CUSTOMS OF COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, BIRTH, AND DEATH
_Superstition._
The old customs and superstitions connected with marriage festivities
are perhaps more closely observed here and there in the North Riding
than in any other part of Yorkshire. In some parts of Cleveland, I
doubt if the bride and bridegroom would consider themselves properly
wedded if there were no race for a ribbon or handkerchief. And
certainly it would be a most unlucky omen, should any one but the
bride cut the first piece from the bride’s cake. But I anticipate—let
us commence at the beginning. Very rarely, I imagine, is it that an
orthodox proposal is ever made by a Yorkshire lad to the lass of his
choice. No, they just ’keep cump’ny t’ ane wi’ t’ t’other.’ ‘Keeping
company’ is the Yorkshire idiom for courting; and during that happy
time, in days past, were a young fellow ever caught kissing his
lady-love whilst a roof was over their heads (i.e. in any one’s
house), he was liable—if he did not instantly throw on the table
kiss-money—to be ‘pitchered[12]’ on the spot, i.e. either have a hole
burnt through his coat or his buttons cut off. This violent attack
on the person of arson and robbery was usually effected by a bevy of
damsels.
In time, if all went well, the twain decided to become one; to this
end the ’spurrings’ were put in, i.e. the banns were published. This
having been accomplished, the couple were said to be ’hanging in the
bell-ropes’—no maiden would ever think of attending church during the
time she was hanging in the bell-ropes, or to use another expression,
‘whilst she was suffering from a broken leg after having tumm’l’d ower
t’ bauk.’
The wedding day having arrived, the happy couple, accompanied by their
friends, either proceed two and two, or hire a cab.
Of course the bride is properly garnished for the occasion, and very
nice and blushy she looks—that goes without saying. But whatever her
toilet may be, one thing is certain—not a speck of blue or green
will be found anywhere about her, both colours being considered very
unlucky; neither will the wedding take place on a Friday.
Deean’t o’ Friday buy yer ring,
O’ Friday deean’t put t’ spurrings in,
Deean’t wed o’ Friday. Think on o’ this,
Nowther blue ner green mun match her dhriss.
If during the ceremony the sun is obscured for a short time, and then
bursts forth shining on the couple, happy will such a bride be. For
Blessed is t’ bride ’at t’ sun shines on,
An’ blessed is t’ deead ’at t’ rain rains on.
Years ago, it was the custom, in many parts of Cleveland, for the
bride and bridegroom to leap over a form on leaving the church
porch. On this feat being accomplished, a gun was fired, this often
being charged with feathers. At Guisborough the firing of guns was
continued throughout the whole route. And in many parts of Cleveland,
meeting the bridal procession with hot pots was common; these were
bowls filled with a kind of steaming punch, and as the bridal party
were expected to drink from every hot pot, one can well imagine and
understand the revelry which so often took place, especially when the
hot pots were numerous. Afterwards, these pots were carried from door
to door, a plate covered with a saucer being also presented; a gift
of money was slipped under the saucer, given to enable the hot pot to
be replenished. In the Staithes district, if a guest stepped in any
kind of filth on his or her way to the house, on no account would it
be wiped off, it being considered very unlucky to do so. I believe, at
that time, sanded floors and not carpets were the rule.
On passing through the church gates, the bridegroom usually threw a
handful of coppers amongst the crowd. A man now headed the procession,
carrying under his arm a young cockerel, which he made continually to
‘skrike oot’; this could only be silenced by the payment of bride’s
money. On arriving at the bride’s home, she was met on the doorstep,
and presented with a small cake on a plate. A little of this she would
eat, throwing the remainder over her head, typical of the hope that
they might always have plenty and something to spare. She then handed
the plate to her husband; this he threw over his head, their future
happiness depending upon its being broken[13].
The race for the bride’s garter was a common custom in former times,
its possession being held in high esteem, and valued as a potent love
charm.
Now, however, the custom has almost fallen into disuse, though within
the last five years the ceremony was fully carried out. At one time it
was not only a recognized custom, but in most cases special preparation
was made for its due observance, the maidens spending no little time
and skill in the working of their bridal garters.
Immediately after the plate had been broken, the bride’s attempt to
cross the threshold was hindered by the kneeling figure of the winner
of the race, claiming the privilege of removing the prize. The bride
then raised her skirt whilst he removed the valued trophy[14].
As it was the correct thing in those good old days for ladies to
raise the skirt quite as high when dancing, and as elaborately worked
stockings were worn to be looked at, nothing was thought of lifting the
skirt, and nothing would in these days if some lady of title revived
the custom. From an old rhyme, I give the following lines:—
T’ BRAHDAL BANDS.
Blushing, theer oor Peggy sits
Stitching, fahn stitching,
Luv knots roond her brahdal bands,
Witching, bewitching.
T’ brahd’s maids all mun deea a stitch,
Stitching, fahn stitching,
An’ tha mun binnd it roond her leg[15],
Witching, bewitching.
Bud sum bauf[16] swain ’at’s soond o’ puff[17],
Stitching, fahn stitching,
‘Ll claim his reet ti tak’ it off,
Witching, bewitching.
