The store cupboards are getting denuded of the fruits, nuts, preserves, pickles, salted and dried foods saved from the summer and autumnal abundance. Of course, this is alleviated by the reduced consumption of the Lenten fast. (I’m continuing my lenten practice of giving up, giving up things for Lent). But nettles are budding. I take a regular cup of nettle tea. Normally, provided by the excellent Cowan’s tea emporium in the Covered Market in Oxford. But I’m running out and not due to visit Oxford for a month or so. So Charles Kightley in his Perpetual Almanac tells me that young stinging nettles are appearing. So, I will watch this YouTube video and collect my own young, juicy nettles.
YouTube Video on making Nettle Tea
Nettle Beer
Or better still, change up the tea for a nettle beer:
Take a gallon measure of freshly gathered young nettles washed well dried and well packed down. Boil them in a gallon of water for at least a quarter of an hour. Then strain them, press them and put the juice in an earthenware pot with a pound of brown sugar and the juice and grated skin of a lemon. Stir well, and before it grows cool put in an ounce of yeast dissolved in some of the liquid. Cover with a cloth and leave in a warm place for four or five days and strain again and bottle it, stopping the bottles well. It’ll be ready after a week, but better if left longer.
Nettle: Detecting Virgins and Flagellation
A more sinister use is provided by William Coles who gives a method of detecting virginity.
‘Nettle tops are usually boiled in pottage in the Springtime, to consume the Phlegmatic superfluities in the body of man, that the coldness and moistness of the winter have left behind. And it is said that if the juice of the roots of nettles be mixed with ale and beer, and given to one that suspected to have lost her maidenhood, if it remain with her, she is a maid, But if she’s spews forth, she is not.‘
William Cole’s Adam in Eden 1657.
William Camden reported that Roman soldiers used nettles to heat up their legs in the cold of a British winter. (from Mrs Greaves’ ‘A Modern Herbal). Perhaps, I should have sent that idea to PM Keir Starmer? He might have suggested the method to Senior Citizens to alleviate the loss of their Winter Fuel Allowance?
In the early modern period nettles were added to horse feed to make their coats shine. It was used as a hair tonic for humans. Nettle Beer was brewed for old people against ‘gouty and rheumatic pains’. Flogging with nettles was a cure for rheumatism and the loss of muscle power!
Nettle Fabrics
The 18th century poet Thomas Campbell is quoted on the virtues of nettles:
“I have slept in nettle sheets, and I have dined off a nettle tablecloth. The young and tender nettle is an excellent potherb. The stalks of the old nettle are as good as flax for making cloth. I have heard my mother say that she thought nettle cloth more durable than any other linen.”
In 2012, a Danish Bronze Age Burial was found to be dressed in a shroud made of Nettle. Strangely, the nettle was not local, perhaps being made in Austria where other objects in the rich burial came from. However, the person was thought to be Scandinavian. For more have a look at this article on www.nbcnews.com.
In the Irong Age, also in Denmakr, Huldremose Woman was found buried in a bog. She had a severed arm and was buried in elaborate sheep and goat skin clothes, but underneath:
‘she wore a white inner garment made from plant fibres that reached from the shoulders to below the knees. The type of plant fiber is unclear but other evidence from the time period suggests that it could have been made of nettle.’
Greaves tells us that the German and Austrians had a shortage of cotton during the blockade of World War 1. They turned to nettles to replace cotton production believing it to be the only effective substitute. It was also substituted for sugar, starch, protein, paper and ethyl alcohol.
YouTube Video on making fabric from nettles
Nettle Pudding
Pepys ate Nettle Pudding in February 1661 and pronounced it ‘very good’. Here is more on Nettles in history AND a recipe for Nettle Pudding! I can see I’m going to have to get out there and carefully pick myself some nettles! ( For Folklore of Nettles look here).
St Chad’s Church, Hackney. Statue of Bishop (possibly St Chad?!) Photo K Flude
St Chad
Today, is the Feast Day of St Chad who died on 2nd March 672. St Chad’s Church, Hackney is 400 yards from my house. It is a massive late 19th Century Church. Grade 1 listed built by James Brooks in 1869 in ‘his austere and muscular red-brick Gothic.’
photo of St Chad’s Church Haggerston, London. Photo K FludeSt Chad’s Vicarage, 1870 St Chad’s Church, Hackney. Photo K. Flude
Chad was possibly of Celtic origins but associated with the Anglian nobility in Northumberland. He was a pupil of St Aidan who set up the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. He spent time in Ireland, then became an Abbot, and then Bishop to the Northumbrians at York, and to the Mercians at Lichfield. His brother was St Cedd, who was important in early Christian Essex and Yorkshire.
Chad was very humble, refusing to ride around his diocese, preferring to walk, Whenever there was a violent storm, he would prostrate himself to pray to save his people. The weather, he believed, was one of the ways God communicated with his people. This might reflect his Celtic origins. Chad is the patron saint of medicinal springs according to one source. St. Chad’s Day (2 March) is said to be the best time to sow broad beans in England. You see a humble man.
March & Pisces
From the zodiac from kalendar of shepherds
Roman Weeks & (Months, hours, minutes and 24/7, 60/360)
I have been discussing the way the Roman Calendar used to work. Now it is our turn to look at the week. A week is a division of a month.
Oxford Languages says the:
Old English mōnath, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch maand and German Monat, also to Moon.
It derives from the Moon, and its length is roughly the length the moon takes to complete its cycle. So the obvious division of the month is into the phases of the Moon. The early Romans chose to keep the lunar associations with their division of the month. Their month is divided according to the Moon’s phases into the Kalends, the Nones and the Ides, as I describe in my Ides of March post here.
But keeping the phases of the moon coordinated with the movements of the sun as well as of the moon, is very difficult to do without very complicated arrangements.
Following Julius Caesar’s successful calendar reforms, Constantine the Great wanted to make his own contribution to the rationalisation of the calendar.
So, he got rid of the moon based Kalends, Ides and Nones, and established the week as the main subdivision of the month.
To please the Christians, he swopped the day of leisure from old man Saturn’s Day to the Son of God’s Day Sunday. This is the day Jesus ascended to heaven, but it was also the day for Mithras and the Unconquered Sun, so keeping some pagans happy. He then established the 7 day week. 7 was a sacred number and the number of the ‘planets’ in the Solar System (5 planets plus the sun and moon).
