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The
presence in the shops of witches’ broomsticks, ugly masks, and pumpkins signals
that Hop tu naa is here again. But there has been a major set-back. Part
of the rituals include turnips – for making lanterns, using the stumps to bang on
your door – and the turnip crop has
failed.
Contrary
to popular belief, this has nothing to do with that modern interloper,
Halloween. It marks the Celtic New Year and goes back into the mists of time.
It
is untrue that it involves burning a Scotsman at the stake. In fact,
regrettably it is no longer legal to shoot a Scotsman on sight. Or to hunt gays
with dogs. And we don’t believe that ‘The Witches of Eastwick’ is factual.
But
if the hop-tu-naa singers come round and you don’t give them sweeties Jenny the
Witch will get you. She was done for witchcraft in about 1715, but instead of
being burned at the stake she was banged up for a short while and fined about 3
quid. So she must still be about. Certainly there are quite a few around here
who might well be her.
This
is the Hop tu naa song:
Hop-tu-Naa
My mother's gone away
And she won't be back until the morning
Jinnie the Witch the silly old bitch
her arse is made of clay
She done a fart behind the car and blew
the wheels away (Hey!)
Being
of Celtic/Viking stock people here are a bit superstitious. Coming from
the airport you pass over Fairy Bridge, and you must greet the fairies. Do we?
You betcha. An American tourist recently asked his taxi driver what would
happen if he refused the greeting. The driver told him that he would stop the
cab and the fairies would beat seven bells out of him.
Then
there’s the buggane, a great hairy thing that’s always up to mischief (’Just
like you then’, says she who must be obeyed. Hardy har-har!). There’s the tale
of St Trinian’s Church (yes, really) which the locals tried to build on the
buggane’s turf. Well, he was having none of it because he and consecrated
ground didn’t get on too well. So he kept blowing the roof off. The local
tailor took a bet that he would stay in the church at night sewing a pair of
breeches long enough for them to get the roof on.
The
buggane arrived, the tailor took refuge in a churchyard where the buggane
couldn’t go, and the church never did get finished. There’s a cairn there
to show where the buggane lurks.
It
is in a very beautiful part of the countryside.
I’m
not going there.
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