CHAPTER VI

CUSTOMS OF THE YEAR AND FOLKLORE

Custom and folklore are so interwoven that it is quite impossible to write of them separately. The North Riding to-day is _par excellence_ the home of both. This is easily accounted for. Many of the dales are far removed from the varied influences of the outer world; they are little communities; they belong to themselves. Many of the older people have never seen a locomotive. It is in and about such places the student may gather a rich harvest of folklore, always remembering that any given area is not the whole of the riding, much less of Yorkshire. I mention this because a custom, superstition, or peculiarity of dialect, which may still flourish in one dale, may be quite unknown in some other part of the riding. Bear in mind the riding, within a very few miles, stretches from the North Sea to St. George’s Channel; so it will be readily conceived that over such an extensive area, much of which is sparsely populated and not easy of access, custom and superstition still go hand in hand.

Our greatest observance of custom is, as it should be, in connexion with Christmastide; indeed preparation for the same really commences some weeks in advance. There is the pudding to make and partly boil; all the ingredients for the plum-cake to order; the mincemeat to prepare for the mince-pies; the goose to choose from some neighbouring farmer’s stock; the cheese to buy and the wheat to have the hullins beaten off, and to cree, for the all-important frumenty; the yule-cakes or pepper-cake to make; the hollin to gather; the mistletoe and Santa Claus presents to buy for the little folk’s stockings; the old yule log and a new one to see after, as well as the yule candles. Even long before these various duties have been taken in hand, children nightly sing their Christmas carols on our doorstep, reminding us the great event of the year is fast approaching, when peace and good will should be extended to all men. The ’vessel-cups’ (i.e. wassail-cup) still come round, with their doll in a box, decked out as the Virgin Mary, lying in pink cotton-wool and evergreens. Some of these vessel-cups are in their way quite little works of art. I remember (up to the time I left Guisborough five years ago) Lavinia Leather travelled every year all the way from the other side of Leeds, to sing the vessel-cup throughout that part of Cleveland. As my wife had known the old body for many years, we always had a call. There was no mistaking the advent of Christmas, when, after unceremoniously opening the door, the old lady commenced saying,—

God bless t’ maaster of this hoos, An’ t’ mis-ter-ess also, An’ all yer lahtle bonny bairns ‘At round yer table go!

Fer it is at this tahm Straangers travel far an’ near. Seea Ah wish ya a merry Kessamas An’ a happy New ‘Ear.

But the days speed on, until there comes a night when the charred remains of last year’s yule log glow with heat intense beneath the one of that year’s cutting; for the new log must always rest upon and be lighted by the old one, which has been carefully stored away for this, the night of nights—Christmas Eve. The lads have kissed the lasses under the mistletoe, fashioned out of two hoops bedecked with holly, oranges, and apples, and with a bunch of the mystic white berries glistening beneath. Every picture-frame, ornament, and everywhere, where a sprig of holly would remain, has had the dark green leaves and red berries thrust into or behind it. The old folk clasp each other’s hands, knowingly nodding their heads the while, ‘for they remember,’ and, remembering, note the flashing eyes and whispered nothings, sweet and low, of those whose horizon for the present is illumined with love, with never a cloud in sight. Shrieks of laughter loud and hilarious from the younger branches ring from basement to roof, almost deafening the ’au’d fau’k,’ but a smile lights up their wrinkled faces as they remember. By-and-by, the magic words uttered by the maid, ‘T’ frummety’s riddy,’ results in a rush for the dining-room or kitchen, as the case may be. But first the yule candle must be lighted by the master of the house. This must be done from a piece of the candle saved from the year previous; it too must be lighted from the blaze of the yule log, and on no account must anything be lighted from it. That would be as unlucky as giving or receiving a light on Christmas Day. Next, a cross must be scraped on the top of the uncut cheese, and then, after having wished the guests assembled ‘A merry Christmas,’ the frumenty may be attacked. And very palatable is the creed-wheat when boiled in milk, thickened with ’lithing,’ seasoned with nutmeg and cloves, and sweetened with treacle. After this there are the yule-cakes, one for each person, with a dice of cheese and a glass of mulled ale or hot elder-berry wine.