An’ he aroond his awn luv’s leg,
Stitching, fahn stitching,
‘Ll lap it roond ti binnd his luv,
Witching, bewitching.
Whahl sha sweet maid’ll wear his troth,
Stitching, fahn stitching,
Mahnding each tahm sha taks it off,
Witching, bewitching.
That daay when sha will ’a’e ti wear,
Stitching, fahn stitching,
Nut yan, bud tweea, a brahdal pair,
Witching, bewitching.
Oh, happy day! when sha s’all stitch,
Stitching, fahn stitching,
Her brahdal bands, the wearing which
Mak maids bewitching.
It may be remembered that knights often bound the garter of their
lady-love about their sword-hilts.
The following lines evidently were written when the bridal garter was
held in greater favour than the ribbon:—
SONG.
DRINK TO THE BRIDAL GARTER.
Nance is wed ti morn at morn,
High doon a derry O,
Monny a lad ’s this daay ’s forlorn,
High doon a derry O;
Bud cheer up, lads, yer glasses fill,
Fer ivvery Jack ther is a Jill.
Sup off, my bucks, an’ divn’t spill,
An’ maay Ah win her garter O.
Neea prude is Nance; tha saay sha’s maad,
High doon a derry O,
Her brahdal bands ov gowden braad,
High doon a derry O.
Noo fer a ribbon Ah weean’t run,
It gi’es neea luck, an’ stops wer fun,
Sike nimmy nammy waays ’ez sum;
Cum drink ti t’ brahdal garter O.
Here ’s health an’ luck ti t’ brahd ’at darr,
High doon a derry O,
Her brahdal bands baith stitch an’ wear,
High doon a derry O;
Ti them ’at ho’ds a ribbon up
Neean on uz here’ll draan a cup,
Sike healths wa ’evn’t tahm ti sup,
Ov slipshod, undarned stockings O.
T’ brahd ’at darn’t her skets pull up,
High doon a derry O,
Maist leykly is a mucky slut,
High doon a derry O.
Yan best can tell a lass’s waays
Byv what sha wears, ’an what sha saays;
A ribbon gi’en o’ wedding days
Screens mucky undarned stockings O.
Maay ivvery bonny blushing brahd,
High doon a derry O,
‘Ev nowther muck ner hoals ti hide,
High doon a derry O,
An’ maay sha on her brahdal daay
Pull up her skets, an’ smiling saay,
‘Mah garter’s thahn, tak it, Ah praay,
An’ gi’e ’t ti thi true lovey O.’
Afoor wa pairt fill up each glass,
High doon a derry O,
Let each yan drink tiv his awn lass,
High doon a derry O,
Ti Bessy, Sally, Sue, an’ Peg,
Ti Martha, Mary, Maud, an’ Meg;
An’ here’s ti ivvery shap’ly leg
Roond which a brahdal band diz go.
Originally the ceremony of removing the bridal garter was, as has been
said, carried out in a perfectly decorous manner; in time, however, it
degenerated into actually stealing the garter by force. This unseemly
proceeding possibly arose from the strong opposition and resentment
which was felt, and for long demonstrated, whenever the ribbon
supplanted the garter.
Why, as recently as 1820, Lady —— [18], a great stickler after old
customs, on stepping from her bridal coach, inquired who had won the
race. ‘Ah did, my lady,’ answered one of the stable lads. Ascending the
steps, her ladyship stepped half over the threshold, calling out to
the lad, ‘Come, Tom, and claim your prize,’ adding, as she raised her
silken gown, ‘I intend to be properly married and have the luck I am
entitled to.’ Then turning to the young fellow, smiling, she added,
‘Take it off, Tom, and give it to your sweetheart, and may it bring
luck to both of you.’
In Great Ayton the ribbon seems to have supplanted the garter in
the early part of this century. In fact it is only the old folks
who remember, and can tell you anything concerning the gay and
festive doings of those days. But the older custom held its own
for long afterwards, and that, too, within a very few miles. But
intercommunication between villages has never been a strong feature.
Even to-day there is a species of rivalry existing between Stokesley
and Great Ayton people, but this is common to all adjacent villages.
It only adds one more proof in support of what has already been said,
that the customs, superstitions, and dialect of any given locality, or
even that of a whole dale, cannot, and must not, be taken as being that
of the whole of the North Riding, much less of Yorkshire.
A case in point may here be mentioned. In days past it was usual
in Great Ayton to discharge firearms over the bridal party as they
processed both _to and from the church_. This, however, was by no
means the custom throughout Cleveland[19]. Neither was the firing of
the stithy, which I am told was never omitted; i.e. a charge of powder
poured into a hole in the anvil, upon which a heavy weight was laid;
this, when fired, went off with the report of a cannon. In many places
the latter was only resorted to when either objectionable people were
united or in the case of a forced marriage. In Great Ayton it was done
in honour of the occasion.
Much variation exists as to the exact time when the ribbon is to be run
for. In some places it is the custom for the racers to stand at the
church door, and start off on a signal being given that the ring has
been slipped on the bride’s finger. In other localities the race takes
place the moment the bride and bridegroom leave the church porch, the
one arriving first at the bride’s door being the winner.
