The Irish Lady - a ghostly rock - Part 2

The Irish Lady is in the bottom right of the picture, Land's End is top right. Image by © Copyright Graham Horn and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

[cont...] "...Sir Humphrey Davy wrote a poem on this tradition. The following is an extract from it:--

"Where yon dark cliff  o'ershadowa the bltte main,

[ - A rock near the Land's End called the "Irish Lady."]

Theora died amidst the stormy waves,
And on its feet the sea-dews wash'd her corpse
And the wild breath of storms shook her black locks.
Young was Theora; bluer was her eye
Than the bright azure of the moonlight night;
Fair was her cheek, as is the ocean cloud
Red with the morning ray.

" Amidst the groves,
And greens, and nodding rocks that overhang
The gray Killarney pans'd her morning days,
Bright with the beams of joy.

"To solitude,
To nature, and to God, she gave her youth;
Hence were her passions tuned to harmony.
Her azure eye oft glisten'd with the tear
Of sensibility, and her soft cheek
Glow'd with the blush of rapture. Hence she loved
To wander 'midst the green wood silver'd o'er
By the bright moonbeam. Hence she loved the rocks,
Crowu'd with the nodding ivy, and the lake
Fair with the purple morning, and the sea
Expansive, mingling with the arched sky.

"Dark in the midnight cloud,
When the wild blast upon its pinions bore
The dying shrieks of Erin's injured Sons,
She 'scaped the murderer's arm. 

[The Irish lady was shipwrecked at the Land's End about the time of the massacre of the Irish Protestants by the Catholics, in the reign of Charles the First. So says Davy--the tradition is very old.]

"The British bark
Bore her across the ocean. From the west
The whirlwind rose, the fire-fraught clouds of heaven
Were mingled with the wave. The shatter'd bark
Sunk at thy feet, Boleriutn, and the white surge
Closed on green Erin's daughter."

-- PARIS's Life of Sir Humphrey Davy, p. 38

This kind of tradition is not uncommon."

Hunt 1903




Map - The Irish Lady

Barbara Allen - a version of a song mentioning Totnes

A Church in Totnes - note the flowers in the wall - not roses, but one can imagine... - By User:Wigulf (Own work) [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-2.5 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons

"IN Totnes town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Made every youth cry "Well-a-way,"
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,

When green buds they were swelling,
Young Johnny Gale on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his groom unto her then,

To the town where she was dwelling,
" You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,

And o'er his heart is stealing :
Then haste away to comfort him,
Oh ! lovely Barbara Allen !"

Though death be printed on his face,

And o'er his heart is stealing,
Yet little better shall he be,
For bonny Barbara Allen.

So slowly, slowly she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said, when up she came,
"Young man, I think you're dying."

He turned his face unto her straight,

With deadly sorrow sighing,
" Oh ! lovely maid, come pity me,
I'm on my death-bed lying."

" If on your death-bed you do lie,
What needs the fate you're telling :
I cannot keep you from your death.
Farewell !" said Barbara Allen.

He turned his face unto the wall,

And deadly pangs he fell in,
"Adieu, adieu, adieu to all !
Adieu to Barbara Allen !"

As she was walking o'er the fields,

She heard the bell a-knelling,
And every stroke did seem to say,
" Unworthy Barbara Allen."

She turned her body round about,

And 'spied the corpse a-coming,
" Lay down, lay down, the corpse," she said,
" That I may look upon him."

With scornful eye, she looked down,

Her cheeks with laughter swelling,
Whilst all his friends cried out " For shame, 

Unworthy Barbara Allen !"

When he was dead and in his grave,

Her heart was struck with sorrow,
" Oh, mother ! mother ! make my bed,
For I shall die to-morrow.

" Hard-hearted creature him to slight,

Who loved me so dearly ;
Oh ! that I'd been more kind to him,
When he was alive and near me."

She, on her death-bed as she lay,

Begged to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the day,
That she did e'er deny him.

"Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all,

And shun the fault I fell in,
Henceforth take warning by the fall,
Of cruel Barbara Allen."

Sung by John Snow, of Tiverton, at a supper party, A.D. 1869.

Hewett 1900

Map - Totnes
Map - Tiverton

[This song contains the line " Oh, mother ! mother ! make my bed, / For I shall die to-morrow." which is very similar to a version of a song about Yarrow I know ("Oh mother dear make me my bed/ make it both long and narrow/ for he who died for me today/ I shall die for him tomorrow") - folk songs are not bothered by copyright, simply by what is best! This song is well known - type it into the EFDSS catalog and you will get 34 results, though of course the town varies massively! A good version is found here.]

