Archive for the ‘Folklore’ Category

Wassailing – Blessing the Apple Tree

Friday, January 6th, 2012

Wassailing is an ancient tradition of blessing apple trees at Twelfth Night and asking the spirit of the tree for a bountiful harvest of fruit the following autumn. Some wassailers adhere to the Gregorian calendar and mark Twelfth Night on 6th January (although it strictly begins at dusk on the day before), whereas others adhere to the older Julian calendar and leave their wassails until the 17th January.

Wassail is an Anglo-Saxon word and is thought to mean ‘Be In Good Health’. Whilst there is a tradition of wassailing neighbours with songs and good wishes at yuletide (similar to the modern tradition of carolling), apple trees had to wait until Twelfth Night, a time when the world is turned upside down, the Lord of Misrule reigns for a day, and the spirits draw close, including those of trees.

People who cared for an apple tree – and the tradition is still strong in the cider growing areas of England and the marches of Wales – set out with gifts of hot cakes and cider as an offering to the spirit of the tree. Usually, a cider soaked cake was hoisted high and left in the fork of a branch, with more cider splashed on the earth over the roots. Whereas many people think that tree spirits are called Dryads, this word actually only refers to the spirit of oak trees. The spirits of apple trees are called Epimeliads.

In order to drive away any malignant influence, people might shout or bang pan lids together, and some even fire shotguns into the air. Then, all present sing the wassailing song, asking for a good crop of apples the following autumn. If you want to wassail your own apple tree (or, with amendment to the words, any other sort of fruiting tree) here are some traditional words to use.

Old Apple Tree, we wassail thee
And hoping thou wilt bear,
For the Gods do know where we shall be
‘till the apples come for another year.
For to bear well and to bear well
So merry let us be.

Let everyone here take off their hat
And shout to the old Apple Tree:
“Old Apple Tree, we wassail thee
And hoping thou wilt bear,
Hatfuls, capfuls, three bushel bagfuls
And a little heap under the stairs”.

Wassail! Wassail! Wassail!

Following the formal part of the ritual, the ceremony concludes with sharing cider and cakes among all those present. Traditionally, a single bowl of cider was passed around the company so it became a ‘loving cup’ binding all there in fellowship and community.

It is interesting that in Nordic tradition, the Goddess Idun held the apples of immortality that kept the Gods young and the world cared for. To people of the time, including the Anglo-Saxons who probably began the wassailing tradition, apples may have been more than fruit; they also kept the Gods in the heavens and the world on its course. No wonder such an effort was made to respect the spirits of these trees and to ensure a healthy supply of apples. If you wassail your trees this year, maybe you should also dedicate a little of the crop for Idun and her invaluable store.

But however you celebrate, Wassail and be in good health!

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Nicholas: From Saint to Shaman to Santa

Friday, December 23rd, 2011

Everyone knows that Santa Claus hails from Lapland, where he spends the year in his elf-run toy factory, pausing only to feed his red-nosed reindeer Rudolf, before loading his sleigh each Christmas and delivering presents to children around the world. But where did it all start, just who is Santa, and why does he perform this amazing role every Christmas Eve?

Santa, or rather his alter-ego Nicholas, was born around 270 AD, not in Lapland, but on the Mediterranean shores of Turkey in Patara. Nicholas came from a wealthy family but his parents died when he was still young. Fortunately, his uncle was Bishop of the adjacent town of Myra and took in the young Nicholas, raising him for the church.

What we know of Nicholas was only recorded centuries after his death but it appears that he succeeded his uncle as Bishop of Myra at a very young age. Slowly, stories about this boy bishop spread. One time, for instance, when Nicholas was on pilgrimage to Egypt, he worked miracles to stop ships being wrecked upon rocks and even brought a dead sailor back to life. This was not the only time that Nicholas resurrected the dead. He also restored three boys to life after they had been slain by an unscrupulous butcher who intended to sell their remains as ham.

Most famous, however, was the help Nicholas gave to three daughters from an impoverished family. Unable to afford a dowry, the father of the girls could not arrange their marriage and feared they would be forced into prostitution. Nicholas, upon hearing of the girls’ fate, secretly left gold in their house, securing their future betrothal and, hopefully, happiness.

Nicholas was later canonised as St Nicholas and became a favourite of fishermen and travellers on account of him saving the ships and resurrecting sailor. Greece, a nation of fishermen, took him as their Patron Saint and he became enmeshed with the Orthodox Church. During the Crusades, pilgrims and warriors would pray to St Nicholas before making sea crossings and they spread his cult throughout Europe and beyond.

