A Meander with Dragons

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it.

[Dragons have long been an obsession of mine.

In my eyes their long and mighty forms cloaked the ridges of the moorland hills and sawed faster than army jets through the bright skies. At school the seagulls where the free and distant forms of dragons, in my dreams their mighty arching wings birthed a wake of forest. When I was angry I would ripple through the air on long strokes of wings that beat to the timing of my lungs and no force can intimidate me when I see the dragon beyond the trees..

The West Country hasreletively few dragons, though they are as mighty as any.. Certianly they are outnumbered down here by Giants and Pixies. This meander will show what I have found of West Country dragons so far-

I have read that the slaying of the dragon represented the domination of Christianity (embodied in the saint) over other faiths (represented by the Dragon). I have also read that the spilling of the dragons blood, or pinning of the dragon to the ground is an older allusion to the release of natures fertility into the ploughed earth of the farmer. I would not take either of these ideas as the absolute truth.  History always spreads its roots wide for inspiration. 

There is of course Saint George and the dragon, Saint George being a feature of mummers plays and the dragon sometimes being mentioned (see Robert Hunt's Popular Romances of the West of England for example). In North Devon the dragononly appears breifly, and describes himself as being composed of different sorts of metals, while at Bovey Trace a wooden mask with bullocks teeth and whiskers, and a tinbuttoned coat with tails might have been a dragon (see The Mummer's Play in Devon and Newfoundland by Theo Brown Folklore, Vol. 63, No. 1 (Mar., 1952), pp. 30-35).  Both the Dragon and Saint George are described as being present in pre-19th century May Day celebrations (see Mrs Bray's A Description of the Part of Devonshire Bordering On the Tamar and the Tavy, Letters to R. Southey).  Saint Michael the Archangel and his slaying of dragons is celebrated in our local church in Chagford, in the form of a carving and a staned glass window.

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it

But these are foreign dragons.  I want dragons from the land I have walked upon!

I realise I am beginning sounding a bit like the gullible emettes (tourists) sent by locals to fight the dragons on Bodmin at Halgaver's Dragon Pit, (from Cornish Dragon Lore by Andy Norfolk published by Meyn Mamvro1997) but bare with me...

One dragon is found in the name of a man much referred to in ancient Westcountry (esp. but not exclusively Cornish) lore (as well as elsewhere in Britain and France). This is Uter Pendragon (also referred to in Robert Hunt's Popular Romances of the West of England). But I shall not dwell on him - I want fire and wings, majesty and mystery, gold and maidens, curling horns and sharp talons and eyes as deep as the ocean!  I want the Dragon who if you are born on a Sunday in Devon you stand a chance of facing and taking the treasure from (ok, so this may be a metaphor, thus making my point pointless...).

I want 'real' dragons!

There are many ancient dragon saint and Dragon stories in Cornwall, many supposedly dating back to the first millennium.

Staint Carantoc, a Welsh saint who later lived in Crantoc, Cornwall (acording to his legends). A legend I have not been able to satisfactorily untangle involving a cursed altar, King Arthur, Somerset and the King of the ancient Cornish/Devonian/Somerset kingdom of Dumnonia, ends with the saint stopping King Arthur's men from slaying a winged serpent in Cornwall. An alternative version has him defeating (or subduing) the Dragon himself to retrieve his altar, founding a monastery at Carhampton on land gifted to him for his brave deed. (This is from a mixture of Cornish Dragon Lore by Andy Norfolk in Meyn Mamvro 1997, Baring-gould's The Lives of British Saints Vol II and Wikipedia!). 

Saint Sampson slew a Cornish Dragon, while better known Saint Petroc of Cornwall and West Devon, in one version of his life, cured a dragon by plucking a stake from its eye (thus showing true christian virtue). Another version has him trapping the dragon/serpant in its marshy home.  This dragon was formed by a certian King Teudar who kept many serpents in a marsh to throw criminal in. When his son put a stop to the practice the serpent ate on another until only one giant wyrm remained. Saint Petroc put a girdle about the serpent and led it tamely to the sea, where he released it, rather like saint Patric and the snakes of Ireland.  This ocurance has been linked to the dancing of the Obby-oss by traitors pool near Padstow on May-Day (from Cornish Dragon Lore by Andy Norfolk published by Meyn Mamvro1997 - includes more info).    It all sounds very allegorical to me, and fits very well with the Dragon being a Pagan religion, as does a more resent dragon / saint manifestation at Wievliscombe in Somerset in 1827 (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk).

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it

A dragon was also vanquished on May-Day from Mile Hill, near Portreath, Cornwall, by a white dog. It was banished into the sea (from Cornish Dragon Lore by Andy Norfolk published by Meyn Mamvro1997 - includes more info), marking a bit of a watery, low lying theme for Westcountry dragons that is beginning to emerge. 

