Kentucky Folktales

by Mary Hamilton

  Now, she could smell an awful smell, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to get away from it. She brushed her hands in front of her nose. She tried walking faster, but she just could not get away from the awful smell. When she reached her home, her mother smelled an odor that almost took her breath away, and when she went to look, there was her daughter oozing ugliness. Well, you know that woman rather liked acting ugly, so she didn’t mind ugliness, and she figured one good bath would wash that smell right off her girl, so she called, “Come over here, honey. You must be tired. Just lay your head in my lap and let me comb your hair for you.”

  When that woman began combing her daughter’s hair, all kinds of creatures came tumbling out—snakes, snails, slugs, lizards—they all tumbled out by the dozens. Then this huge monster fish-like thing came out, swallowed the mother and her daughter, and they were never heard from again.

  As for the kind girl? She lived happily ever after.

  COMMENTARY

  ATU Tale Type 480 The Kind and Unkind Girls

  I tend to think of this type of story as an equal opportunity tale in which two characters go on the same journey and meet with the same situations, but because of their actions they end up with different results. I can’t even recall when I first encountered a version of this story. I’ve been familiar with versions from a variety of cultures for years.1 Leonard Roberts collected several versions of the story in Kentucky, both stand-alone versions and stories where this tale is part of a longer tale.2 This tale was also in the repertoire of Nora Morgan Lewis.3

  Having the opportunity to listen to multiple versions of this tale through the Appalachian Sound Archives Fellowship I received in 2010 influenced my telling decisions. By listening to “Rawhead and Bloody Bones,” not just reading it, I noticed that the “heads”—whether described as skeletons, or foxes, or rawhead and bloody bones—never sounded threatening when they asked the main characters to wash and dry them and lay them down easy. In some instances they even came very close to sounding kind. If I had encountered the tale in print only, it would have been easy to imagine that the heads should sound threatening, or needy, or eerie, or even evil. But after hearing teller after teller make a nonthreatening choice, I accepted that the heads, strange as they may be, are essentially not threatening. The vocal characterization I use when they speak during my telling is in keeping with what I heard from teller after teller in the Leonard Roberts–collected field recordings.4

  In my first few tellings of the story, I simply said one girl was kind and the other was mean; however, the persistent voice of a young child (first grade or kindergarten) in South Bend, Indiana, led me to rethink that approach. While I was telling the story during a Grades K–5 school assembly, he kept asking, “Why is she so mean?” Contemplating that child’s question led me to showing how the girl began to enjoy the unearned privileges she received from her mother, and how receiving praise whenever she acted ugly reinforced her behavior. I imagine she has simply not lived long enough to gain the understanding that what a parent teaches is not necessarily right, nor has she been fortunate enough to encounter anyone who took time enough to help her develop empathy. Of course, if she had developed empathy there would be no story!

  Every version characterized the two girls as outwardly pretty and ugly, with the heads wishing that the girls would grow more pretty or more ugly. However, since I am more interested in inner beauty and ugliness than outer beauty and ugliness, I retell the tale with the emphasis on kindness and inner ugliness that is so extreme it can be seen. Acting ugly is a phrase I first encountered years ago when I heard my sister-in-law Jackie King Hamilton say, “Stop acting ugly” to a misbehaving child. Even though we had both grown up in Meade County, Kentucky, the phrase “acting ugly” was not one I had heard growing up. The similar “Stop acting up” phrase was familiar to me, but not “Stop acting ugly.” “Acting ugly” clearly works better in this tale.

  All versions, except the version from Dave Couch, included the difference in the smell of the two girls. When I was telling my husband about the Nora Morgan Lewis details of the birds flying down from the trees and the butterflies coming in close to the pretty girl and the birds flying away from the ugly girl, he quickly suggested buzzards could begin circling and flies could swarm in, looking for a place to lay their eggs. I tried it, and it worked well.

