Part 49

The arrangement and march are settled by the Cadi, who is always the most active person in the company; and is, by virtue of his important office, the chief marshal, orator, buffoon, and money collector. He is always arrayed in comic attire, generally in a partial dress of both sexes: a coat and waistcoat being used for the upper part of the body, and for the lower petticoats, somewhat resembling Moll Flagon, in the “Lord of the Manor.” His countenance is also particularly distinguished by a hideous mask, or is blackened entirely over; and then the lips, cheeks, and orbits of the eyes are sometimes painted red. The number of the rest of the party, including the garland-bearer, is generally thirteen, and with the exception of the varied taste in the decoration of their shirts with ribbons, their costume is similar. It consists of clothing entirely new from the hat to the shoes, which are made neat, and of a light texture, for dancing. The white decorated shirts, plaited in the neatest manner, are worn over the rest of their clothing; the remainder of the dress is black velveteen breeches, with knee-ties depending halfway down to the ancles, in contrast with yarn hose of a light grey. The ornaments of the hats are large rosettes of varied colours, with streamers depending from them; wreaths of ribbon encircle the crown, and each of the dancers carries in his right hand a white pocket handkerchief.

The garland consists of a long staff or pole, to which is affixed a triangular or square frame, covered with strong white linen, on which the silver ornaments are firmly fixed, and displayed with the most studious taste. Silver spoons and smaller forms are placed in the shape of stars, squares, and circles. Between these are rows of watches; and at the top of the frame, opposite the pole in its centre, their whole collection is crowned with the largest and most costly of the ornaments: generally a large silver cup or tankard. This garland, when completed, on the eve of May-day, is left for the night at that farmhouse from whence the dancers have received the most liberal loan of silver and plate for its decoration, or with that farmer who is distinguished in his neighbourhood as a good master, and liberal to the poor. Its deposit is a token of respect, and it is called for early on the following morning.

The whole party being assembled, they march in single file, but more generally in pairs, headed by the Cadi. After him follows the garland-bearer, and then the fiddler, while the bells of the village merrily ring the signal of their departure. As the procession moves slowly along, the Cadi varies his station, hovers about his party, brandishes a ladle, and assails every passenger with comic eloquence and ludicrous persecution, for a customary and expected donation.

When they arrive at a farmhouse, they take up their ground on the best station for dancing. The garland-bearer takes his stand; the violin strikes up an old national tune uniformly used on that occasion, and the dancers move forward in a regular quick-step to the tune, in the order of procession; and at each turn of the tune throw up their white handkerchiefs with a shout, and the whole facing quickly about, retrace their steps, repeating the same manœuvre until the tune is once played. The music and dancing then vary into a reel, which is succeeded by another dance, to the old tune of “Cheshire Round.”

During the whole of this time, the buffoonery of the Cadi is exhibited without intermission. He assails the inmates of the house for money, and when this is obtained he bows or curtsies his thanks, and the procession moves off to the next farmhouse. They do not confine the ramble of the day to their own parish, but go from one to another, and to any country town in the vicinity.

When they return to their resident village in the evening, the bells ringing merrily announce their arrival. The money collected during the day’s excursion is appropriated to defray whatever expenses may have been incurred in the necessary preparations, and the remainder is spent in jovial festivity.

This ancient custom, like many others among the ancient Britons, is annually growing into disuse. The decline of sports and pastimes is in every age a subject of regret. For in a civil point of view, they denote the general prosperity, natural energy, and happiness of the people, consistent with morality,--and combined with that spirit of true religion, which unlike the howling of the dismal hyæna or ravening wolf, is as a lamb sportive and innocent, and as a lion magnanimous and bold!

I am, Sir,

Yours sincerely,

H. T. B.

_April 14, 1825._

* * * * *

MAY-DAY AT HITCHIN, IN HERTFORDSHIRE.

_For the Every-Day Book._

EXTRACT _from a letter dated Hitchin, May 1st, 1823_.

On this day a curious custom is observed here, of which I will give you a brief account.