In other localities it does not take place until after the wedding
feast, and again, often not until evening.
In many places it is customary for the bride to stand as the winning
post, holding the ribbon in her hand, the winner not only claiming the
prize, but a kiss also. It may be mentioned here that the best man
generally claims the first kiss at the conclusion of the ceremony. At
Great Ayton and many other places sixty years ago, before the bride
left the altar steps the sexton removed her shoe, which was ransomed
by the bridegroom. It was, and is still, considered most lucky to rub
shoulders with the bridegroom. And until somewhat recently the parson
officiating was always expected to kiss the bride. Before railways
were so general, and when, as often happened, the honeymoon had to be
spent amongst friends within driving distance, or at the bride’s home,
‘throwing the stocking’ at the bride and bridegroom after they had
retired to rest was never omitted.
It is a bad omen should the bridal party meet a coffin, or should a
cripple cross their path. Had they to pass over a stream, it was usual
for both to throw something over their shoulder into the stream,
saying as they did so, ‘Bad luck cleave to you,’ being very careful
not to set eyes on the object again. On an occasion of this kind,
should the man wish to be master in his own house, he had better see
that he cross the centre of the bridge a little in advance of his
bride, or that lady will gain an advantage she will be careful not
to undervalue—the husband will have to do the wife’s bidding. It is
also considered unlucky to remove the wedding ring before the birth
of the first child. Should a bride unfortunately do so, be sure it is
the husband who replaces it; on no account must she let another man
do so, unless she wishes speedily to become a widow. Before the bride
and bridegroom left for their own home, it was common for a kettleful
of boiling water to be poured on the front step, upon which the bride
stepped, being careful to wet both her shoes. The due observance of
this custom ensured another happy marriage being arranged amongst the
company there assembled.
When the time arrives for the happy couple to take their departure,
either for their own home or the honeymoon, great care must be observed
that the husband steps over the threshold in front of his bride,
otherwise she will take the lead in all things through life. It would
be a great advantage to a lot of men if the wife did step a little in
advance. They must also be very careful not to make their exit with the
back and front door open at the same time; and on entering their new
home, a man must receive them, never a woman, neither must they enter
an empty house, as it would result in a lack of friends. The belief
in open doors, &c., applies to all occasions when leaving or returning
home after having spent the night under a strange roof. As the bride
leaves the paternal roof, some swain will endeavour to seize her foot.
This doubtless is a surviving relic of the time when it was deemed a
post of honour to assist the bride into the saddle. It ensures little
separation through life if the happy pair, on rising from their bridal
couch, take each other by the hand, and slip out of bed, so that their
feet touch the floor together; then, still keeping hold of hands, they
must cross the room and step outside, as equally as possible.
Whilst the immediate friends enjoyed themselves as guests at the
bride’s house, many of their well-wishers adjourned to the nearest
hostel and drank their healths with many a glass and catch-song.
One, a kind of catch-verse, was very common a few years ago. Each time
it was sung the glasses were drained, some one else being called upon
to repeat the song. This had to be done at once, and in the reverse way
to the former vocalist, i.e. if the last singer toasted the bridegroom,
the next must commence with the bride; did he make a mistake, he had to
pay for glasses round.
_The Verse._
The brahdgroom’s health we all will sing,
In spite of Turk or Spanish king,
The brahd’s good health we will not pass,
But put them both into one glass.
See, see, see that he drink it all,
See, see, see that he let none fall,
For if he do, he shall drink two,
And so shall the rest of the company do.
Another catch-rhyme must have resulted in innumerable glasses having to
be paid for each time it was sung. It was quite an action song, each
taking a line in turn, every glass being raised at the commencement of
each line, and then replaced, forming a ring round the bride’s garter,
which lay in the centre of the table, or a borrowed one doing duty for
the time. As each glass had to be lifted on the word DRINK, and tapped
against that of its right and left hand neighbour at CHINK, then set
on the table again without spilling, some one would have to pay for
glasses round. The verse ran:—
Wa lift each glass ti t’ brahdgroom’s health,
DRINK, DRINK, DRINK.
T’ yan ’at slaps pays fer t’ next roond,
CHINK, CHINK, CHINK.
An’ here’s ti t’ brahd, good luck ti t’ lass,
Drink, Drink, Drink.
Wa thruff her band noo pass each glass[20],
Wink, Wink, Wink.
Wer liquor will all t’ better seeam,
Chink, Chink, Chink,
When wa call ti mahnd wheer it hez been,
Drink, Drink, Drink.
Bud him ’at trimm’ls, smiles, or slaps (spills),
Chink, Chink, Chink,
Pays fer wer glasses gahin ti t’ taps,
Drink, Drink, Drink.
Quite a collection of these catch-songs might be made; they are all
quaint, and if they point to days when things were a trifle different,
we must bear in mind that a hundred years hence we shall be pretty
severely criticized.
_Birth._
The future of a child greatly depends upon which day it is born.
