HANNA'S WALK

I’m standing on top of the Citadel’s ramparts looking over the harbour while swallows fly closely by. I am sure the birds benefit from the steep ramparts one way or another.

Particularly two traditions link the Citadel to the public holiday, Stor Bededag and the night before.

Best known is the custom of eating warm wheat buns on Stor Bededags evening. The reason is that not even the bakers were supposed to work from sundown the night before Stor Bededag and throughout the following day.
Therefore very large wheat buns were baked the day before which people could take home to heat and eat the next day.

However, the wheat buns were eaten the same night – while they were still warm and crisp.
Today it is possible to buy the wheat buns all over when Stor Bededag is approaching.

The second tradition normally associated with Stor Bededag, was the habit of Copenhagen’s bourgeoisie walking on the ramparts on the evening of Stor Bededag. The custom can be traced back to the 1700s and is said to be caused by the melodious chimes of Our Lady Church’s carillon, which lured people of Copenhagen out on a stroll to enjoy the newly sprouted, spring green linden and chestnut trees.

The carillon was set up in 1747 and destroyed by the British bombardment in 1807 the church’s spire was hit and crashed into the main building, which burned completely.

It seems that the tradition once again is popular among people from Copenhagen and every day might work

Notes
Useful information on this site: Copenhagenet.dk
Kastellet
Kastellet, Copenhagen, Wikipedia

Is this the top of the tower, Mom? The boy stepped out into the sunlight as the first of a small English family. He looked eagerly over the red-tiled roofs of Copenhagen, with the beautiful verdigris copper spires and towers.
I can take a photo he said and soon the little group established themselves in front of a lovely boy with a camera.

They chose the right day to enjoy the view from Rundetårn. There is an obvious reason to consider the other towers in Copenhagen, when standing at the top of Rundetårn.

Frelserkirken, Christianshavn

Frelserkirken, Christianshavn

The view is spectacular and so is the sight of the Saviour’s Church. I told the family about the famous spiral ramp on the outside of the tower and how it inspired Jules Verne in his book, A trip to the bowels of the earth.
But I forgot to tell them about the English Bombardment of Copenhagen in 1807 and how the soldiers chose to aim after the spires in Copenhagen. Luckily the Saviour’s Church survived but Our Lady Church, Vor Frue Kirke, burned down and so did many old buildings in the centre of the city.

Have you ever been out in field and woodland, by streams and lakes, by a tree all in blossom or a hedgerow laden with berries – and just felt sure that you were not alone?
That’s how Teresa Moorey introduce her book: The Fairy Bible.
I’m tempted to read the book because I feel deeply happy to live in a place much alike.
In these days the hawthorn blossoms on the field, Hvidtjørnesletten and makes an unforgettable impression on all beings.

I have been out there several times this week to experience the atmosphere once again.
One evening the field was kind of sacred. The scent of blossoming hawthorn was intoxicating and the quiet soothing sounds from the animals made the place magical.
The deer moved imperceptible between the hawthorns while they graze.
People seemed affected and stood still or spread a blanket just to sit and be in the present. They were lowering their voice and that might have been because of the fairies.

They were afraid to scare them away.
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.

‘A Fairy Song’ by William Shakespeare

Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
At noon, the bank and hedge-rows all the way
Shagged with wild pale green tufts of fragrant hay,
Caught by the hawthorns from the loaded wain,
Which Age with many a slow stoop strove to gain;
And childhood, seeming still most busy, took
His little rake; with cunning side-long look,
Sauntering to pluck the strawberries wild, unseen.
Now, too, on melancholy’s idle dreams
Musing, the lone spot with my soul agrees,
Quiet and dark; for through the thick wove trees
Scarce peeps the curious star till solemn gleams
The clouded moon, and calls me forth to stray
Thro’ tall, green, silent woods and ruins gray.

‘Sweet Was The Walk’ by William Wordsworth
________________________________________________________________

Fairy Bible by Teresa Moorey

%d bloggers like this: