Custom survived: The Southwell Ploughing Match

Plough a deep furrow

The Southwell Ploughing match is one of the oldest agricultural traditions in the country. It was established in 1855 by the Southwell and District Agricultural society consisting of four ploughing classes with the first ploughing match being undertaken in 1856. This was at Averham Park. Unfortunately the group folded in 1880 but was re-established in 1908 by the Southwell Farmer’s Club. The First World War put an understandable stop to such activities only being restored in 1922. Modernisation begun when in 1937 tractor pulling was added in 1936 but it did not last long stopping in 1938. Post war in 1947 it was re-started. It has not had an unbroken run since unfortunately with foot and mouth in 2001 stopping it, heaving rain in 2017 and the Coronavirus pandemic. 

To plough ahead

The ploughing remains central to the event. One can see the beauty in creating a straight furrow although how it was exactly judged was a bit of an arcane art. Being a few yards away from it also made it a bit difficult to follow. From the distance I stood it looked like a rather strangely staggered relay match with tractors. There were massive seed drills, old and ancient some looking like they had just out of a museum for the day. The tractors were centre stage of course in their many forms old and new. The smell and the sounds of threshing machines and old engines are very evocative. However, the event is more than just watching the ploughing and there is a whole range of country and rural related events and trade stands. These range from dog shows to farmer’s market. I spent a lot of time looking at the cheese available and admiring the dog’s agility.

A deep furrow

These events are very much the stage and advert for the agricultural community so needed. An essential place for all to attend especially those who by our increasingly urban communities have been disconnected from the countryside.

Its position in the calendar of the year shows how calendar customs can be in tune with nature like a descent of the lost harvest homes; the event links to the end of the harvest and the necessary preparations of the land for the crop next year. Thus despite this being a ‘showing off’ of the ploughing communities best talents it is also a subtle way to show best practice. It has become as it has grown a way to celebrate the agricultural way of life and to stress the importance of these traditions to keep our rural communities alive.

 

 

 

Custom survived: Forest Chapel Rushbearing

High above Macclesfield is Forest Chapel, reached through winding and narrow lanes you reach one of the most picturesque and unspoilt parts of the Peak District. The views here are stunning and a better place for an annual custom could not be found in my opinion. For hear on the Sunday nearest the 12th August – significantly tied in to attract the grouse shooting fraternity but now attracts the muddy boots of the walking community – is the Rushbearing service.

Rushing to get a spot

Rushbearing is an old tradition which provided churches with rushes which would keep the church clean and warm. Each year these would need to be cleared out and refreshed usually post harvest time and as such this changeover could be used as a day of celebration often seen as a symbol of spiritual renewal. Forest Chapel rush bearing is very popular and already when I had turned up a number seeing the weather fair forewent getting a seat inside for one outside.

The first mention of it is in 1848 in the church accounts which reads that a sum of five shillings was paid to:

“William Smith for repairing the windows at the chapel and school broken at Rushbearing.”

Whatever happened to cause this damage is unclear -one assumes some rather over exuberant alcohol fuelled dancing perhaps -today’s rush bearing is a much quieter affair

What is curious is that most churches abandoned the rushbearing for practical health reasons in Great Plague and they never returned. What is unusual here is that the chapel was only built in 1834 so why was it done here. 

Rush to the head

The effort made is remarkable especially for such a small community; the whole chapel floor is covered in plaited rushes with them interwoven with flower arrangement at the end of pews mainly using chrysanthemums, over the font, within the chancel and over the door and beyond – creating a very picturesque vision.   

The service starts inside with the sweet sounds of the harmonium playing ‘near my God to Thee’ and soon with the church almost literally packed to the rafters the choir entered dressed in their crimson gowns and as the organist plays ‘Angel voices ever singing’ the service begun. The Service followed a traditional route then after the fifth hymn there is a change of position as the vicar and invited bishop leave the church to complete the rest of the service outside standing on a table tomb in the grave. This was apparently introduced when the church was unable to accommodate all the visitors. Certainly there were a lot there, but not as many as were in the 1940s when 900 were recorded. Mind you the outside service part did make for a more atmospheric event and allowed those who may already be sitting down on their fold up chairs in the churchyard half listening, half enjoying the view to see the faces of the clergy.

The Bishop then introduced his sermon which was very light hearted and humorous and at the end we all sung “God be with you till we meet again” although it was a far more dour version than I was used to!

There is a real earthy, traditional and welcoming feel to the place and as a church custom even for those non-Christian it was very welcoming especially the biscuits and tea afterwards. Ironically with its outside service this was one of the few Covid ready calendar customs there was – the founders must have known something!

 

 

Custom survived: Oxford Ascension Day Beating the Bounds

There are a large number of customs on Ascension Day that to see them all would need a considerable number of years. A few years ago I decided to sample the Oxford beating of the bounds on the way to the Bisley Ascension Day well dressing.

