CHAPTER XVIII

OLD CUSTOMS THAT ARE VANISHING

Many writers have mourned over the decay of our ancient customs which

the restlessness of modern life has effectually killed. New manners

are ever pushing out the old, and the lover of antiquity may perhaps

be pardoned if he prefers the more ancient modes. The death of the old

social customs which added such diversity to the lives of our

forefathers tends to render the countryman's life one continuous round

of labour unrelieved by pleasant pastime, and if innocent pleasures

are not indulged in, the tendency is to seek for gratification in

amusements that are not innocent or wholesome.

The causes of the decline and fall of many old customs are not far to

seek. Agricultural depression has killed many. The deserted farmsteads

no longer echo with the sounds of rural revelry; the cheerful

log-fires no longer glow in the farmer's kitchen; the harvest-home

song has died away; and "largess" no longer rewards the mummers and

the morris-dancers. Moreover, the labourer himself has changed; he has

lost his simplicity. His lot is far better than it was half a century

ago, and he no longer takes pleasure in the simple joys that delighted

his ancestors in days of yore. Railways and cheap excursions have made

him despise the old games and pastimes which once pleased his

unenlightened soul. The old labourer is dead, and his successor is a

very "up-to-date" person, who reads the newspapers and has his ideas

upon politics and social questions that would have startled his less

cultivated sire. The modern system of elementary education also has

much to do with the decay of old customs.

Still we have some left. We can only here record a few that survive.

Some years ago I wrote a volume on the subject, and searched

diligently to find existing customs in the remote corners of old

England.[61] My book proved useful to Sir Benjamin Stone, M.P., the

expert photographer of the House of Commons, who went about with his

camera to many of the places indicated, and by his art produced

permanent presentments of the scenes which I had tried to describe. He

was only just in time, as doubtless many of these customs will soon

pass away. It is, however, surprising to find how much has been left;

how tenaciously the English race clings to that which habit and usage

have established; how deeply rooted they are in the affections of the

people. It is really remarkable that at the present day, in spite of

ages of education and social enlightenment, in spite of centuries of

Christian teaching and practice, we have now amongst us many customs

which owe their origin to pagan beliefs and the superstitions of our

heathen forefathers, and have no other _raison d'être_ for their

existence than the wild legends of Scandinavian mythology.

[61] _Old English Customs Extant at the Present Time_ (Methuen and

Co.).

We have still our Berkshire mummers at Christmas, who come to us

disguised in strange garb and begin their quaint performance with the

doggerel rhymes--

I am King George, that noble champion bold,

And with my trusty sword I won ten thousand pounds in gold;

'Twas I that fought the fiery dragon, and brought him to the slaughter,

And by these means I won the King of Egypt's daughter.[62]

[62] The book of words is printed in _Old English Customs_, by

P.H. Ditchfield.

Other counties have their own versions. In Staffordshire they are

known as the "Guisers," in Cornwall as the "Geese-dancers," in Sussex

as the "Tipteerers." Carolsingers are still with us, but often instead

of the old carols they sing very badly and irreverently modern hymns,

though in Cambridgeshire you may still hear "God bless you, merry

gentlemen," and the vessel-boxes (a corruption of wassail) are still

carried round in Yorkshire. At Christmas Cornish folk eat giblet-pie,

and Yorkshiremen enjoy furmenty; and mistletoe and the kissing-bush

are still hung in the hall; and in some remote parts of Cornwall

children may be seen dancing round painted lighted candles placed in a

box of sand. The devil's passing-bell tolls on Christmas Eve from the

church tower at Dewsbury, and a muffled peal bewails the slaughter of

the children on Holy Innocents' Day. The boar's head is still brought

in triumph into the hall of Queen's College. Old women "go a-gooding"

