In a seafaring town on the coast of Essex lived a gentleman who had a beautiful daughter. She was beautiful, but she was bad. This ‘badness’ seemed ingrained deep down in her character and she seemed to delight in doing spiteful things to upset other people. The local people thought that she was a witch and they wanted to ‘swim her’ – to test her in the way in which witches were tested. They’d throw her in the sea and if she swam or floated then she was a witch, so they’d push her under and drown her. If she sank then they just might … might … pull her out before she drowned and declare her innocent. That’s what they would have liked to do, but they didn’t dare to because of her father who was an important man.
Now this woman set her eyes on a young fisherman. The fact that he was betrothed to another local girl and they were due to marry soon didn’t matter to her at all. She wanted him, so she bewitched him with her charms and soon he was following her around like Mary’s little lamb. She persuaded the young man to take her with him when they next went fishing and, although he knew that it was not wise and the rest of the fleet would not allow it, he sneaked her on board his boat under the cover of darkness and they set sail.
Whether it was because that boat had a woman on board or whether it was just coincidence, I don’t know, but they hadn’t gone far from shore before a tremendous storm blew up, absolutely unexpectedly, and the whole fleet was lost. The families on the shore, the families of the survivors, will tell you bitterly that she deliberately whistled up the storm in order to kill the young man and to spite the rest of the people in the town.
The woman did not drown like the rest of them; she turned herself into a four-eyed cat and haunted the fishing fleet from then on. In order to appease her it became the custom for every fisherman to throw a few fish back into the sea – ‘for the cat’. If anyone didn’t, they would suddenly have very bad luck: things would break, they’d get lost in the mist, or they’d fish all day without catching a thing …
She only lost her power when the fishing industry went into decline and all the commercial boats ceased fishing from that port. There are still a few boatmen around who think twice before taking women to sea, and if their customers have been angling they suggest they throw something back ‘for the cat’. They explain that this is just an old tradition and they have a good laugh about it, but they feel very uneasy if they don’t do it.
5
DOWN ON THE FARM
THE ROARING BULL OF BAGBURY FARM
A Story from Shropshire
There once lived a very bad man at Bagbury Farm. On his deathbed he confessed that he had only ever done two good things in his whole life: the first was years ago when he was quite a young man and he had given an old waistcoat he had finished with to a poor man; and the second was that he’d once given a piece of bread and cheese to a poor beggar boy who came knocking on his door. Why he had done either of these things he couldn’t explain, even to himself, but they were the sum total of the good deeds he’d done in his whole lifetime.
At last this bad man died and his body was taken and buried in the churchyard. However, his ghost would not remain quiet and returned to haunt Bagbury Farm. Whatever they did, it could not be made to leave. The ghost appeared in the shape of a huge bull, which would get into the farm buildings and roar out its challenge to the world until the walls shook and the tiles flew from the roofs. No one could bear to live nearby. At first the bull waited until nine or ten o’clock in the evening to appear, but gradually his antics began earlier and earlier until it was soon after teatime that he started his commotion.
The villagers were desperate and sent for twelve parsons to come and lay the ghost. The twelve parsons prayed and chanted, and chanted and prayed, and managed to drive the bull out of the farm buildings and up to Hyssington church, but they could not lay it. When they had it in the church all twelve parsons were praying with all their might. They were all holding candles, except for one who was blind and he had his candle stuck into the top of his boot because he didn’t need it. Then the bull gave a rush to escape and all the candles went out – except for the one in the blind parson’s boot. They relit the other candles from this just in time to stop the bull escaping, but the rush he made cracked the church wall from top to bottom. (That crack was allowed to stand there as a warning about the dangers of evil behaviour until the church was renovated recently.)
Well, the twelve parsons kept praying and chanting, and chanting and praying, until gradually the bull began to lose its power and to shrink. They couldn’t leave off their praying for a minute to rest, though, because every time they did the bull began to regain his strength and size.
Eventually, after days of praying and chanting, and chanting and praying, the bull was about the size of a calf. They took strength from this and continued praying and chanting, and chanting and praying, until it had shrunk to the size of a kitten, and in the end it was small enough for them to trap it in a snuff box (but it still continued to stamp its feet and roar and to charge anything that came within range).
When he was safely trapped in the snuff box he stopped his roaring and began pleading with his captors. He asked them to bury the box under Bagbury Bridge, but they wouldn’t because they knew that if they did every mare who crossed the bridge would lose her foal, every cow would drop its calf and every wife would become barren and never give her husband any children. Instead, they sent the box to be laid in the Red Sea for 100 years, which was a common thing to do with unwanted spirits in those days.
It is probably still there, and I suspect that the bull can do little harm there, but I also suspect that those 100 years must soon be up and I don’t know what will happen then …
I do know that the local people are still, and have always been, a little bit ‘shy’ about going over Bagbury Bridge – they tend to creep across quickly and quietly as if they don’t want to be noticed … and I don’t blame them.
