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Better watch out, better not cry; Iceland's Yuletide Lads are why
By CLEO PASKAL
From a dark corner there came a rumbling, -- Hakon Athalsteinsson * * * It is the eighth day before Christmas and, assuming you are Icelandic, you know what that means: The Yuletide Lads have woken up. One by one, they are leaving their cave in the mountains and stealthily heading toward your home, bent on -- at best -- mischief. It started five days ago, with the first Lad, Stump, also known as Sheep-Cot Clod. He staggered down on his peg leg, headed straight for your barn. He has been wreaking havoc with the sheep ever since. For the next 12 days leading up to Christmas he will be joined, one more each day, by his 12 brothers. By Dec. 25, all 13 will have arrived, slamming doors, stealing food and doing unspeakable things to the furniture. They will leave, again one a day, in the reverse order of their arrival. It won't be all over until Jan. 6. Icelanders have had to put up with the Yuletide Lads since at least the 17th century. They were around before that, but they hadn't been properly baptized yet. Like much of the rest of Icelandic folklore, their origins were a bit elemental. Iceland is pure raw nature. Ages ago, the island boiled up out of the rift between the European and American continental plates. The geothermal activity has meant that the vast inland glaciers often are rattled by earthquakes, volcanic eruptions are common, and the word geyser comes from the geyser, which spouted its searing water at regular intervals for centuries. Icelanders never tried to tame nature. Instead, they make the best of their land of fire and ice. Their Parliament, one of the oldest in the world, used to meet at the cliffs that mark the Continental Divide. They harnessed a fraction of the country's geothermal energy to heat and power the southern part of the island. The locals swim year-round in open-air pools, which are fed by hot springs. And then there are the elves, trolls, ogres and, of course, the Lads. Iceland was officially converted to Christianity in 1000 A.D. But try as it might, Christianity never really erased the existing beliefs. They were too much a part of the landscape, quite literally. Icelanders still believe that elves live in the huge boulders of the lava fields. Construction workers are careful to bring in someone who can "talk to the elves" before blowing anything up. How is it that a people -- 95 percent of whom profess to be Christian -- can bend to the whims of invisible, petulant mythological creatures? The elves are officially explained as being some of Adam and Eve's "hidden children." And that brings us to the Yuletide Lads. Their mother, Gryla, is one of the nastiest, grungiest, scariest ogres in all of Iceland -- the very embodiment of darkness and anxiety. She was first mentioned in writing in the 13th century. One 16th century drawing has her with 15 tails. And each tail has 100 sacks attached. And in each sack are 20 children -- naughty children, whom she will use to make Bad Kid Stew. Makes Santa and his little naughty-and-nice list seem tame. Soon, Gryla was joined in the family strong-arm business by her sons. Like their cave-dwelling mom, they were a product of their environment: rural Iceland. Each Lad did something guaranteed to harass an Icelandic farming family. Apart from the Sheep-Annoyer, there are: Sausage-Snatcher, Window-Peeper, Keyhole-Sniffer, Candle-Scrounger, Door-Slammer, Leg-of-Lamb-Swiper and half a dozen other siblings so culture-specific that understanding exactly what they do requires tutoring in Icelandic sociocultural history. Crevice-Crawler, anyone? Gryla and her boys were too successful as disciplinary tools to melt under the guiding light of Christianity. Ever practical, Icelanders simply change them from a year-round threat to the Yuletide Lads. And in spite of a 1746 decree declaring it illegal to use them to scare children, the Lads are still the preferred way of keeping kids in line during the two weeks before and the two weeks after Christmas: Be good, and each of the 13 days leading up to Christmas you will get a small present. Be bad, and Gryla will make you into stew. In a particularly clever twist, Gryla has a cat whose main job is to go after kids who get no new clothes for Christmas. As a result, Junior almost begs for a pair of socks under the tree. You have to admire that level of child psychology. Where does that leave Santa? Well, Icelanders haven't really figured that out yet. For a while, they tried putting the Yuletide Lads in red hats and sweaters, but it did not really work. It's hard to appear threatening and jolly at the same time. So while the Yuletide Lads make appearances in parks and schools and the streets of Reykjavik, Santas are mostly consigned to malls where, as one Icelander put it, "They usually just sing and play harmonica, that sort of thing." -- Freelance writer Cleo Paskal lives in Quebec, where she feels safe from the Yuletide Lads.
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