Posts Tagged ‘wands’

Old Frick, the Devil’s Grandmother: Goddesses in Folk Tales and Lore

Hansel-and-Gretel-witchOld Frick is a complex, mysterious figure in Brandenburgian lore, sometimes fearsome, other times helpful. Alternately referred to as Frau Fricke, she is one of a number of feminine spirits given the respectful title Frau (meaning “lady”) across Germany (Hammer 62). I first came upon Frick while researching the Norse goddess Frigg. Wikipedia cites “Fricke” as the Low German (i.e. the dialect of Germans living in northern Germany) cognate of Frigg, both ultimately originating from Proto-Germanic word *frijjo, meaning “dear, beloved.”*

The next time I ran across (a variation of) this name was in Benjamin Thorpe’s Northern Mythology, Vol. 2, which contains a wealth of lore from northern Germany. She is listed as “Old Frick” under the section of lore from Mecklenburg, the Brandenburg Mark, and nearby regions. With this area being the region from which all my German ancestors immigrated (Brandenburg, Pomerania, and Berlin), I was especially interested in reading the lore that originated there. Frick in particular intrigued me — particularly her designation as “the devil’s grandmother.” The more I learned about her, the more my fascination deepened.  Unfortunately, information about her is scant and difficult to reconstruct (a common complaint regarding anything to do with continental Germanic polytheism). Who is she? What role(s) does she play in Low German lore? What can she mean to us now?

A Wild Huntress

Many spirits, including deities, have been attributed the role of leader of the Wild Hunt. In Germanic myth and lore, this includes Odin, cultural heroes, and a number of divine ladies (whom I think of as the Frauen). Frick is, of course, among them. Benjamin Thorpe states in the 2nd volume of Northern Mythology that

“Old Frick, or Fuik, is the devils’ grandmother, and has frequently been heard making a great noise in the night. Many have also seen, and at once recognized her by the large dogs, which she always has with her; for when they barked, pure fire has issued from their mouths and nostrils” (80).

A brief tale follows this description, relating how a peasant came upon Frick and her team on his way home from work. He is walking down a road at night, bearing sacks of corn flour on his back, when he hears the thundering of Frick’s wagon and the barking of her dogs. Frightened, the peasant empties the corn flour onto the road, which the dogs consume. The peasant hurries home and tosses the empty sacks in the corner of the room, yet when he wakes in the morning, the sacks have been refilled.

The Wild Hunt is a prolific myth present at some level in all or most European cultures. It most commonly occurs in the winter time, especially around the Twelve Nights, but it can pass at any time of the year when the wind howls and thunder rolls. It still haunts our secular culture today. It’s the ancestor, so to speak, of Santa Claus’s gift-bearing ride on Christmas night, as well as the inspiration for Stan Jones’ cowboy song “Ghost Riders in the Sky.” Grimm believed that, for ancient heathens, its passing during the Twelve Nights was auspicious, imparting welfare and blessings (like Santa Claus today). Since the medieval period, it has typically taken on a much more sinister aspect (as with the tale of Frick above). Overall, it seems to me to be fairly ambiguous — risky for anyone viewing it or caught in the middle of it, to be sure, but capable of both good and ill results, depending on one’s behavior during the encounter. In some circumstances, it may be viewed as a kind of test, and humble, considerate viewers (who provide aid to the hunter or huntress or their retinue) may be rewarded or at least spared.

For many of the Frauen (Frau Holle, Frau Perchta, Frau Gode, etc.), leading the Wild Hunt is arguably an element of their divine role as Mistress of the Animals — a title that places those deities who bear it in that ripe liminal space between wilderness and civilization, and signifies that they oversee the success of hunters in the acquisition of prey (such is the case with Diana, with whom Frau Holle/Holda is identified in old church documents) and therefore the health and success of communities. I believe this is true for Fricke as well, especially considering her connection to dragons and corn, which we’ll examine next.

