Mythmaking

My best friend, with whom I drank and laughed away my teenage years, moved to Japan a few years ago and is currently experiencing a run of rather bad luck in the land of the rising sun. In my quest to find a remedy for his misfortune I discovered the Shichifukujin, seven gods who control different aspects of happiness. These comical characters have been popular since the Edo period when the monk Tenkai brought the seven separate deities together into a group to symbolise what he considered to be the essential virtues of man: candour (Ebisu), fortune (Daikokuten), amiability (Benzaiten), magnanimity (Hotei), popularity (Fukurokuju), longevity (Juroujin) and dignity (Bishamonten).

Ebisu is the only one of the Shichifukujin to originate from Japan. He is the god of candour, wealth, fishermen, the morning sun, fair business practices and young children and is usually depicted holding a large red sea bream, a symbol of good fortune. He was originally named Hiruko ('leech child') and was the third son of the Shinto gods Izanagi and Izanami, the progenitors of Japan. Due to his mother's transgression during the marriage ritual he was cursed to be born without bones and struggled to survive through his first years. Presumably due to his parents’ inability to cope with him, Ebisu was cast out into the sea in a boat of reeds and was eventually washed ashore to be cared for and raised by Ebisu Saburo. Young Ebisu eventually developed a skeletal structure and, though crippled and slightly deaf, evolved into the god Ebisu. Despite his hardships, he is known as the laughing god and is always pictured with a grin on his face.


Daikokuten evolved from the Indian god Shiva and was brought to Japan from China in the 9th century. He is the god of the kitchen, fortune, wealth, agriculture, millers and farmers and is usually depicted standing or seated on bales of rice with a treasure-filled sack over his shoulder and a mallet in his hand. The mallet can magically produce anything Daikokuten desires when he strikes it and he is said to grant the wishes of believers if they tap a symbolic mallet on the ground three times before making a wish. He is often picture with Ebisu and they are generally considered to be father (Daikokuten) and son (Ebisu).


Benzaiten's origins lie in the Indian goddess Sarasvati and she arrived in Japan from China in the 6th century, soon after the arrival of Buddhism. She is the only woman among the Shichifukujin and is the goddess of love, amiability, music, fine arts, eloquence, water and wisdom. She is also the patron of students, artists and geishas. Benzaiten is usually depicted sitting on a lotus leaf, carrying a Japanese mandolin or Biwa and surrounded by snakes. Occasionally she is seen with multiple arms to reflect her need to perform the various arts simultaneously. According to the Buddhist monk Kokei, Benzaiten is the third daughter of the dragon-king of Munetsuchi, the lake that lies at the centre of the world in ancient Buddhist cosmology. Another legend states that Benzaiten descended from heaven to marry a dragon that was terrorising the island of Enoshima, thus putting an end to its rampages.


Hotei is probably the most widely recognised of the seven gods outside of Japan. He is a smiling, bald man with a round belly, more commonly known as the Laughing Buddha, and is usually depicted carrying a large bag, said to contain a never ending supply of food or treasure. Hotei’s large belly should not be thought of as a result of over indulgence, but rather as an indication of his great life force or chi. He is the god of happiness, laughter, popularity and magnanimity and the patron of fortunetellers, children, bartenders and restaurateurs. Hotei is the only one of the Shichifukujin to be based on a real person, the eccentric Chinese monk Pu-tai, and is also thought to be the reincarnation of the Bodhisattva Maitreya.


Fukurokuju's origins lie in a Taoist myth of a hermit who could perform miracles and was said to embody the celestial powers of the South Pole star. He is the god of wisdom, popularity, wealth, longevity and virility and is the patron of chess players, watchmakers and athletes. He is depicted as an old man with a high forehead and long white beard, grasping a staff with a scroll of magical scripture wrapped around it or attached to it, and is usually accompanied by a crane, deer or turtle, all of which are considered symbols of longevity.


Despite apparently being a completely separate god in the pantheon of the Shichifukujin, Juroujin appears to be the same god as Fukurokuju and indeed it is often stated that the two gods inhabit the same body. The one difference that I did manage to find was that Juroujin is usually depicted holding the unfurnled scroll of magical scripture instead of holding the staff with the scroll attached to it, but he is also occasionally pictured holding a drinking cup or glass to represent his great love of sake.


Bishamonten is an incarnation of Vaisravana, a Buddhist deity from India. He is the god of dignity, defence and healing and is the patron of soldiers, priests and doctors. He is a protector of the righteous and defender of the peace and is usually depicted clad in armour and grasping a spear and pagoda or treasure tower, whose contents he both guards and dispenses when needed. He is also known as Tamonten, one of the Guardians of the Four Directions, and is said to protect the places where Buddha preaches, always listening to Buddha's teachings as he does so.

Although the Shichifukujin are worshipped all year round, the transition between the old year and the new brings them special attention. It is customary to see in the New Year by making a pilgrimage, or Shichifukujin Meguri, to the shrines and temples of the seven separate gods and to make offerings to each of them - it is important that the seven gods are all worshipped equally, lest your luck becomes unbalanced!

