Halloween, once called Samhain, is nigh. In two weeks costumed children, as well as adults, will pass through neighborhoods or decorated trunk-or-treat parking lots with dulcet cries of “Trick or Treat.” 

Halloween is the modern iteration of Samhain [pronounced SOW-wen] a Celtic festival that begins at sundown October 31 and continues into November 1. As customs changed over time, Samhain divided into Halloween and All Saints Day, with Halloween keeping up with ancient traditions. About this time last year, I posted a blog focused on Samhain. And my blog two weeks ago looked at the custom of bobbing for apples.

There are spiritual aspects to Samhain. One story reveals that the Sun God dies at Samhain and departs to prepare for his rebirth at Yule. The god’s death insures his people will live. After the Sun God dies, the Lord of Misrule takes his place, giving light without warmth in the winter months. Sometimes the Lord of Misrule is said to symbolize the power of looking at life from a different perspective.

Goddess Cerridwen

Goddess Cerridwen rules over transformations, rebirth, and inspiration. Every goddess or god has a role to play, even if it’s just to provide explanations to the inexplicable. A 16th century manuscript by Elis Gruffydd recounts one of the legends about Cerridwen and her progeny. Is it positive or negative? You be the judge.

Ceridwen and her husband Tegid Foel lived near what is now Bala Lake in North Wales. The couple had two children: a beautiful daughter, Creirwy, who was full of light and life, and an ugly, ill-tempered son call Morfan. Ceridwen wanted give her son wisdom and poetic inspiration to compensate for his appearance. So, Ceridwen used her magical cauldron and mixed a potion.

The mixture had to boil for a year and a day. Obviously, Ceridwen had other things to do, so she employed a blind man named Morda to tend the fire beneath the cauldron and a young boy named Gwion Bach to stir the mixture.

Now there was a secret to the potion. The first three drops of the mixture would grant the recipient wisdom and poetic inspiration. The rest of the potion was poisonous.

Just as the mixture was almost ready, Gwion had an accident. Three drops of the hot liquid fell onto Gwion’s hand. The lad put his burned hand into his mouth, thus gaining the wisdom intended for Morfan. Gwion knew he was in trouble and ran away. Ceridwen realized what had happened and chased him.

Using the power he received from the potion, Gwion turned himself into a hare. Ceridwen became a greyhound and chased him. Gwion dove into a river and became a fish; Ceridwen became an otter and swam after him. Gwion became a bird and flew away; Ceridwen became a hawk and hunted Gwion with a fierce determination. Finally, Gwion came up with the idea of turning himself into a single grain of corn. How could the goddess find him amongst the many kernels of corn scattered everywhere? Ceridwen became a chicken scratching amongst the kernels until she found Gwion and ate him.

You might think the story ends here, but no. When Ceridwen became pregnant, she knew the growth within her body was Gwion assuming another shape, and decided that when she gave birth, she would kill him.

But when she saw the babe, he was perfect, and Ceridwen could not carry out her intention. Instead, she sealed the child inside a leather skin bag and threw him into the ocean. Eventually, the bag washed ashore where a prince named Elffin ap Gwyddno rescued the babe and took him home. When the infant grew up, he became a famous poet known as Taliesin.

Time passed, and either Creirwy or Morfan had a child. The king, Tepid Foel, held a banquet with the best quality of food, wine, and entertainment to celebrate his first grandchild.

As the wine flowed, the harp player heard a small voice saying, “Vengeance will come.” As he looked around, he saw a bird watching him and followed it outside to the top of a hill overlooking the town. As the harpist listened to the bird sing, he fell asleep. When he awoke, the town and palace were submerged under a great lake and his harp floated on the surface.

It is said that if you walk near the edge of Bala Lake, you can sometimes hear a quiet conversation.

First Voice: Vengeance will come.

Second Voice: When will it come?

First Voice: In the third generation!

COMING SOON!

The Life & Times of Sarah Good, Accused Witch

Illustrations & A Few Sources

Bats, Haunted House, & Full Moon by Alexas Fotos; President George W. Bush on Halloween at Robins Air Force Base, Georgia. 2006; Lord of Misrule 1887; Ceridwen by Christopher Williams; Print by J. E. C. Williams in the book ‘Y Mabinogion, 1901; Polygon illustration of hen’s head; Sculpture of Poet Taliesin in Pennal, Wales; Welsh Chaffinch by Holly Victoria Norval; Bala Lake by Mick Garratt. The Birth of Gala Lake. Amgueddfa Llangollen Museum. Samhain Lore. Angelfire.

The post Halloween Stories first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

This is a Halloween tale about the devil, a trickster, and how Jack o’ Lanterns came to be. It is perhaps a cautionary tale proving that cleverness can and often does backfire.

Once upon a time, there was an Irish trickster named Jack who had several monikers: Stingy Jack, Drunk Jack, Flaky Jack, and eventually, Jack o’Lantern. According to legend, the devil heard about Jack, and decided to find out if Jack was as nefarious as his reputation. Jack was drunk the first time he encountered Satan, but he knew Satan was about to take his soul.

Jack asked the devil to grant him one last request and allow him to drink some ale before he had to go to Hell. So, Satan took Jack to the local pub. Jack ordered several rounds, and asked Satan to pay the bill. However, Satan didn’t carry cash. [Why is this not surprising?]

“No problem,” said Jack. “Just turn yourself into a silver coin. I’ll pay the bartender, and when he turns away, you can change yourself back.” Why Satan thought this was a good idea, I don’t know. But he changed himself into a silver coin, which Jack then put in his pocket next to his crucifix. The Christian symbol prevented the devil from returning to his true from. The devil was not pleased. Jack offered the devil a deal. In exchange for granting Jack his soul for another year, Jack would allow the devil to resume his form. Done!

A Year Later . . .

When Satan came to retrieve Jack, the trickster had another final request. Could he consume one apple before he went to Hell. The devil agreed. [You might think the devil knew it was a trick, and perhaps he did.] Jack went to an apple tree to pick the fruit. But first, he sprinkled crucifixes around the tree, once again trapping the devil who demanded Jack to release him. Jack made another deal, and made the devil promise not to take his soul to Hell. Done!

Rejected by Heaven . . . Jack Went to Hell

Eventually, Jack actually died. His soul traveled to Heaven, but God refused him entrance. So Jack went down to Hell. One can imagine Satan’s smirk, when he reminded Jack of their last deal. He could not accept Jack’s soul into Hell.

