Folklore of Sussex

by Jacqueline Simpson

  There were organised games of kiss-in-the-ring also at Hastings, Seaford and Southwick until around 1910, while at Brighton the favourite sports (apart from skipping) were bat-and-trap and tip-cat, neither of which, however, was strictly limited to Good Friday.

  The only instance of egg-rolling that I know of in Sussex is recorded as having been a Good Friday custom. It used to take place at Old Shoreham, on a hill behind the church which was consequently called Good Friday Hill. Children and others would go there in procession, and then roll hard-boiled eggs, dyed in various colours, and also oranges, down the steep slopes.

  The special food for this day was, and still is, the Hot Cross Bun. There was at one time a firm belief that these buns, and also any bread baked on this day, had various curative and protective powers. Small loaves baked on Good Friday were given to children for them to keep all the year, and it was said that they would never go mouldy – which is not very surprising, since good care was taken to bake them very hard. In many households a Hot Cross Bun would be kept all year for luck, hung up near the hearth, or stored in an airtight tin; it was said to protect the house from fire, and a few crumbs grated from it were sometimes given as medicine to the sick. Fishermen’s wives would give their husbands a bun to take to sea to avert shipwreck.

  Good Friday is also, at Hartfield, the appointed date for one of those picturesque charity doles which were often to be found in English villages. The custom is said to be carried out in obedience to instructions in the will of a certain Nicholas Smith. Legend alleges that he lived in the seventeenth century and was the son of a rich squire at East Grinstead; he is said to have roamed the country disguised as a beggar, and to have found no charity anywhere till he reached Hartfield. There, however, he was kindly treated, and so at his death he requested that he should be buried there, and left his great wealth in trust for the relief of the Hartfield poor. But the real origin of the custom remains obscure; some attribute it to an eccentric Hartfield man nicknamed ‘Dog’ Smith because he drove about in a cart drawn by dogs. The custom demands that immediately after the Good Friday service is over, the Rector and churchwardens walk to what is 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.

  Finally, one should mention that Good Friday is the traditional day for certain agricultural operations, notably the planting of potatoes and peas, and the sowing of parsley. Both practical and superstitious reasons are involved. On the one hand, potato-planting is such heavy and time-consuming work that it may well have been necessary (at a time when Saturdays off were unknown and Sundays strictly observed) for working men to devote one of their rare holidays to this task in their own gardens; on the other hand, it is sometimes said that Good Friday is the only day in the year when the Devil has no power, and hence the safest day to plant a vital crop. As for parsley, though it is easy to sow it is notoriously capricious and slow in germinating, so that some people say its roots go seven times to Hell and back before it will sprout; but if it is sown on this holy day, not only will it sprout quickly, but it will come up curly.

  Easter Day itself has gathered fewer folk traditions. Many people followed, and still follow, the rule of wearing at least one new article of clothing (frequently a pretty hat) when going to church that morning. The customary food was roast lamb and mint sauce, in allusion to the Passover Lamb with its garnishing of bitter herbs. As for the charming belief that the sun, at its first rising on Easter Day, dances in the sky in honour of the Resurrection, Sussex people in the nineteenth century had a variant of their own – they did indeed hold that the sun danced, but they added that nobody would ever see it, ‘because the Devil is so cunning that he always puts a hill in the way to hide it’.

  Turning from the religious calendar to the fixed dates of the secular year, the only one significant in Sussex is 14 April, the date of Heathfield Fair (locally pronounced ‘Heffle Fair’); since 1827 at least, this day has been called ‘Cuckoo Day’, and the fair, ‘Cuckoo Fair’. The story goes that all winter through, the cuckoos are all in the keeping of an old woman of rather uncertain temper; if she is in a good mood, she goes to Heathfield Fair with a cuckoo in her apron, or in a basket, and releases it there, so that from that date cuckoos can be heard calling all over Sussex.

