Cat on a hot tin roof

It seems that the devil has taken his centurial holidays once again in Devon. It seems a pensioner woke recently on a winter's morning to find the world covered in a blanket of crisp snow, only to find mysterious footprints in the shape of a cloven hoof forming a trail through her garden. With no obvious signs of an entry point or any suggestion that a wild animal had been in her garden, the pensioner was obviously flummoxed.

However, the footprints could well add to the legend of the Great Devon Mystery - proving that legends can be a part of living history, as well as ancient history. On the morning of February 8, 1885, villagers across a 100-mile swathe of south Devon awoke to find a trail of cloven footprints in the deep lying snow. An escaped pig, or wild boar, you might think, which would be a good guess until the footprints walked up walls and across roofs as if gravity didn't exist. Of course, scientists believe there is a rational explanation for both sets of prints, which there may well be, but until they come up with one - it could well be spring hares, the legend will grow with each re-telling...

Did those feet...

When it comes to legends, or traditions, there can be none bigger, in this day and age, than the whereabouts of the young Jesus. Regardless of your view of religion and divinity, there is no doubting that the later life of this person has in many ways shaped the lives and opinions of a wider proportion of humanity than any other person - whether this was intentional, or entirely down to his own work, will I think never be known.

However, of all the many theories regarding his ministry, his death, his possible resurrection and even the survival of his family, one period of his life his always missing, no matter what history or religion you subscribe to. The bible mentions a prodigal child and then mentions nothing until Jesus starts his ministry as a fully grown man. So where did this remarkable child go?

Did he simply stay in Judea and learn a trade, not troubling any more money lenders, or did he, as some suggest, travel through India and the Orient, learning various forms of mysticism? Or did he, as some legends suggest travel to Britain, possibly with his uncle, mixing with the religious leaders of this island, and possibly others? It might seem far fetched that Jesus would be anywhere other than in the holy land, throughout all of his life, but that part of the world was very much a part of the Roman empire and a centre of trade in the mediterranean, both of which would have had trade and logisitical interests in farther flung countries. So, it is indeed possible that those feet did indeed walk in ancient time...

Anyway, if you wish to learn more about this fascinating possibility - that doesn't rely on hearsay and strange codes - you would do well to pick up a copy of Dennis Price's new book The Missing Years of Jesus, and visit his website at www.eternalidol.com

Find out more:

• http://www.themissingyearsofjesus.com/
• http://www.eternalidol.com

The Haxey Hood Game & Straw Bears pt1

Back with a bang, and back with a double whallop of localised custom. Both the Haxey Hood Game and the Straw Bears - that are associated with Plough Monday - are local customs that may well be variants of once more common customs. In the case of the Haxey Hood Game, the 'rules' of the game follow many of the early forms of 'football', played between villages, or even between two halves of a village, and in the case of the Straw Bear, there are links to many of the guising or mumming festivals that are still prevalent, or are being reintroduced up and down the country. Now, for some details:

The Haxey Hood Game
Like most customs the origins of this 'tussle' are clouded in the mists of time. However, the general story is that the Lady de Mowbray, some 700+ years ago, dropped her hood (or veil) while out riding in a strong wind. Local farm labourers rushed to return the hood, upon which the grateful Lady bestowed the honourary title of Lord of the Hood on the particular returnee. The following year, it is said, the lady installed the return of the hood as an annual fixture that has developed into the modern 'game'

So, to the present day. The game is played between two North Lincolnshire villages - Haxey itself, and Westwoodside on Twelfth Night (January 6). Contestants, otherwise known as Boggins, represent one of four local hostelries, and attempt to 'sway' the hood (now a long leather cylinder) that way. The game is ended when the hood is presented to the landlord of one of the four inns. The game is overseen by the Lord of the Hood and the Chief Boggin, and is started by the Fool (the farm labourer who did not return the original hood to the hatless Lady), who is dressed colourfully with rags sewn to a blazer. Before he throws the hood into the air from the location where the original hood was first picked up, a small fire is lit behind him in order to 'smoke the fool'!

It is interesting that this particular custom appears on Twelfth Night - old Christmas Day, and is associated with feasts and merriment. As we saw with the customs associated with Christmas and the New Year, this sort of custom, associated as it is with rewards and feasting in the depths of winter, may all be associated with attemtps to welcome back the sun and the spring, to lift spirits and to focus people's minds on something other than the hard toil of daily life.

