The First Tea Time

It had been ten years since Erg and his wife Pym had been banished by the tribe. Using assumed names and once disguising themselves as troglodytes, they tried to blend in with others. But, in every case their true identity was discovered, and they were expelled.  On this late and chilly afternoon, the once hugely popular and praised couple hunched over an open fire surrounded by the abandoned stone pillars where, a decade earlier, their lives changed forever and for the worse. Despite all that had happened, they still shared the feeling and had each other.

At the moment, their biggest concern was not of their fate but of the beverage boiling over the fire inside the large, concaved stone. A mastodon rumbled past, shaking the ground, causing some of the content to spill over the edge. Pym reached for the stone to steady it. Erg slapped at her hand and cautioned, “Grol mol kitch, prem shun!” (‘Don’t touch that honey, it’s hot!’) Erg was a cautious man and it’s important for you to know why. Only then could you possibly understand the terror they felt as they anxiously watched over the first two cups of tea ever brewed, brewing.

Erg’s father Drooid was one of the bravest and daring of Neanderthals. It was the earliest of times and all things in it were new. Survival depended on finding which of the new things would prove helpful and which would cause harm. Drooid’s particular talent was with food and beverage. He was the first man to ever eat an apple and first to eat grapes. Word of the great man with the instinct to discover delicious edibles spread. Others came and Drooid generously shared his discoveries. Soon there were thousands. A great tribe calling itself the 'Druids' was formed with Drooid as its master. He was worshipped as a god. Erg, being Drooid’s only son was also treated like royalty. It was assumed by the tribe that the boy would inherit his father’s instinct, and they would eat and drink well, forever.

Among the tribe’s females, the most beautiful was Pym. Pym had three of the whitest teeth, a shape that made a leopard skin wrap purr and unlike the others she didn’t smell like the stuff dug from a dead T-Rex’s navel. Of all her attributes, the most virtuous was her un-pulled hair. During these times, any budding woman with un-pulled hair was deemed pure. All the men, including Erg, wanted to be the first to pull her hair. Because of his status none dared challenge Erg’s claim on the beauty so, it was decided, they be wed. Pym didn’t mind. In fact, the idea of being the woman to have her hair first pulled by the son of a god appealed to her sense of vanity.

News of the pending nuptials spread. The tribe rejoiced and went to work to prepare a celebration greater than any man had ever seen! Which, given this particular era in history, wasn’t saying much. As expected, Drooid assumed the role of caterer and went about gathering new edible things. Since it was to be a formal affair, hunters slew mighty beasts for hides for the Neanderthal tailor and seamstress to fashion into fine garments. As a surprise, the stonecutter crafted a circular monument consisting of several stones weighing upwards of thirteen tons. Each stone had a meaning which the cutter would keep to himself until the event. It was decided to create a shroud of three Brontosaurus hides to cover the stones and protect the stonecutters secret.

The night before the event, Drooid’s curiosity got the best of him. He peeked behind the shroud and was overwhelmed and humbled by what he saw. Each of the stones was meant to pay homage to the best foods Drooid ever discovered; the apple; grape; cabbage; cinnamon and varieties of melon. Drooid was moved to tears at the sight of the stone honoring lettuce. Drooid went to great pains to convince the others lettuce was not a cabbage. His heart was so filled with gratitude he wanted to reward the tribe with something new and very special. The thing he found and called ‘pears’ were sweet but something even greater was needed for this. So, he decided to venture out and find the first ever edible living thing! With no experience as a hunter, what he brought back would have to be something small and decidedly defenseless.

The next day the entire tribe gathered around the shrouded monument waiting for the event to begin. The woman charged with planning the wedding, her name was Shemp, nervously paced back and forth muttering to herself, “Musca da ell dis eh!” (Where the hell is he?) The wedding couldn’t start until the shroud was removed and that honor was reserved for Drooid. They waited and waited until they could wait no longer. Removing a three-Brontosaurus hide shroud was no simple and quick whooshing-like thing to do. One of the tribe’s elders suggested, “Krew ti! Tel da dik oh ti!” (Screw it! Let the kid do it!) The motion passed without dissent. So, it came to be that Erg, not Drooid, would be the first to unveil the monument that would later become known as Stonehenge.