Soon after three o’clock in the morning a large party of the town-people, and neighbouring labourers, parade the town, singing the “_Mayer’s Song_.” They carry in their hands large branches of May, and they affix a branch either upon, or at the side of, the doors of nearly every respectable house in the town; where there are knockers, they place these branches within the handles; that which was put into our knocker was so large that the servant could not open the door till the gardener came and took it out. The larger the branch is, that is placed at the door, the more honourable to the house, or rather to the servants of the house. If, in the course of the year, a servant has given offence to any of the Mayers, then, instead of a branch of May, a branch of elder, with a bunch of nettles, is affixed to her door: this is considered a great disgrace, and the unfortunate subject of it is exposed to the jeers of her rivals. On May morning, therefore, the girls look with some anxiety for their May-branch, and rise very early to ascertain their good or ill fortune. The houses are all thus decorated by four o’clock in the morning. Throughout the day parties of these Mayers are seen dancing and frolicking in various parts of the town. The group that I saw to-day, which remained in Bancroft for more than an hour, was composed as follows. First came two men with their faces blacked, one of them with a birch broom in his hand, and a large artificial hump on his back; the other dressed as a woman, all in rags and tatters, with a large straw bonnet on, and carrying a ladle: these are called “mad Moll and her husband:” next came two men, one most fantastically dressed with ribbons, and a great variety of gaudy coloured silk handkerchiefs tied round his arms from the shoulders to the wrists, and down his thighs and legs to the ancles; he carried a drawn sword in his hand; leaning upon his arm was a youth dressed as a fine lady, in white muslin, and profusely bedecked from top to toe with gay ribbons: these, I understood, were called the “Lord and Lady” of the company; after these followed six or seven couples more, attired much in the same style as the lord and lady, only the men were without swords. When this group received a satisfactory contribution at any house, the music struck up from a violin, clarionet, and fife, accompanied by the long drum, and they began the merry dance, and very well they danced, I assure you; the men-_women_ looked and footed it so much like _real_ women, that I stood in great doubt as to which sex they belonged to, till Mrs. J.---- assured me that women were not permitted to mingle in these sports. While the dancers were merrily footing it, the principal amusement to the populace was caused by the grimaces and clownish tricks of mad Moll and her husband. When the circle of spectators became so contracted as to interrupt the dancers, then mad Moll’s husband went to work with his broom, and swept the road-dust, all round the circle, into the faces of the crowd, and when any pretended affronts were offered (and many were offered) to his wife, he pursued the offenders, broom in hand; if he could not overtake them, whether they were males or females, he flung his broom at them. These flights and pursuits caused an abundance of merriment.

I saw another company of Mayers in Sun-street, and, as far as I could judge from where I stood, it appeared to be of exactly the same description as that above-mentioned, but I did not venture very near them, for I perceived mad Moll’s husband exercising his broom so briskly upon the flying crowd, that I kept at a respectful distance.

The “_Mayer’s Song_” is a composition, or rather a medley, of great antiquity, and I was therefore very desirous to procure a copy of it; in accomplishing this, however, I experienced more difficulty than I had anticipated; but at length succeeded in obtaining it from one of the Mayers. The following is a literal transcript of it:

_The Mayer’s Song._

Remember us poor Mayers all, And thus do we begin To lead our lives in righteousness, Or else we die in sin.

We have been rambling all this night, And almost all this day, And now returned back again We have brought you a branch of May.

A branch of May we have brought you, And at your door it stands, It is but a sprout, But it’s well budded out By the work of our Lord’s hands.

The hedges and trees they are so green As green as any leek, Our heavenly Father He watered them With his heavenly dew so sweet.

The heavenly gates are open wide, Our paths are beaten plain, And if a man be not too far gone, He may return again.

The life of man is but a span, It flourishes like a flower, We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow, And we are dead in an hour.

The moon shines bright, and the stars give a light, A little before it is day, So God bless you all, both great and small, And send you a joyful May.

