|image from Sweetly Scrapped,|
a lovely store, go see gorgeous things
From a young age we understood the meaning of this night of misrule, the time when the dead might return, the time to trick and ward off any malevolent spirits by dressing in disguise. We could sing the Soul cake song, accepted as natural the far back in time meaning of summer's end, of harvest and storage and firelight against the long cold dark to come.
Now, in my neighbourhood the parents have given in, but in rather a lovely way as they all dress up, from toddlers to mums and dads and come round en mass at about seven in the evening. Just like on Wassailing night... (We serve cider and cakes, run through houses waving greenery and eventually come to a standstill around an apple tree and sing the wassail songs whilst deeply inebriated)... it's OK to let it be known that you'd rather not join and the band of witches will rustle on past to the next house.
I'm happy to hand out a pile of sweets, MWAHahahahaa! but not so happy that most of these little ones have no idea of their rich pagan heritage.
|Time Traveller's Compass in metallic plum|