Don't we all want to forget Grim Reality for a few days as we try and recapture something of the joyful mood that the season usually brings? I hope a cool yule blog will contribute to the Betwixtmas festivities with some folklore from crazy Iceland and the first draft of a new poem about Christmas past.
Supposing you had grown up in Iceland (the country not the frozen food store), you would have been familiar with the antics of the Yule Lads - or Yulemen as they were sometimes called - a baker's dozen of somewhat unruly seasonal spirits, the sons of Gryla and Lepparludi, whose custom was to arrive one by one on the thirteen days leading up to Christmas/Yule Day and then depart on successive days up to Twelfth Night in the order they had arrived, with every one having stayed for his allotted stretch of thirteen prank-filled days and nights. Yo ho ho and a bottle of schnapps - Brennivin (literally 'burning wine') being that country's signature tipple, best drunk ice-cold as an accompaniment to hakari (fermented shark meat).
a small sample of Icelandic Yule Lads getting seasonal |
They also possessed a pet, the huge and vicious Yule Cat, Crackle, who roamed the snowy countryside eating anyone who had not been given new clothes to wear. I've bought each of my loved ones a pair of Icelandic socks this Christmas, just to be on the safe side (LOL); probably hand-knitted in Gryla's cave by the light of stolen candles and using wool fleeced from the backs of shivering sheep.
In more benign times, the Yule Lads still visit and play their tricks, but they also place small gifts in the shoes that boys and girls leave on their window-sills in the days leading up to Christmas and if any child has been naughty it will find a potato instead of a present in the shoe.
For a few years in the early 1980s, my wife-to-be and I lived in a cottage on a street that only had houses on the one side. Across the street was a grassy bank which sloped down into a cutting containing the main London (Euston) to Birmingham electrified railway line and beyond that rose a wooded hill. We couldn't see more than the tops of the trains, their pantographs and the overhead power lines that fed them. We could sense their approach more than hear them, a slight vibration that sometimes made glasses and bottles vibrate as an express purred past; and occasionally our house lights would dim momentarily as power was sucked by the speeding train.
For a few years in the early 1980s, my wife-to-be and I lived in a cottage on a street that only had houses on the one side. Across the street was a grassy bank which sloped down into a cutting containing the main London (Euston) to Birmingham electrified railway line and beyond that rose a wooded hill. We couldn't see more than the tops of the trains, their pantographs and the overhead power lines that fed them. We could sense their approach more than hear them, a slight vibration that sometimes made glasses and bottles vibrate as an express purred past; and occasionally our house lights would dim momentarily as power was sucked by the speeding train.
We got so used to the sensation that it was more observable in its absence, the unusual quiet during a protracted train strike for instance, or on Christmas Day (trains have not run on Christmas Day in England since the 1960s).
The only other time of the year when the passage of trains became noticeable was on frosty days and nights in winter, for then as each train sped by there would be an immense and rolling crackle and a series of blue or green flashes marking its passage as the effect of moisture on the overhead power cable led to intermittent breaks in contact with the pantograph, causing a spectacular arcing effect that lit the train's progress. That sight and the associated crackle will always remind me of Christmases in Berkhamsted.
I leave you this week (and this year) with a final, reflective, work-in-progress from the imaginarium.
Christmas On One-Side Street
This bitterly boiler-broken cold all
through the house on one-side street
reminds me of many a Fenland
winter morning as children when
we'd marvel at the patterning of ice
on the inside of bedroom windows
as we peered through to the dull
glow of blanketing snow looking
perfectly irresistible in pre-dawn light,
before skittering bravely barefoot
across cold lino to the parents' bedroom
to plead for permission to go out and play.
Of course there was never any way
we were allowed; always too early,
too cold, or other agendas intervened,
church, relatives, duties called but if
only once you'd said yes, jumped out
of your cosy bed, let us, helped us,
get dressed and then unlocked the door
so we could go wild in the whiteness
of it all, such anticipated fun - but no.
I suppose you didn't like the cold and
now I know how you might have felt,
conceiving inconvenience or nuisance,
anticipating chills, spills, tears where
we saw only thrills but I think if I had
a child come bouncing in right now
saying Dad may we? I'd go, seizing
that moment, putting everything else
on hold; embracing the flow and just
sharing of yourself in a crazy adventure
of togetherness surely makes for
a richer future out of a Christmas present.
