Here's to our horse, and to his right ear,

God send our master a happy new year:

A happy new year as e'er he did see,

With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

 

So the Shortest Day came

and the year died

And everywhere down the centuries of the snow‐white world

Came people singing, dancing,

To drive the dark away.

They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.

And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us ‐ listen!

All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.

And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule! 

[Susan Cooper, 'The Shortest Day']

Happy Martinmas!

A tradition on St. Martin's Eve or Day is to share a goose for dinner. [Wikipedia]

It is the day of Martilmasse,

Cuppes of ale should freelie passe;

What though Wynter has begunne

To push downe the Summer sunne,

To our fire we can betake,

And enjoye the crackling brake,

Never heedinge Wynter's face

On the day of Martilmasse.

Surgam, et circuíbo civitátem: per vicos et pláteas quæram, quem díligit ánima mea: quæsívi illum, et non invéni. Invenérunt me vígiles, qui custódiunt civitátem. Num quem díligit ánima mea, vidístis? Páululum cum pertransíssem eos, invéni, quem díligit ánima mea: ténui eum, nec dimíttam, donec introdúcam illum in domum matris meæ et in cubículum genetrícis meæ. Adjúro vos, fíliæ Jerúsalem, per cápreas cervósque campórum, ne suscitétis neque evigiláre faciátis diléctam, donec ipsa velit. Pone me ut signáculum super cor tuum, ut signáculum super bráchium tuum: quia fortis est ut mors diléctio, dura sicut inférnus æmulátio: lámpades ejus lámpades ignis atque flammárum. Aquæ multæ non potuérunt exstínguere caritátem, nec flúmina óbruent illam: si déderit homo omnem substántiam domus suæ pro dilectióne, quasi nihil despíciet eam.

Non dominábitur.

Arnold Böcklin, Die Toteninsel (1883)

Si autem mórtui sumus cum Christo: crédimus, quia simul étiam vivémus cum Christo: sciéntes, quod Christus resurgens ex mórtuis, jam non móritur, mors illi ultra non dominábitur. 

[Romans 6:8-9]

Now if we be dead with Chriſt, we believe that we ſhall alſo live with him; knowing that Chriſt being raiſed from the dead, dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him. 

[Cranmer, 1662]

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion. 

[Dylan Thomas, 1933]

Then the Lady unbraided one of her long tresses, and cut off three gold hairs, and laid them in Gimli's hand. 'These words shall go with the gift,' she said. 'I do not foretell, for all foretelling is now vain: on the one hand lies darkness, and on the other only hope. But if hope should not fail, the I say to you, Gimli son of Glóin, that your hands shall flow with gold, and yet over you gold shall have no dominion.' 

['Farewell to Lórien']

A Oilibheir Naofa,
Guida Orainn

Deus, qui pro tuenda catholica fide beatum Oliverium, Martyrem tuum atque Pontificem, admirabili spiritus fortitudine imbuere dignatus es: concede nobis, eius intercessione et exemplo; ut ipsius in fide constantiam imitemur, et in periculis patrocinia sentiamus.

Ludwig Passini, 'A church interior with women at the confessional'

A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys

Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys

Cum essem párvulus, loquébar ut párvulus, sapiébam ut párvulus, cogitábam ut párvulus. Quando autem factus sum vir, evacuávi quæ erant párvuli. Vidémus nunc per spéculum in ænígmate: tunc autem fácie ad fáciem. Nunc cognósco ex parte: tunc autem cognóscam, sicut et cógnitus sum. Nunc autem manent fides, spes, cáritas, tria hæc: major autem horum est cáritas.

Sir Edward Burne-Jones, window of St George's Chapel, Christ Church, Oxford

St Cecilia's Tomb, St Wilfrid's Chapel, London Oratory

Remembrance Sunday

Dicit Dóminus: Ego cógito cogitatiónes pacis, et non afflictiónis: invocábitis me, et ego exáudiam vos: et redúcam captivitátem vestram de cunctis locis.

