A Dictionary of British Folk-Tales in the English Language (Part A, Volume 2)

A DICTIONARY OF BRITISH FOLKTALES A DICTIONARY OF BRITISH FOLK-TALES IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE INCORPORATING THE F.J.NO...

Author: K. Briggs

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A DICTIONARY OF BRITISH FOLKTALES

A DICTIONARY OF BRITISH FOLK-TALES IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE INCORPORATING THE F.J.NORTON COLLECTION

KATHARINE M.BRIGGS PART A FOLK NARRATIVES VOLUMES 1 AND 2

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published in 1970 by Routledge & Kegan Paul This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge's collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” Published in paperback in 1991 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge a division of Routledge, Chapman and Hall, Inc. 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 © K.M.Briggs 1970 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data available ISBN 0-203-39737-1 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-39767-3 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN Part A 0 415 06694 8 (Print Edition) Part B 0 415 06695 6 (Print Edition) Set 0 415 06696 4 (Print Edition)

CONTENTS

VOLUME 2 III

JOCULAR TALES

IV

NOVELLE

325

NURSERY TALES

448

V

1

III JOCULAR TALES

III Jocular tales

3

JOCULAR TALES It is no easy matter to thread one’s way through the maze of the Jocular Tales. At first as we read one after the other there seems a great sameness about them, but there are actually many varieties of subject and treatment. They may be divided into: Local Taunts, Noodle Tales, Courtship Tales and Anti-feminist Taunts, Conflicts between Husband and Wife, Bawdy Tales, Tales of Trickery, Practical Jokes that Went Wrong, Exploits of Jesters, The Child or Simpleton Exposing the Wise, Jokes against Particular Classes or Professions, Jokes about Animals, Unexpected Twists or Quirks, Jokes that Depend on Puns, Nonsense Tales. And many more might be worked out. A particularly large class in England, though it is not peculiar to England, is the Local Taunt, the Noodle Tale multiplied to cover a whole village. Gotham, whether in Nottingham or Sussex, is generally taken as the typical village of fools, though over fifty places can be found scattered through the different counties of England against whom the same sort of accusations are levelled. One of the commonest taunts is that they tried to wall in the cuckoo. This subject was dealt with by J.E.Field in some detail in The Myth of the Pent Cuckoo. Mr Field had an interesting thesis to advance; it is that the sites of cuckoo pens are always places where a stand was made by the Britons against the Saxons, and that the simpleton villages were pockets of Ancient Britons who kept their identity. A similar explanation can be advanced for simpleton villages in other countries. Mr Field derived “cuckoo” from the same root as the “cucking-stool” on which scolds were ducked, with the meaning of “scold” or “jabber”. The pen is the high, fortified place which held out longest. There is, for instance, a cuckoo pen, with no story attached to it, near Wittenham Clumps in Oxfordshire, and another near Idbury, on the wold above Burford. Whether this conjecture be well grounded or no, there is no doubt that the Gothamite stories are of great antiquity. Some of them are told in a twelfth-century Latin poem published by Wright in one of his collections. Both the Gothamite and the ordinary Noodle Tales are treated by Clouston in his wellknown Book of Noodles. This is useful for comparison, but even more helpful is The Fool, His Social and Literary History, by Enid Welsford. She traces the medieval and Renaissance fools back to the classical parasites and buffoons, and indicates the connection between licensed fools and bards and the value attached to railing as a means of averting ill luck. The buffoons of the Italian Renaissance courts raised folly to a high art, and were many of them men of learning, such as Dominicus Ciaiesius, buffoon to Duke Ferdinand I of Florence. He taught the duke’s children Latin, and also secretly obtained a doctorate of law at Pisa University. The tradition of these learned buffoons may explain why Skelton and George Buchanan were pressed into the part of Royal Jesters. The Khojah Nasr-ed-Din, the most famous of all noodles, was also accounted a preacher and a man of learning. Another aspect of the buffoon studied by Enid Welsford is his connection with the simpleton or madman, the magical inspiration ascribed to madness and the good luck which is said to accompany deformity. She touches on, but does not fully explore, the part played by scurrilous jests in fertility rites. It is a matter which might well be further

A dictionary of british folktales

4

investigated. Nonsense Tales may also have a notion of magical efficacy behind them, apart from the pleasure which most people take in nonsense. Another purpose of Jocular Tales is as social comment. They may be used either to repress and hold up to scorn undesirable behaviour or as a retaliation of the underprivileged against their superiors in wealth or learning. But whatever solemn purposes may be found underlying these tales it is to be hoped that most people tell them and listen to them because they find them funny.

PLACES SUPPOSED TO BE INHABITED BY SIMPLETONS Aldbourne, Wilts.

Haddenham, Bucks.

Austwick, Yorks.

Hadleigh, Suffolk

Benson, Oxon.

Holderness, Yorks.

Bolliton, Yorks. (Bridlington)

Idbury, Oxon.

Borrowdale, Westmorland

Ilmington, Worcs.

Bridlington, Yorks.

Isle of Wight

Buckhampton, Wilts.

Lambeth

Cambridge

Lavington, Wilts.

Cannings, Wilts.

Lincolnshire Fens

Chisledon, Wilts.

Lorbottle, Northumberland

Claygate, Surrey

Middleton, Lancashire

Coggeshall, Essex

Newbiggin, Roxburgh

Collingbourne, Wilts.

Northleigh, Oxon.

Crewkerne, Somerset

Pevensey, Sussex

Darlaston, Staffs.

Richmond, Yorks.

Dawley, Shropshire

St Ives, Cornwall

Deanshanger, Northants

Settle, Yorks.

Ebrington, Glos.

Shapwick, Dorset

Fimber, Lincs.

Slaithwaite, Yorks.

Folkestone, Kent

Sutherland

Gotham, Notts.

Tipton, Staffs.

Gornal, Staffs.

Whittingham Vale, Northumberland

Grendon, Northants

III Jocular tales

5

THE ANGRY CHOIR-LEADER The following is interesting though perhaps a little startling. Just sixty years ago, string instruments did duty in the village choirs before the introduction of harmoniums and American organs. The leader of the particular choir of which I write was an old man of iron will. He kept the village inn, and in his sanded public parlour, the four or five fiddlers met once a week to practise the psalms and hymns for the next Sunday’s service. He played the bass-viol, and was master of the choir. The group of fiddlers with their quaint everyday working costumes in that old room, lighted by two or three tallow dips in upright iron candlesticks, would have made a capital model for an old Dutch panel picture. On Sunday they occupied with the choirmen and children the gallery at the west end of the church, and from this position the master of the choir gave out the psalm or hymn which was to follow. The clerk had nothing at all to do with that part of the service. One Sunday morning the clerk was suddenly taken ill, and a substitute had to be hastily found. He came from C., some four miles off, and arrived only after the church was filled, and the service had actually begun. He could, of course, know nothing of the psalms or hymns appointed for the day, but, thinking it would be perfectly safe, he burst forth with “Let us sing to the praise and glory of God the Old Hundredth Psalm: ‘All people that on earth do dwell’—” The old leader in the gallery was fairly taken aback at the strange intrusion and substitution of another psalm for the one which he and his men had prepared. Stuttering with annoyance, he jumped up and shouted out, “D—— n”,…ahem… “All people that on earth do dwell! My soul shall magnify the Lord, 85th Psalm!” And before the parson and congregation could recover from their astonishment, the bows of the fiddles swept across the strings, the voices followed, and all were on the right road. Sarah Hewett, Nummits and Crummits, p. 176. TYPE 1831A*. This is one of many anecdotes about Church services to be found in the group of Types 1800–49. In the Aarne—Thompson Index only Finnish versions (48) for this particular type are cited.