By-and-by the younger ones are packed off to bed, and with us, as the world over, their stockings are hung at the bed-foot to await the mysterious visit of Santa Claus. It may be the sword-dancers are announced; if so, their quaint performance is gone through, they are served with ’summat to keep ’em warm’ and a few coppers, and they depart for pastures new[3]. Some maiden mayhap has retired to her chamber with a leaf and a berry plucked from the mistletoe under which she has been saluted. Having locked her door, the berry must be swallowed, whilst on the leaf she will prick the initials of him her heart loves best; this she will stitch in the inside of her corset, so that it rest near her heart, and thus bind his love to her so long as there it remains.

In the early hours of the morning the waits will arrive, and tunefully or otherwise sing ‘Christians, awake,’ and, unless precautions are taken to stuff the bell with paper and fasten down the knocker, there will be no sleep after five o’clock; for the children, in their eagerness to catch the early worm, follow one another without a moment’s rest, singing loudly through your key-hole one or other of their Christmas greetings, as—

I wish ya a merry Kessamas An’ a happy New ‘Ear, A poss (purse) full o’ money An’ a barrel full o’ beer, A good fat pig ‘At’ll sarve ya thruff t’ year, An’ pleease will ya gi’e ma My Kessamas box.

Gentle and simple herald Christmas morn[4] with kindly greetings, ‘A merry Christmas to you,’ as they pass. And oh the parties, night after night, the games, postman’s knock, hunting the slipper, spinning the trencher, cushion dance, forfeits, &c.! Aye, but we knew how to enjoy ourselves when I was a lad, and in many of our dales to-day Christmas is Christmas still, with all the old observances treasured; aye, and the old old games too. Amidst such scenes one is apt to forget that the hair is turning grey at the sides, and easy to brush on the crown.

The Christmas dinner with its sirloin, turkey, or goose, followed by the rich plum-pudding and mince-pies, in a greater or less degree, is indulged in by all. Go where you may on and after Christmas Day, either plum or pepper cake (a rich kind of gingerbread), or spice-cake (a cheaper form of plum-cake) and cheese, will be found upon the sideboard or table. ‘Ya mun ’ev a bit o’ keeak an’ cheese, hooivver,’ say the country folk almost before you are seated. And be it remembered, for every cake and cheese you taste one more happy month is added to your life.

On St. Stephen’s Eve maybe some will pay a visit to the ’coo byre’ in the hope of seeing the oxen kneel, for the quaint notion still lives that on this eve the oxen kneel in their stalls in commemoration of the martyr’s death.

On New Year’s Eve it is customary to eat the remains of the frumenty left from Christmas Eve. This being finished, none other will be made until the festive season comes round again. The older people always watch the old year out and the new year in, which is made known by the ringing of the church bells, and the loud knocking at your door of the ‘first foot or lucky bird.’ This happens immediately on the last stroke of twelve. This first foot to cross your threshold—for none must go out until the first foot has come in—must be a man or boy with dark hair. Such only can bring luck to the household; for should he have light hair, he would not be admitted, for he could only bring dire and disastrous results.

The same clamorous singing as on Christmas Day commences just as early on New Year’s morn, greetings for the new year are as freely given, and the festive season itself lasts pretty well on towards the middle of the month.

The dumb-cake is yet made—of which more hereafter—whilst other rites, ceremonies, and charms are still indulged in by the buxom lasses of the riding.

By due observance of certain ritual performed on the eve of St. Agnes, a maiden might have a vision of her future spouse.

Very often, however, difficulties of no light kind had to be overcome, before the ritual could be carried out in its entirety. And in some cases, to my thinking, the maiden would need nerves of iron, and the supple limbs of an acrobat, before she would be able to accomplish the demands made upon her.

Take for example the following, which was given to me by an old lady in Rosedale:—At midnight on the eve of St. Agnes, a maiden must pluck from the grave of a bachelor a blade of grass, walk backward from the grave to the church gate, and then hurry to her bed-chamber. Safely there, she had to lock her door, hanging the key on a nail outside the window, then undress herself; but—and here comes the difficulty—her various garments had to be removed in the same order as they had been put on, that is, that which she had donned first must be taken off first. This must have been a feat requiring great agility and no little patience, exceeding by a long way the task of skinning an eel in the dark. No doubt everything would be worn very loosely that day, and any undue exertion must have rendered such a maid liable any moment to assume the condition of a statue. Of one thing I am absolutely certain: did the maid accomplish the feat so far as her skirts and other items of her apparel are concerned, she would have to sleep with her boots on, for her stockings would present a problem which jeers at the senile efforts of the Sphinx. But, having performed the said ritual so far, it only remained for her to wrap the blade of grass in a clean sheet of paper, place it under her pillow, leave a burning candle near the window, and retire to rest, when presently she would see the man who was to be her husband open the window, look in, throw the key into the room, close the window, and depart. Where the chamber was on the ground floor, or ladders were handy, I can well understand this ritual would often succeed.

