PACE-EGGING
This is still practised in the Wirral peninsula, and the rime sung by the children was as follows:—
“Please, Mr. Whiteleg,
Please give us an Easter egg;
If you do not give us one,
Your hen shall lay an addled one,
Your cock shall lay a stone.”
Sometimes with the addition from “Souling” of:
“One for Peter, two for Paul,
And three for the One who made us all.”
“In Birkenhead, for some years after the Park was laid out, there were several grassy mounds inside the railings ... which went by the name of ‘The Bouks’ (Banks).... Every Easter Monday the children would bring baskets of coloured eggs. Then a game was played. First, wickets were fixed at intervals at the foot of the ‘Bouks,’ the children took their eggs to the top of the hills and rolled them down, aiming to pass them unbroken through the wickets.”[66]
[66] Gamlin’s Memories of Birkenhead.
By degrees “Pace-Egging” became grafted on to the old mumming play which is found in nearly every county of England, and the following was sung at Thurstaston some thirty years ago. Two verses are omitted:—
I.
Here come four or five hearty lads all of one mind;
We have come a’paste-egging if you will prove kind;
If you will prove kind, and never will fail,
We’ll treat our young lasses to the best of X ale.
Fol di-diddle dol-di-day.
II.
The next that steps in is Lord Nelson, you see
With a bunch of blue ribands tied on to his knee,
With a star on his breast like silver do shew,
And he comes a’paste-egging with his jolly crew.
Fol di-diddle dol-di-day.
IV.
The next that steps in is a lady so gay,
Who from her own country has run far away,
With the red cap and feathers that look very fine,
And all her delight is in drinking red wine.
Fol di-diddle dol-di-day.
VI.
The Master and Mistress that sit by the fire,
Put your hand in your pocket, that’s all we desire;
Put your hand in your pocket, and pull out your purse,
And give us a trifle—you’ll ne’er be any worse.
Fol di-diddle dol-di-day.
VII.
Some eggs and strong bacon we’ll never deny,
For the eggs we can suck while the bacon doth fry.
Now all ye young lasses, just mind what ye are about,
If you give nought, we’ll take nought, so we’ll bid you good night.
Fol di-diddle dol-di-day.