Unable to enter Heaven or Hell, Jack became a ghost wandering the world in the mystic plane between good and evil. In a moment of possible compassion, the devil gave Jack a turnip with a lit coal inside to light his way through the darkness.

As time passed, people began carving scary faces into turnips to frighten away evil spirits. Turnips are notoriously hard to carve. As pumpkins from America became available, the annual custom shifted from carving Jack o’Lanterns out of turnips to the softer pumpkins found in America.

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Sandra’s Books: Sea Tigers & Merchants. Ambition, Arrogance & Pride. Saxon Heroines. Two Coins. Rama’s Labyrinth.

Illustrations & A Few Sources

Jack-o-Lantern by huk_flickr; Real Ale by Atelier Joly; Photo of apples by Terri_bateman; Hell Village in Norway by Tolled Salemann; Image of Stingy Jack by Killim. Stingy Jack & The Birth of Jack o’Lantern. Saints & Scholars.

The post The Devil, The Trickster & Jack o’Lanterns first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

Samhain [pronounced SOW-wen] is an ancient Celtic celebration marking the death of the warmer half of the year and beginning the next cycle in the Wheel of the Year. The year turns between sunset October 31 and sunset November 1. The specific dates are somewhat arbitrary. Suffice to say, Samhain marks the year’s turning from old to new. It is a time when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thin. A time to take precautions against evil spirits who may damage crops, frighten people, harm or hide livestock, and/or haunt homes.

Bonfires, or Fire Festivals, were and still are an important element of the celebrations. In days past, people set huge fires on top of hills where they burned crops and animals as sacrifices to Celtic gods. Participants wore costumes, usually animal heads and skins, as a precaution against evil spirits.

When the bonfires died down, people took embers to relight their hearth fires at home as protection from the coming winter.

The oldest stories of Samhain come from Irish tradition. During Samhain, burial mounds opened as portals to the “Otherworld,” which made human contact with fairies more likely. The souls of deceased family members went to their former homes where living family members set a place at the table for them. Celebrations also featured mumming and guising during which children and the poor went door-to-door reciting verses in exchange for soul cakes.

Soul Cakes were small, round cakes made with sweet spices, such as allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and raisins or currents. A cross marked the top the cake. The cakes, called “souls,” honored the dead and might be left as offerings with a glass of wine, or exchanged for prayers in a custom called “soiling.”

Rituals also included rounding up cattle for the winter and culling them to determine which livestock would be kept for the winter and which would be slaughtered so their meat might be preserved. Feasts were a way to consume perishable items before winter set in.

Traditional celebratory foods included:
Colcannon, a hearty dish of mashed potatoes with kale or cabbage. Charms were hidden in the food, and could predict the future of persons who discovered them.

Barmbrack, a fruity Irish soda bread. Any given slice might contain a charm to predict the diner’s future.

Apples symbolized immortality and Cider celebrated the final harvest.
Beef Stew with late harvest vegetables and meat from the recently slaughtered cattle was another traditional choice

About A.D 1000, the Church proclaimed November 2 to be All Souls’ Day as a replacement for Samhain celebrations. All Souls’ Day celebrations also included bonfires and costumes which no longer resembled animals but morphed into images of saints, angels, and devils.

November 1 became All Saints’ Day, also called All-hallows. The night before All Saints’ Day became All Hallows Eve, now called Halloween.

Halloween colors continue in the Celtic tradition: black for the death of summer, and orange for the autumn harvest season.

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Sandra’s Books: Sea Tigers & Merchants. Ambition, Arrogance & Pride. Saxon Heroines. Two Coins. Rama’s Labyrinth.

Illustrations & A Few Sources

Neopagan Celebrates Samhain, Unknown Author; Wheel of the Year; Soul Cakes by Malikhpur; My Harvest Home by John Glover, 1835; Barmbrack; Snap Apple Night by Daniel Maclise, 1833. Luna Crowwing. “Everything You Need To Know About Samhain.” Busy Pagan. April 28, 2024. Ronald L. Dart. “Halloween, Ghosts & Spirits.” Born to Win. October 19,1996.

The post Samhain — The Witches’ New Year first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

In the northern hemisphere, October marks the transition from summer to fall. Pumpkins appear at grocery and garden stores. Leaves swirl in the breeze before dropping in colorful abandon. The days grow shorter. Pumpkin spice is everywhere, especially in coffee and pastries. Neighbors put skeletal Halloween decorations in their yards. And, in general, we become more aware of black cats. This could be because their fur contrasts so nicely with pumpkins and autumnal leaves. Or, it could be the long association of Halloween, witches, and black cats.

Feline history has a contradictory past. Cats were considered harbingers of good fortune until the 13th century when they fell from grace.

In Ancient Times, Cats Were Worshipped as Gods; They Have Not Forgotten This. — Terry Pratchett

Ancient Egyptians worshipped cats as goddesses. The furry felines were held in such high esteem, that accidentally killing a cat could be punished with the death sentence. Certainly, cats were important for their role in protecting grain supplies from rodents and birds. But it was more than that.

GODDESSES BASTET, SEKHMET & MAFDET

Bastet was the goddess of protection, pleasure, and good health. She also protected her father Ra, the sun god whose gift of light powered Egyptian civilization. During the day, Bastet rode in Ra’s chariot as he crossed from one horizon to the other. At night while Ra rested, Bastet transformed into a cat to protect Ra from his enemy Apep, the serpent. Bastet carried a sistrum in her right hand.

Sekhmet, the Egyptian goddess of war, protected the pharaohs she led into battle. It was she who created the fire in Ra’s eye so he could destroy his enemies. She was alternately depicted as a lioness, or a woman with the head of a lion. She was associated with healing and medicine.

Finally, there is Mafdet, a woman with the head of a cheetah and braided hair that ended in scorpion tails. She too protected Ra, keeping his chambers clear of snakes, scorpions and evil. She also served as goddess of judgement, justice, and execution by ripping out the hearts of miscreants and bringing them to Pharaoh’s feet.

Over time, domestic cats became sacred as a living incarnation of Bastet. When they died, they were mummified, placed in a coffin and buried in cat cemeteries. Mummified cats were also placed in tombs to provide the occupant with protection in the underworld.

