The Mumbles Horse’s Head, the 'Mari Lwyd' by Marjorie Bowden (née Jenkins)

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Ed: note. This article was written back in the 1970s, so it is now over 160 years since Sharper first made his appearance as a ‘Mari Lwyd’ in Mumbles.

          The Mari Lwyd or ‘Grey Mare’ was a custom the origins of which are lost in time.  It was one of a series of ritual entries to the home, which took place at Christmas and New Year, and was one variant of wassailing. All Hallows’ Eve marked the beginning of the winter half of the year in the old Celtic calendar. Winter was more active socially, perhaps because there was less work to be done in general or because of the isolation felt by country folk during the long winter evenings.

The Horse’s Head and 'The Mari Lwyd' custom

    It was over 120 years ago that Mumbles first had the Horse’s Head.  It started when my father, William Jenkins was a lad of sixteen. There was a  mari  lwyd  up the  valleys, but  although the  boys  of  the  village  used  to  go  out  with  a ram’s  head,  they thought  that if  they had a horse’s head, they  could  do  better.  But where to get one! Well it so happened that there used to  be  a  young horse  that  the  boys  knew  very  well; he  used to  come  up every  week from  Gower  with  vegetables and  the  boys  used  to  mind  him  while  the  man got  on  with  his  rounds; he  was  a  quite  horse and  his  name  was  Sharper.

Well, poor Sharper took ill  and  died. He was buried at Barland near Kittle.  As  time  passed, the  boys  thought  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to dig  up  his skull  for  a  mari  lwyd.  So  this  they  did  and  bought  him  back  and buried  him  in  lime  out  at  Limeslade. They left  him  till  he  was  clean, so  when  it  got  near  to  Christmas  they  dug  him  up  again.

         Now it was time to put him together. They  joined  his  jaws  with  wire  and  put  a block  of  wood    between  them  and  a  broom handle to  hold  up  right. He did not look too bad. He  still  had  his  teeth  like  he  has  today, but now  they  had  to  make  some  eyes. This, they did with the bottoms of dark green glass bottles. He was  now  ready  for my  grandmother to  dress and she  did  this  by  making  a  cover  for  him to which  she  could  pin  rosettes  and  ribbons and  sheets  for  a  man  to  go  under.  Now, he needed a mane and this was made out of rope. He did look fine! Today, we still dress him the same.

    The boys  could  not  sing  in  Welsh,  so  they  had  to  make  up a  song  of  their  own.  They  asked  the  Curate  of the  church  to  help  them  and  this  same  song has  gone  down  though  the  years  with  him.

Sharper  started  to  go  out  every  Christmas for  years  to  come  and  everyone in  the  village  used to  come  out  to  see  him  and  sing  with  him on  Christmas  eve.  It was not Christmas unless they saw him coming down  though  the  village! He  became  so  well  known  that  the  party with  him  was invited  to    the  big  houses  in and  around  Langland  and  Caswell, to  come  in and  sing  for  the  guests, who  would  give Sharper oranges, apples and  mince  pies. These  were  all  taken  by  the  man  under  the sheet, who  would  open  Sharper’s  jaws by pulling on a  piece  of  string  and take the food from  them (this  would  always  get  a  good  laugh).

    The  man who  led  the  horse  was  called  the hasseless and  he  would  be  dressed  up  in  a  top  hat  and tails. Afterwards he would collect the money in his hat. If   people wanted  an  encore, the party  would  sing  the  mistletoe  bough  and  so  it  went  on through  the  years  till  my  father  had  him.

    All  of  my  six  brothers  had  a  turn  at  picking a  party  of ten men  to  carry  on. They  would  go out   about  a  fortnight  before  Christmas walking  miles, but  they  always  finished  up  by their  own  front  door  singing  for  my  mother,  before they shared  the  money  out  on  Christmas  Eve.

    This  went  on  till  all  my  brothers  left  home. Then  the 1914  war  broke  out  and  two  of  my brothers  were  drowned.  Sharper  was  put away and  forgotten  till  the  war  was  over and the  boys came back home. At  Christmas  they  asked  my  mother if they  could  take  Sharper  out  again, so  my  father let  them. So Sharper was out again for a few more years. By  this  time,  I  was  grown  up, so  I  was  taught  how  to  dress  him  by  my  mother. This we did each year. Time  went  on  and we  lost  our  parents in 1936; then  another war  came  and  Sharper  was put away again.

