Loo (or lee), sheltered.
Steady, slow.
"She is so steady I can't do nothing with her."
Kickety, said of a one-sided wheel-barrow that kicked up (but this may have been invented for the nonce).
Pecty, covered with little spots of decay.
Fecty, defective throughout-both used in describing apples or potatoes.
Hedge-picks, shoes.
Hags or aggarts, haws.
Rauch, smoke (comp. German and Scotch).
Pond-keeper, dragon-fly.
Stupid, ill-conditioned.
To plim, to swell, as bacon boiled.
To side up, to put tidy.
Logie, poorly, out-of-sorts.
VILLAGE SPECIFICS.
Cure for Epilepsy
To wear round the neck a bag with a hair from the cross on a he-donkey.
Or,
To wear a ring made of sixpences begged from six young women who married without change of name.
Cure for Whooping Cough
An infusion of mouse ear hawkweed (Hieracium Pilosella), flavoured with thyme and honey. This is really effective, like other "yarbs" that used to be in vogue.
Cure for Shingles
Grease off church bells.
For Sore Throat
Rasher of fat bacon fastened round the neck.
For Ague
To be taken to the top of a steep place, then violently pushed down.
Or,
To have gunpowder in bags round the wrists set on fire.
Powdered chaney (china), a general specific.
PHRASES
Singing psalms to a dead horse, exhorting a stolid subject.
Surplice, smock-frock.
"Ah! sir, the white surplice covers a great deal of dirt"-said by a tidy woman of her old father.
"And what be I to pay you?"
"What the Irishman shot at," i.e. nothing-conversation overheard between an old labourer and his old friend, the thatcher, who had been mending his roof.
"Well, dame, how d'ye fight it out?"-salutation overheard.
CURATE. Have you heard the nightingale yet?
BOY. Please, sir, I don't know how he hollers.
Everything hollers, from a church bell to a mouse in a trap.
A tenth child, if all the former ones are living, is baptized with a sprig of myrtle in his cap, and the clergyman was supposed to charge himself with his education.
If possible, a baby was short-coated on Good Friday, to ensure not catching cold.
The old custom (now gone out) was that farmers should send their men to church on Good Friday. They used all to appear in their rough dirty smock frocks and go back to work again. Some (of whom it would never have been expected) would fast all day.
The 29th of May is still called Shick-shack day-why has never been discovered. There must have been some observance earlier than the Restoration, though oak-apples are still worn on that day, and with their oak sprays are called Shick-shack.
On St. Clement's Day, the 23rd of November, explosions of gunpowder are made on country blacksmiths' anvils. It is viewed as the blacksmiths' holiday. The accepted legend is that St. Clement was drowned with an anchor hung to his neck, and that his body was found in a submarine temple, from which the sea receded every seven years for the benefit of pilgrims. Thus he became the patron of anchor forgers, and thence of smiths in general. Charles Dickens, in Great Expectations describes an Essex blacksmith as working to a chant, the refrain of which was "Old Clem." I have heard the explosions at Hursley before 1860, but more modern blacksmiths despise the custom. At Twyford, however, the festival is kept, and at the dinner a story is read that after the Temple was finished, Solomon feasted all the artificers except the blacksmiths, but they appeared, and pointed out all that they had done in the way of necessary work, on which they were included with high honour.
St. Thomas's Day, 21st December, is still at Otterbourne held as the day for "gooding," when each poor house-mother can demand sixpence from the well-to-do towards her Christmas dinner.
Christmas mummers still perambulate the villages, somewhat uncertainly, as their performance depends on the lads willing to undertake it, and the willingness of some woman to undertake the bedizening of them with strips of ribbon or coloured paper; and, moreover, political allusions are sometimes introduced which spoil the simplicity. The helmets are generally made of wallpaper, in a shape like auto-da-fé caps, with long strips hanging over so as to conceal the face, and over the shirts are sewn streamers.
Thus tramp seven or eight lads, and stand drawn up in a row, when the foremost advances with, at the top of his hoarse voice:
Room, room, brave gallants, room,
I'm just come to show you some merry sport and game,
To help pass away
This cold winter day.
Old activity, new activity, such activity
As never was seen before,
And perhaps never will be seen no more.
(Alas! too probably. Thanks to the schoolmaster abroad.)
Then either he or some other, equipped with a little imitation snow, paces about announcing himself:
Here comes I, Old Father Christmas, Christmas, Christmas,
Welcome or welcome not,
I hope old Father Christmas
Will never be forgot.
All in this room, there shall be shown
The dreadfullest battle that ever was known.
So walk in, St. George, with thy free heart
And see whether thou canst claim peace for thine own part.
So far from "claiming peace," St. George waves (or ought to wave) his wooden sword, as he clumps forth, exclaiming:
In comes I, St. George, St. George, that man of courage bold,
With my broad sword and spear I won the crown of gold,
I fought that fiery dragon,
And drove him to the slaughter,
And by that means I won
The King of Egypt's daughter.
Therefore, if any man dare enter this door
I'll hack him small as dust,
And after send him to the cook's shop
To be made into mince-pie crust!
On this defiance another figure appears:
Here comes I, the Turkish knight
Just come from Turkey land to fight;
I'll fight thee, St. George, St. George, thou man of courage bold,
If thy blood be too hot, I'll quickly make it cold.
To which St. George responds, in the tone in which he would address a cart-horse:
"Wo ho! My little fellow, thou talk'st very bold,
Just like the little Turks, as I have been told,
Therefore, thou Turkish knight,
Pull out thy sword and fight,
Pull out thy purse and pay,
I'll have satisfaction, or thou guest away.
Turkish Knight.
Satisfaction, no satisfaction at all,
My head is made of iron, my body lined with steel,
I'll battle thee, to see which on the ground shall fall.
The two wooden swords clatter together till the Turkish knight falls, all doubled up, even his sword, with due regard to his finery; and St. George is so much shocked that he marches round, lamenting:
O only behold what I have been and done,
Cut and slain my brother, just the evening sun.
Then, bethinking himself, he exclaims:
I have a little bottle, called elecampane,
If the man is alive, let him rise and fight again.
The application of the elecampane so far restores the Turkish knight that he partly rises, entreating:
O pardon me, St. George, O pardon me, I crave,