Snowdrop, Crocus, Violet and Silver Birch circle in Haggerston Park. (Photo Kevin Flude, 2022)
Ovid’s Metamorphoses tells the story of Crocus and Smilax This poem is one of the most famous in the world, written in about 6 AD. It influenced Dante, Bocaccio, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Keats, Bernard Shaw, and me. It was translated anew by Seamus Hughes.
The mechanicals in ‘The Midsummers Night Dream’ perform Ovid’s story of Pyramus and Thisbe, Titian painted Diana and Actaeon. Shaw wrote about Pygmalion, and we all know the story of Arachne. Claiming to be better than Athene at weaving and then being turned into a spider.
The poem is about love, beauty, change, arrogance and is largely an Arcadian/rural poem. This is a contrast to Ovid’s ‘Art of Love’ which I use for illustrations of life in a Roman town. The stories are all about metamorphoses, mostly changes happening because of love. But it is also an epic as it tells the classical story of the universe from creation to Julius Caesar.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses and the Crocus
Ovid tells us ‘Crocus and his beloved Smilax were changed into tiny flowers.’ But he chooses to give us no more details. So we have to look elsewhere. There are various versions. In the first, Crocus is a handsome mortal youth, beloved of the God Hermes (Mercury). They are playing with a discus which hits Crocus on the head and kills him. Hermes, distraught, turns the youth into a beautiful flower. Three drops of his blood form the stigma of the flower. In another, love hits Crocus and the nymph Smilax, and they are rewarded by immortality as a flower. One tale has Smilax turned into the Bindweed.
Morning Glory or Field Bindweed photo Leslie Saunders unsplash
Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Bindweed
It turns out that Smilax means ‘bindweed’ in Latin. Bindweed is from the Convolvulus family, and I have grown one very successfully in a pot for many years. But they have long roots. According to the RHS ‘Bindweed‘ refers to two similar trumpet-flowered weeds. Both of which twine around other plant stems, smothering them in the process. They are difficult to remove.’ This, could suggest that Smilax is either punished for spurning Crocus, or that she smothered him with love. Medically, Mrs Grieve’s Modern Herbal says all the bindweeds have strong purgative virtues, perhaps another insight into her pyschology?
The Metamorphosis of Data and the correct use of the plural
Apparently, in the UK some say crocuses and others use the correct Latin plural, croci. On an earlier version of this post I used the incorrect plural crocii.
On the subject of Roman plurals, an earth-shattering decision was made by the Financial Times editorial department. Last year they updated their style guide to make the plural word data (datum is the singular form) metamorphise into the singular form.
So it is now wrong to say ‘data are’ but right to say ‘data is’. For example, it was correct to say: ‘the data are showing us that 63% of British speakers use crocuses as the plural’ but now, it is better to write ‘the data is showing us that 37% of British people prefer the correct Latin form of croci’.
Violets and crocuses are coming out. So far, in 2025 I have seen just one flowering in the local park. The crocus represents many things, but because they often come out for St Valentine’s Day, they are associated with Love. White croci usually represented truth, innocence, and purity. The purple variety imply success, pride and dignity. The yellow type is joy.’ according to www.icysedgwick.com/, which gives a fairly comprehensive look at the Crocus.
Photo Mohammad Amiri from unsplash. Notice the crimson stigma and styles, called threads, Crocus is one of the characters in Ovid’s Metamorphoses
Crocus & Saffron
The autumn-flowering perennial plant Crocus sativus, is the one whose stigma gives us saffron. This was spread across Europe by the Romans. They used it for medicine, as a dye, and a perfume. It was much sought after as a protection against the plague. It was extensively grown in the UK. Saffron Walden was a particularly important production area in the 16th and 17th Centuries.
Saffron in London
It was grown in the Bishop of Ely’s beautiful Gardens in the area remembered by the London street name: Saffron Hill. It is home to the fictional Scrooge. This area became the London home of Christopher Hatton, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth 1. For more on Christopher Hatton see my post on nicknames Queen Elizabeth I gave to her favourites). His garden was on the west bank of the River Fleet, in London EC1, in the area now know as Hatton Garden.
I found out more about Saffron from listening to BBC Radio 4’s Gardener’s Question time and James Wong.
The place-name Croydon (on the outskirts of London), means Crocus Valley. a place where Saffron was grown. The Saffron crops in Britain failed eventually because of the cost of harvesting, and it became cheaper to import it. It is now grown in Spain, Iran and India amongst other places. But attempts over the last 5 years have been made to reintroduce it, This is happening in Norfolk, Suffolk, Kent and Sussex – the hot and dry counties. It likes a South facing aspect, and needs to be protected from squirrels and sparrows who love it.
Saffron Photo by Vera De on Unsplash Viola odorata CC BY-SA 2.5 Wikipedia
Violets
Violets have been used as cosmetics by the Celts; to moderate anger by the Athenians, for insomnia by the Iranians and loved by all because of their beauty and fragrance. They have been symbols of death for the young, and used as garlands, nosegays posies which Gerard says are ‘delightful’.
For more on Ovid use the search facility (click on menu) or read my post here.
The Independent January 2021 The Raven the Palladium of Britain
The Raven – the Palladium of Britain
Corvus corax is hatching. An early nesting bird, the Raven is the biggest of the Corvids. They were pushed to the west and north by farmers and game keepers but are making a comeback. They are finding towns convenient for their scavenging habits. So they, again, cover most of the UK except the eastern areas.
Their habits, and their black plumage has made them harbingers of death. In poetry, Ravens glut on blood like the warriors whose emblem they are. Here is a very famous quotation from Y Gododdin, a medieval poem but thought to derive from a poem by the great poet Aneirin from the 7th Century.
‘He glutted black ravens on the rampart of the stronghold, though he was no Arthur.’
This is one of the much argued-about references to King Arthur in the ‘Was he a real person’ argument. The point being, it doesn’t make sense if there wasn’t an Arthur. The story at the Tower of London is that the Ravens kept in the Tower, with clipped wings, keep Britain safe from Invasion.
