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Posts Tagged ‘Dôn’

That’s “Happy Saint Dwynwen’s Day!” in English.

Saint Who?

In Wales, Dwnywen (pronounce “doo-in-wen” — the “doo-in” bit pronounced so quickly that it almost sounds like “dwin”) is considered the “Welsh St. Valentine,” and people increasingly mark St Dwynwen’s as well as — sometimes instead of — Valentine’s day.

Naturally, she has also become the Welsh patron saint of lovers.

Like Valentine, she’s a saint of very shadowy roots.

The legend says she lived in the fifth century, one of the many daughters of the legendary Brychan Brycheiniog — a man who, according to the myths, has more saintly children under his belt than most of us have hot dinners.

There are many versions of her tale, but in essence, she fell in love with a young man called Maelon, but would not marry him, either because her father forbade it or because she had sworn herself to a life of saintly celibacy.

She prayed for a solution — and an angel appeared with a magic potion to give to Maelon.

She gave it to him — and it turned him into a block of ice, thus saving him the sorrow of pining away for her, and to remove him from her temptation.

In some versions, she then asks for three requests — that Maelon be released, that she never marry, and that she could become the patron of true loves.

Not exactly happy-ever-after, but at least there’s no beheading!

The centre of Dwynwen’s cult was originally on a small island off the coast of Anglesey called Llanddwyn Island, which preserves another form of her name within its — Dwyn.

She is also known as Donwen, and Donwenna — all of which hint strongly at what may well be her true origin, the ancient Cymric Goddess Dôn.

Her name is almost certainly a combination of Dôn with gwyn. This is a familiar ending in Welsh names — featuring as Gwyn and Gwen at the start of names, and -wyn and -wen at the end (in Welsh, -wyn is always masculine, and -wen is feminine).

It’s basic meaning is “white,” but it also carries the sense of “pure” and “blessed.”

Dôn is the Welsh equivalent of the Irish Goddess Danu. In Welsh myth, she is the mother of the Plant Dôn—the “Children of Dôn”— a number of major Welsh deities, including Gwydion and Arianrhod.

As a very ancient Goddess, unraveling her name is difficult, and there are a number of options. One is the Common Celtic *dƒnu- “gift.”

However, she is associated with a number of rivers. There are four called Don in the British Isles, plus others that are related: the Dane in Cheshire,
two Devons (one English, one Scottish), and possibly the Teign, Tone, and Tyne too. Then there are the great European rivers deriving from the same root: the Danube, the Dneiper, and the Donetz.

Moreover, in the early medieval period, Dôn may also have been known as Donwy. An old name for the River Dee, which flows through Chester, is the Dwfrdonwy (dwfr is a Middle Welsh word meaning “water” + Donwy), while the Welsh name for the Danube is Afon Donwy—i.e. “River Donwy.” Donwy is also found in the name of yet another Welsh river, the Trydonwy, known in English as the Roden.

All this makes it quite likely that the name’s roots lie far, far back with the Proto-Indo-European *dānus “river.”

But there’s a further twist to this tale. What if this Goddess’s associations with rivers is so ancient that instead of her gaining the name “river,” the word *dānus derived from her name?

This would explain why there does not seem to be any vestige of *dānus with the meaning “river” in any of the living Celtic languages, despite the large number of rivers in the British isles which seem to derive from it.

But there is a further option for its etymology.

A clue lies with Deva, a Celtic name by which the Romans knew the River Dee. It points firmly towards the Proto-Indo-European *deyw-o- “a divine being,” combined with the suffix -ono- (often indicative of the name of a Deity).

Originally, *deyw-o-, seems to have carried connotations of relating to a sky God; it litters the Indo-European languages in words meaning “a god”, as well as names of individual Gods and Goddesses themselves, such as Zeus and Diana.

Despite her popularity in modern Wales, Dwynwen is a rarity. But it’s a pretty name, and whatever the truth that lies at its roots, no-one can dispute that it has history and positive associations in abundance.