In London, thirty years ago, When pretty milkmaids went about, It was a goodly sight to see Their May-day Pageant all drawn out:--

Themselves in comely colours drest, Their shining garland in the middle, A pipe and tabor on before, Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle.

They stopt at houses, where it was Their custom to cry “milk below!” And, while the music play’d, with smiles Join’d hands, and pointed toe to toe.

Thus they tripp’d on, till--from the door The hop’d-for annual present sent-- A signal came, to curtsy low, And at that door cease merriment.

Such scenes, and sounds, once blest my eyes, And charm’d my ears--but all have vanish’d! On May-day, now, no garlands go, For milk-maids, and their dance, are banish’d.

My recollections of these sights “Annihilate both time and space;” I’m boy enough to wish them back, And think their absence--out of place.

_May 4, 1825._

From the preceding lines somewhat may be learned of a lately disused custom in London. The milkmaids’ _garland_ was a pyramidical frame, covered with damask, glittering on each side with polished silver plate, and adorned with knots of gay-coloured ribbons, and posies of fresh flowers, surmounted by a silver urn, or tankard. The _garland_ being placed on a wooden horse, was carried by two men, as represented in the engraving, sometimes preceded by a pipe and tabor, but more frequently by a fiddle; the gayest milkmaids followed the music, others followed the garland, and they stopped at their customers’ doors, and danced. The plate, in some of these garlands, was very costly. It was usually borrowed of the pawnbrokers, for the occasion, upon security. One person in that trade was particularly resorted to for this accommodation. He furnished out the entire garland, and let it at so much per hour, under bond from responsible housekeepers for its safe return. In this way one set of milkmaids would hire the garland from ten o’clock till one, and another set would have the garland from one o’clock till six; and so on, during the first three days of May.

It was customary with milk-people of less profitable walks to make a display of another kind, less gaudy in appearance, but better bespeaking their occupation, and more appropriate to the festival. This was an exhibition of themselves, in their best apparel, and of the useful animal which produced the fluid they retailed. One of these is thus described to the editor of the _Every-Day Book_, by an intelligent eye-witness, and admirer of the pleasant sight. A beautiful country girl “drest all in her best,” and more gaily attired than on any other day, with floral ornaments in her neat little hat, and on her bosom, led her cow, by a rope depending from its horns, garlanded with flowers and knots of ribbons; the horns, neck, and head of the cow were decorated in like manner: a fine net, like those upon ladies’ palfreys, tastefully stuck with flowers, covered Bess’s back, and even her tail was ornamented, with products of the spring, and silken knots. The proprietress of the cow, a neat, brisk, little, matronly body, followed on one side, in holiday-array, with a sprig in her country bonnet, a blooming posy in her handkerchief, and ribbons on her stomacher. This scene was in Westminster, near the old abbey. Ah! _those_ were the days.

The milkmaids’ earlier plate-garland was a pyramid of piled utensils, carried on a stout damsel’s head, under which she danced to the violin.

MAY-FAIR.

