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PANCAKE DAY is another name for Shrove Tuesday, from the custom of
eating pancakes on this day, still generally observed. A writer in the
“Gentleman’s Magazine, 1790,” says, that “_Shrive_ is an old Saxon word,
of which _shrove_ is a corruption, and signifies confession. Hence
Shrove Tuesday means Confession Tuesday, on which day all the people in
every parish throughout the kingdom, during the Romish times, were
obliged to confess their sins, one by one, to their own parish priests,
in their own parish churches; and that this might be done the more
regularly, the great bell in every parish was rung at ten o’clock, or
perhaps sooner, that it might be heard by all. And as the Romish
religion has given way to a much better, I mean the protestant religion,
yet the custom of ringing the great bell in our ancient parish churches,
at least in some of them, still remains, and obtains in and about London
the name of _Pancake-bell_: the usage of dining on pancakes or fritters,
and such like provision, still continues.” In “Pasquil’s Palinodia,
1634,” 4to. it is merrily observed that on this day every stomach
till it can hold no more,
Is fritter-filled, as well as heart can wish;
And every man and maide doe take their turne,
And tosse their pancakes up for feare they burne;
And all the kitchen doth with laughter sound,
To see the pancakes fall upon the ground.
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_Threshing the Hen._
This singular custom is almost obsolete, yet it certainly is practised,
even now, in at least one obscure part of the kingdom. A reasonable
conjecture concerning its origin is, that the fowl was a delicacy to
the labourer, and therefore given to him on this festive day, for sport
and food.
At Shrovetide to shroving, go thresh the fat hen,
If blindfold can kill her, then give it thy men.
Maids, fritters and pancakes inough see you make,
Let slut have one pancake, for company sake.
So directs Tusser in his “Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry, 1620,”
4to. On this his annotator, “Tusser Redivivus, 1710,” (8vo. June, p.
15,) annexes an account of the custom. “The hen is hung at a fellow’s
back, who has also some horse bells about him, the rest of the fellows
are blinded, and have boughs in their hands, with which they chase this
fellow and his hen about some large court or small enclosure. The fellow
with his hen and bells shifting as well as he can, they follow the
sound, and sometimes hit him and his hen, other times, if he can get
behind one of them, they thresh one another well favour’dly; but the
jest is, the maids are to blind the fellows, which they do with their
aprons, and the cunning baggages will endear their sweethearts with a
peeping-hole, whilst the others look out as sharp to hinder it. After
this the hen is boil’d with bacon, and store of pancakes and fritters
are made.”
[Illustration: ~Threshing the Fat Hen at Shrovetide.~]
Tusser’s annotator, “Redivivus,” adds, after the hen-threshing. “She
that is noted for lying a-bed long, or any other miscarriage, hath the
first pancake presented to her, which most commonly falls to the dog’s
share at last, for no one will own it their due. Thus were youth
encourag’d, sham’d, and feasted with very little cost, and always their
feasts were accompanied with exercise. The loss of which laudable
custom, is one of the benefits we have got by smoking tobacco.” Old
Tusser himself, by a reference, denotes that this was a sport in Essex
and Suffolk. Mr. Brand was informed by a Mr. Jones that, when he was a
boy in Wales, the hen that did not lay eggs before Shrove Tuesday was
considered useless, and to be on that day threshed by a man with a
flail; if he killed her he got her for his pains.
[Illustration: ~A Hen that spoke on Shrove Tuesday.~]
On Shrove Tuesday, at a certain ancient borough in Staffordshire, a hen
was set up by its owner to be thrown at by himself and his companions,
according to the usual custom on that day. This poor hen, after many a
severe bang, and many a broken bone, weltering in mire and blood,
recovered spirits a little, and to the unspeakable surprise and
astonishment of all the company, just as her late master was handling
his oaken cudgel to fling at her again, opened her mouth and said--“Hold
thy hand a moment, hard-hearted wretch! if it be but out of curiosity,
to hear one of my feathered species utter articulate sounds.--What art
thou, or any of thy comrades, better than I, though bigger and stronger,
and at liberty, while I am tied by the leg? What art thou, I say, that I
may not presume to reason with thee, though thou never reasonest with
thyself? What have I done to deserve the treatment I have suffered this
day, from thee and thy barbarous companions? Whom have I ever injured?
Did I ever profane the name of my creator, or give one moment’s disquiet
to any creature under heaven? or lie, or deceive, or slander, or rob my
fellow-creatures? Did I ever guzzle down what should have been for the
support and comfort (in effect the blood) of a wife and innocent
children, as thou dost every week of thy life? A little of thy
superfluous grain, or the sweeping of thy cupboard, and the parings of
thy cheese, moistened with the dew of heaven, was all I had, or desired
for my support; while, in return, I furnished thy table with dainties.
The tender brood, which I hatched with assiduity, and all the anxiety
and solicitude of a humane mother, fell a sacrifice to thy gluttony. My
new laid eggs enriched thy pancakes, puddings, and custards; and all thy
most delicious fare. And I was ready myself at any time, to lay down my
life to support thine, but the third part of a day. Had I been a man,
and a hangman, and been commanded by authority to take away thy life for
a crime that deserved death, I would have performed my office with
reluctance, and with the shortest, and the least pain or insult, to thee
possible. How much more if a wise providence had so ordered it, that
thou hadst been my proper and delicious food, as I am thine? I speak not
this to move thy compassion, who hast none for thy own offspring, or for
the wife of thy bosom, nor to prolong my own life, which through thy
most brutal usage of me, is past recovery, and a burden to me; nor yet
to teach thee humanity for the future. I know thee to have neither a
head, a heart, nor a hand to show mercy; neither brains, nor bowels, nor
grace, to hearken to reason, or to restrain thee from any folly. I
appeal from thy cruel and relentless heart to a future judgment;
certainly there will be one sometime, when the meanest creature of God
shall have justice done it, even against proud and savage man, its lord;
and surely our cause will then be heard, since, at present, we have none
to judge betwixt us. O, that some good Christian would cause this my
first, and last speech to be printed, and published through the nation.
Perhaps the legislature may not think it beneath them to take our sad
case into consideration. Who can tell but some faint remains of common
sense among the vulgar themselves, may be excited by a suffering dying
fellow-creature’s last words, to find out a more good-natured exercise
for their youth, than this which hardens their hearts, and taints their
morals? But I find myself spent with speaking. And now villain, take
good aim, let fly thy truncheon, and despatch at one _manly_ stroke, the
remaining life of a miserable mortal, who is utterly unable to resist,
or fly from thee.” Alas! he heeded not. She sunk down, and died
immediately, without another blow. Reader, farewell! but learn
compassion towards an innocent creature, that has, at least, as quick a
sense of pain as thyself.
This article is extracted from the “Gentleman’s Magazine,” for the year
1749. It appeals to the feelings and the judgment, and is therefore
inserted here, lest one reader should need a dissuasive against the
cruelty of torturing a poor animal on Shrove Tuesday.
Hens were formerly thrown at, as cocks are still, in some places.