Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!

Happy St David’s Day — from a sunny (yes, it is!) Wales!

As a St David’s Day present, here are the entries from Llewellyn’s Complete Book of Names for David and Dewi.

David ♂ Biblical name of Hebrew origin. The meaning isn’t all that clear, but seems mostly likely to derive from a root meaning “beloved,” although, interestingly enough, the Hebrew letters which make up the name David are exactly the same ones used for “mandrake.” 12th C. St. David is the famous leek- and daffodil-wielding patron saint of Wales — but his real name was actually DEWI.

Diminutive forms: Dawe (historic); Dave, Davey, Davie, Davy.

David in other languages: Welsh: Dafydd; Dai (diminutive), Irish: Dáibhead, Daithí, Gaelic: Dàibheid, Dàibhidh, Cornish: Daveth, Czech, French, German, Portuguese, Romanian, Russian, Serbian, Spanish: David, Hungarian: Dávid, Lithuanian: Davidas, Italian: Davide, Latvian: Dāvids, Pol: Dawid, Arabic: Da’wud, Hawaiian: Kāwika, Maori: Rāwiri, Finish: Taavetti, Taavi (diminutive).

Bearers: two medieval Scottish kings (d. 1153 and 1371); David Copperfield, the eponymous hero of Dickens’s 1850 novel, and the stage-name of  American illusionist David Kotkin (b. 1956); David Lloyd George, 1st Earl Lloyd-George, (1863–1945) and David Cameron (b. 1966), both British Prime Ministers; David Eddings (1931–2009), the American novelist; David Bowie (b. 1947), the British singer-songwriter.

Dewi ♂ ♀ The boy’s name Dewi is a very old and very interesting name. Dewi Sant is the Welsh name for St. David, and many people believe it is simply the Welsh form of David. It isn’t. David is simply the name adopted to render Dewi in English, a long time ago. Almost certainly, his name actually derives from the Common Celtic *dOEwo- “(a) God,” cognate with Zeus, Latin deus, Sanskrit deva and the Irish Dagda, etc.

The element is well attested in given names in the Roman period — examples include Deomiorix, Deiana, and Deieda. Some have attempted to derive the name from Dewydd, an alleged “old form” of Dafydd—the Welsh form of David — but the argument works just as well the other way — Dewydd may well represent an attempt to synthesize Dewi and Dafydd. The simple fact is, biblical names were not used in sub-Roman Britain, and thus the likelihood of someone genuinely being called “David” in sixth-century Wales is, quite frankly, about as likely as someone in the period being called Jayden.

Dewi was used as a given name in the Middle Ages, probably in honor of the saint, but then disappeared until its revival in Wales in the nineteenth century.

By coincidence, the Malaysian girl’s name Dewi means “Goddess.”

I love coincidences! 😉

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi hapus!

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Nook of Names Pick of the Week — Daffodil

It’s St David’s Day — Wales’s national day — tomorrow, and to celebrate, it’s Welsh week here at the Nook.

For this week’s pick of the week, therefore, I’ve chosen Daffodil.

The daffodil is well-known as the national flower of Wales, and tomorrow will be worn proudly across the country.

We bought a few bunches of proper Welsh daffodils yesterday and they are now looking very bright and sunny on the kitchen table!

As well as the flower’s connection with Wales, the daffodil is celebrated as one of the symbols of spring par excellence.

Swathes of cheerful daffodils bobbing their heads in the spring sunshine are always an evocative and heartwarming sight after the bleakness of winter.

Indeed, they inspired probably one of the most famous  of all poems about flowers  — William Wordsworth’s “Daffodils”:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

In the language of flowers, the daffodil symbolizes both respect and unrequited love—but it can also stand for vanity and deceit—perhaps because for all its cheery charm, the daffodil is poisonous.

Neverthless, I’ve always been a bit surprised that Daffodil as a name is so rare. Like other flowers, it was first used in the nineteenth century, but for some inexplicable reason simply didn’t grab the limelight, even when the similar Daphne was enjoying its vogue (in the British Isles, at least) in the second quarter of the twentieth century.

But with flower names once more in fashion, and other rarities like Bluebell seeing more use, maybe Daffodil’s day is not far away.

It does have the fetching pet-form Dilly, as well as sharing Daphne’s nick-names Daff, Daffi, Daffie and Daffy.

The daffodil’s original name was actually Affodill — which has distinct potential too — and an old, rather charming variant is Daffodilly. Affodill arose from the medieval Latin afodillus and derives ultimately from the Greek asphodelos — Asphodel.

Also known as king’s spear, the asphodel was grown as a garden flower and medicinal herb from at least the Middle Ages.  In the ancient world, it was believed that asphodels grew in the Elysian Fields and were the food of the dead. We know that their roots were certainly eaten by the living poor of Ancient Greece, and the plant was used as a remedy against snake-bites and as a protection from sorcery.

The daffodil’s Pagan connotations don’t stop there. Among modern Pagans, it has become the quintessential flower of the Spring Equinox, and is now particularly associated with the Goddess Eostre.