Like many other customs, the Haxey Hood Game, also contains within its custom and ceremony many aspects of other seasonal customs and traditions. Games such as this, if you call it football, or a tussle, or as in some places 'uppies an doonies', usually occur between neighbouring villages, or within a village that is seperated by a natural boundary, such as a river. They also involve most able-bodied villagers. It doesn't take a huge leap of the imagination to see a folk-memory of the assertion of boundary rights behind some aspect of the Hood game - perhaps a more energetic version of the Beating of the Bounds?! Maybe not.

In this day and age, when our calendar customs are largely limited to Christmas, Easter, a summer holiday, and the various bank holidays, it makes you appreciate just why there seemed to be so many occassions for celebration and communal gathering in the period right up until, really the post WWII period, when many of these, or similar customs died out.

Of course, many of these old customs and traditions were seasonal celebrations based on a rural cycle of living that most of us have lost touch with.

It should also be noted the game, and the villages take place in the Isle of Axholme, a raised area of land formerly surrounded by rivers, streams and bogs. In fact, some attribute the origins of the leather hood with those apparently found on the heads of sacrificial bog vicitims found in the area - though I make no claim as to the validity of this piece of information!

Find out more here:

• http://www.wheewall.com/hood/
• http://www.petticoated.com/curious24.htm
• http://www.information-britain.co.uk/customdetail.php?id=9
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isle_of_Axholme

Screaming skulls

Screaming skulls. Two words that really do sound magical together, for some strange reason. Most folklore, or legends or traditions have symbolic or cultural links to comparative tales in other parts of the world, - ghosts and hauntings, calendar customs, purification and initiation rites, fire festivals and so on – but it appears that dear old England is alone in its claim to those unnerving relics known as Screaming Skulls.

The wonderful thing about this particular area of folklore is that each skull is said to have numerous exotic origins, and is said to come with a wide range of associated phenomena. They also appear to be ‘out of time’ – there do not appear to be ‘new’ skulls setting up camp in people’s homes, thankfully. But why skulls and why do they scream?

What are screaming skulls?
A screaming skull is a skull that resides in a house, often in its own case, that is of unknown age and origin. How the skull got to the house, and when, and for what reason is often the subject of much local rumour and legend. Now, these skulls seem perfectly content to rest in peace, should they be allowed to do so. Year on year, their cavernous eye sockets stare idly into space, taking in the sight of the centuries. However, woe betides anyone who tries to remove said skull from its ancestral home.

Why you shouldn’t send a screaming skull on its merry way!
Screams. Some more screams. Eerie, scary screams. Some poltergeist activity. Storms, yes, storms. And plenty of screams. Oh, and throw in some general havoc and unpleasantness for desserts. The question, of course, is whether anyone who resides in a home that has its own skull has, in recent memory, tried to remove one, and what were the consequences?

Origins and links
It would be easy to make a case for a surviving remnant of the Celtic cult of heads (a great heavy metal band name…). However, as has been pointed out by Daniel Parkinson on the Mythical Britain website, the screaming skull phenomena is restricted to England, and you would expect a Celtic survival to have at least some representation in Scotland, Ireland and Wales.

There are many examples of other ‘offerings’ and ‘out of place’ items being found in houses – often in roofs and chimneys. Bull’s hearts stuck with pins, mummified cats, shoes and other such items have all been found in old houses during redevelopment. These objects seems to have been used for magical protection, which could lead us to think that the screaming skulls have an origin in the magic and superstition of the middle ages – many of the screaming skulls were first reported from the 16 century onwards.

Famous skulls
Bettiscombe Manor, Dorset: Arguably the most famous of the screaming skulls. Legend has it that it was the skull of a West Indian servant, who wished to be returned home after his death. When he was buried in the local churchyard all manner of chaos ensued. The villagers dug up the skeleton and deposited it at the manor house. Over the years the rest of the skeleton disappeared until only the skull remained. Various attempts have been made over the years to remove the skull, but each time the owner is forced to retrieve the unhappy item. Forensic analysis has more recently dated the skull to the Iron Age, and further removed it from legend by re-sexing it as female. The Iron Age hillfort of Pilsdon Pen is nearby, which nicely suggests the Celtic head cult survival once again.