As the Orthodox Church moved into Russia, it took its most prominent saint, Nicholas, with it and he quickly became the Patron Saint of Russia. Not everyone in Russia was Christian, however, and the original inhabitants, the Viking Rus, were from Scandinavia. They had brought their pagan Gods with them and it is possible that they account for the first metamorphosis of St Nicholas.

Until recent times, the tradition for much of northern Europe was for St Nicholas to deliver presents to children on his feast day: December 6th (the day of his death). This tradition likely stems from his gift of dowries to the poor man’s daughters. But why he arrives on a flying grey horse, accompanied by mischievous and capricious black-faced elves, is less easy to explain. Unless, from the traditions of the Viking Rus, St Nicholas took on some of the qualities of the Norse God Odin, who also rides a flying grey horse and is accompanied by black-faced ravens. St Nicholas had become a Nordic saint.

St Nicholas’s next metamorphosis likely occurred in the depths of Russian Siberia as settlers forged their way into the frozen wilderness of the north. Local Siberians followed shamanic traditions and, upon hearing of St Nicholas – who healed, brought souls back from the dead, and bestowed otherworldly goods to his community – readily decided that he was a powerful shaman and assimilated him into their pantheon of spirits. An Evenki individual interviewed in 1913 even claimed St Nicholas was ‘Master of Shamans’.

Such shamans often journey to other realms, carried on the beat of their reindeer skin drums. In fact, many Siberian shamans believe their drum actually is a reindeer, carrying them upwards, through the smoke-hole in the roof, and north to an otherworldly reality. Returning with gifts of knowledge, the shaman comes back via the smoke-hole and tells the wide-eyed community of his or her extraordinary journey. All the while, bells on their costume ring loudly, warning the spirits of their passage. If St Nicholas was a shaman then naturally he did the same.

Shamanic St Nicholas likely merged with Nordic St Nicholas to create the legend of a man who travels from the north, pulled by flying reindeer, with bells on his costume, bringing gifts to children made by his helper elves, all delivered via the smoke-hole, now a chimney. In a nod to the distant past, he even wears his bright red bishop’s cloak.

St Nicholas, in his Dutch homeland in northern Europe, is Sinta Klauss: Santa Claus. The finishing touches were added by American writer Washington Irving in his fictional ‘Father Knickerbocker’s History of New York’ and high-jacked by Coca-Cola whose jovial and slightly-overweight Santa took the Coca-Cola brand, and Santa Claus along with it, worldwide.

Rudolph first appeared in a 1939 booklet written by Robert L. May but it is striking that, in Santa’s home of Lapland, reindeer are fond of munching on the hallucinogenic red-and-white fly agaric mushrooms. The local Sámi, who were also partial to the effects of the drug, likely recognised the feelings of lightness it engendered. And a high-flying reindeer flushed with fly agaric may indeed have had a bright red shiny nose. Santa Claus – one time saint, then shaman, and now beloved of children everywhere – had found his companion.

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A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Fairy Folk in Wales

Friday, June 24th, 2011

Today is International Fairy Day and, whilst the fairies might not realise the significance, June 24th is Midsummer’s Night, when Shakespeare told us that Puck, Titania, and Queen Mab crossed the boundary and visited our world.

Shakespeare may have taken his inspiration for Puck from the Welsh Pwca, one of the fairy beings found in my home county of Breconshire. In fact, there is local tradition that Shakespeare visited the county town of Brecon and gained his knowledge of the Welsh Fair Folk (or Tylwyth Teg in Welsh) from his friend Richard Price, who lived in Brecon priory. Cwm Pwca, a magical valley nearby, may have been the inspiration for not only Puck but also the magical dreamworld in which Shakespeare’s play is set.

Pwca, in his less romanticised form, was not so benign. When a servant girl from Abergwyddon, who used to leave out milk and bread for the spirit, decided one night to consume everything herself, leaving only dregs and crusts for Pwca, he took a terrible revenge. Dragging the girl with fleshy but otherwise invisible hands, the records of 1875 describe her torment as ‘mortifying’ without adding any further details.