Deities in subsequent ancient civilizations also had associations with cats. The Roman goddess Diana’s primary identification was as a huntress, but she could also change into a cat form to take refuge with the moon. Diana is often shown with a crescent moon in her hair.

Libertas, the goddess of Liberty, was often depicted with a cat. In her temple, the goddess wore a white robe with a scepter in one hand and a velvet Phrygian cap in the other with a cat at her feet. The cap was worn by freed slaves to signify their liberty while the cat represented independence. Romans honored feline attributes with the saying Libertas sine Labore – Liberty without Labor.

Felines Fall From Grace

As the Christian Church became more powerful, its leaders had little patience for what they perceived as pagan connections between humans and animals. In particular, Pope Gregory IX wanted to weed out so-called heretics. On June 13, 1233 the pope issued Vox in Rama to King Henry of Germany in an effort to stop the heretical Luciferian cult that revered the devil. The document described some of the cult’s devil worship, including how the devil took the form of a black cat and required initiates to kiss the cat’s behind. It didn’t take long before people associated black cats with the devil, and began killing them in order to break evil spells.

In Denmark, the period before Easter known as Lent became a time when evil had to be purged so that spring could return. Since black cats were the devil, they were killed. The same was true in France. In Belgium cats were thrown down from the church belfry during Kattenstoet. The Festival of Cats still continues with stuffed cats substituted for live animals.

Superstitions about black cats continue today, though they can be contradictory. On the one hand, if a black cat crosses your path it’s bad luck due to their connection to witches. But another legend says that if a black cat crosses your path, a guardian angel is sending good fortune. Interesting how the more common superstition is the negative one.

Black Cat Facts

Negative superstitions about black cats result in their low shelter adoption rates and high euthanasia rates.

Black cats are more common than other feline cat colors, because eumelanin, the pigment for black fur, is their dominant pigment gene. Kittens get two copies of a given gene from their parents. If one of the codes is for black fur, the kitten has black fur.

However, the only cat that is entirely black is the Bombay cat, a breed developed in 1952 by crossing a Sable Burmese cat with a black American shorthair. Breeders hoped to create a cat resembling a miniature black leopard. The breed was given the name “Bombay” [now Mumbai] after the city near the habitat of the Indian black leopard.

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Sandra’s Books: Sea Tigers & Merchants. Ambition, Arrogance & Pride. Saxon Heroines. Two Coins. Rama’s Labyrinth.

Illustrations & A Few Sources

“A Merry Halloween” postcard, 1910; Goddess Bastet by Eternal Space; Goddess Sekhmet by Eternal Space; Goddess Mafdet by Eternal Space; Mummified Cat in Fitchburg Art Museum; Diana the Huntress by Guillaume Seignac; Cat Festival in Belgium by Zeisterre; Bombay Cat by Pititebilette. Natasha Sheldon. “Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Cat to Live.” History Collection. May 5, 2018. Granny Syufy. “Myths & Superstitions About Black Cats.” Spruce Pets. August 14, 2024.

The post Black Cats —From Revered to Feared first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

Imagine. Two horses approach Sleepy Hollow Bridge at a thunderous gallop. No doubt the first horse, Gunpowder, is on his last legs. He’s hardly fit enough for a trot. Now he catches his rider’s terror, and gallops as if the very devil is behind him.

The second horse is sleek and muscular. His hooves pound the ground as they approach the first horse. Astride the black horse is an accomplished horseman.

In front, Ichabod Crane urges Gunpowder to a faster pace. Ichabod believes his pursuer will disappear at the bridge, but when Ichabod turns his head to look behind him, the unknown rider has his head in his hand. The rider pulls his arm back and throws it at his quarry.

The head strikes Ichabod who falls off his horse. Gunpowder, no doubt delighted to be free, makes his way home. But where is Ichabod? He doesn’t show up for breakfast or dinner. Most unusual. Gunpowder’s owner, Hans Van Ripper, organizes a search party, partly because he wants to find Gunpowder’s saddle.

On the road leading to the church, searchers find a trampled saddle. Further on, there are tracks of horses’ hooves. And at a broad part of the brook, they discover Ichabod’s hat and a shattered pumpkin. The searchers scratch their heads at Ichabod’s disappearance and go home.

Van Ripper inventories Ichabod’s possessions: “They [consist] of two shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes full of dog’s-ears; and a broken pitch-pipe.”

Villagers discuss Ichabod’s disappearance at church the following Sunday. “gazers and gossips … [collect] in the churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been found.” They consider all the stories they know along with the found evidence, and conclude the Headless Horseman took Ichabod to an unknown destination. And that was that.

Or Was It?

Katrina quickly recovers from her suitor’s disappearance and marries Brom Bones. Brom laughs whenever anyone mentions a pumpkin. A few folks think he knows something about Ichabod’s disappearance. But they don’t ask, and Brom doesn’t tell.

Several years later, a farmer visits New York City. He comes home with the startling news that Ichabod Crane survives. The farmer says Ichabod ran away, because he was afraid the Horseman might come back for him, and was embarrassed after Katrina’s rejection. Ichabod found a new position as a schoolmaster until he became a lawyer, and then a politician, before becoming a judge in a lower court known as the Ten Pound Court. If so, one can only applaud Ichabod’s ability to reinvent himself. Yet the tale seems too unlikely to be true.

So, what really happened? The old country wives … who are the best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means. Ichabod’s disappearance is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire.

Sight-Seeing at Sleepy Hollow

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is popular near Halloween, and Sleepy Hollow, New York has plenty of events to commemorate Ichabod’s wild ride. The village has festivals, hayrides, parades, and tours, including an afternoon visit to author Washington Irving’s home at Sunnyside that includes a literature-themed scavenger hunt. The Sleepy Hollow Cemetery also has tours, including the evening lantern tour. The Old Dutch Church that Ichabod was trying to reach by crossing the bridge has self-guided visits. And, of course, there are re-enactments of the fateful ride. One actor said the most difficult aspect of playing the Headless Horseman is balancing the pumpkin in one hand before throwing it.

If you’d like to take a virtual tour of modern Sleepy Hollow with clips from movie versions of the Legend, check out this 10 minute video.

Happy Halloween!

Sleepy Hollow. 1884.

