Roman Mosaic from Lullingstone Villa, Kent representing winter
This is the second day of Winter.
Winter, meteorologically speaking, is described in the Northern Hemisphere as being December, January, and February, which is, of course, a convention rather than a fact, as there is nothing about December 1st that makes it more ‘wintery’ than November 30th or December 2nd. Astronomically, winter starts with the Winter Solstice when the sun is at its lowest and so stretches from around December 21st to the Equinox around March 21st.
Logically, the solstice, when the Sun is at its weakest, should be a midpoint of winter rather than the beginning of it, with 6 weeks of winter on either side of it. This is roughly what the Celtic year does, winter starts at dusk on 31st October (Halloween/Samhain) and continues to the evening of 31st January (Candlemas/Imbolc). So a Celtic Winter is November, December, and January.
As far as the Sun goes, this is logically correct, but, in fact, because of the presence of the oceans (and to a lesser extent) the earth, the coldest time is not the Solstice when the Sun is at its weakest, but a few weeks later in January. The oceans (and the landmass) retain heat, and so the coldest (and the warmest) periods are offset, so January 13th is probably the coldest day not December 21st.
Medieval Liturgical Calendar for December. Note the image at the top which suggests this is the month for hunting bears.
My personal calendar suggests that winter begins on November 5th because this is the day I generally notice how cold it has suddenly got. My smart meter also identifies the week of November 4th being the day when the heating bill goes through the roof.
A final thought about Winter. Isn’t it strange that a small change in the axis of the planet should create such opposites? Cold and little growth, then hot and an explosion of flowers. This in the vastness of space, with unimaginably cold and unbelievable hot places and spaces which make tiny the little difference between Summer and Winter. And yet to us they are opposites, and in places extremes we find hard to survive in. Some think this is because God made the Universe just for us, but far more wonderfully it is because we, and nature, are completely adapted to this, our very own, blue planet.
Winter is hiems in Latin; Gaeaf in Welsh. Geimhreadh in Old Irish; Wintar in Anglo-Saxon. The Anglo-Saxons counted years by winters, so a child might be said to be 4 winters old.
On this day
1859 – John Brown was hanged, following his violent opposition to the Slave Trade and his raid on Harpers Ferry.
1954 – Joseph McCarthy was formally censured by the Senate for the methods used in his anti-communist campaigns.
Snowdrops in late January 2024, Gilbert White’s House Selborne (Photo Kevin Flude)
Today is Imbolc, one of the four Celtic Fire Festivals. It corresponds with St Bridget’s Day, which is a Christian festival for the Irish Saint, and is the eve of Candlemas. Bridget is the patron saint of all things to do with brides, marriage, fertility, and midwifery (amongst many other things, see above). And in Ireland, this year (2024) is the very first St Bridget’s/ Imbolc Day Bank Holiday!
St Bride’s Statue, St Bride’s Church. Fleet Street from K.Flude’s virtual tour on Imbolc
St Bridget, aka Briddy or Bride, converted the Irish to Christianity along with St Patrick in the 5th Century AD. She appears to have taken on the attributes of a Celtic fertility Goddess, called Bridget or Brigantia, so some doubt she was a real person. There are Roman altars dedicated to Brigantia, and it is thought that the Brigantes tribe in Yorkshire and the North were named after the Goddess. The Brigantes were on the front line against the invading Romans in the 1st Century AD, and led by Queen Cartimandua, It is interesting that two of the British leaders facing the Roman invasion were women. Cartimandua tried to keep her independence by cooperating with the Romans, while, a few years later, Boudica took the opposite strategy. But both women appear to have had agency as leaders of their tribes and show a great contrast with Roman misogyny.
Altar to Brigantia from K Flude’s virtual tour on Imbolc
February 1st last day of medieval Christmas and the power of the Lords of Misrule.
This was the end of the Christmas period. John Stow, in the 16th Century describes the period between Halloween and Candlemas being the time that London was ruled by various Lords of Misrule and Boy Bishops (see my post here). Stow goes onto talk about a terrible storm that took place on st February 1444.
Against the feast of Christmas every man’s house, as also the parish churches, were decked with holm, ivy, bays, and whatsoever the season of the year afforded to be green. The conduits and standards in the streets were likewise garnished; amongst the which I read, in the year 1444, that by tempest of thunder and lightning, on the 1st of February, at night, Powle’s steeple was fired, but with great labour quenched; and towards the morning of Candlemas day, at the Leaden hall in Cornhill, a standard of tree being set up in midst of the pavement, fast in the ground, nailed full of holm and ivy, for disport of Christmas to the people, was torn up, and cast down by the malignant spirit (as was thought), and the stones of the pavement all about were cast in the streets, and into divers houses, so that the people were sore aghast of the great tempests.’