The coming of the New Year also traditionally marks the arrival of Takarabune, the treasure ship which transports the Shichifukujin to dispense gifts of happiness and luck to believers. Children receive red envelopes emblazoned with the Takarabune and containing money on New Year's Eve and many people sleep with a depiction of the seven Gods and the Takarabune under their pillow at New Year in order to ensure prosperity and good dreams for the coming months. If the bearer has nightmares, the picture should be set adrift in the river or sea to neutralise the bad luck. The ship is always depicted at full sail, laden with food and treasures, and prints of it usually include an auspicious palindromic poem:

"nagakiyo no/ tou no nemuri no/ mina mezame/ naminori fune no/ oto no yokikana"

"Awakening from a deep sleep after a long night, I seem to hear the sweet sound of a boat sailing through the waves."

Labels: folklore, japanese, mythology

Having just returned from a fantastic family holiday, I thought I'd ease myself back into blogging with a cheerful fairy tale. This is The Elves and the Shoemaker, a story I treasured as a youngster in the form of a Ladybird 'Read It Yourself' edition. The only notable difference between the Ladybird version of the story and that of the Grimm brothers' is that the Ladybird elves weren't naked!

"There was once a shoemaker who worked very hard and was very honest, but still he could not earn enough to live upon. He had become so poor that all he had left in the world was just leather enough to make one pair of shoes.

As evening fell he cut his leather out, all ready to make up the next day, meaning to rise early in the morning to his work. His conscience was clear and his heart light amidst all his troubles, so he went peaceably to bed, left all his cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after he had said his prayers, he sat himself down to his work, when, to his great wonder, there stood the shoes already made upon the table. The good man knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening. He looked at the workmanship. There was not one false stitch in the whole job; all was so neat and true that it was quite a masterpiece.

The same day a customer came in, and the shoes suited him so well that he willingly paid a price higher than usual for them; and so the shoemaker, with the money, bought leather enough to make two pairs more. That evening he cut out the work and went to bed early that he might get up and begin early the next day, but he was saved all the trouble, for when he got up in the morning the work was done ready to his hand. Soon, in came buyers who paid him handsomely for his goods, so that he bought leather enough for four pair more. He cut out the work again overnight and found it done in the morning, as before, and so it went on for some time: what was gotten ready in the evening was always done by daybreak, and the good man soon became thriving and well off again.

One evening, about Christmas time, as he and his wife were sitting over the fire chatting together, he said to her, ’I should like to sit up and watch tonight, that we may see who it is that comes and does my work for me.’ The wife liked the thought, so they left a light burning and hid themselves in a corner of the room behind a curtain that was hung up there, and watched what would happen.

As soon as it was midnight, there came in two little naked dwarfs. They sat themselves upon the shoemaker’s bench, took up all the work that was cut out, and began to ply with their little fingers, stitching and rapping and tapping away at such a rate that the shoemaker was all wonder and could not take his eyes off them. And on they went till the job was quite done and the shoes stood ready for use upon the table. This was long before daybreak; and then they bustled away as quick as lightning.

The next day the wife said to the shoemaker. ’These little wights* have made us rich and we ought to be thankful to them and do them a good turn if we can. I am quite sorry to see them run about as they do and indeed it is not very decent, for they have nothing upon their backs to keep off the cold. I’ll tell you what: I will make each of them a shirt and a coat and waistcoat, and a pair of pantaloons into the bargain, and you shall make each of them a little pair of shoes.’

The thought pleased the good cobbler very much. When all the presents were ready, the shoemaker and his wife laid them on the table, instead of the work that they used to cut out, and then went and hid themselves to watch what the little elves would do.
About midnight in they came, dancing and skipping, hopping round the room, and then went to sit down to their work as usual, but when they saw the clothes lying for them, they laughed and chuckled and seemed mightily delighted. Then they dressed themselves in the twinkling of an eye and danced and capered and sprang about, as merry as could be, till at last they danced out at the door and away over the green.

The good couple saw them no more, but everything went well with them from that time forward, and all their undertakings prospered as long as they lived."

*wight: a supernatural being, as a witch or sprite; a creature.

Labels: elves and the shoemaker, fairy tale, grimm

I'm off on holiday with the family for the next week. Normal service will resume shortly.

See you all soon :)

Perseus is a mythological figure I hold especially dear due to my childhood obsession with Clash of the Titans, the film that first sparked my interest in mythology. With the arrival of August, it seems appropriate to devote some time to him as this is the month in which the spectacular Perseid meteor shower can be seen, peaking this year on the twelfth of August if you're lucky enough to live in the northern hemisphere, where the light show is the most active.

Perseus was the son of Zeus and Danaë and founder of the Perseid dynasty. This is his story:

King Acrisius of Argos had only one child, a daughter named Danaë. She was beautiful above all the other women of the land, but the King was not content because he was desperate for a son and heir. He travelled to the Oracle of Delphi, where he was told by the Pythia that not only would he would never be the father of a boy, his daughter would have a son who would kill him.

In an attempt to escape his fate, he tried to ensure that Danaë would not have any children. He imprisoned her in a house built of bronze and sunk underground. He hoped that in this way she would not come into contact with anyone and so he would not have to kill her, thus sparing his own life.

