Chapter 8

1. The text of this version of the "Lyke-wake Dirge" follows, with slight variations, that found in Mr. Richard Blakeborough's Wit, Character, Folklore, and Customs of the North Riding (p. 123), where the following account is given: "I cannot say when or where the Lyke Walke 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. ... There are other versions of the song; the one here given is as it was dictated to me. 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." In the Appendix to this volume will be found the other version with the introduction of purgatory to which Mr. Blakeborough refers. I have taken it from Sir Walter Scott's Border Minstrelsy (ed. Henderson, vol. ii. pp. 170-2), but it also finds a place in John Aubrey's Remains of Gentilisme and Judaisme (1686-7), preserved among the Lansdowne MSS. in the British Museum. Aubrey prefixes the following note to his version of the dirge: The beliefe in Yorkeshire was amongst the vulgar (perhaps is in part still) that after the person's death the soule went over Whinny-moore, and till about 1616-24 at the funerale a woman came (like a Praefica) and sang the following song." Further information about this interesting dirge and its parallels in other literatures will be found in Henderson's edition of the Border Minstrelsy, p. 163) and in J. C. Atkinson's Glosary of the Cleveland Dialect, p. 595.

Cleveland Lyke-wake Dirge

Traditional Sir Walter Scott's version

From Appendix I of 1st Edition.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Every nighte and alle; Fire and sleete and candle lighte, And Christe receive thye saule.

When thou from hence away are paste, Every nighte and alle; To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste; And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, Every nighte and alle; Sit thee down, and put them on; And Christe receive thye saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane, Every nighte and alle; The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane, And Christe receive thye saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, Every nighte and alle ; To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste, And Christe receive thye saul

(A stanza wanting)

From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe, Every nighte and alle; To purgatory fire thou comest at laste; And Christ receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest meat or drinke, Every nighte and alle; The fire shall never make thee shrinke; And Christ receive thye saule.

If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane, Every nighte and alle; The fire will burn thee to the bare bane; And Christe receive thye saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Every nighte and alle; Fire and sleete, and candle lighte, And Christe receive thye saule.

A Dree Neet(1)

Traditional

'T Were a dree(2) neet, a dree neet, as t' squire's end drew nigh, A dree neet, a dree neet, to watch, an pray, an' sigh.

When t' streeam runs dry, an' t' deead leaves fall, an' t' ripe ear bends its heead, An' t' blood wi' lithin'(3), seems fair clogg'd, yan kens yan's neam'd wi' t' deead.

When t' een grows dim, an' folk draw nigh frae t' other saade o' t' grave, It's late to square up awd accoonts a gannin' sowl to save.

T' priest may coom, an' t' priest may gan, his weel-worn tale to chant, When t' deeath-smear clems a wrinkled broo, sike disn't fet yan's want.(4)

Nea book, nea can'le, bell, nor mass, nea priest iv onny lan', When t' dree neet cooms, can patch a sowl, or t' totterin' mak to stan'.

. . . . .

'T were a dree neet, a dree neet, for a sowl to gan away, A dree neet, a dree neet, bud a gannin' sowl can't stay.

An' t' winner shuts(5) they rattled sair, an' t' mad wild wind did shill, An' t' Gabriel ratchets(6) yelp'd aboon, a gannin' sowl to chill.

'T were a dree neet, a dree neet, for deeath to don his cowl, To staup(7) abroad wi' whimly(8) treead, to claim a gannin' sowl.

Bud laal(9) deeath recks hoo dree t' neet be, or hoo a sowl may pray, When t' sand runs oot, his sickle reaps; a gannin' sowl can't stay.

'T were a dree neet, a dree neet, ower Whinny-moor to trake,(10) Wi' shoonless feet, ower flinty steanes, thruf monny a thorny brake.

A dree neet, a dree neet, wi' nowt neaways to mark T' gainest trod(11) to t' Brig o' Deead; a lane lost sowl i' t' dark.

A dree neet, a dree neet, at t' brig foot theer to meet Laal sowls at(12) he were t' father on, wi' nea good-deame i' seet.

At t' altar steps he niver steead, thof monny a voo he made, Noo t' debt he awes to monny a lass at t' brig foot mun be paid.