Maidens, however, may have a vision of their future lord and master(?) without the necessity of almost dislocating their joints. For I find at the present time it is only needful, on the day of the eve of St. Agnes, to fast from the time of rising, only eating a little stale bread and drinking parsley tea. On retiring to rest, remake your bed, putting thereon clean sheets and pillow-cases, remembering to repeat as you lay on each cover the following:—

St. Agnes, I pray unto thee, I, a maid, would married be, So thou my husband show to me.

Retire to rest, sleeping by yourself, and you will see the man you will marry in a dream. Should you awake, my advice is—having seen the future husband, get up and have a good supper; parsley tea and stale bread for a day is not satisfying. There are other forms of the same charm, differing only in minor details.

The making of the dumb-cake, however, differs only in one particular throughout the riding. Some hold that those engaged in its preparation must stand on something upon which they have never stood before, no two persons standing on a similar thing, e.g. a box-lid, a newspaper, &c. Others altogether ignore this canon in the ritual. Therefore I must leave my fair readers to decide which formula they will adopt, in case they decide to make a dumb-cake for themselves. As to the actual preparation, it must be begun after eleven o’clock p.m. on the eve of St. Agnes, and either three, five, or seven maidens may take part. In the making of a dumb-cake, each must take a handful of flour and lay it on a sheet of clean paper (this must be pretty large), bearing in mind that from the moment the first hand is dipped in the flour, not a word must be uttered whilst the cake-makers remain in that room, or the spell will be broken.

Having each laid a handful of flour on the sheet of paper, all add a small pinch of salt, water being also added, all taking part in working the same into dough, every one kneading and assisting in rolling the same into a thin cake, sufficiently large for each to mark her initials in fairly large letters thereon. All must now lend a hand in lifting it on to a tin, and in carrying it to the fire, in front of which it must be laid. Having seated themselves as far from the fire as possible, each will in turn rise, cross the room, and turn the cake round once—not over, as it must be left the inscribed side uppermost. All this having been accomplished before twelve strikes, remain quietly seated; for, a few minutes after midnight, the husband of the maiden who is to be married first will appear and touch her initials, often leaving his fingermark upon the same. So there can be no doubt about it.

Should you have no opportunity of joining others in the preparation of a dumb-cake, you may, if so inclined, on the Friday evening following that of St. Agnes (some say any Friday but Good Friday), have a vision of your future husband by a strict observance of the following:—

Make a flat dough cake about the size of a crown piece; on this prick the initials of the one you secretly love. Next procure three small keys, all different, and make an impression of each on the underside of the cake. On retiring to rest, thread the three keys on the garter of your left leg, wrapping the same about the little cake; stitch this ball to the inside of your nightdress so that it will rest in the centre of your bosom, and you will then dream, either of the man you love, or some other swain. If not of the one you love, then your affections for the present are misplaced.

The days in Holy Week are familiarly known as Collop Monday, Pancake Tuesday, Frutas or Fritters Wednesday, Bloody Thorsday,

An’ Lang Friday ’at’s nivver deean, Seea lig i’ bed whahl Seterdaay neean.

The usual menu for the week is still pretty much as it was. Collops of bacon and fried eggs on Monday. Pancakes served with either treacle or lemon-juice and sugar on Tuesday. Frutas, or fritters, made from a light kind of tea-cake paste, only much richer in fruit and fried either in lard or butter, on Wednesday; and, with many of humble degree, black puddings on Thursday. Whilst on Friday, fast is kept on any frutas which may have been spared from Wednesday’s feast, and there always is a very considerable helping left over.

