Tonight is the eve of May Day, an especially magical time of year. It's said that on May Eve in Herefordshire, early in the last century, 'folk used to put trays of moss outside their doors for the fairies to dance upon'. pic.twitter.com/aSXXDUCmPV

— Eleanor Parker (@ClerkofOxford) April 30, 2026

Elf-magic in The Canterbury Tales

Warwick Goble, 'The Wife of Bath's Tale: The Knight and the Old Woman' (1912)

In tholde dayes of the king Arthour,
Of which that Britons speken greet honour,
Al was this land fulfild of fayerye.
The elf-queen, with hir Ioly companye,
Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede;
This was the olde opinion, as I rede,
I speke of manye hundred yeres ago;
But now can no man see none elves mo.
For now the grete charitee and prayeres
Of limitours and othere holy freres,
That serchen every lond and every streem,
As thikke as motes in the sonne-beem,
Blessinge halles, chambres, kichenes, boures,
Citees, burghes, castels, hye toures,
Thropes, bernes, shipnes, dayeryes,
This maketh that ther been no fayeryes.
For ther as wont to walken was an elf,
Ther walketh now the limitour him-self
In undermeles and in morweninges,
And seyth his matins and his holy thinges
As he goth in his limitacioun.
Wommen may go saufly up and doun,
In every bush, or under every tree;
Ther is noon other incubus but he,
And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour.

In the old days of King Arthur,
Of whom Britons speak great honour,
This land was all filled full of supernatural creatures.
The elf-queen, with her jolly company,
Danced very often in many a green mead.
This was the old belief, as I read;
I speak of many hundred years ago.
But now no man can see any more elves,
For now the great charity and prayers
Of licensed beggars and other holy friars,
That overrun every land and every stream,
As thick as specks of dust in the sun-beam,
Blessing halls, chambers, kitchens, bedrooms,
Cities, towns, castles, high towers,
Villages, barns, stables, dairies --
This makes it that there are no fairies.
For where an elf was accustomed to walk
There walks now the licensed begging friar himself
In late mornings and in early mornings,
And says his morning prayers and his holy things
As he goes in his assigned district.
Women may go safely up and down.
In every bush or under every tree
There is no other evil spirit but he,
And he will not do them any harm except dishonour.

['The Wife of Bath's Tale', ll 857-81]

I crouche thee from elves and fro wightes!'
Ther-with the night-spel seyde he anon-rightes
On foure halves of the hous aboute,
And on the threshfold of the dore with-oute:—
'Iesu Crist, and seynt Benedight,
Blesse this hous from every wikked wight,
For nightes verye, the white pater-noster!
Where wentestow, seynt Petres soster?'

"I bless thee from elves and from evil creatures."

Therewith the night-charm he said straightway
On four corners of the house about,
And on the threshold of the door outside:
"Jesus Christ and Saint Benedict,
Bless this house from every wicked creature,
For evil spirits of the nights, the white pater-noster!
Where went thou, Saint Peter's sister?"

['The Miller's Tale', ll. 378 ff.]

Swerynge sodeynly withoute avysement is eek a synne. But lat us go now to thilke horrible sweryng of adjuracioun and conjuracioun, as doon thise false enchauntours or nigromanciens in bacyns ful of water, or in a bright swerd, in a cercle, or in a fir, or in a shulderboon of a sheep. I kan nat seye but that they doon cursedly and dampnably agayns Crist and al the feith of hooly chirche. What seye we of hem that bileeven on divynailes, as by flight or by noyse of briddes, or of beestes, or by sort, by nigromancie, by dremes, by chirkynge of dores, or crakkynge of houses, by gnawynge of rattes, and swich manere wrecchednesse? Certes, al this thyng is deffended by God and by hooly chirche. For which they been acursed, til they come to amendement, that on swich filthe setten hire bileeve. Charmes for woundes or maladie of men or of beestes, if they taken any effect, it may be peraventure that God suffreth it, for folk sholden yeve the moore feith and reverence to his name.

But let us go now to this horrible swearing of exorcism and conjuring spirits, as do these false enchanters or necromancers in basins full of water, or in a bright sword, in a circle, or in a fire, or in a shoulder-bone of a sheep. I can not say anything but that they do cursedly and damnably against Christ and all the faith of holy church. What say we of them that believe in divinations, as by flight or by noise of birds, or of beasts, or by drawing lots, by necromancy, by dreams, by squeaking of doors or creaking of houses, by gnawing of rats, and such sort of wretchedness? Certainly, all this thing is forbidden by God and by holy church. For which they are accursed, until they come to amendment, that on such filth set their belief. Charms for wounds or malady of men or of beasts, if they take any effect, it may be perhaps that God allows it, so that folk should give the more faith and reverence to his name.

