August was originally ‘sextilis’ or the 6th Month of the ten-month Roman Calendar. It became the 8th Month with the addition of January and February (by tradition during the reign of King Numa Pompilius). It was changed from a 29-day month to a 31-day month in the reforms of Julius Caesar. It was subsequently renamed August by a sycophantic Senate trying to flatter the divine Octavian, Emperor Augustus. (more about the Roman Calendar here)
In modern Irish, it is Lúnasa, which means the month of the festival of Lughnasa. In Welsh, it is Awst which comes from the Latin. In Anglo-Saxon: the Venerable Bede, writing in the 8th Century, says August is Wēodmōnaþ or the Weed Month, named, he says, because of the proliferation of weeds. Why does that seem such an unsatisfactory name for August? An early Kentish source calls the month Rugern – perhaps the month of the harvest of Rye? (Winters in the World by Eleanor Parker).
The 15th Century illustration in the Kalendar of Shepherds, above, shows that the Harvest is the main attribute of the Month, and the star signs, Leo and Virgo.
The 16th/17th Century text in the Kalendar of Shepherds gives an evocative insight into the month. (more about the Kalendar here)
For the Anglo-Saxons, August brings in the harvest period, the most important months of the year, where the bounty of the earth needs to be carefully collected, enjoyed but not wasted. It begins with the festival of Lammas, which derives from the English words for bread and mass, when bread made from the first fruits of the harvest is blessed.
In Ireland, it is one of the great Celtic quarter days, named Lughnasa, the festival of the God Lugh, celebrated with games, fairs, ceremonies. Called Calan Awst in Wales, it is the festival of August.
The quarter days, are halfway between the Solstices and Equinoxes and are: Samhain (1 Nov) Imbolc (1 Feb), Beltane (1 May) and Lughnasa (1 Aug) and all are, or can be seen as, a turning point in the farming year.
The Gallic Coligny ‘Celtic’ Calendar records August as a ‘great festival month’. The stone-carved Calendar was found near Lyon, whose Roman name was Lugodunum. The town is named after the Gaulish God Lugos, to whom, the Irish Lugh and the Welsh Llew Llaw Gyffes are probably related. He has an unstoppable fiery spear, a sling stone, and a hound called Failinis. The Romans associate Lugos with Mercury, and the Church with St Michael.
Lughnasa, (meaning the festival of Lugh) was founded by the God himself to honour his foster mother Tailtiu at Brega Co. Meath. Tailtiu became one of Ireland’s greatest festivals, springing from the horse races and marital contests set up by Lugh. In Gaelic Scotland it is called Lunasuinn, and Laa Luanistyn in the Isle of Man.
The festival is a harvest festival, celebrating the ripening of wheat, barley, rye, and potatoes. It is 6 months after Imbolc and records the ending of lactation of lambs and the beginning of the tupping season. It can be celebrated by climbing hills, visiting springs, wells, lakes and eating bilberries. (Myths and Legends of the Celts. James MacKillop).
St Germanus of Auxerre, Window in St Paul’s parish church, Morton, Lincolnshire, made by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris in 1914. Photo by Jenny of Jules & Jenny from Lincoln, UK (CC BY 2.0 Wikimedia Photo by Jenny of Jules & Jenny from Lincoln, UK)
St Germanus is the source of one of the few contemporary references to Britain in the 5th Century (the Dark Ages). One of his followers wrote his life story. The Saint, a Bishop in France, was sent to Britain because the Pelagian Heresy was endangering the Catholic version of Christianity. Pelagius was a highly educated British (or possibly Irish) priest who moved to Rome in the late 4th Century. He lived by a strict moral code, attacking Catholic laxity and opposing St Augustine of Hippo’s theory of Divine Grace. By contrast, Pelagius promoted human choice in salvation and denied the doctrine of original sin. Wikipedia tells us that he:
considered it an insult to God that humans could be born inherently sinful or biased towards sin, and Pelagius believed that the soul was created by God at conception, and therefore could not be imbued with sin as it was solely the product of God’s creative agency.