Devon / Westcountry weather lore #10 - March (part 1)

Wild Daffodils in March, Steps Bridge, Devon -  by Derek Harper [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"If March comes in like a lion, it goes out like a lamb, and vice versa.

March winds and April showers,
Bring forth May flowers.

Dust in March brings leaves and grass.

A peck of March dust is worth a king's ransom.

As many mists in March so many frosts in May.

On the first of March
The crows begin to search.

The black army (fleas) arrives on March 1st.

Much March dust, and a shower in May,
Makes the corn green and the fields gay.

Hewett 1900

Oakapple Day in Tiverton (part 1)

Oakapple,  - by Bob Embleton [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"Oakapple Day, otherwise King Charles' Day, was instituted to commemorate the escape of Charles II, on May 29th, 1657, from the hands of Cromwell after the battle of Worcester, by concealing himself in a tufted oak in the woods of Boscobel.

This day was, in the early part of the century, observed at Tiverton, in a rough and boisterous fashion. Doubtless Tiverton was not the only town at which the holiday was kept, but certainly no place could exceed it in mad revelry or wild enthusiasm. 

Directly the day began the bells of St. Peter's Church clanged out furiously, awakening the inhabitants and warning the young folk that it was time to bestir themselves. Quickly donning their oldest garments the men turned out and started to collect faggots of greenery from every avaliable hedge and wood. The fronts of public buildings, shops and dwelling houses were profusely decorated with branches of oak, from which depended scores of oakapples previously gilded or covered with silver paper. Every man wore oak sprigs and a small oakapple in his button-hole and his hat was encircled with a wreath of oak leaves. Woe betide him who neglected to adorn his house or his person.
 

Charles and Cromwell were both befittingly represented.

The Royalist party was distinguished by its proud bearing and smart attire, while the roundhead party was expected to look the reverse of gentlemen. 

Charles, enthroned in a gaily-decorated chair was borne on the shoulders of four stalwart men through the principal streets, and great homage and profound respect were paid to him..." [cont..]

Hewett 1900

The Death of King Rufus - part 4

"...The sun sank; twilight fell on the forest, and still the Red King lay bleeding beneath the oak. A charcoal burner returning from his day's work found the body at last, and putting it into his cart took it to Winchester, where the slain monarch was finally buried.

Kingsley, in his quaint imitation of a ballad of the period, gives a somewhat different version of the story:-

THE RED KING. The king was drinking in Malwood Hall,
There came in a monk before them all;
He thrust by squire, he thrust by knight,
Stood over against the dais aright;
And "The word of the Lord, thou cruel Red King,
The word of the Lord to thee I bring.
A grimly sweven I dreamt yestreen;
I saw thee lie under the hollins green
And through thy heart an arrow been
And out of thy body a smoke did rise,
Which smirched the sunshine out of the skies.
So if thou God's anointed be,
I rede thee unto thy soul thou see:
For mitre and pall thou hast y'sold,
False knight to Christ, for gain and gold;
And for this thy forest were digged down, all
Steading and hamlet and churches tall;
And Christe's poor were ousten forth,
To beg their bread from south to north;
So tarry at home and fast and pray,
Lest fiends hunt thee in the judgment day."
The monk he vanished where he stood;
King William sterte up wroth and wod;
Quod he: "Fools' wits will jump together,
The Hampshire ale and the thunder weather
Have turned the brains of us both, I think;
And monks are curst when they fall to drink.
A lothly sweven I dreamt last night,
How there hoved anigh me a griesly knight,
Did smite me down to the pit of hell,
I shrieked and woke, so fast I fell.
There's Tyrrel as sour as I, perdie,
So he of you all shall hunt with me,
A grimly brace for a hart to see:" The Red King down from Malwood came,
His heart with wine was all aflame,
His eyne were shotten, red as blood,
He rated and swore wherever he rode. They roused a hart, that grimly brace,
A hart of ten, a hart of grease,
Fled over against the kinge's place.
The sun it blinded the kinge's ee,
A fathom beyond his hocks shot he;
"Shoot thou," quod he, "in the fiende's name!
To lose such a quarry were seven years shame!"
And he hove up his arm to mark the game
Tyrrel he shot full light, God wot;
For whether the saints they swerved the shot,
Or whether by treason men knowen not,
But under the arm, in a secret part,
The iron fled through the kinge's heart. Tyrrel he smiled full grim that day,
Quod "Shooting of kings is no bairn's play;"
And he smote in the spurs and fled fast away."

