Cheshire Folk Tales E-Book

Johnny Gillett

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Cheshire is a county that associates with the giants of English literature, such as Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and The Wierdstone of Brisingamen, but how did these fabulous tales develop from a supposedly flat county of boggy, cheese-making plains? This book uncovers some of the surprise and charm hidden in the folds of this unassuming landscape. For hundreds of years, Cheshire folk have been quietly telling their own tales about some of Britain's great heroes, as well as wrestling with their own demons, dragons and boggarts. Let the Journey Man guide you along the canals, through the forests and safely past the sniddlebogs to some surprisingly spectacular heights where you can experience Cheshire's own heroes alongside its eccentric traditions and fast-disappearing dialect. It's not all salt and cheese… The Journey Man is an internationally travelled storyteller who has settled in Cheshire. He has been telling stories for some twenty years, and has been given the opportunity to gather and retell the folk tales and history of Cheshire. He now visits schools throughout the North West of England, as well as leading storytelling walks for all ages.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Title Page

Foreword

Acknowledgements

Introduction

One The Lady of the Mercians

Two Ingimund’s Saga

Three Thor’s Stone

Four Edward’s Little City

Five King Canute in Cheshire

Six The Runaway Prince of Mercia

Seven The Devil’s Stony Features

Eight The Devil and Cheshire’s Churches

Nine The Devil and the Monk

Ten The Dragon of Moston

Eleven The Runcorn Dragon

Twelve Sir Gawain in Cheshire

Thirteen The Wizard of Alderley Edge

Fourteen Robin Hood’s Tump

Fifteen Sightings of Dick Turpin

Sixteen A Fiennes Lady on a White Horse

Seventeen Old Nell and Other Bears

Eighteen The Congleton Bear

Nineteen The Smiling Warrior

Twenty The Witches of Cheshire

Twenty-one The Image House

Twenty-two Mermaids and Mere-maids

Twenty-three Ginny Green Teeth

Twenty-four The Sands of Dee

Twenty-five Thomas Clutterbuck and Polly Higginbotham

Twenty-six The Curst Fisherman

Twenty-seven The Congleton Cannibal

Twenty-eight The Headless Woman

Twenty-nine Good Hearty Lads

Thirty The Cat o’Nine Tales

Bibliography

Copyright

FOREWORD

This is a whole new experience for me and I have to say, it was with a mixture of pleasure and trepidation that I received the invitation to write a foreword to this book of Cheshire folk tales. Pleasure, of course, as I was flattered to be asked, but I cannot deny the feelings of doubt that rapidly followed as I realised that I now had to do something about it – but where to start? It is without question a subject dear to my heart. I have been involved with the folk culture of my home county of Cheshire for many years, and while my particular interest has been in the folk songs, music and traditions of the area, it soon became very clear that the two strands – song and story – are inextricably linked, forming the backbone of our local heritage and folklore.

These are the tales that were passed from person to person, generation to generation, for many years – in some cases centuries – and were often much more than mere entertainment. For many they defined a community. These stories belonged to the area and the people who lived there. They supported superstitious and religious beliefs – however outlandish they may seem to our modern ears – and gave an explanation for the things people did not fully understand. They provided life lessons in right and wrong, in what was good and what was evil.

Storytellers would enthral listeners, giving them a rare opportunity to escape into another world, exercise their imagination and involve themselves in thrilling adventures. Soon others would start to learn these tales and pass them on as best they could. As all the material was transferred by word of mouth, the stories would be constantly developing, adapting and changing. Some things may have been misremembered or misheard, names and places might have been changed to make them more familiar and meaningful, and gaps may have been filled or a story extended. Some might even have been put into verse and sung as a folk ballad – a song telling a story.

Eventually, a large number of these tales were collected and written down. Many of those that had been adapted into songs were collected without their original melodies and were published in collections of verse. Others were adapted and the stories developed into more literary pieces, or were used as the basis for other works. William Shakespeare was one of many who used folk culture as a source of ideas and inspiration.

