Al-hal-day (All Hallow's Day)

Today, 1st November, is traditionally All Hallow's Day, now more commonly known as All Saints' Day. Like many landmarks of the medieval year, it is mentioned in the Sir Gawain and the Green Knight poem (so many feastdays are mentioned in the poem that it functions almost as a calendar or guide to the medieval year).

Earlier I posted about Michaelmas Day, which heralds the onset of winter and reminds Gawain that he must leave the safety of Arthur's court and set out on his quest for the Green Knight (see my post here). However, Gawain procrastinates (well, who wouldn't, in his situation!) and does not leave Camelot until early November. On All Saints' Day Arthur provides in Gawain's honour a large and hearty feast, and, after much prolonged leave-taking, the knight leaves the next morning:

Yet quyl Al-hal-day with Arther he lenges,

And he made a fare on that fest, for the frekes sake,

With much revel and ryche of the Rounde Table.

Knyghts ful cortays and comlich ladies,

Al for luf of that lede in longynge thay were;

Bot never-the-lece ne the later thay nevened bot merthe,

Mony joyles for that jentyle japes ther maden.

For aftter mete with mournyng he meles to his eme,

And spekes of his passage, and pertly he sayde:

'Now, lege lorde of my lyf, leve I you ask.

Ye knowe the cost of this cace, kepe I ni more

To telle yow tenes therof, never bot trifel;

Bot I am boun to the bur barely to-morne,

To sech the gome of the grene, as God wyl me wisse.

Thenne the best of the burgh bowed togeder,

Aywan and Errik and other ful mony,

Sir Doddinaval de Savage, the duk of Clarence,

Launcelot and Lyonel and Lucan the gode,

Sir Boos and Sir Bydver, big men bothe,

And mony other menskful, with Mador de la Port.

Alle this compayny of court com the kyng nerre,

For to counseyl the knyght, with care at her hert.

There was much derne doel driven in the sale,

That so worthé as Wawan schulde wende on that ernde,

To dryye a delful dynt, and dele no more

              wyth bronde.

The knyght mad ay god chere,

And sayde: 'Quat schuld I wonde?'

 Of destinés derf and dere

What may mon do bot fonde?'

And to finish off - I know Halloween this year has been and gone, but this post (from the UK, a day behind NZ) landed in my email inbox this morning and I couldn't resist sharing it. It's an old post from the Medieval Manuscripts Blog, "Dress Up for Halloween, Medieval Style," a darkly humorous list of costume ideas based on the weird and wonderful creatures found in the margins of medieval manuscripts. And it does have some relevance to my post today, as it features woodwoses - the mythical tree-men also mentioned in SGGK.

Manuscript of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, from the British Library via

All Hallow's Eve and the Lyke-Wake Dirge

(empty) Roman sarcophagi in the Multiangular Tower, York

To mark Halloween - or, in its older form, All Hallow's Eve - I found for your delight this cheery little medieval poem. Written in the dialect of north Yorkshire, it is a funeral dirge, thought to have been sung or chanted while keeping watch (wake) at the side of a corpse (lyke; this old word for corpse survives today in lychgate, the covered gateway into church grounds, where the bier would await the arrival of the priest conducting the funeral). The poem displays the typical medieval preoccupation both with Purgartory and with the Corporal Works of Mercy - well, three of them at least: to clothe the naked ("If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon"), to feed the hungry, and to give drink to the thirsty ("If ever thou gav'st meat or drink"). This leads into the pious hope that a life well lived will result in "Christ receiv[ing] thy saule."

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away art past,
Every nighte and alle,
To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Every nighte and alle,
Sit thee down and put them on;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane
Every nighte and alle,
The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinny-muir whence thou may'st pass,
Every nighte and alle,
To Brig o' Dread whence thou may'st pass,
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o' Dread whence thou may'st pass,
Every nighte and alle,
To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule. 

