THOMAS Whitney must have truly loved his Siberian cat, Charley. Whitney’s fine collection of Russian fairy tales, In a Certain Kingdom, is dedicated to his faithful moggy who lived to the grand old age of 21.
In a Certain Kingdom offers an exciting glimpse, we are told, into the magical world of Russia’s great fairy-tale tradition. “It is a world inhabited by firebirds with golden feathers and falcons who are princes in disguise, by fiery snake dragoons and the various wise and beautiful Vasilisas, by the spine-tingling yet sometimes friendly Baba Yagas and the simple Ivans who are not as foolish as they seem.”
What’s a Baba Yaga you might, reasonably, ask? Well, according to Slavic folklore she is a haggish or witch-like character who lives in a log cabin that stands on chicken legs. They have a particular propensity for kidnapping children – usually beautiful girls with names like Vasilisa – and removing them deep into dark satanic forests...
You might rightly imagine In a Certain Kingdom is not a recent publication and one which might fail any current test of political correctness. Whitney’s collection of 12 fairy tales draws on mythological folklore that goes back hundreds of years. My edition was picked up in a second-hand book shop and, by my reckoning, would appeal to children with a certain ghoulish disposition.
Whitney invites readers to imagine a Russian winter in which the snow has drifted high against the wood-timbered peasant huts in a remote community. Biting winds howl around their thatched roofs. (Maybe a bit like Caithness, darkness falls around three in the afternoon.)
Inside their huts families would gather around a central stove which provided not just the heat but a place to cook. The menfolk would be busy doing their repairs, maybe fixing a harness, while the women prepared the meal. The family patriarch, the grandfather, would begin his nightly story.
It is a story handed down to him by generations of grandfathers and as likely as not it begins: “In a certain kingdom, in a certain country, there once lived a certain king and queen...”
Like any oral folk tradition there are stories of great adventures, stories of princes and princesses and acts of heroism.
Central to those stories were the bogatyrs; medieval heroic warriors with names like Ilya Muromets, Dobrynya Nikitich and Fyodor Lyzhnikov.
Across the Atlantic in America their stories had the cavalry coming to the rescue, in England Saint George slew the dragon and here, at home, a drammed Tam o’ Shanter wrestled with witches and warlocks as he fled from Alloway’s auld haunted kirk on his grey mare, Meg.
We need our oral traditions wherever we are. They keep alive our distinctive collective memories which informs our unique cultural heritage.
Belle Stewart was Queen Amang the Heather and later awarded an MBE in recognition of her contribution to folk music. Born in 1906 in a bow tent on the banks of the River Tay she grew up in the tradition of the Scottish travelling people and is said to have “dazzled audiences with her warmth and elegance”. She kept her tradition proud – and alive.
And think, too, of all those farm labourers living in harsh conditions in their bleak bothies in north-east Scotland who somehow entertained themselves through songs, ballads and self-penned compositions – albeit, at times, with slightly dodgy content!
Burns, our national bard, in addition to his talent as a world poet was also a great collector of music and verse and often adapted and reinvented them.
Others, notably the folklorist, Hamish Henderson, continued the tradition of recording and preserving for posterity that rich though dying heritage. It was a heritage that seemed to grow from the land itself.
Maybe it’s the thought of all those people, the travelling folk, the farm labourers in their bothies, the Russian peasants around their winter stoves that has me thinking about snuggling up in front of the fire.
I have two fireplaces in my house – one in the kitchen. When folk come to visit they invariably want to sit in front of the kitchen fire and, dram in hand, share a few of their own stories. It’s the flickering flames that does it!
I LIKED the heart-warming story this week about the thousands of people who have been queuing up in London’s Alexandra Palace for a... wait for it... hug!
Amma a “naturally affectionate” woman from Kerala in southern India is on a world mission. She’s said to be “overflowing with love”. A girl who grew from a poor low-caste family she has always offered hugs to anyone in need. Often breaking tradition and taboo – by hugging men and strangers – she is now revered by many as a mahatma, or “great soul”.
It’s anticipated her appearance at Alexandra Palace enabled, in just one day, between six to nine thousand people to get their hug. Amma must have long arms!
TV crews were there to record the event and interview people on camera. Many were left speechless. They claimed to have been somehow affected. But let’s face it... it’s always good to get a hug!
It’s the job of Christians “to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable” says Douglas Alexander, the Labour Party’s shadow foreign secretary. The son of a Church of Scotland minister, one might imagine he can quote chapter and verse.
He was referring to the ongoing debacle between the clergy and the protestors camping outside St Paul’s Cathedral. The latter have been served with a deadline to quit by the City of London Corporation.The anti-capitalist protest camp has exposed all sorts of “dithering and divisions” amongst church officials who haven’t a clue how to cope with their unwelcome guests. Do they extend the hand of charity? Or show them the door? According to the satirist and Private Eye editor, Ian Hyslop, the anti-capitalist protestors have thus far “managed to get three quite well-meaning priests removed, and no bankers at all”.
No chance of a group hug then. Maybe it’s time to set the Baba Yagas on them!
