Grýla, The Christmas Witch

We’re all familiar with Santa Claus, also known as St. Nick or Kris Kringle. Some know of Krampus or Frau Perchta. But, have you ever heard of Grýla, the Christmas Witch?

Grýla comes from Icelandic urban legends. She is described as a repulsive giant, a beggar, with an appetite for evil. Though she is most often associated with Christmas, she has been known to “pop up” throughout the year as well.

The oldest poems of Grýla depict her as walking around, asking parents to give her their disobedient children. More recent accounts claim that she can detect children who are misbehaving. The oldest poems say she lived in a small cottage, but more recent ones show her living in a remote cave, having been forced out of town.

During Christmastime, Grýla travels from her home, in the mountains, in search of naughty children. She stuffs them in her giant snack and carries them home. After all, they are an important piece of her favorite dish – a stew made of those children she has taken. They say she has an insatiable appetite and is always on the hunt for more. And there is never a shortage of naughty children.

Despite her hideous appearance, Grýla has been married three times, and has thirteen sons. Her third husband, Leppalúði, reportedly lives with her in a cave, in the Dimmuborgir lava fields. Leppalúði is reported to be very lazy, letting Grýla and their sons do all the work.

Grýla’s sons are referred to as the Yule Lads, and they appear over the course of the last 13 nights before Christmas, beginning on December 12. Each day, one of the boys ventures out, oldest first, youngest last, with a clear mission. They return home after 13 days of mischief.

Stekkjarstaur (Sheep-Cote Clod), the oldest of the Yule Lads, leaves home on December 12. He has stiff peg-legs, but that doesn’t deter him. His mission is sheep – to seek them out and harass them, causing their shepherds grief.

Giljagaur (Gully Gawk), the second oldest, leaves home on December 13. He is fond of hiding in gullies near cow pastures and farms. When he finds the opportunity, he sneaks into the cowshed and steals milk.

Stúfur (Stubby), the third oldest son, leaves home on December 14. His form of mischief is both harmless, and creepy. He likes to sneak into kitchens, seeking out cooking pans that have not yet been washed and then eating all the leftover bits left behind. The act itself is truly harmless. The fact that he sneaks in and out of your kitchen, is the greater cause for concern. And it’s easy for him, considering he’s abnormally short.

Þvörusleikir (Spoon-Licker) leaves home on December 15 and does something unexpected for the next 13 days. Unexpected because he is extremely thin and malnourished – yet behaves in a manner much like his brother, Stúfur. Instead of cleaning out the leftovers in pans, he steals and licks wooden spoons, just like a kid with cake batter.

Pottaskefill (Pot-Scraper) is a jokester. He enjoys a good-old game of ding-dong-ditch, except instead of running completely away, he is known to slip around the back of the house and sneak inside. Once there, he behaves much like his brother, Stúfur, but instead of cleaning out the leftovers in pans, he prefers pots.

Then we have Askasleikir (Bowl-Licker), who, just like his translated name suggests, enjoys licking bowls clean. He is known to sneak into a house and hide under the bed. He waits patiently until he spots someone setting down their askur (a type of bowl with a lid used instead of dishes), then he’s quick to steal it and lick it clean.

Hurðaskellir (Door-Slammer) likes to slam doors. One might confuse his behavior with that of a poltergeist, slamming doors in the middle of the night, while everyone is asleep, waking them up.

Skyrgámur (Skyr-Gobbler) loves skyr, a type of Icelandic yogurt. Just like his brothers, he’ll sneak into your house and swipe your skyr. If you’re interested in trying it, check out Siggis, a popular brand in America.

At one time, families would prepare sausages, then hang them from the rafters as storage. The cook could then simply reach up, grab a few sausages and cook them up. That is unless Bjúgnakrækir (Sausage-Swiper) is around. He sneaks into homes and wastes no time climbing up into the rafters and swiping their sausages..

The next brother, Gluggagægir (Window-Peeper), is a bit of a peeping-tom. As if that weren’t bad enough, he’s also a thief. When he goes peeping, if he sees something that interests him, he has no trouble breaking in and stealing it.

The 11th Yule Lad is Gáttaþefur ( Doorway-Sniffer). He’s an interesting fellow with an abnormally large nose and excellent sense of smell. He is quite fond of laufabrauð (leaf bread, and if he catches a whiff of it, expect it to disappear.

