The Fairy Caravan

by Beatrix Potter

  Pony Billy rubbed his nose against his foreleg, and gave it up! He moved a little further up the lane, and went on nibbling.

  ‘Can the flowers feel, Xarifa?’ whispered Tuppenny. ‘I do not know how much or how little; but surely they enjoy the sunshine. See how they are smiling, and holding up their little heads. They cannot dart about, like yonder buzzing fly, nor move along the bank, like that big yellow striped queen wasp. But I think they take pleasure in the gentle rain and sun and wind; children of spring, returning from year to year; and longer-lived than us – especially the trees. Tuppenny, you asked me about fairies. Here on this pleasant sunny bank, I can tell you better than in the shadowed woods.’ ‘Are they good fairies, Xarifa?’ ‘Yes; but all fairies are peppery. The fairy of the oak tree was spiteful for a while. Sit you round on the moss, Belinda, and Tuppenny, and visitor mice; and I will try to tell you prettily a tale that should be pretty – the tale of the Fairy in the Oak.

  Chapter 23

  The Fairy in the Oak

  There is something glorious and majestic about a fine English oak. The ancient Britons held them sacred; and the Saxons who came after revered the Druids’ trees. William the Norman Conqueror ordered a record of all the land. Because there were no maps they wrote down landmarks; I remember an oak in Hertfordshire, that had been a landmark for Doomsday Book.

  This north country oak of my story was less old than the Doomsday Oak. It had been a fine upstanding tree in Queen Elizabeth’s reign. For centuries it grew tall and stately, deep-rooted amongst the rocks, by a corner above an old highway that led to a market town.

  How many travellers had passed the tree, since that road was a forest track! Hunters, robbers, bowmen; knights on horseback riding along; pike-men, jackmen marching; country folk and drovers; merchants, peddlars with laden pack-horses.

  At each change the road was mended and widened. There began to be two-wheeled carts. Then farmers’ wives left off riding on pillions; the gentry drove gigs and coaches; and alas! there came the wood wagons.

  Other oak trees were carried to the sea-port to make ships’ timbers – old England’s wooden walls – but the fairy’s oak towered out of reach. No wood-feller clambered up to it.

  Now our ships are built of steel, and iron horses rush along our roads; and the District Council decided to remove the rocks and corner, to widen the road for motor cars.

  Surely it is cruel to cut down a very fine tree! Each dull, dead thud of the axe hurts the little green fairy that lives in its heart. The fairy in the oak had been a harmless timid spirit for many hundred years. Long ago, when the oak was a sapling, there had been wolves; and the dalesmen hunted them with hounds. The hunt swept through the forest; the frightened fairy leaped into the oak branches. She found the tree a place of refuge; therefore she loved it and made it her home. Because it had a guardian fairy, that oak grew tall and strong. And each of the finest trees in the forest had a fairy of its own as well.

  There were birch fairies, beech fairies, alder fairies, and fairies of the fir trees and pines; all were dressed in the leaves of their own special trees; and in spring when the trees had new leaves, each fairy got herself a new green gown.

  They never went far from the trees that they loved; only on moonlight nights they came down, and they danced together on the ground. In autumn when the leaves fell off and the trees were left bare and cold, each fairy withdrew into the heart of its tree, and slept there, curled up, till spring.

  Only the pine and fir fairies kept awake, and danced upon the snow, because the firs and pines do not lose their needle-like evergreen leaves; and that is why the fir trees sing in the wind on frosty winter’s nights.

  The oak fairy had danced with the pine fairies beneath the hunter’s moon, because oak trees keep their leaves much later than birch or beech; but the last of the russet oak leaves were blown off by a November gale. She settled herself to sleep. The oak was enormous; tall and bold. It held up its head against wind and snow; and scorned the wintry weather.

  But the Surveyor of the District Council has no sentiment; and no respect, either for fairies or for oaks!

  The pine fairies were awake and saw what happened from their tree-tops further back in the wood. The pine trees swayed, and moaned, and shivered. But the oak fairy slept through it all. There arrived the surveyor, his assistant with the chain links, two men who carried the theodolite with three legs; a woodmonger; and four members of the Council. They did much measuring with the chains; they made notes in their pocketbooks; they squinted through the theodolite at white and black sticks. Then they clambered up the rocks, and stared at the fairy’s oak. The woodmonger measured it with a tape measure; he measured near the foot of the butt; he measured again six foot up; he reckoned the quarter girth; they did calculations according to Hoppus. The councillors said that the tree had an enormous butt; thirty foot run of clean timber to the first branch, with never a knot. They looked at the rocks; and did sums. Then they went away.

  Nothing happened for six weeks; except a gale that blew down an ash tree. It crashed amongst the rocks. Its fairy fell out, shrieking. She ran up and down in tattered yellow leaves, till she found an empty bird-nest, and hid in it.

