Would you eat this - the Christmas eve-eve traditional Cornish stargazy pie? There are many recipes, usually involving potato, and sometimes sand eels, mackerel, herring or dogfish, but to be a true stargazy pie the intact pilchard heads must be placed looking up at the sky,
before going in the oven.
The dish is most associated with the village of Mousehole and its annual celebration on 23rd December, known locally as Tom Bawcock’s eve.
Storms are a fact of life for those on Cornwall’s coast but one year in the 16th century the tempest was longer and more brutal than anything before. None of the fishing boats could leave the harbour and the people were starving.
A courageous local man Tom Bawcock braved the storm, bringing back seven types of fish which were baked in an enormous pie to feed the entire town.
Today the memorial of that night sees the villagers parading a huge pie with a procession of lanterns along the harbour. Cornwall has a rich mythic tradition around slightly odd pies, several of which claim to be the reason that the Devil never came to the county.
Folklorist Robert Hunt explains that when the Devil discovered the Cornish would put anything in a pie he decided to leave before they took a fancy to demon-and-kidney, retreating to the sanctuary of Devon.
The story of heroism was popularised by Antonia Barber’s children's book The Mousehole Cat, illustrated by Nicola Bayley, which featured Tom and his cat Mowzer saving Christmas. Mowzer’s favourite dinner was, naturally, stargazy pie.
It’s easy to get caught up in the bonfire of consumerism at Christmas, but long after the rush of a new bauble subsides what people retain are the warmth of good company and eating together in peace and security. A reminder to each of us to retain our heads.
This gravestone has been on my mind for some time, its inscription so perplexing and sinister: ‘Nameless - Be sure your sin will find you out.’ It stands at an angle in a tiny Wolds village churchyard not far from my Mum’s, and recently I went to find it.
Though the cemetery at St Andrew’s in Irby-upon-Humber is small, the ‘sinner’s grave’ is difficult to spot. Somewhat sunken, it stands not much more than a foot tall and the epitaph is losing its battle with moss. The wording is taken from the book of Numbers (32:23) in which
Moses restates the principle that misdeeds cannot be hidden from God.
Up close the tragedy becomes obvious: this is a child’s grave.
Easter, Passover and the vernal equinox; these spring festivals are not far away and I’ve been reading about The Three Hares Project, which since 2000 has been documenting a distinctive emblem seen across cultures and down the ages.
Its origins, meaning and sheer breadth of reach are as fascinating as they are mysterious.
The project was set up by three researchers: art historian Sue Andrew, cultural environmentalist Dr Tom Greeves, and film-maker and photographer Chris Chapman, as a non-profit aiming to record and research all known occurrences of the three hares motif.
Lighten the dry Jan blues by visiting the Jarramplas Festival, which takes place in Piornal, in the Spanish region of Extremadura every year on 19-20th January. As well as being a sight to behold it is also BYOT (bring your own turnip).
The focus of events is the costumed ‘cattle rustler’ named el Jarrampla, who wears a cloak of multicoloured rags and is adorned with a great horned mask. This villain, played by a lucky volunteer, runs around the 1,200-strong town banging a little drum while local people
throw turnips at him in an attempt to expel his general bad vibes for another year. Two tonnes of turnips if you want the specifics. Next day’s bruises must be about as colourful as the costume.
Earliest man established the sea to be in mysterious commune with the heavens and beyond our power to influence. Leonardo da Vinci thought that the tides to be the breathing motions of a large beast and tried to calculate the size of such a creature’s lungs.
Human imagination populated the world’s oceans with monstrum marinum.
Some, like the mermaid, are familiar and knowable, while others remain inscrutable and of impossible scale, like the legendary Scylla and Charybdis, the six-headed serpent and the great undersea colossus whose maw formed a whirlpool that could devour a ship whole.
Whether they heal, harbour ghosts or commune with the gods, The Bleeding Tree looks at the trees in our world and in the folklore we create to describe it. I became fascinated with trees that ‘bleed’ whether physical, like the red sap of the El Drago Milenario...
or ‘dragon tree,’ to the more figurative, those that bleed in sorrow, sacrifice or accusation.
Indeed trees can bleed in evidence of crime, as recorded in one of the great New England folk legends collected by the renowned folklorist Charles M. Skinner. Skinner reports on the origin of the Micah Rood apple variety, or ‘Bloody Heart Apple’,
The matter of matter; body disposal is not the only option when there are so many preservation methods for those inclined to live fast and leave a pretty corpse.
One Catholic tradition sought to preserve the physical state for as long as possible. These are the ‘incorruptibles,’ like Bernadette Soubirous, a miller’s daughter from Lourdes whose body has lain unravaged by time in a grotto since her death in 1879.
Catholicism has a strong tradition of reliquary; many pilgrimage traditions were created around body parts and bone fragments of dead saints.