If ever thou gav'st meat or drink,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire sall never make thee shrink;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleet and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

I do think middle English literature is much more fun read in the original, so I am not going to translate the poem. In any case, the language of this version isn't hard, especially when you simply drop the final e from many words. A few tricky words I have glossed below:

fleet ~ some say this should be sleet, as in frozen rain. Others say it should be slate, as in the roofing material. However, fleet appears to be an old word for home, or house. I prefer this, as it alliterates with fire. 

saule ~ soul

hosen ~ clothes

shoon ~ shoes

whinnnes, Whinny-muir ~ whin = thorn and muir = moor

bane ~ bone

Brig ~ not a sailing ship; a bridge

The song has been set to music by Benjamin Britten. The band Pentangle (medieval buffs will know that the name comes from the five-pointed star emblazoned on Gawain's shield in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight) also released their own version, which you can listen to here:

Michaelmas

Today, 29th September, is the feast of St Michael, or, as it was known in the Middle Ages, Michaelmas (the name is a shortening of St Michael's Mass). This day was an important one in the medieval calendar, as it was one of the four quarter days - the others being Lady Day (the feast of the Annunciation, 25th March in the modern calendar), Midsummer Day (24th June) and Christmas - on which accounts, rent and wages had to paid. Servants' terms of employment were also counted from one quarter day to the next, and on big manors or estates, Michaelmas was usually the day on which the reeve (who might be very loosely described as the chief peasant) was appointed.

The four quarter days roughly correspond with the four seasons, and in England Michaelmas was (and is) regarded as the start of autumn. The michaelmas daisy, which flowers in late September, takes its name from St Michael's feast day: 

Michaelmas Daisy. Image in public domain, via

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight specifically mentions Michaelmas. Its approach heralds the onset winter, reminding Gawain that he must leave the safety of the court at Camelot and set out on his search for the mysterious Green Knight, whom he must find by the new year:

Bot then hyyes hervest, and hardenes hym sone,

Warnes hym for the wynter to wax ful rype;

He dryves with droghyt the dust for to ryse,

Fro the face of the folde to flyye ful hyghe;

Wrothe wynde of the welkyn wrastles with the sunne,

The leves laucen fro the lynde and lyghten on the grounde,

And al grayes the grese that grene was ere;

Then al rypes and rotes that ros upon fyrst.

And thus yirnes the yere in yisterdayes mony,

And wynter wyndes ayayn, as the worlde askes,

           no fage,

Til Meghelmas mone

Was cumen with wynter wage.

Then thenkkles Gawain ful sone

Of his anious vyage.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight l.521-35, in ed. A.C.. Cawley Pearl, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (London: Everyman, 1970)

Medieval (14th century) depiction of St Micheal defeating the dragon (Satan), via. Note that St Michael's shield actually bears the cross of St George!

New Zealand seasons being topsy-turvy to the English ones, we are currently enjoying a very passable imitation of spring as described by the Gawain poet, which you can read here.

Thomas à Becket returns home to Canterbury

Well, a piece of him. A piece of bone believed to be from the saint's elbow has been visiting England this past week, on loan from Hungary where it usually resides. After being displayed in several London churches (including both Westminster Abbey and Westminster Cathedral) the relic was taken from London to Canterbury, the site of Becket's murder and medieval shrine. The shrine sprang up almost immediately after his death amid numerous reports of miracles and a medieval populace condemning Henry II and calling for Thomas' canonisation. This in fact happened very speedily, in 1173, only three years after his death. The shrine flourished wildly throughout the Middle Ages but was destroyed at the Reformation.

Henry II (left) and Thomas à Becket (right). From a medieval manuscript, via

The London-Canterbury pilgrimage route, and the incredibly popular medieval cult of St Thomas, was imortalised by Chaucer in the Canterbury Tales. Over six hundred years later, history seems to be repeating itself, and St Thomas' cult to be undergoing a temporary revival, if the number of news articles covering the story is anything to go by:

BBC 

Telegraph (also here)

The Guardian 

ITV News 

Church Times 

The Daily Mail 

New York Times

The Tablet 

Kent Online

Lancashire Telegraph 

I wonder what the original medieval pilgrims would have made of it all!

And specially, from every shires ende

Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,

The holy blisful martir for to seke,

That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.

- Canterbury Tales, General Prologue

Pentecost Sunday

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Veni, Sancte Spiritus,
Et emitte caelitus
Lucis tuae radium.