Paste-egg or Troll-egg[5] Day, is now celebrated on Easter Monday, but in days past Easter Day and Paste-egg Day were one. At the present time the last five Sundays of Lent and Easter Day are still called Tid, Mid, Miseray, Carlin’, and Paum, an’ Paste-egg Day. There is some uncertainty as to what Tid and Mid mean, but there can be no doubt that Miseray is a corruption of Miserere, the commencement of one of the psalms ordered to be read during Lent. The whole of the names, however, take us back to mediaeval times, and though some are inclined to think that Tid means ‘Te Deum’ and Mid ‘Mid Lent,’ it seems to me careful research will in time give a more plausible solution. Carling Sunday is still observed in many places, grey peas fried with bacon or in butter being a well-known dish on that day, many even carrying a goodly store about in paper bags. At Great Ayton, and in many parts of Cleveland, Carling Sunday is still fully observed. The same is equally true of Palm Sunday, or, as it is called, ‘Paum Sunda,’ catkins, or lambs’ tails, as they are universally designated, being carried in the hand, thrust in the buttonhole, or worn in the hat, whilst many a mantelpiece and ornament is often tastefully decorated with the same. From noon on Easter Day to noon the following day, an old custom which is now only kept up in remote villages, but which was quite general throughout the riding when I was a lad, was that of one or more young fellows seizing a female and forcibly pulling off her shoe, sometimes both, laces being no protection. These were held in bondage until a fine was paid. This very rough proceeding was formerly known as ’buckle-snatching,’ the old name for the theft during the days when buckles were worn. However, if the lads had their good time from the Sunday to Monday’s noon, the lasses did not fail to retaliate from that time until noon on Tuesday. From any hidden corner or doorway, out they rushed, and rarely failed to snatch either a hat, whip, stick, handkerchief, or something, they were not particular what, or to scratching either, generally managing to recuperate themselves for any losses of the day previous. On Easter Monday the bairns hie themselves to some field and roll or troll their hard-boiled eggs dyed in many colours; this lasts until the egg is broken, when the youngsters feed upon the contents. Many of the lads, however, have a much speedier method of either adding to their store of food or losing their egg. They jaup or jarp them together, i.e. one lad strikes his egg against that of his opponent, when one or both are broken; if only one, it is forfeited and becomes the property of the conqueror. Shuttlecock and battledoor is now greatly _en evidence_ with the girls, and knur and spell with the lads. One might well, and with profit, write a chapter on the sequence of games, but such comes hardly within the scope of this work. But here and there a few will be noted when they have attached to them special peculiarities.

There is an old custom, almost dead now. It is only in hidden and unfrequented spots that it still survives—I mean ’the wading of the sun.’ It was common enough thirty years ago. The _modus operandi_ was as follows:—As the sun rose on Easter morn, a bucket of water was placed in such a position that the sun was reflected in it. If the sun waded, i.e. glimmered in the water, it would rain that day; but if it kept fine in the morning and rained in the afternoon, then the spring would be fine and the autumn wet, and vice versa. On this morning too the flight of the crows was carefully observed; if they settled near home, instead of flying far afield to feed, the farmer shook his head, for they plainly told him, by so doing, that grub and other pests would sorely afflict his crops that year.

Friday is looked upon as an unlucky day to commence or conclude any undertaking. It is considered unlucky for the first lamb to be dropped on a Friday, to begin sowing or reaping, or to lead the last load on that day. Should the weather be very threatening, instead of finishing leading on the Friday, one stook is very often left, and not brought in until the following day.

Of St. Valentine’s Day we might truly write, ‘Poor St. Valentine! for with thee it is Ichabod.’ No longer do we find shop windows filled with works of art, wrought in silver, lace, and gold; no longer within a coral bower, hung with icicles and rosebuds, is the maiden’s hand clasped or waist encircled; no longer does a pathway of powdered fish-scales lead direct to the little church seen in the far distance, whilst the overfed cupid, who managed to sit on the edge of a very thin cloud, must have fallen off and decamped with the couple of skewered hearts which were usually floating at their own sweet will ’mid heaven. Hearts are at a discount now. Fifty years ago, love-making was a very real and somewhat pedantic proceeding; in these days, when time is money, the whole thing has been curtailed. It is—cut the dialogue and come to the bank book.

Why, there was a time, and only a few years ago, when as many pounds were spent on these love tokens as pennies now.

There may be, here and there, a maiden left who, before retiring to rest, splits a holly twig and binds within the split part a small slip of paper, upon which she has written, with her heart’s blood, the name of him she loveth best, and who places the same under her pillow, so that she may dream her fate. There may be, but I doubt it. Their grandmothers did, though.

Valentine’s Day may be dead, but April Fools’ Day is still with us. ‘Makking t’ feeal o’ yan’ is yet common. The last sell I heard of was sending a lad from one place to another for a bucket of steam. I wonder how long ago it is since the first boy was sent for ’a penn’orth o’ strap oil’ or ’a pint ov pigeon’s milk,’ &c., &c.