Indeed a dragon at Christechurch, Dorset, did itself emerge from the sea, blasting the town with its firery breath in 1113. The somewhat less terrifying story of Blue Ben, the dragon of Kilve, Somerset, was that he slipped on a causeway and drowned in the mud bellow!  His skull shows him to be an icthyosaur (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk). 

Talisman made of fossilized Belemnites from Lyme Bay, Dorset, are said in 1944 to have formed in the heads of dragons (http://www.museumofwitchcraft.com).

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it

Out here on Dartmoor we have also have a Dragon legend  - the story of the Dragon of Wo brook. Indead William Crossing hints that there where once more dragon legends on the moor (Folk rhymes of Devon). The Wo, or O Brook dragon, in typical dragonish style (or at least in typical anthropocentric retelling), terrified the neighborhood from it cave on the edge of the brook, eating both sheep and unwary human travelers. It may not have been alone, though it is the one that is remembered best.  On a nearby hillside to Week Ford is a prehistoric hut circle with a gable-end added, said to be where the workmen hid their tools in a time when dragons flourished in the valley below (William Crossing's Guide to Dartmoor). The dragon was described as a winged serpent, though it must also have had feat,  for when the locals banded up and caught the beast (they have no need of heroes here on the moor - if you want a job doing you do it yourself) they bound it hand and foot and tossed it in the river to drown.  Such is the unhappy lot of dragons...

Another was said to have lived and died (again killed) at Manaton on Dartmoor, hissing in its mineshaft lair (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk)

Some dragons are not easily vanquished.  At Aller in Somerset a farmer called John Aller lay in wait in a marsh for their local fiery dragon who lived at Curry Rivel and had taken to destroying crops with its breath. John smote off its head, but everywhere the blood fell the land was made barren - no grass grows their to this day. He himself was badly burnt by the blood, so badly that he lived only long enough to be carried to the church. In gratitude the local farmers named the village after him (from T. W. E. Higgens, in Folklore, Vol. 4, No. 3 (Sep., 1893), pp. 396-404).

In Zennor, in Cornwall, a large Wyrm was driven out or killed by setting fire to the gorse, making it a little at odds with other dragonic vanquishments where water was the predominant element (from Cornish Dragon Lore by Andy Norfolk published by Meyn Mamvro 1997 - includes more info). Another firey dragon launched a flaming ball at Helston, where it can still be seen, now cooled to solid rock (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk).

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it

To add to the elemental confusion one dragon on the Somerset / Dorset border at Kingston Saint Mary was slain by a hero who rolled a boulder down into its flaming mouth!  (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk)

Another dragon at Crowcombe, Somerset was killed by a dunk woodcutter, who thought the Wyrm was a log, and sat on it. When it moved such was his surprise that he slew it with his axe. One half went towards Taunton, and the other Minehead.  The dragon of Norton Fitzwarren was killed by the more refined blade of an 13th century Sir Fulk. The dragon itself was said to have risen from the decaying bodies of the dead Britons killed by the Romans at a local Iron Age hill fort.  Another dragon was slain by a knight at Churchstanton (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk).

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it

There are a few other Somerset dragons, though little remains of their stories, at Wells, Trull and Castle Neorche (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk).

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it

One dragon has not been vanquished from Devon, though it was mentioned over 400 years ago (see William Crossing's Folk rhymes of Devon), and that is the Dragon of Cadbury Castle and Dodburry - both ancient (Iron Age?) hill forts.  Surely this dragon must be the last lonely remnant of its kind down here to have not one but two huge hoards of treasure that it guards, so vast in wealth that -

"If Cadbury and Dolbury dolven were,

All England might plough with a golden share."

(Hope Moncrieff's Black's guide to Devonshire;)

or

"If Cadbury Castle and Dolbury Hill down delved were,
Then Denshire might plough with a golden coulter,
And eare with a gilded shere."

  (William Crossing's Folk rhymes of Devon)

 

This Dragon is a fiery beast that may only be seen at midnight, when it flys from one hoard to another, guarding its nest in solitary and awe-full splendor.  Many other hills in Devon, Cornwall and Somerset are also said to hold vast hoards, though no other has a dragon still guarding it (William Crossing's Folk rhymes of Devon).

Having said this was the sole survivor of the Dragonish race Devon does hold one or two other stories. In the 17th century twelve or so Dragons where seen at Winkliegh, while no story exists of the slaying of the dragons at Challacombe, or the removal of their bronze- age hoard (more info - http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk)...]

A drawing of mine of a dragon - please attribute this blog if you wish to use it

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.

A Ruddy Meander through the Lore of Redness in the Westcountry.

Winkleigh Morris in Chagford on the 31st of May - thanks to artist and writer (and my wife) Lunar Hine for the image

[Please forgive me a rambeling start to this, the first of my new set of original posts. I will get to the point (the colour red in western folklore) eventually...

I was watching the Morris in the village last night, my mind a little softened by the ringing of bells and the Reel Ale in my gut (best pint in Chagford usually) and musing on what to put in this blog post. 