They face him noo wiv other deeds, like black spots on a sheet, They noo unscape,(13) they egg him on, on t' brig his doom to meet.

Nea doves has sattled on his sill, bud a flittermoose(14) that neet Cam thrice taames thruf his casement, an' flacker'd roond his feet.

An' thrice taames did a raven croak, an' t' seame-like thrice cam t' hoot Frae t' ullets' tree; doon chimleys three there cam a shrood o' soot.

An' roond t' can'le twea taames there cam a dark-wing'd moth to t' leet, Bud t' thod(15), it swirl'd reet into t' fleame, wheer gans his sowl this neet.

'T were a dree neet, a dree neet, for yan to late(16) to pray, A dree neet, a dree neet, bud a gannin' sowl can't stay.

. . . . .

1, From R. Blakeborough's "Old Songs of the Dales," appended to his T' Hunt o' Yatton Brigg, p. 37, second edition. 2. Gloomy. 3. Thickening. 4. The literal meaning of this line is, When the death-salve bedaubs a wrinkled brow, rites such as these do not fetch (i.e. supply) one's want. The reference is to extreme unction. 5. Window shutters. 6. The hounds of death. 7. Stalk. 8. Stealthy. 9. Little. 10. Wander. 11. Shortest path. 12. That. 13. Stir up memories. 14. Bat. 15. Third. 16. Attempt.

The Bridal Bands

Traditional

From R. Blakeborough's Wit, Character, Folklore, and Customs of the North Riding, p. 97.

Blushing, theer oor Peggy sits, Stitchin', faane stitchin', Love-knots roond her braadal bands, Witchin', bewitchin'.

T' braade's maids all mun dea a stitch, Stitchin', faane stitchin', An' they mun binnd it roond her leg, Witchin', bewitchin'.

Bud some bauf(1) swain at's soond o' puff, Stitchin', faane stitchin', Will claim his reet to tak it off, Witchin', bewitchin'.

An' he aroond his awn love's leg, Stitchin', faane stitchin', Will lap(2) it roond to binnd his love, Witchin', bewitchin'.

Whal she, sweet maid, 'll wear his troth, Stitchin', faane stitchin', Maanding each taame she taks it off, Witchin', bewitchin',

That day when she will hae to wear, Stitchin', faane stitchin', Nut yan, bud twea, a braadal pair, Witchin', bewitchin'.

Oh! happy day, when she sal stitch, Stitchin', faane stitchin', Her braadal bands, the wearin' which Maks maids bewitchin'.

1 Sturdy. 2. Wrap.

The Bridal Garter(1)

A Catch

Traditional

Here's health to t' lass whea donn'd this band To grace her leg, An' ivvery garter'd braade i' t' land: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.(2)

Aroond her leg it has been bun', I wish I'd bun' it. A trimmer limb could nut be fun': Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

May ivvery yan at lifts his glass To this faane band Uphod(3) he gans wi' t' best-like lass: Sae sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

Frae wrist to wrist this band we pass, As han' clasps han'; I' turn we through it draw each glass: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

An' here's tiv her at fast(4) did weer A braadal band Bun' roond her leg; gie her a cheer: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it doon your wizan.

An' here's to Venus; let us beg A boon at she Will gie each braade a pattern leg: Sea sip it, an' tip it, bud tip it do on your wizan.

1 From Mr. Richard Blakeborough's "Old Songs of the Dales," appended to his T' Hunt o' Yatton Brigg, p. 57, 2nd edition.. 2 Throat. 3 Uphold, maintain. 4 First.

Nance and Tom

Traditional

From Mr. R. Blakeborough's "Old Songs of the Dales," appended to his T' Hunt o' Yatton Brigg, p. 44, 2nd edition.

I' t' merry taame o' harvestin' Lang sen,(1) aye well a day! Oar Nancy, t' bonniest lass i' t' field Had varra laal to say. An' Tom whea follow'd, follow'd her, An' neigh as dumb were he, An' thof he wark'd some wiv his hands He harder wark'd his ee.