Erg struggled for hours with the huge drying hides. At one point he turned to Pym and confided, “Resoy nehey, heyl eb on tress ulpin nitto” (They’ll be no hair pulling tonight baby). Finally, the monument was revealed. All stood in awe, not so much because of the big stones but because of what stood in the center of them. It was Drooid!  He was holding a pig over his head. Not one of those big angry boar types with huge tusks that would charge at them seemingly just for the hell of it. It was a harmless little pink pig that couldn’t hurt a fly, though it attracted so many. “Gy nogga tay hist sid tilly uck-uck!” (I’m gonna eat this little sucker!), Drooid proclaimed. The little pig squealed. The tribe gasped.

They placed a pile of stones in the center of the monument (fire had yet to be discovered) and gyrating to sounds the children made with sticks, thus leading to the first ever wedding line dance. Once all the sticks were broken and the dance was done, all eyes turned to Drooid to watch him dare eat the living thing. The god of gourmands clutched the pig firmly, set his jaw and chomped off a leg. The pig squealed and wriggled in pain. Drooid gnawed at the limb and lost his grip. The suddenly free pink beast fled as fast as his three remaining legs would allow, thus becoming the first little piggy to go wee-wee-wee-wee all the way home!

Drooid sensed something wrong. His face changed colors. Tribal elder Trich, a man of Neolithic medicine offered an off the cuff diagnosis, “Hist nod kol doog.” (This don’t look good). Being a god, no one dared touch Drooid. Erg continued to believe in his father and asked him, over and over if he thought it needed salt. A hoof had gotten lodged in Drooid’s throat and he died. Not wanting to waste a good monument and all those pears, grapes and apples, the festivities went on as planned. Erg and Pym were married. Fighting against the loss of his father Erg managed to pull Pym’s hair anyway.

The next day a memorial service was held in the monument for Drooid. It was Erg’s idea to have the remains used as fertilizer for the new cabbage patch, “Herther lud fo risted ti hist yaw.” (Father would’ve wanted it this way).

After the funeral it was decided Erg should assume his father’s role of tribal leader and provider of new things to eat. Sadly, he had not inherited his dad’s skill. Everything he brought back to the tribe resulted in culinary disaster. Many teeth were lost due to the colorful rocks he served. He once spent weeks following large creatures to scoop up what they left in their wake. He brought it back to the tribe and called it dung pudding. The tribe was repulsed by the sour, foul taste and bits of things they could not describe. One evening he placed on the table a large, overstuffed sack of a thing filled with a mysterious mash. As much as all the others hated it, the McHaggis family loved it. Disgusted and dismayed by the reaction of the others, Kilt McHaggis took his clan north to start a tribe of his own. The others didn’t mind. They could never understand a word the McHaggis’s had to say, anyway.

Fed up with Erg’s inability to feed them, the rest of the tribe disbanded. As an aside, one of them discovered fire, found a pig with three legs, roasted it up and thus the first barbecue was born. Word of Erg’s failure as a food finder and tribal leader spread quickly over the land leading to their current status as unwanted, unneeded and unloved schmucks. They ate only the things Erg’s dad had discovered. After a decade of nothing but apples, pears, grapes and cabbage Pym threatened to leave Erg and give some other Neanderthal a chance to pull her hair. Erg had to find something to please his love or else wander the moors alone forever. That’s when he discovered the leaves.

He set them on a stone in the sun to dry then toiled for hours, grinding and grinding until they became a find dust. The leaves had a scent Pym liked and she sensed a thing which would later be called ‘hope.’ She suggested to Erg it might be better to put the leaves in a bag. Ever since the incident with the bagged thing stuffed with the mysterious mash, Erg vowed to never put food into a bag again. Instead, he opted to put the leaves into a concave stone and let them brew in water until the sun reached a point in the sky that, to a modern timepiece, would be somewhere between 3:30 and 5:00 PM. 