A Munday’s bairn will grow up fair,
A Tuesday’s yan i’ grace thruff prayer,
A Wednesday’s bairn ’ez monny a paain,
A Tho’sday’s bairn weean’t bahd at heeam.
A Friday’s bairn is good an’ sweet,
A Settherday’s warks frea morn ti neet,
Bud a Sunday’s bairn thruff leyfe is blist
An’ seear i’ t’ end wi’ t’ Saints ti rist.
From the day of its birth to that of its baptism, pepper cake, cheese
and wine, or some other cordial, are offered to all those who cross the
threshold. No one would think of refusing to ’tak a bite an’ sup,’ to
wish the little stranger all the happiness and good luck possible. In
many places, the doctor cuts the cake and cheese immediately after the
happy event is over, giving a piece to every one present; neither cake
nor cheese must have been previously cut into, and what is cut must be
divided into just so many pieces as there are friends present, neither
more nor less. Should it unfortunately happen the pieces exceed in
number that of the guests, it would portend that troubles in this life
will be too many to contend against; but should there be not enough
pieces to go all round, then the child in after years will lack many of
those comforts, the possession of which make life a blessing.
When possible, a new arrival, before being laid by its mother’s side,
or even touched by her, is placed in the arms of a maiden. To a boy,
this early contact, with our highest ideal of earthly purity, gives
to him a nobleness of character which in after years will help the
world to be better, whilst in the case of a girl she will grow up to be
modest and pure in all things. The idea is pretty.
In Cleveland, and some of the dales westward, the notion still prevails
that a child should always go up in the world before it goes down; so
when it happens that a child is born in the topmost story, in which
case it is impossible to carry it into a higher room, the nurse will
stand upon the bed with the child in her arms, holding it above the
mother, that being a higher position than it held at its birth. After
this ceremony it may be safely taken to the lower regions. Were this
rite omitted, and the child allowed to descend before it had gone up,
failure in life would most likely be the lot of such a one—the tendency
of such always being downhill. These little ceremonies, anyway, point a
splendid moral. One cannot begin to be good and diligent too early in
life.
When a child is born with a mask or caul over its head, good luck
will follow it all the days of its life, always provided the caul is
properly preserved. There is some rite in the preservation of such,
the details of which I have not been able to obtain. Speaking to one
old dame, she said to me that she did not rightly know what they did
in such cases, none of her children having been fortunate enough to
be so distinguished at their birth. This much, however, she did know,
that some just dried such a covering by laying it between two layers
of muslin, but—and to give her own words—‘Ther’s other some ’at ’ev a
straange carrying on wi’ sike leyke; they lap it roond t’ Bahble an’
deea summat, bud Ah deean’t knaw what, bud Ah can git ti knaw foor
ya.’ That cannot be now; she has crossed the borderland. That such
cauls or masks were held in high esteem at one time, is proved by the
high prices paid for them, not because they had belonged to people of
note or high degree, but because they possessed the power to ward off
many evils which might assail the possessor. Sailors even to-day set
great store by them: they act as a charm, saving the possessor from
drowning in case of a wreck. These veils were much prized by witches,
and great was the evil they could work should such ever come into their
possession, hence the necessity of using all precautions against their
loss.
An old body, Ann Caygill by name—I think she was a native of
Bedale—told me the following story. She was seventy-five years of age,
and the event took place some twenty years before she was born, but
as the individual affected told the story to Ann herself, I have it
pretty much from its original source. Jane Herd at her birth had a mask
covering both head and face, which, as quite natural in those days, her
mother carefully preserved. It turned out to be one of extraordinary
power. If Jane laid it on the Bible and wished to see any one, they
were bound to put in an appearance. And many other wonders she could
work with her caul. Jane, it seems, was a pious girl, and never used
it for an evil purpose, though, said my informant, she might have done
had she been so minded. One day when Jane was using her mask for some
rightful purpose, a puff of wind blew it through the open window.
Jane of course rushed into the street to recover her treasure, but it
was gone, and could not be found; being of such an exceedingly light
nature, the wind had carried it no one knew whither.
And from that day Jane’s life became a burden. Her lover grew cold—the
wedding day had been arranged, but he declined to carry out his
promise—a nasty lump came on her neck, and a fearful pain and swelling
attacked her right knee, which made her walk very lame, and indeed
she became a perfect wreck. At last things got into such a parlous
state with her, that people began to suspect some evil-minded person
had found her mask, and was working her evil with it. It was then
remembered, when Jane had rushed into the street to recover her lost
treasure, that the only person visible at the time was one Molly
Cass[21], a witch of considerable local repute in those days. But Molly
at the time had been so far distant from Jane’s cottage, that she was
not even questioned. In the end, Jane had resort to the wise man, or
rather men, of that day—Master Sadler and Thomas Spence[22], both of
Bedale. These two worthies, after many questions, made a sign round
the lump as well as round her knee, telling Jane to collect certain
things—what these were could not be called to mind—and bring them
next day near midnight. These several things having been collected
and duly delivered to the charmers, were mixed together, with other
ingredients, and the whole boiled on a wickenwood fire, and stirred
by Jane with a wickenwood stick; near the end of this boiling, a great
smoke arose from the pan, which Jane was told to inhale. She did so,
but it nearly choked her, still she kept on swallowing mouthful after
mouthful, until she had done so nine times; she was then told to cease
stirring, but to retain the stick in one hand, the other being laid
on the Bible. She had then to repeat the following question: ‘Has —— ’
(here mentioning the name of anyone she suspected) ‘gotten mah caul?’
