Christmas Connections: Part 12 of 12

It is indeed twelve drummers drumming. It should be a dozen drummers drumming, actually, for that provides alliteration indeed. And 'a dozen' scans well with the 'eleven' of the previous stanza.

Why drummers, and what drumming is it? Or as Auden put it, "O what is that sound which so thrills the ear / Down in the valley drumming, drumming? / Only the scarlet soldiers, dear, / The soldiers coming."

For the drum is, of course, a symbol of war and confusion to the enemy. It is percussive, and it ends the feast. And then the real business of the new year can begin.

=====

"On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me a dozen drummers drumming."

Christmas Connections: Part 11 of 12

Eleven pipers piping seems to me to be some sort of visual pun — '11' looks like vertical pipes. A piper is of course one who pipes — who manipulates a pipe, uses a pipe, or lays down pipes or piping.

As I write this, I'm listening to 'Mull of Kintyre' plaid played on bagpipes. The interesting thing about the murkiness surrounding the pipes is that the word comes from the German Pfeife, which has thus bequeathed to us two words for roughly similar things — the pipe and the fife.

Which leads us to the next thing: this explains why there are eleven pipers and twelve drummers — fifes and drums go together, historically.

=====

"On th' eleventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me eleven pipers piping."

Christmas Connections: Part 10 of 12

It's strange that although people are no strangers to physical symbolism, they can't recognize it when it's in text. All you have to do is think about your body, and why 10 is such an obvious numerical base to use, and you will be able to guess the significance of ten lords a-leaping.

Oh, sure, you can also think of them as the Ten Lords of Misrule. But even those are anthropomorphs of your inbuilt digital computer. After all, a wise man once said that the Devil makes work for idle hands.

No less a poet than the last bard of Wales described the hand as 'five sovereign fingers'. When you combine that image with Morris-dancing, you get one of the oldest primal images of all.

=====

"On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me ten lords a-leaping."

Christmas Connections: Part 9 of 12

The nine ladies dancing are appropriately so, for as every young person should know, this is what they are, and that is what they do. They are old, but ageless.

In any revel, where food and drink have been provided for, you will find the nine. They are not bound by any ring, and they vary in degree of caprice. But they have sponsored this blog since its inception, and it's a pity I took so long to thank them.

Not forgetting, of course, that they are but servants of a greater gift (or servants of the nine great gifts), and a greater giver. As are we all.

=====

"On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me nine ladies dancing."

Christmas Connections: Part 8 of 12

Eight maids a-milking, eh? This line introduces the more 'party' aspects of the old Christmas song. While the first seven gifts of the singer's true love are all about food, the next five are all about entertainment.

Traditionally, a maid a-milking refers to a young lady who goes out to obtain that precious resource and staple farm-based food, milk, from a cow (or equivalent mammal). Equally traditional is the use of this phrase as code, to describe a woman of marriageable age and prime availability.

Together with the number 8, the meaning hidden here is one of overflowing abundance. Also, of preparation for fun, entertainment, and delicious treats ahead.

=====

"On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me eight maids a-milking."

Christmas Connections: Part 7 of 12

Seven swans have long been a motif of folktales. In some stories they are seven maidens, relatives of valkyries or angels or the faerie and otherwise unattainable by mortal men. In some stories they are humans under a curse, and in yet others they are not only human but male — princes who need to be saved by their sister.

Seven swans a-swimming? What else might they do? Well, swans were and are, like most of the previous six birds, prized for their meat. Huge and graceful birds with a limited sense of self-preservation, in the UK they are now under the crown's protection.

A full-grown swan is a cygnus; a small one is a cygnet. They are often confused with seven signs, seven sacraments, or seven gifts of the Spirit. The problem, of course, is that signs, sacraments and gifts of the Spirit are all variable in number.

=====

"On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me seven swans a-swimming."

Christmas Connections: Part 6 of 12

Six geese a-laying? What on earth? Well, geese are large, intelligent and very territorial fowl. The typical goose is larger than a hen, and less prolific. However, the eggs are larger and richer.

When one gives a gift of laying geese, it is a gift of rich food and a symbol of wealth. However, there is another interpretation which I've seen in the dark corridors — the laying of geasa, or magical imperatives, upon someone.

Perhaps that line isn't as innocent as it looks. Or perhaps it is, and I am just being naughty. Your geis is as good as mine.

=====

"On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me six geese a-laying."

Christmas Connections: Part 5 of 12

Five gold rings, most mysterious. One would observe that five rings are uncommon, even on the hands of wealthy people. The Olympic flag may have five rings, but those stand for the world and its peoples, and are not gold.

The phrase 'gold rings' really refers to ring-necked pheasants, delicious and beautiful birds, some of which are indeed golden, and many of which are valued for their rich flavour. Gold indeed!

I note that Tolkien avoids the number 5 in his ring-lore entirely: in decreasing order, there are nine rings for mortal men doomed to die, seven rings for dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, three rings for elven-kings under the sky, and the One Ring of Sauron. Perhaps he wanted to avoid it being made into a Christmas song.