In Britain, we clung to some of our pagan names for the weeks. So Saturday, Sunday and Monday are Roman in origin while Tuesday – Friday are Anglo Saxon, named after the deities: Tiv, Woden,Thor, and Freya.
The Latin origins of the days of the week are obvious in the Romance languages, French, Spanish and Italian. Lundi from the moon, Mardi from Mars, Mecredi from Mercury, Jeudi from Jupiter, and Vendredi from Venus. Samedi came from Saturn. Dimanche from dies Dominica which means the lord’s day.
The order of the days comes from their position in the sky. Not in their position around the Sun but their position in the zodiac. Babylon created the scheme of a division of the sky into 24 hour long sections, a god presided over each division. It is too complicated to explain but there were 7 deities and 24 divisions, so the deities rotated and did more than one shift. Babylon used the numerical base of 60. So we have 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour, 360 degrees in a circumference.
Other societies ignored hours until we had clocks to measure them. Anglo Saxons divided days by tides; morningtide, eventide and nighttide
As I have mentioned before, prophecy often sees a connection between the yearly calendar and future events. For example, if it rains on the fourth day of the twelve days of Christmas then it will rain during the fourth month (they say). The Kalendar of Shepherds illustrates this method giving a comparison between the ages of man and the months of the year. Twelve months in a year, Twelve ages of man in six year blocks. So March represents ages twelve to eighteen, as it says this is the ‘time to learn doctrine and science’.
Kalendar of Shepherds (translation from French 15th Century original)
First written in March 2023 revised on 2nd March 2024, St Chad added 2025
This post commemorates the death of John Evelyn. It should have been published yesterday, but I had to publish my post on Fat Thursday. Being a moveable feast, it moved to February 27th this year. You will find more about Evelyn below. But first, I must report back on my success or failure of the Lardy Cake I cooked to celebrate Gioverdi Grasso.
lardy cake being madeLady Cake overcooked!Slice of Lardy Cake
Ok, so my first error was to forget to put the sugar in! Secondly, I was distracted so did not put the timer on, so it was a little overcooked, but not disastrously. I also used Wholemeal flour rather than Strong White flour, which Paul Hollywood suggested. I’ve had about 4 slices, last night and this morning. Verdict: Quite Good. But buy it from a shop next time. Don’t apply to appear on Bake-off. Its ok, if you sprinkle a little sugar on. Next slice I might try some jam. It is more like a fruit bread than a lardy cake. I have now washed the utensils 4 times, and they are still covered in lard! But at least it’s less fat ingested.
Back to John Evelyn
27th February, 1661. Ash Wednesday. Preached before the King the Bishop of London (Dr. Sheldon) on Matthew xviii. 25, concerning charity and forgiveness.
John Evelyn is, with Pepys and Wren, one of the great figures of 17th Century London. Unlike Pepys he was an avowed Royalist who hated Oliver Cromwell and all he stood for. He went into exile with his King and gives a great description of Paris (see below). Dr Sheldon, the Bishop of London mentioned above, went on to become Archbishop of Canterbury. He was a friend of Wren’s Father, and commissioned Wren to build the Sheldonian Theatre, in Oxford.
Like Pepys, John Evelyn was a diarist and a writer. And they, like Wren, were alumni of the Royal Society, one of the great scientific societies. John Evelyn was a founding fellow. It was innovative in that it employed an experimenter. He was Robert Hooke – one of the great early Scientists, who also worked with Wren rebuilding London after the Great Fire. The Royal Society encouraged scientists to experiment, write up, and submit their theories to for peer review. This is the foundation of Western Science, and a bedrock of the Enlightenment.
Frontispiece of ‘the History of the Royal-Society of London by Thomas Sprat. John Evelyn was a founder member
Evelyn the Writer.
Evelyn has a place in my history because, in the 1980’s I worked. with Paul Herbert, on a project to create an interactive history of London. It was financed by Warner Brothers, and in cooperation with the short-lived ‘BBC Interactive TV Unit’. One part of it was a Literary Tour of London. And this is where I came across John Evelyn using several of the quotations on this page.
Evelyn was a prolific traveller and a polymath. He wrote on the need to improve London’s architecture and air in Fumifugium (or The Inconveniencie of the Aer and Smoak of London Dissipated).
Here is an extract from his Furmifugium.
‘That this Glorious and Antient City, which from Wood might be rendred Brick, and (like another Rome) from Brick made Stone and Marble; which commands the Proud Ocean to the Indies, and reaches to the farthest Antipodes, should wrap her stately head in Clowds of Smoake and Sulphur, so full of Stink and Darknesse, I deplore with just Indignation.
That the Buildings should be compos’d of such a Congestion of mishapen and extravagant Houses; That the Streets should be so narrow and incommodious in the very Center, and busiest places of Intercourse: That there should be so ill and uneasie a form of Paving under foot, so troublesome and malicious a disposure of the Spouts and Gutters overhead, are particulars worthy of Reproof and Reformation; because it is hereby rendred a Labyrinth in its principal passages, and a continual Wet-day after the Storm is over. ‘
And he was an expert on trees. Author of: Sylva, or A Discourse of Forest-Trees (1664). He lived at Sayes Court in Depford near Greenwich, which he ill-advisedly rented to Peter the Great of Russia. Letting to Peter was a lot-like inviting a 1960s Rock Band to trash your mansion.
John Evelyn the Exile
Here is a taste of Evelyn’s time as an Exile. It is a short extract from a long entry on the splendid Palaces in and around Paris.
27th February, 1644. Accompanied with some English gentlemen, we took horse to see St. Germains-en-Laye, a stately country house of the King, some five leagues from Paris. By the way, we alighted at St. Cloud, where, on an eminence near the river, the Archbishop of Paris has a garden, for the house is not very considerable, rarely watered and furnished with fountains, statues,[and groves; the walks are very fair; the fountain of Laocoon is in a large square pool, throwing the water near forty feet high, and having about it a multitude of statues and basins, and is a surprising object. But nothing is more esteemed than the cascade falling from the great steps into the lowest and longest walk from the Mount Parnassus, which consists of a grotto, or shell-house, on the summit of the hill, wherein are divers waterworks and contrivances to wet the spectators; this is covered with a fair cupola, the walls painted with the Muses, and statues placed thick about it, whereof some are antique and good. In the upper walks are two perspectives, seeming to enlarge the alleys, and in this garden are many other ingenious contrivances.
