Most people are aware of ancient megalithic structures like Newgrange and Stonehenge that were built to track and mark astronomical events such as winter or summer solstice. Clearly, even before the tribes collectively known as “the Celts” arrived in the British Isles, a systematic charting of astronomical events was in place. Other solar events seem to be tracked at countless tumuli and stone circles around the British Isles and the mainland. But what rituals might have accompanied the igniting of the inner chamber of Newgrange with the midwinter sun? Other than calendrical uses, what did the solstice mean for the people of pre-Celtic and Celtic Britain?
Folklorists excavate local customs that have persisted through the centuries to look for clues to the nature of the religious/mythological beliefs of people in the distant past. Many of these customs continue even today, though most have lost all real meaning except in providing a sense of community and kinship in towns and villages. Things like hunting the wren and the dancing of the Mari Llydd most certainly had meaning at some point in the distant past, meaning that can only be conjectured at this point.
The Mari Llydd is a Welsh custom of unknown origin. I used the imagery of the Mari Llydd in my novel “Three Wells of the Sea” when the townspeople of Caer Ys dress up their Mari Llydd with sea shells to represent the water horse. The traditional Mari Llydd is the skull of a horse placed on the end of a pole and decorated with ribbons, baubles, anything. It is carried by a man hidden in sackcloth and accompanied by a troupe of people who go door to door asking to be allowed entrance. They sing songs in exchange for food and drink, then move on. The keeper of the Mari offers to bestow good luck and fortune on those inside, though some have said they were threatened as children that if they were not good, the Mari Llydd, a ghostly horse, would come and carry them off. In this account, I see vestiges of the Puca, or Buca.
Folklorists excavate local customs that have persisted through the centuries to look for clues to the nature of the religious/mythological beliefs of people in the distant past. Many of these customs continue even today, though most have lost all real meaning except in providing a sense of community and kinship in towns and villages. Things like hunting the wren and the dancing of the Mari Llydd most certainly had meaning at some point in the distant past, meaning that can only be conjectured at this point.
The Mari Llydd is a Welsh custom of unknown origin. I used the imagery of the Mari Llydd in my novel “Three Wells of the Sea” when the townspeople of Caer Ys dress up their Mari Llydd with sea shells to represent the water horse. The traditional Mari Llydd is the skull of a horse placed on the end of a pole and decorated with ribbons, baubles, anything. It is carried by a man hidden in sackcloth and accompanied by a troupe of people who go door to door asking to be allowed entrance. They sing songs in exchange for food and drink, then move on. The keeper of the Mari offers to bestow good luck and fortune on those inside, though some have said they were threatened as children that if they were not good, the Mari Llydd, a ghostly horse, would come and carry them off. In this account, I see vestiges of the Puca, or Buca.
The skull might be decorated in many ways, such as the Penglaz pictured above, but the older photos show a rope or lead is always tied to it and is held by the one who does the knocking. The use of a horse’s skull is not unique to Wales. In Cornwall, the skull is paraded at mid summer and midwinter as well, but is called the Penglaz or “gray head.” The appearance of the Hobby Horse on May Day, or Beltaine, another significant ritual day for the ancient Celts, might also be linked to the cult of the horse. It survives in the Morris Dances and Abbott’s Bromley Horn Dance as well. Though a hobby horse does not use a skull, it is simply a stick horse, ridden by one of the revelers. Much speculation has arisen as to the origin of these traditions, and though there is no firm evidence, it appears to be pre-Christian, evidenced by the similarity to other winter solstice rituals from neighboring lands like wassailing in England and the hunting of the wren in Ireland.
What is the significance of the horse among the various “Celtic” peoples? (The use of the term “Celt” is now hotly debated among scholars. There may have been no such thing, but a very loose collection of related tribes as different as the Romans from the Greeks.) More specifically, why the skull of the horse and its association with the winter solstice?
Winter solstice marks the day of the year when the sun reaches the southernmost declination. At dawn, it rises at the most southeastern point on the horizon and its zenith would be canted to the south. The effects of this is that the hours of night hit the maximum on this day, just as the hours of day hit a maximum on summer solstice, June 21. If you were an ancient person, you might wonder what makes the sun stop in its southern trajectory, do an about face, and start moving north again. The notion that the actions of humans might affect this turn is possible, the idea of appeasing the gods is one that is well documented in all ancient cultures.
What is the significance of the horse among the various “Celtic” peoples? (The use of the term “Celt” is now hotly debated among scholars. There may have been no such thing, but a very loose collection of related tribes as different as the Romans from the Greeks.) More specifically, why the skull of the horse and its association with the winter solstice?
