by Kai Roberts
The maypole at Barwick-in-Elmet. (Kai Roberts)
Whilst the sanitised post-Restoration May Day celebrations lost their reputation for public disorder, still some unruliness remained and maypole theft became a common manifestation of rivalry between neighbouring communities. The Barwick maypole was removed twice, first by Garforth in 1829 and again by Aberford in 1907, whilst the Gawthorpe pole was stolen by Chickenley in 1850 and not replaced until 1875. A local, undated narrative from Wharfedale records that when the Burnsall maypole was purloined by a team of cobblers from Thorpe, a team of villagers were sent to retrieve it and a fight broke out; a similar confrontation is recorded between the young men of Brighouse and Rastrick in West Yorkshire, around 1785.
The White Rock above Luddenden Dene, repainted ever May Day morn. (Kai Roberts)
Another particularly curious May Day custom still endures in Calderdale, with no precedent elsewhere in England. First recorded in 1890, a rock on the hillside above the Cat i’ th’ Well pub, between the villages of Saltonstall and Wainstalls, is painted white every May Day morning. Nobody seems to know who performs the duty or why it originated, although a number of local tales surround the custom. In some narratives, it marks the location of buried treasure, whilst in others it is painted by the Devil himself. However, the proximity of St Catherine’s Well at Saltonstall (which gave its name in a corrupted form to the nearby pub) suggests it may originally have been connected with Spaw Sunday (See Chapter Ten).
The Feast of the Ascension took place forty days after Easter Sunday and whilst this was primarily a liturgical observance, the preceding three days were known as ‘Rogationtide’. During this period, a tradition called ‘Beating the Bounds’ was performed, whereby the boundaries of the parish were perambulated by civic and ecclesiastic officials alongside local residents. In the days before accurate cartography, the purpose of this custom was to fix these borders in the minds of the populace and thereby reduce the risk of future disputes. Although the function was primarily an administrative one, it had become entangled with an earlier religious procession which had once taken place on the Feast of the Ascension, and so the clergy remained actively involved in the tradition, often preaching a sermon at significant landmarks.
Young boys were also taken on these perambulations, and a variety of techniques were employed to ensure they accurately preserved the knowledge for future generations. In some parishes such as Beverley, the carrot was preferred over the stick, and money, nuts and oranges were thrown out at points which needed committing to memory. At Whitby, laces, pins and biscuits were distributed, whilst one point along the boundary was marked by the Battering Stone – a large mass of whinstone which the boys would pelt with rocks. Any boy who chipped the stone would be rewarded with a guinea from the parish coffers. There was a boundary marker at Flaxton, in Ryedale, known as the Rambleations Stone, from the top of which bread was thrown into the crowd. However, after this custom resulted in riots on several occasions, the practice was discontinued and the stone destroyed.
Some parishes preferred more austere methods of guaranteeing the boys retained a memory of the boundaries. In the Forest of Galtres, boys were ‘bumped’ at regular stations, whilst in other places they were thrown in a ditch or even whipped. In the city of York, this practice was inverted and local boys would whip the parish clerk with bundles of sedge as he stopped to record details. Also perhaps the most bizarre convention associated with ‘Beating the Bounds’ took place near York, at Water Fulford. Here, at one station along the route, a chicken was set loose and chased by the boys. Whoever caught the bird was rewarded with five shillings, whilst the poor chicken was decapitated and its severed head placed on top of a post marking the boundary!
The practice of Beating the Bounds mostly died out once its civic and legal function was no longer necessary, although its spirit is preserved in the parish boundary walks which take place in some areas at Whitsun. A Rogationtide tradition which still endures, however, is the Whitby Penny Hedge. The hedge is constructed on the shore of the town at 9 a.m. on Ascension Eve, after which a horn is blown to mark that the obligation is complete. The hedge is woven from sticks of hazel and willow, using only a knife of ‘a penny price’, and it must be strong enough to withstand three tides.