Oxford has a long history of recorded beating of the bounds. Brand’s Popular antiquities of 1849 records that:

“At Oxford the little crosses cut in the stones of buildings to denote the division of the parishes are whitened with chalk. Great numbers of boys, with peeled willow rods in their hands, accompany the minister in the procession.”

Fast forward to the 21st century and delightfully little has changed – the willow rods, the marks, the chalk, all except perhaps the great numbers of boys. I turned up at St. Michael at the Northgate where a large number of people were assembling and willow rods were being given out. I tried to avoid getting one myself as I feared it might get in the way of the photography.

Beating the boundaries was done by many parishes and still is. Between 1598 and 1834, Poor Laws made it that the care of the poor was parish’s responsibility and as such it was important to ensure that they knew the boundaries so that those who might turn up to ask for alms were legitimately on the parish’s land. Oxford has one of the more interesting boundary beatings – two churches go out on the same day, one early the morning the other later on, presumably not to mark at the same time but occasionally they do to mock indignance no doubt. Oxford is also notable also weaving in and out of some rather unusual locations.

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The vicar arrived with chalk in hand and considerable enthusiasm and seeing that we all had wands in hand with his two cross bearers took us off to beat the bounds. It wasnt long before we found our first hit and taking about a piece of chalk he wrote upon a cross marked on the wall between the arms the letter SMNG and the date beneath. Once he had done so he said ‘whack it’ and the wands raised in hand ceremonially hit the mark and then we were off.

I’ve been in some strange places recording calendar customs but I think the lingerie section of Zara must be one of the most bizarre. Here the group stood cross bearers between the bras as the vicar asked for the manager. However, this was not some ask to return some unwanted items but to gain access to a storeroom where bizarrely a mark was held. Clearly himself bemused by the location he dutifully marked it, we whacked it and off we went.

On our perambulations, walls featured greatly some marks low down some high up – making it very clear why we needed the long wands. At one point the vicar disappeared behind some foliage to mark and we just noted it. At the site of the Oxford Martyrs a moment of reflection was needed before chalk in hand and for the lack of an actual mark in an act which would be considered vandalism if anyone else, the road sign was chalked and we again whacked especially enthusiastically by a little girl looking considerably surprised she got away with it it seemed!

Next we entered the grounds of Brasenose college where our next mark was to be found. Here it was clear that the St. Mary the Virgin beaters had beaten us to it as they had left their mark too as the college was the boundary of both. Here the beaters were treated with a break and something called Ivy beer which I politely declined…indeed I quickly check my phone and realised I need to leave to attend the Bisley ascension day well dressing and vowed to return another time to experience the rest of the boundary walk.

Custom survived: Hot Penny Scrambling on Mayor’s Day, Rye, Sussex

 

Mayor Making, that is the enthronement of a new Mayor, in Rye is an old tradition at least dating back 700 years. There are of course lots of such ceremonies in the country and whilst they are delightfully high in pomp, ceremony and colour, they are not as unique as what happens after Rye’s mayor is made. For afterwards the Mayor party take to the Town hall windows high above the square and rain pennies down upon the crowd. 

I attended the Throwing of the Hot Pennies as part of my mad May day weekend dash – having already experienced Oxford May Morning, Lewes May Garlands and stopped here on my way to the Rochester May Day and finishing off the day with the Hammersmith Jack. It was a bit of mad rush and adventure!

Why did Rye do this and not other places? Penny throwing or scrambling is found in other places such as Driffield and Reach Fair but these were often done for commercial reasons to encourage local children to spend money. This may be the reason but why would Rye do this and not other towns?

Hot money!

Jacqueline Simpson (1973) Folklore of Sussex states that one of the main reasons was that this was because Rye had its own mint and one day she states:

“The town ran out of pennies on Mayor’s Day, and a boy sent to fetch new ones from the mint brought them back so fast that they were still hot.”

The other would be that once the Mayor of Rye was a member of parliament and so provided money to bribe the voters. To be honest neither really make sense! Tony Foxworthy in his Customs in Sussex adds further reasons:

“The reason the pennies are heated before being thrown is to make sure the bigger children dont get larger handfuls than the smaller children (very likely)

The simple reason for throwing heated coins is to instil on the young people of Rye’s mind the importance of the day when the Mayor of Rye is installed.”

Although again this does ask why Rye?

Coined a profit!

It was reported in 1967 that the local bank had supplied coins that were minted in 1951 which was extraordinary as in this year most of the coins minted were sent to British dependencies in the West Indies and so made them rare. It was reported that after throwing £2.10s worth of coinage it was worked out that each penny was actually worth £12 and as such the rest of the coins were valued and kept safe…cannot imagine this rather put a dampener on all the fun!

In those days the total thrown was £5 now it is £20 and at some times in the past the George Hotel was used. 

Scramble to get there!

