English Villages

by P. H. Ditchfield

“A day of jubilee, An ancient holiday; When, lo! the rural revels are begun, And gaily echoing to the laughing sky, On the smooth-shaven green, Resounds the voice of mirth.”

I have already given a description of these Whitsuntide rejoicings in a preceding chapter.

Then there were the miracle plays, or “mysteries,” as they were called, in June, on Corpus Christi Day, which were performed before the Reformation, principally in the neighbourhood of large monasteries; Coventry, Chester, London, York being specially renowned for these performances. The subjects were taken from Holy Scripture, or from the lives of saints, and were intended to teach the people religious knowledge, but the scenes were disfigured by many absurdities and grotesque perversions. Their history is a curious one, too long to enter upon in this chapter; but often in the open fields, at the bottom of natural amphitheatres, were these plays performed, very similar in construction to the famous passion play performed by the peasants, at Ober Ammergau, in Bavaria, the last surviving specimen of the ancient religious drama.

Then there were the bonfires to be lighted on St. John’s Day upon the hillsides, and the dance of the young people around them, the more venturesome youths leaping through the flames, all carrying home the firebrands and forming a glad procession. Afterwards followed the busy harvest-time, when everyone was too hard at work, and too tired at the end of the day’s labours, to think of holiday-making; but at length came the harvest home, when the last sheaf was gathered in, and the harvest supper was a very joyous occasion. With light hearts, smiling faces, and cheerful shouts, the harvest labourers and their wives and children, carrying green boughs, a sheaf of wheat, and rude flags, formed a glad procession to the farmer’s house, where they found the fuelled chimney blazing wide, and “the strong table groaning beneath the smoking sirloin.” The feast over, they retired to some near hillock, and made the welkin ring with their shouts, “Holla, holla, holla, largess!”—largess being the presents of money and good things which the farmer had bestowed. Such was the harvest home in the good old days, a joy and delight to both old and young. Shorn of much of its merriment and quaint customs, it still lingers on; but modern habits and notions have deprived it of much of its old spirit and light-heartedness.

The floors of the old churches were formerly unpaved and unbearded, simply made of clay, and were covered over with rushes. Once a year there was a great ceremony, called “rush-bearing.” Rushes were cut in the neighbouring marsh, and made up into long bundles, decked with ribands and flowers. Then a procession was formed, everyone bearing a bundle of rushes, or placing them in the rush-cart beautifully adorned; and with music, drums, and ringing of bells, they marched to the church and strewed the floor with their honoured burdens. Long after the rushes ceased to be used in church the ceremony was continued, and I have myself witnessed a rush-bearing procession such as I have described. A village feast, followed by dancing round the May-pole, generally formed the conclusion to the day’s festivities.

“Beating the bounds” of the parish was another annual ceremony, which often took place on Ascension Day and is still in use at Oxford. Boundaries of property were not so clearly defined in those days as they are now; and hedgerows, walls, and railings were scarce. The bounds of the parish were often marked by trees, called “gospel trees,” because the clergyman used to read the gospel for the day under their shade. The people carried a processional cross and willow wands, and boys were generally flogged at the boundaries, or ducked in the river, if that constituted a boundary, in order to impress upon their memories where the bounds were. The village feast afterwards made some amends to them for their harsh treatment.

The village sports were a great source of enjoyment, and were frequently indulged in. The time-honoured archery developed the skill of our English bowmen, and won for them many a battle before the days of gunpowder and cannons. Then there was the very ancient game of the quintain, which consisted of an upright post with a cross-post turning upon a pin. At one end of the latter was a broad board, at the other a heavy sand-bag. The play, which required skill and dexterity, was to ride against the broad end with a lance, and pass by before the sandbag, swinging round, could strike the player to the ground. This was a common sport at wedding festivities. There were also the games of singlestick, cudgelling, and wrestling, which had many votaries, and the famous game of quarter-staff, so general in Berkshire, and so graphically described in The Scouring of the White Horse, by Mr. Hughes. An old parishioner of mine was the reputed champion of this game, which has now almost died out. Football is an ancient sport, and the manner formerly in vogue most nearly resembles the game authorised by the Rugby rules. The football was thrown down in the churchyard, and the object was to carry it perhaps two or three miles, every inch of ground being keenly contested. “Touch-downs” were then unknown, but it is evident from old records that “scrimmages” and “hacking” were much in vogue. Sack-racing, grinning through horse-collars, running after pigs with greased tails, were some of the lighter forms of amusement which pleased the villagers.

Then in the winter evenings there were “carols” to be practised for Christmas, and each village boasted of its own musicians, who played violins, flutes, clarionets, and other instruments in church, before the days of harmoniums and organs. Their music might not be of a very first-rate order, but they delighted in it, took an interest in it; and how pleased they were to take part in the service, and to play over their favourite hymn tunes, with a great many twirls and variations, to their children during the winter evenings! Christmas brought its accustomed merry-makings. In the north every farmer gave two feasts, one called “t’ ould foaks’ neet,” and the other “t’ young foaks’ neet.” Here is Sir Walter Scott’s description of an ancient Christmas:—

“And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll’d And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all its hospitable train. Domestic and religious rite Gave honour to the holy night: On Christmas Eve the bells were rung; On Christmas Eve the Mass was sung; That only night in all the year Saw the staled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen; The hall was dressed with holly green; Forth to the wood did merry men go, To gather in the mistletoe. Then open wide the baron’s hall, To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And Ceremony doft’d his pride. The heir with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose; The lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of ‘post and pair.’ All hailed with uncontrolled delight The general voice, the happy night, That to the cottage, as the crown, Brought tidings of salvation down. “The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall-table’s oaken face Scrubb’d till it shone, the day of grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving man; Then the grim boar’s head frowned on high Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell How, when, and where the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar; While round the merry wassail bowl, Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trowl. Then the huge sirloin reek’d: hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie; Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce At such high time her savoury goose. Then came the merry maskers in, And carols roared with blithesome din; If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in this mumming see Traces of ancient mystery; White shirts supply the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visor made; But, oh! what masquers, richly dight, Can boast of bosoms half so light! England was merry England when Old Christmas brought his sports again. ’Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale; ’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale. A Christmas gambol oft would cheer A poor man’s heart through half the year.”

Such was the manner of keeping Christmas in olden times; and if “the mightiest ale” was sometimes too mighty, and although the intemperance of our forefathers was a vice much to be deplored, at any rate their hearty manner of keeping this annual feast was effectual in promoting “goodwill amongst men,” and in cheering the hearts of the poor.