It’s Royal Oak daay,
T’ twenty-nahnth o’ Maay,
An’ if ya deean’t gi’e uz hollida
Wa’ll all run awaay.
The above was sung, to the entire satisfaction of the lads, a couple of years ago at Great Ayton. On this day it is customary for every one to display a twig of oak; should any one be so remiss as to walk abroad without sporting an oak-leaf or two, it is quite probable some urchin may give the delinquent a sharp reminder by switching him over the hand with a nettle. And woe betide the lad who is so foolhardy as to venture forth oakless, for in addition to being stung with nettles, he may have to submit to being rubbed over with chalk until he looks very like a miller. It may be mentioned that Royal Oak Day is often called Chalky-back Day.
There are several charms and ceremonies peculiar to Midsummer Eve, the careful observance of which enables a maiden to learn something of what fate may have in store for her. Does she doubt the constancy of her lover, she can satisfy herself once for all, no matter what other folk may say, and in spite of anything she may have seen or imagined herself, by observing the following rite. Certainly the carrying out of the ceremony is a wee bit troublesome, but of what account is trouble when such vital points are at issue as the unmasking of perfidy or the establishment of truth and love? To perform the rite the maiden must proceed as follows:—Pull three hairs from the tail of a perfectly black cat, also three from a red cow; gather three leaves of the deadly nightshade, and, having killed a white pigeon, smear each leaf with blood from its heart. Now make three flat parcels, each containing a cat’s hair, a cow’s hair, and a leaf. Next stew the pigeon, saving the gravy. Now make a savoury dish, adding thereto the gravy. The suspected one must be asked to supper on Midsummer Eve, the damsel being careful to place under the tablecloth the three parcels, in such manner that one will lie under his plate, one under the dish containing the gravy, and the third under her own plate. During supper, should her lover find the least fault with any person or thing, he is faithless. If the maiden is very deeply in love, I should advise her to do most of the talking; let it be only a one-course supper, and hurry through with it. The above charm is rarely resorted to now; the several difficulties which have to be overcome before it can be successfully carried out, have almost laid it on one side. But I well remember its being tried years ago by one of our servants, and I have been informed that it was resorted to, inside of the last five years, at a farm-house near Swainby.
Here is another one for the same eve, which is much more widely known, and believed in yet by many. Three maids, unseen by and unknown to any other but themselves, must each gather a sprig of rosemary, and between the hours of eleven and twelve p.m. retire to an upper chamber, lock the door, and from the moment the key is turned not a word must be spoken. Near one end of the room a basin half full of water must be placed, in which each maiden has dropped a handful of red-rose leaves; the three sprigs of rosemary must now be laid on the rose leaves; next, fix a line across the room, over which each must throw—not fasten in any way—a chemise of her own make, but which she has never worn. Having thus arranged matters, they must seat themselves as far from the basin as possible, when they will be shortly rewarded, for a few moments after twelve o’clock the husband of each will appear. There can be no doubt about this, because each apparition will seize a sprig of rosemary and sprinkle the chemise of the girl he loves. Nothing could be more convincing than this; now, could there be?
If not yet fully satisfied, they may make another attempt on the eve of St. Mary Magdalene. For this they will have to prepare the following decoction:—Take a wineglassful each of rum, gin, and red wine, a teaspoonful of honey, treacle, and sugar, and the same of vinegar, lemon-juice, and sour oranges; these must be mixed together in some utensil purchased that day, and for which each must pay an equal share. When mixing the ingredients, the following rule must be observed: the first maiden must pour in the spirits and wine, the second the sweets, and the third the sours; this must be done at the hour of midnight. Let each now take a sprig of rosemary, dip it in the liquor, and then carefully stitch the same securely to the bosom of her nightdress; bear in mind you are an old maid for ever if you and your sprig part company during the night. Each in turn must now drink a tablespoonful of the mixture, until every drop is consumed, then jump into bed, all three together, and on falling asleep, each maiden will have a dream, the meaning of which cannot be misunderstood. This seems to be quite certain, and there is another thing equally assured—one and all will awake with such a splitting headache in the morning, that they will forswear improvised cold punch for ever afterwards.
It is not within the scope of this work to take note of purely local customs, deeply interesting though they be. Therefore the Vardy dinner at Helmsley, the procession of the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress of York at Kilburn, the race up the hill at Askrigg, or the May-pole dances at several other places, and the like, must be passed over.
The mell supper, though lacking much of its pristine glory, is still with us. Mr. Robinson of Carthorpe, and many others in the riding, still keep to the good old ways. The mell supper, i.e. a supper and a dance after the ingathering of the harvest, is exceedingly common, but with its older observances, or at least as many of them as are remembered, is only adhered to here and there. Still, at the present day, something of the old-time doings are to be met with. The last sheaf at Carthorpe, as in Jutland, is called the ’widow,’ and the last load is always led triumphantly home with songs of joy.