#Plough Monday

[pagan-stitches]

Planting a Michaelmas corn dolly on Plough Monday.

I had to find a very wild patch of privet to shelter my lit candle on this very rainy, windy, and bitter cold dawn.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

A Medieval Christmas

By Mark Cartwright

1 December 2018

Christmas was one of the highlights of the medieval calendar not only for the rich but also for the peasantry.

For the longest holiday of the year, typically the full twelve days of Christmas, people stopped work, homes were decorated and a Yule log burned in the hearth.

Gifts were exchanged, colourful church services enjoyed, and merry feasts were eaten by all where there was better food and more of it than at any other time in the year.

There were plenty of songs, dancing, pantomimes, and games, too. For many, just as today, Christmas was the best of times.

The European medieval calendar was not short of holidays: each season had its own special Christian celebration, often based on older pagan traditions.

Medieval holidays were a chance to have a much-needed rest from the usual daily toil and to socialise at family meals where the typical dreary menu of the poor was replaced by such rarities as meat and fish, and the table of the rich was adorned with exotica like roast peacock.

Christmas was the longest holiday of the year by far and lasted from the night of Christmas Eve, the 24th of December, to the Twelfth Day, Epiphany, on the 6th of January.

Mid-winter was a time of year, which saw a lull in agricultural activity, and consequently, many peasants were permitted by their lord to have the entire two weeks off.

The season also involved gift-giving and decorating the home with garlands and wreaths of winter foliage.

As one description of 12th-century CE London by William Fitzstephen records:

"Every man's house, as also their parish churches, was decked with holly, ivy, bay and whatsoever the season of the year afforded to be green."

(quoted in Gies, 100)

Holly, with its glossy dark green leaves and bright red berries, has been considered the ideal winter decoration since antiquity.

Ancient Celtic druids thought it sacred and able to ward off evil spirits, while the Romans used it as a gift to show esteem and goodwill.

Mistletoe is another long-used decoration, which ancient people thought a bringer of fertility, protector of crops, and something that kept away witches.

Long before the Christmas tree took centre stage in the 19th century CE, a double ring of mistletoe was the centrepiece of many a home's decorations, under which couples could kiss, removing the jewel-like berries with each peck.

Over time, the traditional church services for major Christian holidays became more elaborate and Christmas was no exception.

The Church at Christmas

Naturally, in the very religious communities of medieval times, the local church was a focal point for the Christmas celebrations and services were well-attended by all classes.

One development from around the 9th century CE was 'troping,' which was to add extra dialogues and songs to the service.

An example of troping in the Christmas celebration was an elaboration on the question, which choirs sang:

Quem quaertitis in praesepe? ('Whom do you seek in the manger?').

One half of the choir would sing the line and then the other half did.

This eventually led to a dramatisation using individual speakers and actors, which resulted in the presentation of nativity plays with the Magi and King Herod playing prominent roles.

Another play that became popular in church services of the festive period was The Prophets in which a priest conducted a dialogue with various prophets such as Jeremiah, Daniel, and Moses.

Choir boys played dressed up bit-parts like a donkey or devil.

The Feast of the Holy Innocents (Childermas) on 28th of December commemorated King Herod's failed attempt to murder the infant Jesus by ordering the execution of all children in Bethlehem under two years of age.

The church on this day, perhaps bizarrely considering the gravity of the occasion, indulged in a bit of traditional festive role-reversal with choirboys taking the place of the bishop and other higher clergy to conduct services and even to lead a torchlit procession.

The celebration of the Feast of the Circumcision, held on the 1st of January, was even more outlandish, which perhaps explains its other name of the 'Feast of Fools.'

Minor clergy would wear their clothes inside out and lead an ass into church where, upon arrival at the altar, they would burn incense made from old shoes, eat sausages, drink wine and make the sounds of a donkey.

The local clergy, if not invited to their nearest lord's castle, celebrated with a fine meal of rarities at home.

Larks, ducks, and salmon could appear on the menu, or perhaps a kid. We know one abbot of Ramsey Abbey in England reserved for himself a wild boar each Christmas dinner.

Even monks had a treat or two at Christmas. The diet of those in medieval monasteries was quite good anyway but Christmas feasts included more meat and fish than usual.

We also know that at monasteries such as at Cluny Abbey in France, the monks received a new gown and had one of their twice-yearly baths at Christmas (any more was not permitted).

Christmas in a Manor

Amongst the landed aristocracy, comfortable in their castles and manors, Christmas gifts such as fine clothes and jewellery to wear for the season were exchanged on the 25th of December.

There was another round of gift-giving on the 1st of January, too. Known as 'first-gifts,' they were thought to be an omen of a person's fortune in the coming year.

Much like today, though, the real joy of Christmas for many was the food on offer.

Usually held in the Great Hall of a castle or manor, the setting for the Christmas meal for the aristocracy was suitably splendid with high wood-beam ceilings and at least one roaring fire.

The hall was made even more impressive with festive garlands of holly, ivy and other seasonal greenery.

The tables were set with the usual knives, spoons and a thick slab of one-day-old bread (a trencher or manchet) to be used by way of a plate for meat.

Christmas diners were also treated to the luxury of a change of tablecloth after each course.

Two diners shared a bowl for washing hands (everything except liquids was eaten with the fingers), another bowl for soups and stews, and a small bowl of salt.

Served as an early lunch, the first course was typically a soup, broth or weak stew with some meat at the bottom.

The second course might be a vegetable stew (porray) of leeks and onions.

The rich were fortunate enough to have meat as their next course on ordinary days – rabbit, hare and chicken, for example – but Christmas saw finer meat delicacies, fish (e.g. salmon, herring and trout) and seafood (e.g. eels, oysters and crab) courses presented to the guests.

Meats were roasted on a spit over an open fire. Besides legs of beef and mutton, there was veal, venison, goose, capon, suckling pig, duck, plover, lark and crane, to name a few.

A special Christmas dish the cooks might prepare to wow the guests included a boar's head on a platter or a swan or peacock roasted in its feathers.

Sauces added more flavour to many dishes and, thickened with breadcrumbs, they contained wine or vinegar, and herbs and spices.

Dessert consisted of thick fruit custards, pastries, nuts, cheese and luxury fruits like oranges, figs and dates.

There were also entremets – various decorated nibbles glazed with sugar and honey – which were served before the dessert course at Christmas and other feasts.

For drinks, there's red and white wine (from a cup shared with one's dining partner), which was drunk young as it had a short shelf-life.

Wine was often mixed with water or sweetened with honey or sugar.

Alternatives were cider and ale, although the latter, made from grains and fermented with yeast, was considered a lower class drink.

Beer made using hops would only appear in the late Middle Ages. Dessert might be accompanied by a jug of spiced wine.

While all this feasting was going in the Great Hall, the servants of a castle were not forgotten as traditionally they were given better food at Christmas such as geese and hens.

