This is a preposterous state of affairs.
Even though the brownies are ignorant of their rightful place, I could almost be persuaded to adopt them into the fold; they're that fantastically useful. What stays my heart, though, is the brownie's fatal flaw—bitterness. Eons of toil have built up a terrible supply of enmity in them, and this much rage, condensed into the brownie's tiny frame, is little more than a powder keg, one sporting the shortest of fuses. The brownie is a learned scholar of its own twisted version of etiquette, and the slightest affront to its sensibilities can send it into a murderous rage, twisting its form into that of the monstrous boggart, as destructive as the brownie is helpful. Whilst a home hosting a brownie lodger may be the picture of comfort and peace, the coming of the boggart is the undoing of all of this and is as disquieting as a herd of wild boars let loose in the parlour.
So should you awaken one morning to discover an unexplained cup of impeccably brewed tea atop your kitchen counter or slide open your dresser drawer to find a stack of perfectly ironed handkerchiefs, rejoice not. Instead, I urge you to commence with the following sequence of proven countermeasures. The brownie depends upon your gratitude, and the more of its ingratiating favours you allow yourself, the more difficult it will be to rid your home of the sycophantic squatter, who will inevitably transform and throw into turmoil all you have worked so hard to achieve.
Firstly, you must locate precisely where in your household the brownie has set up residence. Brownies are at the bottom of the barrel figuratively and quite often literally. Upturn your entire home until you find its hidey-hole. Open all the kitchen cabinets and pull out their contents, especially from seldom-used cupboards. Worry not about upsetting the brownie in his lair. If he hears you coming, he will flee in modesty and shame, hoping that you will overlook his home.
The purpose of this search is not to catch the brownie but rather to see exactly what his aspirations are. A miniature dormitory set up in the back of a cupboard may be recognised by a doll's house bed and tiny grass mat arranged in mock domesticity by the brownie. Once you find them, look more closely. What you are after are details. A framed Queen's-head postage stamp or a coronation tea cup now employed as a bathtub indicates you've got a miniscule royalist in your midst. A preserved dragonfly or a stuffed shrew shows up the work of a budding naturalist. Quickly take a series of mental notes and be careful not to disturb anything you chance upon. You wish only to observe and depart, before the brownie musters the courage to return and sees what you're up to.
Once you have determined to your satisfaction the particular longings of your household's ambitious stowaway, you are ready to take real steps towards its removal. And how is a brownie infestation such as this best handled, you may ask? Perhaps with poison, traps, or dogs? These are all perfectly effective methods against lesser vermin, but none of them are sufficient to withstand the wrath of the boggart. What this situation calls for is tact, cunning, and above all, kindness, even if it is the sort which is only feinted at.
The way to deal with any such freeloader is to thank him overmuch, to play on his insecurities and let him know, in a roundabout way, that he has no hope of ever escaping his Faerie origins and joining the world of men, at least not in this household. Get thee to a tailor, my friend, and take a brownie-sized doll with you. Commission a suit of clothing perfect for your brownie's interests, the more formal or comprehensive the better. Does he fancy himself an equestrian, for example? A hacking jacket and a pair of riding breeches are required. If your brownie possesses mountaineering leanings, a Tyrolean sports coat and a tidily spooled length of twine are the beginning elements of a smart Alpiner costume.
Once complete, the outfit should be brought home wrapped in paper so as to be safe from prying brownie eyes. Keep it within view as you prepare the second half of your remedy and the clincher: the effusive letter of thanks.
I'll admit that the composition of this letter calls for some strength of will in order to keep your writing hand from going into spasms, but remember there are times in life when sentiment trumps sincerity and this is one of them. Aim to flatter, yes, but with full indication that you recognise the brownie as a brownie, not as the man it wishes to be. I give here an example of how to compose one such letter. Use it as you will, or not—I'm sure your own situation will call for a letter with its own particular flavour.
Estimable House Brownie
Back Corner
Pan Cabinet
Kitchen
Bakeley Hall
Pembrokeshire, Wales
My dear Mr. Brownie,
Since you've come to stay, the house has positively gleamed with cleanliness and good cheer. Oh, to think I've got my very own fairy! It's such a pleasure to know you're around. I must be imagining the wee tinkle of bells, so unobtrusive are you as you prepare such unparalleled cups of tea. And the pocket handkerchiefs! Never before have they enjoyed such crisp creases.
I've told everyone I know what good fortune it is to have a little fairy all to myself. My only regret is that I can't repay you with more than this new suit of clothes for your days off, when you are free to trundle about and play at your little “man” activities. So charming and quaint! Thank you, thank you twenty times over, you diligent and amusing creature!
Yours sincerely,
Reginald Bakeley
In my experience it is easier to write such a letter whilst biting into an old belt, although this can get in the way of the oft-consulted whisky tumbler. I trust you'll find the way that works best for you.