However, Zeus, King of the Gods, learned of Danae's existance and fell in love with her. In the form of a shower of gold he fell sparkling into the bronze chamber and impregnated her. She gave birth to Perseus thereafter; "Perseus Eurymedon, for by that name his mother called him also", writes Apollonius Rhodius in the Argonautica, 'Eurymodeon' translating as 'far ruling'.

For a time she tried to conceal the child from her father, but the narrow limits of the bronze house made it increasingly difficult and soon Perseus was discovered by his grandfather. Acrisius was very angry but was afraid to kill the boy or his mother because he feared Zeus. Instead, he had a great chest made, placed the two in it and cast it into the sea in the hope that they might drift away to shores so distant that he would never see them again. Zeus learned of Acrisius's plan and instructed Poseidon to protect the chest. Thus, rather than heading for open and more dangerous waters, the tiny boat drifted to the island of Seriphos, the realm of Polydectes. There, Danae and Perseus were saved by Dictys, a fisherman and brother of the King. They lived there for many years, Danaë being content to let her son follow the fisherman's humble trade, but in the end more trouble came.

Polydectes, the king, fell in love with Danaë, but he wanted only her and not her son, who was now a strong, handsome and courageous young man. He set himself to think of a way of getting rid of Perseus; he spoke with him and told him that there was nothing he would rather have than the head of Medusa, the Gorgon. He announced that he was to be married and called his friends and subjects to the celebration. Each guest customarily brought the bride to be a gift, except Perseus who wasn't aware of the custom. Mortified, he stood and declared that he would go off and kill Medusa and bring back her head as his gift. This was exactly what the king had planned. Polydectes fully expected Perseus never to return alive.

Perseus sailed off to Greece to learn where the Gorgons were to be found. As he wandered, he met Hermes and Athena. The goddess Athena took off her shield of polished bronze and gave it to him. She told him he would be able to see Medusa in it as in a mirror and so avoid her deadly power. Hermes allowed Perseus the use of his winged sandals so he would be able to fly to the island where Medusa lived with her sisters, and he crafted an adamantine sword that would cut through the Gorgon's neck with one blow.

The deities told Perseus that to find the island of the Gorgons, he must consult the nymphs of the North. To find the nymph's abode, he must go to the land of the Graeae, where all was dim and shrouded in twilight. These three crone sisters were grey and withered as in extreme age. They had but one eye for the three, which they would take turns with, each removing it from her forehead after she had used it for a time and then handing it to another. Hermes told Perseus to remain hidden until one of them took their eye out of their forehead to pass it on. At that moment, he would rush forward and seize the eye and refuse to give it back until they told him how to reach the nymphs of the North.

When he found the Graeae, Perseus carried out Hermes' plan and was successful in learning where the nymphs of the North lived. And so he now was bound for the country of the Hesperides. No one had ever been able to reach their land, but wearing the winged sandals, the road was open to Perseus. There he found the Hesperidae banqueting and holding joyful revelry. They welcomed him kindly and gave him gifts of the helm of Hades, which made the wearer invisible and the Kibisis, a bag into which he could place the head of Medusa. Finally, they also told him how to get to the island of the Gorgons.

Perseus thanked the Hesperidae and flew back across the ocean and over the sea to the island. The Gorgons were asleep when Perseus found them. In the mirror of the shield, he saw a creature with great wings, a body covered with golden scales and hair a mass of twisting snakes. Perseus approached the sleeping Medusa backwards, watching her reflection in Athena's shield. When he could hear her breath and the hissing of the serpents in her hair, he drew his sword and with one blow swiftly decapitated her. As her blood flowed, the winged horse Pegasus and the giant Chrysaor, offspring from Medusa's coupling with Poseidon, sprang from her neck. The other two Gorgons were unsurprisingly awoken by the clamour and were horrified at the sight of their slain sister. They tried to pursue the slayer, but Perseus had on the helm of Hades and they could not see him.

After the slaughter of Medusa, Perseus, bearing her head, flew far and wide, over land and sea. As night came on, he reached the western limit of the earth where the sun goes down. Here he would gladly have rested till morning. It was the realm of King Atlas whose bulk surpassed that of all other men. He was rich in flocks and herds and had no neighbour or rival to dispute his state. His chief pride was in his gardens whose fruit was of gold, hanging from golden branches, half hid with golden leaves. Perseus said to him, "I come as a guest. If you honour illustrious descent, I claim Zeus for my father; if mighty deeds, I plead the conquest of the Gorgon. I seek rest and food." But Atlas remembered that an ancient prophecy had warned him that a son of Zeus should one day rob him of his golden apples. So he answered, "Begone! or neither your false claims of glory nor parentage shall protect you!" and he attempted to thrust him out. Perseus, finding the giant too strong for him turned his face away and held up the Gorgon's head. Atlas, with all his bulk, was changed into stone. His beard and hair became forests, his arms and shoulders cliffs, his head a summit, and his bones rocks. Each part increased in bulk until he became a mountain, and, such was the pleasure of the gods, heaven with all its stars rests upon his shoulders.

