A lovely poem about Halloween, written by Isma Munro in October of 1945. In her poem, Isma describes an old custom of telling your fortune by dropping an egg white in a glass of water.
It aa began so I’ve been telt,
Wi fowk , land syne,that were called Celt,
Wi them it was a festive day
November first and first o’ May.
On first o’May, fan summer comes,
Nae smoke did pour oot o’ the lums.
The celts took rest fae work an battle
Ti drive oot till the hills their cattle,
Eence they’d gen through a cleansing flame,
Ti keep them safe or they cam hame.
An hame they cam on Hallow Day,
November first ao I’ve heard them say.
The nicht afore wis Halloween,
The nicht fan ghosts and sprites were seen.
The Celts, they aa took hame their beasts,
Syne they were blessed by Druid priests.
On Halloween young lads set forth,
Each armed with a blazin torch,
Ti keep secure fae witches’ charms,
The outmost bound’ries o’ their farms.
And thus made safe by fires o’ peace,
They tried ti find their destinies.
And may tales and lees were telt
By Druid priest to Listenin Celt.
Their minds were filled with superstitions
O’ shapes grotesque and strange transitions.
Beliefs passed doon in mony ways
Ti men that lived in later days.
And num’rous are the fowk that still
Believe in witches’ wond’rous skill.
Fu mony an auld loquacious wife
Can tell ye aa yer future life.
Strange are the things that she can see.
Eence ye hiv drained yer cup o’ tea.
Another wye that’s aye thocht sure,
Is wi a gless o’ water pure.
A fresh egg punctured wi a pin,
The albumen is then dropped in,
And sybils weird can tell yer doom
By endless shapes the drops assume.
Now I maun stop. Ma tales are deen
O’customs strange and Halloween.