ANSWER TO PRAYER: I An old woman was on her way to Church one Sunday morning. The wind blew hard in her face, and the going was difficult. “Pray God the wind will change before I come home!” she gasped out. The wind did, and she had to struggle against it all the way home. Contributed by Margaret Nash-Williams; heard from her father in childhood. Also heard by K.M.Briggs in 1911 from a guest in the house. TYPE 1276*. Fifteen Finnish versions of this tale are cited in the Aarne-Thompson Type-Index. It is probable that it occurs elsewhere.


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ANSWER TO PRAYER: II They do hev it, ’at wonce, a many years back, i’a wet time, a wolds-man said ’at he did wish th’ Lord ’ud goä tĕ sleep while [= until] harvist was well in. And as soon as he’d spokken, ye knaw, he went fast asleep hissen, as fast as a church, just as he was, oot on his land. Yonder he had tĕ stop i’ th’ oppen. Noäbody couldn’t wakken him, do as thaay wo’d, nor git him moved awaay. Foaks hed tĕ build a shed ower him at last tĕ shilter him. And he niver stirred at all while [= until] his neighbours hed gotten all their corn in. Then he wakken’d, and fun all his awn stuff clear ruinaated wi’ wind an’ raain. Norton Collection, II, p. 230. “Folklore of Lincolnshire”, M.Peacock, Folk-Lore XII, p. 163. TYPE 752B (variant). MOTIF: Y.755.I [The forgotten wind]. See also Norton Collection, II, p. 231, for a version by L.Salmon, “Folk-lore in the Kennet Valley”, Folk-Lore, XIII, p. 419.

ANTY BRIGNAL AND THE BEGGING QUAKER A few years ago a stout old man, with long grey hair, and dressed in the habit of the Society of Friends, was seen begging in the streets of Durham. The inhabitants, attracted by the novelty of a “begging Quaker”, thronged about him, and several questioned him as to his residence, etc. Amongst them was “Anty Brignal”, the police officer, who told him to go about his business, or he would put him in the kitty* for “an imposteror”. “Who ever heard”, said Anthony, “of a begging Quaker?” “But,” said the mendicant, while tears flowed down his face, “thou knowest, friend, there be bad Quakers as well as good ones; and I confess to thee, I have been a bad one. My name is John Taylor; I was in the hosiery business at N—, and through drunkenness have become a bankrupt. The society have turned me out, my friends have deserted me. I have no one in the world to help me but my daughter, who lives in Edinburgh, and I am now on my way thither. Thou seest, friend, why I beg; it is to get a little money to help me on my way: be merciful, as thou hopest for mercy.” “Come, come,” said the officer, “it won’t do, you know; there’s not a word of truth in it; ’tis all false. Did I not see you drunk at Nevill’s Cross [a public house of that name] the other night?” “No, friend,” said the man of unsteady habits, “thou didst not see me drunk there, but I was there, and saw thee drunk: and thou knowest when a man is drunk he thinks everybody else so!” This was a poser for the police officer. The crowd laughed, and “Anty Brignal” slunk away from their derision, while money fell plentifully into the extended hat of the disowned Quaker. W.Hone, The Table Book, II, p. 761. “T.Q.M.” MOTIF: J.1210 [Clever man puts another out of countenance]. * So is the house of correction called in Durham.

III Jocular tales

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TALES OF APPY BOSWELL Appy Boswell (Boz’ll) is the hero of many extravaganzas among the gypsies.

APPY BOSWELL’S CONGER EEL: I [summary] Appy bought a conger eel from a brewer’s man at Burton, and kept it in his wife’s washtub. But when she needed the tub, she made him carry it in his inside coat pocket. He took it to the pub and the conger soon developed a taste for beer, and when Appy refused to buy it any more it took offence, and went off home by itself. On the way it fell asleep and did not see Appy pass it on his way home. When it woke up it followed him, but Appy took fright, hearing something behind him but not seeing what it was. The conger caught up with him and all was well; but next night, when Appy looked for it in its accustomed place in the washtub, it wasn’t there. It had found its own way to the pub, and Appy found himself in debt to the landlord for half a crown, the price of beer being 3d. a pint! When the conger died, Appy had a pair of braces made from its skin, which pulled him into every pub he came to! Thompson Notebooks, B.Told by Manivel Smith at Burton-on-Trent, 20 January 1922.

APPY BOSWELL’S MONKEY: II [summary] Appy Boswell had had a monkey for ten years, and given it the best of everything he had. But the monkey would never talk to him at all, not even to say “Thank you”. One day as he was sitting by a brick-kiln with the monkey, the thought came to him that he could make the monkey talk after all. He thrust it into an empty red-hot brick-oven, and clapped a sheet of iron in front, so that it could not get out. After a few minutes the monkey began to scream out, “No mortal man could stand this, so why do you expect me to? Let me out, or I shall die.” Appy let him out, and the monkey promised to talk to him and answer his questions in future. That night Appy said to his wife, “Anis, the monkey talked to me well this morning, so now he shall have the best of everything.” But after its meal, when he asked the monkey whether it had enjoyed it, the monkey only nodded its head. “Have you had enough?” he then asked. Not a word from the monkey. “Very well, then,” said Appy, “I shall take you back to that place again.” At this the monkey came up and stroked Appy’s cheek, and said, “I’ll answer anything, if only you’ll not take me back there again.” Dora E.Yates, Gypsy Folk-Tales, no. 35, p. 153. [summaries] III. Appy had a monkey, and when he lost it, he called, and the monkey would answer from a tree, “Appy, I’m here, gathering a few sticks to boil the kettle.”


8

IV. Appy had a silver grinding-barrow, and once he sold it to Taimi’s father for 50s. But it was at a farm thirty miles away, and Appy had to walk there to get it. So Taimi’s father gave him 10s. on account, for his expenses. But he didn’t bring it, so Taimi’s father went for it. Appy said when he got back he found the monkey had sold the barrow already, and blued all the money. So Taimi’s father never got his 10s. back again. Thompson Notebooks. From Taimi Boswell, Oswaldtwistle, 8 January 1915.

(H)APPY BOZ’LL: V Wonst upon a time there was a Romano, and his name was Happy Boz’ll, and he had a German-silver grinding barrow, and he used to put his wife and his child on the top, and he used to go that quick along the road, he’d beat all the coaches. Then he thought this grinding-barrow was too heavy and clumsy to take about, and he cut it up and made tentrods of it. And then his donkey got away, and he didn’t know where it was gone to; and one day he was going by the tent, and he said to himself, “Bless my soul, wherever’s that donkey got to?” And there was a tree close by, and the donkey shouted out and said, “I’m here, my Happy, getting you a bit o’ stick to make a fire.” Well, the donkey come down with a lot o’ sticks, and he had been up the tree a week, getting firewood. VI a. Well then, Happy had a dog, and he went out one day, the dog one side the hedge, and him the other. And then he saw two hares. The dog ran after the two; and as he was going across the field, he cut himself right through with a scythe; and then one half ran after one hare, and the other after the other. Then the two halves of the dog catched the two hares; and then the dog smacked together again; and he said, “Well, I’ve got ’em, my Happy;” and then the dog died. And Happy had a hole in the knee of his breeches, and he cut a piece of the dog’s skin after it was dead, and sewed it in the knee of his breeches. And that day twelve months his breeches-knee burst open, and barked at him. And so that’s the end of Happy Boz’ll. Norton Collection, VI, p. 68. From F.H.Groome, Gypsy Folk-Tales, pp. 129–30. Taken down in 1879 from one of the Boswells.