Veni, pater pauperum,
Veni, dator munereum,
Veni, lumen cordium.

Consolator optime,
Dulcis hospes animae,
Dulce refrigerium.

In labore requies,
In aestu temperies,
In fletu solatium.

O lux beatissima,
Reple cordis intima
Tuorum fidelium.
 

Pentecost Sunday, the feast of the Holy Ghost, is also known in England as Whitsunday, a term dating from the Norman Conquest. The word comes from late Old English; whit means white (hwitte in Old English; Hwita Sunnandæg = White Sunday or Whitsunday). What the white refers to is a matter of some debate; the most common explanation is that it refers to the white baptismal robes of those who were baptised during the feast's vigil. Another explanation links the Christian feast with a much older pagan one - the Mayday festivities, when young girls would wear white to mark the coming of summer.

The Mayday dance in the 2008 BBC Tess of the D'Urbervilles, via

During the Middle Ages whit seems to have been (erroneously) confused with wit or wisdom, one of the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost. Thus:

þis day ys called Whitsonday, for bycause þat þe Holy Gost as þys day broʒt wyt and wysdome ynto all Cristes dyscyples

[this day is called Whitsunday, because the Holy Ghost on this day brought wit and wisdom to all Christ's disciples]

- from the Augustinian Canon John Mirk (c.1382-1414).

According to some versions of the King Arthur legend, Arthur married Guinevere on the feast of Pentecost, and in Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur it is on the feast of Pentecost that the Knights of the Round Table swear their oath of honour, chivalry and loyalty:

the kynge... charged them never to do outerage nothir morthir, and allwayes to fle treason, and to gyff mercy unto hym that askith mercy... and allwayes to do ladyes, damesels, and jantilwomen [socour] strenthe hem in hir ryghtes, and never to enforce them, upon payne of dethe. Also, that no man take no batayles in a wrongefull quarell for no love ne for no worldis goodis. So unto thys were all knyghtis sworne of the Table Rounde, both olde and yonge, and every yere so were the[y] sworne at the hygh feste of Pentecoste.

[the king... charged them never to do outrage nor murder, and always to flee treason, and to give mercy to those who asked for mercy... and also to give succour to ladies, damsels and gentlewomen, to defend their rights, and never to use force against them, upon pain of death. Also, that no man take go into battle for a wrongful cause, not for love nor for worldly goods. So to this were sworn all the knights of the Round Table, both old and young, and every year so were they sworn at the high feast of Pentecost.]

It is interesting that Malory uses the word Pentecost, not Whitsun, which was the more common term in England at the time. The use of Pentecost is presumably because the King Arthur stories were originally written in French. The French term for the feast is Pentecôte, so Mallory has translated it literally into English.

The Knights of the Round Table swear their oath at Pentecost, via

Quote from Thomas Malory taken from Eugene Vinaver, ed., The Works of Sir Thomas Malory (London: Oxford University Press, 1968), 91.
Quote from John Mirk taken from Theodore Erbe, ed., Mirk's Festival: A Collection of Homilies (London: Kegan Paul et al., for the Early English Text Society, 1905), 159.
Veni Sancte Spiritus from the Sequence for the Mass of Pentecost.

Easter in the Middle Ages

  ✝

Syllic wæs se sigebeam ~ Wondrous was that tree of victory.

[From The Dream of the Rood]

Recently I came across these two articles and thought them worth sharing:

"This doubtful day of feast or fast" - Good Friday this year falls on March 25th, the feast of the Annunciation (Lady Day, as it was called in the Middle Ages). This article (from the blog A Clerk of Oxford by Eleanor Parker) explores the medieval link between the two events.

Holy Week: The Triduum before the English Reformation - well, this article (from the blog Supremacy and Survival: The English Reformation by Stephanie A. Mann) does what it says in the title - explores the medieval Triduum (the three days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter morning).
It also notes that Margaret Clitherow was martyred 470 years ago today, Friday 25th March 1586. In that year as in this, Good Friday fell on the 25th March.