17th Century print of Pelagius
Germanus was sent to Britain, where he confronted Pelagian converts in a public debate which is thought to have taken place in a disused Roman amphitheatre. The author is not interested in Britain, per se, so does not tell us which town it was, but, it is mostly assumed to be St Albans, although London is possible.
In the stadium, the Saint and his acolytes confound the heretics and, so, convert the town’s people sitting watching the debate. St Germanus goes to a nearby shrine of St Alban to thank God, falls asleep in a hut, and is miraculously saved from a fire. He then comes across a man called a Tribune, and helps defeat a Saxon army in the ‘Alleluia’ victory. The importance of all this is that it, in about 429AD, gives us a few glimpses of Britain two decades after the Romans have left, and that Britain stayed in the Catholic fold.
The British Bishops were led in their heresy by someone called Agricola. The writer describes these bishops as ‘conspicuous for riches, brilliant in dress and surrounded by a fawning multitude’. The use of the title ‘Tribune’ in the story suggests Roman administrative titles are still in use 19 years after the date of the ‘formal’ end of Roman Britain, 410AD. The Alleluia victory over the Saxons also gives us an early date for Saxon presence in the country as an enemy.
St Albans is the favoured choice for the location of the event because, Bede tells us St Albans was born, martyred and commemorated in Verulamium, now called St Albans. Archaeology shows possible post Roman occupation of the town. And it has a famous Amphitheatre.
However, Gildas, who is writing 200 years or more before Bede, tells us St Alban was born in Verulamium but martyred in London, which makes sense as London was the late Roman Capital and more likely to be the site of a martyrdom. There is also a church dedicated to St Albans close to the Roman Amphitheatre, where Gildas tells us the execution took place. The Church cannot, unfortunately, be, archaeologically dated back to 429AD.
Bede’s account of the martyrdom of St Albans is also somewhat farcical, as God divides the waters of the River Ver for Alban to get to his martyrdom more quickly. The bridge was said to be full of people walking to witness Alban’s execution, and blocking Albans path to Heaven. But the Ver is but a piddle, and it would be easy to walk over without needing wellington boats, let along a miracle to get to the otherside. This story is much more impressive,in Gildas’ version who has the miraculous crossing over the River Thames.
Had Pelegius won and the Roman Church had a more optimistic view of the human spirit, would it have made any difference? It’s a big question, but maybe it would have left less room for pessimism and guilt?
What were the effects of original sin? …. it damaged our relationship with God. He seemed distant, we became mistrustful. We lost sanctifying grace. The weakening of the will, making us more prone to temptation. The darkening of the intellect. Increased vulnerability to sickness and disease. Spiritual death.
Germanus died in Ravenna.
For more on Nick Fuentes and his theories on St Germanus, St Patrick and King Arthur click here:
The Ashwini kumaras twins, sons of the sun god Surya. Vedic gods representing the brightness of sunrise and sunset Wikipedia
The Divine Twins, aka the Dioscuri, were horsemen, patrons of calvary, athletes and sailors, one of many indo-european twin gods. Pollux is the son of Zeus and Leda (raped by Zeus in the guise of a swan). His twin brother has a different and mortal father, the King of Sparta to the same mother, Leda. So they are examples of heteropaternal superfecundation as Mary Poppins probably didn’t sing.
One is therefore immortal and the other isn’t. They had many adventures including sailing with Jason as Argonauts.
According to some version of the story Castor was mortally wounded, and Zeus gave Pollux the option of letting his brother die while Pollux could spend eternity on Mount Olympus. The alternative was to share his immortality with his brother. He did the good thing, and the twins spend half their year as the Constellation of Gemini and the rest, immortal, on Mount Olympus. Thus, they are the epitome of brotherly love.
Their sisters were no less than Helen of Troy and Clytemnestra. They were also twins, Helen the divine daughter of Zeus and, Clytemnestra, mortal daughter of the King of Sparta.