Then Master Sadler, after a moment’s pause, said, ‘No, she is free.’
Master Spence then joined in with ‘By the power of the Holy Writ and
the charm of Hagothet and Arcon[23], mention the name of some other
person thou doubtest.’ This formula was gone through until the name of
Molly Cass was mentioned. Even as the witch’s name was uttered, the
pan boiled over, filling the room with such a fearful stench, that all
three had to hurry into the yard. So quickly was this accomplished,
that they surprised the old witch scrambling off a settle, upon which
she had been standing to enable her to peep through a small hole in the
shutters. She was instantly seized and thrust into the room, and kept
there until so nearly suffocated, that she confessed she had the caul
on her person, and promised then and there to deliver it up. On being
brought out of the room more dead than alive, she further confessed
that she had been forced to run all the way from Leeming—the current
belief, however, was that she had come astride of a besom—the moment
they had put the pan on the wickenwood fire. She begged to be forgiven,
but as a punishment she was locked up in a stable, a wicken peg having
been driven into the door to prevent her from escaping; and next day,
for the diversion of the Bedale inhabitants, she was hurried to the
mill dam and duly ducked nine times.
‘A FRAGMENT,’
ON THE WITCH MOLLY CASS.
* * * * *
Foor seear sha war a queer au’d lass,
Ez meean ez muck, ez bou’d ez brass;
Ah meean t’ au’d witch, au’d Molly Cass,
‘At lived nigh t’ mill at Leeming.
Noo fooak will clack, Ah’ve heeard ’em saay
At t’ dark o’ neet, when pass’t that waay,
Tha fan’ it ommaist leet ez daay,
Sike leets war awlus gleaming;
An’ sum held ti ’t ’at mair ’an yance
Wiv her feet fra t’ grund they’d seean her prance,
Loup hoos heigh up, wi’ t’ Divil dance.
* * * * *
The above would, I believe, be written about the year 1810 by one who
wrote under the signature of R. H.[24] At that time Molly must have
been dead some twenty years, but her deeds would still be remembered by
many. Mr. W. Hird, from whom I had the above fragment, told me he used
to know the whole piece, which was of considerable length.
But to return to recent times, still keeping to Bedale. I remember a
shopkeeper’s wife saying to me, ‘That girl has been lucky, but then
she had a veil on when she was born, so one need not wonder.’
The case is a simple one, I know, but a straw shows which way the wind
blows, and here was the belief still flourishing in the potency of
the caul. This happened about twenty years ago. One has no need to go
that far back; so recently as four years ago, a man, a native of Great
Ayton, said to me, pointing to a girl, ‘Ah’ve putten that lass’s muther
intiv a straange stew. Ah’ve stown’ (stolen) t’ lass’s mask, an’ her
muther’s ommaist to’n’d t’ hoos upsahd doon latin’ on ’t, bud Ah s’all
let her ’ev ’t back agaan; Ah wadn’t keep ’t foor nowt;’ and then he
added, ‘An’ Ah wadn’t wark neeabody onny ill wi’ ‘t.’ Here again you
have the old belief showing itself as strongly as in days past.
But to return to the baby. The baby’s nails must not be cut during
infancy; should they grow inconveniently long, they may be bitten
off by the mother, for if they were cut, the child would grow up
light-fingered, i.e. a thief. When the child has celebrated its first
birthday, they may be properly cut; but here again certain days must be
avoided—Fridays and Sundays are considered to be very unlucky. It is a
common saying—
Better t’ baan ’ed ne’er been born,
‘An cut its naals on a Sunday morn.
There is no virtue attached to the pieces of the nails when cut, but
the first pieces bitten off should be carefully preserved, until
there is a scrap from every nail on both hands; these must be wrapped
together and buried under an ash-tree, and the child, if not freed
from the diseases incident to the young, will only have them in a
slight degree.
The old rhyme says—
Cut ’em o’ Munday, cut ’em foor health;
Cut ’em o’ Tuesday, cut ’em foor wealth;
Cut ’em o’ Wednesday, cut ’em foor news;
Cut ’em o’ Thorsday, ya cut foor new shoes;
Cut ’em o’ Friday, ya cut ’em foor sorrow;
Cut ’em o’ Seterday, t’ bairn nivver need borrow;
Cut ’em o’ Sunday, ’t ’ed better be deead,
Foor ill-luck an’ evil ’ll lig on its heead.
Again:—
Sunday clipt, Sunday shorn,
Better t’ bairn ’ed nivver been born.