A local legend claims that the tradition started during the twelfth century, when several men murdered a hermit who had given shelter to a boar they were hunting. It is said that the hermit gave instructions for the erection of the Penny Hedge with his dying breath, to be undertaken as a penance to atone for their sin. However, there is no evidence to support this narrative and the ritual actually seems to be a remembrance of an early medieval land-tenure custom, whereby tenants of Whitby Abbey were expected to maintain something called the ‘Horngarth’ or else their lands would be forfeit. The precise purpose of the Horngarth has been forgotten, although the name suggests it was probably an enclosure for the abbey’s cattle.
As in all counties of England, Whitsuntide in Yorkshire was a time for fairs and feasting as the climate had warmed sufficiently by this time to allow outdoor gatherings. In the fifteenth and sixteenth century, Whitsun was the traditional occasion for the May Games, which the Victorians later incorporated into their revived May Day celebrations. These typically involved the election of a King and Queen of Summer, Robin Hood plays, feats of sportsmanship and morris dancing. In later centuries, the more unique custom of ‘Chalk Back Neet’ was recorded around Bridlington, when local boys and girls would gather on the church green armed with a stick of chalk and attempt to mark each others’ backs.
Royal Oak, or Oak Apple, Day was celebrated on 29 May from 1661, to commemorate the Restoration of Charles II to the throne following the Commonwealth. Whilst most Royal Oak Day traditions in Yorkshire seem to have died out by the mid-twentieth century, it was once tradition to deck public buildings with oak and for men to wear oaken twigs in their caps. Anybody who did not display such an adornment was pelted with rotten eggs or rubbed with nettles. In some villages, such as Great Ayrton in North Yorkshire, it was also customary for children to lock their teacher out of the school, whilst they chanted:
It’s Royal Oak Day
It’s the 29th of May
If you don’t give us a holiday
We’ll all run away!
Midsummer fires – which many scholars now regard as one of the few truly pre-Christian survivals in the ritual year – were recorded on the eve of the summer solstice in both North and East Yorkshire as late as the nineteenth century. Traditionally, the bones of dead animals were burnt (known as a ‘bone-fire’, from which some authorities believe the word ‘bonfire’ is derived) and spectators were expected to leap through the flames. The superstitious supposed this ritual to purify the community, along with their crops and livestock, protecting them from the various diseases and blights which were more virulent during the hot summer months.
Village feasts took place throughout the summer and were regarded as a highlight of the village calendar. The date of these festivities was usually determined by the feast of the saint to whom the local parish church was dedicated, and often lasted for several days. For instance, the annual celebrations at Halifax began on 24 June with the Feast of St John the Baptist (to whom Halifax Minster is dedicated) and continued until ‘Thump Sunday’ – a name which local etymology claimed came from the tradition of thumping anybody who entered a pub on that day and refused to pay for a round of drinks. This day was also associated with the consumption of a dish called ‘Thump Pudding’, which resembled Christmas cake.
The feasting weeks were commonly known as ‘wakes’ and following the Industrial Revolution in the mill towns of West Yorkshire, it became customary for all factories, shops and other businesses to shut down for the duration. Fairs would often set up on a local recreation ground, featuring stalls, games, dances and all manner of other carnival attractions. Unsurprisingly, wakes became notorious for public drunkenness and brawling, provoking great opprobriu
m from the more respectable members of Victorian society, who regularly attempted to suppress the celebrations. Nonetheless, the wakes were usually popular enough to survive these attacks, and only really came to an end with the decline of the textile industry in the mid-twentieth century.
Settlements which did not have a parish church, or whose patron saint was commemorated during the colder months, often transferred their feasts to Whitsuntide or early September, where they became associated with rush-bearing. But some places selected more locally significant times to celebrate and it is perhaps not surprising that these customs have proved more enduring. At least two are still celebrated today. The Hepworth Feast takes places on the last weekend in June and supposedly remembers the Holme Valley village’s deliverance from the Great Plague of 1665. Meanwhile, the Kilburn Feast is held on the first Sunday after 6 July, the former date of the illustrious horse fair. Kilburn’s festivities notably feature the election of a mock Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress – the latter a man in drag – who parade the streets ‘fining’ onlookers as they proceed.