Dydd Santes Dwynwen Hapus!

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Twelfth Night

Today is the Christian feast of Epiphany, the traditional date among Catholics and Protestants when the legendary “Three Kings” visited the baby Jesus.

In parts of Italy, it is at Epiphany, not on Christmas Day, that children get their presents — delivered by a witch called Befana by broomstick last night.

Befana is a much magled form of Epifania — the Italian form of Epiphany — and she almost certainly evolved from the Pagan Goddess Strenia, who presided over the presents given at the New Year. (It also gives us Tiffany).

Meanwhile, in the Orthodox Church, today is Christmas…

In Britain and America, however, Epiphany — which also happens to be the twelfth day of Christmas, that is to say “Twelfth Night” — is often entirely neglected now, though once, when the twelve days were kept with full festivity, it was a big event — so big, it even got a Shakespearian play named after it.

The fabled “Twelve Days of Christmas” have their roots in the Norse Jól, and were originally kept between December 20th and the 31st.

They also have very prosiac origins; at this darkest time of the year, with the harvest gathered in, animals slaughtered, and crops requiring sowing in the autumn sowed, there really wasn’t much that needed doing – making it a perfect time for relaxing, and enjoying the year’s produce while it was still fresh.

I’ve always felt it rather sad that while the shops start celebrating the Midwinter festivals in the summer, and many people can’t wait to get their decorations out at the start of December — sometimes even in November, as soon as the New Year comes, it all gets put away, even though this is the traditional period for still celebrating.

Growing up, my family was one of the few who did keep Twelfth Night, making a special event of the last day of the tree. We still do.

One of our little traditions is that as we take down the decorations, we always sing “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

Unfortately, the gifts sent on each of the days aren’t that name-worthy in their own right, but they do suggest those that are.

And so, to mark the occasion, here are my ideas:

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

A partridge in a pear-tree

Airi, Alula, Apion, Betrisen, Ena, Enas, Li, Madaria, Mia, Pear, Pera, Perdiz, Pernice, Perina, Perry, Piro, Primula, Primus, Rika, Una

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Two turtle doves

Aphrodite, Callum, Colm, Colmán, Columba, Columbine, Dove, Dovie, Duo, Jemima, Jonah, Mimi, Paloma, Peleia, Secunda, Secundus, Thania, Trygon, Tuvi, Venus

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Three French hens

Chuck, Frances, Francesca, Francis, Frank, Hen, Talitha, Tertia, Tertius, Tertulla, Thrima, Tria, Trinity, Triskele, Trystine, Wren

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

Four colly birds,

Aderyn, Amsel, Bird, Chogan, Colly, Deryn, Lonan, Merle, Merula, Quatro, Quartilla, Quartus, Tessera, Tesseres

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Five gold rings

Aranka, Aurea, Cinq, Cressida, Cyclamen, Eliphaz, Golden, Kirk, Marigold, Morgan, Orla, Quinque, Quintilla, Quintus, Sovann, Sunakai, Suwan

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Six geese a-laying

Anser, Antzara, Gander, Goshawk, Gossamer, Gus, Guska, Hani, Hex, Liba, Sextilla, Sextus, Zoss

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Seven swans a-swimming

Cygne, Cygnet, Cygnus, Ella, Gulbė, Iswan, Joutsen, Leda, Luik, Odette, Septima, Septimus, Seven, Swan, Swanilda

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Eight maids a-milking

Aludra, Cora, Corinna, Galatea, Impi, Meinir, Octavia, Octavian, Octavius, Octo, Parthenia, Virginia, Virgo

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Nine ladies dancing

Anassa, Beletili, Caryatis, Ceilidh, Cordax, Creusa, Damsel, Dominique, Dominy, Donna, Jive, Lady, Madonna, Martha, Nephthys, Nina, Nona, Nonus, Nostradamus