APPY BOZ’LL [summary] VI b. Appy had a dog which chased a hare across a field where the men had been cutting clover. They had left a scythe. A second hare sprang up. The dog ran against the scythe, and split itself into two. Each half chased a hare. Dog brought the hares to Appy, and joined up. Appy shot the dog, so that no one else should own it, and had its skin made into leggings. On each anniversary of the event, the leggings jumped off his legs and barked, and then jumped on again. Thompson Notebooks. Told by Gus Gray, Cleethorpes, 26 September 1914.

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I. TYPE 1960B. MOTIF: X.1301 [Lie: the great fish]; X.1306 [Lie: tamed fish lives on dry land]. II. and III. TYPE 1889. MOTIF: B.211.2.10 [Speaking monkey]. See “Adventures of a Parrot: Teaching the Parrot to say ‘Uncle’”. IV. TYPE 1634*. Various tricks played by gypsies. V. TYPE 1889. Appy’s grinding-barrow. VI. TYPE 1889L (variant). MOTIF: X.1215. II [Lie: the split dog]. See “The Dog and the Hares”.

“AS DRUNK AS DAVID’S SOW” A few years ago, one David Lloyd, a Welchman, who kept an inn at Hereford, had a living sow with six legs, which occasioned great resort to the house. David also had a wife who was much addicted to drunken-ness, and for which he used frequently to bestow on her an admonitory drubbing. One day, having taken an extra cup which operated in a powerful manner, and dreading the usual consequences, she opened the styedoor, let out David’s sow, and lay down in its place, hoping that a short unmolested nap would sufficiently dispel the fumes of the liquor. In the meantime, however, a company arrived to view the so much talked of animal; and Davy, proud of his office, ushered them to the stye, exclaiming, “Did any of you ever see such a creature before?”—“Indeed, Davy,” said one of the farmers, “I never before saw a sow so drunk as thine in all my life!” Hence the term “as drunk as David’s sow”. W.Hone, The Table Book, I, p. 379. MOTIF: X.800 [Humour based on drunkenness].

AUNE MIRE A man is said to have been making his way through Aune Mire when he came on a tophat reposing, brim downwards, on the sedge. He gave it a kick, whereupon a voice called out from beneath, “What be you a-doin’ to my ’at?” The man replied, “Be there now a chap under’n?” “Ees, I reckon,” was the reply, “and a hoss under me likewise.” S.Baring-Gould, A Book of Dartmoor, p. 6. MOTIF: X.1655. I [Lie: the man under the hat, which is the only thing seen above the mud]. English. A version of this was told in Cheshire among the Scouts, about the International Boy Scout Jamboree at Birkenhead in 1931, which was an exceptionally wet season: “A Scouter saw a Scout hat lying on the mud and picked it up. There was a Scout’s head underneath it. “‘What are you doing there, my lad?’ he said. “‘I’m sitting on this baggage, sir, waiting for transport,’ said the boy.”


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AUSTWICK CARLES: I There was a deep, dark pool at Austwick, whose banks were a favourite resort of men and boys. One day a man fell into the pool, and did not come up again, but presently a number of bubbles came up, making a strange noise, which seemed to the rest to take the form of words, and to say, “T’ b-b-b-best’s at t’ b-b-bottom.” So they all jumped in one after another, to see what this good thing was. And hence comes the local proverb, “T’ best’s at t’bottom, as the Astic carles say.” S.O.Addy, Household Tales, pp. 112–13.

AUSTWICK CARLES: II [summary] Once a farmer of Austwick, wishing to get a bull out of a field, called nine of his neighbours to his aid. For some hours they tried in vain to lift the animal over the gate, and at last sent one of them to find more helpers. He opened the gate and went through, and only after he was out of sight did the others begin to think that the bull also might have been let out the same way. W.A.Clouston, The Book of Noodles, p. 54, “The Bull in the Field”. Another Austwick farmer had to take a wheelbarrow to a certain town, and to save a hundred yards in following the ordinary road, he took it through the fields. This involved lifting the barrow over twenty-two stiles.

AUSTWICK CARLES: III One of the tall limestone cliffs, which abound near their village (Austwick), was deemed to be in great danger of separating from the mountain-side, and hurling itself upon the devoted village. Frequent councils were held to devise some effectual means of preventing such a catastrophe. On the top of the projecting mass grew a large oak-tree, and the result of the long debates of the “carles” was that a number of stout ropes should be procured and, with these passed round the face of the cliff, it should be firmly bound to the tree which stood upon its top. The device was carried out, and answered its purpose most effectually, for the cliff, with the tree on the top, still overlooks and smiles upon the village. Norton Collection, IV, p. 3. Austwick, Yorkshire. From Thomas Parkinson, Yorkshire Legends, 2nd series, p. 194.

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AUSTWICK CARLES: IV Season after season a farmer in this village had been very unlucky with his crops. He cut his grass at the usual time, and one day the sun dried it, and another day the rain came and wet it. So he thought the best thing would be to take the grass into the barn as soon as it was cut, and then bring the sunshine into the barn. So one day they found him busy with his cart. First he took the cart out into the sunshine, and let the sun shine on it for a few minutes, and then he began to tie the sunshine on with ropes. After he had done this, he led the horses and cart into the barn, took the rope off the cart, and kicked the sunshine on to the grass. Norton Collection, IV, p. 4. From S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 112.

THE AUSTWICK CARLES AND THE WATCH: V Some of the [Austwick] carles had been over to Settle, and on returning, pot valiant, one of them was out-distanced by the others, when his attention was arrested by something alive, with a “lang tail”, saying “Tack him, tack him.” “Hoo, hoy, chaps,” he exclaimed to his companions, “stop, or he’ll a me.” His companions waited to hear what was the cause of alarm to him. When he reached them he told them, “There was a lile fella under t’wa’ as said he’d a me.” They all returned, and still found the sound repeating, “Tack him, tack him.” And now commenced the tugof-war. Armed with knob-sticks, they cavilled as to which should lead the attack on the “tick ‘em, tack ‘em fella”. At last dispute was brought to an end by the whole body of companions advancing in abreast to the attack. Smash went the knob-sticks, and soon silenced the “tick ’em tack ’em” voice. Not being able to find the remains of the still small voice in the dark, they resolved to search for him in the morning, when lo! and behold! the ghost, the robber, the kidnapper, was discovered to be a simple watch, and none of them had ever heard a watch tick before. Norton Collection, IV, p. 129. From N.Dobson, Rambles by the Ribble, first series, p. 40. I. The Best’s at the Bottom. TYPE 1297*. MOTIF: J.1832 [Jumping into the river after their comrade]. See Bolte-Polivka, II, p. 556 n. I. There is a Japanese version. II. The Bull in the Field. TYPE 1295B* (variant). MOTIF: J.2171.6 [Man on camel has doorway broken down so as to get in: it does not occur to him to dismount]; J.2199.3 [Nine men try to lift bull over fence]. III. The Rope-bound Cliff. TYPE 1241A (variant). In the true versions the fools try to save the tree from falling over the cliff by pulling it up by the roots. They are all pulled over. Greek. IV. Trapping the Sunshine. TYPE 1245. MOTIF: J.2123 [Sunlight carried into windowless house in baskets]. V. The Austwick Carles and the Watch.


