A Meander Through the Folklore of Birth in the Westcountry

Me and my Mum and Dad, soon after my birth at home, scanned from an old negative

[It was my birthday recently, and what better insperation for a post than that!

I am living the gift of being a parent to my young daughter, and the whole experience of watching her grow from a dream, to a bump, to an uncurling baby and now a small child taking her first steps in the world is breathtaking.

The most exciting, wonderful and completely terrifying day (and night and day!) of my existence was her birth - more moving than the best music or poetry, more terrifying than having open heart surgery (or even sitting on a train for 4 hours waiting to properly hug and kiss my friend/future wife Lunar Hine for the first time!).

I have a feeling such a momentous occasion as a birth will have some interesting Westcountry folklore attached... 

Lets see...

Babies, and the birthing of them, are not an adventure to follow lightly! In some parts of Devonshire even to dream of holding a baby was to portend trouble.

In Bristol, in the 1990's, they used to advertise with a 'price promise' cut into stone and placed by the shop entrance. I remember a story circulating that many of the women who sat who sat at the till opposite this limestone block fell pregnant!  

For some woman to become pregnant is not always easy, and there is some lore related to this. The 'Asda price promise' lore is reminiscent of the Men-an-Tol stone in Cornwall, whereby to fall pregnant a woman crawled backwards through the granite aperture seven times on a full moon (full moons and the shape of the stone being reminiscent of female fecundity, seven being a magical number often used in healing lore). Roy and Ursula Radford in their brilliant book 'West Country Folklore' tell on page 73 of some lore whereby a married woman who is experiencing trouble becoming pregnant strips naked and walks out on the morning of Saint John's day eve (the 23rd of June) and picks Saint Johns Wort while the dew still lies upon it.  There is more baby related lore in this wonderful book, but I shall not reveal more than this tiny taster because it is still in copyright.

In Honiton there is a very old legend that relates how all the women of the parish fell barren due to a curse, and only by fasting and prayer at the chapel of Saint Margret where they again made bountiful. Another tale tells how a day and night of preyer at her shrine would bring pregnancy for childless women. Some say the seal of the town depicts this myth, with the beatifying hand of God overhead and a honeysuckle flower alluding to the towns name underneath. That the saint is absent from the waste down could indicate something of past christian attitudes to the holy and the bodily!  One strange antiquarian, however, described the seal thus "a pregnant woman kneeling before an idol with a plant below, and an obstetric hand above". I will let you decide who is most accurate!

From Devon Notes and Queries (Volume 2)

 
Women might also use Wise Women to help them with pregnancy. These breast-like pots where said to have been filled with breast milk and used for this purpose in the Barnstable area.

Seeing four magpies in Devon was an omen of a birth (from William Crossing's 'Folk rhymes of Devon').

Sometimes pregnancy was not wanted.  Jay's Grave on Dartmoor famously holds the body of a dead woman, who killed herself because when she found herself pregnant by an uninterested squire. Slightly less drasticly are the poppet made to affect an abortion, a nail or dagger being driven through the womb are.  I cannot guarantee these or from Devon or Cornwall, but this suggests they may well have come from this area.

Turning away from unwanted to very much wanted pregnancy now - In one Dartmoor town there is a custom among a certain group of people to preform a mother/baby blessing about a month before the due date (with rituals/creations following this as well).  This has been going on for at least 10 years - I am not sure when it started. I cannot tell you more because I don't know how much the people involved want it to be in the public domain.  Suffice to say it involves pampering the mother and the exclusion of men (including the father)... I know of at least one occasion where the father held his own father/baby blessing simultaneously.

Being born on a Christmas if it fell on Monday was particularly lucky in Devon, while all Sundays where good days for a birth, allowing the child to see spirits and to 'tame the Dragon that watches over hidden treasure', or, from another Devon source, 'never want bread'.  Sunday as a lucky day is strait forward in a largely Christian world, being the holy day, but Monday I find more confusing. Could this relate to the 'moon' bit of 'Monday'? Or that the initial laboring was likely done on a Sunday? The old and well known rhyme relating to the days of the week one is born on have a Devonshire version, not dissimiller, that runs - 

Monday's child is fair in face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for its living,
And a child that's born on Christmas Day,
Is fair and wise, and good and gay.

or

Born on Sunday, a gentleman,
Monday, fair in face,
Tuesday, full of grace,
Wednesday, sour and glum,
Thursday, welcome home,
Friday, free in giving;
Saturday, work hard for your living.

Both from William Crossing's 'Folk rhymes of Devon'.  Being a Wednesday's child I was never too keen on these sort of rhymes...