When Charles II was restored to the throne in 1660, this was Evelyn’s reaction:
May 29th 1660:
This day came in his Majestie Charles the 2d to London after a sad, and long exile… this was also his birthday, and with a Triumph of above 20,000 horse and foote, brandishing their swords and shouting with unexpressable joy; the wayes strawed with flowers, the bells ringing, the streets hung with Tapisry, fountains running with wine: ‘
‘The mayor, Aldermen, all the companies in their liveries, chaines of gold, banners, Lords and nobles, cloth of Silver, gold and velvet every body clad in, the windows and balconies all set with Ladys, Trumpetes, Musik, and myriads of people … All this without one drop of bloud …it was the Lords doing…
Snowdrop, Crocus, Violet and Silver Birch circle in Haggerston Park. (Photo Kevin Flude, 2022)
Ovid’s Metamorphoses tells the story of Crocus and Smilax This poem is one of the most famous in the world, written in about 6 AD. It influenced Dante, Bocaccio, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Keats, Bernard Shaw, and me. It was translated anew by Seamus Hughes.
The mechanicals in ‘The Midsummers Night Dream’ perform Ovid’s story of Pyramus and Thisbe, Titian painted Diana and Actaeon. Shaw wrote about Pygmalion, and we all know the story of Arachne. Claiming to be better than Athene at weaving and then being turned into a spider.
The poem is about love, beauty, change, arrogance and is largely an Arcadian/rural poem. This is a contrast to Ovid’s ‘Art of Love’ which I use for illustrations of life in a Roman town. The stories are all about metamorphoses, mostly changes happening because of love. But it is also an epic as it tells the classical story of the universe from creation to Julius Caesar.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses and the Crocus
Ovid tells us ‘Crocus and his beloved Smilax were changed into tiny flowers.’ But he chooses to give us no more details. So we have to look elsewhere. There are various versions. In the first, Crocus is a handsome mortal youth, beloved of the God Hermes (Mercury). They are playing with a discus which hits Crocus on the head and kills him. Hermes, distraught, turns the youth into a beautiful flower. Three drops of his blood form the stigma of the flower. In another, love hits Crocus and the nymph Smilax, and they are rewarded by immortality as a flower. One tale has Smilax turned into the Bindweed.
Morning Glory or Field Bindweed photo Leslie Saunders unsplash
Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Bindweed
It turns out that Smilax means ‘bindweed’ in Latin. Bindweed is from the Convolvulus family, and I have grown one very successfully in a pot for many years. But they have long roots. According to the RHS ‘Bindweed‘ refers to two similar trumpet-flowered weeds. Both of which twine around other plant stems, smothering them in the process. They are difficult to remove.’ This, could suggest that Smilax is either punished for spurning Crocus, or that she smothered him with love. Medically, Mrs Grieve’s Modern Herbal says all the bindweeds have strong purgative virtues, perhaps another insight into her pyschology?
The Metamorphosis of Data and the correct use of the plural
Apparently, in the UK some say crocuses and others use the correct Latin plural, croci. On an earlier version of this post I used the incorrect plural crocii.
On the subject of Roman plurals, an earth-shattering decision was made by the Financial Times editorial department. Last year they updated their style guide to make the plural word data (datum is the singular form) metamorphise into the singular form.
So it is now wrong to say ‘data are’ but right to say ‘data is’. For example, it was correct to say: ‘the data are showing us that 63% of British speakers use crocuses as the plural’ but now, it is better to write ‘the data is showing us that 37% of British people prefer the correct Latin form of croci’.
Violets and crocuses are coming out. So far, in 2025 I have seen just one flowering in the local park. The crocus represents many things, but because they often come out for St Valentine’s Day, they are associated with Love. White croci usually represented truth, innocence, and purity. The purple variety imply success, pride and dignity. The yellow type is joy.’ according to www.icysedgwick.com/, which gives a fairly comprehensive look at the Crocus.
Photo Mohammad Amiri from unsplash. Notice the crimson stigma and styles, called threads, Crocus is one of the characters in Ovid’s Metamorphoses
Crocus & Saffron
The autumn-flowering perennial plant Crocus sativus, is the one whose stigma gives us saffron. This was spread across Europe by the Romans. They used it for medicine, as a dye, and a perfume. It was much sought after as a protection against the plague. It was extensively grown in the UK. Saffron Walden was a particularly important production area in the 16th and 17th Centuries.
Saffron in London
It was grown in the Bishop of Ely’s beautiful Gardens in the area remembered by the London street name: Saffron Hill. It is home to the fictional Scrooge. This area became the London home of Christopher Hatton, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth 1. For more on Christopher Hatton see my post on nicknames Queen Elizabeth I gave to her favourites). His garden was on the west bank of the River Fleet, in London EC1, in the area now know as Hatton Garden.
I found out more about Saffron from listening to BBC Radio 4’s Gardener’s Question time and James Wong.
The place-name Croydon (on the outskirts of London), means Crocus Valley. a place where Saffron was grown. The Saffron crops in Britain failed eventually because of the cost of harvesting, and it became cheaper to import it. It is now grown in Spain, Iran and India amongst other places. But attempts over the last 5 years have been made to reintroduce it, This is happening in Norfolk, Suffolk, Kent and Sussex – the hot and dry counties. It likes a South facing aspect, and needs to be protected from squirrels and sparrows who love it.
Saffron Photo by Vera De on Unsplash Viola odorata CC BY-SA 2.5 Wikipedia
Violets
Violets have been used as cosmetics by the Celts; to moderate anger by the Athenians, for insomnia by the Iranians and loved by all because of their beauty and fragrance. They have been symbols of death for the young, and used as garlands, nosegays posies which Gerard says are ‘delightful’.
For more on Ovid use the search facility (click on menu) or read my post here.
The Independent January 2021 The Raven the Palladium of Britain
The Raven – the Palladium of Britain
Corvus corax is hatching. An early nesting bird, the Raven is the biggest of the Corvids. They were pushed to the west and north by farmers and game keepers but are making a comeback. They are finding towns convenient for their scavenging habits. So they, again, cover most of the UK except the eastern areas.
Their habits, and their black plumage has made them harbingers of death. In poetry, Ravens glut on blood like the warriors whose emblem they are. Here is a very famous quotation from Y Gododdin, a medieval poem but thought to derive from a poem by the great poet Aneirin from the 7th Century.