Some other great names with daffodil associations include:

• Narcissus — used generally of a related flower, as well as being the botanical name for the genus. In Greek mythology, this was the name of the narcissistic youth who fell in love with his own reflection, and the name was often used as a given name in the classical period. The feminine form, Narcissa — pet-form “Cissy” —  occurs, of course, in Harry Potter as the name of Draco Malfoy’s mother.
• Jonquil — the name of an old type of daff.
• Narciso — the Italian, Portuguese and Spanish form of NARCISSUS.
• Narcys — the Polish form of NARCISSUS.
• Nargis — the Persian for daffodil, used as a girl’s name in Iran (derives ultimately from Narcissus).
• Nergis — the Turkish for daffodil, used as a girl’s name in Turkey (also derives ultimately from Narcissus).

What better way to capture the spring in a name, than with Daffodil and friends?

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Welsh Flower Names — Part 1

The adoption of “word names” is much more widespread and accepted in Welsh, and are regularly heard within Wales.

Names of flowers and trees are, naturally, a popular choice too.

But there are still many that have been little used so far, names which are accessible to English-speakers too.

So if you have Welsh heritage you want to honor, or simply a love of Celtic lands, here’s a collection of Welsh flowers and trees for you:

(If you want to say ’em like a native, general pronunciation guidance given at end — unless something is particularly tricky)

• Aethnen — aspen
• Afal — apple
• Afallen — apple-tree
• Afan — raspberries
• Afanen — raspberry
• Alaw — water-lily (also means “melody”)
• Arian Gwion — yellow rattle (literally Gwion’s silver)
• Banadl — broom
• Bedwen — birch
• Blodyn — flower
• Bronwerth — borage
• Brwynen — rush
• Brythlys — scarlet pimpernel
• Calon Afal — devil’s bit scabious
• Camri — camomile
• Cawnen — reed
• Ceian — carnation
• Ceilys — pink
• Ceirios — cherries
• Celyn — holly
• Celyn Mair — butcher’s broom
• Cenawen — catkins
• Clais yr hydd — dog’s mercury
• Clais y moch — clary
• Clefryn — sheep’s bit scabious
• Collen — hazel
• Corsen — reed
• Crinllys — dog violet
• Crys y brenin — henbane
• Cyren — currants
• Dail Arian — silverweed
• Danadl — blind nettle
• Delia — dahlia
• Derwen — oak
• Draen — briar
• Draenen ddu — blackthorn
• Draenen wen — hawthorn
• Dringol — common sorrel
• Drysïen (“DRUH-see-en) — briar
• Dwyfog (“DOO-ee-vog”) — wood betony
• Eglyn — golden saxifrage
• Eirin — plums
• Eirinen — plum
• Eirlys — snowdrop
• Eithen — gorse
• Elinog — bittersweet
• Erwain — meadowsweet
• Eurlys — yellow vetch
• Fandon — woodruff
• Fioled — violet
• Ffarwel haf — Michaelmas daisy
• Ffion — foxgloves
• Ffwsia — fuchsia
• Gellygen — pear-tree
• Glesyn — borage
• Greulys — groundsel

Pronunciation notes:

• “ae,” “ai,” “au,” and “eu” pronounced “eye”
• “c” always hard, as in “cat”
• “e” pronounced like “e” in “bet,” “set,” etc
• “ei” pronounced “ay”
• “f” pronounced “v”
• “ff” pronounced “f”
• “g” always hard, as in “get”
• “ll” see Extreme Welsh Names
• “s” always “s,” never “z”; often “sh” before an “i”
• “th” pronounced like the “th” in “thistle”
• “y” in the last syllable is pronounced “i” as in “in”, but in most other syllables, is pronounced “uh.”

(In words of two syllables, stress is divided equally. In words of three, stress usually falls on the first syllable, unless otherwise stated.)

Part 2 next week!

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Rune Names — Jera

Jera is one of those runes which features only in a couple of alphabets — the Elder Futhark and the Anglo-Frisian.

• Eldar Futhark: *Jēran/*Jēraz
• Anglo-Frisian: Jera

The runic alphabet shifts again with Jera, with what at first seems an inexplicable leap from the depths of winter to the other side of the wheel of the year and the harvest.

Or is it?

For after the hardship and difficulties of the last three runes, Hægl, Nyd and Is, Jera represents the fulfillment of hope, the rewards of perseverance against all the odds. With Jera, we reap what we have sown, and reminds us that all things have their season.

Change — for good, for bad — is inevitable. Enjoy the fruits of Jera while you can.

Literally, it means “year” and “harvest” — and carries the sense of “prosperity”. Interestingly, it is etymologyically related to the Slavic words for “the spring,” and the Greek for “hour.”

Jera itself certainly has fairly good name potential, Jeran possibly even more, while Jeraz offers that slightly more exotic edge. With its meanings and associations of prosperity, there are lots of other names in harmony with Jera, such as those I listed under Feoh, and Wynn.

And I’ve already covered some harvest-related names in my post on the Equinox.

