Harvest

What is possibly the oldest British harvest legend is fleshed out in the widespread folk-song John Barleycorn. Three men have a vendetta against the eponymous hero and swear that he must die. They bury John Barleycorn alive, and are then amazed to see his head resurface. After a while it grows a beard, a sign of adulthood. But just as he reaches full height, the men cut him down, bind him to a cart, strip off his flesh, and grind him between two stones. The final verses celebrate the second resurrection/triumph, with John Barleycorn reappearing as wonderful beer. In this form JB gets a 'measure of revenge' and proves 'the stronger man at last' by sentencing drinkers to an eternity of empty pockets and hangovers.

The gods and the god-like have cropped up in harvest tales from all ages and cultures. In Greek myth Persephone, daughter of the corn-spirit Ceres, was whisked away by god of the Underworld Pluto. She had to spend half of every year with him, during which time the earth was barren: a myth which accounts for the seasons of the year.

Both Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt had harvesting ceremonies involving corn dollies and Last Sheaf rites, almost exactly the same as those being practiced before the mechanisation of the harvest in Britain early this century. The increased reliance on machinery did what the coming and going of creeds and races could not: it diminished the number of farmers and farm-workers and undermined their need to give ritual thanks for the bounty of the land.

Before automation cut a swathe through the season's traditions, each harvesting day was usually heralded by a bell-peal from the local church. In Cheshire it was said that bells should be rung three times over the crop before it could be taken in. The days usually ran from 5 am to.7 pm, the work and rest- periods being dictated by a foreman called the Lord of the Harvest, or King of the Mowers. His badge of office was a straw hat bedecked with poppies and bindweed.

The Lord up-ended any newcomer to the team and struck the soles of his boots with a stone. The novice was released from the mock-shoeing only after he put a shilling towards the mowers' beer. The long days of reaping usually lasted two or three weeks, concluding with the celebrations of Harvest Home.

On most farms, everyone had to muck in: hence the saying, 'In Harvest time lords are labourers'.

Some areas dragged in the local clergy to kick off the harvest. The priest would bless the crop; and sometimes the first sheaf was used to make sacramental bread - a Christian/pagan crossover which still excites impressionable theologians. Elsewhere, the clergy were not so welcome. It was common for the church to demand a tithe of one tenth of the crop; and it was equally common for the harvesters to try and thwart the tithe. One harvest chant runs:

We've cheated the Parson,

we'll cheat him again,

Why should the Vicar have one in ten?

The harvest-spirit lived in the field, and as the mowers progressed, the spirit was thought to be forced into the corn which remained, retreating further and further until there was nowhere left to run. This led to the various Last Sheaf rites.

Rather than have one mower risk divine persecution by committing deicide single-handed, the onus of scything the last corn was dispersed amongst everyone, firing- squad fashion. The men threw their sickles, with their eyes closed or with their backs to the sheaf This cowardly courtesy often degenerated into a simple sickle-lobbing game: the first to successfully cut the so-called Luck Sheaf won the prize.

The Last Sheaf had many names, the Neck of the Mare being the commonest. Localised favourites included Plaiky or Old Sow in Lincolnshire; Cripple Goat on Skye; and the Hare in Galloway. Where it was given an animal name, before the sickle contests the last straws were often plaited into four 'legs'; or, in the case of the Hare, two 'ears'.

It seems that only the East Riding of Yorkshire went in for setting the Last Sheaf ablaze in the field. The ceremony was known as Burning the Old Witch. It got rid of the spirit quickly and cleanly in preparation for a trouble-free resurrection. Peas were cooked in the ashes of the Witch, and there were songs and games round the embers of the blaze.

When the last sheaf is cut, the harvest spirit lurking in the corn dies, its throat symbolically slit by the scythe. Within a few minutes of this act cultures all over the world used to engage in variants of a custom known in Britain as Crying the Neck. In Cornwall and Devon the final sheaf was made into a Corn Dolly, and lowered to the ground. The men then rose slowly, drawing out the words 'A Neck!' until they were upright with their hats aloft. They then leaped into the air, whooping. The ensuing chant went:

We ha' neck! We ha' neck!

Well a-ploughed! Well a-sowed!

We've a-reaped and we've a-mowed!

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

Well a-cut, well a-bound!

Well a-zot upon the ground!

We ha' neck! We ha' neck!

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

As the last sheaf is cut, the mowers called 'We have it!' The response came back: 'What have 'ee?', to which the reply was 'A neck!' A neck!' The sheaf was made into a dolly, and was usually carried to the farmhouse, where it reigned over the fireplace until ploughing time.

Crying the Neck (sometimes called the Gander's Neck) has been revived at a few locations in Cornwall. At Helston it takes place in a nearby field at 7.30 pm on the last Friday in August. St Ives' Crying is held at a time convenient for the local farmers, usually early in September. Rather than interrupt harvesting, the Crying is acted out in a field next to the village church, using a sheaf of freshly-scythed corn. A dolly made from the sheaf hangs in Madron church or, on alternate years, its chapel - until the next harvest. Each of the Crying the Necks is usually followed by a short service and a supper of Cornish pasties, saffron buns and heavy-cake.

Even in areas where Crying the Neck or its equivalent had long been forgotten, making the last sheaf into a corn dolly or kern baby was still widespread well into this century. The figure was known as the Carlin in Scotland, the Wrach in Wales, and the Ivy Queen in Kent. Over the years various styles have arisen; and during this last century the deft fingers of countless Women's Institutes have made corn dollies into an intricate art-form. The type of com used for dolly making is markedly different from the high-yield hybrids that end up sliced and toasted, and a single field of specially-grown wheat, near Milton Keynes, now supplies most of Britain's dolly-makers.

© Roy & Ursula Radford