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TYPE 1319A*. MOTIFS: J.1781.2 [Watch mistaken for the devil’s eye: knocked to pieces]; J.1782 [Things thought to be ghosts]. See also “The Death of a Watch”. Tales of Local Follies are very common in England. The best known of them is “The Wise Men of Gotham”. See also “The Borrowdale Follies”, “Bolliton Jackdaws”, “The Chiseldon Follies”, “The Yabberton Yawnies”.

THE BAG OF NUTS: I It happened once that two young men met in a churchyard, about eight o’clock in the evening. One of them said to the other, “Where are you going?” The other answered, “I’m going to get a bag of nuts that lies underneath my mother’s head in this churchyard. But tell me, where are you going?” He said, “I’m going to steal a fat sheep out of this field. Wait here till I come back.” Then the other man got the nuts that were under his dead mother’s head, and stood in the church porch cracking them. In those days it was the custom to ring a bell at a certain time in the evening, and just as the man was cracking the nuts the sexton came into the churchyard to ring it. But when he heard the cracking of the nuts in the porch he was afraid, and ran to tell the parson, who only laughed at him, and said, “Go and ring, fool.” However, the sexton was so afraid, that he said he would not go back unless the parson would go with him. After much persuasion the parson agreed to go, but he had the gout very badly, and the sexton had to carry him on his back. When the man in the porch who was cracking the nuts saw the sexton coming into the churchyard with the parson on his back he thought it was the man who had just gone out to steal the sheep, and had returned with a sheep on his back. So he bawled out, “Is it a fat one?” When the sexton heard this he was so frightened that he threw the parson down and said, “Aye, and thou canst take it if thou lik’st.” So the sexton ran away as fast as he could, and left the parson to shift for himself. But the parson ran home as fast as the sexton. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 4. From Calver in Derbyshire.

THE BAG OF NUTS: II There was a certain rich husbandman in a village which loved nuts marvellously well, and set trees of filberts and other nut trees in his orchard and nourished them well all his life. And when he died, he made his executors to make promise to bury with him in his grave a bag of nuts or else they should not be his executors—which executors, for fear of losing their rooms (= offices) fulfilled his will and did so. It happened that the same night after that he was buried, there was a miller in a white coat came to this man’s garden to th’ intent to steal a bag of nuts. And in the way he met with a tailor in a black coat—an unthrift of his acquaintance—and showed him his intent. This tailor likewise showed him that he intended the same time to steal a sheep. And so

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they both there agreed to go forthward every man severally with his purpose, and after that (they appointed) to make good cheer each with the other, and to meet again in the church porch—and he that came first to tarry for the other. This miller, when he had sped of his nuts, came first to the church porch, and there tarried for his fellow—and the meanwhile sat still there and knakked nuts. It fortuned then the sexton of the church, because it was about nine of the clock, came to ring curfew. And when he looked in the porch and saw one all in white knakking nuts, he had weened it had been the dead man risen out of his grave knakking the nuts that were buried with him—and ran home again in all haste and told to a cripple that was in his house what he had seen. This cripple, thus hearing, rebuked the sexton and said that if he were able to go he would go thither and conjure that spirit. “By my troth,” quod the sexton, “and if thou darest do it I will bear thee on my neck—” and so they both agreed. The sexton took the cripple on his neck, and came into the churchyard again. And the miller in the porch saw one coming bearing a thing on his back and weened it had been the tailor coming with the sheep and rose up to meet them. And as he came towards them, he asked and said: “Is he fat? Is he fat?” And the sexton, hearing him say so, for fear cast the cripple down and said: “Fat or lean, take him there for me”—and ran away. And the cripple by miracle was made whole and ran away as fast as he or faster. This miller, perceiving that they were two, and that one ran after another—supposing that one had spied the tailor stealing the sheep and that he had run after him to have taken him—and afraid that somebody also had spied him stealing nuts, he for fear left his nuts behind him and, as secretly as he could, ran home to his mill. And anon after he was gone the tailor came with the stolen sheep upon his neck to the church porch to seek the miller. And when he found there the nut shells, he supposed that his fellow had been there and gone home—as he was indeed. Wherefore he took up the sheep again upon his neck and went toward the mill. But yet, during this while, the sexton which ran away went not to his own house but went to the parish priest’s chamber, and showed him how the spirit of the man was risen out of his grave knakking nuts (as ye have heard before). Wherefore the priest said that he would go conjure him if the sexton would go with him—and so they both agreed. The priest did on his surplice and a stole about his neck, and took holy water with him, and came with the sexton toward the church. And so soon as he entered into the churchyard, the tailor with the white sheep on his neck, intending (as I before have showed you) to go down to the mill, met with them and had weened that the priest in his surplice had been the miller in his white coat, and said to him: “By God, I have him! I have him”—meaning the sheep that he had stolen. The priest, perceiving the tailor all in black and a white thing on his neck, weened it had been the devil bearing away the spirit of the dead man that was buried, and ran away as fast as he could—taking the way down toward the mill—and the sexton running after him. This tailor, seeing one following him, had weened that one had followed the miller to have done him some hurt, and thought he would follow if need were to help the miller; and went forth till he came to the mill, and knocked at the mill door.


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The miller, being within, asked who was there. The tailor answered and said: “By God, I have caught one of them, and made him sure and tied him fast by the legs”— meaning the sheep that he had stolen and had then on his neck tied fast by the legs. But the miller, hearing him say that he had him tied fast by the legs, had weened it had been the constable that had taken the tailor for stealing of the sheep, and had tied him by the legs. And afraid that he had come to have taken him also for stealing of the nuts, wherefore the miller opened a back door and ran away as fast as he could. The tailor, hearing the back door opening, went on the other side of the mill, and there saw the miller running away—and stood there a little while musing, with the sheep on his neck. Then was the parish priest and the sexton standing there under the millhouse, hiding them for fear,—and saw the tailor again with the sheep on his neck and had weened still it had been the devil with the spirit of the dead man on his neck—and for fear ran away. But because they knew not the ground well, the priest leaped into a ditch almost over the head, like to be drowned, and he cried out with a loud voice: “Help! Help!” Then the tailor looked about and saw the miller running away and the sexton another way, and heard the priest cry “Help!”—had weened it had been the constable with a great company crying for help to take him and bring him to prison for stealing of the sheep— wherefore he threw down the sheep, and ran away another way as fast as he could. And so every man was afraid of the other without cause. By this ye may see well it is folly for any man to fear a thing too much till that he see some proof or cause. A Hundred Merry Tales (1526), ed. Zall, p. 80. TYPE 1791. MOTIF: X.424 [Devil in cemetery]. The sixteenth-century jest-book gives the story at far greater length, but is very possibly a literary elaboration of a story very like that given by Addy, who had it from a man who could hardly read, and could not write, and had no access to books. The wide distribution of the story is an argument for its antiquity. As many as 131 examples are recorded in Finland, it is distributed all over Europe, and is also found in the West Indies. The Journal of American Folklore gives a number of versions, and 207 have been collected in Ireland. See also “Mother Elston’s Nuts”, “The Churchyard”, “The Old Woman who Cracked Nuts”. In “Mother Elston’s Nuts”, and in an American version, the cripple is permanently cured by his fright.

