The Inevitable Post-Solstice Joke

Archdruid: Nights are drawing in.

All: Soon be Christmas.

Liturgy for Solstice Morning

Archdruid Eileen: Where have you been, exactly?

All: What time is it....?


Archdruid: I've been up for hours. You know the sun - is it on the horizon? Have you captured the fragile moment - that tender first limb of the sun climbing above the Amazon Warehouse? Have you gasped at the moment when the sun makes his most northerly appearance of the year? Have you my right elbow...

Not an accurate representation of Husborne Crawley this morning

All: Doesn't matter. It's raining.


Archdruid: But it's the first tender rain of the Solstice morning! A time when heaven has poured out its benison on the grateful, thirsty earth.

All: Doesn't need to. Ground's saturated. Drought's over. We're going back to bed.


The Piper at the Gates of Dawn approaches, accompanied by Morris Dancers. Stones may be thrown and curses spoken.

Looking forward to the Solstice

I'm wondering.

After all, it's only ten days till Summer Solstice, and a couple more till Midsummer's Day.

If the weather keeps on the way it is, will I be able to sue God under the Trade Descriptions Act?

Nights Drawing Out

Looking forward to the Summer Holidays, now.

A Busy Solstice

It's been quite a day.

When I posted this morning's comments on the origins of Christmas Carols I was grabbing a quick coffee in between our Marking the Moment of Solstice ritual and our Greeting the New Dawn. And then some bright spark asked - had we got it right? After all, was it last night's dusk that brought with it the threat that the days may never get longer again, or tonight's?

A great dilemma. So we discussed the theology, cosmology and pathology of the whole matter. We noted that today is the shortest day (whatever those strange people who think the 21st is always Solstice may think). And therefore today is the day that the sun should set the earliest (it's not). So we got some models out, and "whiteboarded it", as modern parlance has it. We considered the Angle of the Ecliptic, the Precession of the Earth's Axis and the Law of Unintended Consequences.  And we decided that, overall, we don't know.

So we've held another Act of Darkness Fear tonight, leaving the Moon Gibbon Folk in a total state of terror - not least because the New Moon is due on Saturday. Poor souls, it's one thing after another at eclipse. On top of worrying that the Moon's not coming back, they're panicking that the Sun's not either.

So we're going to be up again tomorrow morning to stand in the drizzle, look south-westward and hope for the sun to come back. But at least this time it's going to rise a bit earlier.

Oh wait. It's not? How does that work then?

Sustainable Wicker Person

Please can Beaker folk note that this year's Winter Solstice will be at half past five on Thursday morning.

This means that the Act of Darkness Fear will be held at sunset on Wednesday in the orchard, followed by the Liturgy of Fear 'n' Trembling in the Moot House. Hi Viz will be Green as befits the solemnity of the season.

I know that it's the Liturgical Shortest Night on Wednesday but please don't use that as an excuse for staying up all night celebrating. The people that did that last year could barely hold their tea lights in the morning.

Thursday morning, hi viz will be Yellow, the colour of the Sun and Coldplay. If we're very lucky the bonfire will burn all night, but if it doesn't don't worry. I'm hoping the new environmentally-friendly Wicker Person will be arriving tomorrow morning. Through new technology, it's illuminated throughout by LEDs and controlled by a computer console. So the good news is that, in future, we can burn a Wicker Person whenever we like, without needing to do all that wicker-gathering and construction in advance.

Retro Choruses Week - There is a Green Hill Far Away (to the tune of "House of the Rising Sun")

The good news is that this morning's rain has washed away yesterday's 1980s "Big Hair". Very appropriate on a day when we needed lank, hippy-ish hair.

It was an act of genius, linking the poignant traditional hymn "There is a Green Hill" to the tune of a song about a brothel in Louisiana. But that's what someone once did. Someone for whom the word "fusion" was presumably very hip and happening.

