Barbara Allen - a version of a song mentioning Totnes

A Church in Totnes - note the flowers in the wall - not roses, but one can imagine... - By User:Wigulf (Own work) [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-2.5 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons

"IN Totnes town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Made every youth cry "Well-a-way,"
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,

When green buds they were swelling,
Young Johnny Gale on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his groom unto her then,

To the town where she was dwelling,
" You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,

And o'er his heart is stealing :
Then haste away to comfort him,
Oh ! lovely Barbara Allen !"

Though death be printed on his face,

And o'er his heart is stealing,
Yet little better shall he be,
For bonny Barbara Allen.

So slowly, slowly she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said, when up she came,
"Young man, I think you're dying."

He turned his face unto her straight,

With deadly sorrow sighing,
" Oh ! lovely maid, come pity me,
I'm on my death-bed lying."

" If on your death-bed you do lie,
What needs the fate you're telling :
I cannot keep you from your death.
Farewell !" said Barbara Allen.

He turned his face unto the wall,

And deadly pangs he fell in,
"Adieu, adieu, adieu to all !
Adieu to Barbara Allen !"

As she was walking o'er the fields,

She heard the bell a-knelling,
And every stroke did seem to say,
" Unworthy Barbara Allen."

She turned her body round about,

And 'spied the corpse a-coming,
" Lay down, lay down, the corpse," she said,
" That I may look upon him."

With scornful eye, she looked down,

Her cheeks with laughter swelling,
Whilst all his friends cried out " For shame, 

Unworthy Barbara Allen !"

When he was dead and in his grave,

Her heart was struck with sorrow,
" Oh, mother ! mother ! make my bed,
For I shall die to-morrow.

" Hard-hearted creature him to slight,

Who loved me so dearly ;
Oh ! that I'd been more kind to him,
When he was alive and near me."

She, on her death-bed as she lay,

Begged to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the day,
That she did e'er deny him.

"Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all,

And shun the fault I fell in,
Henceforth take warning by the fall,
Of cruel Barbara Allen."

Sung by John Snow, of Tiverton, at a supper party, A.D. 1869.

Hewett 1900

Map - Totnes
Map - Tiverton

[This song contains the line " Oh, mother ! mother ! make my bed, / For I shall die to-morrow." which is very similar to a version of a song about Yarrow I know ("Oh mother dear make me my bed/ make it both long and narrow/ for he who died for me today/ I shall die for him tomorrow") - folk songs are not bothered by copyright, simply by what is best! This song is well known - type it into the EFDSS catalog and you will get 34 results, though of course the town varies massively! A good version is found here.]

Barnstaple Fair - a song - (part 5)

Fairground ride - By Iantresman (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

 

[cont...] "...Then sing of merry England, and roast beef, old English fare, Sir !
A bumper to the town and trade of Barum and its Mayor, Sir !
Boiled beef, roast beef, squab pie, pear pie, and figgy pudden, plenty,

When eight or nine sit down to dine, they'll find enough for twenty,

And after dinner for dessert, the choicest fruits you'll share, Sir !
E'en walnuts come from Somerset to Barnstaple Fair, Sir!
Then sing of Barum's jolly town, and Barum's jolly Mayor, too,
No town in England can be found old Barum to compare to!

I will not sing of Bullock fair, and brutes whose horrid trade is
To shut our window blinds, and block up all the ladies,
Nor of the North walk, rush and crush, where fools at horses stare, Sir ! 

When Mister Murray brings his nags to Barnstaple Fair, Sir !

But sing of Barum's jolly town and Barum's jolly Mayor, too !
No town in England can be found, old Barum to compare to !
The "Ball" one night, the "Play" the next, with private parties numerous,
Prove Barnstaple people's endless efforts, Sir, to humour us,

And endless, too, would be my song, if I should now declare,
All the gaieties, and rarities of BARNSTAPLE FAIR!
Then loudly sing "God save the King," and long may Barum thrive O !
May we all live to see the "Fair," and then be all alive O !."

 

Hewett 19000

Map - Barnstaple

Map - Bratton (Flemming? Down?)

