We have called the four Greater Sabbats by their Celtic names for consistency, and used the Irish Gaelic forms of those names for the reasons we gave. But Imbolg is more commonly known, even among witches, by the pretty name of Candlemas under which it was Christianized — understandably enough, because this Feast of Lights can and should be a pretty occasion.
Imbolg is i mbolg (pronounced ‘immol’g’, with a slight unstressed vowel between the ‘l’ and the ‘g’) which means ‘in the belly’. It is the quickening of the year, the first foetal stirrings of Spring in the womb of Mother Earth. Like all the Celtic Great Sabbats, it is a fire festival — but here the emphasis is on light rather than heat, the strengthening spark of light beginning to pierce the gloom of Winter. (Farther south, where winter is less forbiddingly dark, the emphasis may be the other way; Armenian Christians, for example, light their new sacred fire of the year on Candlemas Eve, not Easter as elsewhere.)
The Moon is the light-symbol of the Goddess, and the Moon above all stands for her threefold aspect of Maid, Mother and Crone (Enchantment, Ripeness and Wisdom). Lunar light is particularly that of inspiration. So it is fitting that Imbolg should be the feast of Brigid (Brid, Brigante), the radiant triple Muse-Goddess, who is also a fertility-bringer; for at Imbolg, when the first trumpets of Spring can be heard in the distance, the spirit is quickened as well as the body and the Earth.
Brigid (who also gave her name to Brigantia, the Celtic kingdom of the whole of the North of England above a line from the Wash to Staffordshire) is a classic example of a pagan deity Christianized with little attempt to hide the fact — or as Frazer puts it in The Golden Bough,1 she is “an old heathen goddess of fertility, disguised in a threadbare Christian cloak”. St Brigid’s Day, Lá Fhéile Brid (pronounced approximately ‘law ella breed’) in Ireland, is 1st February, the eve of Imbolg. The historical St Brigid lived from about AD 453–523; but her legends, characteristics and holy places are those of the Goddess Brid, and the folk-customs of St Brigid’s Day in the Celtic lands are plainly pre-Christian. It is significant that Brigid is known as “the Mary of the Gael”, for like Mary she transcends the human biographical data to fill man’s “Goddess-shaped yearning”. Tradition, incidentally, says that St Brigid was brought up by a wizard and that she had the power to multiply food and drink to nourish the needy — including the delightful ability to turn her bath-water into beer.
The making of St Brigid’s Crosses of rush or straw (and they are still widely made in Ireland, both at home and for the handicraft shops) “is probably derived from an ancient pre-Christian ceremony connected with the preparation of the seed grain for growing in the Spring” (The Irish Times, 1st February 1977).
In Scotland, on the eve of St Brigid’s Day, the women of the house would dress up a sheaf of oats in woman’s clothing and lay it in a basket called ‘Brigid’s bed’, side by side with a phallic club. They would then call out three times: “Brid is come, Brid is welcome!” and leave candles burning by the ‘bed’ all night. If the impression of the club was found in the ashes of the hearth in the morning, the year would be fruitful and prosperous. The ancient meaning is clear: with the use of appropriate symbols, the women of the house prepare a place for the Goddess and make her welcome, and invite the fertilizing God to come and impregnate her. Then they discreetly withdraw — and, when the night is over, return to look for a sign of the God’s visit (his footprint by the fire of the Goddess of Light?). If the sign is there, their invocation has succeeded, and the year is pregnant with the hoped-for bounty.
In the Isle of Man, a similar ritual was carried out; there, the occasion was called Laa’l Breeshey. In Northern England — the old Brigantia, Candlemas was known as ‘the Wives’ Feast Day’.
The welcoming ritual is still part of Lá Fhéile Brid in many Irish homes. Philomena Rooney of Wexford, whose family live near the Leitrim-Donegal border, tells us she still goes home for it whenever she can. While her grandparents were still alive, the whole family would gather at their house on St Brigid’s Eve, 31st January. Her uncle would have gathered a cartload of rushes from the farm and would bring them to the door at midnight. The ritual is always the same.
“The person bringing the rushes to the house covers his or her head and knocks on the door. The Bean an Tighe (woman of the house) sends someone to open the door and says to the person entering “Fáilte leat a Bhríd” (“Welcome, Brigid”), to which the person entering replies “Beannacht Dé ar daoine an tighe seo” (“God bless the people of this house”). The holy water is sprinkled on the rushes, and everyone joins in making the crosses. When the crosses are made, the remaining rushes are buried, following which everyone joins in a meal. On 1st February last year’s crosses are burned and replaced with the newly made ones.”