or mumping on St. Thomas's Day, and "hoodening" or horse-head mumming

is practised at Walmer, and bull-hoodening prevails at Kingscote, in

Gloucestershire. The ancient custom of "goodening" still obtains at

Braughing, Herts. The _Hertfordshire Mercury_ of December 28, 1907,

states that on St. Thomas's Day (December 21) certain of the more

sturdy widows of the village went round "goodening," and collected £4

14s. 6d., which was equally divided among the eighteen needy widows of

the parish. In 1899 the oldest dame who took part in the ceremony was

aged ninety-three, while in 1904 a widow "goodened" for the thirtieth

year in succession. In the _Herts and Cambs Reporter_ for December 23,

1904, is an account of "Gooding Day" at Gamlingay. It appears that in

1665 some almshouses for aged women (widows) were built there by Sir

John Jacob, Knight. "On Wednesday last (St. Thomas's Day)," says this

journal, "an interesting ceremony was to be seen. The old women were

gathered at the central doorway ... preparatory to a pilgrimage to

collect alms at the houses of the leading inhabitants. This old

custom, which has been observed for nearly three hundred years, it is

safe to say, will not fall into desuetude, for it usually results in

each poor widow realising a gold coin." In the north of England

first-footing on New Year's Eve is common, and a dark-complexioned

person is esteemed as a herald of good fortune. Wassailing exists in

Lancashire, and the apple-wassailing has not quite died out on Twelfth

Night. Plough Monday is still observed in Cambridgeshire, and the

"plough-bullocks" drag around the parishes their ploughs and perform a

weird play. The Haxey hood is still thrown at that place in

Lincolnshire on the Feast of the Epiphany, and valentines are not

quite forgotten by rural lovers.

Shrovetide is associated with pancakes. The pancake bell is still rung

in many places, and for some occult reason it is the season for some

wild football games in the streets and lanes of several towns and

villages. At St. Ives on the Monday there is a grand hurling match,

which resembles a Rugby football contest without the kicking of the

ball, which is about the size of a cricket-ball, made of cork or light

wood. At Ashbourne on Shrove-Tuesday thousands join in the game, the

origin of which is lost in the mists of antiquity. As the old church

clock strikes two a little speech is made, the National Anthem sung,

and then some popular devotee of the game is hoisted on the shoulders

of excited players and throws up the ball. "She's up," is the cry, and

then the wild contest begins, which lasts often till nightfall.

Several efforts have been made to stop the game, and even the judge of

the Court of Queen's Bench had to decide whether it was legal to play

the game in the streets. In spite of some opposition it still

flourishes, and is likely to do so for many a long year. Sedgefield,

Chester-le-Street, Alnwick, Dorking also have their famous football

fights, which differ much from an ordinary league match. In the latter

thousands look on while twenty-two men show their skill. In these old

games all who wish take part in them, all are keen champions and know

nothing of professionalism.

"Ycleping," or, as it is now called, clipping churches, is another

Shrovetide custom, when the children join hands round the church and

walk round it. It has just been revived at Painswick, in the

Cotswolds, where after being performed for many hundred years it was

discontinued by the late vicar. On the patron saint's day (St. Mary's)

the children join hands in a ring round the church and circle round

the building singing. It is the old Saxon custom of "ycleping," or

naming the church on the anniversary of its original dedication.

Simnels on Mothering Sunday still exist, reminding us of Herrick's

lines:--

I'll to thee a Simnel bring,

'Gainst thou goes a mothering;

So that when she blesseth thee

Half the blessing thou'lt give me.

Palm Sunday brings some curious customs. At Roundway Hill, and at

Martinsall, near Marlborough, the people bear "palms," or branches of

willow and hazel, and the boys play a curious game of knocking a ball

with hockey-sticks up the hill; and in Buckinghamshire it is called

Fig Sunday, and also in Hertfordshire. Hertford, Kempton,

Edlesborough, Dunstable are homes of the custom, nor is the practice

of eating figs and figpies unknown in Bedfordshire, Northamptonshire,

Oxfordshire, Wilts, and North Wales. Possibly the custom is connected

with the withering of the barren fig-tree.

Good Friday brings hot-cross-buns with the well-known rhyme. Skipping

on that day at Brighton is, I expect, now extinct. Sussex boys play

marbles, Guildford folk climb St. Martha's Hill, and poor widows pick

up six-pences from a tomb in the churchyard of St. Bartholomew the

Great, London, on the same Holy Day.