A Palladium is something that keeps a city or country safe, They are named after a wooden statue of Pallas Athene, which protected Troy. Perceiving this, Odysseus and Diomedes stole the Palladium from Troy shortly before the Trojan Horse episode. The palladium then went to Italy (I’m guessing with Diomedes who is said to have founded several cities in Italy), and ended up in Rome.
The Romans claimed to be descendants of Trojan exiles led by Aeneas. So it was back with its rightful owners. It protected Rome until it was transferred to the new Roman capital at Constantinople, and then disappeared, presumably allowing the Ottoman Turks to conquer the City of Caesar.
Bran’s Head – the original Palladium of Britain?
The Raven was also the symbol of the God-King Bran. Bran was one of the legendary Kings of Britain. His sister, Branwen, was married to the King of Ireland. To cut a long story short, Branwen was exiled by her Irish husband to the scullery. She trained a starling to smuggle a message to her brother, to tell of her abuse.
So Bran took an army over the Irish Sea to restore her to her rightful state. But the ships were becalmed. Mighty Bran blew the boats across the sea – he was that much a hero.
Bran was mortality wounded in the battle that followed. This was a problem because he had given away his cauldron of immortality. He gave it to the Irish King in recompense for the insults given to the Irish by Bran’s brother, who hated anyone not British.
So, the dying Bran, told his companions to cut off his own head and take it back to the White Hill in London. His head was as good a companion on the way back as it was on the way out, and the journey home took 90 years.
At last, they got to London where he told his men to bury his head on the White Hill. As long as it stays here, he said, Britain would be safe from foreign invasion.
This was one of the Three Fortunate Concealments and is found in ‘the Triads of the Island of Britain.’
By Sonny Mauricio from Unsplash
But many years later, King Arthur saw no need for anybody or anything other than himself to protect the realm. So he had the head dug up. Calamity followed in the shapes of Sir Lancelot and Mordred which led to the end of the golden age of Camelot and conquest of Britain by the Saxons.This was one of the Three Unfortunate Disclosures.
The White Hill is said to be Tower Hill with its summit at Trinity Gardens, although Primrose Hill is sometimes offered as an alternative. If we want a rational explanation for the story, there is evidence that Celtic cultures venerated the skull, and palladiums play a part in Celtic Tales.
So what was Arthur doing destroying the palladium that kept Britain safe? Vanity is the answer the story gives. But, perhaps, it’s a memory of Christian rites taking over from pagan rituals. God, Arthur might have thought, would prefer to protect his people himself rather than Christians having to rely on a pagan cult object.
The story of Bran’s head is inevitably linked to the Ravens in the Tower who, it is still said, keep us safe from invasion. As you can see from the photo are the top we still get in a tiz when one goes missing.
Sadly, and I am probably sadder about this than most others, the link between the Tower, Bran and the Ravens cannot be substantiated. Geoffrey Parnell, who is a friend of mine, told me that while working at the Tower of London he searched the records assiduously for the story of the ravens. He found no evidence of the Raven myth & the Tower before the 19th Century and concluded that it was most likely a Victorian invention.
The Welsh Triads give a total of three palladiums for Britain.
The Head of Bran the Blessed, son of Llyr, which was concealed in the White Hill in London, with its face towards France. And as long as it was in the position in which it was put there, no Saxon Oppression would ever come to this Island; The second Fortunate Concealment: the Dragons in Dinas Emrys, which llud son of Beli concealed; And the third: the Bones of Gwerthefyr the Blessed, in the Chief Ports of this Island. And as long as they remained in that concealment, no Saxon Oppression would ever come to this Island.
All good but then came the three unfortunate disclosures:
And there were the Three Unfortunate Disclosures when these were disclosed. And Gwrtheyrn the Thin disclosed the bones of Gwerthefyr the Blessed for the love of a woman: that was Ronnwen the pagan woman; And it was he who disclosed the Dragons; And Arthur disclosed the head of Bran the Blessed from the White Hill, because it did not seem right to him that this Island should be defended by the strength of anyone, but by his own.
Gwrtheyrn is Vortigen, the leader of the Britons after the fall of the Roman Empire in Britain, one or two leaders before Arthur. Vortigern, which means something like strong leader in Welsh was a real person in so far as he, unlike Arthur, is mentioned by Gildas a near contemporary source.
The story of the dragons is supposedly from the pre-roman Iron Age. Every May Day, they made a terrible noise, causing miscarriages and other misfortunes. So, King Ludd, whom legends says gave his name to London (Ludd’s Dun or Ludd’s walled City), drugged the dragons. He had them buried in a cavern at Dinas Emrys in Eryri (Snowdonia). The Dragons represented the Britons and the Saxons.
Hundreds of years later, after the Romans have come and gone. Vortigern is trying to build a castle in Eryri at Dinas Emrys. But the walls keep falling down. You need the blood of a boy born not of man, his necromancers say. They find a boy called Ambrosius aka Merlin whose mother has lain with an incubus. Merlin accuses the necromancers of ignorance and explains the wall collapse is caused by two dragons. They let the dragons go. The walls now stand undisturbed. But the Welsh Red Dragon and the Saxon White Dragon can not be at peace, and the Britons are defeated by the Saxons.
Gwerthefyr is Vortimer, the son of Vortigern, who was better than his dad and was fighting to keep the Saxons out, but his father betrayed his own people for the lust of Rowena the daughter of Hengist, the Saxon.
After Vortimer’s death his bones were buried at the chief ports on the South Coast and they kept the country safe. But they were moved to Billingsgate. This allowed the Saxons to land safely on the Kent coast and consolidate their increasing hold over Britain and turning it into England.
Written in February 21 revised in February 18th 23, 24, 25
For this was St. Valentine’s Day When every bird came there to chose their mate. Of every type, that men think may And that so huge a noise did they make That earth and sea and tree and every lake So full was, that hardly was there space For to stand so full was the place.
St Valentine’s Patronage
This is the first reference to St Valentine’s as a romantic day. And some people charge Chaucer with making the whole thing up! St Valentine, is supposed to have been martyred in the 3rd Century (290AD) on the Via Flaminia on February 14. He refused to stop marrying people in the Christian rites. He is therefore the patron Saint of lovers. He is also the patron Saint of epileptics, fainting and beekeepers. According to legend, Valentine taught a young blind girl how to look after Bees, and, sometime later, her eyesight was restored. He also is said to have treated a young man of epilepsy. Epilepsy was sometimes called the Falling Sickness, and so he is also the Saint of Fainting.
