The Ritual of Tea

A kitchen table and sitting always in the centre, a hot pad, ready and waiting for the teapot that had just been filled to take it’s rightful place, a tea cozy to be wrapped around it to keep the heat within. That cozy might be lovingly hand knit or it might be quilted. Quite often, if quilted it was first placed upon the head of whichever child (or adult in some cases) was given the cozy to place around the pot, as a moment of laughter while pretending to be the Pope.

That scene played out on a regular basis like a ritual as I grew up. It happened in our kitchen, our neighbours’ kitchens and in the kitchens of my step-grandmother, every aunt and great aunt. It didn’t happen at “teatime” specifically, it happened whenever someone just happened to pop ‘round for a chat or a natter and perhaps a bit of gossip to be dished over.  It was the scheduled visit to an older relative. There was never any question asked, “would you like a cup of tea?” – it was a given. Upon arrival, the kettle was filled, the gas lit and the tea ready to be added to the warmed pot.

 In my world it was rare to have loose tea, but older relatives preferred it. There was one great aunt who would read the leaves left in someone’s cup if they asked her nicely. I was too young to have my tea leaves read but hoped that one day, the magic would be offered to me if I asked. Alas the opportunity never presented itself. I’m still waiting. It was always tea bags that went into the pot in my home – Red Rose was the favoured brand, and my mother collected the little figurines that came with the tea as a promotional item. As children, my sister and I would pull them out of the drawer they were kept in and play imaginary games. Years later my own children would do the same when visiting their Nana and the figurines (animals and nursery rhyme characters) now sit in a drawer in my own home. Today is the first time I’ve pulled them out and really looked at them. But I digress. This is about tea, not collectibles.

I sipped my first cup of milky tea at age 2 while visiting older relatives. I don’t recall that, but photographs captured the moment. As I was growing up, I realized what valuable information could be learned as a young child with big ears, sitting quietly when being invited to sit at that table with more milk than tea in a cup. It was the initiation into the rite of drinking tea.

Sipping tea wasn’t just for a chin wag or family time sitting around the table. It was some magic elixir served at times of distress or worry. A problem presented and the first act was someone saying “we need a cup of tea.” I’m not sure that the tea itself held the solution to the problem, but it offered comfort and respite and those moments to gather oneself, to pour out not just a hot beverage but the worry or grief or in some cases shocking news.

“Making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you.” – Jonathan Stroud

Perhaps as Jonathan Stroud says, it is the ritual, the doing something so basic and every day as preparing tea, going through those motions that help to stabilize emotions and upsets. It is the hands held around a warm cup that soothes and comforts like a much needed hug. Or maybe it’s being with a trusted family member or friend who will let you sit quietly until you are ready to talk.

The tea and the drinking of it won’t solve the problem but it offers a moment or two to just “be” and not think, not worry, not have to have a ready answer.

I drink less tea these days and more coffee. But if I have a problem or a worry or a stress, it’s tea I’ll brew, not coffee. There are no longer any older relatives with whom I can sit at a table over a cozied teapot and ask for advice or answers. My friends are scattered and not living close enough to just pop ‘round for a cuppa. But I’ll still turn to tea.  Old habits? A fondly remembered past? Or maybe, just maybe there is something in tea that really does offer the promise of being able to solve everything.