I turned up just in time to see a large crowd of excitable children mass below the Town Hall and the new Mayor turn up flanked by two mace bearers. A sort of hush descend as the windows opened and the crowd looked up in anticipation. A gleeful Mayor with a shovel in his hand tossed it upwards and off the coins went flying into the air! Soon all the children fell to the floor desperate to pick as many as possible. There was clearly a lot of enjoyment and the children would certainly remember it in many years to come….clearly the reason they did it!

PLEASE NOTE THIS BLOG WAS IN A BIT OF OBEYANCE OVER THE LAST YEAR BUT AS A NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION I AM DETERMINED TO COMPLETE ALL MONTHS BEFORE THE END OF JANUARY…THE BLOGS 10TH ANNIVERSARY!

Custom survived: Beltane rites at the Clootie wells of Inverness region

A few years ago I planned to experience customs over the Beltane and May day weekend and it coincided with me providing a contribution at a Ritual Litter conference on the phenomena of rag wells or as they become more widely known clootie or cloutie well. As part of this I decided to do some field research and those decided to sit for six hours at the most famous clootie well of all – the titular Clootie Well or St. Boniface’s Well on the Black Isle not far from Inverness. This was one of three clootie wells in the Inverness area of which little is actually recorded of St Boniface with St Mary’s well on the other side of Culloden battle field being equally famed. A report in the Aberdeen Press and Journal, 3/5/37 noted of the Culloden Wishing Well:

“Despite the protests made by prominent figures in the Free and Free Presbyterian Churches against the annual pilgrimage to the Wishing Well at Culloden Moor, the numbers taking part in yesterday’s trek were greater than ever. The brilliant weather was no doubt largely responsible for the record crowd which took part in the centuries-old custom of dropping coins in the well, drinking the water, wishing a wish, and tying a rag to one of the nearby trees. The pilgrimage started at an early hour. Shortly after sunrise the first of the visitors set out on foot to the well. As midday approached the numbers grew, and by early afternoon the crowd reached unprecedented proportions. The trek continued until sunset, when the trees round the well hung heavy with ” clouties,” and a big heap of silver and copper coins lay at the bottom of the well, to be collected later and handed over to local charities. The crowd was drawn principally from Inverness and Nairn and the intervening districts, although some of the pilgrims came from as far north as Dingwall and as far east as Elgin. Hundreds came by car, motor cycle, push bicycles, and even on foot, and bus companies which provided special services from Inverness and Nairn reported that they never had a bigger demand for transport to the well. A conservative estimate is that 12,oo000 people took part in the pilgrimage. The money found at the bottom of the well amounted in value to £27 7/.”

In The Times 25th May 1957 the following account The Clootie Well A Highland Tradition from long before Culloden:

“The ritual of those distant days has survived the centuries : first a coin must be thrown into the well, a tribute to the spirit dwelling there; then taken of the water, a charm against evil; and then, after the wish, a ” clootie “, or small rag, must be tied to the branch of an over-hanging tree. This is considered so important that this wishing-well of Culloden is now known far and wide as the Clootie Well. Sure enough, as the path dipped down into a glade of trees with the en- circling stone of the well in their midst, we saw clooties all around, far too many for one tree alone, they were tied indiscriminately to the branches of fir, and spruce, and beech. Rags there were of all colours, blue and pink and white. Some of the fresh ones were tied in trim little bows, others, that had withstood the winds of winter, hung limp and discoloured. So they must hang until another winter has rotted them away; to remove them would bring bad luck, if not a transfer of the very afflictions of which the first owners had been trying to rid themselves.”

So there was certainly a fair bit of evidence of organised visits to the clootie wells but although these themselves had subsiding I was under the impression that people still visited the wells. 

Despite the fact that any internet search will produce thousands of images of this well festooned in all manner of objects I did wonder whether as stated Beltaine (the 30th of April – although seen as a moveable feast including what we would consider the first day of May) was a favoured time. I decided to ask around before I went and upon contacting the local parish council was told by the replier that they had lived there for many years and never seen anyone tie anything there nor anyone at it…not a promising start.

Getting on my rag

However, I decided to make my way from Inverness and find out who would turn up if anyone! So making my way to the well. It was not difficult to find it. Within a few yards of the trees start to appear adorned with ribbons and rags and the closer and closer the more and the more these trees buckled and bowed under the weight of these offerings. Some see as it as enlightening, others an eye sore; it was certainly eye opening! In 1979 the Morrises in their Scottish Healing Wells bemoaned the use of modern fibres stating:

 “There were many rags in evidence during the visit since the majority were of unrottable man-made fibre it was obvious that the visitors did not fully understand the purpose of this part of the ritual.”

The sign at the clootie well does much to keep the tradition alive as well as advice against such unnatural fibres – to little avail I feel. However, locals supported by the Woven network have worked to trim the amount a few years back. 

Rag rating

I made my way to the epicentre where the rags became more dense. Indeed where the spring arose was like a broken washing machine full of dirty and wet rags. Local folklore tells that the best place is to be nearer the spring and as such the roots surrounding the chamber were indiscernible. I sat nearby awaiting visitors, The first hour I saw no-one and as the second hour began to slide away I decided to tour around recording the offerings around me. There were huge numbers and a huge range. There were shoes, bags, hi-vis jackets, socks and underwear. From the later it was clear the value of buying Calvin Clein against own brands in terms of decay and lichen growth!

