Là Fhèill Brìghde

For the past few years or so I've waited to celebrate Là Fhèill Brìghde when I've spotted the first dandelion of the year. Given the weather we've been having, I figured I'd be waiting quite a while for that, so I decided to just go for it. In spite of the snow that was on the ground yesterday, spring is definitely in the air. It's trying. The trees are starting to bud leaves and there are even some in blossom, the birds are chirping away, and every now and then there's that spring warmth in the air - the sun's feeling stronger now.

So with Mr Seren away yesterday, I decided it would be a good day to celebrate. I had lots of things planned with the kids to keep us all occupied, so it was good timing in that sense. After nursery we had to go into town to get food (and of course I bought far more than I could comfortably carry), then it was back home and time to finish our seasonal mural. I'd been lacking inspiration for something to do so in desperation we'd already made some flowers like we did last year, but I wanted something a bit different, and something that the kids could do without much help from me. So we got lots of patterned paper and ripped it up and glued it on, Rosie put some stickers on and helped position the flowers and the feathers (Tom got bored and wandered off for a bit after the properly messy part was done). I was attempting to go for a dreamlike sort of theme - it seems apt seeing as spring getting into full swing seems to be a long way off. Tom asked why we were making another picture, so we talked about the changing of the seasons and so on, and I told them why it's a special day for me. They listened intently, getting excited by the prospect of the trees coming into leaf, and then, as kids do, they decided there was a disappointing lack of glitter on their picture, so we remedied that with some sunny gold:

Of course, as we were making the picture and I was explaining about the season and so on, I thought about what we could've done - I had feathers, so we could've done a bird's nest with eggs in it or something. Oh well - maybe next year.

Then we had a go at making some butter. I debated on whether or not to just use a whisk to make the butter, but aside from the fact I'm not sure the whisk could take it, I figured that some hard work would make the butter well-earned. I poured some double (heavy) cream into an empty milk bottle and took the first turn in giving it a good shake, and after I dedicated it to Bride, I got the kids to encourage the lumps to come. At first we shouted for them to come like in the Carmina Gadelica, "come, lumps, come!" but it soon devolved into Bob the Builder style, "Can we shake it?" "Yes we can!" once our arms began to tire. Tom had a go, then Rosie, and they took turns in encouraging the lumps - "Come on lumps!" Tom in particular found it very exciting. Rosie, on the other hand, was more keen on wrapping herself up in a blanket and giving moral support for the most part.

It was hard work but didn't take as long as I was expecting. We got more butter than I was expecting as well, but I hadn't quite anticipated how I was going to get the solid lumps out of the bottle...Some nifty work with scissors sorted that out, and I plonked the lumps into a sieve to drain them:

I tried a bit of the buttermilk - I've never had it before. It was gooood - rich and creamy. And probably very naughty. I used it as part of the offerings, along with some of the butter. There's still a lot of butter left, though, so I might use it to make some shortbread or something.

Dinner was up next, and we had a good feast with buttery mash (using the butter we'd just made). It was late, so the kids weren't long for bed after that, leaving me to get on with some personal devotions once they were settled. As usual, I performed the deiseal, made offerings and libations, sained the house and everyone in it (using the water from Bealltainn that I've silvered and saved), and made a rowan charm to hang up. I'd already made a dealbh Bride a few days before, so she'd been up on my shelf since then, next to my cow and wand from a good friend. I put the offerings on my shelf but couldn't leave them for long before I had to put them outside:

The flowers are ones I was hoping to make with the kids for our picture, but they found them too fiddly to make and lost interest quickly, so I gave up on that idea. I did them instead, and decided to put them up as a seasonal offering. I put out the plaque of a snake I did as part of my celebrations last year as well, although you can't really see it in the photo.