The great May-fair was formerly held near Piccadilly. An antiquary, (shudder not, good reader, at the chilling name--he was a kind soul,) Mr. Carter, describes this place in an interesting communication, dated the 6th of March, 1816, to his valued friend, the venerable “Sylvanus Urban.” “Fifty years have passed away since this place of amusement was at its height of attraction: the spot where the fair was held still retains the name of May-fair, and exists in much the same state as at the above period: for instance, Shepherd’s market, and houses surrounding it on the north and east sides, with White Horse-street, Shepherd’s-court, Sun-court, Market-court. Westwards an open space extending to Tyburn (now Park) lane, since built upon, in Chapel-street, Shepherd’s-street, Market-street, Hertford-street, &c. Southwards, the noted Ducking-pond, house, and gardens, since built upon, in a large Riding-school, Carrington-street, (the noted Kitty Fisher lived in this street,) &c. The market-house consisted of two stories; first story, a long and cross aisle, for butcher’s shops, externally, other shops connected with culinary purposes; second story, used as a theatre at fair-time, for dramatic performances. My recollection serves to raise before me the representation of the ‘Revenge,’ in which the only object left on remembrance is the ‘black man,’ Zanga. Below, the butchers gave place to toy-men and gingerbread-bakers. At present, the upper story is unfloored, the lower ditto nearly deserted by the butchers, and their shops occupied by needy peddling dealers in small wares; in truth, a most deplorable contrast to what once was such a point of allurement. In the areas encompassing the market-building were booths for jugglers, prize-fighters, both at cudgels and back-sword, boxing-matches, and wild beasts. The sports not under cover were mountebanks, fire-eaters, ass-racing, sausage-tables, dice-tables, up-and-downs, merry-go-rounds, bull-baiting, grinning for a hat, running for a shift, hasty-pudding eaters, eel-divers, and an infinite variety of other similar pastimes. Among the extraordinary and wonderful delights of the happy spot, take the following items, which still hold a place within my mind, though I cannot affirm they all occurred at one precise season. The account may be relied on, as I was born, and passed my youthful days in the vicinity, in Piccadilly, (Carter’s Statuary,) two doors from the south end of White Horse-street, since rebuilt (occupied at present by lady Pulteney).--Before a large commodious house, with a good disposure of walks, arbours, and alcoves, was an area, with an extensive bason of water, otherwise ‘_Ducking-pond_,’ for the recreation of lovers of that _polite_ and _humane_ sport. Persons who came with their dogs paid a trifling fee for admission, and were considered the chief patrons and supporters of the pond; others, who visited the place as mere spectators, paid a double fee. A duck was put into the pond by the master of the hunt; the several dogs were then let loose, to seize the bird. For a long time they made the attempt in vain; for, when they came near the devoted victim, she dived under water, and eluded their remorseless fangs. Herein consisted the _extreme felicity_ of the _interesting_ scene. At length, some dog more expert than the rest, caught the feathered prize, and bore it away, amidst the loudest acclamations, to its most fortunate and envied master. This diversion was held in such high repute about the reign of Charles II., that he, and many of his prime nobility, did not disdain to be present, and partake, with their dogs, of the _elegant entertainment_. In Mrs. Behn’s play of ‘Sir Patient Fancy,’ (written at the above period,) a sir Credulous Easy talks about a cobbler, his dog-tutor, and his expectation of soon becoming ‘the duke of Ducking-pond.’--A ‘_Mountebanks’ Stage_’ was erected opposite the Three Jolly Butchers’ public-house, (on the east side of the market area, now the King’s Arms.) Here Woodward, the inimitable comedian and harlequin, made his first appearance as merry-andrew; from these humble boards he soon after found his way to Covent-garden theatre.--Then there was ‘_Beheading of Puppets_.’ In a coal-shed attached to a grocer’s shop, (then Mr. Frith’s, now Mr. Frampton’s,) one of these mock executions was exposed to the attending crowd. A shutter was fixed horizontally; on the edge of which, after many previous ceremonies, a puppet laid its head, and another puppet then instantly chopped it off with an axe. In a circular staircase-window, at the north end of Sun-court, a similar performance took place by another set of puppets. The condemned puppet bowed its head to the cill which, as above, was soon decapitated. In these representations, the late punishment of the Scotch chieftain (lord Lovat) was alluded to, in order to gratify the feelings of southern loyalty, at the expense of that farther north.--In a fore one-pair room, on the west side of Sun-court, a Frenchman submitted to the curious the astonishing strength of the ‘_Strong Woman_,’ his wife. A blacksmith’s anvil being procured from White Horse-street, with three of the men, they brought it up, and placed it on the floor. The woman was short, but most beautifully and delicately formed, and of a most lovely countenance. She first let down her hair, (a light auburn,) of a length descending to her knees, which she twisted round the projecting part of the anvil, and then, with seeming ease, lifted the ponderous weight some inches from the floor. After this, a bed was laid in the middle of the room; when, reclining on her back, and uncovering her bosom, the husband ordered the smiths to place thereon the anvil, and forge upon it a horse-shoe! This they obeyed; by taking from the fire a red-hot piece of iron, and with their forging hammers completing the shoe, with the same might and indifference as when in the shop at their constant labour. The prostrate fair one appeared to endure this with the utmost composure, talking and singing during the whole process; then, with an effort which to the by-standers seemed like some supernatural trial, cast the anvil from off her body, jumping up at the same moment with extreme gaiety, and without the least discomposure of her dress or person. That no trick or collusion could possibly be practised on the occasion was obvious, from the following evidence:--The audience stood promiscuously about the room, among whom were our family and friends; the smiths were utter strangers to the Frenchman, but known to us; therefore the several efforts of strength must have proceeded from the natural and surprising power this foreign dame was possessed of. She next put her naked feet on a red-hot salamander, without receiving the least injury: but this is a feat familiar with us at this time. Here this kind of gratification to the senses concluded.--Here, too, was ‘_Tiddy-doll_.’