Pwca is one of the Ellyllon, or elves, who tend to haunt groves and valleys and, as well as bread and milk, feast on ‘poisonous’ mushrooms, probably the hallucinogenic fly agaric, and foxgloves. In fact, consuming fly agaric may have allowed some mortals to peer into the realm of the Ellyllon and see the spirits for themselves. This happened on a Glamorganshire farm where the Ellyllon took pity on a poor farmer and undertook all the work that needed doing about the place whilst he was tucked up in bed. Their only stipulation was that nobody must ever watch them doing it. One night, the farmer’s wife caught sight of the ellyllon and, caught up in their antics, laughed aloud. The Ellyllon promptly vanished, never to be seen again.

Much of south Wales is bound up with mining and these underground caverns have their own Tylwyth Teg called Coblynau. Grotesque to look at, these small dwarves are generally good natured towards the miners, unless anyone speaks ill of them that is. The Coblynau often work just out of sight of the miners, tapping their own veins of mineral. The tap-tap of their hammers gives the Coblynau their English name of Knockers. There is a record from 1813 of William Evan crossing the Brecon Mountain early one morning and observing the Coblynau busy at their work. Most miners consider their presence a good omen since they indicate the presence of good veins to work and will do nothing to disturb the dwarves’ industrious work. A more ominous menace in the mines is fire-damp – methane gas – which regularly caused explosions; events the early miners put down to the presence of malevolent basilisks or dragons.

Like the useful Ellyllon, helping the poor farmer from Glamorgan, the Bwbach is a good-natured goblin who assists Welsh maids in their chores. If a maid is tidy and leaves a basin of cream next to a filled churn of buttermilk, the Bwbach will drink the cream during the night and then churn the butter, saving the grateful maid hours of work the next morning. The Bwbach is not altogether benign, however, and takes particular exception towards those who favour prayers over jugs of ale. One Bwbach from Cardiganshire drove out a preacher from the village after hounding him with supernatural pranks. The Bwbach was both a household fairy but also a terrifying phantom. In some cases, it could even spirit away the recalcitrant or even the plain unlucky.

The Ellylldan is more dangerous still and, like the English Will-o’-Wisp, this hideous creature lured unwary travellers towards treacherous bogs with its supernatural light (‘dan’ in Welsh means fire). Whereas the Ellylldan dances across the marshy swamp, the poor victim flounders behind and eventually drowns. In 1839, Iola the Bard had a lucky escape when the Ellylldan he was following left to join a dance with his fellows, leaving a terrified Iola to escape his terrible ordeal.

No escape is possible for poor babies who the Tylwyth Teg spirit away, leaving a goblin child in their place. Often, the interloper will resemble the original child at first, but its malevolence and repugnant looks develop over time. People could only rid themselves of the goblin child by putting it into a hot oven, holding it over a fire, or bathing it in the plant of the Ellyllon, the foxglove. The goblin child will then vanish and the human child will return in its place. Another sure method was to place an entire meal in an eggshell or, similarly, to brew beer in an eggshell. Apparently, the shock of such a sight is enough to cause any goblin child to flee.

Despite their respectful name – Tylwyth Teg or the Fair Folk – Welsh fairies can be indifferent, annoying, or even malevolent to any humans they meet. But people always speak of them in elevated terms as, to name them otherwise, is to incur their wrath. Even today, it is best to be cautious, especially when wandering the Welsh countryside at night. After all, you can never be entirely sure that the light in the distance is not an Ellylldan come to lead you to your doom.

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Oak Apple Day: Echoes of Our Druid Past

Friday, May 27th, 2011

Oak Apple Day or Royal Oak Day is a festival celebrated in Britain on 29th May to mark the restoration of the monarchy in 1660, after the interregnum of Oliver Cromwell’s Republic. Its roots, however, like those of the oak itself, might go far deeper.

First, however: the recent history. On a bleak 3rd September in 1851, Charles II lost his last battle against the same men who had signed his father’s death warrant. Knowing that his only hope was to flee, he escaped the skirmish and, seeking refuge with Catholic royalists (who were used to hiding their priests from the puritanical regime of Cromwell), he evaded capture. It was at Boscobel in Shropshire that Charles disguised himself first as a woodsman and, when a crossing of the River Severn into Wales failed, hid in a hollow oak for the day to avoid marauding soldiers.

When Charles regained his throne in 1660, he remembered the oak tree that saved him and declared 29th May as a public holiday in its honour. Everyone wore sprigs of oak upon their lapel or else oak apples, which are galls formed among the leaves by a parasitic wasp. These small round ‘fruit’ give the day its name.

