The Captured Faeries

In the village of Houghton all able bodied men worked as weavers except for two idle young youths who spent their days playing dominoes and their nights poaching. Each owned a very clever lurcher which they used in their nightly escapades, but the dogs grew so smart that they would go hunting by themselves. This led to their downfall as they were shot by a Keeper who was determined to rid the area of these pesky poachers.

So the men had to go alone without their trusty four legged helpers. One night they headed for a local warren armed with sacks. One of the men put a ferret down the rabbit hole and fixed the sacks over the entrance to the warren. Within minutes there was a terrific hullabaloo coming from deep in the ground, the noise and scrabbling got louder and louder until something  exploded into the sacks, closely followed by the ferret. Frantic struggling came from both sacks as  the men quickly shouldered them and started for home. Half way home they heard in horror a voice coming from one of the sacks,

'Dick, where art thou?'

A voice from the other sack replied,

'In a sack,

On a back,

Riding up Hoghton Brow.'

The two young men dropped their load and fled, leaving the sack with the two faeries inside.

The next morning gathering their courage and armed with stout cudgels they ventured back to find the sacks. Both of them were neatly folded, next to the path where they had been dropped. Of the faeries there was no sign.

From that day forward the two men gave up poaching but their changed characters aroused suspicion in the village so at last they had to confess what had happened on Hoghton Brow.

The tale made them the butt of the village youngsters, who would in mischief call out after them, 'Dick where art thou?'

St Swithin's Day

 

St Swithin's Day, if thou dost rain

Full forty days it will remain

St Swithins Day, if thou be fair

For forty days, twill rain no mair

 The 15th of July is the Feast of St Swithin, the most famous of English weather saints, a humble and much beloved Saxon Bishop of Winchester. On his deathbed, he ordered that he should be buried among the poor in the common church yard, 'beneath the feet of passerbys and rain from the eaves.' So many miracles occured at his graveside that the monks moved his remains to a splendid shrine in Winchester Cathedral: whereupon the saint wept in protest, causing a continuous down pour which lasted forty days.

Rain on St Swithin's Day 'blesses and christens the apples' which should not be picked or eaten before his feast; all apples growing at this time will ripen and come to maturity.

The folklore of Trows

 Trows are often confused with the Orkney Hogboon or Hogboy, although they are not so nasty. Trows appear similar to humans although the Peerie Trows are small enough to shelter under leaves.

 

The larger Trows have a nasty habit of carrying off young girls and midwives.The Trows of Shetland are very keen dancers, their lack of grace is made up for by their great enthusiasm.

There is a story of a Trow woman who gatecrashed a couple's wedding, unable to watch the festivities any longer without joining in she burst into the hall and began dancing in the usual henking fashion of the Trows.

Squatting down and holding her hands tightly between her thighs and calves, she hopped up and down the hall impatiently waiting for one of the mortal men to join her. When no one volunteered she became rather peeved and began whirling around and around chanting:

'Hey, Co Cuttie; and ho co Cuttie

An wha' thee dance wi' me co Cuttie

I luke aboot an sae naeboody

Sae I'll henk on mesain, co Cuttie'

Until breathless she gave up on the mortal men as a bad job and vanished.

On Yule Eve when Trows are very active, it is the custom to unlock every door in the house as they hate locked doors and will break them open. They are frequent visitors to crofts and like to sit by the hearth.

'Faeries and FolkLore of the British Isles'

They also like to have the hearth to themselves and that every Saturday night it should be swept clean with a pail of fresh water left there for them.

One young boy was asleep on the hearth one Saturday as guests had arrived and he had given up his bed for one of them. In the confusion of their arrival all of this had been forgotten.

The Trow arrived and were very angry to find they needs had been neglected and worse to find a small boy asleep on the hearth.

They made so much noise that it woke him. When he opened his eyes he saw two Trow wives sat opposite him. One carried a baby, it was the loveliest baby that the boy had ever seen, except that it had three eyes, the extra in the middle of it's forehead.

The other Trow finding no fresh water went in search of something else and found a large beer barrel.

They washed themselves and the baby and then all of their dirty clothes in the beer, when done they poured all of the dirty beer back into the barrel, saying;

'Tak ye dat for no haeing clean water ae da hoose.'