‘He glutted black ravens on the rampart of the stronghold, though he was no Arthur.’
This is one of the much argued-about references to King Arthur in the ‘Was he a real person’ argument. The point being, it doesn’t make sense if there wasn’t an Arthur. The story at the Tower of London is that the Ravens kept in the Tower, with clipped wings, keep Britain safe from Invasion.
A Palladium is something that keeps a city or country safe, They are named after a wooden statue of Pallas Athene, which protected Troy. Perceiving this, Odysseus and Diomedes stole the Palladium from Troy shortly before the Trojan Horse episode. The palladium then went to Italy (I’m guessing with Diomedes who is said to have founded several cities in Italy), and ended up in Rome.
The Romans claimed to be descendants of Trojan exiles led by Aeneas. So it was back with its rightful owners. It protected Rome until it was transferred to the new Roman capital at Constantinople, and then disappeared, presumably allowing the Ottoman Turks to conquer the City of Caesar.
Bran’s Head – the original Palladium of Britain?
The Raven was also the symbol of the God-King Bran. Bran was one of the legendary Kings of Britain. His sister, Branwen, was married to the King of Ireland. To cut a long story short, Branwen was exiled by her Irish husband to the scullery. She trained a starling to smuggle a message to her brother, to tell of her abuse.
So Bran took an army over the Irish Sea to restore her to her rightful state. But the ships were becalmed. Mighty Bran blew the boats across the sea – he was that much a hero.
Bran was mortality wounded in the battle that followed. This was a problem because he had given away his cauldron of immortality. He gave it to the Irish King in recompense for the insults given to the Irish by Bran’s brother, who hated anyone not British.
So, the dying Bran, told his companions to cut off his own head and take it back to the White Hill in London. His head was as good a companion on the way back as it was on the way out, and the journey home took 90 years.
At last, they got to London where he told his men to bury his head on the White Hill. As long as it stays here, he said, Britain would be safe from foreign invasion.
This was one of the Three Fortunate Concealments and is found in ‘the Triads of the Island of Britain.’
By Sonny Mauricio from Unsplash
But many years later, King Arthur saw no need for anybody or anything other than himself to protect the realm. So he had the head dug up. Calamity followed in the shapes of Sir Lancelot and Mordred which led to the end of the golden age of Camelot and conquest of Britain by the Saxons.This was one of the Three Unfortunate Disclosures.
The White Hill is said to be Tower Hill with its summit at Trinity Gardens, although Primrose Hill is sometimes offered as an alternative. If we want a rational explanation for the story, there is evidence that Celtic cultures venerated the skull, and palladiums play a part in Celtic Tales.
So what was Arthur doing destroying the palladium that kept Britain safe? Vanity is the answer the story gives. But, perhaps, it’s a memory of Christian rites taking over from pagan rituals. God, Arthur might have thought, would prefer to protect his people himself rather than Christians having to rely on a pagan cult object.
The story of Bran’s head is inevitably linked to the Ravens in the Tower who, it is still said, keep us safe from invasion. As you can see from the photo are the top we still get in a tiz when one goes missing.
Sadly, and I am probably sadder about this than most others, the link between the Tower, Bran and the Ravens cannot be substantiated. Geoffrey Parnell, who is a friend of mine, told me that while working at the Tower of London he searched the records assiduously for the story of the ravens. He found no evidence of the Raven myth & the Tower before the 19th Century and concluded that it was most likely a Victorian invention.
The Welsh Triads give a total of three palladiums for Britain.
The Head of Bran the Blessed, son of Llyr, which was concealed in the White Hill in London, with its face towards France. And as long as it was in the position in which it was put there, no Saxon Oppression would ever come to this Island; The second Fortunate Concealment: the Dragons in Dinas Emrys, which llud son of Beli concealed; And the third: the Bones of Gwerthefyr the Blessed, in the Chief Ports of this Island. And as long as they remained in that concealment, no Saxon Oppression would ever come to this Island.
All good but then came the three unfortunate disclosures:
And there were the Three Unfortunate Disclosures when these were disclosed. And Gwrtheyrn the Thin disclosed the bones of Gwerthefyr the Blessed for the love of a woman: that was Ronnwen the pagan woman; And it was he who disclosed the Dragons; And Arthur disclosed the head of Bran the Blessed from the White Hill, because it did not seem right to him that this Island should be defended by the strength of anyone, but by his own.
Gwrtheyrn is Vortigen, the leader of the Britons after the fall of the Roman Empire in Britain, one or two leaders before Arthur. Vortigern, which means something like strong leader in Welsh was a real person in so far as he, unlike Arthur, is mentioned by Gildas a near contemporary source.
The story of the dragons is supposedly from the pre-roman Iron Age. Every May Day, they made a terrible noise, causing miscarriages and other misfortunes. So, King Ludd, whom legends says gave his name to London (Ludd’s Dun or Ludd’s walled City), drugged the dragons. He had them buried in a cavern at Dinas Emrys in Eryri (Snowdonia). The Dragons represented the Britons and the Saxons.
Hundreds of years later, after the Romans have come and gone. Vortigern is trying to build a castle in Eryri at Dinas Emrys. But the walls keep falling down. You need the blood of a boy born not of man, his necromancers say. They find a boy called Ambrosius aka Merlin whose mother has lain with an incubus. Merlin accuses the necromancers of ignorance and explains the wall collapse is caused by two dragons. They let the dragons go. The walls now stand undisturbed. But the Welsh Red Dragon and the Saxon White Dragon can not be at peace, and the Britons are defeated by the Saxons.
Gwerthefyr is Vortimer, the son of Vortigern, who was better than his dad and was fighting to keep the Saxons out, but his father betrayed his own people for the lust of Rowena the daughter of Hengist, the Saxon.
After Vortimer’s death his bones were buried at the chief ports on the South Coast and they kept the country safe. But they were moved to Billingsgate. This allowed the Saxons to land safely on the Kent coast and consolidate their increasing hold over Britain and turning it into England.
Written in February 21 revised in February 18th 23, 24, 25
For this was St. Valentine’s Day When every bird came there to chose their mate. Of every type, that men think may And that so huge a noise did they make That earth and sea and tree and every lake So full was, that hardly was there space For to stand so full was the place.