Although the holiday only lasted until 1859, when it was abolished, some aspects of the tradition still survive in parts of the country, where they seem to have merged with customs of those other great lovers of the oak: the Druids. Perhaps some aspects of this great tree move us in similar ways.

For the Druids, whose name may mean ‘wisdom of the oak’, the oak is never more sacred than when mistletoe grew upon its branches. Drawing an analogy between the sticky substance extruded from mistletoe berries and human sperm, the Druids believed that mistletoe enhanced fertility in animals and people alike. In effect, the plant produced the sperm of the oak. We remember something of these beliefs when we kiss under garlands of mistletoe at Christmas.

Charles II was clearly no Druid and yet his Oak Apple Day began to take on saucy overtones. Anyone not wearing an oak apple or a sprig of oak leaves had their bottoms pinched in what became colloquially known as ‘Pinch Bum Day’. Harmless fun. But perhaps also a conflagration with the Druid’s mistletoe ceremony and its overtones of fertility. Even the oak apples people wore looked slightly rude.

At Castleton in Derbyshire, a man garlanded in flowers still rides through the town on Oak Apple Day, invoking a pre-Christian nature spirit as much as Royalist sensibility, despite the Stuart costume he wears under the mass of flowers. At Great Wishford in Wiltshire, people exercise their ancient right to collect branches of oak from nearby Grovely Wood. (It is surely a coincidence that Druids carried branches of oak to their rituals.) At Aston-on-Clun in Shropshire, a tree at the centre of the village is dressed in flags, which remain in place until the following year.

For the more masochistically minded, the pinch on the bum for not wearing the requisite oak decoration could be replaced by a jolly good thrashing with nettles. Grammar school boys from Wem in Shropshire used to insist their teachers sit on nettles for the day, before running out of school grounds to wreak havoc. In fact, they started a rhyme, which went “29th of May is Oak Apple Day. If you don’t give us holiday, we’ll all run away”.

Since Britain now has a bank holiday on the last Monday in May, their wish came true but its origin is now largely forgotten. It would be good if the traditions of Oak Apple Day gained wider appeal but, rather than focus on the return of the monarchy, we should honour the oak tree itself. Held sacred from Druid times and still the symbol of our land, it has provided us with food, shelter, and protection. And let’s not forget, the day is also an excellent reason to pinch someone’s bum, unless that is, they are wearing an oak apple on their lapel.

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St Dwynwen of Wales

Tuesday, January 25th, 2011

January 25th is St Dwynwen’s Day in Wales. She is the Welsh equivalent of St Valentine and people in Wales give cards and gifts to their loved ones on this day. Dwynwen’s story, although mythical, is full of tragedy and deliverance but also contains elements that hint at ancient traditions, perhaps even harking back to the Druids who once occupied our land.

Dwynwen was the youngest and most beautiful daughter of King Brychan of Brycheiniog, the county in which I live. Many suitors sought her hand and none more so than Maelon, a prince from the north.

Maelon sweet-talked Dwynwen incessantly until, at last, she fell in love with him. Maelon, achieving his aim, quickly asked King Brychan for her hand. The King was shrewd and, unlike Dwynwen, was not taken in with Maelon’s sweet words and so refused the match. Dwynwen, distraught, fled to the forest.

Maelon followed Dwynwen into the trees and, here, his true colours became apparent. He swore aloud that he would abduct Dwynwen and take her by force. Dwynwen heard Maelon’s threats and, with the prince almost upon her, knelt down and prayed for deliverance.

At once, an angel appeared by Dwynwen’s side holding a golden cup. Putting the cup to Dwynwen’s lips, the girl drank of its contents and her love for Maelon left her. Looking up, there was Maelon just a short distance away, except that now he was encased in a block of ice.

Dwynwen felt sorry for the prince and asked the angel how he might be freed. The angel offered Dwynwen three wishes and the first she used to free Maelon. With the second, she asked that the dreams of true lovers should always come true (and this is why she is the Patron Saint of Welsh lovers), and with the third she asked that she would never marry.

Dwynwen had her wishes granted and, setting sail of the coast of Wales – and letting the wind carry her where it would – she reached a tiny island off Anglesey, now known, after her, as Llanddwyn.

She built a church on the island and lived in sanctity there until she died on January 25th, around 1,500 years ago.

The well in which Dwynwen drew her water is said to have healing properties, for lung and bone diseases, but especially for those suffering from a broken heart. Some would sleep out on a rock beside the well before bathing in or drinking its waters the following day.

