the commencement of the present year, sent a cabman into her house before
her, upon promise of giving him a glass of spirits, so that she might
insure the good luck which depends upon “a man’s taking the new year in.”
MAY-DAY.
The first of May is inaugurated with much uproar. As soon as the clock
has told of midnight, a loud blast on tin trumpets proclaims the advent
of May. This is long continued. At daybreak, with their “tintarrems,”
they proceed to the country, and strip the sycamore-trees (called
May-trees) of all their young branches, to make whistles. With these
shrill musical instruments they return home. Young men and women devote
May-day to junketing and pic-nics.
It was a custom at Penzance, and probably at many other Cornish towns,
when the author was a boy, for a number of young people to sit up until
twelve o’clock, and then to march round the town with violins and fifes,
and summon their friends to the Maying.
When all were gathered, they went into the country, and were welcomed at
the farmhouses at which they called, with some refreshment in the shape
of rum and milk, junket, or something of that sort.
They then gathered the “May,” which included the young branches of
any tree in blossom or fresh leaf. The branches of the sycamore were
especially cut for the purpose of making the “May music.” This was done
by cutting a circle through the bark to the wood a few inches from the
end of the branch. The bark was wetted and carefully beaten until it was
loosened and could be slid off from the wood. The wood was cut angularly
at the end, so as to form a mouth-piece, and a slit was made in both
the bark and the wood, so that when the bark was replaced a whistle was
formed. Prepared with a sufficient number of May whistles, all the party
returned to the town, the band playing, whistles blowing, and the young
people singing some appropriate song.
SHROVE TUESDAY AT ST IVES.
Formerly it was customary for the boys to tie stones to cords, and with
these parade the town, slinging these stones against the doors, shouting
aloud,—
“Give me a pancake, now—now—now,
Or I’ll souse in your door with a row—tow—tow.”
A genteel correspondent assures me “this is observed now in the lower
parts of the town only.”
“THE FURRY”—HELSTONE.
This ancient custom, which consists in dancing through the streets of
the town, and entering the houses of rich and poor alike, is thus well
described:—
“On the 8th of May, at Helstone, in Cornwall, is held what
is called ‘the Furry.’ The word is supposed by Mr Polwhele
to have been derived from the old Cornish word _fer_, a fair
or jubilee. The morning is ushered in by the music of drums
and kettles, and other accompaniments of a song, a great part
of which is inserted in Mr Polwhele’s history, where this
circumstance is noticed. So strict is the observance of this
day as a general holiday, that should any person be found
at work, he is instantly seized, set astride on a pole, and
hurried on men’s shoulders to the river, where he is sentenced
to leap over a wide place, which he, of course, fails in
attempting, and leaps into the water. A small contribution
towards the good cheer of the day easily compounds for the
leap. About nine o’clock the revellers appear before the
grammar-school, and demand a holiday for the schoolboys, after
which they collect contributions from houses. They then _fade_
into the country, (fade being an old English word for _go_,)
and, about the middle of the day, return with flowers and
oak-branches in their hats and caps. From this time they dance
hand in hand through the streets, to the sound of the fiddle,
playing a particular tune, running into every house they pass
without opposition. In the afternoon a select party of the
ladies and gentlemen make a progress through the street, and
very late in the evening repair to the ball-room. A stranger
visiting the town on the eighth of May would really think the
people mad, so apparently wild and thoughtless is the merriment
of the day. There is no doubt of ‘the Furry’ originating from
the ‘Floralia,’ anciently observed by the Romans on the fourth
of the calends of May.”—_Every-Day Book._
MIDSUMMER SUPERSTITIOUS CUSTOMS.
If on midsummer-eve a young woman takes off the shift which she has been
wearing, and, having washed it, turns it wrong side out, and hangs it
in silence over the back of a chair, near the fire, she will see, about
midnight, her future husband, who deliberately turns the garment.
If a young lady will, on midsummer-eve, walk backwards into the garden
and gather a rose, she has the means of knowing who is to be her husband.
The rose must be cautiously sewn up in a paper bag, and put aside in a
dark drawer, there to remain until Christmas-day.
