Of martyrs, hens and hangings

Tags

Camino de Santiago, cult of martyrs, martyrs, miracles, pilgrims, relics, Santo domingo de la calzada, strange tales, the cock and the hen

Strange tales from the Camino

The Camino de Frances runs for nearly 500 miles across Spain and takes in some extraordinary sights – not least of which are the churches and cathedrals.  English churches were stripped out of their booty during the reign of Henry VIII – no such thing happened in Spain.  For anyone used to pottering around elegant but largely unadorned English churches those of Spain come as a bit of a culture shock.  God and Gold go hand in hand the extravagant and exuberant altarpieces of many Spanish churches and cathedrals.

But aside from the awe-inspiring bling of the alters, there are also many strange, and sometimes gory, hidden away amongst the treasures.  If you can drag your eyes away from the gold, glitz and glory for long enough you will find some very strange things on the walls of these buildings.

Bota Fumeiro – Santiago cathedral

The cult of martyrdom

The word itself is from the Greek, meaning to witness, and came to be applied to those who suffered torture and death for their Christian faith – although the concept and psychology of martyrdom pre-dated Christianity and existed amongst Jewish and Pagan Peoples as well. It was the Christian Church however, who really ran with the idea of martyrdom and it became an important aspect of the Christian Ethos.  The Catholic Church in particular seems to have made quite a cult of the suffering of Martyrs and viewed them as powerful intercessor between worshipers and their god.

Bones and relics of martyrs quickly became currency, both spiritual and materially, and appeared in churches and religious establishments.  The market for martyrs could be competitive and certainly brought great riches for many religious houses with the faithful flocking to centres of pilgrimage such as Santiago de Compostela, here they could offer gifts to the relics and hope that the saint would look favourably on them.

The bones of a saint

Visceral wounds

Female martyrs are often depicted as beautiful

A Martyr being beheaded

Slaughter of innocents

Admittedly, and no disrespect to Christian’s intended, what struck me most intensely in viewing many of the relics and images of martyred saints that are displayed in Churches and cathedrals along the Way of St James, was the sheer delight in portraying gory and visceral deaths.  Some of the images had an almost macabre humour whilst others seemed almost distasteful in their veneration of human suffering. In the days before sadomasochism had been identified, I can’t help thinking that, whilst pious viewers saw the images as a offering an example of Christian fortitude, there must surely have been many others who viewed these images with something other than their god in mind.

 

Nevertheless, some of the images of martyrdom and miracles have a distinct sense of humour about them.

Persecutor: “A scratch? Your head’s off. Xtn Martyr: No it isn’t. Persecutor: What’s that, then? Xtn Martyr: [after a pause] I’ve had worse. Persecutor: You liar. Xtn Martyr: Come on ya pansy.[1]

The following tale is associated with the Church of Santo Domingo and is both bizarre and humorous.

The Miracle of the Cock and the Hen

During the Camino, I visited the cathedral of Santos Domingo de La Calzada.  Here I was baffled by the presence of a very ornate hen-house situated within the cathedral and inhabited by a rooster and a hen.  Not sure if it was simply that the priest simply had a fondness for fritatta’s (they did seem quite popular along the Camino) I soon found out that it was connected with a very odd tale involving a pious pilgrim, a woman scorned, a resurrection from the dead and some zombie chickens*.

I have come across a few versions of this strange tale, the version below is taken from the website of Santo Domingo cathedral and seems the most comprehensive:

“Legend tells of a German Pilgrim called Hugonell who was walking to Santiago with his parents, when they decided to rest at an inn in Santo Domingo de la Calzada. The owner of the inn´s daughter immediately fell in love with him; however her feelings were not reciprocated, so the girl, angered, placed a silver cup into his luggage and accused the boy of theft. Thieves at that time were punished by hanging, and this was the fate of Hugonell. His parents, saddened by his death continued the pilgrimage, and upon arriving in Santiago de Compostela, began their return journey to visit the grave of their dead son. When they arrived in Santo Domingo however, they found their son still hanging in the gallows but, miraculously alive. Hugonell, excited, said to them: “Santo Domingo brought back me to life, please go to the Mayor´s house and ask him to take me down”. Quickly, the parents arrived at the Mayor´s house and told him of the miracle. The incredulous Mayor, who was preparing to have dinner with friends, responded: “That boy is as alive as these two roast chickens we are about to eat,” and suddenly, the chickens came to life, sprouted feathers and beaks and began to crow, and so, to this day there is a saying about the town which goes: “Santo Domingo of the Way, where the roosters crow after being roasted”.

Hen coup in Santo Domingo Cathedral

Holy Hens

From silver hens…

…to sacred cookies. The legend is popular today as ever.