If you want to the know what the chords should nearly have sounded like, you can follow the link. If you want to know what Rodryk's recreation actually sounded like - abysmal. It's been the ruin of many a Beaker Person. And Lord, I know I'm one. I'm off to bed. That's enough solstice all round.

Summer Solstice

One of those frustrating Solstice mornings - although, for those who believe that a little rain must fall into each life, oddly comforting.

The showers over the last couple of hours as we stood looking expectantly, waiting for the Eastern glow have left us all just slightly - but not terribly - sodden. And the Solstice dawn itself broke cloudy.  But not quite so cloudy that we couldn't see anything at all. There is very definitely something bright over there - behind that bank of white cloud.

Now morning has broken, blackbird is singing, and there is a sweetness to the wet garden. As Gussie Fink-Nottle once said - "It's a beautiful world, P.K. Purvis."

Preparing for the Solstice

You know, the great thing about liturgy in the Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley is that we aim never to do the same thing twice.

Why be boring and repetitive, you ask yourself, when the only thing restricting you is the human capacity for imagination and creativity? How could anyone be happy with the same thing, in the same way, every week or every day or every year - when you could do something completely different every morning?

And yet, cosmology is against us. Every day, almost without fail, the sun rises in the morning. Frequently, it sets again. In the winter the days are short. In the summer - they are on the whole much longer. The summer solstice comes round every year - as it has for ages. And we rack our brains for new things to do. And fail.

So this year we're doing the same thing as normal. We're having the solstice sunset Pimms party tonight, and then tomorrow morning, in keeping with tradition, nobody will bother to get up. I do love the old ways.

The sun often rises

And so the solstice comes to an end. Oh the relief among the more excitable and less scientific as the world span once more into half-light this morning while we stared, freezing cold, towards the north-east.

You know it's a kind of miracle, even though you know it will happen. The world turns, and it orbits the sun.  And its axis is at an angle and it wobbles. And the days shorten and the nights grow cold. And then the days lengthen and the world grows warm. It's prosaic, it's predictable, it's as regular as clockwork. And yet it gets you there. Every day the sun rises again, as the earth and sun obey the laws of gravity that we can only describe and can't really explain. It's a bloody wonder.

Good and bad news on the Moon Gibbon

Well, quite a Solstice, all things considered. So far, remembering it's not actually solstice till round about midnight and so we're going to have to get up tomorrow and do it all again. But tonight's "Darkness fear" was very moving. Indeed, some of the more impressionable Beaker People are still quivering with terror under the chairs in the Moot House.

As to the Lunar eclipse: the layer of white cloud prevented us seeing the colour of the moon, blood red or otherwise. And that kept the Moon Gibbon folk quite calm. I thought I'd calmed their fears that the Moon Gibbon, enraged, was causing the moon to run red with clanger blood.
And then I came out for a tour of the grounds round about 9am, to find a dead clanger laying on the ground. I got the wombles to bury it, which had a good side - it kept the news from the Moon Gibbon people - and a bad side. The bad side being that the wombles have declared war on the Moon Gibbon, and are trying to gather enough litter to build a rocket. My "non-existence" line on the Moon Gibbon is starting to look a little shaky.

Winter Solstice

It's the shortest day of the year, when earth stands hard as iron and the sun sulks away below the horizon like a teenager disappearing into the bathroom for a 3-hour spot-squeezing session.

If you get a move on you've still time to get down to Husborne Crawley to join us in the Act of Darkness Fear.
Unless you've found this posting some time next year, in a Google search for "Gibbon Moon" or "Hitler's Underpants" or "Water Polo in East Grinstead", in which case it's probably far too late by now. Or unless you live in Fiji, where the concept of "Solstice" isn't terribly important at the best of times.