High above in the trees above the springhead there was even a collection of shirts all signed by the same members placed here year after year with the day and dates…at least I could be assured that there would be someone at the on that date the next year! 

However, suddenly I could hear voices below me and slowly I made my way down to announce my presence. The first couple were locals who had visited with some relatives to show them the site and despite attesting they did not use it; the grandmother barked at a younger member ‘dont touch the clooties otherwise you’ll contract what they were put up there for.” I asked what she meant and she explained that people visited the wells to remove ailments and issues that they had using in some cases the water to wet the rag, rub on the afflicted area and then attach to to a tree. As it rotted the ailment would disappear. 

They soon departed and were replaced by another smaller group; a local tour guide and an American keep to see the place. The tour guide said he regularly visited the well but the last time he left a deposit was when he left a Scottish football scarf when he emigrated. He said he wasnt keen to find it because he became divorced soon after and feared that his ex-wife would return! The tourist with him was keen to add to the clooties but could only add a sock but dutifully removed, soaked in the stream of the water and circled three times clockwise around the spring head as directed and attached to a tree. 

Soon a steady stream of people attended. One couple were reluctant to be talked to but I watched as they solemnly took out a hanky dipped in the water, followed the same movement around the spring and tied it up above it slightly out of sight and moved off even more surreptitiously! I watched and saw around 10 people following the ritual some were local but the majority were tourists drawn by the site’s considerable internet presence and prevalence of neo-pagan interest. All in some form followed the same ritual although I noticed a couple completely ignored the well and attached their offering to the trees directly…which seemed slightly pointlessly! Most knew the importance of visiting the spring over the Beltane period and indeed one suggested a very plausible reason why drinking its water at this time would be better stating that as this was in line with the ice water melting on the mountains nearby and so the water would be fresher. 

So it is clearly a living tradition and one which is still done over the Beltane period. However, by the very number of clooties here a custom more linked to the availability of visitors. Sadly, if they are following the tradition correctly using an artificial materials would mean that whatever ailments they had would remain…I am sure there is a message there about modern society. 

 

 

Custom survived: Eating pancakes on Shrove Tuesday

A few years back I was invited to be involved in a Shrove Tuesday live radio broadcast from the Nottinghamshire village of Linby. The aim was to discuss why we ate pancakes on Shrove Tuesday and I’ll explain why in a moment.

The association of pancakes with Shrove Tuesday is unlike perhaps any food associated with a calendar day – Christmas has cakes, mince pies and puddings (and much else I would add), Easter – hot cross buns, biscuits and Simnel cakes – but Shrove Tuesday is really only associated with one type of food. This association having become so great that the actual day is slowly morphing into Pancake day, divorced from its Christian origin and in a way devoid of any sense (or lacking not making any sense) of why it would be so associated.

Of course this metamorphosis is purely a commercial enterprise – which appears to have almost completed its aim. When the Pancake day stamp arose is difficult to work out but certainly by the 1980s adverts,  in the main associated with lemon juice, the secularisation was becoming well established.

But why Pancakes in the first place?

Tossing up the origin

Well this brings us back to why I was in Linby where it is said that the custom begun. However, the earliest reference I can find is by a H. E. P. Stuffynwood, near Mansfield in Notes & Queries 2nd S. vol. vii. 1859:

“There is a curious tradition existing in Mansfield, Woodhouse, Bulwell, and several other villages near Sherwood Forest, as to the origin of pancakes on Shrove Tuesday. The inhabitants of any of the villages will inform the questioner that when the Danes got to Linby all the Saxon men of the neighbouring villages ran off into the forest, and the Danes took the Saxon women to keep house for them. This happened just before Lent, and the Saxon women, encouraged by their fugitive lords, resolved to massacre their Danish masters on Ash Wednesday. Every woman who agreed to do this was to bake pancakes for this meal on Shrove Tuesday as a kind of pledge to fulfil her vow. This was done, and that the massacre of the Danes did take place on Ash Wednesday is a well-known historical fact. In addition, the villagers will tell you that in this part of the country there were no red haired people before the Danes came; that all were either fair, or black haired before that time. Thinking this tradition as to the origin of pancakes sufficiently curious to be worth preserving, I venture to send it to ” N. & Q.” in the hopes that it may find a place somewhere in the pages of your valuable journal.”

In sort it seems very unlikely even if there was some veracity in the claim that the Linby legend spawned our long association between pancakes and Shrove Tuesday least of all that it cannot be proved it was on the said day.

A race for the origins

What is more evident is that making a pancake would use up the staples which were not part of the fast – namely dairy, eggs, fat and flour.

