#cornish lore

Hello there.

You don’t sound rude, however, that is more complex of a question to answer than it may initially seem. For, you see, much of the information out there on Bucca is, in fact, quite varied. As such, it can be confusing to sift through for many people.

It would seem, from what I can tell, that your main points of reference when it comes to the figure of Bucca are the writings of Gemma Gary, so I’m going to start by trying to answer your question, framed in the context of the Craft as practiced by Gary and the coven of ‘Ros an Bucca.’ However, I feel compelled to follow that up with some broader historical/folkloric information on this mysterious spirit since, as I mentioned before, it seems like a lot of people are curious and confused when it comes to him. So without further ado, here is my impromptu essay…

Bucca and his Syncretic Roles within the Context of Modern Traditional Witchcraft

In many iterations and interpretations of the occultic arts, often categorized loosely as ‘modern traditional witchcraft,’ a deific figure frequently called 'The Horned One'—amongst innumerable similar titles—is regarded as the principal Witching God of a given tradition, as well as the chief initiator of the Cunning Flame itself. It is a commonly embraced belief within most currents of practice that tend to fall under this banner of ‘traditional witchcraft,’ that in Old Britain, the god of rural witches was often referred to as 'Devil'. It is ostensibly for this reason that this is still the case for many traditionally based practitioners in the surrounding areas, including the Crafters of Cornwall.

The Devil of the modern traditional witchcraft is, of course, rarely equated directly with Satan as he is depicted in Abrahamic faiths, but is instead regarded, as Gemma Gary puts it,

“an old chthonic folk-god of the land mysteries and seasonal changes (particularly the Autumn and Winter months), weather (particularly storms), death mysteries and the unseen forces and gnosis of use to witchcraft.” She likewise states that “To traditional witches and Cunning folk in Cornwall, in particular the Penwith region, the old Horned One is known as Bucca, and in West Devon as Buckie.” (‘Traditional Witchcraft: A Cornish Book of Ways’, pg. 77, by Gemma Gary)

One aspect of the Bucca found in Cornish lore, and embraced within the paradigm of Gary’s practice, is that he emanates into the dichotomy of ‘Bucca Gwidder’ and ‘Bucca Dhu’—otherwise known the ‘White God’ and the ‘Black God.’ Bucca Dhu is generally seen as the Devil of the previously discussed rural British folk-belief, and is associated with storms, darkness, and the winter months. Conversely, Bucca Gwidder is generally associated with fair weather, light, and the summer months. As is the case in many other, similar spiritual paradigms, Bucca Gwidder and Bucca Dhu dualistically embody the opposing forces of nature. They are intimately tied to one another, with one always giving rise to the other in an infinite cycle of death and rebirth. What’s more, while I can’t seem to find historical evidence for it at this point, Gemma Gary and the coven of Ros an Bucca venerate a mystic triplicity as well, in the form of a ‘conjoined’ Bucca, known as ‘Bucca Gam’, or the ‘Grand Bucca’. This union of opposing forces is said to result in the embodiment of an ‘Androgyne of the Wise’, a concept which mirrors the attainment of the Alchemical Magnum Opus—also called the Rebis (‘Double Matter’), or ‘Divine Hermaphrodite’—which was frequently identified with the attainment of complete wisdom. According to Gary,

“The Grand Bucca and the great Horned Androgyne, the Sabbatic Goat and Goddess-God of the witch-way. For some the Grand Bucca is simply referred to as Bucca, being the whole, with the two opposing aspects of that whole being given the distinction of Bucca Gwidder and Bucca Dhu. In Bucca we find the resolving of all opposites, the traditional candle betwixt the horns symbolising the light of All-Wisdom', and the mystic state of "One-pointedness' which is the ultimate goal of the witch and is the light that illumines the Cunning Path.” (‘Traditional Witchcraft: A Cornish Book of Ways’, pg. 84, by Gemma Gary)

Regarding the connections between Bucca Gam and Baphomet, I think it largely comes down to the fact that it’s relatively rare for modern occult practices to acknowledge deities who are explicitly intersex, with the best-known example of the Divine Androgyne being Baphomet—a being invented by Crusaders in order to demonize the Knights Templar, and then eventually taken up and popularized by occultist Eliphas Levi.