  In January a number of men arrived; they had tools, and wheelbarrows, and carts, and a wooden hut. They were quarrymen, navvies, wood-fellers; and carters and wagoners with horses. They cleared away the underwood; they drilled and blasted the rocks. The noise of blasting was like thunder; it awoke every fairy in the wood.

  Xarifa’s Fairy Tale

  And they felled the fairy’s oak.

  For three days they hacked and sawed and drove wedges; the wood was as hard as iron. Their axes broke; their saws were nipped; they lost their wedges overhead in the cuts. But day after day they laboured, and swung their heavy axes; and drove iron wedges with sledge hammer blows into the great tree’s heart. Then one climbed the tree and tied a wire rope to its head; and they pulled with a wagon horse. The tree swayed and groaned, and the hawser broke. Again they wielded their axes; and the little fairy sobbed and cried with pain.

  Suddenly, with a rending shriek and a roar, the oak thundered down amongst the rocks!

  It lamed a horse, and it did the men a mischief.

  All next day they hacked and sawed; they cut off its head and arms. They left the trunk lying overnight beside the road. The fairy stayed beside it, and caused another accident, upsetting a farmer’s cart. His horse in the dusk saw a thing like a little green squirrel that scolded and wrung its hands.

  Next day came the wagoners to hoist the great tree; and then again there was disaster. The three legs slipped; the chains broke twice – was it the fury of the little angry spirit that beat against the chains and snapped them?

  At length the tree was loaded. They drew away the wagon with two extra pairs of horses; and the fairy, sullen and exhausted, sat huddled upon the log. They swept the top stones off the walls; they had every sort of trouble; but at last they reached the summit of the moor. Ten chain horses were unhooked; leaving one trembling thill-horse in the shafts. The brake was screwed on hard, to face the steep descent.

  Down below the hill there sounded a humming, whirring sound – the noise of the sawmill. The fairy sprang from her tree, and fled away into the woods.

  All winter she wandered homeless. One day she climbed into one tree; another day she climbed into another tree. She always chose an oak tree; but she could not settle to sleep. Whenever a load of sawn timber came back up the road from the sawmill, the fairy came down to the road.

  She looked at it wistfully; but it was always larch, or ash, or plane; not oak.

  She wandered further afield in spring time, into the meadows outside the woods. There was grass for the lambs in the meadows; on the trees young green leaves were budding – but no new green leaves for the oak fairy. Her leaf-gown was tattered and torn.

  One day she sat on a tree-top, and the west wind blew over the land. It brought sounds of lambs bleating; and the cuckoo
calling. And a strange new sound from the river – clear ringing blows upon oak.

  ‘Men do not fell trees in May, when the sap rises. Why does this sound stir my heart, and make my feet dance, in spite of me? Can I hear cruel hammers and saws upon oak-wood, and feel glad?’ said the fairy of the oak.

  She came out of the wood, and her feet danced across the meadow, through the cuckoo flowers and marsh mary-golds, to the banks of the flooded stream, where men were building a bridge. A new bridge to the farm, where none had been before; a wooden bridge with a broad span across the rushing river; and the straight brave timbers that spanned it were made of the fairy’s oak!

  ‘Is that all, Xarifa?’ She had come to a stop.

  ‘All except that she was happy again, and she made her home in the bridge. She lives there, contented and useful; and may live there for hundreds of years; because hard-grown oak lasts forever; well seasoned by trial and tears. The river sings over the pebbles; or roars in autumn flood. The bridge stands sure and trusty, where never before bridge stood. Little toddling children take that short cut to the school; and Something guards their footsteps by the bank of the flowery pool. The good farm-horses bless the bridge that spares them a weary road; and Something leads them over, and helps to lighten their load. It wears a russet-brown petticoat, and a little hodden gray cloak – and that is the end of my story of the Fairy in the Oak.’

  ‘Very sweet, Xarifa, albeit longwinded. Now mount the steps and away! White clouds sail across the blue heaven. The sheep and their lambs are on the fell; the plovers and curlews are calling. Tune up little fiddlers; begone!’

  They harnessed up, they trailed away – over the hills and far away – on a sunny windy morning. But still in the broad green lonnin going up to the intake, I can trace my pony’s fairy footsteps, and hear his eager neighing. I can hear the rattle of the tilt-cart’s wheels, and the music of the Fairy Caravan.

  Glossary

  Asterisks indicate Beatrix Potter’s own explanations

  Bedding chest, p. 83 Panelled chests with heavy lids were in use before chests of drawers.*

  Borran, p. 80 A fox’s hole under rocks.*

  Bour-tree bush, p. 96 Elderberry bush.

  Bridewain, p. 83 Wedding festivities and gifts.*

  Cairngorm, p. 101 A Scotch crystal found in the Cairngorm mountains.*

  Cams, p. 76 Slaty top stones of a wall set on edge like a comb.*

  Cart-kist, p. 126 Body of cart, literally ‘cart-chest’.