But until Chaucer, there was no particular link with romance. In fact, there are at least three Saint Valentines who were martyred in the Roman period. Their relics are scattered around Europe (have a look at this National Geographic article for the full S.P.). These include bones in Glasgow and his heart in Dublin. There are 11 Saints called Valentine in the list of Catholic Saints.
St Valentine’s Day and Birds
Chaucer’s poem suggests one possible route to the link with romance. This is about the time when birds pair off. If they want to have their chicks at the optimal time, then they need to get going before spring has really sprung.
When I think of love, I don’t think of birds. Maybe, this is because I live by a Canal. Outside my garden, I frequently see and hear a Coot chasing his pair across the water before violently mounting her. But then they are fiercely monogamous and defend their nest, fearlessly, against much bigger birds. And swans glide by in beautiful family groups. But Magpies are my favourite lovebird because you see one, and then look around, and you very often see the partner. I have adopted an old tradition that you are supposed to say:
‘Hello, Mr Magpie! Where’s Mrs Magpie?’
And look for the mate. It is good luck if you see her and bad luck if you don’t. (Please feel free to assign your own favourite gender!)
‘One for Sorrow’ is a well-known nursery rhyme found in many variations, and is an example of ‘ornithomancy superstition’ whereby the number of Magpies you see determines some aspect of your future. As to the likelihood of seeing thirteen magpies together – they always appear to be in pairs to me, or singletons, and occasionally threes. Magpies normally mate for life, and are not gregarious during the nesting season, but thereafter, they ‘join together in large wintering flocks of more than 20 or so birds.‘. So, perhaps we need at least another seven lines for the rhyme? So, far I have never seen a flock of them. If you have a photo of a flock, please send it to me!
One for sorrow, Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver, Six for gold, Seven for a secret, Never to be told. Eight for a wish, Nine for a kiss, Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss, Eleven for health, Twelve for wealth, Thirteen beware it’s the devil himself.
Here is another, more dangerous version (you are more likely to see the Devil)
One for sorrow, Two for mirth Three for a funeral, Four for birth Five for heaven Six for hell Seven for the devil, his own self
For details of the history of versions of this poem, click here:
Magpies don’t have a good reputation, traditionally being regarded as thieves and scavengers with untidy nests and eating habits. They are supposed to be attracted to shiny things, but Exeter University did some research which found that they have the normal Corvid’s curiosity for objects. But they are as happy to snatch a dull object as a shiny one. So, we can see they are very intelligent as well as faithful lovers. For me, a good-omened bird (as long as I see the two of them).
The Greeat Freeze. ‘Skating on the Serpentine’ by Lucien Davis Antique wood-engraved print. Illustrated London News double page from 2 March 1895 (print owned by K Flude)
The Great Freeze
London, February 12. There is no abatement of the abnormally cold weather which has prevailed in northern Europe for the last week. The Upper Thames is frozen over, and huge blocks of ice breaking away from the mass are floating down, the river, causing much damage to the smaller shipping craft. Water traffic is consequently at a complete standstill.
Many cases of death from cold and exposure are reported, the privation and distress in the east end of the city being particularly severe. The cold is so intense that birds are found frozen to death on the branches of the trees, and thousands are perishing. The severe weather has also directly caused considerable mortality, a number of deaths from exposure having been reported among postmen, omnibus drivers, cabmen, and labourers.
Winter of 1895 Limehouse to left, Tower of London to right. Images from Isle of Dogs blog.
1895 was the culmination of a decade of particularly cold winters (and for some the end of the so-called Little Ice Age). On the 11th February, the coldest day in British History was recorded at Braemar at −27.2 °C. February 1895 was the second coldest on record, with the lowest minimum temperatures on record. Shipping in the biggest port in the world was stopped. Many workers were laid off, and had to resort to what were then called ‘soup kitchens’ and now ‘food banks’. Winter death rates were said to be doubled, with people dying in the street and in unheated homes.
Record minima were set for these dates in February 1895:
7th: −21.7 °C or −7.1 °F
8th: −25.0 °C or −13.0 °F
9th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
10th: −25.6 °C or −14.1 °F
11th: −27.2 °C or −17.0 °F
12th: −20.6 °C or −5.1 °F
13th: −21.9 °C or −7.4 °F
14th: −21.7 °C or −7.1 °F
16th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
17th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
18th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
19th: −22.2 °C or −8.0 °F
Source Wikipedia.
On the flip side people resorted to ponds around London particularly the Serpentine which had 6 inches of ice and 50,000 skaters, with speed skating competitions.
1554 – Lady Jane Grey was executed after a trial at the Guildhall. Her husband was executed on the same day. Her adoption as heir to the throne was ordered by her cousin Edward VI. His minister, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, (and Jane’s Father-in-Law) arranged for the Privy Council to accept Jane as the next monarch. They were trying to prevent Henry VIII’s Catholic daughter, Mary taking the throne. Jane was Queen for 9 Days. The Privy Council swapped sides as support for Jane collapsed. Jane was the Great-granddaughter of Henry VII and cousins to Mary, Elizabeth and Edward VI.
Published February 12th 2024, and republished 2025
In 2023, I saw my first Daffodil in Hackney in a Council Estate on 12 January. My first daffodil in 2024 was outside my first floor window in early February. In 2025, I can see the shoots of Daffodils in my garden but nothing blooming. However, there are the first daffodils in my area by the side of a different Council Estate. They bring such joy and hope for the return of the Sun.
12 Jan 2023. Hackney, London, the first Daffodil.
Narcissus the Flower
Their formal name is Narcissus. The Roman natural historian, Pliny tells us that the plant was:
‘named Narcissus from narkē not from the fabulous boy.’
