The Old Magic of Christmas: Yuletide Traditions for the Darkest Days of the Year by Linda Raedisch Page B
Authors: Linda Raedisch
Tags: Non-Fiction
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welcomes the merrymakers
with the greeting mentioned in Chapter Two: “Let them
come who wish to come, and let them go who wish to go,
and do no harm to me or mine.” This girl, too, keeps her-
self to herself and her nose in her Bible while the party is 60 Dead by Christmas Morning
going on, but because she praises God when the sun comes
up, the elves are forced to drop their precious gifts before they vanish. (It’s all right though: they get their treasures back again the following year when the less disciplined sister is left behind.)
The dark-minded reader will detect in the preceding
stories the distant echo of human sacrifice, a seasonal gift made to the powerful elves, fairies or land-spirits while the rest of the household looks away, and I will not say they are wrong. But the more important element to recognize is the
code of conduct outlined in the stories. Certainly these tales were told for entertainment—and how much more chilling
they would have been when told in the darkening baðstofa
or by the trembling light of an oil-fed flame at the kitchen table—but they were also teaching tools. There is another, rather daunting class of beings out there, the message runs, whose world often collides with our own. There is a good
chance that someday you will encounter them, either in
the borderlands or at one of those shaky times of year like Christmas and New Year’s Eves, and when you do, you had
better know how to handle them.
In our time, the most effective tool for banishing the
otherwordly is the light switch. One flick and “Poof!”: nothing there. Like our ancestors, we perceive what we expect to perceive in the night kitchen. It’s up to us to decide whether we heard the cat upsetting the dish rack or a cry for attention from the other side. For most of us, that “nothing
there” is perfectly acceptable, even desirable. But there are others of us who have always hoped to perceive something
more, despite the danger. The holiest night of the year is also one of the best times to send the rest of the family to Dead by Christmas Morning 61
church, drink a strong cup of coffee, cut the power and wait with eyes open on the darkness.
Sitting Out 101
If your family happens to have other plans for you on
Christmas Eve, there’s still New Year’s Eve for hobnob-
bing with the elves. In Sweden, December 31 was celebrated by shooting at the sky and setting off the inauspiciously
named “tomte-flares,” a kind of firecracker called after the little gnome-like creature that inhabits the Swedish stable.
This was supposed to frighten off those ghosts, witches and trolls who had not already departed on Christmas morning, but I’m sure the racket caused many a tomten to stick his head in the straw as well.
In sparsely populated Iceland, however, the humans
were more careful. There, with the ocean on one hand and
the jagged volcanic wastes of the interior on the other, the early settlers quickly realized the importance of not offend-ing the elemental spirits who were their neighbors. Most of the time, they tried to keep well out of their way, but on December 31, a few hardy souls went looking for the Hidden Folk. In Iceland, New Year’s Eve is Moving Day for the elves, so that was the best time to catch them and ask them what the future might hold.
The practice of “Sitting Out,” as it was called, did not
originate in Iceland but in Norway where the ritual was
enacted atop an elf-mound or deep in the forest. In the old country, it was eventually classified as witchcraft and outlawed, but the sometimes cantankerous folk who emigrated
from Norway to Iceland and the Faeroe Islands tended to
be the kind of people who didn’t like the king telling them 62 Dead by Christmas Morning
whether or not they could talk to the elves. Sitting Out used to take place on Christmas Eve or Twelfth Night but was
transferred to New Year’s Eve when January 1 became the
official beginning of the
with the greeting mentioned in Chapter Two: “Let them
come who wish to come, and let them go who wish to go,
and do no harm to me or mine.” This girl, too, keeps her-
self to herself and her nose in her Bible while the party is 60 Dead by Christmas Morning
going on, but because she praises God when the sun comes
up, the elves are forced to drop their precious gifts before they vanish. (It’s all right though: they get their treasures back again the following year when the less disciplined sister is left behind.)
The dark-minded reader will detect in the preceding
stories the distant echo of human sacrifice, a seasonal gift made to the powerful elves, fairies or land-spirits while the rest of the household looks away, and I will not say they are wrong. But the more important element to recognize is the
code of conduct outlined in the stories. Certainly these tales were told for entertainment—and how much more chilling
they would have been when told in the darkening baðstofa
or by the trembling light of an oil-fed flame at the kitchen table—but they were also teaching tools. There is another, rather daunting class of beings out there, the message runs, whose world often collides with our own. There is a good
chance that someday you will encounter them, either in
the borderlands or at one of those shaky times of year like Christmas and New Year’s Eves, and when you do, you had
better know how to handle them.
In our time, the most effective tool for banishing the
otherwordly is the light switch. One flick and “Poof!”: nothing there. Like our ancestors, we perceive what we expect to perceive in the night kitchen. It’s up to us to decide whether we heard the cat upsetting the dish rack or a cry for attention from the other side. For most of us, that “nothing
there” is perfectly acceptable, even desirable. But there are others of us who have always hoped to perceive something
more, despite the danger. The holiest night of the year is also one of the best times to send the rest of the family to Dead by Christmas Morning 61
church, drink a strong cup of coffee, cut the power and wait with eyes open on the darkness.
Sitting Out 101
If your family happens to have other plans for you on
Christmas Eve, there’s still New Year’s Eve for hobnob-
bing with the elves. In Sweden, December 31 was celebrated by shooting at the sky and setting off the inauspiciously
named “tomte-flares,” a kind of firecracker called after the little gnome-like creature that inhabits the Swedish stable.
This was supposed to frighten off those ghosts, witches and trolls who had not already departed on Christmas morning, but I’m sure the racket caused many a tomten to stick his head in the straw as well.
In sparsely populated Iceland, however, the humans
were more careful. There, with the ocean on one hand and
the jagged volcanic wastes of the interior on the other, the early settlers quickly realized the importance of not offend-ing the elemental spirits who were their neighbors. Most of the time, they tried to keep well out of their way, but on December 31, a few hardy souls went looking for the Hidden Folk. In Iceland, New Year’s Eve is Moving Day for the elves, so that was the best time to catch them and ask them what the future might hold.
The practice of “Sitting Out,” as it was called, did not
originate in Iceland but in Norway where the ritual was
enacted atop an elf-mound or deep in the forest. In the old country, it was eventually classified as witchcraft and outlawed, but the sometimes cantankerous folk who emigrated
from Norway to Iceland and the Faeroe Islands tended to
be the kind of people who didn’t like the king telling them 62 Dead by Christmas Morning
whether or not they could talk to the elves. Sitting Out used to take place on Christmas Eve or Twelfth Night but was
transferred to New Year’s Eve when January 1 became the
official beginning of the
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