It happened like this. The Swan was being pursued by an eagle, so Leda protected the Swan and took it to bed. On the same night she slept with her husband Tyndareus of Sparta. Two eggs were fertilised, each split in two to give two sets of twins.
Never mind the Brothers, what Sisters! Helen you know. But Clytemnestra? She was the wife of Agamemnon, the arrogant leader of the Greeks. On the way to retrieve Helen from Troy, the Greek Fleet was becalmed. So, on advice, Agamemnon sacrificed his own daughter, Iphigenia, on the island of Aulis in exchange for a fair wind to Troy. (read Iphigenia at Aulis by Aeschylus, a great play which I studied in Classical Studies at University)
Meanwhile, Queen Clytemnestra, abandoned at home, broods on her husband’s heartless fillicide. She takes a lover. After 10 years of war, Agamemnon comes back, in triumph from the destruction of Troy, with his prize, the Trojan Princess, Cassandra. Strutting with arrogance, he demands Clytemnestra prepare him a bath, and, so she does, she gives him the hottest bath possible. With the help of her lover, she hacks Agamemnon to pieces with an axe.
Cassandra prophesizes that she too will be a victim. She has been gifted with the ability of accurate prophecy, albeit twinned with the inability to get anyone to believe her! She is also slaughtered.
I visit John Collier’s painting of Clytemnestra at the Guildhall regularly and am fascinated by her grim expression.
In the 18th/19th Century rich people were into ‘attitudes’. For example, Emma Hart, later Lady Hamilton, would be invited to present an attitude in front of a dinner party of mostly male aristocrats. She would dress up in a flowing revealing unstructured classical gown and stand on a table presenting herself as: Helen or Andromache or any other classical beauty guests might fancy an eyeful of. She would assume an appropriate facial expression and posture for everyone’s pleasure.
Detail of Emma Hart modelling as Iphigenia by George Romney in ‘Cimon and Iphigenia’
Being Clytemnestra is difficult! I imagine Collier’s model being prompted to look both sad at the loss of the daughter; outraged at the arrogance of the husband; horror at the gore of the murder but overall to portray a grim satisfaction that the bastard got exactly what he deserved.
Lord Leighton had a famous model who was exceptionally skilled at adopting poses for his paintings. He determined to help her with an acting career. As part of the plan he helped improve her cockney accent, and it is said this inspired Bernard Shaw’s story Pygmalion which, in turn, inspired My Fair Lady and Eliza Doolittle.
Leighton’s model was Dorothy Dene. She became a famous actress, outstripping the fame of Ellen Terry and Lily Langtry. She modelled for the famous painting ‘Flaming June’ which sold 500,000 print copies in 1895. Lord Leighton went somewhat out of fashion and the original painting was purchased for £50 by the rather marvellously named Museo de Ponce, Puerto Rico where she still resides.
I have one of those half million prints on my bedroom wall.
Print of Flaming June by Lord Leighton
Before we finish, do have a look at John Collier’s Wikipedia because he is the most ridiculously well-connected painter you can imagine! Related to half the Cabinet and married to TWO daughters of Darwin’s Bulldog T.H.Huxley (grandfather of Aldous Huxley).
For more on Flaming June see my blog post of 12 July 2024
European Twin Gods
It is suggested that twin male gods are a feature of Indo-European religions, and that the Twins are associated with horses/chariots and are responsible for moving the Sun and the Moon. Their use of a horse above the water means that they can rescue people lost at sea. St Elmo’s fire was said to be the way they manifested their divinity to sailors. Diodorus Siculus records that the Twins were Argonauts with Heracles, Telamon, and Orpheus. Further, he tells us in the fourth book of Bibliotheca historica, that the Celts who dwelt along the ocean worshipped the Dioscuroi “more than the other gods”.
