CHAPTER VII

CUSTOMS OF COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, BIRTH, AND DEATH

_Superstition._

The old customs and superstitions connected with marriage festivities are perhaps more closely observed here and there in the North Riding than in any other part of Yorkshire. In some parts of Cleveland, I doubt if the bride and bridegroom would consider themselves properly wedded if there were no race for a ribbon or handkerchief. And certainly it would be a most unlucky omen, should any one but the bride cut the first piece from the bride’s cake. But I anticipate—let us commence at the beginning. Very rarely, I imagine, is it that an orthodox proposal is ever made by a Yorkshire lad to the lass of his choice. No, they just ’keep cump’ny t’ ane wi’ t’ t’other.’ ‘Keeping company’ is the Yorkshire idiom for courting; and during that happy time, in days past, were a young fellow ever caught kissing his lady-love whilst a roof was over their heads (i.e. in any one’s house), he was liable—if he did not instantly throw on the table kiss-money—to be ‘pitchered[12]’ on the spot, i.e. either have a hole burnt through his coat or his buttons cut off. This violent attack on the person of arson and robbery was usually effected by a bevy of damsels.

In time, if all went well, the twain decided to become one; to this end the ’spurrings’ were put in, i.e. the banns were published. This having been accomplished, the couple were said to be ’hanging in the bell-ropes’—no maiden would ever think of attending church during the time she was hanging in the bell-ropes, or to use another expression, ‘whilst she was suffering from a broken leg after having tumm’l’d ower t’ bauk.’

The wedding day having arrived, the happy couple, accompanied by their friends, either proceed two and two, or hire a cab.

Of course the bride is properly garnished for the occasion, and very nice and blushy she looks—that goes without saying. But whatever her toilet may be, one thing is certain—not a speck of blue or green will be found anywhere about her, both colours being considered very unlucky; neither will the wedding take place on a Friday.

Deean’t o’ Friday buy yer ring, O’ Friday deean’t put t’ spurrings in, Deean’t wed o’ Friday. Think on o’ this, Nowther blue ner green mun match her dhriss.

If during the ceremony the sun is obscured for a short time, and then bursts forth shining on the couple, happy will such a bride be. For

Blessed is t’ bride ’at t’ sun shines on, An’ blessed is t’ deead ’at t’ rain rains on.

Years ago, it was the custom, in many parts of Cleveland, for the bride and bridegroom to leap over a form on leaving the church porch. On this feat being accomplished, a gun was fired, this often being charged with feathers. At Guisborough the firing of guns was continued throughout the whole route. And in many parts of Cleveland, meeting the bridal procession with hot pots was common; these were bowls filled with a kind of steaming punch, and as the bridal party were expected to drink from every hot pot, one can well imagine and understand the revelry which so often took place, especially when the hot pots were numerous. Afterwards, these pots were carried from door to door, a plate covered with a saucer being also presented; a gift of money was slipped under the saucer, given to enable the hot pot to be replenished. In the Staithes district, if a guest stepped in any kind of filth on his or her way to the house, on no account would it be wiped off, it being considered very unlucky to do so. I believe, at that time, sanded floors and not carpets were the rule.

On passing through the church gates, the bridegroom usually threw a handful of coppers amongst the crowd. A man now headed the procession, carrying under his arm a young cockerel, which he made continually to ‘skrike oot’; this could only be silenced by the payment of bride’s money. On arriving at the bride’s home, she was met on the doorstep, and presented with a small cake on a plate. A little of this she would eat, throwing the remainder over her head, typical of the hope that they might always have plenty and something to spare. She then handed the plate to her husband; this he threw over his head, their future happiness depending upon its being broken[13].

The race for the bride’s garter was a common custom in former times, its possession being held in high esteem, and valued as a potent love charm.

Now, however, the custom has almost fallen into disuse, though within the last five years the ceremony was fully carried out. At one time it was not only a recognized custom, but in most cases special preparation was made for its due observance, the maidens spending no little time and skill in the working of their bridal garters.

Immediately after the plate had been broken, the bride’s attempt to cross the threshold was hindered by the kneeling figure of the winner of the race, claiming the privilege of removing the prize. The bride then raised her skirt whilst he removed the valued trophy[14].

As it was the correct thing in those good old days for ladies to raise the skirt quite as high when dancing, and as elaborately worked stockings were worn to be looked at, nothing was thought of lifting the skirt, and nothing would in these days if some lady of title revived the custom. From an old rhyme, I give the following lines:—

T’ BRAHDAL BANDS.

Blushing, theer oor Peggy sits Stitching, fahn stitching, Luv knots roond her brahdal bands, Witching, bewitching.

T’ brahd’s maids all mun deea a stitch, Stitching, fahn stitching, An’ tha mun binnd it roond her leg[15], Witching, bewitching.

Bud sum bauf[16] swain ’at’s soond o’ puff[17], Stitching, fahn stitching, ‘Ll claim his reet ti tak’ it off, Witching, bewitching.