I enjoy Morris dancing and I cannot properly explain why. I think the beer helps, but also there is an element of community in the weaving dance and mirrored actions, liberally strewn with the varying personalities and abilities of the dancers. There is a sense of deep kindness in the way people work together for a common performance, becoming efficient. Things happening before the observer expects them, the dancers turning and swinging, knowing their fellow dancers stick will be there to great them.  Yet it is not the working of a machine, as some dance can become. These are real people, in every stumble, in every smiling helping hand there is humanity. It echoes for me the best times in life, where there is a human size common aim. There is the freedom to dance in the middle of the road, yet the security of knowing all around you are on your side, even when they come at you growling with a massive stick in their hands... In some ways Morris dancing puts me in mind of the insatiable kindness of a Dr. Who episode!

But I cannot write of Morris Dancing in the Westcountry - that is a massive topic - I will leave that to people who know far more than I. Before I talk the talk of this living evolving tradition I feel I would need to walk the walk...

Then there was the Bells.

Bells might make a good post...  The bells of the church mingled loudly with the sound of the Morris bells, ringing out their very different sorts of joy... But after some drunken consideration I felt this subject would be too lengthy and in the case of Church bells it would be quite difficult to draw the line between local lore and international Christianity.

Then I spotted the 'uniform', the colours...

One side, the Raddon Hill Morris dancers where waring the colours of the suffrage movement - White for purity, Green for hope and Purple for diginty. This stuck me quite strongly as a very well loved old friend of my family who died not to long ago had asked for these to be the colours of her funeral. For her as well as the suffrage movement they also symbolized White for Peace, Green for the natural world and Purple (I think) because of the poem "Warning" about liberation in old age by Jenny Joseph.

Raddon Hill Morris in Chagford -  thanks to artist and writer (and my wife) Lunar Hine for the image

The other side (Wickliegh Morris) wore red and black.

Now, over the past year or so, and with the help of google, the various student / anti-cuts protests have educated me to the fact that these are the colours of Social Anarchism or Anarch-Syndicalism, and this is what sprung into my amused and drunken mind (secret anarcho-Morris dancers - historically a very Morris thing to be!). This was followed by my older semiotic association with the (often anarchic) exploits of Dennis the Menace and Minnie the Minx!

Maybe the red chosen by Winkleigh Morris was that of socialism (think the Red Army), but I doubt it. Red in all its strong vibrancy, seemed like a good choice for this post - wide enough used to be interesting, not so widely used as to be meaningless.  I had found a topic...

So how is the colour red used in the Westcountry? Here are my musings. I do not pretend them to be 'true' - folklore can never be either true nor false in my opinion - it is as mailable and definable as the water cycle. Here are today's truths for me.

Red is of course the colour of our blood, our life force.  In this sense it can be representative of our health, our vitality. This is how it seems to have been used most in the Lore of the Westcountry. It is somewhat ironic that in the modern hegemony of the western world red is the colour of stopping, or reversing!

Perhaps a little outside the Westcountry in the New Forest we find the legends of the Red King, King Rufus -  a masculine figure - who died or was murdered while out hunting.  Here red blood marked his life - his name and lineage, his cruelty, his love of the hunt and ultimately his bloody death.  The colour is a ribbon that marks out the vibrant and cruel strength of his (and our) perilous existence.  Red here seems the colour of living, and living is always so very close to death. Fox-hunters still dress in red, and in Devon at one time a human pack of hounds chased a red and brown painted human 'stag' through the streets of  Okehampton (see Theo Brown in Folklore, 1952, Volume 63, pages 104-109)

Completely speculatively we could also see red being employed as a symbol of protective masculinity (blue being perhaps a more feminine colour, for instance being used to depict the Virgin Mary ). With this Devon amulet red substances and the red planet Mars (historically masculine) are used at a time when the moon is at its darkest (the moon often being a symbol of femininity) to create a ward against enemies and the Evil Eye. Neither the Evil Eye nor 'black/grey' witches where/are exclusively female, on Dartmoor at least (see Ruth E. St Leger Gordon), but there does seem a tendency to this.

More Winkleigh Morris - thanks to artist and writer (and my wife) Lunar Hine for the image

We even find in Padstow and Illfracombe women taking on the masculinity of red through the showing of red petticoats to scare away French soldiers (red being the colour of the English army uniform).  At risk of over complicating a simple tale I could also bring in another aspect of blood red here - a very feminine red - menstrual blood. The petticoat was a woman's undergarment, and as such to show them off would require lifting of ones skirt.  To have a red one, rather than a pure virginal white one shows a woman in the full vibrancy of her creative and sexual powers.  That the french where scared off by red petticoated woman may point to them being both cowards and little more than boys - they could not take face the full grown sexuality of the Westcountry women. It must also be said that the legend of women scaring off the French with red cloaks and broomsticks happens at Budleigh Salterton, Dartmouth, Ilfracombe, Plymouth, Sidmouth and Torquay (all Devon) and on the the Cornish coasts including Fishguard (from Theo Brown in Folklore, Volume 75, 1964, page 148).

