Old Witch.
The children chose from their party an old witch (who is supposed to hide herself) and a mother. The other players are the daughters, and are called by the names of the week. The mother says that she is going to market, and will bring home for each the thing that she most wishes for. Upon this they all name something. Then, after telling them upon no account to allow anyone to come into the house, she gives her children in charge of her eldest daughter Sunday, and goes away. In a moment, the witch makes her appearance, and asks to borrow some trifle.
Sunday at first refuses, but, after a short parley, goes into the next room to fetch the required article. In her absence the witch steals the youngest of the children (Saturday), and runs off with her. Sunday, on her return, seeing that the witch has left, thinks there must be something wrong, and counts the children, saying, “Monday, Tuesday,” etc., until she comes to Saturday, who is missing. She then pretends to cry, wrings her hands, and sobs out—“Mother will beat me when she comes home.”
On the mother’s return, she, too, counts the children, and, finding Saturday gone, asks Sunday where she is. Sunday answers, “Oh, mother! an old witch called, and asked to borrow ——, and, whilst I was fetching it, she ran off with Saturday.” The mother scolds and beats her, tells her to be more careful in the future, and again sets off for the market. This is repeated until all the children but Sunday have been stolen. Then the mother and Sunday, hand in hand, go off to search for them. They meet the old witch, who has them all crouching down in a line behind her.
Mother. Have you seen my children?
O. W. Yes! I think, by Eastgate.
The mother and Sunday retire, as if to go there, but, not finding them, again return to the witch, who this time sends them to Westgate, then to Southgate and Northgate. At last one of the children pops her head up over the witch’s shoulder, and cries out, “Here we are, mother.” Then follows this dialogue:—
M. I see my children, may I go in?
O. W. No! your boots are too dirty.
M. I will take them off.
O. W. Your stockings are too dirty.
M. I will take them off.
O. W. Your feet are too dirty.
M. I will cut them off.
O. W. Then the blood will stream over the floor.
The mother at this loses patience, and pushes her way in, the witch trying in vain to keep her out. She, with all her children, then chase the witch until they catch her; when they pretend to bind her hand and foot, put her on a pile, and burn her, the children fanning the imaginary flames with their pinafores. Sometimes the dialogue after “Here we are, mother,” is omitted, and the witch is at once chased.
Mr. Halliwell Phillips calls this the “Game of the Gipsy,” and gives some rhymes to which it is played, but I have never heard them in this county.
The next, a game quite unknown to me, I took down from the lips of a little girl in West Cornwall, in 1882, who told me it was a great favourite with her and her playmates.