The 'caul' is a particularly potent remnant of the birthing process, for example this one from Lyme Regis. Most birth do not result in the child having a caul. A caul is manifested when the membrane surrounding the baby in the womb remains intact around the babies head as they are born. This is not life threatening, and I have heard can even make the birth relatively easier. This prized piece of tissue was sometimes in the past (and reportedly also in the present) kept by midwifes / wise women in the Westcountry, who could then sell it for a high price. It was particularly valued by those who went to sea as a good luck charm protecting them from drowning Perhaps this is because of the amazing way an unborn child wrapped in the warm layers of its mothers body does not need to breath air with their lungs.

An even more potent remnant from the special time of birth is found in the healing abilities of as yet unwashed babies. Mr Blatchford, sextant of Bridestowe, claimed the abilities to heal by touching the afflicted parts of the sick, provided this was done on a Tuesday, the day of his birth, and an odd number of Tuesdays since he last preformed a healing.  This was because as a baby, before he had been washed or dressed from being born he had stroked on an afflicted person and healed them - this was the root cause of his healing powers (from  The Transactions of the Devonshire Association Volume 17, page 120). Another healer from South Molton got his healing touch (touching the afflicted person nine times before they ate or washed every Wednesday for nine weeks)  because as an unwashed baby he was placed out in the snow.  He said that if this was done to any baby they would grow up to have his ability (from The Transactions of the Devonshire Association Volume 85, 1953, page 218).

In Devon and Somerset at least the healing powers of seventh sons or daughters (and occasionally ninth or eleventh ones as well) where very sought after between the 16th - 20th centuries, especially the seventh child of a seventh child (see Davies, Folklore, Volume 109, 1998 Page 48). However having seven sons all at once was not desired! Lady Isabella Courtney had to prevent a man from drowning his septuplates for fear of poverty, and instead provided for them from her own estates. The stress of poverty must have been immense to drive a man to this act. (I can only imagine that seven surviving medieval children was an exaggeration! The number 7 must have been used because of the potent power of this number of children in other lore.) 

The threat of fatality during childbirth was not limited to the baby however. The death of a mother was also something very much a sad part of pre-20th century life. The Devon legend states that Brutus' mother died at his birth because he was so big, earning him his name (see Baring-Gould's Book of the West).  It would be helpful in these cases to have a scapegoat to blame, as in this tale, with its appeal to supernatural forces to help revenge such an occurrence.  The human mind does not seem to be able to absorb such random moments of loss without the balance of some thing or one to blame.

Breastfeeding is not always as easy as it can appear. This charm, in the shape of a breast on a heart, was used by 'singing Sal', a witch from Wells, to help nursing mothers have an easier time of feeding.

I was given shiny coins by two people in Chagford after the birth of my child.  The first was from Scotland, and actively avoided us until she had a suitable coin. The second was a Devon woman who worked in a local shop, and initially gave us an extra shiny coin in our change, but then if memory served me correctly, later chased after us and gave us five shiny pound coins 'for the baby'. It seems the 'silver' coins are of too low value these days!  A gold key can also be given as a charm to a baby to unlock their future.

I was watching the latest episode of Dr Who? and there is a bit where a hero called Rory kisses his babies head before picking up a sword to fight an unwinable battle to defend her.  I felt the power of that moment. Imagining kissing my own daughter possibly for the last time in the face of those who wished her harm I realised how all the laws that usually govern my reason and morality would simply melt away. She would become the soul moral point in that darkness...

Hence I completely understand the tragic inability of this woman to hand over her baby to a stronger arm when being rescued from a wreck off the Saint Ives coast.  And I understand how her unquiet ghost would not find the solace of death following her powerlessness to keep her baby safe. Often it seems that folk stories are told to help people through traumatic and momentous moments in their lives, by giving distance through allegory and metaphor to allow people to see themselves a little. I think maybe this is one of these stories - it was not so long ago when most parents expected to lose a child or two, and the feeling of ghost-like emptiness following each loss cannot of been always conquerable. One of my own grandparents had a brother who died in infancy, and her parents often visited the grave of their 'angel child', who gained his title because his two years on earth had filled them with such joy.  In Tavistock the death of children was frequent enough to garner its own traditions - young women dressed in (maidenly) white bore the small coffin by handkerchiefs strung through the handles (see Mrs Bray's book, page 206).  I imagine this was done to emphasize the sinless purity of the small burden through virtue of its age (with white clad young women representing virgins, the handkerchiefs emphasizing the smallness of the burden).

Skulls, such as this one from a North Bovey witch, have been used as symbols of rebirth, as well as death in magical traditions - the two states of life and death are perhaps at their closest during birth - it is a van Gennep style liminality personified!

The Pixies (or piskies) and other fey folk such as Spriggans or Mermaids show a particular interest in babies, perhaps because of this liminality.

Even unborn babies attract the attention of  the little folk - Pixies are said to still ley flowers on lonely Jay's Grave, said to hold a dead young woman who was pregnant with child.

The bond between fey babies and human ones is particularly strong, and most of the longer connections between the fairies people and humans is through the medium of babies.  Human midwifes where sometimes called to deliver pixie babies (see an example from Holne, Dartmoor on pages 12-16 of V. Day Sharman's "Folk Tales Of Devon" or Baring-Gould's 'Book of the West', pages 188-193, and another example from Mrs Bray's south-west Devon book), as were human nurses required to care for the growing child (and here, and here etc.).