Perhaps the most unique and sinister custom associated with a village feast is known as the Burning of Bartle, which takes place on the evening of the Saturday following St Bartholemew’s Day (24 August) in the Wensleydale village of West Witton. A giant human effigy made from flammable materials known as ‘Bartle’ is paraded around the streets followed by a crowd of locals, until they reach the far end of the village, where the effigy is symbolically stabbed and then burned, whilst the assembled onlookers cheer enthusiastically. During the procession, the effigy is halted at certain houses and an immemorial verse recited. The lyrics of this doggerel run thus:
At Penhill Crags, he tore his rags
At Hunter’s Thorn, he blew his horn
At Capplebank Stee, he brak his knee
At Grassgill Beck, he brak his kneck
At Waddam’s End, he couldn’t fend
At Grassgill End, he made his end.
Many explanations have been offered to account for this custom. Some commentators have claimed it is a surviving pre-Christian rite, but as the tradition is not recorded until the late nineteenth century, this is both impossible to prove and highly suspect. Others have connected it with the legend of the Penhill Giant (See Chapter Four), although the most popular local explanation is that it remembers the pursuit and mob execution of a local pig thief. However, considering both the name of the effigy and the date of the event, it seems more likely to be connected with St Bartholemew himself. During the Middle Ages, it was not unusual for the effigies of saints to be paraded on their feast days; nor was it unusual for such effigies to be conspicuously destroyed as ‘popish superstitions’ following the Reformation.
Village feasts and wakes were also commonly associated with the tradition of rush-bearing. This practice originated in a time before pews were common in churches and the congregation were expected to endure lengthy sermons whilst sat on the cold stone floor. As a result, during the summer, the local population would gather rushes from the surrounding countryside to strew across the church floor, to provide a modicum of comfort and warmth through the winter months. Over time, the practice grew into such an elaborate and widely enjoyed ritual that it persisted long after its original function was redundant. Indeed, its popularity was such that it spread to settlements which had never had a parish church in the first place.
Sowerby Bridge rushbearing. (Tania Poole)
The focus of the rush-bearing festivities became the elaborately decorated rush-cart, and rushes were now collected to construct a teetering pyramid on the back of a cart, which would be symbolically processed around the churches of the district, accompanied by morris dancers and much merrymaking. At one time, rush-bearing was known throughout Yorkshire, but declined during the nineteenth century, until Halliwell Sutcliffe, writing in 1899, spoke of Haworth in West Yorkshire as one of the last places in the county to observe the custom. However, rush-bearing was revived in the Calderdale town of Sowerby Bridge in 1977. Originally, it was intended as a one-off event to mark the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, but proved such a success that it now takes place annually on the first weekend in September.
Autumn
By the autumn equinox, the harvest had usually been gathered, which for agricultural communities across the county was cause for another celebration – especially in primarily arable areas such as East Yorkshire and the Vale of York. Once the last sheaf of corn had been brought home, weeks of toil culminated in a feast known as the ‘Mell Supper’. As both landowners and labourers tended to collaborate during harvesting, the Mell Supper was an unusually egalitarian tradition during which the whole community, from farmhands to country gentlemen, shared a meal together. Afterwards there would be singing and dancing, often accompanied by the mischief of guisers who, with their sinister, painted faces and rowdy behaviour, were not always welcome.
