LL-L "Folklore" 2002.12.06 (12) [E/LS]

Fri Dec 6 20:14:57 UTC 2002

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 A=Afrikaans Ap=Appalachian B=Brabantish D=Dutch E=English F=Frisian
 L=Limburgish LS=Lowlands Saxon (Low German) S=Scots Sh=Shetlandic
               V=(West)Flemish Z=Zeelandic (Zeêuws)
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From: Gustaaf Van Moorsel gvanmoor at cv3.cv.nrao.edu
Subject: LL-L "Holidays" 2002.12.06 (08) [E]

Ron wrote:

> I wonder if there is any connection between the North German custom of
> leaving one's shoes on a window sill (or in front of a door) for St.
Nicolas
> to find and fill (which must be related to the tradition of Santa Claus
> coming through the chimney to fill stockings) and the Scandinavian
> Yule/Christmas tradition of families putting their shoes out next to each
> other to symbolize their wish for all members to remain together for
another
> year, which appears to be a pre-Christian tradition.

Is this related to the - at least Swedish - custom not to wear
shoes inside the house at all times (not just around Christmas?
I am always struck by how I am supposed to take off my shoes
entering a Swedish house, and how my Swedish friends take off
their shoes upon entering mine.  I always ascribed this to a
deep-rooted aversion to having the ubiquitous mud brought into
the house, but reading Ron's comment maybe there is more to this
custom.

Gustaaf

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From: Wim <wkv at home.nl>
Subject: "Holidays" 2002.12.06 (01) [E]

>From Wim Verdoold   wkv at home.nl

Hi,
 about holidays....the time of the mid winter horns has arrived again in
twenthe....  One more holiday to remember...also very old.

One more for your list.

'Oi , dag allemoalle,

Tis weer tied vör de midwinter 'oorn bloazers. Nog ientie vör op Oen
lieste....

Ajuu!

Wim.

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From: Candon McLean <candon3 at yahoo.com>
Subject: LL-L "Holidays" 2002.12.06 (08) [E]

> From: Richard Smith richard.m.smith at worldnet.att.net
> Subject: LL-L "Holidays" 2002.12.06 (01) [E]
>
> Hello Candon!
>
> Just letting you know you're not the only one raising a horn this
> season!

Wassail, Richard!  And Good Yule!

> From: R. F. Hahn <sassisch at yahoo.com>
> Subject: Holidays
>
> Folks,
>
> I wonder if there is any connection between the North German custom
> of
> leaving one's shoes on a window sill (or in front of a door) for
> St. Nicolas
> to find and fill (which must be related to the tradition of Santa
> Claus
> coming through the chimney to fill stockings) and the Scandinavian
> Yule/Christmas tradition of families putting their shoes out next
> to each
> other to symbolize their wish for all members to remain together
> for another
> year, which appears to be a pre-Christian tradition.

That would be an interesting link.  I'm also wondering about
traditions of Frau Holle/Holda and Frau Perchta/Berchta both of whom,
I have read, have traditions similar to Nicolas associated with them
about leaving shoes to be filled by them.  Do any traditions of Holda
or Perchta survive in Lowlands traditions?  I believe the times are
similar as well, 6 December or 8 December.

> We have already discussed the Scandinavian Yule dance (family
> members
> dancing and singing through every room is the house) as a
> pre-Christian
> remnant, related to _Mummenschanz_ dances of the Alemannic areas
> where in
> the Christmas and News Year's season (i.e., general Yuletide)
> frighteningly
> dressed and masked dancers clean houses and villages of lingering
> evil
> spirits with a lot of noise.  Does any of this survive in Lowlands
> customs?
> Yes, and is the Druidic "Wild Hunt" (_la Chasse Artu_) and "Furious
> Host"
> related to it?

Which brings me back to Holda and Perchta both of whom are said to
lead the Wild Hunt/Furious Host.

