Martinmas: The Light Before Winter

Fr. Scott Haynes

Each year on November 11, the Church keeps the ancient feast of Martinmas, the day that marks both the close of autumn’s labors and the first glimmer of winter’s stillness. For centuries it has stood as a hinge in the Christian year—part thanksgiving, part farewell to the harvest, part call to generosity.

Though it honors Saint Martin of Tours, the humble bishop who once shared his cloak with a beggar, Martinmas developed its own distinct customs: lanterns and bonfires, roast geese and new wine, fairs and fasts. It is a feast where faith and folk tradition mingle like the light of candles against the lengthening night.

An Ancient Turning of the Year

In the rhythm of medieval life, Martinmas was the final festival of the harvest season. The granaries were full, the last grapes pressed, and the cattle driven in from the pastures. Winter provisions were prepared, and by November 11 the year’s agricultural work was largely complete.

It was a moment to give thanks to God for the bounty of creation and to share it with others before the long cold months ahead. The feast, falling midway between Michaelmas in late September and Christmas at the end of December, became a natural season of transition.

The day also carried legal and social significance. In parts of Europe—especially in England and Scotland—Martinmas was one of the “quarter days” when rents were due, laborers were paid, and new service contracts began. The faithful would often attend Mass in the morning, pay debts or sign new agreements afterward, and then gather in the evening for feasting.

The Martinmas Goose

Among the oldest and most beloved customs of Martinmas is the roast goose. Across Germany, France, England, and Scandinavia, families traditionally dined on a well-fattened bird, often accompanied by apples, chestnuts, or red cabbage.

The custom has several origins. In the agrarian calendar, November was the time when geese were at their plumpest and ready for slaughter before winter. But Christian legend also gave the dish a moral flavor. When the people of Tours sought to make Saint Martin their bishop, the saint—fleeing out of humility—hid among a flock of geese. Their noisy cackling gave him away, and he was brought forth to be consecrated. Ever since, the goose has been eaten in lighthearted remembrance of that holy “betrayal.”

In old England, this meal was so expected that even the poor were provided with a “Martinmas goose” by their benefactors.

New Wine and Old Joy

Martinmas also marked the first tasting of the new wine from the year’s grape harvest. In the wine-growing regions of France and Germany, casks were opened and shared among family and neighbors. The French still speak of vin de Saint-Martin, and in Austria and the Rhineland, the early vintage is called Martinswein or Heuriger.

The sharing of wine on this feast was more than indulgence; it was a sacrament of gratitude—a joyful recognition that God’s gifts are to be received with thanksgiving and shared in fellowship. The Church sanctified the practice by blessing the wine in honor of Saint Martin, linking everyday festivity with spiritual joy.

Lanterns, Fires, and the Light of Charity

Perhaps the most beautiful Martinmas custom is the lantern procession, found throughout central and northern Europe. On the eve of November 11, children carry lanterns made of paper or colored glass through village streets, often following a rider dressed as Saint Martin on horseback, his red cloak bright against the darkness.

Songs are sung about light and generosity. Sometimes, at the procession’s end, food or coins are gathered for the poor. The glowing lanterns, swaying in the chill air, symbolize the light of charity—that even as winter draws near, the flame of love must not go out.

Older customs also included bonfires lit on Martinmas night, echoing ancient harvest fires but given new meaning by Christian faith: the warmth of shared light against encroaching cold, and the triumph of Christ’s light over darkness.

The Martinmas Fairs

In medieval towns, Martinmas was a day for fairs and markets. With harvest finished and livestock sold, peasants and merchants came together for lively trade. Cloth, spices, tools, and wines were exchanged in bustling squares. It was also the time for the “hiring fairs,” when farmhands and servants sought new positions for the coming year.

The day had its own greeting in England: “A good Martinmas to you!”—a wish for prosperity and plenty in the dark months to come.

The Fast of Saint Martin

Before Advent was fixed as a four-week season, many Christians observed a period of penance known as the “Quadragesima of Saint Martin”—a forty-day fast beginning on November 12 and lasting until Christmas.

This early Advent fast paralleled Lent: a season of repentance and prayer following the bounty of Martinmas. In some places, faithful Catholics still keep a “St. Martin’s Lent” by abstaining from meat, sweets, or festivity until Christmas Eve. It serves as a gentle reminder that Christian feasting and fasting belong together—thanksgiving leading into preparation, abundance into watchfulness.

Martinmas in English Memory

In old England, Martinmas lingered as one of the most colorful feasts of the year. Country households marked the day with music, generous tables, and the custom of sharing meat and ale with the poor.

Poets remembered it as a season of both cheer and reflection, when the fields lay bare and hearths glowed bright. The chroniclers of medieval life record that geese and pigs were slaughtered “at Martinmas time,” their meat salted for the winter. “Martinmas beef” or “Martinmas bacon” referred to the cured provisions that sustained families through the cold months.

The air of solemn gratitude made it distinct from the revelry of later winter feasts. It was not yet Christmas, but the first note of joy was already sounding.

The Spirit of Martinmas

What unites all the Martinmas traditions—feasting, fasting, light, and charity—is the call to thanksgiving and sharing. The year’s harvest is complete; now the heart must harvest its own fruits.

To divide one’s goods, to share one’s warmth, to carry light into the dark—all these gestures imitate Saint Martin’s original act of mercy. In the turning of the year, Martinmas invites us to turn our hearts likewise: from labor to gratitude, from self to neighbor, from plenty to generosity.

Even today, as families light candles or gather for simple meals on November 11, the ancient rhythm continues. Martinmas stands as a gentle herald of Advent—reminding us that before the solemn waiting for Christ, we are first called to thanksgiving and love.

Bibliography

• Butler, Alban. Lives of the Saints: November 11 – St. Martin of Tours. London: Virtue and Company, 1894.

• Gregory of Tours. Life of Saint Martin. Translated by F. R. Hoare. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969.

• Holweck, Frederick. A Biographical Dictionary of the Saints. St. Louis: B. Herder, 1924.

• Jones, Prudence. Medieval Feasts and Seasons of the Church Year. London: Methuen, 1938.

• Thurston, Herbert, and Donald Attwater. Butler’s Lives of the Saints: November. New York: P. J. Kenedy & Sons, 1956.

• White, John. Martin of Tours: Soldier, Monk, and Bishop. London: SPCK, 1962.

• “Martinmas.” The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 9. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1911.

• “Martinmas.” The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church. Edited by F. L. Cross and E. A. Livingstone. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.