it was ok, a bit odd… but I find the baked quince yummy and am really pleased. The cooked peel is perfectly eatable. Another time, I may serve unsweetened quince as a side dish with a meat.
It is late July and the meadowsweet is in full flower. Many years ago, I made meadowsweet wine and it was good, so now I’m having a go at a mead. I read that:
…the name is in fact a corruption of the old medieval name “meadesweet”, stemming from the days when the plant was added during the brewing of mead, as a flavouring agent. Various parts of the plant have been used medicinally for centuries, primarily for the relief of pain and fever, but other uses have included the treatment of gastrointestinal complaints, including peptic ulceration, and the treatment of diarrhoea. Its anti-inflammatory effects can be accounted for by the fact that all parts of the plant contain several salicylate compounds, including salicylic acid itself. In 1897, when Felix Hoffmann produced acetylsalicylic acid, he used salicin produced from meadowsweet plants. This led to the development of the brand name Aspirin, which was derived from the botanical name at the time for meadowsweet, Spiraea ulmaria.
One may hope therefore that this mead will be its own hangover cure.
However from the same source I note:
Because of the high levels of salicylates, preparations containing meadowsweet extracts are contraindicated in patients taking warfarin, and also in those already taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. Extracts of the plant have been to cause bronchospasm, therefore caution is advised in its use by asthma sufferers.
…which is kind of important information…oh hear this, ye “it’s natural so of course it’s safe” brigade…
I foolishly gave away my copy of C J J Berry’s indispensable “First Steps in Winemaking” so I am not working to an exact recipe. I gathered a small basket of open flowers, and have boiled 5 litres of water which is now cooling.
My next job is to empty 6 jars of local set honey (340 g each, for a total of 2.04 kg) into the pan, and when it’s tepid, add the meadowsweet and yeast. I’ll be using Mangrove Jack’s Mead Yeast, same as I used for the apple and medlar mead that I started back in January of this year (2024 / 924). Yes, for a truly authentic brew I would rely on natural yeasts, but I haven’t the confidence.
Meadowsweet close upMeadowsweet in the orchardMeadowsweet in the basket
Having briefly tested Al’s amazing new wood-fired bread oven, we tried it out more thoroughly a few days later.
The oven in use! With the ambitious plaited loaf just visibleRack of lamb and sausages cooking in a cast iron skillet. Fast and good.The master baker with an ambitious sweet plaited loaf ready to go inMy baking skills extended as far as the single-anchovy mini pizza with chopped garlic, leek and cheese.Aelfrun spinningOur final reward – a complete rainbow
Al has built the Roman-style bread oven! Or as you might describe it, a budget pizza oven off the internet, mahoosively gussied up with fancy stonework, extra insulation and render. It had its first firing on the 4th July, basically to dry it out and see how well a fire would burn and heat it. Just so we cooked *something*, I mixed up some scone dough and stirred in a handful of dried raisins.
Modern scones are quite inauthentic as baking powder was Not A Thing in the early medieval days. Breads would be unleavened, or raised with yeast. And they were a bit burned in places, and slightly underdone in others. But fresh out of the oven with some medlar jam, they were delicious.
The oven with its first firing!Scones ready to go inScones fresh from the ovenScone? S’gone.
The apple store is empty! It’s the end of March, just before Easter so we’re in the tail end of Lent (from the Old English ‘lencten’ meaning ‘when the days lengthen’ i.e. spring), and I took the last two apples out of the store in the gatehouse. This is the time of year known as the Hungry Gap (which may explain why Lent is in this season – make a virtue of a necessity), as the stored food runs low and there’s not much in season yet. Well, there are plenty of nettles, and I imagine the early medieval people would have cooked and eaten them along with other spring greens. Protein from eggs? But not so much bulk food, unless you had a good harvest and good fortune storing it.
Quite a lot of the apples weren’t eatable, as the flesh turned brown, or bruises spread across the entire fruit. But the bottom couple of drawers seem to have fared better, with the apple flesh still white and crisp. Maybe it was that bit cooler?