I made my devotions to Bride (mainly making praises to her, from the Carmina Gadelica again, with a few of my own) and then a bit of silence and contemplation afterwards. I made a few finishing touches to the picture (I had some fabric letters, so I put "earrach" - Gàidhlig for Spring - on it) so I could put it up, and then got the dealbh Bride out:

And made a bed for her. I was going to try weaving one, but my attempts were made of fail and I gave up on that idea - it's something I'm going to have to work on and do properly, I think. Instead, I cheated again, and used a small box filled with feathers. It worked nicely, in the end, but I'd like to have a go at weaving something next year at the least.

I went to the door and invited Bride in - I decided to be brave and try a bit of Gàidhlig for this bit, so I took a bit of inspiration from the Carmina again, and said Bhride! Bhride! Thig a steach, Tha do bheatha deanta - "Bride! Bride! Come in, Thy welcome is truly made." It seems to echo what Martin Martin recorded of the practice, so I decided it was apt.

After that, it was time for a rest before bed. I put the offerings out, with a libation of whisky to Badb (to the caw of a crow, so hopefully that's a good sign), along with a meal for Bride (from our feast). In my Gàidhlig lessons we occasionally learn the odd song, and while I dislike singing (for the fact that I can't), the songs are beautiful. One of them is traditionally sung at the closing of cèilidhs and so on, so I'm told, and seeing as I was finishing up for the night, I decided to sing it:

Soraidh leibh is oidhche mhàth leibh
Oidhche mhàth leibh, ’s beannachd leibh
Guidheam slàinte ghnath bhith mar ribh
Oidhche mhàth leibh, ’s beannachd leibh

Farewell and goodnight to you
Goodnight and blessings be with you
I pray health will always be with you
Goodnight and blessings be with you

That's just the chorus - I don't know the rest, but it seemed an appropriate way to finish for the night nonetheless (and I can just about carry the tune...), and it helped me feel like I'm fleshing things out a bit more now. I slept well - very relaxing sleep, although when the kids woke me up this morning they woke from a dream - and while the details are hazy, I had the song that Terence and Phil sing in the South Park film (Shut Your Fucking Face Uncle-Fucker, if you really want to know, but be warned there's naughty language and toilet-humour if you happen to find either offensive...) going through my head as I surfaced into consciousness. I've no idea why...In the dream I was singing it at someone, jokingly, but I can't remember who or why. If that's supposed to be significant, then I can honestly say the gods truly do work in mysterious ways.

I didn't do any frìth this morning - the kids woke me up right as the day was dawning, so after my last experience it seemed pointless to try again with them running around wanting attention. I would've liked to have done it, seeing as I dedicate it to Bride anyway, but I wasn't really expecting to be able to so never mind. I'll probably get a better chance to do it at Bealltainn, when the dawn is likely to be earlier than when the kids usually get up. I did go to the window and look for a sign to see a woman walking past (apparently that's a neutral sign, but she had dark hair which is a good sign...), so I suppose I did it in a less formal sense. I've yet to make the bannocks - we were going to go to the beach today and I was going to make more offerings there, but it's raining and the kids would be miserable (and I need to soften the butter...). Instead I'll probably make them to go with dinner and just make some more offerings in the garden.

New articles

A quick note on some new articles I've just put up on Tairis:

Making a dealbh Bride - Some ideas on making an icon of Bride in time for Là Fhèill Brìghde, with pictures. Hopefully I'll update it soon enough when I make this year's icon.


The Dadga in Myth, History and Pseudo-history
Part One
Part Two
Part Three

This was originally a dissertation, and the version I've published here is a slight reworking I did in preparation for publication in a journal. Sadly it was never published, seeing as the journal never managed to publish another issue, so I thought I'd put it out into cyberspace myself.

As I've noted on each page there's a lot I'd change in it now, nearly ten years on, but given a lack of resources that's not a job I can do properly just now. Maybe one day. It's by no means definitive either - there was a pretty strict word limit I had to stick to, so there was a lot that didn't get as much attention as it needed.

So err...enjoy.

Hogmanay

It seems I kind of forgot to post about Hogmanay...


