by Anne Ross
Christmas (Nadolig)
As in Scotland, so in Wales; Christmas was given second place to the pagan festival of the New Year. Today things have evened out somewhat. Nevertheless, I think it is true to say that the New Year celebrations and holiday do, in practice, assume a position of greater importance. Christmas tended to replace the winter solstice by substituting the birth of Christ as the underlying message of the feast. However, it is almost impossible to totally eradicate superstitious practices in areas where they have occurred from time immemorial and are deeply built into the psyche of the people. To avoid overt hostility, some degree of tact has been essential in order to allow society to participate in both the Christmas and the New Year celebrations (Y Gwyliau). The richer farmers in any given locality used to invite all the other farmers and cotters to a huge feast on Christmas day, which consisted of beef, goose perhaps and the usual accompaniments — no doubt the cwrw (beer) would flow and perhaps wine would be imbibed. At any rate we can rest assured that no matter what or how much was drunk it would not be in excess of the degree of sobriety necessary for the proper observances of Christmas. In some farms the plough, which would be laid up for the Christmas period, was put under the table in the dining room. After Christmas, parties of the men used to go about the houses where they would be hospitably entertained on cwrw da, ‘good beer’. A charming habit was to wet the plough under the table with beer, so as not to leave it out of the celebrations — after all, what could a farmer do without his plough? This they did before touching the beer themselves. Thus the valuable services of the plough were acknowledged and the men could get on with their own imbibing.
7a The Mari Lwyd at Maesteg
7b At The Old House, Llangynwyd, Mid Glamorgan, the Mari Lwyd is put away until next Christmas.
In a part of Carmarthenshire in the 1860s, Christmas had little significance. It was neither Sunday or a work day; Trefor Owen calls it a ‘colourless day’ (p.28). Christmas day itself could be rather dull and it was much more exciting to look forward to the Plygain. Plygain, which was once common throughout Wales, but is now more or less confined to certain areas of the country, consisted of a gathering in the candle-lit churches, formerly at midnight, for carol singing in Welsh, performing in groups or parties. Each possesses their own book of carols, which they still guard with the utmost jealousy and prize almost above all other possessions. Today, many of the handwritten carol books are still in existence, but the whole emphasis of the night’s entertainment has changed. The church is not universally in favour of the Plygain because the young men were using the festive occasion for drinking to excess and upsetting the religious community with rowdy behaviour. Of course the churches are no longer lit by candles as they were up to 40 or 50 years ago, but by electric light.
A good neighbour of mine took us to the Plygain at Llanerfyl, Powys, where the tradition remains very strong. The vicar, an excellent man, opened the proceedings of the evening and then sat quietly enjoying the wonderful quality of the Welsh voices, surely refined and softened by the moist air of the mountainous countryside. Groups of perhaps six, seven or even ten people, known as ‘parties’ (partïon) carrying their priceless family carol books and wearing their Sunday best, walked briskly and confidently to the front of the church, took their note from the organist’s tuning fork and began to sing. The Plygain singing is always unaccompanied. The power and quality of their performance really had to be experienced to be believed. Every one of these ‘parties’ performed with consummate excellence and the strange and, to the outsider’s ear, wild archaism of the singing made this evening one never to be forgotten. The performance lasted for about two hours. There was one solo singer, a little, frail old man who managed, after one or two attempts, to get the right note from the tuning fork. He then walked with great dignity to the central position and I felt very distressed and nervous for him, having no expectation that he could so much as make his voice heard. It was a great shock when he began to sing, to hear the tremendous strength and vitality of his voice, and his unerring correctness of notes. Everyone was totally still and, as verse followed verse, each one seemed to be more powerful and more beautifully modulated. It was a moving moment. Finally, a group of young men, all tall and dark and smartly dressed, marched vigorously up towards the pulpit where the vicar was waiting for them. They all then indulged in an amusing ritual. He told them that now they must ‘sing for their supper’ and sing they did, with eager anticipation of the marvellous meal that awaited them in the church hall, and which we had earlier observed being prepared as we walked from the car to the church. No labour or expense had been spared in order to make this a joyous occasion; and the flawless performances of all concerned were rewarded in the best way they could wish — by giving them an excellent supper! It was a long drive back home, but a deep sense of achievement and content filled us all. We knew we had witnessed something with an unbroken tradition behind it which made it stand apart from the worthy but essentially modern revivals of the Plygain that are taking place in certain areas where it has long died out, or never before been performed.