Winter solstice marks the day of the year when the sun reaches the southernmost declination. At dawn, it rises at the most southeastern point on the horizon and its zenith would be canted to the south. The effects of this is that the hours of night hit the maximum on this day, just as the hours of day hit a maximum on summer solstice, June 21. If you were an ancient person, you might wonder what makes the sun stop in its southern trajectory, do an about face, and start moving north again. The notion that the actions of humans might affect this turn is possible, the idea of appeasing the gods is one that is well documented in all ancient cultures.
The horse has been linked to divine sacrifice among several Celtic tribes. The horse is also associated with kingship, especially among some clans in Ireland where, even in the early medieval period, the inauguration of the chieftain of a clan was accompanied by the sacrifice of a white mare, after which, the candidate bathed in its blood and wore its hide as a cloak. The mare signified fertility, and the sacrifice of such on winter solstice in order to raise the sap to the branches once again and bring the spring, is not a stretch of the imagination. There are accounts in Ireland again (since it has the most recent pagan past) of a man wearing the head of horse and jumping through the midsummer bonfires to assure the health and fertility of the herds is well known. But no accounts exist that I have found that specifically speak of sacrifice being made on winter solstice.
My own feeling is that it has something to do with the reign of the two kings, the Holly King and the Oak King, made famous by Robert Graves in his book “The White Goddess.” Though his scholarship has lately been called into question, I feel there is evidence for the pagan origin of this lore in the hunting of the wren in Ireland. But to back up a little, the folktale of the Holly King and the Oak King says that two kings do battle for sovereignty over the land. During one half of the year, the Holly King reigns, and during the other, The Oak King reigns. The two solstices mark the battle of the kings, when one is slain and the other takes control and changes the path of the sun. There is some folklore that gives credence to it: Sir Gawain vs. the Green Knight, Lugh vs. Balor, etc. Neopagans have latched onto this myth and made it their own. All well and good, but let’s look at what might be considered evidence for such a story in Ireland.
Wren Day is celebrated on December 26th in parts of Ireland. The origin of the custom is unknown, though when taken with the idea of the duality of the year and the kings of light and dark, it makes some sense. The custom looks rather similar to the Mari Llydd, though instead of parading the head of a horse through town, the “Wren Boys” (wearing straw suits and motley) parade the corpse of a wren, a little bird known for singing sweetly even in the middle of winter. In distant times, the wren was actually hunted and killed, certainly a sacrifice. Nowadays, a stuffed bird is carried about. PETA would be proud. It is worth noting that the Irish refer to the wren as King of the Birds, and the Irish word for wren, dryw, is a cognate for the Irish word for druid. The king of the waxing year has been thought to be the robin, though not as much evidence can found for that idea.
My own feeling is that it has something to do with the reign of the two kings, the Holly King and the Oak King, made famous by Robert Graves in his book “The White Goddess.” Though his scholarship has lately been called into question, I feel there is evidence for the pagan origin of this lore in the hunting of the wren in Ireland. But to back up a little, the folktale of the Holly King and the Oak King says that two kings do battle for sovereignty over the land. During one half of the year, the Holly King reigns, and during the other, The Oak King reigns. The two solstices mark the battle of the kings, when one is slain and the other takes control and changes the path of the sun. There is some folklore that gives credence to it: Sir Gawain vs. the Green Knight, Lugh vs. Balor, etc. Neopagans have latched onto this myth and made it their own. All well and good, but let’s look at what might be considered evidence for such a story in Ireland.
Wren Day is celebrated on December 26th in parts of Ireland. The origin of the custom is unknown, though when taken with the idea of the duality of the year and the kings of light and dark, it makes some sense. The custom looks rather similar to the Mari Llydd, though instead of parading the head of a horse through town, the “Wren Boys” (wearing straw suits and motley) parade the corpse of a wren, a little bird known for singing sweetly even in the middle of winter. In distant times, the wren was actually hunted and killed, certainly a sacrifice. Nowadays, a stuffed bird is carried about. PETA would be proud. It is worth noting that the Irish refer to the wren as King of the Birds, and the Irish word for wren, dryw, is a cognate for the Irish word for druid. The king of the waxing year has been thought to be the robin, though not as much evidence can found for that idea.
What I suggest here is that the horse and the wren are local variations on a theme, that of the sacrifice of the sacred to assure the return of the sun and the quickening of the green flow in the earth. A fertility rite to bring the sun back to his summer reign. Personally, I find this season and its darkness offers a time to reflect inwardly, to be the barren apple tree that awaits the turning of the sun and the summoning of warmth from the cold chambers of the earth.
Happy Solstice.
Happy Solstice.
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