 *Not strictly true – in this version the chickens are at least allowed to sprout new feathers and beaks – other versions leave the reader imagining bald cooked chickens running zombie like through the town – a truly fowl image *har har har* (sound of tumble weed blowing across the internet).

 References

All images copyright Lenora at http://www.hauntedPalace.co.uk

[1] Adapted from Monty Python’s Holy Grail – Black Knight scene

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_martyrs

http://www.english.catedralsantodomingo.es/santo_domingo.html

The Camino de Santiago – Part One

Tags

Camino de Santiago, Camino Frances, Compostella, Finisterra, Finisterre, Forests, Galicia, Pilgrimage, St James, The Way, Trees, Walking in Spain

The Camino de Santiago

The Conche shell – iconic symbol of the Camino de Santiago

Greetings all!  I have returned from my epic hike across northern Spain, and amongst other posts that I have been nefariously plotting whilst away, over the coming weeks I would also like to share some of my photo’s from my travels.

Basically, for the past six weeks Bonnie and I have been hiking the famous Medieval pilgrimage route the Camino de Santiago – more specifically the Camino Frances. The route runs from St Jean Pied-de-Port in France to Santiago in the West of Spain and runs through the provinces of  Navarra, La Rioja, Burgos, Palencia, Leon, Lugo and La Cornuna (the last two forming the very Celtic region of Galicia).  This particular Camino route (and there are lots of them) is round about 490 miles (790km) and by far the most popular and well sign-posted route to Santiago.

Although historically the Camino is famous as a Catholic pilgrimage route, today walkers of all faiths and no faiths walk the Camino (it has become particularly popular recently following release of the film ‘The Way’, starring Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez).  There is also a growing pagan element to the walk as many of the pilgrims continue on, past Santiago, and make their way to the rugged Costa da Morte and to the village of Fisterra.  Here they burn their shoes on the rocky shores at the end of the world.  It is said that this is an echo of the practices of pre-Christian pilgrims who sought spiritual rebirth at the temple to Ara Solis in Celtic times.

The Camino de Santiago (source: http://www.santiago-compostela.net/)

Rather than begin with the obvious – the religious architecture of the Camino – I prefer to indulge my passion for all things arboreal and begin with the Trees of the Camino de Santiago!

 The Trees of the Camino

(All images copyright Lenora at http://www.hauntedpalace.co.uk)

At the Citadel above St Jean Pied de Port, France.

The citadel, St Jean Pied de Port

 

On the way to Orisson, via Route de Napoleon, heading over the Pyranees

The road to Roncevalles, coming down off the mountains, Spain

The avenue of plane trees of the Espolon in Burgos

Trees and stone shrines on the great wide expanse of the Meseta

The trees and logs had some amazing moss and lichen growth.

 

Spring Blossoms near Hornillos

Heading into the mountains near Rabanal

OK, no trees, but nice colours!

Grove pf beech trees on the way to Molinaseca

Nature reclaiming the land – Castillo de los Templarios

Knitted tree warmers were all the rage in Cacabelos!

Through the fields and Vineyards to Villafranca

O’Cebreiro at dawn, entering the Celtic lands of Spain

Ancient tree at Castano Mill, Galicia

A fallen giant

Early morning in the forest, Galicia

Left hand path or right hand path…?

One of the many shrine trees along The Way.

Dawn in the forests of Galicia

A rustic gate in Galicia, at times Galicia looks more like Britain or Ireland than Spain!

Is that the Grim Reaper!?

Commercially planted Eucalyptus trees (used for the pulp industry) have begun to replace the ancient beech and oak forests in some parts of Galicia.

In some places the old Oak and Beech trees still hold their own against the eucalyptus

Nearing Santiago, the moon over the forest.

 And thats all for now Folks!

Guilty Pleasures: a photographic love affair with trees

Tags

English woodland, Northumberland, photography, scottish borders, studeley royal park, Trees, Woodland

Trees in the Hall Grounds, Wallsend, Oct 2013

I’m not sure why I class this as a guilty pleasure, perhaps it’s because despite the fact that I am often completely enraptured with the trees that I come across, I am woefully ignorant of their species, their folk-lore and their medicinal uses!  I really can’t tell my Beech from my Sycamore, my Ash from my birch tree.  fortunately the trees don’t seem to mind too much and still pose for my pictures.

The other reason that it is a guilty pleasure is because, as anyone who has ever hiked with me will know, I am always being enticed off the beaten track to snap some amazing tree,  then having to scramble to catch up with everyone.

Despite my arboreal ignorance, I believe that trees have a presence, a distinct personality and a deep connection with the universe and that as humans we should respect and protect the trees in our environment.  Although we may not understand their words, if you listen hard you can their song on every whispered breeze.

Here are some of the pictures I have taken over the past few years – mainly in England and Scotland, but also overseas.