An’ he aroond his awn luv’s leg, Stitching, fahn stitching, ‘Ll lap it roond ti binnd his luv, Witching, bewitching.

Whahl sha sweet maid’ll wear his troth, Stitching, fahn stitching, Mahnding each tahm sha taks it off, Witching, bewitching.

That daay when sha will ’a’e ti wear, Stitching, fahn stitching, Nut yan, bud tweea, a brahdal pair, Witching, bewitching.

Oh, happy day! when sha s’all stitch, Stitching, fahn stitching, Her brahdal bands, the wearing which Mak maids bewitching.

It may be remembered that knights often bound the garter of their lady-love about their sword-hilts.

The following lines evidently were written when the bridal garter was held in greater favour than the ribbon:—

SONG.

DRINK TO THE BRIDAL GARTER.

Nance is wed ti morn at morn, High doon a derry O, Monny a lad ’s this daay ’s forlorn, High doon a derry O; Bud cheer up, lads, yer glasses fill, Fer ivvery Jack ther is a Jill. Sup off, my bucks, an’ divn’t spill, An’ maay Ah win her garter O.

Neea prude is Nance; tha saay sha’s maad, High doon a derry O, Her brahdal bands ov gowden braad, High doon a derry O. Noo fer a ribbon Ah weean’t run, It gi’es neea luck, an’ stops wer fun, Sike nimmy nammy waays ’ez sum; Cum drink ti t’ brahdal garter O.

Here ’s health an’ luck ti t’ brahd ’at darr, High doon a derry O, Her brahdal bands baith stitch an’ wear, High doon a derry O; Ti them ’at ho’ds a ribbon up Neean on uz here’ll draan a cup, Sike healths wa ’evn’t tahm ti sup, Ov slipshod, undarned stockings O.

T’ brahd ’at darn’t her skets pull up, High doon a derry O, Maist leykly is a mucky slut, High doon a derry O. Yan best can tell a lass’s waays Byv what sha wears, ’an what sha saays; A ribbon gi’en o’ wedding days Screens mucky undarned stockings O.

Maay ivvery bonny blushing brahd, High doon a derry O, ‘Ev nowther muck ner hoals ti hide, High doon a derry O, An’ maay sha on her brahdal daay Pull up her skets, an’ smiling saay, ‘Mah garter’s thahn, tak it, Ah praay, An’ gi’e ’t ti thi true lovey O.’

Afoor wa pairt fill up each glass, High doon a derry O, Let each yan drink tiv his awn lass, High doon a derry O, Ti Bessy, Sally, Sue, an’ Peg, Ti Martha, Mary, Maud, an’ Meg; An’ here’s ti ivvery shap’ly leg Roond which a brahdal band diz go.

Originally the ceremony of removing the bridal garter was, as has been said, carried out in a perfectly decorous manner; in time, however, it degenerated into actually stealing the garter by force. This unseemly proceeding possibly arose from the strong opposition and resentment which was felt, and for long demonstrated, whenever the ribbon supplanted the garter.

Why, as recently as 1820, Lady —— [18], a great stickler after old customs, on stepping from her bridal coach, inquired who had won the race. ‘Ah did, my lady,’ answered one of the stable lads. Ascending the steps, her ladyship stepped half over the threshold, calling out to the lad, ‘Come, Tom, and claim your prize,’ adding, as she raised her silken gown, ‘I intend to be properly married and have the luck I am entitled to.’ Then turning to the young fellow, smiling, she added, ‘Take it off, Tom, and give it to your sweetheart, and may it bring luck to both of you.’

In Great Ayton the ribbon seems to have supplanted the garter in the early part of this century. In fact it is only the old folks who remember, and can tell you anything concerning the gay and festive doings of those days. But the older custom held its own for long afterwards, and that, too, within a very few miles. But intercommunication between villages has never been a strong feature. Even to-day there is a species of rivalry existing between Stokesley and Great Ayton people, but this is common to all adjacent villages.

It only adds one more proof in support of what has already been said, that the customs, superstitions, and dialect of any given locality, or even that of a whole dale, cannot, and must not, be taken as being that of the whole of the North Riding, much less of Yorkshire.

A case in point may here be mentioned. In days past it was usual in Great Ayton to discharge firearms over the bridal party as they processed both _to and from the church_. This, however, was by no means the custom throughout Cleveland[19]. Neither was the firing of the stithy, which I am told was never omitted; i.e. a charge of powder poured into a hole in the anvil, upon which a heavy weight was laid; this, when fired, went off with the report of a cannon. In many places the latter was only resorted to when either objectionable people were united or in the case of a forced marriage. In Great Ayton it was done in honour of the occasion.

Much variation exists as to the exact time when the ribbon is to be run for. In some places it is the custom for the racers to stand at the church door, and start off on a signal being given that the ring has been slipped on the bride’s finger. In other localities the race takes place the moment the bride and bridegroom leave the church porch, the one arriving first at the bride’s door being the winner.