  Chimney, p. 80 A rift or gully, up the perpendicular face of the crag.*

  Colludie Stone, p. 85 A water-worn stone with a natural hole through it.*

  Coppy stools, p. 141 Milking stools.

  Cragged, p. 78 Fallen over a crag.*

  Early numbers, p. 81 The old manner of sheep counting.*

  Ellers, p. 118 Alders.

  Foisty, p. 166 Damp and dusty; applied to hay.

  Grassings, p. 81 Hill pastures which often retain their Scandinavian names to this day.*

  Heaf, p. 74 A tract of unfenced pasture where a sheep is accustomed to graze; as the high fells are not divided by fences it is important to have heafed flocks which will not stray from their own land.*

  Herb, p. 74 Vegetation; grass is a word seldom used by shepherds.*

  Herdwick, p. 73 A distinct mountain-breed of sheep peculiar to the Lake District.*

  Hoggie-lambies, p. 77 Lambs just weaned.

  Hoppus, p. 184 Hoppus and measurements – old Lake Country complicated tables for reckoning the quantity of timber in trees.*

  Hull, p. 95 A farm building.*

  Hunting, p. 78 The Lake foot packs are supported by the sheep farmers in order to keep down the depredations of foxes amongst the lambs. The hound puppies on walk are reared on the farms, and returned to their homes when the hunting is over for the season. It frequently happens that a few hounds are benighted after a long chase. They take themselves to the nearest farm where they are hospitably received and cheerfully welcomed. Next morning they go on their way again.*

  Intake, p. 178 A mountain pasture taken in or enclosed from the open fell.*

  Keld, p. 81 A spring of water.*

  Key-bit, p. 36 Ear-mark on sheep.

  Langle, p. 73 To tie a piece of sacking from a fore leg to the opposite hind leg in order to prevent sheep from jumping walls.* [The practice is now illegal.]

  Lish, p. 77 Active, supple, lively.*

  Lonnin, p. 188 A lane.*

  Lug, p. 41 Ear. As thin as a cat’s lug – extremely thin.

  Menseful, p. 83 Sensible or provident.

  Middenstead, p. 96 A place for farmyard manure.*

  Mowdie-warps, p. 76 Moles.

  Parrocks, p. 140 Paddocks.

  Peet, p. 73 Signifies partially blind (i.e. one-eyed).*

  Pissamoor hills, p. 140 Ant hills.

  Pit-steads, p. 140 Charcoal burner’s hearth.

  Plash, p. 76 Fall of rain (i.e. splash).*

  Ridged, p. 81 Through countless generations the sheep have worn tracks along the hills, not unlike the lonely Roman Road along the summit of the mountain called High Street.*

  Ring-widdie, p. 141 A double ring shaped like a figure 8. One ring runs up and down an iron rod attached to the cow’s stall; the other passes through the halter.

  Rose comb, p. 101 A thick comb of many points.*

  Rush, p. 76 A small avalanche, stones, snow or rock.*

  Sele bushes, p. 140 Willows.

  Shelf, p. 80 A ledge on the crag.*

  Shippon, p. 141 Cowshed.

  Skeerily, p. 138 Warily.

  Snigging, p. 63 To snig or snigging – to drag a tree along the ground with a horse and chain.*

  Snod, p. 163 Comfortable, snug.

  Stirk, p. 82 Yearling bullock or heifer.

  Stone-men, p. 81 The ancient inhabitants of the Lake District had sheep. A fragment of woollen material has been found in a stone barrow or burial place.*

  Taed-pipes, p. 37 Water horse-tail – an undesirable plant.*

  Tailed and marked, p. 80 Lambs have their owner’s mark put on with tar or red paint and their tails cut when they are about two weeks old.*

  Tarrie woo’, p. 71 Fleeces of the hill sheep are water proofed with greasy preparation, on which is put a distinguishing Tar mark.*

  Thivel, p. 28 A smooth wooden stick used for stirring a pot.*

  Twinter, p. 76 A young sheep once shorn, 16 months old.*

  Two-shear, p. 76 A twice shorn sheep, 28 months old.*

  Uveco, p. 97 A cattle food prepared from maize corn.*

  Wagoners, p. 63 Lumber-men.*

  Webster, p. 83 Hand loom weavers.*

  Widdershins, p. 97 Contrary way.*

  Wilf, p. 63 The old name for willow. Wilfin is the plural of Wilf.*

  Wood-mongers, p. 184 Merchants who buy and sell timber.*

  FREDERICK WARNE

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  First published by Frederick Warne 1929

  This edition first published 1992

  This edition copyright © Frederick Warne & Co., 1992

  Original text and illustrations copyright © Frederick Warne & Co., 1929

  Frede
rick Warne & Co. is the owner of all rights, copyrights and trademarks in the Beatrix Potter character names and illustrations.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the above publisher of this book.

  ISBN: 978-0-72-326551-1