I am, then,  perhaps being misleading to mark out red as a masculine colour - instead it could be a grown-up colour, the ruddy complexion of life at full throttle.  One can even find a hint of this in three aspects of the rose rent paid at Gidleigh Castle, on Dartmoor. This rent was paid at midsummer - the adulthood of a year - and it was required to be open and deep red - all conceivably symbols of maturity.

Back in the 1920's sheep at Widecombe fair are described as 'ruddled'. I think this means they where marked with red from a pack strapped under the rams chest to show they where fertilized. It could be that the irony red was simply a cheep colour to use, but I feel it was used to mark out the carnal act - to point out the maturity and vitality of the ewes.

The slightest reddening can be used in this way - the prim pinkness in 18 year old Selina's white (virginal) cheeks, in the Mermaids Vengance, seems to be used to indicate her growing sexual awareness. In this Victorian telling of the story the redness is almost invisible for the 'shame' associated with feminine sexuality, but is retained as a crucial indicator of her age and awareness.

Cherry of Zennor has a less subtle marker of her growing maturity. When she enters the faerie realm (unmarried adult/teenagehood?) her way is marked by the 'reddest of apples', a biblical allusion to the garden of Eden. She does not however eat them - perhaps she does not truly grow up until she is expelled from that magic place.

There is an even more marked and violent depiction of the transition from white virgin to red sexual being in the story of Tregeagle. Goonhylda first arives in the story as a young lady on a white horse. After becoming a 'guest for the night' with Tregeagle her father searches for her and finds her bloody garments and her horse 'all torn in the dark crimson floode'. Yet Goonhylda still lives, and 'refuses' Tregeagle...  It is hard to tell if this is his sexual advances or his request for marriage.

With feminine sexuality comes the inevitable baggage of the Christian churches. Full strength female sexuality cannot be seen as a wholesome thing in all cases. Betty Stoggs, a Cornish woman whos mother was given to drink had her cottage prepared with a four-poster bed and a 'lead and liver' (grey and pink/red) dresser to lure in Jan the Mounster (for her mother couldn't see that she would ever be an 'honest woman'). This, perhaps the red of a 'scarlet woman', or prostitute, is not widespread in the folklore of the Westcountry that I have found, but it is present.

It is not exclusively 'feminine' sexuality that is marked out with red.  This vibrant red association is found in a strata of red rock and the legend of the Cornish Giant Bolster (or of Goran) and in the costumes of the players in the Bolster Day celebrations. The amorous (red-blooded) giant is tricked by (white clad) Saint Agnes into filling a hole with his blood to prove his manhood. Little does he know but the hole links to the sea and he is drained unto death. That the sea (moving with the moon like a woman's womb) is made red with his blood, and that their is a 'hole' in the earth that remains unquenchable points to me to sexual, or even creative/fertile pagan undertones.  Around Dartmouth in Devon the red soil has been linked to the story that all the land around is a fallen giant (see Theo Brown in Folklore 1964, Volume 75, pages 146) - blood here is life - the very fertility of the earth.  Dragons elsewhere in Britain where described as being bled into the ground to fertilize it.

Anne Jefferies finds that the faerie she loves the most, and who defends her as a lover would, is marked from the others by the red feather in his cap. Here possibly we return to red is simply a colour of adulthood, of sexual awareness, of passionate life. I could be reading more here than there is.

There are occasions where the colours of faerie clothing baffles me, though the predominance of red (e.g the red of their caps {and here}or the red of a chaingelings lips) could be linked, like Father Christmas's outfit, to hallucination inducing Fly Agaric mushrooms - but I have no evidence for this.

Fly Agaric near my house in Chagford - If you want to use this photo please attribute this blog.

 

I am not sure how long the Devil has traditionally been red, but the fear of the feminine and the sexual in the 19th century seems a logical place to look. Certainly he is more often black in tradition Westcounty stories (not necessarily the black we use to describe human coloring today - I think the link is more to the charred black of burnt flesh and long dead corpses, to absence, destruction and darkness - all fears of a pre-electric lighting, pre-welfare-state society).   Cutty Dyer, a devilish monster living in Ashburton waters does have red eyes (from Theo Brown in Folklore, Volume 75, 1964, page 150), but this is all I can find so far.  

We do find a tempting castle/road-to-hell complete with red clad men placed before the miscreant Tregeagle in Cornwall -

"Where Dozmare lake its darke waters did roil,

A castle now reared its heade,

Wythe manye a turrete soe statelye and talle;

And many a warden dyd walke on its-walle,

All splendidly cloathed in redde.

Later the earl of Cornwall, in the guise of the devil, the Black Hunter, strikes down  Tregeagle with a "rede bolte of vengeaunce" as a punishment for is cruel actions. Whether this is the red of the devil, or simply the red of red-blooded vengeance (IE direct and angry) I cannot tell!  It could even be in the case of the red clothed men simply a reference to the devilish English army.

