Excerpt from The Lavender Witch

The Lavender Witch is a chilling ghost story based on the strange but true events surrounding the death of Hannah Beamish, accused of being a witch by a wealthy farmer in the small remote village where she lived in the early 1800's.
One hundred and seventy years later these strange events, only now remembered by a few, come to light when Kitty and Gordon move back to the Devon village where they were born. They buy an old orchard from a neighbouring farm and build a small house, all is fine until they move in.
Over the course of their first week in the house chilling apparitions appear and events spiral out of control bringing the past and present together until the shocking truth emerges as to what really happened to Hannah.

They walked slowly along the drive to the lane; time had passed since they had driven up to Orchard Cottage and it was now dark, the night sky was filled with winking stars and high up on Castle Hill a fox barked.

‘Right, down to Sybil’s Gordon,’ Queenie said firmly.

‘No,’ he replied sharply. ‘That’s it! We’re out of here; we’re not getting involved in any more of this.’

‘Now let’s calm down a minute, I want to know what’s going on and what my grandfather has to do with this.’ The old man had stopped and stood in front of them determined to get an answer.

‘This is a story that shouldn’t be told in a dark lane William,’ said Sybil taking hold of his arm and pulling him towards the village.

‘Well let’s go into the farmhouse then,’ he said impatiently. ‘It’s closer.’

‘No,’ Kitty put in weakly. ‘Not in there, sorry,’ she apologised to the old man. ‘But you see it’s his house.’

‘Kitty is right we shouldn’t set foot in there.’ Queenie warned. ‘Sybil’s cottage will do. Come along.’

 She led the way along the darkened lane until they came close to the entrance of the farmyard. She slowed to a halt, from across the paved yard came the sound of approaching footsteps, footsteps that Kitty immediately recognised.

‘Who’s that?’ bristled William. ‘Hi,’ he shouted striding forward, pushing past Queenie who put out a restraining hand, but he brushed impatiently it aside. ‘Who’s there? You’re trespassing.’

 His voice echoed around the buildings but the footsteps did not slow, they drew closer and closer to the group huddled in the lane.

‘It’s him,’ whispered Kitty trying to pull away from Gordon’s tightening grip. ‘It’s him Queenie,’ she hissed again.

Queenie nodded in recognition. ‘Yes Kitty it is,’ she said quietly. She raised her voice ‘Well Robert? What are you going to do now eh?’

William glanced at her quickly before returning his gaze to the entrance of the yard.

A dark shape slid into the shadows of the wall, and as they watched it gathered itself together pulling in the darkness of the night and becoming more solid.

 A figure walked slowly out from the shelter of the wall and stood in the middle of the lane and raised his head. Dark sunken eyes stared across the intervening space between him and his grandson.

‘Oh my God!’ whispered William in horror. ‘It is him.’

The old man staggered back and would have fallen if Gordon hadn’t grabbed his arm to steady him.

‘William, are you alright?’ Sybil whispered to him urgently gripping his other arm to support him.

‘What in God’s name is this? He’s dead!’ William’s voice echoed around the lane making the apparitions face wince.

Queenie took a few paces forward and peered at the shade of Robert Beamish.

‘So that’s it! William is the key,’ she said triumphantly. She turned back quickly to the others. ‘Back to the house, all of you.’

‘Are you mad woman? We’re not going back in there,’ Gordon shouted at her.                                      

 He stared at the figure in the lane and watched in horror as it approached slowly towards them.

Queenie pulled Kitty back towards the house. ‘You have no choice now, he’s not going to stop. He’ll come after Kitty where ever she is.’

‘You don’t know that,’ he shot at her.

 ‘Look at him!’ Queenie shouted at him. ‘He is on the road! This road doesn’t belong to the Beamish family, it never has done. He’s not on his own soil!’

They backed slowly away down the lane to the entrance of the drive, William last of all. He stood frozen to the spot staring at his grandfather’s form approaching along the road.

Sybil pulled at his arm. ‘Come on William,’ she shouted at him.

‘I thought I had forgotten him,’ he whispered. ‘But one look at his face and it has all come back.’

Clouds drifted across the night sky casting even darker shadows onto the road but the shadow of Robert Beamish was darker still as he paced slowly forward; the regular thump of the stick hitting the tarmac echoing off the buildings.

The Lavender Witch is available on Amazon, Kindle and Paperback, also on www.magic-myth-legend.co.uk

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'

Vodyanoy, a water spirit

A strange creature from Slavic mythology is the Vodyanoy, a water spirit that appears

 as a naked old man.
He has a frog like face, long greenish beard and hair, his body which is covered in black fish scales, is usually covered in the muck and slime from the bottom of the river. The vodyanoy has webbed paws, a fish’s tail and red eyes. He patrols up and down his stretch of the river on a half submerged log and is often referred to as ‘grandfather’ or ‘forefather’ by the locals.
If annoyed, he is capable of breaking dams, destroying mills
and will drag people and animals down into the depths of the river where they serve him for the rest of their lives.
To appease him, people who live alongside the river will throw offerings into the water; fishermen will also ask for his help by placing a pinch of tobacco in the water and saying:

‘Here’s your tobacco Lord Vodnik
Now give me a fish’
Known as Vodnik in other eastern European countries, his appearance is reported to be different. He appears to be human except for having gills and webbed finger and his hair and skin is green. These vodyanoy usually appear dressed, albeit as a tramp, complete with hat, usually a boater with long speckled ribbons. His face is covered with a long tangled beard.
These water spirits will sit for hours by the side of the river, puffing out clouds of tobacco smoke from a long curly pipe, or if more than one is present they will play cards. Although they can stay out of the water for long periods they never dry out and any garment they wear will be constantly dripping; a sure sign of a Vodyanoy  if you should ever meet one.
They store the souls of the drowned in porcelein jars which are greatly prized by these creatures, as the more cups they own the higher standing they have amongst other vodyanoy.
If the jar should be broken or the lid opened the soul inside will float to the surface of the water and be liberated.

