The need for mead - a Somerset proverb

""Little mead little need." - Somerset

(A mild winter hoped for after a bad summer.) "

Ray 1768

Barnstaple Fair - a song (part 3)

Fairground ride - By Iantresman (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

[cont...] "...If pigeons' wings are plucked, and peacocks' tails refuse to grow, friend !
In Spring ; you may depend upon't in Autumn they will shew, friend !
If feathers hang about your fowls in drooping style and spare, friend !
Both cocks and hens will get their pens to Barnstaple Fair, friend !

Then, friend, leave off your wig, and Barum's privileges share, too,
Where everything grows once a year, wings, feathers, tails, and hair, too !
If Winter wear and Summer dust call out for paint and putty, Sir !
And Newport coals in open grates make paper-hangings smutty, Sir !
 

And rusty shops and houses' fronts most sadly want repair, Sir !
Both shops and houses will be smart to Barnstaple, Fair, Sir !
And Barum is a handsome town, and everyday improving, Sir !
Then drink to all who study its improvement to keep moving, Sir !..." [cont...]

Hewett 19000

1815 (1515?) Stockleigh Pomeroy meal times

Stockliegh Pomeroy - David Smith [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

 

"MEAL TIMES.
A wee-bit and breakfast,
A stay-bit and dinner,
A nummit and a crummit,
And a bit arter supper.

Could our forbears ever have known the joys of hunger ?

MEAL HOURS A.D. 1515.
To rise at five and dine at nine,
To sup at five and bed at nine,
Will make a man live to ninety-nine.

Our meal- hours and time of rising in the morning have considerably changed in the course of three centuries. As our ancestors rose at five they needed the "wee-bit" especially in the winter season. Persons of quality would sometimes dine as late as ten and supper was at five or six in the evening, and all the family were in bed at nine. They sounded the curfew, which warned them to put out their fires at six in the winter and between eight and nine in the evening during the summer time."

Hewett 1900

Map - Stockleigh Pomeroy

[Not sure if this is really folklore, but I am going to include it anyway...]

Devon / Westcountry Weather by season or time of day

Winter at Chagford - "Slippy, Drippy, Nippy" - If you want to use my photo please attribute this blog.

"'Twixt twelve and two,

Will shew what the day will do.

Autumn is wheezy, sneezy, freezy ;

Winter is slippy, drippy, nippy ;

Spring is showery, flowery, bowery ;

Summer is hoppy, croppy, poppy."

Hewett 1900

Devon / Westcountry weather lore #15 May (part 2)

Pulmonaria (lungwort) photgraphed in Devon in May - This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported At the english wiki, it was uploaded by User:Sannse

[cont.]  "...The more thunder in May the less there will be in August and September.

By the first of May young crows will have flown away.

May, come she early, come she late,
Still she'll make the cow to quake.

A May flood never did good.

Shear sheep in May you'll shear them all away.

He who bathes in May, will soon be laid in clay.

A swarm of bees in May is worth a stack of hay.

In May the cuckoo sings all day.

Change not a clout till May be out.

Who doffs his coat on a Winter's day, will gladly put it on in May."

Hewett 1900

Devon / Westcountry weather lore #8 - Candlemas day

Candlemas Day by Marianne Stokes 1901 - Via Wikipedia

"If the weather on Candlemas Day, February 2nd, be bright and dry, there will be a long continuance of cold wintry weather.

or,

If Candlemas Day be dry and fair,
The half of the winter is to come, and mair,
If Candlemas Day be wet and foul,
The half of the winter is gone at yule.

or,

If Candlemas Day be fair and bright,
Winter will have another fight,
But if Candlemas Day be clouds and rain,
Winter is gone, and will not come again.

Remove all Christmas decorations before Candlemas Day.

Down with the rosemary and the bays,
And down with the mistletoe,
Instead of the holly now upraise
The bright green box for show.

 

or,

If so the superstitious find,
One tiny branch just left behind,
Look ! for every leaf there may be,
So many goblins shall plague thee."

Hewett 1900

Devon / Westcountry weather lore #7

"As the days lengthen so does the cold strengthen."

Hewett 1900

Devon / Westcountry weather lore #2 - New years day predictions

Fritillary on Knapweed - a hot Devon summer - if you want to use my images please attribute this blog.