In reverse we have changelings. Changeling stories both prey on the fear of someone interfering with your baby, and simultaneously give some kind of solace to those who cannot make their baby thrive easily.  The general thread is that a healthy baby is exchanged for a sickly one (some past authors put this down to particular sudden infant ailments changing the appearance of babies).  I know from our experiences early in parenthood a babies ill-health can be incredibly traumatic, and how quickly the appearance and weight of babies can change. Having an external force beyond humanity or a morally orientated God responsible is exactly how it feels. Giving this fear shape and personality, and yet holding it as a force of nature could be incredibly helpful, though how this could interfere with the bond for your baby is not so good. Pixies where themselves considered on Dartmoor to be the ghosts of unbaptized children (my child often reminds me of a force of nature!)

Baby care are not always easy, and having had a good long taste of cholic and sleep-free nights I can see how hopelessness might set in, and reason and even compassion could slip if one was not able to call on a willing partner for help.  Thus the image of your screaming changeling baby being a mirror to your healthy happy one held by the piskies, and that everything you did to it would be done to your baby in turn could be an important thread of hope to give a young mother to hold onto when she is not really coping. However in some cases such as this Cornish one the mother was encouraged to beat the child and mistreat it till her own was returned. I say 'mother' here because in the past there where few examples of single fathers, and although the general attitude of past fathers can be remarkably 'hands on' and loving considering the modern spin on the past (see for instance The Heart of the Moor by Beatrice Chase, written about 1920's Dartmoor) in many cases the children where the soul responsibility of mothers due to the restrictions imposed by the hard physical labour of pre-industrial, post-Mesolithic life.

Sometimes changelings where hideous to look at, but occasionally they could be amazingly beautiful, as in this case of a changeling mermaid.  Faerie children often had piercing eyes, or unnatural abilities. Giant's babies, however, where simply massive, hungery,  fast growing and hearty, as one might expect.

Occasionally Pixie babies where not exchanged for human children, but simply bundled upon unsuspecting people. There must have been a fare few orphans and abandoned babies when the church stigma of the 'sin' of unmarried motherhood was so high. Potential Pixie wrath was a good way of ensuring them care. The opposite could happen to - when a child was mistreated and neglected some fey force may remove the child for a while.  Not only was this a good threat to thwart an abusive parent, it also would give good cover for saving the life of an abused child by concerned neighbors. Lady Howard, now cursed to a ghostly ride with a black hound and a headless coachman from Okehampton to Tavistock, counted amongst her alleged crimes the violent abuse of her daughter. The story goes that a lady of high status witnessed the abuse and snatched the child, bringing her up as her own - a situation Lady Howard was said to be pleased by (see Mrs. Bray's Book). So this was not reserved for one class or the other, a sought of vigilante social services existed, at least as a warning (or to provide hope) in the folkloric world.

For Devon mothers a moments inattention could lead to their babies being snatched (see Legends and Folklore of Devonshire by Cecily M. Rutley, pages 39-43), a useful lesson given young children's abilities to find trouble in less than a second (recently my girl managed to dive up over my shoulder and headbutt the chair back behind me - I am still not sure how this was possible!).

It seems that the human child taken by the pixies was invariably well cared for.

Retrieving your original baby in the case of a changeling could be done by either beating the pixie chaingeling then placing it on the border of consecrated earth (a horrible version of an exorcism), or by bathing it for the first three Wednesdays of May in Chapel well and carrying it around the well 'with the sun' (not always successfully) or through passing the changeling through the Men-an-Tol or Crick Stone   This stone was well known for its healing ability, particularly around children and mothers, perhaps due to the 'feminine' shape of a circle. Even following a cat could lead to a taken child - I can only think this was a reference to a familiar of a local witch / wise woman / midwife who had in this case taken the child from its abusive parents.  There was no guarantee of ever having a changeling swapped back - sometimes the pixies took the human baby for only a few days, such as with a Chudleigh story in Legends and Folklore of Devonshire by Cecily M. Rutley, pages 68-74, to a lifetime, such as one Dartmoor story from this book shows (pages 40-45), and ill luck could follow in the pixies wake.

Wow - this 'short post' turned out rather longer than I intended!

I feel I need to say - this is not a complete or even particularly coherent roundup of birth in the world of folklore in the West Country. For a start most true folklore would have been much more mundane and useful! For a second I have a large amount of lore related to Devon - please forgive me this bias - all parts of the Westcountry have a rich lore, not just Devon!  Please also forgive my ramblings - I put these posts together over a very few evenings and as such they are not polished or deeply plotted or thought out - please accept them for what they are - a meander through the lore of  the West Country...]

Lunar Hine, me, and our little baby, after her birth.