Beltane Fire

When I last visited the Reverend Alleyn, I got the vaguest hint of a suspicion that there was more to the picture than I was seeing, and since my curiosity got the better of me I have gone back for a second look. I couldn't shake the feeling that Doctor Alleyn was perhaps unduly concerned with ensuring the security of his job as the vicar of the village of Bray in Berkshire, England, rather than the spiritual welfare of his charges. I admit that I should not have made a trip like this on my own, and in hindsight, I realize it was a mistake. There was nobody to back me up, to see what I saw, or failed to see.

I chose the persona of a travelling tinker, somebody whose unexpected appearance in the village would be unlikely to be questioned, somebody who could engage more or less anybody in conversation. During the first couple of days I mended kettles and cauldrons for David Boteler's wife who complained that her husband, the blacksmith, was too busy to mend his own family's pots (the shoemaker's children go unshod?), and Peter Cooper, the village reeve, whose wife Marjory proved to be something of a gossip. It was Marjory who showed me the first step on the trail that would lead me to the Beltane Hearth on the night of Saint Walpurga's feast.

To be honest, I had never heard of Saint Walpurga before, but of course, the Reverend Alleyn was good enough to enlighten me when I visited to offer my services. Born in Wessex, in the 8th century, she later helped to establish at least one German convent and is credited with powers of healing and fertility. While the Reverend has a couple of pots that need my attention, he regrets that he is unable to recompense me for my labours, which is fine by me, since I am happy to accept payment in the form of his intercession for my unsavoury soul.

It is one thing to know that the old religions persisted for a long time alongside the new, but it is quite another to see them, self-evident. It was the last day of April, the evening of my third day in the village, camped on the edge of a small coppice, when Peter Cooper, and another villager whom I didn't recognize, brought a couple of cartloads of kindling wood and faggots and stacked them in the meadow. As dusk turned to night I heard voices, as well as the bleating of sheep and squealing pigs, and kicked out my campfire moments before the leaders of the procession entered the meadow, carrying blazing torches as they drove the animals forward.

I'm not one hundred percent sure what happened after that, I think there may have been more than firewood in that fire, but I do remember the animals being driven towards the fire. The noise will stay with me for a long time. And figures, dancing naked. It's difficult to be certain, I'd drunk a pint and a half of cider earlier.

The sparks drifting from the fire put me in mind of fairies, but I didn't see any tiny flying people. And I was slightly relieved to note as I was packing the next morning, that there was no evidence of any of the animals having been eaten during the festivities.

However, I do have a memory of an old woman, squatting naked in the firelight, and something else... something very masculine! I don't think I'll ever be able to watch children dancing around a maypole again without thinking very adult thoughts!

I'm ashamed to say that I didn't make the connection until I got back here, but thinking about the old woman tripped another memory; a crude carving, high up on the roof beams of St. Michael's church, a female figure, in that same posture. It seems the figure is well-known to historical anthropologists as Sheila-na-gig.

The next morning I packed up and left as the dawn chorus started to settle down. I'm not used to drinking much and was still feeling the effects slightly, but I did manage to note that the fire in the meadow had been raked down and the grass showed plenty of bruising from a multitude of feet, so I know that at least some part of what I saw the night before really happened.

Another thing I found out after getting back here is that Beltane night is one of the two times in the year when, according to ancient Celtic belief, the boundaries between the physical world and the spiritual world are at their most easily passed. It was an interesting experience, and I have at least come back with an appropriate song from the time, but I have more questions than answers at this point.

X:51 % number
T:Now is the month of May
C:Thomas Morley
R:Air - madrigal
O:The TUMS busking book % origin.
M:2/2 % meter
L:1/4 % length of shortest note
Q: % tempo
K:C % key
V:1 % voice 1
z2 z G |: GGAA | B2 BG | B>A B ^c | d2 d A/B/ |
w:1.Now is the month of May-ing, when mer-ry lads are play-ing.
w:2.The Spring clad all in glad-ness, doth laugh at win-ter's sad-ness. Fa la
w:3.Fie! then why sit we mus-ing, youth's sweet de-light re-fus-ing?
ccBA | A^FD d/c/ | BcAA | [1 G2 z G :| [2 G2 z B
w:-------------- Now - Each
w:la la la la la la la, Fa la la, Fa la la la. 2.The la. 2.And
w:-------------- Fie - 3.Say
|:Add^c | d2 z A | ccBB | A2 z d/c/ |
w:with his bon-ny lass, up-on the green-y grass.
w:to the bag-pipes' sound, the nymphs tread out their ground. Fa la
w:dain-ty Nymphs and speak, shall we play bar-ley break?
BG d2 | D/E/^F/G/A/B/ c | B>c BA |[1 G2 z B:|
w:-------------- 1.Each
w:la la la, fa la la la la la la, fa la la la. 2.And la
w:-------------- 3.Say
[2 G2 z |]
V:2
z2 z D |: EGG^F | G2 GG | G>^F GG | ^F2 F =F/ F/ |
E>^F GG | ^F D/ E/ F F/ F/ | GGG ^F | G2 z D :| G2 z D |:
FA A>G | ^F2 z =F | EEEE | E2 A/ G/ ^F |
D G2 D/ E/ | ^F/ G/ A z E/ F/ | GGG ^F | G2 z D :| G2 z |]
V:3
K:C treble-8 % take out the treble-8 for compatibility with abc 1.6 standard
z2 z B |: cccc | d2 dd | d>d dG | d2 d d/ d/ |
Acde | A3 d/ d/ | d e d>c | B2 z B :| B2 z G |:
Afee | d2 z F | GABB | ^c =c/ B/ AA |
G>A BB | A A/ G/ ^F E | DG d>c | B2 z G :| B2 z |]

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