There are many wells dedicated to St Bride. They were often used in rituals and dances concerned with fertility and healthy babies. And perhaps, the most famous, was near Fleet Street. Henry VIII’s Palace of Bridewell, later an infamous prison, was named after the Well. St Bride’s Church has long been a candidate as an early Christian Church, and although the post World War Two excavations found nothing to suggest an early Church, they did find an early well near the site of the later altar of the Church, and by the remains of a Roman building, possibly a mausoleum. Therefore, it is possible that the Church was built on the site of an ancient, arguably holy, well.
St Bridget’s Well, Glastonbury
The steeple of St Brides is said to be the origin of the tiered Wedding Cake, which, in 1812, inspired a local baker to bake for his daughter’s wedding.
Steeple of St Brides Fleet Street
Imbolc and St Bridget’s Day are the time to celebrate the return of fertility to the earth as spring approaches. In my garden and my local park, the first snowdrops, violets, and daffodils are coming out, and below the bare earth, there is a frenzy of bulbs and seeds budding, and beginning to poke their shoots up above the earth, ready for the Spring. In the meadows, ewes are lactating, and the first lambs are being born.
Violets, bulbs, and my first Daffodil of the year. Hackney (2022), London by K Flude
I, occasionally, do walks about Imbolc and other Celtic festivals, in conjunction with the Myths and Legends of London, and at May Eve, the Solstices, Halloween and Christmas (when I have time). See the walks page of this blog
And let’s end with the Saint Brigid Hearth Keeper PrayerCourtesy of SaintBrigids.org
Brigid of the Mantle, encompass us, Lady of the Lambs, protect us, Keeper of the Hearth, kindle us. Beneath your mantle, gather us, And restore us to memory. Mothers of our mother, Foremothers strong. Guide our hands in yours, Remind us how to kindle the hearth. To keep it bright, to preserve the flame. Your hands upon ours, Our hands within yours, To kindle the light, Both day and night. The Mantle of Brigid about us, The Memory of Brigid within us, The Protection of Brigid keeping us From harm, from ignorance, from heartlessness. This day and night, From dawn till dark, From dark till dawn.
I have been waiting to post this for a long time, as it relates to Christmas. (Was it really a month ago?) By the way, I have added to some text to yesterday’s Brexit posts.
This evening is also Imbolc, the Celtic Festival to Brigantia and St. Bridget of Kildare. Candlemas tomorrow.
This is a letter from Mary Musgrove in Persuasion (Chapter 18). This is Jane Austen’s most mature and probably the best novel,. Here the moany Mary Musgrove writes a typically FOMO letter which illustrates how Christmas, for the well, off really continued to February 1st and Candlemas.
February 1st “My dear Anne,–I make no apology for my silence because I know how little people think of letters in such a place as Bath. You must be a great deal too happy to care for Uppercross, which, as you well know, affords little to write about. We have had a very dull Christmas; Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove have not had one dinner party all the holidays. I do not reckon the Hayters as anybody.
The holidays, however, are over at last: I believe no children ever had such long ones. I am sure I had not. The house was cleared yesterday, except of the little Harvilles; but you will be surprised to hear they have never gone home. Mrs. Harville must be an odd mother to part with them so long. I do not understand it. They are not at all nice children, in my opinion; but Mrs. Musgrove seems to like them quite as well, if not better, than her grandchildren.
What dreadful weather we have had! It may not be felt in Bath, with your nice pavements; but in the country it is of some consequence. I have not had a creature call on me since the second week in January, except Charles Hayter, who had been calling much oftener than was welcome.
Between ourselves, I think it a great pity Henrietta did not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa; it would have kept her a little out of his way. The carriage is gone to-day, to bring Louisa and the Harvilles to-morrow. We are not asked to dine with them, however, till the day after, Mrs. Musgrove is so afraid of her being fatigued by the journey, which is not very likely, considering the care that will be taken of her; and it would be much more convenient to me to dine there to-morrow.
I am glad you find Mr. Elliot so agreeable, and wish I could be acquainted with him too; but I have my usual luck: I am always out of the way when any thing desirable is going on; always the last of my family to be noticed. What an immense time Mrs. Clay has been staying with Elizabeth! Does she never mean to go away? But perhaps if she were to leave the room vacant, we might not be invited. Let me know what you think of this. I do not expect my children to be asked, you know. I can leave them at the Great House very well, for a month or six weeks.
I have this moment heard that the Crofts are going to Bath almost immediately; they think the Admiral gouty. Charles heard it quite by chance; they have not had the civility to give me any notice, or of offering to take anything. I do not think they improve at all as neighbours. We see nothing of them, and this is really an instance of gross inattention.
Charles joins me in love, and everything proper.
Yours affectionately,.”
It is my paragraphing rather than the original. The mystery of the book is how such a lovely, considerate, able daughter like Anne, can be from the same family as both her awful sisters, and her monstrous, egotistical father.