All the Plygain ceremonies were not as restrained and dignified as that at Llanerfyl. The performance appears to have taken place originally between three and six a.m., hence the Latin name pulli cantio, which means ‘cockcrow’. One can imagine the long weary hours of waiting and these were occupied in a variety of ways, not always beneficial to society. This is probably why the Plygain got a bad name in latter years. To fill in the hours until the service, making treacle toffee was seemingly a favourite distraction; and this was also the time to decorate the dwelling houses with holly and mistletoe. Some people danced away the time accompanied by harp music and singing until the service was due to begin. Others simply took to the streets and indulged in rowdy games until morning, carrying huge homemade torches, which gave out a satisfactory light, but must have been somewhat dangerous. Verses were chanted, torches carried and cow-horns blown. In Tenby, for example, horns were blown before getting in position for the torch procession, in which the vicar was led by the young men of the town from the vicarage to the church. The torches, however, were not taken into the church but left in the porch until the service was over when they were relighted. Of course, there was no provision for lighting in the churches, services normally being held during the day. There were however special candles made called canhwyllau Plygain (Plygain candles). These were sold, and one could choose a large candle or a small one, according to one’s means.
New Year (Blwyddyn Newydd)
The Welsh practised first-footing, as did many other peoples at New Year. It was, and is, a time to look ahead, and to look back. People look ahead to the coming year in the hope that things (including themselves) will improve and be better by the end of the year. In order to do this, they looked back into the dying year and tried to identify the chief faults and failures which made them hope for a better controlled future. There is a great deal of folklore widely associated with New Year’s Eve. In my own home events were rigorously supervised by my father, a man practical by nature, but nonetheless deeply influenced by the superstitions of his family past. A bottle of port must be at hand to offer the first person to come to the door after midnight struck. It was a sign of good luck if he was dark-haired, and he must always carry a piece of coal symbolising the rekindling of the new fire. It was always said: ‘Out with the old, in with the new’ and one really felt that this moment heralded a new beginning in every way: a chance to remedy faults, correct errors and determine to be better and, in my case, work harder at my studies. It was taken very seriously. Many members of the family then gathered at the house, and we all crossed hands and sang the good old Scottish tune, Auld Lang Syne. Things were not much different in Wales, although sometimes entry was denied to a house and the ‘lettings in’ were customs. The giving and receiving of a Callenig or Clennig (New Year’s Gift) (8) seemingly still continues in the country to some extent. Some houses — and people — were sprinkl
ed by local boys with fresh water from a spring, in which appropriate herbs and twigs had been soaked and in return a few pennies were given to these youngsters.
8 New Year customs Clennig, after R. Holland 1992, p.51
New Year customs Calennig, after T. M. Owen 1987, pl.6
There is much more that could be recounted concerning the old New Year customs, but space is limited. I have included in the bibliography one or two further references for those who feel the subject could have been covered more fully.
