Another old Christmas belief may be found in the Golden Legend, printed by Wynkyn de Worde, where it is said, "that what persone beynge in clene lyfe desyre on thys daye (Christmas) a boone of God: as ferre as it is ryghtfull and good for hym, our lorde at reuerence of thys blessid and hye feste of his natiuite wol graunt it to hym."
Most English Christmas customs, save the Christmas Tree, cards, and the stocking hung up to receive gifts, are old, but one of the prettiest modern ones that I know of was started by the Rev. J. Kenworthy, Rector of Ackworth, in Yorkshire, about forty years since, of hanging a sheaf of corn outside the church porch, on Christmas eve, for the special benefit of the birds. It seems a pity that it is not universally practised in rural parishes.
To be spoken of in the past tense also are, I fear, the Christ-tide customs of Wales—the Mari Lhoyd, or Lwyd, answering to the Kentish Hodening, and the Pulgen, or the Crowning of the Cock, which was a simple religious ceremony. About three o'clock on Christmas morning the Welsh in many parts used to assemble in church, and, after prayers and a sermon, continue there singing psalms and hymns with great devotion till it was daylight; and if, through age or infirmity, any were disabled from attending, they never failed having prayers at home and carols on our Saviour's nativity.
At Tenby it was customary at four o'clock on Christmas morning for the young men of the town to escort the rector with lighted torches from his residence to the church. Sometimes also, before or after Christmas day, the fishermen of Tenby dressed up one of their number, whom they called the "Lord Mayor of Pennyless Cove," with a covering of evergreens and a mask over his face; they would then carry him about, seated in a chair, with flags flying, and a couple of violins playing before him. Before every house the "Lord Mayor" would address the occupants, wishing them a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. If his good wishes were responded to with money his followers gave three cheers, the masquer would himself give thanks, and the crowd again cheered.
In Scotland, Christ-tide is not observed as much as in England, the Scotch reserving all their festive energy for the New Year. Yet, in some parts of Scotland, he who first opens the door on Yule day is esteemed more fortunate during the coming year than the remainder of the family, because he "lets in Yule." And Yule is treated as a real person, as some people set a table or chair, covered with a clean cloth, in the doorway, and set upon it bread and cheese for Yule. It is common also to have a table covered in the house from morning till night with bread and drink upon it, that every one who calls may take a portion, and it is considered particularly inauspicious if any one comes into a house and leaves it without doing so. However many be the callers during the day, all must partake of the good cheer.
In Chambers's Popular Rhymes (ed. 1870, p. 169), it is said that the doings of the guisards (masquers) form a conspicuous feature in the New Year proceedings throughout Scotland. The evenings on which these persons are understood to be privileged to appear are those of Christmas, Hogmanay, New Year's day, and Handsel Monday. Dressed in quaint and fantastic attire, they sing a selection of songs which have been practised by them some weeks before. There were important doings, however—one of a theatrical character. There is one rude and grotesque drama (called Galatian) which they are accustomed to perform on each of the four above-mentioned nights; and which, in various fragments or versions, exists in every part of Lowland Scotland. The performers, who are never less than three, but sometimes as many as six, having dressed themselves, proceed in a band from house to house, generally contenting themselves with the kitchen as an arena, whither, in mansions presided over by the spirit of good humour, the whole family will resort to witness the scene of mirth.
Grant, in his Popular Superstitions of the Highlands, says that as soon as the brightening glow of the eastern sky warns the anxious housemaid of the approach of Christmas day, she rises, full of anxiety at the prospect of her morning labours. The meal, which was steeped in the sowans bowie a fortnight ago to make the Prechdacdan sour, or sour scones, is the first object of her attention. The gridiron is put on the fire, and the sour scones are soon followed by hard cakes, soft cakes, buttered cakes, bannocks, and pannich perm. The baking being once over, the sowans pot succeeds the gridiron, full of new sowans, which are to be given to the family, agreeably to custom, this day in their beds. The sowans are boiled into the consistency of molasses, when the lagan-le-vrich, or yeast bread, to distinguish it from boiled sowans, is ready. It is then poured into as many bickers as there are individuals to partake of it, and presently served to the whole, both old and young. As soon as each despatches his bicker, he jumps out of bed—the elder branches to examine the ominous signs of the day, and the younger to enter into its amusements.
Flocking to the swing—a favourite amusement on this occasion, the youngest of the family gets the first "shouder," and the next oldest to him, in regular succession. In order to add more to the spirit of the exercise, it is a common practice with the person in the swing, and the person appointed to swing him, to enter into a very warm and humorous altercation. As the swung person approaches the swinger, he exclaims, "Ei mi tu chal"—"I'll eat your kail." To this the swinger replies, with a violent shove, "Cha ni u mu chal"—"You shan't eat my kail." These threats and repulses are sometimes carried to such a height as to break down or capsize the threatener, which generally puts an end to the quarrel.
As the day advances those minor amusements are terminated at the report of the gun, or the rattle of the ball-clubs—the gun inviting the marksmen to the Kiavamuchd, or prize-shooting, and the latter to Luchd-vouil, or the ball combatants—both the principal sports of the day. Tired at length of the active amusements of the field, they exchange them for the substantial entertainment of the table. Groaning under the "Sonsy Haggis" and many other savoury dainties, unseen for twelve months before, the relish communicated to the company by the appearance of the festive board is more easily conceived than described. The dinner once despatched, the flowing bowl succeeds, and the sparkling glass flies to and fro like a weaver's shuttle. The rest of the day is spent in dancing and games.