We're in London, and it's sometime in the 16th century.

Christmas is coming, and preparations are in swing.

That means, among other things, that the King and Houses of High Status are selecting a Lord of Miss Rule to act as a master of merry disports.

Shoppers visit the markets for meat, nuts, dried fruit, and everywhere,

greenery, a symbol of verdancy against the bare landscape, a festive decoration, possibly

even a touch of defiance against the cold, lifeless winter. It wasn't always this way.

For centuries, festive greenery hearkened back to pre-Christian

wintertime festivals. It would have been uncommon or even blasphemous to have it at Christmas.

Even once people came around to the idea, there were still strict rules about what kinds of

greenery were appropriate and in which settings.

Each plant, whether Holly, ivy, pine, fir, rosemary, mistletoe, had its own set of legends,

associations, and superstitions, the kinds of things that tend to die hard.

Holly, for instance, was allowed inside the church, whereas Ivy was only allowed outside. Ivy was also

banned from the inside of homes for a time. But by the time we get to our London Christmas in

the 16th century, all that has changed. Greenery of all kinds dominates the visual identity of Christmas.

In his 1598 book, The Survey of London, author John Stowe writes,

Against the Feast of Christmas, every man's house, as also the parish churches, were decked with home, ivy, bays, and whatsoever the season of the year afforded to be green.

The conduits and standards in the streets were likewise garnished.

Now let's jump forward a bit in time and about 60 miles northwest of London. Now we're in Oxfordshire.

And like anywhere else in England, Holly and Ivy are to Christmas then what the Christmas tree is today.

No respectable English home is properly decorated

without it. And Ivy, in particular, had become the source of some mischievous merry-making.

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