Gwyl Fair y Canhwyllau (Candlemas)
This festival, held on 2 February, is in honour of the Purification of the Virgin Mary after the birth of Christ. It is a sweet and tranquil occasion. Today it has sadly fallen into wide disuse but right up to the twentieth century it was celebrated in many ways, both by church-going and by the placing of a lit candle in the windows of every house, symbolising both the religious and the secular aspects of the feast. It celebrated the safe birth of the Christ-child and the purification of his mother. It was also symbolic of the earth rising from slumber into a period of abundance and newness of life. The soil had to be tilled, the seed sown and the work of the farm or cottage was once again of prime importance with a view to a favourable spring, leading to the fullness of fruition of summer. It was therefore a portentous time, a time to ensure that all would go well with the land and those who worked it. Trefor Owen mentions a charming Wassail song of the seventeenth century which called this day Gwyl Fair Forwyn ddechre gwanwyn, ‘the feast to mark the beginning of spring’. Owen comments that:
In this article, it is intended to look in some detail at the distinctive way Candlemas … was celebrated in a particular part of Wales, central Caernarvonshire, at a specific point in time, namely the middle of the eighteenth century. My choice is governed by the evidence available which is, fortunately, sufficient to enable a fairly clear picture to be drawn of the mode of celebrating the festival at a time when it still possessed a wealth of meaning for the countryman in this part of north Wales. Much of our information about customs in late eighteenth-and early nineteenth-century Wales comes from the accounts of travellers, who sought the romantic and the picturesque, not only in scenery but in tradition, custom and living conditions generally (p.240). Candlemas carols occur (or are preserved) far less frequently than the Christmas Plygain carols. Among the Candlemas carols, the peculiar carolau cadair or ‘chair carols’ are very rare indeed and relate to the Caernarvon district in the second half of the eighteenth century, with a few earlier Anglesey examples …
There is also a collection of wassail carols (carolau gwirod) likewise connected with Candlemas, written down by Richard Morris of Anglesey (1703–79) (vide T.H. Parry-Williams, Llawysgrif Richard Morris o Cerddi, Cardiff 1931). Owen continues:
The custom began, after dark on Candlemas eve, with canu yn drws (singing at the door). A common feature in the folk tradition throughout Wales occurring in the Mari Lwyd tradition in Glamorgan and Gwent and in the pwnco or question and answer in verse which was characteristic of the wedding customs of Dyfed.
When the ‘carol at the door’ and the proper responses were completed and access had been gained to the house the singers demanded in rhyming words that a chair should be placed in the middle of the floor. In one version after similar opening verses have been sung on entry into the house, a request is made, amongst others, that a youthful virgin be asked to sit in the chair with a six-week-old baby boy on her knee. This was obviously an imitation of the Virgin and the Christ-child. The chance of obtaining ‘a virgin as pure as Mary’ must have been somewhat limited. There is much more and references are given to the publications relating to this ritual. We should recognise firstly that there must have been regional variations and secondly that for some centuries after the Reformation the cult of the virgin was regarded with disapprobation. The highlight of the Gwyl Fair festival occurred when the final stanza of one of the ‘chair carols’ asks that the party should be led to the corner of the room in order to partake of the beer. For a similar end to a festival see Plygain.
When we are considering the history of Welsh tradition we must remember what an enormous impact the Reformation must have had on the ancient traditions. The old religion of Catholicism officially gave way to Protestantism, which frowned upon many of the old Catholic-based customs, of which Gwyl Fair was one. It is not easy to rob people of a cherished past, with all its traditions; but it is necessary in such harsh times of religious persecution to let the old ways continue in secret. This can, of course, gradually erode them, as those who knew and valued them disappear. It is my belief that much that did survive was probably to some extent due to the shepherds who, after long hours on the hills, and facing a rough and lengthy walk back to their homes, lightened the labours by telling the old tales and stories which had comforted or frightened them in childhood and reciting the old, familiar verses, which they had been taught orally in their early years. In my experiences with shepherds from the Scottish Highlands I have always been amazed, not only by their deep knowledge of the local traditions, but of their wider understanding of the great poets and writers. The same, I believe, can be applied to Wales, although we have to remind ourselves that we are today probably witnessing the very end of these archaic customs and beliefs. Nevertheless, an astonishing amount of tradition — and the people’s pleasure in it — is still with us and its power in surviving changes of a major political, religious and economic nature testify to this.
