Granny Green Eyes

Well. Would you know it? Granny's got green eyes, the rarest colour on the planet apparently and often associated with witches. Ooh now, there's a thing! I wonder...

The most common colour worldwide is of course brown but particularly in the northern hemisphere, blue and green are more common.

With the advent of smart-phones, I read that millions of predominantly brown-eyed Asians are conducting searches driven by a well-known Bollywood actress with the intriguing sea-green eyes that occur occasionally on that continent, and mainly as far as they are concerned in Northern India and Afghanistan. I have actually met a couple of Indian women with green eyes and with their beautiful skin-tone, the combination was quite stunning.

One of the most searched-for eye-colour related questions on the internet generally, is in regard to the late Elizabeth Taylor's 'violet' eyes which of course were no such thing, since there is no such thing. Her eyes were an unusual shade of dark blue. Clever make-up, lighting, clothing and I suspect an imaginative studio publicity department, ensured the 'violet' legend thrived.

Granny's grandson has striking and unusual aquamarine-coloured eyes from parents of blue and blackish-brown though his sister's are brown. Granny's eyes are a different shade from his altogether - closer to my father's hazel eyes which were a mix of green and brown.

In ancient Egypt, green was considered the colour of good health, life and re-birth, and the Eye of Horus amulet – worn to protect one against illness – was most often made of green stone. In folktales around the world, witches, nymphs and water spirits often have green eyes. I am supposedly curious, intelligent and a little surprising and mischievousness.

I will have to leave that to others to decide, meanwhile all I shall say is pass me my reading glasses please...

Hag Stones

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I've always collected hag-stones and have many hanging round the garden perimeters as well as an especially prized garland gracing a twisted hazelnut tree in the back garden. There they hang, green-tainted with age, like the tree bark itself. They are there to ward off witches (if you believe in such things), and I love them because they are part of local folklore going back centuries.

My stones are both large and small and generally of flint or quartz. They are found stones, with naturally-occurring holes and are also known as witch stones, serpent's eggs or adder stones.

Adder stones were believed to have protective powers against snake-bites and nightmares, and if you peered through the hole, you were given the ability to see through the disguises of witches or fairies. A true adder stone will reputedly float in water so that counts all mine out straight away!

I'm afraid I cannot believe that the stones are the result of the hardened saliva of serpents massing together, the perforations being caused by their tongues, nor that such a stone comes from the head of a snake or is made by the bite of an adder. I can better believe that they are any rock with a hole bored through its surface by water action since most of mine have been found on the beach.

I am an inveterate gatherer, so anything out of the ordinary is likely to find its way to my house. I do so love the reach back into the past that these hag stones and their stories of cures, visions and superstitions afford me.

Think I'll just pop out into the garden now and touch them for luck!

A New Old Tradition

So, it's mid-morning on New Year's Day and the weather is fine. Time to set off on the Village Walk. This is a loosely circular route of about six miles which can be shortened if necessary and which largely uses the smaller country lanes where possible. It's a nicely undulating ramble, not too arduous.

There are two stopping points. One a very friendly householder who always happily welcomes the small hoards who descend on her. Inside we make free with the necessary conveniences as well as indulging in mince pies and mulled wine. It is also she who drives out later to revive stragglers with Christmas chocolates dispensed through the car window!

The final resting place before home for the footsore and hungry is the village hall, abuzz with cheerful chatter and the pungent smells of various homemade soups and hot rolls, all for a mere donation to local funds.

In the distant past before maps became common, and usually on Ascension Day or Rogation Sunday, village folk led by the priest or village leader, 'beat the boundaries,' just to make clear to all and sundry exactly where the parish limits lay. To reinforce that message, in some places boundary posts were beaten with birch or willow twigs, no doubt similar to the punishment that would be inflicted if the demarcation line was flouted!

We of course behaved ourselves impeccably and I don't know if our particular village ever followed those old traditions anyway, but happily the village walk on New Year's Day has already taken it's place in the calendar as an annual event not to be missed.