þūhte mē þæt ic gesāwe syllicre trēow

on lyft lædan lēohte bewunden,

bēama beorhtost.

From the Anglo-Saxon poem The Dream of the Rood, which describes the Crucifixion. Translated, the lines read:

It seemed to me that I saw a very wondrous tree,

Suspended in the air, surrounded by light,

The brightest of trees. 

You can read the whole poem, in both Old English and in a modern English translation, at this very useful website.

Happy New Year!

"But my dear sir, you are interrupting our New Year's dinner!" Sir Gawain tries to chivvy away the Green Knight. via

Continuing on from Christmas at Camelot according to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, here is the poem's description of New Year. It is on New Year's Day that the Green Knight appears with his axe, his holly bough, and his peculiar challenge. According to custom, Arthur refuses to eat the festive meal until some new quest, or adventure, appears. With the entrance of the Green Knight, he, and Sir Gawain, get rather more than they bargained for!

Wyle Nw Yer was so yep that hit was nwe cummen,
That day doubble on the dece was the douth served,
Fro the kyng was cummen with knyghtes into the halle,
The chauntré of the chapel cheved to an ende.
Loude crye was ther kest of clerkes and other,
Nowel nayted onewe, nevened ful ofte;
And sythen riche forth runnen to reche hondeselle,
Yeyed yeres yiftes on high, yelde him bi hond,
Debated busyly aboute tho giftes.
Ladies laghed ful loude, thogh thay lost hadden,
And he that wan was not wrothe, that may ye wel trawe.
Alle this mirthe thay maden to the mete tyme.
When thay had waschen worthyly thay wenten to sete,
The best burne ay abof, as hit best semed;
When Guenore, ful gay, graythed in the myddes,
Dressed on the dere des, dubbed al aboute - 
Smal sendal bisides, a selure hir over
Of tryed Tolouse, of Tars tapites innoghe,
That were enbrawded and beten with the best gemmes
That myght be preved of prys with penyes to bye
                   in daye.
       The comlokest to discrye
       Ther glent with yyen gray;
       A semloker that ever he syye,
       Soth moght no mon say. 
Pearl, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, edited by A.C. Cawley (London: Everyman, 1970), l.60-84.

Translation according to moi, with some help from my trusty Everyman edition:


While New Year was so young that was newly come,
That day double portions of food were served on the dias,
After the King came with his knights into the halle,
Once the singing of Mass in the chapel had come to an end.
Loud cried then the clerics and others,
'Noel' celebrated anew, named full oft;
And then noble knights ran forward to give presents,
Announced their gifts, offered them by hand,
And debated busily about their presents.
Ladies laughed full loudly, even if they lost,
And he who won was not angry, you may be sure.
All this mirth they made until the meal time.
When they had washed they went to their seats,
The best mam in a higher seat, as it seemed;
Queen Guinevere, full gay, seated in the midst,
Seated on the highest dais, bedecked all around -
Fine silk curtains beside her, a canopy over her
Of costly Toulouse silk, and many hangings from Turkestan,
That were embroidered and set with the best gems,
That money could buy
                    in any day.
     The fairest to behold
     She glanced with eyes grey;
     One more fair that ever he saw
     Truly could no man say.
  

The Green Knight interrupts New Year festivities at Camelot. via

Thomas à Becket

              ... from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. 
      - Canterbury Tales, General Prologue

Canterbury, Canterbury, Thomas à Becket, everybody loves a martyr!
      - Sheriff Vaisey, BBC Robin Hood, 2006.

Today is, as every inhabitant of the Middle Ages would have known, the feast day of Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, killed in Canterbury Cathedral on 29th December 1170 by four knights of Henry II. The king and the Archbishop had been at odds as to whether the king had jurisdiction over the church. According to legend, when the Archbishop refused to sign the Constitutions of Clarendon, which would have restricted ecclesiastical powers, Henry cried "Who will rid me of this troublesome priest?" - an invitation which the four knights took literally.

