Let's hope it's a dry Bullion's Day

Even today, relics of this date appear in some calendars and almanacs where it is shown as Old Midsummer Eve but, so far as I am aware, that anniversary is no longer marked by any kind of celebration.

Apart from being Independence Day in America, however, today is also known as Bullion's Day. This has spawned a few items of weather lore, eg "If Bullion's Day be dry, there will be a good harvest". Another says "Bullion's Day, if ye be fair, for 40 days 't'will rain nae mair" while a third tells us "If the deer rise dry and lie down dry on Bullion's Day, there will be a good gose harvest."

The word gose is, I believe, a Scottish word which refers to the latter end of summer and it is interesting that these three pieces of lore are all from Scotland. This makes one wonder whether the term Bullion's has any links with that country, but this is unlikely.

The word comes from the French surname given to St Martin. Whilst most of us know him as St Martin of Tours, with a feast day at Martinmas (November 11), he was known in France as St Martin Bouillant. That surname has been corrupted into Bullion and thus St Martin celebrates two feast days - today and November 11.

Martin was known as a very active missionary, who spent a lot of time travelling in Europe, but he settled in France where he built his first monastery. A close friend of Pope Siricius, he was appointed Bishop of Tours in AD370 and it was his date of consecration as bishop which is celebrated on July 4. To my knowledge, he never visited either England or Scotland, although lots of our churches, both Catholic and Protestant, are named in his honour.

IF THERE is any plant which epitomises the rural scene or enhances a cottage garden, it is surely the honeysuckle. This beautifully scented climber is often seen hanging in thick masses above cottage doorways or on dry stone walls, and one of my regular walks at this time of year is blessed with masses of honeysuckle which have almost swamped a hedgerow.

The scent, as one walks past in summer, is magical. At an earlier cottage we owned, there was a mass of honeysuckle above the doorway of a former stable and I often thought it presented a marvellously rustic scene; it seemed such a complement to the old limestone of the building and its pantiles for there is an agelessness about honeysuckle. Furthermore, it seems perfectly happy growing in the wild or in our gardens.

Because it is a powerful and flourishing climber, however, it requires a substantial support. It will cheerfully make use of a convenient tree or shrub such as a hawthorn, birch or elder, but is equally able to climb garden frames or rustic arches around our doorways. Its stems are very strong and can easily strangle the life out of a weak plant, as the honeysuckle vigorously entwines itself around its host.

In many cases, its powerful grip will deform the trunk or branches of a host tree or shrub, consequently it is not surprising that it is alternatively known as the woodbine, a name also given to the convolvulus or bindweed.

The honeysuckle produces a thick covering of foliage which Shakespeare accused of blocking out the sun, but it is the flowers which are so exquisite.

Not only do they produce such a powerful scent, especially during the evening, but they are also extremely beautiful and almost unique in their appearance.

Each head produces several florets, each with a long creamy-brown tube which opens to produce a large white upper lip, a smaller white lower lip and stamens which peep from between both.

Some think the flower head with all its florets resembles an elegant lady's fingers and in fact that is one of its alternative names, although the diarist, Samuel Pepys, thought each floret looked more like a trumpet. He said they blew out scent instead of sound! The flower's colours can vary from a rather deep orange to a lovely creamy colour, and there can also be some which appear almost purple. It is not surprising that such an attractive and unusual flower attracted the attentions of herbalists and folk lore specialists.

Certainly, the flowers were treated to create potions which were used to cure headaches and lung diseases, but it was also believed that if a girl took honeysuckle flowers into her home, then a wedding would follow.

Many believed that if the flowers were taken into a young girl's bedroom, she would dream of her future husband, but the blooms were also used as charms to protect cows from witches and evil spirits, and that included their milk and butter. It seems that the honeysuckle, although a rather persistent and at times troublesome weed, is generally welcomed in our gardens. And this is the time of year to enjoy its perfume.

'I'VE received a letter from that weekender chap called Kidney who bought Corner Cottage," announced Adolf Unthank, chairman of the parish council of Kelderdale, that fanciful village in the hills. "He wants a street light in his lane."

"A street light?" cried Coun Muckraker. "Why on earth does he want that? It'll cost a fortune what with maintenance, new bulbs, power costs for the winter timetables and so on. We'll all finish up paying for it! And it won't benefit any of us, or the village. Just him!"

"What's prompted this?" asked Coun Strokelady.

"He's a townie, come up from the south, York, Leeds or some such spot; he said he wanted to get away from town life and now he wants to turn us into a town!" said Unthank. "He comes for long weekends, always the last weekend of every month. He says he likes the peace and quiet but finds it very dark at night down that lane, especially in winter. In his letter, he says he's worried about his safety."

"Dark? Of course it's dark, it's supposed to be dark, that's because it's in the countryside," retorted Stokelady. "We don't want street lights keeping our wild life awake all night. Nor any of us, for that matter."

The chairman pondered a moment, then said, "He says if we don't agree to install a street light, he'll write to the newspapers and make a big fuss about it."

"Are we obliged to install a light just because he wants one?" asked Muckraker.

"I'm not sure of the rules," admitted the chairman. "I'll check the legal situation but it could increase our council tax, what with installation and running costs."

"You say he comes here on the last weekend of every month?" smiled Strokelady.

"Aye," nodded the chairman. "Regular as clockwork."

"Isn't that the time we should be ringing the Kelderdale Bell? 6.30 on the morning of the last Sunday in the month, a long-established custom that's got overlooked? Maybe we should revive it?"

"His cottage is near the church, isn't it?" beamed Muckraker.

"Aye," smiled Unthank. "Aye, it is. And 6.30 won't bother any of us countryfolk, we're allus out of bed before then. One of us could ring the bell."

And so the ancient custom of ringing the Kelderdale Bell at 6.30 on the last Sunday morning of the month was revived.

Even though the decision was recorded in the minutes of that parish council meeting, subsequent researchers could not find any historic references to the custom. Nonetheless, the villagers maintained it had been the practice for centuries past and all expressed their delight at its revival.

The parish council received a letter from weekender Kidney in Corner Cottage in which he demanded the practice of ringing the Kelderdale Bell be brought to an end, but as Coun Unthank pointed out, it was an ancient custom that could only be terminated by royal command. And Her Majesty had never objected. Mr Kidney later decided to return to the city; the Kelderdale Bell then ceased