Author: Pat Mlejnecky

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THE HAWTHORN TREE

 

‘Spring goeth all in white,

Crowned with milk-white may;’

Robert Bridges

Almost over night it seemed Spring had spelled the hawthorn tree in the hedge and great clouds of white blossom ruffed its branches. The notched leaves witched to a bright leathery green. The anthers are red, like the head of a match, so each flower resembles a speckled bird’s egg. Now, in mid-summer, clutches of small green berries hang on tightly and, as summer ages will, like traffic lights, turn to amber and then red. This is not the enamelled red of rowan berries or the polished sheen of rose hips but a modest, sombre red. Old ballads and legends tell that the hawthorn is a tree of mystery and enchantment, a faerie tree. It is said the crown of thorns with which Christ was mockingly crowned was made from hawthorn. In the Lady Chapel at Ely there is a carving showing Mary with her Child set against a background of hawthorn leaves. Mary holds one haw, a sign of what is to come for the Child. At some Palaeolithic cave dwellers burial sites, the bodies have been found wearing similar crowns of hawthorn.

Mary’s uncle, Joseph of Arimathea, was a merchant trading in tin and, so the stories go, he came to our ancient kingdom, to the West Country to do business with the tin miners. On one occasion, at least, he brought his great nephew, the Boy Jesus with him and this story was known to William Blake, hence the opening words in ‘Jerusalem’,

‘And did those feet, in ancient time

Walk upon England’s mountains green?

And was the Holy Lamb of God

On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

Glastonbury is an ancient town in Somerset and another legend is that Joseph of Arimathea came here after the Crucifixion of Christ and brought the Cup used at the Last Supper, the Holy Grail of Arthurian legend, with him. He was tired and distressed after his long journey to reach this land. He paused to sleep and thrust his staff into the ground beside him, the hand that held it had smoothed precious oils into the body of Christ when it was taken from the Cross. It took root and every year at Christmas it burst into leaf and flowers. It is the humble hawthorn, quickthorn or whitethorn which, in bleak winter, flowers to greet the coming of the Light not the exotic rose or lily. A sprig from the Holy Thorn is sent to the Queen every year so she has it on her table at

The hawthorn tree is believed to be a dwelling place for faeries and an entrance to their country. An ancient ballad from the Borders tells how Thomas the Rhymer or, True Thomas as he is known, sat under a hawthorn , known as the Eildon Tree and the Queen of Faeries rode by in a dress of ‘grass-green silk’ and on her steed’s mane ‘hung fifty silver bells and nine’. She dares him to kiss her lips and, of course, he does.

She carries him off as he must now serve her. In Elfland she offers him food which he eats and, as we all know, one must never, never, never, eat food offered by the Little People. When he returns he thinks he has only been away for a day instead of seven long years. It is believed he lives on in the hollow Eildon hills. So do not sit under a hawthorn tree unless you have the protection of a twig each of oak, ash and hawthorn bound together by a red ribbon, as one never knows who might come

Westminster Abbey is built on what was known as Thorney Island in the River Tyburn and named after a sacred stand of hawthorn trees. Edward the Confessor built a church here and the present building altered and added to by other monarchs was built originally by Henry 111 in 1245.

The Hawthorn is also known as May as this is when it flowers. There is the nursery rhyme, ‘Here we come gathering nuts in May’. This should read as ‘knots’ not ‘nuts’. Sprigs and bunches of hawthorn were gathered in days gone by and even in some places nowadays to celebrate the Merry Month of May.’

Henry vii chose the hawthorn as his emblem after the Battle of Bosworth as the crown worn by Richard iii as he rode to battle was found in a hawthorn after Richard was killed. Henry, the first of the Tudor dynasty, received this crown on what is known as Crown Hill.

A small tree, a hedge tree, gnarled, twisted and thorny, crabbed. It bends and knots, spiky bones knitted together against wind and weather.

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Mediaeval Graffiti in Churches

The OUD’s definition of ‘graffiti’ is ‘a piece of writing or drawing scribbled, scratched or sprayed on a surface’. The symbols, writing and sketches scratched onto church walls some five to seven hundred years ago are a different kettle of fish and, because nowadays we tut-tut at graffiti, thus it seems a different word really needs to be used. Some of the images are intricate and would have taken some time to scratch into the stone and were done in the body of the church for all to see so they were viewed in a quite different way, acceptable, respected and allowed by the Church.

 

Norfolk and Suffolk have about 1 100 mediaeval churches and in 2010 a survey of the graffiti in these started in Norfolk, it was the first county to do this. A similar survey was started in Suffolk a few years later and has spread to several other counties.

