Welsh Folk-Lore Part 43

_The Swallow_.

The joy with which the first swallow is welcomed is almost if not quite equal to the welcome given to the cuckoo. "One swallow does not make a summer" is an old saw.

There is a superst.i.tion connected with the swallow that is common in Wales, which is, that if it forsakes its old nest on a house, it is a sign of ill luck to that house. But swallows rarely forsake their old nests, and shortly after their arrival they are busily engaged in repairing the breaches, which the storms of winter or mischievous children have made in their abodes; and their pleasant twitterings are a pleasure to the occupants of the house along which they build their nests, for the visit is a sign of luck.

The flight of the swallow is a good weather sign. When the swallow flies high in the air, it is a sign of fair weather; when, on the other hand, it skims the earth, it is a sign of rain.

It was a great misfortune to break a swallow's nest, for--

Y neb a doro nyth y wenol, Ni wel fwyniant yn dragwyddol.

Whoever breaks a swallow's nest, Shall forfeit everlasting rest.

_The Swan_.

The eggs of the swan are hatched by thunder and lightning. This bird sings its own death song.

_The Swift_.

This bird's motions are looked upon as weather signs. Its feeding regions are high up in the air when the weather is settled for fair, and low down when rain is approaching.

Its screaming is supposed to indicate a change of weather from fair to rain.

_t.i.t Major_, _or Sawyer_.

The Rev. E. V. Owen, Vicar of Llwydiarth, Montgomerys.h.i.+re, told me that the t.i.t's notes are a sign of rain, at least, that it is so considered in his parish. The people call the bird "Sawyer," and they say its notes resemble in sound the filing of a saw. A man once said to my friend:--"I dunna like to hear that old sawyer whetting his saw." "Why not," said Mr. Owen. "'Cause it'll rain afore morning," was the answer. This bird, if heard in February, when the snow or frost is on the ground, indicates a breaking up of the weather. Its sharp notes rapidly repeated several times in succession are welcome sounds in hard weather, for they show that spring is coming.

_The Wren_.

The Wren's life is sacred, excepting at one time of the year, for should anyone take this wee birdie's life away, upon him some mishap will fall.

The wren is cla.s.sed with the Robin:--

The robin and the wren Are G.o.d's c.o.c.k and hen.

The cruel sport of hunting the wren on St. Stephen's Day, which the writer has a dim recollection of having in his boyhood joined in, was the one time in the year when the wren's life was in jeopardy.

The Rev. Silvan Evans, in a letter to the _Academy_, which has been reproduced in _Bye-Gones_, vol. vii., p. 206, alludes to this sport in these words:--

"Something similar to the 'hunting of the wren' was not unknown to the Princ.i.p.ality as late as about a century ago, or later. In the Christmas holidays it was the custom of a certain number of young men, not necessarily boys, to visit the abodes of such couples as had been married within the year. The order of the night--for it was strictly a nightly performance--was to this effect. Having caught a wren, they placed it on a miniature bier made for the occasion, and carried it in procession towards the house which they intended to visit. Having arrived they serenaded the master and mistress of the house under their bedroom window with the following doggerel:--

Dyma'r dryw, Os yw e'n fyw, Neu dderyn to I gael ei rostio.

That is:--

Here is the wren, If he is alive, Or a sparrow To be roasted.

If they could not catch a wren for the occasion, it was lawful to subst.i.tute a sparrow (ad eryn to). The husband, if agreeable, would then open the door, admit the party, and regale them with plenty of Christmas ale, the obtaining of which being the princ.i.p.al object of the whole performance."

The second line in the verse, "_Os yw e'n fyw_," intimates that possibly the wren is dead--"If he is alive." This would generally be the case, as it was next to impossible to secure the little thing until it had been thoroughly exhausted, and then the act of pouncing upon it would itself put an end to its existence.

Perhaps the English doggerel was intended to put an end to this cruel sport, by intimating that the wee bird belonged to G.o.d, was one of His creatures, and that therefore it should not be abused.

There is a Welsh couplet still in use:--

Pwy bynnag doro nyth y dryw, Ni chaiff ef weled wyneb Duw.

Whoever breaks a wren's nest, Shall never see G.o.d's face.

This saying protects the snug little home of the wren. Much the same thing is said of the Robin's nest, but I think this was put, "Whoever robs a robin's nest shall go to h.e.l.l."

Another Welsh couplet was:--

Y neb a doro nyth y dryw, Ni chaiff iechyd yn ei fyw.

Whoever breaks the wren's nest, Shall never enjoy good health.

Although the robin and the wren were favourites of heaven, still it was supposed that they were under some kind of curse, for it was believed that the robin could not fly through a hedge, it must always fly over, whilst on the other hand, the wren could not fly over a hedge, but it was obliged to make its way through it. (See Robin, p. 329).

_The Wood Pigeon_.

The thrice repeated notes of five sounds, with an abrupt note at the end, of which the cooing of the wood pigeon consists, have been construed into words, and these words differ in different places, according to the state of the country, and the prevailing sentiments of the people. Of course, the language of the wood pigeon is always the language of the people amongst whom he lives. He always speaks Welsh in Wales, and English in England, but in these days this bird is so far Anglicised that it blurts out English all along the borders of Wales.

In the cold spring days, when food is scarce and the wood pigeon cold, it forms good resolutions, and says:--

Yn yr haf Ty a wnaf; Gwnaf.

In the summer I'll make a house; I will.

However, when the summer has come with flower, and warmth, the wood pigeon ridicules its former resolution and changes its song, for in June it forgets January, and now it asks:--

Yn yr ha'

Ty pwy wna'?

Pwy?