Map - Ilfracombe

Barnstaple Fair - a song - (part 4)

Fairground ride - By Iantresman (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

[cont...] "...King George the Third rode out to Staines the hounds to lay the stag on,
But that was.no great things of sport, for mighty kings to brag on,
The French, alas ! go a la chasse in von po shay and pair,
But what's all that to Button Hill ? To Barnstaple Fair?

For we will all a-hunting go, on horse, or mule, or mare, Sir !
For everything is in the field to Barnstaple Fair, Sir!
To Button Hill, whose name to all the sporting world sure known is,
Go bits of blood, and hunters, hacks, and little Exmoor ponies ;

When lords and ladies, doctors, passons, farmers, squires prepare,
To hunt the stag with hound and horn to Barnstaple Fair,
Then up and ride for Chillam Bridge, or on to Bratton town, Sir,

To view the rouse, or watch the Yeo, to see the stag come down, Sir !
 

There's nothing else in jollity and hospitable fare, Sir!
That ever can with Barnstaple in fair time compare, Sir!
And guests are very welcome hospitality to share, Sir!
For beer is brew'd, and beef is bought to Barnstaple Fair, Sir !..." [cont....]
 

 

Hewett 19000

 

Barnstaple Fair - a song (part 3)

Fairground ride - By Iantresman (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

[cont...] "...If pigeons' wings are plucked, and peacocks' tails refuse to grow, friend !
In Spring ; you may depend upon't in Autumn they will shew, friend !
If feathers hang about your fowls in drooping style and spare, friend !
Both cocks and hens will get their pens to Barnstaple Fair, friend !

Then, friend, leave off your wig, and Barum's privileges share, too,
Where everything grows once a year, wings, feathers, tails, and hair, too !
If Winter wear and Summer dust call out for paint and putty, Sir !
And Newport coals in open grates make paper-hangings smutty, Sir !
 

And rusty shops and houses' fronts most sadly want repair, Sir !
Both shops and houses will be smart to Barnstaple, Fair, Sir !
And Barum is a handsome town, and everyday improving, Sir !
Then drink to all who study its improvement to keep moving, Sir !..." [cont...]

Hewett 19000

Barnstaple Fair - a song (part 2)

Fairground ride - By Iantresman (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

[cont.] "...OH, Devonshire's a noble county, full of lovely views, Miss!

And full of gallant gentlemen for you to pick and choose, Miss !

But search the towns all round about there's nothing can compare, Miss !

In measurement of merriment with Barnstaple Fair, Miss!

Then sing of Barum's merry town, and Barum's merry Mayor, too,

I know no place in all the world, old Barum to compare to !

There's nothing happens in the year but happens at our fair, Sir !

'Tis then that everything abounds that's either new or rare, Sir !

The Misses make their start in life its gaieties to share, Sir !

And ladies look for beaux and balls to Barnstaple fair, Sir!

Then sing of Barum's merry town, and Barum's worthy Mayor, too,

I know no place in all the world old Barum to compare to !

The little boys and girls at school their nicest clothes prepare, Ma'am !

To walk the streets and buy sweetmeats and gingerbread so rare, Ma'am !

Their prime delights, to see the sights that ornament our Square, Ma'am !

When Powell brings his spangled troop to Barnstaple Fair, Ma'am !

Then sing of Barum's merry town, and our indulgent Mayor, too,

I know no place in all the world old Barum to compare to !

If milk be scarce though grass be plenty, don't complain too soon, Dame !

For that will very often happen in the month of June, Dame !

Though cows run dry while grass runs high, you never need despair, Dame !

The cows will calve and milk you'll have to Barnstaple Fair, Dame !

Then sing of Barum's wealthy town and its productive fair, too,

And drink the Corporation, and the head of it the Mayor, too !..."  [cont...]