The Screaming Skull of Tunstead Farm, Tunstead Milton, Derbyshire: Tunstead Farm plays host to a cantankerous skull by the name of Dickie, which is either the last surviving piece of the skeleton of a women who was murdered at the farm, or a soldier called Ned Dixon, who was… also murdered at the farm! Various attempts to move, or steal, it have resulted in load groans and screams, and unsurprisingly, it is always returned to its home. Dickie has also been attributed with the diversion of a railway bridge that was planned to run close to the farm in 1863.

The Screaming Skull of Wardley Hall: There are a number of grisly origin tales associated with this skull. The first, and least likely, is that it belonged to a rakish and murderous royalist soldier by the name of Roger Downs, who met his end when he took part in one duel too many and was beheaded by a waterman on Tower Bridge in London. The story has it that his body was thrown into the Thames and his head sent to Wardley Hall in a box, which is fairly unpleasant. However, when the grave of Roger Downs was dug up, it contained a full skeleton, complete with skull.

Others maintain that skull belonged Father Ambrose Barlow, who was hung, drawn and quartered in the 17th century for his religious beliefs. His head was said to have been displayed either at Lancaster Castle or in a church in Manchester. A Catholic sympathizer later bought the skull and concealed it behind a panel at Wardley Hall. When it was rediscovered over a century later a servant decided to throw the relic into the moat, whereupon, in true screaming skull fashion, the hall was beset by storms and paranormal activity. In a twist on the usual tale, the skull is said to have been destroyed on a number of occasions, only for it to reappear on the doorstep in the morning. Whether there is any truth in either of these stories it is hard to say and it appears that the skull has been removed regularly in recent years, without consequence – although maybe that is because the skull ‘knows’ it will be returned!

The Screaming Skull of Burton Agnes Hall: The whereabouts of this skull is supposed to be mystery. It is said that it was bricked up many years ago, and that it remains in silence within the walls of one of the rooms to this day. The story of this skull features three sisters who were having the hall built in Elizabethan times. One day, one of the sisters was attacked and soon passed away. However, before she died her two sisters promised that they would take her head back to the hall, so that she could see the finished building. But in good storytelling fashion, they ignored their promise and had her buried in the local churchyard. Of course, this would not do, and the house was beset by all manner of moaning and unsettling sounds, until, eventually the skull was dug up and brought back to the house. Any attempt to remove it was troubled by the usual tremblings, moanings and storms!

The hall was actually built for Sir Henry Griffiths, who may have had three daughters, but there is no way of knowing whether the skull belonged to one of these, although the young girl’s spirit is still said to walk the halls on the anniversary of her death.

The Screaming Skull of Higher Farm, Chilton Cantilo: The skull here is said to belong to Theophilus Broome, who died in 1670, and who left written instructions that his skull was to be kept in the farmhouse. The story was first written down in 1791, and there is a said to be written testament in the house from a number of witnesses to the supernatural phenonema that follow in the wake of any attempts to

More soon...

With November fast running out, I will be posting up a summary of other customs and traditions that this particularly cold month has to offer, hopefully this weekend. I'm also going to be looking at the peculiarly spooky phenomenon that are 'screaming skulls', before ploughing on into December and the myriad festivities and traditions contained within its 31 days.

Keep your eyes peeled!

Those flaming barrels

So, it's November 5th - remember, remember etc - and what better way to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night than to... well, you could be all traditional and have some fireworks and maybe a small bonfire, or you could go all out for entertainment and go and watch a flaming tar barrel race. That's right, in a number of places in England, particularly Devon, a once more widespread tradition survives - in this day of the twin gods of Health and Safety - that of carrying or rolling flaming tar barrels.

Today, it would seem the most famous occurrence of this tradition can be found in Ottery St Mary, Devon. I'm pleased to say that despite the almost apocalyptic recent weather recently this year's event went ahead as planned. Another race occurs at Hatherleigh in Devon, and I'm sure there are one or two others that have remained under the radar, so to speak.

What happens?
Well, there are on average 17 barrels during the main race, the men's, which takes place near to midnight. There are other races with smaller barrels for children and women. Although there are always huge crowds for these events - that take place on the same night as a carnival and bonfire - you can only take part if your family have lived in the town for a 'requisite' number of years.