Crow Bank, Wallsend, Oct 2013

Near Ripon, Nov 2013

Near Ripon, Nov 2013

Near Ripon, Nov 2013

Studley Royal Park, Nov 2013 (am I just imagining it or does this tree have a slightly phallic bulge?)

Autumn colours, Studley Royal Park, Nov 2013

Twilight in Studley Royal park, Nov 2013

Northumberland, Dec 2011

Blanchland Dec, 2011

Robin with attitude, Winter, Wallington in Northumberland 2012

Keilder, winter 2010

Blanchland, Winter 2010

Holly around an old church Nr Blanchland, Winter 2010

Cedar of Lebanon at Highgate Cemetery, Feb 2010

Silver Birches, Patterdale, Lake District, Feb 2008

Border Abbey’s Way April 2009

Border Abbeys Walk, Eildon Hills in the distance, April 2009

River Tweed, Border Abbey’s Way, April 2009

The Robin Hood ‘Prince of Thieves’ tree, Hadrian’s Wall, 2007

Windblasted tree on Hadrian’s Wall, 2007

The Hares hip bones, Rising Sun Nature Park, Early Summer 2013

Early Summer, 2013

Scottish Borders, July 2013

Bushbury, West Midlands, High Summer 2005

The Vendee Region France, June 2008

Vendee, France, June 2008

Cuba, September 2010

Havana, Cuba, September 2010

Volubilis, Morocco, May 2009

Nile Desert and Trees, Egypt 2009

Nile Trees, Egypt 2009

Dream Tree, Belsay Hall Exhibition, Northumberland

The Greenman, Cragside, Northumberland

If you want to help to protect native woodlands you can find out more about projects in the UK on the Woodland Trust’s website.

Hikes, Hostels and the Old Hag…

Tags

Cumbria, Ghosts, Hauntings, hiking, Kirby Stephen Hostel, nightmares, sleep paralysis, The Old Hag, Wainwrights Coast to Coast

Just want to get this straight here, I’m NOT the hag mentioned in the title (I’ve got a few more years before that happens yet!) ;0)

I want to present to you, a very strange incident that happened to me a couple of years ago.  I’m still not quite sure what to make of it myself.

Anyone who knows me, knows that one of my greatest passions in life is hiking. Me and my hiking buddy, Bonnie, regularly do long distance treks in the UK: West Highland Way, Hadrian’s Wall path, Wainwright’s Coat to Coast….or should that be Wainwright’s Coast to GHOST……

It was in the spring of 2010 that Bonnie and I set out on the 200 mile trek across Britain, from St Bee’s in Cumbria to Robin Hoods Bay in Yorkshire.  We set out when the snow was thick on the ground, wading waist deep through snow at The Honister pass high in the Lake district; we passed through thick fog in the Pennines and we baked on the wide open Edges and Moors of Yorkshire.

Old map from Cumbria History website

It was at Kirby Stephen, about half way along the route,  that I had possibly the most frightening paranormal(?) experience I have ever know…we had walked the 20 or so miles from Shap to Kirby Stephen that day, and below are extracts from my journal which I kept at the time:

“We set off under lowering skies and struck out across a bleak landscape as we left Shap, passing by Chemical Works and Quarries and crossing our first big motorway.  Eventually we reached the moorlands and open fells.   We were soon baffled by our first Moorland and took a few unintended detours!

Looking back across the moors we could see Lakeland in the distance, it is sad that there is nothing coming up quite so dramatic, but not so sad to be leaving behind the steepest inclines and the snow and ice.

More fells and moors lay ahead of us, dun coloured and featureless under the grey skies – bleak but beautiful. We passed the lovely Smardale Bridge and the Grand aqueduct that spans the valley, before finally reaching Kirby Stephen our destination for the day.

We arrived at Kirby Stephen, with aching feet, by 4PM.  The hostel is an old converted Methodist chapel.  We ate dinner in the congregational Hall.  It is very cold and slightly creepy here – still we have an en-suite twin room for only £18 each – not to be sniffed at on this trip!  Pennines and Swaledale Tomorrow!!”

I should add here, that the hostel was beautiful – the congregational hall was all dark wood, with old Pews set up for the dining area, stained glass windows and a carved wooden balcony at one end, and underneath the balcony the kitchen area.  I seem to recall, that there were carved wooden angels tucked away in dark corners of the chapel, ready to catch you unaware!  It was a remarkable place to spend the night, and the hostel warden was very welcoming and gave us the Warden’s apartment to stay in (she did not live-in at the hostel – later I would wonder why).

The following day, i continued my journal:

“Falling asleep exhausted last night, listening to the rain beating on the windows, I had begun to wonder if the hostel was haunted. It had been sort of slowly giving me the creeps all evening.  The first thing that struck a jarring note was the old man.  There were only a few people staying in the hostel – and we know most of them because they are on the Coast to Coast route too.  But an old man was sitting in the shadows under the balcony last night, reading.  I greeted him, he nodded. I was distracted for a moment, when I looked back he was gone, but he hadn’t passed me by and I couldn’t see any other exits.