Certainly the name of Pancake Day for Shrove Tuesday was nothing new. Pancakes features in children’s rhymes at Shrove Tuesday from Skegby Stanton Hill Girl’s school. Nottinghamshire, the local children had a rhyme in the 1900s:

“Pancake day, pancake day if you don’t give us a holiday we’ll all run away. Where shell we run? Down Skegby Lane, here comes the teacher with the big fat cane”

To 1842 in Cornwall:

“Nicka, nicka nan ; Give me some pancake, and then I’ll be gone.”

In 1849 in Devonshire

“Lent Crock, give a pancake, Or a fritter, for my labour.”

And ad nauseum. Similarly, an interesting lost Shrove Tuesday tradition is recorded at Aspley Hall, which may have been more common countrywide. It is noted that the Lord and Lady of the manor would:                                

“provide batter and lard, fire, and frying pans, for all the poor families of Wollaton, Trowell and Cossall, who chose to come and eat their pancakes at his honour’s mansion, The only conditions attached to the feast were, that no quarrelling should take place, and that each wife and mother should fry for her own family, and that when the cake needed turning in the pan, the act should be performed by tossing it in the air and catching it again in the pan with the uncooked side downwards…”

One early origin is in Thomas Tusser’s Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry from 1620 which refers to the separate custom of feeding the first pancake to the hen. However custom magpie Thistleton-Dwyer again comes up with a solution to when it arose. Firstly he states that:

“In connection with the custom of eating pancakes on this day, Fosbroke in his Encyclopaedia of Antiquities (vol. ii. p. 572) says that ” Pancakes, the ” Pancakes, the Norman Crispellae,, are taken from the Fornacalia, on Feb. 18th, in memory of the practice in use before the goddess Fornax invented ovens.”

More significantly perhaps for Linby’s claims he then states:

“The Saxons called February ‘Solmonath,’ which Dr. F. Sayers, in his Disquisitions, says is explained by Bede’s ‘Mensis Placentarum,’ and rendered by Spelman, in an inedited MS., ‘Pancake month’ because in the course of it cakes were offered by the Pagan Saxons to the Sun.”

Whilst it does not mention the Linby story it does place the origins in the same period of time. However, in Robert Thompson Hampson’s  1841 Medii Ævi Kalendarium: Or, Dates, Charters, and Customs of the Middle Ages, Volume 1 is originally Swedish pankaka, an omelette but it has been absurdly derived from the Greek words for all bad in reference to the penitents at confession. If it does have such an origin I am sure that those originators would be amazed to see how the pancake has blossomed and continues to bear fruit in the 20^th and 21^st century and take over the day.

So in all it is difficult when to exactly to say why when pancakes became a staple all I know is that every year I think to myself I enjoyed those why don’t I have more often than once a year!?

Custom survived: St Bartholomew’s Founder’s Day and Bun Race, Sandwich Kent

Sandwich is a town where you would expect there to be many traditions. One of the Cinque ports, many traditions have arisen from its long association with sea. In a small chapel and its associated almshouse community is one of the most enjoyable.

Legend has it that on the 24^th August 1217 the town received a considerable amount of money from a sea battle held off the coast. This they used to build St Bartholomew’s Chapel and a hospital for sixteen men and women to inhabit. It would probably have been envisioned as a place of refuge for pilgrims latterly as it is today becoming an almshouse for the elderly.

Sandwich did not forget this great sea battle’s bounty and it appears that St Bartholomew’s Day became a day of importance in the town with the Mayor and civic dignitaries processing to the chapel for a special patronal founder’s day service – a founder’s day with a difference.

A prickly decision

One of the roles of the service is the selection of a new Master for the coming year. This is called pricking out. During this process a list of all those living in the almshouse – called brothers and sisters – is laid out and a silver bodkin  is used to run over the names and selects the person who will be in charge for the next twelve months. However the role of the Master is fairly mundane being a sort of care taker!

Typically you might say for August, the weather was wet and horrible. I arrived to watch a rather soggy civic procession arrive at the chapel to meet the brothers and sisters within. I slipped into the chapel, just about finding some room, to see the pricking out ceremony and hear the oath which went:

“I – (insert name) will me as I ought to be true and faithful unto the hospital and all things shall do, to my best of my power, for the most weal, proper and commodate of the same hospital and at the end of the year, a true and just account shall make all of things, wherewith I shall have to do belonging to the hospital for this year following.”

Not a bun fight!

After the ceremony as Charles Kightly records in his 1986 Ceremonies and customs of Britain:

“The ceremonies then conclude in livelier fashion, with local children racing around the chapel for a reward of a currant bun a piece.”

Outside there were a fair number of parents and young children waiting the race – the chapel could never have accommodated all of them and I wondered how the race had arisen. Did it arise as a way to encourage a well behaved congregation or to encourage more attendees? Both struck me as odd as it was clear that the service had a rather private feel about it and large numbers of children may have equally ruined the atmosphere I would imagine!