 Valentine (undated)
Map - Malwood Castle
Map - Winchester

Wish Hounds - part 2

'...Once I was told at Jump, that Sir Francis Drake drove a hearse into Plymouth at night with headless horses, and that he was followed by a pack of "yelling hounds" without heads. If dogs hear the cry of the wish hounds they all die. May it not be that "wish" is connected with the west-country word "whist," meaning more than ordinary melancholy, a sorrow which has something weird surrounding it?


"And then he sought the dark-green lane,
Whose willows mourn'd the faded year,
Sighing (I heard the love-lorn swain),
'Wishness! oh, wishness! walketh here.'"
-- The Wishful Swain of Devon. By POLWHELE.

The author adds in a note, "An expression used by the vulgar in the north of Devon to express local melancholy. There is something sublime in this impersonation of wishness." The expression is as common in Cornwall as it is in Devonshire...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The Piskie Treshers

'MANY an industrious farmer can speak of the assistance which he has received from the piskies. Mr T. Q. Couch tells a story of this kind so well that no other is required.  Long, long ago, before threshing-machines were thought of, the farmer who resided at C --, in going to his barn one day, was surprised at the extraordinary quantity of corn that had been threshed the previous night, as well as to discover the mysterious agency by which it was effected. His curiosity led him to inquire into the matter; so at night, when the moon was up, he crept stealthily to the barn door, and looking through a chink, saw a little fellow, clad in a tattered suit of green, wielding the "dreshel" (flail) with astonishing vigour, and beating the floor with blows so rapid that the eye could not follow the motion of the implement. The farmer slunk away unperceived, and went to bed, where he lay a long while awake, thinking in what way he could best show his gratitude to the piskie for such an important service. He came to the conclusion at length, that, as the little fellow's clothes were getting very old and ragged, the gift of a new suit would be a proper way to lessen the obligation; and, accordingly, on the morrow he had a suit of green made, of what was supposed to be the proper size, which he carried early in the evening to the barn, and left for the piskie's acceptance. At night the farmer stole to the door again to see how the gift was taken. He was just in time to see the elf put on the suit, which was no sooner accomplished than, looking down on himself admiringly, he sung --

"Piskie fine, and piskie gay,

Piskie now will fly away."'

Hunt 1903

Annie Jefferies and the Fairies - part 2

'...One day Anne, having finished her morning's work, was sitting in the arbour in her master's garden, when she fancied she heard some one moving aside the branches, as though endeavouring to look in upon her; and she thought it must be her sweetheart, so she resolved to take no notice. Anne went on steadily with her work, no sound was heard but the regular beat of the knitting-needles one upon the other. Presently she heard a suppressed laugh, and then again a rustle amidst the branches. The back of the arbour was towards the lane, and to enter the garden it was necessary to walk down the lane to the gate, which was, however, not many yards off.

Click, click went the needles, click, click, click. At last Anne began to feel vexed that the intruder did not show himself, and she pettishly said, half aloud --

"You may stay there till the kueney [Moss, or mildew; properly. cuney.] grows on the gate, ere I 'll come to 'ee."

There was immediately a peculiar ringing and very music laugh. Anne knew this was not her lover's laugh, and she felt afraid. But it was bright day, and she assured herself that no one would do her any mischief, as she knew herself to be a general favourite in the parish. Presently Anne felt assured that the garden gate had been carefully opened and again closed, so she wait anxiously the result. In a few moments she perceived at the entrance of the arbour six little men, all clothed very handsome in green. They were beautiful little figures, and had very charming faces, and such bright eyes. The grandest of these little visitors, who wore a red feather in his cap, advanced in front the others, and, making a most polite bow to Anne, addressed her familiarly in the kindest words..." [cont.]

Hunt 1903

More St Leven Fairies

'Down in Penberth Cove lived an old woman who was an especial favorite with these little people. She was a good old creature, and had been for many years bedridden. These Small Folk were her only company. Her relations dropped in once a day, rendered her the little aid she required, and left food by the bed-side. But day by day, and all the day long, the Small Folk vied with each other to amuse her. The men, she related, were for the most part dressed in green, with a red or a blue cap and a feather--"They look for all the world like little sodgers." As for the ladies--you should have heard the old woman tell of the gay ladies, with their feathers, hooped petticoats with furbelows, trains, and fans, and what saucy little creatures they were with the men! No sooner was the old woman left alone than in they came and began their frolics, dancing over the rafters and key-beams, swinging by the cobwebs like rope-dancers, catching the, mice and riding them in and out through the holes in the thatch. When one party got tired another party came, and by daylight, and even by moonlight, the old bedridden creature never wanted amusement.'

