Gather firewood, lay it straight.
Hurry now, don’t be late.
Light up the fires, build them high.
See the flames reach up to the sky.
Let them burn all through the night,
Let them burn and don’t take fright.
For the Strawman is coming, coming tonight, coming to take little children away, coming take you away.”
We thought that was just an old wives’ rhyme, something the old folk would sing to keep the little ones in place, something to sing to somewhere between Baa Baa Black Sheep and Old MacDonald.
But it isn’t and last night the Strawman visited our village.
The children are gone, taken away.