Dragon Lady

The lore highlighted in the previous section has a couple of points of interest beyond Frick’s role as the leader of the Wild Hunt. The most important is the first statement: that Frick is the devil’s grandmother. Old Frick is a mysterious figure — information about her is not readily available, at least not compared to other Germanic divine women, such as a Frigg, Perchta or Holda. There is, however, a wealth of lore surrounding the devil’s grandmother, and this is a key designation for learning more about Frick.

Her company of dogs is related to this. Dogs are common partners in hunts even today, and many spirits who lead the Hunt are accompanied by dogs (such as Frau Gode, who was once a living woman with several daughters who were transformed into dogs due to their great — and, according to Christianity, sacrilegious — love of hunting) (Thorpe 74). What separates Frick’s dogs from the rest, however, are that they breathe fire and consume corn. Both of these suggest a connection to a certain type of European dragon.

Dracs, a kind of domesticated dragon spirit, are likewise often connected with grains. Claude Lecouteux states in The Tradition of Household Spirits  that “we can find the drac of wheat, semolina, barley, and, in Lusatia, that of grains…” (153). Keep in mind that corn is a grain. When dracs serve households as domestic spirits, they may bring grains, silver, or gold to their masters or mistresses — all related to success and therefore both wealth and survival. Dracs are also strongly associated with fire, reputed to live in or behind the stove and, when seen in the air above homes, to resemble poles of fire.

There is a certain Grimm tale, called “The Devil and His Grandmother,” that meaningfully brings all of these points together. The devil mentioned in the tale’s title is actually a “fiery dragon” who makes a deal with three soldiers defecting from a war (563). Far from total evil, he functions as an ambiguous trickster character. He meets the soldiers in a corn field — again, the connection to corn — and tells them that he will protect them from the war and make them rich if they promise to surrender themselves to him at the end of seven years. He offers them an opportunity to escape this fate: if they can guess the answers to a riddle he will pose to them at the end of the seven years, they will be free. One of the soldiers finds his way to the dragon’s home under a “fallen rock which looks like a little house” and meets the dragon’s grandmother (565). The grandmother takes pity on the soldier and agrees to help him. She tells him to hide in the cellar and, when the dragon returns home, tricks her grandson into revealing the answers to the riddle. So, while being intimately connected to a “devil” (which, Lecouteux makes the convincing case throughout his book Demons and Spirits of the Land, is really just a Christian term for a nature spirit), the grandmother is actually quite willing to help humans who appeal to her — using the same cunning on which the dragon prides himself.

Frick is never named in the story, but considering Thorpe’s (and others’) assertion that she is the devil’s grandmother, as well as certain details mentioned above (i.e. the connection to corn, dragons, and devils), it’s a reasonable assumption to make. This theory becomes even more probable when we look at other folk tales and lore from northern Germany.

The Witch in the Woods

There’s a tale from the Uckermark region of Brandenburg, Germany, called “The Old Frick,” which sheds a contrasting light on Frick’s nature. Echoing the more familiar “Hansel and Gretel,” two children wander in a forest and come to a door that leads to an underground cave. The children knock at the door and “Old Frick came out, a huge sorceress and man-eater. As she saw the children, she took them down into her cave and locked up the little brother into a cage… She kept the girl around to help her with the housekeeping” (59).

While her nature here is vastly different from the cunning but sympathetic grandmother in the Grimm tale, they both live in a cave (or, in the Grimm tale, a “house-like rock”) deep in a forest. Further details about Old Frick emerge in this story: she keeps a rod that can make wishes come true (i.e. a wand) in a bag, and she cannot cross a lake (although she is capable of drinking up all the water in it to get across). This aversion to water is interesting (and, so far, inexplicable to me), as many Germanic feminine spirits — including many of the Frauen — dwell in water and/or use it as a means of crossing into the world of the living. It may be an alteration by the clergy to separate Old Frick from her divine state. In addition, like Frau Harke, another Frau from northeastern Germany, Frick is described as “huge,” perhaps even a giantess (as she’s also described as a man-eater). As I mentioned, it’s unclear how much of this tale is impacted by Christian attitudes toward Frick, and how much was changed in the story to accommodate those attitudes, but I’m willing to accept that she has a dual nature, like the Alpine Frau Perchta and the Slavic Baba Yaga.