Ketkrókur (Meat-Hook) is the tallest of the brothers. He carries a hook with him when he visits homes, and uses his hook to snatch meat. He lowers the hook through the kitchen chimney and grabs whatever he finds waiting for him.

Finally, the youngest brother, Kertasníkir (Candle-Stealer) does exactly what his name suggests. He steals candles. And not just any candles, he liked to steal from children by following them around. The candles were made of a type of fat, and were therefore edible. Children were prepared for him though, and often put a candle for him in their shoe in the window, hoping he would leave them a treat in exchange.

Everything we know about the Yule Lads comes from Icelandic poems – which will be included at the end.

First, let’s get back to Grýla, the subject of our story. She is wicked, and her sons are troublemakers. But what is a family without a pet – and in this case, the Yule Cat, known as Jólakötturinn. Jólakötturinn is huge and vicious. During Christmastime, he can be spotted along the snowy countryside.

Much like his owner, he had a taste for people. He would wait until he spotted someone who had not yet received any new clothes to wear before Christmas. If you were spotted, you instantly became his next meal.

Farmers took the threat of the Yule Cat as an incentive to finish processing the autumn wool before Christmas, so people could make their new clothes. Those who took part in the work and completed it in time, were rewarded with new clothes. The rest were left to fend for themselves.

Icelandic Version of the Poem about Stekkjastaur
Stekkjastaur kom fyrstur,
stinnur eins og tré.
Hann laumaðist í fjárhúsin
og lék á bóndans fé.

Hann vildi sjúga ærnar,
-þá varð þeim ekki um sel,
því greyið hafði staurfætur,
-það gekk nú ekki vel.

English Version of the Poem about Stekkjastaur
The first of them was Sheep-Cote Clod.
He came stiff as wood,
to pray upon the farmer’s
sheep as far as he could.

He wished to suck the ewes,
but it was no accident
he couldn’t; he had stiff knees –
not too convenient.

Icelandic version of the Poem about Giljagaur
Giljagaur var annar,
með gráa hausinn sinn.
-Hann skreið ofan úr gili
og skaust í fjósið inn.

Hann faldi sig í básunum
og froðunni stal,
meðan fjósakonan átti
við fjósamanninn tal.

English version of the Poem about Giljagaur
The second was Gully Gawk,
gray his head and mien.
He snuck into the cow barn
from his craggy ravine.

Hiding in the stalls,
he would steal the milk,
while the milkmaid gave the cowherd
a meaningful smile.

Icelandic version of the Poem about Stúfur
Stúfur hét sá þriðji,
stubburinn sá.
Hann krækti sér í pönnu,
þegar kostur var á.

Hann hljóp með hana í burtu
og hirti agnirnar,
em brunnu stundum fastar
við barminn hér og þar.

English version of the Poem about Stúfur
Stubby was the third called,
a stunted little man,
who watched for every chance
to whisk off a pan.

And scurrying away with it,
he scraped off the bits
that stuck to the bottom
and brims – his favorites.

Icelandic version of the Poem about Þvörusleikir
Sá fjórði, Þvörusleikir,
var fjarskalega mjór.
Og ósköp varð hann glaður,
þegar eldabuskan fór.

Þá þaut hann eins og elding
og þvöruna greip,
og hélt með báðum höndum,
því hún var stundum sleip.

English version of the Poem about Þvörusleikir
The fourth was Spoon Licker;
like spindle he was thin.
He felt himself in clover
when the cook wasn’t in.

Then stepping up, he grappled
the stirring spoon with glee,
holding it with both hands
for it was slippery.

Icelandic version of the Poem about Pottaskefill
Sá fimmti Pottaskefill,
var skrítið kuldastrá.
-Þegar börnin fengu skófir
hann barði dyrnar á.

Þau ruku’upp, til að gá að
hvort gestur væri á ferð.
Þá flýtti’ ann sér að pottinum
og fékk sér góðan verð.

English version of the Poem about Pottaskefill
Pot Scraper, the fifth one,
was a funny sort of chap.
When kids were given scrapings,
he’d come to the door and tap.

And they would rush to see
if there really was a guest.
Then he hurried to the pot
and had a scraping fest.

Icelandic version of the Poem about Askasleikir
Sá sjötti Askasleikir,
var alveg dæmalaus.-
Hann fram undan rúmunum
rak sinn ljóta haus.

