December 12. Here come the Yule Lads!

What’s that? You’re unfamiliar with the Icelandic tradition of the Yule Lads? This unruly party is clearly a precursor to the thirteen dwarves [sic] who enlist a certain Hobbit as “burglar,” eating him out of house and home and imperiling his dishes in the process.

Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates—
Smash the bottles and burn the corks!

Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Splash the wine on every door!

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you’ve finished if any are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!

That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!
So, carefully! carefully with the plates!

Today, the Yule Lads are usually personified as a kind of bevy of affable Santa Clauses. Except, being Icelandic, they either leave gifts (if you’ve been nice) or rotting potatoes (if you’ve been naughty). That’s the sanitized version. You don’t have to dig too deeply to discover their true selves.

The Lads are thirteen in number. In Icelandic lore, they are annoying pranksters at best; at worst, they are homicidal trolls who devour children. Mostly they steal from and harass Icelandic farmers.

The Lads descend from the mountains, staggering their arrivals and departures, beginning thirteen nights before Christmas. Each has his own exasperating speciality.

There’s the peg-legged Stekkjarstaur (Sheep-Cote Clod), who harasses sheep. He arrives on December 12 and takes his leave on Christmas Day.

There’s Giljagaur (Gully Gawk), who lurks in gullies, biding his time to sneak into the cowshed and steal milk. He turns up on December 13 and returns to his lair on December 26.

There’s the diminutive Stúfur (Stubby), who steals pans in order to eat the crust out of them. He trots in on December 14 and totters off on December 27.

There’s Þvörusleikir (Spoon-Licker), who, well, licks spoons. He’s very gaunt, due to malnutrition. He shows up on December 15 and disappears, like Kafka’s hunger artist, into the straw on December 28.

There’s Pottaskeffil (Pot-Scraper), another one who steals leftovers from pots. He comes a-calling on December 16 and returns to the hills on December 29.

There’s Askasleikir (Bowl-Licker). Again, he licks bowls. I’d advise you to use extra soap, except once he licks the bowls, he usually steals them. He slips in on December 17 and slips out on December 30.

There’s Hurðaskellir (Door-Slammer), who slams doors in the night. He raises a ruckus from December 18 to December 31.

There’s Skyrgámur (Skyr-Gobbler), a Yule Lad who’s crazy for skyr, a kind of Icelandic yogurt. He sates himself from December 19 to January 1.

There’s Bjúgnakrækir (Sausage-Snatcher), who’s crazy for the pig-products. He hides in the rafters and swipes smoked sausages. He makes his mark from December 20 to January 2.

There’s Gluggagægir (Window-Peeper), who peeps, creepily, through windows, looking for things to steal. He cases the joint from December 21 to January 3.

There’s Gáttaþefur (Doorway-Sniffer), who sniffs around the door jamb with his abnormally large proboscis, in search of laufabrauð, Icelandic Christmas bread. He hungers from December 22 to January 4.

There’s Ketkrókur (Meat-Hook), who uses a hook to steal meat. He steals from December 23 to January 5.

And finally, there’s Kertasníkir (Candle-Stealer), who pursues children so that he can eat their candles. (He likes tallow.) He’s a “light” eater from Christmas Eve, December 24, to Epiphany, January 6.

And you thought holiday visits from your relatives drove you batty!

Their mother is the ogress Grýla, who descends from the mountains in search of children to boil in her cauldron. If you happen to find yourself in her gnarled claws, remember, she has to release you if you repent.

The Yule Lads are frequently accompanied by the Yule Cat, which eats children who do not receive new clothes before Christmas. This is tied in to the Icelandic work ethic. In the old days, if farm hands processed their autumn wool in a timely fashion, they were rewarded with new clothes. If not, they received nothing, leaving them fair game for the Yule Cat. Better sheer them sheep!

To my knowledge, there has been no classical music written about the Yule Lads. As with Krampus, some enterprising composer could make a real killing. All you need is a Christmas hit, and you can kick back and collect those sweet holiday royalties.

Be that as it may, I’ll be doing what I can, playing the “Icelandic Folk Dances” by Jón Leifs, among my featured works, this afternoon between 4 and 6 p.m. EST, on WWFM – The Classical Network and wwfm.org.