A Force of Chaos

There is a wealth of idioms in northern Germany regarding the devil and his grandmother. Folklorist Isobel Cushman Chamberlain has recorded quite a few of them and notes that the “devil’s…grandmother often has the popular sympathy, and does not always appear as an evil-doing or as an ugly individual” (280). One such idiom, “The devil is beating/bleaching his grandmother,” explains a sunshower, a weather phenomenon in which it rains while the sun is shining. One might be tempted, based on this idiom, to infer a connection between the grandmother Frick and the sun or weather, but when considered with other idioms, the overall sense is that she represents a portion of any paradoxical or disruptive event:

  • When a loud argument occurs: “The devil and his grandmother are the best guests in the house”
  • When things go awry: “As if the devil had ploughed with his grandmother”
  • When a whirlwind arises : “The devil is dancing with his grandmother”

It’s significant that all of these idioms have their source in the Mecklenburg region of northern Germany. These, of course, may be purely Christian in origin that have only the faintest roots connecting them to Frick. But the fact that, as Chamberlain mentions, she has retained the benefit of sympathy even as she is paired with the Christian embodiment of greatest evil is very telling — namely, that she once held a very important place in the hearts of northern Germans, and still does to this day (at least to some degree).

Who is the Old Frick?

With only these scraps to go on, it’s impossible to peel away the Christian lacquer from the pre-Christian understanding of Frick, but the medieval and modern vision of her is at least consistent: She is cunning and capricious, the progenitor of a trickster figure — whether a devil or dragon. She is associated with fire, hunting, and corn, as well as the chthonic realm. She can be antagonistic toward humans, even consuming them if not provided a suitable alternative offering, but she can also help those who appeal to her for sympathy. She is probably not someone you’d want to meet alone on a dark night, but if you need help out of a sticky situation, you might go to her home underground, deep in the wild dark forest, for some helpful sleight-of-hand.

*The linguistic connection to Frigg is interesting, although I hesitate to say that this means that they’re one and the same for a number of reasons. Of course, they certainly could have been at some point; but another possibility is that the term *frijjo was originally a title, not a personal name, that was used for a variety of goddesses revered in various Germanic cultures. Perhaps each tribe had their own Frijjo — their own divine lady, beloved for her guardianship and guidance of their people — and the Norse later applied it as a personal name for their own particular beloved lady. This is all conjecture, but it bears mentioning.


Works Cited

Chamberlain, Isabel Cushman. “The Devil’s Grandmother.” The Journal of American Folklore, vol. 13, no. 51, 1900, pp. 278–280.

GardenStone. “The Old Frick.” Goddess Holle. Translated by Michelle Lina Marie Hitchcock, Books on Demand, 2011.

Hammer, Jill. “Holle’s Cry: Unearthing a Birth Goddess in a German Jewish Naming Ceremony.” Nashim: A Journal of Jewish Women’s Studies & Gender Issues, No. 9, Jewish Women’s Spirituality (Spring, 5765/2005), pp. 62-87.

Lecouteux, Claude. Demons and Spirits of the Land. Inner Traditions, 2015.

      —The Tradition of Household Spirits. Inner Traditions, 2013.

“The Devil and His Grandmother.” The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Translated by Josef Scharl, Pantheon Books, 1972.

Thorpe, Benjamin. Northern Mythology. Vol. 2, Lumley, 1851.


To Ride Through the Air on a Very Fine Gandr: The Staff as a Magical Tool in Fairy Tales


I’ve been reading Claude Lecouteux’s Witches, Werewolves and Fairies: Shapeshifters and Astral Doubles in the Middle Ages, which I was lucky enough to find at my local library. It’s a fantastic examination of the Double (also variously called the fylgja, familiar, fetch, etc., depending on where you’re looking) and the role it played in medieval and premedieval pagan magical practice in Germanic cultures (primarily Scandinavia, but also dipping down occasionally into Germany). Lecouteux mentions the role of the gandr, which is an Old Norse word alternately (or perhaps simultaneously) meaning “stick” or “spirit.” The term gandreið can be translated literally as “stick ride” but was used to indicate the witch’s ride or spirit journey. Scholars believe that this is the source of the belief  that witches ride on brooms (or staves or distaffs). It could also be the source of the familiar nursery rhyme:

Old Mother Goose, when she wanted to wander
Would ride through the air on a very fine gander.