['The Parson's Tale', §38]

Robigalia

Beating the Bounds in Oxford

Divination for Pagans... and Christians

Magic and religion are not the same. Witches and seers are not priests. And wiser men than I have pointed out that magic is about power, not piety. So, is there some fundamental difference between the two? Or is magic simply a pagan distortion of true religion - the invocation of false gods on a crude and blasphemous quid pro quo principle?

Well, they certainly weren't the same thing for the pagan Romans. Pliny the Elder contemned the magic of the Chaldeans (i.e. the Syrians). And the Roman authorities themselves were always trying to clamp down on wandering magicians, such as dream interpreters and sortilegi and the like. Soothsayers who read entrails could be expelled from the city of Rome. The early Christians themselves were accused by their enemies of being magickers. (Jesus Himself was said to have returned from his exile in Egypt tattooed with spells.) In fact the only sort of "magic" that the Romans approved of was augury - finding out how "auspicious" the day would be for a senate meeting, and so on - and that only when done by carefully sanctioned public officials in strictly controlled circumstances. For what it's worth, Tom Rowsell has made the point with admirable clarity that magic per se is no more comfortable in "official" pagan religions (such as the Roman state religion) than it is in Christianity.

Nor were things very different in the barbarous North. For the Vikings certainly, magicians could be either good (e.g. seeresses) or bad (e.g. witches). From Tacitus's point of view, Veleda was bad (Histories 4.61): the Germans on the other hand would presumably have disagreed. Tacitus also says the Germans' rune magic was 'simple' ('Sortium consuetudo simplex.' - Germania 10), but that if the auguries were good it was the German custom to back them up with more conventional readings of the voices and flights of birds (avium voces volatusque interrogare), not to mention the courses of sacred white horses yoked to holy chariots. Although all this could be done in private by the pater familiae, in public it would be done by the sacerdos civitatis. And of course both would first have to invoke the gods (precatus deos).

Then again, magic is not exclusively pagan either. The first magician we learn of to have converted to Christianity was Simon Magus (Acts 8), and although he gets a bad press it's rather more because he was also the first heretic than because of what he did for a living.* Divination continued to be used by Christians (and Jews!) long after the conversion. Whatever the origins and ancientry of English magic, moreover, it clearly persisted into the late mediaeval and early modern periods, and indeed the evidence for its "pagan" origins is not altogether easy to come by.

In practice, English divination for example was either Christian in origin or, at a stretch, a pre-Christian practice that came to become almost wholly Christianized. In a sermon for today's feast, Ælfric is quite uncompromising in his condemnation of augury. Indeed, he condemns omens from birds, horses, dogs and sneezing as not just superstitious and diabolical but as 'deofollicum hæðenscype devilish heathenry' and any man who trusts in them as 'na cristen, ac bið forcuð wiðersaca no Christian but an infamous apostate'. So, one is tempted to wonder if the early modern and essentially Christian practice of porch-watching (or "the church-porch vigil") had an Anglo-Saxon and even pagan precedent.

In its most famous manifestation, which is love divination (or "sex magic"), English divination tends to involve the invocation of the saints. St Agnes, St Catherine, St Anne, St Faith and St John have all had prayers aimed at them over the years either for or to identify eligible future spouses. It is probably fair to imagine though that they become associated with such auguries in the English calendar mostly because their feast days fall close to days of secular magical significance.†

I suspect the reason we today think of magic as being "the same sort of thing" as religion is partly because of the decline of religion - not to mention the concomitant rise of a quasi-superstitious belief in "science" (which in its true sense is itself simply natural magic). And this of course has led most people simply to lock "religion" and "magic" away in the same abandoned back room of an as yet un-reopened mind.

Unfortunately though, it also almost certainly has something to do with Margaret Murray's "witch-cult" hypothesis. Bear in mind, after all, that she even has an entry on 'Witchcraft' in the Encyclopædia Britannica (1929–1968 editions). According to Murray, witches didn't do deals with the Devil. Instead they were a cult that had worshipped the goddess Diana since neolithic times.

Well... yeah!

*The other magician who encounters the Apostles was Elymas Magus (Acts 13), who of course didn't  fare quite so well.

†Divination and prophecy, it should go without saying, do not mean the same thing. Whereas the former may in practice mean invoking a deity for some prognosticatory sign or portent, the latter means being literally inspired by one.