As the stories that Shakespeare adopted are still being told today (King Lear, The Taming of the Shrew and Romeo and Juliet – to name but a few) so these Cheshire tales have been allowed to develop in the time-honoured way of the oral tradition to meet the needs of a new audience. This is not history to be left in a dusty tome on a shelf; it is vibrant, alive and constantly changing. It should be out there being passed on from storyteller to storyteller, developing and growing as it goes. If, however, you don’t have immediate access to a first-class storyteller, you might find these pages the next best thing.

Roy Clinging, 2012

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It would be impossible to name all those who have helped me as I gathered tales for this book over the years, but I would like to acknowledge the great generosity and assistance that many have given me. I have chatted to old folk over tea, with people in the pubs, forestry wardens, librarians, curators, local historians, vicars, walkers, archaeologists and other storytellers. I am also indebted to those cataloguers from the past, whose works remain as a record of the local tales of their time.

I must also mention the three organisations that started me on the road to collecting Cheshire folk tales some four years ago. Thank you to Harthill Trust, Habitats and Hillforts, and The Woodland Trust, who all commissioned me to investigate and retell stories based on the Sandstone Ridge, Cheshire woodland and many other local features. The work that you all set me on made a great start in forming this collection.

INTRODUCTION

In writing any collection of folk tales, there will be a whole host of difficult decisions, but with Cheshire I had to decide first of all where qualifies as Cheshire. The county boundaries have moved a lot over the years; places such as Warrington were in Lancashire at one time, then later in Cheshire and now under their own unitary authority. More recently, the county has been split up into the Wirral, Halton, Cheshire West & Chester, and Cheshire East. In the end, as this is a collection of folk tales, I decided that I would revert back to the traditional boundaries of the county, those that resonate in the folk memory of the place. Cheshire has affectionately been remembered as a county shaped like a teapot. The Wirral Peninsula forms the spout, the south bank of the River Mersey wiggles along to make the lid, there is a long handle reaching out to Tintwistle, and the body of the pot drops down to touch on Staffordshire and Shropshire. Sadly, these boundaries leave out Warrington, which is a place that could do with a book of its own. For tales associated with the place, look up the books of local storyteller Wally Barnes. But this leads me to my second series of decisions.

Having marked out the map, I was amazed at how many folk stories were contained within these borders. There is something parochial about both the urban and rural communities of Cheshire, which means that almost every town, village and hamlet, every stone feature and waterway, has its own tales and folklore. Some are, of course, repetitions of a basic theme, but many are unique to their location. I could easily fill three or four books with Cheshire folk tales and so I have had to carefully choose what to include in this collection. My choices were made based on a number of criteria:

• Does it make a good story?

• Which are the classic tales of Cheshire that should be included?

• Which stories are being forgotten and will soon be lost?

• Which characters are found all over the county?

• Which stories help to sum up the history and spirit of Cheshire?

I am sure there will be a number of readers who will find some of their favourite local tales are not included. However, I hope that there will be tales here that readers have not heard before, or have not heard for a long time.

Of course, as a storyteller I tend to elaborate the original tale. I often refer to myself not so much as a guardian of folklore, but as a purveyor of fakelore. Although, this book being what it is, I have tried to keep as close to the original tales as I can. But bear in mind my natural leaning, especially as I retell these tales for today’s audience. The challenge here is, of course, that many local tales are fragmentary. People will often give you a single sentence about a stone, or a couple of lines about a local ghost. At times there is very little actual story. My job as the storyteller is to try to string these recollections together to create some sort of narrative, which will be fun to follow, and that will help to illuminate the landscape. That is where my fakelorist nature comes in. An example of this would be the chapter called ‘The Devil’s Stony Features’. The Devil is blamed for many of the rocky features round the county. I have retold these as episodes in one long tale, which is essentially invented, but presents authentic Cheshire lore within an enjoyable framework.