With “gander” being understood as a transformation of the word gandr, it’s pretty clear that this little rhyme hearkens to old beliefs in the witches’ ride. The play on goose/gander works, too — if the gandr is more than a stick but a spirit familiar, or Double as Lecouteux calls it, it may very well take the shape of a gander, or male goose.

The Gandr in Folk Tales

Magic sticks have a long history in the folk tales of the Germanic people — from Scandinavia to Germany to Anglo-Saxon England — and their use and treatment in these stories provides insight into clinging pre-Christian beliefs native to northern and central Europe. 

The featured image at the top of this post comes from A Book of Witches by Ruth Manning-Sanders, from the Danish fairy tale “Esben and the Witch.” Esben is the youngest of twelve brothers, and because he’s small and weaker than the rest, his father resents him. When the eleven older brothers are each given a horse, some food and drink, and money to set off in search of fortune better than their father’s farm can provide, Esben asks for his share, too. His father bitterly denies him, saying that if he could choose, he’d send Esben off but keep the other eleven to work the farm with him. As the poor and disenfranchised have historically done, Esben turns to magic — the subtle but powerful force that runs through these worlds — to supplant what he was denied:

Since he couldn’t get a horse, he went off into the woods and looked among the trees till he found a branch to his liking. And when he had found a branch to his liking, he cut it down, and chopped it and chipped it into the semblance of a horse, leaving four strong twigs for its four legs, a knobby end for its head, and a thin end for its tail. Next, he peeled off the bark and polished the wood till it shone more whitely than his brothers’ horses. And having done all that, he got astride it, and sang out:

‘Fly quick, my little stick,
Carry me into the world.’

And the stick kicked up the four strong twigs that were its four legs, and galloped away with him after his brothers. (46-47)

It’s with this animated stick — this gandr, in all senses of the word — that Esben eventually wins the favor of a king, saves his brothers’ lives, garners riches for his family, and finally wins the recognition of his father and brothers (his mother, of course, believed in him all along).


In the Grimms’ version of “Cinderella,” called “Aschenputtel,” there is no fairy godmother. It’s a hazel tree planted by her dead mother’s grave, watered with her tears, that provides all that Aschenputtel needs to win the prince’s hand in marriage. How does she come by the hazel tree?

It happened that [Aschenputtel’s] father was once going to the fair, and he asked his two step-daughters what he should bring back for them. ‘Beautiful dresses,’ said one, ‘pearls and jewels,’ said the second. ‘And you, Cinderella[sic],’ said he, ‘what will you have?’ ‘Father, break off for me the first branch which knocks against your hat on your way home.’ So he bought beautiful dresses, pearls and jewels for his two step-daughters, and on his way home, as he was riding through a green thicket, a hazel twig brushed against him and knocked off his hat. Then he broke off the branch and took it with him. When he reached home he gave his step-daughters the things which they had wished for, and to Cinderella he gave the branch from the hazel bush. Cinderella thanked him, went to her mother’s grave and planted the branch on it, and wept so much that the tears fell down on it and watered it. And it grew and became a handsome tree. (121-122)

Aschenputtel visits and cries before this tree whenever her step-mother and -sisters are cruel to her, and whenever she asks for something, a white bird descends on it and grants her wishes.