Red, as well as being symbolic of vitality and health, can also be a colour of disease, for example Red Barngum or 'red ill-thing' (cited in a Devon charm described Owen Davies Folklore 1996, Volume 107 pages 19-32) or 'red ill' (in a charm from the Transactions of the Devonshire Association Volume 31 1899).

A connection with disease can be found in the way that those who disturb a robins nest will die, a red spot marking the tranagressers corpse.  Robin 'redbreast' is an all round powerful and unlucky bird in Devon, protected by strong death taboos. Red spider-mites also cannot be destroyed, for fear of the ill luck and loss of money encountered. In a way this links more to the vibrancy of red life rather than a desseased and feverish red - it is the destruction of vital red beings that is to be feared for one is destroying life itself.

This vitality is even seen in the colour of productive animals. Perhaps the kindred of the red eared white hounds and cattle of Wales one cornish white and red cow is remarked upon for her fine pixie fueled milk.  One Ashburton lady charmed away erysipelas (a reddening skin disease) with milk from a 'red' cow (from the Transactions of the Devonshire Association 1883, Volume 15) This could simply be sympathetic magic, rather than specifically to do with reds vitality.

The sticking of pins into a projection of red rock in Chudliegh known as the Pope's Nose is I think from an unlinked tradition of mockery of Catholicism (from Folklore 1961, Volume 72, pages 388-399), red noses being a sign of excessive drinking, and possibly of the papal uniform.  If one really wanted to one could link this to the red rock of the giant Bolster, as the rock is in a cave. Perhaps there is a thread of an old blood/fertility tradition embedded here, but I think it is probably wishful thinking.

Like I said these interpretations are my own, and therefore not the work of a great folkloric scholar. Nor is my research very complete (if it ever can be).  Though these stories flow though my entire life from cradle to now and beyond I have only spent a year or so thinking more deeply on them.  

It seems to me that the uses of the colour red in the Westcountry are not that dissimilar their use in the rest of the country, though they do seem to originate in form from a slightly earlier age. Less of the primness of the Victorians clings to their structure, and more of the sex, blood and death. 

I for one am quite grateful!]

First draft of Playground rhymes, games and words post - Work in progress

Rough Draft - I am publishing this now to prompt peoples memories - if any of these remind you of anything please add your memories in the comments box - I will update the post with it. Please tell me if things I have written here also occurred where you are.

Thanks! 

My primary school, Southville Primary in Bristol - © Copyright Anthony O'Neil and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.  http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/2256566

[I love this subject.  I can remember learning and repeating rhymes at school with no knowledge (or even interest) in where they came from - they are real anarchic little bits of child culture that get passed generation to generation.

It is true that some may have come via books, or TV, but my suspicion is that many are just passed child to child (or possibly adult to child across the generations). I love how tiny fragments of rhyme get passed across between schools as children move about the country. Some, such as the second one down ("Ip, Dip, Bird Sh**."), must be free from books, TV and adult intervention, yet it was being spoken simultaneously in different cities!

Bellow are a few that I have collected (warning - a few are rude!). If you want to add yours to the comments box I shall update this post.

Counting rhymes -

Ip Dip Do

Batmans got the flu

Robins got the measles

so out goes you

if it lands on number ten

it will be you

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

From Southville primary school in Bristol late 1980's

~#~

Ip Dip Bird Shit

You Are On It

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, also South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's
 

~#~

Eeny Meeny Miney Mo,

catch a baby by its toe

if it screams let it go

Eeny Meeny Miney Mo.

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, late 1980's

~#~

Eeny Meeny Miney Mo

catch a nicker by its toe

if it hollars let it go

Eeny Meeny Miney Mo

You

Are

OUT!

The recorder of this rhyme says she never did know what a "nicker" was. Almost definatly it came from "nigger", though by the 1980's this was thankfully redundant as a word in Bath schools, other than this corrupted and meaningless remnant . Horray!

~#~

Ip dip doo

Cat's got the flu

The dog's got chicken pox

So out goes you

Mark First School, Somerset (2008)

~#~

Eeny Meeny Miney Mo 

In a public playground in Chagford (Devon) I observed a boy using this to decide which end of a see-saw to go - the end where "mo" was said was used - 2011

~#~ 

Eeeny Meeny Miney Mo

Catch a nigger by his toe.

Sadly I heard this one in 2012 in a Devon hospital by a nurse handing out meals and joking about the power she held to give people the meals they asked for - she quickly realised she had said something unacceptable in using the word nigger and flustered out in a hurry exclaiming that it was unacceptable because you couldn't say whitey either any more.

Taunting rhymes -

From South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's
 

~#~

Oh Dear, what can the matter be

J**** and G*****, stuck in the lavatory

Been there, Monday to Saturday,

Nobody knew they where there.

J**** and G*****where two children, apparently unsuited for each other

From South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's
 

~#~

Oh Dear, what can the matter be 

Two old ladies, stuck in the lavatory

Been there, Monday to Saturday,

Nobody knew they where there.