In Philomena’s family, two types were made. Her grandmother, who came from North Leitrim, made the Celtic Cross, equal-armed and enclosed in a circle. Her grandfather, who came from South Donegal, made the plain equal-armed cross. She supposes that these were local traditional styles.2 Great importance was attached to the burning of last year’s crosses. “We have this thing that you should never throw it out, you should burn it.” Here again is the theme which recurs throughout the year’s ritual cycle: the magical importance of fire.
In Ireland, this land of magic wells (over three thousand Irish holy wells are listed), there are probably more wells of Brigid than there are even of St Patrick — which is hardly surprising, because the lady was here first by untold centuries. There is a tobar Bhríd (Brigid’s Well) barely a mile from our first Irish home, near Ferns in County Wexford, in a neighbouring farmer’s field; it is a very ancient spring, and the locality is known to have been holy to Brigid for a good thousand years, and doubtless for a very long time before that. The farmer (regretfully, for he is sensitive to tradition) had to cover the well with a rock because it had become a danger to children. But he told us there were always bits of cloth3 to be seen tied to nearby bushes, put there secretly by people invoking Brid’s help as they had done since time immemorial; and we could, literally, still feel the power of the place by laying our hands on the rock.
(Incidentally, if like most witches you believe in the magic of names, you should pronounce Brid or Bride as ‘Breed’ and not to rhyme with ‘hide’ as it has been somewhat harshly anglicized — for example in London’s own tobar Bhríd, Bridewell.)
In ancient Rome, February was cleansing time — Februarius mensis, ‘the month of ritual purification’. At its beginning came the Lupercalia, when the Luperci, the priests of Pan, ran through the streets naked except for a goatskin girdle and carrying goatskin thongs. With these they struck everybody who passed, and in particular married women, who were believed to be made fertile thereby. This ritual was both popular and patrician (Mark Antony is on record as having performed the Lupercus role) and survived for centuries into the Christian era. Women developed the habit of stripping themselves as well, to allow the Luperci more scope. Pope Gelasius I, who reigned AD 492–6, banned this cheerfully scandalous festival and met with such an outcry that he had to apologize. It was finally abolished at the beginning of the next century.
Lupercalia aside, the tradition of February cleansing remained strong. Doreen Valiente says in An ABC of Witchcraft Past and Present: “The evergreens for Yuletide decorations were holly, ivy, mistletoe, the sweet-smelling bay and rosemary, and green branches of the box tree. By Candlemas, all had to be gathered up and burnt, or hobgoblins would haunt the house. In other words, by that time a new tide of life had started to flow through the whole world of nature, and people had to get rid of the past and look to the future. Spring-cleaning was originally a nature ritual.” In some parts of Ireland, we find, there is a tradition of leaving the Christmas tree in place (stripped of its decorations but retaining its lights) until Candlemass; if it has kept its green needles, good luck and fruitfulness are assured for the year ahead.
One other strange Candlemas belief is widespread in the British Isles, France, Germany and Spain: that fine weather on Candlemas Day means more Winter to come, but bad weather on that day means that Winter is over. Perhaps this is a kind of ‘touch wood’ acknowledgement of the fact that Candlemas is the natural turning-point between Winter and Spring, and so to be impatient about it is unlucky.
In the Candlemas ritual in the Book of Shadows, the High Priestess invokes the God into the High Priest, instead of him invoking the Goddess into her. Perhaps this too, like the Scottish ‘Brigid’s bed’ tradition, is really a seasonal invitation to the God to impregnate the Earth Mother. We have kept to this procedure and retained the form of the invocation.
The Book of Shadows also mentions the (sixteenth-century) Volta Dance; but we wonder if what is really meant is the very much older traditional witches’ dance in which the man and woman link arms back-to-back. We have therefore used this earlier dance.
In Christian tradition, the Crown of Lights is often worn by a very young girl, presumably to symbolize the extreme youth of the year. This is perfectly valid, of course; but we, with our Triple Goddess enactment, prefer to allot it to the Mother — because it is Mother Earth who is quickened at Imbolg.
The High Priestess selects two woman witches who, with herself, will represent the Triple Goddess — Maid (Enchantment), Mother (Ripeness) and Crone (Wisdom) — and allocates the three roles.