"If New Year's Day happen on a Saturday the winter will be mean, the summer hot, the harvest late, garden-stuff good and cheap, honey, flax, and hemp abundant."

Hewett 1900

Devon / Westcountry weather lore #1

Winter winds at Torquay - February 2007 - MDS [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"THE ancients observed with profound attention the natural phenomena of their time, the study of which helped them to make fairly accurate forecasts of the weather, and taught them to begin farm work and domestic affairs at the most favourable moment. They walked as it were hand in hand with nature, learning to interpret her subtle operations by marvellous intuition.

The flight of birds, the voices and actions of animals, the development of vegetation, all lent their aid to predict atmospheric changes.

Then the following traditions and proverbs were popular, and have been handed down from the earliest times.

If Christmas Day on Monday be,
A great winter that year you'll see.
And full of winds both loud and shrill ;
But in summer, truth to tell,
High winds there shall be, and strong,
Full of tempests lasting long ;
While battles they shall multiply,
And great plenty of beasts shall die.
They that be born that day, I ween,
They shall be strong each one, and keen
He shall be found that stealeth aught
Though thou be sick, thou diest not."

Hewett 1900

Castle Rock and the Black Monk - part 1

Black Monk and Lady - Mumford, Ethel Watts, Herford, Oliver and Mizner, Addison: “The Cynic’s Calendar” (1905)

"That a castle ever existed here is not credible; but tradition has declared that there was one, and that it was lost by the sins of a family, though no vestige of it nor any written account of it exists.

The tradition is, that one dismal winter evening, a monk, tall, dark, in a black robe and cowl, called at the castle and asked for food and shelter for the night, in the Virgin's name. The lady, who chanced to be in the hall, and who disliked his countenance, refused him the solicited hospitality, and the angry pilgrim cursed her. It is probable that there was in the lady some lack of hospitality, that she was mean; and uncharitable, so that evil was allowed to assail her; or it might have been that she detected the true nature of the monk, and therefore refused to help him. The curse was a peculiar one. "All thine shall be mine," said the pilgrim, "till in the porch of Holy Church a lady and a child shall stand and beckon."

Years rolled on, and the next baron of the castle was of so greedy a nature, that he pulled down the Church of St. John, which then rose in the valley, for its materials, and took the holy vessels of the altar for his own use. One night, as he was feasting alone, and sacrilegiously drinking from the sacred chalice, the black monk appeared, told him his time of account was come, and that he must go with him..." [cont.]

Valentine (undated)

Pelynt - Saint Nun's Well - part 2

"...Though the superstitious hinds had spared the well, time and storms of winter had been slowly ruining it. The oak which grew upon its roof had, by its roots, dislodged several stones of the arch, and, swaying about in the wind, had shaken down a large mass of masonry in the interior, and the greater part of the front. On its ruinous condition being made known to the Trelawny family (on whose property it is situated), they ordered the restoration, and the walls were replaced after the original plan. 

This well and a small chapel (the site of which is no longer to be traced, though still pointed out by the older tenantry) were dedicated, it is supposed, to St. Ninnie, or St. Nun, a female saint, who, according to William of Worcester, was the mother of St. David. The people of the neighbourhood knew the well by the names St. Ninnie's, St. Nun's, and Piskies' Well. It is probable that the latter is, after all, the older name, and that the guardianship of the spring was usurped at a later period by the saint whose name it occasionally bears. The water was doubtless used for sacramental purposes; yet its mystic properties, if they were ever supposed to be dispensed by the saint, have been again transferred, in the popular belief, to the Piskies.

A piskie and a pin at Penlynt - please attribute this website if you wish to use my drawing

In the basin of the well may be found a great number of pins, thrown in by those who have visited it out of curiosity, or to avail themselves of the virtues of its waters. A writer, anxious to know what meaning the peasantry attach to this strange custom, on asking a man at work near the spot, was told that it was done "to get the goodwill of the Piskies," who after the tribute of a pin not only ceased to mislead them, but rendered fortunate the operations of husbandry."

Hope 1893

 Map - Saint Nonna's Well, Penlynt

[There appear to be no copyleft images of the well now on the internet. If anyone has a photo I would love to be able to use it.]

Hound Tor and the Wisht Hounds

"Hound Tor, on the north, is a fine group of rocks; it can be singled out from among the wild clatter on the hillside. Its name recalls to us the legends of the Wild Huntsman and the Wisht Hounds, who howl and hunt over the moor on winter nights."