Now, when it comes to the question of syncretic connections between Bucca and Odin/Woden, it primarily comes down to their roles within the concept of the Wild Hunt. As many people know, the Wild Hunt is an important folkloric motif, which describes the shepherding of a ghostly procession across the sky by a powerful mythic figure; in the Germanic world, the leader of this convoy was commonly identified with Odin. Within much of the known Celtic lore, this phantom band was attended and directed by great spectral hounds, known by a wide variety of names. In Cornwall, the Wild Hunt is generally associated with folkloric figures known as the ‘Devil’s Dandy Dogs,’ also called ‘Dando’s Dogs,’ however, it may also be associated with Bucca. As Gary put it,

“On dark and cold nights of winter, Bucca Dhu is also described as riding a great black horse with blazing red eyes and smoky breath. Such lore surrounding Bucca Dhu is cognate with the widespread folk traditions of the Devil and Odin/Woden, as leaders of the Wild Hunt, which in British tradition runs along the Abbot's Way towards Cornwall; the last stop en route to the Otherworld.”

I am yet to come across anything in the folkloric record that matches these particular details, however, it would seem that there is some traditional connection there. For instance, Bucca does demonstrate characteristics of the Wild Hunt in certain versions of the classic Cornish play “Duffy and the Devil” (sometimes called “Duffy and the Bucca”.) This link to Odin is further cemented by the fact that Bucca Dhu is demonstrably connected to the Devil in Cornwall, and the Devil is sometimes said to lead the Wild Hunt, creating an archetypal framework within which both Odin and Bucca fit.

Now for the historical/folkloric background I promised…

According to most relevant sources, Bucca was traditionally described as a form of male Sea Spirit who inhabited coastal communities and their mines during storms—often in the form of a sort of hobgoblin. Many agree that the origins of the Bucca likely relate to faery beings such as the Pwca, Púca, and Puck of Welsh, Irish, and English folklore, respectively, though he also seems to share characteristics with the mermaids of Welsh and Breton mythology—known variably as Morgens, Morgans, or Mari-Morgans.

In one folktale, loosely known as ‘The Sea Bucca of Lamorna’, Bucca was a lonely creature who had once been a human prince, before being cursed by a witch. He was described as having the dark brown skin of a conger eel and a mass of seaweed for hair, as well as a penchant for swimming in the open waves, sitting among the rocks, and/or resting in hidden sea caverns. He was fond of children and assisted the Lamorna fishermen by driving fish and crabs into their nets and pots, but he was capable of terrible retribution, so they generally kept their distance, but left a part of their catch on the beach in order to mollify him.

However, it’s clear that many accounts on the matter clearly speak of the Bucca as more than simply a faery, or sea creature. As Cornish folklorist William Bottrell put it in his 1870 work ‘Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall’

“It is uncertain whether Bucka can be regarded as one of the fairy tribe; Old people, within my remembrance, spoke of a Bucka Gwidden and a Bucka Dhu – by the former they meant good spirit, and by the latter an evil one, now known as Bucka boo.”

In keeping with Bottrell's account of the Bucca , a number of folkloric sources make note of Bucca’s manifold nature, referencing the existence of a ‘Bucca Gwydden/Gwydder’ (White Bucca) and ‘Bucca Dhu’ (Black Bucca). Each of these accounts agrees upon the respective benevolent and malevolent natures of these incarnations, though it’s interesting to note that there are considerably more reports of Bucca Dhu, or ‘Bucca Boo,’ than there are of Bucca Gwydder.

A 19th Century author on Cornish antiquities, named Rev W. S. Lach-Szyrma, proposed Bucca to be the cultural remnant of an ancient pagan Marine Deity once worshiped in the area, such as the British Nodens or the Irish Nechtans. While claims such as these are primarily conjecture, folkloric records do make note of food being left out on the beaches of the region as votive offerings. In the 19th century, for instance, there were reports of fishermen venerating Bucca with offerings of fish, which were left for the enigmatic Wight upon the shores of multiple local beaches. One of these beaches, particularly well known for its use as a site of propitiation, was located near the Cornish town of Newlyn, known formerly as Park an Grouse (Cornish for 'the field of the cross',) where a stone cross was said to once have stood.

These accounts, in turn, bear a certain resemblance to reports of offerings provided to the subterranean Knockers of the region, and as such, may signify some form of cultural continuity of pre-Christian Brythonic traditions. In keeping with this theme of the ‘Mine Faery’, it’s also worth noting that Bucca was sometimes described as a tin-mining spirit as well.