A Crown of Lights is prepared for the Mother and left on or by the altar. Traditionally, the Crown should be of candles or tapers, which are lit during the ritual; but this requires care, and some people may be wary of it. If a candle or taper Crown is made, it should be constructed firmly enough to hold them without wobbling and should incorporate a cap to protect the hair against dripping wax. (You can work wonders with kitchen foil.)
We have found that birthday-cake candles, which can be bought in packets almost anywhere, make an ideal Crown of Lights. They weigh practically nothing, hardly drip at all and burn quite long enough for the purpose of the ritual. A very simple birthday-candle crown can be made as follows. Get a roll of self-adhesive tape about three-quarters of an inch wide (the plain-coloured plastic kind is suitable) and cut off a length four or five inches longer than the circumference of the lady’s head. Pin this, sticky side upwards, to a board. Stick the bottom ends of the candles across this, spaced about one and half inches apart, but leaving a good three inches of each end of the tape empty. Now cut a second piece of the tape of the same length as the first, hold it sticky side downwards, and apply it carefully to the first tape, moulding it around the base of each candle. Unpin the ends, and you now have a neat band of candles which can be wrapped round the head, the free ends being secured together by a safety-pin at the back. The candle-band should be wrapped around a kitchen-foil skull-cap which has been moulded to the head beforehand; the foil can then be trimmed to match the bottom edge of the band. You can see the finished result in use in Plate 5; in that case, it has been improved still further by fitting foil and candle-band inside an existing copper crown.
(Incidentally, that copper crown — seen closer in Plate 10 — with its crescent-moon front was made for Janet by our coppersmith friend Peter Clark of Tintine, The Rower, County Kilkenny. Peter supplies beautiful ritual equipment in copper or bronze, either from stock or made to your own requirements.)
An alternative form of the Crown of Lights, avoiding the wax-dripping risk, is a handyman’s job — a crown incorporating a number of flashlamp bulbs, soldered to their leads, with small batteries concealed under a Foreign-Legion-type piece of fabric falling over the neck; the ‘switch’ being a small crocodile-clip, or simply two bared wire-ends can be twisted together. This bulb-crown can be kept from year to year, and decorated with fresh foliage each time. (It does, however, require some experiment in the construction, both as to the distribution of the weight of the batteries and as to the components and wiring; too many bulbs in parallel will give a fine light for the first minute and then fade rapidly because of the excessive drain.) If you do not like either of these, the third possibility is a crown incorporating little mirrors — as many as possible of them, facing outwards to catch the light.
A bundle of straw a foot to eighteen inches long, with a straw crosspiece for arms, should be dressed in woman’s clothing — a doll’s dress will do, or simply a cloth pinned round. If you possess a corn dolly of suitable shape for dressing (a Brigid’s Cross is ideal), this may be even better. (See Plate 6.) This figure is called a ‘Biddy’ — or, if you prefer the Gaelic, ‘Brídeóg” (pronounced ‘breed-oge’).
You also need a phallic wand, which can be a simple staff about the same length as the Biddy; though, since the Book of Shadows rituals frequently call for a phallic wand as distinct from the coven’s ‘normal’ one, it is worth while making yourselves a permanent version. Ours is a piece of thin branch with a pine-cone secured to the tip, and black and white ribbons spiralling in opposite directions along the shaft. (See Plate 6).
Biddy and wand should be ready beside the altar, together with two unlit candles in candle-holders.
Also beside the altar is a small bouquet of greenery (as springlike as possible and incorporating spring flowers if you can get them) for the woman who portrays the Maid; and a dark-coloured scarf or cloak for the Crone.
The broomstick (the traditional witch’s besom of twigs) is by the altar too.
The cauldron, with a candle burning inside it, is placed beside the South candle. By the cauldron are laid three or four twigs of evergreen or dried vegetation such as holly, ivy, mistletoe, bay, rosemary or box.
If, like us, you follow the tradition of keeping the Christmas Tree (without its decorations but with its lights) in the house till Candlemas, it should, if practicable, be in the room where the Circle is held, with all its lights lit.
The Opening Ritual is shorter for Imbolg. The High Priest does not Draw Down the Moon on the High Priestess, nor does he make the “Great God Cernunnos” invocation; and the Charge is not declaimed until later.