In other localities it does not take place until after the wedding feast, and again, often not until evening.

In many places it is customary for the bride to stand as the winning post, holding the ribbon in her hand, the winner not only claiming the prize, but a kiss also. It may be mentioned here that the best man generally claims the first kiss at the conclusion of the ceremony. At Great Ayton and many other places sixty years ago, before the bride left the altar steps the sexton removed her shoe, which was ransomed by the bridegroom. It was, and is still, considered most lucky to rub shoulders with the bridegroom. And until somewhat recently the parson officiating was always expected to kiss the bride. Before railways were so general, and when, as often happened, the honeymoon had to be spent amongst friends within driving distance, or at the bride’s home, ‘throwing the stocking’ at the bride and bridegroom after they had retired to rest was never omitted.

It is a bad omen should the bridal party meet a coffin, or should a cripple cross their path. Had they to pass over a stream, it was usual for both to throw something over their shoulder into the stream, saying as they did so, ‘Bad luck cleave to you,’ being very careful not to set eyes on the object again. On an occasion of this kind, should the man wish to be master in his own house, he had better see that he cross the centre of the bridge a little in advance of his bride, or that lady will gain an advantage she will be careful not to undervalue—the husband will have to do the wife’s bidding. It is also considered unlucky to remove the wedding ring before the birth of the first child. Should a bride unfortunately do so, be sure it is the husband who replaces it; on no account must she let another man do so, unless she wishes speedily to become a widow. Before the bride and bridegroom left for their own home, it was common for a kettleful of boiling water to be poured on the front step, upon which the bride stepped, being careful to wet both her shoes. The due observance of this custom ensured another happy marriage being arranged amongst the company there assembled.

When the time arrives for the happy couple to take their departure, either for their own home or the honeymoon, great care must be observed that the husband steps over the threshold in front of his bride, otherwise she will take the lead in all things through life. It would be a great advantage to a lot of men if the wife did step a little in advance. They must also be very careful not to make their exit with the back and front door open at the same time; and on entering their new home, a man must receive them, never a woman, neither must they enter an empty house, as it would result in a lack of friends. The belief in open doors, &c., applies to all occasions when leaving or returning home after having spent the night under a strange roof. As the bride leaves the paternal roof, some swain will endeavour to seize her foot. This doubtless is a surviving relic of the time when it was deemed a post of honour to assist the bride into the saddle. It ensures little separation through life if the happy pair, on rising from their bridal couch, take each other by the hand, and slip out of bed, so that their feet touch the floor together; then, still keeping hold of hands, they must cross the room and step outside, as equally as possible.

Whilst the immediate friends enjoyed themselves as guests at the bride’s house, many of their well-wishers adjourned to the nearest hostel and drank their healths with many a glass and catch-song.

One, a kind of catch-verse, was very common a few years ago. Each time it was sung the glasses were drained, some one else being called upon to repeat the song. This had to be done at once, and in the reverse way to the former vocalist, i.e. if the last singer toasted the bridegroom, the next must commence with the bride; did he make a mistake, he had to pay for glasses round.

_The Verse._

The brahdgroom’s health we all will sing, In spite of Turk or Spanish king, The brahd’s good health we will not pass, But put them both into one glass. See, see, see that he drink it all, See, see, see that he let none fall, For if he do, he shall drink two, And so shall the rest of the company do.

Another catch-rhyme must have resulted in innumerable glasses having to be paid for each time it was sung. It was quite an action song, each taking a line in turn, every glass being raised at the commencement of each line, and then replaced, forming a ring round the bride’s garter, which lay in the centre of the table, or a borrowed one doing duty for the time. As each glass had to be lifted on the word DRINK, and tapped against that of its right and left hand neighbour at CHINK, then set on the table again without spilling, some one would have to pay for glasses round. The verse ran:—

Wa lift each glass ti t’ brahdgroom’s health, DRINK, DRINK, DRINK. T’ yan ’at slaps pays fer t’ next roond, CHINK, CHINK, CHINK. An’ here’s ti t’ brahd, good luck ti t’ lass, Drink, Drink, Drink. Wa thruff her band noo pass each glass[20], Wink, Wink, Wink. Wer liquor will all t’ better seeam, Chink, Chink, Chink, When wa call ti mahnd wheer it hez been, Drink, Drink, Drink. Bud him ’at trimm’ls, smiles, or slaps (spills), Chink, Chink, Chink, Pays fer wer glasses gahin ti t’ taps, Drink, Drink, Drink.

Quite a collection of these catch-songs might be made; they are all quaint, and if they point to days when things were a trifle different, we must bear in mind that a hundred years hence we shall be pretty severely criticized.

_Birth._

The future of a child greatly depends upon which day it is born.