Narkē is the Greek word from which we derive the word narcotic. It is a reference to the narcotic properties of the narcissus. An extract of the bulb applied to open wounds produced numbness of the whole nervous system and paralysis of the heart. The flowers are also slightly poisonous. So, they were used as an emetic. They brought on vomiting when it was felt necessary that the stomach be emptied. It was used to treat hysteria and epilepsy. They treated children with bronchial catarrh or epidemic dysentery. Among Arabian doctors, it was used to cure baldness and as an aphrodisiac. (Source: A Modern Herbal by Mrs M Grieve.) Please remember these are not recommendations for use medicinally, but are historic uses and may be dangerous.
Daffodils & Narcissus the Fabulous Boy
The fabulous boy, mentioned by Pliny, was Narcissus. He, according to the Roman Poet Ovid, met the nymph Echo, and she fell in love with the beautiful boy. He spurned her, and she faded until all that remained of her was her voice – the echo we hear.
Nemesis, the Goddess of Revenge (the one with the fiery sword) decided on revenge upon the handsome boy. She lured the thirsty youth to a fountain, where he saw an image of a breathtakingly handsome boy. He fell instantly in love with such beauty. But it was an image of himself. Realising he would never meet anyone as fabulous as himself, he faded from life. He eventually metamorphised into a white and yellow flower, which was named after him.
Nemesis from the painting on the Staircase at Hampton Court by Antonio Verrio, Photo K Flude
Daffodils & Shakespeare
Daffodils are mentioned in a list of Spring Flowers by Shakespeare in the pastoral play The Winter’s Tale:
(Please note that as you read Shakespeare’s words below that Prosperpina is the wife of Pluto, the God of the Underworld, Dis, is another name for him, Cytherea is the Goddess of Beauty and Love. Phoebus is the Sun God. And the Spring Flowers are Daffodils, violets, primroses, oxlips(primula), Crown Imperial (Fritillaria imperialis), Lilies, flower-De-luce (Iris)
Perdita to Camillo
Out, alas! You’d be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. (To Florizel) I would I had some flowers o’th’ spring, that might Become your time of day – (to the Shepherdesses) That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall From Dis’s waggon! Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength – a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one: O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o’er and o’er!WT IV.iv.110.2
The reference to Daffodils suggests that for Shakespeare they are around to withstand the March Winds before the Swallows arrive in April. With selective breeding, early flowering species have been developed. Now February and even January are within the scope of the glorious bulb. (here is a post on winter flowering varieties)
Once a noisy Nymph, (who never held her tongue when others spoke, who never spoke till others had begun) mocking Echo, spied him as he drove, in his delusive nets, some timid stags.—For Echo was a Nymph, in olden time,—and, more than vapid sound,—possessed a form: and she was then deprived the use of speech, except to babble and repeat the words, once spoken, over and over. Juno confused her silly tongue, because she often held that glorious goddess with her endless tales, till many a hapless Nymph, from Jove’s embrace, had made escape adown a mountain. But for this, the goddess might have caught them. Thus the glorious Juno, when she knew her guile; “Your tongue, so freely wagged at my expense, shall be of little use; your endless voice, much shorter than your tongue.” At once the Nymph was stricken as the goddess had decreed;—and, ever since, she only mocks the sounds of others’ voices, or, perchance, returns their final words.
One day, when she observed Narcissus wandering in the pathless woods, she loved him and she followed him, with soft and stealthy tread.—The more she followed him the hotter did she burn, as when the flame flares upward from the sulphur on the torch. Oh, how she longed to make her passion known! To plead in soft entreaty! to implore his love! But now, till others have begun, a mute of Nature she must be. She cannot choose but wait the moment when his voice may give to her an answer. Presently the youth, by chance divided from his trusted friends, cries loudly, “Who is here?” and Echo, “Here!” Replies. Amazed, he casts his eyes around, and calls with louder voice, “Come here!” “Come here!” She calls the youth who calls.—He turns to see who calls him and, beholding naught exclaims, “Avoid me not!” “Avoid me not!” returns. He tries again, again, and is deceived by this alternate voice, and calls aloud; “Oh let us come together!” Echo cries, “Oh let us come together!” Never sound seemed sweeter to the Nymph, and from the woods she hastens in accordance with her words, and strives to wind her arms around his neck. He flies from her and as he leaves her says, “Take off your hands! you shall not fold your arms around me. Better death than such a one should ever caress me!” Naught she answers save, “Caress me!” Thus rejected she lies hid in the deep woods, hiding her blushing face with the green leaves; and ever after lives concealed in lonely caverns in the hills. But her great love increases with neglect; her miserable body wastes away, wakeful with sorrows; leanness shrivels up her skin, and all her lovely features melt, as if dissolved upon the wafting winds—nothing remains except her bones and voice—her voice continues, in the wilderness; her bones have turned to stone. She lies concealed in the wild woods, nor is she ever seen on lonely mountain range; for, though we hear her calling in the hills, ’tis but a voice, a voice that lives, that lives among the hills.
Thus he deceived the Nymph and many more, sprung from the mountains or the sparkling waves; and thus he slighted many an amorous youth.—and therefore, some one whom he once despised, lifting his hands to Heaven, implored the Gods, “If he should love deny him what he loves!” and as the prayer was uttered it was heard by Nemesis, who granted her assent.
There was a fountain silver-clear and bright, which neither shepherds nor the wild she-goats, that range the hills, nor any cattle’s mouth had touched—its waters were unsullied—birds disturbed it not; nor animals, nor boughs that fall so often from the trees. Around sweet grasses nourished by the stream grew; trees that shaded from the sun let balmy airs temper its waters. Here Narcissus, tired of hunting and the heated noon, lay down, attracted by the peaceful solitudes and by the glassy spring. There as he stooped to quench his thirst another thirst increased. While he is drinking he beholds himself reflected in the mirrored pool—and loves; loves an imagined body which contains no substance, for he deems the mirrored shade a thing of life to love. He cannot move, for so he marvels at himself, and lies with countenance unchanged, as if indeed a statue carved of Parian marble. Long, supine upon the bank, his gaze is fixed on his own eyes, twin stars; his fingers shaped as Bacchus might desire, his flowing hair as glorious as Apollo’s, and his cheeks youthful and smooth; his ivory neck, his mouth dreaming in sweetness, his complexion fair and blushing as the rose in snow-drift white. All that is lovely in himself he loves, and in his witless way he wants himself:—he who approves is equally approved; he seeks, is sought, he burns and he is burnt. And how he kisses the deceitful fount; and how he thrusts his arms to catch the neck that’s pictured in the middle of the stream! Yet never may he wreathe his arms around that image of himself. He knows not what he there beholds, but what he sees inflames his longing, and the error that deceives allures his eyes. But why, O foolish boy, so vainly catching at this flitting form? The cheat that you are seeking has no place. Avert your gaze and you will lose your love, for this that holds your eyes is nothing save the image of yourself reflected back to you. It comes and waits with you; it has no life; it will depart if you will only go.
