There are many legends connected to the harvest

The harvest has been late this year due to the bad weather, but finally the field of barley along the lane has been cut. I would go past the barley every time I walked the dog, and would think: surely it must be brought in soon, or the rain will spoil it.

There are many legends connected to the harvest in this part of the world. The wind waving through a field of corn is supposed to be the “spirit” of the corn moving through the crop (this “spirit” transmogrifies in shape, occasionally being a wolf, occasionally an old woman, occasionally an elemental force of nature waiting to “catch” unwary passers-by). In the old days, when the harvest was cut by hand, the reapers, binders and threshers would move in a clockwise direction around the field, working from the outside inwards, so that eventually there would just be left a small patch of corn in the centre. The corn spirit is supposed to retreat before the workers, taking refuge in the last sheaf of corn left standing. There are many customs associated with the way in which this last sheaf should be cut.

Traditionally a corn dollie would be made out of the last sheaf of corn to be cut in a particular field. These dollies would then be hung up in one of the barns, to bring good luck until the next harvest. It is a creepy experience to go into a barn and see rows of corn dollies hanging there. Some of them have faces, others are just abstract shapes. On absolutely no account must a corn dollie be burned (unless the perpetrator is determined to bring down disaster on the village).

In some villages they would dress a child up in straw from the last sheaf of corn, and parade this “straw man” along the High Street to the local church, but this hasn’t been done for many years (since before the Second World War).

These were harmless local customs. They were also credulous superstitions founded on a profound ignorance of scientific principles. They were attempts by our ancestors to placate the forces of nature – the gathering clouds, the dying year, the onset of winter. They obviously have no bearing on the way modern farming is carried on.

But it is surprising how many people still keep up the old ways just in case (about sixteen years ago, when the garden was being extended and a new lawn put in, lots of horseshoes were dug up. I keep looking for these horseshoes as I know they have been put away somewhere safe. I feel that if I can find them and nail them up on one of the chestnut trees, then finally our luck will change).



This hill is much steeper than it looks in the photograph. The corn has been cut and only stubble remains.