    My  sisters  and  I  thought  to  put  him  in  to Swansea  Museum, but  we  could not  part  with  him. Time went on. We were married to two brothers.    My sister’s  husband  was  in  the navy  and  mine  was  in  the  fire service. When  the  war  was  over,  my  husband  got  Sharper out again. This went  on  for  a  good  many  years till  we  lost  our  husbands. I  thought  that  was  the  end  and  that  Sharper would  never  come  out  again.

    Then, a few years  ago, an  old  Mumbles  boy  came and  asked  me  if  we  still  had  the  Head and  if  I  would  make  up  a  concert  in  the  schoolroom of  the  long  chapel  to  raise  money  to  help  the  painting of  the  inside  of the  Chapel.  This  we  did and Sharper  went  out  again  and  again  he  was put  away  until I  brought  him out  again in  1969, when I  dressed  him  up  just  like  he  used to  be  years  ago.

    I  went  to  three  parties  with  him and  found  out  he  was not  forgotten  all  together  and  then Christmas of  1970,  my  sons  and  a  party  of  friends had  him  out. You may have  heard  they  made enough  money  to  give the  pensioners  a  night  out  which  was  enjoyed by  all.

 now I hope that in the  years  to  come, Sharper  will do  his  work  and  that  the  boys  of Mumbles  will enjoy  going on as  my  family  did  from  all those years  ago.                                            

Marjorie Bowden (nee Jenkins)

written in the 1970s

  These are two of the songs we used to sing.

——oOo——

THE HORSE’S HEAD

 (1)

My clothing it was once

And my limbs they were so fine

My mane and tail so long

And my coat it used to shine

But now I'm getting older and my courage is getting small

I'm forced to eat the sour grogs that grow beneath the wall

Poor old horse let him die. Poor old horse let him die.

(2)

He eateth all my hay and corn

Devoureth all my straw.

Likewise he is not fit to put into my carriage to draw

Likewise those actful limbs of mine that have travelled so

many a mile

Over hedges ditches bramble bushes gates and narrow styles Poor old horse let him die. Poor old horse let him die.

(3)

My skin unto the huntsman so freely I would give

My flesh unto the hounds I really do believe

So it's whip him spur him cut him to the huntsman let him go

So it1s whip him spur him cut him to the hundsman let him go

Poor old horse let him die, Poor old horse let him die.

(4)

So now they've eaten all my flesh

And my bones are white and dry

They put my head upon a Stick

To go out at Christmas time

So now my tale is ended but I still am very gay

To wish you all the happiness on this coming Christmas Day.

On this coming Christmas Day,   On this coming Christmas Day

——oOo——

——oOo——

 THE MISTLETOE BOUGH

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall

The holly branch hung on the old oak wall

The baron's retainers were blithe and gay

In keeping their Christmas holiday

The baron beheld with a father's pride

His beautiful child young lovers bride

While she with her bright eyes seemed to be

The star of the goodly company.

Oh the mistletoe bough

Oh the mistletoe bough

‘I'm weary of dancing now’ she cried

'I'll  tarry  a moment,  I'll hide,  I'll hide'.

‘Young lover be sure you're the first to trace

The clue to my secret hiding place.’

And away she ran and her friends began

Each tower to search and each nook to  scan

And young lover he cried ‘Oh where dost thou hide?

I'm   lonesome without thee my own dear bride'

Oh!  the mistletoe bough

Oh!  the mistletoe bough

They sought her that night and they sought her next day

They sought her in vain till a week passed away

In the highest and lowest the loneliest spot

Young lover sought wisely but found her not

And years flew by and their grief at last

Was told as a sorrowful tale long past

And when lover appeared the children cried

'See the old man weep for his fairy bride!

Oh the mistletoe bough

Oh the mistletoe bough

At length an old oak chest that had long lain hid

They found in the castle, they raised the lid

And a skeleton form lay mouldering there

In the bridal wreath of that lady fair

Oh sad was the fate in her sporting jest

She hid from her lord in the old oak chest

It closed with a spring and her bridal bloom —

Lay withering there in a living tomb

Oh the mistletoe bough

Oh the mistletoe bough

——oOo——