Stained glass windows, brasses, ornate tombs, monuments in churches speak of the lord and lady, the well-to-do, those of influence and power in a parish but where are memorials to the common man? Where is the tinker, the tailor, the poor man, the thief? In mediaeval times, roughly from the end of the Roman Empire to the Reformation of Henry viii, everyone had a very well defined place in society, from king to knave everyone knew their place. This is demonstrated in the ‘Boke of Seynt Albans’ written in the 1400’s, hawking was very popular but, depending on one’s position in society one could only own and fly a particular breed of hawk. Only a king could fly a ‘gerfalcon’, ‘there is a spare (sparrow) hawke and he is a hawke for a prest’ and ‘there is a goshawke and that hawke is for the yeman(farmer)’and that well known one used as a title for a book and then a film, a kestrel for a knave. The graffiti which in some churches cover, wall and pillar, arch and sill could have been done by poacher, ploughman or shepherd, are these graffiti the memorials to the ordinary villager?

Interiors of churches of hundreds of years ago were brightly painted with pictures of saints painted directly on to the walls. The graffiti were done with care and intent, what was their original purpose, were they prayers, charms, protection? The Church taught that at death the soul went first to Purgatory to pay for sins committed while on earth before entering heaven so perhaps some graffiti were to a saint to intercede for their soul and the more time and devotion given to carving a symbol the greater effect it would have. ‘Fire and fleet and candle lighte / And Christe receive thy soule’. Why were ships cut into the stone in inland parishes, was this to wish that it would give safe passage for a soul on its last journey? Latin prayers, names, geometrical circles and patterns, crosses, heraldic inscriptions and even architectural plans can be found. It was believed that devils lurked round every corner to tempt the human soul so were some of the graffiti for protection? Names too were cut into the stone, ‘John Lydgate made this on the day of St. Simon and St. Jude’ (28 October), this is thought to date from the late 1300’s to early 1400’s.

Records in stone of all our human frailities, love, hope, death and fear, the daily perils of an ordinary life. Many of these graffiti are time worn and it needs a very sharp eye to see them. Just think, to be able to stand where someone else stood five, six, seven hundred years ago and touch the symbol he carved is to be hand in hand with him.

Pat Mlejnecky

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‘…. the play’s the thing’

The mechanistic world of twenty first century Britain where we shape our environment to suit us is superimposed on a far, far older layer of being. Now and again a wild and wet winter and even the turbulent world itself cuts us down to size and we wake up to older rhythms of season and time. We live in a richly layered island, an ancient kingdom marinated in ritual and rhyme, song and story which wind the clock of the year. In 2012 we were host to the Olympic Games and the Opening Ceremony, ‘Isles of Wonder’ tapped into this rich seam and in 2016 we did the same with ‘Midwinter Dreaming’.
Over the last twenty or so years ‘Bergh Apton’ has become a brand, a brand associated with innovation, with events that inspire, interest and intrigue. We never set out to decide what to do next we wait for an idea to hatch in our imaginations and so with ‘Midwinter Dreaming.
It was deliberately entirely different to our last production, the Cycle of Mystery Plays, it would be staged in winter not summer, it would take place in one site and it was to be an experience as well. ‘So along comes BACAT with an event rooted in the year’s cycle, with an eye to the past but not thoughtlessly re-enacting it, instead creatively reinventing, a new thing in fact that had a community life spanning half a year with scores of people happily and creatively involved and whose actual telling covered all these wonderful performance areas, costume, decoration, sculpture and light, a moving and involved audience, taste, fire, a surrounding sound and music, song, story, the spectacle of performance, humour and of course the underlying reality of the dark, the night, the cold and the enduring building itself.’
The call went to the Tribes of Ton and not only they but those of our closely related Tribes of Ham and Land responded and Tribes from far flung regions, the Nordovicians, Becclodians and Bungavians, a wide community has been created. It says much for us that the three professionals, well known nationally and internationally, were very willing to join in and work with us.
The play was written in discussions and writing sessions with Hugh Lupton, Mary Lovett created sublime music and singing with our musicians and singers and Charlotte Arculus taught us so much, she took a young idea, turned it inside out, shook it about and, between the three of them and us, we wove a magic, one little idea became a wonder to all who took part and who came to see it. It was not only us humans who created the magic but the time of the year, the season of Candlemas, halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox and the ancient church itself, assured and reassuring.
‘…..so many people involved in so many different areas but all willingly going the same way. And it achieved what it set out to do, it marked the division of the winter from the days we inhabit now and it brought to life all those characters….the Wren Boys, the Bee-keeper, we could see and know Hugh’s mummers as individuals. Next winter I think we will miss not having it.’ The village website gives a selection of other comments from our audiences.
All those involved will be far too modest to acknowledge the huge amount of time and interest they gave so I have tried to blow the trumpet for them, they were wonderful.
A special mention to Chris Ellis, our new Rector. He arrived in an unknown parish to find a group of people he did not know had plans for an event he knew little about in the church. He was good humoured and allowed us more or less carte blanche to use the church as we needed, I take my hat off to him.
What’s next?

The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Pat Mlejnecky