Henry II and Thomas à Becket, via

This is an eyewitness account of the Archbishop's murder, by one Edward Grim, displaying the usual medieval flair for the dramatic:

...The wicked knight leapt suddenly upon [the Archbishop], cutting off the top of the crown which the unction of sacred chrism had dedicated to God. Next he received a second blow on the head, but still he stood firm and immovable. At the third blow he fell on his knees and elbows, offering himself a living sacrifice, and saying in a low voice, 'For the name of Jesus and the protection of the Church, I am ready to embrace death.' But the third knight inflicted a terrible wound as he lay prostrate. By this stroke, the crown of his head was separated from the head in such a way that the blood white with the brain, and the brain no less red from the blood, dyed the floor of the cathedral. The same clerk who had entered with the knights placed his foot on the neck of the holy priest and precious martyr, and, horrible to relate, scattered the brains and blood about the pavements, crying to the others, 'Let us away, knights; this fellow will arise no more...

Thomas was immediately hailed as a martyr and the King was not popular (he later performed public penance - whether out of genuine remorse or political astuteness is debatable...) The Archbishop's tomb quickly became a drawcard for pilgrims (the medieval equivalent of tourists!) - famously, the pilgrims in the Canterbury Tales are all on their way to the shrine of St Thomas.

The site of Becket's murder in Canterbury Cathedral, via

Thanks almost solely to Thomas à Becket, medieval Canterbury became the pilgrimage capital of England. This seems rather to have annoyed its northern counterpart, York; for most of the Middle Ages there was a rather undignified struggle between the two sees, each seeking supremacy and one-upmanship over the other. Rivalry between the north and south of England appears to go a long way back!

If Canterbury's pet saint was Archbishop Thomas, York's was Archbishop William, who died in 1154 (reportedly from poisoned wine in his chalice). Following his burial in York Minster, rumours of miracles abounded, including the miraculous preservation of his body in one of the Minster's many fires (a miracle which was later mirrored almost exactly at Canterbury with St Thomas' body). William's cult, however, only really took off from the 1170s onward - at exactly the time of Thomas à Becket's murder and the outpouring of veneration which followed.

It is probable, however, that the sudden renewed interest in St William at York was not coincidence at all, and that York began to play up its association with William in response to events at Canterbury. The latter, finding itself suddenly the centre of pilgrimages from all over the country, no doubt thought itself immensely important. York must have resented Canterbury and Canterbury's saint being the centre of attention; the sudden blossoming of the cult of St William was surely at least partly an attempt to redress the balance. If this was indeed so it was only partially successful; York did become a popular tourist, sorry, pilgrimage destination, but never to the same degree as Canterbury.

Feast of the Holy Innocents: Coventry Carol

Many people know the Coventry Carol, but most do not realise that it comes from one of the Middle English mystery play cycles - not the York cycle, but a now-lost Coventry cycle (not to be confused with the Ludus Coventriae cycle, which is now thought to come from East Anglia). It appears in the play known as the Shearmen and Tailors' pageant - one of the only two plays from the cycle to survive (the other is the Weavers').

The Shearmen and Tailors' play tells the story of the nativity, but this song is not a joyful carol welcoming the birth of Christ; instead it is a lament for the innocent children killed by Herod.

When sung today the words are modernised, but the Middle English words to the carol are:

Lulla, lulla, thow littell tine child,
By, by, lully, lullay, thow littell tyne child,

via

By, by, lully, lullay!

O sisters too, how may we do
For to preserve this day
This pore yongling for whom we do singe  
By, by, lully, lullay?

 Herod, the king, in his raging,
Chargid he hath this day
His men of might in his owne sight
All yonge children to slay, - 

That wo is me, pore child, for thee,
And ever morne and may
For thi parting nether say nor singe,
By, by, lully, lullay.


The part of Herod seems to have been played as a raving, maniacal bully; there is a stage direction in the York Slaughter of the Innocents play to the effect of now shall Herod descend [from the pageant wagon] and rage in the streets. When Shakespeare was writing Hamlet, by which time the mystery cycles had long been banned for being too Catholic, the part of Herod was still a by-word for blustering, over-theatrical behaviour: "O, it offends me to the soul," laments the Melancholy Dane, "to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumbshows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it."

Coventry is not very far from Stratford-Upon-Avon so several scholars have suggested that Shakespeare may have seen the mystery plays when a boy.