=====

"On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me five gold rings."

Christmas Connections: Part 4 of 12

Some people think they are calling birds, but they are not. They are colly birds, with the adjective related to the word 'collier' or 'collyer' — that is, one whose trade is the transport of coal. A colly bird is a bird as black as coal — a 'coally' bird.

When four colly birds are invoked, they are blackbirds, not ravens. They are in fact Turdus merula, a kind of thrush (yes, that is what the Latin turdus means).

The four-in-hand is a common phrase, used of coach horses and neckties. But one has to wonder about that other nursery rhyme; when four-and-twenty blackbirds were baked into a pie, were four of them Christmas blackbirds and the rest of them just a convenient score?

=====

"On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me four colly birds."

Christmas Connections: Part 3 of 12

Three French hens? Yes, three birds which lay eggs. Some say they are Faith, Hope and Love; some say they are older and darker, a Maiden, Lady and Crone.

But they are not French fries, nor are they fried chicken. They are the birds that come in threes, that stand around waiting to cast judgement, that form the smallest possible legislative unit which can break a tie and yet have multiple opinions.

Oh yes, three hens, French or otherwise, but in this song, just three, just French. And remember, a hen is the female bird of any species, not just chicken.

=====

"On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me three French hens."

Christmas Connections: Part 2 of 12

Doves are birds that dive, for the past tense of dive is dove. A diver has no past tense though, even if you were to think it dover.

Among all that dive, there is one variety. Its song is a low, almost purring, "Tur-turrr, tur-turrr." And that is why it is called a turtledove, for it turtles to its mate, and its mate turtles back.

That is why a matched pair of lovers is referred to as 'turtledoves', because of their harmony and their mutual devotion.

=====

"On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me two turtledoves."

Christmas Connections: Part 1 of 12

Whether she is a rope or a heifer, this friend of mine occasionally inspires me to think about things I seldom think about. And even, at times, she inspires me to think about things which are quite a bit beyond what I normally think about.

Hence the Greek word πέρδεσθαι, which means 'to break wind'. Someone who does that is called a πέρδιξ — 'windbreaker', I suppose. But that's the word, perdix, from which we get the English 'partridge', presumably because English peasants were better at pronouncing nouns ending in '-ich', '-itch', or '-idge'.

And since the connective heifer has started me off on this first of the twelve days of Christmas, I suppose I will carry on.

=====

"On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me a partridge in a pear tree."

Days Of Our Lives

We're all days, and this is a truth from the beginning. As the temperament of a day goes, so too are there people to go with it; the Bard himself has remarked, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate." (Sonnet 18)

Cultures from all over the world have their counting-rhymes for the days and seasons; it is that tradition which has given us that infamous blight and self-fulfilling prophecy of the day of the week which is said to control the destiny of a child. (For the record, I was born on Vendredi, or Freya's Day.)

There is something which calls to us from the nature of a day - its fresh and dewy beginning is like a baby's innocence, while its parched and richly darkening end is like the complicated diversity of our various and separate drawings-down of blinds. In the noonday of one's life, one might think of Apollo and Mithras, of the Sun in Splendour, or of le Roi Soleil.

In the North of the world, where the days are often far longer or far too short, people are at their sunniest and gloomiest - bright fair people with grim sagas; it reminds me of what the Good Book says - "As your days, so shall your strength be." (This last speaks to my heart in particular because my late grandfather's last words were an exact quotation of verse 27 of that passage.)

The days of our lives are threescore and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore, all their strength is suffering - so says Moses from the elegiaic height of his disappointment, as he contemplates the failing of his sixscore years with no hope in this life of entering the Promised Land. His advice is probably sound; all we can do in the end is to number our days aright, and do our best with what we have.

On a lighter note though, here is a song from that odd and entertaining group, the Bee Gees...

Ooh you’re a holiday, such a holiday
Ooh you’re a holiday, such a holiday

It’s something I think's worthwhile
If the puppet makes you smile
If not then you’re throwing stones
Throwing stones, throwing stones

Ooh it’s a funny game
Don’t believe that it’s all the same
Can’t think what I’ve just said
Put the soft pillow on my head

Millions of eyes can see
Yet why am I so blind
When the someone else is me
It’s unkind, it’s unkind

de de de de de de de de de de de de de
de de de de de de de de de de de de de

Yet millions of eyes can see
Yet why am I so blind
When the someone else is me
It’s unkind, it’s unkind

Ooh you’re a holiday, ev’ry day, such a holiday
Now it’s my turn to say, and I say you’re a holiday
It’s something I think's worthwhile
If the puppet makes you smile
If now then you’re throwing stones
Throwing stones , throwing stones

de de de de de de de de de de de de de de

=====

Yes, indeed. And just in case he feels left out, I shall dedicate this post to my one student whose name sounds suspiciously like the day on which we have chapel services in school. You (now) know who you are; be at peace with your nature, OK?