Headless Horseman Pursuing Ichabod Crane by John Quidor

Jack-o-Lantern by Achat1999

Sleepy Hollow Sunday Morning

Katrina

Welcome to Sleepy Hollow sign photographed by Chris Kirkman.

Ross D. Levi. “A Fall Weekend in Sleepy Hollow NY.” I Love New York. Aug 15, 2019.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Gutenberg Project.

The post Ichabod Disappears first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

Ichabod Crane is a poor man with aspirations; a lover of ghost stories who fears the dark. In The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Washington Irving creates an unsympathetic character as the subject of his American ghost story. Last week, Ichabod courted Katrina Van Tassel, hoping she would accept him as a suitor. One wonders why the poorest man in her social acquaintance thought the only daughter of the richest farmer in the region would marry him. Nevertheless, Ichabod approached Katrina expecting her approval. She declined his attentions. In this installment, Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, [pursues] his travels homeward. 

Mounted on Gunpowder, Ichabod rides into the dark night. All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he … heard in the afternoon now [come] crowding upon his recollection. The night [grows ]darker and darker; the stars [seem] to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally [hide] them from [Ichabod’s] sight. Immersed in his disappointment, Ichabod approaches the scene of many local ghost stories .

An enormous tulip-tree stands before Ichabod in the center of the road. To stave off his fear, Ichabod begins to whistle. As [Ichabod] got closer, he [thinks] he [sees] something white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he [pauses] and [ceases] whistling. Ichabod examines the white substance and realizes it’s only a scar on the bark from a lightening strike. Ichabod’s fear gives way to relief and perhaps a cold sweat. Then, suddenly, Ichabod hears a groan. His teeth [chatter], and his knees [knock] against the saddle.

Another false alarm. The sound is from a breeze moving tree branches against each other. No doubt, Ichabod laughs at his fear. Perhaps he clutches Gunpowder’s reins a bit more tightly. The nervous rider looks ahead to a bridge consisting of logs laid side-by-side.

As [Ichabod approaches] the stream, his heart [begins] to thump; he [summons] up … all his resolution, [gives] his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and [attempts] to dash briskly across the bridge. Gunpowder has other ideas and runs into a fence. Ichabod’s terror grows. He jerks the reins, and kicks Gunpowder’s side. The horse stumbles into a thicket of brambles.

Ichabod applies both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who [dashes] forward, snuffling and snorting. The horse stops by the bridge, with a suddenness that … nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Picture ungainly Ichabod, his eyes wide with terror.

Ichabod’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he looks at the side of the brook and sees something from his worst nightmare. The apparition is huge, misshapen and towering … like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.

“Who are you?” Ichabod shouts with false bravado.

No answer.

“Who are you?” Ichabod shouts again, his voice quavering.

Still no answer.

Ichabod tells himself there’s nothing there, and begins singing a psalm to dispel the mystery before him. But, just as whistling didn’t dispel Ichabod’s fear, singing a psalm provides no relief.

Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stands in the middle of the road. Though the night [is] dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown [may] now in some degree be ascertained. He [appears] to be a horseman of large dimensions, … mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. 

The Midnight Ride Begins

With a sigh of relief, Ichabod remembers Brom Bones saying that he had outrun the Horseman. Ichabod urges Gunpowder forward. The stranger, however, [quickens] his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod [pulls] up, … into a walk, thinking to lag behind,—the other [does] the same. And then Ichabod gets a good look at his unwelcome companion. 

The rider [is] gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod [is] horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!—but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!  

Ichabod whips Gunpowder forward; the horseman keeps pace. They [dash] through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod’s flimsy garments [flutter] in the air, as he [stretches] his long lank body away over his horse’s head, in the eagerness of his flight. 

Ichabod gains ground until his saddle girth slips. Ichabod seizes the pommel, and finally flings his arms around Gunpowder’s neck as the saddle falls to the ground. At an opening in the trees, Ichabod sees a bridge over a brook and the walls of a church further ahead. This was where Brom Bones lost his pursuer. “I just have to reach the bridge,” Ichabod thinks.

Ichabod hears the horse behind him and kicks Gunpowder in the ribs. Horse and rider gallop across the bridge, but the Headless Horseman rides hard behind him. The Horseman has his head in his hand as he prepares to throw it at Ichabod. The head sails through the air and collides with Ichabod’s skull. Ichabod falls off his horse. The Headless Horseman thunders by.

The next morning the [Gunpowder is] found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master’s gate. Ichabod is missing. A search party locates the saddle, tracks from horses’ hooves, and Ichabod’s hat.

What happened to Ichabod? Did the Headless Horseman kidnap him?

Illustrations

Tulip Tree by Glyn Baker

Headless Horseman Pursuing Ichabod Crane by John Quidor

Jumping Black Stallion by Deathfly0

Sleepy Hollow. 1884.

Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. Anonymous.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Gutenberg Project.

Jacqueline Smith.  “Halloween History: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” New York Historical Society. Oct. 25, 2013.

The post Ichabod Crane Flees The Headless Horseman first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

In honor of Halloween, I’m sharing Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow this month. It’s about more than a wild horseback ride in the dead of night. Last week we met Ichabod Crane, a man of unfortunate appearance and few prospects. Nevertheless, Ichabod persevered in his quest for a comfortable life.

Ichabod set his matrimonial sights on Katrina Van Tassel, a student in his singing class. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her father’s peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. Katrina was also the only child of a wealthy farmer. Ichabod dreamed of a sumptuous family life with Katrina by his side.

Whenever Ichabod walked over to Heer Van Tassel’s farmhouse, he couldn’t help but notice the vast barn, that might have served for a church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm.  

Sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence sallied forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. 

A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling through the farmyard.

Ichabod’s mouth watered in anticipation of the feast these creatures could provide. In his devouring mind’s eye, he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple in his mouth . . . . In the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing.

In short, Ichabod lusted after every creature and crop on the Van Tassel farm. Consequently, when Ichabod rolled his eyes over the fat meadows and rich fields, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains.

And then there was the farmhouse itself, and its furnished parlor where claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops . . .and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and well-mended china.

One might wonder what Katrina wants. The pretty eighteen-year-old has an indulgent father who probably grants her every request. She enjoys attention from every male in the area; married or single, young or old. Many suitors have a respectable amount of property and family status. All flatter Katrina for her beauty and skill. She probably enjoys playing them off against each other. She’s no doubt attracted by the town “bad boy” Brom Van Brunt, if only because he pretends to be unaffected by her wiles.

