The Golden Leg
Page 1
—————————————————————————————————
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Jarvis, Dale Gilbert
The golden leg and other ghostly campfire stories / Dale Jarvis.
ISBN:
ISBN EPUB: 978-1-771170-54-3
ISBN KINDLE: 978-1-771170-55-0
1. Ghosts--Newfoundland and Labrador--Juvenile literature. 2. Tales-Newfoundland and Labrador. 3. Legends--Newfoundland and Labrador. I. Title.
BF1472.C3J373 2007 j398.2509718 C2007-904563-4
—————————————————————————————————
© 2007 by Dale Jarvis
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon maybe reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, One Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.
This book is printed on Ancient Forest Friendly paper that is acid-free,
100% post-consumer recycled, and processed chlorine-free.
FLANKER PRESS
P. O. BOX 2522, STATION C
ST. JOHN’S, NL A1C 6K1 CANADA
TOLL-FREE: 1-866-739-4420
WWW. FLANKERPRESS. COM
Cover Design: Adam Freake
12 1110 09 08 07 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
We acknowledge the financial support of: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP); the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested $20.1 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada; the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Department of Tourism, Culture and Recreation.
PREFACE
Once upon a time (as all good stories start) I got a phone call asking if I would tell campfire stories to a group of kids at the Camp Delight children’s oncology camp here in Newfoundland. The camp was for kids undergoing cancer treatment, kids who were cancer survivors, and the siblings of cancer patients. I said that I would be delighted to go and share some ghost stories.
As the night of the campfire drew closer, I began to worry about what sort of stories I might tell. I began to wonder if it was suitable or appropriate to tell ghoulish tales and terrible stories about beings from beyond the grave to kids who were dealing with the realities of life with cancer.
In the end I made what seems to have been the right decision. I simply told the stories I had been asked to tell, and I have been going back every summer since.
This book has grown out of my love of telling ghost stories to these kids, and to the kids I have told stories to in schools, festivals, and concerts across Canada. It has also grown out of my desire to give something back to the campers and volunteers who make Camp Delight possible. Royalties from the sale of every copy of The Golden Leg will be donated to Camp Delight, and the contribution you make in buying a book will assist in sending another kid to camp.
The first story in this collection, and the story that lends its name to the book itself, is “The Golden Leg.” I chose it for the name of the book because of the life the story seems to have taken on in my years at Camp Delight.
One year I returned to camp, and a small camper asked if I would tell “The Golden Leg.” Delighted that he had remembered a specific story from the year before, I told it around the campfire.
The following year, once the campers had gathered around the fire, I said, “Last year, someone requested ‘The Golden Leg.’ Would you like it again?”
From out of the crowd a small camper (I swear it was the same kid) shouted out in a loud voice, “NO!!!!” All the other campers yelled, “YES!!!!” So I told the story.
In 2006, I arrived at camp, and as soon as I got out of the car, I was spotted by a camper. As soon as he saw me, he started to chant, “Gol-den Leg! Gol-den Leg!” As I walked down to the fire pit, another camper, playing on the climbing gym, shouted out, “Are you telling ‘The Golden Leg’ again?”
Once the campers had gathered around the fire, I said, “Last year, someone requested ‘The Golden Leg.’ Would you like it again?”
Half the campers shouted “NO!!!!” while half shouted “YES!!!!” I figured any story that generates such debate must be a good one!
The stories in this collection are meant to be read out loud, told and retold. If you are a camp counsellor, scout or guide leader, teacher, librarian, or anyone who wants to tell these stories to someone you think might appreciate a good ghost story, you have my permission! Most of these tales are based on folk tales and local legends, and I have deliberately kept the locations of the stories somewhat vague in the telling, in the hopes that the stories can be adapted to suit the needs of your telling.
If you are a professional storyteller attending a concert or festival, please go ahead and tell these stories as well. If you mention that you learned them from my book and tell the story of Camp Delight, I would be very pleased. More information on the origins and sources of the stories can be found at the back of the book.
Occasionally, when I talk about my annual trip to Camp Delight, someone will express the same worry I originally felt about telling terrible tales to kids with cancer. I tell them they are just kids, and deserve to be told the same stories of clutching hands and floating heads as every other kid who has ever gone to summer camp.
And then I share my favourite quote about storytelling, from the English novelist and poet G. K. Chesterton, who wrote, “Fairy Tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”
This book, therefore, is dedicated to all the campers, staff, and volunteers at Camp Delight, and to all those kids everywhere who fight their dragons with strength, courage, and hope.