Thanks for reading y'all, back next year! Steve ;-)
31 comments:
I liked this piece very much.reminiscent of my childhood in Aberdeen. The difference being that outdoor play.in the snow was not frowned upon, but encouraged, probably with the idea that it would keep me healthy.
How scary does that Yule Cat sound? I love the poem though.
Wise move with the socks la! You never know with killer kitties...
Interesting folk-lore...what a good idea to tell them a shoe-full is all they're getting. Love the poem which is surely almost there ..
Iceland sounds an altogether strange place - woolly, hairy, sunless, treeless snowy and volcanic. No wonder the local myths are weird!
Is Betwixtmas a thing now Steve? I guess when every day is much like any other it helps to differentiate wherever we can! It's also my guess that after years spent living near the equator, your parents didn't particularly like our cold eastern counties winters.
A sartorially sniffy giant snow cat? Splendid nonsense. However, I love the sentiment of your latest poem. Happy Betwixtmas ;)
Another fab blog Steve. I like the way you've 'knitted' the different strands together to fit the theme; and the poem is poignant. HNY
Yes, I echo the above sentiments, another great blog. That's my first exposure to Icelandic lore and what struck me most (apart from the Crackle the Cat - a land equivalent of the Kraken?) is how the phased arrival and departure of those Yule Lads unwittingly continues your recent palindromic theme. You'll say that's coincidence of course. As to your beautiful poem, I think it's right up there with some of your lyrical best. Wishing you a Happy New Year :)
Love those naughty Yule Lads. I'll google for more info. Your poem almost reads like Christmas past, present and future.
Very good Steve. Your blog conveys a sense of cold that we can only ever imagine here (27C at present). I think your poem's dinkum, wouldn't change a thing. Happy New Year from the antipodes.
Clive: you're right, my parents (mother in particular) didn't like cold weather, but it was more than that, a sense that we were never allowed to have fun, e.g. to celebrate snow's arrival.
Martin: not quite past, present and future, though I did write the poem as three distinct phases, each one a single sentence (if you noticed); and the concept of one-sidedness was a conscious one ;-)
Yule lads sounds like a firm of footie hooligans to me.
I thoroughly enjoyed this. Did you buy yourself a pair of the socks? I hear Crackle is on the southward prowl this week (LOL).
Great stuff, Steve. I agree with Irene, the poem is a cracker, almost there!
I call it inbetweenmess. Happy new year x
‘Happy New Year’ πΎπ₯ Steve and thanks for all the entertaining blogs.
Yes, too much grim reality in 2020 and feels like it's going out with a vengeance. We might as well all be in national lockdown again and set Crackle on anyone who breaks curfew! I loved your poignant poem.
I really appreciate your sharing your blogs Steve, I've loved reading them. I find I would like to know more about the naughty Yule Lads and Crackle the cat, so thanks for priming my interest. I loved your reflective poem and especially the lines "the dull glow of blanketing snow" (that's perfect) and "skittering bravely barefoot across cold lino". Happy New Year to you and keep the blogs coming. x
I'd never heard of the Yule Lads. What a great lot. Why would one sniff a doorway?
I wonder did you get any steam trains on that line.
Don't think you need to alter the poem very much, if at all.
Loved the blog and reflective poem, terrific stuff. Also the sparky train photograph. Is that one of your own? All the best for 2021.
A fascinating read about Iceland's crazy customs and a fine poem. So did you let your own children run free in the snow?
π
Thanks for the share and happy new year! Your poem does it for me, wouldn't change a thing. π
I love the 'frosted lines' of your One-Side Street poem. Very good.
Nice poem - thank you and Happy New Year!
How strange some customs are! I love your poem, especially the sentiment of the last verse - Saturday Blogger's guide to good parenting (LOL). Happy New Year Steve. Stay safe.
Penny: yes, was happy to encourage and join my daughters in their enjoyment of snow. I disappeared with my youngest into a bramble thicket at the bottom of a steep tobogganing run on one notorious occasion ;-)
Bravo Steve and Happy New Years. I really enjoyed this. π
I love the idea of a fierce fashionista feline stalking the snowy streets of Reykjavik! Also really liked the sentiment and structure of your One-Side Street snow poem - very good.
What a wonderful poem. Happy New Year. π€
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