Some other names, and name suggestions, which resonate with Jera:

• Aika — Finnish: “time”
• Amser — Welsh: “time.”
• Anna Perenna — Roman Goddess of plenty, who presides over the wheel of the year. Both this Anna and Perenna may have links to the Latin for “year”: annus. It also means “circuit.” Perenna is usually derived from perennis “through the year.”
• Annona — another Roman Goddess, who personified a year. Also from annus “year.”
• Berry
• Calendula — the botanical name for the English marigold. It acquired its name, from the Latin kalends, used of the first day of a month, because it has the ability to flower all year.
• Carme — Cretan Goddess of the Harvest
• Chakana — ancient Incan symbol of the Wheel of the Year.
• Chronos — the Greek God of time.
• Consus — Roman God of the harvest
• Crop
• Denbora — Basque: “time”
• Ekin — Turkish name: “harvest.”
• Gather
• Harvest
• Hour
• Idő — Hungarian: “time”
• Kausi — Finnish: “season”
• Mimela  — Lakota: “to be round,” “to be circular.”
• Ona — Hebrew: “season”
• Pomona — Roman Goddess of fruit.
• Reap
• Saison — French, German: “season.”
• Season
• Sezona — Latvian: “season”
• Teamhair — Old Irish: “time,” “season”; this is the Irish name for Tara — Teamhair na Rí, and the name of the Goddess who presides over that place.
• Tempest  — derives ultimately from Latin tempus “time.”
• Tempo
• Tempus — Latin: “time.”
• Time
• Tími — Icelandic: “time.”
• Tymor — Welsh: “season.”
• Zaman — Persian, Turkish: “time”
• Zeit — German: “time”

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What the Dickens!

Tomorrow is the two hundredth anniversary of the birth of Charles Dickens, probably the greatest of all nineteenth century novelists — and a contender for the greatest novelist of all time.

His works also provide a mine of wonderful names. To celebrate his birthday, today and tomorrow I’ll be featuring a selection of those which have fabulous potential for a baby born two hundred years on…

And others which make fine names for cats!

• Abel — a name which features in more than one Dickens novel; there’s Abel Garland in The Old Curiosity Shop, and Abel Magwitch in Great Expectations. Abel is a biblical name still waiting in the wings somewhat,  though he has been rising steadily for years and years and broke the US top 1000 for the first time since records began in 2010. If you like him, use him now!
• Affery — Affery Flintwinch is a maid in Little Dorrit. Dickens was an avid collector of names, and Affery was one of his finds. A form of Aphra.
• Agnes — Agnes Wickfield is David’s childhood friend and second wife in David Copperfield.
• Arabella — buzzing round the baby name boards as a successor to Isabella, Dickens used Arabella in Pickwick Papers for Miss Arabella Allen. In the UK, a name which until recently was regarded as rather archetypical of the Upper Class.
• Avenger — “The Avenger” is the name by which Pip’s serving boy is known in Great Expectations.
• Bamber — In Pickwick Papers, we meet with a Jack Bamber. The name  was made familiar to most in the UK by the TV presenter Bamber Gascoigne (b.1935), but not many know there were two eighteenth century politicians also called Bamber Gascoyne, the first born in 1725 — his father was called Crisp.
• Barnaby — eponymous hero of Barnaby Rudge. Barnaby is another name mostly heard in British public (i.e. very expensive fee-paying) schools. It has never reached the US top 1000, but 224th in England and Wales in 2010.
• Belle — yes, there is another Belle besides the one in Beauty and the Beast.  Belle was Scrooge’s fiancée in A Christmas Carol.
• Betsy — with unpretentious and old fashioned charm, Dickens used Betsy more than once. The best known is Betsy Trotwood is David’s crunchy but kind old great-aunt in David Copperfield.
• Brownlow — Mr Brownlow is the kind old gentleman who adopts Oliver in Oliver Twist.
• Bumble — the famous beadle of Oliver Twist. Would suit a very fat cat.
• Buzfuz — what a fabulous name for a cat! Serjeant Buzfuz (Serjeant is his name) is a not-very-nice barrister in Pickwick Papers.
• Caddy — pet-name of Caroline Jellyby in Bleak House.
• Charles — how can I leave out Charles? Dickens used his own name a few times, including Charles Darnay in A Tale of Two Cities, and Charles Cheeryble in Nicholas Nickleby. Use of Charles is surprisingly consistent on both sides of the Pond; in 2010 it was ranked 63 in America, and 62 in England and Wales.
• Cherry — traditional pet-form of Charity, and used as such in Martin Chuzzlewit  for Charity Pecksniff.
• Chuzzlewit — surname of the eponymous hero of Martin Chuzzlewit, I’d say Chuzzlewit falls firmly in cat-name territory, although there is a Chuzzlewit Mcclintock on the 1880 American Census!
• Clara — a favorite of Dickens’s, borne by both David’s mother and nurse in David Copperfield and Clara Barley in Great Expectations.
• Darnay — Charles Darnay, the son of a French marquis, is one of the heroes of A Tale of Two Cities.
• Dodger — once I would have said Oliver Twist’s “The Artful Dodger” fell firmly in cat name territory, but actually, in today’s climate, maybe the world might be ready for Dodger as a bona fide name? The Artful Dodger’s real name was Jack Dawkins.
• Dorrit — the surname of Amy Dorrit, invariably known as “Little Dorrit” in Little Dorrit. Could make an interesting variation on Dorothy — but is it too similar to Doritos?
• Ebenezer — Ebenezer Scrooge is one of Dickens’s best-known characters, and although at the end of the tale he becomes a kind, happy and philanthropic old gentleman, his miserly former self has blighted Ebenezer ever since. But is that changing? With a number of great nickname options, such as Eben, Ben, Eb and Zer, and the meaning “stone of help,” it’s a great name.
• Estella — the rather tragic Estella Havisham is Pip’s great love in Great Expectations. 
• Fan — a short form of Fanny, the well-known pet-form of Frances, Fan was Scrooge’s sister in A Christmas Carol.
• Fern — Will Fern, a character in The Chimes.
• Fezziwig — another for the cats rather than the children. “Old Fezziwig” was Scrooge’s generous and happy employer in A Christmas Carol.
• Fizkin — cat name! A candidate for parliament in Pickwick Papers.
• Granger — Edith Granger is one of the characters in Dombey and Son.
• Grewgious — what a name for Puss! Grewgious can be found in The Mystery of Edwin Drood.
• Herbert — the genial Herbert Pocket is Pip’s best friend in Great Expectations.
• Hexam — the surname of more than one character in Our Mutual Friend, including the beautiful and good Lizzie.
• Hominy — Mrs Hominy is a rather stereotyped “brash American” in Martin Chuzzlewit, her name no doubt a direct pluck of hominy, the dried kernels of corn (maize) used a lot in Southern, Latin American and Caribbean cooking.
• Jarvis — Jarvis Lorry appears in A Tale of Two Cities, bearing a name which originated both as a medieval form of Gervais and a surname derived from it.
• Jemima — a name which gets a number of minor mentions in the works of Dickens, such as Lady Jemima Bilberry in Little Dorrit.
• Job — borne by Job Trotter in Pickwick Papers, Job is a suprisingly neglected biblical name (although it was 88th in Holland in 2010), presumably hindered so much by the fact it looks like the word “job,” even though the pronuncation is different (rhyming with “robe”). Roll it around a few times — I think it makes for a distinctly contemporary choice if you want a simple, one-syllable name with heritage. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the greatest of meanings (“persecuted”), but that’s not stopped many another name…
  