Ichabod Woos Katrina

Ichabod exhibits surprising self-confidence in wooing Katrina. He is sure his education, erudition, singing voice, and dancing ability outshines all other suitors, including Brom Van Brunt. Katrina hasn’t given Ichabod her exclusive attention, but she hasn’t rejected him either. Could Katrina be playing one suitor off against another? Such a thought doesn’t cross Ichabod’s mind when he accepts the invitation to a quilting-frolic at the Van Tassel farm.

Ichabod carefully prepares for the evening. In order to cut a more attractive figure, he borrows a horse named Gunpowder. The horse is gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail [are] tangled and knotted with burs; one eye [has] lost its pupil, and [is] glaring and spectral, but the other [has] the gleam of a genuine devil in it.

Mounting his steed, Ichabod rides with short stirrups, which [bring] his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows [stick] out like grasshoppers’ . . . and as his horse [jogs] on, the motion of his arms [is] not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. In short, Ichabod won’t win Katrina by looking good in the saddle.

Brom rides up to the Van Tassel farm on Daredevil, a black, muscular horse no one else can ride. No doubt, Brom galloped up to the house with Daredevil’s tail streaming in their wake. Everyone admires Brom’s equestrian prowess and the beauty of sweating Daredevil.

Upon entering the mansion’s hall, Ichabod immediately goes to the refreshment table to indulge in all manner of delectable dishes, in keeping with fall harvest season. There’s ham, smoked beef, and roasted chickens; dessert offerings of cakes [sweet, short, ginger, or honey] and pies [apple, peach, or pumpkin]. Ichabod chews his food with the expectation that once he marries Katrina, he’ll eat like this every day. In the next room, musicians tune up for dancing. Ichabod puts down his empty plate and prepares to woo Katrina on the dance floor.

You might think that after such a meal, Ichabod would be too sluggish to dance. Not so. In fact, Ichabod prided himself on his dancing ability, easily leading Katrina through the steps. For her part, Katrina felt nearly everyone’s eyes follow her graceful movements—everyone except Brom who stands off to the side clenching his jaw.

Tales of Ghosts & The Headless Horseman

When the dancing ends, Ichabod joins guests telling each other legends and ghost stories. Soon attention turns to the Headless Horseman who had been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the churchyard. No doubt, Ichabod felt a delicious shiver up his spine.

There was the story of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to [mount] behind him; how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder. Listeners drop their jaws, imagining Bouwer’s encounter.

Brom stands the floor, and tells the credulous crowd he knows for a fact that the Headless Horseman is nothing but a jockey. To prove his point, Brom tells the group that one night while returning from the neighboring village, he encountered the midnight trooper on the road. Holding his audience’s attention, Brom says he challenged the horseman to a race. The loser would pay for a bowl of punch. The two horsemen set off at a gallop. Brom claims, Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow. But they never finished the race. Just as they came to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire. The room falls silent. Brom raced the Hessian devil and won! Katrina looks at Brom, her blue eyes wide with admiration.

Well, Ichabod thought, Brom isn’t the only one to defeat the supernatural. Ichabod stands to get the audience’s attention and shares his experiences walking home on dark nights. Ichabod admits he hasn’t seen the Headless Horseman, but swears he knows about ghostly figures who accost innocent travelers. Guests finish their drinks and tap the ashes out of their pipes. They rise and stretch. The party breaks up. Brom mounts Daredevil and gallops away to unknown late-night pursuits.

With Brom out of the way, Ichabod looks for Katrina. Perhaps, he thinks, she’ll accept me as a serious suitor. Ichabod finds his beloved. Perhaps he takes her hand and begins to declare his love. Ichabod emerges from the house a short time later with a desolate expression. Did Katrina laugh at Ichabod’s wooing? Did she use him to make Brom jealous? Ichabod doesn’t say anything as he walks to the stable. The spurned suitor saddles Gunpowder, mounts, and begins the long journey home.

‘It was the very witching time of night.’

???

Illustrations

Katrina

Roast Turkey by Mark Miller

Canada Geese by Rhododendrites

Old Dutch Farmhouse 1906

Katrina spinning

Jumping Black Stallion by Deathfly0

Ichabod Crane and Katrina by Daniel Huntington

Ichabod Crane Imagining the Phantom by Frederick Simpson Coburn

Courtship in Sleepy Hollow by John Rogers.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Gutenberg Project.

Jacqueline Smith.  “Halloween History: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” New York Historical Society. Oct. 25, 2013.

The post Ichabod Crane Goes a-Courtin’ first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

Jack-o’-Lanterns carved from orange pumpkins are a Halloween staple. Traditionally the pumpkin is cleaned out, it’s shell carved into a scary face, and a candle placed inside. As simple or as elaborate as the artist decides.

But why do we call them Jack-o’-Lanterns? Why not Carved Pumpkins or Scary Faces in an Orange Vegetable?

There are many stories about the origin of Jack-o’-Lanterns. The one I’m going to share is the Irish tale of Stingy Jack. The name “Jack” has been a general name for any unknown boy or man since the sixteenth century, so we don’t know much about Stingy Jack, other than he was cheap.

Once upon a time, Stingy Jack invited the Devil to join him for a drink. We know from his name that Jack was stingy, so it’s not surprising he didn’t want to pay for the drinks. He had a cunning plan. Jack persuaded the Devil to turn himself into a coin so Jack could pay for the drinks. So there was Jack, and the Devil in the shape of a coin.

So Jack thought, why should I spend the money now? I’ll put the coin into my pocket next to my silver cross. That way the Devil can’t change himself back, and I’ll have the money when I need it. The Devil, naturally, didn’t care for the arrangement. Eventually Jack agreed to free him, but only on certain conditions. Jack stipulated the Devil couldn’t bother him for a year, and that if Jack died, the Devil couldn’t have his soul. Agreed.

Jack and the Devil went their separate ways. The next time they saw each other, Jack persuaded the Devil to climb a tree to pick some fruit. I can only say Jack must have been a charmer, because the Devil climbed the tree, and while he was in the branches, Jack carved a cross on the tree trunk, so the Devil couldn’t get down again. Eventually, Jack agreed to let the Devil come out of the tree, provided the Devil didn’t bother him for ten years. Agreed.

