Category: Folklore.

Þvörusleikir

15/12/2019

Þvörusleikir – AKA Spoon Licker or Pot Scraper Licker.
Þvörusleikir’s favourite pastime is licking spoons or more accurately, pot scrapers. Due to this activity he has a fit tongue (well hello there). Despite their fearsome reputation, Vikings prided themselves on their hospitality to strangers so there was always a pot on the go containing gruel or soup, and the pot scraper makes sure that not a morsel is wasted.
He is rather a thin lad, I suppose there is not much to be gained by licking a few tidbits from a spoon but he likes the taste of the food infused implements.

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Stúfur

15/12/2019

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Now the next few brothers are all pan, spoon and pot licking scavengers

Stúfur – AKA Itty Bitty, Stubby or Shorty
A lad I can relate to being a feisty short arse myself, my BFF likes to call me a vicious little pixie. Stúfur’s journey from the mountains is a difficult one due to his lack of height, he has trouble traversing deep snow and it takes him longer to travel due to his Lilliputian legs. To ensure you get your gift, it's best to leave a step of sorts if your shoe is on a high windowsill. This lad is partial to grease licked from your pans.

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Giljagaur.

15/12/2019

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Giljagaur – AKA Gully Gawk

Hidden from site Giljagaur travels from the mountains, down to the farms, lurking in gullies and dark, dank ditches, awaiting the chance to steal the warm milk and especially the foam or cream skimmed from the top of the bucket. He awaits his chance to steal the milk when the milkmaids are distracted by a burly farm hand with George North’s thighs, a woman after my own heart.

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Stekkjarstaur

15/12/2019

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Howay the lads
Starting on December 12th the lads come down from their home in the mountains and visit childrens’ houses in the following order:-

Stekkjarstaur – AKA Gimpy, The Sheep Worrier or Stiffy Legs.

Stekkjarstaur has a love of sheep milk that he suckles straight from the yews. Unfortunately, his affliction of stiff legs is a hindrance to this practice. It has been suggested that he had peg legs as the poor blighter was so stiff of leg. His special skill involves a bit of sheep rustling so the Icelandic folks would lock them way over this period. My own forefathers have done a bit of sheep worrying in their time so who am I to judge.

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The Yule Lads.

6/12/2019

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Vlad and I spend a great deal of time choosing just the right gifts for each other be it for birthdays, anniversaries or Yule. The pleasure that we get from finding just the right thing is better than receiving the gift itself. Last Yule I was given three unusual Yuletide baubles from Iceland, each of them depicted two Yule Lads. The baubles were accompanied by a beautifully illustrated book written and illustrated by Brian Pilkington.
Winter Solstice celebrations date back to the Ninth century in Iceland when the first settlers arrived. Once the pagan celebrations were stolen by the good ole Christians in the 11th century and remodelled as Christmas all the fun was sucked out of the festivities. During the reformations the revellers were threatened with painful punishments if partaking in any raucous activities, but even this did not dampen their party spirit when they’d had one too many Brennivíns, hazzah.
Iceland is steeped in mythology and folklore, the most hideous being is Grýla a giant troll, Ogress or Christmas Witch as she is sometimes known. The Yule lads, of whom there are thirteen, are her sons from her third marriage to a revolting, oafish and lazy fellow called Leppalúði, who like Grýla had a penchant for stewed children, mmmmm.
Grýla

Grýla first raised her very ugly warty head in literature during the thirteenth century and is said to devour naughty or rude children, whom she collects in her sack when she comes down from the mountains at Yuletide. She likes the children stewed, or casseroled for the sake of Vladimir, (the mere mention of stew makes him bilious). To make sure that no unruly child escapes her clutches she has eyes in the back of her head so that she is able to keep a good look out. Hooves adorn her feet but unlike Satan they are not cloven, she has horns on her head and fifteen tails. Leppalúði is Grýla’s third and current husband; they live in a cave in the Dimmuborgir lava fields. Leppalúði is hoping not to succumb to the same fate as one of his predecessors, whom she killed and ate out of boredom.
In the eighteenth century the authorities felt it necessary to pass a decree to abolish the practice of threatening naughty children with being consumed, (or is that consomméd) in the form of soup by Grýla or terrorised by the Yule Lads, hence the lads have been assuaged for the “Snowflakes” and they are now no longer gorging on kids willy-nilly but playing naughty pranks. Their numbers have reduced considerably over the years (I would have thought her warty face was contraception enough) and now number thirteen Yule Lads, each with their own irritating traits, although the attractive pair have many more children.
Starting 13 days before Christmas Eve Icelandic children place a shoe on their windowsill in anticipation of the Yule Lads who visit in turn and leave small gifts or a piece of fruit. If however they have been bad they get a potato in their shoe, as it is now considered bad form to cook them up and have them for supper, damn their eyes. Before the modern day Santa- esque tradition of leaving gifts, the Yule lads would get up to mischievous high jinks in the houses that they visited and their names derive from the particular irritating prank they would play on the households.
To learn more about the Yule lads I will be continuing my blog in instalments so as not to bore (squirrel) sorry about that, you all.
As with all folklore there are many different accounts and descriptions of Grýla and her family.

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Wintermarsh Street is no place for children, freedom of expression is paramount here, censorship is abhorrent to us, please do not enter if you are overly sensitive or offended by the ideas and opinions of others that may not correspond with your own. I may profoundly disagree with your opinion, however I would fight and die defending your right to express it.

Wintermarsh Street is a work of the imagination and any similarity to places or persons living, dead and undead contained within the tales herein is purely coincidental.

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If I want your opinion, I will read it in your entrails.

Þvörusleikir

Stúfur

Giljagaur.

Stekkjarstaur

The Yule Lads.

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