Yule (Geola)

Yule (Geola)

Introduction to Yule (Geola)

This period, like the roman Saturnalia was between the months of December and January. All the Anglo-Saxon months followed the Luna cycle. This was a twelve day period of feasting. The fields were mostly left until February when ploughing would begin again. Compare with, for example, the Polish tradition of keeping your Christmas tree up until Candlemas. In England until recent times ploughing did not recommence until Plough Monday, the first Monday after Twelfth Night.

Wuldorfadur ‘glory father’ representing the Solar Logos, was mentioned by Bede in his ‘On the Computation of Time’

Little is known about the winter goddess, but I infer from parallel Germanic traditions that it may have been Hella.

Modra Niht ’Holy Mothers' Night’ (24^th Dec) was again taken from, Bede’s ‘On the computation of time. Unfortunately we don’t know what happened on this night, but by the time of Bede it had become the start of the new year.

Yule (Geola)

Growing colder, by the degree.

Betwixt two months, Geola be,

Best stay inside, we doth agree,

Feast and wassail, blessing on thee.

For three short days, the sun hangs still,

In three more days, the new year’s chill.

And so let us, await until,

Wuldorfadur’s, feat to fulfil.

Rejoice us this, most sacred time,

The sun wilt soon, start his slow clime.

For twelve days feast, thy time art thine!

Raise thine goblet, sun wilt soon shine.

Winter goddess, we doth Invoke,

And leave the meads, until Imbolc.

Gather within, yon groves of oak,

And sing galdors, in hood and cloak.

Modra Niht was, Holy Mothers' Night,

Hail the Goddess, returning light.

By means of light, shalt thee invite.

Night of mothers', still secret rite,

Wheel of the year, she starts to turn,

Of summers warmth, we doth yet yearn.

The sun climes high, and starts to burn,

Wuldorfadur, thee shalt return!

Copyright Andrew Rea November 2012

First Day of Yule

First Day of Yule (remember Yule is all about having fun at the darkest time of the year)

Winter Solstice, the First Day of Yule,

Twelve days, ending in festive misrule.

Deck the home, with ivy and mistletoe,

Erect the Yule tree, with candles aglow.

A remnant of, the previous years log,

Light, the Yule bower as the prologue.

Thunder god Thunor’s holy, tree is oak,

Blessings be on, his name by all folk.

Oak is the best, will last and burn true,

If you haven’t a log, a candle will do.

Saturnalia as, the Romans would say,

Slaves and masters, tomfoolery day.

Copyright Andrew Rea 2007

Captured doing some street poetry

Wōdnesdæg (Wednesday)

 Wōdnesdæg (Wednesday)

Introduction to "Wōdnesdæg"

This poem is based on the everyday worship of Wodan by a peasant in a sacred forest clearing by an old oak tree.

While a full blot would have been attended by the whole village and led by a priest of Wodan with an animal sacrifice, here however, we see everyday worship of Wodan by a peasant asking for a favour.

The ownership of even a single cow or ox was confined to only about half the population and other livestock was too important to sacrifice except on important festivals e.g. during Blotmonath (November). So I conjecture that on this Wednesday only bread is sacrificed and mead is used for the pledge.

While some temples did exist to Wodan with enclosed spaces and statues, it was also common to Worship him in sacred groves, glades, hilltops, rivers, pools and other natural features. A priest of Wodan was not permitted to carry a sword or blade.

Liminal moments such as full moon, twilight or rising of moon were endowed with magic. Sacred oaks were used to bare witness to oaths. Wodan's two wolves and ravens manifest in name. The reference to 'Squirrel climes the tree' is a candid reference to the legend of the tree of Yggdrasil.

Glossary:

Galdor-cræft - conjuring spirits by chanting, singing or spell crafting

Middangeard - the realm of man

Wæs hæl - OE for wassail (your health)

Drychten - lord

Æsir - the principal gods

Asgard – the realm of the gods

Translation of the OE stanza:

Wodan make sacred!

Our Wodan   that is in heaven,

Your name is holy.

What we need    give us today,

Be done your will!

And yes I borrowed most of it from the Lord’s Prayer because it seemed to fit!

Wōdnesdæg (Wednesday)

Knee length brown tunic, in warp and weft weaves,

Embroidered red hems, to neck and long sleeves.

Patterned belt buckle, and pointed strap-end,

Pouches and short knife, ready to attend.

No temple doth stand, within sacred glade,

No priest of Wodan, without sword and blade.

Deep in dark forest, rising of full moon,

Holy hearth clearing, rite of ritual rune.

Blot without a beast, in woodland twilight,

Loaf of best baked bread, awaiting moon light.

Half horn of mild mead, torn old ochre cloak,

An oath to exchange, at thousand year oak.

Liminal moment, charged with special power,

Offering laid down, at base of the bower.

Consecrated grove, spirit witness tree,

Healer of nine herbs, I doth invoke thee.

Galdor-craeft:

Wodan weoh!

Wodan ure þu    þe eart on heofonum,

Si þin nama gehalgod.

Hwæt we nied     syle us todæg,

Gewurþe ðin willa!

Listening for Freki, in torn cloak with hood,

Middangeard doth fade, in winter's wild wood.

Leader of 'Wild Hunt’, Wodan magic lord,

Thine will be'est done, unto thine accord.

Howling wolves hard by, about on the tor,

Cracking of branches, beneath Geri's paw.

Ravens rustle trees, cold cry of Hugin,

Forest falls silent, awaiting Munin.

Raising horn wæs hæl, “Drychten I beseech",

Making Wodan pledge, as the witches teach.

Aesir in Asgard, I give thee my word,

Squirrel climes the tree, my favour is heard!

Copyright Andrew Rea October 2012

December (Ærra Geola)

December

Introduction to 'December' (Ærra Geola) 

This poem describes some of the preparations for Yule (Geola) during Saxon times. Much of the material comes from 'The Good Reeve', a kind of farming handbook of late Saxon era.

December (Ærra Geola) 

The Anglo-Saxon, month before Yule,

Twilight darkness, long night to rule.

The sacred time, darkest of year

Shadows shiver, have thee no fear.

In muddy mire, up with thine hood,

Fallen timber, working wild wood.

Form ash faggots, for Yuletide fire,

Half height pit hut, heave them higher.

Long winter nights, still working hard,

Corn drying kilns, warm in the yard.

Bitter coldness, becometh cruel,

Time to gather, winter's last fuel.

Yule corn to thresh, and husk winnow,

Protect thine foul, from wolves and snow.

Keep animals safe, be on thine guard,

Long winter nights, time for the bard.

Twelve days of Yule, she draweth near,

In old pit hut, we brew best beer.

Yuletide feasting, to celebrate,

Even the sun, he gets up late.

Copyright Andrew Rea November 2012

Here be witches

 ‘Here be witches’ Introduction

This poem recalls some Anglo-Saxon place names that refer to witches.

Several old English words were often used to refer to a witch (hexe, hexen, haegtesse, hag and calliach). these names morphed over time.  Walkern has been included as the name is said to have been chosen by the devil and the last person (Jane Wenham) to be condemned for witchcraft was ducked in the village pond in 1710.

Here be Witches

Hekse and hexen, hægtesse and witch,

Since Saxon times did, our landscape enrich.

Cailleach  kerling, and hag art the same,

Concealed and hidden, within a place name.

Valley of witch's, Hascombe in Surrey,

The hag she sleeps sound, no need to worry.

An ancient hill fort, with old sacred spring,

Still cleanses the land, no spell need she sing.

Carlinghow Yorkshire, the old woman's hill,

Much holly and oak, grows on the tor still.

Sacred oak grove, noble hag resting place,

Field names refer to, the sun and oaks grace.

Two old woman's hills, there be in Yorkshire,

This one worked iron, did hag interfere?

Coal pit long since closed, did kerling obstruct,

Flooded with water, now village is ducked.

Valley of witches, Hescombe Somerset,

Both hamlets were lost, when Black Death they met.

Now only fields on, the ground to be seen,

Removed without trace, did hex intervene.

Chosen by devil, was village Walkern,

Walk on one and all, and do not return.

The last witch was ducked, in dark village pond,

Saxon church still stands, till Jane points her wand.

Hessenford Cornwall, perhaps witch's ford?

This village still stands, ye witches ignored.

Beware of those that, thee can’t tell apart,

For they art adept, at Cornish dark art.

Copyright January 2012 Andrew Rea

With Faerstice

With Faerstice

Introduction

This poem is my adaptation of the translation of Lacnunga CXXXIV-CXXXV, which forms part of a medical text from circa 1050. The name means against a sudden stich and could apply to anything from a stich to acute appendicitis. The words would have been use in conjunction with a herbal preparation and the use of ritual. The use of magic is apparent.

The reference to ‘a little spear’ refers to elf shot which was fired by dark elves (these were the latter day demonised version of the early Saxon light elves). The shot was forged by the Smithas.

‘The mighty women’ refers to Haegtesse (hag) which were groups of terrifying supernatural females that rode over the land causing harm, the origin of the word hag, also meaning witch.

Notice that the penultimate verse contains a lot of repartition, this was common in Anglo-Saxon galdors (spells or charms).

The last verse sets out that wherever the shot came from (man, elf or hag) that this is the cure.

With Faerstice (against a sudden stitch)

Based on: - Lacnunga CXXXIV-CXXXV

Loud were they, when they rode over the mound,

They were fierce, when they rode over the ground.

Shield thyself now, that thee this evil win.

Out now, little spear, if thee be herein!

Stood under linden, under a light shield,

Where the mighty women, their power sealed,

And their screaming spears, now to be sent.

I back to them, again another went,

A flying dart, be returned to thine kin,

Out thee little spear, if thee be herein!

Sat elfin smithy, forged he a knife long,

Little iron elf shot, in the wound strong.

Out little spear, if thou be’est herein!

Six smithies sat working, war-spears they spin.

Out thou retched spear, thou be not in spear!

If a small bit of iron, be in here.

Haegtesse thy effort, it shalt now rot,

If were in skin shot, or were in flesh shot,

Or were in blood shot, or were in bone shot,

Or were in limb shot, may thee beat her plot.

If it were sir’ shot, or it elves' shot be,

Or it were hag's shot, now I willst help thee.

This cure for ’sir shot, this cure for elves' shot,

This thine cure for hag's shot; I willst help thee.

No rest for it, into the hills It flea,

Whole be’est thee now, Divine Lord help thee!

Copyright Andrew Rea 2010