Horned God (with Ram’s Horn) at Stratford on Avon Holy Trinity Church) Photo: K Flude. Carving of a dolphin to the left (symbol of Christ) a goat to the right (symbol of the damned – as Christ divides the sheep from the goats who are going to hell)
Horned Gods
November 4th is dedicated to hunting gods such as Herne, the Horned God, Cernunnos, The Green Man and Pan.
Herne the Hunter first appears in Shakespeare:
There is an old tale goes, that Herne the Hunter (sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest) Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight Walk round about an oak, with great ragg’d horns; And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle, And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain In a most hideous and dreadful manner. You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know The superstitious idle-headed eld Receiv’d, and did deliver to our age This tale of Herne the Hunter for a truth.
William Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 4, scene 4
I have recently seen a brilliant staging of the Merry Wives of Windsor at the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford. I saw it three times and think it one of the best Shakespeare productions I have seen. The lead actor, John Hodgkinson, with whom I used to play cricket, was a fantastic Falstaff.
Cernunnos
Cernunnos comes from karnon which means “horn” or “antler”. This may be the source of the name ‘Cerne’. (Please note that the Cerne Abbas Giant has just been redated from the Celtic to the Anglo-Saxon period.) Cerney and Cirencester in Gloucestershire might have similar origins for their names.
Ginger Cake
Felicity Cloake The Guardian Parkin
Ginger cake is the traditional accompaniment to a cold night watching the Fireworks. There is a good recipe in Markham’s The English Housewife of 1683. But I’m suggesting you use this recipe from the Guardian for Parkin Cake. ‘Parkin is a gingerbread cake traditionally made with oatmeal and black treacle, which originated in Northern England.’ (Wikipedia).
London picture Penny for the Guy on Guy Fawkes Day
I haven’t seen children asking for ‘a penny for the Guy’ for a while. But it was part of my childhood. We would create a ‘Guy’ out of old clothes and take it into the streets to raise money. The Guy is named after Guy Fawkes, who was discovered on 5th November 1605 in a cellar under Parliament. He was by a pile of barrels of gunpowder with a slow match. The plan was to blow up the King and Parliament, on the occasion of the Opening of Parliament on the 5th of November.
Once the plot had been broken and the plotters hanged, drawn and quartered, the King ordered that November 5th should be commemorated throughout the Country. Bonfires were a part of the seasonal celebrations at the time, used at Halloween, but this aspect was transferred to November 5th and continues as a major British event every year.
The money we raised, we spent exclusively on ‘bangers’ loud explosive fireworks not pretty fountains, Roman candles nor rockets. The bangers just made a horrendously loud bang. One stunt we experimented with was to cycle through the streets and to put a lit banger into the handle bars, which would act as a rocket launcher! Don’t try this at home.
Meanwhile, we would collect wood for the village bonfire:
A stick and a stake For King George’s sake Will you please to give us a faggot If you won’t give us one, we’ll steal you two The better for we and the worse for you.
Sliding Ducks? or Swimming Ducks? Timur Romanov, Photo from Unsplash
Folklore is full of ways of predicting the future – mostly about the weather or love. The Perpetual Almanac by Charles Kightly features many of these in rhyme form of the ‘Sky at Night Shepherd’s Delight’ type. Here is a seasonal one.
If ducks do slide at Hallowentide At Christmas they will swim If ducks do swim at Hallowentide At Christmas they will slide
From my experience, in the south of the UK, this is simply not true as we very rarely get ice in early November. Nor do we get snow at Christmas that often. But maybe, the further north you go, the truer this becomes.
Macbeth & Prophecy
But, as far as taking prophecy seriously, it’s good to remember what Macbeth said on seeing the wood moving to Dunsinane.
‘(I) begin to doubt the equivocation of the fiend, that lies like truth.’
He has just realised that prophecy is a double-edged sword which has led him to his doom. He had been told by the Three Witches that he:
‘shall never vanquish’d be until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him’
Still, as he heads to the final battle, Macbeth knows he is invincible and that
‘none of woman born shall harm Macbeth’.
But in his savage fight with Macduff, he is told that Macduff was not of woman born, but was:
‘from his mother’s womb / Untimely ripped’.
So Macbeth is killed.
