(Please note this blog contains themes of death and funerary rituals)
It’s well known that Noson Calan Gaeaf is said to be an ysbrydnos, a ‘spirit night’ when ghosts walk among us and strange happenings abound. Superstitions were strong in rural Wales, and charms to keep away illness and bad spirits were common. A delve into our archives shows that Wales had its own superstitions and folklore surrounding death and the spirit world. As the essay ‘Hanes Ysbrydion (Ghost Stories)’ written by ‘Jupiter’ (T. Huws Davies) for the Llangeitho Eisteddfod in 1895, suggested:
‘Erys llawer dydd yr oedd yr hen bobl yn credu mewn bwciod neu ysbrydion . . . Credent fod ar nos Calangauaf ac ar nos Nadolig fod beddau y fynwent i gyd yn wag a fod ysbryd ar ben pob croesffordd, camfa ac yn ymyl pob boncyff . . . ’
[Since days gone by the old folk have believed in spooks and ghosts . . . They believe that on Halloween night and on Christmas night the graves in the churchyard are all empty and that there is a ghost at every crossroads, stile, and by the edge of every stump.]
If Calan Mai heralds longer days and the coming of summer, then Calan Gaeaf marks the beginning of the long winter darkness. Around this time of year the darker evenings draw out old superstitions, one of which is the Welsh tradition of the ‘cannwyll corff’ (the ‘corpse candles’), mysterious lights that when seen were thought to portend a death or misfortune. In the 1890s, the Welsh schoolmaster David Samuel (1856-1921) of Aberystwyth wrote:
‘Yr wyf wedi gorfod credu erys blynyddau bellach fod y fath beth a goleu corff yn bod – sef yr hwnnw, math o oleuni yn rhagfyned claddedigaeth neu gynhebrwng.’
[I have been forced to believe for years that such a thing as corpse lights exist – that is, the type of light that precedes a burial or funeral procession.]
This was by no means a superstition that was unique to Wales. Elsewhere in British folklore the ghostly lights of the ‘will-o-the-wisp’ or ‘jack-o-lantern’ were said to haunt lonely marshes and moors, where their welcoming light would lead weary travellers either to their doom or salvation, depending on the tale (and on the traveller). The pwca, a creature of the tylwyth teg (the Fair Folk) was said to carry a light or lantern with the intention of getting confused travellers thoroughly lost, and was inspiration for Shakespeare’s mischievous character Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Similarly, like the flickering lights of the pwca the canhwyllau corff were said to be fickle and incorporeal. T. Huws Davies recorded a tale where a local farmer got quite a scare:
‘Yn agos i Llangeitho y mae allt o goed ac yn yr hen amser yr oedd bwthyn bach yn ymyl yr allt ac yr oedd hen wr yn byw yno ond yn yr amser y cymerodd yr hanes hwn le yr oedd wedi marw. Un noswaith yr oedd hwsmon wedi colli hwch ac yn ei chwilio yn hwyr y ffordd hon a neidiodd yr hen wr bach allan o’r allt a llusern yn ei law. Aeth yr hwsmon i gymeryd gafael ynddo ond nid oedd yno ddim iw gael nai weled na’i glywed.’
[Near to Llangeitho there is a wood where in times gone by a cottage stood at the edge, and an old man lived there but at the time that this story took place he had already passed away. Late one evening a farmer had lost his sow and was searching for her in that direction, and the old man jumped out of the wood with a lantern in his hand. The farmer went to grab him but there was nothing there to see or hear.]
Accounts of the canhwyllau corff often take place in rural areas or in close proximity to churchyards. But one encounter suggested that they could appear anywhere. David Samuel recounted a tale from two ladies of Llanbadarn Fawr:
'Yr oedd dwy wraig o Lanbadarn flynyddoedd yn ol yn dychwelyd gartref o’r Capel un noson dywyll yn nyfnder gauaf (ni a alwn un o hwynt yn Mari Pentre’r Odyn) yr oeddynt wedi bod yn y cwrdd gweddi neu rhyw gyfarfod o’r fath yn nghapel yr Anibynwyr a wedi dod i’r ffordd fawr ac yn cyrchu tua chartref ym Mhwllhobi, gwelai Mari ganwyll corff yn dod yn syth i’w cyfarfod a hwythau ar ganol y ffordd fawr.'
[Years ago two ladies of Llanbadarn were returning home from the chapel one dark night in the depths of winter (one of them was called Mari Pentre’r Odyn), they had been in a prayer meeting or something of the sort in the Independent chapel, and when they came to the main road and started towards home in Pwllhobi, Mari saw a cannwyll corff coming straight to meet her, in the middle of the main road.]
There are even accounts of the canhwyllau corff appearing inside buildings. A letter from Mr Johnes of Dolaucothi, Carmarthenshire, sent in 1881 described an encounter with the eerie lights:
‘Three were seen coming down one of the double staircases into the Hall (a large lofty Hall). They crossed it, and went out of the front door on its north side towards the lawn. That week or the following three maids slept in a room with a charcoal fire & died in consequence. Their bodies were carried down the staircase across the Hall & out through the Northern Entrance, taking the course which the lights were observed to take a few days before.’
However, it’s a further tale from Mr Samuel that perhaps provides the most chilling and atmospheric account, as three weary friends find their way home:
‘Yr oedd yn noswaith ofnadwy – y gwynt yn chwythu yn uchel, ac yn groch, a’r gwlaw yn dysgyn, yn debyg i ddiwrnod y diluw. Yr oeddem yn ymgom am hyn a’r llall, nes i ni ddod i ymyl y goeden ddrain wyddost. O’r fan hono gwelem oleu yn y pellder draw . . . gwelem mae canwyll noeth ydoedd, a pynem ein tri, sut y medrai neb gadw canwyll noeth i gynneu ar y fath noson. Ond waeth heb siarad felly yr oedd. Yn fuan daethom yn digon agos i weled, fod dyn yn cario y ganwyll. Hen wr gwasgaru ydiedd, a clos penlin, a chot a chwtws fain amdano. Cariai y ganwyll – a chanwyll babwyr ydoedd, rhwng y ddau fys canol ei law dde. Daliai hi gyferbyn ai galon. Cerddai ar hyd ganol y ffordd. Adwaenasom yr hen wr, a dyna sydd yn syndod gwyddem fod yr hen wr hwnw, yn sal ar ei wely, yn ymyl angeu. Pan ddaeth hi’n hymyl, gwelem ond oedd y gwynt na’r gwlaw yn effeithio dim ar y ganwyll . . . ond y noson hono, bu yr hen Ifan farw, ar dydd Iau canlynol, cludwyd yr hyn oedd farwol o’r hen wr, y ffordd hono, iw gladdi yn mynwent y plwyf.’
[It was an awful evening – the wind howling and fierce, and rain beating down like the day of the Deluge. We were chatting about this and that, until we came to a thorn bush. From there we saw a light in the far distance . . . we saw that it was an unguarded candle, and the three of us wondered how anyone could keep an unguarded candle lit on such a night . . . we came close enough to see that it was a man carrying the candle. It was an elderly man, wearing knee-breeches, and a fine coat. He carried the candle – a rush-light, between the two middle fingers of his right hand. He carried it over his heart. He walked in the middle of the road. We recognised the old man, which was a surprise as we knew that he was ill and on his deathbed. When it came close, we saw that neither the wind nor the rain affected the candle . . . but that night, old Ifan died, and the following Thursday his mortal remains were carried that way, to be buried in the churchyard.]
So if you’re out for a stroll on Halloween night, beware mysterious lights – and perhaps tip your hat to the tylwyth teg.
Category: Article