Candon McLean

----------

From: R. F. Hahn <sassisch at yahoo.com>
Subject: Folklore

Candon,

In the German Lowlands there are only very vague and watered-down remnants
of the Frau Holle ~ Fru Holle ~ Fro Holde feature, mostly related to snow
(i.e., winter, the season of the G. _Wilde Jagd_, LS _Wille Jagd_), as in
the fairytale recorded by the Grimm brothers:

German version of the Grimms' "Frau Holle":
http://www.gutenberg2000.de/grimm/maerchen/frauholl.htm

English versions of the Gimms' "Frau Holle":
http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm024.html

As we have also discussed on LL-L sometime ago, this "Frau Holle" character
is connected with the elderberry bush, German _Holunder(busch)_ ~
_Holder(busch)_ ~ _Holler(busch)_, which she inhabits and protects,
bestowing its berries with powerful, beneficial properties, but at the same
time haunting and punishing those that cut and use the wood (which is why in
some traditions cut elder branches must be left lying underneath the tree).
In
songs and writings, the elderberry bush tends to represent protection, a
safe haven
for those seeking shelter from evil and distress.  Waltrud Bruhn (my
favorite Lowlands Saxon [Low German] poet who passed away fairly recently)
features this very poignantly in the context of her war-time childhood
memories in her poem "Sambucus niger - Fleeder du, du Krackholt" (_Gras,
Adern, Fragmente - Gedichte/Gedichten_, Hamburg: Quickborn, 1997; please see
below, followed by my translation for a planned anthology).

Most people in the region nowadays are not aware of this connection between
Frau Holle and the elder plant (and between white blossoms and snowflakes),
leave alone a connection between Frau Holle and Perchta ~ Bergta ~ Berchta ~
Bertha ~ Hertha ~ Ertha (the second-last one being my mother's name), the
ancient leader of the Wild Hunt, the defender against malevolent spirits.
Here are some interesting sources:
Folklore and Mythology Electronic Texts:
http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/folktexts.html

Ertha, the Germanic Earth Goddess:
http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/ertha.html

Hertha Lake (Island of Rügen):
http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/hertha.html

Regards,
Reinhard/Ron

===

Sambucus niger - Fleeder du, du Krackholt
vun Waltrud Bruhn

Dat Ellholt is en Krack, woll wahr!
Maal bleev keen Fleederbeernbusch ganz
dar in de Kinneertiet mit lüttje Söcken,
Fahnenrück
un backsig sengelt Swiegen,
wo all de Tanten Weetfruen Kummer harrn,
de Watersupp vun Wittkohl opwaarmt geven,
wo schöne Böker hopenwies in’n Keller tweifetzt legen.
Dar bleev keen Fleederbeerbusch ganz,
behöll sien nieen Telgen un wörr so grötter mit de Jahrn.
Oh, nee.

Alltieds in Harvst, wenn dar noch nich maal
swatt Vagelswarms un Fröstküllns
de Bitternis vun all de Heimatlosen starken deen,
denn broken Minschen twei, Junge un Ole. Dat Ellholt ok.
Rundüm Vandalen. Un wörr en Krack doch wedder stark un stevig,
denn reten se em wedder dal, un jammervull slappdüster
flapp dat Loff an’t Holt.
So sehgn wi, jammervull un plünnenpaltern, ok alle Mannslüüd,
de ut Krieg, Gefangenschap nah Huus trüüchstaaken deen. Gefangen,
vun Greesen süük, bleev’t in ehr Tarnbruun vun Beleeven.

Egaalweg jeedeen lüttjes Lachen klööv, sleet sik möör. Bloots Kinner
truen sik noch dat Smüüstern un heegen deep ehr
binnert Juuchen, wenn se sik in en hogen Boom versteeken kunn’n,
wenn speelen Wulken mit ehr Ogen speelen.
De scharpe Drangnis schreev sik jümmer langs ehr Stierns.

Veeljahren sneden wi Besinnen bi uns weg,
in’n Stückentakt, den sik en Scheer, de Haar snidd, klappt.
Wi schoven achter Wulken, achter söven Bargen,
den fuurig witten Kalk vun Kummer.
Jüst so harrn wi dat Stackelsüüchzen vun den drangsaleerten Fleeder
un all de anner Quaal wegdrammt, üm de de bleeken Fruenslüüd
’s nachtens weenen müssen, liesen, liesen, heel alleen.

Man nümmer bleev de Ruuch vun doodmööd Minschenhuut vergeten,
de Töön vun’t rische Viegelienenspeel verleern sik nich,
ok nich de Smack vun Bakalit in’n Feverdroom.
Bestännig stuuk dat Bild vun’n Dörchslag, twei un löckrig en Helm,
Perlmutternboom dat Ridderkruut in’n Gaarn,
sien Smack vun Honnig, dar stuuk de Smack vun Bangnis,
wenn över Popp un Poppenkarr deep
Fleegers huuljachtern un pielgenau scharp scheten deen.
Denn, gau! Deep achter’t Ellholt kropen
un in’t Versteek
vun’n blöhen Busch en witte Freedensfahn afplückt.
Mang sööt un bitter Rüüchels müssen wi an all sien
Wunnerbarkeit glööven, dat he de Kuckuck ropen,
Süükdom un Nood henwegweeln kunn.
Ok düsse Freeden klööv, de Struuk bröök twei.