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Ten lords a-leaping

Adonai, Anaxandra, Anaxander, Baal, Caderyn, Cyril, Deacon, Decima, Decimus, Dinesh, Dominic, Don, Doyen, Edwen, Lapwing, Lord, Marquis, Meredith, Murdoch, Ner, Nerys, Rakesh, Ramnath, Sacheverell, Tiernan, Tierney

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Eleven pipers piping

Aule, Auletes, Auletris, Aulus, Endeka, Doucet, Fife, Flauta, Fletna, Flute, Fretel, Ney, Onze, Pan, Pfeifer, Piper, Quena, Subulo, Tibiae, Tibicen, Tibicina, Undecima, Undecimus

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Twelve drummers drumming

Baraban, Boben, Davul, Drummer, Duodecima, Duodecima, Nagara, Ngoma, Rebana, Tabala, Tambor, Tambour, Timbrel, Trommel, Trumm, Typanon

What meanings lie behind the strange gifts have not been satisfactorily elucidated. Some Catholics claim they arose as a catechism to help teach tenets of Catholicism in England after the Reformation, but there is no proof of this, and it is more likely its roots are far older. I prefer the Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes’ interpretation:

Suggestions have been made that the gifts have significance, as representing the food or sport for each month of the year. Importance [certainly has] long been attached to the Twelve Days, when, for instance, the weather on each day was carefully observed to see what it would be in the corresponding month of the coming year. Nevertheless, whatever the ultimate origin of the chant, it seems probable [that] the lines that survive today both in England and France are merely an irreligious travesty.

Happy Twelfth Night!

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No, that’s not a particularly fine Old Welsh name!

It’s the Welsh for “inspiration everywhere.”

You see, this week, Small Child and I ran away to Pembrokeshire in South Wales.

And while enjoying the fresh sea air, and exploring the pituresque little towns and magnificent ruins, I encountered plenty of interesting names and name inspiration. These are just some of my favorites:

Arawn — We passed one very pleasant day of our holiday painting pottery in a café in magical Narberth, the Arberth of the First Branch of the Mabinogion, and home to Pwyll, from where he rode forth hunting one day and encountered Arawn, Lord of Annwfn — the Celtic Otherworld. There’s rather an inspiring and spine-tingling view of the surrounding countryside from the not-so inspiring and spine-tinging car-park in the centre of Narberth; it’s easy to imagine the hounds and horses of Pwyll and Arawn hurtling across the fields… Some postulate that Arawn derives from biblical Aaron. I say that’s utter nonsense. It is far more likely to derive from the Common Celtic *ar-yo- “to plough” or the same ancient root which gives Modern Welsh: aran “mound.”

Carew — One of the most romantic castles I know, a mixture of medieval and Elizabethan. It’s name derives from the Welsh, and is equally romantic: caer “castle” and “fort” + rhiw “ice.”

Cawdor — Although in most people’s minds, Cawdor is firmly associated with Scotland (and, indeed, Macbeth, erstwhile Earl of Cawdor), more recent Earls of Cawdor had their seat at Stackpole in Pembrokeshire. It was a late eighteenth century Baron Cawdor, indeed, who repelled the last invasion of Britain, by the French in 1797 at Fishguard. The Gaelic form of Cawdor is Caladar, deriving from coille “wood” and dur “water” or “oak.” An old form was Calder.

Elidor — We stayed in the marvelously named Stackpole Elidor (a name which would have been right at home in Harry Potter!). Elidor is actually an Old Welsh name, and Stackpole is named in honor of a very shadowy saint of the name. As Elidurus, it occurs as the name of a legendary king of Britain in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae (c. 1136). Its meaning isn’t all that clear; while the second element is almost certainly the Welsh dur “steel,” the first is fuzzier. It died out as a name in the Middle Ages, but was revived in the 19th. Other medieval variants include Elidyr and Elidir, as borne by the medieval Welsh poet Elidir Sais (c. 1190–c. 1240). It’s probably best known today, however, from Alan Garner’s 1965 fantasy novel of the name.

