📚📚"Folktales of England" by Katharine M. Briggs and Ruth L. Tongue

Then one day an old stranger woman came through the village selling brooms, and hearing of the haunted house, she offered to lay the spirit herself; all she asked was a fire in the room, a table and a chair, a Bible, and some sewing to busy her hands with. These she was gladly given, and she settled down to keep her lonely watch.

At midnight the door burst open, and in lurched—a monstrous pig! Laying her hand on the Holy Book, the old woman said, “Satan, depart, and let this spirit come back in its natural form.” On this, the pig went out and a young man came in its place. And when told to “Speak in God’s name,” this is the story he told.

He was the missing son of the old people who had lived there. Out in Australia he had fallen on bad times, and for lack of any good news to send, he had not written home for years. Suddenly he struck gold, and having made his fortune, he decided to come home and give his parents a joyful surprise. He arrived at the town near his old home, too late to bank his money as he had intended, and took it with him as he walked out to his parents’ cottage. When he got there and found that he had altered so much that his own parents did not recognize him, he carried on the joke, as he thought, by asking and obtaining a night’s lodging, and listening over a scanty supper to their tale of poverty and distress. He went to bed, glad in his heart to think of the grand sensation he would cause when he revealed himself and his riches to them in the morning. But the old people, poor wretches, were even more desperate than he had realized. Somehow they had caught the gleam, and felt the weight of his gold, and falling under the dreadful temptation, they killed “the stranger” in his sleep, and buried him behind the house.

“Come,” said the spirit, “and see where my bones lie. Let them be gathered, and laid in consecrated ground, and I will trouble this place no more.” The old woman followed, and the spirit hovered over one particular spot in the garden, and then disappeared. Fearing lest she should not recognize the exact place by daylight, she took off the thimble which she was still wearing, and with it marked the place. Next day the ground was dug over, bones were found there and duly buried in the churchyard, after which the cottage remained as quiet at night as any other.

27

Company on the Road

Recorded from Fred Bayliss in Burford, Oxfordshire, November 11, 1963. Mr. Bayliss’s father had various other ghostly experiences, which he told to his children. The family is one of those distinguished by a death warning. There are a great many ghostly legends in the neighbourhood of Burford.

Motifs present are E422.1.1.4, “Headless ghost carries head under arm”; E332.2, “Person meets ghost on road”; and E587.5, “Ghost walks at midnight.” For the striking first motif Baughman gives references to instances from Yorkshire, Shropshire, Somerset, Lincolnshire, and from Massachusetts.

The Sarsden Stones are a pair of fine ornamental stone gateposts, of late seventeenth-century style, which stand on each side of a track to Churchill on the Chipping Norton road.

WELL, IT WAS roughly at the turn of the century that my father courting my mother—my father living in Chipping Norton, and my mother at Milton-under-Wychwood—used to walk the six miles there and back, every Wednesday and Saturday, coming back early on Wednesday, but always leaving it till midnight on the Saturday. And just at the point of the road where he’d often heard what appeared to be a coach and horses go roaring across, through the Sarsden Pillars and on down through the drive, he always felt he’d like to come across a fellow traveler, especially on the dark nights. And then, one night, he realized that he’d someone walking by the side of him, and being dark, he never bothered to look round, but started talking, and was quite happily talking away, never realizing that he was not actually getting any reply or conversation from the other person. And this happened on two dark nights.

And then the third night, when he was going along, it was almost full moon, and he never bothered to look round, as usual, and started talking, and then the fact that he wasn’t getting any replies made him look round all of a sudden. And what he had walking by the side of him was a headless Elizabethan gentleman, with his head tucked tightly under his right arm. This, of course, thoroughly upset my father, and he took to his heels and fled as far as Downs Hollow cottages, where he took refuge. And I’m afraid after that, my father changed the time he was walking along the road, and made quite sure he wasn’t passing the Sarsden Pillars later than eleven o’clock at night. And that actually was the last time he saw the apparition.

28

Room for One More

Heard by Katharine M. Briggs about 1912 as a child in Dunkeld, Perthshire, from a visitor who lived in London. This is an urban, not a regional legend. A folder in the Indiana University Folklore Archives, titled “Urban Belief Tale: Room for One More,” contains five texts, four collected in Michigan and one in Minnesota. The setting of the story is usually in a large city, such as Chicago, New York, or Detroit.

Motif D1810.8.3.2, “Dream warns of danger which will happen in near future,” is reported by Baughman for England, Scotland, and the United States. Also relevant is E723, “Wraiths of persons separate from body.”

