“Gallants are gone out of date, and who can wonder that their missives have ceased to be attractive? The records of the Cardiff Post Office prove concisely that Valentines are losing their hold on the public taste.”
Thus wrote a correspondent for the South Wales Daily News in 1887. This same person’s heart might sink, not soar, at the sight of the piles of saccharine tat and frippery briefly occupying shop shelves today before reaching their final destination of landfill site, recycling centre or compost heap.
He attributes what he believes to be a certain waning of interest in St. Valentine’s Day to its proximity to Christmas and the New Year. All this sending of cards – what a distracting and, frankly, wearisome business! “…all the energy in this direction is exhausted; and what with Easter and birthday cards, has scarcely time to recruit itself before another season comes round again.” It would, he suggests, be a festival more readily engaged with if it took place in the summer - removed enough from the time when “most persons are growing weary of Christmas cards and their numerous satellites.” Perhaps it’s just as well that he didn’t get a glimpse of a twenty first century Halloween … one can only imagine the apoplectic moustache tugging that such an experience might provoke…
Perhaps our chap is underestimating the special delight felt by the recipient of a Valentine’s Day card; perhaps he was unlucky in love and sought comfort in a little scoff at all the seasonal goings on.
In 1894 a writer in the South Wales echo refuted a claim made by M. Farningham in a Christian World publication, that St Valentine’s Day customs had fallen into desuetude (had me reaching for the dictionary there). “It is a very possible and an easy thing to outgrow the care of St Valentine and all his affairs, but you cannot do it while you are young, and the world is full of young people today.” Noting how the first signs of spring coincide with this celebration, he notes how “the worst is over when St Valentine’s Day has arrived; spring is in the air and there is hope for all.”
The charge and impact of expressions of admiration which can be held in the hand and revisited, deliciously, at leisure, is considerable. This wasn’t lost on Thomas Hardy when, in Far From The Madding Crowd he has Bathsheba, in a moment of flippant mischief, send staid, old farmer Boldwood a cheeky little card inscribed with (a carelessly undisguised hand-written) “Marry Me”. Nothing focuses the mind of a prospective squeeze like having them figure out who fancies them enough to put pen to paper. Writing in the 1870s, Hardy reflected the customs of the times; such an event had to be sufficiently relatable for his readers, since the novel’s plot pivots on this rash, flirtatious action. This also somewhat undermines the idea of these flirtatious matters being the preserve of the young – Boldwood is pretty much over the hill, yet no less smitten than a lovelorn youth.
Perhaps the moral of that story is to try not to take any sentiment conveyed in a Valentine’s card too seriously – whether you feel flattered or offended, it can all end in tears either way. In 1895, two ‘prepossessing looking girls’ found this out the hard way when they were laughed out of court at Highgate in London, having applied for summonses against the senders of ‘uncomplimentary’ valentines (further details remain tantalisingly unavailable). Should’ve just torn them up and kept quiet – at least cards then could never find their way onto social media where thousands lurk ever eager to join in with the ridicule or outrage trend of the day.
Saint Valentine is generally believed to have been a third century priest martyred in Rome. He met his fate, having acted against the directive of the Emperor Claudius who believed that young men, in order to make the best soldiers, should remain single. Contrary to the Emperor, Valentine held that marriage was a state intended by God for man. He therefore took the fateful decision to be true to his beliefs, (and the wishes of numerous frisky youngsters), and carried out marriages in secret. Clearly not secretly enough. He was caught, jailed and executed, but not before he had himself fallen in love with his jailer’s daughter. The note he is alleged to have written to her, signed ‘Your Valentine’ is, so they say, where it all kicked off ; we can never know for certain but it’s a nice story (in romantic terms at least, overlooking the anguished imprisonment and ruthless execution bits).
Chaucer’s poem The Parliament of Foules is said to be one of the earliest references to February 14th as holding significance for human lovers. This date is associated with the ancient rural belief that it marked the point in the year when birds would start to look for their mates.
“Now are found sweet annual fates;
Now the birds elect their mates”
wrote Leigh Hunt in 1837, reflecting this folk lore enduring from the Middle Ages. His poem continues with another long-held superstition that the first person the unmarried laid eyes on Feb 14th would become their Valentine, hence:
“Now from dawn love goeth blind
Till its own true love it find:
He’ll not ope his eyes nor she,
Till themselves encountered be,
Fearing bond compulsory,
Fearing Jones and fearing Jenkins,
And so they go with constant blinkings.”
All of this focus on St Valentine’s Day ignores the happy couplings that may have ensued from the Welsh patron saint of lovers, St Dwynwen’s Day on January 25th. With all the mischief that accompanies any occasion when people are encouraged to think about hanky panky even more than they already do, it may in fact be something of a mixed blessing that we get two bites of the cherry - if you’ll pardon the expression – in Wales. Who knows?
If St Dwynwen didn’t smile on you this year, there is still hope and, if there is a lack of Valentine cards being crammed through your letter box on the 14th, take heart; most relationships end badly in bitterness and remorse and it’ll be Christmas soon enough anyway.