Nor food nor rest can draw him thence—outstretched upon the overshadowed green, his eyes fixed on the mirrored image never may know their longings satisfied, and by their sight he is himself undone. Raising himself a moment, he extends his arms around, and, beckoning to the murmuring forest; “Oh, ye aisled wood was ever man in love more fatally than I? Your silent paths have sheltered many a one whose love was told, and ye have heard their voices. Ages vast have rolled away since your forgotten birth, but who is he through all those weary years that ever pined away as I? Alas, this fatal image wins my love, as I behold it. But I cannot press my arms around the form I see, the form that gives me joy. What strange mistake has intervened betwixt us and our love? It grieves me more that neither lands nor seas nor mountains, no, nor walls with closed gates deny our loves, but only a little water keeps us far asunder. Surely he desires my love and my embraces, for as oft I strive to kiss him, bending to the limpid stream my lips, so often does he hold his face fondly to me, and vainly struggles up. It seems that I could touch him. ‘Tis a strange delusion that is keeping us apart. Whoever thou art, Come up! Deceive me not! Oh, whither when I fain pursue art thou? Ah, surely I am young and fair, the Nymphs have loved me; and when I behold thy smiles I cannot tell thee what sweet hopes arise. When I extend my loving arms to thee thine also are extended me—thy smiles return my own. When I was weeping, I have seen thy tears, and every sign I make thou cost return; and often thy sweet lips have seemed to move, that, peradventure words, which I have never heard, thou hast returned. No more my shade deceives me, I perceive ‘Tis I in thee—I love myself—the flame arises in my breast and burns my heart—what shall I do? Shall I at once implore? Or should I linger till my love is sought? What is it I implore? The thing that I desire is mine—abundance makes me poor. Oh, I am tortured by a strange desire unknown to me before, for I would fain put off this mortal form; which only means I wish the object of my love away. Grief saps my strength, the sands of life are run, and in my early youth am I cut off; but death is not my bane—it ends my woe.—I would not death for this that is my love, as two united in a single soul would die as one.”
He spoke; and crazed with love, returned to view the same face in the pool; and as he grieved his tears disturbed the stream, and ripples on the surface, glassy clear, defaced his mirrored form. And thus the youth, when he beheld that lovely shadow go; “Ah whither cost thou fly? Oh, I entreat thee leave me not. Alas, thou cruel boy thus to forsake thy lover. Stay with me that I may see thy lovely form, for though I may not touch thee I shall feed my eyes and soothe my wretched pains.” And while he spoke he rent his garment from the upper edge, and beating on his naked breast, all white as marble, every stroke produced a tint as lovely as the apple streaked with red, or as the glowing grape when purple bloom touches the ripening clusters. When as glass again the rippling waters smoothed, and when such beauty in the stream the youth observed, no more could he endure. As in the flame the yellow wax, or as the hoar-frost melts in early morning ‘neath the genial sun; so did he pine away, by love consumed, and slowly wasted by a hidden flame. No vermeil bloom now mingled in the white of his complexion fair; no strength has he, no vigor, nor the comeliness that wrought for love so long: alas, that handsome form by Echo fondly loved may please no more.
But when she saw him in his hapless plight, though angry at his scorn, she only grieved. As often as the love-lore boy complained, “Alas!” “Alas!” her echoing voice returned; and as he struck his hands against his arms, she ever answered with her echoing sounds. And as he gazed upon the mirrored pool he said at last, “Ah, youth beloved in vain!” “In vain, in vain!” the spot returned his words; and when he breathed a sad “farewell!” “Farewell!” sighed Echo too. He laid his wearied head, and rested on the verdant grass; and those bright eyes, which had so loved to gaze, entranced, on their own master’s beauty, sad Night closed. And now although among the nether shades his sad sprite roams, he ever loves to gaze on his reflection in the Stygian wave. His Naiad sisters mourned, and having clipped their shining tresses laid them on his corpse: and all the Dryads mourned: and Echo made lament anew. And these would have upraised his funeral pyre, and waved the flaming torch, and made his bier; but as they turned their eyes where he had been, alas he was not there! And in his body’s place a sweet flower grew, golden and white, the white around the gold.
First published in February 2023, revise and republished in February 2024, 2025
Eleanor Parker’s book, on the Anglo-Saxon Year, is a wonderful book. It has a poetry about it, that also provides an insight into how Anglo-Saxon thought the world works. For a non-Old-English speaker, it, also, really gives some understanding of the language. It reveals that for the Anglo-Saxons, Winter’s End was on the 7th February. We are now in the season of ‘lencten’. This probably comes from ‘lenghtening days’ or Spring as we call it. The word eventually got absorbed into the Christian calendar, giving us the name of the fasting season, which is ‘Lent’.
So Winter began, for the Anglo-Saxon, on 7th October and ended on the 7th February. January was called ‘Gēola‘ the month of Yule. February ‘Sol-mōnaþ‘ which is Mud month. The Venerable Bede in the 8th Century calls this the:
‘month of cakes which they offered to their gods in that month’.
Bede tells us that before conversion to Christianity, the Anglo-Saxons had two seasons – Winter and Summer. Winter began on the first full moon of October, which they called Winterfylleth. The summer was called ‘sumor’ or ‘gear’ which developed into our word ‘year’.
Thought to be the Venerable Bede, the first historian of the English
Roman, Celtic and Saxon Winter’s End
There is some sense in Winter’s End on February 7th. Lambs are being born; buds and shoot are appearing on branches and poking up from the cold earth. So, their winter is essentially, the time when nothing is growing, while ours is more aligned to the coldest period.
