In our world of planting, our days are spent outdoors and our work is designed to be sustainable, lasting for year after year. So the misery of Covid has had little impact on our professional lives. There is one garden tradition, however, that will be missed by many this year: bringing in the mistletoe for a Christmas kiss with friends and neighbours. Nevertheless, we can’t resist sharing the legends surrounding this sacred plant.

The fascination with mistletoe possibly started as a result of its unusual growth: it is a partial parasite and grows only on the trunks of trees, never touching the ground. An early belief was that it grew on trees struck by lightning, an idea perhaps encouraged by its zigzag shape around the trunk!

Mistletoe was spread accidentally by the mistle thrush, according to the 17th century poet John Milton. He noticed how, as it tried to scrape the sticky seeds from its beak, it “strikes … at the branches of a neighbouring tree and so leaves the seed sticking by this viscous matter to the bark.”

Its golden-yellow colour may have influenced the ancient legend of the Golden Bough plucked from an oak tree by Aeneas before his descent to the underworld, and in Christian times evergreen mistletoe came to be seen as a hopeful symbol of eternal life in the dead of winter.

An alternative view has mistletoe dealing a deadly blow to a Norse god, in Victorian poet Matthew Arnold’s mournful epic Balder Dead: “In his breast stood fixt the fatal bough/Of mistletoe …” Evidently it was poor Balder’s Kryptonite!

So what about kissing? It has been suggested that because of its appearance – the forked twigs and globular berries – mistletoe used to be carried by women as a means of ensuring fertility. The plant probably featured in midwinter festivals that included a lot of alcohol and a bit more flirting than usual.

And although the Victorians wouldn’t have the pagan mistletoe in their churches, it was fine as an excuse for a chaste kiss in the servants’ quarters, as long as you remembered to remove a berry after each encounter. There have to be limits!

Mistletoe, we’ll miss you. Here's to more kissing next year.

Read the truth about the yule log here.

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