THERE WERE A old Goody as lived down to Coleford Water, and she used to come into Crowcombe market wiâ âer bits and âer pieces, but she were a very stout old body, and âer pony old Smart âe were getting on in years nowâreckon âe were nearly fortyâand so they used to get ready quite early in the morning, round about four oâclock, and start on. Well, one time, old Goody she mistook the time; she got up, she got âer things ready, put in the stockings, and the apples, and the eggses into the pannier, and she loaded âer old Smart, and then she gets up âerself on upping stock, and on to âis back, and away they goes afore midnight.
Well, bye and bye, old Goody she began to feel a bit sleepy-like. Old Smart âe were a-plodding on as âeâd done all these years, and âer began to nod, and must âave slept a bit, âcos, when she woke upâsummat waked she, and there were old Smart, a-standing in the middle oâ sixty-acre, and âe were a-trembling with fear. Ah! Sweat were beâind âis ears, and âis mane and âis tail they were stiff with fright; and Granny, she look around like and there she saw a little white rabbit hopping towards she, all terrified, and there come the sound of âounds beâind. But they wasnât real âounds, oh! no, they dogs as do come across there, they ainât no real âounds; best not say too much about they. Well, when Granny see this little white rabbit, she were that sorry for âer, she forgot white rabbits was witch-souls, and âer took off lid oâ the pannier, and white rabbit âen âopped in, and Granny clapped down the lid tight. Then she tried to get old Smart to move on, but âe wasnât doing no moving, not âe; âe kept âis eyes on a bit oâ grass did old Smartââe knowed a bitââe wasnât going to look up. When Granny see that, she remembered, and she got out her knitting-needles, see, and went on with âer stocking, and âer âeard they there dogs coming nearer and a clatter oâ hoofs, and a girt fine black rider âe come up alongside she. âIs âorse âad âorns, and there was a green light round âen, and they ther dogs âad green fire coming out oâ their mouths.
ââAve âe seen a rabbit go by?â say the rider.
Well! Granny knew better than to answer âen, so she just shook âer âead; and that werenât wrong neither, âcos rabbit were in pannier! And away the whole hunt went up towards Willâs Neck. You could âear their âowls on the wind. And then old Smart, âe get up, and âe lumber up at a canterâa thing âe âadnât done for about twenty year, and âe never stopped till âe come to Roebuck Ford, and then âe do stop. I said âe knowed a thing or two, âcos nothing canât âarm âee if you be in the middle of running water. No witches nor devils nor nothing. Then Granny she lift up the lid oâ âer pannier, and out come the most beautiful lady.
âOh!â says she, âhow can I thank âee? When I were young, I were a witch, and when I died, I were condemned to be hunted forever by the Devil and âis pack of Yeth-hounds, until I could get beâind âem. And now youâve saved my soul.â
And then she gave a most beautiful smile, all lit up like sunlight, and then she were gone. Well, Granny and old Smart, they made their way up along to Crowcombe. When they got to Butter Cross, church clock were striking three! So they set theirselves down by the Cross, and they finished their sleep. It âad been a âard night for old folks, but they dogs couldnât âarm they, on account the âorse was shod, see?
19
The Sea Morgan and the Conger Eels
Recorded from Ruth L. Tongue, September 29, 1963, who first heard the Somerset tradition mentioned in 1960 by an old man in Taunton Red Cross Disabled Club, and after hearing snatches of it, later secured the full account from a Stolford woman in Eddington Womenâs Institute.
Motifs here are F420.1.2.1, âWater-maidens are of unusual beautyâ; F420.5.2.1, âWater-spirits lure mortal into waterâ; and D1273.1.5, âTwelve as a magic number.â The Sunday child unharmed by spirits appears also in No. 17 (this volume), âWhy the Donkey is Safe.â Here he is also deaf; we recall that Ulysses temporarily deafened his sailors so that they could pass the sirensâ rock without succumbing to their song. Rudyard Kipling in his story âDymchurch Flitâ (Puck of Pookâs Hill) employs the folk theme of disability as an aid to a mortal dealing with supernatural beings.