Perseus continued on his journey and eventually arrived at the country of the Aethiopians, of which Cepheus was king. Cassiopeia, his queen, proud of her beauty, had dared to compare herself to the sea-nymphs, the Nereids, which roused their indignation to such a degree that they sent a prodigious monster, Ceto, to ravage the coast. Cepheus consulted the oracle in order to find out how to appease the sea-nymphs and was directed to expose his daughter Andromeda as a sacrifice to be devoured by the monster. Perseus offered to kill Ceto on the condition that he be allowed to marry Andromeda, should she be spared. The king and queen agreed and Perseus turned Ceto to stone, using the head of Medusa. Perseus married Andromeda and returned to Seriphos with her

When he returned to the island where he was raised, he found no one. Dictys and Danaë had fled from the furious Polydectes when she refused to marry him. They had taken refuge in the temple. The king was having a banquet at the palace, and Perseus seized the opportunity. He walked into the palace and took out the head of Medusa and all the guests and the King were turned into stone.

Having completed his tasks, Perseus returned his magical gifts to their owners and gifted the head of Medusa to Athena, who set it in her shield. He made Dictys king of the island of Sephiros whilst he and his mother returned with Andromeda to Greece to reconcile with Acrisius.

When they reached Argos, they discovered that Acrisius had been driven away. Perseus heard that the King of Larissa was holding a great athletic banquet and he journeyed to take part. In the discus-throwing competition, when his turn came and he hurled the heavy missile, it swerved and fell among the spectators. Acrisius, who was amongst the crowd, was struck by the discus and killed instantly. The oracle was fulfilled. Having killed Acrisius, Perseus was now entitled to the throne of Argos, but his grief and shame at killing the king prevented him from accepting the honour. Instead, he gave the kingdom to Megapenthes, nephew of Acrisius, in exchange for Megapenthes' kingdom of Tiryns.

Perseus and Andromeda had seven sons and two daughters. They eventually took up official residence in Mycenae, where they lived happily until their deaths, when they were placed amongst the stars.

"...to perpetuate the story of his courage, I command that from henceforth, he will be set among the stars and constellations. He, Perseus, the lovely Andromeda, the noble Pegasus, and even the vain Cassiopeia. Let the stars be named after then forever. As long as man shall walk the Earth and search the night sky in wonder, they will remember the courage of Perseus forever. Even if we, the gods, are abandoned or forgotten, the stars will never fade. Never. They will burn till the end of the time."

--Zeus, Clash of the Titans

Labels: clash of the titans, greek, mythology, perseids, perseus

H.L. Mencken's Memorial Service is perhaps not as relevant in the present day as it would have been in 1921, considering the current popularity of Neo-Paganism, but the sentiment of it appeals to me greatly.

"Where is the grave-yard of dead gods? What lingering mourner waters their mounds? There was a day when Jupiter was the king of the gods, and any man who doubted his puissance was ipso facto a barbarian and an ignoramus. But where in all the world is there a man who worships Jupiter to-day? And what of Huitzilopochtli? In one year - and it is no more than five hundred years ago - 50,000 youths and maidens were slain in sacrifice to him. Today, if he is remembered at all, it is only by some vagrant savage in the depths of the Mexican forest. Huitzilopochtli, like many other gods, had no human father; his mother was a virtuous widow; he was born of an apparently innocent flirtation that she carried on with the sun. When he frowned, his father, the sun, stood still. When he roared with rage, earthquakes engulfed whole cities. When he thirsted he was watered with 10,000 gallons of human blood. But today Huitzilopochtli is as magnificently forgotten as Allen G. Thurman. Once the peer of Allah, Buddha, and Wotan, he is now the peer of General Coxey, Richmond P. Hobson, Nan Petterson, Alton B. Parker, Adelina Patti, General Weyler, and Tom Sharkey.

Speaking of Huitzilopochtli recalls his brother, Tezcatilpoca. Tezcatilpoca was almost as powerful: He consumed 25,000 virgins a year. Lead me to his tomb: I would weep, and hang a couronne des perles. But who knows where it is? Or where the grave of Quitzalcontl is? Or Tialoc? Or Chalchihuitlicue? Or Xiehtecutli? Or Centeotl, that sweet one? Or Tlazolteotl, the goddess of love? Or Mictlan? Or Ixtlilton? Or Omacatl? Or Yacatecutli? Or Mixcoatl? Or Xipe? Or all the host of Tzitzimitles? Where are their bones? Where is the willow on which they hung their harps? In what forlorn and unheard of hell do they await the resurrection morn? Who enjoys their residuary estates? Or that of Dis, whom Caesar found to be the chief god of the Celts? Or that of Tarves, the bull? Or that of Moccos, the pig? Or that of Epona, the mare? Or that of Mullo, the celestial jack-ass? There was a time when the Irish revered all these gods as violently as they now hate the English. But today even the drunkest Irishman laughs at them.

But they have company in oblivion: The hell of dead gods is as crowded as the Presbyterian hell for babies. Damona is there, and Esus, and Drunemeton, and Silvana, and Dervones, and Adsalluta, and Deva, and Belisama, and Axona, and Vintios, and Taranuous, and Sulis, and Cocidius, and Adsmerius, and Dumiatis, and Caletos, and Moccus, and Ollovidius, and Albiorix, and Leucitius, and Vitucadrus, and Ogmios, and Uxellimus, and Borvo, and Grannos, and Mogons. All mighty gods in their day, worshiped by millions, full of demands and impositions, able to bind and loose--all gods of the first class, not dilettanti. Men labored for generations to build vast temples to them--temples with stones as large as hay-wagons. The business of interpreting their whims occupied thousands of priests, wizards, archdeacons, evangelists, haruspices, bishops, archbishops. To doubt them was to die, usually at the stake. Armies took to the field to defend them against infidels: Villages were burned, women and children were butchered, cattle were driven off. Yet in the end they all withered and died, and today there is none so poor to do them reverence. Worse, the very tombs in which they lie are lost, and so even a respectful stranger is debarred from paying them the slightest and politest homage.