The time had come. Using hollowed out saber tooth tiger claws for oven mitts, Erg lifted the bowl and filled two stone cups with the steaming beverage. Pym sniffed the moist fragrant vapor, “Mm, lidifel.” (Mm, delightful) Encouraged by the first positive response he’d ever gotten over a potable, Erg lifted his stone cup in a toast, “Lel, sors koolin ta yew dik.” (Well, here’s looking at you, kid). No sooner had they sipped, they closed their eyes and made yummy sounds then sat in satisfied silence to savor the delicately, splendid brew. Pym felt such pride with her mate she wanted to pull his hair!

They spent the next day picking as many of the leaves as they could then went to the first tribe they could find to share in the discovery. Using no assumed names or disguises, they proudly announced who they were and offered to share in their discovery. Fearful the beverage might turn into a hoof that might choke them, the tribe refused. Then, emerging from the crowd came a familiar, friendly face. It was Kilt McHaggis! The man who loved the bag filled with mysterious mash, “Fuirich gu bheil mi eòlach air na daoine seo!” (Wait, I know these people!) And then, “Faodaidh tu earbsa a chur annta!” (You can trust them!)

Erg and Pym were unfamiliar with the language, but the rest of the tribe understood it well. They all cheered. Erg brewed up many pounds of leaves in a massive concave stone. The aroma filled the air and soon thousands gathered with stone cups to have a taste. After waiting for the sun to appear in the sky at the proper time, they each had their stone cups filled and sat around the fire, absorbed in the magical effect of the delicate leaf.  Erg and Pym were welcomed into the tribe. Later, a contest was held. Whoever came up with the best name for the drink would win a new set of wheels. One suggested ‘whiskey.’ The entry was dismissed after O’Grik, a tribal member with experience at concocting beverages out of grains announced he already owned it.

Kilt McHaggis was in the process of creating a new game he called ‘flog’. The first player to hit a rounded stone with a long stick into a hole won. The game would be launched from a pad he called ‘a' chiad te’ (the first tee). The tribe all agreed ‘tea’ was a more suitable name for a beverage people would obviously love for eternity. Wasting such a name on a game with such limited potential as one played with sticks hitting a rounded stone seemed silly. And so it was, the drink had a name and even a proper moment for its consumption - ‘teatime.’

Erg and Pym at last had friends, a home and were part of a community. Months after a particularly robust evening of hair pulling, they gave birth to a son. As for Kilt McHaggis, after sketching out a blueprint for the 'game with sticks’ on the wall of a cave, he dedicated the remainder of his days on finding ways to put the cherished leaves into bags, like the one filled with the anonymous mash. To his dying day Kilt McHaggis would insist, “Bidh rudan an-còmhnaidh a’ blasad nas fheàrr ann am poca” (things always taste better in a bag). 

Disjointed evidence of these events has surfaced over the years. During a 19th Century archeological dig, the fossil of a scone buried among cuttings and primitive pottery was found. After a barrage of V-2 rockets during the World War II, a stone cup with the letters P-Y-M was unearthed. This led to the creation of a modern-day popular cocktail. As for the monument called Stonehenge, it became a treasured artifact for the entire land and lauded as a structure meant to symbolize peace and unity. Some even believed it was evidence of visitors from another planet.

I often wonder, if modern man knew it was built as a venue for a wedding reception and the stones were nothing more than an homage to apples, grapes, cabbage and pears would it still be standing or possible be a Walmart? In any event, this is the story of how the first tea was brewed and first teatime observed. Given our times of believing in neighbors who eat our cats and Jewish satellite laser beams starting wildfires I submit, it’s as credible a tale as any and better than most. ~ You’re welcome.