British Popular Customs, Present and Past. T. F. Thiselton-Dyer

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      Formerly the inhabitants of Derby had a foot-ball match between the parishes of All Saints and St. Peter’s; the conflicting parties being strengthened by volunteers from the other parishes, and from the surrounding country. The bells of the different churches rang their merry peals on the morning, and gave rise to the following jingle on the five parishes of All Saints’, St. Peter’s, St. Werburgh’s, St. Alkmund’s, and St. Michael’s:

      “Pancakes and fritters,

       Say All Saints’ and St. Peter’s;

       When will the ball come, Say the bells of St. Alkmum; At two they will throw, Says Saint Werabo’; O! very well, Says little Michel.”

      The goal of All Saints’ was the water-wheel of the nun’s mill, and that of St. Peter’s, on the opposite side of the town, at the gallow’s balk, on the Normanton Road; the ball, which was of a very large size, was made of leather, and stuffed quite hard with shavings, and about noon was thrown into the market-place, from the Town Hall, into the midst of an assembly of many thousand people, so closely wedged together, as scarcely to admit of locomotion. The moment the ball was thrown, the “war cries” of the rival parishes began, and thousands of arms were uplifted in the hope of catching it during its descent. The opposing parties endeavoured by every possible means, and by the exertion of their utmost strength, to carry the ball in the direction of their respective goals, and by this means the town was traversed and retraversed many times in the course of the day; indeed, to such an extent has the contest been carried, that some years ago the fortunate holder of the ball, having made his way into the river Derwent, was followed by the whole body, who took to the water in the most gallant style, and kept up the chase to near the village of Duffield, a distance of five miles, the whole course being against the rapid stream, and one or two weirs having to be passed; on another occasion, the possessor of the ball is said to have quietly dropped himself into the culvert or sewer which passes under the town, and to have been followed by several others of both parties, and, after fighting his way the whole distance under the town, to have come out victorious at the other side where, a considerable party having collected, the contest was renewed in the river.

      On the conclusion of the day’s sport the man who had the honour of “goaling” the ball was the champion of the year; the bells of the victorious parish announced the conquest, and the victor was chaired through the town. So universal has been the feeling with regard to this game, that it is said a gentleman from Derby having met with a person in the backwoods of America, whom from his style and conversation he suspected to be from the Midland Counties of England, cried out when he saw him, “All Saints’ for ever;” to this the stranger instantly retorted, “Peter’s for ever;” and this satisfied them that they were fellow-townsmen. A foot-ball match is also played at Ashborne nearly in the same manner as at Derby.—Jour. Arch. Assoc., 1852, vol. vii. p. 203.

      A custom prevailed, too, in some parts of Derbyshire which gave licence to the young men and boys to kiss any young women or girls whom they chose. This, together with the general holiday observed in the afternoon of that day, and the customary sports then indulged in, is of course a remnant of the mediæval carnival.

Devonshire.

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      In the south-eastern part of Devon the children at this season of the year visit people’s houses, singing:

      “Tippetty, tippetty to,

       Give me a pancake and I’ll be go.”

      N. & Q. 1st S. vol. xi. p. 244.

      At Tavistock, the following lines are sung by the children at the houses of the principal inhabitants:

      “Lancrock (?) a pancake,

       A fritter for my labour;

       I see by the string

       The good dame’s in.

       Tippy tappy, toe,

       Nippy, nappy, no;

       If you’ll give something.

       I’ll be ago (i.e., gone).”

      N. & Q. 4th S. vol. v. p. 380.

Dorsetshire and Wiltshire.

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      In these, if not in other counties, a practice called Lent Crocking is observed. The boys go about in small parties visiting the various houses, headed by a leader, who goes up and knocks at the door, leaving his followers behind him, armed with a good stock of potsherds—the collected relics of the washing-pans, jugs, dishes, and plates, that have become the victims of concussion in the hands of unlucky or careless housewives for the past year. When the door is opened, the hero—who is, perhaps, a farmer’s boy, with a pair of black eyes sparkling under the tattered brim of his brown milking-hat—hangs down his head, and, with one corner of his mouth turned up into an irrepressible smile pronounces the following lines:

      “A-shrovin, a-shrovin,

       I be come a-shrovin;

       A piece of bread, a piece of cheese,

       A bit of your fat bacon;

       Or a dish of dough nuts,

       All of your own makin!

      “A-shrovin, a-shrovin,

       I be come a-shrovin,

       Nice meat in a pie,

       My mouth is very dry!

       I wish a wuz zoo well-a-wet,

       I’de zing the louder for a nut!

       Chorus.—A shrovin, a-shrovin,

       Chorus.—We be come a shrovin!”

      Sometimes he gets a bit of bread and cheese, and at some houses he is told to be gone; in which latter case he calls up his followers to send their missiles in a rattling broadside against the door.—Book of Days, vol. i. p. 239.

      The late Dr. Husenbeth in N. & Q. 4th S. vol. ix. p. 135, gives another version of the above rhyme:

      “I’m come a shroveing,

       For a piece of pancake,

       Or a piece of bacon,

       Or a little truckle cheese,

       Of your own making.

       Give me some, or give me none,

       Or else your door shall have a stone.”

Hampshire.

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      At Basingstoke, and in some other parts of this county, the boys and girls go to the houses of the well-to-do classes in little companies, and, knocking at the door, repeat the following rhyme:

      “Knick a knock upon the block;

       Flour and lard is very dear,

       Please we come a shroving here.

       Your pan’s hot, and my pan’s cold,

       (Hunger makes us shrovers bold)

       Please to give poor shrovers something here.”

      They then knock again, and repeat both knocks and verses until they receive something. The line in brackets is not said in Basingstoke and several other places.—N. & Q. 1st S. vol. xii. p. 100.

Hertfordshire.