Midsummer, Maypoles and Maidens

When the school year comes to an end, Swedes prepare to enjoy a five-week, nationwide paid siesta to worship the sun’s rays. Midsummer's Eve is always celebrated on the Friday between 19 and 25 June (very convenient for planning purposes). We’ve joined the mass exodus to the archipelago and summer houses, emptying the streets of Stockholm (and they really do empty, even the restaurants are closed. It's quite spooky!). 

          

         

The days stretch into balmy evenings at crayfish feasts set out on trestle tables draped in white cloths, on balconies and in gardens all over Sweden. Leisurely lunches of pickled herring, new potatoes and sour cream on rye or crisp bread are accompanied by bottles of schnapps and silly drinking songs. 

The wistful glow of light at midnight bestows a sense of magic on the summer. Midsummer night is the longest night of the year and was thought to be magical. On their way home young girls are supposed to pick seven different species of flowers and sleep with them under their pillows, in order to dream of their future husbands. 

The ancient pagan tradition of Midsummer marks the end of the spring work season and the beginning of the interlude before hay-making. At the local village green the celebration of light and fertility commences with reeling ring dances to the strains of accordions and fiddles, around a giant leaf-clad maypole. Thankfully, there are no longer virgin sacrifices although maidens in flowing dresses with flowers in their hair abound. Floral wreaths adorn front doors, gardens drip with heavy scents and bright flowers bloom on the side of the roads and tumble out of pots.

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The Swedish summer is so short that I can appreciate the celebrations and I admire the psyche of taking full advantage of the sun when it's there. Though I'm still not quite sure about the following song performed by children and adults, with actions, alike: (must have something to do with the schnapps and aquavit).

The little frogs, the little frogs are funny to see

No ears, no ears, no tails they have!

Kou ack ack ack, kou ack ack ack!

Glad Midsommar! (Happy Midsummer!)

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My daughter has just returned from a stint in Prague where the temperature slowly climbed its way from 2 to 18 degrees C...spring, apparently! She's been complaining about the weather here since she came back. When I asked what she, a born-and-bred Capetonian, was going on about, she had two words for me - central heating. 

I must admit that I've been alternating between huddling over the heater in my study or melting my slippers beside the fire in the living room. Either winter has set in with quite a vengeance or that dirty little word, age, is responsible. But, there are few countries in the world where, in the middle of winter, you can experience the sunshine that we've had for the last few days. 

“There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes,” the pragmatic Swedes say, while wrapped up in several layers. Woolly hats and scarves, stout sheepskin-lined boots and jackets zipped up to their chins, is standard gear from October to April. We’ve experienced the country’s many moods, a reflection of the changes in weather. The seasons are defined, decisive and distinct, unlike the weather in Cape Town which, like a teenager with too much choice, swings wildly from one season to the next, often in the same day.

I’ve inhaled the crisp fresh air in spring, heralded by wild yellow daffodils bravely pushing their way up out of half-frozen soil. The country, emerging from months of enforced hibernation, seems to have a bounce in its step as it re-discovers itself. There’s anticipation in the new green leaves and a not-quite-warm-enough sun which nonetheless shines brightly in a clear blue sky. I’ve been tricked into shedding my scarf and jacket only to quickly regret having exposed myself to what masquerades as warmer weather. 

Summer is a time to celebrate. As the school year comes to an end, Swedes prepare to enjoy a five-week, nationwide paid siesta to worship the sun’s rays. But more of that later, since Midsummer is coming up. 

In the damp chill of autumn, when gentle rains fall from gloomy skies, the changing leaves float reluctantly down to the ground and quiet wisps of mist swirl through the trees. After an indulgent summer it’s time to get serious before the October snow falls. As the light starts to dwindle the locals scurry around like squirrels preparing to hibernate.

I haven’t been to Sweden in winter when darkness falls as early as 15h00 and friends say the drop in temperature causes a personality-change. Drinks on the wooden deck become a distant memory replaced by furtive dashes in and out of the garage. On St Lucia’s Day in December, processions of children led by a girl with a crown of candles, sing songs to bring light into the darkest month. I'm not sure that I would survive. I often joke that I'm like an African violet, I need the sun. 

Mediaeval traditions, to keep witches and evil spirits away, mark the end of the season. On 30 April a bonfire bids the cold farewell and welcomes the beginning of spring. The accumulated debris and leaves which have been vigorously swept up are piled high and set alight. Neighbours, who’ve been insulated against each other and the elements for months, emerge to party into the night, illuminated by blazes and filled with the crackling sounds of leaves devoured by flames. 

The rituals between the seasons create a distinct rhythm to life in the country and it seems that you always know exactly where you stand and what to expect. “The Swedish way is to gather information so that plans can be made,” a friend told me once. 

“In South Africa we tend to wait and see what happens,” I countered, “and then plan accordingly.”

And if the sun comes streaming in through the window,
take the opportunity to bask in it!

This is an extract from my masters' thesis. 

Moving On - St Cyprian's Day and other rituals

Last week was St Cyprian’s Day, as celebrated by my daughter’s school.  It is celebrated every year but this year had special significance for her as it is the last one of her school career. In an age-old tradition the matriculants went off the previous day to a farm in Stellenbosch where they picked lilies to decorate St George’s Cathedral for the St Cyprian’s Day service. They ended off with a picnic.

On the day the girls dress in their summer uniform with their hair in French braids, done up with a blue ribbon. They walk down from Oranjezicht, through the Company Gardens to the Cathedral for the evensong service. Old girls come from far and wide to join in the celebration and afterwards there is a sumptuous feast on the lawns of the school.

At the beginning of the year they had their matric dance. Each matriculant has mentored a grade 8 student, passing on the knowledge and experience of the last 5 years. Last term they handed over their portfolios to the new batch of leaders and last week she had a reunion with the girls she was in junior school with, before they all go their own ways – on gap years or to university. In the next two weeks she will be having the valedictory service and lunch and a dinner with her teachers before the final exams begin.

The feeling of the end of an era has been all around us this year as she has turned 18, voted for the first time, learned to drive, applied for university and looked at a life after school. All of these rituals have been marking the passage of one phase to another.

Rituals have been practised since time immemorial to help us to move on in life – there are rituals for giving a baby a name, for marriage and burial. As we move from one stage to another we say goodbye to the old way of life and embrace a new set of rules for behaviour. As she moves on with life, I find that the rituals help me too to let go and enter a new phase of my own life.