What has become of Sutekh, once the high god of the whole Nile Valley? What has become of:

Resheph Anath Ashtoreth El Nergal Nebo Ninib Melek

Ahijah Isis Ptah Anubis Baal Astarte Hadad Addu

Shalem Dagon Sharrab Yau Amon-Re Osiris Sebek Molech?

All these were once gods of the highest eminence. Many of them are mentioned with fear and trembling in the Old Testament. They ranked, five or six thousand years ago, with Jahveh himself; the worst of them stood far higher than Thor. Yet they have all gone down the chute, and with them the following:

Bilé Ler Arianrod Morrigu Govannon Gunfled Sokk-mimi Memetona Dagda Robigus Pluto Ops Meditrina Vesta Tilmun Ogyrvan Dea Dia Ceros Vaticanus Edulia Adeona Iuno Lucina Saturn Furrina Vediovis Consus Cronos Enki Engurra Belus Dimmer Mu-ul-lil Ubargisi Ubilulu Gasan lil U-dimmer-an-kia Enurestu Ueras

U-sab-sib Kerridwen Pwyll Tammuz Venus Bau Mulu-hursang Anu Beltis Nusku U-Mersi Beltu Dumu-zi-abzu Kuski-banda Sin Abil Addu Apsu Dagan Elali Isum Mami Nin-man Zaraqu Suqamunu Zagaga Gwydion Manawyddan Nuada Argetlam Tagd Goibniu Odin Llaw Gyffes Lleu Ogma Mider Rigantona Marzin Mars

Kaawanu Ni-zu Sahi Aa Allatu Jupiter Cunina Potina Statilinus Diana of Ephesus Nin-azu Lugal-Amarada Zer-panitu Merodach U-ki Dauke Gasan-abzu Elum U-Tin-dir-ki Marduk Nin-lil-la Nin Persephone Istar Lagas U-urugal Sirtumu Ea Nirig Nebo Samas Ma-banba-anna En-Mersi Amurru Assur Aku Qarradu Ura-gala

You may think I spoof. That I invent the names. I do not. Ask the rector to lend you any good treatise on comparative religion: You will find them all listed. They were gods of the highest standing and dignity - gods of civilized peoples - worshiped and believed in by millions. All were theoretically omnipotent, omniscient, and immortal. And all are dead."

Labels: memorial service, mencken, mythology

This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass.
Fly, lady-bird, north, south, or east, or west,
Fly where the man is found that I love best.
- John Gay (1685 – 1732)
Despite the fact that, when I was younger, spiders could force me out of a room for hours and black beetles made my skin crawl, I never had such a problem with ladybirds. My Mum's house was frequently visited by the 'little red sphere', or Coccinellid, and even now upon finding one there I take the time to pick it up and make a wish before releasing it again.

The ladybird is probably the only insect to have been consistently viewed as an omen of good luck throughout the ages and it continues to enjoy popularity around the world today due to its talent for pest control. Its reputation as an admirable creature, in Britain at least, has been cemented by its association with the much loved Ladybird Books, who have been churning out children's classics for the past hundred years.

The word 'ladybird' itself is an evolution of 'lady beetle', which was so called because of its traditional connection with the Virgin Mary. A popular legend recalls that during the middle ages when invasive insects were destroying food crops, the farmers prayed to the Virgin Mary and were blessed with thousands of ladybirds who quickly ate the pests and saved the harvest. From then on, the ladybird was known as 'Our Lady's Beetle', which evolved through ladybeetle, ladybug and finally to the presently known ladybird. This religious connection is also found in the ladybirds' names around the world:

• Nyckelpiga - Our Lady's Key-Maid (Scandinavian)


• Marienkafer - Mary's Beetle (German)


• Bozhia Korovka - God's Little Cow (Russian)*


• Vaquilla de Dios - Cow of God (Spanish)*


• Bete a bon Dieu - literally Animal of the Good God (France)

*the nomen of ‘cow’ most likely given because of the ladybirds’ markings.

Why the final shift from 'bug' to 'bird' occurred in Britain is unclear, but the Online Etymology Dictionary proposes that it was done 'through aversion to the word bug, which there has overtones of sodomy'.


One of the ladybirds' most curious nicknames is Bishop Barnabee, first transcribed in Notes & Queries in 1849. It is still unknown where the latter part of the nickname originates, but with regards to its clerical title, a writer in the December issue of the above journal states:

"The dignified ecclesiastics in ancient times wore brilliant mixtures of colours in their habits. Bishops had scarlet and black, as this insect has on its wing-covers."

The ladybirds' colouring has also been attributed to the Virgin Mary; the red being symbolic of her mantle or robes and the seven black dots corresponding to her Seven Sorrows or Seven Joys, though this explanation must obviously only refer to the seven-spotted ladybird since the common genus sports only two spots.


