Make Hay While the Sun Shines

eep your fingers crossed for lots of sunshine today, because according to an old weather forecasting rhyme, used by country folk long before meteorologists came into being:

If the first of July be rainy weather,

‘Twill rain, more or less, for four weeks together.

Most of this old weather lore seems to revolve around attempts to predict bad weather. I suppose people must have marked the seasons by looking for patterns in the weather, watching the behaviour of animals and birds, and noting when plants bloomed or seeded. When you’re dependent on harvesting crops so you have enough food to see you through the winter, then I guess it’s really important to know what kind of weather lies ahead – after all, bad weather meant the harvest as ruined, and that meant no food.

The month was named in honour of Julius Caesar – before that it was known as Qunitilis, or the fifth month (the Roman year started on March 1). And Caesar’s reformed calendar was used throughout Europe, until it was superceded by the improved Gregorian system in the 18th Century. 

Traditionally, it was the hay-making month, and was consequently known to the early Anglo Saxons as Hegmonath, and if you look at illustrations from those wonderful Medieval Book of Hours manuscripts you find that pictures for July invariably show peasants out in the fields, cutting golden grass with their scythes – like this one from the 15th Century Tres Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. I just love that glorious blue, and the two men hard at work with their clothes as faded as the sun-bleached field. 

Hay was especially important, because it provided fodder for animals: if the grasses failed to thrive and ripen then animals starved to death, which was disastrous. And if the hay wasn’t cut and protected before bad weather set in, and it got even a little bit damp, it would go mouldy and make the animals ill. The expression ‘making hay while the sun shines’, must have been coined when it was vital to seize the opportunity and gain benefit from harvesting dry, ripe hay while you could, and is still in use today.

In Tudor times,when Thomas Tusser wrote his Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry (all in rhyming couplets – just imagine the effort involved in that) hay-making was still the most i portant task of the month for farmers. He tells us:

Go, sirs, and away,

To ted, and make hay.

 If storms draw nigh,

Then cock apace, cry.

Let hay still bide,

Till well it be dried.

(Hay made) away carry,

No longer then tarry.

For centuries hay-making was one of the big events of the farming year, with whole communities turning out to help, and suppers provided by landowners when it was all gathered in – similar to the harvest suppers laid on later in the year. It also inspired writers and artists. Think of the hay-making scene in Thomas Hardy’s ‘Far from the Madding Crowd’, or this painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, packed with activity. Look closely, and you can see all kinds of activity going on. I particularly like the man sharpening his scythe, on the left-hand side of the picture, and the people who look like aliens with spiky heads, who are actually carrying hay in baskets on their heads.

Anyway, if you want to celebrate the first day of July, you could mow the grass - after all it is the haymaking month! If that's too energetic, take a gentle stroll through a field of long grass and wildflowers... Or read 'Far From the Madding Crowd'.... or the Edward Thomas poem 'Haymaking'... And listen to Catatonia, 'Make Hay Not War', which is really called 'Dead from the Waist Down', and you'll find it here, with a fabulous video heavily influenced by The Wizard of Oz, Worzel Gummidge and goodness knows who else...

Busy Doing Nothing

o Saint today! Instead, let us celebrate World Sauntering Day. I am not sure if this really is an ‘official’ day – I believe it was set up by an American hotel owner or manager in the 1970s. But it sounds such a nice idea I think we should adopt it. Sauntering, according to my dictionary, means walking about in idle or leisurely manner. 

So take life easy, relax and unwind, enjoy the weather (whether it is nice or not), go for a gentle stroll and admire the view, follow a different route to usual and see where it takes you, feed the ducks or make a daisy chain. And think about the things that make you happy. After all, as WH Davies says in his poem Leisure, What is this life if full if full of care, We have no time to stand and stare?

I was going to stroll along the canal (the Coventry Canal runs nearby) and the weather turned out glorious, but I still don't feel well - I seem to have picked up a cold, and my head aches, my throat is sore, and my sinuses are painful, so I've mooched aimlessly around the house, doing very little, which is kind of sauntering, even if it's not outside in the sunshine.

So, since I didn't get to take my walk, I've posted these photos I took a couple of weeks back, on the towpath near the boatyard. These two mallard drakes made me laugh, because they looked and sounded as if they were having a conversation. I think they were having an aimless sort of day, hanging around on the path and not doing anything very much at all, which is pretty much how I spent the day... Busy Doing Nothing!

Who Remembers Stingray?

oday is the Feast of St Marina the Monk, an 8th century cross dresser who wore monk's robes and lived as a man for many years. After the death of her mother her father cared for her (obviously a man who accepted his responsibilities and loved his child, unlike yesterday's dysfunctional family). But as she grew older he wanted to live in a monastery and devote his life to God,  so he found a suitable man for her to marry.