Dale Gilbert Jarvis, Storyteller
St. John’s, Newfoundland, July 2007
ABOUT CAMP DELIGHT
Camp Delight is a totally volunteer-run program, which is for children diagnosed with cancer between the ages of 7 and 17, their siblings, and siblings of children who have passed away. Staff members are all volunteers who give not only their week at camp but help plan it throughout the year. Everything is done to make camp a normal experience for all the children who attend, but recognizing their unique needs, camp staff include nurses, trained lifeguards, and social workers to meet that need.
Camp Delight is a major project of the Candlelighters Association of Newfoundland and Labrador. This type of camp makes possible a degree of independence and personal growth for those who might otherwise be limited by medical considerations, or a sense of isolation. Honest sharing in a safe, happy environment has proven to be very beneficial.
It costs $500.00 to send a child to camp. Families are charged a nominal fee per child, but all other costs must be borne through fundraising efforts.
Camp Delight has been offered continuously since 1988. The camp has seen hundreds of children pass through its supportive environment, some of whom have returned to help out as staff volunteers to give other children affected by cancer a chance to have a normal camp experience.
Once there was a very rich merchant. The merchant lived in a grand house, and he had a very young and very beautiful wife. He was very proud of his wife, and because he was so rich, he decided that she should have the finest clothes that money could buy.
The merchant called for the best tailor in that country. He ordered the tailor to make a dress all of silver, with beautiful silver slippers to match, and a silver crown for hi
s wife’s head. And so it was done, just as the merchant had ordered.
The wife loved her new finery, and wore it whenever she could. One day, however, as she was coming down the great curving staircase of the grand house, the heel of her silver slipper caught in the hem of her silver gown.
Down tumbled the wife, head over heels, and she landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. The doctor was summoned, and he came and inspected the wife. The doctor found that the wife had broken her pretty leg in seven places.
“There is nothing I can do,” said the doctor. “I will have to cut her leg off.”
And so he did. He cut the woman’s broken leg off and went about his business.
The merchant was very troubled by the fact that his beautiful young wife only had one leg.
“I know what must be done,” he declared.
The merchant called for the best goldsmith in that country. He ordered the goldsmith to make a new leg, out of solid gold, for his wife. The goldsmith measured the woman’s good leg, and then crafted a leg made of the purest gold.
When this was finished, the merchant called for the tailor again. This time the tailor made a dress all of gold, with beautiful golden slippers to match, and a gold crown for the wife’s head.
The wife loved her new finery, and she loved her new golden leg, for surely there was not another woman in the entire country who had a leg as beautiful as her own.
Pride, as they say, always comes before a fall. One day, as she was coming down the great curving staircase of the grand house, the heel of her golden slipper caught in the hem of her golden gown.
Down tumbled the wife, head over heels, and she landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. The doctor was summoned, and he came and inspected the wife. This time the doctor found that the wife had broken her pretty neck in seven places.
“There is nothing I can do,” said the doctor, “for she is dead, and you will have to bury her.”
The merchant was very upset at this, but there was truly nothing he could do. So he organized a lavish funeral, the most expensive funeral that anyone could remember. He ordered fine black mourning clothes for all his servants, and all the household went down to the churchyard to see the wife buried.
The wife was placed in her coffin, wearing her golden gown, golden slippers, and her matching golden leg. The coffin was lowered down into the grave, and covered up with earth.
After the funeral, the merchant’s butler stood in his little room at the top of the house, admiring himself in the mirror. The butler was a very vain young man. He stood in front of the mirror, admiring his fine black clothes, with silver buttons up the front.
“These are not the clothes of a servant,” thought the butler. “These are the clothes of a gentleman!” He began to think and plot about how he could find enough money to leave his life of service. But where was someone like him going to find enough gold to start a new life as a gentleman?
As he thought on it, he remembered the golden leg that had been buried with his mistress, and a terrible idea came into his brain.
Late that night, the butler took a shovel, and crept off to the graveyard. He went to the fresh grave of his mistress, and dug up the coffin. He pried open the lid, and there she was, resting in her golden dress. The butler reached down, took hold of the golden leg, and wrenched it from the body of his dead mistress.
Quickly, he reburied her body. Then, hiding the golden leg under his coat, he hurried home. He climbed back up to his little room at the top of the house. Once he was there, he pulled up one of the floorboards in the room, and there he hid the golden leg.
The very next night, the gravedigger came to see the merchant.
“Sir,” he said, “your wife is calling out in the graveyard. You best go see what it is she wants!”
And so the merchant did. He went off to the graveyard, and stood above his wife’s grave.
“My dear wife,” he said. “What is it you want?”
From underneath the surface of the earth came the voice of his dead wife.