Having so many stories in this county, I have managed to keep others in by placing a number within other stories. In ‘Mermaids and Mere-maids’, I tell the story of the Black Rock mermaid whilst the characters within the tale recall the Combermere Bells, the mermaid of Rostherne and the asrai. In this case, I wanted to create a sense of stories being shared amongst the local people, within families and such like, because this is how tales and folklore have been perpetuated over the generations. I have also included a number of references to local traditions, beliefs and a handful of words from the Cheshire dialect. Some of the stories are also from Cheshire folk songs. All this has been my attempt to paint a picture of the county’s rich heritage, which is resisting oblivion despite the dramatic changes in its population since the Second World War. That said, you will see how Cheshire began as a mixed corner of the kingdom of Mercia in my tales of Ethelfleda and Canute, and this has continued pretty much throughout its history. This is exemplified by a quote from an election campaign in Northwich in the 1880s: ‘My father was Swiss, my mother was a Manxwoman, I was born in Liverpool, and my nurse was Welsh. Is that Cheshire enough for you?’

So, despite the mixed backgrounds of the people who have come to live in Cheshire (I am from Sussex myself) it seems that the stories do remain, and it’s now up to us to keep them alive. Over the years, a number of authors have grown up or lived locally, and used these folk tales as their inspiration. The most well known in recent times would be Alan Garner with The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, and the many other books that followed. Garner helped to raise a strong interest in the folklore of east Cheshire, and whenever I travel about the country people mention Alderley Edge and Garner’s work. With such knowledge of east Cheshire being fairly well established then, I have chosen to focus more on west Cheshire in this collection, whilst still referring to the east with the likes of Congleton and ‘The Wizard of Alderley Edge’.

Other famous works from the county include Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford, and Roger Lancelyn Green’s collection The Adventures of Robin Hood. And finally, there is now my collection, which I tentatively place on the shelf next to all those other references to Cheshire. All of us have been heavily influenced by the landscape of this amazing county. You can read this book from cover to cover, and there is a sense of progression in the order I have placed the stories. However, each tale can stand alone and you will not lose anything by dipping in and out of the book. But my hope is that this new collection of tales inspires you to get out there and see the mythical sights for yourself. Then to go on and tell the stories to whoever will listen; you’ll be keeping our rich lore alive and also enjoying a good story.

The Journey Man, 2012

One

THE LADY OF THE MERCIANS

Let me begin on the very edges of Mercia, where now there stands a bridge linking the Saxon south bank of Runcorn to the Viking north bank of Widnes. Together these towns are now known collectively as Halton. Alongside the familiar road bridge stands an older railway crossing, built in the style of castle towers and once known as the Ethelfleda Bridge. It seems a shame that Britain’s once great warrior queen has been forgotten. The bridge is not only named in her honour, but it was designed to mirror Ethelfleda’s fortress that once stood watching over the River Mersey, one of many burhs she had erected to guard over the wilder edges of her kingdom.

Let me then tell the tale of the Lady of the Mercians, beginning with her father. This is the king who, despite all of his great feats, became better known for burning some cakes. This is still often the case when someone burns the toast. He was, of course, Alfred the Great, the champion of the English, who, in Cheshire, is best remembered as the father of Ethelfleda. From a very young age, this gutsy young princess had shown that she wasn’t like the other girls. Her mother, Ealswitha, had always hoped that she would be sent to a convent. This would be a safe haven where she would live with the nuns, being taught how to lead a virtuous life and develop the art of embroidery. Alfred, however, had seen something else in his daughter. She had an edge. She was a fighter. And so he decided that a convent was not the place for her. No, she would stay with him, along with her brother Edward, and they would learn to be great warriors together. After all, Alfred’s kingdom was constantly under threat from those people from over the sea – despite the fact that the Saxons had originally come from overseas themselves. But then I guess they had set the example and now had to deal with those who were following. Who then would protect the English, Alfred’s Anglo-Saxons, once he had gone? Better to have two young protectors than rely on one, simply because he was male.

And so Ethelfleda, together with her brother, grew into a fine warrior – a master of the seax, as all good Saxon warriors should be. Her mother was not happy, however. Ealswitha had relented on the convent idea, but her daughter should still be married. Agreeing with his wife on this, Alfred looked about for a suitable husband. What he wanted was a man he could trust. He needed someone that he knew would protect the kingdom and be a good match for his warrior princess. In the end, Alfred chose Ethelred, who not only had a similar name to his daughter but was a fellow campaigner in the cause of the English. The two men had fought together in many battles and so there was a great bond of trust between them. It was therefore agreed that Ethelfleda would marry Ethelred, and so the wedding was arranged.

