“All things begin and in in Albion’s Ancient, Druid, Rocky Shore” (William Blake)
Albion is an archaic name for Britain, favoured by poet William Blake and others of a similarly literary, mystical or antiquarian taste. It is such an ancient name that its origins are a little uncertain. Many scholars believe that the word derives from a root related to the Gaulish albio, meaning ‘the world,’ or, more literally, the ‘land above ground in the light.’ In a related sense, therefore, it gave rise to Latin albus, ‘white,’ as in ‘albumen’ (egg-white) or ‘album.’ The word also is the source of Alp, as in the mountain range; one sense of this name seems to be the ‘white mountains covered in snow, the peaks illuminated by the sun.’
In Britain languages related to Gaulish, Welsh and Gaelic, produced similar words. In Gaelic, alp meant a height or eminence, giving rise to albainn (hilly land) and thence to the modern Gaelic for Scotland, Alba. It’s often presumed that Albion is derived from this. Meanwhile, in Welsh alp denotes a craggy rock or eminence. Another derivative of that original albio was the Old Welsh elbid, modern Welsh elfydd, the primary meaning of which is world, land or region. In England we have a trace of this word in the West Yorkshire placename, Sherburn in Elmet, the last vestige of a native British polity called Elfed that survived several centuries within the Anglian kingdom of Deira (Northumbria).
To summarise at this point, then, Albion carries the meaning of both ‘mountains’ and ‘white.’ Accordingly, therefore, some have argued that Britain was called Albion because of the distinctive white cliffs of Dover. This seems to me to be a very parochial, southeast of England interpretation, which assumes that all invaders or travellers arrived on either the Calais to Dover or Dieppe to Newhaven ferries (or their prehistoric equivalents, at least!). I have to say I think that the appearance of fifty miles or so of Kent and Sussex limestone coastline is a weak basis for naming a whole island. Consider, for example, all the people who didn’t arrive that way: Julius Caesar landed between Walmer and Pegwell Bay in Kent, where the coastline is very low and marshy; the Angles and the Vikings didn’t enter Britain in the south east at all and, lastly, William the Conqueror and the Normans arrived at Pevensey, once again well away from any cliffs. Secondly, if Albion instead denotes snowy mountains rather than chalky cliffs, would you really name the whole of Britain after landscape features of Wales in the far west or the far north of the Scottish Highlands? I can readily accept this idea in relation to Alba/ Scotland, but it seems more improbable as a suitable label for the entire country. In short, therefore- is there another explanation?
Faery Names
At this point, let me apparently diverge from our subject. As some readers will have noticed, both Gaelic and Welsh lack words equivalent to English ‘faery’ and ‘elf.’ Instead, euphemisms are employed; the sith of Gaelic means either ‘the people of peace’ or, more likely, ‘the people of the hills.’ Welsh too, as I recently described, is full of circumlocutions to describe the fae folk, the least of which seems to be ellyll, which is a word related to arall (other) and having the sense of ‘one of the others.’ This seems to be a perfect acknowledgment of the faery presence living alongside- or in parallel to- the human community.
This is the present linguistic situation- and perhaps it was the case a millennium ago as well. In fact, the previously mentioned Welsh word elfydd, derived from albio, has several meanings. William Owen Pughe’s 1832 Dictionary of the Welsh Language states that, as well as ‘country,’ elfydd can mean ‘elf’ and ‘element’ (we might even be inclined to read ‘elemental’). It can also signify a person who is your peer or is similar to you.
We should also consider the source of the English word ‘elf,’ Anglo-Saxon aelf, Old High German alb or alp. In 1828 Thomas Keightley stated in the Fairy Mythology that “of the origin of the word alf, nothing satisfactory is to be found. Some think it is akin to Latin albus, white; others to Alpes, alps, mountains” (p.65).
One hundred and fifty years after Keightley, the linguist Julius Pokorny recognised the doubts still extant as to the correct derivation of Albion and ‘alps;’ thus, did the Welsh elfydd denote a sunlit land or chalk cliffs, and did any of these names derive from ‘white’ or perhaps from a much older non-Indo-European term? There was more certainty, though, that German alb (elf) could be traced back to an older Indo-European albhos, ‘white’ or ‘glittering,’ which is suggestive perhaps of a white and insubstantial or nebulous figure (the typical pale ghost perhaps). A connection has also been proposed with a Sanskrit word rbhu, which means ‘ingenious’ (interestingly, one Welsh euphemism for ‘the others’ was elod, the ‘intelligences’). Pokorny also pointed out the Latin albus (white) could also include the sense of ‘fortunate,’ which makes me think again of all those flattering euphemisms, especially bendith ei mamau (their mothers’ blessings). The cross-over and confusion with the words relating to hills will be obvious.
Faery Albion
All these linguistic links are fascinating but, ultimately (most particularly for those of us who aren’t specialists in Indo-European philology) frustratingly inconclusive. So (at the risk of going all Robert Graves on you) here’s my proposal that tries to cut through the doubt: Albion is, in fact, the ‘Land of the Elves.’ It is the land of those beings who are like us (and yet other), who are often white of skin, hair and eyes, or of dress, as in many Welsh sources, or like the many ‘White Ladies’ of wider British tradition. Equally, Albion might be regarded as the land of those who dwell inside the hills- the ‘alp-folk’ if you like. I’ve argued before for the role of the faeries as the soul of Britain and the spirit of its land; this present proposal merely complements that perception. Albion is the ancient name that states, explicitly, this is the faes’ own realm.