July is named for Julius Caesar. Originally, the Roman Month was called Quintilis, as it was the fifth month of the Roman calendar, which originally started in March. Caesar reformed the calendar in 44BC and the Senate renamed the month after him.
It is called Lúil in Irish and Gorffennaf in Welsh. In Anglo Saxon July was Æfteraliða, or “after-mild;”, Liða, means “mild” or “gentle,” or the period of warm weather around Midsummer. June is Arraliða, or “before-mild”.
It is on average the warmest month in most of the Northern Hemisphere, where it is the second month of summer. The star signs for July are: Cancer (until July 22) and Leo (July 23 onwards),
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July is the month of Haymaking, as you can see from the July image (above from in the Kalendar of Shepherds). To find out more, wait for the next post.From the Kalendar of Shepherds comes this description of July.
If you want to read Ovid’s almanac of the year, the ‘Fasti’, for yourself, this is the translation I am using.
Fasti is sadly unfinished because Pūblius Ovidius Nāsō was exiled by the Emperor Augustus. The last entry is for 30th June where Ovid writes: ‘put the last touches to my undertaking’. It suggests he knew he was finished, despite only being halfway through the year.
He was exiled to the Black Sea at Tomis where he died ten years later. It is not clear exactly why he was exiled. Ostensibly it was for the immorality of his book ‘The Art of Love’. But that was published almost a decade earlier. So, it seems a strange cause for exile.
Was he involved with a plot against Augustus that saw the Emperor’s own daughter exiled? Her lover was Lullus Antonius, son of Mark Antony. Unlike Julia’s other lovers, he was forced to commit suicide.
Sculpture of Julia the Elder, daughter of Augustus, divorced wife of Tiberius Public Domain . Musée Saint-Raymond in Béziers
But this also happened years before Ovid’s exile. Julia’s daughter, Julia the Yonger, was herself exiled closer to the time of Ovid’s exile. Her husband, Lucius Aemilius Paullus, was executed for treason. So, might this be the context of his exile? No one knows. Ovid said the reason for his exile was a ‘poem and a mistake’. The nature of that mistake is not recorded but he said the crime was worse than murder and more harmful than poetry.
Here is one of my favourite Ovid quotations. Here he recommends how the aspiring male should dress for a night out on the town:
Don’t torture your hair, though, with curling-iron: don’t pumice Your legs into smoothness. Leave that To Mother Cybele’s votaries, ululating in chorus With their Phrygian modes. Real men Shouldn’t primp their good looks …
… Keep pleasantly clean, take exercise, work up an outdoor Tan; make quite sure that your toga fits And doesn’t show spots; don’t lace your shoes too tightly, Or ignore any rusty buckles, or slop Around in too large a fitting. Don’t let some incompetent barber Ruin you looks: both hair and beard demand Expert attention. Keep your nails pared, and dirt-free; Don’t let those long hairs sprout In your nostrils, make sure your breath is never offensive.
Avoid the rank male stench That wrinkles noses. Beyond this is for wanton women – Or any half-man who wants to attract men.
The translation is from Green, Peter (Trans) ‘Ovid The Erotic Poems’ Penguin Classics, London 1982‘
Mother Cybele’s votaries were castrati, hence their high-pitched voices. The Cybele, the Mother Goddess, fell in love with Attys, who made her jealous. She made him mad, whereupon he castrated himself and bled to death. The Goddess had him resurrected body and soul. They enjoyed divine bliss ever after. A Cybelian castration device, dredged out of the Thames, can be seen in the Roman Gallery of the British Museum.
British Museum Castration Device from the River Thames at London Bridge Photo: K Flude
The paragraph above is a quotation from In Their Own Words – A Literary Companion To The Origins Of London‘ D A Horizons, 2009. by Kevin Flude
To buy the Kindle or Paperback version click here.
June is, probably, named after Juno, the leading lady of Olympus, sister and brother to the Great God Jupiter (Jove). In Welsh, it’s ‘Mehefin’ – Midsummer. In Gaelic, ‘An t’Og mhios’ – the Young Month. In Anglo-Saxon, ‘Litha’, the month of the Midsummer Moon.