However, Bucca has additionally been historically associated with storms, and in particular, with the wind, which was said to carry his voice across the sea in parts of the West Country. In fact, in Penzance, it was once considered normal to refer to storms that came out of the Southwest as 'Bucca Calling.' For this reason, among others, it is possible that Bucca would have been more properly labeled a weather deity, as opposed to a deity of the sea itself—a distinction that Gemma Gary endorses enthusiastically in ‘A Cornish Book of Ways.’

In Jaqueline Simpson’s ‘A Dictionary of Celtic Mythology’, these marine, tempestuous, subterranean, and pastoral themes are tied together when it’s stated that

“In Cornwall, [Bucca] was ‘a spirit it was once thought necessary to propitiate’; fishermen, tin-miners, and harvesters would deliberately leave a few scraps of their food for him, and spill a few drops of beer.

Children were told to stop crying, or the bucca-boo would come and carry them off.

Some said there were two buccas, one white and kindly, the other black and dangerous.

Fishermen applied the name to a sea goblin of some sort, causing a 19th-century vicar [Lach-Szyrma] to refer to the bucca-boo as ‘the storm-god of the old Cornish’.”

The origins of Bucca’s association with the devil are murky, but they probably have something to do with the widespread equation of faeries with devils in early modern Britain. This doesn’t exactly account for the Bucca’s role as Witch-Father in traditionalist Cornish witchcraft, but those origins are also somewhat murky. It would seem that, at least on the historical record, this particular role was only truly appointed to Bucca around the time of Ros an Bucca’s formation. This isn’t to say, of course, that there weren’t a quiet few who venerated Bucca ongoingly in Cornwall, but given the inherently cultic nature of most covens, this simply isn’t verifiable. However, W.S. Lach-Szyrma’s assertions regarding Bucca as “storm god of the old Cornish” do make explicit reference to the ties between Bucca and the Devil, such as in his 1884 ‘Newlyn and its Piers,’ where he wrote that in the Middle Ages, Bucca was “represented as the Devil.” This syncretism is also briefly highlighted in Margaret Ann Courtney’s 1890 book ‘Cornish Feasts and Folk-lore’, when it’s explained that

“In the adjacent parish of Newlyn, a fishing village, the favourite resort of artists, a great deal of gossiping on summer evenings goes on around the small wells (here called peeths) [. . .] Opposite one of these wells, towering over St. Peter’s church, is a striking pile of rocks, “Tolcarn.” On the summit are some curious markings in the stones, which, when a child, I was told were the devil’s footprints; but the following legend, which I give on the authority of the Rev.W. S. Lach-Szyrma, Vicar of St. Peter’s, is quite new to me:—

‘The summit of the rock is reticulated with curious veins of elvan [quartz-porphyry], about which a quaint Cornish legend relates that the Bucca-boo, or storm-god of the old Cornish, once stole the fishermens’ net. Being pursued by Paul choir, who sang the Creed, he flew to the top of Paul hill and thence over the Coombe to Tolcarn, where he turned the nets into stone.’”

With all of these variable, sometimes even conflicting, accounts of who and what the Bucca is, it's really not a shock that many people find themselves feeling lost when it comes to understanding him, but I hope that this can help to elucidate the subject for some. Resources on the subject are sparse, but they do exist, and a fascinating patchwork of historical and modern perspectives begins to reveal itself if you look for it. Yet, like most things in life, his identity will continue to unfold, shift, and evolve over the years to come.

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Art Credits (In Order of Appearance):

‘Traditional Witchcraft: A Cornish Book of Ways’ —Gemma Gary

‘Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie’ — Éliphas Lévi

Odin Woodcut by Gerhard Munthe (1849-1929)

‘Faeries’ — Brian Froud and Alan Lee

Internet Clipart — Unknown Artist

‘The History of Witches and Wizards’ (1720)

The Snail in Traditional Rhymes of the Celtic Isles

I recently decided to spend a while reading about the role of the Snail in traditional rhymes and verbal charms, and was a bit shocked to find nearly 1000 variants of similar rhymes across different continents and cultures. Despite its shell being, arguably, its most immediately distinctive feature, it was also a bit of a surprise to find that the vast majority of the rhymes dealt in some way with the “horn” or “horns” of the snail—referencing the antennae. Probably close to half of the rhymes I was able to find, I’m sad to say, focused on threatening the snail with physical violence, should it not “put out [its] horns” or “come out of [its] hole,” but I have chosen to write on those examples which focus on supplicating, persuading, or offering to the snail, along with a couple of the more bizarre or mild threats. I have, additionally, chosen to focus exclusively on traditional rhymes of the Celtic Isles (a term I use here to roughly encompass both the Celtic Nations and the British Isles), since the cultures of those regions play such an important role in my Craft, and already constitute a fairly major undertaking in terms of research and writing.

