The Thing That Stops the Cask (Bung)

Lyrics

Reverend Goss has a problem of containment.
His communion cask. Chestnut staves.
There is an aperture. A circular void.
It requires a solution.

The solution is a stopper.
From Middle English, possibly Dutch. In use since the fifteenth century.
This one is oak, hand-carved, the grain spiraling slightly.
Cut across the grain to prevent splitting.
Two inches at its widest point.
Tapered, for a perfect friction fit against the inner stave.
It is called a bung.

First, you identify the bunghole.
Then, you present the bung.
A firm, steady pressure. A tap with the mallet.
The cask is sealed. The treasure is safe.
That is the function of the bung.

The manual from 1847 lists them. "Bungs of oak, two shillings per dozen."
Thomas Cooper wrote in 1863, the fit must be like a glove.
Too loose, and the cask weeps its treasure.
Too tight, and the pressure builds.
A popped bung was considered a sign of divine displeasure, or simply poor cooperage.
The sacristan would be blamed. We aim for equilibrium.

First, you identify the bunghole.
Then, you present the bung.
A firm, steady pressure. A tap with the mallet.
The cask is sealed. The treasure is safe.
That is the function of the bung.

The air in here is twelve degrees Celsius, consistently.
It smells of damp stone, moss, and the sharp tang of fermenting wine.
The mallet's tap echoes off the vaulted ceiling. A dull, satisfying report.
The oak feels rough, solid under the fingers.
This is a pre-industrial seal, a simple technology of wood and applied force.

For removal, the small iron pry bar.
A gentle levering action, inserted at the lip.
The seal is broken. Access is granted.
The demonstration is now complete.
The bung.