Google Map showing Birnam (Scotland), top left, and Dunsinane Hillwith red markers in the middle. Note Scone is where Macbeth is Macbeth was crowned
King Macbeth (Mac Bethad mac Findlaích) 1040 – 1057
In reality, Macbeth, was a successful King who reigned for 17 years. He was one of the last Gaelic Kings as Scottish society was changing with contact with England.
This is a draft of the text that (edited) forms part of my best-selling book ‘Divorced, Beheaded, Died’ The Kings and Queens of Britain in Bite-sized Chunks’
Macbeth was nicknamed the Red King. He was a Gaelic speaker, descended from the Kings of Dal Riata. Macbeth’s father, Finlay MacRory, was Mormaer (Grand Steward) of Moray and was was murdered by Gillacomgain. He took MacRory’s title. Gillacomgain was burnt to death with 50 of his followers, probably by Macbeth, who thus not only regained the title as ruler of Moray but married his dead rival’s widow, Gruoch. She was the granddaughter of Kenneth II. Macbeth was also himself descended from the Kings of Scotland via his mother Donada probably daughter of Malcolm II.
His claim to the throne was therefore strong, and following the disasters of King Duncan’s reign, Macbeth seized the opportunity to take the throne for himself.
He ruled well for nearly 2 decades imposing a strong sense of law and order, encouraging Christianity and leading successful raids across the border into England. In 1050 he went on pilgrimage to Rome. Exiled Normans, supporters of Edward the Confessor were settled in Scotland in Macbeth’s reign. There is no evidence that Macbeth was any more evil then the rest of the early Scottish Kings.
In 1057 Macbeth was killed in battle against Duncan I’s son who became Malcolm III. Macbeth is buried on Iona. He and Gruoch had no children but Guoch’s son, Lulach, son of Gillacomgain briefly followed Macbeth as king before being assassinated by Malcolm III
‘Divorced, Beheaded, Died’ The Kings and Queens of Britain in Bite-sized Chunks’ for more details look here.
Prophecy ‘lies like the truth’ a trope that is used in many ancient tales such as Oedipus Rex.
On this Day
Hilaria
The 3rd of November is also the Hilaria, the last day of the festival of Isis/Osiris. This is the day of the rebirth of Osiris. He was ‘the god of fertility, agriculture, the afterlife, the dead, resurrection, life, and vegetation.’ Isis was the wife (and sister) of Osiris God-King of Egypt. Osiris was killed by his brother. Set. Isis restored his body to life for long enough to conceive their son Horus.
Horus revenged his father, regained the throne, restored Cosmic Order and completed the resurrection of Osiris. Isis is normally shown holding the baby Horus in a pose that may have influenced images of the Virgin Mary. Londinium would have had a celebration on this day as there is a pot found near London Bridge inscribed ‘At London, at the Temple of Isis).
St Winifred’s Day She was beheaded by Caradog who would not accept her refusal to have him because of her religious views. She was restored to life by St Beuno, or St Bono. Head and all. Where her head fell their slowed a spring. This is on the North Welsh Coast, and called Holywell. It was one of the Seven Wonders of Wales, and called the Lourdes of Wales.
First Posted on 3 November 2021. Revised 3 November 2023 & 2024 & 2025
St Etheldreda or St Audrey By monk – [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32907989
I’m republishing this post as I dated it to February 17th rather than October 17th and a few other egregious typos.
Etheldreda, also known as Audrey or Æthelthryth or Æðelþryð or Æþelðryþe is celebrated on October 17th, (the date her remains were ‘translated’ from her burial place to the Church at Ely) and on 23 June the date she died,
She lived from March 4th 636 to June 23rd 679. She is one of the well-born Saxon Virgin Saints of the 7th Century. This is when many royal Abbeys were founded by female members of the Anglo-Saxon Royal families, in the years following the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity. She is the daughter of King Anna of East Anglia, and the sister of Saint Sexburga (widow of King Erconbert of Kent).
Etheldreda is said to be a Virgin despite being married twice. Etheldreda was widowed after three years of her first marriage. Then she married Egfrid, son of King Oswy of Northumbria. Egfrid got fed up with her virgin state. With the support of St Wilfrid, St Etheldreda was released to a Nunnery run by Wilfred’s aunt. In 672 she founded the famous double monastery at Ely, which is where the wondrous Cathedral of Ely still stands.