Verfraren reet uns maal en scharpe Bitterruuch
vun’n Grund, bi dünne Huut ehr Sweet.
Wi fragen dar nix nah un leven so mit hen, bet nu –
daar brook een Woord vun allerhand swattdrückte Reegen vör,
een Woord sien Sinn verquer sik un boo Biller,
wöör Ellholt, Fleederbeernbusch, wo anners een Sireen,
de lilla Blööm, maal meent hett.
Blööm, de, duff un swaar vun Lillasööt,
nienümmer Feeverdöst stillt, ok nich Smacht un Bangen.
Hier nu ward heel vun’t Ellhoornholt vertellt. Sambucus niger.
Ohmgröön dat Loff un smödigwitt als Melk de Blömkenbuschen
sweelt hachpachwild üm’t Holt sien Aten.
He wörr dull stuur.

Dat Krackholt.
Wo slöög’t an all uns Seer un Smarten
un reet ehr Döören wiet.

So maakt dat heel.

===

Sambucus niger - elder, you, you wimp wood
[Translation: R. F. Hahn, ©2001]:

The elder is a wimp. For sure!
Some time ago no elderberry bush would stay in one piece,
then, in the childhood days with little socks,
bunting skirts
and burnt-on silence,
when all the widowed aunts had grief,
would dish out watery soup made from white cabbage,
when gorgeous books would lie in basements, torn, in heaps.
Then no elderberry bush would stay in one piece,
would keep its new branches and would grow taller with the years.
Oh, no.

Always in autumn, already well before
black flocks of birds and frosty chills
would intensify the bitterness of all the homeless,
people would break to pieces, the young, the old. The elder too.
Vandals all around. And when a wimp would grow back strength and daring
they’d tear him down again, and pitifully limp and dark
would leafs be flopping from the wood.
That’s how we’d see, too, all the menfolk, pitiful and dressed in rags,
staggering back home from war, imprisonment. Captive,
sick with terror—it stayed in the camouflage brown of their experiences.

All the while each little laughter would split, wear itself out. Just
children
would still dare to smile, would hold their cheering
deep within when they could hide in a tall tree,
when playful clouds toyed with their eyes.
The sharp pressure would always write itself across their foreheads.

For many years we’d cut away at memories,
each piece in time that scissors clack while cutting hair.
We’d shove the caustic white lime of sorrow
behind some clouds, behind seven mountains.
This way we’d push aside the tortured elder’s wimpy sighs
and all the other torments that made the pale women
cry at night, quietly, quietly, all alone.

Yet never would we manage to forget the smell of dead-tired human skin.
The sounds of lively fiddle play would never disappear,
nor would the taste of Bakelite in feverish dream.
Constantly would the image squeeze: the impact, a helmet cracked and
riddled,
mother-of-pearl delphinium the garden’s knightly plant,
its taste of honey; the taste of panic would then squeeze
when above doll and doll’s carriage quite low
aircraft would come screaming, would shoot with arrow-like precision.
Then, quickly! Crawling far behind the elder wood,
into the hiding place,
picking a white peace flag off the blooming bush.
Amid sweet and bitter odors we would have to believe
in all its splendor, that it could call the cuckoo,
could drive away disease and deprivation.
This peace would also split; the bush would break.

Once a sharply bitter smell yanked us, frozen,
up from the ground by thin skin’s sweat.
We took it in our stride and lived with it, so far ...
A word broke free from several printed black lines,
a word’s meaning went awry and started building images,
turned into elder wood, elderberry bush, where someone else
would have meant lilac, the purple flowers.*
Flowers that, dull and heavy with purple sweetness,
will never satisfy feverish thirst, nor hunger and anxiety.
Here now there’s talk of elder wood. Sambucus niger.
Uncle-green its leafs and smoothly white as milk its flowery tufts,
its breath glows wildly panting around the wood.
It went all stiff.

The wimp wood.
How it struck at our wounds and aches
and pushed their doors wide open!

That’s how it heals.

*[Lowlands Saxon _Fleder_ and North German _Flieder_ are used to refer both
to elderbushes and lilac bushes.]

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