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, late 1980's
 

~#~

J**** and G****** sitting in a tree

K. I. S. S. I . N. G.

Again J***** and G***** where the favoured people that this informant remembers, but other people where used. This informant also recalls only later realising that the letters spelt 'Kissing'! I too remember this rhyme, though who it was used against I can not remember - it was a bad thing to be accused of Kissing!

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, also South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's

~#~

Liar Liar

Pants on fire

Your hair sticks up like a telephone wire!

Yeovil 1980's

~#~

Liar Liar

Pants on fire

Bristol 1960's and 1980's 

~#~

Made you look

made you stare

Made you lose

your underware

Bath 1980's

~#~

Made you look

made you stare

Made you wet

your underware

Chagford children 2011

Oaths

On my mothers life

Oath sworn for deadly seriousness. As my mother was already dead I used this peticularly when I wanted to lie, or show off in front of my friends who where in the know...

Bristol, 1980's;

Crossed fingers

Luck, called Cross-keys in Bristol 1960's

~#~

For lying, escaping rules of a game and also for luck - Bristol and Bath 1980's.  In Bath girls also crossed their legs, and in Bristol to retrospectively get out of something one could claim to have been crossing ones toes at the time one agreed to do it...


 Clapping Rhymes

A sailor went to sea sea sea

To see what he could see see see

But all that he could see see see

Was the bottom of the deep blue sea sea sea

Clapping rhyme (Two children face each other - clap; right; clap; left; clap; together; together; together).

From Ringwood, Hampshire / Dorset border, 1960's and from Chagford, Devon 2000's

~#~

Chinese men are very funny,
This is how they treat their mummy,
Oo cha,oo cha,turn around and boot ya.

Clapping Rhyme - Exeter, 1970's

~#~

My boyfriends name is tony

He comes from macaroni

with a cherry on his nose

and ten back toes

And this is how my story goes

One day as I was walkin'

I heard my boyfriend talkin'

to the prettiest girl in the whole wide world

and this is what he said to her

I L. O. V. E. love you

I K. I. S. S. kiss you

so I jumped in a lake

and swallowed a snake

and then I got a belly ache.

Do me a favour

Drop dead!

This long song was accompanied by a complex clapping rhythm (two girls facing each other- clap; right; clap;  left; clap; together; clap; left palm up right palm down; clap; left palm down right palm up- repeat). 

My informer says she remembers the existence of loads of different songs, especially amongst the girls, though she cant recall them now. Usually they were nonsense words, that accompanied skillful and complex clapping or skipping rhythms.Once you where good at them there was quite a performance about them, you showed off to others who watched. She remembers there where other rhymes,

Interesting the last but one verse, with swallowing snakes, jumping in lakes and belly aches - was this some allusion to puberty? Or was it just nonsense?  My informant now thinks it was quite suspicious, though at the time it meant nothing - she actually assumed it was some sort of self harm!

From South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's

~#~

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack
All dressed in black, black, black
With silver buttons, buttons, buttons
All down her back, back, back.

She asked her mother, mother, mother
For fifty pence, pence, pence
To see an elephant, elephant, elephant
Jump over a fence, fence, fence.

He jumped so high, high, high
He touched the sky, sky, sky
And didn't come down, down, down
Til the 4th of July, July, July

Clapping Rhyme from Yeovil, Somerset, 1980's .  Sounds weirdly American - 4th of July...

~#~

Tinker, 

tailor, 

soldier, 

sailor, 

rich man, 

poor man, 

beggar man, 

thief

Yeovil and Bristol, Somerset - 1980's - a skipping rhyme, also used to count things and tell who you would marry.

~#~

The big ship sails on the ally-ally-oh
The ally-ally-oh, the ally-ally-oh
Oh, the big ship sails on the ally-ally-oh
On the last day of September.

The captain said it will never, never do
Never, never do, never, never do
The captain said it will never, never do
On the last day of September.

The big ship sank to the bottom of the sea
The bottom of the sea, the bottom of the sea
The big ship sank to the bottom of the sea
On the last day of September.

We all dip our heads in the deep blue sea
The deep blue sea, the deep blue sea
We all dip our heads in the deep blue sea
On the last day of September. 

Someone had their hands on the wall and others went under them - Bristol,  1980's

~#~


Fragment -

If not, Why not

In a cup and saucer

Hopscotch

Jump for a colour

Half remembered fragment of a skipping rhyme from Yeovil 1980's

~#~

Fragment-

...See see 

My granny...

Clapping song in a pair - Bristol 1980's

~#~

My name is Elvis Presley,

Girls are sexy,

Sitting in the back seat,

Drinking pepsi,

Having a baby,

In the navy,

Do me a favour,

Drop dead.'

and as a variation at the same school - 

My name is Elvis Presley,

Girls are sexy,

Sitting in the back seat,

Drinking pepsi,

Huggin' and kissin',

Don't know what you're missin’,

Do me a favour,

Drop dead.'

