So, we continue! On November 11th, you could read a few interesting facts here about Saint Martin—how his arrival once symbolically opened the Christmas season. He brought the first snow, a goose to the table, and the start of a fast that had both soul and meaning. But as I say, today it’s mostly up to each of us how we embrace the Christmas time.
Did you know, though, that during Advent, it wasn't just St. Nicholas with the Devil and the Angel who used to visit? This custom, as we know it today, wasn't always the same. Alongside him, other figures appeared—sometimes kind, other times quite terrifying. Advent used to be full of mystery, superstitions, and customs with roots deep in the past.
Back then, Christmas wasn't about lights, gift-giving frenzies, or who could post a photo of their tree first. It was simpler, but perhaps more genuine. And even though many traditions have faded, nothing stops us from reviving some of them. After all, why couldn't the "Luckys," "Ambrožes," or "Barborkas" walk our streets again?
Sometimes I feel that even St. Nicholas, the Devil, and the Angel are slowly disappearing under the onslaught of modern "Krampus runs" and glowing store-bought costumes. So let’s stop for a moment, brew some tea, curl up in a blanket... and travel back to a time when Advent was called the "time of expectation" and when people knew how to be a little afraid and excited at the same time.
Dec 4th - Barborka
When someone says "Barborka" today, most of us think of a cherry twig placed in a vase on December 4th so it blooms by Christmas Eve. But in the past, it wasn't just a symbol of hope; Barborka was a real figure who visited villages during Advent. On the eve of St. Barbara's Day, December 3rd, girls dressed entirely in white would set out through the villages. To remain unrecognized, they brushed their hair over their faces or dusted their skin with flour. They seemed mysterious, perhaps even ghostly, but their intentions were good—they were messengers of purity, humility, and preparation for Christmas. Carrying a basket of treats, they gave small gifts to well-behaved children, most often dried fruit, nuts, or a bit of candy. At the same time, they checked how children were behaving during the Lenten period. They asked if they knew their prayers, if they listened to their parents, and if they were honestly preparing for the holidays. Those who tried their best and were pious received a reward. And it wasn't just about ringing a doorbell. Barborkas tapped on windows with a cherry twig—the very one that later became the symbol of their holiday. With this tapping, they announced their arrival. As they say, whoever opened their door with a pure heart would have peace and blessings in their home for the rest of winter. Interestingly, if a young man—perhaps a farmhand or the farmer’s son—approached a Barborka, she would symbolically strike his hands with the twig. Maybe as a joke, or maybe as a reminder that Advent should be a time of fasting rather than revelry. While St. Barbara is the patron saint of miners and those in danger, her village "double," the white Barborka, remained a symbol of light, purity, and the quiet preparation for the coming of Christmas.
Dec 7th - Ambrož
Right after the Barborkas comes another nearly forgotten Advent figure: Ambrož. Named after Bishop Saint Ambrose, whose feast day falls on December 7th, this was one of the most unusual and joyful pre-Christmas customs in Czech villages. Ambrož was a man secretly dressed in a long white robe to appear almost supernatural, wearing a pointed black hat. This was meant to resemble a bishop’s mitre, though in folk versions, it often looked like something between a witch’s hat and an upside-down funnel. Over his shoulder, he carried a pouch full of sweets—the exact moment children would perk up. Ambrož usually appeared near a church or chapel, surrounded by local kids like a flock of excited sparrows. As soon as he started tossing sweets from his pouch, the children would rush to gather them by the handful. And that was the whole point. In his other hand, Ambrož held a broom wrapped in white paper, which he used to symbolically "swat" the children while they gathered the treats. It wasn't anything harsh, but rather a playful Advent lesson. Our ancestors had two explanations for this. First: St. Ambrose is the patron saint of beekeepers, so honey-made sweets belonged to him. Second: Advent was a time of fasting when snacking was to be limited. Children rushing for sweets were symbolically "breaking" the fast, and Ambrož’s broom reminded them of this in the most playful way. It was a lively, cheerful custom that children found immensely entertaining. Beautifully, this tradition is still reconstructed in Kouřim today, and children react exactly as they did centuries ago: laughing, squealing, and chasing sweet treasures on the ground. It makes you realize that some joys and temptations simply never change.