Cresswell 1921

Map - Hound Tor

Gypsy Curse in Maidencombe, Torquay

'My story...though rather short.

Round where I live in Maidencombe, Torquay, many many years ago there was a band of gypsies living in a field and coexisting with nature and land owners.

Apparently they had lived there for many years in an harmonious fashion until the 1970's when people began to arrive, depriving them of land in which they lived on...legally (or so we had been told).

By the late 1970's there were a row of detatched houses, each with a large plot of land, though they were fortunate as on their side, their land in which they lived on, was untouched...however.

Twenty odd years later, and I remember it still...they were forced out by our local council, to make way for new, expensive modern houses.

They tried to ask for extensions to up until the summer so they could relocate elsewhere for the winter, but aslas, it did not happen.

The houses went up, and they were pushed out.

As the houses were filled by developers who wanted to sell their land and make profit in which even more houses were built on, they discovered a small mound of collected assortments of old smoking pipes, horse shoes, rusty nails and a broken porcaline doll.

Since those houses have gone up on that part where this mound supposedly was many people in and around that area have contracted terrible illnesses and have died.

As many people on our road have now believed there is a gypsy curse, which is slowly killing off the residents and also animals in untimely deaths.

Young of a myth it might be, but myths start in some time or another...'

From Abagail of Torquay 2008

Tregeagle haunting - part 2

'...When the parson came into the room with the spirit and the man, the first thing the parson did was to draw a circle and place the man to stand within it; the spirit took the form of a black bull, and (roared as you may still hear Tregagle roar in Genvor Cove before a northerly storm) did all he could to get at the man with his horns and hoofs. The parson continued reading all the time. At first the reading seemed to make him more furious, but little by little he became as gentle as a lamb, and allowed the parson to do what he would with him, and consented at last to go to Genvor Cove (in Escols Cliff), and make a truss of sand, which he was to carry above a certain rock in Escols Cliff. He was many years trying, without being able to accomplish this piece of work, until it came to a very cold winter, when Tregagle, by taking water from the stream near by, and pouring oyer the sand, caused it to freeze together, so that he finished the task, came back 'to the man, and would have torn him in pieces, but the man happened to have a child in his arms, so the spirit couldn't harm him. The man sent for the parson without delay; Parson Corker couldn't manage him alone, this time; had to get some more parsons to help,--very difficult job;--bound Tregagle at last to the same task, and not to go near the fresh water. He is still there, making his truss of sand and spinning sand ropes to bind it. What some people take to be the "calling of the northern cleves" (cliffs) is the roaring of Tregagle because there is a storm coming from the north to scatter his sand. [f] W. B...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The Demon Tregeagle - part 8

'...The monks of Bodmin and the priests from the neighbouring churches gathered together, and the result of their long and anxious deliberations was, that Tregeagle, guarded by two saints, should be taken to the north coast, near Padstow, and employed in making trusses of sand, and ropes of sand with which to bind them. By powerful spell, Tregeagle was removed from Roach, and fixed upon the sandy shores of the Padstow district. Sinners are seldom permitted to enjoy any peace of soul. As the ball of sand grew into form, the tides rose, and the breakers spread out the sands again a level sheet; again was it packed together and again washed away.--Toil! toil ! toil! day and night unrestingly, sand on sand grew with each hour, and ruthlessly the ball was swept, by one blow of a sea wave, along the shore.


The cries of Tregeagle were dreadful; and as the destruction of the sand heap was constantly recurring, a constantly increasing despair gained the mastery over hope, and the ravings of the baffled soul were louder than the roarings of the winter tempest.
 
Baffled in making trusses of sand, Tregeagle seized upon the loose particles and began to spin them into a rope. Long and patiently did he pursue his task, and hope once more rose like a star out of the midnight darkness of despair. A rope was forming, when a storm came up with all its fury from the Atlantic, and swept the particles of sand away over the hills.

The inhabitants of Padstow had seldom any rest. At every tide the howlings of Tregeagle banished sleep from each eye. But now so fearful were the sounds of the doomed soul,: in the madness of the struggle between hope and despair, that the people fled the town, and clustered upon the neighbouring plains, praying, as with one voice, to be relieved from the sad presence of this monster...' [cont.]

Hunt 1903