The dampness and drizzle did not put the participants. They lived up in the designated place beside the chapel. As it began to rain, the Mayor blew a whistle and the kids were off

The mayor protected by an umbrella gave out the buns to an out of breadth congregation of grateful children of many sizes. Many covered in mud and soggy! The adults who attended were given a hard paste biscuit with the hospital’s seal and the date 1190 – it did not look as nice as the bun! It was over as soon as it started and the crowd dispersed for another year.

How did the Bun race originate? The bun race is an interesting custom. A bit like those no winners or losers sports day everyone gets a prize! Everyone gets a bun! Why a race? Perhaps the custom arose as a dole for wayfarers and as these slowly disappeared some one came up with the idea of a race. The race symbolising the race to Canterbury’s St Thomas’s shrine. When it arose is not clear either and I have been unable to find it out. Kightly suggests it can only be less than a hundred years old – but that was in 1986 – with 34 years elapsed I imagine it qualifies now!

Custom survived: Swan upping on the river Thames

The delightful mute swan, gliding majestically down the river, its pure white plumage shining in the summer, has always been thought to be a Royal bird. The monarch owning all birds but in the past ownership was granted to certain groups and since the medieval times to two livery companies – The Vintners and Dyers. These two companies have what is called the royalty of swans. Margaret Brenthall in her 1975 Old Companies and ceremonies of Britain:

“The Thames swans have always been protected birds, and to kill one was a crime which once earned dire punishment. As late as the mid-nineteenth century transportation for seven years was the penalty, and in 1895 it was seven weeks’ hard labour.”

Swanning about

Cleverly because it would be impossible to catch all swans so all those which were marked belonged to the monarch. As T. F. Thistleton Dwyer British Popular customs present and past (1875) suggests:

“Formerly the members of the Corporation of London, in gaily-decorated barges, went up the Thames annually in August, for the purpose of nicking or marking, and counting their swans. They used to laud off Barnes Elms, and partake of a collation. This yearly progress was commonly but incorrectly called ” swan-hopping : ” the correct designation is shown by the ancient statutes to be ” swan-upping,” the swans being taken up and nicked, or marked. A ” swan with-two-nicks ” indicated, by his second nick, that he had been taken up twice.”

His account suggests that it might have been a revived custom but as Brenthall notes:

“in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Swan Voyage as a purely practical affair. It was in the eighteenth century that a festive element was introduced. Guest accompanied the Liverymen in the Companies state barges, musicians were engaged to play during the voyage, guns were fired in celebration, and a vast amount of food and drink was disposed of. As the nineteenth century progressed the mood changed, for the state barges disappeared from the scene.”

Thus it appears Thistleton Dwyer is referring to this. However, as Brenthall notes:

“But a festive atmosphere still prevails today as accompaniment to the sheer work of rowing, catching the swans and cygnets, marking and pinioning; and on two days of the Swan Voyage the Court of each of the Livery companies; together with their guests; follow by launch in the wake of the swan uppers.”

Brenthall (1975) notes:

“For this task the three respective Swan Herdsmen and their teams of Swann Uppers set out each July on a week-long Swan Voyage from Temple Stairs to Henley…the Swan Herdsmen at the time of writing are: John Turk, Queen’s Swan Keeper; Michael Turk, the Vintners’ Swan Marker and Bargemaster and Harold Cobb, the Dyers Bargemaster.”

The author states there were strong hereditary links within the ancient river appointments and I believe a Turk was my contact when I decided to find out more.

Swan with two necks

With a start at Temple the barges move down to Henley, regular stopping points are provided by the livery companies involved but I thought to be honest I was more than likely to see them gliding by and that was it – although at one of the locks I had the opportunity to see them do the loyal toast. Unfortunately, I missed the loyal toast and after deciding to picnic by the river could see in the far distance the swan uppers thinking this would be my opportunity to at least photograph this colourful watery procession as they gently skiffed the river in their three barges adorned with the banners of the Queen, Vintners and Dyers in a dazzling array of red and white.

Then their colourful red coats loomed closer in to view and a shout went out – they had seen some swans. Then with their boats they created a block to prevent the swans from escaping and the Vintner’s bargemaster leant over and grabbed the swan. It was then hoisted on to the bank and another presumably swan marker reached to get their marker and the swan was weighed, checked over and marked accordingly. Nowadays much of the process is to check on the health of the swans and since 1998 no nicking is done to the beaks rings being placed on the legs instead – which means that they cannot now be easily identified. It is a simple but colourful affair. I was amazed to be present at such close hand to see the process close up. I haven’t been back since but I was interested that for the first time in centuries Queen Elizabeth II the ‘Seigneur of the Swans’ attended the Swan Upping ceremony for the first time. It’s a simple custom only being partially cancelled due to high river flows in 2012 and 2020 due to Covid-19 social distancing measures – although one could argue being in the middle of the Thames they would be pretty socially distanced!