Nearby is another well containing fish that are said to divine the future. At one time, a woman lived near this well and, like the Sybil of Delphi, interpreted the future from the movements of the fish. This tradition has echoes of the ancient Druids, who once had their centre on Anglesey and told the future from the movements of similar animals. Perhaps the Druid traditions had become enmeshed with those of St Dwynwen over the ages.

Although St Dwynwen is little known outside Wales, she is undergoing a revival in the country of her birth. Her lifelong wish was that people were kind to each other and found happiness in love. It is a message that is as relevant today as it was when Dwynwen first landed on the rocky shore of Llanddwyn.

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The Mari Lwyd in Wales

Friday, December 31st, 2010

The Mari Lwyd or, in Welsh, Y Fari Lwyd, is a New Year custom once prevalent in the valleys of South Wales. Translated, the name means ‘the Grey (or Holy) Mary’ although this is likely a more recent rendering of ‘the Grey Mare’, as the tradition surrounding the Mari Lwyd involves the parading of a horse’s skull.

 

To create the Mari Lwyd, a skull is fixed to a wooden pole with white sheets attached to its base so that the person holding it is concealed beneath. Green bottle-bottoms provide the eyes and ribbons festoon the skull. The lower jaw is often sprung so that it can snap shut at anyone unwary enough to get too close.  

 

The Mari Lwyd is then escorted by a Sergeant and Punch and Judy figures, as well as a choir of singers, as the group goes door-to-door through the community. They challenge the occupants of houses or, more recently, public houses, to a singing contest where each tries to outdo the other in clever putdowns, all the while maintaining the strict rhythm of the verse.

 

The opening stanzas give an idea of what the singers hope to gain:

 

Wel dyma ni’n dwad

Gyfeillion diniwad

I ofyn am gennod i ganu

 

Os na chawn ni gennad

Rhowch wybod ar ganiad

Pa fodd mae’r ‘madawiad, nos heno

 

‘Does genni ddim cinio

Nac arian iw gwario

I wneud i chwi roeso, nos heno  

 

In translation

 

Here we come

Dear friends

To ask permission to sing

 

If we don’t have permission

Let us know in song

How we should go away tonight

 

I have no dinner

Or money to spend

To give you welcome tonight

 

The occupants might vainly try – in song – to deny permission for the group to sing and this battle of wits is known as pwnco. Eventually, the occupants of the house will accept defeat and throw open their doors to the party and the spectre of the Mari Lwyd. Like many such figures, the Mari Lwyd is lewd, boisterous, and trickster-like and, despite its purported gender, unwary woman need to watch out. More singing ensues as each occupant is introduced individually and, after cakes and ale, the Mari Lwyd blesses the household for the coming year.

 

The origin of the Mari Lwyd is obscure but horse cults are known throughout Welsh history and further back into the Celtic past. Rhiannon is the Welsh Horse Goddess and before her was Epona, a Celtic Goddess who was also worshiped by the Romans. Her festival, perhaps appropriately, also falls at this time of year on 18 December.

 

The Christian gloss associating the Mari Lwyd with Holy Mary is a reference to the exodus from Egypt and the coming of Christ. Like much of Christmas and New Year tradition, however, this is likely to be a more recent interpretation of far older customs.

 

The tradition of the Mari Lwyd never quite died out in the Valleys of Wales, which can be very isolated during the wintery weather of New Year, and today, new Mari Lwyd processions seem to be springing up in earnest. As the choirs sing: Wel dyma ni’n dwad.

 

Blwyddyn Newydd Dda! Happy New Year!

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Flaying the Skin of the Dead

Wednesday, August 18th, 2010

Necropants are a gruesome and unsettling method that a sorcerer used to get rich in old Iceland.

With agreement prior to death, the sorcerer exhumed the corpse of a man and flayed its skin, in one piece, from the waist down. After tanning, the sorcerer donned the skin like a pair of pants.

He then stole a coin and placed it in the natural ‘purse’ of the necropants: the cavity formed by the scrotum. This reputedly attracted more coins and hence the sorcerer became wealthy.

Before his death, the sorcerer had to pass the necropants to another. He did this by having the new owner place his right leg in one side of the pants whilst the sorcerer still has his left leg in the other. In this way, the power of the pants would pass from one individual to another.

The Museum of Witchcraft and Sorcery in Iceland has a pair of necropants on display. They resemble the preserved skin of the bog bodies and hint at beliefs that may have their roots in very ancient times.

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