Both from Bristol, 1990's

~#~

We are the tiger girls

We wear are hair in curls

We wear are dungarees, 
Down to our dirty knees.

La la la boom si eh 
How did i get this way

It was the boy next door

He had me on the floor

My daddy was surprised 
To see me tummy rise

My mummy jumped for joy

It was a baby boy!

Not sure if this was a clapping rhyme or not, but it has the rhythm of one!

Filton (Bristol) primary school - date uncertain - possibly 1990's?

~#~

Tip Tap Toe

Now Above,

Now Below

Give me three in a row,

Polly got shot by a UFO

This is a cue for the paper / scissors / stone game and is accompanied with a (very complicated) clapping routine. The clapping was done too fast for me to remember - it did have a bit where the fingers are  interlaced and the palms turned away from the body and clapped on those of  your opponent - who is doing the same thing.

Then comes -

Spider crawling up your back

Which finger is that?

The loser of the first round has to guess the correct finger their opponent is wiggling up their spine.  If you don’t then offer your arm and the other says -

Oh dear, You lose,

You get a big BRUISE!

on the word BRUISE the other can punch you in the arm.

Chagford primary school, 2010

Chasing games - 

Tag was called "Daddy-dun" - Poole 1940's

~#~ 

Olly Olly in,

the cat's in the bin

or

3 Erkies saves the lot

And "Getaway Games" where all played. (I actually pilfered this from another internet site, but I don't think they would mind). Someone from Plymouth explained that an Erkie was used in a game like hide & seek where you have to run and get back to the lampost/tree before the searcher and call it out.

Whitleigh, Plymouth  late 1970's

~#~

Ring-aring-aroses

a pocket full of poses

atishoo atisho

we all fall down

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, late 1980's

~#~

There was a similar game of safe bases (manhole covers) in Bristol, involving running around from base to base screaming, trying to escape the sharks. If you where caught you became a shark and joined the chasers. You could stay on a base as long as you liked, but the sharks would try and tempt you into the water by backing off...

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, late 1980's

~#~

There was also "sardines" where someone hid and everyone else had to find it and the last one to find it had to hide first next time.

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, late 1980's

~#~

Whats the time, Mr Wolf

with the wobbly tooth?

Tooth was pronounced more like "tuff" to rhyme with wolf but without the L.  This was said holding the 'wolf's' fingers.  The 'Wolf' was the person who was 'it' or 'on it'.  If s/he said "dinner-time" we all fled, if it was any other time it was OK. The wolf had to catch someone and they would be the next wolf.

From Southville Primary school in Bristol, late 1980's

~#~

One informer has a different version - the wolf faced away and everyone else walked toward them the number of hours the wolf said. she said there was some cudos attached to taking big steps, but also to not being caught. At the shout of "DINNER TIME!" there was lots of screaming as they ran away from the wolf... Whoever was caught was 'it'.

From South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's

~#~

In and out the Dusty Windows was remembered by two of my schoolmates from Bristol - I cant remember this game or how it was played. One friend is now a primary teacher and teaches it to her class.

~#~

British Bulldog - one informer from Twerton, Bath remembers it thus in the 1980's - - Everyone would line up on one side of teh playground. One person would be in the middle. They would then shout "Bulldogs - Charge!" and everyone would peg it across the playground. The person in the middle would then have to wrestle whoever they could get hold of to the (concrete) ground and then pin them there until everyone else was safely on the other side.  The person thus court (often bleeding) would be the next person in the middle. Due to the shape of the playground everyone had to be involved, weather they liked it or not. There was some kind of honour code where the littlest ones where aloud to be by the sides where it was safist.  My informant remembers being terified when she reached the top class and realised she would be one of teh ones in the midle. It was banned throughout the time she went to the junior school, and took place through out that time, and often involved a teacher trying to stop it.

It also took place in our school in Bristol at about the same time, but ours had a slightly separate football pitch where it could happen, so I was not often involved, as I hung around by a big planter shaped in my mind like a horse and cart...  What I do remember of it was not a bloody as the Twerton version

Rhymes for fun - 

Bronco Layne had a pain,so they sent for Wagon Train.
Wagon Train was no good,so they sent for Robin Hood.
Robin Hood lost his bow,so they sent for Ivanhoe.
Ivanhoe was too large,so they sent for I'm In Charge.

Early 1960's, Exeter - It relates to TV programs  of the time.  'I'm In Charge' is Bruce Forsyth.

~#~

A pinch and a punch 

for the first of the month

Bristol, 1980's

~#~

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement's.
[also herd as the bells of "St Clemons" or "St Clemens"]

You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.

When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.

When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
YOUR DEAD!

Bristol 1980's, 1990's - I think it went like this - two children make an arch with their hands - the other children file through.  When it gets to the last line the hands come down and the unlucky person is trapped, their head metaphorically cut off...

~#~

Willy was a watch dog, lying in the grass,

When along came a bumble bee and stung him in the...