Hunt 1903

The Fairy Gardens - part 1

'IF the adventurous traveller who visits the Land's End district will go down as far as he can on the south-west side of the Logan Rock Cairn, and look over, he will see, in little sheltered places between the cairns, close down to the water's edge, beautifully green spots, with here and there some ferns and cliff-pinks. These are the gardens of the Small People, or, as they are called by the natives, Small Folk. They are beautiful little creatures, who appear to pass a life of constant enjoyment amongst their own favourite flowers. They are harmless and if man does not meddle with them when they are holding their fairs--which are indeed high festivals--the Small Folk never interfere with man or anything belonging to him. They are known to do much good, especially when they discover a case of oppressed poverty; but they do it in their own way. They love to do good for its own sake, and the publication of it in any way draws down their censure, and sometimes severe anger, on the object whom it was their purpose to serve. To prove that those lovely little creatures are no dream, I may quote the words of a native of St Levan:...' [cont.]


Hunt 1903

The Fairy Widower - part 4

'The tears were gone. Her weariness had departed. She felt herself moving, yet she did not know that she had moved from the bank. The ground appeared to open, and they were passing very rapidly under the earth. At last there was a pause.

"Here we are, Jenny," said he, " there is yet a tear of sorrow on your eyelids, and no human tears can enter our homes, let me wipe them away." Again Jenny's eyes were brushed with the small leaves as before, and, lo! before her was such a country as she had never seen previously. Hill and valley were covered with flowers, strangely varied in colour, but combining into a most harmonious whole; so that the region appeared sown with gems which glittered in a light as brilliant as that of the summer sun, yet as mild as the moonlight. There were rivers clearer than any water she had ever seen on the granite hills, and waterfalls and fountains; while everywhere ladies and gentlemen dressed in green and gold were walking, or sporting, or reposing on banks of flowers, singing songs or telling stories. Oh! it was a beautiful world.

"Here we are at home," said Jenny's master; and strangely enough he too was changed; he was the most beautiful little man she had ever seen, and he wore a green silken coat covered with ornaments of gold....' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

How Joan lost the sight of her eye - part 1

'JOAN was housekeeper to Squire Lovell, and was celebrated for her beautiful knitting. One Saturday afternoon Joan wished to go to Penzance to buy a pair of shoes for herself, and some things for the Squire. So the weather being particularly fine, away she trudged.


Joan dearly loved a bit of gossip, and always sought for company. She knew Betty Trenance was always ready for a jaunt to be sure, everybody said Betty was a witch; but, says Joan, "Witch or no witch, she shall go; bad company is better than none."

Away went Joan to Lemorna, where Betty lived. Arrived at Betty's cottage, she peeped through the latch-hole (the finger-hole), and saw Betty rubbing some green ointment on the children's eyes. She watched till Betty Trenance had finished, and noticed that she put the salve on the inner end of the chimney stool, and covered it over with a rag....' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

Fairy Ointment - part 2

'...Indeed, some ill-natured people--and there are always such to be found in any nook or corner--said Nancy often took her master home a choice bottle of Cogniac; even a case of "Hollands" now and then; and, especially when there was to be a particularly "great run," there were some beautiful silk handkerchiefs to be seen at the Squire's. But this is beyond our story. When Nancy went into Jenny's cottage, Tom was there, and right busy was she in preparing some ointment, and touching her husband's eyes with it: this Jenny tried to hide in the mouth of the oven at the side of the chimney. Tom got up and said he must be off, and left the two women together. After a few idle compliments, Jenny said that Nancy must have something to drink before she started for Penzance, and she went to the sence for the bottles. Nancy, ever curious, seized the moment, dipped her finger into the pot of green ointment, and, thinking it was good for the eyes, she just touched her right eye with it before Jenny returned. They then took a horn or two together, and being thus spliced, Nancy started for Penzance...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

Betty Stogs and Jan the Monster - part 6

'...While yet full of fear and trembling to meet her husband, Jan came home from Bal. He was, of course, told that his "croom of a chield was lost." He didn't believe a word of what Betty told him, but he went about and called up all the neighbours, who joined him in the search. They spent the night in examining every spot around the house and in the village--all in vain.