Finally, the leftovers of the feast were taken outside to the waiting poor.

The manor dining table might have had some surprising guests as serfs on the castle's estate did get to live it up a little at Christmas when, by tradition, they were invited to the manor on Christmas day for a meal.

On some estates, the invitations were restricted to just two lucky recipients.

Traditionally, one of the poorest and one of the wealthiest peasants who could also invite two friends along.

Unfortunately, most peasants invited to their local lord's abode had to bring along their own plates and firewood, and of course, all the food had been produced by themselves anyway.

However, they did get free ale and it was at least a chance to see how the other half lived and relieve the dreariness of a country winter.

A Peasant Christmas

A peasant's Christmas was obviously rather less grand than that enjoyed in the local manor or castle, and for them, the season did not start well.

Serfs, already subjected to all manner of odd fees over the year, were expected to give a 'gift' to their lord at Christmas of extra bread, eggs, and perhaps, even a valuable rooster or a couple of hens.

In contrast, free labourers on the estate, especially the more important ones such as the estate's shepherd, swineherd and oxherd, received presents from the lord, typically a bonus of food, drink, clothes and firewood.

It is a tradition, which continued into later centuries, when household servants received a box of gifts on the 26th of December, hence the name of that day in Britain: Boxing Day.

Children's gifts from their humble parents included such simple toys as spinning tops, whistles, stilts, marbles, dolls, and figures made from wood or clay.

Peasants would have decorated their homes much as aristocrats did, with greenery such as holly being readily available for those who searched for it.

An old, possibly pagan tradition persisted, which was the burning of a Yule log.

Actually, a sizeable piece of tree trunk, the log was lit on Christmas Eve in homes of all kind and kept burning for the twelve days of Christmas.

For the special meals of the holiday, peasants ate that rare delicacy of – usually boiled – meat, treated themselves to cheese and eggs, ate cakes and drank ale.

There was certainly lots — the brew typically made by peasant women.

The 1st of January was important as people hoped for better fortune in the coming year.

A superstition developed, like the gifts the rich exchanged on this day, that it was terribly important who the first person to visit one's home was on New Year's Day.

Called 'first-footing,' certain characteristics were considered desirable in this first visitor: a male with a dark complexion, perhaps fair-haired and, best of all, with flat feet.

Christmas Entertainment

There were all kinds of entertainments on offer over the Christmas period.

Drinking alcohol was the most popular of all. The fact that merry-making could easily get out of hand is attested by the common custom of lords paying special watchmen to guard their estates in case of riots.

A record from an estate near Saint Paul's Cathedral in London tells us that watchmen were set from Christmas Day to Twelfth Night.

These men were recompensed by 'a good fire in the hall, one white loaf, one cooked dish, and a gallon of ale [per day]' (quoted in Gies, 208).

Even if drinking such large quantities was relatively common and the ale weak, with four and a half litres of ale per watchman, it is a wonder they themselves did not get a bit rowdy.

More genteel festive entertainment included monks touring and performing plays in private residences, which told key episodes from the Bible, especially, of course, seasonal topics such as the Massacre of the Innocents by Herod.

Similarly, in cities, medieval guilds put on public pageants where wagons went through the streets carrying people dressed as personalities from the Bible's Christmas story.

Troupes of masked pantomime artists known as mummers went through the streets, too, accompanied by bands of musicians.

Sometimes numbering over 100 revellers, they dressed in outlandish costumes as lords, cardinals and knights, and even ventured into people's homes to dance and play dice.

Receiving food and drink in return for their entertainment, mummers often performed short plays with scenes from familiar legends such as Saint George and the dragon.

There were games like cards and dice (which included a bit of gambling) and board games such as chess, checkers, backgammon and Nine Men's Morris.

Traditional Christmas games included the 'king of the bean,' which permitted the person who found a hidden bean in the bread or a special cake to be 'king' or 'queen' of the feast.

That honoured person then had the right to lord it over everyone else who often had to mimic whatever action the king or queen did at the table.

The game was traditionally played on Twelfth Night and was an example of the tried-and-tested role-reversal hilarity, which went back to Rome's pagan December festival of Saturnalia.

Christmas meals were followed by more drinking of wine or beer, singing of songs, including carols, and group dancing to music from pipes, flutes, lutes and drums.

Professional acrobats and jongleurs (minstrels) performed their tricks and witty verses.

Folktales were told, embellished and re-told every year, puppet shows were put on, and people played parlour games, many of which survive today such as blind man's buff and prisoner's base.

Another such game involved one member of the party being dressed as a saint while everyone else had to make them an offering (no doubt, an amusing one), which they had to do without smiling and resisting the antics of the saint or else they themselves became the saint.

Another game was 'The King Who Does Not Lie' when the 'king of the feast' might ask a question to any guest who, if they answered truthfully, could ask a question in return.

Such games were, of course, a chance to show one's wit and skill at wordplay, to embarrass a friend or to find out a sweetheart's inclinations.

For the more energetic, there were sports such as feats of strength, archery, wrestling, bowling, hockey, and medieval football where the goal was to move the ball to a predetermined destination and there were few, if any, rules.

Sliding on frozen lakes was a popular activity in winter, too.

Alternatively, by strapping the shin bones of a horse to the feet and grabbing a pole for propulsion, the courageous could try ice skating.

The End of the Holiday

Christmas through the ages has witnessed festive fun and frolics, and so, inevitably, the return to ordinary working life must have been something of a shock in the medieval period after this longest of holidays.

However, even then peasants made a celebratory game of the proceedings by, for example, holding a plough race at sunrise on the first Monday after Epiphany, known as Plough Monday.

There was another tradition, perhaps again to lighten the burden of returning to the daily toil, on 7th January, also known as Saint Distaff's Day.

This day was “a day of carnival, an occasion for 'misrule,' for 'comic battles between the sexes' in which men set fire to women's flax and women made sure men got soaked” (Leyser, 225).

[spiralhouseshop]

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[man-and-atom]

Today is, in England, known as “Plough Monday”, the traditional start of the agricultural year. A variety of traditional festivals mark the day.

Although the mechanization of agriculture has led to a decline in rural communities and their traditions, which is much to be regretted, it has on the other hand immensely lightened the burden of labour on much of mankind. When one farmer can feed 80 other people (where in the past it took four to produce enough surplus to feed one), and rides across the fields in an air-conditioned tractor, can we not say that we have broken the Curse of Adam?

“In the sweat of your brow you shall eat your bread, all the days of your life.”