St Valentine’s Patronage
This is the first reference to St Valentine’s as a romantic day. And some people charge Chaucer with making the whole thing up! St Valentine, is supposed to have been martyred in the 3rd Century (290AD) on the Via Flaminia on February 14. He refused to stop marrying people in the Christian rites. He is therefore the patron Saint of lovers. He is also the patron Saint of epileptics, fainting and beekeepers. According to legend, Valentine taught a young blind girl how to look after Bees, and, sometime later, her eyesight was restored. He also is said to have treated a young man of epilepsy. Epilepsy was sometimes called the Falling Sickness, and so he is also the Saint of Fainting.
But until Chaucer, there was no particular link with romance. In fact, there are at least three Saint Valentines who were martyred in the Roman period. Their relics are scattered around Europe (have a look at this National Geographic article for the full S.P.). These include bones in Glasgow and his heart in Dublin. There are 11 Saints called Valentine in the list of Catholic Saints.
St Valentine’s Day and Birds
Chaucer’s poem suggests one possible route to the link with romance. This is about the time when birds pair off. If they want to have their chicks at the optimal time, then they need to get going before spring has really sprung.
When I think of love, I don’t think of birds. Maybe, this is because I live by a Canal. Outside my garden, I frequently see and hear a Coot chasing his pair across the water before violently mounting her. But then they are fiercely monogamous and defend their nest, fearlessly, against much bigger birds. And swans glide by in beautiful family groups. But Magpies are my favourite lovebird because you see one, and then look around, and you very often see the partner. I have adopted an old tradition that you are supposed to say:
‘Hello, Mr Magpie! Where’s Mrs Magpie?’
And look for the mate. It is good luck if you see her and bad luck if you don’t. (Please feel free to assign your own favourite gender!)
‘One for Sorrow’ is a well-known nursery rhyme found in many variations, and is an example of ‘ornithomancy superstition’ whereby the number of Magpies you see determines some aspect of your future. As to the likelihood of seeing thirteen magpies together – they always appear to be in pairs to me, or singletons, and occasionally threes. Magpies normally mate for life, and are not gregarious during the nesting season, but thereafter, they ‘join together in large wintering flocks of more than 20 or so birds.‘. So, perhaps we need at least another seven lines for the rhyme? So, far I have never seen a flock of them. If you have a photo of a flock, please send it to me!
One for sorrow, Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver, Six for gold, Seven for a secret, Never to be told. Eight for a wish, Nine for a kiss, Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss, Eleven for health, Twelve for wealth, Thirteen beware it’s the devil himself.
Here is another, more dangerous version (you are more likely to see the Devil)
One for sorrow, Two for mirth Three for a funeral, Four for birth Five for heaven Six for hell Seven for the devil, his own self
For details of the history of versions of this poem, click here:
Magpies don’t have a good reputation, traditionally being regarded as thieves and scavengers with untidy nests and eating habits. They are supposed to be attracted to shiny things, but Exeter University did some research which found that they have the normal Corvid’s curiosity for objects. But they are as happy to snatch a dull object as a shiny one. So, we can see they are very intelligent as well as faithful lovers. For me, a good-omened bird (as long as I see the two of them).
The Greeat Freeze. ‘Skating on the Serpentine’ by Lucien Davis Antique wood-engraved print. Illustrated London News double page from 2 March 1895 (print owned by K Flude)
The Great Freeze
London, February 12. There is no abatement of the abnormally cold weather which has prevailed in northern Europe for the last week. The Upper Thames is frozen over, and huge blocks of ice breaking away from the mass are floating down, the river, causing much damage to the smaller shipping craft. Water traffic is consequently at a complete standstill.
Many cases of death from cold and exposure are reported, the privation and distress in the east end of the city being particularly severe. The cold is so intense that birds are found frozen to death on the branches of the trees, and thousands are perishing. The severe weather has also directly caused considerable mortality, a number of deaths from exposure having been reported among postmen, omnibus drivers, cabmen, and labourers.
Winter of 1895 Limehouse to left, Tower of London to right. Images from Isle of Dogs blog.
1895 was the culmination of a decade of particularly cold winters (and for some the end of the so-called Little Ice Age). On the 11th February, the coldest day in British History was recorded at Braemar at −27.2 °C. February 1895 was the second coldest on record, with the lowest minimum temperatures on record. Shipping in the biggest port in the world was stopped. Many workers were laid off, and had to resort to what were then called ‘soup kitchens’ and now ‘food banks’. Winter death rates were said to be doubled, with people dying in the street and in unheated homes.
Record minima were set for these dates in February 1895:
7th: −21.7 °C or −7.1 °F
8th: −25.0 °C or −13.0 °F
9th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
10th: −25.6 °C or −14.1 °F
11th: −27.2 °C or −17.0 °F
12th: −20.6 °C or −5.1 °F
13th: −21.9 °C or −7.4 °F
14th: −21.7 °C or −7.1 °F
16th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
17th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
18th: −23.9 °C or −11.0 °F
19th: −22.2 °C or −8.0 °F
Source Wikipedia.
On the flip side people resorted to ponds around London particularly the Serpentine which had 6 inches of ice and 50,000 skaters, with speed skating competitions.
1554 – Lady Jane Grey was executed after a trial at the Guildhall. Her husband was executed on the same day. Her adoption as heir to the throne was ordered by her cousin Edward VI. His minister, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, (and Jane’s Father-in-Law) arranged for the Privy Council to accept Jane as the next monarch. They were trying to prevent Henry VIII’s Catholic daughter, Mary taking the throne. Jane was Queen for 9 Days. The Privy Council swapped sides as support for Jane collapsed. Jane was the Great-granddaughter of Henry VII and cousins to Mary, Elizabeth and Edward VI.
Published February 12th 2024, and republished 2025
In 2023, I saw my first Daffodil in Hackney in a Council Estate on 12 January. My first daffodil in 2024 was outside my first floor window in early February. In 2025, I can see the shoots of Daffodils in my garden but nothing blooming. However, there are the first daffodils in my area by the side of a different Council Estate. They bring such joy and hope for the return of the Sun.
12 Jan 2023. Hackney, London, the first Daffodil.
Narcissus the Flower
Their formal name is Narcissus. The Roman natural historian, Pliny tells us that the plant was:
‘named Narcissus from narkē not from the fabulous boy.’
