A Cup of Christmas Cheer?

The blog has been a bit quiet to say the least since Samhuin, I have been doing a bit of inner composting, but now that the year is turning I am starting to stir again.

Meanwhile life has been going on as normal. At the beginning of December we began our annual challenge at work, who can find the best Christmas mug. No real winners or prizes, just a tradition which has grown up in the office over time. We have quite a selection of festive mugs in the kitchen now as not everyone seems anxious to take them home.

It is a bit difficult to decorate a Bereavement Office, in the back of your mind there is the thought that at least one person will find it inappropriate or offensive, so the mugs are a way of discreetly blinging the office. We have a very small tree and santa monitor surrounds too, plus a very meagre set of Christmas lights round the whiteboard.

Alban Arthan

Today is the Winter Solstice, or Alban Arthan. It is at this festival, at the time of shortest light, when it seems that darkness has prevailed; that we celebrate the rebirth of the sun. Traditionally the ceremony is held in the dark before dawn – at one point in the rite, all the lights are extinguished and then relit from a single flame, symbolising the one source of all light and life. It is truly magical when performed in the pitch black.

This time of year is an opportunity to consider everything in our lives which is coming to a close and to fully mourn its passing. When we have done this, we are able to open ourselves up to the new, as symbolised by the rebirth of the light. It is a time when the earth is bleak, cold and dark and we can often find this reflected within as hopelessness and depression. At this time it is important to become aware of the small weak light of the re-born sun, which will, with time, become stronger and stronger, until it reaches it’s zenith at Alban Hefyn.

The Setantii celebrated the solstice on Saturday. It is the one festival in the year that we make an effort to celebrate pre dawn. As we can’t always guarantee that the park gates will be open we meet at the hotel further up the road and walk to the Grove. We have developed a tradition of repairing to the hotel afterwards for a full English breakfast which gives us an opportunity to thaw out and catch up with everyone before setting off to cope with the stresses of the season.

This year the weather was particularly icy. We made it to the Grove through the dark and set up a ring of lights in the snow. While we were waiting for the late comers we had an opportunity to watch the rabbits hopping about in the gloom and to listen to the crows waking up and calling to each other. Just as we were about to begin they took off in a huge black, cawing, croaking cloud. The weather was so icy that when I picked up the water to consecrate the circle I had to break the ice off the top. As normal with ritual it wasn’t until after we finished that I realised exactly how cold it was. The energies seem to keep you warm during the rite but when the circle is uncast you really start to suffer.

The Green Fields of France – Damh the Bard

Well I am back from the walk, which seemed to go off very well and was thankfully completely dry and sunny. I am totally drained as usual, not only because I have had to spend two hours talking and walking, but also because  it can be quite depressing looking at the graves of  lads who killed in action and who were younger than my daughters. I know when I was researching the obituaries last year in the library I would get to a point where I just had to stop, it was all too much.

I have been getting to grips with my new MP3 player this afternoon and downloading some songs. I came across a track from Damh’s new album which he is letting you download for free today, in honour of the Great Fallen.  It is his version of The Green Fields of France which you can listen to or download  here It is a beautiful, haunting song so get along and see for yourself!

Green Fields of France

Well, how do you do, Young Willie McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile neath the warm summer sun,
I’ve been walking all day, and I’m nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the great fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play The Last Post and chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
In that faithful heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enclosed forever behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The sun now it shines on the green fields of France;
There’s a warm summer breeze that makes the red poppies dance.
And see how the Sun shines from under the cloud
There’s no gas, no barbed wire, there’s no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard it’s still No Man’s Land
The countless white crosses lie mute in the sand
To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man.
And to a whole generation that were butchered and damned.

Young Willie McBride, I can’t help wonder why
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did they believe when they answered “The Cause?”
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the killing, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing, the dying, was all done in vain,
For young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Honouring the Ancestors

I have been busy preparing for my last Cemetery Walk of the year this week, which is due to take place tomorrow. Last year we got absolutely soaked through – the rain was so bad that two ladies dropped out – and it doesn’t look like it is going to be any better this year, worst luck.