[maypoleman1]

9th January

St Fillan’s Day

Source: Musem of London/ BBC

Today is St Fillan’s Day. Not much is known about this saint apart from the efficacy of his Pool in the valley of Strathfillan in curing mental illness. The afflicted were immersed in the waters and then left tied up in the nearby St Fillan’s Chapel. If they worked themselves loose from their bonds by the following morning, this meant they were cured. Unsurprisingly, St Fillan’s Pool no longer plays a role in modern psychiatric practice. Also on this day in 1684, a huge Frost Fair took place in London. A series of hard winters in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century England resulted in the River Thames freezing over under several feet of ice. This allowed Londoners to celebrate actual fairs on the river’s surface including sideshows, horse racing, bear-baiting, drinking and gambling. The ice was so thick it was even possible to light large fires to roast oxen on the frozen waters, with no fear of it melting. Although the winters were much colder then than now, the old London Bridge was also a contributor, making the Thames’ waters sluggish and more prone to freezing. Once the new London Bridge let the river flow, the frost fairs were no more.

Lazy male agricultural workers managed to wrangle one last day off on Plough Monday (the first Monday after the 6th and yesterday in 2024) by turning the official day of the return to the fields into a final episode of midwinter mischief and mayhem. On Plough Monday, the so-called Plough Jags went carolling through the streets, pulling a plough and demanding donations door to door. If anyone refused on the grounds it was about time these ne’er-do-wells went back to work, their gardens were ploughed up. Apparently this act of extortion and vandalism was known as being “jagged”.

[qyq7hdy0s]

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[evan-collins90]

A variety of interiors from 1986 issues of Contract Interiors Magazine

1 & 4: Howard Johnson Plaza Hotel - Virginia Beach, VA - designed by American Contract Designers

2: Hyatt Corporate Offices - Atlanta, GA - designed by Hirsch/Bedner

3: The Shops at National Place - Washington, D.C. - designed by Walker Group/CNI

5: Schering-Plough Headquarters - Madison, NJ - designed by HLW

6: Dance floor at Oliver's restaurant/club - Downers Grove, IL - designed by Zakaspace

7: Monday's at Printers Square - Chicago, IL - designed by Zakaspace

8: Cottonwood Hospital Medical Center - Murray, UT - designer not listed

9: Lakeside Delicatessen - Oakland, CA - designed by Ace Architects

[cheese-water]

Look, if it isn’t an server event, my picks for the Philza rescue squadron would be Tubbo, Missa, and Etoiles.

Tubbo because he will be the first one to notice (Monday 6pm BST mark my word) and like the paranoid cubito that he is, he will immediately start jumping to conclusions that happen to be correct (“what if cucurucho kidnapped his ass :((((((”).

Missa because Tubbo likes him and thinks he doesn’t have as many screws loose as the others. Also cause he matches Tubbo’s energy real well and will start yelling if he finds out Phil was maybe kidnapped. Missa’s abject horror at the situation wins Tubbo over.

And Etoiles because Tubbo and Missa are well aware on how killable they are. Etoiles has made them very aware of it. However, he will do anything for Philza and would drop everything he’s doing if he finds out he was kidnapped. Plus, it’s his dream to watch Tubbo and Missa try and fail to kill mobs in the middle of the woods while he ploughs through them all. Protection y’know.

They’re all just hardcore members of the Philza famclub. Fit only got ousted by Tubbo because he doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw and Fit didn’t give him an “appropriate reaction” to the potential kidnapping of another islander: crying and screaming or outright murder.

[thecrystalquill]

A/N: Chapter Ten! I hope you liked the Trick or Treat game for our Halloween Special. Now let’s see if you were right…

Please do your part and leave a like/reblog if you read it :)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Series intro Your First Year Hogwarts Letter

Chapter Ten ~ The Winds Of Change

Slowly, (Y/N) was starting to settle in at Hogwarts. Her classes were going well, she consumed information like a starved man sat before a buffet, and the only person whom she’d consider a friends was Saoirse. Her roommates coming close, but she only really interacted with them in their dorm. Her next goal was to make a decent fiend. After all, what is a protagonist without an arch-nemesis or two?

There was one thing, however, that unsettled her deeply; that shook the caverns of her soul and twisted her innards in pleasant discomfort. (Y/N) had always been quite intuitive, she had a knack for sensing when something was coming, and as of late she felt that same twinge in her subconscious that whispered of a storm. ‘The winds of change’, her grandmama would tell her.

After receiving a reply from her family (and having to plough through a whole long paragraph of Wednesday’s complaints on losing money because of her), she now would only write to them once a week, usually on the weekends. A steady schedule soon developed: on weekdays she would complete her homeworks when assigned, on Fridays she’d write a letter, send it on Saturday after lunch, and receive a reply by Monday – Mortis was glad for the five days of unbothered rest.

October had quickly come and (Y/N) was glad to see the season change; nature was always so beautiful when it was on the brink of death. There was a cold chill to the air that made its way all through the halls of Hogwarts, everywhere where there were no fires to keep the cold at bay. That was the lovely thing about old stone castles: they were always cold. Soon there would be a Hallowe’en feast, and even though she couldn’t spend the important celebration with her family, (Y/N) was looking forward to it. Though, the idea of not spending such a treasured and traditional night with her family greatly saddened her, she was simply too far away. Perhaps next year they could figure something out.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, classes had finished for the day, and (Y/N) and Soairse had come to the library to complete their homework. Two months had quickly flown by at Hogwarts and soon classes would be getting more practical; that being said, there was a lot more theory to magic than (Y/N) had initially thought. Transfiguration was proving to be rather complicated. At some point, (Y/N) had to consider for herself if humans really had any business manipulating the particle structure of anything at all.

“Now wait a minute, wait a minute,” Saoirse spoke up from deep in her Herbology studies, “I thought the mandrake was the one that grew in a bush.”

(Y/N) shook her head and rolled up the sleeves of her black shirt. “Mandrakes are the ones that look a bit like turnips – they can kill you with their scream.”

A look of recognition quickly crossed the brunette’s face. “Oh yeah… well now I’ve got a new name to call my brother.”

Soairse was proving to be a valuable study partner; so far she’d been quick to memorise her charms, sneaked snacks past Madame Pince, and even insisted on making acronyms to remember ingredients for Potions (which (Y/N) would absolutely not admit she used herself).

“It’s no wonder she’s a Slytherin…” (Y/N) heard from a few tables away, glancing to a group of students huddled together, whispering to each other animatedly, “I heard they’re related to vampires.”

“Well I heard they live in a graveyard – dead bodies everywhere!” A boy spoke up, cupping a hand at the side of his face as if it would quieten the accusation.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and went back to her homework, dipping her quill back into her ink and ignoring the boring school gossip, offering Soairse a better word to describe a mandrake’s scream.

“Fraser Nittle told me they keep a monster in the belfry,” a girl’s voice whispered, “and the last one that came here went mad, a real psycho apparently.”

Soairse had started packing up, something about changing her socks for better ones before lunch, and (Y/N) began to do the same, leaving the last paragraph of her essay for later. She ignored the silly gossip, uninterested in the news going about the castle, but unfortunately that didn’t stop her from hearing it. “They’re all freaks, those Addamses.”

Now that caught her attention.