Hewett 1900

Barnstaple Fair - a song (part 1)

Fairground ride - By Iantresman (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

[Barnstaple fair is still in existence.  This is what Wikipeedia has to say about current proceedings -

The ceremonial opening of the fair survives from ancient times. The town council meets in the Guildhall, where various toasts are honoured with a spiced ale which, according to tradition, is made from a jealously guarded recipe handed on from generation to generation. Whilst the toasts are being honoured, "fairings", (a form of sweetmeat) are handed around.

On the reading of the Proclamation a large stuffed gloved hand garlanded with flowers is hung from a window of the Guildhall. The gloved hand represents the hand of friendship and the hand of welcome to the thousands that come to the fair. At 12 o'clock, a civic procession forms at the entrance to the Guildhall and the proclamation is read.

The fair begins on the Wednesday before 20 September each year.

Today the fair consists of rides and amusements located in the car park of the leisure centre.

from - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barnstaple under this license - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Text_of_Creative_Commons_Attribution-ShareAlike_3.0_Unported_License

Barum is and alternative name for Barnstaple.]

"There are several versions of this song extant. A very charming one was a favourite with the late Dr. Stoneman, of Ilfracombe. Many persons remember how he would "bring the house down" with applause when he sang it in the Concert Room, but although I have advertised and tried to obtain a copy from private sources, I have unfortunately failed to get one. I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Lawrence, editor of the North Devon Herald, Barnstaple, for the following very amusing example :..."  [cont...]

Hewett 1900

Ornamental and Useful women on Bodmin.

[My wife Lunar Hine tells me that on parts of Bodmin some women can be separated into two camps.

If you are very beautiful, but not a lot else, you are 'ornamental'.

If you are good at doing stuff but not that much of a looker you are 'useful'...

These are considered slightly derogatory terms, but in quite a kindly way.]

The West Country Man - a slightly anti-monarchy folksong reffrencing Barnstaple Fair

Ash tree leaves - By Pearson Scott Foresman [Public domain],

'There was an old man in the West Country ;
A blatch in his lease the attorney found,
Twas all for the felling of five ashen trees,
And building a house upon his own ground.

The old man, he would to London go,

To shew the King great part of his woe,
To shew the King great part of his grief,
And likewise to ax'n for some relief.

Now when the old man to London came,

The King he was to Windsor gone,
" Why if he had known that I was acoming,
He widden have gone so far from home."

When the old man unto Windsor came,

The gates were locked, and all secure,
" Why let's knock away with my oaken club,
There's room for me to get vore, to be sure."

"Yer sarvint, Maister Nobles!" shew me the king,
"Whot's this the King you sheweth to me ?
I zeed a chap to Barnstaple fair
Looked more like a king than thicky chap there."

"Yer sarvint, Mr. King !" the old man said,

"A blatch in my lease the 'torney' hath found,
And it's all for felling of five ashen trees,
And building a 'ouze pin tap his own ground."

The King he took the lease all up,

And signed it with his hand so free.
" Why, if us ciide a-had it a-diied at home,
Us needn't a-comed to thee."

The old man took the lease all up,

And for to go home was also willing,
But to make the King some sort of amends,
He took out his purse and gave him a shilling,

The King he thanked the noble soul,

And paid him down ten pounds in gold,
And every year for the sake of the sport,
Ten pounds were paid from Windsor Court.

The old man took the lease all up,

And for to go home he now was quite willing,
" But if I'd a-knowed thee'd agot so much money,
The devil-a-bit wid I a-gied thee a shilling."'

For this and the following song I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. W. H. Whiteaway, of Sunnyside, Exmouth, who is good enough to allow me to insert them here. He says, " these songs I give to you, from memory, as I can remember hearing them sung over sixty years ago."

Hewett 1900

Map - Barnstaple Fair

Map - Exmouth

[A tune exists here, Roud No. 18844 and 18877, in Sabine Baring-Gould's manuscripts, that looks like it might fit.]

The True Lovers (or Lord Lovel) - a folksong mentioning Kenton (possibly the Devon one?)

Kenton Church, Devon, 1982 - from John Salmon [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"Lord Lovel he stood at his own castle gate,
Combing his milk-white steed,
When up came Lady Nancy Bell
To wish her lover good speed speed speed,
To wish her lover good speed.