Fold the letter into an envelope addressed to the brownie and place it, along with the wrapped suit of clothes, just outside his lair. Then hurry, because the clock is ticking and you have only until nightfall to secure your home against the coming tempest. Swing open the front door of the house and stow any fine china or irreplaceable heirlooms in your bedchambers. Lock yourself in there as well and try, just try, to get to sleep that night. I venture to say you'll have a devil of a time drifting off, as at any minute the brownie will emerge from his hidey-hole to try on the clothes and read the letter. It is then but a matter of seconds before the reaction. The astute brownie will realise it has no chance of ever being anything but a fairy in your eyes and, transforming into the boggart and hurling invectives and whatever household objects are not tied down, will storm out the open door, never to return. Should your brownie not be bright enough to understand your meaning, he will delight in the gift and simply set off on a new life with his dashing set of clothing, confident he has at last “arrived.”
In either case, the bounder is gone. Restore your house to order, throw out all the little furnishings in the brownie's lair, and give the cupboard a proper scrubbing. Your life and your home are once more your own. Brew yourself a cup of tea and smile, for you have reclaimed the first crucial piece of territory in your fight against the meddling antics of the fey.
GOBLINPROOFING ONE'S CHICKEN COOP
The Gentlemanly Art of Chickenry • What Are Goblins? • The Vileness of Changeling Eggs • Goblin Migrations • Ley Lines and Ley Markers • De-Sanctification
SURELY THERE IS NO PURSUIT more rewarding than the gentlemanly art of chickenry. For a minor initial investment an individual can provide boundless meat and eggs for himself and his family, and will reap the benefits of a natural alarm clock in the form of the rooster's crow at dawn. The dark forces of the fey never truly let man rest, however, and the threat of a goblin intrusion into the hen cottage is a danger which can destroy a fine coop, its residents, and the very will of the farmer. But a few simple checks and alterations to your existing chicken coop can keep it and its plucky cluckers secure against this unbearable prospect.
Goblins are the marauding vagabonds of the Fairy Kingdom, roving alone or in mobs from town to town. They relish upsetting the sensibilities of man and fairy alike with their crass ways. Goblins love to eat eggs and delight in using them in pranks, and they are known to lodge in chicken coops in two ways: as willing t
enants or as changelings. The former either wander into the hen cottage and decide to stay or in some instances are trapped, the mechanics of which I will explain shortly. The latter—changelings—are swapped during their goblin infancy for a hen of your own. Both types of goblin are hazardous, as they will grow into warped versions of your hens if left in the coop. Aside from the peril presented by their eggs, which they do indeed begin to lay after a short while, goblin hens are notorious for their tempers, which are nearly as quick as their razor-sharp beaks.
To keep goblins from approaching your hen cottage voluntarily, it is advisable to keep the place as tidy as possible. A thorough cleaning every two weeks will maintain your chickens' happiness and health, and will repel potential miscreants from calling the little house their own, as goblins prefer dwellings similar to the murky, filthy caves of their own kingdom.
Nothing spoils a carefully prepared breakfast like the cracking of a changeling egg. Whilst so many of these dangerous ovoids look and feel perfectly normal, they possess repulsive qualities seldom noticed until mealtime. Some are filled with maggots, others with blood. There are reports of changeling eggs as hard as concrete and others which explode when broken. A few have beautiful shells which hatch tuberculosis and smallpox.
The Ungerslud family of Shropshire was the unlucky recipient of a goblin curse via changeling eggs, for the morning after the eggs were eaten, the lot of them awoke with their legs on backwards, as they remain today. Young Ettie Ungerslud went on to become a source of local pride by clinching the National Backwards Hopscotch Championship later that year, but surely you can imagine that life is not all fun and games under such a curse.
In all honesty, it's not always the goblin's fault when it becomes trapped in a chicken coop. Being a stubborn and rather stupid lot, goblins are not able to change their course unless sensibly advised. And so it is not uncommon that, when travelling from place to place, these nomadic scoundrels enter into structures from which, according to their own obstinate logic, there is no escape. A small crack between the planks of the east-facing wall of the coop, for example, will trap any goblin coming from that direction unless there is a corresponding gap on the west side.
A chicken farmer in St. Leonards Grange, on England's southern coast, once discovered a goblin in his coop. When the surprised rustic asked the goblin whence it came, it responded, “From the far, far north.” To the question of “And where are you going?” the inmate replied, “To the far, far south.” Indeed, upon inspection the farmer found a minor crevice in the northern wall of the coop and none in the south. Wise to the goblin's ways, the farmer kindly offered to pry a plank from the south wall to free him, but warned him that there was nothing in that direction but the cold dark sea. The grateful intruder admitted that he had no idea he would have leapt into the ocean with his next steps and asked the farmer if there was anything he could do to repay the favour.
The simpleton thought for a long while, as one does when granted a fairy wish, and finally decided that the goblin should marry his daughter, who was very ugly and more trouble than she was worth. The goblin agreed happily and took the horrified, screaming girl with him on his way back to the northern coast. The farmer breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that life would be good from then on, his breakfasts safe from repulsive changeling eggs.
Ley lines are channels of energy which run along the surface of the earth, tracing connecting pathways between stone circles, burial mounds, and other particular geographical features and man-made edifices. Fairies of all sorts, including goblins, use them as a network of highways, and if your chicken coop happens to rest upon one of these channels, then my fine fellow, it's only a matter of time before you acquire your first changeling hen.