  The fish at the end of the story comes from Patricia McCoy’s retelling.5 Most versions have awful things coming from the second girl’s hair—snakes, frogs, snails, lice—but only McCoy’s version has the fish that swallows the girl and her mother. I chose not to mention lice because head lice infestations are simply way too common in schools. I would never want a child in my audience to mistakenly think of head lice as a punishment for acting ugly.

  I also deliberately inserted the descriptions of folks waking up toddlers from their naps and lifting babies from cradles to show the importance of exposing children to kindness. In contrast, I chose to include adults grabbing all children from the streets and taking them to shelter, not just their own children, when confronted with the need to spare children from the horror of inner ugliness made manifest. I believe keeping children safe from harm is not a responsibility that lies solely with a child’s parents, but rests with the greater society as well. Like most storytellers, my beliefs creep into my storytelling. Sometimes I deliberately include details that reflect a particular stance, blatantly in “The Princess Who Could Not Cry” and more subtly in this story. Other times, I might tell a tale for years, unaware that particular details I’ve imagined reflect my deeply held ideas.

  BEYOND KENTUCKY FOLKTALES

  Here I’ve placed three folktales that, as far as I know, have not been collected in Kentucky—yet! While I’ve usually been able to tell you who collected a story, and often who the collector heard it from, and sometimes even who that person reported hearing it from, it would be a falsehood for me to claim all the Kentucky tales in this book were transmitted orally, and only orally, before various collectors heard them and recorded them or wrote them down. Some probably do come from long-thriving oral traditions within individual families. Others were probably read, then told, and eventually became a story passed along orally. It would also be a falsehood for me to claim the tales had never been told outside of Kentucky. I called them Kentucky tales in this book because they were all collected in Kentucky.

  Because I tell stories all over my home state (in 99 of the 120 counties so far), it is possible that a story from this section might be heard when I tell it, or even read in this book, and then told and retold at home or at school to listeners who then tell and retell it to others. Eventually the story could become a tale heard so often it is well-known and comfortably retold by some Kentuckian in the future. Such a tale might even be retold over enough time that the memory of it once being read in a book or of it once being heard from a stranger who called herself a professional storyteller is long forgotten. And maybe in that distant future, a folktale collector will hear the story and classify it as a Kentucky folktale.

  For now, here are simply three more stories I love to tell and thought you might enjoy reading and reading about. You’ll find another fairy tale—this one even has fairies as characters. You’ll find a folktale handed down in a family and then sent to me through the U.S. Postal Service. And lastly, you’ll find a pourquoi tale—a story explaining how something came to be—that is also an animal tale and a trickster tale.

  KATE CRACKERNUTS

  The day of Princess Kate’s birth marked the beginning of five years of happiness for Kate and her mother and father. But then Princess Kate’s daddy died. For the next three years, Kate, missing her daddy, followed the men of the kingdom. From the horsemen she learned how to ride. From the woodsmen she learned how to walk in the forest and never get lost, and which berries and plants were safe to eat and which were not. She grew so sturdy and so strong she could crack nuts open with her bare hands. So, everyone began calling her
Kate Crackernuts.

  In a nearby kingdom, there lived a princess named Annie whose life was almost exactly like Kate’s. For five years she and her mother and father lived happily. But then Princess Annie’s mama died. For the next three years, Annie, missing her mama, watched the women of the palace. She watched them sew. She watched them embroider, and she watched them dance. She hoped she could learn to create such beauty, even without a mama to teach her.

  When Princess Kate and Princess Annie were eight years old, Kate’s mother and Annie’s father fell in love and married. Kate Crackernuts and Annie became stepsisters—sisters joined by marriage who quickly grew to love each other more than most sisters joined by blood.

  Time passed. When Kate’s mother decided it was time to teach Kate the womanly arts of sewing, embroidery, and dancing, she thought she might as well teach Annie too. Annie loved the lessons. Between lessons she practiced her growing skills. Kate suffered through the lessons. When each lesson ended, she hurried outside to walk in the woods.

  “Kate,” her mother scolded, “you must develop your skills. You are a princess. Without skills you’ll never find a husband. No prince wants to marry a princess who cannot sew, embroider, and dance.”