This walk is a look at some of the military related graves. It is a chance to retell the stories of the local people who gave their lives for their country and is designed to be an act of commemoration, as well as being educational and entertaining. I must have spent hundreds of hours last year putting it all together.

While I was rooting around in my files I came across an article about my walks that I was asked to write for OBOD. It was supposed to be going on the Ancestors Section but has never appeared. It is one of those awkward situations where you wonder if it actually arrived, but are too afraid to ask – in case they turn round and say yes it did but it was bobbins! The email to the Office does seem to be rather dodgy though. Anyway I thought I’d stick it on here. This period from Samhuinn to Armistice day does seem to be a time where the ancestors are constantly in our thoughts, and it’s as an apt time as any to post it.

Honouring the Ancestors

I work in a crematorium as an Admin Assistant, it’s a job I sort of fell into rather than a deliberate career choice. On paper my job is handling and processing the paperwork involved in burials, cremations and memorials. It is answering the phone, typing letters, and meeting the public, funeral directors, religious or other celebrants, and memorial masons. In reality it also involves counselling the bereaved, conducting family history searches, taking guided walks, and on occasion, actually helping families to arrange a funeral.

I am lucky to have all sorts of opportunities to help people Honour the Dead, both the recently deceased, and the Ancestors. Talking to people about their loved ones – something a lot of their friends and relatives are often uncomfortable doing – is perhaps the simplest thing I do. The advice given in the choice of a memorial and its wording is also a practical way I can help. Family history searches are a reconnection with the ancient ancestors, and it is very satisfying to find someone’s family and to send them personal details, and even photographs of the graves.

One part of my job which I find an enjoyable and useful way to help the community as a whole Honour the Ancestors, and one in which the role of Druid as teacher and facilitator is particularly suited, is the research and running of the Cemetery Heritage Walks.

As part of an Open Day several years ago our Park Ranger, volunteered to give short tours of the cemetery to keep people occupied whilst they were waiting to look around the crematorium itself. His half hour walk looking at natural history, unusual headstones and the graves of local personalities, was very popular. So much so, that it was expanded and added to the Ranger’s regular walks, as a joint venture between the Ranger and Bereavement Services.

About five years ago I was asked to take over as our representative. The aim of the walk is really, first and foremost, a means of entertaining people, whilst also being educational and informative. When I began taking them, I felt that there was a lot more that could be done. Through research I added more historical context about the development of the cemetery, and more details about the individuals whose grave’s we visited, and the period in which they lived

I felt that it wasn’t enough to merely remark on the deceased like they were museum exhibits; I wanted to bring them to life for a short while and let the people on the walk see a little of the living person. I tried hard to find photographs of the deceased, or, if that was not possible, their work – their paintings, the buildings or steam locomotives they designed for example – or other images related to them or their life.

By the end of the walk I hope that people feel that they know more about their place in the historical and physical landscape of the town and its immediate environment. That they have a sense of having roots in the past. I would like them to feel that we have commemorated the lives of the ancestors, rather than just recorded them. I hope that they carry away with them an appreciation of those people who have gone before; and that can sense their own position in the long line of humanity. I like to think that the walk leads them to think of their own mortality, in a life asserting and positive way.

The Victorian municipal cemeteries, as well as being primarily a means of coping with growth of urban living –or dying- were designed to be places that were morally uplifting and educational. Great attention was paid to the landscaping and architecture, and to the positioning of memorials. The paths and vistas were places where people were encouraged to exercise both the body and the mind.

As a means of connecting with the ancestors and honouring the dead a visit to a cemetery or a graveyard can be very powerful. There is a practice in Buddhism which involves meditating on your mortality by spending a night in a burial ground, but I don’t think it is necessary to go so far, even a short visit can be illuminating.

Just strolling round the headstones, and reading the names of the countless strangers who were once as warm and vital as you can be a form of meditation. Researching the story of a stranger, or one of your family members buried there – even if it just means bringing out the old photos not looked at for years, is a way to honouring them. If you have a ‘Friends of the Cemetery’ group, volunteering with them to clean headstones or tidy the grounds can be a means of connecting to your roots, of re-establishing your links to the generations who have gone before.

