On recent mornings, running beside the New River in north London, I have been cheered by the sight of coots wrestling with sticks; magpies pairing up with coquettish hops; even our glamorously sinister cormorant is gliding along with a mate. It’s still cold, but the birds respond to lengthening days. The Old English word for spring was the same for lengthen, lencten, which came to be “Lent”.
Our predecessors would have approached Lent with mixed feelings, perhaps. A newborn generation of wild and farm animals had to come off the menu. Animals competed with humans for scarce resources, so we slaughtered and feasted on fresh meat in December, and eked out salted cheese and bacon in the tough months of the early year. Anything left over was used up before Lent: bacon and beef on “Collop Monday” (a collop is a steak or rasher); eggs and dairy on Shrove Tuesday. After that, game and livestock must be left in peace to suckle their young or hatch their eggs.
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