Narkē is the Greek word from which we derive the word narcotic. It is a reference to the narcotic properties of the narcissus. An extract of the bulb applied to open wounds produced numbness of the whole nervous system and paralysis of the heart. The flowers are also slightly poisonous. So, they were used as an emetic. They brought on vomiting when it was felt necessary that the stomach be emptied. It was used to treat hysteria and epilepsy. They treated children with bronchial catarrh or epidemic dysentery. Among Arabian doctors, it was used to cure baldness and as an aphrodisiac. (Source: A Modern Herbal by Mrs M Grieve.) Please remember these are not recommendations for use medicinally, but are historic uses and may be dangerous.
Daffodils & Narcissus the Fabulous Boy
The fabulous boy, mentioned by Pliny, was Narcissus. He, according to the Roman Poet Ovid, met the nymph Echo, and she fell in love with the beautiful boy. He spurned her, and she faded until all that remained of her was her voice – the echo we hear.
Nemesis, the Goddess of Revenge (the one with the fiery sword) decided on revenge upon the handsome boy. She lured the thirsty youth to a fountain, where he saw an image of a breathtakingly handsome boy. He fell instantly in love with such beauty. But it was an image of himself. Realising he would never meet anyone as fabulous as himself, he faded from life. He eventually metamorphised into a white and yellow flower, which was named after him.
Nemesis from the painting on the Staircase at Hampton Court by Antonio Verrio, Photo K Flude
Daffodils & Shakespeare
Daffodils are mentioned in a list of Spring Flowers by Shakespeare in the pastoral play The Winter’s Tale:
(Please note that as you read Shakespeare’s words below that Prosperpina is the wife of Pluto, the God of the Underworld, Dis, is another name for him, Cytherea is the Goddess of Beauty and Love. Phoebus is the Sun God. And the Spring Flowers are Daffodils, violets, primroses, oxlips(primula), Crown Imperial (Fritillaria imperialis), Lilies, flower-De-luce (Iris)
Perdita to Camillo
Out, alas! You’d be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. (To Florizel) I would I had some flowers o’th’ spring, that might Become your time of day – (to the Shepherdesses) That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall From Dis’s waggon! Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength – a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one: O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o’er and o’er!WT IV.iv.110.2
The reference to Daffodils suggests that for Shakespeare they are around to withstand the March Winds before the Swallows arrive in April. With selective breeding, early flowering species have been developed. Now February and even January are within the scope of the glorious bulb. (here is a post on winter flowering varieties)
Once a noisy Nymph, (who never held her tongue when others spoke, who never spoke till others had begun) mocking Echo, spied him as he drove, in his delusive nets, some timid stags.—For Echo was a Nymph, in olden time,—and, more than vapid sound,—possessed a form: and she was then deprived the use of speech, except to babble and repeat the words, once spoken, over and over. Juno confused her silly tongue, because she often held that glorious goddess with her endless tales, till many a hapless Nymph, from Jove’s embrace, had made escape adown a mountain. But for this, the goddess might have caught them. Thus the glorious Juno, when she knew her guile; “Your tongue, so freely wagged at my expense, shall be of little use; your endless voice, much shorter than your tongue.” At once the Nymph was stricken as the goddess had decreed;—and, ever since, she only mocks the sounds of others’ voices, or, perchance, returns their final words.
One day, when she observed Narcissus wandering in the pathless woods, she loved him and she followed him, with soft and stealthy tread.—The more she followed him the hotter did she burn, as when the flame flares upward from the sulphur on the torch. Oh, how she longed to make her passion known! To plead in soft entreaty! to implore his love! But now, till others have begun, a mute of Nature she must be. She cannot choose but wait the moment when his voice may give to her an answer. Presently the youth, by chance divided from his trusted friends, cries loudly, “Who is here?” and Echo, “Here!” Replies. Amazed, he casts his eyes around, and calls with louder voice, “Come here!” “Come here!” She calls the youth who calls.—He turns to see who calls him and, beholding naught exclaims, “Avoid me not!” “Avoid me not!” returns. He tries again, again, and is deceived by this alternate voice, and calls aloud; “Oh let us come together!” Echo cries, “Oh let us come together!” Never sound seemed sweeter to the Nymph, and from the woods she hastens in accordance with her words, and strives to wind her arms around his neck. He flies from her and as he leaves her says, “Take off your hands! you shall not fold your arms around me. Better death than such a one should ever caress me!” Naught she answers save, “Caress me!” Thus rejected she lies hid in the deep woods, hiding her blushing face with the green leaves; and ever after lives concealed in lonely caverns in the hills. But her great love increases with neglect; her miserable body wastes away, wakeful with sorrows; leanness shrivels up her skin, and all her lovely features melt, as if dissolved upon the wafting winds—nothing remains except her bones and voice—her voice continues, in the wilderness; her bones have turned to stone. She lies concealed in the wild woods, nor is she ever seen on lonely mountain range; for, though we hear her calling in the hills, ’tis but a voice, a voice that lives, that lives among the hills.
Thus he deceived the Nymph and many more, sprung from the mountains or the sparkling waves; and thus he slighted many an amorous youth.—and therefore, some one whom he once despised, lifting his hands to Heaven, implored the Gods, “If he should love deny him what he loves!” and as the prayer was uttered it was heard by Nemesis, who granted her assent.
There was a fountain silver-clear and bright, which neither shepherds nor the wild she-goats, that range the hills, nor any cattle’s mouth had touched—its waters were unsullied—birds disturbed it not; nor animals, nor boughs that fall so often from the trees. Around sweet grasses nourished by the stream grew; trees that shaded from the sun let balmy airs temper its waters. Here Narcissus, tired of hunting and the heated noon, lay down, attracted by the peaceful solitudes and by the glassy spring. There as he stooped to quench his thirst another thirst increased. While he is drinking he beholds himself reflected in the mirrored pool—and loves; loves an imagined body which contains no substance, for he deems the mirrored shade a thing of life to love. He cannot move, for so he marvels at himself, and lies with countenance unchanged, as if indeed a statue carved of Parian marble. Long, supine upon the bank, his gaze is fixed on his own eyes, twin stars; his fingers shaped as Bacchus might desire, his flowing hair as glorious as Apollo’s, and his cheeks youthful and smooth; his ivory neck, his mouth dreaming in sweetness, his complexion fair and blushing as the rose in snow-drift white. All that is lovely in himself he loves, and in his witless way he wants himself:—he who approves is equally approved; he seeks, is sought, he burns and he is burnt. And how he kisses the deceitful fount; and how he thrusts his arms to catch the neck that’s pictured in the middle of the stream! Yet never may he wreathe his arms around that image of himself. He knows not what he there beholds, but what he sees inflames his longing, and the error that deceives allures his eyes. But why, O foolish boy, so vainly catching at this flitting form? The cheat that you are seeking has no place. Avert your gaze and you will lose your love, for this that holds your eyes is nothing save the image of yourself reflected back to you. It comes and waits with you; it has no life; it will depart if you will only go.