A short time later, Jack died. When he got to the Gates of Heaven, God rejected the trickster. And the Devil got his revenge. He’d agreed not to claim Jack’s soul. So he sent Jack into the night with only a burning coal for light, saying Jack could find his own hell. Jack carved out a turnip in which to carry the coal, and has roamed the earth ever since. The Irish called him “Jack of the Lantern,” now shortened to “Jack o’ Lantern.”

You might wonder why Americans carve pumpkins instead of turnips. When immigrants arrived with their stories and customs, they made adjustments. Pumpkins are plentiful in America, larger than turnips, and much easier to carve. By the 1850s carved Jack-o’-Lanterns were a standard seasonal decoration.

???

Illustrations from Wikimedia Commons

Jack-o’-Lantern by Carole Pasquier. Creative Commons Attribution.

Der Teufel. Public Domain.

Job Confessing his Presumption to God by William Blake (detail). Public Domain.

The Legend of Stingy Jack

Sara Coughlin. “Jack o’ Lanterns have a surprisingly horrifying origin story.” Refinery29. Oct. 23, 2017.

Matt Soniak.”What’s the Origin of Jack -O’-Lanterns?” Mental Floss.

The post JACK-O’-LANTERNS & STINGY JACK first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

Today is Halloween – a day of Spooktacular parties, costumes, ghost stories, and watching scary movies. And let us not forget the annual showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Halloween is a day when, potentially, nothing is as it seems to be.

For instance, who would have thought a young woman in pre-Victorian England would invent the fiction genres of science fiction and horror in her short novel titled Frankenstein. Critics argue she consciously used the novel to look at the dangers of what in 1818 seemed an increasingly technological world. Whatever would she have thought of our world today?

Mary Shelley was the daughter of two unconventional intellectuals: Mary Wollstonecraft, author of Vindication of the Rights of Women, and William Godwin. Wollstonecraft died shortly after Mary’s birth, leaving her to the ministrations of a stepmother she didn’t care for.

Fast forward to 1814. Mary, age 15, ran away with Percy Bysshe Shelley, age 20. He, inconveniently, already had a wife. In 1815 Mary gave birth to a daughter who died. In 1816 Shelley’s wife committed suicide, allowing the couple to marry. And they were Lord Byron’s houseguests at Lake Geneva. One dark rainy day Byron and his guests read ghost stories, and someone suggested each guest (There were others.) write a ghost story. Frankenstein is Mary’s ghost story. She was then 17 years old.

THE MONSTER IS BORN

Mary tells the story of Victor Frankenstein, a brilliant student who wants to bring a dead body to life. He uses his knowledge of chemistry, alchemy, and electricity to assemble an entity referred to as a Monster.

Side plots abound.

– Victor and his adopted step-sister Elizabeth plan to marry.
– The Monster is lonely. Victor promises to make him a companion & then renegs.
– The Monster strangles Victor’s bride.
– Victor and the Monster wind up in the Arctic Circle where both die.

FILM ADAPTATIONS – SCARY, SPOOFY, & INTENSE

Frankenstein movies are as old as the movies. Some are meant to frighten the viewer. Some are slapstick. I’ve picked clips from six of these movies.

Thomas Edison produced the first film adaptation in 1910. The silent movie is lest than 14 minutes long.

THE MONSTER SPEAKS

The first talking Frankenstein movie came out in 1931 starring Boris Karloff as the Monster. Once a monster, always a monster. Karloff, originally an English actor named William Pratt, appeared in three Frankenstein movies. In one of his last performances he voiced the Grinch in How the Grinch Stole Christmas (1966).

Karloff reprised his role in Bride of Frankenstein (1934) with Elsa Lancaster as the bride. She didn’t have many lines, but she screamed a lot.

MONSTERS CAN BE FUNNY

By 1948 audiences were ready to laugh at things that frightened them. Abbot & Costello Meet Frankenstein brought three villains together: Frankenstein’s Monster, Dracula, and Wolf Man. In the colorized trailer below, Bela Lugosi reprises his role as Count Dracula.

HOW DO YOU PRONOUNCE IGOR?

In a way, Mel Brooks picked up where Abbot & Costello left off. In Young Frankenstein (1974) Gene Wilder plays the grandson of the original doctor. Here, Wilder returns to Transylvania — Dracula’s homeland —  and traverses through a forest where werewolves are sighted. Where, wolves?

PERHAPS IT WAS JUST A MISUNDERSTANDING

Frances Ford Coppola produced Kenneth Branagh’s interpretation of Mary’s story. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein appeared 1994. Branagh banished both horror and comedy to consider whether Frankenstein put together a man or a monster.

Robert De Niro plays the creature now called The Creation.

Here Victor Frankenstein realizes he has created a life form, and wonders whether that was a good idea.

Branagh’s film may be the closest to Shelley’s original intent. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein takes its audience into an experience as intense as that of viewing Edison’s 1910 movie or reading Mary Shelley’s novel less than twenty years after the steam train was invented.

Halloween is about tricksters and illusion, and Mary Shelley created one of the most famous ghouls of all time. Trick or Treat?

???

Featured Image: Frankenstein Poster. 1910. Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons.

Pictures:

Mary Shelley by Reginald Easton. Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1819. Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons.

Frontispiece to Frankenstein. 1831. Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons.

Mary Shelley. Biography.com

Roger Ebert. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Nov. 4, 1994.

Roger Ebert. Young Frankenstein. Jan. 1. 1974.

The post FRANKENSTEIN & THE CREATION OF A HALLOWEEN MONSTER first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

The story begins in 1790 in an area near Tarrytown, New York that is called Sleepy Hollow. The hollow had a reputation for enchantment and the appearance of unusual apparitions, the most famous of whom was the ghost of a Hessian trooper whose head had been blown off by a cannon ball during the Revolutionary War. He was buried in the nearby Old Dutch Burying Ground. This Headless Horseman rode forth every night in search of his head, but he had to be back in his grave by daybreak.

We leave this luckless specter to consider the schoolmaster Ichabod Crane. In appearance, “he was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew.”

Ichabod was also a credulous individual with an appetite “for the marvelous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary … No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow.”