On the morning of the Nativity the bag must be carefully opened in
silence, and the rose placed by the lady in her bosom. Thus she must wear
it to church. Some young man will either ask for the rose, or take it
from her without asking. That young man is destined to become eventually
the lady’s husband.
“At eve last midsummer no sleep I sought,
But to the field a bag of hemp-seed brought;
I scatter’d round the seed on every side,
And three times in a trembling accent cried,—
‘This hemp-seed with my virgin hand I sow,
Who shall my true love be, the crop shall mow.’
I straight look’d back, and, if my eyes speak truth,
With his keen scythe behind me came the youth.”
_Gay’s Pastorals._
The practice of sowing hemp-seed on midsummer-eve is not especially a
Cornish superstition, yet it was at one time a favourite practice with
young women to try the experiment. Many a strange story have I been
told as to the result of the sowing, and many a trick could I tell of,
which has been played off by young men who had become acquainted with
the secret intention of some maidens. I believe there is but little
difference in the rude rhyme used on the occasion,—
“Hemp-seed I sow,
Hemp-seed I hoe,”
(the action of sowing the seed and of hoeing it in, must be deliberately
gone through;)—
“And he
Who will my true love be,
Come after me and mow.”
A phantom of the true lover will now appear, and of course the maid or
maidens retire in wild affright.
If a young unmarried woman stands at midnight on midsummer-eve in the
porch of the parish church, she will see, passing by in procession, every
one who will die in the parish during the year. This is so serious an
affair that it is not, I believe, often tried. I have, however, heard of
young women who have made the experiment. But every one of the stories
relate that, coming last in the procession, they have seen shadows of
themselves; that from that day forward they have pined, and ere midsummer
has again come round, that they have been laid to rest in the village
graveyard.
CRYING THE NECK.
Owing to the uncertain character of the climate of Cornwall, the farmers
have adopted the plan of gathering the sheaves of wheat, as speedily as
possible, into “arish-mows.” These are solid cones from ten to twelve
feet high, the heads of the stalks turned inwards, and the whole capped
with a sheaf of corn inverted. Whence the term, I know not; but “arish”
is commonly applied to a field of corn recently cut, as, “Turn the geese
in upon the ‘arish’”—that is, the short stubble left in the ground.
After the wheat is all cut, on most farms in Cornwall and Devon, the
harvest people have a custom of “crying the neck.” I believe that this
practice is seldom omitted on any large farm in these counties. It is
done in this way. An old man, or some one else well acquainted with the
ceremonies used on the occasion, (when the labourers are reaping the last
field of wheat,) goes round to the shocks and sheaves, and picks out a
little bundle of all the best ears he can find; this bundle he ties up
very neat and trim, and plats and arranges the straws very tastefully.
This is called “the neck” of wheat, or wheaten-ears. After the field is
cut out, and the pitcher once more circulated, the reapers, binders, and
the women stand round in a circle. The person with “the neck” stands in
the centre, grasping it with both his hands. He first stoops and holds it
near the ground, and all the men forming the ring take off their hats,
stooping and holding them with both hands towards the ground. They then
all begin at once, in a very prolonged and harmonious tone, to cry, “The
neck!” at the same time slowly raising themselves upright, and elevating
their arms and hats above their heads; the person with the neck also
raising it on high. This is done three times. They then change their cry
to “We yen! we yen!” which they sound in the same prolonged and slow
manner as before, with singular harmony and effect, three times. This
last cry is accompanied by the same movements of the body and arms as
in crying “the neck.” I know nothing of vocal music, but I think I may
convey some idea of the sound by giving you the following notes in gamut:—
[Music: _Very slow._
We yen! we yen!]
Let these notes be played on a flute with perfect _crescendoes_ and
_diminuendoes_, and perhaps some notion of this wild-sounding cry may be
formed. Well, after this they all burst out into a kind of loud joyous
laugh, flinging up their hats and caps into the air, capering about, and
perhaps kissing the girls. One of them then gets “the neck,” and runs as
hard as he can down to the farmhouse, where the dairy-maid, or one of the
young female domestics, stands at the door prepared with a pail of water.