May Day (Calan Mai)
This is sometimes abbreviated to Clamme. In keeping with all Celtic festivals the feast or the celebrations began on the eve of the day. On May Day Eve, which was an ysbrydnos, one of the three ‘spirit nights’, it was believed that, as in midsummer and on Hallowe’en, the ghosts of the dead manifested themselves and haunted the countryside and that various supernatural forces were abroad. As with the other major Celtic festivals, bonfires used to be lit on May Day Eve. This pertained more to South than to North Wales, and persisted into the nineteenth century. Lewis Morris (vide Trefor Owen, p.97) gives such an important account of this practice, and it contains so many elements which really belong to ancient Celtic religion, that I feel it is worth quoting in full:
The fire was done in this way; nine men would turn their pockets inside out and see that every piece of money and all metals were off their persons. Then the men went into the nearest woods, and collected sticks of nine different kinds of trees. These were carried to the spot where the fire had to be built. There a circle was cut in the sod and the sticks were set crosswise. All around the circle the people stood and watched the proceedings. One of the men would then take two bits of oak, and rub them together until a full flame was kindled. This was applied to the sticks, and soon a large fire was made. Sometimes two fires were set up side by side. These fires, whether one or two, were called coelcerth or bonfire. Round cakes of oatmeal and bran meal were split in four and placed in a small flour-bag, and everybody present had to pick out a portion. The last bit in the bag fell to the lot of the bag-holder. Each person who chanced to pick up a piece of bran-meal cake was compelled to leap three times over the flames, or to run thrice between the two fires, by which means the people thought they were sure of a plentiful harvest. Shouts and screams of those who had to face the ordeal could be heard ever so far, and those who chanced to pick up the oatmeal portions sang and danced and clapped their hands in approval, as the holders of the brown bits leaped three times over the flames, or ran three times between the two fires. As a rule, no danger attended these celebrations, but occasionally somebody’s clothes caught fire, which was quickly put out … I have also heard my grandfather say that in times gone by the people would throw a calf in the fire when there was any disease among the herds. The same would be done with a sheep if there was anything the matter with the flock. I can remember myself seeing cattle being driven between the two fires to ‘stop the disease spreading’. When in later times it was not considered humane to drive the cattle
between the fires, the herdsmen were accustomed to force the animals over the wood ashes to protect them against various ailments. People carried the ashes left after these fires to their homes, and a charred brand was not only effectual against pestilence, but magical in its use. A few of the ashes placed in a person’s shoes protected the wearer from any great sorrow or woe.
Augury was also practised on May Day Eve. Lewis Morris records an Anglesey form of the ceremony, Swper nos Glanmai (supper on May Day Eve). He also refers to the custom of ‘Playing the Straw Man’ — gware gêr gwellt — but gives no further details. It seems to echo in a more innocent fashion the descriptions of the great straw images of men, filled with living sacrifices, and offered to the gods in Gaul (Diodorus Siculus, Hist. V. 32; Kendrick, The Druids, p.121–2).
May Day was the first day of summer, Calan Mai. It used to be known as Calan Haf, ‘the summer calend’. Although it was in late autumn, the other important, ancient festival was known as Calan Gaeaf, ‘the winter calend’ (1 November), which was also the Celtic New Year. These are the two most important of the ancient ysbryd nosau (‘spirit nights’) and go right back to the time when the Celtic year was divided into two major portions. The other calendar festivals are secondary accretions which became equally popular, but perhaps of less significance. The maypole (cangen haf) was the focal point for many of the archaic survivals which are still vestigially recognised at the present time, although their basic significance has inevitably changed. An interesting line about the maypole celebrating the festival occurs in one of the poems of the great medieval poet, Dafydd Benfras (1230–60). He was a court poet and soldier living in dark and difficult times; he was killed in battle and apparently buried at Llangadog in Carmarthenshire. He describes, in Welsh, the taking of a birch tree from his own locality, over the hills to Llanidloes and to its being set up in the market place to celebrate Calan Mai. The birch tree was the most popular tree for use as the maypole. Its foliage is at its most beautiful then, and when stripped from the trunk of the tree, would no doubt be used to adorn houses and other buildings. Although the latter-day birch was felled for the May celebrations, it is not unlikely that originally the celebrations may have taken place about a living tree and it has been commented that there is a close association of the birch with love by many Welsh poets. The dance around the maypole was sometimes accompanied by the music of the pipes, and the maypole custom called codi’r fedwen (raising the birch) in the South; in the North y gangen haf (the summer branch). Dancing round the maypoles was popular and there was virtually no end to the various kinds of activity with which this special day was filled. The day progressed with all kinds of communal ploys: mask-wearing, ridiculous clothing, merry-making, feasting and dancing in front of farmhouses. Householders were asked for money and the boys would dance, and so things continued all day. A good deal has been written about the May dancing, and some further reading suggestions are made in the bibliography.
