Among the old-world customs connected with the times and seasons, that of celebrating the ingathering of the harvest with a rustic festival has survived many which have either passed away, and almost out of memory, or have come to have only a partial and precarious hold upon the minds of the present generation. The rush-cart maintains a feeble struggle for existence in a few northern localities, but each year shows diminished vigour; the May-day festival of the chimney-sweepers has become obsolete, and the dance round the May-pole an open-air ballet; and many old observances connected with the Christmas season which were formerly common to all England are now kept up only in these northern counties, where the flavour of antiquity seems to be much more highly appreciated than in the south. But the harvest home festival holds its ground with equal persistency in both portions of the kingdom, and has of late years been invested with additional glories, sometimes with a superabundance of them which threatens a reaction. There were some features of the older celebrations of the ingathering of the fruits of the earth, however, which, from various causes, have fallen into disuse, and which many of us would gladly, if it were possible, see restored.

We could welcome, for instance, the songs into which the joyous feelings of the harvesters broke forth in the old times as the last load of grain was carried off the field, and when the lads and lasses, with the older rustics, had partaken of a good supper in the farmer’s kitchen, and afterwards danced to the music of the fiddle or pipes in the barn. There are many references to the feasting and singing and dancing customs of this season in the poetry of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Tusser tells us that:—

“In harvest time, harvest folk, servants and all,
Should make all together, good cheer in the hall,
And fill the black bowl, so blithe to their song,
And let them be merry, all harvest time long.”

Peele, in his “Old Wives’ Tales,” makes his harvesters sing:—

“Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping,
To reap our harvest fruit;
And thus we pass the year so long,
And never be we mute.”Stevenson, in his “Twelve Months,” says, “In August the furmety pot welcomes home the harvest cart, and the garland of flowers crowns the captain of the reapers. The battle of the field is now stoutly fought. The pipe and the tabor are now busily set a-work, and the lad and the lass will have no lead in their heels. Oh, ’tis a merry time, wherein honest neighbours make good cheer, and God is glorified in his blessings on the earth.” Tusser’s verse reminds us of another feature of these old celebrations of which little trace remains at the present day, that is, the temporary suspension of all social inequality between employer and employed. There would be less reason to regret this change, however, if, in place of the temporary obliviousness of class distinctions, we could see more genial intercourse all through the year.

The clergy seem to have been less in evidence at the harvest rejoicings of those days than at present. There was a tithe question even two centuries ago, for Dryden, in his King Arthur, makes his festive rustics sing:—

“We’ve cheated the parson, we’ll cheat him again,
For why should the blockhead have one in ten?
One in ten! one in ten!
For staying while dinner is cold and hot,
And pudding and dumpling are burnt to the pot!
Burnt to pot! burnt to pot!
We’ll drink off our liquor while we can stand.
And hey for the honour of England!
Old England! Old England!”

There is some comfort for the loss of the singing and dancing customs of the old times in that the fact the heavy drinking of the period has also become a thing of the past, and perhaps also in the reflections arising from the misuse of music of which some curious illustrations have been preserved by Mr. Surtees. The historian mentions, in his “History of Durham,” having read a report of the trial of one Spearman, for having made a forcible entry into a field at Birtley, and mowed and carried away the crop, a piper playing on the top of the loaded waggon for the purpose of making the predatory harvesters work the faster, so as to get away before their roguish industry could be interrupted. It may be noted in passing that a similar use of music is shown in the following entry in the parish accounts of Gateshead, under the date of 1633:—“To workmen for making the streets even at the King’s coming, 18s. 4d.: and paid to the piper for playing to the menders of the highway, five several days, 3s. 4d.”

Many local variations exist in the customs associated with the harvest home festivities observed in different parts of the country, especially in the north, where all old customs and observances, like the provincial dialects, have lingered longest, and still linger when they have died out and been forgotten in the south. In Cleveland, it is, or used to be, the custom, on forking the last sheaf on the wagon, for the harvesters to shout in chorus:—

“Weel bun and better shorn,
Is Master ——’s corn;
We hev her, we hev her,
As fast as a feather.
Hip, hip, hurrah!”

A similar custom exists in Northumberland, where it is called “shouting a kirn.” It consists in a simultaneous shout from the whole of the people present. In some localities the shout is preceded by a rhyme suitable to the occasion, recited by the clearest-voiced persons among those assembled. Mr. James Hardy gives the following as a specimen:—

“Blessed be the day our Saviour was born,
For Master ——’s corn’s all well shorn;
And we will have a good supper to-night,
And a drinking of ale, and a kirn! a kirn!”

All unite in a simultaneous shout at the close, and he who does not participate in the ringing cheer is liable to have his ears pulled. In Glendale, an abbreviated version of the rhyme is used, with a variation, as follows:—

“The master’s corn is ripe and shorn,
We bless the day that he was born,
Shouting a kirn! a kirn!”

