An Irishman's Diary

It's apt that the month of May has become synonymous in Ireland with election campaigns. As the parties continue to erect their posters today, for example, they will echo the ancient Mayday tradition of decorating poles, if not dancing around them.

And with the campaign for taoiseach sometimes reduced to a beauty contest, the process also recalls another event central to the old pagan festival: the election of a May Queen.

The Maypole - not to be confused with the May poll - would seem to have obvious phallic origins, although this was never explicit in the traditions. At any rate, the pole dancing associated with May 1st was part of a general revelry to welcome the start of summer. The thoughts of young men and women were turning to love (assuming they hadn't turned that way already), and the public mood was one of happy abandon.

In old Dublin, this was the date every year of an actual election: that of the "Mayor of the Bullring", who acted as "captaine and guardian of the batchelers, and the unwedded youth of the civetie". His duties included punishing those who visited brothels.

But his title derived from a particular ceremony in which he led any bachelor who married during the year to an iron ring where bulls were tied for baiting and made him kiss it.

The calendar is full of pagan festivals that have had Christian feast-days superimposed.

May 1st is a rare example of one that was appropriated for secular ends, as the day when workers of the world unite. In 16th century England this was Robin Hood's Day, honouring the legendary socialist whose redistributionary policies were so popular with people on low incomes. But the modern Mayday tradition probably has more to do with the fact that it was just such a long-established holiday from work.

Either way, it was a very big jump from the pastoral festivities of old to those Mayday parades in Soviet Moscow, when vast displays of military hardware filed past the reviewing stand and Kremlin-watchers carefully scanned the faces of the older Politburo members to see if they were alive.

Like all months, this one has its share of weather lore. And in contrast to May's reputation for merriment, its best known meteorological axiom sounds a note of caution. Anybody tempted by Met Éireann's promise of "pleasantly warm" conditions this week might consider the old caveat: "Cast not a clout till May is out".

On the other hand, there is a school of thought that this "May" refers not to the month but to the hawthorn bush, which is also called the "May", and is out already, giving the adage a completely different meaning. As with all old sayings, terms and conditions apply. The value of folk wisdom may fall as well as rise.

One of the most famous superstitions associated with the month concerns dew.

Once considered good for the skin generally, May dew was thought to be particularly useful for removing freckles. Among those who believed in it was Samuel Pepys's wife, Elizabeth. In 1667, he records her going to Woolwich "to gather May dew tomorrow morning, which Mrs Turner hath taught her as the only thing in the world to wash her face with".

The Penguin Guide to the Superstitions of Britain and Ireland speculates that, since this is the first recorded reference to the belief in these islands, Mrs Pepys may have fallen for a new fashion, "introduced from the continent". The fashion seems to have died out in the intervening centuries. But if it hasn't happened already, I predict some cosmetics company will revive it one of these days and sell bottled dew - still or sparkling - for a fortune.

Almost inevitably, May dew was also believed to help young people find a mate. In folk culture, there seem to be few substances that did not either foretell your love life or make it happen. In this case, it was said that a woman who washed her face in dew before sunrise could land the man of her desires by simply naming him as she splashed the water on.

Not all the superstitions were so sanguine. Despite its popularity, the May bush was also once considered the height of bad luck, at least if brought indoors. "Hawthorn bloom and elder flowers/Will fill a house with evil powers" warned one of many verses that associated the plant with death.

The problem was its smell, which recalled for some people the plagues that periodically swept England. Francis Bacon, writing in the 1620s, said the plague had "the smell of a mellow apple and (as some say) of May flowers"; while a 19th century magazine recorded a belief among "country cottagers" that the hawthorn's scent was "exactly like the smell of the Great Plague of London".

Science has since lent support to the belief. A book called Plant Lore Studies notes that "trimethylamine, one of the first products formed when animal tissues start to decay, is present in hawthorn flowers".

There is one other, rather bizarre, superstition associated with this month, and relating to the washing of bedclothes. According to Penguin, it seems to be a fairly modern belief, although any contemporary resonance with Irish tribunals and elections is coincidental. In any case, linen - dirty or otherwise - is not mentioned in the superstition, which relates exclusively to blankets.

The theory is that laundering blankets in May is very unlucky. At best, you'll shrink them till they're useless. At worst, the consequences could be much more serious.

Or as the saying puts it: "If you wash a blanket during May/You'll wash the head of the house away."