The picture above is from the Kalendar of Shepherds, with its 15th Century French Illustration. It shows shearing as the main occupation for the month but set within a flowery summer scene. In the roundels are the Gemini twins and the Cancer Crab, the star signs of June.
The text of the Kalendar of Shepherds gives a lyrical view of the joys of June:
From Kalendar of Shepherds, 17th Century Text Wellcome Library
June might come, not from Juno’s name, but from an Indo-European word for youth or vital energy. Ovid in Fasti, his poem about the Roman Year, lets Juno make her own case:
‘O poet, singer of the Roman year, Who dares to tell great things in slender measures, You’ve won the right to view a celestial power, By choosing to celebrate the festivals in your verse. But so you’re not ignorant or led astray by error. June in fact takes its name from mine. It’s something to have wed Jove, and to be Jove’s sister: I’m not sure if I’m prouder of brother or husband. If you consider lineage, I was first to call Saturn Father, I was the first child fate granted to him. Rome was once named Saturnia, after my father: This was the first place he came to, exiled from heaven. If the marriage bed counts at all, I’m called the Thunderer’s Wife, and my shrine’s joined to that of Tarpeian Jove. If his mistress could give her name to the month of May, Shall a similar honour be begrudged to me? Or why am I called queen and chief of goddesses? Why did they place a golden sceptre in my hand?’
In the previous Book (on May), Ovid told another story that June was named for young men.
‘So I deduce that the elders gave their own title To the month of May: and looked after their own interests. Numitor too may have said: ‘Romulus, grant this month To the old men’ and his grandson may have yielded. The following month, June, named for young men’ Gives no slight proof of the honour intended.’
The Latin for ‘Young men’ comes from the Latin iuvenis, “youth”)
But let’s not go into Indo-European roots, and let’s simply accept the most wonderful month is named after Juno, the Queen of Goddesses, the deity of marriage and women. Probably most famous for hating the Trojans – she had a grudge against Paris, as he ruled against her in that famous divine beauty competition. And more seriously, what other reaction can the Deity of Marriage, have to the man who showed such disregard for the sanctity of marriage that he ran away with the already spoken for Helen.
The Judgment of Paris 1700 by Daniel Purcell. Houghton Museum (Paris, Venus, Juno, Minerva)
‘A sweet season, the senses perfume and the spirits comfort.’
First Written in June 2023 and revised June 2024
There were some spelling and image errors in the email for my past (re)post so have a look at the revised page here, and spare my blushes.
Rood screen in St. Helen’s church, Ranworth, Norfolk by Maria CC BY-SA 3.0
Roodmas is celebrated on May 3rd and September 14th, although the Church of England aligned itself with the Catholic Church’s main celebration on September 14th.
Rood is another word for the Cross. Parish Churches used to have a Rood Screen separating the holy Choir from the more secular Nave. This screen was topped with a statue of the Crucified Jesus nailed to a Rood.
The two dates of Roodmas reflects that it commemorates two events:
The Discovery of the Holy Cross in Jerusalem in 326 by Queen Helena, wife of Constantius Chlorus and mother of Constantine the Great. In Jerusalem, Queen Helena found the Cross with the nails, and the crown of thorns. She authenticated the Cross by placing it in contact with a deathly sick woman who was revived by the touch of Cross. She had most of the Cross sent back to the care of her son, Constantine the Great.
The part of the Holy Cross that was left behind in Jerusalem was taken by Persians but recovered by the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius in 628 in a peace treaty.
Over the years, the Cross was shivered into ever smaller pieces as Emperors, Kings, Queens, Dukes, Counts, Popes, Bishops, Abbots, and Abbesses swapped relics with each other. The fragments were cased in beautiful reliquaries and had enormous power for those of faith and those who could be helped by healing by faith.