After daybreak they were all assembled in deep and earnest consultation, when the cat came running into the house, with her tail on end, and mewing anxiously. She ran forth and back round a brake of furze, constantly crying, as if she wished the people to follow her. After a long time some one thought of going after the cat, and in the middle of the furze-brake, on a beautiful green, soft spot of mossy grass, was the baby sleeping, "as sweet as a little nut," wrapped carefully up in some old dry gowns, and all its clothes clean and dry. When they unwrapped the child, they found he was covered over with bright flowers, as we place them round a babe in the coffin. He had a bunch of violets in his dear little hands, and there were wallflowers and primroses, and balm and mint spread over his body. The furze was high all around, so that no cold wind could reach the infant. Every one declared that the child never looked so handsome before. It was plain enough, said the old women, that the Small People had taken the child and washed it from top to toe; that their task of cleansing the babe was a long one, and that the sun arose before they could finish it; that they had placed the child where it was found, intending to take it away the next night.

They were never known to come for the babe, but every one said that this affair worked a great change in Betty Stogs and in Jan the Mounster. The cottage was kept tidy, the child clean; and its father and mother drank less, and lived happier, for ever afterwards.'

Hunt 1903

Fairy Revel on the Gump at St. Just - part 4

'...First came a great number of female children clothed in the whitest gauze, strewing flowers on the Gump. These were not dead or cut flowers, for the moment they touched the ground they took root and grew. These were followed by an equally large number of boys, holding in their hands shells which appeared to be strung like harps, and from which they brought forth murmurs of melody, such as angels only could hope to hear and live. Then came--and there was no end to their coming--line upon line of little men clothed in green and gold, and by and by a forest of banners, which, at a signal, were all furled. Then, seated on thrones, carried upon a platform above the heads of the men, came a young prince and princess who blazed with beauty and jewels, as if they were suns amidst a skyey host of stars. There was much ceremonial marching to and fro, but eventually the platform was placed upon a mound on the Gump, which was now transformed into a hillock of roses and lilies; and around this all the ladies and gentlemen walked, bowing, and each one saying something to the princess and the prince,--passing onward and taking their seats at the tables. Although no man could count the number of this fairy host, there was no confusion; all the ladies and gentlemen found, as if by instinct, their places. When all were seated, a signal was given by the prince; servants in splendid liveries placed tables crowded with gold-plate and good things on the platform, and every one, the prince and princess included, began to feast with a will...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903 

The giant Bolster, part 3

[cont.] '...Be this as it may, the giant Bolster became deeply in love with St Agnes, who is reputed to have been singularly beautiful, and a pattern woman of virtue. The giant allowed the lady no repose. He followed her incessantly, proclaiming his love, and filling the air with the tempests of his sighs and groans. St Agnes lectured Bolster in vain on the impropriety of his conduct, he being already a married man. This availed not; her prayers to him to relieve her from his importunities were also in vain. The persecuted lady, finding there was no release for her, while this monster existed, resolved to be rid of him at any cost, and eventually succeeded by the following stratagem:-- Agnes appeared at length to be persuaded of the intensity of the giant's love, but she told him she required yet one small proof more. There exists at Chapel Porth a hole in the cliff at the termination of the valley. If Bolster would fill this hole with his blood the lady would no longer look coldly on him. This huge bestrider-of-the-hills thought that it was an easy thing which was required of him, and felt that he could fill many such holes and be none the weaker for the loss of blood. Consequently, stretching his great arm across the hole, he plunged a knife into a vein, and a torrent of gore issued forth. Roaring and seething the blood fell to the bottom, and the giant expected in a few minutes to see the test of his devotion made evident, in the filling of the hole. It required much more blood than Bolster had supposed; still it must in a short time be filled, so he bled on. Hour after hour the blood flowed from the vein, yet the hole was not filled. Eventually the giant fainted from exhaustion. The strength of life within his mighty frame enabled him to rally, yet he had no power to lift himself from the ground, and he was unable to stanch the wound which he had made. Thus it was, that after many throes, the giant Bolster died !

The cunning saint, in proposing this task to Bolster, was well aware that the hole opened at the bottom into the sea, and that as rapidly as the blood flowed into the hole it ran from it, and did

"The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red."

Thus the lady got rid of her hated lover; Mrs Bolster was released, and the district freed from the presence of a tyrant. The hole at Chapel Porth still retains the evidences of the truth of this tradition, in the red stain which marks the track down which flowed the giant's blood.

There is another tradition, in some respects resembling this one, respecting a giant who dwelt at Goran, on the south Coast....'

Hunt 1903