Gwri — Gwri Wallt Euryn “Gwri of the Golden Hair” is the name Lord Teyrnon gives to Pwyll and Rhiannon’s son Pryderi when he finds the child in his stables and adopts him as his own. It probably derives from the same source as Welsh gŵr “man.”

Lyd, Lud  — The intriguingly named Lydstep was just down the coast from our cottage.  An earlier form was Ludsopp, meaning “Lud’s refuge.”

Merrion — A  tiny hamlet near Stackpole, with a very pretty name. It may derive from the same source as the Welsh boy’s name Meirion, i.e. the Latin Marianus “belonging to Marius” or Marinus “of the sea.” Given its location, it’s tempting to lean towards the latter, and it is perfectly possible that actually, at its heart, is Welsh môr “sea.”

Middleton — I can’t help wondering if the National Botanic Garden of Wales is rather kicking itself now for changing its name from Middleton, now that the name has been made so famous by the new Duchess of Cambridge. Its original name was in honor of the Middleton family of Oswestry, who built the first mansion on the site that was to become the gardens. It’s meaning is straightforward;  “middle” + tūn “enclosure,” “farmstead,” “estate,” “manor,” “village.” We had a rather wet day at the gardens, on this occasion, sadly, though Small Child thoroughly enjoyed the exhibition on mushrooms :) .

Myrddin — The Welsh name for Merlin, and the name behind the town of Carmarthen and its Welsh form, Caerfyrddin. We didn’t do much there this time, except pop into Morrison’s on the way to the Botanic Gardens. I’m going to feature Merlin as a pick of the week in the not too dim and distant, so I’ll say no more for now.

Oriel — Orielton is another little Pembrokeshire village near Stackpole Elidor. I don’t know its etymology, but the “Oriel” part lept out. Oriel was found as a girl’s name in medieval times, a vernacular form of the Germanic Aurildis, meaning “fire battle.” It was unrelated to the word “oriel” used of a large, projecting recess with window, often found in a lord of the manor’s solar (private sitting room). It was this type of Oriel that gave it’s name to the Oxford College.

Pryderi — The birth name of Pwyll and Rhiannon’s son, born at Narberth (see Arawn above). He is generally considered to be one and the same as the Mabon — the “divine son” of Welsh mythology, who gives his name to the Mabinogion. It is generally derived from the Welsh pryderu “to take pains” and “to be anxious.”

Pwyll — Another Narberth inspiration; the name of the noble Lord of Dyfed, who had his palace at Narberth. Not the easiest of names to say, sadly, but it does have such rich association and meaning; in Middle Welsh, this was “spirit” and “reason,” while in Modern Welsh it now carries the meanings of “discretion” and “steadiness.”

Rhiannon — Pwyll’s wife (and later the wife of Manawydan). She is perhaps the most significant of the figures associated with Narberth; in the Mabinogion, she is an otherworldly maid, who rides a white horse… many equate her with the Gaulish Goddess Epona, and her Brythonic name has been reconstructed as Rigantona from Common Celtic: *r-gan- “queen.” Like Merlin, she’s on the cards for a post of her own…

Tudor — One of the highlights of our trip was a revisit to Pembroke Castle, birthplace of the founder of the Tudor dynasty, Henry VII. His surname is the Anglicized form of the Welsh Anglicized form Tudur, an ancient name, deriving from the Common Celtic *towtƒ “people” and “tribe” (this became tut in Middle Welsh and also acquired the meaning “country”) + *r-g- “king.” It was found in Gaul in the Roman period as Teutorix, and is cognate with the Germanic Theodoric.

Twynnell — St Twynnell was another local village, named after its shadowy saint.  At the heart of this beauty almost certainly lies the Great Welsh Goddess Dôn, with Twynnell a combination of Dwyn (a variant of Dôn) and gell, literally “yellow,” but also “bright” and “shining.”

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