Possibly in England. Not in Scotland.
This was written by Violet Jacob. It was prompted by the death of her son in the Battle of the Somme.
Hallowe’en
The tattie-liftin’s nearly through,
They’re ploughin’ whaur the barley grew,
And aifter dark, roond ilka stack,
Ye’ll see the horsemen stand an’ crack
O Lachlan, but I mind o’ you!
I mind foo often we hae seen
Ten thoosand stars keek doon atween
The nakit branches, an’ below
Baith fairm an’ bothie hae their show,
Alowe wi’ lichts o’ Hallowe’en.
There’s bairns wi’ guizards at their tail
Cloorin’ the doors wi’ runts o’ kail,
And fine ye’ll hear the screichs an’ skirls
O’ lassies wi’ their droukit curls
Bobbin’ for aipples i’ the pail.
The bothie fire is loupin’ het,
A new heid horseman’s kist is set
Richt’s o’ the lum; whaur by the blaze
The auld ane stude that kept yer claes—
I canna thole to see it yet!
But gin the auld fowks’ tales are richt
An ghaists come hame on Hallow nicht,
O freend o’ friends! what wad I gie
To feel ye rax yer hand to me
Atween the dark an’ caun’le licht?
Awa’ in France, across the wave,
The wee lichts burn on ilka grave,
An’ you an’ me their lowe hae seen—
Ye’ll mebbe hae yer Hallowe’en
Yont, whaur ye’re lyin’ wi’ the lave.
There’s drink an’ daffin’, sang an’ dance
And ploys and kisses get their chance,
But Lachlan, man, the place I see
Is whaur the auld kist used tae be
And the lichts o’ Hallowe’en in France!