On Good Friday it is considered impious to dig or plough.

On Good Friday rist thi pleeaf; Start nowt, end nowt, that’s eneeaf.

Perhaps one of the oldest customs is that in connexion with St. Mark’s Eve. The belief is still held that those who watch the church porch at the hour of midnight on that eve, will see pass in front of them and enter the church the spirits of all those friends who will die during the coming year. With some it is held to be a _sine qua non_ that the watcher must sit within the porch; whilst others hold four cross roads to be equally efficacious, always provided that the body of one who had committed suicide, with the orthodox stake driven through the chest, had been buried there, that being the end of suicides in the good old days.

It should be borne in mind that there are two slight penalties attached to this porch or cross-road watching.

Firstly, should the watcher fall asleep, there is every probability of its being the sleep of death. Should he, however, manage to awaken from such a lethargic slumber, it doesn’t amount to much, as he will assuredly die within the next twelve months. Secondly, whoever tries this game once must continue to do so ever afterwards. There is no escape; the spell upon them is said to be too strong to withstand.

Said an old fellow at Carthorpe, ‘Ah nivver watched mysen, bud one James Haw used ti watch t’ deead gan in an’ cum oot o’ Bon’iston Chetch ivvery St. Mark Eve ez it cam roond. He ’ed teea; he war forced tul’t, he c’u’dn’t help hissen; he’d deean it yance, an’ ‘ed ti gan on wi’ ‘t. Aye, an’ he seed t’ sperrits ov all them ’at war gahin ti dee that year, all on ’em dhrissed i’ ther natt’ral cleeas, or else hoo mud he ’a’e kenn’d whau tha war? They all passed cleease tiv him, bud neean on ’em ivver gav’ him a nod, na nowt o’ that soart. Bud,’ added he, almost in a whisper, ‘them ’at duz it yance awlus ’ev ti deea’t; tha cann’t ho’d thersens back, they’re forced ti gan ivvery tahm St. Mark’s Eve cums roond. Mun! it’s a despert thing ti ’a’e ti deea, ’coz ya ’a’e ti gan, whahl at t’ last end ya see yersen pass yersen, an’ then ya knaw ’at yer tahm’s cum’d an’ ‘at ya’ll be laid i’ t’ cau’d grund afoor that daay cum twelve-month.’

There was another method of divination very commonly resorted to, known by the name of ’caff riddling’ (chaff riddling). The rite was carried out as follows:—At midnight, with the barn doors thrown wide open, a quantity of chaff had to be riddled, those taking part in the ceremony riddling in turn; should a coffin pass the door whilst any one was working the sieve, that person would die within the year. A story is still current in Malton of a woman who tried the above divination. It would seem, some little time after she had commenced to riddle, two men passed the open doors carrying a coffin, and on those who were with her rushing outside to see where they went, neither men nor coffin were anywhere to be seen. Only the woman saw the coffin. It is on record that she died within the year. The occurrence took place about forty years ago.

Perhaps we are a trifle more superstitious than some other counties, but it must be borne in mind that a wealth of folklore adds great respectability to a genealogy which dates back to times so far remote, that the rites and ceremonies of the religion from which it sprang must now be sought for in the myth-history of other lands.

In connexion with Royal Oak Day took place the locking out of the schoolmaster by the scholars, loudly singing, whilst they held the fortress—

It’s Royal Oak daay, T’ twenty-nahnth o’ Maay, An’ if ya deean’t gi’e uz hollida Wa’ll all run awaay.

The above was sung, to the entire satisfaction of the lads, a couple of years ago at Great Ayton. On this day it is customary for every one to display a twig of oak; should any one be so remiss as to walk abroad without sporting an oak-leaf or two, it is quite probable some urchin may give the delinquent a sharp reminder by switching him over the hand with a nettle. And woe betide the lad who is so foolhardy as to venture forth oakless, for in addition to being stung with nettles, he may have to submit to being rubbed over with chalk until he looks very like a miller. It may be mentioned that Royal Oak Day is often called Chalky-back Day.