Many were pleased to hear of this union, and news of it spread across the kingdom and beyond its borders. And then the news of the proposed marriage reached the ears of the Danes, those long-standing enemies of Alfred the Great; they were not so happy. They could see that such a partnership would only serve to make the kingdoms of the Anglo-Saxons stronger. They decided that something should be done to destroy this union, and when better to do this than at its beginning – on the wedding day itself.

The marriage ceremony went by smoothly, and Ethelfleda and Ethelred were joined in holy matrimony. The happy couple rode home, lord and lady side by side. And following on behind them was their entourage of soldiers, servants and maids-in-waiting. The two newlyweds were unaware that in the trees that lined that road, there was an army waiting for them. The Danes crouched in the leaves with their sharpened swords, ready to leap on the unsuspecting couple. It would be an ambush that would cut up the union sanctioned by the king. They would slice it apart before it could be consumated.

A fierce cry rose from the tree tops and out of those leaf-laden branches a ferocious band of Danish warriors descended, intent on killing the lord, his lady, and all who got in their way. Immediately, Ethelred told his lady to turn and ride away to safety, which she did, taking her maids-in-waiting with her. Meanwhile, the brave Ethelred turned to face the Danes together with his soldiers, all with their seaxes drawn – those deadly blades that gave the Saxons their name. As Ethelfleda rode frantically to safety, she turned to see how the battle was progressing, and saw that her husband and his band were not faring well. The Danes seemed to be gaining the upper hand as they continued to pour from the surrounding woodland. It would not be long until Ethelred would be overcome, and Ethelfleda could not run away knowing her husband’s life was in the balance. So she pulled on the reins, turned her horse around and rallied her maids-in-waiting. Together, the women galloped back along the road to join the men in the battle. A bloody skirmish ensued; Ethelfleda and her ladies surprised the Danes with their presence, and then took advantage of their shock, plunging their seaxes forward and back into the hearts and guts of their enemies. Soon the Danes were too depleted to continue. Many turned and ran back through the trees in the hope of living another day.

Blood-splattered and sweaty, Ethelred turned to see his deliverer, his wife Ethelfleda. He knew then that he had a truly remarkable woman on his hands. Some say that the battle took place at Maiden Castle, Bickerton, where the happy couple had stopped for a rest on their way home. And so the hillfort received its name, in memory of the maids-in-waiting who, together with their lady, stood against the Danes. They showed those invaders how an Anglo-Saxon woman can give as good as any Anglo-Saxon man, and we’ve been learning that lesson again and again ever since.

Two

INGIMUND’S SAGA

Together Ethelred and Ethelfleda ruled the kingdom of Mercia, but as Ethelred was much older than Ethelfleda, he eventually became too jaded to take such an active role. It was therefore his formidable wife, the young Lady of the Mercians, who effectively ruled the land. And it was during this time that a deputation of bedraggled Norsemen came to her asking for some land.

These were an exiled Nordic people led by Ingimund. They had sailed many miles, from one part of Britain to another, in search of somewhere to make their home. You see they were no longer welcome in Norway, not since Harald the Fine Hair had become the first king of that country. He had subdued the people as Harald the Mop-head, vowing before God that he would not cut his hair until he had become king of the whole land. In doing so, he had hoped that he might win the hand of Gytha, a fair but feisty young woman who knew what she wanted in a man. So, once he had achieved this task and cut his hair, Gytha became his queen, and all those who did not agree with Harald’s rule were put out of the kingdom. And so Ingimund and his ragtag band of followers set off in their longships to find a new home. They sailed across the North Sea and round the tip of Scotland with the hope of making a new life in the Viking settlement of Dublin. But when they arrived, they found that it was the wrong time for Vikings. The Irish were throwing these foreigners out and reclaiming their land, so Ingimund ended up gaining more followers. It was a larger band for him to lead, but still they had no home.