If you listen very carefully you can probably hear the sound of the Gibbon Moon Folk screaming. Try to pay no attention. They're always like that at Lunar Eclipse, and it's not even started yet. I'm just glad we only get one every few years. If we had one every month they'd be intolerable, whereas generally they're just unbearable.
On an unrelated matter, some people have been asking how my part-time degree in empathy and motivational engagement went at Cranfield University. Well, they said the lecturer got depressed because I kept telling him what a twit he was. So the bad news is, I've been taken off the course. But the good news is that they gave me the degree anyway, to stop me throwing any more books at him.

Winter Solstice

And so the shortest day has slipped into the longest night.  For tomorrow - against all reason - the sun rises even later than today.  The pagan festival of Yule, the middest- of mid-winter, is truly with us.
I'm glad we squeezed in the evening ceremony just in time before the snow really started to come down, but it was close.  The traditional running off of Moon Gibbon Folks into the country was definitely cancelled this year, for reasons I may need to come to in a later bulletin.
The Solstice Midnight ceremony may have to be held indoors.  While we are still building the fire-proof Moot House, we will have to hold the Occasion in the dining room.  There's no way we're going out in this.
So maybe there's time for a brief few words.  The winter solstice - or Yule - is the critical time in the Beaker year.  Indeed, we believe that Stonehenge was aligned on the winter as much as - if not rather than - the summer one.  In the midst of darkness and devastation, as the year dies, the Beaker person looks to the west - the direction of the dead - with trembling.  And we look to the east with hope.  Will salvation come from the east?  Every year we look and long.  So far we have not been disappointed - although each year it slips away again.
In Husborne Crawley we have long enjoyed the beautiful Avenue, planted by my forebears on a north-easterly alignment and lining up with the alignment of the Moot House doors, at least it does when there actually is a Moot House.  This year, however, I suspect we shall instead be imagining what sunrise will look like from the Great House.  Still, the snow is the colour of the moon and brings a certain magic to the time of year.  We shall make the most of it and be spiritual and warm.  Could be worse.

Solstice Eve

And so the old sun draws nigh its most southerly point.

And we think of all the old fears.  Of that deepest, most primeval fear that this time it's not coming back.  That maybe it's gone to the Lands of the South forever, and we face Fenris the wolf alone in the dark.  Persephone the Fertile sojourns with her infernal lover - and will she ever return and bring with her the spring?  Must fields forever be harsh and white?  The sky cruel and cold?  Will we reach the point where the sun rises not again - and plunges us into the dark?

And we think of warrior sages of old, crouched around a turf fire as Grendel's brood slink again across the fens of ancestral homelands. Of the hag-woman-girl Brigid, devouring mortal life as she strives to be young again.  Of 2000 years of wrong, hung on this circling world like evil glitter on a tawdry Christmas-Tree bauble.

And so we light our bling, we blow up the inflatable santas.  We light our fires and fairy lights.  We hang the shiny tinsel in tacky locations.  We douse our plum puddings with brandy*, and heat the mead on the wood-burning stove.  And we strive to drive away the cold.  And the dark.  And the fear.

But the good news is, UK Gold are showing a whole series of Last of the Summer Wine Christmas specials.  And tomorrow night, after the Act of Darkness Fear, we'll be enjoying the Solstice Panto.  Hnaef is really looking forward to dressing up as Widow Twanky.  To be honest, we don't know why he's doing that because they're performing Mother Goose.  But no-one seems to have the heart to stop him.  And on 22 December, assuming the sun rises again, we'll be holding a 6-hour 70s-retro marathon homage to the Wombles.  Don't forget to bring your furry noses!

* Except in certain counties in Wales, where this is illegal.  Certainly on Sundays.
**  Image - Solstice at Cranfield, 2005

Yule Sale

You know, many people come to me and say "Archdruid, what must I do to inherit eternal life?"
And that's a hard question.  So many faiths, so many attitudes to life, death and how to gain salvation, nirvana, or  paradise according to choice.  So many different paths.  It can all become so confusing and worrying.
So why not buy a bag of Beaker tea lights?  In many ways just like any other tea lights, but lighting one of our authentic Beaker lights will give you 2-3 hours of new-age relaxation in the comfort of your very own library, conservatory or yurt.  And if you feel at peace with the universe now, why worry about the life to come?