Hallowmas

'non est paenitentiae locus, o vir carissime, nam hodie nihil potest me peturbare! gaude, nam Quidam tandem abiit! etiam Muggles similes tui debent celebrare hunc laetum, laetum diem!'

Shrine of St Frideswide, Christ Church, Oxford

Suddenly, everyone's going on pilgrimages.

Just as the Latin Mass Society was winding up its annual pilgrimage to Walsingham (see here and here - and trust me, compared to some walks it was pretty normal), The Daily Telegraph was puffing a (reconstructed, as it happens) walking pilgrimage route for St Cedd in Essex. (The author of the article himself has a new book out*, which looks interesting, though there's also a link to the website of the British Pilgrimage Trust.)

And not wishing to be, er, left behind, my own alma mater has got in on the act. Apparently there's now a St Frideswide pilgrimage "from Oxford to Reading". That in and of itself sounds weird of course, because she's buried in Oxford. But in fact the route connects up to the Camino Inglés, which of course ends up beyond the mountains and across the sea... in the Field of Stars.

*The Spectator reviewed it back in March. Apparently he mentions these nutters at Wayland's Smithy. (It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door...)

JMW Turner, 'Canterbury Gate, Christ Church' [H/T: Andrew Cusack]

'More things are wrought by prayer / Than this world dreams of'

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then in the face of the whole room knelt down to pray. Not five words could he say - the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in the room - what were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican, 'God, be merciful to me a sinner!' He repeated them over and over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world.

[Tom Brown's School Days (1857)]

"Gentlemen, " said Sir Henry presently, in his deep voice, "we are going on about as strange a journey as men can make in this world. It is very doubtful if we can succeed in it. But we are three men who will stand together for good or for evil to the last. And now before we start let us for a moment pray to the Power who shapes the destinies of men, and who ages since has marked out our paths, that it may please Him to direct our steps in accordance with His will."

Taking off his hat, for the space of a minute or so, he covered his face with his hands, and Good and I did likewise.

I do not say that I am first-rate praying man, few hunters are, and as for Sir Henry I never heard him speak like that before, and only once since, though deep down in his heart I believe that he is very religious. Good too is pious, though apt to swear. Anyhow I do not remember, excepting on one single occasion, ever putting in a better prayer in my life than I did during that minute, and somehow I felt happier for it. Our future was so completely unknown, and I think the unknown and the awful always bring a man nearer to his Maker.

[King Solomon's Mines (1885)]

'These are Daeron's Runes, such as were used of old in Moria,' said Gandalf. 'Here is written in the tongues of Men and Dwarves:

BALIN SON OF FUNDIN

LORD OF MORIA.'

'He is dead then,' said Frodo. 'I feared it was so.' Gimli cast his hood over his face. 

[The Lord of the Rings (1953)]

And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,

And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross,

The cold queen of England is looking in the glass;

The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass[.]

Prince Philip on his part in the Assisi Scandal

He who eats goose on Michaelmas day;
Shan’t money lack or debts pay.

'After all, a weed is just a plant in a place you don't want it to be.' 

[Miss Marple]

Ah, you should see Cynddylan on a tractor.

Gone the old look that yoked him to the soil;

He is a new man now, part of the machine,

His nerves of metal, and his blood oil.

The clutch curses, but the gears obey

His least bidding, and lo, he’s away

Out of the farmyard, scattering hens.

Riding to work now as a great man should,

He is the knight at arms breaking the fields’

Mirror of silence, emptying the wood

Of foxes and squirrels and bright jays.

The sun comes over the tall trees

Kindling all the hedges, but not for him

Who runs his engine on a different fuel.

And all the birds are singing, bills wide in vain,

As Cynddylan passes proudly up the lane.

Free fruit!

(Feeling like a morning's work well done!)

'Yew that is old in churchyard-mould...'