Custom survived: Helston’s Furry Dance, Cornwall

“To attempt the Furry Dance without, for instance, passing in and out of the houses would be to lose part of the charm and novelty…. in other towns the so-called Furry Dance is but a travesty, which usually consists of a few straggling couples performing all sorts of grotesque figures…. If other towns and villages attempt the dance as an attraction, visitors should be informed that the traditional dance belongs to Helston, where alone it is correctly danced. ….it is an insult to Helston to compare the travesties of modern dancing performed to the old air with the real “Helston Furry.”

Cornishman, Thursday 26^th July 1934

Many people in the 1970s may remember Terry Wogan singing on Top of The Tops – the Floral dance. For some unknown reason this one-hit wonder caught the zeitgeist with its catchy tune straight out of nowhere, but for folklorists and people down in the Cornish town of Helston – it was not so little known. It was based on the annual May time celebration that is the Furry Dance.

Hel of a stone!

Why does Helston dance on this day? The story is that many years again a fiery dragon appeared and dropped a large stone on an area known as Angel Yard. Over a hundred years ago it was broken up and people thought it might result in calamity. It didn’t and they are said to have celebrated their survival by dancing in and out of each other’s houses. In Feasts and

“A legend says this day was set apart to commemorate a fight between the devil and St. Michael, in which the first was defeated. The name Helston has been fancifully derived from a large block of granite which until 1783 was to be seen in the yard of the Angel hotel, the principal inn of the place. This was the stone that sealed Hell’s mouth, and the devil was carrying it when met by St. Michael. Why he should have burdened himself with such a “large pebble” (as Cornish miners call all stones) is quite unknown. The fight and overthrow are figured on the town-seal.”

Utter rubbish of course!

More likely that this was an ancient patronal festival, May the 8^th being St Michael of whom the Parish church is named, feast day especially significant that it is started by the bell ringing of that church. A theory expounded by others and suggested by Henry Jenny in the Western Morning News of May 11th 1931:

“It is quite probable that the Helston `Furry` observances are a survival of a pre-Christian Celtic custom transferred, or fixed on, to the patronal feast”.

Of course there is no evidence of any pre-Christian origin either but it clearly is very old. The dance by going in and out of houses resembles many mainland European dances such as the labyrinthian dances of the tarantula and this area may have been brought over by traders and sailors.

Furry about

The custom though has little changed in 200 years, an account from Royal Cornwall Gazette May 1802 gives a typical description and suggests at this point a great age perhaps:

“Our Flora-day seems to have lost none of its attractions. The first hour of the morning was ushered in with drums, fifes and fiddles. Various parties proceeded to the country, where they ravished the gardens and hedges of their sweets, decorated themselves in the spoils, passed a few hours in junketing, and then returned to the town, faddying it thro’ the streets. About ten o’clock, the Volunteers, commanded by Major Johns, proceeded through the Downs, where after going through various evolutions, they returned, and fired three vollies in the Coinage-hall-street. The town now began to fill with visitants in their holiday cloaths; who with the town’s people, faddied at intervals thro’ the streets, and regaled themselves with their friends till evening.”

Faddying is a local term for dancing from country to town by the way! Little had changed it seems a hundred and 50 odd years as Folk Life and Traditions by E. F. Coote Lake in Folklore notes that in 1959 except the clock missed a beat:

“No 7 a.m. Clock Stroke for Furry Dance: But Helston band gave the signal From The Western Morning News, May 9, 1959 Helston’s town clock missed a beat yesterday, and made the Furry Dance late. The band was poised in the street ready to lead off the first dance of the day. The dancers stood in double file in the Corn Exchange, with the Mayor, Mr F. E. Strike, on the steps. All waited for the town clock to strike, for the rule is that the dances must start on the stroke of the clock but it did not strike. The M.C. looked at his watch and looked at the clock, and as time went by it became apparent that the town clock was not going to strike. Instead, a signal was given to the band. The first stroke of the big bass drum called out the time-honoured Furry Dance tune, and once more Helstonians went tripping and twirling along the streets and in and out of the houses, in the first of a series of dances that went on throughout the day, winding a thread of gaiety in ‘the quaint old Cornish.”

However, if ever there was a custom which was ultra-organised it was the Furry dance and I am sure the lack of the bell was a big embarrassment!

In a hurry for the furry!

Arriving early – but not that early as I missed the church peal and the early dances but just in time for the first Hal an Tow – the streets were still relatively quiet and gave me the time to admire the splendour of the doorways dressed in huge boughs and bouquets of spring flowers. The sun shone brightly upon them and they filled the streets with rich aromas. What was incredible was the array on show and the imagination (and competitive streaks) on show. It is noted by Cornish Feasts in 1886’s Folklore:

“The week before Flora-day is in Helston devoted to the ‘spring- clean,’  and every house is made ‘as bright as a new pin,’ and the gardens stripped of their flowers to coming into the town.”

