Straw has long been used as a creative medium, to thatch roofs, stuff mattresses and make exquisite hats and baskets, and not just because it was readily available. The material is strong, pliable and can be buffed to a gleaming golden sheen. Straw thread can even make a convincing substitute for gold, having been used in ecclesiastical garments and marquetry at various points in the past. While many such examples have been preserved – objects deemed as more valuable are of course more likely to be passed down through the generations – the most characterful straw creations tend also to be the most ephemeral.
Harvest tokens, also known as corn dollies, were traditionally made in rural areas each autumn after the crops had been gathered from the fields. Ranging from simple plaited forms to looming life-sized effigies, they are part of local customs that stretch back centuries, ones that still persist in some communities to this day. These folk objects are steeped in myth, with a murky history that bends and moves like the wind-blown ears of wheat and oats themselves. ‘They’ve never really been properly documented,’ says Penny Maltby, one of the few straw workers still practising in the UK. ‘We know that they have been around forever, but nobody considered them worth cataloguing until relatively recently.’
Like so many traditional crafts, straw work spans many cultures and countries, and the most elaborate pieces were often born out of a desire to propitiate the gods. One legend, found in rural communities the world over, tells of a ‘corn spirit’ that retreats from the oncoming reapers every harvest time, hiding in the last of the standing crop. These final few stalks would be fashioned into a corn dolly in which the spirit could take refuge. Come spring, the token would be returned to the fields with the new planting. By giving the deity a home during the cold, dark winter months, practitioners hoped that next year’s crop would be an abundant one.
‘The early Christian church was very good at absorbing many of the earlier pagan festivals,’ says Simon Costin, director of the British Museum of Folklore. ‘Hence you might find a straw maiden sitting in a pew at the back of the church, waiting for the time when it would be burned and the ashes strewn across the fields.’
The straw figure soon broke free from the harvest and appeared in various guises throughout the year. In Whittlesea, Cambridgeshire, on the Tuesday following Twelfth Night, an old custom would see an unfortunate farm hand dressed up as a ‘straw bear’ and paraded about town to dance for food, money and beer. A version of that festival still survives today. Elsewhere, on the Shetland Isles, ‘skeklers’ disguised in straw costumes would materialise on Halloween, at New Year and at weddings to play the fiddle for locals. In Ireland, ‘strawboys’ festooned in elaborate flaxen concoctions might have visited your nuptials to bring luck and pilfer a dance with the bride, their heads completely obscured by braided conical hats. Meanwhile, ‘wrenboys’ are associated with St Stephen’s Day – the Irish equivalent of Boxing Day – and the Isle of Man. Groups of young men in straw masks would display a small bird in a decorated box on top of a pole and march it around the village. Between the outlandish costumes and the overt allusion to pagan ritual, it’s easy to see the inspiration behind the 1973 cult film The Wicker Man.
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The mid-20th century saw a revived interest in straw work, when the talents of an Essex maker called Fred Mizen were showcased at the 1951 Festival of Britain. Born in 1893, Mizen grew up making corn dollies and other straw pieces while working on various farms in the area. Later, having lost an eye and a finger in World War I, he turned to gardening for people in Great Bardfield, his home village, including the artists John Aldridge and Edward Bawden. Straw work continued to fascinate the latter; illustrations of Mizen’s craft appear in Bawden’s 1949 book Life in an English Village, as did a drawing of Mizen and Aldridge.
Of the many pieces on show at the festival, the most arresting were two two-metre-high models of a lion and a unicorn, placed at the entrance of a pavilion named after the creatures. These monumental, intricately woven figures took six months to build and were bursting with personality – it’s likely that Bawden and Aldridge had some input into the designs, although no official record of this exists. The sculptures received widespread media coverage and were later sold to Selfridges, where they were put centre stage in one of the department store’s display windows. Mizen continued to work in the medium until his death in 1961, notably creating for the Brewers’ Society a huge barley queen and malting maid, whose faces were painted by Aldridge.
As more makers began to experiment with straw work, regional names were bestowed on specific designs, such as the Hereford double lantern, the Staffordshire knot and the Essex terret. Sadly, the vogue for straw work was fleeting. This is partly because modern, commercially grown varieties of wheat have shorter, more rigid stems than their heritage counterparts, making them difficult to manipulate. ‘When I started to work with straw there were several wonderful old varieties and quite a few growers,’ says Veronica Main, who was awarded an MBE in 2021 for her efforts to preserve the skill. ‘Now we are generally reduced to using just one variety of wheat called maris widgeon, and one main supplier. This puts the entire craft under great threat.’
Today, straw working appears on the Heritage Crafts’ endangered red list. While professionals like Veronica and Penny are preserving the old techniques, rougher designs continue to be made from more unwieldy types of modern wheat. Some examples of heritage straw work can be found at the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford and at the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic in Cornwall. You can occasionally spot straw dollies perched on the ridge- line of cottages, too; historically, some thatchers would top a new roof with a straw animal or bird. Far more than mere decorative flourishes, these unusual finials were intended to ward off any witches seeking entry to the house.
From the ancient alchemists to Rumpelstiltskin, many have sought to spin gold from straw, but this ancient craft really does transform the humble material into something rare, precious and wonderfully eccentric.
A version of this article also appeared in the October 2024 issue of ‘The World of Interiors’. Learn about our subscription offers. Sign up for our bi-weekly newsletter, and be the first to receive exclusive stories like this one, direct to your inbox