  “Oh, Mama, I won’t marry a prince who cares about sewing, embroidery, and dancing. I’ll marry a prince who wants to walk in the woods, never get lost, and never feel hungry.”

  Kate’s mother thought, “No such prince exists.”

  More time passed. Kate and Annie grew old enough to attend dances. Whenever the two sisters arrived at a ball, all the young men flocked around Annie.

  “Promise me a dance, Annie.”

  “Save a dance for me, Annie.”

  “Annie, may I have a dance with you?”

  Not until Annie had the name of a prince written beside every dance on her dance card did the young men turn their attention to Kate. Kate didn’t care. She enjoyed watching the young men hover around Annie because she knew Annie loved dancing.

  Kate’s mother watched, and Kate’s mother worried: “How will my Kate ever find a husband with Annie so beautiful and so graceful. Kate simply does not have a chance. Annie is much too beautiful. . . . Perhaps I could destroy Annie’s beauty?”

  One day Kate’s mother went to see the henwife, a woman known for creating spells, and she arranged a spell to destroy Annie’s beauty. The next morning Kate’s mother said, “Annie, go see the henwife for me. She promised me something.”

  “I’ll go right after breakfast.”

  “No, Annie, go now. It’s very important.” As Annie walked through the palace, she stopped at the pantry and grabbed a crust of bread to eat on her way. When she reached the henwife’s home, the henwife said, “Good morning, Annie. Come in. See what’s in this pot.”

  Annie lifted the lid of the pot. Nothing happened.

  “Annie,” asked the henwife, “have you eaten this morning?” When the henwife learned about the crust of bread, she said, “Take this advice to your stepmother—keep your pantry better locked.” Annie took the advice home.

  The next morning, Kate’s mother walked Annie all the way to the door of the palace. “Hurry to the henwife’s for me, Annie.”

  As Annie walked to the henwife’s she saw gardeners picking peas. She stopped and talked with them. They offered her fresh peas to eat, and she ate them. When she lifted the pot lid at the henwife’s house, again nothing happened. When the henwife learned about the peas, she said, “Take this advice to your stepmother: The pot won’t boil when the fire’s away.”

  Annie took the advice home. “She said to tell you the pot won’t boil when the fire’s away.” When Kate’s mother heard this, she knew she needed to go with Annie.

  The next morning, Kate’s mother said, “Annie, dear, come to the henwife’s with me.” This time, when Annie lifted the lid of the pot a sheep’s head rose into the air, flew over to Annie, and pushed itself down over her beautiful head, covering it completely. Annie tried to pull the sheep’s head off, but it was stuck fast to her shoulders. She tried to call for help, but all she could say was, “Baaaa, baaaa.”

  “Oh, Annie, let’s go home!” said her stepmother.

  When they neared their palace, Kate’s mother called, “Kate, Kate, come see what happened to Annie.”

  Kate ran from the palace. When she saw her sister, she cried, “Annie, oh Annie, what happened?”

  Annie’s frightened eyes peered from the eye sockets of the sheep, but all she could say was, “Baaaa, baaaa.”

  “Oh, Kate,” her mother gushed, “Isn’t it wonderful! Now all the young men will pay attention to you. You’ll have your pick of princes. I can’t imagine there’s a prince in the entire world who will want to marry a young woman with a sheep’s head.”

  “Mama, you caused this?”

  “I did it for you, Kate, I did it for you. Isn’t it wonderful!”

  “Oh, Mama, no. No!” Kate ran into the palace. Soon she returned carrying traveling cloaks and a fine linen cloth. Gently, she wrapped the cloth around Annie’s head. Kate made sure Annie could see and breathe easily, yet no one would be able to see the sheep’s head. Then Kate took Annie by the hand, turned away from her home, and walked toward the woods.

  “Kate?” her mother called, “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going? I’m your mother, Kate. Come back here.”

  Tears streamed down Kate’s cheeks, but she held fast to Annie’s hand.