Before the baby is nine days old it is wise to decide upon its name,
and once having done this, _so let it be_. If either parent should
happen to say, ‘We will call it So-and-so,’ do not alter after having
so declared, for if so the child will grow up a liar, and probably
have to assume several aliases before death. But the worst of all is
to decide upon a name before the child is born, and then afterwards
change to some other. Singular to say, in Cleveland you are told that
such a proceeding ’can end i’ nowt bud harm’; but you are not informed
either precisely what form the harm will take, or why. There is a
legend lingering still in Wensleydale, to the effect that once a soul
was permitted to view the body it would shortly tenant. The mother
happened to say whilst the soul was near, ‘When my baby is born, if
a boy, we shall have him christened ——,’ mentioning the name they had
decided upon. The soul knew it would be a boy, and on its return to
spirit-land gave a full description of the body it was going to have
for its companion on earth, mentioning at the same time the name by
which it would be known. What then was its dismay to discover, on being
carried to the font, that it was being christened by some other name.
For a time it was sorely troubled. What must it do? What could it do?
In the end it felt there was only one way open: it must hurry back to
soul-land and clear itself from an apparent untruth, but in order to do
this it must free itself from the body; but if ever the soul and body
part company they never meet again. So the baby died, and the soul went
back to spirit-land.
The above was given to me years ago by an old Yorkshire dame, who
during her girlhood, if not a native, lived for many years in the
village of West Burton. In the dales of Cleveland and Wensleydale,
to guard her babe from the influence of evil spirits and bad wishes,
the mother used to place a Bible under the pillow of the sleeping
child, until such time as the infant had been christened, that being
considered sufficient protection against all evil spirits. And in the
days of witchcraft, in many houses where the first cradle would shortly
be tenanted, it was most carefully kept wrong side up until the child
was laid in it. This was done so that no other living thing in that
house should sleep in it before the coming owner. Otherwise the cradle
would be forestalled, and in after years the occupant might have reason
to doubt the fidelity of his wife, or vice versa.
In such fear was this forestalling of the cradle held, that one was
rarely purchased until absolutely needed. A cradle should always be
paid for before it crosses the threshold. It is said that the child
who sleeps in an unpaid-for cradle will end its days lacking the means
to pay for its own coffin, or, as others put it, be too poor to pay
for its lodgings on the earth or in it. Should the baby when grown
older say ‘Papa’ before he or she utters ‘Mamma,’ then be assured the
next little stranger will be a boy; however, should it say ‘Mamma’
first, then it will be a girl; and should it say ‘Papa’ and a girl is
born, then be quite sure that it said ‘Mamma’ some little time before,
when no one was near. This last bit is mine; I like to help even a
superstition out of a difficulty.
If baby’s first tooth appears in the upper jaw, it is not considered
a good sign; there is a fear of the child dying in infancy. Sometimes
they don’t.
Should the baby be born with a mole on its chin, success is strongly
foreshadowed; the same on the left thigh is considered quite the
reverse. One on the right temple gives wealth and high position, and
one placed at the outside corner of either eye denotes a sudden death.
Whilst
A dimple on the chin brings a fortune in,
A dimple on the cheek leaves the fortune for to seek.
No woman ever dreamt of crossing any threshold but her own until after
she had been churched, as in doing so she carried ill-luck into every
house she entered.
At the baptism, should a boy and a girl be presented at the same time,
the boy must always be christened first, as otherwise he will play
second fiddle to his wife, and when come to man’s estate be for ever
beardless and effeminate; and worse than this, the baby girl when
grown up will assuredly possess more hair on her face than is usually
considered needful, and more than beauty demands. She will also be
manly and masculine in her ways and habits.
When the new baby is taken round for inspection, the lady of the house,
after passing various eulogiums on and over the small being, pins to
its garments a small packet to help the future Lord Chancellor on his
way through life. This packet contains three things—an egg, a silver
coin, and a pinch of salt: the salt, so that it may never lack the
savour of life, whatever that may be; the egg assures it food, raiment,
and a roof over its head; and the coin starts it off with a banking
account. If these well-wishers were to add a fourth gift, in the form
of a small cane, sufficiently hypnotized so that the young mother
would be compelled to use it when needed, what a lot of really fine
bairns there would be. Unfortunately superstition has never been run on
practical lines.
_Death._
A lack of the needful may compel the parties concerned to wed without
the smallest attempt at rural ostentation, but not so in the case of a
funeral. Every sacrifice is made to honour the dead. They like it to be
said that their loved ones were decently buried. They themselves feel
proud to say, ‘Aye, he’s geean; wa’ve gitten him sahded by’ (buried),
‘an’ it war a beautiful funeral; Ah will say that.’
In these days one can scarcely conceive the needless waste of money,
and by those too who can ill afford it, which is so lavishly squandered
on funeral folly. It was even worse a few years ago.
Had it been possible for the moment to put on one side the solemn fact
that some dearly loved one was being borne to his or her last long
rest, funerals, as I remember them years ago in Ripon, were more like
circus processions than anything else. Happily many of the old notions
are being laid aside by the rising generation. Yet often to-day in
country places, as far as circumstances will admit, the old order of
things is most rigidly observed.