Marina, however, had other ideas: she didn't want a husband - she wanted to live in the monastery with her father, and worship God. Now this obviously posed a problem, since she was a woman and the monks were men, but showing great ingenuity she cut her hair off, donned monkish robes, and off they went. There, according to the Catholic Online site, she served God with great fervour. Personally, I’m all in favour of fervour. We all need more fervour into our lives.

St Marina the Monk

Anyway, she was humble and meek and patient and all went well until she and some of the other brethren were sent out into the world on monastery business. Along the way they stopped at an inn, where another traveller forced his attentions upon the landlord's daughter, and told her to say Marina the Monk was responsible... 

The angry inn-keeper complained to the abbot, who chastised her - but although she wept and begged forgiveness she never explained she could not have done it because she was a woman, and she was cast out of the religious community.  The inn-keeper's daughter's son was handed to her, and she gave him to some shepherds because they had milk for the baby. Years later the abbot relented and Marina was allowed back to the monastery, where the boy eventually became a monk, and she did the cooking and cleaning and other household tasks (by the way, at this point everyone still thought she was a man). It was only when she died and the monks came to change her clothes ready for the funeral that they finally discovered she a was woman, and she was buried with honour. 

I must admit, I'm not sure how accurate any of this information is, since accounts of her life vary, and there are other Saints called Marina (who all seem to be referred to by several different names). At any rate, this particular Marina lived in the area we now now refer to as Turkey. Or possibly the Lebanon, Or north of Lebanon. Or even Syria. See what I mean? The Catholic Online site talks about her dressing as a monk, and mentions a red cloak - and most images seem to show her wearing this type of garment. But there are no details about the way she lived, or the landlord's daughter, or the child. On the other hand it explains how her relics were moved to Venice in the 13th century, where her fast is celebrated on July 17th, or maybe the 18th, which may go some way towards accounting for discrepancies in the date of her feast day (I've come across it listed as June and July). 

Basically, she is my choice for the day because as soon as I saw her name the Stingray theme tune 'Aqua Marina' popped into my head and has been rattling around ever since, and I wanted to listen again. For those of you who have never come across Stingray (in which case you are either much older or much younger than me) it was an amazing TV puppet series in the mid-60s. Stingray was the most important submarine in a fleet of underwater craft operated by the World Aquanaut Security Control(WASP for short). The craft ass piloted by Captain Troy Tempest, who was besotted by Marina, a mute slave girl who could breathe underwater and was, allegedly, modelled on screen sex goddess Brigitte Bardot. She joined the crew after saving them from danger, but her master, the tyrannical ruler Triton, vows vengeance on her and Stingray...

It all sounds very silly, but you have no idea how enjoyable it was, with tales of adventure as the forces of good battle to overcome evil, in a futuristic underwater world. The series was created by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, who were also responsible for Capain Scarlett, and the icononic Thunderbirds.   By modern standards I guess the programmes are all a bit creaky and clunky, but at the time they broke new ground, and for many of us they still retain an indefinable magical quality which turns them into enduring classics. 

So here’s a link to YouTube, as a tribute to St Marina the Monk, and to Marina the slavegirl, and the cew of Stingray, and Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, who created the most amazing TV puppet shows. The song was sung by Gary Miller, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD96RQ1-wnY

Saint who Tamed a Wolf

ontinuing my quest for a daily celebration, today's offering is Hervé, a Welshman who, according to my book, is a Patron Saint in Brittany, where he lived and built an abbey at Lanhourneau, way back in the 6th century - so you can honour his life with a feast of French food and wine.

An effigy of St Hervé at the parish church in the
Breton town of Guimiliau.

Apparently he was born blind and consequently people used to pray to him for help if they had problems with their eyes (I must stress that while this may once have been a popular course of action, it is not to be recommended if you value your sight, and is no substitute for an appointment with a good optician). 

He was brought up by his uncles because his mother was a hermit - I dare say raising a family isn’t listed in a hermit’s job description, but I would like to know if she took up a life of solitude before he was born, or after. Somehow, having a child doesn't fit in with my ideas about hermithood. And where was the poor lad's father is all is? According to legend Hervé was the son of Hyvamion, a famous bard,  so why didn't he do something to help?

Anyway the boy, who might just as well have been be an orphan for all the interest his parents took in him, grew up to lead a simple life. But one day a wicked wolf ate the donkey (or an ox – it depends which story you read) pulling his plough, so Hervé prayed and the wolf  was tamed and did the ploughing for him (actually, I'm sure I've come across similar tales for other saints, but right now I can't remember who they were). 