Stopping in her tracks, (Y/N) quickly felt a wave of cool anger come over her, and her face hardened like it had turned to cold stone. Light on her steps, she turned to the table of gossipers, and crept up behind them. They were all hunched over their books, not even working on anything, she didn’t even recognise any of their faces – not that she cared.

“His name is Lurch.”

The group jumped at her sudden presence at their backs, startled and almost frightened when they saw who it was that lurked over them. Barely stuttering out any words.

She sent them the dead-eyed look her mother often used, the one reserved for special circumstances, when someone had crossed a line. “And he isn’t a monster. He’s a butler.” She said sternly. “Not that it makes him any less dangerous.” (Y/N) took great satisfaction in the fear in their eyes. She didn’t move, she barely even blinked, just stood there like a headstone, waiting for their discomfort to spill over, before walking away without another look, as silent as she came.

This place was full of gossip and rumours, hardly any of which held any truth. But she wouldn’t let it bother her; there were always rumours about her family, it was simply something she was used to. People didn’t like it when someone was too different – apparently that extended into the wizarding world as well.

“Is that true?” Saoirse asked as they exited the library, and (Y/N) frowned in disappointment at the inevitable next sentence. “D’you really have a butler? Can I meet him?”

(Y/N) fought back a small smile. Yes, she definitely liked this one.

Hallowe’en was (Y/N)’s favourite time of year; the spookiness, the ghost stories, the darkness. It was all so wonderful. All of the Addams clan took the holiday very seriously, after all it was a very important day in their peculiar culture. It was like New Year’s and Christmas and birthdays all in one, and they stretched the whole thing out over three days and three nights. There would be a feast bigger than the whole family could eat, séances every night, and then readings from Poe before bed. A hundred activities to partake in: pumpkin carving, pumpkin smashing, Wake The Dead, fancy dress, haunted walks, death masks… endless freaky fun. Even if she couldn’t be there with them, she’d promised to at least read the Raven before bed and try to contact Grandfather Humphrey and Grandmother Hester from the Other Side.

There was a strange warm ambiance about Hogwarts, a certain atmosphere filled with joy and… happiness. The castle wasn’t at all dark and creepy like the Addams home would be; the decorations were all vibrant colours and bright patterns, banners hung on the stone walls, and Peeves the Poltergeist was having the time of his life (or rather, death) scaring dozens of students by the hour. The infamous Weasley Twins had doubled or perhaps even tripled their pranks and so far no one was safe. Especially on Hallowe’en day.

That morning, after a rather eventful breakfast (curtsey of the Weasley twins), the first years had Charms class. The professor had even troubled himself to decorate the classroom for the season, all floating pumpkins and orange streamers. Nothing too exciting. If (Y/N) had been in his place, she would have charmed a giant spider to walk on the ceiling, or stuffed some skeletons in a closet, but not everyone could be as creative, she supposed. Perhaps if she was lucky a Jack-O-lantern would bite off someone’s hand.

This would be their first practical charms lesson, and everyone was very excited. To control this excitement, Flitwick decided it would be best to choose everyone’s partners – and unfortunately, (Y/N) found herself yet again stuck next to none other than Draco Malfoy. And this time she couldn’t simply ignore him and let him fly off on a broom.

The professor, atop his desk, was lecturing everyone on the importance of pronunciation, and reminding the class of a student who misspoke and suffered for it… something about a buffalo?

A fluffy white feather lay still on the desk between them, an ugly thing that probably felt as soft as a cloud. Everyone was quick to try, with few succeeding to make their feathers do more than flutter, one student accidentally made their table jump. It seemed magic was much harder than waving a wand and saying a little phrase in a dead language.

“Ladies first.” Malfoy said to her, giving a taunting look as he glanced about at the other students.

“Well then by all means, I’m happy to wait.” She replied with a gesture towards the feather, pleased with the glare he sent back. She could feel the ‘how very dare you’ on the tip of his tongue. “Unless, of course, you don’t think you can.”

He took the bait. “Fine.” Sitting up a little straighter, Malfoy cleared his throat and gripped his wand tight. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered as he moved his wand to the right and down. The feather moved a millimetre or two, but it was hard to tell whether it was by magic or simply the air moving with his gesture. A deep frown set over his face, pale cheeks flushing and mouth pursing as he gritted his teeth and tried again. Only to receive a similar outcome. “It’s not as easy as it looks, you know.” He quipped, hiding his embarrassment with frustration.

“I know.” She replied. (Y/N) moved some hair out of her eyes and looked across the room to where Saoirse sat, gesturing with her wand and talking to her partner – (Y/N) had quickly come to learn that her friend was very talented in this class; the two had spent all of the day before in the library reading about it, and Saoirse was sure she knew exactly what she was doing by the time she’d checked out three different books, two of which were far above their skill level. “You’re too rough with it.” She said monotonously, though he didn’t seem to like being given advice.

The boy scrunched up his nose. “Excuse me?” He demanded accusatorily.

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) pointed to his balled up fist. “Your gesture. Think of it this way: you’re trying to make something float, make it light as a feather. So you have to reflect that in your movements.” At least that’s what Saoirse’s book had said – neither of them had actually practiced.

“Look here, everyone! Miss Granger’s done it!” Professor Flitwick cried from across the room, gaining that class’ attention. A Gryffindor girl with bushy brunette hair smiled proudly at the praise, wand still raised daintily in the direction of her white feather suspended four feet in the air; next to her sat Ron Weasley, looking bitterly on with his arms folded.

(Y/N) turned back to tell her temporary partner to try again, when she caught sight of his own bitter expression. “Perfect little mudblood, always showing off.” He spat under his breath.

Mudblood. She knew that word, had heard it plenty of times, she knew it had even been used to insult her family – it seemed blood purity (no matter how pure or powerful) was still tainted when it came to squibs. And she didn’t like the word coming from his mouth one bit. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she pronounced with a swish and flick of her wrist, but rather than direct it up, she flicked it right to the boy’s face. Honestly, she hadn’t even expected it to work on her first try, but the sight of Malfoy getting a mouth full of flying feather was perfect all the same. “Oops.”

“You did that on purpose!” Malfoy shouted, still spitting little bits of white off of his tongue.

“Did I?” She questioned innocently, watching as he glared with a new fury. “Why would I do that?”

“Of course you did!” He fired back. “You think you’re better than me, do you? Just because you and that Granger girl got beginner’s luck. Well you’re not--”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Flitwick scolded, suddenly stood on some steps near their shared desk. “I’d expect you to speak to your peers much more respectfully in my classroom.” The short man said, pointing a finger at the misbehaving boy. “That’s ten points from Slytherin – and not another word, or it will be twenty.”

Malfoy crossed his arms and slumped back in his seat, watching as their professor made his way back to another student who needed attention. (Y/N) was glad that he was put in his place for it, but certainly not happy that he’d lost them house points. “Well done, genius.” She said sarcastically as she put her black wand in her robe pocket, getting up to chat with Saoirse before he could say anything more.