• Jupe — the wonderful Cecilia “Sissy” Jupe is a daughter of a circus clown in Hard Times.
  
• Kit — Kit Nubbles (Nubbles makes a great name for a cat) is a character in The Old Curiosity Shop.  A classic, old short form of Christopher, Kit has been in quiet independent use in the UK for some time.
• Lillian — Will Fern’s little niece in The Chimes.
• Lowten — a clerk in Pickwick Papers.
• Lucretia — Lucretia Tox is found in Dombey and Son.

Part II tomorrow!

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Imbolc

Over the course of today and or/tomorrow, most Pagans in the Northern Hemisphere will be celebrated Imbolc (down under, it’s time for Lughnasadh).

Both Imbolc and Lughnasadh are what are often dubbed “Celtic fire festivals.”

Both names are Irish, and are the names by which the festivals were known in the early medieval period, but it is thought that the fire festivals were celibrated across the Celtic world.

The other two are Samhain and Beltane, and they all fall midway between a Solstice and an Equinox — hence their other generic name “cross-quarter days.”

Imbolc — also called Imbolg, and correctly pronounced “i-molk” — marks the transition between the deepest, darkest days of winter and the Spring Equinox.

It seems to derive from the Old Irish for “in the belly,” although a medieval glossary said it meant “ewe’s milk.” Either way, its association with the burgeoning new life of spring is clear.

It’s still cold. It’s still dark, but signs of spring are increasingly everywhere, from the trembling, delicate snowdrops, to the shivering catkins on the hazel and the buds on the blossom trees.

It is the time of the Maiden.

Not surprising that the saints most strongly associated with early February are Bridget and Agatha, Bridget — often now called by the Irish form of her name, Brigid — on the first, Agatha on the fifth.

It is Brigid who has become most associated now with Imbolc — though not the saint. The Goddess who lies behind her. The great Irish Brigid, so beloved in Ireland in pre-Christian times that instead of trying to eradicate her worship, the Christians turned her into a sixth-century saint.

She is equally revered among many modern Pagans, especially Wiccans and Druids.

Many Christians — particularly Catholics — still contend  that the saint just happened to share the same name as Pagan Ireland’s favorite Goddess, that she just happened to found her monastery on the site of Bridget’s cult center in Kildare, and just happened to have a thing for fire, etc.

Similarly, the widespread nature of St. Bridget’s cult in England and Wales is often ascribed to the spread of the cult from Ireland when — although the form “Bridget” is Irish — her worship in the British Isles is probably much older; Bridget and the famous Brythonic Goddess Brigantia are almost
certainly the same deity.

