Tag: ancient customs

  • Galan Gaeaf Celebrations: History and Superstitions

    Galan Gaeaf Celebrations: History and Superstitions

    Nos Galan Gaeaf Hapus

    During Roman Britain, people celebrated a festival very like Samhain it was called Galan Gaeaf.


    When the Romans invaded England, they began to see its celebrations blend with their own traditions:

    Feralia a Roman festival to honour the dead, sharing the same reverence for ancestors.

    Pomona a Roman celebration for the goddess of fruit and trees. which gave rise to the tradition of bobbing for apples.

    Galan Gaeaf is an Ysbrydnos a spirit night. when the veil between worlds thins and spirits walk the earth.
    The term first appears in literature as Kalan Gayaf. In the laws of Hywel Dda, and is related to Kalan Gwav.


    In Christian tradition, it became All Saints’ Day, but for those who still celebrate Calan Gaeaf. It remains the first day of winter a time of endings, beginnings, and remembrance.

    Let us not forget our past our warriors, our farmers, and the land itself that gives us life.

    Ancient Traditions

    As a harvest festival, farmers would leave a patch of uncut straw. Then race to see who can cut it fastest. The stalks were twisted into a mare, the Caseg Fedi.


    One man would try to sneak it out in his clothes. If successful, he was rewarded; if caught, he was mocked.

    Another tradition, Coelcerth, saw a great fire built. Each person placed a stone marked with their name into the flames. If any name-stone was missing by morning, it was said that person would die within the year.


    Imagine the chill of dawn as people searched the ashes for their stones!

    Then there was the terror of Y Hwch Ddu Gwta. The black sow without a tail and her companion, a headless woman who roamed the countryside. The only safe place on Galan Gaeaf night was by a roaring hearth indoors.

    Superstitions were everywhere:
    Touching or smelling ground ivy was said to make you see witches in your dreams.


    Boys would cut ten ivy leaves, discard one, and sleep with the rest beneath their pillows to glimpse the future.


    Girls grew a rose around a hoop, slipped through it three times. cut the bloom, and placed it under their pillow to dream of their future husband.

    It was also said that if a woman darkened her room on Hallowe’en night and looked into a mirror. Her future husband’s face would behind her.
    But if she saw a skull, it meant she would die before the year’s end.

    In Staffordshire, a local variation involved lighting a bonfire and throwing in white stones . If the stones burned away, it was said to foretell death within a year.

    Food and Feasting

    Food is central to the celebration. While I don’t make the traditional Stwmp Naw Rhyw. a dish of nine vegetables I make my own variation using mixed vegetables and meat.

    There’s little real difference between the Irish Gaelic Samhain and the Welsh Calan Gaeaf.


    Each marks the turn of the year the death of one cycle and the birth of another.


    Over time, every culture left its mark: the Anglo-Saxons with Blōdmonath (“blood month”). Later Christian festivals layered upon the old ones.

    The Borderlands of Cheslyn Hay

    I was born in a small village called Cheslyn Hay, in South Staffordshire. WHhich I think is about five miles from what the Norse called the Danelaw, the frontier lands.


    Before the Romans came, much of Staffordshire and indeed much of England was part of ancient Welsh territory.
    Though little is known of this period, imagination helps fill the gaps between the facts.

    The Danelaw was established after the Treaty of Wedmore (878 CE). Between King Alfred of Wessex and the Viking leader Guthrum.

    It divided England roughly from London northwards, trailing the Thames, through Bedfordshire, along Watling Street (A5), and up toward Chester.

    Watling Street the old Roman road that passes through Wall (near Lichfield). Gailey was often described as the de facto border between Mercia (to the west) and the Danelaw (to the east).

    Cheslyn Hay lies just west of Watling Street, near Cannock and Walsall. Placing it right on the edge of Mercian territory within sight of Danelaw lands.
    Because of that proximity, the area would have been influenced by both sides.


    Norse trade routes and settlers passed nearby, along Watling Street and the River Trent.


    Villages like Wyrley, Penkridge, and Landywood show both Old English and Celtic/Norse roots.

    It’s easy to imagine that my ancestors have traded or farmed alongside Norse settlers. after all, many Vikings were farmers too.


    Part of my family came from Compton and Tettenhall Wood. Where a local battle is still spoken of today; the other side from Walsall.


    Archaeological finds near Stafford and Lichfield suggest Viking artefacts and burial mounds, linking the landscape to that history.

    So while Cheslyn Hay wasn’t technically within the Danelaw. It stood upon the Mercian frontier what I like to call “the Border of the Ring” . where Saxon, Norse, and Brythonic traditions once met and mingled.

    My Celebration Tonight

    As I live in a flat, I’ll light a single candle instead of a bonfire. Cook a small feast vegetables and pork with a potato topping.


    For pudding, I’ll have blueberries, strawberries, and banana with an oat topping and warm custard.


    I’ll raise a glass to my ancestors and set a place at the table for any who wish to join.