Ichabod wanted to marry Katrina Van Tassel, the only child of a wealthy Dutch farmer. Aside from her financial attractions, Katrina “was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her father’s peaches.” She was also a flirt, and among her other suitors was Brom Van Brunt, a young man of considerable prowess. The countryside “rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance.”

Ichabod didn’t give up his suit, but kept things low key to avoid a direct conflict with his rival.

One evening Ichabod was invited to a party at Katrina’s house. He took extra care with his appearance and borrowed a horse. “The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it.”

Ichabod rode with short stirrups that brought his knees up to the saddle pommel. He carried his whip like a scepter, “and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings.”

Nevermind. It was an excellent party with good food, plenty to drink, dancing, and the telling of ghost stories, especially the tale of a man named Brouwer who encountered the Headless Horseman. The ghost chased Brouwer until they reached a bridge where the ghost turned into a skeleton and disappeared in a clap of thunder. Brom revealed that he himself had raced the Hessian on the wager of a bowl of punch and would have won. But when they reached the bridge, the Headless Horseman disappeared in a flash of fire.

Ichabod drank in every word.

Before leaving, Ichabod had a quiet word with the lovely Katrina. Apparently the interview did not end well, because when Ichabod left he “stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a hen roost, rather than a fair lady’s heart,” got on his horse and dejectedly went on his way.

Soon Ichabod was surrounded by darkness. He reached the stream by Wiley’s Swamp where he beheld shadow of something huge. Ichabod urged his horse into a gallop. The shadow matched his gate. Ichabod increased his speed. So did the shadow.

“On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!—but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!”

Ichabod’s desperate race continued until he saw the bridge where he might lose his tormentor. He reached the other side, and turned to see the horseman standing in his stirrups. The monster threw his head directly in Ichabod’s face.

The next day, Ichabod’s horse was found at home eating grass. There was no sign of Ichabod. A search found the saddle, a smashed pumpkin, and Ichabod’s hat. After considering the information, townsmen concluded the Headless Horseman had carried off the schoolteacher to an unknown destination, and thought no more about it.

Acknowledgements:
Featured Image: “Ichabod Crane Pursued by Headless Horseman.” by F. O. C. Darley. 1849. US Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons.

All pictures in the US Public Domain and accessed at Wikimedia Commons.

Quotations taken from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Gutenberg Project. Read the entire story Here.

The post AN AMERICAN GHOST STORY first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

Today’s image shows what happens when holiday decorations crash into each other. This phenomenon often occurs at craft and card stores, where we’re sure to find Valentine’s decorations and cards on January 2. But such confusion is seldom on public display at my house.

Allow me to introduce my decorative characters in order of their appearance. First we have the Official Stuffed Black Halloween Cat, hat included. She was a purely impulse buy. In my defense she does have pink ears under the hat, not to mention the nose and the green eyes. File her under the category of “too cute to resist.”

Our actual black cat is not amused.

In past years, Halloween decorations consisted of previously mentioned black cat in witch hat, a decorated pumpkin and a few tasteful imitation leaves.

On November 1st, subtract cat and pumpkin before adding more tasteful imitation fall foliage and a couple kicking leaves while gathering a cornucopia of delights. You can see the faceless damsel on the far right. [Sidebar: I’ve never been big on cardboard turkeys.]

This system required getting out the boxes twice. So, this year I decided there was no reason not to let both holidays co-exist. After all, they share the same color scheme.

The thing is, once you let down the boundaries, anything can happen.

Da Handsome Bloke began getting into a festive spirit. First he launched the train set. Initially, the Polar Express circled its plywood, white-sheet covered track in complete seclusion. One couldn’t fault the engineer, if he imagined himself in the Swiss Alps. Then, while looking for something else, Da Handsome Bloke encountered the storage bin filled with our genuine nostalgic Christmas village. Ceramic buildings soon gave the train a destination.

Sensing weakness, the decorations laid plans to take over the house. Black cats, pilgrim damsels, a ghost village, and the engineers on the Polar Express train hatched a plan to unleash Christmas past with its artificial trees and grim faced nutcracker.

When I walked in the house last night, I saw it. The nutcracker gritted his teeth behind the cat, no doubt planning her removal. The miniature tree loomed over the cat’s hat. I’m sure it’s only a matter of days before lit reindeer appear on the back patio.

Acknowledgements:

Photos by Author. All Rights Reserved.

The post BLACK CATS & NUTCRACKERS first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

The dead giveaway, of course, is the fact that this allegedly female figure is riding a broom. Who else, apart from students at Hogwarts playing Quiddich, would do that?

Modern witches are likeable. Remember Bewitched or more recently Sabrina, the Teenage Witch? Witches are just like the rest of us, except they can do magic. To this day, I wish I could wiggle my nose and my suitcase would be packed, including the bag for TSA. Not gonna happen.

Witch Identification Procedures

At Halloween it’s important to have a witch profile. This was a huge issue in early modern Europe, which runs roughly from 1400-1700. Everyone agreed witches were bad luck. As you recall from last week, the benandati risked their lives to face witches in night battles. [You forgot? No worries, you can access the blog here.]

One of the problems with witches was that they lived in the village, just like the good people. Witches looked like anyone else, so it was hard to tell who killed the baby or caused the milk to go sour or the blight to ruin the crops. A witch could be anyone, male or female. But of those charged, 75 to 90 per cent were female.

Witches flew to meetings at night, after good folk said their prayers and went to bed. Most people thought witches were female because, being morally weaker than men, they were more susceptible to the devil’s promises. Witches were most often postmenopausal women with sharp tongues who didn’t hesitate to speak their minds. They were poor, without family support, and social deviants. Often they had a history of skipping church, cursing, or prostitution.

And, even worse, they were sexually insatiable. Male authorities on witchcraft were terrified of women’s sexuality. It had to be contained through early marriage and a male-headed household. Women were less enthusiastic about the new restrictions. Illustrations showed them trying to escape by using domestic articles to fly out the chimney for an unauthorized field trip. Brooms, stools, cupboards, wardrobes, and 2-pronged cooking forks all became fanciful items of transportation.

You may remember the Cinderella’s fairy godmother (sometimes referred to as a good witch) transformed an ordinary pumpkin into an elegant coach so she could escape domestic drudgery for one night and go to the ball.

But I digress. I know you want to get to the part about hallucinogenic drugs.