Rubens' Massacre of the Innocents, via

The origins of the Christmas tree: a mystery?

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Most people regard the Christmas tree as a German tradition, brought to the English-speaking world in the 1840s by Prince Albert, the German prince who married Queen Victoria. The German custom seems to date from the Middle Ages, but what are its origins and the reasoning behind it?

As usual when dealing with the Middle Ages, there are lots of suggestions and no definite answer. But one theory is that the Christmas tree comes from the German mystery plays - not, as one might reasonably expect, from the Nativity plays, but from those dramatising the Fall of Adam and Eve.

These plays seem to have been staged on Christmas Eve and their props would have included a tree of some kind, representing the Tree of Knowledge and hung with apples symbolising the forbidden fruit. Over time, scholars suggest, the trees moved inside homes, where they remain today - and the traditional round baubles are what remain of the original 'fruits.' (In Germany and Austria some still do decorate their trees with dried fruit.)

A nice little story, but unfortunately one hard to prove. (There is an alternative tradition that the Christmas tree is neither Germanic nor Christian, but an adaption of a very old pagan custom Christianised by St Boniface.) Still, it deserves to be made known, if only because very few realise they may have the mystery plays to thank for their Christmas trees. Told you the mystery plays were still relevant :D

NB I must confess that despite being thoroughly acquainted with the English mystery plays and reasonably aware of the German and French ones I had never heard this story until last Sunday's sermon... which shows, firstly, that one can never know everything; secondly, that a good grounding in medieval literature comes in handy when writing sermons.

And thirdly, it proves that I was listening to the sermon ;)

Finnish Independence Day

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 6th December is Nikolaustag for the Germans, Austrians and Swiss but for the Finnish it is their Independence Day - itsenäisyyspäivä according to Wikipedia; unfortunately it does not provide a guide to the pronunciation!

The day marks Finland's 1917 Declaration of Independence from Russia and is a public holiday.

Finland shares 1,340km of its borders with Russia; in 1917 the population of Finland was around 3 million compared to well over a hundred million in Russia. So winning independence from its much larger, more powerful neighbour was no small feat for Finland.

Traditionally on this day the Finnish put lighted candles in their windows, to guide the Finnish soldiers home from the Russian frontier.

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Nikolaustag

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6th December is St Nicholas' Day, or Nikolaustag in Germany, Austria and Switzerland. In these countries Nikolaustag is an anticipation of Christmas. Customs vary between countries and even between regions. In parts of Germany children leave their shoes outside their doors on the evening of the 5th; by the next morning St Nikolaus will have filled them with fruit and sweets (let us hope the shoes are not over-old...).

In other areas, St Nikolaus comes to find out whether children have been good enough for him to dole out presents. On these visits he is accompanied by the Krampus (this is the Austrian name: in Germany he is Knecht Ruprecht and in Switzerland Schmutzli). The Krampus is as scary as St Nikolaus is benign; he is an ugly, troll-like figure, trailing clanking chains and carrying a switch and a big sack. If children have been good, St Nikolaus will reward them with fruits and sweet treats, but naughty children get a spanking by the Krampus. Really naughty children get put in the sack and carted off to the Black Forest!

Draussen weht es bitterkalt,

Wer kommt da durch den Winterwald?

Stipp stapp, stipp stapp und huckepack

- Knecht Ruprecht ist's mit seinem Sack.

Was ist denn in dem Sack drin?

Äpfel, Mandeln und Rosin' und schöne Zuckerrosen,

auch Pfeffernüss fürs gute Kind;

die andern, die nicht artig sind,

die klopft er auf die Hosen!

Outside it is blowing bitter cold,

Who comes there through the winter forest?

Stipp stapp, stipp stapp and piggy-back

- It is the Krampus with his sack.

What then is inside the sack?

Apples, almonds, raisins and beautiful sugar roses

and Pfeffernüsse for the good child;

the others who are not good

get spanked on the seat of the trousers!