The form Bridget developed from Brigitta, a Latinized form of the Medieval Irish Brigit and Brigid. It derives ultimately from the Common Celtic *brig-/brigant- “high,” or *briga- “might” and “power” combined with the Irish fem. suffix –ait. This has become Brighid in Modern Irish Gaelic. The variants Bríd and Bríde are also used.

In England and Wales, Bride and Bryde  were also commonly used in the Middle Ages, surviving in place names such as Bridewell.

Bridie — an Anglicized form of Bríde — is not uncommonly heard in Pagan circles too.

Bridget is found as a given name in England from the fourteenth century. In Ireland it wasn’t actually used until the seventeenth; it was considered
too sacred for everyday use in previous centuries (so much for the saint just happening to share the Goddess’s name!).

In the nineteenth century, the pet-form Biddy was so common in Ireland that it became a nickname for an Irishwoman (in the same way Paddy was used for an Irishman). It has lost this meaning now, but “old biddy” is still used in Britain as a mild slang term for an old woman.

Many wonderful old traditions surround Imbolc and St Bridget’s. One of it’s other names — Candlemas — comes from the tradition of making and blessing candles at St Bridget’s; the connection between candles and Brigid’s fires is obvious.

In Ireland, the tradition of making a Brigid’s Bed has survived until modern time in some parts; women and girls make a corn dolly, and a bed for her to lie on beside the fire. They then keep a vigil on the the eve of St Bridget’s, and the men visit to pay Bridget their respect.

In the morning, the dolly is sometimes taken round the village from door-to-door, a bit like a guy on Bonfire Night in England.

Due to the believe that Brigid goes abroad on Imbolc eve, clothes are sometimes placed outdoors for her to bless as she passes.

Candles are often placed in all the windows to welcome her.

But probably best-known is the Brigid Cross, with it’s four spokes, it almost certainly is a vestige of the Pagan Celtic sun-wheel. Generally woven from straw or rushes, they are placed in the chimney as a protection against fire. Although the general tradition was that they were renewed each year, with the old burnt on Imbolc fire, old ones are not uncommonly found forgotten up the chimneys of old Irish houses.

A bright and blessed Imbolc, one and all!

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Nook of Names Pick of the Week — Coventry

One of my favorite book series in the mid 1980s was Sue Townsend’s The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole.

And it was Sue Townsend who first introduced me to Coventry as a name, in her 1988 novel Rebuilding Coventry.

The title is a nod to the post-war rebuilding of the city of Coventry, which was all-but razed to the ground during the Blitz; but in the case of the book, the Coventry being “rebuilt” is a woman called Coventry Dakin.

The name stuck in my head.

Later, I came across the real life Coventry Kelsey Dighton Patmore, a nineteenth century English male poet. In his case, the name represented an adoption of the surname.

Which also comes from Coventry.

As a given name, despite the poet and the book, Coventry remains extremely rare.

It was, in fact, more common in the nineteenth century than it is today.

But with the growing interest in “place names” as first names, perhaps Coventry’s time might be coming. After all,  while Coventry has never registered in the SSA data, the name of its twin city, Dresden, was given to sixty-one little boys in America in 2010, and eight little girls.

True, modern Coventry is not the prettiest of places. The rebuilding after the war was unsympathetic — putting it kindly.

Since then it has become a modern, largely characterless sprawl.

But that doesn’t — cannot — take away the fact that Coventry is an ancient place, and one of the most important medieval towns in England.

It was the scene of Lady Godiva’s legendary naked ride through the streets to protest against the taxes of Leofric, Earl of Mercia — her husband.

The medieval Coventry Cycle Mystery Plays had their home in Coventry, as did the hauntingly beautiful fifteenth century Christmas Carol — The Coventry Carol, which may have first been sung as part of the plays.

And, although the town’s name actually has nothing to do with a witch’s coven, the similarity does still lend it a distinctly witchy, Wiccan edge.

Rather than a combination of “coven” and “tree,” which it appears to be on the surface, the first element is Old English cofa meaning “cave,” “shelter,” and “chamber” — possibly used as a given name — Cofa.

It occurs in the genitive form in Coventry — i.e. it means “of Cofa.”

But if it was a personal name, it may be that it actually arose as a short-form of some other Anglo-Saxon name, and its resemblance to cofa is superficially. A plausible candidate being the charming and neglected Cuthbert “bright-fame.”

But the second element is “tree.”

And thus Coventry means “Cofa’s tree.”

What, I wonder, was special about Cofa’s tree?

To be singled out as significant enough to define a place, it was presumable noteworthy in some way.

And, of course, it barely needs to be said, that all trees are are held in high regard by most Pagans.

Another reason why Coventry as a given name has a bit of a Pagan edge.

So, will Coventry join the growing ranks of “place-names”?

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The Eve of St. Agnes

St. Agnes’ Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was!