I guess you could mark his day by persuading your nearest and dearest to join you in a very silly  game of What’s the Time Mr Wolf, which will make you laugh, or you could listen to Prokofiev's 'Peter and the Wolf', which is a wonderful piece of music, although the outcome for the wolf is less happy, as he ends up in a zoo.

A Quest for Words!

ell, I'm back, still musing on Life, the Universe and everything, with a brief post to mark the fact that today’s Saint is Quiricus, who was only three years old when he was beaten to death by the Romans while his mother Julitta was forced to watch. Then she too was killed for being a Christian. Alas, I can tell you nothing more, since facts about this sad little tale are few and far between. I only chose him because there are not many saints whose names start with the letter Q. Come to that, how many people do you know whose names begin with Q? 

Anyway, let us remember him by looking at the Q page from Mike Wilks’ The Ultimate Alphabet, and see how many Q words we can find. You will, of course,  note that everything is quadrupled. And I've tried to keep the theme going with a decorative initial letter composed of quadrilateral shapes (thanks to http://www.dailydropcap.com/).

New Beginnings

Bust of the Roman God Janus, from the Vatican Museum. 

(Photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

‘Tis the First of January, the month named after the Roman God Janus, who had two heads (back to back) and was therefore able to look backwards and forwards at the same time, to the past and the future. He was the Guardian of Gates and Doors, Custodian of the Universe, and the God of Beginnings. Presumably that’s why our New Year has become a time for reflecting on the year that’s gone, and considering what lies ahead over the next 12 months – and it offers the chance for us to make amends for past mistakes, and create ourselves anew as better, happier people.

And that, of course, is what all those New Year’s Resolutions are about. My main aim this year is to try and get fitter by eating more sensibly (which means no snacking between meals) and walking for at least 20 minutes every day. I even have a pedometer which, alas, is not as accurate as it should be, to keep track of how far I walk, and how long it takes.

So, accompanied by the Man of the House, I marked New Year’s Day with the first walk of the year, a 40-minute stroll down the road, through a park, and back up another road in a huge circle. Downhill, on the first leg of our walk, we had the wind in our faces, which was bracing to say the least, but the wind was behind us on the final uphill section, and fairly blew us back home. According to the pedometer we covered two-and-a-half kilometres, but I’ve been counting the number of steps I take, and checking the figure recorded on the pedometer, and the two do not match up at all, so we checked the route online and reckon it was roughly two-and-a-half miles.

Day One of my Keep Fit Campaign is almost over, and I feel very pleased with myself – but there’s 364 days to go until the end of the year! 

Count-down to Christmas!

oday (or what's left of it) is the feast of Saint Eligius, who is also known as St Eloy or St Loye, and is the patron saint of goldsmiths, which seems highly suitable during the run-up to Christmas, especially when you consider that gold was one of the gifts present to Jesus by the Three Kings.

Apparently Eligius, who died in the 7th century, was a skilled goldsmith who became counsellor to the French king, but established churches and monasteries, helped the poor, carried out missionary work, and eventually became a bishop.

December, from Jean, duc du Berry's
Book of Hours.

Celebrating with real gold is a little tricky, but there are masses of golden coloured Christmas baubles and tinsel around at the moment, so it should be easy to mark his day with a bit of glitter and sparkle, and burning a golden candle would add a festive touch. And I guess it won't matter if you celebrate a little late!

Anway, It's the First of December, the year is almost at an end, and the final count-down to Christmas is under way, so I'm launching a seasonal celebration. Last year I celebrated with 'Adfest' over on my other blog (The Book Trunk), a kind of month-long Advent Festival where I looked at my favourite literary representations of Christmas. This year I'm marking the occasion here, on my original blog, by trying to find out a little bit about some of our seasonal customs.

December, as I'm sure most of you know, is so called because it was the tenth month of the old Roman calendar (decem is Latin for ten), and it kept its name after Julius Caesar reformed the calendar, and two new new months were introduced. The Anglo Saxons called it Winter Monath, or Yule Monath.

Many religions have major festivals during the month, which is the darkest time of the year, with the shortest days and the longest nights, and it is one of the most important times in the Christian calendar, celebrating the birth of Jesus. All kinds of traditions have sprung up and by now you should have baked your cake and prepared a Christmas pudding ready for boiling or steaming – after all, Stir-Up Sunday was back in November.

But many of you will have opened the first window of your advent calendar today, and I notice that lots of people have already decorated their homes and put a Christmas tree up, which does seem awfully early to me – when I was a child decorations and trees usually went up on Christmas Eve, and stayed up for the 12 Days of Christmas, before being taken down and carefully packed away for another year.