Sea morgan is the name for a mermaid round the Severn Sea. The dangerous and alluring qualities of mermaids, known from classical times, are exemplified in the ballad of âClerk Colvilâ (Child No. 42), and Robert Chambers, âLorntie and the Mermaidâ (The Popular Rhymes of Scotland, Edinburgh, 1826), pp. 279â80.
A âsteart-horseâ is a mud-sledge.
THERE WAS A sea morgan with a beautiful vace, and sheâd sing on autumn evenings and anyone who heard her had to go, and theyâd wade out further and further to reach her till the quicksands got them, and the conger eels got a feast. They always knew when the eels barked she would be about that low tide, so something was done to end her wicked ways.
There was a gifted woman had a deaf son, and he was born on a Sunday, so she sent him to drive away the morgan. He couldnât hear her voice, and as her hair was green, he didnât think much of her. He got out his Steart Horse, and went out over the flats with his eel-spear, and all the while she was singing, he was getting a fine haul of congers, and the sled kept him from sinking in the quicksands. When heâd speared twelve of them, she gave a skreek, and took herself offâand she never come back. All Stolford and Steart had Conger-pie that week.
20
Tarr Ball and the Farmer
Recorded from Ruth L. Tongue, September 28, 1963, as she heard the tale in Somerset in 1942, from John Ash, a carter, aged 70.
The belief that âFairies lead travelers astrayâ (Motif F369.7) is common in England, Ireland, Wales, Canada, and the United States. Other motifs present are F361.14, âFairy punishes servant girl who fails to leave food for him,â and F234.1.1, âFairy in form of cow (bull).â
Shakespeareâs Puck is thoroughly in this folk tradition. See K. M. Briggs, The Anatomy of Puck (London, 1959), chap. 4, âShakespeareâs Fairies.â For examples in Great Britain see S. O. Addy, Household Tales with Other Traditional Remains, p. 134; Mrs. Bray, The Borders of the Tamar and the Tavy, Letter X; Thomas Keightley, The Fairy Mythology, p. 300; James MacDougall and George Calder, Folk Tales and Fairy Lore in Gaelic and English (Edinburgh, 1910), pp. 281â83, 291â93. An Ozark variant is in Vance Randolph, âWho Blowed Up the Church House?â pp. 123â24.
âBartonâ is byre or cowshed. âUnketâ is uncanny.
THERE WAS AN old curmudgeon of a fellow who lived down to Allerford, and he bought a farm at Lucott. He hadnât been there a night when he stopped servants setting out clean water and a dish of cream for the pixies. And the next day they just couldnât catch up with all there was to do in the house and stables. When next night came he went out to drive in four fine young heifers from Top Lawns, and off they galloped down rocky lane past Lucott hill, over Nutscale Ford and up onto Tarr Ball. Nobody heard the old man shout. He couldnât make a soul hear, not a soul! He couldnât make anyone hear at the Mill, nor the Shepherdâs cottage, nor Little Combe, though he yelled hisself hoarse. So all down and over Nutscale Ford he had to go, with the pixies laughing in every hole and every rock up that unket cleeve. When he came out on Tarr Ball there right up ahead he saw the heifers, but when he gave chase the mist came down all round âen.
And so it went on all night. He went down to Nutscale Brakes and out over Babe Hill and back again through the gorsey patch, and he couldnât get up with âem. At last he gave up, and dragged himself home, all a-bruised and a-tore and soaked to the bare skin, and when he looked in over the barton door, there lay his four fine heifers fed and comfortableâand whatâs more theyâd been there all night.
21
The Four-Eyed Cat
Collected by Ruth L. Tongue in 1955 from N. Marchant, 12, daughter of a lightship sailor from Harwich and Dovercourt in Essex County. The girl heard the account from her grandparents.