Of course visiting a burial ground inevitably brings thoughts of your own mortality. If you have never thought of the practical side of the step into the Otherworld this may be your opportunity. Seriously contemplate what you would like to happen to your body after you’ve moved on. Maybe a big cemetery is not for you, would you prefer a woodland burial? To be cremated, and scattered to the four winds? Whatever it is, make plans now, even if it is just a short note with your preferences jotted down and left where your family can find it. They will bless you for it!

 

Samhuinn

Irish Jack O'Lantern, early 1900's.

It is the last day of Samhuinn today – the festival runs for three days from the 31st October to the 2nd November. When Christianity came in it was assimilated into their calendar and became All Hallows Day, All Saints Day and All Souls Day. It is a time of no time, this period between the end of one year and the beginning of the new, and because of this, the veil between the worlds grows thin and we can receive visits from the spirits.

It is also a period of misrule with the opportunity to have fun while the usual rules are suspended. I always think Mischief Night – held on November 4th in Britain is a remnant of the old country traditions associated with this. I can remember my Mum reminding my Dad to take the gates off their hinges and put them in the shed as they were a regular target of gangs of youths who had an opportunity to go out and have fun.

On Halloween we would always carve turnips into scary lanterns and put them on the doorstep. They were much more difficult to carve than the American pumpkins that have taken over now, and a lot smellier. Given their distorted shapes you could also produce some really evil looking faces. The air used to be full of the smell of roasting turnip.

Samhuinn is an opportunity to winnow out old ideas, practices or materials that are no longer wanted, as we pass out of one phase into the next – it is an ideal time to declutter! It is also an opportunity to venerate and respect all those who have journeyed before us, so dig out the old photos and have a reminisce, with a glass of something to hand to toast them with.

Photo from Museum of Country Life, Ireland

Setantii Grove – Samhuinn Ritual

We had a record turn out for our Samhuinn Ritual, with twelve of us making up the circle. We decided to perform the official OBOD ceremony out of the ‘Brown Book’ as for once we had enough people to take on all the roles, with no doubling up. What a luxury!

The rite seemed to flow effortlessly, and we had no dogs making off with the bread. Maybe I was busy concentrating but I don’t even remember any passers by this time either. After a gloriously sunny morning it became more and more cloudy as we made the preparations – by the time the Herald began to speak the sky was completely overcast and the air seemed almost thick. It was as if the spirits were gathering around. By the end it had begun to clear and the day returned to full Indian Summer.

The Samhuinn rite is unique as it is of two parts, we have the veneration and commemoration of the ancestors and the recently departed, and the celebration of the Celtic New Year, with the opportunity that brings to cast into the Cailleach’s Cauldron all those things we wish to be rid of. Deciding what to put in is always a serious business, as the Goddess takes no prisoners once you have made the commitment – it is not like making the usual half – hearted New Year Resolutions.

Corn Dollies

Siddington Church dressed for Harvest

On Sunday I popped down to Siddington Church to admire the corn dollies. At harvest it is decorated top to toe, not only with fruit and flowers but also with a fantastic display of corn dollies. The Church is small and timber framed and just seems made to show them off.

I think all the dollies have been made over the years by Raymond Rush who is one of the Lay Readers. He lives in the farm near the church, and sometimes  at this time of year you can pop over and visit his workshop, and buy some to take home. He is a well known author and speaker, and has written several books on folklore and country customs. My mum can remember attending one of his talks at her church. He arrived at the back of the hall wearing a smock and spotted neckerchief and swinging a lantern, shouting ‘Have you seen the Light?’

The corn dolly is pagan in origin, so it always amuses me to see the church decorated with them. There are several traditions associated with them but all involve the idea that at harvest the Spirits would take refuge in the standing corn. The last sheaf cut would therefore be made into a receptacle to hold them safely until the following year. Some of these would be geometrical in design, and still others would actually be an effigy of a person – a corn dolly. These would be carried home and put in a place of honour until the following spring. At that time it would be taken out and broken open in order to release the spirits into the fields with the newly sown grain.

The Workshop

Michaelmas Memories

Michaelmas daisies always remind me of a favourite great aunt – Auntie Clarice – who used to enter hers into the local flower and produce show every September. She almost always won a place with them.