The Roman author Marcus Terentius Varro divided the Roman Year into 8 phrases and his Winter/Spring divide is also on 7th February. This is when, in Italy, the west winds began to blow warmer weather. So farmers ‘purged’ the fields, readying them for planting. They would be cleared of old growth and debris. Then blessed, weeded, pruned with particular attention given to preparing the grain fields, the vineyards, olive trees and fruit trees.
The Celtic year began at Halloween, and the spring begins with Imbolc, a week earlier than the Saxon on the 1st of February.
Anglo-Saxon Winter
In the section on Winter Eleanor Parker gives a poetic description of winter. What seems particularly interesting about it is that the harshness of winter is often paired with descriptions of the ruins of Roman Civilisation. So, the despair of winter, the barren soil, the fight for survival is made more melancholic by the comparison to failed civilisation. Nature battering away at the useless ruins, and the destruction of people’s dreams.
Here, is a flavour of the juxtaposition of the bleakness of winter and the sadness of lost society. It is from ‘The Wanderer’ an alliterative poem from the Exeter Book, dating from the late 10th century. I have presumed to change a couple of words to make it a little more accessible.
Who’s wise must see how ghostly it has been when the world and its things stand wasted — like you find, here and there, in this middle space now — there walls totter, wailed around by winds, gnashed by frost, the buildings snow-lapt. The winehalls molder, their Lord lies washed clean of joys, his people all perished, proud by the wall. War ravaged a bunch ferried along the forth-way, others a raptor ravished over lofty seas, this one the hoary wolf broke in its banes, the last a brother graveled in the ground, tears as war-mask.
“That’s the way it goes— the Shaper mills middle-earth to waste until they stand empty, the giants’ work and ancient, drained of the dreams and joys of its dwellers.”
As I read this I wonder if it is a tradition that began in the cold of Scandinavia? England, at least Southern England, can often have mild, rather than ferocious winters?
However, there is also an idea about the circularity of life and the interconnectedness of everything. There are 4 Seasons, 4 Ages of Man, and the cycle was from childhood to old age, from Spring to Winter. We start young, and become vigorous, and then we decline and eventually die. And so does the world of the Anglo-Saxons. The world of Adam was young, restored to vigour by the coming of Jesus. Now the World was in its old age awaiting the Apocalypse, before the Day of Judgement. So Winter was connected with Old Age and Death.
Bede’s Metaphor for Winter
Parker recounts a beautiful image of Bede’s. The King of Northumberland is thinking of taking his wife’s religion. He, therefore, invites the Christian evangelist, Paulinus to his court. Inclined to convert. He asks the opinion of one of his pagan advisers, who answers to the effect.
‘We are in the Great Hall, gathered warm with friends and family around the roaring fire, with Winter raging outside. A sparrow comes in from a hole in the end wall, flies through the warm of the Hall, and flies out through the other side. Such is life. The Hall is this world, we are the Sparrow, and as pagans we have no idea what happens before we enter the Hall, nor what happens after we leave. How much better it is to embrace a religion that can give us certainty as to what happens when we leave the hall.’
Lovely image, although, the pagan adviser does seem to have made his mind up?
The 15th Century French llustration, above, shows February as a time to cut firewood, dress warmly and stay by the fire. Food on the table is a nutritious pie and the fish are there to remind us it is the month of Pisces. In the other roundel is the other February star sign the Water Carrier, Aquarius.
Star signs of February
Pisces From the zodiac from kalendar of shepherds
The poem above is a reference to Candlemas’s celebration of the presentation of the child Jesus at the Temple. The paragraph below gives a summary of February. It ends with the idea that runs through the Kalendar. There are twelve apostles, twelve days of Christmas, twelve months in the year. So, there are twelve blocks of six years in a person’s allotted 72 years of life. So February is linked to the second block of 6 years in a human life, ages 6 to 12. In January, the Kalendar suggests the essential uselessness of 0-6 year old children. While here, for February, it allows that from 6-12 years old children are beginning to ‘serve and learn’.
Below, is the text for February. This gives a rural view of life in winter. It ends with the line that February:
‘is the poor man’s pick-purse, the miser’s cut-throat, the enemy to pleasure and the time of patience.’
February in the Kalendar of Shepherds
About the Kalendar of Shepherds.
The Kalendar was printed in 1493 in Paris and provided ‘Devices for the 12 Months.’ The version I’m using is a modern (1908) reconstruction of it. It uses wood cuts from the original 15th Century version and adds various texts from 16th and 17th Century sources. (Couplets by Tusser ‘Five Hundred Parts of Good Husbandrie 1599. Text descriptions of the month from Nicholas Breton’s ‘Fantasticks of 1626. This provides an interesting view of what was going on in the countryside every month.
Hesiod, in his Works and Daya describes February as a merciless cold, windy time.
Avoid the month Lenaeon, (February) wretched days, all of them fit to skin an ox, and the frosts which are cruel when Boreas blows over the earth. He blows across horse-breeding Thrace upon the wide sea and stirs it up, while earth and the forest howl. On many a high-leafed oak and thick pine he falls and brings them to the bounteous earth in mountain glens: then all the immense wood roars and the beasts shudder and put their tails between their legs, even those whose hide is covered with fur; for with his bitter blast he blows even through them, although they are shaggy-breasted. He goes even through an ox’s hide; it does not stop him. Also he blows through the goat’s fine hair. But through the fleeces of sheep, because their wool is abundant, the keen wind Boreas pierces not at all; but it makes the old man curved as a wheel. And it does not blow through the tender maiden who stays indoors with her dear mother, unlearned as yet in the works of golden Aphrodite, and who washes her soft body and anoints herself with oil and lies down in an inner room within the house, on a winter’s day when the Boneless One (an Octopus or a cuttle?) gnaws his foot in his fireless house and wretched home; for the sun shows him no pastures to make for, but goes to and fro over the land and city of dusky men,3 and shines more sluggishly upon the whole race of the Hellenes. Then the horned and unhorned denizens of the wood,] with teeth chattering pitifully, flee through the copses and glades, and all, as they seek shelter, have this one care, to gain thick coverts or some hollow rock. Then, like the Three-legged One (an old man with a stick) whose back is broken and whose head looks down upon the ground, like him, I say, they wander to escape the white snow.