The warden’s rooms were in a separate part of the building from the dorms were everyone else was.  Apart from two girls we had met on the previous day’s hike who had the room down the hall, we were in a secluded part of the building away from the few other guests.

Last night I had the most terrifying dreams I have ever had, and some part of the experience occurred when I was awake – I am sure. 

The first part was that I felt that there was an evil presence in the en-suite (if it hadn’t been so scary I would have laughed), I went to see what it was.  I felt something pulling at my t-shirt, I ordered it to stop and a voice said quite clearly “Oh he usually brings a rose, and lays it across your teeth”  wierd!!

I then heard a loud banging like someone trying to gain access to the hostel and just as a voice said “Whatever you do, don’t let her in, she mustn’t come in” I woke myself up – I was absolutely bricking it – it felt like there was a really negative energy filling the room and the atmosphere was really oppressive. 

I felt like I didn’t want to move a muscle and I didn’t try,  I was convinced someone or something was trying to get in the room.  I said to Bonnie “Bonnie, lock the door!” because there was no way I was getting out of bed to do it.  I turned to look over to Bonnie’s bed on the other side of the room, I could hear her snoring and she was clearly deeply asleep.  As I looked over to her perhaps the most terrifying thing of all happened – she spoke – in a voice like tombstones. She said: “There is something in here with us.” I spent the rest of the night hiding under the duvet!’

No one else heard any kind of commotion during the night, and Bonnie had no recollection of speaking in her sleep although she did admit to having nightmares of her own that night.

So was the hostel haunted and where does the Old Hag come in to the story?

Well, for me, for a long while the jury was out.  There were logical explanations possible, after all, there was no evidence the old man was a ghost and he might have exited the congregational hall via an unseen exit.  The warden did not live in most likely because she was local, rather than because she was afraid of any supernatural phenomenon.  My dream was so vivid that I probably called out in my sleep before waking up and perhaps this triggered Bonnie’s doom-laden pronouncement.  In addition to this, I haven’t found any other references to this hostel being haunted or strange things happening in it.

At the same time…it was a really intense experience and it felt REAL.

It was then that a third option presented itself.  This came via a comment from  AngryScholar who is a folklorist (and horror aficionado) and has an excellent blog relating to these topics.  In response to a recent post by Miss Jessel he recommended a book on the old Hag tradition: ‘The Terror that Comes in the Night’ by David J Hufford, published by the American Folklore Society.  Being a compulsive purchaser of books I immediately ordered a copy and devoured it in a very short time.

In short, the Old Hag is a tradition common to Newfoundland, and relates to a kind of psychical attack where the victim awakes from sleep feeling either some kind of paralysis or that a heavy weight is pressing down on them preventing movement.  They feel intense fear and the phenomenon is often accompanied by the sound of footsteps approaching or the feeling of a malign presence which sometimes has a visual manifestation.

Those familiar with the traditions also often know of methods to dispel the attack or turn it against the instigator of the experience.  Huffords excellent study takes the phenomenon outside of Newfoundland area  to disprove the cultural source hypothesis – ie if you know about the custom you may have this kind of experience – his work showed that the experience was cross-cultural and did not depend on prior knowledge of the tradition.

Hufford interviewed a large number of people who had had similar experiences but who had no knowledge of the tradition.  In conducting his study he found a number of common features of the experience some of which match the experience that I had.  He estimated that the phenomenon is so common that up to 15% of the population could have had a similar experience but that their willingness to disclose or withhold information relating to it can be determined by the culture they come from – in other words will they be met with ridicule or thought to be suffering from some kind of mental illness?

He considered that some of the experience related to the hypnagogic or hypnapompic state of sleep, hypnagogic is the “period immediately preceeding sleep” while “the time from the termination of measurable sleep to genuine wakefulness is called the ‘hypnopompic’ period” (1) and notes that these phases of sleep were at the time of his writing, relatively unexplored.

After extensive examination of case studies Hufford applied the term ‘Sleep paralysis with hypnagogic hallucinations’ as a close approximation of the Old Hag  phenomenon.

This is a very brief outline of Hufford’s very detailed study, but I think there were some similarities between what I experienced and some of the cases he examined….and who knows – strange things can occur in that twilight state that is not quite sleep and not quite wakefulness.  A place, even in our modern technological world,  where normal rules of reality do not apply and where the hag may still walk by night….

References

Hufford J David, The Terror that Comes in the Night, 1982, University of Pennsylvania Press.

Kirby Stephen Independent Youth Hostel, http://www.kirkbystephenhostel.co.uk/accommodation/