  It was believed that unless you turned the coins in your pocket when you heard the first cuckoo, you would be poor all year; while some added that if you were in bed at the time, either you or someone of your family would fall ill or die. Lumbago sufferers could get rid of their trouble by rolling on the ground at the first call, while others sought good luck by sitting down and removing their right sock or stocking. Since cuckoos arrive when the land is drying out after the winter rains, it was said that they cleared the mud away; a popular rhyme still known to country children, runs:

  The cuckoo is a merry bird, she sings as she flies,

  She brings us good tidings and tells us no lies;

  She picks up the dirt in the spring of the year,

  And sucks little birds’ eggs to keep her voice clear.

  Finally, a farmers’ custom observed in some places. As was said above, potato-planting was one of the more massive tasks for the individual labourer, who needed time off from working for his employer in order to get his own plot planted. In Rottingdean at about the turn of the twentieth century some farmers used to give their men a half-day off for this, and the occasion developed into something of a ritual:

  The custom of having a Saturday afternoon holiday had not been introduced at that date [1900], but sometime during April the farmer would arrange for all general farmwork to stop at 1 p.m. on a Saturday, and the men would spend the afternoon in planting their own potatoes on a piece of farm land allotted for their use. Mr Brown, the farmer, allowed each man eight rods and each boy four rods of ground, in which he could plant enough potatoes to keep his family supplied through the winter … They were also allowed the use of the horses and ploughs to turn the ground and get them planted. This was known as Spud-Planting Saturday…

  On Spud-Planting Saturday there would be a well-attended gathering of men and boys down in the tap room of the Black Horse to celebrate the evening on ‘tater beer’. The slightest opportunity for celebration was never missed, and Tater Beer Night became a favourite annual event. Old Uncle Tommy, the landlord, used to put an enamel bowl on the counter, so that every man made a contribution to the cost of the evening’s refreshment. Each man threw in a penny for every rod of ground he had planted that afternoon; so a man with two boys living at home would throw in one and fourpence – that is, eightpence for his own piece and fourpence for each of the lads. In this way there was soon enough in the bowl to start the beer jugs going round…

  Uncle Tommy would enter right into the spirit of the evening, and used to put a pint pot on the counter and fill it up with new clay pipes of all shapes and sizes – negroes’ heads, acorns, wrinkled pattern, or just plain. ‘Help yourselves and pick where you like,’ he would say, and then he would offer a pot of beer to the man who could sing a complete song in the shortest time… Tater Beer Night was always one of the most convivial evenings of the year.

  MAY

  The First of May is Garland Day,

  So please remember the garland;

  We don’t come here but once a year

  So please remember the garland.

  This was the song of many Sussex children in the nineteenth century, as they went from door to door through their towns and villages, proudly displaying hoops covered in wild flowers, which they called garlands; these were not for sale, but the children hoped to be given a penny or halfpenny as a tribute to the prettiness of the display. In Lewes, around 1875–85, children used to go to Castle Bank, where their garlands would be judged by a panel of ladies, and the best would be rewarded with a shilling; the children had a half holiday for the occasion. As late as the 1920s, children went from door to door in Lewes in the o
ld way. In recent years the custom has been revived by the Knots of May, a women’s morris dance team, with a children’s dance competition in the grounds of Lewes Castle and a procession to Cliffe Bridge.

  A vivid description of various May Day customs in Horsham in the early nineteenth century was given in his old age by Henry Burstow, who was born there in 1826:

  May Day, or Garland Day, was a very jolly time for us youngsters, not only because it was a holiday, but also because we used to pick up what seemed to us quite a lot of money. Early in the morning we used to get up our best nosegays and garlands, some mounted on poles, and visit the private residents and tradespeople. We represented a recognised institution, and invariably got well received and patronised. People all seemed pleased to see us, and we were all pleased to see one another, especially if the weather was fine, as it now seems to me it always was.

  At Manor House special arrangements were made for our reception, and quite a delightful old-time ceremony took place. Boys and girls gaily decked out for the occasion, a few at a time, used to approach the front door, where a temporary railed platform was erected, and there old Mrs Tredcroft, a nice-looking, good-hearted old lady, used to stand and deal out to each and every one of us kind words and a few pence, everyone curtseying upon approach and on leaving.