Two years ago I witnessed a country funeral, almost in all the pristine
glory of my youthful days. One thing it lacked, the hearse and horses
with their sombre nodding plumes. This, be it remembered, was the
funeral of a widow’s son, her finances at the time being in anything
but a flourishing condition. Two mutes stood guarding the open door. A
silk scarf about three yards long was given to each bearer and mourner
to fasten round his hat, and a pair of black kid gloves to every one
bidden. I cannot say how much port wine was drunk, what it cost per
bottle, or the weight of finger biscuits consumed, but as these were
freely handed to every one assembled inside and outside the house, who
could roll a pocket handkerchief into a ball, and assume a funereal
aspect of countenance, considerable expense must have been incurred
with these two items alone. After the return from the graveside, there
was the funeral feast. Those who have never seen what provision is
made for an affair of this kind can form but a very poor idea of the
actual amount of food provided for and consumed by those who follow
as mourners to the graveside. Refreshment is necessary for those who
have driven, it may be, a long distance to pay their last respect to
the departed one, but in the case of those who live near by, surely
it does not need a moment’s thought for them to decide upon the more
seemly course to pursue. The old days of the funeral arvel, when almost
the whole countryside were bidden, not only to the funeral, but to the
funeral feast, have passed away, or nearly so. Even to-day, in many of
our dales, the neighbours are still bidden. This bidding, and the very
name of it, are both of Scandinavian origin. The order of men carrying
men, and women women, is still observed. The same also with the sex of
the young; only, in the case of a young maiden, the girls who act as
bearers are dressed in white, and the carrying of a garland in front
of the coffin is not even yet extinct. At one time these garlands[25]
were after the funeral hung up in the church, and I believe in some of
our dale churches in Cleveland these emblems of purity are to be seen
hanging yet.
In the case of women who died in childbirth, a white sheet was thrown
over the coffin. The bearing of the coffin either by towels (staves
are things of the past now) or on the shoulders is equally common in
various parts of the riding.
Should the family of the departed one possess a hive, the announcement
of a death must at once be made to the bees, and the hive be draped in
black. The bees must also have given to them a portion of everything,
to the minutest detail, which is offered to the bidden guests,
including wine, spirits, tobacco, and pipes; nothing must be omitted,
for in some undefined way bees watch over the welfare of those to
whom they belong, and it would be unwise to offend them. It is held
that if the first swarm following a death, no matter how long the
interval, is easy to hive, success is guaranteed for the next business
transaction, but should the swarm settle on a dead bough, it foretells
death to another of the family in the near future; while should the
swarm fly away and be lost, then great care must be exercised in all
undertakings, until such times as a swarm has been successfully hived.
It is not so very long ago since every funeral at Guisborough[26] was
headed by the sexton singing a hymn from the house to the church gates,
but this singing by friends is common to-day.
The superstitions connected with the dying and the dead are many and
varied. Few country people doubt the existence of a power by which the
living can (as they put it) hold back the dying. It is not an uncommon
thing to hear some one say, ‘Sha wad ’a’e deed last neet, nobbut Mary
wadn’t let her gan,’ or ‘Mary wadn’t gi’e her up,’ or ‘Mary ho’ds on
tiv her seea.’ It is, as it were, the last link of the chain connecting
life with the earthly side of eternity, the snapping of which would
for ever free the soul, but which the dying person is unable to break,
because some one refuses to be reconciled; they cannot bear to part
with them, and in this way hold them back. Again, the soul cannot free
itself if the dying person has been laid on a bed containing pigeon
feathers, or the feathers of wild birds even. Instances are on record
of pigeon feathers having been placed in a small bag, and thrust under
dying persons to hold them back, until the arrival of some loved one;
but the meeting having taken place, the feathers were withdrawn, and
death allowed to enter.
On the other hand, when something unaccountable has seemed to prevent a
person _in extremis_ from passing into the other world, pigeon feathers
have often been suspected. Under such circumstances the invalid has
been lifted out of bed, and either laid upon another one, or seated in
a chair. And as a rule death speedily followed either treatment, the
patient passing away in an incredibly short space of time, which of
course clearly proved that such feathers had inadvertently been mixed
with those in the bed.
When the signs of death are observed the windows and door are thrown
wide open, and a silence as still as death itself is maintained, so
that nothing shall either hinder the dark angel from setting his seal
on their loved one, or impede the soul’s flight over the borderland
into that of the great unknown.
Much of what is done may be rooted in the rankest superstition, or
in many cases long-forgotten pagan rites, and one feels inclined to
smile; but, after a moment’s consideration, one is forcibly reminded
that it is equally deeply rooted in the old belief, which embraces
in its faith a devil, a fiery hell, Jonah, whale, and everything. As
things go nowadays, theorists are not leaving us much to believe or be
superstitious about.
The death-watch, with its ’tick-a-tick,’ has blanched the cheek of
many an otherwise brave Yorkshire man and woman. Tell them it is only
the head of a small beetle called _Atropos_ tapping against the wood
as it eats its way out, and they will jeer at you. They know, as their
fore-elders did before them, that it is the sign of death; if not for
some one in that house, assuredly so for some one in the village, and
by-and-by some one dies, and wise heads are shaken—they knew.