Photo of London Fields in the snow of 2022 by Kevin Flude
January 1776:
‘On the 27th much snow fell all day, and in the evening the frost became very intense. At South Lambeth, for the four following nights, the thermometer fell to 7, 6, 6, and at Selborne to 7, 6, 10, and on the 3ist of January , just before sunrise, with rime on the trees and on the tube of the glass, the quicksilver sunk exactly to zero, being 32 degrees below the freezing point’ Gilbert White
Gilbert White and Darwin
He, of course, is talking Fahrenheit, so well below zero. If there was a Giant upon whose shoulders Charles Darwin climbed, then it was Gilbert White’s. He was one of many churchmen of the 18th and 19th Century who spent their extensive leisure time, on observing God’s wonderful creation in their gardens and parishes. What made White so important was that his practice was ‘observing narrowly’ and regularly. For example, his observations of the importance of earth worms were fundamental to Charles Darwin’s own studies. When Darwin came back from his travels on the Beagle, he settled in a country property in Orpington. Like White, he used his garden and the local area as his laboratory. Here he worked to prove his theory of evolution.
Gilbert White and Earth worms
Earth worms were one of Darwin’s passions. This is what Gilbert White wrote about their contribution to nature:
“Earth-worms, though in appearance a small and despicable link in the chain of Nature, yet, if lost, would make a lamentable chasm. For, to say nothing of half the birds, and some quadrupeds which are almost entirely supported by them, worms seem to be the great promoters of vegetation, by boring, perforating, and loosening the soil, and rendering it pervious to rains and the fibres of plants, and, most of all, by throwing up such infinite numbers of lumps of earth called worm-casts, which, being their excrement, is a fine manure for grain and grass.”
By such minute and repeated observations, Gilbert White investigated the food chain, and the migration of birds (which was at the time disputed). He laid the foundations of what we now call ecology.
He became Dean of Oriel College in Oxford. But chose to spend his career in the relatively humble occupation of Curate. A Curate is the bottom-feeder in the Anglican Church food chain. A Curate hardly earned enough to maintain a position in the Gentry (£50 p.a.). Although, White was upgraded to the title of Perpetual Curate. He still would only be pulling in, I guess, something like £200 p.a. Patrick Bronte was also a Perpetual Curate, it really means a Vicar but without a Parish.
Financially, White didn’t need much, he inherited his father’s property at Shelborne, Hampshire. White’s grandfather was the Vicar at Shelborne. But Gilbert could not inherit the title because he went to Oriel College. The ‘living’ of the Parish of Shelborne was ‘in the gift of’ Magdalen College. And they were not going to give the role to an alumnus of a rival college.
Gilbert White & The Austen Family
The house, now open to the public, is just around the corner from Chawton. This is where Jane Austen spent her last years. He was born in 1720; was 55 when Austen was born, and he died in 1793, when she was 18. He lived 4 miles away, so the families knew of each other. We know Jane Austen’s brother wrote a poem about Gilbert White and his natural history observations, particularly on birds.
From ‘Selbourne Hanger’ by James Austen
Who talks of rational delight } When Selbourne’s Hill appears in sight } And does not think of Gilbert White? } Such sure he was – by Nature grac’d With her best gift of genuine taste; And Providence – which cast his lot Within this calm, secluded spot, Plac’d him where best th’enquiring mind Might study Nature’s works, and find Within her ever open book Beauties which others overlook. Enthusiast sweet! Your vivid style The attentive reader can beguile Through many a page, and still excite An Interest in what you write! For whilst observant you describe The habits of the feathery tribe Their Loves and Wars – their nest and Song, We never think the tale too long.
For more information on White and Austen, go to Gilbert White’s House’s web page here:
More Snow!
Here is more of that epic cold January 1776
‘On the 27th much snow fell all day, and in the evening the frost became very intense. At South Lambeth, for the four following nights, the thermometer fell to n, 7, 6, 6, and at Selborne to 7, 6, 10, and on the 3ist of January ‘, just before sunrise, with rime on the trees and on the tube of the glass, the quicksilver sunk exactly to zero, being 32 degrees below the freezing point ; but by eleven in the morning, though in the shade, it sprang up to I6J,1 — a most unusual degree of cold this for the south of England \ During these four nights the cold was so penetrating that it occasioned ice in warm chambers and under beds ; and in the day the wind was so keen that persons of robust constitutions could scarcely endure to face it. The Thames was at once so frozen over both above and below bridge that crowds ran about on the ice. The streets were now strangely encumbered with snow, which crumbled and trod dusty ; and, turning grey, resembled bay-salt : what had fallen on the roofs was so perfectly dry that, from first to last, it lay twenty-six days on the houses in the city ; a longer time than had been remembered by the oldest housekeepers living…..’
‘The consequences of this severity were, that in Hampshire, at the melting of the snow, the wheat looked well, and the turnips came forth little injured. The laurels and laurustines were somewhat damaged, but only in hot aspects. No evergreens were quite destroyed ; and not half the damage sustained that befell in January, 1768. Those laurels that were a little scorched on the south-sides were perfectly untouched on their north-sides. The care taken to shake the snow day by day from the branches seemed greatly to avail the author’s evergreens. A neighbour’s laurel-hedge, in a high situation, and facing to the north, was perfectly green and vigorous ; and the Portugal laurels remained unhurt.’
‘We had steady frost on to the 25th, when the thermometer in the morning was down to 10 with us, and at Newton only to 21. Strong frost continued till the 3ist, when some tendency to thaw was observed ; and, by January the 3d, 1785, the thaw was confirmed, and some rain fell.’
Rosemary flowering in my garden, photo by Kevin Flude
Gilbert White’s House is open to the public and also contains a display on Lawrence Oates, who died on Scots Antarctic expedition. For more information look at my post.
There is another mention of Gilbert White in the Almanac of the Past here.
Foods in Season
Here, as a bonus, are food stuffs that are in season now.