  Old Mrs Smallwood, who lived in a quaint old cottage in the Bishopric, always used to go round on May Day with an immense garland drawn on a trolley by two or three boys. On top of her garland she used to mount her little model cow, indicative of her trade – milk selling. Gaily dressed up herself in bows and ribbons, she used to take her garland all round the town, call upon all the principal residents and tradespeople, to whom she was well known, and get well patronised…

  On this day, too, we had Jacks-in-the-Green. The chimneysweeps used to dress up in fancy costumes and in evergreens and flowers, and, accompanied by a fiddler or two, parade and dance all round the town and neighbourhood. There were two sets of Jacks-in-the-Green when I was a boy, the Potter and the Whiting parties, and considerable rivalry existed between them. Lady Shelley used to patronise them handsomely, giving them plenty to eat and drink, and a good round sum of money. One year she gave the Whiting party a set of new dresses, fitting them out in a very gay manner. The children with their flowers and garlands finished their part of the proceedings about noon, but the Merry Andrew parties kept the game going all day, getting merrier and merrier as time went on, till the evening, when, the fiddlers still scraping away and now producing sounds so queer that it was comforting to reflect that they had no smell to them, they would all retire to Old Whiting’s beer-shop and finish up.

  The absence of a maypole and Queen of the May, which are now usually thought essential to the celebrations, is not in fact very surprising at the period which Burstow is describing. May Day customs had to a great extent fallen into disuse in the first part of the nineteenth century, or been transferred to other dates, and it was not until the folklore revival towards the end of the century that picturesque ceremonials of Elizabethan times became common once again in English villages. But during the period of its comparative eclipse, May Day was still faithfully celebrated by a few specialised groups, notably (as here) by milkmaids, chimney-sweeps and children. Some people deplored the activities of the latter as a degeneration of the true custom; a writer in the Hastings and St Leonards Observer in 1871 is highly indignant:

  The music of the ‘wry-necked fife’ and the hollow sound of the beaten drum strike on our ears… It is ‘Jack-in-the-Green’s’ band. Here is ‘my lord’ in his ducks that were once purest white, and coat like Joseph’s in tinsel. Here is ‘my lady’ with broad brass ladle, and sweetest of smiles, searching into the recesses of our pockets. Here is Mr Merry Andrew, with painted face and capacious pockets, and familiar antics that were wont to set us in a roar. Ah! Here, at least, we have one custom that laughs at old times. The sweeps have at least upheld their usages. Alas no! Even ‘the Green’ has faded and died away. The sport has degenerated. Jack’s manor has been poached upon by babes and sucklings, anxious as Jack himself for the acquisition of hard cash… Jack is on his last legs. He is being pushed from his high estate by little boys, with tinselled rags, and unchecked impertinence. Here is one little crew, out of a dozen or so; they are before a professional gentleman’s house in Wellington Square. There are five of them, all dirty little boys, varying in years from seven to twelve. Over their natural coating of dirt they have bestowed a few dabs of coloured paint. Bits of tinted papers are pasted and sewed onto their clothes, and they are as ragged and hideous little boys as well can be. They have one small tin whistle among them, and the remainder of the musical instruments are made up of disused tin and iron vessels. They treat the inmates of the house to some music, and then a precocious youth goes to the door and asks for, and gets, relief for ‘Jack-in-the-Green’. The legitimate Jack is ‘off’. Like Othello, his occupation is gone. Shut up the show, box up the puppets, the game is played out.

  One of the last manifestations of the old, spontaneous custom (as opposed to organised processions, fêtes, and so forth) could be seen in the groups of children who still came round to houses in Brighton in the 1930s, with paper flowers and paper ribbons stitched to their clothes, rattling a moneybox and chanting a corrupt version of the old rhyme:

  The first of May is Garland Day,

  The second of May is Washing Day.

  Another variation, common among children in Hove, Worthing and nearby villages in the 1930s and ’40s, was:

  The first of May is Pinch-Bum Day,

  The second of May is Sting-Nettle Day.