Interestingly enough, though not at all shockingly, many of these examples—both the cruel and the whimsical—have to do with the Snail somehow predicting, summoning, or ensuring the weather; and more specifically, the rain. In fact, I would go so far as to hypothesize that the common origins of these hundreds of rhymes calling on the snail to “put out [its] horns,” are a childlike curiosity with snail anatomy, and old-world beliefs/superstitions having do to with the Snail being able to summon either rain, or sunshine, by extending its antennae. I would imagine this conception would have arisen from the correlation of Snails emerging from or withdrawing into their shells in seeming response to the weather.

As put by Eugène Rolland in ‘Faune populaire de la France, vol. III’ (1881):

“The peasants say that snails in general, and Helix Nemoralis in particular, can act as barometers: when they stretch out their horns, all of them and for a long time, they say that it will not rain anymore.”

And so, without further ado...

——————————————————————————

“Snail, snail, put out your horns,

I’ll give you bread and barley corns.”

Variant (1):

“Snail, snail, put out your horn, And I will give you a barleycorn.”

Variant (2):

“Snag, snag, put out your horn, And I will give you a barleycorn.”

England (from a text dated 1744).

Variant 1 comes from Warwickshire and Staffordshire.

Variant 2 comes from Sussex.

“Sneel, snaul, robbers are coming to pull down your wall.

Sneel, snaul, put out your horn,

Robbers are coming to steal your corn, Coming at four o’clock in the morn.

Yorkshire, England (from a text dated 1849)

“Snailie, snailie, shoot out your horn, And tell us if it will be a bonnie day the morn.”

Orthographic variant:

“Snaillie, snaillie, shoot oot yer horn,

An tell me if it will be a bonny day the morn.”

Scottish publisher, Robert Chambers (1802-1871), had this to say about the rhyme:

"In some districts it is supposed that good weather is indicated by the snail obeying the injunction contained in the following rhyme…"

Scotland

“Snail, snail, put out your horn,

We want some rain to grow our corn.

Out, horn, out.”

Somerset, England

“Bulorn, Bulorn, put out your long horn, your father and mother is dead;

Your sister and brother is to the back-door, a-begging for barley bread!”

Variant (1):

“Snarley-'orn, put out your corn, Father and mother's dead;

Zister 'n brither's out to back door, Bakin' o' barley bread.”

Variant (2) for the last verse:

“Eating o' barley bread.”

"Bulorn" is one of the local names of the snail in Cornwall. It derives from “bull-horn”, “horns of a bull”.

“Snarley-'orn” is the snail's name in West Somerset.

Cornwall

Variant 1 comes from West Somerset, England

Variant 2 comes from Essex, England

“Hod-ma-dod, Hod-ma-dod, stick out your horns,

Here comes an old beggar to cut off your corns.”

"Hod-ma-dod" or “Hodmadod” (and other similar variants) is one of the local names for the snail in East Anglia, with various theories about its origin existing. According to one of the most widely accepted explanations, it might be composed of the words “hood’ (meaning “cap to be put on the head”) mad (the local dialectal term for “worm”) and dod (with the local dialectal meaning of “protruding end of an object”, “rod” or “stick”.) it could, therefore, be rendered as meaning “worm wearing rods or horns as a hood”.

East Anglia, England

“Four-and-twenty tailors went to kill a snail, The best man amongst them durst not touch her tail;

She put out her horns like a little Kyloe cow; Run, tailors, run, or she’ll kill you all e’en now.”

According to the leading hypothesis for the interpretation of this rhyme—as discussed by Arthur E. Ellis in ‘The Snail in Old Nursery Rhymes’—while it was once widely viewed as a satirical jab aimed at the social category of tailors, that is likely erroneous. The word "tailor" also has a different meaning, since it derives from "teller", which indicates a death knell (or a funeral bell toll,) which is derived, in turn, from "tailer" ("an additional knell or bell toll placed at the tail-end of a service"), because they used to ring those tolls at the conclusion of the usual bell tolls. Centuries ago, in various English villages, the custom was to indicate who had died with a series of special additional bell tolls (knells called “tailers”, then “tellers”, then eventually “tailors”), with nine tolls having indicated that a man died, six indicating a woman, and three indicating a child. Twenty-four bell tolls, then, according to this way of reasoning, would have been a signaling of enormous tragedy and an immense triumph of death. So, according to the logic of this rhyme, an interpretation could be made of mass-death and tragedy being easily averted by the mysterious power of the Snail.