  “Kate? Come back here! You needed my help, Kate. You’ll see. You needed my help!”

  Kate kept crying, and Kate kept walking.

  For days Kate and Annie traveled through the forest, but they were never hungry. At night, they slept side by side, bundled in their traveling cloaks. One day they walked out of the forest and into another kingdom.

  In this kingdom, the king and queen had two sons. One prince was said to be handsome and healthy. The other lay sick and dying and no one knew the cause or the cure. The king had proclaimed, “Anyone who spends the night with my sick son will receive a pound of silver.” Many tried to spend the night with the prince, but all who tried were never heard from again.

  “A pound of silver?” thought Kate. “Annie and I will need money. I must try.” So, Kate and Annie went to see the king.

  “I’ll spend the night with your sick son in exchange for the pound of silver and a safe place for my sick sister to rest.” The king agreed. He took Annie to a fine room, and then he led Kate to his son’s room.

  The prince slept in his bed. Kate watched and waited. Night came. Nothing happened. But when midnight arrived, the prince opened his eyes, climbed out of bed, and walked past Kate as if he could not even see her. Kate followed him from the palace and out to the stable. The prince saddled his horse. When he mounted his horse, Kate Crackernuts jumped up behind him and they rode away into the forest. As they rode by trees, Kate grabbed nuts and dropped them in her apron. They rode and they rode. At last the prince stopped in front of a green hill and called, “Open, green hill. Admit the prince and his horse.”

  And in a voice Kate hoped sounded like the prince, she added, “And his lady.”

  The green hill opened. Kate and the prince rode into another world. In this world, they rode on a broad path edged by tall trees. The path ended at a magnificent house. When the prince stopped his horse, Kate Crackernuts slid off and hid in nearby bushes. The door of the house opened, and fairies ran out, calling, “Oh, it’s the prince—our dancing partner!”

  The fairies dragged the prince from his horse and pulled him into the house. Kate slipped into the house behind them, taking care to hide in the shadows. Kate watched as the fairies danced with the prince. They danced and danced and danced with him. They would not let him eat. They would not let him drink. They made him dance and dance.

  Only when a cock crowed the coming morning did the fairies let him go. The prince stumbled outside and struggled onto his horse. Kate slipped out and jumped up behind him. Back they rode to the palace
, where the prince fell into his bed.

  When the king arrived to check on his son, he found the prince asleep in bed and Kate Crackernuts sitting in front of the fire cracking nuts open with her bare hands. “I’ve learned what ails the prince,” she said, “but I don’t know how to cure him. I will spend another night with him for a pound of gold.” The king agreed.

  That night, Kate didn’t watch the prince dance. Instead, she crept in the shadows, listening to the fairies, and this is what she heard:

  “Any news from the palace?” one asked.

  “Sheep’s head Annie is visiting,” another laughed.

  “Oh, what a wonderful spell that one is!” said a third, “Ugly, ugly, ugly.”

  “Oh yes, effective, but simple,” said another. “Why, three stokes of any wand, even the one the baby’s playing with—would break that spell.”

  Kate thought, “Where’s the baby? That wand is mine.” Kate crept in the shadows until she found a fairy baby playing with a wand. She took nuts from her apron and, one by one, she rolled the nuts past the baby. The fairy baby acted just like any human baby. The baby watched nut after nut roll by. Then the baby laughed, dropped the wand, and crawled off after the nuts.

  Kate snatched the wand, hid it in her apron, and then slipped out to await the prince.

  When she returned to the palace, Kate hurried to Annie’s room. Three times she stroked the sheep’s head with the wand. The sheep’s head vanished—Annie’s beauty restored!

  “Now, Annie,” said Kate, “I understand there is a handsome, healthy prince living in this palace. Why don’t you see if you can meet him? I’m off to make another bargain with the king.”

  When the king came to his son’s room, Kate was waiting for him. “I still don’t know how to cure him, but I’ll spend another night with him, if I may marry him.” The king agreed.