" Where are you going, Lord Lovel ?" she said,
" Oh, where are you going ?" said she,
" I'm going my Lady Nancy Bell,
Strange countries for to see see see,
Strange countries for to see."

" When will you come back, Lord Lovel ?" she said,
" When will you come back to me ?"
"In a year or two, or three at most,
I'll return to my Lady Nancy cy cy,
I'll return to my Lady Nancy ?"

But he hadden been gone but a year and a day
Strange countries for to see,
When languishing thoughts came into his head
Lady Nancy Bell to see see see,
Lady Nancy Bell to see.

So he rode, and he rode on his milk-white steed,
Till he came to Kenton town,
When he heard St. Andrew's Church bells ring,
And the people all mourning around round round,
And the people all mourning around.

" Oh, what is the matter ?" Lord Lovel, he said,
"Oh, what is the matter ?" said he,
" A Lord's Lady is dead," an old woman said,
" And some call her the Lady Nancy cy cy,
And some call her the Lady Nancy."

So he ordered the grave to be opened wide,
And the shroud to be turned down,
And then he kissed her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down down down,
Till the tears came trickling down.

Lady Nancy died as it might be to-day,

Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow,
Lady Nancy, she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel, he died out of sorrow sorrow sorrow,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.

Lady Nancy was laid in the cold churchyard,

Lord Lovel was laid in the choir ;
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of his a sweet brier rier rier,
And out of his a sweet brier.

They grew and they grew to the church steeple top,

And then they could grow no higher,
So there they entwined in a true-lovers-knot,
For all true lovers to admire mire mire, 

For all true lovers to admire.

Sung by Mr. Ted Ward, at a harvest supper, September, 1893."

Hewett 1900

Map - Kenton

[Some tunes and words exists here, Roud No. 48, one from Sabine Baring-Gould's manuscripts, that looks the same.  It is also Child Ballads N° 75. A good rendition is found here, though 'Kenton Town' is now 'Fair London Town'.  The Kenton here could well be the Kenton in Devon, by Berry Pomeroy Castle, seeing as Hewett collected her stories in Devon, and especially in this area - However Kenton church is dedicated to All Saints, and not specifically to Saint Andrew - it could be the Kenton in London!]

'Purty Jane' - a ghostly folksong mentioning Chagford

Morris Dancer on a Chagford street - Picture by Lunar Hine, my wife!

'Twuz down by the river I fust met my purty Jane,
Upon a zummer's eveling when the zin wuz on the wane,
Her little veet they twinkled as her trip'd o'er meaders bright,
And my heart 'e whisper'd zoftly, "Bill, did'st ivver zee such zight ?"

Not nivver in my born days did I zee a maid zo fair,
Her made my heart go pity-pat and her riz on end my hair.
And I axed her vur to come back but her ciidden then, her zed,
And on her sped like lightning, across the level mead.

I yerd the birds a-zinging, as I corned up dru the lane,
And I thort they zed " Bill ! Bill ! thee shet have thy purty Jane,"
Ah ! 'twuz music sweeter var, than I ivver yerd avore,
It often gied me comfort digging peat pin tap the moor.

Wan Zummer Zinday morning when the bells wuz ringing sweet,
I meet my love a-coming up old Chagford's pleasant street,
I tiiked courage there and then, and I up and told my love, 

And her zed, " Dear Bill, I'll have thee," and her spoke jist like a dove.

But her nivver lived to do it vur her pined away and died,
Jist on the day, her zed her'd be my bonny little bride.
Now often when I'm walking down in yonder meaders bright,
I zee her right avore me, like an angel in the light.

And I yer her sweet voice zaying "Bill, Bill, be not afeared,
Thee shet zee in heavenly places thy loving little maid,
Oh ! 'tez that which gives me peace as I walks in in field and lane,
Vur if I live a true life, I shall zee my purty Jane.

Elias Tozer, Exeter.'

Hewett, 1900

Map - Chagford

Some Old Songs of Devonshire

Me playing fiddle - if you wish to use my photos please attribute this blog, thanks!