Celebratory feasts at Hogwarts were like no other – at least, that’s what (Y/N) had heard. Her roommates had all already left to get some good seats, Saoirse included, while (Y/N) stayed behind to change. She’d just finished reading another letter sent from her family and unpacking a box of gifts for the holiday. Tonight they were all dressing up and holding a séance with her mother’s dead parents, then moulding and painting death masks to add to their collection. Tying her hair back in two plaits, (Y/N) checked herself over in the tall mirror that stood by their door; black trousers, black boots, and a black half-turtleneck jumper, the only colour on her at all was an emerald encased in silver, a snake-shaped ring she’d been sent – a symbol of her house and a reminder to always be proud of it.

Jinx made a noise from his place on her windowsill, clicking his claws into the soft cushion she’d sat there and glaring at Mouse for shedding on it. “I’ll be back later, Jinx.” She said, checking the guard was in front of their dorm fireplace before she left with promises to bring him back some scraps.

The halls of the Dungeon were cold and dead, all students and staff far away in the Great Hall making the most of the celebration. (Y/N) knew she was late to dinner, but the Dungeons were just such a lovely place to be that she couldn’t help but wander slower than usual. The Dungeons reminded her a little of home, the chill in the air and the stone walls were much akin to the Vaults beneath their house, and the creaky doors and shadowy corners shrouded in mystery just felt so home-like that she couldn’t help but dawdle. Especially today, when she was feeling more homesick than she had since she arrived.

There was a commotion suddenly, (Y/N) heard the sound coming from a dark corridor to her left, some muttering followed by a loud clatter and the sound of something hard knocking on the floor. Her gut told her to ignore it, but another, much more persuasive side of her told her to investigate – curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

There were no torches lit down the hall, only the faint glow of one around a corner. She couldn’t be sure if she’d ever been down this way before, there weren’t any classrooms down the steps at the end – none that she knew of – all just storage cupboards or something, she’d been told. But now she wondered if there were more to the Dungeons than she’d been led to believe. There was another sound, further away, or maybe not – it was so hard to tell with the way it travelled around the stone tunnels – but (Y/N) was sure she’d heard a grunt or growl of some kind. Slowly, she reached into her boot for the dagger she carried (something every Addams should have on their person at all times). A wand would have been of no use, anyway, not if the only spell she knew was the floating charm. Her heart leapt in her chest with every step she took, following the light from the torch, going ever deeper into the mysterious corridor. It had been far too long since she’d felt such delightful fear, her heart almost ached from missing the erratic pounding of the effects.

All was silent. No more bangs, or grunts, or panicked muttering. When she finally made it to the end, coming to face no more than an old locked door and a flight of stairs going back up, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed as she tucked the dagger back in its hiding spot. It was probably just Peeves, anyway. Having wasted enough time and feeling the pang of hunger in her empty stomach, (Y/N) hurried up the stairs and found herself just another hallway away from the Dungeon exit and back to the main floors.

The Great Hall was, admittedly, looking splendid. Candles floated under the image of the cloudy black sky, carved pumpkins grinning down on them, and live bats screeching and flitting about. She would definitely be telling this to her family in her next letter tomorrow.

“(Y/N)!” Saoirse shouted from the Slytherin table, shouting loudly over the crowds far away towards the staff table, right at the end of the row.

As she walked between the tables and passed students laughing and talking, (Y/N) ignored how some people gave her strange looks, or waited for her to pass before continuing their conversations. Another rumour was developing about the monster she had for a butler, only this time people couldn’t decide what sort of monster he was.

Sitting herself next to Saoirse, who was mixing together apple sauce and cranberry sauce on her plate, (Y/N) straightened her sleeves and greeted her other roommates, who were talking to a boy she recognised from Herbology. He seemed pleasant enough, introducing himself with only a second hesitance, he even shook her hand. What did he say his name was? Blade? She couldn’t hear him all that well over the crowd, but Saoirse would surely inform her later.

She wasn’t planning on staying for too long, not when she had to make time for a séance, she would simply eat until she was full and engage in the usual amount of conversation. But she’d barely had time to reach for dessert when the giant doors of the entrance slammed open and a scrawny, pasty man in a turban came running in faster than he looked capable of.

“TROLL!” Quirrell screamed in the stunned silence. “TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!” He’d almost reached Dumbledor’s chair when he seemed to suddenly run out of adrenaline. “Thought you ought to know.” He managed, before collapsing in his exhaustion.

There was a brief pause as everyone processed what had just happened, then suddenly an uproar. Screams and shouts of terror, panic and chaos that reminded (Y/N) of so many family events, when a thought soon dawned on her: that was what she heard in the Dungeon. That was what she’d almost encountered. Not Peeves, not the Twins, and certainly not her imagination – a troll.

What happened to Hogwarts being the safest place on Earth?

“SILENCE!”

Startled by Dumbledor’s voice, the entire student body froze where they were. All teachers were stood from their seats with similar looks on their faces, Quirrell still laid face-down on the floor. “Prefects, lead your houses back to their dorms immediately.”

It was a sensible instruction, at least for the first three seconds – but anyone who thought at all longer would consider that it wasn’t actually very good advice to give to one fourth of the school. Wouldn’t it be safer to keep everyone in one place, where they already where, than have everyone go through the castle in smaller groups, a quarter of whom who were instructed to go the scene of the danger? Everyone knew Slytherin House was set up in the Dungeons, and Hufflepuff not far behind.

Realising this, many of the Slytherins went into a whole new panic, even (Y/N) could see it. Saoirse was covering her ears, Bridget was trying to protest, and even Draco Malfoy could be heard shrieking like a banshee. But all other prefects were already set in motion out the doors, and Slytherin was being made to follow behind. Oh great.

After the excitement of the night’s dinner, the Slytherin common room was crowded by students putting off going to bed; over half an hour of attendance checks to confirm everyone was accounted for wasn’t enough to ease their nerves, most staying up to avoid sleep, a few hiding away in their rooms. It was one thing (Y/N) was thankful for – now she had the dorm all to herself while her roommates kept to the common area, not that they were all that eager to be in the same room as she performed her ritual.

The only light in the room came from the crackling fireplace and the circle of candles in which she sat. A bowl of dried sage and herbs smoked to her side, some crystals dotted here and there, some photos of various passed family members, and (most importantly) an old ouija board and a crystal ball sat before her crossed legs. Taking a deep breath and clearing her mind, (Y/N) pictured her grandparents in her minds eye and began to recite the Summoning, one she’d heard hundreds of times.

“Sing, O spirits. Harken, all souls. I offer clarion to Humphrey and Hester Frump.” She recited, imitating the commanding voice her mother used every year. “Let me ransom you from the power of the grave. Tonight, O Death, let me be your plague.” The crystal ball started to cloud in a divine mist, opening a door between the worlds of the living and the dead, inviting the spirit of a relative through.