Understandably the Furry dance attracts large numbers of curious onlookers so finding a good place can be challenge however I positioned myself beneath the clock tower of the guildhall and awaiting. From here one could see down the street and beyond. Soon the bells run and the music could be heard distantly and then could be seen the promenade dancers in a sea of white at first and then black and pastel colours. First we saw the young children all dressed in white like first communion celebrants, their footsteps weaving in and out, the concentration showing on their face. Then came the adults looking for all the world like we had walked in upon an 18^th century debutant’s ball or a garden party at the Palace. These were old hands and this showed in their skill, the dancing was balletic and hypnotic in equal measure.

I ducked away from the busy concourse to see the dancers down a quiet street nearby with no crowds and here I watched how the door opened a local house and the all danced in and the after some time inside begun to dance outside. The band all the time playing their tune.

The sun was shining – well just – and the flowers, top hats and ball dresses looked splendid. Helston Furry dance perhaps the smartest of all may day events and not a Morris in sight!

 

Custom survived: Nicholas Smith’s Dole, Hartfield, East Sussex

Hartfield is a charming village on the edge of Ashdown Forest. It is particularly famed for its association with A. A Milne’s famed Pooh Bear – the shop Pooh Bear remembering it. However, visit it on Good Friday and you will see another famed association Nicholas Smith’s Dole. I say see but perhaps I should add if you are unlucky.

Hart -felt story

A 17^th Century local story tells how Nicholas Smith was an itinerant who had travelled around the Sussex countryside dressed in old clothes looking for food and shelter. At each placed he was treated poorly by the local inhabitants who thought he was a beggar and sent unceremoniously on his way. Finally he arrived at Hartfield where the local people gave him a friendly welcome. Thus he revealed himself to actually be a wealthy man. As a result he finally settled due to the friendliness of the locals at Cotchford farm. When he died in 1634 he left money to be given to the poor each Good Friday from his tomb which lies close to the south door of the church. The Reports of the Commissioners appointed…to inquire concerning charities and education of the poor in England and Wales (1815-1839) records:

“Nicholas Smith of Hartfield, gentleman, in his will dated 18 October 1634 and proved in and proved in PCC on 29 April 1635 (PROB 11/167), gave a rent charge £5 on that part of the Manor of Cotchford, Hartfield in the possession of Lady Sherley, for the poor of Hartfield to be paid 21 days before 25 December and distributed at the discretion of the minister, churchwardens and overseers ‘upon the stone which should then be lying on his grave”.

It is claimed that Nicholas Smith was the son of a rich squire at East Grinstead. However, Jacqueline Simpson’s 1973 Folklore of Sussex:

“But the real origins of the custom remain obscure; some attribute it to an eccentric called ‘Dog’ Smith because he drove about in a cart drawn by dogs.”

Grave matters

The dole is distributed on the grave which suggests its founder remembers the tradition of sin eating and one wonders whether food may have been given out at some point. Now it consists of money in an envelope the amount distributed dependent on how many attend the custom. Although previously as Simpson notes in The Folklore of Sussex:

“The custom demands that immediately after the Good Friday service is over, the Rector and the churchwardens  walk to what they believed to be Nicholas Smith’s tombstone in the churchyard, and lay out the money on it, the churchwardens calling out the names of each recipient.”

Never a dole moment?

I had read of the custom in an old book and on the off chance I happened to be in this area of Sussex in around 1994 and decided to see the custom. I turned up just as the then vicar appeared and got dressed into the white hassock in the porch and was pleasantly surprised to see me. ‘Are you here for the dole? He asked ‘ I replied yes to film it not to collect it’ He looked a little crestfallen and said ‘well I’ve vicar here for many years and no one has ever come to collect it’. It did not seem positive but nether-the-less I awaited. And waited. And waited. And he was just about to disappear with his white envelopes when two elderly ladies appeared. Had they come for the dole? One of them said they were local residents and had read about and came to see if they were eligible. The vicar was clearly delighted and duly gave over the envelopes. Unfortunately, the two women were too embarrassed to being photographed having the envelopes handed over – although I did take some photos and believe I videoed it too – sadly I cannot find good copies of either at the moment! It was amazing coincidence that I should be there when it happened. Interestingly,  Averil Shepherd notes on her page on the ever excellent Calendar customs website:

“The dole is given to local residents in the churchyard in a simple low-key ceremony, which is only publicised normally in the parish magazine. When we went in 2013, there were no claimants; we discussed the likelihood that even though there are probably local people in need of a helping hand, they won’t want to publicly admit it and be seen to be asking for money.”

Perhaps I witnessed the last collection. Of course in a largely affluent area such as the Sussex Weald there fortunately is not much demand for charity of this nature although it is surprising that it is not visited by some who might not exactly be financially eligible might well appreciate the tradition and a bit of pin money. Back when F. J. Drake Carnell’s 1938 Old English customs and ceremonies include a photo of it (though no reference in the text) it looked well attended and even Homer Sykes’ visit in 1975 showed attendees but clearly local demographics change. The Hartfield Dole asks the questions when does a custom become defunct? Perhaps the church could return back to the list and calling names as seen in the Pathe film Caught By Camera in 1935 it is successful in other affluent areas with such customs.