There's no denying I've had a lot of things going on in the past year that I'm glad to see the back of, if at all possible, so I was quite keen on celebrating Hogmanay. To me it's about renewal, as much as it's a farewell, and I suppose you might say I'm deeply superstitious about some things. Starting the New Year is one of them: I'd like to start on a positive note in the hopes that it carries through for the year, at the least.

So on the 31st, as the bells approached, Mr Seren and I were together, waiting for the bells. We rang them in with BBC Alba, drank a toast and did the usual, and then I ran outside to see the fireworks. I had some offerings to put out too, so it was good timing, and evidently all the noise had disturbed a bird or two because a crow flew down and perched on the fence right in front of me - some coincidence, I'd say. We looked at each other for a moment, and there was one of those pregnant pauses before the moment broke. It felt like Badb was making herself known and I wondered what that meant (and I've been pondering since). I stayed outside for a bit, but nothing else happened.

I did my devotions, sained the house and everyone in it, and eventually went to bed. I couldn't get comfy though, I had a cold coming on and I was achy and still hyperactive from everything. In the end I got up, without having had more than an hour's broken sleep, and pottered about the house, meditated, and eventually saw the sunrise in. Mr Seren lasted until about 3am - he was trying to stay up too, like he usually does, but he was just too tired and we were going over to the in-laws the next day anyway, so he needed to be fit to drive.

I was hoping to perform the frìth again, but I was in two minds about it. On the one hand I felt that my crow-sighting was a sign enough, but on the other hand I wanted to do it 'properly'. The kids were up before the sun was, though, so in spite of my best efforts it just didn't work. Unless you count being interrupted by Rosie because she wanted help putting her fairy wings on (in which case...fuck). I swear, those things breed in this house. I did see the moon setting, though, which made a nice symmetry to how I started my celebrations the night before - seeing the moon rise, and then the partial eclipse. But all in all it wasn't so much portentous - or as portentous - as just rounding things off a bit.

I managed to grab a catnap or two before we went to the in-laws, with some freshly made Yethol bannocks as a first-footing gift, and we had the obligatory steak pie, lots of chat about the impending wedding, and (for the kids at least) far too many sweeties. It was good fun, even though I was absolutely knackered by the end of it all. Rosie had to have a reassurring cuddle when Doctor Who started regenerating, it was all a bit confusing for her (not least because we were shouting at the TV because it was so overblown...GET ON WITH IT!!!!).

Anyway, seeing as my mother-in-law gave me a surprise windfall, I've spent most of it on some new clothes (that fit, yay!) and so on, but I also allowed myself a little splurge on some books. I got a Gaelic book to help me with my studies, and a book on Irish Food and Folklore (which sounded good, but is mostly disappointing. I tried the recipe for an Irish Curd Cheesecake and as I was working through the instructions, realised the author had neglected to mention when the cottage cheese was supposed to be added. It's the main bloody ingredient! Not hard to figure out, though, but shoddy work. The folklore was thoroughly lacking, superficial, and poorly researched for the most part, too). I also got two books on Scottish fairies - academic books, so I was bit more confident that they'd be good and meaty, and happily it seems I'm right. The first is Scottish Fairy Belief by Lizanne Henderson and Edward Cowan, which is kind of an introduction to the subject, and the second is Fantastical Imaginations: The Supernatural in Scottish History and Culture by Lizanne Henderson (edited by, anyway), which is a collection of essays on the subject. I'm nearly finished with the first and was pleased to find something that comes with good timing:

"The most interesting name of all, used to specifically denote the queen of the fairies, is NicNiven or Neven, which appears to derive from Neamhain, one of the Gaelic and Irish war furies better known as Badb. The matter is complex since Neamhain and Badb may represent different aspects of the same persona, but badhb in some Irish dialects is the word for the supernatural death messenger more familiarly known in Ireland and Scotland as the banshee, bean-sithe literally 'fairy-woman' in Gaelic. Badhb also means a hoodie-crow and carries the sense of 'deadly' or 'ill-fated'; it can also translate as 'witch', which is apposite since Scotland NicNiven was also queen of the witches. This intriguing name therefore, originated in the Gàidhealtachd whence it was imported into the Lowlands and even found its way to Shetland. W. B. Yeats was therefore incorrect when he stated that 'the gentle fairy presences' which haunted the imagination of his countrymen became 'formidable and evil as soon as they were transferred to Scottish soil', since this truly terrifying death messenger seems to be shared by both Ireland and Scotland while her associations give some indication of how the Scots regarded the fairy queen."