THE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY
A long time ago, far over the sea in Norroway, lived a woman who had three daughters. One day her eldest daughter asked her mother to pack her up some food because she was going off to seek her fortune. The mother did so, and wished her daughter farewell, and off she went.
The girl travelled on and she travelled on until she came to the house of an old woman who was also a witch. She told the old witch-woman that she was off to seek her fortune and the old woman told her that she should come in and wait. The first morning the girl looked out of the window and she saw nothing. The second morning she looked out of the window again and still saw nothing. But the third morning, when she looked out, she saw a coach and six coming along the road. She called the old witch-woman and told her, and the old woman said, ‘Well, that will be for you. Off you go,’ and the girl climbed into the coach and it galloped off.
Soon the next daughter asked her mother to pack her up some food because she was going off to seek her fortune as well. The mother did so and wished her daughter farewell, and off she went. The girl travelled on and she travelled on until she too came to the house of the old witch-woman. She told the old witch-woman that she was off to seek her fortune and the old woman told her she should come in and wait. The first morning the girl looked out of the window and she saw nothing. The second morning she looked out of the window again and still saw nothing. But the third morning, when she looked out, she saw a coach and six coming along the road. She called the old witch-woman and told her, and the old woman said, ‘Well, that will be for you. Off you go,’ and the girl climbed into the coach and it galloped off.
Not long after that, the youngest daughter asked her mother to pack her up some food because she, too, was going off to seek her fortune. The mother did so and wished her daughter farewell and off she went. The girl travelled on and she travelled on until she came to the house of the old witch-woman. She told the old witch-woman that she was off to seek her fortune and the old woman told her that she should come in and wait. The first morning the girl looked out of the wind
ow and she saw nothing. The second morning she looked out of the window again and still saw nothing. But the third morning, when she looked out, she saw a great black bull walking down the road. ‘Well, that will be for you,’ said the old woman, ‘off you go.’ And, trembling with terror, the girl climbed on to the bull’s back and it galloped off.
They travelled on and they travelled on until the girl grew faint with hunger and thought she must topple off the bull’s broad back. Then the bull shouted back to her, ‘Eat out of my right ear and drink out of my left ear and hold on tight.’ So she ate out of the bull’s right ear and drank out of his left ear and was wonderfully refreshed. They rode long and they rode hard until, in the distance, they saw a huge castle. ‘That castle belongs to my elder brother,’ said the bull. ‘We will stay there for the night.’
When they reached the castle, servants came and lifted the girl down and took her into a sumptuous room to sleep, but she was too tired to appreciate the room or the furnishings! The bull was taken to a paddock to graze and to spend the night.
In the morning, after she had breakfasted, they gave her a golden apple and said that she shouldn’t break it until she was in the most trouble she’d ever been in, then they lifted her on to the bull’s back and away they galloped. They travelled on and they travelled on, far further than I can tell, and then they saw another castle, far grander than the first one, and far further off. ‘We will sleep there tonight,’ said the bull, ‘for that is where my second brother lives.’ Even though it was far off they soon arrived and the girl was lifted down and put to bed. It was a fine bed in a fine room, soft and luxurious, but she was too sleepy to appreciate it.
In the morning, after she had breakfasted, they gave her a golden pear and said that she shouldn’t break it until she was in the most trouble she’d ever been in, then they lifted her on to the bull’s back and away they galloped. They travelled far and far and further than you would believe, and then they saw another castle, even grander than the one the night before, and far further off than you can imagine. ‘That is where we will spend tonight,’ said the bull. ‘It is the castle of my youngest brother.’
And soon they were there. Servants lifted her down and put her to sleep in a huge four-poster bed with a canopy and golden coverlets. But she was already asleep and saw none of it.
In the morning, after she had breakfasted, they gave her a golden plum and said that she shouldn’t break it until she was in the most trouble she’d ever been in, then they lifted her on to the bull’s back and away they galloped. On they rode and on they rode until they came to a dark and gloomy glen amongst the mountains and there they stopped. The girl climbed down and the bull said, ‘Here you must wait while I go and fight the Old One. You must sit on that stone and move neither hand nor foot until I return. If you do I won’t be able to find you. Wait for me, and if everything turns blue you will know that I have defeated the Old One, but if it turns red then the Old One has beaten me.’
She sat herself down and she waited and she was careful not to move neither hand nor foot. After a while, all the air around her turned blue and she was so pleased that she relaxed and crossed one foot over the other as she sat watching for the bull.
The bull returned, but however carefully and thoroughly he searched he could not find her. For a long time she sat, waiting, but at last she got up and wandered away, she didn’t know where. At length she came to the foot of a mountain of glass. She tried to climb it but she couldn’t – every time she climbed up a few feet she slipped down again. She walked around the foot of the mountain until she came to a house where a smith lived. She asked the smith if he would help her get over the glass mountain and he said he would, if she agreed to work for him for seven years.