The Duke of Buckingham had a piece in his collection, which he kept at York House in the early 17th Century. How he got it, I don’t know, but I think he must have acquired it from the aftermath of the destruction of the Reformation. John Tradescant, who looked after the Duke’s collection (before Buckingham was murdered), had a wonderful collection of curiosities which he kept in the UK’s first Museum in Lambeth. Tradescant’s Ark, as his museum was called, also had a piece of the True Cross. Again, I suspect (without any evidence) that he got it from Buckingham. Did he acquire it after the murder? Or shiver off a timber fragment hoping no one would notice?
The Chapel that Shakespeare’s Father controlled as Bailiff of Stratford on Avon, was dedicated to the Legend of the True Cross, to find out more click here:
Last year, I was just finishing this piece when I came across this astonishing story in the Shropshire News!
It seems two pieces of the True Cross were given to Charles III by the Pope! They have been put into a cross called the Welsh Cross which took part in the Coronation Procession, and then the King is giving the Cross (I assume with the pieces of the Holy Cross) to the Church in Wales. Let the Shropshire News tell the story:
Flora on a gold aureus of 43–39 BC Wikipedia photot by АНО Международный нумизматический клуб
On the 28th of April until the Kalends (15th) of May the Romans, according to Ovid in the ‘Fasti’ Book IV, celebrated the Florialia dedicated to Flora, the Goddess of Spring, flowering, blossoming, budding, planting and fertility. She was one of the 15 Roman Deities offered a state-financed Priest. Her home in Rome, was on the lower slopes of the Aventine Hill near the Circus Maximus.
The Circus Maximus is the large long arena in the middle of Rome. Model Musee Arte et Histoire, Brussels, photo Kevin Flude
Celebrations began with theatrical performances, at the end of which the audience were pelted with beans and lupins. Then there were competitive games, and spectacles. The latter, in the reign of Galba, including a tight-rope walking – wait for it – elephant!
Incidently, Galba only survived for 7 months as Emperor – a little longer than Liz Truss’s 44 days but then she was not murdered by a rampaging mob at the end of her reign. It was the year known to history as the year of the 4 Emperors. (great description by Tacitus here:)
Juvenal records that prostitutes were included in the celebration of Flora by dancing naked, and fighting in mock gladiatorial battles. (there is a raging debate about the existence of female gladiators: a burial in Southwark has been said to be one such and Natalie Haynes has her say on the subject here🙂
Hares and goats were released as part of the ceremonies, presumably because they are very fertile and have a ‘salacious’ reputation! (Satyrs were, famously, obsessed with sex and were half man half goat. A man can still be referred to, normally behind his back, as an ‘old goat’).
Strangely, very little to do with Mothers! Mothering Sunday is the 4th Sunday in Lent and is a day in which we are enjoined to visit our Mother Churches. It, therefore, became a day when people made processions to their Churches. Servants and workers could go to their home parishes, and not only go to the Mother Church but also to say hello to their mothers.
It was called Mothering Sunday when I was little but since then has morphed into the Americanism that is Mother’s Day.
‘Rejoice ye with Jerusalem; and be ye glad for her, all ye that delight in her: exult and sing for joy with her, all ye that in sadness mourn for her; that ye may suck, and be satisfied with the breasts of her consolations.‘
Jerusalem is personified, here, as the Mother. Further associations with motherhood came from the Gospel for the day which is John 6:1–14, the story of the Feeding of the Five Thousand, which led to associations with the bounty of Mother Earth.
In the medieval period visits to the Mother Church seem to have become fiercely competitive. The Bishop of Lincoln, Robert Grosseteste decreed:
‘In each and every church you should strictly prohibit one parish from fighting with another over whose banners should come first in processions at the time of the annual visitation and veneration of the mother church. […] Those who dishonour their spiritual mother should not at all escape punishment, when those who dishonour their fleshly mothers are, in accordance with God’s law, cursed and punished with death.‘
(Letter 22.7 – Wikipedia)
Simnel Cake
It was also the Sunday in the fasting period of Lent in which the restrictions were relaxed, so you could eat what is called Simnel Cake.