The most well known area of ladybird folklore is that which involves the ladybird settling on a person's hand, usually accompanied by a rhyme.

In Welsh Folk-Lore (1887), author Elias Owen explains one procedure to use a ladybird to foretell the weather:

"First of all the lady-bird was placed in the palm of the left hand, or right; I do not think it made any difference which hand was used, and the person who held it addressed it as follows -

'Lady-bird, lady-bird, tell to me
What the weather is going to be;
If fair, then fly in the air,
If foul, then fall to the ground.'

The first two lines were said with the beetle in the hand, and the last two whilst it was thrown upwards; if it came to the ground without attempting to fly, it indicated rain; if, however, when thrown into the air it flew away, then fair weather was to be expected. The writer has often resorted to this test, but whether he found it true or false he cannot now say."

In Weather and Folk Lore (1911), Charles Dack states:

"Children, even now, when they find a Ladybird or cow lady say -

'Click, Clock, Clay. What time o'day.
One o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock, Click, clock, clay.'"

Unfortunately he makes no mention of what the exact method is, but presumably the o'clocks are counted until the ladybird takes flight, much like the blowing away of dandelion seeds.

James Napier recounts in Folk Lore and Superstitious Beliefs in the West of Scotland within This Century (1879):

"Grown up girls, when they caught a lady bird, held it in their hands, and repeated the following couplet -

'Fly away east or fly away west,
And show me where lives the one I like best.'

Its flight was watched with great anxiety, and when it took the direction which the young girl wished, it was not only a sort of pleasure, but a proof of the augury."

Another verse on determining the whereabouts of a future lovers home, again from Scotland, states:

"Lady, Lady Landers
Lady, Lady Landers
Tak yer cloak aboot your heid
An flee awa to Flanders.
Flee ower firth and flee ower fell,
Flee ower pool and rennin well,
Flee ower muir an flee ower mead,
Flee ower leevin, flee ower deid,
Flee ower corn, flee ower lea,
Flee ower river, flee ower sea,
Flee ye east or flee ye west,
Flee til her that loves me best."

The most famous, if somewhat cruel, rhyme is well known throughout the British Isles and has many regional variations. The frying pan is sometimes replaced by a grindstone and the name of the last little ladybird changes from place to place, but this is the one that I remember:

"Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,
Your house is on fire, your children are gone.
All but one and her name's Anne,
and she crept under the frying pan."

Having recited the rhyme, the ladybird was then blown off the hand if it hadn't flown away already. The verse is said to originate from farmers warning the helpful ladybirds to leave their fields before setting fire to the land in order to clear it and make ready for another years' crops.

I assume that all of the above verses were taught to children to encourage them not to harm a ladybird if it landed on them but rather to release it back into the air, thus allowing it to continue with its pest eradicating duties.


The ladybird as a symbol of luck permeates most European cultures and all of them consider killing a ladybird to be extremely unlucky. The most obvious of the superstitions is that if numerous ladybirds are seen flying in Spring, the crops will be good! Others include the ladybird granting a wish, carrying away ailments or foretelling a marriage within the year if it lands on the hand or crawls across it. The number of spots on the back of the ladybird are also significant and can denote how many happy months you will have in the immediate future, how many children you'll have or how much money you are about to find. Unfortunately they don't give any clues to the whereabouts of this supposed wealth!

Labels: folklore, ladybirds, superstition

This story was like car-crash TV for me when I was young, in that it absolutely horrified me but I couldn't stop reading it! As fairy tales go, this is certainly one of the most gruesome around, unsurprisingly conjured from the imagination of the Grimm brothers. I don't think it helps that there seems to be no specific moral to the story, other than 'watch out for moody step-mothers', perhaps.


"It is now long ago, quite two thousand years, since there was a rich man who had a beautiful and pious wife and they loved each other dearly. They had, however, no children, though they wished for them very much and the woman prayed for them day and night, but still they had none. Now there was a court-yard in front of their house in which was a juniper tree, and one day in winter the woman was standing beneath it paring herself an apple, and while she was paring herself the apple she cut her finger and the blood fell on the snow. "Ah," said the woman and sighed right heavily, and looked at the blood before her and was most unhappy, "Ah, if I had but a child as red as blood and as white as snow!" And while she thus spake, she became quite happy in her mind and felt just as if that were going to happen.

A month went by and the snow was gone, and two months and then everything was green, and three months and then all the flowers came out of the earth, and four months and then all the trees in the wood grew thicker and the green branches were all closely entwined and the birds sang until the wood resounded and the blossoms fell from the trees, then the fifth month passed away and she stood under the juniper tree, which smelt so sweetly that her heart leapt, and she fell on her knees and was beside herself with joy, and when the sixth month was over the fruit was large and fine and then she was quite still, and the seventh month she snatched at the juniper-berries and ate them greedily, then she grew sick and sorrowful, then the eighth month passed and she called her husband to her and wept and said, "If I die then bury me beneath the juniper tree." Then she was quite comforted and happy until the next month was over and then she had a child as white as snow and as red as blood, and when she beheld it she was so delighted that she died.

Then her husband buried her beneath the juniper tree and he began to weep sore; after some time he was more at ease, and though he still wept he could bear it and after some time longer he took another wife.

By the second wife he had a daughter, but the first wife's child was a little son and he was as red as blood and as white as snow. When the woman looked at her daughter she loved her very much, but then she looked at the little boy and it seemed to cut her to the heart, for the thought came into her mind that he would always stand in her way, and she was for ever thinking how she could get all the fortune for her daughter and the Evil One filled her mind with this till she was quite wroth with the little boy and slapped him here and cuffed him there, until the unhappy child was in continual terror for when he came out of school he had no peace in any place.

One day the woman had gone upstairs to her room, and her little daughter went up too and said, "Mother, give me an apple." "Yes, my child," said the woman and gave her a fine apple out of the chest, but the chest had a great heavy lid with a great sharp iron lock. "Mother," said the little daughter, "is brother not to have one too?" This made the woman angry, but she said, "Yes, when he comes out of school." And when she saw from the window that he was coming, it was just as if the Devil entered into her and she snatched at the apple and took it away again from her daughter, and said, "Thou shalt not have one before thy brother." Then she threw the apple into the chest, and shut it. Then the little boy came in at the door and the Devil made her say to him kindly, "My son, wilt thou have an apple?" and she looked wickedly at him. "Mother," said the little boy, "how dreadful you look! Yes, give me an apple." Then it seemed to her as if she were forced to say to him, "Come with me," and she opened the lid of the chest and said, "Take out an apple for thyself," and while the little boy was stooping inside, the Devil prompted her, and crash! She shut the lid down, and his head flew off and fell among the red apples. Then she was overwhelmed with terror and thought, "If I could but make them think that it was not done by me!" So she went upstairs to her room to her chest of drawers and took a white handkerchief out of the top drawer and set the head on the neck again, and folded the handkerchief so that nothing could be seen and she set him on a chair in front of the door and put the apple in his hand.

After this Marlinchen came into the kitchen to her mother, who was standing by the fire with a pan of hot water before her which she was constantly stirring round. "Mother," said Marlinchen, "brother is sitting at the door, and he looks quite white and has an apple in his hand. I asked him to give me the apple, but he did not answer me and I was quite frightened." "Go back to him," said her mother, "and if he will not answer thee, give him a box on the ear." So Marlinchen went to him and said, "Brother, give me the apple." But he was silent and she gave him a box on the ear, on which his head fell down. Marlinchen was terrified and began crying and screaming and ran to her mother and said, "Alas, mother, I have knocked my brother's head off!" and she wept and wept and could not be comforted. "Marlinchen," said the mother, "what hast thou done? But be quiet and let no one know it; it cannot be helped now, we will make him into black-puddings." Then the mother took the little boy and chopped him in pieces, put him into the pan and made him into black puddings; but Marlinchen stood by weeping and weeping and all her tears fell into the pan and there was no need of any salt.

Then the father came home and sat down to dinner and said, "But where is my son?" And the mother served up a great dish of black-puddings and Marlinchen wept and could not leave off. Then the father again said, "But where is my son?" "Ah," said the mother, "he has gone across the country to his mother's great uncle; he will stay there awhile." "And what is he going to do there? He did not even say good-bye to me."

Oh, he wanted to go, and asked me if he might stay six weeks, he is well taken care of there." "Ah," said the man, "I feel so unhappy lest all should not be right. He ought to have said good-bye to me." With that he began to eat and said, "Marlinchen, why art thou crying? Thy brother will certainly come back." Then he said, "Ah, wife, how delicious this food is, give me some more." And the more he ate the more he wanted to have and he said, "Give me some more, you shall have none of it. It seems to me as if it were all mine." And he ate and ate and threw all the bones under the table, until he had finished the whole. But Marlinchen went away to her chest of drawers and took her best silk handkerchief out of the bottom drawer, and got all the bones from beneath the table and tied them up in her silk handkerchief and carried them outside the door, weeping tears of blood.

Then the juniper tree began to stir itself and the branches parted asunder and moved together again, just as if some one was rejoicing and clapping his hands. At the same time a mist seemed to arise from the tree and in the centre of this mist it burned like a fire, and a beautiful bird flew out of the fire singing magnificently, and he flew high up in the air, and when he was gone, the juniper tree was just as it had been before, and the handkerchief with the bones was no longer there. Marlinchen, however, was as gay and happy as if her brother were still alive. And she went merrily into the house, and sat down to dinner and ate.

But the bird flew away and lighted on a goldsmith's house, and began to sing,

"My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

The goldsmith was sitting in his workshop making a gold chain when he heard the bird which was sitting singing on his roof, and very beautiful the song seemed to him. He stood up, but as he crossed the threshold he lost one of his slippers. But he went away right up the middle of the street with one shoe on and one sock; he had his apron on and in one hand he had the gold chain and in the other the pincers, and the sun was shining brightly on the street. Then he went right on and stood still, and said to the bird, "Bird," said he then, "how beautifully thou canst sing! Sing me that piece again." "No," said the bird, "I'll not sing it twice for nothing! Give me the golden chain, and then I will sing it again for thee." "There," said the goldsmith, "there is the golden chain for thee, now sing me that song again." Then the bird came and took the golden chain in his right claw and went and sat in front of the goldsmith and sang,

"My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

Then the bird flew away to a shoemaker, and lighted on his roof and sang,

"My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

The shoemaker heard that and ran out of doors in his shirt sleeves, and looked up at his roof and was forced to hold his hand before his eyes lest the sun should blind him. "Bird," said he, "how beautifully thou canst sing!" Then he called in at his door, "Wife, just come outside, there is a bird, look at that bird, he just can sing well." Then he called his daughter and children and apprentices, boys and girls, and they all came up the street and looked at the bird and saw how beautiful he was and what fine red and green feathers he had, and how like real gold his neck was, and how the eyes in his head shone like stars. "Bird," said the shoemaker, "now sing me that song again." "Nay," said the bird, "I do not sing twice for nothing; thou must give me something." "Wife," said the man, "go to the garret, upon the top shelf there stands a pair of red shoes, bring them down." Then the wife went and brought the shoes. "There, bird," said the man, "now sing me that piece again." Then the bird came and took the shoes in his left claw, and flew back on the roof, and sang,

"My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

And when he had sung the whole he flew away. In his right claw he had the chain and the shoes in his left and he flew far away to a mill, and the mill went, "klipp klapp, klipp klapp, klipp klapp," and in the mill sat twenty miller's men hewing a stone and cutting, hick hack, hick hack, hick hack, and the mill went klipp klapp, klipp klapp, klipp klapp. Then the bird went and sat on a lime-tree which stood in front of the mill, and sang,

"My mother she killed me,"

Then one of them stopped working,

"My father he ate me."

Then two more stopped working and listened to that,

"My sister, little Marlinchen,"

Then four more stopped,

"Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,"

Now eight only were hewing,

"Laid them beneath"

Now only five,

"The juniper tree,"

And now only one,

"Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

Then the last stopped also and heard the last words. "Bird," said he, "how beautifully thou singest! Let me, too, hear that. Sing that once more for me."

"Nay," said the bird, "I will not sing twice for nothing. Give me the millstone and then I will sing it again."

"Yes," said he, "if it belonged to me only, thou shouldst have it."

"Yes," said the others, "if he sings again he shall have it." Then the bird came down, and the twenty millers all set to work with a beam and raised the stone up. And the bird stuck his neck through the hole and put the stone on as if it were a collar, and flew on to the tree again and sang,

"My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

And when he had done singing, he spread his wings and in his right claw he had the chain and in his left the shoes and round his neck the millstone, and he flew far away to his father's house.

In the room sat the father, the mother and Marlinchen at dinner, and the father said, "How light-hearted I feel, how happy I am!" "Nay," said the mother, "I feel so uneasy, just as if a heavy storm were coming." Marlinchen, however, sat weeping and weeping and then came the bird flying, and as it seated itself on the roof the father said, "Ah, I feel so truly happy, and the sun is shining so beautifully outside, I feel just as if I were about to see some old friend again." "Nay," said the woman, "I feel so anxious, my teeth chatter and I seem to have fire in my veins." And she tore her stays open, but Marlinchen sat in a corner crying and held her plate before her eyes and cried till it was quite wet. Then the bird sat on the juniper tree, and sang,

"My mother she killed me,"

Then the mother stopped her ears, and shut her eyes and would not see or hear, but there was a roaring in her ears like the most violent storm and her eyes burnt and flashed like lightning,

"My father he ate me,"

"Ah, mother," says the man, "that is a beautiful bird! He sings so splendidly and the sun shines so warm and there is a smell just like cinnamon."

"My sister, little Marlinchen,"

Then Marlinchen laid her head on her knees and wept without ceasing, but the man said, "I am going out, I must see the bird quite close." "Oh, don't go," said the woman, "I feel as if the whole house were shaking and on fire." But the man went out and looked at the bird:

"Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

On this the bird let the golden chain fall and it fell exactly round the man's neck, and so exactly round it that it fitted beautifully. Then he went in and said, "Just look what a fine bird that is and what a handsome gold chain he has given me, and how pretty he is!" But the woman was terrified and fell down on the floor in the room, and her cap fell off her head. Then sang the bird once more,

"My mother she killed me."

"Would that I were a thousand feet beneath the earth so as not to hear that!"

"My father he ate me,"

Then the woman fell down again as if dead.

"My sister, little Marlinchen,"

"Ah," said Marlinchen, "I too will go out and see if the bird will give me anything," and she went out.

"Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,"

Then he threw down the shoes to her.

"Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"

Then she was light-hearted and joyous, and she put on the new red shoes and danced and leaped into the house. "Ah," said she, "I was so sad when I went out and now I am so light-hearted; that is a splendid bird, he has given me a pair of red shoes!" "Well," said the woman, and sprang to her feet and her hair stood up like flames of fire, "I feel as if the world were coming to an end! I, too, will go out and see if my heart feels lighter." And as she went out at the door, crash! The bird threw down the millstone on her head and she was entirely crushed by it. The father and Marlinchen heard what had happened and went out, and smoke, flames and fire were rising from the place, and when that was over, there stood the little brother and he took his father and Marlinchen by the hand and all three were right glad, and they went into the house to dinner, and ate."

Labels: fairy tale, grimm, juniper tree