THE BAKER AND JACK THE FOOL [summary] Three tramps beg to spend the night in a bakehouse. The baker tells them they must be out by six o’clock. The tramps creep into the warm oven, and oversleep themselves. The baker’s boy innocently lights the fire, and the tramps are stifled. The baker feels himself guilty, and tries to get rid of the bodies. Puts them into sacks. Gives one sack to village innocent, and tells him to earn a shilling by throwing the dead man into river. He does so, and comes back for shilling. Baker tells him the man has got back. Gives him second sack. Jack throws this in, and comes back for shilling. Shown third sack. Can hardly

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believe it. To make sure opens sack, and cuts off leg. On way back, meets man with wooden leg, and sack on shoulder, who asks way to mill. “No, you don’t,” he says, throws man in and drowns him, and tells baker what he has done. So baker is responsible for death of four men. Collected by T.W.Thompson from Gus Gray. TYPE 1536B. MOTIF: K.2322 [The three hunchback brothers drowned]. In the more usual version of the tale the original killer is a woman; the fourth man killed is her hunchback husband. Credulity is slightly less strained by the simpleton having cut off the leg of the third corpse to prevent its return. The tale is widely distributed. There is a Grimm version (no. 212). A study by Pillet is Das Fabliau von les Trois Bossus Menestrels (1901).

THE BASKETMAKER’S DONKEY [summary] In the days when most gypsies used to travel with pack-donkeys, there was an old man whose donkey had been with him for so many years that it had become a great pet. This old man used to make baskets for his wife to sell from house to house, and this was his chief occupation, though he would sometimes cut pegs, or a few skewers. He was not a full gypsy, but he knew a little of their language. One day the old man was at home at his work, and his donkey was keeping him company, as it often did. But unlike its usual quiet self, it kept fussing and fidgeting up to him, and would give him no peace. At last he grew angry, and picking up a long switch, he lashed out with it at the donkey, and struck it such a blow that it cut the donkey clean in half. The old man was distracted with grief, the tears rolled down his cheeks. He ran back to his home, and brought back a bundle of willow-withes. He stood up the two halves of the donkey, and tied them tightly together with the withes, and daubed all the joins with clay. To his great joy the two halves joined together and grew again, and the old donkey lived as long as its master. What is more, the willow-withes grew also, and provided a ready supply of raw material for the old man’s baskets ever after. Dora E.Yates, Gypsy Folk-Tales, p. 152. TYPE 1911A. MOTIF: X.1721.1 [New backbone for a horse made from a stick]. There are Finnish, Swedish, Irish, and Anglo-American versions of this tale.

“THE BEST-TEMPERED WOMAN IN THE WORLD” Jont went a-courting the Dent schoolmistress. Each evening as she sat knitting, Jont pulled out her needles, letting her stitches drop. Always without reproach, but with seemingly unending patience, Mary picked up the stitches and knitted it up again. This continued week after week. Jont boasted to his pals that he’d “getten t’ best-tempered woman i’ t’ world”.


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The wedding day dawned. As they walked home over the bridge after the ceremony, Mary turned to Jont, her eyes blazing—but not with love—and snarled: “Now Ah’ll ravel thee.” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. 17. MOTIFS: H.360 [Bride test]; H.461 [Test of wife’s patience]; K.1984 [Girls keep up appearances to deceive suitors as to their desirability].

THE BEST WAY TO DIE There’s the story of the three old miners—were retired—one was well over 70, the other one was 80 some odd, and the oldest was 96! and they were in the eventide of their life— summertime sitting on the council seat enjoying the sunshine—watching the traffic going back and forth…and they suddenly discussed how they’d like to die!…see…the youngest now of the trio was well over 70, he said, “Well, boys bach,” he said, “I’ve been watchin’ these red sports cars,” he said,” that these youngsters have got travelling back and fore,” he said, “I don’t know nothing about cars,” he said, “but I’d like to get into one of those,” he said… “Rev up,” he said, “that’s what I think they call it…60–70–80 miles an hour— Bang into a lamp post—everything at an end…that’s the way I’d like to die”—“What about you, John?” he said. Now the one who was over 80 now, the second oldest of the trio…“Well, boys,” he said, “I’m a bit more modern than you are,” he said, “I’ve been reading about these Sputniks,” he said, “I would like to volunteer to go into one of these… Sputniks,” he said. “They tell me they go up into the sky—thousands of miles,” he said…“I’d like to be up there,” he said, “10,000 miles up—something go wrong with the works—explosion—everything finish—that’s the way I would like to go out,” he said. Now the oldest of the trio of the old miners—he was ninety-six—so they said to him, “You’re silent, Robert?”… “Ha, boys,” he said, “I’ve been listening to you two,” he said. “D’you know the way I’d like to go out?” he said. “No, Robert—which way would you like to die?” “Well, boys bach,” he said, “to tell you the truth—I’d like to be shot by a jealous husband!” Roy Palmer, from Ewan MacColl and Charles Parker. MOTIF: H.1221.1 [Old warrior longs for more adventure; refuses to rest in old age]. The literary reference to this in the Motif-Index is Tennyson’s Ulysses. This recently collected anecdote is a livelier and more humorous illustration of the same theme: Si vieillesse pouvait.

BETTY AND JONNY Betty an Jonny hed twa three kye a ther aan, an usta kyrn a few punds a buttre a week. Sooa ya week Betty was gaan wi’ her buttre tet market, bet she heddent geean far afooar she leets a yan it nebbers. “Whar er ya gaan, Betty?” ses he. “Tet market, weet buttre, ta be sewer; whaar else sud I be gaan?” “Wyah, Betty,” ses he, “it’s Sunda.” “Hoo can it be Sunda,” ses Betty, “when oor Jonny’s wharrlan steeans?” Eftre a bit she leets ov

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anudther. “Whar er ye gaan, Betty?” ses he. “Tet market, weet buttre, to be sewer.” “Wyah, it’s Sunda.” “Hoo can it be Sunda when oor Jonny’s wharrlan steeans?” An when she gat doon ameeast tet Kirk, t’ fooak were o’ gaan in; an sum onem telt Betty et she mud ga heeam ageean, es it wes Sunda. Sooa what she went heeam. An awae she gaas to Jonny, it wharrel, an sed, “Jonny, thoo mun give ower.” “What mun I give ower for?” sed Jonny. “Wyah, it’s Sunda,” sed Betty. “Hoo can it be Sunda, when thoo’s been et market?” “Wyah, t’ fooaks er a’ geean tet kirk, an thae say et it’s Sunda, an thoo mun give ower.” “Wyah,” ses Jonny, “a wes sewer et theear wes summat rang es seean es a co this mooarnin, fer whaar ivver a pot t’ geeavlak in t’ steeans co trinnalan doon; a thowt thore wed a kilt ma ower an ower ageean.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 54, p. 66. Specimens of the Westmorland Dialect, by the Rev. Thomas Clarke (Kendal, 1872).