Tutelary Spirits, Protectors, and Guides

Lecouteux writes in his book: “The fylgja’s (the Norse tutelary spirit-double) primary mission is to protect the person to whom she has attached herself” (46). The fylgja often takes the form of an animal, depicted in “Aschenputtel” in the form of a white bird. It is significant that this bird is channeled through the hazel tree, which was grown from a branch cutting watered with Aschenputtel’s tears (which, of course, contain her DNA, coming from her own body). Thus, the gandr (stick) becomes a tree, which then serves as a channel for Aschenputtel to contact a corporeal Double. As in “Esben and the Witch,” it’s the Double that facilitates Aschenputtel in obtaining the material things she needs to achieve great ends — becoming a princess and, presumably in the future, queen. The fylgja, too, is associated with an individual’s luck or fate, preceding the individual’s body to its intended destination and sometimes appearing in others’ dreams before they meet the individual.

In the ninth century, the canon Episcopi declaimed against women who “with a crowd of demons transformed into the likeness of women, on fixed nights to be required to ride upon certain beasts, and to themselves be numbered in their company.” This, of course, refers to the classic ride to the Witches’ Sabbath, led (according to the canon Episcopi) by the continental Germanic goddess Holda. When the Christian veneer is peeled away, the witches’ ride is very clearly a spiritual journey — astral travel, in contemporary terms — to the Otherworld. The beasts being ridden, then, are the voyagers’ Doubles in animal form, which are known in Germanic folklore to leave the body and travel during dreams and ecstatic journeys to receive information, gain wisdom or power, fight enemies, transmit messages, etc.

The gandr, too, was believed capable of doing this. Lecouteux cites a chapter in the 12th century text Historia Norwegiae that discusses the magic of the indigenous Sami people, who according to the author worshipped a spirit called a

gandus…thanks to whom they make prophecies, see far-off things in space and time, and discover hidden treasures. A Christian doing business with them was sharing their meal when suddenly the hostess died. Not in the least disconcerted or affected, the ‘dead’ woman’s companions explained to him that she had been a victim of a hostile gandus and that they were going to bring her back to life. One of them was a magician… [He] started his incantations, ‘singing and leaping, then throwing himself on the ground…and with his stomach torn open and everything all red, he gave up his spirit.’ The other people then asked for the help of a second man, who proceeded as the first, but with success. The hostess then revived the dead magician, who explained that his gandus, having taken the form of a whale, collided with an enemy gandus that had metamorphosed into sharp stakes driven into the bottom of the sea, and these stakes opened up his stomach. (36)

This account illustrates that the gandr/gandus, or Double, can sometimes take multiple forms, depending on what is needed at the time. Thus, it’s not so far-fetched that a gandr could be, alternately, a stick or staff or broom on which to ride or an animal that (as with the fylgja) has a form that represents in physical form the character and fate/luck of the person to whom it is connected. This is subtly attested in the above-mentioned fairy tales as well — Esben rides his gandr over the river (bodies of water being portals to the Otherworld) to the witch’s house to steal her enchanted treasures for the king that holds his brothers hostage; Aschenputtel’s gandr helps her accomplish impossible challenges, manifests the objects she needs to gain access to her future husband, and in the end, pecks out the eyes of her enemies on her wedding day.

The Role of the Gandr in Magical Practice

Sticks in Germanic folk tales — whether they come as wands, staffs, riding sticks, cuttings to plant and grow into trees, or something else — do much more than transmit energy. By and large, they are shamanistic tools with which magical practitioners connect to their Doubles — the unseen companions that walk alongside us, or precede us, or follow us, goading us down our unique paths through life and aiding us when we struggle or lose our ways. It’s through this spiritual connection that magic is accessed and accomplished. The gandr is perhaps the most essential, and least remembered, magical tool — at least for those who draw from Germanic sources for their craft. Perhaps it’s time to reconnect with the gandr, to view it more as a comrade rather than a mere instrument, and to return it to its central place in magical practice.


Lecouteux, Claude. Witches, Werewolves and Fairies: Shapeshifters and Astral Doubles in the Middle Ages. Inner Traditions: Rochester, 2003.
Manning-Sanders, Ruth. A Book of Witches.  EP Dutton & Co.: Boston, 1967.
The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Trans. Josef Scharl. Pantheon Books: New York, 1972.