— Oliver McCarthy (@OTGMcCarthy1979) July 22, 2024

Edward Burne-Jones, The Merciful Knight (1863)

She turns up in the most unexpected places!

Our Lady of the Wolves (aka Our Lady of the Thunder Candle, the Polish version of Candlemas) appears on the arms of the Metropolitan Borough of Westminster. pic.twitter.com/4OYtBF2btg

— Faith and Fatherland (@Faith_and_Land) July 4, 2024

Statue of St. Etheldreda and relic casket containing her incorrupt hand

St Etheldreda’s Church, Ely Place, London

Empire Day

I. With voice and solemn music sing,

Loud let the pealing trumpets ring!

To-day our hands consolidate

The Empire of a thousand years,

Delusive hopes, distracting fears,

Have passed and left her great.

For Britain, Britain, we our voices raise,

Uplift your voices all, worthy is she of praise!

II. Our England at the call of Fate

Left her lone islets in the sea.

Donned her Imperial robe and state,

Took the sole sceptre of the Free!

'Mid clang of arms her Empire rose,

Embattled rolls her story down,

By shattered fleet, and flaming town,

Victorious over all her foes,

Soldier and sailor side by side,

Her strong sons bravely dared and died!

Close on their steps her dauntless toilers went,

O'er unknown sea and pathless continent,

And left, when years of strife were done

The proudest realm beneath the sun.

Praise them and Her, your grateful voices raise,

Mother of Freedom! worthy art thou of praise!

III. No more we seek our realm's increase

By savage war, but white-winged peace,

To-day we seek to bind in one,

Till all our England's work be done.

Through wider knowledge closer grown,

As each fair sister by the rest is known,

And mutual Commerce, mighty to efface

The envious bars of Time and Place,

Our great world Empire's ev'ry part,

And through a common speech expressed――

From North to South, from East to West,

Deep pulsing from a common heart,

An universal Britain strong

To 'stablish right and beat down wrong!

Let this thing be - who shall our realm divide?

We stand, to sink or triumph side by side!

IV. To-day we would make free

The millions of their glorious heritage.

Here, Labour crowds in hopeless misery;

There, is unbounded work and ready wage.

The salt breeze calling, stirs our Northern blood,

Lead we the toilers to their certain goal;

Guide we their feet to where

Is spread, for those who dare,

A happier Britain ’neath an ampler air.

V. First lady of our English race,

'Tis well that with thy Jubilee,

This glorious dream begins to be:

This thy lost consort would, this would thy son,

Who had seen all thine Empire face to face,

And fain would leave it one.

Oh, may the Hand which rules our Fate,

Keep this our Britain great!

We cannot tell, we can but pray

Heaven's blessing on our work today.

Rise palace fair, where all may see

This proud embodied unity,

For Britain and Queen one voice we raise,

Laud them, rejoice, peal forth,

worthy are they of praise!

Yo have you *seen* England rn? pic.twitter.com/8M5CX8F7z7

— Ancient Earthling (@Dust_Foot) May 12, 2024

Coronation Day

O singular happiness of St John to have stood under the Cross of Christ, so near His divine person, when the other disciples had all forsaken Him! O extraordinary privilege, to have suffered Martyrdom in the person of Jesus and been eye-witness of all He did or endured and of all that happened to Him, in that great sacrifice and mystery. Here he drank of his cup; this was truly a Martyrdom and our Saviour exempted all those who had assisted at the Martyrdom of His Cross, from suffering death by the hands of persecutors. St John, nevertheless, received also the crown of this second Martyrdom, to which the sacrifice of his will, was not wanting but only the execution.

[Tertullian, quoted in Guéranger]

Quia si quis auditor est verbi et non factor, hic conparabitur viro consideranti vultum nativitatis suae in speculo. Consideravit enim se et abiit et statim oblitus est qualis fuerit.

Post dies octo

Caravaggio, 'The Incredulity of Saint Thomas'

'Respóndit Thomas et dixit ei: Dóminus meus et Deus meus.'

'Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.'