There were recently stories extant in Perth of people who were warned by a dream and put off their journey, thus escaping the disaster when the newly made Tay Bridge broke and the train was hurled into the Firth of Tay on December 28, 1879.

A YOUNG WOMAN on her way up to town broke her journey by staying with friends at an old manor house. Her bedroom looked out to the carriage sweep at the front door. It was a moonlight night, and she found it difficult to sleep. As the clock outside her bedroom door struck twelve, she heard the noise of horses’ hoofs on the gravel outside, and the sound of wheels. She got up and went over to the window, to see who could be arriving at that time of night. The moonshine was very bright, and she saw a hearse drive up to the door. It hadn’t a coffin in it; instead it was crowded with people. The coachman sat high up on the box; as he came opposite to the window he drew up and turned his head. His face terrified her, and he said in a distinct voice, “There’s room for one more.” She drew the curtain close, and ran back to bed, and covered her head with the bedclothes. In the morning she was not quite sure whether it had been a dream, or whether she had really got out of bed and seen the hearse, but she was glad to go up to town and leave the old house behind her.

It was a shopping expedition she was going on, and she was shopping in a big store which had a lift in it—an up-to-date thing at that time. She was on the top floor, and she went to the lift to go down. It was rather crowded, but as she came up, the liftman turned his head, and said, “There’s room for one more.” It was the face of the coachman of the hearse. “No, thank you,” said the girl, “I’ll walk down.” She turned away, the lift doors clanged, there was a terrible rush and screaming and shouting, and then a great clatter and thud. The lift had fallen from the top to the bottom of the building and every soul in it was killed.

29

The Giant of Grabbist and the “Dorcas Jane”

Recorded from Ruth L. Tongue, September 23, 1963, as she recalled childhood memories of the tradition in Somerset, 1908–25. Tellers of the tradition were a farmer near Dunster, an Exmoor blacksmith, and a friend from Watchet.

The benevolent giant is not unknown in folklore but is rather rare. The international tale-type nearest to this in mood is 701, The Giant’s Toy Returned, best known in Sweden and Slovenia. Pertinent motifs are F531.3.9, “Giants sit on mountains to wash their feet in a stream”; F531.3.1, “Giant wades the ocean”; and N812, “Giant or ogre as helper.” All are found in Scandinavian and Germanic tradition.

WE ’AVEN’T GOT many giants about at Zummerzet, I ’ear, but we ’ave one down to Dunster. Ah! Come up from Cornwall, ’e did, and ’e didn’t like staying in Devon, ’cos ’is cousins there were a bit rough like. ’E come up to Exmoor, nice peaceful friendly place it is. But the folk on Exmoor, they didn’t like size of ’im; bit scared they was. But then they found out that there wasn’t no sheepstealers round about, cattle and sheep was thriving, and ’e didn’t ’arm no one. They got quite fond of ’im. And then farmers’ wives they began to put their heads together. “Whatever did the poor girt veller veed on?”

Well, I think they was all quite ready to go and cook a dinner for ’im, but they found they needn’t. You see, word come up from Yearnor as ’e were fond o’ fish; ’e did take and wade out down channel, right out to sea, and all the fishing boats ’ad to do was to follow ’en. Oh! they come into Minehead ’arbor, loaded they did, all the fishing boats, right up Bristol way, to Portishead, and ’e’d go and ’e’d wade out there, and water’d come up to ’is armpits, and ’e’d scoop up girt shoals o’ fish, and ’twas a wonderful time for the fishing boats.

Well now, one time, old ’Lijah Crowcombe and ’is crew from the “Dorcas Jane,” they’d managed to catch up. Oh! she were a leaky old craft were the “Dorcas Jane,” and they was loaded right up and ’er were a-wallowing in the waves when a storm comes up. Well, all craft ran for it, and they thought they were going down to bottom, when through the storm, and all the wind and the mist, the giant comes a-striding, and ’e picks up “Dorcas Jane,” and afore they could say “Thank ’ee,” ’e puts ’er down quiet and safelike, in Watchet ’arbor. Then off and away ’e go, back to Dunster.

Well, Dunster folk got quite fond ’o ’im arter that, and they’d wait to wave to ’en when ’en came back from the sea. ’E come up along by the river, and ’e’d sit on the ’ill, with ’is feet on either side ’o the castle, and wash the mud off ’is legs in the river Laune. Then off and away ’e’d go, on up the ’ill, and folks used to look out of their windows to wave to ’en, and ’e’d wave back, and there was all the week’s washing—dried!