I’ll to thee a Simnel bring ‘Gainst thou goest a-Mothering So that, when she blesseth thee Half that blessing thou’lt give me.
The Simnel cake is a fine flour light fruit cake (Latin simila, fine flour), with layers of marzipan in it. It often has 11 balls of marzipan on the top, representing the 11 (not Judas) apostles. The cake is first boiled for two hours and then baked.
Now, I know 95% of my American readers hate fruit cake, but believe me when I tell you – you are completely wrong! Its delicious, and here is the BBC’s recipe for you to try:
I have just come back from my very first Leap Year Walk, which I gave tonight for London Walks. It was one of a series of my walks, which are about the year through London’s History. So far, I have done, a New Year Walk, an Imbolc Walk (1 February, St Brigid’s Day), a Spring Equinox Walk, a May Day Walk, a Summer Solstice Walk, an Autumn Equinox Walk, a Halloween Walk, and a Winter Solstice Walk. All, at their core, have the subject of the year, how it is arranged, and celebrated in different cultures and different times in London.
I hoped to get this post done, today, but on arrival at home my burglar alarm was ringing, so had to get an emergency electrician out to pacify my neighbours, and tracking down the fault meant turning my house upside down. I rushed it out, with many bad proof reading errors and ommissions, And have now, on the dawn of a new month, and a new Season, updated it. Probably, knowing me, it still has a far few errors! Now, I am rushing to look after my Grandson!
So, the reason there is a leap year, is that the Sun and the Moon have different cycles, which cannot be easily aligned. And secondly, the solar year is not a fixed number, it is not 365 days, but 365 days and a bit.
Originally though, probably, most cultures lived their lives with time keeping controlled by time markers from their everyday environment, days and nights, the waning and waxing of the moon, the seasons, and the changes in the rising and setting of the Sun. Budding nature would have provided other markers as to when to sow, to harvest, to prune, to slaughter, to worship and marry.
The months were given by the cycle of the Moon, which also gave us tides and menstrual cycles. The months were given names, which were often associated with the weather. The trouble was that the Solar year did not align with the Moon, soon the months would get out of kilter with the seasons. So over time, the society would find it was winter in June, or summer in December. (which is OK if you live in Australia).
Society dealt with this in a number of ways. It could be ignored, why shouldn’t it be cold in June, why should June always be in Summer? Another way was to add in extra days, or months, every so often to make sure June remained in the Summer. This is what Egypt, the early Romans and the Celts did. They kept their months aligned to the actual movements of the Moon, and aligned their Solar Year with it by the addition of extra days or a month or two. or a combination of both.
I reported on this in my post on the Terminalia for February 23rd. As I wrote:
Terminus was an old ancient God who was the God of the boundary, the border, the edge, the liminal God. February was the last month of the original Roman year, but the rulers of Rome added an intercalary month every so often, called Mercedonius in an attempt to keep the Solar year in tune with the seasons. And when the intercalary month was added, the last five days of February were given to Mercedonius and the resulting leap year was either 377 or 378 days long.. So, in those years, the 23rd of February was the Terminus of the year. (For more on Terminalia look at my post for February 23rd on Terminalia-god-of-the-boundary)
Now, as the Roman Republic became more sophisticated, the intercalary months were added at the direction of the Pontiffs, supposedly every two and sometimes every three years. But the Pontiffs were often swayed by political advantage, and by the time of Julius Caesar the seasons had got wildly out of sync with the calendar year. The Dictator, therefore, instituted ‘the Year of Confusion’ which was over 400 days long and brought in the Julian Calendar which realigned the calendar back in line with the seasons.