And speaking of yurts - what better place could there be to light your Beaker tea lights than in your very own authentic Beaker yurt?  Crafted with the expertise of those Mongols whom we can be almost certain moved to Husborne Crawley in the centuries BC.  We have a limited edition of only 2,012 Beaker Yurts.  So buy one and get a bag of tea lights for free.

For those requiring a more word-based spirituality - whoever you are, we have a Beaker Common Worship for you.  The new Bathtime Beaker Common Worship has been made with laminated pages and an inflatable rubber cover, specially for people who like to carry out their daily devotions in the bath, shower or bubble pool in the garden.  The Study Beaker Common Worship comes with hand-tooled calfskin cover, gold leaf lettering and parchment paper - a must for those wanting to get back to a simpler, more authentic lifestyle of poverty and austerity in these Credit Crunchtimes.  While Today's New International Beaker Common Worship has all words with the the dipthong "-our-" spelt "-or-", and all gender-specific language removed and replaced with the word "it".

To accompany your Beaker Common Worship, why not try our new CD - "Sounds of living pebbles".  Many have claimed that pebbles don't actually make any sounds - but they're wrong.  Using new technology, we have shown that if you drop a pebble from the top of California Cliffs in Norfolk, they do indeed make a sound.  Especially when you land them on the sound recordist.

And then there are doilies.  Shaped like a full moon, in a choice of linen, white or unbleached paper - the widest choice of doilies on earth can be obtained from Mrs Whimsey's Online Doily Shop (now only available online as we've closed all the real ones down for tax reasons).

So don't forget - buy early for Yule!  We have only 2,012 of each of these fantastic items.  And when they're gone, we'll just go out and make some more.

The Beaker Collection

By popular demand, why not try one of our wide range of hi-viz clothing suitable for freezing in a car park at 4am while watching the sun rise? 

For those unable to make it to Husborne Crawley, why not find you hi-viz and other Personal Protective Equipment here - at the home of power tools.  Buy lots for free delivery!

With a hi-viz fleece under your hi-viz bomber jacket, you will be warm and visible in all weather conditions and phases of the moon.

Blue Moon

Sadly Wednesday night's moonrise was a damp squib. The skies over Husborne Crawley were heavy and overcast, and a light drizzle fell as we stood waiting for Hnaef's electronic Druidic Moon and Sun rise Forecasting Clock, Eclipse Predictor and Personal Organiser to beep to indicate the precise moment of moonrise.

We stood there for a few hours, gradually getting colder, until Hnaef realised it had stopped. At this point we pushed him off the platform and headed into the Great Hall.

Last night, by contrest, was a beutaiful event. The moon looked like a giant Pringle as it rose over Aspley Heath. But, to be honest - it was a bit samey? I mean, the precise point and time of moonrise may change from day to day and season to season, but - do we really care? I was going to ask the Archdruid if she ever felt like this, but my new friend Drayton Parslow suggested it might be best to let it drop. Besides, last night was the last Moon Watchnight of the Lunar Month.

This morning's early strat - 3.30 am - was a bit of a shock, particularly since Moanwatch had only finished a couple of hours earlier. However, we stood and watched the Solsticial Sun as it rose. Due to the timing issues that the Archdruid has mentioned previously, we're going to have to do it all again tomorrow morning. Not to mention lighting the Solstice Flame at one minute to 1am first.

I was hopping to get a bit of slepe today, to be honest, but as it turns out I've been assigned to Doily Duty again. Just another 6 hours of banging the holes out of doilies, and then it'll be time for "Emptying out of Beakers".

Feleing quiet tried nwo, actullay. I've notced once or twice I've mdea hte odd spilling mistake. But not too many, I hape.