There are several charms and ceremonies peculiar to Midsummer Eve, the careful observance of which enables a maiden to learn something of what fate may have in store for her. Does she doubt the constancy of her lover, she can satisfy herself once for all, no matter what other folk may say, and in spite of anything she may have seen or imagined herself, by observing the following rite. Certainly the carrying out of the ceremony is a wee bit troublesome, but of what account is trouble when such vital points are at issue as the unmasking of perfidy or the establishment of truth and love? To perform the rite the maiden must proceed as follows:—Pull three hairs from the tail of a perfectly black cat, also three from a red cow; gather three leaves of the deadly nightshade, and, having killed a white pigeon, smear each leaf with blood from its heart. Now make three flat parcels, each containing a cat’s hair, a cow’s hair, and a leaf. Next stew the pigeon, saving the gravy. Now make a savoury dish, adding thereto the gravy. The suspected one must be asked to supper on Midsummer Eve, the damsel being careful to place under the tablecloth the three parcels, in such manner that one will lie under his plate, one under the dish containing the gravy, and the third under her own plate. During supper, should her lover find the least fault with any person or thing, he is faithless. If the maiden is very deeply in love, I should advise her to do most of the talking; let it be only a one-course supper, and hurry through with it. The above charm is rarely resorted to now; the several difficulties which have to be overcome before it can be successfully carried out, have almost laid it on one side. But I well remember its being tried years ago by one of our servants, and I have been informed that it was resorted to, inside of the last five years, at a farm-house near Swainby.

Here is another one for the same eve, which is much more widely known, and believed in yet by many. Three maids, unseen by and unknown to any other but themselves, must each gather a sprig of rosemary, and between the hours of eleven and twelve p.m. retire to an upper chamber, lock the door, and from the moment the key is turned not a word must be spoken. Near one end of the room a basin half full of water must be placed, in which each maiden has dropped a handful of red-rose leaves; the three sprigs of rosemary must now be laid on the rose leaves; next, fix a line across the room, over which each must throw—not fasten in any way—a chemise of her own make, but which she has never worn. Having thus arranged matters, they must seat themselves as far from the basin as possible, when they will be shortly rewarded, for a few moments after twelve o’clock the husband of each will appear. There can be no doubt about this, because each apparition will seize a sprig of rosemary and sprinkle the chemise of the girl he loves. Nothing could be more convincing than this; now, could there be?

If not yet fully satisfied, they may make another attempt on the eve of St. Mary Magdalene. For this they will have to prepare the following decoction:—Take a wineglassful each of rum, gin, and red wine, a teaspoonful of honey, treacle, and sugar, and the same of vinegar, lemon-juice, and sour oranges; these must be mixed together in some utensil purchased that day, and for which each must pay an equal share. When mixing the ingredients, the following rule must be observed: the first maiden must pour in the spirits and wine, the second the sweets, and the third the sours; this must be done at the hour of midnight. Let each now take a sprig of rosemary, dip it in the liquor, and then carefully stitch the same securely to the bosom of her nightdress; bear in mind you are an old maid for ever if you and your sprig part company during the night. Each in turn must now drink a tablespoonful of the mixture, until every drop is consumed, then jump into bed, all three together, and on falling asleep, each maiden will have a dream, the meaning of which cannot be misunderstood. This seems to be quite certain, and there is another thing equally assured—one and all will awake with such a splitting headache in the morning, that they will forswear improvised cold punch for ever afterwards.

It is not within the scope of this work to take note of purely local customs, deeply interesting though they be. Therefore the Vardy dinner at Helmsley, the procession of the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress of York at Kilburn, the race up the hill at Askrigg, or the May-pole dances at several other places, and the like, must be passed over.

The mell supper, though lacking much of its pristine glory, is still with us. Mr. Robinson of Carthorpe, and many others in the riding, still keep to the good old ways. The mell supper, i.e. a supper and a dance after the ingathering of the harvest, is exceedingly common, but with its older observances, or at least as many of them as are remembered, is only adhered to here and there. Still, at the present day, something of the old-time doings are to be met with. The last sheaf at Carthorpe, as in Jutland, is called the ’widow,’ and the last load is always led triumphantly home with songs of joy.

In many places it is common for the last few sheaves to be bound together, these being decorated with ribbons and handkerchiefs—the women racing for the ribbons, and the men contending for the handkerchiefs. This, of course, is a survival of the time when the sheaves themselves were run for; and in the days when an additional bushel of grain was a thing greatly to be desired, the prize would be not a little coveted. Here and there the mell doll is still made; certainly it is not now bedecked with all the gaudy trappings it was adorned with in days of yore, but often some skilful hand will plait the straw into fantastical shapes, exhibiting considerable artistic taste and skill. When completed, whether it be in the form of a doll[6] or that of some other device, it still goes by the name of ’t’ mell doll,’ and is placed in the centre of the barn, round which, by-and-by, the guests will trip on the light fantastic toe.