[I am a little uncertian what to do here - Please say if you think I have got it wrong.

Sarah Hewett includes a few Devonian folksongs in the end of her book.  I am uncertian whether to include them here. As this blog is mostly about the folklore of places, and most of the songs do not mention the place they are about I feel I should leave them out. Also including folk-songs takes us into huge territory, as a glance around the collections of EFDSS website will show. Most are not that unique to the place they where connected.

However, just because folklore appears in song form dosent meen it is not folklore!

It is a hard call to make for someone who has spent his life enraptured in the musical arms of folkmusic.

I think on this occasion, unless the song contains a reffrence to a specific West Country place I will simply list the song titles, and leave it at that. 

I am so slow at creating these posts I feel it would take to much time to include folksongs. Perhaps when I am in my 90's, and most of the folklore that is not in copyright is up here I will start on songs as well.

So here are the songs I am not detailing from Hewett 1900 - 

A SONG WRITEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE OPENING OF THE GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY 1844

YOUNG ROGER OF THE VALLEY.

THE OLD MAN'S SONG.

DADDY FOX.

WHERE ARE YOU GOING, FAIR MAID ?

THE OLD MAN WHO LIVED IN A WOOD.

RAISING THE ANCHOR.

THE DEAR LITTLE LETTER.

CHILDREN'S SONG FOR ALL SOULS' DAY.

THE KNIGHT KILLED THE SQUIRE.

THE DEVIL AND THE TAILOR.

THE STAR IN THE CANDLE.

A ROBIN TAPPING AT THE WINDOW PANE.

The following songs do reference a place, so I will include them -

PURTY JANE.

THE TRUE LOVERS.

JAN POOK.

BARBARA ALLEN.

THE WEST COUNTRY MAN.

BARNSTAPLE FAIR.]

King Simon of Simonsbath

The River Barle at Simonsbath - by Richard Mascall [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"In the centre of the extensive forest of Exmoor, lies the picturesque little village of Simonsbath, which is reputed to be ten miles from everywhere. Here in ancient times the limpid Barle, as now, flowed lazily in summer towards its sister stream the Exe, which it joins in the vicinity of Dulverton. Slowly wending its way through the country of the Red Deer, it forms many a deep pool, sheltered by clumps of alder, while its banks are rich in king fern and bracken. Simon, the king of the western country, often came to disport himself, with his followers, in the refreshing waters. One day, the sovereign ventured too far from his attendants and being seized with cramp sank, and was drowned before assistance arrived. Hence the name of the hamlet Simonsbath."

Hewett 1900

Map - Simonsbath

[This is a little different from Valentines version of the story, where Simon is an Outlaw. Perhaps he was confused by the stories of the Doone outlaws of the area.]

A Short Stutter of Folklore

Cresswell 1921

[I love American tourists! Please don't be offended, I have met some very intelligent and wise USA tourists, but there is 'another sort'.  I remember wandering behind two American grockles (tourists) in the Royal Albert Memorial Museum in Exeter listening to their running commentary of the Prehistoric gallery.  They passed the desplays of palaeolithic hand axes at a brisk walking pace, the parents exclaiming to their bored child "Wow!  Wow! Wow! Some of these are hundreds of years old!" 

All the implements where over 10,000 years old...  

This is the sort of people I was put in mind of when I found out why the biggest hits I get on this blog includes the following - 

widecombe england haunted

widecombe haunted

widdecombe haunted

haunted widecombe

widdecombe haunted town

widecombe haunted town

widecombe england haunted town

is widecombe england haunted

It turns out some American actor came to Dartmoor on his honeymoon in the 1980's, and went to Widdecombe where he encountered lots of quiet people in black looking sad. Strangely he didn't think - 'oh, a funeral', but 'oh, the entire town is haunted'. Having heard in the next village of the collapse of Widdecombe church tower  he naturally concluded that all the inhabitants where dead ghosts... 30 years on and he has included his experiences in a TV documentary!

Another little bit for today - My wife overheard a grandmother at our child's playgroup that a certain village near here was "the last village that God built". Unfortunately she has forgotten what village it was!  