These plants are widespread throughout the world, we have our own native plant but a lot of the showier ones we see today are descended from the varieties brought over by John Tradescant the Younger from Virginia in 1637, or from China in the Victorian era.

The Michaelmas daisies are known collectively as asters, which is taken from the latin for star – astra. Their common name in the UK is star plant or starwort. There is reference to the creation of starworts in Greek Mythology which is connected with their flood myth.

In the Golden Age before evil entered the world, Astraea the Goddess of Innocence lived on earth. When sin entered she had to leave  and was metamorphosed into the constellation of Virgo. Zeus, furious at the despoilation of the earth, sent a flood to destroy it, but  Deucalian and Pyrra survived by climbing to the top of Mount Parnassus. When the water receded, leaving the couple desolate in the ruined landscape, Astraea moved by their plight, created starlight to guide them, her tears falling to earth as stardust which turned into star shaped flowers – the starworts.

With the introduction of Christianity into Britain, the starworts became known as Michaelmas daisies, presumably because they flower around the time of Michaelmas – the festival of St Michael and All Angels being on 29th September.

The michaelmas daisy among dede weeds
Bloom for St Michael’s valorous deeds
And seems the last of flowers stood
Til the feast of St Simon and St Jude

The feast of St Simon and St Jude was the 28 October.

The plant was used in England to treat the bites of mad dogs – it was beaten into ‘old hogs grease’ and spread on the skin. Pliny recommended a tea made from the plants as a remedy for snake bite, and an amulet of the herb to ease Sciatica. Virgil recorded its use as a cure for ailing bees and as an altar decoration in his Geogics (37-30BC)

There is a useful flower
Growing in the meadows, which the country folk
Call star-wort, not a blossom hard to find,
For its large cluster lifts itelf in air
Out of one root; its central orb is gold
But it wears its petals in a numerous ring
Of glossy purplish blue; ‘tis often laid
In twisted garlands at some holy shrine.
Bitter its taste; the shepherds gather it
In valley pastures where the winding streams
Of Mella flow. The roots of this steeped well
In hot high flavoured wine. Thou mayst set down
At the hive door in baskets heaping full.

Translated by T C Williams 1915

Image from Foxy Island Walks

Druids of Manchester

….and surrounding areas!

Right, now I have your attention. ….Just wanted to give you advance notice of our Samhuin ritual, on Saturday 31st October! If you have never joined us for ritual before this may be a good time as we have several new people coming along; you won’t be the only one there for the first time! Baobab will be putting together the ritual in the next few weeks, so if you would like to have a small speaking part then let one of us know. If you would like to come along and just join the circle that would be great too,  everyone will be very welcome.

Details in the Diary section as always. If you prefer facebook to good old email do a search for our group The Setantii Seedgroup – OBOD Druidry in Manchester, UK

In Memoriam ~ John Dubowski

John Dubowski (right) with Alan

In the summer John Dubowski left the apparent world. He was one of the co-founders of the South Rheged Grove, which I used to attend before the Setantii came into being. When the South Rheged began it was mostly himself and co-founder Alan Kilburn at the rituals (left in the photo above) and I can remember them telling me how they used to have to run around the circle taking on the different roles.  Of course UrbanDruid and I will also remember him for providing us  with the biggest giggling fit we’ve had for years at one Winter Gathering.

Alan Kilburn left for the Summerlands in 2007. May the Gods smile on them both.

The following is a poem written for John’s funeral by his fellow grove member Gary Plunkett and it sums up the big man beautifully. It was published in Touchstone which is the OBOD journal and he has kindly given me permission to publish it here.

The BIG man has gone

Not the loud man
Not the flashy man
Not the gobby man
The BIG man

Big of spirit
Big of heart
Big of soul

The kind man
The generous man
The helpful man
What he had he gave

Gone to a better world where:
People show up on time
People follow the script! And
People stay for tea

Gone to a better world where people are
Friendly to each other
Friendly to Nature and
Friendly to the Great mother

Gone but not forgotten
The Big Man
John Dubowski

Poem and photo by Gary Plunkett