Easter brings its Pace eggs, symbols of the Resurrection, and

Yorkshire children roll them against one another in fields and

gardens. The Biddenham cakes are distributed, and the Hallaton

hare-scramble and bottle-kicking provide a rough scramble and a

curious festival for Easter Monday. On St. Mark's Day the ghosts of

all who will die during the year in the villages of Yorkshire pass at

midnight before the waiting people, and Hock-tide brings its quaint

diversions to the little Berkshire town of Hungerford.

The diversions of May Day are too numerous to be chronicled here, and

I must refer the reader to my book for a full description of the

sports that usher in the spring; but we must not forget the remarkable

Furry Dance at Helston on May 8th, and the beating of the bounds of

many a township during Rogation Week. Our boys still wear oak-leaves

on Royal Oak Day, and the Durham Cathedral choir sing anthems on the

top of the tower in memory of the battle of Neville's Cross, fought so

long ago as the year 1346.

Club-feasts and morris-dancers delight the rustics at Whitsuntide, and

the wakes are well kept up in the north of England, and rush-beating

at Ambleside, and hay-strewing customs in Leicestershire. The horn

dance at Abbot Bromley is a remarkable survival. The fires on

Midsummer Eve are still lighted in a few places in Wales, but are fast

dying out. Ratby, in Leicestershire, is a home of old customs, and has

an annual feast, when the toast of the immortal memory of John of

Gaunt is drunk with due solemnity. Harvest customs were formerly very

numerous, but are fast dying out before the reaping-machines and

agricultural depression. The "kern-baby" has been dead some years.

Bonfire night and the commemoration of the discovery of Gunpowder Plot

and the burning of "guys" are still kept up merrily, but few know the

origin of the festivities or concern themselves about it. Soul cakes

and souling still linger on in Cheshire, and cattering and clemmening

on the feasts of St. Catherine and St. Clement are still observed in

East Sussex.

Very remarkable are the local customs which linger on in some of our

towns and villages and are not confined to any special day in the

year. Thus, at Abbots Ann, near Andover, the good people hang up

effigies of arms and hands in memory of girls who died unmarried, and

gloves and garlands of roses are sometimes hung for the same purpose.

The Dunmow Flitch is a well-known matrimonial prize for happy couples

who have never quarrelled during the first year of their wedded life;

while a Skimmerton expresses popular indignation against quarrelsome

or licentious husbands and wives.

Many folk-customs linger around wells and springs, the haunts of

nymphs and sylvan deities who must be propitiated by votive offerings

and are revengeful when neglected. Pins, nails, and rags are still

offered, and the custom of "well-dressing," shorn of its pagan

associations and adapted to Christian usage, exists in all its glory

at Tissington, Youlgrave, Derby, and several other places.

The three great events of human life--birth, marriage, and death--have

naturally drawn around them some of the most curious beliefs. These

are too numerous to be recorded here, and I must again refer the

curious reader to my book on old-time customs. We should like to dwell

upon the most remarkable of the customs that prevail in the City of

London, in the halls of the Livery Companies, as well as in some of

the ancient boroughs of England, but this record would require too

large a space. Bell-ringing customs attract attention. The curfew-bell

still rings in many towers; the harvest-bell, the gleaning-bell, the

pancake-bell, the "spur-peal," the eight-hours' bell, and sundry

others send out their pleasing notice to the world. At Aldermaston

land is let by means of a lighted candle. A pin is placed through the

candle, and the last bid that is made before that pin drops out is the

occupier of the land for a year. The Church Acre at Chedzoy is let in

a similar manner, and also at Todworth, Warton, and other places.

Wiping the shoes of those who visit a market for the first time is

practised at Brixham, and after that little ceremony they have to "pay

their footing." At St. Ives raffling for Bibles continues, according

to the will of Dr. Wilde in 1675, and in church twelve children cast

dice for six Bibles. Court, Bar, and Parliament have each their

peculiar customs which it would be interesting to note, if space

permitted; and we should like to record the curious bequests, doles,

and charities which display the eccentricities of human nature and the

strange tenures of land which have now fallen into disuse.

It is to be hoped that those who are in a position to preserve any

existing custom in their own neighbourhood will do their utmost to

prevent its decay. Popular customs are a heritage which has been

bequeathed to us from a remote past, and it is our duty to hand down

that heritage to future generations of English folk.

Vanishing England · 第 18 / 20 章