Dec 13th - Lucky
Then we have the "Lucky," another group of forgotten Advent figures tied to the feast of Saint Lucy on December 13th. St. Lucy has long been seen as the patron of good eyesight. In poor, dimly lit cottages, people performed winter chores that truly strained the eyes—spinning flax, wool, or plucking feathers. Women spent hours at these tasks, and their eyes suffered. To protect their sight, tradition held that on St. Lucy's Day, no spinning or plucking was allowed. But we know how it goes... where there’s a rule, there’s always someone who thinks they can "squeeze in just a bit more." That’s why the Lucky visited. Usually three women shrouded in long white robes, they looked like beings from another world. Today, people often associate them with a famous paper beak, but that was mainly a South Bohemian thing. Elsewhere, like in Kouřim, they just covered their faces with cloth to remain unrecognized. The effect was the same: mystery, silence, and a hint of fear. The Lucky were silent. They never spoke with a human voice. Instead, they hissed like snakes, chirped like birds, or just breathed quietly behind those they came to check on. Their mission was clear: find out if anyone was secretly spinning or plucking feathers. And if they found someone? That’s when the real Advent "fun" began. The Lucky had no mercy; they would cut the yarn with scissors or a sickle they carried, making it clear the rules weren't to be broken. If they caught a housewife plucking feathers, they would blow into the bedding so hard that white down flew all over the room. And they also checked for cleanliness. If the house was messy, they’d "clean" it themselves—symbolically, but destructively. They’d sweep soot from the stove until it settled on the cleanest shelves or sweep so wildly with a broom that children and animals fled. It was a chaotic scene of feathers, dust, and soot... and then the three mysterious women in white would vanish into the darkness as quietly as they had come. An experience children wouldn't forget all year.
Advent Thursdays - Perchta - The Darkest Guardian of the Fast
The last of the Advent beings, and hands down the most terrifying, was Perchta. Unlike the others, she wasn't tied to a specific date but appeared throughout Advent, most often on Thursday evenings. Why then? In folk belief, Friday was an unlucky day (the day of the Crucifixion).
Since a new day was once counted from the previous sunset, Friday actually began on Thursday evening. That’s when Perchta began her dark rounds. Perchta was a female version of the Devil, but paradoxically, she was always portrayed by a man dressed in women's clothing, wearing a blood-stained apron and a mask of feathers, fur, or other scary materials. Sometimes the mask even had a bizarrely long tongue—a total nightmare for any child. Upon entering a home, she asked if the fast was being kept, focusing on children and servants. If she found they had broken the fast, she would threaten to rip open their bellies and stuff them with straw. It’s a harsh image. But in a time when villages were drowned in darkness and silence, lit only by flickering candles, this being must have seemed truly demonic. Perchta was a dark reminder of Advent discipline, and certainly, no one wanted her to stop at their door.
I thought about leaving St. Nicholas, the Devil, and the Angel until after the first Sunday of Advent, but then... why wait? Back then, the procession looked quite different than it does today and was sometimes accompanied by completely different figures, so it definitely belongs here. Let me describe it as it used to be, when only lantern light and the crunch of snow underfoot filled the darkened villages.
Dec 6th - St. Nicholas, the Angel, and the Unforgettable Devils
Finally, we reach the last of the Advent figures, the only one who has survived centuries and modern plastic masks. St. Nicholas. His visit is tied to his feast day on Dec 6th. Like other customs, it took place on the eve. The trio is clear: Nicholas, Angel, and Devil—symbolizing good and evil, light and darkness, heaven and hell. It was basically a small theatrical display of where a human soul might go. In the past, the procession was even more diverse, sometimes including "Death" to remind people of mortality. Today, only the main three remain, though in some areas, "Krampus" figures from Alpine countries have joined in. Gifts were much humbler back then: a birch twig decorated with small sweets, gingerbread in the shape of St. Nicholas, or simple dough figures called "Nicholas Lords." In wealthier homes, handmade figures from natural materials appeared. Another big difference: children didn't just recite poems. They had to kneel and say a prayer—the Lord's Prayer or others depending on age. Only then did Nicholas decide if they deserved a reward or if the Devil would "pay" them with the broom he always carried over his shoulder. It was much more dramatic and serious than today's version.
In Conclusion?
What do you think? Imagine if, while walking in a park today, you ran into these forgotten figures like the Lucky, Barborka, St. Ambrose, or the terrifying Perchta. It would be surprising, maybe even a bit scary... but fascinating. People used to truly fear these beings, but today we can laugh at their stories and how strictly they checked children and households. It’s funny how times change; what once commanded respect and fear can now be inspiration for a fun experience. Yet Nicholas remains—the one figure who survived the centuries to bring joy. Did these stories interest you as much as they did me? If any of you decide to bring one of these forgotten Advent figures back to life, take a photo and share it on Instagram with my hashtag: #vanocesbobisem. It would be amazing to see traditions come alive! Thank you for reading this far. I wish you a pleasant day, a beautiful Advent, and many magical Christmas moments.
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Illustration created using Gemini AI.
