Odin vs. Santa Claus

god and legend intertwined

This essay was first written for publication in The Otherworld Magazine and feels especially fitting to share at this time of year as we approach the longest night.

Thunderous hoof beats, piercing notes of ancient hunting horns, a metallic clamouring of stirrups, armour, swords and a jangling of bells. The howl of livid winds and a blinding flash of lightning. Shapes of darkness in mist and storm clouds, gigantic, blasting through the sodden night sky.

The Wild Hunt.

But who is the leader?

Some say the ancient and wise ruler of the Norse pantheon, Odin, astride his mighty stead Sleipnir. Or Wodan as he was known to many in the land of the Angles.

(‘Odin Rides to Hel’ (1908) By W.G. Collingwood)

Before the 6th century this wild huntsman and his crew would have been openly acknowledged by many for who they were. The riders accompanying Odin in his ghostly hunting party? The long dead hero’s of old, spending eternity with their liege lord, mostly feasting in Valhalla with the odd hunting trip when the mood struck.

Woe betide any soul who encountered this hunting party in the open. Foolish not to stay at ones hearth on the longest of Winter’s nights. The only hope of escape from joining their ever wandering hoard of the dead? Sheltering behind 9 boards or laying face down in the dirt until the tumult passed.

The folk of those times, inhabitants of long halls with tall slanting roofs and a door at each end, believed that Odin would bestow blessings if offerings were left to appease him and his retinue. Mead, bread, perhaps a sweetmeat or two upon the central table within easy reach for the hunting party making their way through the door at one end and out the other.

There was a particular time of year they were known to be abroad. We know it now as the twelve nights of Christmas but when Odin was in the hearts and minds of the people it was called Yule.

At this time of year, when the veil between worlds is thin and time is more of a suggestion than a fact, that is when you are most likely to encounter the Wild Rider.

But over the ages the reverence that was once reserved for Odin and his fellow gods and goddesses of the far north has been usurped. What was once common knowledge, forgotten. Does the Huntsman continue ride out on these long, cold winter nights?

Perhaps. Perhaps he is now know by a another name…

Not very long ago, ten years or so, there was a report* of a disturbance on the night of Christmas Eve in the state of Washington in the USA:

A young gentleman, around 20 years old, was preparing to retire for the night. He was tired, visiting his parents for the holidays and the next day was bound to be busy, he wanted an early night, it was around 9pm.

He was in his old bedroom in the upstairs corner of his parents Cape Cod style home when all of a sudden, upon the roof there arose such a clatter! He heard a shaking, a loud thump and a KLOMP. Then, what sounded like a sledge, sliding on the slanted roof. After a split second of silence he heard the faint jingling of bells, a thump (as if someone had jumped down from a slight height) followed by footsteps and then the sound of something heavy being dropped. More footsteps, another jump and again, the jingling of bells, the clip clop of hooves speeding up into a run and the heavy sliding of a sledge.

A tale today’s folk may be far more familiar with.

And it leads one to wonder (or me at least)…Mayhap there is a similarity between the Cape Cod style home and the Long Halls of the Northern German Lowlands. Perhaps the area has many descendants of settlers from Germany, Scandinavia or Britain. Perhaps Odin and his motley crew took a wrong turning through the veil and time spat them out far from home. Is it really Santa Claus who we leave our milk and cookies/ sherry and mince pie out for on Christmas Eve? Or… is it Odin? Receiving the offerings and leaving blessings in his wake?

As for me, given that no unexpected gifts were found in the young gentleman’s stocking the next morning, I am wont to believe that it was the leader of the Wild Hunt who landed on the roof of that Washington home. Perhaps good tidings were gifted to the family, but as there were no young children in the house that Christmas Eve we may surmise that no offering of milk and cookies were left out, maybe they were not such good tidings after all!

*Episode 48 of the “Modern Fairy Sightings” podcast.