She could feel a presence, vague and distant but there. She carefully placed her fingers on the planchett, opening her mind to feel the pull. The candles flickered as she felt it in the room, awaiting her command. It felt different to every other time she’d been present for a séance; each spirit had a unique feeling. Where she would usually smell expensive soap and chloroform, this time she smelt sugar and burning calligraphy paper. Frowning slightly, (Y/N) reached out with her mind to greet them. “Grandmother? Is that you?” She asked, waiting for the presence to move the planchett tab.

She felt it pull to answer, fingers following it up the board. No.

“Grandfather?”

Again it answered – no.

She froze, every muscle in her body stopping still, sucking in a breath as she stared at the planchette beneath her fingers in alarm.

If this wasn’t her grandparents… then who did she make Contact with?

Heart hammering in her chest as the crystal ball clouded in a swirling mist, (Y/N) racked her brain for who it could be if not a grandparent she called to her. Did she do the ritual wrong? Did she call on the wrong spirit? (Y/N) had partaken in countless seances before, but rarely on her own – it wouldn’t be all that surprising if she’d made a mistake.

Another pull tugged at her – not at her fingers this time, but at something deep in her spirit, dragging her in, pushing her mind and soul aside to make room for another. Her senses were overcome with something so other. There was no smell of burning sage and wormwood, no crackling fire, no velvet green dormitory; only whatever this other was. It was dark, and cold, and empty. There was no sound at all. And then, slowly, she saw. A room, dark and unlit. A figure shifted through, cloaked and unrecognisable, and reached forward to a wall – no, a shelf. But before she could make out what they were doing, it all changed again. A tower, standing tall and proud in the rain of a storm, snow and sleet coating the turret roof. A door. A clock. A crow. A murky window. A tunnel. A statue. A fire. All things that seemed so unrelated. She felt the grip this spirit had on her begin to slip, as if they clutched her with watery hands, digging their nails into the flesh of her soul just to stay a little longer. Addams, it called in a voice roughened with deep rest, far away like they spoke from a flooded grave. She wanted to answer, to ask or say anything, but her voice was stolen from her. I’ve been waiting. It said again, slowly fading away back into the beyond. Find…

Suddenly she felt the spirit tear out of her body, ripping away from its clutch on her soul as it was dragged back beyond the veil, trying to reach out again but it was no use. She could feel their desperation, their pain, their anger. (Y/N) didn’t understand.

Sweat gathered on her brow, her skin clammy and her breath was short and shallow. Slowly, (Y/N) felt her senses come back to her. She brought a shaky hand up to her head, feeling a headache coming on.

What was that?

Who was that?

Thoughts spun around in her head as the dizziness and fatigue that follows such a ritual performed by the inexperience settled heavily over her, making her feel weak in every muscle of her body. Staring vacantly at her surroundings, (Y/N) held in a shaky breath and started to blow out the few remaining candle flames and carefully place her things in a chest to slide under her bed. Already in her pyjamas, (Y/N) sat up in her bed, exhausted from the effort but unable to sleep, those words from that disturbing undead voice filling her anxious mind as Jinx remained asleep on the pillow beside her.

This was by far the strangest Hallowe’en she’d ever had. So far.

Leave your like at the end :) What do you think?

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Leave your like and a comment… ❤️

[dungeon-meshi-tournament]

Alright, I've managed to gather all the images for the Favourite Anything from the Series Tournament. I'd like to thank everyone that helped in this process, in particular @cleave-and-plough , who gathered a ton of images for me.

Now that I have all these images, I do still have to make a couple of collages and edit some images for use in this tournament before I can start adding everything to the brackets. Expect the actual first versions of the brackets either on Monday or Tuesday.

[brian-in-finance]

Listen, I know my sense of humour isn’t for everyone — whose is? — but I would hope the many times my tongue is firmly lodged in my cheek are almost always evident. I mean, who sincerely celebrates being blocked by other bloggers? 🤦🏻‍♂️

So, yesterday I posted this image, and later in the post, wrote the sentence beneath it:

Brian 26 February 2024

And five hours later, someone responded with this:

If you’re here reading and wondering who Mordor is, chances are, you are Mordor. Actually, Mordor is a place or the collection of its inhabitants. The creatures who talk about Mordor live in The Shire. This was all explained clearly, elsewhere, in early July 2023, and caught on like wildfire within The Shire.

Anyway, Anon who wrote to Black Box to tattle on Mordor, who is in this case is Brian, attributes the reason for my 5th Punch Card post to Red Box.

Now this attribution makes no sense. Here’s another screenshot from my Monday post:

Let’s call it the Index of Brian’s Punch Cards, 27 August 2022 to 3 June 2023. (Note each punch card represents at least 10 blocks.) During those months Brian earned four punch cards. It wasn’t until several months later I finally had been named in enough block alerts to earn a fifth punch card.

Having reached the 50 milestone, I posted that 5th punch card. 🥳

Remember 🙃 the Index of Brian’s Punch Cards? The 4th punch card was posted on the 3rd of June. Red Box wasn’t here Tumblring until later that month. Punch Cards #1-4 had nothing to do with her.

So why would Anon attribute Punch Card #5 to Red Box? I will tell you why.

Anon either didn’t 🤬ing read my post… or didn’t 🤬ing read my post carefully. Had they, they would have seen:

Ring 🔔 Ring 🔔 Ring 🔔 Hello. Is Anon home?

Anon didn’t see the Index of Brian’s Punch Cards, ergo Anon didn’t realise #5 is part of a series. Anon didn’t notice Block Alert #50 from Sunday, ergo Anon didn’t appreciate the timing of Monday’s post. Anon didn’t read the Blocking me is anyone’s right paragraph, ergo Anon tattled inaccurately.

Don’t be like Anon.

Who is Black Box? Who is Red Box? What did Black Box tell Anon? None of it matters. I just needed an excuse to use that snow plough gif, and this topic seemed as good as any. 😃

Remember… blocking someone is anyone's right, but for the love of all that is true and accurate, if you're going to tattle on someone, or if you're going to report or discuss what they write, read the relevant post for yourself, then tattle, report, and discuss what they actually wrote. Unless, of course, it's just an elaborate game of Telephone you're playing. ☎️

And, as luck would have it, as I was busy creating this post, Red Box was busy discussing my shortcomings with another Anon… and giving me yet another nickname. I’m gonna need a bigger business card. 📇 Later… fair is fair. Anon nicknamed me this time. Remember when Brian 🤦🏻‍♂️ed?

[pagan-stitches]

Hagging Out -- Seeds

For my contribution to this month’s Hagging Out I decided to focus on wheat weaving.  Our dear friend @msgraveyarddirt got me into wheat weaving the year before last (Live IT!!!)  when she sent me some patterns from a book I now own.  I’m obsessed with calendar customs and for me Lammas has become a celebration of the last sheaf, or in my case tastefully woven floral grade wheat.