For Nan were buxom, Nan were fair, Her lilt were leet an' free; An' Tom could hardlins hod(2) his wits, He couldn't hod his ee Frae Nancy's face; an' her breet smaale Made Tom's heart lowp(3) an' thump; Whal Nancy awn'd t' fost kiss he gav, Her stays mun git a bump

Bud o' ya neet, Tom set her yam, " Noo, Nance,"tell'd he," I've gitten A cauvin' coo, an' twea fat pigs; Wi' thy fair charms I'm smitten. Thoo knaws I have a theak,(4) my lass, An' gear, baith gert an' small, I've fotty pund ligg'd by at yam, Tak me, lass, tak it all."

Nance hing'd her heead an' dropp'd her een, An' then she sighed, "Ah, dear! Noo hod thy whisht,(5) thoo's tell'd t' same tale To monny a maid, I fear." Bud Tom just bowdly sleev'd(6) her waist An chuck'd her unner t' chin. "O' Sunday neet," said he, " I'll wait To hug(7) thy milk-skeel(8) in.

(A verse is missing)

She bun' aboot her matchless cauf Four cletchin' streas,(9) did Nan, Twea wheaten an' twea oaten streas, Bud niver tell'd her man. She platted 'em when t' harvest mean Her colour'd cheek made pale, For nea lass plats her band for bairns And then blirts(10) out her tale.

An' t' mean for sham' ahint a clood Her smaalin' feace did hide; Sea nea hedge-skulker gat a peep At Nan's leg when 't were tied. An' nean i' t' village would have knawn, At roond her leg, like thack,(11) She'd bun' a band to gie her bairns, Bud she tummel'd offen(12) t' stack,

An' deaz'd she ligg'd, her shapely limb Laid oot for all to see; An' roond her leg a platted band Were bun' belaw her knee. Then up she sprang, an' laughin' said, "Noo, Tom warn't here to see; An' nean can say I's scrawmy(13) cauf'd, An' t' band still guards my knee."

1. Long ago. 2 .Hold. 3, Leap. 4. Thatched roof. 5. Hold thy tongue. 6. Encircled. 7. Carry. 8. Milk-pail. 9. Thatching straws. 10. Blurts. 11. Thatch. 12. Off. 13. Unshapely.

The Witch's Curse(1)

Traditional

Fire coom, Fire gan, Curlin' smeak Keep oot o' t' pan. Ther's a tead(2) i' t' fire, a frog on t' hob, Here's t' heart frev a crimson ask(3); Here's a teath fra t' heead O' yan at's deead, At niver gat thruf his task. Here's prick'd i' blood a maiden's prayer, At t' ee o' man maunt(4) see; It's prick'd upon a yet warm mask,(5) An' lapp'd(6) aboot a breet green ask, An' it's all fer him an' thee. It boils, Thoo'll drink; He'll speak, Thoo'll think: It boils, Thoo'll see; He'll speak, Thoo'll dee.

1 From R. Blakeborough's T' Hunt o' Yatton Brigg, p. 12; see also the same author's Yorkshire Wit, Character, Folklore, and Customs, p. 169. 2. Toad. 3. Newt. 4. May not. 5, Brew. 6. Wrapped.

Ridin' t' Stang(1)

(Grassington Version)

Traditional

Hey dilly, how dilly, hey dilly, dang! It's nayther for thy part, nor my part, That I ride the stang. But it's for Jack Solomon, His wife he did bang. He bang'd her, he bang'd her, He bang'd her indeed, He bang'd t' poor woman Tho' shoo stood him no need. He nayther took stick, stain, wire, nor stower,(2) But he up wi' a besom an' knock'd her ower. So all ye good neighbours who live i' this raw, I pray ye tak warnin', for this is our law. An' all ye cross husbands Who do your wives bang, We'll blow for ye t' horn , An' ride for ye t' stang. Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!

1 From B. J. Harker's Rambles in Upper Wharfedale. Other versions, more or less similar to the above, are to be found in R. Blakeborough's Wit, Folklore, and Customs of the North Riding, and J. Nicholson's Folk Speech of the East Riding. In the Yorkshire Dialect Society's Transactions, vol. iii., part xvi., will be found a racy account, in the Beverley dialect, of the custom of "ridin' t' stang."

2. Pole.

Elphi Bandy-legs(1)

Traditional

Elphi bandy-legs, Bent, an' wide apart, Nea yan i' this deale Awns a kinder heart. Elphi, great-heead, Greatest iver seen, Nea yan i' this deale Awns a breeter een. Elphi, little chap, Thof he war so small, War big wi' deeds o' kindness, Drink tiv him yan an' all. Him at fails to drain dry, Be it mug or glass, Binnot woth a pescod, Nor a buss(3) frae onny lass.