And one last thing -  please excuse this little bit of administrative help I need - could I ask if anyone can see any adverts (besides my 'Perpetual Calendars for Sale')?

Oh, and there was an earthquake today, centered on Bovey Tracey!]

A Midsummer Meander

Midsummer's Day on Dartmoor - If you wish to use my photos please attribute this blog, thanks!

[Yesterday was the longest day of the year - the 21st of June - the solstice: Midsummer! We did not do much to celebrate this year, we simply climbed a big hill in Chagford with friends and drank cider.

In the evening we did see the smoke from one distant bonfire rise - a day after the Midsummer Eve, but who knows - it could have been a Midsummer fire!

Most Midsummer lore is old lore, even in the West Country. I have read of rights happening on Midsummer solstice from Roman times (and almost definitely before) through to the 19th century.  They range from the rolling of flaming wheels down hillsides to the lightning of fires on their top through to the modern festivals of today.

The only 'folk' (or grassroots) custom I have been aware of in my lifetime is the summer solstice sunrise at Stonehenge. This is on the very edge of the West Country by anyone's standards, but it attracts people from across the area.

I distinctly remember my Granny (who lived in Dorset) witnessing from her car some of the horrible police violence against travelers during the event that became known as the 'battle of the beanfeild' in the 1980's (a really good fair account is found in this book). At this time a convoy of travelers in decorated buses and cars where making their way to the annual meeting place of Stonehenge for a free (and illegal) festival at the stones for midsummer, which was also attended by the Druids.

Stonehenge free festival Midsummer 1984, the year before it was violently shut down - Salix alba at en.wikipedia [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-2.5-2.0-1.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Later, in the 1990's, when this festival was supposedly 'closed down' I remember talking to adults (I was a teenager) who had spent the night hiding in ditches and evading police helicopters to participate in the magical (and peaceful) midsummer sunrise. A fair number of people emerged from their hedges and ditches and trees to celebrate together within the exclusion zone guarded so rigorously half a mile away by a ring of riot police!

Later still, in the early 2000's when the open celebrations once again became legal I remember coming back from work along a Devon lane and spotting a group of  friends who lived a semi-nomadic lifestyle centered on Dartmoor. They pulled over, leaned out of the car window and said "We're off to the stones. Want to come?". I was tired from digging and declined. I did not know them that well and they where going for a few days.  It was only that night I realised that the next day was the Solstice. I have always regretted not taking that ride!

It was once said (and may still be) that certain stone circles on Dartmoor dance in a ring for Midsummer (in A Book of Dartmoor by Sabine Baring-Gould 1900).  These including Belstone circle, said to have been formed from cursed maidens who dared to dance on the sabbath (A Book of the West Vol. 1 by Sabine Baring-Gould 1900). 

Midsummer, like all the solstices and equinoxes and all the quarter festivals in between seem quite 'thin' times, when the boundaries of the worlds are at their most bridgeable, especially for the Pixie folk and their kin.

Perhaps this is why the Maidens of Belstone could dance again at Midsummer.

In Cornwall stories are told of miners meeting and doing deals with the Knockers and 'smae folk' at this time, while on the edge of the cliffs at Lands End the verdant flowers of the Fairy Gardens can be observed most easily in the Midsummer moonlight. Midsummer was also when one Cornish maid observed the Small People tending her cow (also due to a four leaved clover).

At Ottery Saint Mary an event is held to commemorate an old folk tale where the pixies battled with the monks to try to prevent them casting or ringing the church bells. Eventually they where thwarted and one bell christened 'Mary'. When she sounded all pixies where banished within her call (a good version in this book). The festivities today celebrate this, with a temporary reprieve given around midsummer. Children then play the part of the Pixies, running amok and trapping the bell-ringers!

Midsummer on Natadon - our own granite gateway to the piskies on Nattadon Hill, Chagford (this is not a widely held bit of lore - however a few of my friends regularly pass through this gap and make wishes or prayers or other spells) - If you wish to use my photos please attribute this blog, thanks!