If he who holds “the neck” can manage to get into the house in any way
unseen, or openly by any other way than the door at which the girl stands
with the pail of water, then he may lawfully kiss her; but, if otherwise,
he is regularly soused with the contents of the bucket. I think this
practice is beginning to decline of late, and many farmers and their
men do not care about keeping up this old custom. The object of crying
“the neck” is to give notice to the surrounding country of the _end_ of
the harvest, and the meaning of “we yen” is “_we have ended_.” It may
probably mean “we end,” which the uncouth and provincial pronunciation
has corrupted into “we yen.” The “neck” is generally hung up in the
farmhouse, where it often remains for three or four years.
DRINKING TO THE APPLE-TREES ON TWELFTH NIGHT EVE.
In the eastern part of Cornwall, and in western Devonshire, it was the
custom to take a milk-panful of cider, into which roasted apples had
been broken, into the orchard. This was placed as near the centre of
the orchard as possible, and each person, taking a “clomben” cup of the
drink, goes to different apple-trees, and addresses them as follows:—
“Health to the good apple-tree;
Well to bear, pocketfuls, hatfuls,
Peckfuls, bushel-bagfuls.”
Drinking part of the contents of the cup, the remainder, with the
fragments of the roasted apples, is thrown at the tree, all the
company shouting aloud. Another account tells us, “In certain parts of
Devonshire, the farmer, attended by his workmen, goes to the orchard this
evening; and there, encircling one of the best bearing trees, they drink
the following toast three times:—
‘Here’s to thee, old apple-tree;
Hence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow,
And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
Hats full! caps full!
Bushel, bushel-sacks full!
And my pockets full, too! Huzza!’
This done, they return to the house, the doors of which they are sure
to find bolted by the females, who, be the weather what it may, are
inexorable to all entreaties to open them, till some one has guessed what
is on the spit, which is generally some nice little thing difficult to
be hit on, and is the reward of him who first names it. The doors are
then thrown open, and the lucky clodpole receives the tit-bit as his
recompense. Some are so superstitious as to believe that if they neglect
this custom, the trees will bear no apples that year.”[54]
Christmas-eve was selected in some parts of England as the occasion for
wishing health to the apple-tree. Apples were roasted on a string until
they fell into a pan of spiced ale, placed to receive them. This drink
was called _lamb’s-wool_, and with it the trees were wassailed, as in
Devonshire and Cornwall.
Herrick alludes to the custom:—
“Wassaile the trees, that they may beare
You many a plum, and many a peare;
For more or lesse fruits they will bring,
And you do give them wassailing.”
May not Shakespeare refer to this?—
“Sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab;
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither’d dew-lap pour the ale.”
_Midsummer Night’s Dream._
In some localities apples are blessed on St James’s-day, July 25.
ALLHALLOWS-EVE AT ST IVES.
The ancient custom of providing children with a large apple on
Allhallows-eve is still observed, to a great extent, at St Ives.
“Allan-day,” as it is called, is the day of days to hundreds of
children, who would deem it a great misfortune were they to go to bed on
“Allan-night” without the time-honoured Allan apple to hide beneath their
pillows. A quantity of large apples are thus disposed of, the sale of
which is dignified by the term Allan Market.
THE TWELFTH CAKE.
The custom, apparently a very ancient one, of putting certain articles
into a rich cake, is still preserved in many districts. Usually,
sixpence, a wedding-ring, and a silver thimble are employed. These are
mixed up with the dough, and baked in the cake. At night the cake is
divided. The person who secures the sixpence will not want money for
that year; the one who has the ring will be the first married; and the
possessor of the thimble will die an old maid.
“Then also every householder,
To his abilitie
Doth make a mighty cake, that may
Suffice his companie:
Herein a pennie doth he put,
Before it come to fire;
This he divides according as
His household doth require,
And every peece distributeth
As round about they stand,
Which in their names unto the poor
Is given out of hand.
But who so chanceth on the peece
Wherein the money lies,
Is counted king amongst them all;
And is with shoutes and cries
Exalted to the heavens up.”