1. Written in an old cook-book and signed "J. L. 1699"; from Gordon Home's 'The Evolution of an English Town, p208.

2. Is not worth. 3. Kiss

Singing Games

Traditional

I

Stepping up the green grass Thus and thus and thus; Will you let one of your fair maids Come and play with us.

We will give you pots and pans, We will give you brass; We will give you anything For a pretty lass.

We won't take your pots and pans, We won't take your brass, We won't take your "anything For a pretty lass."

We will give you gold and silver, We will give you pearl; We will give you anything For a pretty girl.

Come, my dearest Mary, Come and play with us; You shall have a young man Born for your sake. And the bells shall ring, And the cats shall sing, And we'll all clap hands together.

II

Sally made a pudden, Shoo made it ower sweet; Shoo dursn't stick a knife in 't, Till Jack cam home at neet.

John, wilta have a bit like? Don't say nay, For last Monday mornin' Was aar weddin'-day.

III

Sally Water, Sally Water, Come sprinkle your can, Why do you lie mournin' All for a young man? Come, choose o' the wisest, Come, choose o' the best, Come, choose o' the young men The one you love best.

IV

Diller a dollar, A ten o' clock scholar, What maks you coom sae soon? You used to coom at ten o'clock, Bud noo you coom at noon.

1. From S. O. Addy, A Sheffield Glossary, p. 239; current in other parts of England.

Hagmana Song(1)

Fragment of the Hagmana Song!

(As sung at Richmond, Yorkshire, on the eve of the New Year, by the' Corporation Pinder.)

To-night it is the New-year's night, to-morrow is the day," And we are come for our right, and for our ray,(2) As we used to do in old King Henry's day. Sing', fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.

If you go to the bacon-flick, cut me a good bit; Cut, cut and low, beware of your maw; Cut, cut and round, beware of your thumb, That me and my merry men may have some. Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.

If you go to the Black-ark, bring me ten mark; Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground, That me and my merry men may have some. Sing, fellows, sing, Hagman-heigh.

1. Hagmena, or Hogmanay, is a north-country name for New Year's eve; the name is also applied to the offering for which children go round and beg on that evening. 2. A Portuguese coin of emall value.

Round the Year

New Year's Day

Lucky-bird, lucky-bird, chuck, chuck, chuck! Maister an' mistress, it's time to git up. If you don't git up, you'll have nea luck; Lucky- bird, lucky-bird, chuck, chuck, chuck!

Candlemas

On Can'lemas, a February day, Throw can'le an' can'lestick away.

A Can'lemas crack Lays mony a sailor on his back.

If Can'lemas be lound(1) an' fair, Ya hauf o' t' winter's to coom an' mair. If Can'lemas day be murk an' foul, Ya hauf o' t' winter's gean at Yule.

1. Calm.

February Fill-Dike

February fill-dyke, Fill it wi' eyther black or white. March muck it oot, Wi' a besom an' a cloot.

Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday, palm away; Next Sunday's Easter-day.

Good Friday

On Good Friday rist thy pleaf,(1) Start nowt, end nowt, that's eneaf.

Lang Friday's niver dean, Sea lig i' bed whal Setterday nean. 1. Rest thy plough.

Royal Oak Day

It's Royal Oak Day, T' twenty-naanth o' May. An' if ye dean't gie us holiday, We'll all run away.

Harvest Home and the Mell-Sheaf(1)

1. The " mell " is the last sheaf of corn left in the field when the harvest is gathered in.

We have her, we have her, A coo iv a tether. At oor toon-end. A yowe(1) an' a lamb, A pot an' a pan. May we git seafe in Wiv oor harvest-yam, Wiv a sup o' good yal, An' some ha'pence to spend.

3. Ewe.

Here we coom at oor toon-end, A pint o' yal an' a croon to spend. Here we coom as tite as nip(1) An' niver flang ower(2) but yance iv a grip.(3)

1. Very quickly. 2. Tumbled. 3. Ditch.

Weel bun' an' better shorn Is Mr. Readheead's corn. We have her, we have her, As fast as a feather. Hip, hip, hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

John Metcalfe has gitten all shorn an' mawn, All but a few standards an' a bit o' lowse corn. We have her, we have her, Fast i' a tether Coom help us to hod her. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

Blest be t' day that Christ was born, For we've getten t' mell o' t' farmer's corn. It's weel bun', but better shorn. Mell! Shout, lads, Mell!