Motifs here are G283.1.2.3, âWitch raises wind to sink ships of people who have injured herâ and G211.1.7, âWitch in form of cat.â Kittredge in Witchcraft in Old and New England, chap. 8, âWind and Weather,â discusses witch powers to control the weather and call up storms.
It is a general belief of fishermen all round the British Isles that it is unlucky to take a woman to the fishing grounds, and even unlucky to meet one on the way to sea. In some places the taboo extends to even mentioning a woman. Witch superstitions were rampant in Essex, and it is interesting to find them still surviving. The reference to âswimmingâ a witch is to a folk practice which found its way into witch trials in Scotland and England.
THERE WAS A gentleman had a beautiful daughter who was bad at heart, and they said she knew more than a Christian should, and they wanted to swim her, but no one dared because of her father. She drew a spell on a poor fisherman, and he followed for love of her wherever she went. He deserted his troth-plight maid, though he was to be married in a week, and he ran away to sea with the gentlemanâs daughter and unbeknown to all the rest (that is, the rest of the fleet) took her out with them to the fishing. She did it to spite her fatherâs pride, but he thought himself well rid of her.
A storm blew up and the whole fishing fleet were lost to a man for they had on board a woman with them at sea, though none knew of it but her lover. It was she that had whistled up the storm that had drowned her own lover, for she hated everyone. She was turned into a four-eyed cat, and ever after she haunted the fishing fleet.
So that is why even now fishermen wonât cast their nets before half-past three (cock-crow)âmy uncles wonâtâand they always throw a bit back into the sea for the cat.
22
The Witchâs Purse
Recorded from Mrs. Falconer, over 80, a lifelong resident of Leafield, Oxfordshire, August 8, 1962. The story was more lively and dramatic when she was not recording it on the tape, but even in the recording the old witchâs speeches were in more pronounced dialect, and some attempt at dramatic impersonation appeared in the telling.
Motifs present are B733.2, âDogâs howling ominous of death,â discussed with classical references by T. F. Thiselton-Dyer, English Folk-Lore (London, 1880), pp. 101â102; and G275.1, âDevil carries off witch,â treated by Kittredge, Witchcraft in Old and New England, p. 43 and notes 164â67.
WHEN I WAS a little girl, my mother had a new baby, and of course I was in the bedroom when this old lady came up in the bedroom, and was talking to my mother, and then the dog belonging to her began to howl. My mother was very concerned, and she said, âOh! do make that dog stop his noise. I hate to hear a dog howl.â Then this old lady said, âLet âen âowl, let âen âowl. âEâs âowling arter that child.â And âer said, âIs anything the matter with that child?â âNo, not that I know, except that itâs going to die.â And my mother was very concerned about it, and it did die, it died when it was height days old. And of course my mother was very concerned about it, and main frightened, and she wouldnât let anyone go anywhere near for days, for fear theyâd tell her something to hurt this baby what was the matter.
They went to Charlbury, which is ever so far, about four or five miles, to fetch the doctor, to see if there was anything the matter, and he said, âNo, thereâs nothing the matter with it. No earthly reason why it should die.â But it did die, and thatâs all I can tell you.
And some years after that, or some time after that, this old lady did die, and my mother went in to look after her from next door, and she said, âRhoda, bring my purse off the table.â And my mother said, âWhy do you want the purse for? You canât spend money. You arenât able to get up.â
âI wants my purse. You give it me. I canât open it. You open it for me, and then I can manage.â My mother opens this purse, and there was a quantity of sovereigns in it. My mother saw them quite plain, but she never counted âem to know the quantity.
And she says, âOh! Thatâs all right. I shanât be here many more days.â She counted âem up. âMy moneyâll last till then, and when thatâs gone,â she says, âI shall go, because Iâm not able to go to fetch any more.â
And she did die, and when the daughter that belonged to this poor lady, the daughter, my mother said to her, âYouâd better take care of that purse, because,â she said, âI donât like being left alone with that purse. Because,â she said, âyour mother had it to look at, thereâs a lot of money in it. You take care of it.â