Here she died, and the many miracles that followed, led to Ely being one of the main destinations for Pilgrimages. St Sesxburga took over as Abbess after her death. By the number of Churches and holy days remembering Etheldreda show she was perhaps the most famous female saint of the era.
Tawrdy Audrey
Etheldreda died of a neck tumour, which she blamed on the heavy jewellery she wore around her neck before she became a nun. So she is a patron of those with neck or throat ailments. Accordingly, on February 3rd St Etheldreda’s Church in London holds the Blessing of the Throats ceremony. St Blaise is also a saint protecting the throat and you might like to read my post about him and throats here.
Pilgrims used to buy cheap, old-fashioned linen from the market at Ely, which they would wear around their neck to protect or cure them of throat illnesses. Puritans satirised the practice by coining the word Tawdry, from St Audrey, which came to represent cheap goods sold to gullible pilgrims.
Mopsa the shepherdess in Shakespeare’s Twelfth night says to her sweetheart:
“Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves.
However, I thought something was amiss and searched for Tawdry in the excellent website SHAKESPEARE’S WORDS by DAVID CRYSTAL & BEN CRYSTAL (which I use all the time). And indeed Mopsa is not in Twelfth Night but in the Winter’s Tale which I saw recently at the RSC. Mopsa’s man can’t buy it for her as he has been cheated out of his money by the fey Autolycus.
St Etheldreda’s in London is in Ely Place, near Hatton Garden. There is a lovely old pub there called the ‘Ye Olde Mitre’ (which is a reference to a Bishop’s Mitre). The Church was founded (1250 and 1290) as the London residence of the Bishops of Ely. Inside are memorials to Catholic martyrs executed during the Reformation. (see my post on the Douai Martyrs here).
Ely place was lived in by John of Gaunt following the destruction of his Savoy Palace in the Peasants Revolt. Christopher Hatton rented parts of it in the reign of Queen Elizabeth II. During the Civil War it was used to hold Royalist Prisoners of War. Agnes Wicks fictionally lives at Ely Place. (Agnes is the woman David Copperfield should have married, rather than the ridiculous Dora).
In the 19th Century, the former Chapel was bought by the Catholic Church and restored by George Gilbert Scott.
This year the Stratford Mop fair was on the 11th and 12th October, and I was there to see it!As I reposted a long post about the Mop a couple of days ago, I thought I should report back. To recap, the Mop began as a Michaelmas (Old Style) Hiring Fair, and has continued in Stratford ever since. But the modern incarnation is no longer a Hiring Fair and no shepherds were to be seen.
2024 Stratford on Avon Mop. Photo Kevin Flude
The centre of the Town was crowded with a cacophony of shooting galleries, games to win soft toys, stalls selling toffee apples, candy floss, burgers, and all things bad for you. And interspersed with the stalls were all sorts of rides, carousels and all the raucous fun of the fair.
Stratford-upon-Avon Mop Festival (2023 sign)
You might have noticed I have labelled the photographs differently, one Stratford-upon-Avon, the other Stratford-on-Avon. Most prefer the ‘upon’ but I thought this wrong as the Council building in Church Street uses the simpler ‘on’. Having looked it up, I see that the answer is both are correct. Stratford-upon-Avon is used for the Town, and Stratford-on-Avon for the Town and area around the town. Now you know!
Now, I cannot find any reference in Shakespeare to a funfair, and all references to a Mop, are to the thing you mop the floor with. But he does mention St Bartholemew’s Fair obliquely, and certainly knew his friend, Ben Jonson’s Play ‘St Bartholemew’s Fair’. It is a great play based in London, at the annual fair in Smithfield. It was one of the great Wool fairs of England. It was held every year on St Bartholemew’s Day August 24th, and lasting sometimes weeks long. Please read my post on Bartlemas here.
This year the Stratford mop festival was on the 11th and 12th October. I am in Stratford. The the centre of town is a cacophany of shooting galleries, stalls selling toffee apples, candy floss, burgers and all things bad for you. And a fun fair.Nothing at all sophisticated, or literary or dramatic, or folkloric. Just a good old-fashioned fun fair in the middle of the town. Quite raucous, but they leave Henley Street, and Shakespeare’s’ Birthplace, free of it. Below I tell the story of my discovery of the Mop.