Guy Fawkes Day

A Stick and a stake, For King James's sake. Please give us a coil,(1) a coil. 1. Coal.

Awd Grimey sits upon yon hill, As black as onny awd craw. He's gitten on his lang grey coat Wi' buttons doon afoor. He's gitten on his lang grey coat Wi' buttons doon afoor.

Christmas

I wish you a merry Kessenmas an' a happy New Year, A pokeful o' money an' a cellar-full o' beer. A good fat pig an' a new-cauven coo; Good maisther an' misthress, hoo do you do?

Cleveland Christmas Song(1)

God rist you merry, gentlemen, Let nothin' you dismay, Remember Christ oor Saviour Was born o' Kessmas day, To seave wer sowls fra Sattan's power; Lang taam we've gean astray. This brings tidin's o' comfort an' joy.

Noo stright they went to Bethlehem, Wheer oor sweet Saviour lay; They fan' him iv a manger, Wheer oxen fed on hay, To seave wer sowls fra Sattan's power; Lang taam we've gean astray. This brings tidin's o' comfort an' joy.

God bliss t' maister o' this hoose, An' t' mistress also, An' all your laatle childeren That roond your teable go; An' all your kith an' kindered, That dwell beath far an' near; An' I wish you a Merry Kessamas An' a Happy New Year.

1. From Mrs. Tweddell's Rhymes and Sketches, p. 14.

A Christmas Wassail(1)

Here we coom a-wessellin(2) Among the leaves so green, An' here we coom a-wanderin' So fair as to be seen.

Chorus- An' to your' wessel An' to jolly wessel, Love an' joy be to you An' to your wessel-tree.

The wessel-bob(3) is made O' rosemary tree, An' so is your beer O' the best barley. An' to your wessel, etc.

Weare not beggars' childeren That begs from door to door, But we are neighbours' childeren That has been here before. An' to your wessel, etc.

We have got a little purse Made i' ratchin(4) leather skin, An' we want a little money To line it well within. An' to your wessel, etc.

Bring us out your table An' spread it wi' a cloth; Bring us out your mouldy cheese Likewise your Christmas loaf. An' to your wessel, etc.

God bless the master o' this house, Likewise the mistress too; An' all the little childeren That round the table go. An' to your wessel, etc.

Good master an' good' misteress, While you're sittin' by the fire Pray, think of us poor childeren That's wanderin' i' the mire. An' to your wessel, etc.

1. From Easther and Lees, Almondbury and Huddersfield Glossary (English Dialect Society Publications, vol. 39, pp. xvii.-xviii). 2. Wassailing. 3. Wassail-bough. 4. Urchin, hedgehog.

Sheffield Mumming Song(1)

Come all ye jolly mummers That mum in Christmas time. Come join with us in chorus Come join with us in rhyme. Chorus- And a-mumming we will go, we'll go, And a-mumming we will go ; With a white cockade in all our hats, We'll go to t' gallant show.

It's of St. George's valour So loudly let us sing; An honour to his country And a credit to his King. Chorus- And a-mumming we will go, we'll go, And a-mumming we will go ; We'll face all sorts of weather Both rain, cold, wet, and snow.

It's of the King of Egypt, That came to seek his son; It's of the King of Egypt, That made his sword so wan. Chorus- And a-mumming, etc.

It's of the black Morocco dog That fought the fiery battle; It's of the black Morocco dog That made his sword to rattle. Chorus- And a-mumming, etc.

1 From S. O. Addy, Sheffield Glossary (English Dialect Society Publications, vol. xxii. p. 153). The song is sung at Christmas time in the villages about Sheffield at the conclusion of the folkplay, "The Peace Egg." See S. O. Addy, Sheffield Glossary (English Dialect Society), p. 153.

Charms, "Nominies," and Popular Rhymes

Traditional

Wilful weaste maks weasome want, An' you may live to say: I wish I had that sharve(1) o' breead That yance I flang away.

1. Crust