Every chickener should check his hen cottage's location and ensure it is not built on a ley line. On a cloudless day, climb to the roof of the coop and point the tail end of its weathervane in the precise direction of the nearest site of ancient and mysterious origin. If there is no such place in sight as you stand atop the roof, get down and, with the help of a map and the following list of ley markers from Alfred Watkins's The Old Straight Track, find the most significant example nearest your farm.
Watkins's List of Ley Markers, in Descending Importance
Mounds (burial mounds and similar earthworks)
Stones (megaliths of various description)
Circular Moats
Castles
Traditional Wells
Early Churches
Crossroads
Road Alignments (especially those longer than 1½ miles)
Notched Fords
Un-Notched Fords
Tree Groups (particularly those atop named hills)
Ancient, Named Trees
Hillside Notches
Track Junctions
Camps or Hill-Forts
Ponds
Square Moats
In his Mythology of the British Isles, Geoffrey Ashe notes that hillside figures such as the chalk horses of Uffington and Cherill have recently been added to the bottom of the list. As such, these are fine for you to use, at a pinch.
Return to the roof. Once the weathervane is positioned with tail feathers pointing towards the ascertained ley marker, squat down and align your gaze in the opposite direction, along the path of the weathervane's arrow. If along its line you see or note on your map anything listed above, be it well or moat, notch or mound, then you are advised straightaway to fashion for your coop a doormat which reads, “WELCOME, SPRITES!” for you will soon be entertaining such guests. Researchers have concluded that ley lines can at times be quite broad, stretching miles across, and dowsers have determined that ley lines sometimes have a slight curve to them. Allowing an extra ten degrees to either side of your weathervane arrow's path may therefore give you a clearer sense of your coop's susceptibility to changelings.
Apart from leaving the door to your coop open at night (which would clear out chickens both changeling and standard) or the costly solution of constructing a coop entirely of iron (which is as good as poison to the goblins), there isn't much one can do with the structure itself to keep the rogues from setting up camp. One must either move to a new farm in disgrace, or—and you might like to sit down before reading this—divert the ley.
Some readers might think that going to the bother of constructing a new ley marker an appropriate number of miles distant from one's farm is a rash step in their work to thwart the goblins. It is actually not as outlandish a proposal as it first sounds, and I will explain why. Think of a new ley marker as you do your chicken coop. It is a structure that costs something to build, is relatively inexpensive to maintain, and provides advantages to future generations. One must take the long view when envisioning such things. Foremost, it diverts the ley line, curving it around your farm and leaving you safeguarded against goblins. Furthermore, a new site will bring additional commerce to your town in the form of holiday-seekers. To maximise potential profit at your farm stand, commission and stock souvenir egg cups emblazoned with a painting of the new ley marker.
If you are not already volunteering for your town council, now is the time to begin. Within the space of a few years, you will undoubtedly have the clout necessary to secure a site and successfully petition for a government grant to fund construction. In many towns the local chapter of the Freemasons is more than capable of building a qualifying ley marker. Because of the fraternity's interest in ancient mysteries and the order's roots in construction, not to mention its core precepts of charity and brotherhood, such a task is well in keeping with Masonic ideals. The occasional delivery of fresh eggs to the lodge hall should be enough to establish initial relations. All that is required once you've secured their aid is an idea of which sort of site to construct and a certain amount of cash. Brotherhood or not, stone circles and the like are not built on the cheap. The secretary of your local chapter can provide you with a list comparing types of sites and their prices. Choose from Watkins's list one of greater impor
tance than the site nearest your farm. Building a site of lesser grandeur will not bend the ley, and no ley line worth its salt will be going out of its way to align with a scruffy little chalk horse. Make it grand. Costs vary between lodges and depend somewhat on the season, but any price seems reasonable once you've spent a few moments thinking of the resulting benefits.
In the event you've gone all out and piled up a fully featured burial mound stocked with its own assortment of ancient kings and venerable artifacts, then you ought to feel practically pulled towards the new ley marker yourself—along with all the dark fey and day-trippers—so powerful is its eerie gravity. Well done. If, however, your site falls more than a few places down Watkins's list, it is best to go one step further and have it de-sanctified. This necessary procedure begins a flow of unnatural energy which will attract the goblins away from your farm. And this, sadly, is where real expenditure comes in. Petition the bishop of your diocese for an official certificate of de-sanctification. Bribery is not out of the question in these cases, and bishops aren't going to settle for the occasional bucket of eggs, either. As a bargaining point in the negotiations, it can prove beneficial to remind the bishop that the upturn in tourism may increase his flock. Even with this in mind, one should be prepared to spend roughly twice the rate of construction for a proper de-sanctification.
Once all is squared up, the last body to hire will be that of the dowser who, forked stick wavering before him, can verify with certainty that the ley line has in fact curved around your plot. Go to bed early, my happy friend, and rise at dawn to gather eggs from your freshly goblinproofed chicken coop.
Goblinproofing One's Chicken Coop Page 2