2024 Statford-upon-Avon Mop. Photo Kevin Flude2024 Stratford on Avon Mop. Photo Kevin Flude
In 2023, I was on my way to Stratford-upon-Avon Railway station, I saw the sign at the top of this page, but had no idea what on earth a Mop was. I put it to the back of my mind as I took the train to Henley-in-Arden. My interest in the town was that Shakespeare was born in Henley St. And his mother was called Mary of Arden. So, naturally, I wanted to find out about Henley-in-Arden. To turn curiosity to action, it took our Tour Coach Driver telling me he lived there and that it was a pretty but small town.
Mary Arden doesn’t live here any more!
I had a free afternoon from my duties as Course Director on the ‘Best of England’ Road Scholar trip. I got on the very slow train to Henley-in-Arden. One of the first stops was Wilmcote, where Mary Arden’s House is. I visited two years ago, when I was astonished to find it was a different building to the one I had visited in the 1990s! In 2000, they discovered they had been showing the wrong building to visitors for years! Mary Arden’s House was, in fact, her neighbour Adam Palmer’s. And her house was Glebe Farm.
On that visit, I walked from Stratford-upon-Avon to Anne Hathaway’s Cottage. Then to Mary Arden’s House and back to Stratford along the Stratford Canal. It is a lovely country walk if you are ever in the area.
The Forest of Arden
The train route to Henley is through what remains of the ancient forest of Arden. The forest features in, or inspired, the woody Arcadian idylls which feature in several of Shakespeare’s plays, particularly the Comedies. ‘As You Like It’, for example, is explicitly set in the Forest of Arden, as this quotation from AYL I.i.107 makes clear:
Oliver: Where will the old Duke live?
Charles. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly as they did in the golden world.
Guildhall, Henley-in-Arden
Henley-in-Arden
Not much remains of the old Forest. It was cut down to make timber-framed buildings and ships for the British Navy – the so-called Wooden Walls. Henley has a beautiful high street. Further down the road is a lovely Heritage Centre full of old-fashioned and DIY Information panels. And that is not a criticism, it provided a very enjoyable visit full of interesting stuff. And gave me a couple of snippets of information I have not seen anywhere else.
One, was a panel dedicated to the Henley Mop. A mop turns out to be a hiring fair. Think of Gabriel Oak in Hardy’s ‘Far from the Madding Crowd’. His attempt to become an independent farmer destroyed when his sheepdog runs amok. The dog sends his sheep over a cliff to their doom. So he takes his shepherd’s crock to the hiring fair or Mop as they are known in the Midlands. There, potential employers can size up possible employees and strike mutually agreeable terms and conditions. And Gabriel becomes the shepherd for the delightful and wilful Bathsheba Everdene.
So, a shepherd would take his staff, or a loop of wool. A cleaner her mop (hence the name of the fair). A waggoner a piece of whipcord. A shearer their shears etc. Similarly, in the Woodlanders (by Thomas Hardy) the cider-maker, Giles Winterborne, brings an apple tree in a tub to Sherborne, to advertise his wares.
The retainers thus employed would be given an advance and would be engaged, normally, for the year. So there was quite a widespread moving around of working people to new jobs and often new housing. Not quite how we imagine the past?
The perceptive among you will have noted the bottom of the sign in Stratford which advertised the ‘Runaway Mop’. This was held later in the year, so that employers could replace those who ran away from their contracts. And those who ran away could find a better, kinder or more generous boss. See also my post of Gabriel Oak and Pack Rag Day which is another hiring fair which was help on Martinmas Old Style.
Henley Mop – panel from the heritage centre
Court Leets and Barons
Also of interest to me was the panel about Court Leets and Barons. These were the ancient courts which dealt with, respectively, crime and disorder, and property and neighbourhood disputes. Henley still has its ancient manorial systems in use, at least ceremonially. The Centre shows a video of the installation of a new Lord of the Manor at the Guildhall. The title had been purchased by a cigar-smoking Stetson-wearing large rich American.