Sementivae, was a festival dedicated to seed and to Ceres. Ceres is an Earth Goddess who gives her name to our word cereal. The festival was also called. Paganalia. The Mediterranean world had many names for the Earth Goddess. Tellus, Demeter, Cybele, Gaia, Rhea etc..
Ceres can be seen on the top left roundel resting on the Globe on the marvellous Ceramic Staircase at the V&A (photo above). And in my slightly out of focus photograph below. (To be honest, in real life, it looks a little more like my photo than the gorgeous photo above!)
Ceres represented Agriculture, Mercury Commerce, and Vulcan Industry. Old Photo by the Author.
Sementivae Dies – a moveable feast.
To create life, we need earth and water to nurture and seeds for fertility. And so into the cold dead world of January the Romans created a festival of sowing. It had two parts, one presided over by Mother Earth (Tellus) and the other by Ceres, the Goddess of Corn. The actual day of the festival was chosen not by rote on a set day of the calendar but by the priests, in accordance with the weather. This seems very sensible, as there is no point sowing seeds in terrible weather conditions. I’m assuming the Priests took professional advice!
On the 24th-26th January Tellus prepared the soil, and in early February seeds were sown under the aegis of Ceres. Tellus Mater (also Terra Mater) was known as Gaia to the Greeks.
Gaia
Gaia was selected by James Lovelock & Lynn Margulis in the 1970s as the face of their Gaia hypothesis. To me, the importance of the idea is not the scientific principle that environments co-evolve with the organisms within them. But, rather in Gaia as a personification of our world as a complex living ecosystem. One that we have to care for. Gaia exists as a series of feedback loops. Lovelock hypotheses that she will spit us out unless we can live in balance with our alma mater.
Ovid and Sementivae
This is what the Roman Poet Ovid has to say in his poetic Almanac known as ‘Fasti’ (www.poetryintranslation.com)
Book I: January 24
I have searched the calendar three or four times, But nowhere found the Day of Sowing: Seeing this, the Muse said: That day is set by the priests, Why are you looking for moveable days in the calendar? Though the day of the feast ís uncertain, its time is known, When the seed has been sown and the land ís productive. You bullocks, crowned with garlands, stand at the full trough, Your labour will return with the warmth of spring. Let the farmer hang the toil-worn plough on its post: The wintry earth dreaded its every wound.
Steward, let the soil rest when the sowing is done, And let the men who worked the soil rest too. Let the village keep festival: farmers, purify the village, And offer the yearly cakes on the village hearths. Propitiate Earth and Ceres, the mothers of the crops, With their own corn, and a pregnant sow ís entrails. Ceres and Earth fulfil a common function: One supplies the chance to bear, the other the soil. Partners in toil, you who improved on ancient days Replacing acorns with more useful foods, Satisfy the eager farmers with full harvest, So they reap a worthy prize from their efforts. Grant the tender seeds perpetual fruitfulness, Don’t let new shoots be scorched by cold snows. When we sow, let the sky be clear with calm breezes, Sprinkle the buried seed with heavenly rain. Forbid the birds, that prey on cultivated land, To ruin the cornfields in destructive crowds. You too, spare the sown seed, you ants, So you’ll win a greater prize from the harvest.
Many plants can be used for hedges, but hawthorn is the most common. It can be planted as bare-root from Autumn to Spring, so January is as good a time as any. It can also be grown from the seeds from its red berries. But this takes 18 months to achieve. Interspersed along the hedge should be trees—either trees for timber, or crab-apples or pear-stocks. Trees were also useful as markers. Before modern surveys, property would be delineated by ancient trees. Hedges could be removed. Trees were more difficult to eradicate.
Hawthorn hedges are an oasis for insects, mammals and migrating birds (who eat the berries). It is a lovely plant for May. In fact, it is often called May, or the May Flower or May Tree and also whitethorn. The berries are called ‘haws’ hence hawthorn. For more on this, look at https://whisperingearth.co.uk.
Hawthorns & Folklore
Hawthorn produces white flowers in Spring. So, it is one of the great pagan fertility plants, its flowers forming the garlands on May Eve. One of the chemicals in the plant is the same as one given out in decay of flesh. It is, therefore, associated with death in folklore, and not to be brought into the house.
It was also said to be the thorn in the Crown of Thorns, so sacred. A crown from the helmet of the dead King Richard III was found on a hawthorn bush at the Battle of Bosworth Field. The victorious Henry VII adopted it for a symbol. . For more on the plant, https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk
A ‘Quarry’ of Stained Glass showing the Crown, a hawthorn Bush and initials representing Henry VII and his, Queen, Elizabeth of York. Possibly from Surrey. Early 16th Century and from the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Public Domain).
The virtues of Hawthorn
John Worlidge, wrote in 1697
‘And first, the White-thorn is esteemed the best for fencing; it is raised either of Seeds or Plants; by Plants is the speediest way, but by Seeds where the place will admit of delay, is less charge, and as successful, though it require longer time, they being till the Spring come twelvemonth ere they spring out of the Earth; but when they have past two or three years, they flourish to admiration.’
Hawthorn is an excellent wood for burning, better than oak. It has the hottest fire so that its charcoal could melt pig-iron without the need of a blast. It is also good for making small objects such as boxes, combs, and tool-handles. It takes a fine polish, so also used for veneers and cabinets. For advice on the best wood to burn read my post.
Hawthorn has many medicinal benefits according to herbalists. Mrs Grieve’s Herbal suggests it was used as a cardiac tonic, to cure sore throats and as a diuretic. But don’t try any of these ancient remedies without medical advice!
What to plant in late January
This is the time, according to Moon Gardeners, to plant and sow plants that develop below ground. So rhubarb and garlic, fruit trees, bushes, bare-root plants and hedging plants.
First Published in January 2023, revised in January 2024
On This Day
1785 – ‘Boys play on the Plestor at marbles & peg-top. Thrushes sing in the Coppices. Thrushes & blackbirds are much reduced.’ From Gilbert White’s Garden Kalendar in Gilbert White’s Year. the Plestor is the village green. peg-top is a spinning top game. For more on Gilbert White, the inspirer of Darwin, see my post.