Tis now, replied the village belle,

St. Mark’s mysterious eve,

And all that old traditions tell

I tremblingly believe;

How, when the midnight signal tolls,

Along the churchyard green,

A mournful train of sentenced souls

In winding-sheets are seen.

The ghosts of all whom death shall doom

Within the coming year,

In pale procession walk the gloom,

Amid the silence drear.

St George and Sir Galahad

Sir Galahad and St George appear in a two-light window in the Church of St Mary, Beddgelert, Gwynedd (c. 1938; photo © Martin Crampin).

Sir Galahad stands holding a jousting pole with a banner depicting the Holy Grail, with the badge of the 18th Royal Hussars (Queen Mary's Own) below.

St George stands over the fallen dragon, and below is a large dog standing in a landscape with a crescent moon in the sky.

The Spirit of the English

The weather made us phlegmatic - at least compared to the melancholic cousins we left behind us in Germany. The ruined country we found when we arrived though made us a deeply nostalgic people.

Our lack of civilisation of course left us deeply materialistic and individualistic. We knew that no one was going to come to our rescue, and that the only religion or justice we would ever know would be that which we could see with our own eyes.

And thus there is a disturbing sense in which we feel that justice resides in the status quo. We do not have a love of tradition so much as a resigned tolerance of "the current thing".

Above and beyond that though there's an element of "insular gigantism" in our culture. We've dwindled in some ways (nationalism isn't really our thing, old boy) and grown in others (the Empire definitely was our thing).

Most importantly of all though, things have survived here that have withered or failed elsewhere. That we still crown our monarchs is only the most obvious example!

April

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

William Holman Hunt, 'Christ and the Two Marys'

Levate portae capita vestra, et erigite ianuae sempiternae, et ingrediatur rex gloriae.

Quis est iste rex gloriae? Dominus exercituum ipse est rex gloriae semper. 

[Psalms 23:9-10]

Et adplicabuntur gentes multae ad Dominum in die illa, et erunt mihi in populum, et habitabo in medio tui. Et scies quia Dominus exercituum misit me ad te.

Et possidebit Dominus Iudam partem suam in terra sanctificata. Et eliget adhuc Hierusalem.

Sileat omnis caro a facie Domini, quia consurrexit de habitaculo sancto suo. 

[Zecharias 2: 11-13]

I'd not give way for an Emperor,

I'd hold my road for a King -- 

To the Triple Crown I would not bow down -- 

But this is a different thing. 

I'll not fight with the Powers of Air, 

Sentry, pass him through! 

Drawbridge let fall, 'tis the Lord of us all, 

The Dreamer whose dream came true! 

['The Fairies Siege']

Cold Iron

The Iron Crown, preserved in the Cathedral of Monza, Italy

“Gold is for the mistress—silver for the maid!
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.”
“Good!” said the Baron, a-sitting in his hall,

“But Iron—Cold Iron—is master of them all!”

And so he made rebellion ’gainst the King his liege,

Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege—

“Nay!” said the cannoneer on the castle wall,

“But Iron—Cold Iron—shall be master of you all!”

Woe for the Baron and for his knights so strong,

When the cruel cannon-balls laid ’em all along!

He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,

And Iron—Cold Iron—was master of it all!

Yet his King spake kindly (Oh, how kind a Lord!)

“What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?”

“Nay!” said the Baron, “please mock not at my fall,

For Iron—Cold Iron—is master of men all.”

“Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown—

Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.”

“As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,

For Iron—Cold Iron—must be master of men all!

Yet his King made answer (and few such Kings there be!)

“Here is Bread and here is Wine—sit you sup with me.

Eat and drink in Mary’s Name, the whiles I do recall

How Iron—Cold Iron—can be master of men all!”

He took the Wine and blessed It; He blessed and brake the Bread.
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:
“See! These Hands were pierced with nails outside my city wall

They show Iron—Cold Iron—to be master of men all!

“Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong,

Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.

I forgive thy treason and I redeem thy fall—

For Iron—Cold Iron—must be master of men all!”

“Crowns are for the valiant—sceptres for the bold!
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold.”
“Nay!” said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
“But Iron—Cold Iron—is master of men all!

Iron, out of Calvary, is master of men all!”

Then, in a moment, they were all standing up on their hind legs, laying their cool paws on his knees and giving his knees snuffly animal kisses. (They could reach his knees because Narnian Talking Beasts of that sort are bigger that the dumb beasts of the same kinds in England.) 

'Lord King! dear Lord King,' said their shrill voices, 'we are so sorry for you.' 

['What Happened that Night']