This celebrated vender of gingerbread, from his eccentricity of character, and extensive dealings in his way, was always hailed as the king of itinerant tradesmen.[127] In his person he was tall, well made, and his features handsome. He affected to dress like a person of rank; white gold laced suit of clothes, laced ruffled shirt, laced hat and feather, white silk stockings, with the addition of a fine white apron. Among his harangues to gain customers, take this as a specimen:-- ‘Mary, Mary, where are you _now_, Mary? I live, when at home, at the second house in Little Ball-street, two steps under ground, with a wiscum, riscum, and a why-not. Walk in, ladies and gentlemen; my shop is on the second-floor backwards, with a brass knocker at the door. Here is your nice gingerbread, your spice gingerbread; it will melt in your mouth like a red-hot brickbat, and rumble in your inside like Punch and his wheelbarrow.’ He always finished his address by singing this fag end of some popular ballad:--

[Music: Allegretto.

Ti-tid-dy, ti-ti, ti-tid-dy, ti-ti, ti-tid-dy, ti-ti, tid-dy did-dy dol-lol, ti-tid-dy ti-tid-dy ti-ti, tid-dy tid-dy, dol.]

Hence arose his nickname of ‘_Tiddy-doll_.’ In Hogarth’s print of the execution of the ‘Idle ’Prentice,’ at Tyburn, _Tiddy-doll_ is seen holding up a gingerbread cake with his left hand, his right being within his coat, and addressing the mob in his usual way:--‘Mary, Mary,’ &c. His costume agrees with the aforesaid description. For many years, (and perhaps at present,) allusions were made to his name, as thus:--‘You are so fine, (to a person dressed out of character,) you look like Tiddy-doll. You are as tawdry as Tiddy-doll. You are quite Tiddy-doll,’ &c.--Soon after the late lord Coventry occupied the house, corner of Engine-street, Piccadilly, (built by sir Henry Hunlocke, Bart., on the site of a large ancient inn, called the Greyhound;) he being annoyed with the unceasing uproar, night and day, during the fair, (the whole month of May,) procured, I know not by what means, the entire abolition of this festival of ‘misrule’ and disorder.”

The engraving here given is from an old print of _Tiddy-doll_; it is presumed, that the readers of the _Every-Day Book_ will look at it with interest.

EVIL MAY-DAY.

In the reign of king Henry VIII., a great jealousy arose in the citizens of London towards foreign artificers, who were then called “strangers.” By the interference of Dr. Standish, in a Spital sermon, at Easter, this was fomented into so great rancour, that it violently broke forth in the manner hereafter related by Stow, and occasioned the name of “Evil May-day” to the first of May, whereon the tumult happened. It appears then from him that:--

“The 28th day of April, 1517, divers yong-men of the citie picked quarels with certaine _strangers_, as they passed along the streets: some they smote and buffetted, and some they threw in the channell: for which, the lord maior sent some of the Englishmen to prison, as Stephen Studley, Skinner, Stevenson, Bets, and other.

“Then suddenly rose a secret rumour, and no man could tell how it began, that on May-day next following, the citie would slay all the aliens: insomuch that divers strangers fled out of the citie.