Are these customs observed at the present day? This is an age of change. We have used the present tense in the foregoing references, but it is in the past tense that we read in Chambers’s “Book of Days,” that, “In the North of England, the reapers were accustomed to leave a good handful of grain uncut; they laid it down flat, and covered it over; when the field was done, the bonniest lass was entrusted with the pleasing duty of cutting the final handful, which was presently dressed up with various sewings, tyings, and trimmings like a doll, and hailed as a Corn Baby or Kirn Dolly. It was carried home in triumph with music of fiddles and bagpipes, set up conspicuously at night during supper, and usually preserved in the farmer’s parlour for the remainder of the year. The fair maiden who cut this handful of grain was called the Har’st Queen.” A similar custom prevailed, with local variations, in Shropshire, Gloucestershire, Hertfordshire, Devonshire, and other parts of England. In Lincolnshire, and some other counties, handbells were rung by those riding on the last load, and the following rhyme sung:—

“The boughs do shake and the bells do ring,
So merrily comes in our harvest in,
Our harvest in, our harvest in!
Hurrah!”

Writers on local customs formerly observed in different parts of the country, have preserved the memory of a curious one connected with the last handful of wheat. In some parts the reapers threw their sickles at the reserved handful, and he who succeeded in cutting it down shouted, “I have her!” “What have you?” the others cried out. “A mare!” he replied. “What will you do with her?” was then asked. “Send her to ——,” naming some neighbouring farmer whose harvest work was not completed. This rustic pleasantry was called “crying the mare.” The rejoicings attendant on the bringing in of the last load of corn are thus described in the “Book of Days”:—“The waggon containing it was called the hock cart; it was surmounted by a figure formed out of a sheaf, with gay dressings, intended to represent the goddess Ceres. In front men played merry tunes on the pipe and tabor, and the reapers tripped around in a hand-in-hand ring, singing appropriate songs, or simply by shouts and cries giving vent to the excitement of the day. In some districts they sang or shouted as follows:—

“Harvest home, harvest home!
We ploughed, we have sowed,
We have reaped, we have moved,
We have brought home every load.
Hip, hip, hip, harvest home!”

In some parts the figure on the waggon, instead of an effigy, was the prettiest of the girl-reapers, decked with summer flowers, and hailed as the Harvest Queen. Bloomfield, in one of his Suffolk ballads, thus preserves the memory of this custom:—

“Home came the jovial Hockey load,
Last of the whole year’s crop;
And Grace among the green boughs rode,
Right plump upon the top.”

These and many other harvest-home customs undoubtedly had their origin in heathen times, in common with those associated with the New Year, the Epiphany, May Day, and many other festivals.Not the least important part of the harvest home observances was the supper which closed them, and which took place in the kitchen of the farmhouse or in the barn, the master and mistress presiding. The fare on these occasions was substantial and plentiful, and good home-brewed ale was poured out abundantly—we are afraid too much so. The harvest home supper of the sixteenth century, as graphically portrayed by Herrick, included:—

“Foundation of your feast, fat beef,
With upper stories, mutton, veal,
And bacon, which makes full the meal;
With several dishes standing by,
As here a custard, there a pie,
And here all-tempting frumentie.
And for to make the merry cheer,
If smirking wine be wanting here,
There’s that which drowns all care, stout beer.”

Instead of a formal vote of thanks to the givers of the feast, the prevailing feeling was expressed in a song, one version of which runs as follows:—

“Here’s health to our master,
The load of the feast;
God bless his endeavours,
And send him increase.
May prosper his crops, boys,
And we reap next year;
Here’s our master’s good health, boys,
Come, drink off your beer!
Now harvest is ended,
And supper is past;
Here’s to our mistress’s health, boys,
Come, drink a full glass.
For she’s a good woman,
Provides us good cheer;
Here’s our mistress’s good health, boys.
Come, drink off your beer!”

Over the greater part of England a harvest-thanksgivings service has, at the present day, taken the place of the festive observances of former times. It would be useless to regret the passing away of the old customs, even if there was much more reason for such a feeling; for change is an inevitable condition of existence, and we can no more recall the old things which have passed away than we can replace last year’s snow on the wolds. Even the harvest-thanksgiving service, with its accompanying cereal and horticultural decorations of church and chapel, seems destined to a change. The decorations are too often overdone. We have seen in some churches piles of fruit and vegetables that would furnish a shop, in addition to sheaves of corn and stacks of quartern loaves. In some instances, a more deplorable display has been made in the shape of a model of a farmyard, thus turning the place of worship into a show. Sometimes, too, the sermon has no reference to the harvest. Sometimes, again, the service is held before the harvest has been gathered in; or thanks are offered for an abundant harvest when it has notoriously been deficient. Perhaps the need of a collection at this particular time may account for these discrepancies. Such mistakes are easily avoided, however, and no fault can reasonably be found with these celebrations when religious zeal is kept within the bounds of discretion.