They decided to try Wales; Ingimund hoped that the little island of Anglesey would be out of the way and free of trouble. But, as Ingimund and his company crossed the Irish Sea, the Welsh saw their ships, and fearing the worst they lined the beaches with warriors. They were headed by their king and readied themselves with their weapons gleaming in the sun. It was clear to Ingimund that this was not going to be their home either.

‘But, where to now?’ he thought. The longships slowly edged round the coast of Wales until they finally came to the Wirral Peninsula. After landing their ships, a tired and sorry-looking band of men set out to find whoever ruled the land, so that they might ask for somewhere to live.

It was this bedraggled group then that appeared before Ethelfleda, the Saxon Queen of Mercia, asking if there might be somewhere they could call home, having shared their sorry story. Ethelfleda looked at them with suspicion. She, her husband, her father and her brother had spent many years protecting their land from Vikings. Admittedly their greatest enemies were the Danes and these were Norsemen, but at the end of the day they were all Vikings. She decided therefore that she would let them live where they had landed – the northern half of the Wirral Peninsula – where they would be out of the way. This wasn’t the best land in the kingdom either, by a long way, and so she was not giving away anything too valuable. Giving thanks, Ingimund and his Nordic brothers set off to make their new home in the northernmost part of Mercia. And so many places in the region gained Viking names, such as Wallasey, Leasowe, Greasby, Raby and Tranmere. But it was a boggy, marshy land and often riddled with midges. It was not a great place for farming either and it was a long journey to the market towns where they could trade. So, many of the Norsemen started to wish they lived somewhere else. Somewhere like Chester would be good, they thought, where there was a harbour and a market and a city wall. So a great gathering of the Wirral Norsemen was called, an assembly which those Vikings call a Thing. The area where this took place is now known as Thingwall, and it was here that there was a great debate and the plan to move to Chester was discussed in depth. Finally, Ingimund proposed that they should go to Chester peaceably at first, saying, ‘Let us approach the city beseeching of the people that they let us join them in peace.’ Then, seeing the desperation on the faces of his people, ‘But should they refuse then we will take that city of Chester by force, driving the people from their homes and making it our own.’ And a cheer rose up from the Norsemen. All were in agreement, and whether it was by request or by force, they would finally be settling in a new home.

Taking their helmets and shields and swords, should they need them, the Wirral Norsemen began to march down the Wirral towards the walled city of Chester. And it was not long until the lookouts on the wall saw them – a great band of Vikings, armed and marching towards their city. The people panicked, believing they were under attack, but what should they do?

A messenger was sent to Ethelfleda, their queen, in the hope that she would protect them. The queen heard of the people’s plight and sighed. She had been right not to trust those Norsemen; they were just the same as their Danish cousins. And so the queen devised a plan for the people of Chester.

‘Open your gates wide,’ she said, ‘so that the Norsemen think you are welcoming them in. But have all your people armed and waiting in hiding. Once the Vikings come in through the gates, close them as quick as you can. They will be surprised and trapped, and you will be able to kill them all.’

The messenger rushed back to the people of Chester with the plan and they put it into action. Ingimund and the Norsemen arrived and found the city gates to be open. Their hope initially had been to come in peace, and it seemed that the people of Chester were willing to talk. With great expectation, the Vikings walked into the city, which seemed very quiet for a market day. No sooner were the Vikings inside than the gates started to close behind them. There was a cry from those who were at the rear of the crowd, shouting that it was a trap. This was confirmed by a cry from the Chester Saxons, who leapt out to attack the invaders. Before the gates could close, the Norsemen had turned. They were not going to allow themselves to be shut inside and slaughtered. A number of Ingimund’s men lost their lives in the skirmish, but most escaped and they ran from Chester to regroup and make new plans.

The people of Chester were delighted with themselves, and slapped each other on the back, telling of how brave each of them had been in seeing off a ferocious Viking horde.

But Ingimund and his people were not happy. They had come to Chester in openness and they had been tricked. It was time therefore to put the second part of their plan into action – to take that city by force, driving its people from their homes and making it their own. And so they readied themselves for battle; a battle they knew would be hard. The people of Chester would be ready for them now and the gates would be closed, but the Vikings were used to climbing over walls.