Baking bread was a daily domestic chore. And it was hard work. No self-rising flour. No yeast. Just lots of natural fiber in the form of rye grain. Depending how damp the weather was, rye hosted a fungus called ergot. In small doses, ergot has a hallucinogenic effect that some folks enjoyed. There was however, a problem with the delivery system. Direct ingestion of ergot causes unpleasant side effects – nausea, vomiting, skin irritation. But if applied directly to the skin, the side affects disappeared. The most receptive parts of the body for skin application were the sweat glands in the armpits and the mucus membranes of genitals.

So, clever entrepreneurs formulated a paste, sometimes called a witches’ brew, out of the ergot and other ingredients. Next they needed a delivery system. Jordanes de Bergamo writing in the 15th century stated:

“The vulgar believe, and the witches confess, that on certain days or nights they anoint a staff and ride on it to the appointed place or anoint themselves under the arms and in other hairy places.”

I suppose that’s why the image of witches flying on brooms stayed in our minds, rather than witches flying on wardrobes – which are also probably difficult to get through the chimney.

There’s a moral to this story. If you run into a witch flying on a broom this Halloween, one of you is probably high.

Acknowledgements:
Featured Image: Witch Crossing Sign. Hexenvorfahrt by Gernheim. Released to Public Domain. Wikimedia Commons.

Megan Gannon. “A Bewitching History: Why Witches Ride Broomsticks.” Live Science. Oct. 30, 2013. Here. 

Megan Garber. “Why do Witches Fly on Brooms?” The Atlantic. Oct. 31. 2013. Here.

Carlo Ginzburg. Night Battles: Witchcraft & Agrarian Cults in the Sixteenth & Seventeenth Centuries. Penguin Books. 1985.

Brian P. Levack. The Witch-Hunt in Early Modern Europe. Pearson-Longman. 2006.

The post Witches, Broomsticks, & Hallucinogenic Drugs first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

When I was a child sometime in the last century, my father used to recite a ghoulish poem by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) every Halloween. In the spirit of the season, I share it with you now. Try reading it aloud with the dialectic accents.

Incidentally, Mr. Riley dedicated this poem:

“With all Faith and Affection to all the little children: —

The happy ones; and sad ones;

The sober and silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;

The good ones – Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.”

 I can’t quite decide if he liked children or not.

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,

An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,

An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,

An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;

An’ all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun

A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,

An’ the Gobble-uns ‘’ll git you

Ef you

Don’t Watch

Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,–

An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,

His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,

An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all!

An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,

An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;

But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout:–

An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you

Ef you

Don’t Watch

Out!

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laught an’ grin,

An’ make fun of ever’one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;

An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ole folks wuz there,

She mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care!

An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,

They wuz two great big Black Things an-standin’ by her side,

An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about!

An’ the Gobble-uns ’ll git you

Ef you

Don’t

Watch

Out!

An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,

An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!

An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,

An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,–

You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,

An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,

An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,

Er the Gobble-uns ‘ill get you

Ef you

Don’t

Watch

Out!

With thanks to the Handsome Bloke who suggested I write something about Halloween.

Wishing you all a “spooktacular” Halloween!

 “Little Orphant Annie” reprinted from James Whitcomb Riley, Complete Works, Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1916. Accessed from The Poetry Archive, http://www.poetry-archive.com/r/little_orphant_annie.html. Oct. 28, 2013.

Featured Jack-o-Lantern Image by Erick Charlton, 2007, Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution, Wikimedia Commons.

The post “THE GOBBLE-UNS ‘LL GIT YOU, EF YOU DON’T WATCH OUT!” first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.

And, since it is approaching Halloween, I have taken over this here blog from Sandra Wagner-Wright. She don’t know nothin’ about ghosts, but I can tell you a tale or two.

The Golden Fleece where I reside has been on this very spot, near Coppergate, since 1503.

Aye, they say ‘twas the Merchant Adventurers who founded it. They were wool and fleece traders. Very lucrative it was. Bein’ as old as it is, this pub has plenty of ghosts – so many that in 2005 we were visited by the team from Most Haunted.  ‘Course, ghosts can be very shy when your lookin’ for ‘em. They prefer to arrive without an appointment, so to speak.

Our most visible ghost is Geoff Monroe. He was an airman from Canada stayin’ here 1945 or thereabouts – threw himself out the window in room 4 – some say it was an accidental fall, some say he was pushed. Can’t say, but out the window he went. Drunk probably. But, seems he couldn’t get through the ether. He comes back to his room.  Stands in uniform, he does. Now, some folks come here especially to stay in his room – and then, blow me down, if they aren’t upset when his icy finger wakes them up.

Folk be strange – why do the living want to see the unhappy dead? There’s ghost hunts here all the time – in fact there’s one coming up on Halloween itself. The landlord is decorating the rooms special so they look like a Dracula set. (Aye, you do know Dracula came ashore at Whitby, just up the coast.) Never fails. The gents and ladies swear they don’t believe in ghosts and scream up a storm when they see one – if they can find their voice, ‘a course.

My favorite ghost is the Lady Alice Peckett – lovely woman, she is. The landlord calls her our “resident spirit.” In 1700 her husband John, the Lord Mayor of York, owned this here pub. She wanders about the place. Always stops to give me a kind word.

The entire City of York is stuffed with ghosts – Roman soldiers, a beheaded earl, even the Queen Catherine Howard’s ghost can be found. Poor lass – if she had known she would be queen, I doubt she’d have given her prize to a common yokel. Ye have to think ahead. Ye say ye want to know more. Well, me jaw bone is startin’ to lag, but I been hearin’ folks talk about webs full of information. And I have an address here somewhere – there it is, under my left clavicle. The address is http://www.visityork.org/media/factsheets/haunted-york.aspx More stories there – and information on how you can go on a ghost hunt next time you come to town.

Well, I’ve been goin’ on awhile now. Could you spare a few bob to buy and old fella a drink? My throat is right dry. I’d love to meet ya. Come on down to the Golden Fleece any time – rent a room maybe – find a supernatural friend. The landlord would love to heare from ya. If you have one of them webs, go to http://www.goldenfleece.yorkwebsites.co.uk

And, come visit me – I’ll be sitting here at the bar  

– a very nice bar it is too.

The post York: City of Ghosts first appeared on Sandra Wagner-Wright.