One characteristic of the mell supper, so far as I know, is now a thing of the past, i.e. the guisers. These were a kind of sword-dancers, who twenty years ago generally came as unbidden guests after the dancing had commenced; as a rule they were accorded a hearty welcome, as they added greatly to the merriment of the evening’s revel, for as the cake and ale went round, the excitement increased, songs and shouting became general, and the dancing something after the nature of a stampede, till at last the uproar was general. It is at such times when age forgets its years, and the young let slip the tether of their youthful spirits, and romp—aye, romp; for the ale is good, the lasses are bonny, ‘slim o’ waist and leet o’ foot.’ It is Yorkshire, all Yorkshire.

The fifth of November, with its bonfires and Guy Fawkes, is as religiously observed in the riding as in any other part of the country. Over a wide area it is the festive occasion on which every good wife bakes a store of parkin, its general form being that of a flat cake of gingerbread, the recipe varying according to the means of the house.

In the days when there were no county police, if not wise enough to securely lock up your yard broom, of a certainty it would be stolen; and if ever you did see it again, it would be on the evening of the fifth, soaked with tar, in the hands of some fellow rushing like a mad thing along the street with your property blazing in front of him. I have known of scores of brooms which were stolen—aye, and stolen them myself—but I do not recollect an instance of the thief being prosecuted. No, if you did not secure your broom, it went, and that was very much the end of it. There was more fun running with a stolen besom than a bought one.

Quite an interesting collection of doggerel verses might be given, which the lads in various parts sing when dragging their load of sticks and thorns to the site of the bonfire. I give one, which an old inhabitant of Great Ayton tells me was sung when his grandfather was a boy.

Au’d Grimey sits upon yon hill Ez black ez onny au’d craw; He’s gitten on his lang grey coat Wi’ buttons doon afoor-oor-oor, Wi’ buttons doon afoor-oor-oor, Wi’ buttons doon afoor-oor-oor, He’s gitten on his lang grey coat Wi’ buttons doon afoor.

Within a week, the young carol-singers will be on your doorstep night after night, reminding you that Christmas is drawing nigh.

A very old custom, but which has now been pretty nigh stamped out by the county policeman, is that of ‘Riding the Stang.’ It is not dead yet, though; I witnessed the stang being ridden as recently as 1891 in Guisborough, and in many of the villages in Wensleydale it is to this day resorted to when considered needful.

The stang is held in wholesome dread by a certain class of evil-doers. Wife-beaters and immoral characters chiefly had and have the benefit of the stang[7]. Whatever their discovered sin might be, was fully set forth in the stang doggerel. One or two points have to be, or at least are, most carefully observed: (1) The real name of the culprit must not be mentioned. (2) The stang must be ridden in three separate parishes each night; and in many places, to make the proceedings quite legal, it was considered a _sine qua non_ that the stang-master must knock at the door of the man or woman they were holding up to ridicule, and ask for a pocket-piece, i.e. fourpence.

The whole proceeding was carried out as follows:—An effigy made of straw and old clothes, representing the culprit, was bound to a pole[8] and set in an upright position in the centre of either a handcart or a small pony cart, in which was seated the stang-master; and following behind were gathered all the ragamuffins of the village, armed with pan lids, tin cans, tin whistles, or anything which could be made to produce a discordant sound. Being ready, the cart was drawn in front of the culprit’s house, and after a fearful hubbub, the stang-master cried out, in a sing-song voice,—

Ah tinkle, Ah tinkle, Ah tinkle tang, It’s nut foor your part ner mah part ‘At Ah rahd the stang, Bud foor yan Bill Switch whau his weyfe did bang, Ah tinkle, Ah tinkle, Ah tinkle tang. He banged her, he banged her, he banged her indeed, He banged her, he banged her, afoor sha steead need; Upstairs aback o’ t’ bed He sairly brayed her whahl sha bled, Oot o’ t’ hoos on ti t’ green, Sikan a seet ez nivver war seen, Ez neean c’u’d think, ez neean c’u’d dream. Sae Ah gat ma a few cumarades Ti traal ma aboot; Sae it’s hip hip hurrah, lads, Set up a gert shoot, An’ blaw all yer whistles, Screeam, rattle, an’ bang All ’at ivver ya’ve gitten, Foor Ah ride the stang.