Ask no questions, tell no lies,

Have you ever seen a policeman doing up his...

Flies are a nuisance, bugs are worst,

This is the end of my little verse.

One informer remembers teaching her school mates (South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's) this rhyme, given to her by her Dad, who is from Bath Ford or Bath Eastern area. Who knows where the poem is from. It could even have been from her mum who is from London. Anyway, it ended up in a Bath school.

South Twerton Junior in Bath, late 1980's

~#~

Would you run a mile

Or jump a style

Or eat a country pancake?

If the answer was "Country Pancake" then they had just said they would rather eat a cow pat!

Yeovil - 1980's

~#~

 

Order in the court,

The judge is eating beans,

His wife is in the bathtub,

Playing with submarines!

Plymouth - 1990's?

~#~

"Smell the cheese"  - this is where the fist is placed on the open palm of the other hand and offer to be smelt - anyone foolish enough to fall for it gets there nose flicked (or punched - I might have received the watered down adult version - not sure!).

 Chagford primary school, 2010

Jinxes -  

In Bath it appears it is simply "Jinx", but you have to say it at the same time to avert the doom.

Bath, 1980's?

~#~

In my secondary school if you said something at the same time you said "jinx.". If this was said at the same time you said "whoops you owe me a forfeit". If this was said at the same time it was repeated until one person laughed.  If this point was not reached then it would be the first person to say their own name who would loose... 

Bristol, 1990's

~#~

"Snap, Snap, Snap,
No Snapping back"

Somerset 2012 - This meant the 'snapping' (matching two objects and thus claiming ownership) had been preformed three times and thus could not be repeated.

Words

 

 

Truce

Self explanatory truce word -  Bristol 1980's

~#~

Parley

Truce word  - Bristol 1980's

~#~

Mercy Peanuts

Truce word - Pill Juniors, nr Bristol 1980's

~#~

Mercy

Truce word - Twerton, Bath 1980's

~#~

Time out

Temporary Truce word - Bristol 1980's

~#~

Failance (Fingers crossed)

Truce- Parkstone area Poole, Dorset 1940's

~#~

Knock knock Ginger

Pill, nr Bristol, 1990's - The name of the game where you knock on a door and run away.

~#~

Knock out Ginger

Knocking on the door prank in Pill, Bristol in the 1980's/90's

~#~ 


Mooching

Truanting - Bristol 1930's

~#~

Bunking off

Truanting - Bristol 1990's

~#~

Skiving

Truanting - Bristol 1990's

~#~

Mitching off

Truanting - Torquay, Totness, 1980's

~#~

Taking the air

Possibly a local group of friends phrase rather than a wider one - for discussing skipping a lesson for a smoke ("I will be taking the air this afternoon, care to join me?" "Err, double maths, yep OK") - Bath 1990's

~#~

Scabbing

Begging or asking for food off your friends - Bristol 1990's

~#~

Wicked, Sick, Dark, Well good

All words for good things in 1990's in Bristol

~#~

Lush

Bristol 1980's

~#~

Gert Lush

In "Proper Brizzle" (Bristolian Bristol), also in Southdown / Twerton / Foxhill / Snowhill in Bath 1980's and 1990's

~#~

Well Good

Good stuff - Bath 1990's

~#~

Ace

A good thing - Kingsteington, Devon - 1980's?

~#~

Dark

Word for bad stuff, after it had been for good stuff 1990's Bristol

~#~

Gay

A bit rubbish - Bristol 1990's (some of these children's words are pretty un-pc!)

~#~

Mingin'

I think this was in use while I was at school, which would make it mid 1990's Bristol - but the internet recons it only came south from Scotland in the mid 2000's...

~#~

Umm... I'm Telling!, Telling on you

Telling a teacher about someones misbehavior, Bristol 1980's

~#~

He grassed you up

 Telling a teacher about someones misbehavior, Bristol 1990's 

~#~

Spazzer, Spaz, Spazzing out

Another un-pc one...  Usually said the followed by the tongue being pushed into bottom lip sometimes with arms flailing with wrists limp and eyes rolling - a taunt for a stupid or emotional person. The school was trying to kill this one off at the time - I hope they succeeded. Bristol 1980's

~#~

Scabbing, A Scab

 Asking for someone-elses food, someone who would ask for others food - Bristol 1990's

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Scavving

See above, but Torquay 1980's]

 

Map - Bristol

Map - Bath

Map - Chagford

Map - Mark

Map - Plymouth 
Map - Pill
Map - Yeovil

Some good books about this subject.  

Also, if by some miracle you read or here about this Iona Opie, I would have loved to use some of the rhymes you collected, but without being able to contact you to ask permission I did not feel that I could. If it was OK to use rhymes from your book here I would be overjoyed, and would re-publish this article with a much better scope for context etc.)- 

The People in the Playground by Iona Opie



Remember - as yet this is just a draft - please add your rhymes and games etc. bellow... Thanks!