yule

‘Yule’ is a word that gets thrown around a lot at this time of year, mainly in terrible puns like ‘yule love our Christmas discounts!’. But how many of us know what it actually is?

Like a lot of stuff to do with Christianity, yule has its roots in paganism. It’s still with us thanks to a process called ‘Christianised reformulation’ (a fancy name for the way Christianity nicked certain traditions and symbols from pre- or non-Christian cultures as a way to ease conversion). In this case, yule comes from the word jól, a shortened version of Jólablot, the name of a Norse midwinter feast. This took place in the 12 days leading up to 25 December, and celebrated the change of the seasons. We added the word jól to Old English as ġéol, which morphed into ‘yule’ some time in the middle of the 1400s. It also made its way into Old French as ‘jolif’, which is where we get ‘jolly’ from.

You might well have heard of the yule log, which I totally thought was only a cake, but is in fact, an actual log (there is a cake version too – called a Bûche de Noël – but the woody version came first). Lighting the yule log was another pagan tradition, and a symbol of the sun’s return after the winter solstice. People believed that doing this would protect their homes from fire and lightning during the coming year. In some cultures, families kept the remaining burned log underneath the homeowner’s bed (which seems like a great way to start a fire in your home, but whatever). Once lit, the yule log had to burn for 12 days to get the luck. You also had to find your Yule log yourself – buying one from the log shop was considered bad luck.

Yule is also connected to the myth of the wild hunt, a spectral hunting party said to pass through forests at the coldest, stormiest time of the year (AKA Christmas time). Anyone unfortunate enough to be outdoors when the hunt passed by would be swept up into the hunting party then dropped miles from where they started. While the members of the wild hunt vary, it’s almost always led by Odin, the head of the Norse gods (Anthony Hopkins in the Thor films). He’s also known as Jólnir or Jauloherra, which translates as ‘Master of Yule’.

Here’s one last yule-based myth, which I think is my favourite. The Yule Lads are a group of mischievous beings from Icelandic folklore, similar to elves or dwarves, who visit children on the 13 nights leading up to Christmas. They’re the sons of Gryla, an ogress, and her husband Leppalúði. Gryla is said to kidnap and eat children who misbehave, so you don’t want to mess with her.

Each Yule Lad has his own weird personality and behaviour (some might say fetish). Here are a few of the best – or worst, depending on how you feel about sheep harassment and crockery/cutlery licking:

• Stekkjastaur: harasses sheep but is hampered by stiff legs, dammit

• Þvörusleikir: his name literally means ‘spoon licker’ and he steals wooden spoons to lick – there’s also Askasleikir which translates as ‘bowl licker’. You can probably guess what he does

• Hurdaskellir: slams doors in the night

• Bjúgnakrækir: steals sausages

• Gáttaþefur: means ‘door sniffer’.

Icelandic children leave their shoes on windowsills during the 13 nights of Christmas for the Yule Lads to give them small gifts or treats – but only if they’re well behaved. Get on the Yule Lads’ naughty list and you might end up with a potato in that shoe. Although we are in a cost-of-living crisis, so a few potatoes might come in handy just before Crimbo…

valentine

It’s that time of year again, when couples can be smug and single people can be depressed. To take my mind off my own spinsterhood, I thought I’d investigate exactly who the Valentine of St Valentine’s Day (note the apostrophe, card companies) is. And it turns out… no one’s entirely sure. Apparently there were a few Christian martyrs named Valentine who could have given their name to it, none of whom were particularly interesting (soz guys).

So, Christian martyrs were a bit of a dead end (both literally and figuratively). But while I was researching them I did stumble across Lupercalia, which is much more interesting. It was a Roman fertility festival which Valentine’s Day may or may not have its origins in (Wikipedia says it’s probably rubbish, but the Encyclopaedia Britannica is a bit more open to it). Lupercalia was held from 13th to 15th February, and was overseen by a group of priests called the Luperci, the name of which likely comes from ‘lupus’ – Latin for wolf. This is because Lupercalia was probably (the internet is a bit vague on this) connected to Romulus and Remus, the legendary founders of Rome who were suckled by a she-wolf (ewwww) after being abandoned on the banks of the river Tiber. They named the wolf Lupercal, and historians think that Lupercalia took place to honour her, and also to suck up to the Roman fertility god, Lupercus.

Lupercalia involved a bit more than flowers, chocolates and cards. It started with the priests sacrificing some goats and a dog, wiping the blood on themselves then laughing (yep). This was followed by the obligatory feast, after which the Luperci cut ‘thongs’ (which I assume are strips of leather rather than uncomfortable knickers) from the skins of the goats. They then took all their clothes off, and ran about whipping any women who got too close with the thongs. If you got hit with one, then lucky you, you’d immediately be super fertile.

Some scholars say there was also a jar of women’s names, which men would pick from. They’d then spend the festival with the woman whose name they’d pulled from the jar. Apparently lots of them went on to get married as well. Sounds better than Match.com to be honest.

In the late 5th century, the-then Pope, Gelasius I (who sounds like a super villain), decided that Lupercalia had to go (too much nakedness and BDSM I guess), and declared 14th February a day to celebrate some non-specific marytrs called Valentine. The new feast day didn’t have any of the lovey-dovey shenanigans that we have to put up with today though. These didn’t come about until the 14th century, when bloody Chaucer wrote a poem about it.

So how about it? Next year, forgo the sappy cards and garage forecourt flowers, and try hitting your other half with a piece of leather instead while running round the streets naked. They’ll LOVE it.

shrift

Have you ever given someone or someone short shrift? And if you have, have you ever wondered what it actually means? No? Oh.

For anyone who’s still here, if you get or are given short shrift, it means you’re treated without sympathy and don’t get much in the way of attention. The word ‘shrift’ is well old, going all the way back to ye olde Anglo Saxons. Back then a shrift referred to the penance you were given by a priest for doing something naughty. That comes from the verb ‘shrive’, which means to hear confession, or give someone penance or absolution. And ‘shrive’ goes all the way back to the Latin word ‘scribere’, which means ‘to write’. I told you it was well old.

Ricky III #nohunchback

But why are shrifts generally short nowadays? As with many of our words and phrases we can thank Shakespeare for that. ‘short shrift’ appears in ‘The Tragedy of King Richard the Third’, first performed in 1594. Lord Hastings, who’s loyal to Ricky’s bro Edward IV, is sentenced to be executed for treason. He’s told to make his pre-beheading confession – AKA his shrift – quick, because the Duke of Gloucester (the Lord Protector of England who’s ordered the separation of H’s head from his body) is hangry:

‘Dispatch, my lord [Hastings]; the duke would be at dinner:

Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.’

It wasn’t long before people took the phrase ‘short shrift’ and started using it to describe giving something little thought or sympathy.

The word ‘shrive’ also gave us the ‘Shrove’ in Shrove Tuesday. That’s because it’s traditionally a day for Christians to be be shriven (or shrove) i.e. do some confessing before Lent. Oh, and eat a load of pancakes at the same time.