Wren Hunting

Every year, in the early hours of the morning on St Stephen`s Day throughout England, Wales and Ireland, crowds of rowdy Wrenboys would steal into the woodlands or spread across the heaths in vicious packs. They were on a hunt for the most sacred of prey. They brought spears, sticks, batons, stones and knives. Some were fearful, but most were excited, hungry for blood. They knew that if they could capture their quarry then they would be idolised back at the village for their bravery and skill.

When the group sighted their prey, nestling in the undergrowth or perched upon a tree stump, they would attack at speed. The little wren would be unable to escape. The leader of the pack would take the tiny bird in his hand and tie it roughly to the end of a ceremonial pole decorated with ribbons and flowers and wreaths of evergreen leaves. The wren, pinned tightly around the chest, would remain motionless. But it was only stunned. Its death would come later.

The Wrenboys would then return to their village, where they paraded the streets with the wren held aloft. The holder would buckle his knees and puff out his cheeks, keen to exaggerate the weight of the bird whilst the others jostled for the best position, soaking in the adulation of the assembled masses. The onlookers would cheer, whistle and sing. Money was thrown. Occasionally the boys would pluck the live wren as they walked, tossing the feathers to the townspeople for good luck. They were believed to protect fishermen from shipwrecks and sea monsters, and anyone else from witchcraft and sorcery. The lyrics of one song used by the Wrenboys is as follows:

The wren, the wren, king of all birds, St. Stephen`s Day was caught in the furze; Although he is little, his family`s great, I pray you, good landlady, give us a treat.

Eventually the procession would arrive at the church. The bird would usually be dead by now, general shock and prolonged agony proving too much for its tiny heart. After the remaining feathers had been plucked from its body and circulated amongst the crowd, the body would then be buried. The townspeople would spend the rest of the night feasting, drinking and dancing, using the proceeds raised by the ritualised hunt to fund their own enjoyment whilst the wren, at whose expense the festivities came, lay forgotten under a mound of soil.

In modern times, the Hunting of the Wren has been replaced by a less primitive affair, with the live birds now replaced by a model. Instead of hunting, the Wrenboys are simply searching; the toy wren will have been hidden somewhere in the woods by an elder townsman ad the youngsters need only to find it. Be that as it may, one can only imagine that the primal rush of adrenalin experienced by modern boys when they finally discover the hidden model is not dissimilar to the lust for blood that epitomised the brutal wren hunts of times gone by.