So lots for me to ponder, I think. I have to say, I'm really enjoying Scottish Fairy Belief, which is always happy-making.

Bliadhna Mhath Ùr

There's less than an hour to go of this year on this side of the Pond, and earlier there was a partial eclipse of a blue moon. So aside from wishing everyone a Happy New New Year, I thought I'd share a picture I took of a gloriously full moon at the start of the partial eclipse:

The night is cold and clear so far. Sheets of ice (compacted snow) and what remains of the snow we had a few weeks ago now still lies on the ground. The cold weather shows no sign of letting up, and for once we enter the new year in the grips of a proper winter.

It's not been an easy year, but it's not been a terrible one either. I hope for better, for 2010. After this, I'll start on saining the house with the water I've saved from Bealltainn. I'll have a wee dram ready for the bells, and leave out some offerings before I go to bed, along with a penny to go on the step outside. It's supposed to be good luck if it's still there in the morning.

I also intend to perform some frìth at sunrise, and I'll be baking some shortbread and/or some Yetholm bannocks to take to the in-laws tomorrow, for the obligatory New Year's steak pie. I honestly don't know why it has to be steak pie, but apparently that's the way it is for New Year's Day. As far as I can tell, it's a west of Scotland thing.

But anyway.

A Guid new year to ane an' a',
0, mony may you see,
And during a' the years that come,
0, happy may you be!
And may you ne'er hae cause to mourn,
To sigh or shed a tear,
To ane an' a' baith great an' sma',
A hearty guid New Year! 
Peter Livingstone             

Have a good yin. Good Wishes to you all.

Cailleach Bheur

Given the weather at the moment - gales, torrential rain, slee, hail, flooding - it was a nice coincidence that I finally spotted a copy of a book I've been after for ages, which I was hoping would have some good stuff about the Cailleach. It was a little more than I'd usually spend on a book so Mr Seren said he'd get it me for Christmas - not that we're doing presents for each other, but anyway...

Donald MacKenzie refers to the book a lot in his Scottish Folk-Lore and Folk Life and he seemed to take a lot of his information from this source, so I had to have it. My efforts in getting my hands on it were frustrated by the fact that I couldn't get it from the library, so hunting down my own copy was the only way to go. It arrived yesterday and I got into it with gusto, and so far I'm really enjoying it - lots of good stuff, and she gives a version of the Cailleach's battle with Spring, but without Bride or Angus in it like MacKenzie has, who really does seem to be the only source for that.

So anyway, I thought it would be good to copy it down for anyone interested. And maybe it would please her so we she'll calm down and we can get some sunshine for once, eh?

"The word Beur, taken simply as it stands, signifies a peak, point, or pinnacle, and may without straining be taken to mean, in its plural form of 'Bheur' (mountain) ridges.

The hag of the ridges, would be a suitable enough appellation for the genius of the mountain tops. There, on the topmost ridges, do the dark herds of Cailleach Bheur congregate. Thence rush the floods in fleecy foam, and snowy cascades leap, for dark clouds and dark billows are her herds of deer; her sheep and goats are fleecy clouds, and also white-crested waves, or seething waters of hill and plain.

The manner in which the word 'beur' is used is illustrated in the following quotation:

leis an dionaiche long,
A' gearradh a h'astar feadh thonn
Gun chùram mar theine nan speur
Troimh bheàrna beur nan neul-

Whose taut barque
Cleaves with a fearless prow unerring her way thro' the bilow,
Like a lightning flash that shoots thro' the gaps of the jagged cloud ridges.