With their helmets on, their shields strapped to their arms, their swords unsheathed and carrying their ladders, the Wirral Norsemen began to march down the Wirral towards the walled city of Chester again. And it was not long until the lookouts on the wall saw them again – a great band of Vikings, armed and carrying ladders, marching towards their city. The people panicked, they were under attack, but what should they do?

A messenger was sent to Ethelfleda, their queen, in the hope that she would protect them again. The queen heard of the people’s plight and sighed. She could see that these Norsemen were just as persistent as their Danish cousins. And so the queen devised another plan for the people of Chester.

‘As the Vikings climb up the walls,’ she said, ‘throw rocks and bricks down on them. Any rubble you can find in the city. Or take any stone you have, remove it from some of your least valued buildings if necessary. Throw them down on those Vikings. See if they can climb up their ladders whilst you are pelting them with stone.’

The messenger rushed back to the people of Chester with this plan and they put it into action. As the Norsemen climbed the hill on which the city sat, and as they placed their ladders against its walls, the people of Chester waited. Then, as the attackers climbed up, the people of Chester began to throw down their rocks and bricks and stones. The Norsemen were hit in the face, in the back, on the fingers, and they also began to fall. As one fell, he would fall on top of another Viking climbing the ladder below him. And as they were starting to make a heap of moaning, bruised and broken Vikings, the shower of stones continued. Ingimund and his men were not going to remain here. So they ran from Chester to regroup and make new plans.

Again the people of Chester revelled in their victory and slapped each other on the back, telling of how brave each of them had been in seeing off a ferocious Viking horde.

Now Ingimund and his people were not happy. They had come to Chester to make a new home, and they were not going to be stopped now. If they could not climb over the walls, then maybe they could enter Chester by going under the walls. With their helmets on, their shields strapped to their arms, their swords unsheathed, the Wirral Norsemen began to march down the Wirral again, towards the walled city of Chester. This time, however, they brought with them screens of willow and poles made from branches, together with a host of digging tools. And it was not long until the lookouts on the wall saw them again – a great band of Vikings, armed and carrying a host of things, marching towards their city. The people were ready with their stones, but it didn’t look like their enemies were going to be climbing the walls again. This time, the people of Chester watched before they panicked.

The Vikings held their screens above their heads as protection from any tumbling stones and gathered below the city walls. Then they used their poles to hold up the screens, making shelter for themselves all round the base of the walls. The people of Chester were now worried. All they had were stones. Some started to throw them down on to the Vikings, but it was no good. The screens protected the invaders who were now starting to dig into the hill, hoping to make their way under the walls and into the city.

The people of Chester panicked. How could they stop this attack? An attack from underneath. A messenger was sent to Ethelfleda, their queen, in the hope that she would protect them again. The queen heard of the Vikings’ new plan and she sighed again. These Norsemen were more intelligent than their Danish cousins. And so the queen devised another plan for the people of Chester.

‘I know my people are fine brewers of ale,’ she said, ‘now take all the ale you have in the city and boil it up. Make fires on the walls themselves for you to boil the beer. Then when it is bubbling and spitting, when it is at its hottest, tip the vats of ale down over the walls on to those Vikings. Let’s see whether those screens of theirs offer protection against liquid rather than stone.’

The messenger rushed back to the people of Chester with this plan and they put it into action. Some gathered the ale that was in the city, while others built fires on the walls. Then as the beer boiled and spat, they carefully carried the great vats to the battlements and tipped the scalding hot liquid over and on to the Norsemen. The screens were only meant to protect them from large objects, such as rocks and bricks, not beer. And the intensely hot, steaming ale tumbled on to the Vikings, who screamed as they were burnt and scalded. Some say it was so hot that the very flesh of some Norsemen fell from their bodies. And so the boiling shower continued. Ingimund and his men were not going to remain there. They ran from Chester to regroup and make new plans.

Oh, how the people of Chester were full of themselves. They slapped each other on the back, telling of how brave each of them had been seeing off a ferocious Viking horde.

Now Ingimund and his people were getting angry. Chester would be theirs no matter what. If the people were going to throw down boiling beer and not rocks, then they would waterproof their screens and continue to dig until they had made their way into the city under its walls.