A Munday’s bairn will grow up fair, A Tuesday’s yan i’ grace thruff prayer, A Wednesday’s bairn ’ez monny a paain, A Tho’sday’s bairn weean’t bahd at heeam. A Friday’s bairn is good an’ sweet, A Settherday’s warks frea morn ti neet, Bud a Sunday’s bairn thruff leyfe is blist An’ seear i’ t’ end wi’ t’ Saints ti rist.

From the day of its birth to that of its baptism, pepper cake, cheese and wine, or some other cordial, are offered to all those who cross the threshold. No one would think of refusing to ’tak a bite an’ sup,’ to wish the little stranger all the happiness and good luck possible. In many places, the doctor cuts the cake and cheese immediately after the happy event is over, giving a piece to every one present; neither cake nor cheese must have been previously cut into, and what is cut must be divided into just so many pieces as there are friends present, neither more nor less. Should it unfortunately happen the pieces exceed in number that of the guests, it would portend that troubles in this life will be too many to contend against; but should there be not enough pieces to go all round, then the child in after years will lack many of those comforts, the possession of which make life a blessing.

When possible, a new arrival, before being laid by its mother’s side, or even touched by her, is placed in the arms of a maiden. To a boy, this early contact, with our highest ideal of earthly purity, gives to him a nobleness of character which in after years will help the world to be better, whilst in the case of a girl she will grow up to be modest and pure in all things. The idea is pretty.

In Cleveland, and some of the dales westward, the notion still prevails that a child should always go up in the world before it goes down; so when it happens that a child is born in the topmost story, in which case it is impossible to carry it into a higher room, the nurse will stand upon the bed with the child in her arms, holding it above the mother, that being a higher position than it held at its birth. After this ceremony it may be safely taken to the lower regions. Were this rite omitted, and the child allowed to descend before it had gone up, failure in life would most likely be the lot of such a one—the tendency of such always being downhill. These little ceremonies, anyway, point a splendid moral. One cannot begin to be good and diligent too early in life.

When a child is born with a mask or caul over its head, good luck will follow it all the days of its life, always provided the caul is properly preserved. There is some rite in the preservation of such, the details of which I have not been able to obtain. Speaking to one old dame, she said to me that she did not rightly know what they did in such cases, none of her children having been fortunate enough to be so distinguished at their birth. This much, however, she did know, that some just dried such a covering by laying it between two layers of muslin, but—and to give her own words—‘Ther’s other some ’at ’ev a straange carrying on wi’ sike leyke; they lap it roond t’ Bahble an’ deea summat, bud Ah deean’t knaw what, bud Ah can git ti knaw foor ya.’ That cannot be now; she has crossed the borderland. That such cauls or masks were held in high esteem at one time, is proved by the high prices paid for them, not because they had belonged to people of note or high degree, but because they possessed the power to ward off many evils which might assail the possessor. Sailors even to-day set great store by them: they act as a charm, saving the possessor from drowning in case of a wreck. These veils were much prized by witches, and great was the evil they could work should such ever come into their possession, hence the necessity of using all precautions against their loss.

An old body, Ann Caygill by name—I think she was a native of Bedale—told me the following story. She was seventy-five years of age, and the event took place some twenty years before she was born, but as the individual affected told the story to Ann herself, I have it pretty much from its original source. Jane Herd at her birth had a mask covering both head and face, which, as quite natural in those days, her mother carefully preserved. It turned out to be one of extraordinary power. If Jane laid it on the Bible and wished to see any one, they were bound to put in an appearance. And many other wonders she could work with her caul. Jane, it seems, was a pious girl, and never used it for an evil purpose, though, said my informant, she might have done had she been so minded. One day when Jane was using her mask for some rightful purpose, a puff of wind blew it through the open window. Jane of course rushed into the street to recover her treasure, but it was gone, and could not be found; being of such an exceedingly light nature, the wind had carried it no one knew whither.