The bulk of last year’s apples were Bramleys, which ripen up into a very pleasant eating apple in defiance of the supermarket practice of only selling them green (and huge!). My Bramleys varied between VAST MONSTERS and cute little things.
This year I hope we’ll get more of the other varieties, just for, well, variety, and also because some of them may be better keepers – and older varieties, closer to what our Anglo-Saxon nuns would have known.
The last two apples: despite appearances, the penultimate apple (left) was good inside. Yes these are Bramleys!The very last apple! With the medlar and apple mead, which is still blopping awayInside the last apple
The final apple was a beaut! Very tasty.
The orchard did well; the apples have kept me going at about 1 per day plus crumbles and apple sauce, since 1 August 2023 to 26 March 2024. The trees were affected by a late air frost, or something, and didn’t produce at their maximum, though the Bramley did pretty darn well. Some of my friends reported having no harvest at all last year, so Rumwoldstow was luckier than many.
What we didn’t get was pears; the older two (planted in 2018) flowered and set fruit, but dropped them all. When they were pruned, it transpired that they must have not been planted properly because there was a pot-shaped block of earth with the tree coming out of it, which wobbled alarmingly. Our pruner, Michael, suggested that the trees dropped their fruit because they didn’t feel stable enough to carry them, and also that perhaps because the ground is so wet, they hadn’t felt it necessary to send roots out searching for water. Al and Michael staked them up to be more stable, also the quince was a bit sideways so they staked that too. Fingers crossed this will help them. The two apple trees (Wyken Pippin and Hambledon Deux Ans) look fine; they may have been planted from bare roots? It shows the importance of spreading the roots from a pot-bound tree when planting it out. I’ll have to bear this in mind when the seedlings are being set loose on the world, wherever and whenever that ends up being.
The pear trees are in blossom, as are the plum and damsons. The apples are just starting to bud.
Pear: Louis Bonne of JerseyPear: Uvedale St GermainPears: Winter Nelis (left), Jargonelle (right)Floodwaters rising again after torrents of rain yesterday. Medlar (left) and plum (right, Rivers Early Prolific)
So yeah, a very strong sense of ending and renewal.
Look carefully at the photo…do you see them? Yes, the first ever flower buds from one of my apple tree seedlings! These were grown from apples collected in 2020 and germinated in 2021, so they are now three years old. I need to do an audit and empty out the pots of those that died over the winter but I must still have a good 50 saplings in pots dotted around the patio.
It’s unlikely that these flowers will produce fruit but it’s still very exciting to see one of the little trees take this step forward!
Seedling with first flower budsThe leftmost tree is the one with the buds – the one in a terracotta pot. Grown from a seed from a Gala appleSeedlings by the pumpSeedlings at the back of the patioSeedlings at the side of the patioSeedlings in FroghavenSeedlings by the path
No, I didn’t sneeze…my main Christmas present this year was a set of BEAUTIFUL handmade glass gaming pieces from Tillerman Beads. These are based on finds from grave 750 at the Viking-age town of Birka in Sweden and are about the fanciest gaming set you can have unless you’re going for carved ivory or gold (as in some sagas). I’ve long had a glass Hnef (the name given in Icelandic sagas to the centre piece) but it is machine-made and very regular. The pieces that accompany it are simple glass “pebbles” sold as pot toppers, which closely resemble some Roman pieces. This set is a much better match for the original finds.
Replica glass gaming pieces
The grave at Birka contained 8 dark pieces, 17 light ones. Al gave me 9 dark pieces and 17 light ones, which provides a spare of each colour if you are playing tablut, and also allows you to play merels or nine men’s morris. Tablut is the version of the game that Carl Linneus recorded and is played on a 9×9 board with 8 defenders, 16 attackers.
Ready for a game of “tablut”Ready for a game of merels
If you’d like to know more about the game of “hnefatafl” (it has several names and variants) you can read my article about the possible origin of the name “Hnefatafl” and see the other replica glass “Hnef” on my website. And of course there are lots of web pages out there with information about the game