The idea is to compete for the largest of the barrels and, wrapped in old clothes and gloves made of sackcloth soaked in water, to carry the flaming tar barrel on the back of the neck, top of the shoulders, as quickly as possible (presumably so the flames fan out behind you rather than onto you!). In recent years, the police and health and safety conscious have made attempts to sanitise the event, but thankfully they have been seen of - to my knowledge there has never been a serious injury. The contestants weave through the windy lanes, dodging the crowds as they go. Imagine carrying a 30kg barrel full of blazing tar, as the heat grows and you grow weary!

The Origins
Well, the festivities are obviously linked to the festivities of November 5th and the gunpowder plot. But is it as simple as that? Its origins can apparently be traced back to the 1700s, but it is tempting to attribute this festival of fire to a pagan survival, falling as it does, only a few days after Samhain - the time of no time, the end of the year, a three-day festival that marked the onset of winter, with its associated darkness and cold. In this way it could be seen to form part of an extended cycle of mid-winter festivals of light and hope, where communities would get together to raise their spirits and maybe begin a process of reawakening the sun ahead of spring.

However, there are other theories. One such suggestion, though fairly mundane, is that it started as a test of strength that was copied, remembered and that eventually formed part of the calendar. Another is that the smoke and fire being carried through town was used to effectively fumigate the streets of evil and unwanted spirits. It has also been said that the fumigation was of local shops - presumably a barrel would be carried between shops out of hours?

What should be noted is the suggestion by Ronald Hutton that 'Guy Fawkes Night would never have continued to the present, with such popularity, as the surviving British fire festival, because of its historical significance alone.' (The Stations of the Sun; 1996; Oxford University Press).

It should be noted that in other parts of the country the barrels are, or were, rolled, and that some, such as Allendale, form part of the New Year celebrations.

Where to find more
Follow these links to start your own research into the tar barrel traditions:

• Information Britain
• A blog called Wanabehuman...
• East Devon Guide
• Otterybarrels.com
• Tarbarrels.co.uk

My book has arrived

The Burning of the Ashen Faggot is now available to buy directly from the Lulu website.

Click the logo to head straight to the product page where you can order either a hard copy or download as a pdf.


The Burning of the Ashen Faggot


This means that this blogspot is now up and officially running, and in the course of the next few days you can expect discussion on such arcane topics as the customs of November, screaming skulls and even pinned hearts (found in chimneys of all places). Keep an eye out, more is coming soon.

It begins with a book

Welcome to the first post of this blog about English folklore, every so often I will delve into the oddities, extremities, murky places and down right fascinating customs, traditions and folklores of England. You are welcome to comment and let me know of things I have missed or misrepresented.

But why revisit all these old customs and traditions? Well, because I think they are interesting, and because those that are still observed are usually a whole lot of fun!

I have also written a small book, or booklet, about one such custom - the burning of the ashen faggot - which is still observed in certain parts of the west country. Here is a small excerpt...

Burning the Ashen Faggot

The pondrous Ashen Faggot from the yard. The jolly farmer to his crowded hall. Conveys with speed; where, on the rising flames (already fed with store of massy brands). It blazes soon; nine bandages it bears, And as they each disjoin (so custom wills), A mighty jug of sparkling cyder's brought, With brandy mixt to elevate the guests.
1795, author unknown.

Devon, modern times

Step into a number of pubs and country houses across the West Country this Christmas Eve and you would be forgiven for thinking you had stepped back in time, possibly by a good two or three hundred years or more. As traditions go, the burning of the Ashen Faggot is not the best known, but it does still have some link to our modern celebrations – the sickly-sweet chocolate Yule log that is itself becoming a thing of the past.

What links an ancient West Country tradition, involving pubs, faggots, song and good cheer with a chocolate dessert you might wonder? To answer that we have to delve back in time to the world of the Saxon and the Viking, and even to the tree of life itself. What today is a communal celebration uniting Christmas cheer, old tradition, carols, song and, of course, a liberal sprinkling of alcohol, has a story that involves the infant Jesus’ first bath, bulls, merry maidens, wassailing and roast boar – although not necessarily in that order...

Having experienced this custom at first-hand a number of times, I can whole heartedly recommend it - if you have a hearth, or fireplace, big enough! More soon...