England

“Seilide, Seilide, Pucai,

stick out all your horns,

all the (old) ladies are coming to see you.”

-

“Snail, snail, tricksy spirit,

stick out all your horns,

all the (old) ladies are coming to see you.”

The term Pucai or bookee is very likely translated as Puckie, which is to say “little Puck”. Puck (Púca, in Irish) is a trickster spirit, faerie, and/or demon depending on the various cultural lenses it is viewed through.

The connection to the afformentioned “(old) ladies” is mysterious and ambiguous, but it may relate in some way to various Crones in Celtic lore associated with death, healing, fate, and the mysteries. It may, likewise, be associated with the fact that numerous old folk-remedies which would have been sought after by individuals such as the elderly involved snails. It may even be associated with crones and wise-women who were known to employ snails for their cures and charms.

Ireland

“Snail, snail, put out your horn,

tell me what's the day t'morn.

To day's the morn to shear the corn. Blaw, bill, buck, thorn.”

The last line most likely represents a string of nonsense words used to even out the rhyming meter.

Northern England.

“Willy, my buck, shout out your horn and you'll get milk and bread the morn.”

While it’s clear that Willy serves as a name for the snail in this rhyme, the reasons for it remain ambiguous.

Scotland, Forfarshire / Angus.

“Snail, snail, shoot out your horn, father and mother are dead;

brother and sister are in the back-yard begging for barley bread.”

Devonshire, England.

“Malwen, Malwen agor dy gorn neu mi (fe'th) taflaf i Bwllheli lle mae'r bobl bach yn boddi.”

-

“Snail, snail, extract your horns; otherwise I throw you in the basin (or: in Pwllheli) where the little people drowned.”

The expression “little people” is used in much of Celtic folklore to indicate Faeries—particularly variants typically seen as diminutive, such as gnomes, brownies, pixies, and the like.

A Welsh legend, with a number of different variants, describes an enchanted cow (or, sometimes, a group of enchanted cows), of unusual colors, that used to help people, but who chose to leave again because of acts perceived as disrespectful. As such, they disappeared into an enchanted lake, surrounded by members of the Faerie Folk, who disappeared into those waters as well.

Wales

“Blaizou, Blaizou,

tenn da gorn e-mezou,

me a roï d'id eun taumm bara lezou.”

-

“Blaise, Blaise,

Stretch out your horn,

I’ll give you a piece of Breton Bread”

This is a personal translation which required a fair amount of research to authenticate, but if anyone who speaks Breton has anything to point out, please do. The Snail is called “Blaise” in this variant, almost certainly referencing Saint Blaise, a Patron Saint of the throat who is also considered a patron of animals and agricultural activities. Between the use of that name, and the fact that Snails have been associated with agriculture and compared to cattle and horses alike by a number of cultures, this explanation for this particular naming of the Snail seems likely.

Brittany, France

“Shell a muddy, shell a muddy, put your horns,

for the king's daughter is coming to town

with a red petticoat and a green gown!”

“Shell-a-muddy”, meaning “muddy shell”, here indicates the Snail.

The connection between the request to put (out) the horns and the fact that the king's daughter is coming is unclear, though the invitation is probably meant to make a good impression with the princess, similar to the content of a separate, Sicilian version of the the rhyme. What’s more, the motif of the beautiful garments is present in various other versions.

Southern Ireland

“Sneel, sneel, put oot your horn,

Your fayther an' muthel'll gie ye some corn.”

—

“Snail, snail, put up your horns,

Your father and mother will give you some corn.”

Yorkshire, England—possibly East Riding

“Snail upon the wall,

Have you got at all

Anything to tell

About your shell?

Only this, my child

When the wind is wild,

Or when the sun is hot,

It's all I've got.”

England

“Dodman, dodman, put out your horn, Here comes a thief to steal your corn.”

Odmandod”, “Odmadod”, “Dodman”—which can all be roughly translated as meaning either “Horned Man” or “Man who carries a hill on his back”—are local names for the Snail, in the English counties of Essex and Suffolk.

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Cornish Feasts and Folk-Lore