None of these surmises concerning the origin of the name is quite convincing or satisfactory.

The sphere of the Cailleach's influence, and the actions attributed to her are the following: -

With her mallet - 'farachan' - or pestle - 'slachdan' - she beats and pounds the earth till all growth is destroyed; Nature has become torpid.

But about the middle of January Nature shows signs of reviving, and the sun has begun his returning journey. The Cailleach gets alarmed, and summons the 'faoiltich,' wolflings, or wolf-storms; 'faol,' a wolf. Those storms last until the middle of February.

Then follows the third week of February - 'trì lathan gobaig,' three days of 'shark-toothed,' bitter, stinging east winds; and 'trì lathan feadaig,' three days of 'plover-winged,' swift, fitful blasts, careering, rainy winds that are 'the death of sheep and lamb, and get the strong cattle bogged till the flood rolls over their heads.'

Here are the Gaelic words for those last lines.

'S mise 'n fheadag luirigineach luath;
Marbhaidh mi 'chaora, marbhaidh mi 'n t-uan;
Cuiridh mi a' bho' mhòr 's an toll
Gus am bi an tonn thar a ceann.

Then comes the last week of the month, 'Seachdain a' Ghearrain.' The name is variously interpreted. Some have supposed it to mean a week of sighing, moaning winds, from 'gearan,' complaining. Others take it to denote 'Ploughing Week,' from 'gearran,' a colt. A third party surmise that the name comes from 'geàrr-shion,' short, sudden squalls. But those who suggest this rendering place the week between the 15th of March and the 11th of April. Ploughing week is probably the true interpretation.

The first week of March is marked by temporary blasts of foul weather and flying showers - 'Sgarraichean na Feill Connain' - St. Conan Storms. The second week is marked by tempestuous weather, squally and inclement, 'Doirionn na Feill Padruig' - St. Patrick gales.

Then the Cailleach becomes desperate over her want of success. Despite her efforts to keep the earth hard by beating it with her mallet, despite her storming, the grass waxes, buds appear, and the blossoms peep from beneath their hoods. The Cailleach exclaims

Dh'fhàg e shios mi, dh'fhàg e shuas mi;
Dh'fhàg e eadar mo dhà chluais mi;
Dh'fhàg e thall mi, dh'fhàg e bhos mi;
Dh'fhàg e eadar mo dhà chois mi!

Shootings her and sprouting there,
It eludes me everywhere;
Overhead and underfoot
Bud and blade blossom shoot.

The brave, little wild duck taunts the Cailleach - "Despite thy shrivelling, stinging-cold little March, I and my twelve are yet alive!' 'Just wait a little!' exclaims March, or the Cailleach - for here they are synonymous; she borrows three days from February, and the result is thus described in Scotch: -

The first day it was win' an' west,
The neist day it was snaw an' sleet,
The third day it sae hard did freeze,
The wee birds nebs stuck tae the trees.

The Cailleach tries to chase away her son - the sun, wooing the young Spring - but he escapes with his bride. She causes the wild duck and her brood to perish with cold, and in so doing puts out her own eye. Baffled and defeated on every hand, and fleeing before her enemies, the wintry storms of the Cailleach sink into a calm as the returning sun shines forth and the warm winds blow.

The enraged Cailleach is defeated, she flings her mallet under a holly, where never a blade of grass can grow thereafter, so powerful is the magic influence to deaden growth.

This brings us to 'Latha na Caillich' - Old Wife's Day - the 25th day of March (old style), the date of the Caileach's overthrow, the flinging down of her mallet, and her punishment in being turned into stone."

K. W. Grant, Myth, Tradition and Story from Western Argyll, 1925, p5-6.

Sadly she doesn't cite any sources that she vaguely mentions at times, and a lot of it seems to be anecdotal anyway. She also seems keen to show the Cailleach as having Norwegian origins, which is interesting, and there do seem to be some parallels with some of the mythology so it does seem that there has been an influence at least. I'm looking forward to finishing it off, anyway, when I get a minute...