After the Witches’ Rune, all the working partners (including the High Priestess and High Priest) dance back-to-back in couples, with their arms hooked through each other’s elbows. Unpartnered witches dance solo, though after a while partners break up and re-combine with unpartnered ones, so that everybody can take part.
When the High Priestess decides that the dancing has gone on long enough, she stops it, and the coven arrange themselves around the Circle facing inwards. The High Priest stands with his back to the altar, and the High Priestess faces him.
The High Priest gives the High Priestess the Fivefold Kiss; then she in turn gives him the Fivefold Kiss. The High Priest takes the wand in his right hand and the scourge in his left, and assumes the Osiris Position.
The High Priestess, facing the High Priest as he stands before the altar, invokes:4
“Dread Lord of Death and Resurrection,
Of Life, and the Giver of Life;
Lord within ourselves, whose name is Mystery of Mysteries,
Encourage our hearts,
Let thy Light crystallize itself in our blood,
Fulfilling of us resurrection;
For there is no part of us that is not of the Gods.
Descend, we pray thee, upon thy servant and priest.”
The High Priest draws the Invoking Pentagram of Earth in the air, towards the High Priestess, and says:
“Blessed be.”
The High Priest steps to one side, while the High Priestess and the women of the coven prepare ‘Brigid’s bed’. They lay the Biddy and the phallic wand side by side in the centre of the Circle, with the heads towards the altar. They place the candlesticks on either side of the ‘bed’ and light the candles. (See Plate 6.)
High Priestess and women stand around the ‘bed’ and say together:
“Brid is come — Brid is welcome!” (Repeated three times.)
The High Priest lays down his wand and scourge on the altar. The High Priestess summons the two selected women; she and they now assume their Triple Goddess roles. (See Plate 5.) The Mother stands with her back to the centre of the altar, and the High Priest crowns her with the Crown of Lights; the Maid and Crone arrange her hair becomingly, and the High Priest lights the tapers on the Crown (or switches on the bulbs).
The Crone now stands beside the Mother, to her left, and the High Priest and Maid drape the shawl or cloak over her shoulders.
The Maid now stands beside the Mother, to her right, and the High Priest puts the bouquet into her hands.
The High Priest goes to the South, where he stands facing the three women. He declaims:
“Behold the Three-Formed Goddess;
She who is ever Three — Maid, Mother and Crone;
Yet is she ever One.
For without Spring there can be no Summer,
Without Summer, no Winter,
Without Winter, no new Spring.”
The High Priest then delivers the Charge in its entirety, from “Listen to the words of the Great Mother” right to “that which is attained at the end of desire” — but substituting “she, her, hers” for “I, me, my, mine”.
When he has finished, the Maid takes up the broomstick and makes her way slowly deosil round the Circle, ritually sweeping it clear of all that is old and outworn. The Mother and the Crone walk behind her in stately procession. The Maid then replaces the broom beside the altar, and the three women resume their places in front of the altar.
The High Priest then turns and kneels before the cauldron. He picks up each of the evergreen twigs in turn, sets fire to each from the cauldron candle, blows the twig out and puts it in the cauldron beside the candle. (This symbolic burning is all that is advisable in a small room, because of smoke; out of doors, or in a large room, they may be burned away completely.)
As he does this, he declaims:
“Thus we banish winter,
Thus we welcome spring;
Say farewell to what is dead,
And greet each living thing.
Thus we banish winter,
Thus we welcome spring!”
The High Priest goes to the Mother, blows out or switches off the Crown of Lights and removes it from the Mother’s head. On this signal, the Maid lays her bouquet, and the Crone her shawl or cloak, beside the altar, and the High Priest lays the Crown of Lights there also.
The High Priest steps aside, and the three women fetch the Biddy, the phallic wand and the candles (which they extinguish) from the centre of the Circle and lay them beside the altar.
The Great Rite is now enacted.
After the Cakes and Wine, a suitable game for Imbolg is the Candle Game. The men sit in a ring facing inwards, close enough to reach each other, and the women stand behind them. The men pass a lighted candle deosil from hand to hand, while the women (without stepping inside the ring of men) lean forward and try to blow it out. When a woman succeeds, she gives three flicks of the scourge to the man who was holding it at the time, and he gives her the Fivefold Kiss in return. The candle is then relit and the game continues.
If the custom of keeping the Christmas Tree till Candlemas has been observed, the Tree must be taken out of the house and disposed of as soon as possible after the ritual.