_Naogeorgus’s Popish Kingdom._
OXEN PRAY ON CHRISTMAS EVE.
I remember, when a child, being told that all the oxen and cows kept at
a farm, in the parish of St Germans, at which I was visiting with my
aunt, would be found on their knees when the clock struck twelve. This
is the only case within my own knowledge of this widespread superstition
existing in Cornwall. Brand says, “A superstitious notion prevails in
the western parts of Devonshire, that at twelve o’clock at night on
Christmas-eve, the oxen in their stalls are always found on their knees,
as in an attitude of devotion; and that, (which is still more singular,)
since the alteration of the style, they continue to do this only on the
eve of old Christmas-day. An honest countryman, living on the edge of St
Stephen’s Down, near Launceston, Cornwall, informed me, October 28, 1790,
that he once, with some others, made a trial of the truth of the above,
and, watching several oxen in their stalls at the above time,—at twelve
o’clock at night,—they observed the two oldest oxen only, fall upon their
knees and, as he expressed it in the idiom of the country, make ‘a cruel
moan, like Christian creatures.’ I could not, but with great difficulty,
keep my countenance: he saw, and seemed angry, that I gave so little
credit to his tale; and, walking off in a pettish humour, seemed to
‘marvel at my unbelief.’ There is an old print of the Nativity, in which
the oxen in the stable, near the Virgin and the Child, are represented
upon their knees, as in a suppliant posture. This graphic representation
has probably given rise to the above superstitious notion on this head.”
“ST GEORGE”—THE CHRISTMAS PLAYS.
The Christmas play is a very ancient institution in Cornwall. At one time
religious subjects were chosen, but those gave way to romantic plays. The
arrangements were tolerably complete, and sometimes a considerable amount
of dramatic skill was displayed.
“ST GEORGE, and the other tragic performers, are dressed
out somewhat in the style of morris-dancers, in their shirt
sleeves and white trousers, much decorated with ribbons and
handkerchiefs, each carrying a drawn sword in his hand, if they
can be procured, otherwise a cudgel. They wear high caps of
pasteboard, adorned with beads, small pieces of looking-glass,
coloured paper, &c.; several long strips of pith generally hang
down from the top, with small pieces of different coloured
cloth strung on them: the whole has a very smart effect.
_Father Christmas_ is personified in a grotesque manner, as an
ancient man, wearing a large mask and wig, and a huge club,
wherewith he keeps the bystanders in order.
The _Doctor_, who is generally the merry-andrew of the piece,
is dressed in any ridiculous way, with a wig, three-cornered
hat, and painted face.
The other comic characters are dressed according to fancy.
The _female_, where there is one, is usually in the dress worn
half a century ago.
The _hobby-horse_, which is a character sometimes introduced,
wears a representation of a horse’s-hide.
Beside the regular drama of “St George,” many parties of
mummers go about in fancy dresses of every sort, most commonly
the males in female attire, and _vice versâ_.
_Battle of St George._
[_One of the party steps in, crying out_,—
Room, a room, brave gallant, room,
Within this court
I do resort,
To shew some sport
And pastime,
Gentlemen and ladies, in the Christmas time.
[_After this note of preparation, Old Father
Christmas capers into the room, saying_,—
Here comes I, Old Father Christmas,
Welcome or welcome not;
I hope Old Father Christmas
Will never be forgot.
I was born in a rocky country, where there was no wood to make
me a cradle; I was rocked in a stouring-bowl, which made me
round shouldered then, and I am round shouldered still.
[_He then frisks about the room, until
he thinks he has sufficiently amused the
spectators, when he makes his exit, with this
speech_:—
Who went to the orchard to steal apples to make gooseberry pies
against Christmas?
[_These prose speeches, you may suppose, depend
much upon the imagination of the actor._
_Enter_ Turkish Knight.
Here comes I, a Turkish knight,
Come from the Turkish land to fight;
And if St George do meet me here,
I’ll try his courage without fear.
_Enter_ ST GEORGE.
Here come I, St George,
That worthy champion bold;
And, with my sword and spear,
I won three crowns of gold.
I fought the dragon bold,
And brought him to the slaughter;
By that I gain’d fair Sabra,
The King of Egypt’s daughter.