The last sheaf of corn cut was often brought back with great ceremony, mounted on the back of a cart and then positioned to preside over the ensuing feast. Sometimes they were woven into overtly human effigies known as ‘Mell Dolls’ and whilst this tradition had largely died out by the mid-twentieth century, it has been extensively revived by country crafts enthusiasts. Less well remembered is a Holderness tradition called ‘Burning the Witch’ whereby dried bundles of peas were set alight in the field where the last sheaf had been cut, whilst labourers caroused around it. The peas were consumed and ash from the fire used to blacken the faces of those in attendance. The name of this custom suggests that it may have started as an apotropaic practice to protect the farm from witchcraft during the coming winter.
On 18 October the Feast of St Luke was celebrated in the liturgical calendar, but in several cities across Yorkshire it was also once known as ‘Whip Dog Day’. As the name suggests, it was customary on this day to strike stray dogs and drive them out of town. In York, legend claimed the practice began when a priest performing Mass on St Luke’s Day dropped the host and it was gobbled up by a passing dog. The outraged congregation pursued and killed the unfortunate beast, but that was not enough to atone for its sin and dogs were persecuted on St Luke’s Day for evermore. The incident is said to have occurred at the now demolished Church of St Crux, and the custom gave its name to Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate nearby, but this is probably mere fancy.
In Hull, however, they tell a different story. There the practice was supposed to have originated when the dog stole a joint of meat, which was traditionally provided by monks to the poor of the city on St Luke’s Day. When the assembled masses learnt of this, they hunted down the offending animal and dispatched it. The custom seems to have taken place in a couple of other cities, including Sheffield, although their local explanations are not recorded and such aetiologies notwithstanding, it seems more likely that Whip Dog Day began as a civic expedient to rid cities of stray dogs.
Historically, All Hallows’ Eve was not extensively celebrated in its own right in Yorkshire, although it seems to have been regarded as another time at which divinatory practices were particularly effective. In North Yorkshire, for instance, it was known as ‘Nut Crocking Neet’ and unmarried girls performed love auguries by throwing nuts into a bonfire. If they stayed on the fire and burnt quickly, it prophesised a happy marriage; but if the nut bounced and flew asunder, a miserable union was foretold. Such divinations seem to have entirely died out with the hegemony of the modern Halloween, although the game of apple-bobbing has been suggested as a corrupted remembrance of these rites.
Trick or Treat is now the most common practice associated with the night countrywide and widely derided as an import from America. However, in the north and west of England, a similar children’s visiting custom known as soul-caking was always popular around this time of year, albeit on the following night – All Souls’ Eve. Typically, poor children would tour the neighbourhood, stopping at each house to recite the rhyme: ‘A soul-cake, a soul-cake, have mercy on all Christian souls for a soul-cake.’ At this, the househo
lder would be expected to provide them with a piece of parkin before they would go on their way. In later centuries, once the significance of the soul-cake itself had long been forgotten, other gifts were sometimes distributed.
The practice arose from the Catholic belief that the souls of the dead must spend time undergoing purification in Purgatory before being admitted to Heaven, but their stretch there could be shortened by the prayers of the living. All Souls’ Day was a set aside in the liturgical calendar to remember the dead, and so, on this day in the Middle Ages, it became customary for the poor to tour their wealthier neighbours begging for food in the form of a ‘soul-cake’, in return for prayers to speed their deceased relatives through Purgatory. Protestantism had no truck with concepts such as Purgatory or All Souls’ Day, but whilst the Reformation swept these ideas away the practice of soul-caking continued in many areas for many centuries afterwards, although its original function was forgotten. The popularity of the children’s visiting custom waned during the nineteenth century, although many places still made soul-cakes on this day and it was considered lucky to keep a few uneaten in the house until the following year. However, a small pocket of traditional soul-caking endured around South Yorkshire until the late twentieth century, especially in the villages of Stannington and Dungsworth, where 1 November was known locally as ‘Cakin’ Neet’. Whilst the children went from house to house with turnip lanterns, adults donned the mantle of guisers and congregated in the Crown & Glove pub where victuals were provided. Sadly, however, even this last remnant of All Souls’ Eve seems to have been usurped by Halloween.