Johnson’s Coaches
Another panel was the story of a Coaching Company. When I lead the Best of England programme we are driven around by Johnson’s Coach Company. It was a delight to discover that it has a history that can be traced back to 1909 in Henley. I conveyed this information to our group on the next day as we toured the Cotswolds. Curtis, our driver, was able to update the panel. He told us that the family were still involved with the firm, which is still operating from the area. He said the two brothers who run the company come in every working day. They do everything they require of their drivers to do; i.e. they drive coaches, clean coaches, sweep the floors and generally treat their staff like part of a big family. I should have asked him whether he got his job at the Mop, while holding a steering wheel in his hands!
Johnson’s Coach Company -Panel from Henley Heritage Centre
Note: It seems that Johnson has now merged with another company. But it keeps its depot in Henley and maintains its connection with the town.
Shakespeare’s death date is given by the burial register at the Holy Trinity Church, Stratford on Avon where he was buried. His baptismal record also survives at the same church and is on April 26th 1564. So, we don’t actually know when he was born, but christening were held soon after birth for fear of the high infant mortality rates, so 23rd April, three days before, has been assigned to be Shakespeare’s birthday.
St George’s Day is normally on 23rd but not this year!
When St George’s Day falls between Palm Sunday and the Second Sunday after Easter it is transfered to the Monday after the Second Sunday of Easter. Soin 2025, It is on April 28th. Not many people know that including Keir Starmer, Theresa May, and London Mayor Sadiq Khan who all got it wrong the last time in happened in 2019. I got it wrong too! But I think the Church should stop such silly practices. Either it’s St George’s Day or it isn’t. Why does it matter?
Shakespeare’s Birthday, ‘taking to the chamber’
His mum, Anne Shakespeare would have ‘taken to her chamber’ about four weeks before the due date. The windows or shutters were fastened, as fresh air was thought to be bad for the birthing process. Female friends and relatives came to visit; the room was decorated with fine carpets, hangings, silver plates and fine ornaments. It was held that external events could influence the birth, any shocks or horrors might cause deformities and anomalies, so a calm lying-in room was clearly a good idea.
When labour began, female friends, relatives and the midwife were called to help out. A caudle of spiced wine or beer was given to the mother to strengthen her through the process. The maternal mortality rate for the 16th Century is estimated at 1500 per 100,000. Today, it’s 7 per 100,000. So most women would have heard of or attended the birth of a women who had died during or following children birth. There were also no forceps so if a baby were stuck and could not be manually manipulated out, then the only way forward was to get a surgeon to use hooks to dismember the baby to save the life of the mother. Doctors were not normally in attendance, but could be called in emergency,
Swaddling the Baby
Immediately after washing, the baby was swaddled. The swaddling was often very tight and could affect the baby’s growth, and might have affected the learning process, as movement of hands and feet are now considered significant in the early learning process. Swaddling lasted eight to nine months, and only went out of fashion after Jean Jacques Rousseau wrote against the practice.
Detail of tomb of Alexander Denton and his first wife Anne Willison, and her baby dressed in swaddling clothes Photo Wikipedia Hugh Llewelyn
Dangers of Childbirth
Puerperal fever killed many women even after successful childbirth, for example Queen Jane Seymour who died after 5 days. During these dangerous early days, the mother was kept in a dark room, and then, perhaps three days after birth, friends were invited to celebrate ‘upsitting’ when the mother was no longer confined to bed. This is when christening would take place. Edward VI was christened to a huge audience in the chapel at Hampton Court three days after his birth.
Licensed midwives could baptise newborn babies provided they used the correct wording and informed the Church so that the registration could be properly reported. Thomas Cromwell was responsible for the law in 1538 which insisted on a parish register to record weddings, christenings, and funerals. The law was reaffirmed by Queen Elizabeth in 1558 and registers had to be stored in a locked chest in the Church. (In 1597, the records had to be on parchment not paper, and in 1603 the chest had to have three locks!).
If the christening were in the church, the mother might not be there as she was expected to stay in her chamber for another week or so.
Churching and Breastfeeding
A week or a few weeks later, the mother would be ‘churched.’ This was a thanks-giving ceremony, although Puritans did not like the idea as it might be confused with a purification ceremony.