At the end of the seven years the smith made her a pair of iron shoes with spikes in them and she was able to climb the glass mountain. There she came to an old washerwoman’s house. The washerwoman had a pile of clothes, all covered in blood. They had been left by a knight who had promised to marry anyone who could wash them clean. The old washerwoman had tried and tried but couldn’t get the blood out, so she’d set her daughter to the task, and she tried and tried, for she would have loved to marry a knight. But however much she washed and scrubbed and lathered and rinsed she could not get the stains out either. When the girl arrived, having climbed the glass mountain, the washerwoman set her to the task and as soon as she lathered them up the water turned red and the clothes came out as white and pure as new.
When the knight returned the old washerwoman told him that it was her daughter who had washed the clothes and he agreed to marry her. The girl was heartbroken, for she had fallen in love with the knight at first glance. She decided that she was in the most trouble she’d ever been in, so she broke the apple and found that it was full of jewels. She gave them to the daughter and said that they were hers on the condition that she put off her marriage for one day and let the girl go into the knight’s room alone that night. The daughter agreed, but the old woman mixed a sleeping draught and gave it to the knight who slept soundly until next morning and didn’t see the visitor who sat by his bed singing:
Seven long years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I climbed for thee,
The bloody clothes I wrung for thee;
So wilt thou not waken and turn to me?
The knight did not waken, so the girl thought she was again in the most trouble she’d ever been in and broke open the pear. She found that it was full of jewels far richer than those in the apple. With them, she bargained to spend another night with the knight, but again the old woman gave him a sleeping draught and he slept the long night through while she sat by his bed singing:
Seven long years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I climbed for thee,
The bloody clothes I wrung for thee;
So wilt thou not waken and turn to me?
The next day, while they were out hunting, his companions asked the knight about the crying and moaning which they’d heard coming from his room all night. The knight said he’d heard nothing. When they assured him that they had all heard it, he said he would make a point of staying awake that night to see.
The girl, again feeling herself in the greatest trouble she had ever been in, broke open the plum and found within it the grandest jewels she’d ever seen, and with them she bought herself yet another night.
As before, the old woman brought the knight a sleeping draught but he said he couldn’t drink it without some honey to sweeten it. While she was getting it he tipped the drink away but tricked the old woman into thinking he had drunk it. Then he lay down and pretended to be asleep. Soon the girl came in and, seeing him sleeping, sat down beside him and, between sobs, sang:
Seven long years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I climbed for thee,
The bloody clothes I wrung for thee;
So wilt thou not waken and turn to me?
The knight turned and took her in his arms and told her that he was, in fact, the bull. He told her everything that had happened to him since they parted, and she told him all that had befallen her. Then he caused the old washerwoman and her daughter to be burned as witches and he married the girl and they all lived happily ever after.
THE FARMER’S THREE COWS
There was a farmer who had three cows – three fine, fat, beautiful black and white cows with big soft eyes. These fine cows gave rich, creamy milk and produced fine calves and the farmer knew that when their days were done they’d make good eating too. He made a fine living from his cows. Like all farmers with just a few animals, he gave his cows names; one was Facey, one was Diamond and the third was Beauty. He knew his animals well and was very fond of them, for this was in the time when farmers and their stock more or less shared the same living space; he and his wife lived at one end of a long farm building and the animals were at the other. It’s a form of habitation which lingered on until very recently in some remote parts.
&n
bsp; You can imagine the farmer’s horror when he went into the cowshed one morning and found that, overnight, Facey had changed from a fine, fat, beautiful animal into a bag of skin and bones. She looked like an old kite with her skin hanging loose and her eyes dull and sad. Also puzzling was the fact that in the fireplace was a pile of wood ash. The farmer and his wife could think of no explanation, for they hadn’t lit a fire there.
The next morning it happened to be the wife who went into the cowshed first and she found Diamond looking just as bad as Facey. And the fireplace was piled up three feet high with wood ash. What was happening?
The farmer decided that he would keep watch that night to see what was happening, so he hid himself in a cupboard in the kitchen and left the door between the house and the cowshed open. Time passed very slowly and the breathing of the animals almost lulled him to sleep. He had great trouble in keeping himself awake. In fact he was about to give up and tell himself he was wasting his time when, suddenly, the door opened and in ran what seemed like a thousand pixies, all laughing and screeching. They grabbed Beauty’s halter and dragged her into the middle of the room where they threw her down on to the floor and killed her. Then the knives flew and, as quick as lightning, Beauty was skinned and every scrap of meat scraped from her bones.
More pixies poured in through the door carrying firewood and soon there was a blaze in the hearth and meat was roasting and baking and boiling and frying. The chief of the pixies called out, ‘Be careful, make sure not a bone gets broken!’
Where Dragons Soar: And Other Animal Folk Tales of the British Isles Page 8