Nor food nor rest can draw him thence—outstretched upon the overshadowed green, his eyes fixed on the mirrored image never may know their longings satisfied, and by their sight he is himself undone. Raising himself a moment, he extends his arms around, and, beckoning to the murmuring forest; “Oh, ye aisled wood was ever man in love more fatally than I? Your silent paths have sheltered many a one whose love was told, and ye have heard their voices. Ages vast have rolled away since your forgotten birth, but who is he through all those weary years that ever pined away as I? Alas, this fatal image wins my love, as I behold it. But I cannot press my arms around the form I see, the form that gives me joy. What strange mistake has intervened betwixt us and our love? It grieves me more that neither lands nor seas nor mountains, no, nor walls with closed gates deny our loves, but only a little water keeps us far asunder. Surely he desires my love and my embraces, for as oft I strive to kiss him, bending to the limpid stream my lips, so often does he hold his face fondly to me, and vainly struggles up. It seems that I could touch him. ‘Tis a strange delusion that is keeping us apart. Whoever thou art, Come up! Deceive me not! Oh, whither when I fain pursue art thou? Ah, surely I am young and fair, the Nymphs have loved me; and when I behold thy smiles I cannot tell thee what sweet hopes arise. When I extend my loving arms to thee thine also are extended me—thy smiles return my own. When I was weeping, I have seen thy tears, and every sign I make thou cost return; and often thy sweet lips have seemed to move, that, peradventure words, which I have never heard, thou hast returned. No more my shade deceives me, I perceive ‘Tis I in thee—I love myself—the flame arises in my breast and burns my heart—what shall I do? Shall I at once implore? Or should I linger till my love is sought? What is it I implore? The thing that I desire is mine—abundance makes me poor. Oh, I am tortured by a strange desire unknown to me before, for I would fain put off this mortal form; which only means I wish the object of my love away. Grief saps my strength, the sands of life are run, and in my early youth am I cut off; but death is not my bane—it ends my woe.—I would not death for this that is my love, as two united in a single soul would die as one.”
He spoke; and crazed with love, returned to view the same face in the pool; and as he grieved his tears disturbed the stream, and ripples on the surface, glassy clear, defaced his mirrored form. And thus the youth, when he beheld that lovely shadow go; “Ah whither cost thou fly? Oh, I entreat thee leave me not. Alas, thou cruel boy thus to forsake thy lover. Stay with me that I may see thy lovely form, for though I may not touch thee I shall feed my eyes and soothe my wretched pains.” And while he spoke he rent his garment from the upper edge, and beating on his naked breast, all white as marble, every stroke produced a tint as lovely as the apple streaked with red, or as the glowing grape when purple bloom touches the ripening clusters. When as glass again the rippling waters smoothed, and when such beauty in the stream the youth observed, no more could he endure. As in the flame the yellow wax, or as the hoar-frost melts in early morning ‘neath the genial sun; so did he pine away, by love consumed, and slowly wasted by a hidden flame. No vermeil bloom now mingled in the white of his complexion fair; no strength has he, no vigor, nor the comeliness that wrought for love so long: alas, that handsome form by Echo fondly loved may please no more.
But when she saw him in his hapless plight, though angry at his scorn, she only grieved. As often as the love-lore boy complained, “Alas!” “Alas!” her echoing voice returned; and as he struck his hands against his arms, she ever answered with her echoing sounds. And as he gazed upon the mirrored pool he said at last, “Ah, youth beloved in vain!” “In vain, in vain!” the spot returned his words; and when he breathed a sad “farewell!” “Farewell!” sighed Echo too. He laid his wearied head, and rested on the verdant grass; and those bright eyes, which had so loved to gaze, entranced, on their own master’s beauty, sad Night closed. And now although among the nether shades his sad sprite roams, he ever loves to gaze on his reflection in the Stygian wave. His Naiad sisters mourned, and having clipped their shining tresses laid them on his corpse: and all the Dryads mourned: and Echo made lament anew. And these would have upraised his funeral pyre, and waved the flaming torch, and made his bier; but as they turned their eyes where he had been, alas he was not there! And in his body’s place a sweet flower grew, golden and white, the white around the gold.
First published in February 2023, revise and republished in February 2024, 2025
Eleanor Parker’s book, on the Anglo-Saxon Year, is a wonderful book. It has a poetry about it, that also provides an insight into how Anglo-Saxon thought the world works. For a non-Old-English speaker, it, also, really gives some understanding of the language. It reveals that for the Anglo-Saxons, Winter’s End was on the 7th February. We are now in the season of ‘lencten’. This probably comes from ‘lenghtening days’ or Spring as we call it. The word eventually got absorbed into the Christian calendar, giving us the name of the fasting season, which is ‘Lent’.
So Winter began, for the Anglo-Saxon, on 7th October and ended on the 7th February. January was called ‘Gēola‘ the month of Yule. February ‘Sol-mōnaþ‘ which is Mud month. The Venerable Bede in the 8th Century calls this the:
‘month of cakes which they offered to their gods in that month’.
Bede tells us that before conversion to Christianity, the Anglo-Saxons had two seasons – Winter and Summer. Winter began on the first full moon of October, which they called Winterfylleth. The summer was called ‘sumor’ or ‘gear’ which developed into our word ‘year’.
Thought to be the Venerable Bede, the first historian of the English
Roman, Celtic and Saxon Winter’s End
There is some sense in Winter’s End on February 7th. Lambs are being born; buds and shoot are appearing on branches and poking up from the cold earth. So, their winter is essentially, the time when nothing is growing, while ours is more aligned to the coldest period.
The Roman author Marcus Terentius Varro divided the Roman Year into 8 phrases and his Winter/Spring divide is also on 7th February. This is when, in Italy, the west winds began to blow warmer weather. So farmers ‘purged’ the fields, readying them for planting. They would be cleared of old growth and debris. Then blessed, weeded, pruned with particular attention given to preparing the grain fields, the vineyards, olive trees and fruit trees.