And from that day Jane’s life became a burden. Her lover grew cold—the wedding day had been arranged, but he declined to carry out his promise—a nasty lump came on her neck, and a fearful pain and swelling attacked her right knee, which made her walk very lame, and indeed she became a perfect wreck. At last things got into such a parlous state with her, that people began to suspect some evil-minded person had found her mask, and was working her evil with it. It was then remembered, when Jane had rushed into the street to recover her lost treasure, that the only person visible at the time was one Molly Cass[21], a witch of considerable local repute in those days. But Molly at the time had been so far distant from Jane’s cottage, that she was not even questioned. In the end, Jane had resort to the wise man, or rather men, of that day—Master Sadler and Thomas Spence[22], both of Bedale. These two worthies, after many questions, made a sign round the lump as well as round her knee, telling Jane to collect certain things—what these were could not be called to mind—and bring them next day near midnight. These several things having been collected and duly delivered to the charmers, were mixed together, with other ingredients, and the whole boiled on a wickenwood fire, and stirred by Jane with a wickenwood stick; near the end of this boiling, a great smoke arose from the pan, which Jane was told to inhale. She did so, but it nearly choked her, still she kept on swallowing mouthful after mouthful, until she had done so nine times; she was then told to cease stirring, but to retain the stick in one hand, the other being laid on the Bible. She had then to repeat the following question: ‘Has —— ’ (here mentioning the name of anyone she suspected) ‘gotten mah caul?’ Then Master Sadler, after a moment’s pause, said, ‘No, she is free.’ Master Spence then joined in with ‘By the power of the Holy Writ and the charm of Hagothet and Arcon[23], mention the name of some other person thou doubtest.’ This formula was gone through until the name of Molly Cass was mentioned. Even as the witch’s name was uttered, the pan boiled over, filling the room with such a fearful stench, that all three had to hurry into the yard. So quickly was this accomplished, that they surprised the old witch scrambling off a settle, upon which she had been standing to enable her to peep through a small hole in the shutters. She was instantly seized and thrust into the room, and kept there until so nearly suffocated, that she confessed she had the caul on her person, and promised then and there to deliver it up. On being brought out of the room more dead than alive, she further confessed that she had been forced to run all the way from Leeming—the current belief, however, was that she had come astride of a besom—the moment they had put the pan on the wickenwood fire. She begged to be forgiven, but as a punishment she was locked up in a stable, a wicken peg having been driven into the door to prevent her from escaping; and next day, for the diversion of the Bedale inhabitants, she was hurried to the mill dam and duly ducked nine times.

‘A FRAGMENT,’

ON THE WITCH MOLLY CASS.

* * * * *

Foor seear sha war a queer au’d lass, Ez meean ez muck, ez bou’d ez brass; Ah meean t’ au’d witch, au’d Molly Cass, ‘At lived nigh t’ mill at Leeming. Noo fooak will clack, Ah’ve heeard ’em saay At t’ dark o’ neet, when pass’t that waay, Tha fan’ it ommaist leet ez daay, Sike leets war awlus gleaming; An’ sum held ti ’t ’at mair ’an yance Wiv her feet fra t’ grund they’d seean her prance, Loup hoos heigh up, wi’ t’ Divil dance.

* * * * *

The above would, I believe, be written about the year 1810 by one who wrote under the signature of R. H.[24] At that time Molly must have been dead some twenty years, but her deeds would still be remembered by many. Mr. W. Hird, from whom I had the above fragment, told me he used to know the whole piece, which was of considerable length.

But to return to recent times, still keeping to Bedale. I remember a shopkeeper’s wife saying to me, ‘That girl has been lucky, but then she had a veil on when she was born, so one need not wonder.’

The case is a simple one, I know, but a straw shows which way the wind blows, and here was the belief still flourishing in the potency of the caul. This happened about twenty years ago. One has no need to go that far back; so recently as four years ago, a man, a native of Great Ayton, said to me, pointing to a girl, ‘Ah’ve putten that lass’s muther intiv a straange stew. Ah’ve stown’ (stolen) t’ lass’s mask, an’ her muther’s ommaist to’n’d t’ hoos upsahd doon latin’ on ’t, bud Ah s’all let her ’ev ’t back agaan; Ah wadn’t keep ’t foor nowt;’ and then he added, ‘An’ Ah wadn’t wark neeabody onny ill wi’ ‘t.’ Here again you have the old belief showing itself as strongly as in days past.

But to return to the baby. The baby’s nails must not be cut during infancy; should they grow inconveniently long, they may be bitten off by the mother, for if they were cut, the child would grow up light-fingered, i.e. a thief. When the child has celebrated its first birthday, they may be properly cut; but here again certain days must be avoided—Fridays and Sundays are considered to be very unlucky. It is a common saying—

Better t’ baan ’ed ne’er been born, ‘An cut its naals on a Sunday morn.

There is no virtue attached to the pieces of the nails when cut, but the first pieces bitten off should be carefully preserved, until there is a scrap from every nail on both hands; these must be wrapped together and buried under an ash-tree, and the child, if not freed from the diseases incident to the young, will only have them in a slight degree.

The old rhyme says—

Cut ’em o’ Munday, cut ’em foor health; Cut ’em o’ Tuesday, cut ’em foor wealth; Cut ’em o’ Wednesday, cut ’em foor news; Cut ’em o’ Thorsday, ya cut foor new shoes; Cut ’em o’ Friday, ya cut ’em foor sorrow; Cut ’em o’ Seterday, t’ bairn nivver need borrow; Cut ’em o’ Sunday, ’t ’ed better be deead, Foor ill-luck an’ evil ’ll lig on its heead.

Again:—

Sunday clipt, Sunday shorn, Better t’ bairn ’ed nivver been born.