BETTY AND JOHNNY [translation] Betty and Johnny had two or three cows of their own and used to churn a few pounds of butter a week. So one week Betty was going with her butter to market, but she hadn’t gone far before she met with one of the neighbours. “Where are you going, Betty?” says he. “To the market, with the butter. Where else should I be going?” “Why, Betty,” says he, “it’s Sunday.” “How can it be Sunday?” says Betty, “when our Johnny’s quarrying stones?” After a bit she meets with another. “Where are you going, Betty?” says he. “To market, with the butter, to be sure.” “Why, it’s Sunday.” “How can it be Sunday, when our Johnny’s quarrying stones?” And when she got down almost to the church, folks were all going in; and some of them told Betty she must go home again, as it was Sunday. So she went home. And away she went to Johnny in the quarry, and said, “ Johnny, you must give over.” “What must I give over for?” said Johnny. “ Why, it’s Sunday,” said Betty. “How can it be Sunday, when you’ve been at the market?” “Why, the folks are all going into the church, and they say that it’s Sunday, and you must give over.” “Why,” says Johnny, “I was sure that there was something wrong as soon as I came this morning, for wherever I put in the crowbar the stones came trickling down; I thought they’d have killed me over and over again.” MOTIF: J.2000 [Absurd absent-mindedness].

THE BEWITCHED TREE A beautiful young Gentlewoman of Canterbury, being wedded to an old Man in respect of his Riches, he being as full of Ice as she of Fire, had a Mind to try the Difference between young and old Flesh, shewed some more than ordinary kindness to her Serving Man, which he perceiving lays hold of all Opportunities to address himself to her by way of Love; but she would not yield to his Desire, unless he would contrive some Way to cornute her Husband in his Presence, and he not to believe it; this caused the Serving


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Man to put his Invention upon the Rack, who at last acquainted his Mistress that he had found an Experiment to do it, provided she would, when her Husband and she was walking in the Garden, pretend to long for some Fruit on some of the highest Trees, and to leave him the Management of the rest; which accordingly she did. The old Man called his Man to ascend the Tree, to gather the Fruit; who as soon as he had got up, he cried out with a loud voice, Master, Master, leave off for shame; I never in all my Life saw so unseemly an Action, for shame disengage yourself from my Mistress, or else some of the Neighbours will see you. The old Man, amazed at this Language, asked if the Fellow was mad, and what he meant? O Sir, said the Man, the Tree is either bewitched, or else I cannot believe my own Eyes; for I fancy I see you upon my Mistress. Come down, come down, and let me get up the Tree, to know if it seems so to me. The Fellow came down, and the old Man got up; in the Interim, the young Fellow fell to work with his Mistress: the old Man looks down and sees it; cries out, in good faith, says he, it seems to me just as it did to you; for methinks I see you upon your Mistress, as perfectly as if it was really so. The old Man gets down, and thinks the Tree bewitched, and orders it presently to be cut down; for fear it should infect the rest. Thus was the old Man made a Cuckold to his Face, and would not believe it. Norton Collection, V, p. 47b. [Chaucer, Junior, Canterbury Tales, Compos’d for the Entertainment of all Ingenious Young Men and Maidens,…London, W.Dicey, Bow Church-Yard, c. 1790, no. VIII, pp. 10–12.] TYPE 1423. MOTIF: K.1518 [The enchanted pear-tree]. There are many literary forms of this tale. See Chaucer, “The Merchant’s Tale”; Boccaccio, VII, no. 9. See “The Blind Man and his Wife”.

BILLY TYSON’S COORTIN [Billy does not know how to set about wooing Mary Jane, and asks the advice of his friend, Miley.] “Wy,” he ses, “I see thu can’t tell her wi the tongue, thu mun try the eyes, thu mun leek most turble fain when thu meets her, did ta nivver hear tell a toke casting sheep’s eyes? dusta think thu cud?” Billy didn’t kna what it was, but he thout if it was thra’in he cud manish, sae he says, “Aye, I cud manish thra’in sheep’s eyes. I yance kilt a jammy lang neck we a staen, fleein ower oor hoose.” Miley thout Billy was nobbut joken aboot t’ jammy lang neck, but he wasent. Wya he sets off reet away tat neerest butcher ta git some sheep’s eyes, en then he thought he wad lurk int’ rowed side till Mary Jane com by, en then he was gaan to let shine et her we them…[His master discovers the plan and brings about the wedding.] Norton Collection, V, p. 206. From “Billy Tyson’s Coortin” and other Sketches in the Westmorland Dialect, by A.S.Taylor, 2nd edn (Kendal, 1882), p. 6. TYPE 1685. MOTIF: J.2462.2 [To throw sheep’s eyes at the bride]. See also “The Wise Men of Gotham”, “Clever Pat” (A. II).

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BLACK JOHN’S DREAM [John was a dwarf in the service of Arscott of Tetcott, a squire who lived on Tamar side early in the eighteenth century. He was one of the last of such squires, and Black John (nicknamed for his swarthy skin, and negroid features) was one of the last of the jesterdwarfs, employed to make merriment for their masters.] A tale is told of him, that one day, after he had for some time amused the guests, and had drank his full share of the ale, he fell, or seemed to fall, asleep. On a sudden he started up with a loud and terrified cry. Questioned as to the cause of his alarm, he answered, “O sir,” to his master, “ I was in a sog [sleep], and I had such a dreadful dream! I thought I was dead, and I went where the wicked people go!” “Ha, John,” said Arscott of Tetcott, in his grim voice, wide awake for a jest or a tale, “then tell us all about what you heard and saw.” “Well, master, nothing particular.” “Indeed, John!” “No, sir; things was going on just as they do upon airth—here in Tetcott Hall—the gentlefolks nearest the fire.” R.S.Hawker, Footprints of Former Men in Far Cornwall, p. 79, 1903. TYPE 1738 (variant). MOTIF: X.438 [All parsons in hell]. See “The Parsons’ Meeting”.

THE BLIND MAN AND HIS WIFE There was sometime a blind man which had a fair wife, of the which he was much jealous. He kept her so that she might go nowhere, for ever he had her by the hand. And after that she was enamoured of a genteel fellow, they could not find the manner nor no place for to fulfill their will. But notwithstanding, the woman, which was subtle and ingenious, counselled to her friend that he should come into her house and that he should enter into the garden and that there he should climb upon a pear tree. And he did as she told him. And when they had made their enterprise, the woman came again into the house and said to her husband: “My friend, I pray you that ye will go into our garden for to disport us a little while there.” Of the which prayer the blind man was well content and said to his wife: “Well, my good friend, I will well. Let us go thither.” And as they were under the pear-tree, she said to her husband: “My friend, I pray thee to let me go upon the pear-tree, and I shall gather for us both some fair pears.” “Well, my friend,” said the blind man, “I will well, and grant thereto.” And when she was upon the tree, the young man began to shake the pear-tree at one side and the young woman at the other side. And as the blind man heard thus hard shake the pear-tree and the noise which they made, he said to them: “Haa! evil woman, howbeit that I see it not, nevertheless I feel and understand it well. But I pray to the gods that they vouchsafe to send me my sight again.” And as soon as he had made his prayer, Jupiter rendered to him his sight again.


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And when he saw that pageant upon the pear-tree, he said to his wife: “Ha, unhappy woman, I shall never have no joy with thee.” And because that the young woman was ready in speech and malicious, she answered forthwith to her husband: “My friend, thou art well beholden and bounden to me for because the gods have restored to thee thy sight, whereof I thank all the gods and goddesses which have enhanced and heard my prayer. “For I, desiring much that thou might see me, ceased never day nor night to pray them that they would render to thee thy sight. Wherefore the goddess Venus visibly showed herself to me and said that if I would do some pleasure to the said young man, she should restore to thee thy sight. And thus I am cause of it.” And then the good man said to her: “My right dear wife and good friend, I remercy you greatly, for right ye have done, and I great wrong.” From A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 35–6. TYPE 1423. MOTIF: K.1518 [The enchanted pear-tree]. This Jest-book version of the tale differs slightly from its usual form in containing a real miracle, and making the wife and lover, not the husband, climb the tree. The more usual form occurs in Chaucer (“The Merchant’s Tale”), Boccaccio, and in Italian novelle. It is widely spread in oral tradition; Scottish, and many Irish examples are recorded, as well as versions from France, Holland, Hungary and America.

BOB APPLEFORED’S PIG or MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS About fifty years ago there lived at Hogbourn, Mr Robert Appleford. He was a pig-dealer by trade, was a character, and was well known throughout the county as “Bob Applevord”. Bob caused to be circulated far and wide notification that he had, at Hogbourn, a prime fat pig, which he intended to present to any man who could prove that he had always strictly minded his own business. For some time nobody responded to the invitation, and the one or two who at length did so had weak claims, which fell through. But there was a man at Didcot of remarkably taciturn disposition, and his neighbours told him he was the right man to claim the pig. Accordingly he one morning went over to Bob Appleford’s pig-yard, and accosted him with, “I be the man as minds my own business, an’ be come vor that ther peg.” “Well,” says Bob Appleford, “I be glad to zee ’e, then. Come an’ look at un.” They accordingly went to the sty where the celebrated pig was, and for a while both gazed admiringly. Bob Appleford then stroked the pig and remarked, “A be a vine un, jus’ as I zed vor, be-ant a?” “Eese, a rayly be,” said the claimant from Didcot; “zurely a ’markable vine peg, an’ med I ax ’e what ’e hev a-ved un on to maayke—” “That be my business, an’ not yourn, good marnin’,” replied Bob Appleford interrupting. No one else claimed the pig. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 62, p. 74. Lowsley, pp. 82–3. Mid-Berkshire. TYPE 1416 (variant). MOTIF: H.1554.2 [Test of curiosity: the clock]. See also “The Clock”, “That’s Not Your Business”.

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BOLLITON JACKDAWS Many years ago a number of workmen were busily engaged in repairing the roof of the grand old Priory Church (of Bridlington), one of the oldest parish churches in the East Riding. For this purpose a long beam of timber was required, which had to be taken into the church in order to be hoisted up to the roof. It was hauled to the richly ornamented western entrance, when its length was found to be greater than the width of the doorway. Here things were brought to a standstill, and the perplexing question arose—“How are we to get the beam into the church?” They set their wits to work, and one suggested that they should saw the beam in two; another suggested that they should cut a few feet from each end; and a third proposed that they should knock a few stones out of each side of the doorway to make an opening sufficiently wide to admit it… While the workmen were busily suggesting their various schemes for getting the beam into the church, one of them looked up to the “Awd Steeple”, and observed a jackdaw, which was building its nest there, fly into one of the crevices, with the end of a long straw in its mouth, which it dragged in. Observing this, he suddenly exclaimed, “Did ya see that, lads? That jackdaw tewk that sthraw in endways on. Let’s see if this beeam’ll gan in seeam way.” His mates were struck with the inspiration. They turned the beam endwise, and got it into the church without further difficulty. From that time to the present all natives of Bridlington have been facetiously called “Bolliton Jackdaws”. Mrs Gutch, County Folk-Lore, VI, p. 189. East Riding of Yorkshire. TYPE 1248. MOTIFS: J.1964 [Tree-trunks laid cross-wise on the sledge]; F.171.6.3 [Trying to get a beam through a door crosswise in other world]. This is part of type 801, in which a cantankerous tailor is allowed to stay in Heaven if he criticizes nothing. In the course of his short stay he sees men trying to carry a beam into a church crosswise. This is one of many local taunts. The Bolliton Jackdaws could at least learn by example, which could not be said of the Borrowdale men. See “The Austwick Carles”,“ The Borrowdale Cuckoo” “The Cuckoo-Penners”, “The Darlaston Geese”, “The Men of Gotham”, “The Yabberton Yawnies”, etc.

THE BORROWDALE CUCKOO Now they were terribly bothered in Borradle about their game. There was summat ga-en wi’ t’ game eggs, an’ they couldn’t reckon it up. Well they were watchin’ one day an’ they spot t’ cuckoo sowkin’ eggs. They tried to shut it and they couldn’t git a shot at it, and so it flew into an intack and intul a tree. And so they thought they would wa’ it in. So they got a good wa’ round it, but t’ cuckoo cleered t’ top—nobbut just. So they thowt they was a steean or two short because it just cleered it. So they went round where they had all this game at, t’ cuckoo was there again. So they off with their guns again, to see if they could shut it. Awwiver it happened to flee and into just t’ seeam intack, just an’ so cleered the wa’. An’ so they thowt they would put a bit mair wa’ onto t’ top—they thowt they would have it. Awwiver they went in again


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with their guns an’ it flew out again, just an’ so cleered t’ wa’ again. And that carried on for about fower times, and they wa’d up till they’d wa’ed aw t’ steeans there was i’ Borradle. So they had to give it up—it could allus just flee ower t’top. E.M.Wilson, ‘Some Humorous English Folk Tales’, part III, Folk-Lore, LIV (March 1943), p. 260. TYPE 1213. MOTIFS: J.1904.2 [The pent cuckoo]; J.1904.2.1 [The cuckoo fenced to keep in spring]. Taken down in April 1936 from James Harrison, of Low Fell, Crosthwaite, who heard the tale in 1901 from a native of Thirlmere, Cumberland. A printed version given by J.Briggs in The Lonsdale Magazine, II (1821), p. 293. A full study of the type was made by J.E.Field in “The Pent Cuckoo” (1913). See also Clouston, A Book of Noodles. The tale is widespread in England, but elsewhere only one Walloon version is known. See also “The Cuckoo-Penners”, “The Wise Men of Gotham”, etc.

BORROWDALE FOLLIES I. It is said that an old Borrowdale man was once sent a very long way for something very new, by some innovator who had found his way into the dale. The man was to go with horse and sacks (for there were no carts, because there was no road) to bring some lime from beyond Keswick. On his return, when he was near Grange, it began to rain; and the man was alarmed at seeing his sacks begin to smoke. He got a hatful of water from the river; but the smoke grew worse. Assured at length that the devil must be in any fire which was aggravated by water, he tossed the whole load over into the river. That must have been before the dalesmen built their curious wall; for they must have had lime for that. Spring being very charming in Borrowdale, and the sound of the cuckoo gladsome, the people determined to build a wall to keep in the cuckoo, and make the Spring last for ever. So they built a wall across the entrance, at Grange. The plan did not answer; but that was, according to the popular belief from generation to generation, because the wall was not built one course higher. It is simply for want of a top course in that wall that eternal spring does not reign in Borrowdale. II. Another anecdote shows,however, that a bright wit did occasionally show himself among them. A “statesman”—an “estatesman”, or small proprietor—went one day to a distant fair or sale, and brought home what neither he nor his neighbours had ever seen before: a pair of stirrups. Home he came jogging, with his feet in his stirrups; but by the time he reached his own door, he had jammed his feet in so fast that they would not come out. There was great alarm and lamentation; but as it could not be helped now, the good man patiently sat his horse in the pasture for a day or two, his family bringing him food, till the eldest son, vexed to see the horse suffering by exposure, proposed to bring both into the stable. This was done; and there sat the farmer for several days,—his food being brought to him as before. At length, it struck the second son that it was a pity not to make his father useful, and release the horse; so he proposed to carry him, on the saddle, into the house. By immense exertion it was done; the horse being taken alongside the midden in the yard, to ease the fall: and the good man found himself under his own roof again—