The Celtic year began at Halloween, and the spring begins with Imbolc, a week earlier than the Saxon on the 1st of February.
Anglo-Saxon Winter
In the section on Winter Eleanor Parker gives a poetic description of winter. What seems particularly interesting about it is that the harshness of winter is often paired with descriptions of the ruins of Roman Civilisation. So, the despair of winter, the barren soil, the fight for survival is made more melancholic by the comparison to failed civilisation. Nature battering away at the useless ruins, and the destruction of people’s dreams.
Here, is a flavour of the juxtaposition of the bleakness of winter and the sadness of lost society. It is from ‘The Wanderer’ an alliterative poem from the Exeter Book, dating from the late 10th century. I have presumed to change a couple of words to make it a little more accessible.
Who’s wise must see how ghostly it has been when the world and its things stand wasted — like you find, here and there, in this middle space now — there walls totter, wailed around by winds, gnashed by frost, the buildings snow-lapt. The winehalls molder, their Lord lies washed clean of joys, his people all perished, proud by the wall. War ravaged a bunch ferried along the forth-way, others a raptor ravished over lofty seas, this one the hoary wolf broke in its banes, the last a brother graveled in the ground, tears as war-mask.
“That’s the way it goes— the Shaper mills middle-earth to waste until they stand empty, the giants’ work and ancient, drained of the dreams and joys of its dwellers.”
As I read this I wonder if it is a tradition that began in the cold of Scandinavia? England, at least Southern England, can often have mild, rather than ferocious winters?
However, there is also an idea about the circularity of life and the interconnectedness of everything. There are 4 Seasons, 4 Ages of Man, and the cycle was from childhood to old age, from Spring to Winter. We start young, and become vigorous, and then we decline and eventually die. And so does the world of the Anglo-Saxons. The world of Adam was young, restored to vigour by the coming of Jesus. Now the World was in its old age awaiting the Apocalypse, before the Day of Judgement. So Winter was connected with Old Age and Death.
Bede’s Metaphor for Winter
Parker recounts a beautiful image of Bede’s. The King of Northumberland is thinking of taking his wife’s religion. He, therefore, invites the Christian evangelist, Paulinus to his court. Inclined to convert. He asks the opinion of one of his pagan advisers, who answers to the effect.
‘We are in the Great Hall, gathered warm with friends and family around the roaring fire, with Winter raging outside. A sparrow comes in from a hole in the end wall, flies through the warm of the Hall, and flies out through the other side. Such is life. The Hall is this world, we are the Sparrow, and as pagans we have no idea what happens before we enter the Hall, nor what happens after we leave. How much better it is to embrace a religion that can give us certainty as to what happens when we leave the hall.’
Lovely image, although, the pagan adviser does seem to have made his mind up?
The 15th Century French llustration, above, shows February as a time to cut firewood, dress warmly and stay by the fire. Food on the table is a nutritious pie and the fish are there to remind us it is the month of Pisces. In the other roundel is the other February star sign the Water Carrier, Aquarius.
Star signs of February
Pisces From the zodiac from kalendar of shepherds
The poem above is a reference to Candlemas’s celebration of the presentation of the child Jesus at the Temple. The paragraph below gives a summary of February. It ends with the idea that runs through the Kalendar. There are twelve apostles, twelve days of Christmas, twelve months in the year. So, there are twelve blocks of six years in a person’s allotted 72 years of life. So February is linked to the second block of 6 years in a human life, ages 6 to 12. In January, the Kalendar suggests the essential uselessness of 0-6 year old children. While here, for February, it allows that from 6-12 years old children are beginning to ‘serve and learn’.
Below, is the text for February. This gives a rural view of life in winter. It ends with the line that February:
‘is the poor man’s pick-purse, the miser’s cut-throat, the enemy to pleasure and the time of patience.’
February in the Kalendar of Shepherds
About the Kalendar of Shepherds.
The Kalendar was printed in 1493 in Paris and provided ‘Devices for the 12 Months.’ The version I’m using is a modern (1908) reconstruction of it. It uses wood cuts from the original 15th Century version and adds various texts from 16th and 17th Century sources. (Couplets by Tusser ‘Five Hundred Parts of Good Husbandrie 1599. Text descriptions of the month from Nicholas Breton’s ‘Fantasticks of 1626. This provides an interesting view of what was going on in the countryside every month.
Hesiod, in his Works and Daya describes February as a merciless cold, windy time.
Avoid the month Lenaeon, (February) wretched days, all of them fit to skin an ox, and the frosts which are cruel when Boreas blows over the earth. He blows across horse-breeding Thrace upon the wide sea and stirs it up, while earth and the forest howl. On many a high-leafed oak and thick pine he falls and brings them to the bounteous earth in mountain glens: then all the immense wood roars and the beasts shudder and put their tails between their legs, even those whose hide is covered with fur; for with his bitter blast he blows even through them, although they are shaggy-breasted. He goes even through an ox’s hide; it does not stop him. Also he blows through the goat’s fine hair. But through the fleeces of sheep, because their wool is abundant, the keen wind Boreas pierces not at all; but it makes the old man curved as a wheel. And it does not blow through the tender maiden who stays indoors with her dear mother, unlearned as yet in the works of golden Aphrodite, and who washes her soft body and anoints herself with oil and lies down in an inner room within the house, on a winter’s day when the Boneless One (an Octopus or a cuttle?) gnaws his foot in his fireless house and wretched home; for the sun shows him no pastures to make for, but goes to and fro over the land and city of dusky men,3 and shines more sluggishly upon the whole race of the Hellenes. Then the horned and unhorned denizens of the wood,] with teeth chattering pitifully, flee through the copses and glades, and all, as they seek shelter, have this one care, to gain thick coverts or some hollow rock. Then, like the Three-legged One (an old man with a stick) whose back is broken and whose head looks down upon the ground, like him, I say, they wander to escape the white snow.
The Roman month Februarius was the month of purification. Februa was the name of th epurificaiton ritual held on February 15 (full moon) in the old lunar Roman calendar. The Romans originally considered winter a monthless period of the year.
![Chad is the patron saint of medicinal springs,[37] although other listings[38] do not mention this patronage.
St. Chad's Day (2 March) is traditionally considered the most propitious day to sow broad beans in England.](https://www.chr.org.uk/anddidthosefeet/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/haggerston_may_2020.jpg)