Before the baby is nine days old it is wise to decide upon its name, and once having done this, _so let it be_. If either parent should happen to say, ‘We will call it So-and-so,’ do not alter after having so declared, for if so the child will grow up a liar, and probably have to assume several aliases before death. But the worst of all is to decide upon a name before the child is born, and then afterwards change to some other. Singular to say, in Cleveland you are told that such a proceeding ’can end i’ nowt bud harm’; but you are not informed either precisely what form the harm will take, or why. There is a legend lingering still in Wensleydale, to the effect that once a soul was permitted to view the body it would shortly tenant. The mother happened to say whilst the soul was near, ‘When my baby is born, if a boy, we shall have him christened ——,’ mentioning the name they had decided upon. The soul knew it would be a boy, and on its return to spirit-land gave a full description of the body it was going to have for its companion on earth, mentioning at the same time the name by which it would be known. What then was its dismay to discover, on being carried to the font, that it was being christened by some other name. For a time it was sorely troubled. What must it do? What could it do? In the end it felt there was only one way open: it must hurry back to soul-land and clear itself from an apparent untruth, but in order to do this it must free itself from the body; but if ever the soul and body part company they never meet again. So the baby died, and the soul went back to spirit-land.

The above was given to me years ago by an old Yorkshire dame, who during her girlhood, if not a native, lived for many years in the village of West Burton. In the dales of Cleveland and Wensleydale, to guard her babe from the influence of evil spirits and bad wishes, the mother used to place a Bible under the pillow of the sleeping child, until such time as the infant had been christened, that being considered sufficient protection against all evil spirits. And in the days of witchcraft, in many houses where the first cradle would shortly be tenanted, it was most carefully kept wrong side up until the child was laid in it. This was done so that no other living thing in that house should sleep in it before the coming owner. Otherwise the cradle would be forestalled, and in after years the occupant might have reason to doubt the fidelity of his wife, or vice versa.

In such fear was this forestalling of the cradle held, that one was rarely purchased until absolutely needed. A cradle should always be paid for before it crosses the threshold. It is said that the child who sleeps in an unpaid-for cradle will end its days lacking the means to pay for its own coffin, or, as others put it, be too poor to pay for its lodgings on the earth or in it. Should the baby when grown older say ‘Papa’ before he or she utters ‘Mamma,’ then be assured the next little stranger will be a boy; however, should it say ‘Mamma’ first, then it will be a girl; and should it say ‘Papa’ and a girl is born, then be quite sure that it said ‘Mamma’ some little time before, when no one was near. This last bit is mine; I like to help even a superstition out of a difficulty.

If baby’s first tooth appears in the upper jaw, it is not considered a good sign; there is a fear of the child dying in infancy. Sometimes they don’t.

Should the baby be born with a mole on its chin, success is strongly foreshadowed; the same on the left thigh is considered quite the reverse. One on the right temple gives wealth and high position, and one placed at the outside corner of either eye denotes a sudden death. Whilst

A dimple on the chin brings a fortune in, A dimple on the cheek leaves the fortune for to seek.

No woman ever dreamt of crossing any threshold but her own until after she had been churched, as in doing so she carried ill-luck into every house she entered.

At the baptism, should a boy and a girl be presented at the same time, the boy must always be christened first, as otherwise he will play second fiddle to his wife, and when come to man’s estate be for ever beardless and effeminate; and worse than this, the baby girl when grown up will assuredly possess more hair on her face than is usually considered needful, and more than beauty demands. She will also be manly and masculine in her ways and habits.

When the new baby is taken round for inspection, the lady of the house, after passing various eulogiums on and over the small being, pins to its garments a small packet to help the future Lord Chancellor on his way through life. This packet contains three things—an egg, a silver coin, and a pinch of salt: the salt, so that it may never lack the savour of life, whatever that may be; the egg assures it food, raiment, and a roof over its head; and the coin starts it off with a banking account. If these well-wishers were to add a fourth gift, in the form of a small cane, sufficiently hypnotized so that the young mother would be compelled to use it when needed, what a lot of really fine bairns there would be. Unfortunately superstition has never been run on practical lines.

_Death._

A lack of the needful may compel the parties concerned to wed without the smallest attempt at rural ostentation, but not so in the case of a funeral. Every sacrifice is made to honour the dead. They like it to be said that their loved ones were decently buried. They themselves feel proud to say, ‘Aye, he’s geean; wa’ve gitten him sahded by’ (buried), ‘an’ it war a beautiful funeral; Ah will say that.’

In these days one can scarcely conceive the needless waste of money, and by those too who can ill afford it, which is so lavishly squandered on funeral folly. It was even worse a few years ago.

Had it been possible for the moment to put on one side the solemn fact that some dearly loved one was being borne to his or her last long rest, funerals, as I remember them years ago in Ripon, were more like circus processions than anything else. Happily many of the old notions are being laid aside by the rising generation. Yet often to-day in country places, as far as circumstances will admit, the old order of things is most rigidly observed.

