Martlemas beef was beef dried in the chimney, as bacon, and is so called, because it was usual to kill the beef for this provision about the feast of St. Martin.[385] There is mention of
—dried flitches of some smoked beeve,
Hang’d on a writhen wythe since Martin’s Eve.
Hall.
Mr. Brand relates, that rustic families in Northumberland clubbed at Martinmas to buy a cow or other animal; the union for this purchase is called a “mart.” After the animal was killed, they filled the entrails with a kind of pudding meat, consisting of blood, suet, groats, &c. which being formed into little sausage links, were boiled and sent about as presents. These are called “black-puddings” from their colour. There is also noticed a kind of entertainment in Germany, called the “feast of sausages,” which was wont to be celebrated with great joy and festivity. The day is a great festival on the continent: new wines then begin to be tasted, and the hours are spent in carousing. An old author says, that the great doings on this occasion almost throughout Europe in his time, are derived from an ancient Athenian festival, observed in honour of Bacchus, upon the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth days of the month Anthesterion, corresponding with our November. Another says, that the eleventh month had a name from the ceremony of “tapping their barrels on it;” when it was customary to make merry. It is likewise imagined by Dr. Stukeley, in his “Itinerary” concerning Martinsal-hill, thus: “I take the name of this hill to come from the merriments among the northern people, called Martinalia, or drinking healths to the memory of St. Martin, practised by our Saxon and Danish ancestors. I doubt not but upon St. Martin’s day, or Martinmass, all the young people in the neighbourhood assembled here, as they do now upon the adjacent St. Ann’s-hill, upon St. Ann’s day.” He adds, that “St. Martin’s day, in the Norway clogs, (or wooden almanacs) is marked with a goose: for on that day they always feasted with a roasted goose: they say, St. Martin, being elected to a bishoprick, hid himself, (noluit episcopari) but was discovered by that animal. We have transferred the ceremony to Michaelmas.”[386]
Dr. Forster, so often cited, observes, that a medal has lately been struck in France in commemoration of this laudable custom; on one side of which is embossed a goose, and on the reverse occurs the word Martinalia. Relative to the custom of goose-eating, it is further noticed in the “Perennial Calendar,” that the festival of St. Martin occurs when geese are in high season. “It is always celebrated with a voracity the more eager, as it happens on the eve of the petit carême, when fowls can no longer be presented on the tables of a religious age. A German monk, Martin Schoock, has made it a case of conscience whether, even on the eve of the little Lent, it be allowable to eat goose: ‘An liceat Martinalibus anserem comedere?’ After having dived into the weedy pool of the casuist’s arguments, the delighted devotee emerges with the permission to roast his goose; and thus the goose came to be a standing dish on Martinmas as well as Michaelmas day.”
In some of the old church calendars the celebration of this day is called “The Martinalia, a genial feast; wines are tasted of and drawn from the lees; Bacchus is the figure of Martin.”[387]
“Time’s Telescope,” for 1814, cites some extracts from a little ballad, entitled “Martilmasse Day:”—
It is the day of Martilmasse,
Cuppes of ale should freelie passe;
What though Wynter has begunne
To push downe the Summer sunne,
To our fire we can betake,
And enjoye the crackling brake,
Never heedinge Wynter’s face
On the day of Martilmasse.
Some do the citie now frequent,
Where costlie shows and merriment
Do weare the vaporish eveninge out
With interlude and revellinge rout;
Such as did pleasure Englande’s queene
When here her Royal Grace was seen
Yet will they not this day let passe,
The merrie day of Martilmasse.
When the dailie sportes be done,
Round the market crosse they runne,
Prentis laddes and gallant blades
Dancing with their gamesome maids,
Till the Beadel, stout and sowre,
Shakes his bell, and calls the houre;
Then farewell ladde and farewell lasse
To the merry night of Martilmasse.