    Thank you for reading.
    Nos Galan Gaeaf Hapus

  • Stormborne: The Thirteenth Son and His Prophetic Naming

    Stormborne: The Thirteenth Son and His Prophetic Naming

    Abstract artwork depicting a mother and child figure in vibrant colors, with a celestial background and decorative elements.
    An artistic representation of a mother holding her baby, symbolizing love and protection, echoing the themes of warmth and celebration in the naming ceremony of Taranis Stormborne.

    The fire rose high, its heat warming us as we sang and danced around it.
    the Song of the Spirit carried on our voices.

    But beneath the music,
    there was a chill in the air,
    something wrong.
    something dark,
    as though a shadow had seeped into the world unseen.

    “My brother cried once, Father,” I said,
    pride swelling in my chest.
    “It was like he answered the thunder god himself.
    Even the wolves are silent.
    Even the dragon doesn’t strike.”

    I ran my fingers gently over Stormborne’s face.
    my baby brother, wrapped in warmth,
    calm in a world that seemed to hold its breath.

    Father War, chief of our people
    placed a strong hand on my shoulder.

    “I’ve noticed the strangeness too, Lore,” he said quietly.
    “But tonight we don’t fear each other’s company we embrace it.
    Tonight, my son, we celebrate.
    Tomorrow… we stand guard.”

    “Yes, Father,” I replied.
    “As you consider.”

    I stepped back and watched,
    as he and Mother approached the fire.
    They stepped ahead proud carrying Taranis wrapped in the freshly cut fox hide.
    its red fur a symbol of cunning and strength.

    War cleared his throat,
    lifted the baby high,
    and turned to face the tribe.

    “I name him Stormborne,” he said,
    “for he was born from the storm
    the thirteenth son, under thunder and fire.
    He will be a mighty warrior.”

    The people gathered close.

    One by one, they reached into the sacred ash. They marked the child’s forehead and chest black smudges to bind him to the tribe,to earth, flame, sky, and spirit.

    Food and drink flowed.
    Smoke curled into the sky.
    Even the animals gathered at the forest edge to witness the naming.

    So was born Taranis Stormborne
    the thirteenth son,
    the thunder child,
    and the one the winds would never forget.

    Further Reading

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • Life and Prophecy: The Birth of Taranis Stormborne

    Life and Prophecy: The Birth of Taranis Stormborne

    Birth and Celebration

    The Naming

    The women of the tribe had already begun preparing the celebration.
    Only the finest foods would be offered on this special night the night of my brother’s birth.

    The birth of Taranis Stormborne.

    In the woods, the younger children laughed as they filled baskets with berries, blackberries and raspberries, bilberries (wild blueberries).
    elderberries (cooked only), hawthorn berries, rose hips, crab apples, and sloes from the blackthorn.

    Their chatter echoed with pride
    a new life meant strength for the tribe.

    The women worked in quiet rhythm.
    Hazelnuts, acorns (leached to remove tannins), beech nuts, pine nuts, and the seeds. Young leaves of nettles
    were piled high beside bundles of wild garlic and sacred greens.

    I saw my mother’s sister lay a sprig of rosemary at the fire. Not for seasoning but for blessing.

    “Hey, young Lore,” someone called, grinning.
    “You coming hunting? Father says we’re after red deer and boar, fox, grouse, even river salmon. Only the finest meats for your mother and father. A new chieftain has been born!”

    “Father’s naming him tonight? I’m coming!” I said, breath quickening.
    I tried to keep the smile off my face, but it broke through anyway.

    I was seventeen — broad-shouldered, proud, still hungry to prove myself.
    I grabbed my spear and cast a glance back at my brothers and father.

    our father, stood straight as an ash tree his expression unreadable.
    Part of him was already in the cave, beside my mother and the child.
    The rest of him… watched the woods.

    I ran to join the others, my heart pounding. Together, we hollered and sprinted into the deep forest
    a forest older than memory.

    But as our laughter faded behind us,
    a silence settled.

    And then…
    that chill again.

    Not the kind that comes with wind or storm. No, this cold was the kind that clung to your bones. The kind that made birds quiet and your breath feel too loud.

    Something was watching.
    But nothing moved.

    Still, we pressed on.
    The Naming Feast had to be worthy.

    “I hope he survives,” I muttered, trying to sound casual but Nyx heard the worry in my voice.

    “Drax is furious,” he said under his breath.“He thinks the prophecy’s come true.”

    He didn’t say what the prophecy meant but we both knew the stories.

    A child born under eclipse.
    A name written in fire.
    A brother… destined to break us or save us.

    Suddenly, Nyx raised a hand.
    A deer just ahead.

    I nodded once, crouched low, and let my spear fly.
    A perfect strike.

    Nyx gave the bird-call whistle to alert his father. We hauled the carcass back to camp together.

    The others returned soon after.
    The fire was lit. The meat laid out.
    Herbs were thrown onto the flames
    and their smoke curled skyward.
    in a spiral that reminded me of a dragon’s breath.

    Tonight, my baby brother would be named.
    But even as the tribe gathered in joy.
    I couldn’t shake the feeling
    that something was coming through the trees.

    © written by ELHewitt

    Further Reading

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded