Staffordshire Folk Tales E-Book

Johnny Gillett

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

Seitenzahl: 272

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

These lively and entertaining folk tales from one of Britain's most fascinating counties are vividly retold by local storyteller The Journey Man. Their origins lost in the oral tradition, these thirty stories from Staffordshire reflect the wisdom (and eccentricities) of the county and its people. Staffordshire has a rich and diverse collection of tales, from the stories of some of Britain's most famous mythical heroes, to tales of demons, dragons, boggarts and brownies. These stories, illustrated with twenty-five line drawings, bring alive the landscape of the county's moorlands, forests and fertile plains.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Title Page

Acknowledgements

Introduction

1   Bogeymen, Bugs and Black Dogs

2   Tales of the Moorlands

3   Tales from Mercian Staffordshire

4   Tales from the Middle

5   Tales from the Black Country

Bibliography

Copyright

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

In the compilation of this book, I have drawn on many sources and would like to thank all those who have told me stories, pointed me in the right direction and shown me some of the key sites around the county. I would particularly like to thank David Pott of the Two Saints Way, who took time out to lead me on the path of Wulfad and Rufin. I would also particularly like to acknowledge the work of three researchers who have gone before me: Jon Raven, Doug Pickford and Fred Leigh. These three have been like the Three Kings of Lichfield to me. In my own note taking, I reduced their work by cutting it into bits and pieces, providing me with some strong foundations, on which I have built to produce this book. So, I say thank you to all those who have gone before me, for recording much of this diverse and fascinating county of Staffordshire.

INTRODUCTION

Staffordshire is a county known for its potteries and its bull terrier. Others may know of its breweries and some may even be aware of how its southerly tip forms part of the Black Country. However, for most people it is a county you travel through to get to somewhere else. Those travelling north from London or Birmingham may have noted signs for Stafford or Stoke off the M6, and those travelling south to Wales may have had to pass through, their routes crossing one another like the Staffordshire Knot. However, this county is one with an amazing and intriguing folklore. It has its own tales of some of the nation’s favourite mythic heroes. It is the county that produced some great thinkers of its own, such as Erasmus Darwin and Dr Samuel Johnson. And Lichfield was the home of the great actor David Garrick. But there are also some unique traditions, such as the horn dance of Abbots Bromley. The antlers used in this ritual have been proven to be around 1,000 years old, which suggests that the dance has been performed every year since the time of Ethelfleda. The people have their own array of sprites and things that go bump in the night, including Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones and the Kidsgrove Boggart. In fact, this county has an intriguingly intimate relationship with all of its bogeymen. I find this fascinating when considering the deeply religious, but often dissenting, nature of the county. Staffordshire has more than its fair share of saints, but in years it hosted Lollards and later birthed Primitive Methodism. Such evangelical traditions seem to have revelled in the folklore of the place, even if it was only to cast out the so-called demons.

Pilgrimages have passed through Staffordshire, and recent years have seen the reintroduction of the Two Saints Way, which ends at Lichfield. There are also the five rivers that pass through: the Dove, Sow, Trent, Tame and Anker. All have brought influences into the region. Not to mention the canals and all the tales of the boatmen. As well as being a greatly agricultural county, there has been a wide array of industries. Best known will be the potteries, but I could also mention the beer, bricks, irons, boots, shoes, textiles, chemicals and coal. As history and society progressed, these stories were told and retold, passed on from rural folk to industrialised society. And with every retelling, each generation made these tales their own. So the stories have rolled on through Staffordshire, but unlike that stone which gathers no moss, they have picked up something along the way, becoming tales that have very much a Staffordshire flavour, whether told in the potteries or told in the Black Country. With all this material then, I have had the challenge of deciding what to leave out of this collection, rather than struggling to find enough to fill it. I live in Cheshire, but I regularly work in this county, storytelling in many of its schools. It has therefore been an honour to receive the opportunity to put this collection of folk tales together. In doing so, I soon became aware that Staffordshire has a number of distinct regions. To the north, there are the Moorlands which have their own folklore. Stoke and the other pottery centres have developed stories unique to their growth as industrial towns; while the Black Country is almost like a county in its own right. Put this together with the wonderful tales of Mercia’s saints, who did so much in the area, and its own collection of spirits and bogeymen, and you will begin to see what I mean about the complexity of the region. I therefore decided to arrange this book into five sections, so reflecting the distinctions of the stories and folklore. They are as follows:

Bogeymen, Bugs and Black Dogs

Tales of the Moorlands

Tales from Mercian Staffordshire

Tales from the Middle

Tales of the Black Country

With many of these tales I have tried to maintain the flavour of Staffordshire folk culture. One element is the importance in the naming of towns and villages, many of which have strong connections with the stories of their origins – real or imagined. Another is the use of rhymes to capture events or tales. I have never found so many, and although this is a book of folk tales rather than folk songs, I have felt I could not effectively produce a book of Staffordshire tales without including a few rhymes. I was even inspired to write my own. The tale of the ‘Three Kings of Lichfield’ almost begged to be written in verse, and so I make my offering.

I owe much to the work of those three distinct authors mentioned in my acknowledgements. For folklore I have drawn on the iconic volume The Folklore of Staffordshire by Jon Raven, who also focuses much on the Black Country. Doug Pickford has done much work in identifying many of the mystical locations, especially those on the Moorlands, collecting various anecdotes of people’s intriguing experiences and making some interesting connections. And then there is the book North Staffordshire: Myths and Legends, in which Fred Leigh has embellished many of the fragmentary tales to create some enthralling short stories. My method is quite similar to Leigh’s, in that I enjoy playing about with bits and pieces of stories, filling in the gaps, and bringing in other elements from the regional folklore and history. In doing so, my hope is that these tales continue to appeal to today’s audience. Of course, I also hope that my humorous approach to the lives of many of Staffordshire’s saints does not cause offence. I prefer to think of it as a gentle ribbing with some older siblings, rather than ridicule. Whether I use humour, fear, or lots of imagination, my aim has been to help you to connect with the spirit of Staffordshire. It is a county with so many fantastic stories, which often, like the Staffordshire Hoard, remain hidden to those who bustle on with their daily lives, speeding along the roads back and forth through the county. The fact that you are reading this introduction suggests that you are taking time out to sit down and enjoy some folk tales. So, do just that. Flip through the book and read whatever catches your eye. Or focus on one section at a time, learning its tales so that you can then visit those sites it speaks of. However you choose to read this book, my desire is that it opens your eyes to that beauty and wonder hidden just below the surface of Staffordshire.

The Journey Man, 2012

1

BOGEYMEN, BUGSAND BLACK DOGS

So let us begin by getting to know a few people. Some say that the people you know least are your neighbours, those who live shoulder to shoulder with you. However, the folk of Staffordshire may have had a host of unusual neighbours sharing their space. Although few may see them, they have a lot to say about them and have names for them all. Many are fearsome, or at least menacing, but despite this there is a certain amount of affection shown for the inhuman brood rubbing shoulders with the human residents of the county. There are names such as Lob-lie-by-the-fire and Will-o’-the-wisp, and a number of these bogeymen even have their own rhymes. The word ‘bogeyman’ is even shortened about the county, especially as you draw nearer the Black Country, to the less worrying ‘bug’. These ‘bugs’ have fulfilled many purposes, from keeping children in check to warning miners and bargemen of imminent disasters, while others are a reminder of losses of life in the past. Of course, the infamous Spring Heel Jack is supposed to have made a number of appearances, but I have put his stories in with those of the Black Country. Here then are a number of bugs to get you started.

KIT CREWBUCKET

As the evening mist begins to rise on the canals, an eerie presence can be felt at the twin tunnels of Harecastle. As the temperature drops, a gentle but incessant outpouring of white cloudiness tumbles out of the entrances of those channels named Brindley and Telford, making the stories of Kit Crewbucket easily believed. If you take a barge into that darkness, you will soon come to the location of Gilbert’s Hole, where the body of a woman was dumped after being murdered by three cruel boatmen. It is said that they hacked off her head with a piece of slate and it is here, in the middle of the tunnel, that some have seen her. Kit Crewbucket is what many call her, but she is perhaps more properly known as the Kidsgrove Boggart. Boggart is a fairly common word in the folklore of the West Midlands and the north-west of England. It describes a malevolent spirit, often associated with water. These female phantoms are said to have the ability to change shape. However, in the lore of these regions, the boggarts seem to remain in one form. Whether they are trapped in this shape or whether it is their favourite, I am not sure, but I don’t plan on asking one. The further south you go in Staffordshire, the more likely you are to hear the word bug rather than boggart. This seems to me another indication of the familiarity of the residents with their spooks. As for the Kidsgrove Boggart, there are many stories to say who she was and how she came to be the way she is.

Unlike other boggarts, Kit Crewbucket was once human and her current form is in fact her ghost. The stories generally tell of a young woman who was travelling down the canal, but was the only female amongst a rough and cruel band of men. It was close to Kidsgrove that, after some miles of leers and threats, the men overcame the girl, attempted to have their wicked way with her and then killed her. Then, having dumped the decapitated body in the Harecastle tunnels, they continued on their journey. From that time on, people reported seeing a headless woman moving through the mist at the tunnel entrance. Others spoke of hearing screams echoing out of the tunnel. No one has been harmed by Kit Crewbucket, but her appearance and screams were understood to be warnings. Whenever there was a collision or disaster on that stretch of the canal, the Kidsgrove Boggart was seen beforehand. And so, as unnerving as it might have been to see a headless woman in the mist or hear blood-curdling screams echoing from the darkness of the tunnel, the bargemen did not avoid the tunnel out of fear of the bug, but more in obedience to her warnings.

So if she doesn’t appear when you approach the Harecastle tunnels and all seems quiet, then you know that your journey on the water will be trouble free. However, if she does make her presence known, then go on your way with care.

RAWHEAD-AND-BLOODY-BONES

Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones

Steals naughty children from their homes,

Takes them to his dirty den

And they are never seen again.

This bogeyman seems to be one of the more memorable and feared of the brood, and there may be some link here with Cheshire. On the Sandstone Ridge, one of the highest hills is named Rawhead, under which there is a large cave called the Queen’s Parlour. It is said that the Bloody Bones Gang used to reside here. Many of the residents feared this band of grave-robbing, house-breaking individuals. Indeed, one girl named Isabella Bishop, from Tettenhall, wrote in her diary of how she had an accidental meeting with the gang and how they had tried to buy her silence. I have therefore often wondered if the Staffordshire rhyme and the Cheshire diary could be related. It could be argued that tales of the Bloody Bones Gang of Rawhead trickled down to Staffordshire, and the ideas of these shadowy figures were reformed into the bogeymen which were then used to frighten children into obedience. Some folk talk about him capturing children and throwing them into a black sack, presumably to take them to those caves in Cheshire – his dirty den. However, the rhyme seems to predate the Tettenhall diary entry by at least 100 years. Some have suggested that Miss Bishop’s story was a fabrication – having heard the rhyme, she tied it to the neighbouring hill of Rawhead. Either way, the story of Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones has taken on a life of its own. Some children believed that the bogeyman lived at the bottom of the pit shafts and they would challenge each other to shout the creature’s name down the shaft. I doubt if any stayed to find out if there was an answer. On stormy nights, parents told their little ones that the howling wind was Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones moaning as he looked for naughty children. Others were warned that he lived in the dark shadows of the cupboard under the stairs. This was presumably to keep children away from whatever their parents kept there, or to act as a warning that if they misbehaved they would be joining him. Stories of this creature have crossed the Atlantic too and are found in American folklore, as well as published short stories and novels. There is certainly something about the idea of Mr Bloody-Bones which inspires the darker side of the imagination.

DUMB BAW

Another bogeyman used for similar purposes, but based on a real person, is Dumb Baw. He was the son of a couple of colliers, Mr and Mrs Ball, and he was born without hearing and unable to speak. His parents didn’t have the wherewithal to help him, or any idea how to care for him, and so young Ball would wander about the potteries of Staffordshire, sleeping wherever he pleased and taking whatever he could to eat. It was not long until this unfortunate became known to all as Dumb Baw. But despite the implications of his name, Ball was quick-witted and found ways of making money out of his situation. In many ways, he surprised folk as much as Dumb Dyott would have done – Dyott was the deaf and dumb marksman who shot an enemy down in the street whilst situated in one of the three towers of Lichfield Cathedral.

Ball knew that people dreaded him; they believed that he was possessed by the Devil in some way, and such dark forces were treated with interest, but also fear. After all, if he was connected with the Devil then maybe he could tell of secrets from the spiritual world. Ball knew he had no such powers, but if the belief was there then he was going to profit from it. He would tell fortunes to those who asked and paid. Taking a piece of chalk, he would mark out strange signs and figures which people believed to be magic. For the right payment he would use these to work out how many children a woman might have, or whether a girl was going to get married or not and when. With his chalk, he would write a number, and the people went away believing his predictions. He would even push his customers for a little more cash by suddenly looking panicked and drawing a coffin. Believing a death to be imminent, the panicking client would pay more money. Ball would then suddenly rub out the image and replace it with something more life-affirming, such as the sketch of a baby. Sadly, very few would befriend Ball, and children were unnerved by the gurgling and screeching sounds he was often heard to make. And so parents looking for a way to keep their children quiet would say: ‘Hush now, I think I hear Dumb Baw coming!’ Such a warning was still working over fifty years after Ball’s own death!

WHITE RABBITS

In neighbouring Cheshire, a rather famous author not only popularised the idea of the Cheshire Cat, but also introduced the likeable but pathetic White Rabbit. White rabbits have been a symbol of good luck in English folklore for many years, but the charming image of a white rabbit dashing back and forth with the words ‘Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!’ may have darker origins.

The family of Clough Hall at Kidsgrove feared seeing a white rabbit cross their drive, as it was a portent of a death in the family. This association with death may come from the disturbing story of two boys from Burslem.

One day, two lads were whiling away the time in Etruria Grove. They were John Holdcroft and Charles Shaw and, as young men often do, they had a disagreement, which led to a fight. However, the tussle got out of hand, with John’s anger towards the smaller Charles growing. Then, perhaps not knowing his own strength, the larger boy caught the other around the neck and choked the life out of him. John was tried for murder but, in light of his young age, he escaped the noose to be transported instead. However, those who went to Etruria Grove after this tragic event would often say that they could hear the screams of a boy. But where they came from, they could not tell. Once the screams had died away, a mysterious white rabbit would come rushing out of the undergrowth, dashing across the path, before disappearing into the bushes on the other side. Sightings of the white rabbit were so prevalent that one local man decided to try to catch the creature. Although he saw it, his trapping attempts were not successful. He, in fact, had to call off the endeavour because he slipped and dislocated his shoulder. Many said that this was a sign that the white rabbit should be left alone and so, to this day, no one has caught the creature which dashes out of the leaves, resembling Lewis Carroll’s creation.

White rabbits have also been associated with the magical. Witches have often been thought to have the ability to change shape, such as in the story of the ‘Black Cat of Getliffe’s Yard’, and a white rabbit seems to have been a popular choice. I am not entirely sure why a witch, who has some intelligence about her, would turn into a white rabbit. Firstly, they are easy to spot and would raise suspicion immediately. Secondly, a predator is likely to spot a white rabbit before one that’s brown or black. Maybe it was something to do with style. Either way, the practice seems to have died out. Perhaps too many witches ended up as food for foxes.

Another reference to the white rabbits is made when referring to so-called ‘wise men’ in Staffordshire. A number of men professed to have magical powers and hired themselves out to chant incantations or make spells for people’s healing and protection. This role seems to have been more commonly fulfilled by women throughout Great Britain, but here in Staffordshire, men were also well known to provide this service. Referred to as White Rabbits, they would be especially popular with miners, weaving spells to ensure that those who entered the mines would be protected.

It is curious then that white rabbits figure so greatly in the folklore of Staffordshire. There is certainly something unusual about seeing a white rabbit in the wild and so, maybe these stories are explanations that made sense at one time. However, I can guarantee that should you come across a white rabbit in the wild, you will never look at it in the same way again.

RED SOCKS

A girl was playing hide-and-seek whilst she was staying at Broughton Hall and went to hide in the Long Gallery. She waited for quite some time, thinking that her friends would come in soon. She especially wanted to impress the boy who lived there and had heard his footsteps run past the door to the gallery. She waited for a little longer but began to get bored, so she carefully looked out and almost gasped aloud. There, standing by the window, was a boy. Fortunately, however, he was looking out through the panes and not towards her. The girl then moved very quietly out from her hiding place and edged over to the door. As she did so, she noticed how the boy was dressed in some kind of costume, the most noticeable thing being his red socks. Then she slipped out of the door and downstairs.

Later that afternoon, when the game was over and all the children were boasting about their hiding places, the girl told the boy whom she had hoped to impress that she had managed to sneak past him without him even noticing. He looked confused and insisted he had not been in the Long Gallery all day. The girl said that she had seen him quite plainly, or at least someone who looked very much like him. The only difference was that he was dressed in some kind of costume. Again the boy denied this and said that the girl was making it up. That was until she mentioned that the boy she had seen was wearing long red socks. The boy gasped and everyone who was half-listening fell silent. He went on to tell the girl about the ghost which sometimes appeared in the Long Gallery. It was supposed to be the ghost of a boy who was killed in a raid that had taken place back in the Civil War. That boy was said to have stood at the window watching the enemy soldiers ride into the grounds of the hall. One soldier saw him standing there, took aim with his pistol and shot the child dead through the glass. He was wearing red hose, like many rich boys of those days, and any who saw his ghost always commented on this. He was therefore known in the family as Red Socks and that must have been whom the girl had seen as she came out of her hiding place.

BLACK DOGS

Black dogs appear all over the country. Some say that they are the Devil incarnate. And Staffordshire has, of course, its own share of sightings. Some who have studied these manifestations more closely suggest that they appear in places along the trail of Bonny Prince Charlie. The most memorable apparition of this sort is probably the Black Dog of Sedgley.

There was a family living there who dreaded the Black Dog; it had become a legend in their family history as it was known to appear every so often. The creature was larger in size than any ordinary dog, being more like a pony, and it had a pair of enormous red eyes, like two burning coals in the dark. The Black Dog would very occasionally appear, choosing to follow any family member who was travelling home in the evening. Fearsome as this may be, it was more what this unwelcome escort represented than its appearance that caused such intense anxiety. The presence of the Black Dog of Sedgley meant a death in the family, and often the demise of the very person it followed home.

TH’OLDE LAD

I am intrigued as to how different regions across the country respond to the Devil. This long-time enemy of humanity has been treated with every possible reaction, from intense fear to a jokey humour, almost as if he is simply a misguided family member. As the industrialisation of Staffordshire increased, and religious fervour alongside it, the Devil began to be associated more and more with the smoke and grime of the increasing number of factories, as can be seen in William Blake’s ‘Satanic Mills’. There developed then a number of rhymes along these lines in the Black Country. I believe these were a way for the people to deal with the change in their landscape and the grittiness of their day-to-day lives. There are many tales of the Devil in Staffordshire, especially from the high days of Methodism, when Satan was not only blamed for much of people’s irrational behaviour, but was also reported as being present in the houses and establishments of those whose activities clashed with some of the more dignified ideals of society. Despite this emphasis on his damaging influence, Staffordshire refers to the Father of Lies almost affectionately, as th’Olde Lad, and tells tales of his dealings with saints, witches and the odd landlord.

2

TALES OF THEMOORLANDS

Let us begin this collection of folk tales in that mystical landscape known as the Staffordshire Moorlands. For starters, it can be a bit of a challenge simply working out where you are exactly. It’s very easy, out there on the moors, to wander in and out of Staffordshire. You can unknowingly cross the county boundary into Cheshire, and if you happen to stray just a little way to the north you’ll very quickly find yourself in the Peak District, which is generally thought of as Derbyshire. However, that stretch of moorland on the Staffordshire side is truly a magical and inspirational place. This is particularly seen on the approach from Blackshaw Moor, where you are greeted by a dramatic panorama of intimidating rock formations. They rise up suddenly, looking like a row of ancient fortresses, resolutely standing as guardians to this landscape of legends. Continue on into this harsh, bleak world and you will be surrounded by what resembles a great array of crude stone statues. They have the appearance of markers from a time long gone, as if giants piled high these stones to indicate their boundaries. And when the sunlight breaks through the darkening clouds that hang over that range, its rays focus on this hill or that. Almost as if the sun is shining down on chosen sites, highlighting each of those mystical monuments in turn. Venture further into the moors and you will see how the land itself suddenly drops away here and there with surprising twists and turns, as if some subterranean activity has caused the earth to fall in on itself, sucked down into unexpected cavities, so creating folds and valleys between the deep shadows of those jagged hills. It is not surprising then that these Moorlands have inspired some unique stories. Some are quite chilling, others quite charming, but all of them are captivating. Their whispers draw you back to clamber up and challenge those rugged hills again, to unlock the mysteries hidden in millennia of enchantment. And you’ll look twice at those unusual features, wondering how true those stories may be.

The stones here in Staffordshire have proved deeply fascinating for generations of residents and visitors to the moors. That part of the Moorlands known as the Roaches, for instance, takes its name from the old French for ‘rocks’ (les rochers). It’s not only rocky piles collected and forgotten by the giants. There are stones which have clearly been sculpted by wind and rain, with soft twists and a gentle smoothness to them, naturally moulded into shapes which call to the imagination. The Moorlands have more than their fair share of stones, such as the Heart Stone, the Serpentine Stones and the Winking Man. And there is also the Bawstone, which is said to possess healing powers, whilst other stones bring enchantment. Some have simply mesmerised the people, who continue to summon up stories and bizarre explanations for their presence, but there are others which make themselves part of people’s lives. One such pair would be the Bridestones, which probably supported the entrance to a burial mound at one time. Much of that has disappeared, but the two support stones remain with a scattering of fallen stones around them, lying about as if they were discarded. The Bridestones stand tall and proud amongst these others, and in doing so they resemble a couple on their wedding day. It is said that engaged couples would come up to the stones seeking some assurance from them, a blessing from ages past which would ensure that their vows lasted ‘till death we do part’. I have even heard it suggested that couples who wanted to get married, but could not afford the Christian ceremony, would come and make promises to each other in front of the Bridestones, either having God as their witness or calling upon some other deity represented, so they believed, by the stones themselves.

It’s easy to believe in such ancient spirits when wandering these Moorlands, as the landscape lends itself to tales of fairies, mermaids and headless horsemen – as well as those humans who have disengaged for too long from mainstream society. There is also a resilient band of creatures hidden up here in the Moorlands that came to these lands in more recent times. None have been sighted recently, but every so often stories are told of the odd wallaby hopping out of the undergrowth up around the Roaches. It seems that in the 1930s, a private zoo fell on hard times and the owners were unable to keep the animals. The simplest thing to do was to release them into the surrounding heathland. There was a small band, about five, of those marsupials known quite simply as the Wallabies of the Roaches. But sightings over the years suggest that there could be as many as fifty, despite the snowy winters experienced fairly regularly up there on the Moorlands. I have also heard of three yaks and an antelope that were released, but there seem to have been no sightings of those. You’d certainly know it if you were faced with a yak.

What follows then are a number of tales showing the inspiration taken from that vastly lonely landscape. Some originate from the Staffordshire Moorlands themselves, while others are stories told by outsiders. However, they all give an insight into how the people of Staffordshire have viewed this mysterious corner of their county, whilst providing us with quite a varied collection of stories.

THE FAIRY FOLK OF THE MOORLANDS

One attraction of the Staffordshire Moorlands may be the chance of seeing fairies. Tales of fairy folk seem to be hidden behind every boulder and hedgerow, especially about the Cloud, a distinctive hill with a name that suggests something of the ethereal. In fact, many would gaze towards the Cloud from Leek in the hope of catching the legendary double sunset, and such events only add to the magic of the place.