They then cuddled down near the warm fire and spread their clothes out near the flames to dry.

Now the boy knew that if he kept his eyes on them without blinking then the Trows could not leave, so he watched and watched, listening to their conversation in the hope of hearing something about buried treasure.

Before long the Trow wives began to fidget as dawn was approaching but they could not leave as the boy kept his eyes fixed upon them. At last one of them thrust the tongs in the fire, as soon as they became red hot she advanced on the young boy and pointed the  smouldering ends at his eyes. The boy of course screamed and blinked and the Trows took advantage of this moment when his eyes were shut to disappear.

Of course the next morning when all the guests wanted beer with their breakfast all they found in the barrel was very dirty smelly water.

The power of Marigolds

The Marigold is a powerful aphrodisiac and if eaten has the power to make you see faeries and possibly open a portal into faerie land.

It is a well known symbol for good luck and constancy in love and was used in wedding bouquets and love potions.

In the west the plant is known as the drunkards due to its reputation for turning people into alcoholics when the flowers are picked. It has a variety of names including husbandsman's dial,marybud, merrygold and summer bride.

The Welsh believe that the flower could be used as a weather omen: if the flowers are not open in the morning it means rain is on the way.

Hanging a garland of marigolds over your doorway will stop evil from entering your home as it will strip a witch of her free will. If you scatter some petals under your pillows your dreams will come true.

Faerie Flora, 2013

available from Amazon or www.magic-myth-legend.co.uk

Slugs and snails

I know that slugs and snails play a vital part in the cycle of nature but why do they have to do it in my garden? Why can't they just move somewhere else, I swear they are the  kamakaze variety and just home in on my veg plants.

Oh well, here are a few interesting snippets about snails.

Here are a few traditional remedies using snails, I wouldn't really recommend them tho'!

To cure cold sores; rub a snail over the sore then seal the snail in a bottle and bury it in the garden. As the snail dies the sore will fade away.

To cure a hangover; rub a snail nine times over your forehead and then throw the snail as far as possible.

To cure a wart; take a black snail, rub it over the wart nine times in two directions. The snail should then be impaled upon a blackthorn, as it dies the wart will disappear.

In Cornwall snails were regarded as a lucky charm, especially ones with a striped shell, The shell would be thrown backwards over the finder's head while chanting:
'Lucky snail, lucky snail, go over my head
And bring me a penny before I go to bed.'

Extracts from 'Faerie Flora'

Somerset Folklore

Somerset Folklore

     Somerset, a county rich in folklore, previously called the Summer Lands due to its verdant green pastures, and which has its fair share of strange creatures. From the Oak Men who haunt the woods and the Giant Worm of Shervage Wood, to the more familiar witches, hobgoblins, faeries and pixies. Although pixies are more often associated with Cornwall, it was always understood by residents of this county that everywhere west of the River Parret was pixie land. According to local folklore, Buckland St Mary is the last place where a small race of red clad faeries  were seen; they were defeated in battle by the pixies and fled, some to Devon and Dorset and a few making their way to Ireland.

    When faeries are mentioned most people think of Disney’s Tinkerbell, a sweet winged creature. But if you had said ‘faerie,’ even a hundred years ago, the reaction would have been very different; country people had a healthy fear and respect for these creatures, believing them to be responsible for many instances of bad luck or illness in their everyday life. The little people had to treated with respect and appeased with offerings of cream and bread to avoid their anger. Many farmers would leave offerings outside their barns in the hope that the pixies would finish the threshing or help with the harvest. This practice was carried on inside the house as well; hearths would be swept and cleared every night so that the faeries could dance in the fireplace and bowls of fresh water left out for them to bathe in. Woe betide the housewife or servant that forgot, for mischief would follow.

Interaction was to be avoided for fear of angering them, one well known encounter ended badly for the mortal as a 17th century account reports.

Riding across the Blackdown Hills  a man stumbled across a faerie market when travelling back to his home at Combe St Nicholas. On the side of the hill was gathered a large number of small brightly garbed people, and he could see peddlers with trays of ribbons and trinkets wandering  amongst the tents and crowds. As he drew nearer the figures began to fade but as he passed through the invisible throng he felt himself being pushed and pinched. Quickly leaving the fairground he could see the figures reappearing behind him, and began to experience pain where he had been touched by the invisible hands. By the time he had reached home a strange paralysis had afflicted him down one side, and this,coupled with the pain, continued for the rest of his life.

