A Slog up Roseberry Topping and a Nod to Pagan Roots

I could claim it was a brisk dash up Roseberry Topping this morning, but in truth, it was more of a plodding trudge. Perhaps it only felt that way because I foolishly dressed for winter, not realising it would be unseasonably warm for Christmas Eve. This is the view from the summit, looking down on Aireyholme Farm, with the Cleveland Hills resplendent in the distance under a broodingly dramatic cloudy sky.

If you were an Anglo-Saxon pagan before Christianity came along and spoiled the fun, you would be celebrating “Mōdraniht” this evening, the “Night of the Mothers.” We know this, not because anyone alive remembers of course, but because the venerable Bede scribbled it down in the 8th century. Of course, he neglected to include the interesting bits, such as what actually happened, though speculation suggests a sacrifice might have featured. For our pagan ancestors, it was a time to express gratitude to the tribe’s mothers. Some faint trace of this may linger in Orkney, where Helya’s Night involves entrusting children to the care of “Midder Mary,” a Christian rebranding of what was undoubtedly a far more intriguing pagan affair.