Every care is taken that nothing animate shall pass over the corpse. I
never heard of any domestic pet having been killed which so offended,
though such at one time would have been the case a little further north.
The belief still lingers that the passing bell possesses the power to
drive away all evil spirits, and so prevent them from troubling the
soul in its upward flight, for even to-day a sexton, on being asked to
‘put the bell in,’ is also often urged to do so as speedily as possible.
It is looked upon as a kindly action, when standing by the corpse of
some dear one, if the visitor gently touch the same. In some undefined
way, this solemn contact of the living with the dead, makes known to
the sorrowing ones that nothing but sympathy is felt. By this act all
past injuries or misunderstandings, if such existed, are blotted out,
forgiven, forgotten.
So soon as the vital spark has left its earthly house, the fire, if
such be burning in the room, is immediately extinguished[27], and it
is not an uncommon thing for the looking-glass to be either draped
entirely, turned with its face to the wall, or removed from the room.
The omens denoting the near approach of death are many—a white dove
fluttering near the window, the rapid flight of birds over the house,
and in some instances the actual appearance, to some dearly loved one,
of the wraith of the person about to die. Many instances of the latter
could be given.
I cannot say when or where the Lyke Wake dirge was sung for the last
time in the North Riding, but I remember once talking to an old chap
who remembered it being sung over the corpse of a distant relation
of his, a native of Kildale. This would be about 1800, and he told
me that Lyke Wakes were of rare occurrence then, and only heard of
in out-of-the-way places. Doubtless this was so, but a superstition
closely connected with the Lyke Wake is still with us. Old people will
tell you that after death the soul passes over Whinny Moor, a place
full of whins and brambles; and according as the soul when a tenant of
the body administered to the wants of others, so would its passage over
the dreaded moor be made easy. It seems, according to the old belief,
every one ought to give at least one pair of new shoes to some poor
person, and as often as means would allow, feed and clothe the needy.
Whether these rules were faithfully carried out or not, the soul on
approaching Whinny Moor would be met by an old man carrying a huge
bundle of boots; and if amongst these could be found a pair which the
bare-footed soul had given away during life, the old man gave them to
the soul to protect its feet whilst crossing the thorny moor.
THE LYKE WAKE DIRGE.
This yah neet, this yah neet,
Ivvery neet an’ awl (all),
Fire an’ fleet an’ cann’l leet,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
When thoo fra hither gans awaay,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
Ti Whinny Moor thoo cum’st at last,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
If ivver thoo gav’ owther hosen or shoon,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
Clap tha doon an’ put ’em on,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
Bud if hosen or shoon thoo nivver ga’ neean,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
T’ whinnies ’ll prick tha sair ti t’ beean,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
Fra Whinny Moor that thoo mayst pass,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
Ti t’ Brigg o’ Dreead thoo’ll cum at last,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
If ivver thoo gav’ o’ thi siller an’ gawd,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
At t’ Brigg o’ Dreead thoo’ll finnd footho’d,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
Bud if o’ siller an’ gawd thoo nivver ga’ neean,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
Thoo’ll doon, doon tumm’l tiwards Hell fleeams,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
Fra t’ Brigg o’ Dreead ’at thoo mayst pass,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
Ti t’ fleeams o’ Hell thoo’ll cum at last,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
If ivver thoo gav’ owther bite or sup,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
T’ fleeams ’ll nivver catch tha up,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
Bud if bite or sup thoo nivver ga’ neean,
Ivvery neet an’ awl,
T’ fleeams ’ll bo’n tha sair ti t’ beean,
An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.
Although there is a place called Whinny Moor, as used in the Lyke
Wake song it is mythical, simply representing a wearying hindersome
tract of land through which the soul must perforce pass, the ease or
difficulty of such passage being lesser or greater according to the
good deeds done and alms bestowed during life. There are other versions
of the song; the one here given is as it was dictated to me. How the
original from which it was taken was worded, I cannot say. There is
another version in the North Riding which seems to have been written
according to the tenets of Rome; at least I imagine so, as purgatory
takes the place of hellish flames, as given above. It may be mentioned
that the influence of the Reformation never reached many of the dales
in Cleveland and those further westward. Hence the more commonly known
version is in the phraseology of the predominant belief of that time.
Evidently the version given is one of a much later date, and must have
been sung by a Protestant.
As to the ‘Brigg o’ Dreead,’ I dare say but little; ‘Fools only rush
gaily in where angels fear to tread.’ However, I may venture this far;
just as Whinny Moor had to be passed, so the ‘Brigg o’ Dreead’ had to
be crossed. Upon one point all authorities agree. Wherever it was, or
whatever its form, the Brigg was the real crux. Whether we incline to
the theory that it was as narrow as a thread, shaky as an aspen leaf,
or slippery as a glacier side, it had to be crossed. This accomplished,
the soul was fairly safe. But did it slip or stumble whilst crossing,
then the length of time occupied in its fearful descent, the depth
to which it fell, together with all the concomitant evils belonging
thereto, depended solely upon the amount of good and evil with which it
had been accredited during its earthly pilgrimage.