The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;

The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,

And silent was the flock in woolly fold…

Tomorrow is St. Agnes’s Day

Which makes today the Eve of St. Agnes…

It is one of those occasions of the year steeped in old traditions. In St Agnes’s case, it is one of a number which focuses on glimpsing the future, specifically, of young women glimpsing in a dream the face of the man they will marry:

They told her how, upon St. Agnes’ Eve,

Young virgins might have visions of delight,

And soft adorings from their loves receive

Upon the honey’d middle of the night,

If ceremonies due they did aright;

As, supperless to bed they must retire,

And couch supine their beauties, lily white;

Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require

Of Heaven with upwards eyes for all that they desire…

We know from the antiquarian John Aubrey that this tradition dates to at least the seventeenth century.

It proved an enticing one for Keats in the early nineteenth century, who immortalized it in his poem The Eve of St Agnes.

In it, the wonderfully-named Porphyro takes advantage of the tradition — and the over-romantic sensibilities of the object of his love (Madeline) — to ensure that his was the face she dreamed about.

He didn’t actually need to, because she was in love with him too… but the attempted ruse did result in their eloping together the following morning.

Whether it was to a happy-ever-after or not has been a matter of debate ever since.

Another distinctly un-biblical custom takes place on her feast day in Rome itself.

Two lambs from one of the abbeys in Rome are taken to the pope to be blessed. They are shorn on Maundy Thursday and their wool used to weave the pallia (ecclesiastical cloaks) of certain bishops.

This has all the hallmarks of more than one tradition in the Pagan classical world of the ritual annual weaving of new robes for a God or Goddess.

It is quite likely that the date of the St Agnes’s Day is due to this Catholic custom.

How?

Well, very early on, the similarity of the name Agnes and the Latin agnus “lamb” was observed, which lead to her association with lambs, and she is invariably depicted with one.

And it is around this time that the first lambs are born.

Originally, she had another feast on the 28th too.

As for St Agnes herself, legend has it she was a virgin martyr, who died in 304 CE.

The earliest account of her life was written by St Ambrose in the late fourth century, though it contained none of the sensationalized stuff of later hagiographies.

And, as with so many of the saints, it’s quite likely that a deity really lies behind her.

St. Agnes is certainly well-known to have taken the place of Gabija, the Lithuanian Goddess of fire, when Lithuania was Christianized in the medieval period.

It has been suggested that the Celtic Goddess Anu to lie at her roots, who is also thought to lie behind the English folk-figure of  Black Annis.

It is certainly the case that Annis is a medieval variant of Agnes.

Agnes itself is usually derived from the Greek hagnos “pure,” although the form “Agnes” is curious.

If it was truly from hagnos, it ought to have been Hagne or Hagno in Greek (there was a nymph called Hagno in Greek mythology — she was one of Zeus’s wet-nurses)

This would be Latinized as Hagna.

Although the loss of the “h” could be forgiven, the ending –es, is, quite frankly, a serious anomaly.

Such an anomaly, that it almost certainly isn’t really Greek at all.

It rather strengthens the case that Agnes’s true origins lie elsewhere. And if she does come from the same source as Anu, one option for the etymology is that it comes from the same Proto-Indo-European root which gives the Latin ignis  and Sanskrit agni — “fire.”

Unsurprisingly, Agnes does have more than one link with fire, and in the past was invoked for protection against fire.

Presumably, the similarity between Agnes and ignis was also at least noted by the Middle Ages too, accounting for the well-known blatant usurpation of  Gabija, Goddess of fire, by Agnes when Lithuania adopted Christianity in the fifteenth century.

St. Agnes was one of the most popular saints in medieval times, and her veneration made Agnes likewise one of the most popular girls’ names in medieval Britain. It was often use in vernacular forms such as the already mentioned Annis, Anis, Annise, Anise and Annot, with the traditional nick-names of Aggie, Taggy and, in Scotland, Nessie.

After the Reformation, it fell out of favor, but continued in steady use until the Victorians with their obsession for all things medieval fell in love with her again.

For some decades, she has been regarded as painfully old-fashioned and shunned accordingly, but the tide may be turning; Jennifer Connelly called her little girl Agnes last year. Will it, and the growing interest in “great-granny” names be enough to see Agnes finally return?

Time will tell!

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The Story of an English Manor

On our holiday last week we stayed at historic Gurney Manor — sometimes called Gurney Street Manor — in Cannington, Somerset.

It is a very special place.

Rescued by the Landmark Trust in the 1980s, much of the fabric dates to before 1400, with substantial additions in the mid-to-late fifteenth century.

Because it largely came down in the world after the seventeenth century, many of its ancient features, including the fifteenth century covered passage across the inner courtyard linking the old kitchen to the hall, have survived.

Unsurprisingly, it proved quite a good hunting ground for names, which are almost text-book examples of the typical names through the centuries, demonstrating fluctuations in fashion both generally, and across the social spectrum.

The original owners — and the family who gave their name to the manor — were a branch of the baronial family of Gurney, the founder of which came to England with William the Conqueror. Only a few names are known from this earliest period, emerging from the fog of remote history; a RICHARD de Gurney, flourished in 1243, when he put in a claim on the mill, then in possession of his “kinsman” WILLIAM, son of PHILIP.

Richard had a son called ROBERT.