Midsummer is now widely celebrated by organised festivals in places such as Penznace or Littleham in Devon.

The festive spirit of Midsummer was present in the early 19th century as well. Dartmoor tin miners considered it very unlucky to work on Midsummer day (in A Description of the Part of Devonshire Bordering On the Tamar and the Tavy, by Anna Eliza Bray 1836)

At Buckland-on-the-Moor a sheep was taken and sacrificed on a rock in front of a large crowd on Midsummer day, sprinkling themselves with its blood, before feasting and holding competative games (in Devonshire And Other Original Poems by Elias Tozer 1873).  A similar event with the roasting of a ram took place at Holne on Dartmoor at Midsummer (from Guide to Dartmoor:  Southern and Western Section by William Crossing 1914) - though Theo Brown says this was a May day event (in Kingsteignton Ram Roasting Fair, Folklore, Vol. 61, No. 3 (Sep., 1950), p. 153). There were also Midsummer games held at Penberth in Cornwall (Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900)

At Whitborough in Cornwall a midsummer festival was held by a tumulli where a phantom Black Dog had appeared (from The Black Dog by Theo Brown in Folklore, Vol. 69, No. 3 (Sep., 1958), pp. 175-192)

On Dartmoor in the 19th century the forests pony drifts where held around midsummer, and started with the blowing of a horn through a holed stone on top of a hill. This was to separate the horses of those with rights to the moor to those with out (in A Book of Dartmoor by Sabine Baring-Gould 1900). Mrs Bray talks of an older less regulated custom whereby any cow or sheep found on the moor was impounded on old Midsummer day.  They where then held ransom by the farmer that had caught them - a sort of mischief day for animal rading!

Fire characterized the Midsummer days of old, referred to by some Victorian writers as Baal-, or Bale-Fires, and was revived in the early 20th century by the 'Old Cornwall Society'. Midsummer fires are now lit on the hilltops at Carn Brea, Kit Hill, Saint Breoch Beacon and Castle an Dinas.  Perhaps my chance siting of a bonfires smoke this year on the edge of Dartmoor could be a current Devonian incarnation of this.

A distant Midsummer bonfire spotted from Nattadon Hill near Chagford, placed near the summit of a hill like days of old! - If you wish to use my photos please attribute this blog, thanks!

At the very western end of Cornwall on the evening of the 23rd of June huge fires where lit on the hilltops,  The next day enjoyable 'excursions' took place at sea (from The Year Book by William Hone). This was also reported for Midsummer-eve at Penzance and Falmouth (which can fall between the 20th-24th of June). Around 1800 the clifftops from the Lizard to Lands End where lit up in great numbers that shrank and then vanished over the next hundred years.  At Escols in Cornwall these fires where lit from ones kindled on a Garrick Zan, or Holy Rock, used with fire at other times to determine guilt, and said to have been the first altars of Christian worship(from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900).

At Penzance the fires where even more exciting. Flaming tar barrels and bonfires lined the middle of the roads and weaving in amoung them where young people of both sexes carrying tar soaked canvas on 3 to 4 foot poles. These they lighted and swung around their heads producing vast flames. The shopfronts where lit up with many candles on still Midsummer-Eve nights.  The night ended with strings of young people threading through and over the fires, showered with sparks and fireworks.  The next day many people took to the water at a Quay Fair in large numbers (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900). 

At Saint Just and other mining areas young miners would set shallow charges of gunpowder to light at Midsummer. Lands End fields where blessed at Midsummer by running around them with flaming torches (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900). Cattle where blessed by passing burning brands of gorse over their backs by people walking sunwise around them (from A Calendar of Country Customs by Ralph Whitlock 1978.  This book has other Midsummer West Country lore in it, but is still in copyright, so I shall not disclose it!).

There is a valley near Zennor where 'all the Witches of the West' where said to meat up at Midsummer, and on the evening before the Witches of Penwwith would light a fire on top of every rock till the whole valley was ablaze.  Here it was supposed by some that they reaffirmed their pact with the Devil (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900).