30

The Giant of Grabbist and Hawkridge Church

Recorded by Ruth L. Tongue September 29, 1963, who heard the Somerset story at Exford in the Dulverton area in the 1920’s from an old hunt servant, aged about 75; from a farm laborer, aged about 60, at Wilmersham, in 1930; and from a thatcher, aged about 60, from Porlock, in 1940.

The motif of the friendly giant bringing stones to build a church is unusual, but it is listed by Evald Tang Kristensen in Danske Sagn (1895), Vol. III, A5, who cites 12 instances. See also R. Th. Christiansen, The Migratory Legends, 5020, “Ferrying Troll Across a Lake. Troll Making a causeway,” for legends of trolls causing remarkable formations of stones. In the 20 Cornish legends of “The Giants” given by Robert Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, First Series (London, 1865), pp.3–61, stone and boulder formations are constantly attributed to acts of giants.

Applicable motifs are F531.3.2.1, “Church built where giants throw stones”; and A977.1, “Giant responsible for certain stones.”

WELL NOW, THE giant, ’e were very ’appy to Exmoor, and then the Old Gentleman, ’e decided ’e’d better come back. ’E didn’t like seeing they little thatched churches going up all over the way. So when the folk of ’Awkridge thought they’d build theirselves a church, eight hundred feet up ’tis, the Old Man didn’t like it, and then ’e found giant were ’elping. Ah! so Old Nicky, ’e tried to trip giant up. Giant were coming across by Spire Cross, wi’ a load o’ girt stones, and ’e tripped, and they went all abroad.

Well, giant didn’t say nothing, ’e didn’t lose ’is temper, as Old Nicky ’oped ’e would, and cause a storm. No, ’e just patiently bent, and ’e pick ’em up, one arter another, and ’e put ’em up on ’Awkridge for church. And then ’e came to a girt broken one, and ’e tossed ’en aside into the very wood where the Old Boy were a-sitting, chuckling, and that made ’en go off in a hurry. And ’e picks up the rest of the stones, as weren’t no good for church, and ’e laid ’en across the stream, the river Barle it is, and there ’e made Tarr Steps.

31

The Giant of Grabbist and the Whitstones

Recorded from Ruth L. Tongue, September 28, 1963, who heard the Somerset legend of Hurlstone Point and the Whitstones of Bossington Wood from the following persons all, save the last, over 60: John Ash, carter, working at East Lucott in 1941; Mr. Keal, a farmer, on East Lucott Farm, 1941; Mrs. Stenner, cottager, Porlock area, 1944; Walter Badcock, coach driver, Minehead, 1952; Miss Brown of Bessington, 1959.

The contest of the giant and the Devil is unusual; customarily a hero outwits giant, Devil, or ogre. E. T. Kristensen lists a stone-throwing contest between giants, Danske Sagn, Vol. III, A4, No. 93. Motifs are F531.3.2, “Giant throws a great rock,” and A977.2, “Devil throws stones.”

A “sucker” is a young foal, “zogs” is bogland.

WELL, THE GIANT ’e made up ’is mind as there wasn’t room for ’e and Old Nicky up on moor, and Old Nicky, ’e just about made up ’is mind the same. Now you see, the giant, ’e liked St. Dubricius and all they little churches, so ’e and Old Nicky, they got together, Porlock way, and they said they’d have a competition like. They’d each throw a big stone from Bossington Beacon over to Porlock Common, that be four miles, and ’ooever lost ’ud ’ave to leave the place for good and all.

Well, Old Nick ’ad first throw and ’is stone, ’e flew out over the four mile, and ’e landed up on Porlock Common. And then, just afore giant were a-going to throw ’is, Old Nick, ’e trip ’im up, and giant’s stone, ’e fell down about three feet away from where Old Nick’s was; but ’e didn’t go away. No, ’e just trip up Old Nick ’isself, and ’e sat on ’en; right down on ’en ’e sat. There’s some folks say ’e just smoked a pipe, quiet-like, and Old Nick ’e just squirmed round underneath, but no! When giant had finished ’is pipe, then ’e pick up Old Nick by ’is tail, and ’e say, “That wasn’t a fair throw. We’ll throw from Quantock later on. Meantime, you go cool your head.” And ’e toss Old Nick up in the air, and ’e throw ’im right out down Channel, out over Porlock Bay, and then ’e smiled to ’isself, and ’e come away over the moor, quite ’appy like, till ’e got to Cotsend Moor, and there ’e found a poor little sucker, as ’ad got ’isself a-zinking in the zogs there, an’ ’is little brown mother was a-crying for ’elp pitiful. Well, giant picked the silly little thing out, and ’e rub ’im down very gentle, with ’is girt finger, and ’e put ’en down by ’is little brown mother, and away ’e went.