“My leg,” she cried, “give me my leg of gold!”
“My dear wife, your leg was buried with you,” the husband stated. “I was at your funeral, and I saw you in your coffin, wearing your golden leg.”
“My leg,” she cried again, “give me my leg of gold!”
“But wife!” said the husband, “your leg was buried with you!”
“My leg,” she cried even louder, “give me my leg of gold!”
“You silly thing, your leg was buried with you,” her husband said. “And if you won’t listen to reason, I’m going home.”
And so the merchant did.
The next night, the gravedigger came to see the merchant.
“Sir,” he said, “your wife is calling out in the graveyard, and she is calling out even louder than she did the night before.”
“Well she won’t listen to me,” said the merchant. “I know, I will send her favourite maid instead.”
So the wife’s favourite maid was called for, a young girl.
“You must go see your mistress in the graveyard,” said the merchant, “and ask her what it is she wants.”
The young girl was terrified, and at first she would not go.
“As you served your mistress in life, so too must you serve her in death,” ordered the merchant.
The poor girl had no choice. Terrified, she went off to the graveyard, and stood above the woman’s grave.
“My dear mistress,” she said. “What is it you want?”
From underneath the surface of the earth came the voice of the dead woman.
“My leg,” she cried, “give me my leg of gold!”
“My dear mistress, your leg was buried with you,” said the frightened girl. “I was at your funeral, and I saw you in your coffin, wearing your golden leg.”
“My leg,” cried the voice again, a little louder, “give me my leg of gold!”
“But mistress!” said the maid. “Your leg was buried with you!”
“My leg,” she cried out, “give me my leg of gold!”
This was too much for the young girl. She burst into tears and ran all the way home, where she scurried into bed and hid under the covers till morning.
The next night, the gravedigger came to see the merchant.
“Sir,” he said, “your wife is calling out in the graveyard, and she is calling out even louder than she did the two nights before. The neighbours are starting to complain, and you must do something about it.”
“Well she won’t listen to me,” said the merchant, “and she won’t listen to her favourite maid. I know what I will do! I will send my butler instead. He is a very capable young man.”
So the butler was called for, and he appeared before the master wearing his new black clothes with the silver buttons down the front.
“You must go see your mistress in the graveyard,” said the merchant, “and ask her what it is she wants.”
The butler was terrified. He knew exactly why the ghost was upset, and so he refused to go.
The merchant grew angry at this.
“As you served your mistress in life, so too must you serve her in death,” he ordered.
The butler had no choice. Terrified, he went off to the graveyard, and stood above the woman’s grave.
“Mistress,” he said, in a low, low voice, hoping she would not hear. “What is it you want?”
From underneath the surface of the earth came the voice of the dead woman.
“It is YOU I want!” she cried, and up through the earth reached a pair of pale white hands. She grabbed the butler, dragged him down underground, and ate him up.
Neither the butler nor the ghost were ever seen again.
And as for the golden leg? As far as I know, it still lies exactly where it was hidden, underneath the floorboards of the butler’s room, still waiting to be discovered.
On a rare fine evening in the second week of the second month of the year 1907, the good Rever
end Samuel Smith decided to take a stroll. It was just before nightfall. The Reverend left his neat wooden house, and with walking stick in hand, set out on his way. As he walked along the path that stretched through the community, he ran over that coming Sunday’s sermon in his mind, and tipped his hat to those neighbours he passed. For that time of year, it was a most pleasant evening indeed.
Toward the centre of the community sat the railway station. As far as railway stations go, it was a fairly modest affair, not nearly as impressive as some of the other stations along the line, but more than adequate for the needs of the locals. It was small, but well-maintained, and was painted a bright yellow, with rich, dark green trim and the name of the town carefully painted in black letters on a white signboard.
As he neared the station, Reverend Smith heard a familiar sound. He turned and looked down the line. There in the distance was a steam locomotive, chugging toward him.
“How curious,” thought the clergyman, checking his pocket watch. “I did not think there was a train scheduled for this time of day.”
The train drew closer, and showed no sign of slowing down to stop at the station. The Reverend watched as it moved closer, and felt the vibration of the great engine shaking the earth as it roared past at a fairly good speed. From where he stood, the clergyman could see several people on board, staring out through the windows as they passed. He raised his walking stick in greeting, but no one waved back, the passengers’ eyes fixed on something, somewhere off in the distance.
The train kept moving, eventually passing over the trestle on the outskirts of town, out of sight and eventually out of earshot as well.
The clergyman decided he would stop in at the railway station and ask about the train that had just gone through. The station was empty except for the ticket agent, and the clergyman addressed his questions to that man.