Breastfeeding would last a year or so but many high status women choose to use a wet-nurse. There was a real concern to find a suitable wet nurse as it was believed that the breast milk was important for the babies’ development both physically and temperamentally. Poor children who lost their mothers were very unlikely to survive as, without breast milk, the baby would be fed pap – bread soaked in cow’s milk.
Bill for the 1796 play Vortigern and Rowena Public Domain Wikipedia
Vortigern was chosen as leader of Britannia immediately after the Romans withdrew in the early 5th Century AD. His name means Great Leader in Brittonic. He is one of the few leaders we know to be a real person in what used to be called the Dark Ages. We accept him as real, as he appears in the near contemporary source by the Monk Gildas.
However, very little is known of him except legends. He was associated with Merlin. Legend accuses him of betraying the British for the lust for Rowena. She was the daughter of the Saxon Leader Hengist. Whatever the truth of this, he continued the late Roman policy of hiring Germanic mercenaries. They were used to defend against the many barbarian threats to the Empire. The threats to Britain including the Picts, the Irish, and, of course the Saxons. The legends say that Hengist and Horsa were hired with their three ‘keels’ of Saxon mercenaries. In payment for services rendered, or for lust, Vortigern surrendered the sovereignty of Kent to the Saxons. Thus began the so-called ‘Adventus Saxonum’, and the destruction of the power of the Britons.
Kent and the Survival of pre-Saxon names
Medieval portrait of Vortigern
How much of this is ‘true’ we have no idea. But the name of Kent survives from the prehistoric, into the Roman. And unlike most tribal names survives to the modern day. This is probably because it was the first Roman Civitas to be taken over by the Saxons. Most likely still largely a working political unit. So it kept its name. The other Roman political units mostly lost their names in the anarchy of this period. Who now has heard of the Trinovantes, the Catuvellauni, or the Atrebates? The political boundaries from the Prehistoric period survived through the Roman period. But mostly did not survive the fall of Rome.
In 1796, a great cast at the Drury Lane Theatre, owned and managed by Sheridan, put on a newly discovered play by William Shakespeare. The cast included Kemble, Barrymore, and Mrs Jordan who was the mistress of Prince William (aka William III). Rumours swirled around about the authenticity of the play. Shakespeare was interested in Britain’s legendary history having written Cymberline and King Lear. But critics thought it was too simple to be genuine. Eventually, William Henry Ireland admitted he was the author.
‘A London Year’ by Travis Elborough and Nick Rennison has a great quote from a visit to the play. It took place on April 2nd 1796 and is recorded in Joseph Farington’s diary. Compare this description to your last polite experience at the Theatre.
Shakespeare’s forgery staged
Island’s play of Vortigern, I went to. Prologue, spoken in 35 minutes past six, play over at 10. A strong party was evidently made to support it, which clapped without opposition frequently through near three acts. When some ridiculous passages caused a laugh, which infected the house during the remainder of the performance, mixed with groans. Kemble requested the audience to hear the play out about the end of the fourth act, and prevailed. The epilogue was spoken by Mrs. Jordan, who skipped over some lines which claimed the play as Shakespeare’s
Barrymore attempted to give the play out for Monday next, but was hooted off the stage. Kemble then came on. And after some time, was permitted to say that ‘School for Scandal’ would be given, which the house approved by clapping.
Sturt of Dorsetshire was a Stage Box drunk and exposed himself indecently to support the play. And when one of the stage attendants attempted to take up the green cloth, Sturt seized him roughly by the head. He was slightly pelted with oranges. Ireland, his wife, a son and a daughter and two others were in the centre box at the head of the Pitt. Ireland occasionally clapped. But towards the end of the fourth act, he came into the front row and for a little time, leaned his head on his arm. And then went out of the box and behind the scenes. The Playhouse contained an audience that amounted to £800 pounds.
April 2nd 1796 from Joseph Farington’s Diary, (I have changed some of the punctuation.)
On This Day
Today is St. Urban of Langres Day.
He is the patron of Langres; Dijon; vine-growers, vine-dressers, gardeners, vintners, and coopers. And invoked against blight, frost, storms, alcoholism, and faintness. (www.catholic.org/saints/) But is also called upon to make maid’s hair long and golden.