By the end of the thirteenth century, the property appears to have been owned by JOHN de Gurney, who was alive in 1327.

The last of the line at Gurney Manor, and probably the one responsible for much of the parts of the hall dating to the late fourteenth and early fifteenth century, was HUGH, who succeeded to the estate in 1358. Either he, or a son of the same name, was there in 1401, with a wife called BEATRICE.

He had no son, and so the manor passed to his daughter JANE — an unusual name at the time, when the usually feminine form of John was Joan. She married ROGER Dodesham.

Responsible for most of the fifteenth century additions was their son, another WILLIAM, who was a lawyer as well as a landowner.

William had sisters called JOAN and ELEANOR, and on his death in 1480, the Gurney Street Manor passed in trust to Joan’s daughter, AGNES, wife of WALTER Michell, who died in 1487. Agnes and Walter had three sons, who each succeeded in turn, WILLIAM, JOHN, and THOMAS.

Thomas, whose wife was called MARGARET, died in 1503, when the manor passed to his son, another THOMAS. He also had a daughter called ISABEL.

Thomas made a number of improvements and refinements to the house, adding fine windows and new chimneys — but it all came to an abrupt end on December 13, 1539, when he murdered his wife JOAN and sister-in-law ELEANOR, seemingly at Gurney Manor, before killing himself.

He had two known children, another JANE, and another RICHARD.

Richard, who married an ELIZABETH, died in 1563, leaving the manor to his son, TRISTRAM.

Tristram, meanwhile, died in 1574, when the manor passed to his brother, Sir BARTHOLOMEW.

On Bartholomew’s death in 1616, his lands were split between his daughters, JANE and FRANCES. Gurney passed to Jane, wife of WILLIAM Hockmore.

William had considerable property elsewhere, and Gurney’s owners no longer lived there; the house and its acres was let to tenants, so that by the late nineteenth century, it was regarded as just a (large) farmhouse.

The names of most of these tenants is lost, but we still know the names of the house’s owners, and their families.

Jane and William Hockmore, for instance, had six children, SUSANNAH, GREGORY, CHARLES, WILLIAM, FRANCES and RICHARD, not all of whom lived to adulthood.

Gregory, married to MARY, inherited in 1626, dying in 1653, when the estate passed to his son, also called GREGORY (he also had a daughter called JANE).

Gregory II, married to HONOR, also had two children, a son WILLIAM, and, quelle surprise, yet another JANE.

William, who inherted sometime between 1676 and 1680, married another MARY, and had three daughters, MARY, JANE and HONORA; only Honora survived to adulthood, becoming William’s heiress on his death in 1707-08.

She married DAVIDGE Gould (his mother’s maiden name was Davidge) around 1713, and had five children who survived to adulthood: Sir HENRY (d.1794), RICHARD (d.1793), HONORA (d.1802), WILLIAM (d.1799) and THOMAS (d.1808).

Henry, married ELIZABETH, and had two daughters, another ELIZABETH, and HONORA MARGARETTA. Elizabeth married TEMPLE Luttrell; Honora Margaretta, who died in 1813, married General RICHARD Lambart, 7th Earl of Cavan.

And Gurney passed through her to the Earls of Cavan.

(Temple Luttrell was an interesting character; an MP, he was reputedly also a smuggler, and built a folly, called Luttrell’s Tower, at Eaglehurst near Southampton. On his death in Paris in 1803, Luttrell’s Tower passed to the Earl of Cavan too. By pure coincidence, Luttrell’s Tower is also now owned by the Landmark Trust.)

Richard and Honora Margaretta had five children:

• RICHARD HENRY ROBERT GILBERT (1783-85)
• HONORA ELIZABETH HESTER (1784-1856)
• ALICIA MARGARETTA HOCKMORE (1785-1818)
• SOPHIA AUGUSTA (1787-98)
• RICHARD HENRY (b. and d. 1788)
• GEORGE FREDERICK AUGUSTUS (1789-1828)
• EDWARD HENRY WENTWORTH VILLIERS (1791-1812)

George, who died before his father, married the simply named SARAH, and had five children:

• HENRIETTA AUGUSTA (d. 1874)
• ALICIA (d.1913)
• JULIA (d.1897)
• FREDERICK JOHN WILLIAM (1815-87)
• OLIVER GEORGE (1822-98)

Frederick John William’s wife was CAROLINE AUGUSTA, and they also had five children:

• MARY HYACINTHE (d.1933)
• SARAH SOPHIA (d.1914)
• FREDERICK EDWARD GOULD (1839-1900)
• OCTAVIUS HENRY (1855-1919)
• ARTHUR (1858-1937)

Frederick Edward Gould’s wife was MARY SNEADE (Sneade was her middle name — her surname was Olive), and their children:

• FREDERICK RUDOLPH (1865-1946)
• ELLEN OLIVE (1867-1945)
• MAUD EDITH GUNDREDA (1869-1940)
• LIONEL JOHN OLIVE (1873-1940)
• HORACE EDWARD SAMUEL SNEADE (1878-1950).