Two years ago I witnessed a country funeral, almost in all the pristine glory of my youthful days. One thing it lacked, the hearse and horses with their sombre nodding plumes. This, be it remembered, was the funeral of a widow’s son, her finances at the time being in anything but a flourishing condition. Two mutes stood guarding the open door. A silk scarf about three yards long was given to each bearer and mourner to fasten round his hat, and a pair of black kid gloves to every one bidden. I cannot say how much port wine was drunk, what it cost per bottle, or the weight of finger biscuits consumed, but as these were freely handed to every one assembled inside and outside the house, who could roll a pocket handkerchief into a ball, and assume a funereal aspect of countenance, considerable expense must have been incurred with these two items alone. After the return from the graveside, there was the funeral feast. Those who have never seen what provision is made for an affair of this kind can form but a very poor idea of the actual amount of food provided for and consumed by those who follow as mourners to the graveside. Refreshment is necessary for those who have driven, it may be, a long distance to pay their last respect to the departed one, but in the case of those who live near by, surely it does not need a moment’s thought for them to decide upon the more seemly course to pursue. The old days of the funeral arvel, when almost the whole countryside were bidden, not only to the funeral, but to the funeral feast, have passed away, or nearly so. Even to-day, in many of our dales, the neighbours are still bidden. This bidding, and the very name of it, are both of Scandinavian origin. The order of men carrying men, and women women, is still observed. The same also with the sex of the young; only, in the case of a young maiden, the girls who act as bearers are dressed in white, and the carrying of a garland in front of the coffin is not even yet extinct. At one time these garlands[25] were after the funeral hung up in the church, and I believe in some of our dale churches in Cleveland these emblems of purity are to be seen hanging yet.

In the case of women who died in childbirth, a white sheet was thrown over the coffin. The bearing of the coffin either by towels (staves are things of the past now) or on the shoulders is equally common in various parts of the riding.

Should the family of the departed one possess a hive, the announcement of a death must at once be made to the bees, and the hive be draped in black. The bees must also have given to them a portion of everything, to the minutest detail, which is offered to the bidden guests, including wine, spirits, tobacco, and pipes; nothing must be omitted, for in some undefined way bees watch over the welfare of those to whom they belong, and it would be unwise to offend them. It is held that if the first swarm following a death, no matter how long the interval, is easy to hive, success is guaranteed for the next business transaction, but should the swarm settle on a dead bough, it foretells death to another of the family in the near future; while should the swarm fly away and be lost, then great care must be exercised in all undertakings, until such times as a swarm has been successfully hived.

It is not so very long ago since every funeral at Guisborough[26] was headed by the sexton singing a hymn from the house to the church gates, but this singing by friends is common to-day.

The superstitions connected with the dying and the dead are many and varied. Few country people doubt the existence of a power by which the living can (as they put it) hold back the dying. It is not an uncommon thing to hear some one say, ‘Sha wad ’a’e deed last neet, nobbut Mary wadn’t let her gan,’ or ‘Mary wadn’t gi’e her up,’ or ‘Mary ho’ds on tiv her seea.’ It is, as it were, the last link of the chain connecting life with the earthly side of eternity, the snapping of which would for ever free the soul, but which the dying person is unable to break, because some one refuses to be reconciled; they cannot bear to part with them, and in this way hold them back. Again, the soul cannot free itself if the dying person has been laid on a bed containing pigeon feathers, or the feathers of wild birds even. Instances are on record of pigeon feathers having been placed in a small bag, and thrust under dying persons to hold them back, until the arrival of some loved one; but the meeting having taken place, the feathers were withdrawn, and death allowed to enter.

On the other hand, when something unaccountable has seemed to prevent a person _in extremis_ from passing into the other world, pigeon feathers have often been suspected. Under such circumstances the invalid has been lifted out of bed, and either laid upon another one, or seated in a chair. And as a rule death speedily followed either treatment, the patient passing away in an incredibly short space of time, which of course clearly proved that such feathers had inadvertently been mixed with those in the bed.

When the signs of death are observed the windows and door are thrown wide open, and a silence as still as death itself is maintained, so that nothing shall either hinder the dark angel from setting his seal on their loved one, or impede the soul’s flight over the borderland into that of the great unknown.

Much of what is done may be rooted in the rankest superstition, or in many cases long-forgotten pagan rites, and one feels inclined to smile; but, after a moment’s consideration, one is forcibly reminded that it is equally deeply rooted in the old belief, which embraces in its faith a devil, a fiery hell, Jonah, whale, and everything. As things go nowadays, theorists are not leaving us much to believe or be superstitious about.

The death-watch, with its ’tick-a-tick,’ has blanched the cheek of many an otherwise brave Yorkshire man and woman. Tell them it is only the head of a small beetle called _Atropos_ tapping against the wood as it eats its way out, and they will jeer at you. They know, as their fore-elders did before them, that it is the sign of death; if not for some one in that house, assuredly so for some one in the village, and by-and-by some one dies, and wise heads are shaken—they knew.

Every care is taken that nothing animate shall pass over the corpse. I never heard of any domestic pet having been killed which so offended, though such at one time would have been the case a little further north.