Caesar spent time with Egyptian Astronomers, trying to understand their solution to the problem. They identified that the year was not 365 days long but 356.25 days, so JC ‘fixed’the issue with a leap day every four years. Based on the almost correct calculation of a solar year being 365.25 days. The new calendar was inaugurated on the Kalends of Januarius 709 AUC, or as we would call it I January 45 BC. It became, in time, something the Romans were very proud of – rationalising, measuring, time itself. Romans counted their dates from the time their City was founded by Romulus in what we call 753 BC or 753 BCE. So, 45 BCE in our reckoning is 709 ab urbe condita (AUC ‘from the founding of the City) as the Romans saw it.
I prefer not to use BCE because it seems ‘dishonest’ to me. The idea of AD BC was made up based on a guess as to when Jesus was born. Changing BC to BCE may rid the date of an explicit Christian identification but masks the fact that there is no such thing as the ‘Common Era. What the Common Era is, is the idea made up in the Late Roman period guessing when Jesus was born/ So I think call a spade a spade, even if it’s a broken meaningless spade that is not fit for purpose, either replace it with something rational, or real or call it what it is.
The interesting thing is that Caesar put the leap year in on the 24th February. Why? Because February, being the month of death, was the end of the year. March 25th was originally the beginning of the Roman year (Caesar moved it to January 1st). Why March 25th? Because it was the Spring Equinox. If you look at my post for March 25th you will find out it is the date of the creation of Humanity, the Birthday of Adam, the conception of Jesus, and until 1752, the day the year number changed in Britain.
The other strange thing about the new leap day was that it was not called February 25th. It was not given a number. Rather, February 24th was two days long. This continued in Britain until the date February 29th started appearing in calendars in the 15th Century, although the legendary Lawyer, Edward Coke (1552 – 1634), refers to the two days of February 24th, but the two day 24th was completely replaced by February 29th in the 16th Century.
One slight complication to the story of February 29th was that February 29th did exist before the Julian reforms. When February was not interrupted by the intercalary month, as described above, it was 29 days long. Julius Caesar made the months alternate 30 and 31 except for February which was 29 days long. When the Senate gave Julius the honour of having the 7th Month named after him, things were OK, but then Augustus wanted the same thing. The Senate duly gave him the next month, which became known as August, but it only had 30 days. This could not be allowed! So they made it up to 31 and stole the 29th from February and made February only 28 days long. This change also meant that there were now three 31 days months in a row, so they reduced September from 31 to 30, boosted October to 31, reduced November to 30 and boosted December to 31,
Hence, we can no longer remember Caesar rational allotment of days in the month, and we need to hum to ourselves:
Thirty days have September April, June, and November February has twenty-eight alone. All the rest have thirty-one. Excepting leap year – that’s the time When February’s days are twenty-nine.
But Caesar had not solved the problem of the shifting year, he had just minimised it. By the Council of Nicea in the early 4th Century (and not yet called AD!) the small error had changed the date of the Spring Equinox, from March 25th to March 21st. So, when Constantine convened the Council to bang the heads together of the Church leaders to unify their religion, particularly in regard to the date of Easter, and whether Jesus was equal to God. They fudged the complex issue of the date of Christ’s death, and used March 21st as the foundation of their calculation on the moon-based festival of Easter (more of which at Easter!)
It wasn’t until the 16th Century that Pope Gregory, solved the problem of the inaccuracy of Caesar’s solution. They resynced the days to the seasons by removing days from the Calendar. And they stopped the drift by fine-tuning the leap year system, by not having a leap year in those centurial years which were not divisible by 400. So 2000 was a leap year, but 2100 is not. This allowed the systems to align correctly to this day. (although there is of course a little more to it than this). But for that level of detail, you will love ‘The Calendar’ by David Ewing Duncan, or just look it up on Wikipedia or wait for me to compile various references to the Gregorian Calendar into a unified post on the subject.
Of course, Britain refused to join a Catholic innovation for nearly 200 years but, religious prejudice at last gave way to reason, when we adopted the Gregorian Calendar in 1752. In the process we lost 11 days, much to the horror of the London mob, who rioted against their loss.