This vision of Albion is- of course- far from unique. Many artists have shared it in the past and it is still alive and meaningful today: see, for example, Peter Knight and Sue Wallace’s book Albion Dreamtime- Re-enchanting the Isle of Dragons (2019) or Ruth Thomas’ Albion Imperilled- A Fairy-tale for Grownups (2019).
British Fairies 
Hi John,
After reading and rereading your well-researched post, my gut feeling is that ‘whiteness’ in the sense of having a ‘fair complexion’ is at the heart of the riddle.
Initially, I associated Albion with the White Cliffs of Dover but it does not explain why such an epithet might be applied to Scotland. Nor is it because Snowdonia has mountains. Like you, I quickly concluded that geographical features have nothing to do with it. I felt I had nothing new to ‘bring to the party’ so what was the point of trying?
But still I felt a nagging insistence to write something. It’s the same insistence I receive when ‘a certain somebody’ wants to forcefully suggest something to my wakeful self. It seems she too read your posting! I thought over your words.
“Nope! Still nothing. Give up! You’ve got nothing to present to John. So, I will stick to my plan and keep quiet”.
Sigh! The little minx! She promptly raided my memory banks and played her trump card. I will come to that in a moment. It is no exaggeration to suggest that language and wordplay are one of her interests. For, had we not just shared a lovely dream together in which, at long last, without a shadow of a doubt, I was admitted to her company and that of her troop? I mention this for two reasons – one – to illustrate how able she is to access my memory, both recent and distant; and two – to highlight instances of language play which any self-respecting Pixie Queen can be expected to have mastered.
I don’t usually remember very much of what we talk about other than a word here, a phrase there. On this occasion, however, I recall more than usual. Before retiring, I watched the crossover episode of ‘Beyond Paradise’. As the final credits rolled, I remember thinking what an interesting face the actress, Shantol Jackson, has. She is relatively dark-skinned. On my previous meetings with ‘Her Ladyship’, she always appeared with a light complexion. Her facial features might alter, but her complexion was fair.
The dream began like any other and it was only when I awoke did I know whose company I had been keeping. Midway through, we were sharing some quality time together before rejoining the rest of the gang. I found myself sitting opposite her in a works canteen. I was immediately struck by her change in skin colour. For now, she appeared dark-skinned. Still the same easy-going playful personality that has captivated me all these years. Whatever her guise, her personality cannot be disguised. I remember thinking afterwards how coincidental it was that on the very night I note Shantol Jackson’s features, Her Ladyship instigates a change of skin tone, almost as if she was reading my thoughts … which, of course, she does …
She seemed to be on her dessert. In her bowl was what looked like a vanilla slice with chocolate sauce drizzled over it. She offered me some but I politely declined wanting her to have it all for herself. A large cup was stood close by. No golden goblet but more the kind of utensil you would collect your coffee in from Starbucks. A closer inspection on my part revealed a name spelled out in block capitals in gold lettering – as befits her regal status. It was clearly meant for my attention. My impression was that this was the spelling of her name. I eagerly leant forward and started to try to pronounce it. I am not exaggerating but it was spelled like one of those impossible-to-pronounce Welsh place names. I launched off with ER … She laughed and turned the cup around. I hadn’t even started at the beginning! It was a neat trick. I recall that it started FL.. and thought that I might easily find it listed under popular Celtic names. Nothing came close. I concluded that this was her name as spelled out in her own language. Language conveys a meaning and some of these entities are more interested in its use than others. In my opinion, She is one that is, and might very well take an interest in an investigation into the origins of the word ALBION.
So what is this long-forgotten nuanced piece of information that She has dredged up from the depths of my memory and triumphantly waved in front of me, with eyes sparkling and lips smiling in a ‘told-you-so’ kind of way?
“Non Angli, sed Angeli!” (“Not Angles, but Angels!”).
Pope Gregory I (Gregory the Great) is reported to have made this joke by the Venerable Bede when being informed that the fair-skinned child captives he found on sale in the market were Angles. Some have claimed that the sense of an English nation can be traced to this time.
I think it is significant for a very different reason. There is the obvious word play for all to see but there is also a comment being made about the ‘fairness’ or ‘whiteness’ of complexion. I think as far back as the Greeks, England was referenced as the land of the ‘fair-skinned’, ‘pale-skinned’ people, Scotland too, perhaps. The Romans, as they so often did, copied the sentiments of the Greeks by applying the adjective Albus and Albion to mean ‘fair-skinned’ and ‘land of the fair-skinned’. In time, this designation fell out of fashion in favour of terms such as Britons before coming back into favour amongst literati like the poet and artist, William Blake. Let’s face it, before global warming, we would have had a pale pasty complexion!
I think you are right to make the connection between the German alb (elf) and the aspect of ‘whiteness’ or ‘paleness’. Elves are usually represented as having fair skins. Therefore, referring to an elf as ‘the fair-skinned one’ (as opposed to other entities of differing skin colours) might seem quite normal.
Phil
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Phil
I may have underplayed the significance of ‘albus/ white as a root in Albion, mainly because the books I was reading did, but- as you say- I feel sure it has a role in the development of the name. Admittedly it’s only one part of the whole island of Britain, but the Welsh faeries have very often been described as (at the least) dressed in white and- sometimes- as being white of skin, hair and eyes. We tend to avoid these descriptions because they can feel so alien and alarming but their very strangeness makes me inclined to take them seriously. A land peopled by these ‘white ladies’ would definitely deserve the name of Albion.
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