St Nikolaus is based on a historical (according to some) or legendary (according to others) figure, Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, who is thought to have lived in the second half of the third century AD in modern-day Turkey (did he know St Barbara, I wonder?). He is the patron of children, sailors, students, teachers and merchants, but is best known for being very generous, giving readily to those in need. Somehow this became the basis of the Christmas present-giving tradition.

Barbaratag

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4th December is the feast day of St Barbara, known in German as Barbaratag. Barbara is thought to have lived in what is now Turkey. She died around 306, martyred by her own father after converting to Catholicism. 

Her father, Dioscorus, apparently kept her locked up in a tower when he was away from home so that his daughter's virtue would remain unsullied. You can see the tower, and just make out its three windows, in the picture above; legend has it that it originally had only two windows and that Barbara added the extra one after her conversion, as a symbol of the Trinity.

Dioscorus, coming home to find the extra window and his daughter a Christian, was not happy. He had her tortured and eventually executed. After burning her failed (the torches were apparently miraculously extinguished as soon as they came near her), Dioscorus himself beheaded her. However, his triumph was cut short; on his way home he was struck dead by lightening!

St Barbara is one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers, and (presumably due to the method of her father's premature but hardly untimely end) is also invoked against thunderstorms. Because of her association with fire, she is also the patron of firemen and those who handle explosives, including miners and artillerymen. Her name comes from the Greek, meaning 'foreign' or 'stranger.'


Der Barbarazweig

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An old German tradition attached to Barbaratag is the Barbarazweig (Barbara branch). According to legend, while locked in her cell waiting execution, Barbara watered a stick of cherry with her drinking water (what the branch was doing there is not recorded!) The branch blossomed, comforting her with its beautiful flowers.

The German tradition sees cherry branches, or other fruit trees such as apple, peach or pear, brought into the house on St Barbara's Day. The idea is that the branch blossoms in time for Christmas, thus recalling the "Flos Carmeli... Radix Jesse, germinans flosculum" [Flower of Carmel, stem of Jesse, who bore one bright flower] - i.e. Mary and her Son.

Bonfire Night

The Gunpowder Plotters, via

Remember, remember, the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason, and plot.
I see no reason 
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

These are the first lines of an old English folk ballad commemorating the 1605 Gunpowder Plot, when English Catholics famously tried to blow up the Protestant King James I and the Houses of Parliament. Also famously (or infamously), Guy Fawkes was caught lighting the fuse to the gunpowder, which was the end of the plot and also (eventually, after chase, capture and torture) of Guy (or Guido, as he was also known) and the other Gunpowder Conspirators.  

The Protestants were (and continued to be) highly gleeful about the failure of the plot and the conspirators' ignominious ends. The rest of the above rhyme, which dates from the latter half of the nineteenth century, runs

Guy Fawkes and his companions
Did the scheme contrive,
To blow the King and Parliament
All up alive.
Threescore barrels, laid below,
To prove old England's overthrow.
But, by God's providence, him they catch,
With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
A stick and a stage
For King James's sake!
If you won't give me one,
I'll take two,
The better for me,
And the worse for you.
A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,
A pint of beer to wash it down,
And a jolly good fire to burn him.
Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
Holloa boys! holloa, boys! God save the King!
Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray! 

via http://www.potw.org/archive/potw405.html


Today most people only remember the first few lines, just as they remember Bonfire Night only for the fireworks, forgetting the bitter political and religious struggles which spawned it.

The last third of Jessie Child's book God's Traitors: Terror & Faith in Elizabethan England deals with the Gunpowder Plot, a thorough and scrupulous account of the conspiracy from a Catholic perspective. Like the rest of the book, it is fair, just and unsentimental. Well worth a read!

Here is poor old Guy Fawkes laying the gunpowder:

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being tortured on the rack:

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and finally being hung, drawn and quartered:

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Guy Fawkes was from York; he was baptised here in April 1570, in St Michael le Belfrey, which is in High Petergate, right next door to the Minster. Alas, I neglected take a picture of the whole church while I was in York, but here is a very nice one of its doors:

Was the baby Guy carried through these doors on his way to baptism?

Across the street is a row of houses, one of which claims to be his birthplace:

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But there are at least two other buildings in York claiming the same thing!