This particular market has been seen several times over the years but none venture too close as the faeries do not welcome guests to this event.

  

Although some intrepid souls thought nothing of the danger in the quest for buried treasure for beneath  the many hills of Somerset was believed to be  hoards of  faerie gold. Cadbury Hill, thought to be Arthur’s Camelot, was once home to faeries before they were driven away by the sound of the newly erected church bells nearby. Here they stored grain which they had gathered from the surrounding plain. They left so quickly that they didn’t have time to remove the gold from the hidden passageways beneath the mound.

A well known rhyme tells of the immense wealth hidden beneath the hill:

‘If Cadbury and Dolbury dolven were

All England would have a golden share.

Cadbury’s treasure is impossible to retrieve however as the harder it is dug for, the farther it sinks into the earth of the hill.

Other such sites include Rugborough Camp, Broomfield, and Castle Neroche. Here the treasure seekers fled in fear and empty handed after hearing strange noises and ghostly voices, but not soon enough for within a month each of the men were dead.

     Parents especially would be concerned about faeries, fearing that their un-baptized babies would be snatched and a changeling left in their place.

One Somerset old wives tale is that you should never dress your child in green until after the

christening, as green is the faeries favourite colour and it would enable them to steal the infant.

So for protection, an open pair of scissors would be hung over the cot, as faeries cannot bear iron, or an iron pin would be stuck into the baby’s clothes. Holy water would also be sprinkled over the child and the cot.

No discussion of the folklore of Somerset can omit Glastonbury, the sacred isle of Avalon, and

supposedly the last resting place of King Arthur.  Here on the Tor is said to be the entrance to

Faerieland, known as Annwyn, guarded by the Faerie King himself, Gwyn Ap Nudd. His crystal realm is the meeting place of the dead, and it is from here on Samhain (31st October), that he leads the Wild Hunt out across the Somerset countryside.

Now you might think that this is all gone and forgotten but some traditions still prevail; the

wassailing of the apple trees during the winter months is still as prevalent today as ever. Offerings of toast dipped in cider are left in the branches of the oldest tree in the orchard to honour ‘The Apple Tree Man’ who is the guardian of orchards. Cider is drunk from the wassailing bowl and if any remains, it is poured over the roots of the tree.

‘Old Apple Tree we wassail thee, and happily thou wilt bear,

For the Lord knows where we shall be,

Till apples another year.’

To ensure future crops the last few apples must be left for the ‘The Apple Tree Man’ and the pixies.

Another traditional festivity that is seeing a come back in the Somerset villages of Chiselborough, Long Sutton, Lopen, Castle Neroche, and Hinton St George is the Punkey night which is held on the last Thursday in October. Punky night is closely linked with Samhain and has similarities with Halloween but the punkey lanterns are carved using mangel wurzels or turnips. The children of the village carry the lanterns around the houses, led by the Punkey King and Queen, singing the traditional punkey song while begging for pennies.

‘It’s Punkey night tonight,

It’s Punkey night tonight,

Give us a candle, give us a light,

It’s Punkey night tonight.

Give me candle

Give me a light

If you don’t

 you’ll get a fright!

If you haven’t a candle

A penny’s alright’

'Faeries and Folklore of the British Isles'

Not just a frog...

 

Faeries often disguise themselves as toads, frogs or even mice, which can be dangerous as frogs and toads especially are often used in magic spells or  cures.

The bones of a green frog, the flesh having been consumed by ants are thrown into fresh water. Some will sink and some will float. Take the bones that sink, hang them up in a fresh linen cloth. These will bring love but beware if touched they will bring hate.
This is taken from The Discovery of Witchcraft written in 1584

Frogs are also used to cure thrush: take a living frog and hold it in a cloth, put the head of the frog into the patients mouth making sure that it does not go down the throat. Hold it there until the frog is dead and then take another frog and do the same.

For a child that wets the bed, roast a mouse and give him the gravy to drink, and it will cure it or for small pox eat a fried mouse.

These are traditional cures from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries so I am not advising that you should try them! And if they were really faeries in disguise I think they would be a little bit annoyed and remember never piss off a faerie!