Folklore of Mermaids: Elizabeth Andrews

When I was just a child....

I grew up in the Dorset countryside, and it was country! Frequently snowed in in the winter, had to travel miles to get to school and the shops and very rarely saw school friends at weekends or during the summer holidays. So this meant having a lot of time to daydream and make believe while playing in the woods and streams.

My family tell me that I had an invisible friend for years, little did they know that it was a faerie! So having such a vivid imagination, and still have, I have started to write and illustrate a series of children's books based around the farm where I grew up,  'The Mice of Horsehill Farm.'

They have a series of adventures throughout the year in and around the farm, I would like to say that they are not all good and sweet! which, ahem, very much reflects my own childhood!

"Deep in a small wooded valley lies an
old farm. A small bubbling stream
flows past the old buildings, it's banks are
lined with young hazel and willow trees
and in the summer the farm is surrounded
by a sea of flowers and wild garlic.

Spillers, Teasel and their five children live
 in the crumbling stone barn. In the winter
they hollow out rooms deep in the hay
where they stay snug and warm, and in the 
spring when the barn is empty of hay the
family move up to the top of the stone
 walls where it is cool and airy."

This is their home on top of the barns stone wall.

Their adventures so far have included naughty squirells, grumpy brownies, faeries and lost dragons.

These are going to be published in a series, three so far, some time this year.

One of my children's stories which is already out there is The Faeries Tea Party.

 " Granny was good at telling stories, Chloe would cuddle up
next to her on the big old squashy sofa and listen to 
wonderful bedtime tales about the faeries, goblins and
 monsters that lived in the big wood at the end of the garden.

Granny had just finished a really good story about a giant who 
ate six faeries every day for breakfast when Chloe asked her
 ' Do you really believe in faeries granny?'
Granny smiled down at her.
'Of course I do, because I know that the faeries visit my 
kitchen every night. That's why I always leave a little drop of 
tea in my cup. They like tea.' She pointed to her favourite
 blue and white cup on the table in front of the sofa. 
'See?' "

'The Faeries Tea Party' is available on my website www.magic-myth-legend.co.uk and Amazon

Kindred Spirit review

Many thanks to the team at Kindred Spirit magazine for such a great review!

"In her charming new book, Elizabeth Andrews writes about, and sketches, the flowers and plants linked to the faeries of our land; here we give you an exclusive glimpse into the springtime world of the magical bluebell and the potent cowslip...."

water, water, water every where!

My thoughts are running on water at the moment, I am in the middle of my new book ' The folklore of Mermaids', 90 pages in and still going full steam. It is usually about the 150 page mark that I start to flag!
With all this water about you would have thought somebody would have seen a mermaid but no.. the nearest is the crocodile that was reported near Bristol by a bus driver, he still maintains he saw it and who is to say he was wrong. Strange things get flushed down the drains!

Water has always been venerated, except when it's coming in the front door, take well dressing for example. This is a survival of well worship, the waters were either considered to be prophetic or a cure for ills. Well dressing usually occurs at Ascension tide, this has survived in several places. panels of elaborate pictures of saints were erected around the well. Now it is more common to find the wells decorated with ribbons and flowers asking for wishes to be granted or for cures for illnesses. The association of well worship and tree worship was very close, it was common to find single trees close to the wells and it was upon these that the offering were often placed.
A well worship ceremony was held in Tissington as far back as 1350 in thanksgiving for the peoples' escape from the Black Death. Half of Derbyshire died from this disease but Tissington escaped; this was ascribed to the purity of the water in its five wells.
Near Brampton in Northampton shire, Marvel - sike Springs was considered to be able to predict death or trouble by running in great gluts of water. This spring only ran at times of trouble or evil.
The Drumming Well situated in the same county, gave out a loud drumming noise before any important happening, it was heard before the Scots came to England in the Civil War and again just before Charles II  died.
It is still common practice to drop coins into wells and make a wish, crooked pins are dropped into some wells as offering to the lady of the well. The pin was considered to be a very appropriate offering, as it was connected to the donors clothes but it was also made of iron.
Sometimes the guardian of these wells takes on the form of a mermaid or meremaid, yes I have got back to the subject of mermaids! These are often more malicious than the sea going creatures and can cause a lot of trouble in their pools and surrounding areas.
At Childs Ercall some workmen were enticed into the water when a meremaid offered them gold, they only escaped when one of the men used an oath when he saw the size of the lump of gold the meremaid was holding. Lucky for them for undoubtedly they would have met a nasty end!

Heres a lttle ditty....

Oh my god the sun is shining! if that is not enough to make you smile try reading this..
Found this piece of advice in The Perpetual Almanack, an indispensable tool!

Cut nails on a Monday, cut them for health

Cut them on a Tuesday, cut them for wealth

Cut them on a Wednesday, cut them for news

Cut them on a Thursday, a pair of new shoes

Cut them on a Friday, cut them for sorrow

Cut them on a Saturday, see your true love tomorrow

But cut them on a Sunday, your safety seek

For old Nick'll have you the rest of the week!