Mell doll

“You will not be surprised to read that the design of harvest tokens called a Mell varied around the county. It could be a simple sheaf, the last one cut in the field, or the last sheaf could be decorated with flowers and wrapped in the reapers’ clothes. In Cumbria the mell doll was very different. Made from the last cut straw it was plaited to enclose a large apple. When complete it was hung in the farmhouse kitchen until Christmas Day when the straw was presented to the best cow and the apple to the oldest servant on the farm.”

--https://www.hatplait.co.uk/harvest-trophies-or-corn-dollies

In addition to being attracted to the lovely design, my nickname is Mel, so I kinda had to . . . 

I also made a simpler corn dolly to be ploughed back into the land on plough Monday:

“Planting” last year’s corn dolly at Plough Monday earlier this year:

In this year’s annual Lammas Procession around our property I presented both dollies to the four corners:

Thank you for hosting @graveyarddirt

and thank you for encouraging me to wheat weave!

[beardedmrbean]

A woman in her 80s has been pulled from the rubble of her collapsed house in Japan, 72 hours after the New Year's Day earthquake.

Public broadcaster NHK showed video of the woman being lifted out of her home in the town of Wajima.

Rescuers are racing against time in their search for survivors, as a critical three-day window has now shut.

At least 82 people were killed when a 7.6 magnitude earthquake hit the remote Noto peninsula on Monday.

Many people are thought to be trapped under their collapsed homes - mostly in the towns of Suzu and Wajima.

The woman in her 80s had reportedly been trapped on the ground floor of her house since the earthquake hit.

After 72 hours, the chances of finding people alive drops substantially. That window has now closed as the earthquake hit at 16:10 local time (07:10 GMT) on Monday.

Tens of thousands of residents are still without power and water, while hundreds remain isolated from help due to landslides and blocked roads.

Japan's Prime Minister Fumio Kishida said earlier on Thursday that 150 people had been rescued so far, and that rescuers would continue with their full-scale efforts to save as many as possible.

"This is a very difficult situation. But from the viewpoint of protecting lives, I ask that you make every effort to save and rescue as many lives as possible by this evening, when the critical 72 hours of the disaster will have passed," he said.

The tremor on Monday, which was followed by a series of aftershocks, injured at least 330 people, according to AFP news agency.

More than 30,000 people in the quake-affected areas are still in shelters, with some towns lacking water, electricity and internet connection.

Meanwhile stories of dramatic rescues have been going viral online. A video posted by Peace Winds Japan, a local NGO that helped with the rescue, show several rescuers ploughing through layers of collapsed furniture to rescue a woman trapped under her home. They then wrapped a thick blanket around her.

The BBC saw extensive destruction on a visit to Wajima on Wednesday, where some homes and vehicles were crushed under crumbling concrete. . Many of the town's old, traditional wooden homes had collapsed.

Japan introduced new regulations to protect buildings from earthquakes in 1981, but many of the wooden homes were built before these were introduced.

Some of the Wajima's residents, many of them elderly, had not carried out the work to upgrade their homes. Data from 2018 showed that more than half the buildings in the town were not in line with the new standards.

With a population of about 23,000, Wajima now resembles a ghost town as most heeded the early warnings to evacuate, when tsunamis were forecast.

But it has still recorded the largest death toll, with 48 confirmed deaths - more than half of the total number of casualties. That number is expected to rise, as some areas surrounding the town are still cut off by ruptured roads and landslides, with help unable to reach people.

Shigeru Sakaguchi, mayor of Wajima, said food and other aid supplies had reached only 2,000 out of 10,000 evacuees from the town so far.

According to the mayor of Suzu, a town with a population of about 13,000, almost none of its houses are standing. Around 90% are completely or almost completely collapsed, Masuhiro Izumiya said.

A small tsunami struck the town one minute after the major quake.

Japan is one of the most seismically active countries in the world, and activity has been increasing around Noto since the end of 2020. There have been more than 500 small and medium earthquakes here over the past three years.

[vale-priestess]

❀ MAYPOST ❀

Below is an article of mine I’ve shared before, about how Wiccans (especially those outside of the UK) have a skewed perception of May Day that does not necessarily reflect surviving traditions. This was long before the TERFs really started to take hold over the “nature-based” demographics; many of these harmless folk customs would be outlawed if they had the power to do so. Anyway, here it is in full, because nobody wants to click through a bunch of links. (archived here)  ❀ Some time ago, I began to question what I've generally been told about British folk traditions. May Day, for example. I was so busy re-educating myself about folk festivals in Gaelic cultures, that I never stopped to question what I knew about British ones. My following visit to Wikipedia was illuminating.

Here are some things I was surprised to learn.

1. May Day is feminine and twee by today's standards.

At a neopagan festival, you're likely to encounter a maypole, and any dancing that occurs will be performed in the weaving of the ribbons around it. In England, there's a lot more dancing. Elaborately choreographed dancing. Young and old folks dancing. With bells. And ribbons. And wands. And little hankies. And flowers. Flowers on hats. Men's hats. 

These Cotswold dancers, for example. Or these dancers at Oxford Circus. As you can see from some of the comments, the average citizen tends to find these displays uncool and annoying. Failing to combat this attitude is a contingent of "goths and pagans" on a mission to butch the whole thing up with black clothing, phallic pantomime, and seasonally inappropriate hats - much to the disapproval of traditionalists (and people who can see.) 

Happily, morris isn't restricted to the month of May. They are also seen on other holidays, such as St George's Day and Pentecost. On Plough Monday, dancers in East Anglia gather in “molly teams,” made up of jolly, burly types dressed like little girls. 

Royal Liberty Morris dancers and “molly”

2. The May Queen can be a little girl.

Wiccan and neopagan literature tends to emphasize the idea of May Day as a marriage rite between the “king” and “queen” of spring. But that doesn’t necessarily describe the festivals that have survived to the present day. In many townships, the sole representative of springtime is the May Queen: a young girl chosen from among local students in their pre-to-mid-teens. 

She is crowned before her community and a procession is made to welcome her rule. 

She may have a wide cast of characters and troops to accompany her, including musicians, dancers and attendants. One of the longest running May Day fairs is held each year in Hayfield, Derbyshire, where there are many roles and silly costumes donned by children and adults. 

Hayfield May Queen attended by girls dressed as beefeaters.

There is precedent for a May King, however, to be found in some Early Modern sources. Here's one mention of a "Lord of May" from the diary of Henry Machyn, in 1557: "On the 30th day of May was a jolly May-game in Fenchurch Street (London) with drums and guns and pikes, The Nine Worthies did ride; and they all had speeches, and the morris dance and sultan and an elephant with a castle and the sultan and young moors with shields and arrows, and the lord and lady of the May." These military characters may reflect the Spanish origins of morris dance, where battles were reenacted to commemorate historical conflicts with Morocco.

Additionally, in Sports and Pastimes of the People of England, the author tells us that "in the comedy called The Knight of The Burning Pestle, written by Beaumont and Fletcher in 1611, a citizen, addressing himself to the other actors, says, 'Let Ralph come out on May-day in the morning, and speak upon a conduit, with all his scarfs about him, and his feathers, and his rings, and his knacks, as Lord of the May.' His request is complied with, and Ralph appears upon the stage in the assumed character, where he makes his speech, beginning in this manner: With gilded staff and crossed scarf the May Lord here I stand." Strutt also notes the appearance of Robin Hood appearing in May Day performances, accompanied by "a female, or rather, perhaps, a man habited like a female, called the Maid Marian, his faithful mistress." 

From this, we see that...

3. The May Queen can be a drag performer.

In the late 1880s, chimney-sweeps and other guild-workers had developed their own styles of celebration. For them, the "Lady of the May" was typically played by a man, for comedic effect. She carried a ladle and was dressed like a flirty cook, while the "Lord of the May" was dressed as an admiral, or a gentleman in a powdered wig. I find this example interesting, not just for its urban setting, but for the satirical quality of the characters involved. Also, these games came about after morris traditions had lain dormant in the countryside for some time.

Some regions have processions led only by Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Interestingly, the Maid Marian was the sole focus of these pageants for centuries before the Robin Hood mythos came into being, and continued to preside over the festivities long after he had faded from popularity.

Another one of the oldest continuing May Day processions is the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance, dating back to the 11th century. Here, Maid Marian has no consort. Then, as now, she was played by a young man. 

The Horn Dancers consist of the horn bearers, the Maid Marian, the Fool, a boy to keep time on triangle, and a boy with a bow and arrow. In recent years, girls have also been allowed to participate in the boys’ roles.

4. The May Queen can be a doll.

This is an interesting practice that bears a close resemblance to the Gaelic custom of making the Brideog doll on Imbolc. The Oxford Dictionary of English Folklore tells us:

The most widespread and best known May Day activity in the 19th and early 20th centuries was the children's garland custom. In essence, this involved groups of children visiting houses in their community showing a garland, singing a song, and collecting money. [...] A regular, but not ubiquitous, feature was to place a dressed and decorated doll (sometimes more than one) in the centre of the garland, or in front of it. She was usually called something like Her Lady, or The Queen, and treated with great respect. Commentators assume she represented the Virgin Mary. In some places, it was the doll which was given precedence, rather than the garland, transported in a decorated box or basket... 

In this write-up from a UK newspaper, we're told:

There has been much debate about what the May Doll represents. Some believed it was the Virgin Mary, to whom the month was dedicated, others Flora or the May Queen. One of a group of young girls told a folklorist in Bampton, Oxfordshire in the 1970s that their doll represented a goddess whilst another in the group said it was Minerva! In Edlesborough, Buckinghamshire, two dolls, one smaller than the other, were carried in a covered decorated chair to resemble the Virgin and Child. 

It also notes that in some counties, this doll was called "the Maulkin." Bringing this all back around, these etymology geeks claim that "maulkin" or "malkin" was once a common term for the young man dressed as the lady in May Day dances and parades. Guess playing dress-up was always the point.

What strikes me the most after learning all of this? Overall, traditional May Day festivities seem...almost diametrically opposed to the image presented to me by the pagan community, which was all about reinforcing strict gender roles. On the American side at least, I think a lot of pagan men would find the absence of a May King intolerable, and the presence of a drag queen unthinkable. In their minds, this can't be what their ancestors intended. If they can invent their own May Day to be more heavy metal, then they will do just that. 

I am not here to say that old customs are good and new ones are bad. Many of the traditions described above were revived in the 1900s, by new communities who did new things with it. There were also debates in the mid-20th century, around whether women should be allowed to participate in May dancing, despite the fact that women were evidently involved both in its history and preservation. So it’s not as if the legacy of May Day is totally free of sexism or revisionism. What I'm here to say is this: Sometimes, when a person claims to be practicing an ancient faith that's been passed down secretly through the country-ways of the common-folk, you have to ask yourself: what is it they're really advocating? Tradition? Clearly, tradition has no problem with unmarried girls or cross-dressing men. Nature veneration? Somehow, the seasons kept turning through all this. If someone is telling you a story about what your forebears practiced, believed, or valued - can you be sure they’re telling the truth? To the best of their ability? It's important to be sure, I think, if we sincerely want to honor the past.

❀

Extras:

Jack-In-The-Green Revisited

Quest For the Queens is a collection of BBC footage of May Day festivities in New Westminster, from the 1930s onward.

The Hayfield May Festival in 2011.

Nigel Pennick with a May garland and doll, plus a song on accordion.

[maypoleman1]

7th January

St Distaff’s Day

Source: thedailymass.com

Today is St Distaff’s Day, except there is no St Distaff. Possibly ironically, 7th January was so named because it marked the end of the Twelve Days of Christmas and the resumption of household chores by women. The distaff, or spindle for sewing and weaving, was the main instrument of domestic labour for women in the Middle Ages. Men were allowed a little longer off: they did not have to return to agricultural work until the first Monday after Epiphany - the so-called “Plough Monday” which, in 2024, would push the Christmas days of leisure until 8th January, and, if Epiphany itself fell on a Monday, could allow the men of the household to continue having lie-ins for a whole week after the Christmas holiday officially ended.

[wonusite]

soOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo maybe this is out of pocket. but i’m gonna say it anyway lol hi i’m here 2 bring thots <3

vernon would have a huuuuuuuge cucking kink. he’s veryyyy laid back & not the jealous type at all, and you know. he loves to share!!! he rly does. boyyyyyy he would get so hard just at the thought of you being fucked by someone else. when you agree to it? he’d almost come on the spot. and yk it would be almost impossible for him to keep his hands off you while one of his friends, probably, because he’d trust them not to be Gross with it, ploughed you into his fucking mattress. but he’d manage!! he’d sit there and stroke himself sooooo slowly, he’d be hard enough that it’d hurt not to release, but it would just so happen that the designated friend has stamina for fucking WEEKS and vernon would be so adamant not to come until you did. and after, if the friend smirked and asked if he was gonna join in for round two? his cock would not have the TIME to go soft. he’d be right there with it in your mouth and crying over how good you feel. asking if you can do this again, and again, and again. and who are you to say no when he sounds so pretty whimpering the words down at you?

just. something to chew over on a monday evening hehe<3 - 🧸 x

HI HELLO WHAT THE FUCK

not nonie w a cucking kink 😩 imagine how much he would love it and how many times he’ll ask you to do it. ofc he’ll love seeing you drip all over another cock and scream a name that’s not his. the sight of someone that’s not him making you come just gets him so hard that he can’t contain himself 🫠