The belief still lingers that the passing bell possesses the power to drive away all evil spirits, and so prevent them from troubling the soul in its upward flight, for even to-day a sexton, on being asked to ‘put the bell in,’ is also often urged to do so as speedily as possible.

It is looked upon as a kindly action, when standing by the corpse of some dear one, if the visitor gently touch the same. In some undefined way, this solemn contact of the living with the dead, makes known to the sorrowing ones that nothing but sympathy is felt. By this act all past injuries or misunderstandings, if such existed, are blotted out, forgiven, forgotten.

So soon as the vital spark has left its earthly house, the fire, if such be burning in the room, is immediately extinguished[27], and it is not an uncommon thing for the looking-glass to be either draped entirely, turned with its face to the wall, or removed from the room. The omens denoting the near approach of death are many—a white dove fluttering near the window, the rapid flight of birds over the house, and in some instances the actual appearance, to some dearly loved one, of the wraith of the person about to die. Many instances of the latter could be given.

I cannot say when or where the Lyke Wake dirge was sung for the last time in the North Riding, but I remember once talking to an old chap who remembered it being sung over the corpse of a distant relation of his, a native of Kildale. This would be about 1800, and he told me that Lyke Wakes were of rare occurrence then, and only heard of in out-of-the-way places. Doubtless this was so, but a superstition closely connected with the Lyke Wake is still with us. Old people will tell you that after death the soul passes over Whinny Moor, a place full of whins and brambles; and according as the soul when a tenant of the body administered to the wants of others, so would its passage over the dreaded moor be made easy. It seems, according to the old belief, every one ought to give at least one pair of new shoes to some poor person, and as often as means would allow, feed and clothe the needy. Whether these rules were faithfully carried out or not, the soul on approaching Whinny Moor would be met by an old man carrying a huge bundle of boots; and if amongst these could be found a pair which the bare-footed soul had given away during life, the old man gave them to the soul to protect its feet whilst crossing the thorny moor.

THE LYKE WAKE DIRGE.

This yah neet, this yah neet, Ivvery neet an’ awl (all), Fire an’ fleet an’ cann’l leet, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

When thoo fra hither gans awaay, Ivvery neet an’ awl, Ti Whinny Moor thoo cum’st at last, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

If ivver thoo gav’ owther hosen or shoon, Ivvery neet an’ awl, Clap tha doon an’ put ’em on, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

Bud if hosen or shoon thoo nivver ga’ neean, Ivvery neet an’ awl, T’ whinnies ’ll prick tha sair ti t’ beean, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

Fra Whinny Moor that thoo mayst pass, Ivvery neet an’ awl, Ti t’ Brigg o’ Dreead thoo’ll cum at last, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

If ivver thoo gav’ o’ thi siller an’ gawd, Ivvery neet an’ awl, At t’ Brigg o’ Dreead thoo’ll finnd footho’d, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

Bud if o’ siller an’ gawd thoo nivver ga’ neean, Ivvery neet an’ awl, Thoo’ll doon, doon tumm’l tiwards Hell fleeams, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

Fra t’ Brigg o’ Dreead ’at thoo mayst pass, Ivvery neet an’ awl, Ti t’ fleeams o’ Hell thoo’ll cum at last, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

If ivver thoo gav’ owther bite or sup, Ivvery neet an’ awl, T’ fleeams ’ll nivver catch tha up, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

Bud if bite or sup thoo nivver ga’ neean, Ivvery neet an’ awl, T’ fleeams ’ll bo’n tha sair ti t’ beean, An’ Christ tak up thi sowl.

Although there is a place called Whinny Moor, as used in the Lyke Wake song it is mythical, simply representing a wearying hindersome tract of land through which the soul must perforce pass, the ease or difficulty of such passage being lesser or greater according to the good deeds done and alms bestowed during life. There are other versions of the song; the one here given is as it was dictated to me. How the original from which it was taken was worded, I cannot say. There is another version in the North Riding which seems to have been written according to the tenets of Rome; at least I imagine so, as purgatory takes the place of hellish flames, as given above. It may be mentioned that the influence of the Reformation never reached many of the dales in Cleveland and those further westward. Hence the more commonly known version is in the phraseology of the predominant belief of that time.

Evidently the version given is one of a much later date, and must have been sung by a Protestant.

As to the ‘Brigg o’ Dreead,’ I dare say but little; ‘Fools only rush gaily in where angels fear to tread.’ However, I may venture this far; just as Whinny Moor had to be passed, so the ‘Brigg o’ Dreead’ had to be crossed. Upon one point all authorities agree. Wherever it was, or whatever its form, the Brigg was the real crux. Whether we incline to the theory that it was as narrow as a thread, shaky as an aspen leaf, or slippery as a glacier side, it had to be crossed. This accomplished, the soul was fairly safe. But did it slip or stumble whilst crossing, then the length of time occupied in its fearful descent, the depth to which it fell, together with all the concomitant evils belonging thereto, depended solely upon the amount of good and evil with which it had been accredited during its earthly pilgrimage.