Frederick Rudolph had no children by his first wife CAROLINE INEZ; by his second wife, HESTER JOAN, he had two daughters; the first, ELIZABETH MARY was born in 1924.

The following year, Gurney was sold to its tenants of more than thirty years, the Bucknells, and with it an unbroken line of descent, if not of inhabitation, of at least eight hundred years, was finally severed.

The Bucknells were a thoroughly English Victorian middle class family; the father, a classic “gentleman farmer” was a solid and respectable JAMES, his wife an equally establishment MARY ANN. One daughter was ELIZA HARRIS, the other, OLIVE MARY (possibly named in honor of the Countess of Cavan), and they also had a son, BENJAMIN JOHN.

In 1901, there were also three servants living with them at the manor: FRANK, EMILY and MABEL.

Gurney’s time once more owned by its inhabitants was short-lived; the Bucknells sold in 1934, and by the 1940s it had been subdivided into flats. By the 1980s, it was in a sorry, neglected state, with most of the flats empty, but then the Landmark Trust bought it, and the rest is (more!) history…

No-one lives there for more than three weeks at a time anymore, but it has been fully restored to its medieval glory and I think the place rather likes the variety of ever changing faces coming and going, and basks in their rapt admiration.

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Nook of Names Pick of the Week — Elysia

With Llewellyn’s Complete Book of Names at last completed and gone forth into the big bad world, this week’s pick of the week — the lovely and evocative Elysia — is a thank you to Llewellyn’s Elysia Gallo, who, throughout the whole process of writing and editing, was so supportive, helpful and encouraging.

I have to say, I am very jealous of Elysia’s name — and I absolutely love it. As a girl’s name, it is found in the records from the seventeenth century, though it is clear that, especially in many early cases, it was mixed up with Alicia —  sometimes also Eliza.

But it is also clear that for others, the association intended was clearly Elysium…

Elysium itself is the Latin form of the Greek Êlusion.

This is the name the Ancient Greeks gave to the part of the Underworld reserved for heroes, righteous individuals selected by the Gods, and initiates of the mystery cults, particularly the Mysteries of Eleusis.

It is probable, but not certain, that Elysium and Eleusis share the same origin. And, if not, they have certainly been blurred together since ancient times.

The Eleusinian Mysteries are probably the best-known of the ancient Mystery cults; they are, indeed, the Mysteries. Centred on the small town of Eleusis in Attica, and within walking distance of Athens, the focus of the Mysteries were Demeter and Persephone, in her maiden aspect, Kore.

Unfortunately, the exact rites, rituals and beliefs of the initiated are, quite literally, a mystery. Absolute secrecy regarding practices and beliefs among initiates was a major component, and they those ancient initiates took their secrets with them to Elysium.

However, enough clues do survive, in the form of oblique references, and archaeological remains, including wall-paintings and mosaics, for scholars across the ages to have pieced together some of it.

The rites included fasting, consumption of ritual drink, the showing of special objects, the re-enactment of the myth of Demeter and Persephone, and revelation of secrets.

To reveal those secrets to a non-initiate, the penalty was death.

It is thought that the Eleusinian Mysteries date back to Mycenaean times (i.e. the second millennium BCE); in decline from the second century, they were banned by the new Christian elite in 396 CE.

The etymology of Eleusis and Elysium are as shrouded as the practices — though by passage of immense time, rather than by design.

The most obvious derivation of Eleusis is from the Greek erkhomai “to come.” Eleusis “coming,” is also a variant of the noun êlusis, which carries the prosaic meaning of “step.”

But a credible and alluring alternative explanation is that its actual origins lie with another Greek word — enêlusios “struck by lightning”; ta enêlusia was a name given to places set apart from worldly uses because they had been struck by lightning.

A further intriguing option is that the roots of Elysium actually lie with the Egyptian: jArw “rush,” a reference to sxt-jArw the “fields of rushes,” which was a similar concept to Elysium in Egyptian religion, ruled over by Osiris.

Given the long history of trade between Greece and Egypt, it is perfectly plausible that this notion would find its way into the Greek belief system.

Both Greek and Latin have adjectival forms of Elysium — Greek êlusios, Latin Elysius. They were used of Elysium and its queen, Persephone, and are often translated as “Elysian,” most famously in the expression Elysian Fields, a translation of the Latin campi Elysii.

In English today, “Elysia” is frequently used interchangeably with “Elysium.” Although its original use was quite specific, it has come into general use to mean “paradise,” passing, largely without hint of irony, into Christian language and iconography too.

As well as Elysia herself, Elysian makes a noteworthy name choice — and could also be used for a boy, as could Elysion, the usual Anglicized form of the original Greek Êlusion, which is sometimes found (mostly in poetry) as a variant spelling of Elysium.

As a name, there are a number of variant spellings, such as Elisia, Elizia and Elyzia. Elyse also wanders into the category, demonstrating the distinct blurring at the edges between Elysia with Alicia, Alice, Elise, Eliza and Lisa.

Certainly, Elysia presents an unusual, meaningful but also very contemporary alternative to those names, especially for a Pagan parent looking for a name with deep and strong Pagan roots.

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