_T. K._ St George, I pray, be not too bold;
If thy blood is hot, I’ll soon make it cold.
_St G._ Thou Turkish knight, I pray, forbear;
I’ll make thee dread my sword and spear.
[_They fight until the Turkish Knight falls._
_St G._ I have a little bottle, which goes by the name of Elicumpane;
If the man is alive, let him rise and fight again.
[_The Knight here rises on one knee, and
endeavours to continue the fight, but is again
struck down._
_T. K._ Oh, pardon me, St George; oh, pardon me, I crave;
Oh, pardon me this once, and I will be thy slave.
_St G._ I’ll never pardon a Turkish knight;
Therefore arise, and try thy might.
[_The Knight gets up, and they again fight,
till the Knight receives a heavy blow and then
drops on the ground as dead._
_St G._ Is there a doctor to be found,
To cure a deep and deadly wound?
_Enter_ Doctor.
Oh yes, there is a doctor to be found,
To cure a deep and deadly wound.
_St G._ What can you cure?
_Doctor._ I can cure the itch, the palsy, and gout:
If the devil’s in him, I’ll pull him out.
[_The Doctor here performs the cure with sundry
grimaces, and St George and the Knight again
fight, when the latter is knocked down, and
left for dead._
[_Then another performer enters, and, on seeing
the dead body, says_,—
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
If Uncle Tom Pearce won’t have him, Aunt Molly must.
[_The hobby-horse here capers in, and takes off
the body._
_Enter_ Old Squire.
Here comes I, old, Old Squire,
As black as any friar,
As ragged as a colt,
To leave fine clothes for malt.
_Enter_ Hub Bub.
Here comes I, old Hub Bub Bub Bub;
Upon my shoulders I carries a club,
And in my hand a frying-pan,
So am I not a valiant man?
[_These characters serve as a sort of burlesque
on St George and the other hero, and may be
regarded in the light of an anti-masque._
_Enter_ the Box-holder.
Here comes I, great head and little wit;
Put your hand in your pocket, and give what you think fit.
Gentlemen and ladies, sitting down at your ease,
Put your hands in your pockets, and give me what you please.
_St G._ Gentlemen and ladies, the sport is almost ended;
Come pay to the box, it is highly commended.
The box it would speak, if it had but a tongue;
Come throw in your money, and think it no wrong.
The characters now generally finish with a dance, or sometimes
a song or two is introduced. In some of the performances, two
or three other tragic heroes are brought forward, as the King
of Egypt and his son, &c.; but they are all of them much in the
style of that I have just described, varying somewhat in length
and number of characters.”—_The Every-Day Book._
Of the Cornish mystery plays which were once acted in the famous
“Rounds,” it is not necessary, in this place, to say anything. The
translations by Mr Norris preserve their characteristics, which indeed
differ in few respects from the mystery plays of other parts.
The “Perran Round” is fortunately preserved by the proprietor in its
original state. Every one must regret the indifference of the wealthy
inhabitants of St Just to their “Round,” which is now a wretched ruin.
GEESE-DANCING—PLOUGH MONDAY.
The first Monday after Twelfth-day is Plough Monday, and it is the
ploughman’s holiday.
At this season, in the Islands of Scilly, at St Ives, Penzance, and
other places, the young people exercise a sort of gallantry called
“geese-dancing.” The maidens are dressed up for young men, and the
young men for maidens; and, thus disguised, they visit their neighbours
in companies, where they dance, and make jokes upon what has happened
during the year, and every one is humorously “told their own,” without
offence being taken. By this sort of sport, according to yearly custom
and toleration, there is a spirit of wit and drollery kept up among
the people. The music and dancing done, they are treated with liquor,
and then they go to the next house, and carry on the same sport. A
correspondent, writing to the “Table-Book,” insists on calling these
revels “goose-dancing.” The true Cornishman never uses the term, which
is, as I have elsewhere shewn, derived from _dance deguiser_,—hence
guise-dancing, or geese-dancing, by corruption.
CHRISTMAS AT ST IVES.
“THE GUISE-DANCING.”