On the feast of St Urban, (forsooth) maids hang up some of their hair before the image of St Urban, because they would have the rest of their hair grow long and golden.
Reginald Scott, the Discovery of Witchcraft, 1584. (Thanks to the Perpetual Almanac by Charles Kightly.) For more on Reginald Scott and Witches see my post.
1744 – First Golf Tournament. No, not at St Andrews but at Leith Links, Edinburgh.
On February 18th, I revised a post about Ravens, King Bran’s Head and other Palladiums that protected Britain (or London) from invasion. If you missed it, look here. A possible palladiun I missed out is London Stone. To remind you, a palladium is something that stops your country or City being harmed or invaded.
London Stone is an eponymous stone found in Cannon Street, in the heart of the City of London, It is first mentioned in the 12th Century, and no one knows why it was famous.
In 1862, an ‘ancient proverb’ surfaced:
“So long as the Stone of Brutus is safe, so long shall London flourish”
It was made anonymously in the journal Notes and Queries. In Welsh, it was “Tra maen Prydain, Tra lled Llyndain’. This verse, if genuine, would link the Stone to Brutus of Troy, the legendary founder of London. To be precise: by genuine, I don’t mean it would prove the stone was linked to King Brutus, or that Brutus was a real person. I mean, if genuine, it would prove that in the medieval period the stone was linked to Brutus.
However, the writer has been identified as Richard Williams Morgan, who was a passionate Welsh Nationalist and prolific author. He was, also, not very scrupulous with his analysis of sources. As no earlier source can be found, it is thought Morgan made it up.
He lived in London in the 1850s and was very struck by the London Stone. Archaeologists prefer the idea that London Stone is, likely, a milestone from which the Romans measured distance. For Shakespeare, it was the stone on which rebel Jack Cade claimed lordship of London. For the romantic, it was a coronation stone; a stone of power; the sword in the stone stone; or an ancient megalith. The truth is, we have no idea. But it has been called the London Stone since the 12th Century. Why was it so named and what was it ‘for’ or symbolic of?
Pic by Graham Hussey pic shows the LONDON STONE which is in Canon Street, London .pic taken inside the Tech Sports shop
Morgan came to the conclusion it was the stone plinth on which the original Trojan palladium had stood. This was a wooden statue of Pallas Athene, that protected Troy from invasion. It was stolen by Odysseus and Diomedes shortly before the successful Trojan Horse plot. It was then taken to Italy.
Morgan’s idea was that King Brutus brought it from Rome when he sailed into Exile in Britain. Brutus, was a descendant of Aeneas. Aeneas was the only Trojan leader to escape from the destruction of Troy. He found his way to Rome, after leaving Dido in Carthage. He was the ancestor of Romulus who founded Rome, and the ancestor of King Brutus.
According to legend, Brutus gathered all the Trojan slaves and exiles in the Mediterranean. He then sailed to found a new Troy in our green and pleasant lands. His new capital he called Troia Nova (New Troy), which became Trinovantum, then Lud’s Dun, and finally London. Or so the Myths say.
Morgan’s theory held that the Stone was used as the altar stone of the Temple of Diana. Folklorist contend that the temple was originally on the site of St Pauls Cathedral.
Morgan was the first person to link London Stone with Brutus, or so people thought and still think (see Wikipedia),That was until 2018.
London Stone as recently rehoused.(Photo K Flude)
John Clark
John Clark, Emeritus Curator at the Museum of London, found a reference to a narrative poem of the 14th Century. This links London Stone to Brutus and to the future prosperity of London. Just as Morgan did. So, it makes it possible, at least, that Morgan did not just make the connection but drew on a medieval ‘tradition.’
Brutus set up London Stone And these words he said anon: ‘If each king that comes after me Makes this city wide and roomy As I have in my day, Still hereafter men may say That Troy was never so fair a city As this city shall be.’
From Burnley & Wiggins 2003b, lines 457–64(John Clark’s modern English version)
Recent archaeological discoveries reveal that London was the site of Late Neolithic feasting on a possibly large scale (discussed here:). This increases the possibility that the stone is a ‘ritual’ stone from prehistory. But, of course, there is still no evidence that London Stone is prehistoric, and even less that Brutus actually existed.
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.
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