— Oliver McCarthy (@OTGMcCarthy1979) April 5, 2024

Fools! For I also had my hour;

One far fierce hour and sweet:

There was a shout about my ears,

And palms before my feet.

 

Amen, amen dico vobis, nisi granum frumenti cadens in terram, mortuum fuerit, ipsum solum manet: si autem mortuum fuerit, multum fructum affert. 

[St John 12:24-5]

'It is ever so with the things that Men begin: there is a frost in Spring, or a blight in Summer, and they fail of their promise.' 

'Yet seldom do they fail of their seeds,' said Legolas. 'And that will lie in the dust and rot to spring up again in times and places unlooked-for. The deeds of Men will outlast us, Gimli.' 

'And yet come to naught in the end but might-have-beens, I guess,' said the Dwarf. 

'To that the Elves know not the answer,' said Legolas. 

['The Last Debate']

Dan Wilson, 'Carrying Us Home'

O felicem virum, beatum Ioseph, cui datum est Deum, quem multi reges voluerunt videre et non viderunt, audire et non audierunt, non solum videre et audire, sed portare, deosculari, vestire et custodire!

This evening I popped into my (work) local to celebrate the only King of England to receive the palm of martyrdom - with a swift half of mead!

St George Hare, The Victory of Faith (1891)

Pully Lug Day

Philip lived in an atmosphere of sunshine and gladness which brightened all who came near him. " When I met him in the street," says one, "he would pat my cheek and say, ' Well, how is Don Pellegrino ?' and leave me so full of joy that I could not tell which way I was going." Others said that when he playfully pulled their hair or their ears, their hearts would bound with joy. 

[St Philip Neri]

Ash Wednesday

Diffugere nives, redeunt iam gramina campis
Arboribusque comae;
Mutat terra vices et decrescentia ripas
Flumina praetereunt;

Gratia cum Nymphis geminisque sororibus audet
Ducere nuda choros.
Immortalia ne speres, monet annus et almum
Quae rapit hora diem.

Frigora mitescunt Zephyris, ver proterit aestas
Interitura, simul
Pomifer autumnus fruges effuderit, et mox
Bruma recurrit iners.

Damna tamen celeres reparant caelestia lunae;
Nos ubi decidimus,
Quo pius Aeneas, quo dives Tullus et Ancus,
Pulvis et umbra sumus.

Quis scit an adiciant hodiernae crastina summae
Tempora di superi?
Cuncta manus avidas fugient heredis, amico
Quae dederis animo.

Cum semel occideris et de te splendida Minos
Fecerit arbitria,
Non, Torquate, genus, non te facundia, non te
Restituet pietas;

Infernis neque enim tenebris Diana pudicum
Liberat Hippolytum,
Nec Lethaea valet Theseus abrumpere caro
Vincula Pirithoo.

'The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws
And grasses in the mead renew their birth,
The river to the river-bed withdraws,
And altered is the fashion of the earth.

'The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear
And unapparelled in the woodland play.
The swift hour and the brief prime of the year
Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.

'Thaw follows frost; hard on the heel of spring
Treads summer sure to die, for hard on hers
Comes autumn with his apples scattering;
Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.

'But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,
Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.

'Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add
The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?
Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had
The fingers of no heir will ever hold.

'When thou descendest once the shades among,
The stern assize and equal judgment o'er,
Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,
No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.

'Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,
Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;
And Theseus leaves Pirithous in the chain
The love of comrades cannot take away.'

[Horace, Odes IV, vii (trans. A E Housman)]

'Pulvis et umbra sumus We are dust and shadows' is an oddly Thomistic note for the western world's favourite poet to strike in what is possibly his most striking poem. It always seems particularly appropriate though at this time of year. The picture, of course, is Poussin's superbly mysterious 'A Dance to the Music of Time'.

Memento homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris

Egg Saturday, Collop Monday, "Fat" Tuesday, and...

St. John of Matha founded the Trinitarians to ransom captives and support the Crusades