Then, for a few moments, there arose a tumult of sound, to which the wildest ravings of bedlam would seem insignificant.

This performance lasts three nights, and on the third the effigy is burnt in front of the culprit’s house.

Another very old custom, which is now rarely seen, is that of bottle breaking. When a house was ready for the thatch, in later days the tiles, a bottle was suspended by a ribbon from the ridge beam. Stones were then shied at it, and the one who was lucky enough to smash the bottle claimed the ribbon. If in days past this custom had anything of an occult nature attached to it, it has long ago been forgotten. In its last days it degenerated into what was considered to be a valid excuse for spending the rest of the day in the village pub. _O tempora, O mores!_

The daily life of the Guisboreans does not seem to have altered much from the time of Edward VI to the end of last century. In a letter among the Cottonian MSS., the writer, addressing Sir Thomas Chaloner, says, ‘The people bread here (Guisborough) live very longe, if they be a while absent they growe sicklye; they are altogether given to pleasure, scarce any good husband amongst them; Day and Nighte feastinge, making Matches for Horse Races, Dog runninge, or runninge on Foote,’ &c. The above was written about 1550, and we find in 1784 that things were still pretty lively, as the contents of the small hand-bill[9] (see next page) fully testify. The contents of another, setting forth the varied attractions of ‘Staithes Feast,’ are also characteristic of the time.

Gisbrough Races.

Saturday, August 14, 1784.

A MATCH between SIR WILLIAM FOULIS’S Ass Colt, Turkey Nab, and Mr. CHALONER’S Ass Colt, Sturdy; Catch-weights, 1l. 1s. play or pay, the last Comer-in to Win. Change of Jockeys, crossing, jostling, and kicking.

A PURSE of SILVER to be run for by Men in Sacks. Crossing and jostling.

LADIES’ PLATE.

A SHIFT to be run for by Ladies. No crossing-and-jostling. No Lady to enter who has won more than one Shift. A Pair of Cotton Stockings for the second Lady; and a Pair of Garters for the third. Free for all Weights and Ages.

⁂ After the Races, A Soap-tail’d PIG will be turn’d out. Whoever throws him over his Shoulder by the Tail is to have him for his own Property.

††† Smoaking, Cudgel-††playing, and other Entertainments.

JOHN HALE, Steward.

‡‡ An Ordinary at the Cock at Gisbrough at Half past Two o‘Clock. The Race to begin at Five o‘Clock.

* * * * *

STAITHES FEAST.

—WILL BE HELDE ON—

TUESDAY, JUNE 20, 1797.

When the prizes AS ADVERTIZED BELOW will be offered to ALL those skilled in such matters, as well as DIVERS others not herin stated.

TO WIT.

⁂ A fish skin purse contayninge SILVER will be run or rolled for in sacks a man and a boy in each sack. 25 Y^{RDS.} ERIC STAUMER Esq. will adjudge.

††† A 50 Y^{RDS.} race. To be run for, A HOOD and CLOAK, each, for maidens runninge in pairs, the right legge of the one to be fast bound below the knee and at the ancle, to y^e left legge of the other[10]. T. METCALFE WILL BIND Y^E LEGGES AND ADJUDGE.

⁂ A CROWN piece for A MAN and WIFE race, y^e wife to be hugged either on the backe, in arms, or by any other device, so as she be lifted clean from y^e ground, HUSBANDS with light wives to be put backe. No WHEELBARROWS allowed. M^{R.} MAT PETCH WILL ADJUDGE.

The choyce of a sark or petticote offered to the best performance of skille in a SKEP and POLE tryal[11]. Only for married women. One clean turn to be mayde. THOS. HILTUNE Esq. will adjudge.

††† A CŌBLE RACE for 1.l. 1.s.

⁂ A LYKE SUM will be gyven to the owners of the best kept CŌBLE. To be equally divided. W. Hymers Esq. WILL adjudge.

††† 2 new CROWN pieces will be gyven to y^e maid under 18 yeares who shalle fyrst cleanly bayte 100 hooks. M^{R.} W. PICKLES will adjudge.

⁂ LYKEWISE, Genning throw a BARFAN, SMOAKING, and other pastimes for y^e entertainment of all commers will in nowise be found lacking.

ALL friends and nighbours are dilligently invited.

This was wrote by I. STOREY, schoolmaster.

N.B. This hand-bill was not printed, but most carefully and neatly written.