Þegar fólkið setti askana
fyrir kött og hund,
hann slunginn var að ná þeim
og sleikja á ýmsa lund.

English version of the Poem about Askasleikir
Bowl Licker, the sixth one,
was shockingly ill bred.
From underneath the bedsteads
he stuck his ugly head.

And when the bowls were left
to be licked by dog or cat,
he snatched them for himself –
he was sure good at that!

Icelandic version of the poem about Hurðaskellir
Sjöundi var Hurðaskellir,
-sá var nokkuð klúr,
ef fólkið vildi í rökkrinu
fá sér vænan dúr.

Hann var ekki sérlega
hnugginn yfir því,
þó harkalega marraði
hjörunum í.

English version of the poem about Hurðaskellir
The seventh was Door Slammer,
a sorry, vulgar chap:
When people in the twilight
would take a little nap,

he was happy as a lark
with the havoc he could wreak,
slamming doors and hearing
the hinges on them squeak.

Icelandic version of the poem about Skyrjarmur
Skyrjarmur, sá áttundi,
var skelfilegt naut.
Hann hlemminn o’n af sánum
með hnefanum braut.

Svo hámaði hann í sig
og yfir matnum gein,
uns stóð hann á blístri
og stundi og hrein.

English version of the poem about Skyrjarmur
Skyr Gobbler, the eighth,
was an awful stupid bloke.
He lambasted the skyr tub
till the lid on it broke.

Then he stood there gobbling
– his greed was well known –
until, about to burst,
he would bleat, howl and groan.

Icelandic version of the poem about Bjúgnakrækir
Níundi var Bjúgnakrækir,
brögðóttur og snar.
Hann hentist upp í rjáfrin
og hnuplaði þar.

Á eldhúsbita sat hann
í sóti og reyk
og át þar hangið bjúga,
sem engan sveik.

English version of the poem about Bjúgnakrækir
The ninth was Sausage Swiper, a shifty pilferer.
He climbed up to the rafters
and raided food from there.

Sitting on a crossbeam
in soot and in smoke,
he fed himself
on sausage fit for gentlefolk.

Icelandic version of the poem about Gluggagægir
Tíundi var Gluggagægir,
grályndur mann,
sem laumaðist á skjáinn
og leit inn um hann.

Ef eitthvað var þar inni
álitlegt að sjá,
hann oftast nær seinna
það reyndi að ná.

English version of the poem about Gluggagægir
The tenth was Window Peeper,
a weird little twit,
who stepped up to the window
and stole a peek through it.

And whatever was inside
to which his eye was drawn,
he most likely attempted
to take later on.

Icelandic version of the poem about Gáttaþefur
Ellefti var Gáttaþefur
-aldrei fékk sá kvef,
og hafði þó svo hlálegt
og heljarstórt nef.

Hann ilm af laufabrauði
upp á heiðar fann,
og léttur, eins og reykur,
á lyktina rann.

English version of the poem about Gáttaþefur
Eleventh was Door Sniffer,
a doltish lad and gross.
He never got a cold,
yet had a huge, sensitive nose.

He caught the scent of leaf bread
while leagues away still
and ran toward it weightless
as wind over dale and hill.

Icelandic version of the poem about Ketkrókur
Ketkrókur, sá tólfti,
kunni á ýmsu lag.-
Hann þrammaði í sveitina
á Þorláksmessudag.

Hann krækti sér í tutlu,
þegar kostur var á.
En stundum reyndist stuttur
stauturinn hans þá.

English version of the poem about Ketkrókur
Meat Hook, the twelfth one
his talent would display
as soon as he arrived
on Saint Thorlak´s Day.

He snagged himself a morsel
of meet of any sort,
although his hook at times
was a tiny bit short.

Icelandic version of the poem about Kertasníkir
Þrettándi var Kertasníkir,
-þá var tíðin köld,
ef ekki kom hann síðastur
á aðfangadagskvöld.

Hann elti litlu börnin,
sem brostu glöð og fín,
og trítluðu um bæinn
með tólgarkertin sín.

English version of the poem about Kertasníkir
The thirteenth was Candle Beggar –
´twas cold, I believe,
if he was not the last
of the lot on Christmas Eve.

He trailed after the little ones
who, like happy sprites,
ran about the farm with
their fine tallow lights.