Snakes where also given to gathering on Midsummer Eve, knotting themselves into a tight ball, which then formed a bubble and hardened. It this was found it was good luck for the finder, giving them prosperity (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900).

A Midsummer fire in 2009 at Castle An Dinas - by Talskiddy from wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.

Midsummer was a particularly potent time of year for omens and charms of love.

One Devonian charm for both sexes was to go at midnight on Midsummer eve to the church and walk home slowly scattering hempseed and saying -

Hempseed I sow, hempseed I mow,
She (or he) that will my true love be,
Come rake this hempseed after me.

The young person would then look over their shoulder on own porch and would thus see their future spouse following them eating up the seed (from Folk rhymes of Devon by William Crossing 1911).

The words to a Cornish version of the same charm  ran thus -  

" Hemp-seed I sow, Hemp-seed I hoe,"

(the action of sowing the seed and of hoeing it in, must be deliberately gone through) ;—

"And he
Who will my true love be,
Come after me and mow."

There is a danger, though, of standing in the Church porch on Midnight on Midsummer Eve (in Cornwall at least).  One might witness each of the people who where to die that year passing you by.  Invariably the last one would be you (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900).

Alternatively a young woman could reveal her lover initials by preforming a ritual with her shoes at midnight. First she would take her shoes and place them in a T shape and say -

I place my shoes like the letter T,
In hopes my true love I shall see,
In his apparel and his array,
As he is now and every day.

repeating this three times, each time reversing the shoes. Then she would take a bowl full of water and float face down lots of bits of paper, each with a letter of the alphabet upon it. On waking in the morning the initials of her lover would be revealed.

If this fails she can brake an egg white into a tumbler of water at noon on Midsummer's Day and divine from the form it takes who is her lover.

If this also fails she waits till the first new moon after Midsummer and say -

All hail, new moon, all hail to thee !
I prithee, good moon, reveal to me
This night who shall my true love be;
Who he is, and what he wears,
And what he does all months and years.

Her lover will then somehow be revealed... (from Folk rhymes of Devon by William Crossing 1911).

Back in Cornwall another spell deployed by a young woman was to (in silence) take off her shift, wash it, turn it inside out and hang it in front of the fire. At midnight she would see her future husband at midnight turning it the right way out (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900). 

The evening Midsummer sun fingers its way across Dartmoor - If you wish to use my photos please attribute this blog, thanks!

In Devonshire a young woman would pick a full blown rose blindfolded on Midsummer day at the strike of twelve. This she folded in white paper and kept it till Christmas Day. Miraculously it would still be fresh and she could place it on her bussom, her future husband being compelled then to pluck it from her (from Devonshire And Other Original Poems by Elias Tozer 1873).  A similar custom occurred in Cornwall, the only difference being that she need not be blind, only travel backwards it to the garden. The rose was then sewn into a paper bag, and worn to church on Chistmas Day. Rather more gently the rose could then be requested, as well as simply taken (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900).

This all sounds quite raunchy to me - open roses represented the full flower of womanhood, as opposed to the budding rose of the virgin, while plucking a flower can be synonymous with 'deflowering'...

On Midsummer's day a single full rose was the rent paid for Gidliegh castle.

Children early on Midsummer Eve at Penzance decorated their heads with wreathes of flowers (from Popular Romances of the West of England by Robert Hunt 1900).

To me at least midsummer is the fullest time of year, the year is a like a young mother, the first lush harvests coming in, the fruits swelling and the days long. May day and the childhood joys of spring are behind us and the old wise autumn time of full cupboards and contented reflection is yet to come. This seems to fit with the strong West Country connections of Midsummer, full roses and predictions of love and marriage!

One only need look to the rhyme of John Barleycorn, collected in the West Country, to see the potent adult strength of Midsummer -

"...There he remained till midsummer,
And looked both pale and wan ;
Then Barleycorn he got a beard,
And so became a man..."

(From A Westcountry Garland by R N Worth 1875)]

Midsummer on Dartmoor - If you wish to use my photos please attribute this blog, thanks!