  This was because they had a rule that on 1 May one could pinch another child’s bottom scot-free, no retaliation being allowed, and on 2 May they would whip one another’s legs with nettles – ‘and for several days after,’ said one informant, ‘as it was such fun, and nettles are at their best then.’ Older sources ascribe these customs to 29 May, Oak Apple Day (see below), a festival now largely forgotten, whereas May Day lives on. The change of date was probably influenced by a widespread children’s custom on the first day of any month, encapsulated in the rhyme:

  A pinch and a punch

  For the first of the month,

  And no returns!

  May Day was also important to Brighton fishermen, for if the beginning of the mackerel season should chance to fall upon it, this was regarded as a very lucky omen, and the boats would put out to sea bedecked with flower garlands. But in any case, on whichever day the mackerel shoals were first sighted, the fishermen would hold a celebration on the beaches off Market Street and Bedford Street on the afternoon before they set out to catch them; this they called ‘Bendin’-In’ or ‘Bread-and-Cheese-and-Beer Day’. It was last held in 1896. Big baskets of bread, all hot, were brought down to the beach, along with baskets of round red cheeses, barrels of beer for the men, and ginger-beer for the children – all this being offered free to the fishermen and their families by the masters of the various boats. Sometimes, too, there was a Punch and Judy show. Those who carried on the custom explained the name ‘Bendin’-In’ by pointing out that the fishing nets were meanwhile ‘bent up against one another’, i.e. laid out on the beaches neatly folded up in the manner of a concertina. However, the name may well be a corruption of ‘benediction’, and may point to a pre-Reformation rite of blessing the nets at the start of an important fishing season.

  Luck-bringing rituals were used during the actual fishing too. At Rye the fishermen simply spat into the mouth of the first mackerel they caught, but the Brighton men had a more solemn and religious custom. Every time they shot a net, the whole crew would stand bareheaded while the skipper prayed: ‘There they goes, then. God Almighty send us a blessing, it is to be hoped.’ As the tenth net, which was buoyed up with barrel floats, went over the side, the skipper would recite:

  Watch, barrel, watch, mackerel for to catch!

  White may they be, like blossom on the tree,

  God
send thousands, one, two, three;

  Some by the head, some by the tail,

  God send mackerel and never fail;

  Some by the nose, some by the fin,

  God send as many as we can lift in!

  When the last net was overboard, the skipper would announce ‘Seas all!’ He would take great care not to say ‘Last net!’, for if he did he would be sure never to see his nets again.

  Despite its gay and auspicious beginning, May as a whole was once regarded by the superstitious as an unlucky month. For instance, a cat born in May was said to be inclined to melancholy, and to have the nasty habit of catching snakes and other reptiles and bringing them in the house. Taboos applying to this season include the idea that if you wash clothes on Ascension Day (normally a May feast) you will be washing away the life of one or other of your family; that if blossoms of the broom plant are brought indoors in May, then ‘death will come with it’; and that:

  If you sweep the house with a broom in May,

  You’ll sweep the head of that house away.

  However, the month closed with another cheerful festival, Oak-Apple Day, 29 May, also known among children as Pinching Day or (to the horror of polite mothers) Pinch-Bum Day. This date is not only that of Charles II’s birthday but also the anniversary of his triumphant entry into Whitehall in 1660, on the occasion of his Restoration. To the popular mind, however, it is mainly the commemoration of his adventurous escape after the battle of Worcester in September 1651, when he spent a night hiding in an oak tree at Boscobel. Sussex people have always felt a particular interest in this king’s escape, since it was from Shoreham that he took ship for France; not surprisingly, the observance of Oak-Apple Day was enthusiastically kept up in most village schools at least until the 1920s, if not later. Children were expected to ‘sport their oak’, i.e. to wear oak leaves or an oak-apple pinned to their clothes. Those who did not would be pinched (preferably on the bum), or be struck across the back of the legs with a bunch of stinging nettles. The reason for the nettles seems to be lost, but the pinching was said to be in memory of a tradition that while King Charles was up his oak tree, his companion Captain Carless had to keep pinching him to stop him from falling asleep while Parliamentary troops were near.