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spinning wool in a corner of the kitchen. There the mounted man sat spinning, through the cleverness of his second son, till the lucky hour arrived of his youngest son’s return,—he being a scholar,—a learned student from St. Bee’s. After duly considering the case, he gave his counsel. He suggested that the goodman should draw his feet out of his shoes. This was done amidst the blessings of the family; and the goodman was restored to his occupations and to liberty. The wife was so delighted that she said if she had a score of children, she would make them all scholars,—if only she had to begin life again…. III. A stranger came riding into the dale on a mule, and being bound for the mountains, went up the pass on foot, leaving the animal in the care of his host. The host had never seen such a creature before, nor had his neighbours. Fearing mischief, they consulted the wise man of the dale; for they kept a Sagum, or medicine man, to supply their deficiencies. He came, and after an examination of the mule, drew a circle round it, and consulted his books, while his charms were burning; and at length announced that he had found it. The creature must be, he concluded, a peacock. So Borrowdale could then boast, without a rival, of a visit from a stranger who came riding on a peacock. Norton Collection, IV, pp. 7–9. Westmorland. Harriet Martineau, Guide to the Lakes, pp. 78–80. IV. The inhabitants of Borrowdale were a proverb, even among their unpolished neighbours, for ignorance, and a thousand absurd and improbable stories are related of their stupidity; such as mistaking a red deer, seen upon one of their mountains, for a horned horse; at the sight of which they assembled in considerable numbers, and provided themselves with ropes, thinking to take him by the same means as they did their horses when wild in the field, by running them into a strait, and then tripping them up with a cord. A chase of several hours proved fruitless; when they returned thoroughly convinced they had been chasing a witch. J.P.White, Lays and Legends of the English Lake Country, p. 36. TYPES 1213, 1319*, 1349*. MOTIFS: J.1730 [Absurd ignorance]; J.1904.2 [The pent cuckoo]; J.1736 [Fools and the unknown animal]. See also “Austwick Carles”, “Bolliton Jackdaws”, “Darlaston Geese”, “The Wise Men of Gotham”, “The Yabberton Yawnies”.

BOX ABOUT Sir Walter Raleigh’s eldest son, Walter, was of a very quarrelsome disposition. One day, his father was invited to dinner with some great nobleman, and he was asked to bring his young son. He talked to the boy, and said that he was such a bear that he did not like to bring him into this good company. Mr Walter humbled himself, and said he would behave very discretely. His father therefore took him, but kept him at his side. Young Walter sat demurely for some time, but in a pause he made a very outrageous remark [omitted by Aubrey]. “Sir Walter being strangely surprised and putt out of countenance at so great a table, gives his son a damned blow over the face. His son, as rude as he was,


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would not strike his father, but strikes over his face the gentleman that sat next to him, and sayd, ‘Box about, ’twill come to my father anon.’ ’Tis now a commonused proverb.” John Aubrey, Brief Lives, II, p. 185. TYPE 1557. MOTIF: K.2376 [The returned box on the ears]. There are Russian and Lithuanian versions of this tale. None is listed in Norton or Baughman. This young Walter Raleigh died in his father’s lifetime, in America. Raleigh’s poem “The Weed and the Wag” was addressed to him.

THE BOY AND THE PARSON A parson was once walking on the moors when he met a boy who was getting heather to make besoms. The parson said, “Come, my boy, can you tell me what o’clock it is?” The boy said, “I can’t.” “Well,” said the parson, “do you think it’s twelve?” “It can’t be no more,” said the boy. “Well,” said the parson, “do you think it’s one o’clock?” “It can’t be no less,” said the boy. “You’re a queer lad,” said the parson, “can you read?” “No,” said the boy. “Well,” said the parson, “how do you get your living?” “Way,” said the boy, “we mak besoms,* and sell ’em; and how dost thou get thy living?” “ Why,” said the parson, “I’m a parson.” “Way,” said the boy, “thou gets thy living by saying thy prayers, and I get mine by making besoms. Every man to his trade.” S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 22. Calver, Derbyshire. TYPE 1832*. MOTIF: X.459 [Jokes on parsons].

THE BOY WHO FEARED NOTHING Once a father made a bet with his son that he dare not go into the bonehouse in their village churchyard at midnight and fetch a skull out without taking a light with him. The son accepted the wager, and on the following night went down into the bonehouse. In the meantime the father had told a man to hide himself in the bonehouse, and watch the boy. When the boy got down amongst the bones, he picked up a skull. Then the man who had hidden himself said, “Don’t take that, for that’s my mother’s skull.” * Pronounced bazeoms.

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So the boy threw that down, and picked up another skull, when the man said, “Don’t take that, for that’s my grandmother’s.” So the boy threw that down, and picked another up, but the man said, “And that’s my grandfather’s.” Then the boy shouted,” Why, they’re all thy mother’s or thy grandmother’s; but I’ve come for a skull, and I’ll have one.” So the boy picked one up and ran home to his father, and won the wager. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 6. TYPE 326D*. MOTIFS: H.1400 [Fear test: a person is put to various tests, in order to make him show fear]; H.1435 [Fear test: fetching skulls from a charnel-house]; Q.82 [Reward for fearlessness]. This is a naturalistic version of Type 326. As well as the well-known “Youth who wanted to know what Fear was”, “The Golden Ball”. There are Irish, French and Swiss versions of the more naturalistic form. See also “The Brave Boy” (A, IV), “The Last Man Hanged”.

BREAKING THE COMMANDMENTS A clergyman who wished to know whether the children of the parishioners understood the Bible, asked a lad that he one day found reading the Old Testament, who was the wickedest man? “Moses, to be sure,” said the boy. “ Moses!” exclaimed the parson. “How can that be?” “ Why,” said the lad, “because he broke all the commandments at once.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 209. TYPE 1832* (variant). This is one of many tales of repartee between a boy and a parson, in which the boy generally gets the better of the parson.

BRIBERY A Dales tenant farmer had a difference with his landlord, and finally decided to take the case to court. Discussing the possibilities of winning it, he asked his defending barrister: “How’d it be if Ah sent t’ owd judge a couple of ducks?” “If you want to lose your case, that’s the way to do it,” was the reply. Later, on the way out of court, after the case had been decided in his favour, the tenant farmer tugged at his barrister’s sleeve. “Ah sent ducks.” “You didn’t?” “Aye, in t’ landlord’s name!” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. 21. MOTIF: J.1190 [Cleverness in the law court].


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This tale reverses the usual folk tradition of the judge’s corruption, as shown in motif J.1192 [The bribed judge].

A BRUSH FOR THE BARBER A Highlander who sold brooms, went into a barber’s shop in Glasgow a few days since, to get shaved. The barber bought one of his brooms, and, after having shaved him, asked the price of it. “Twopence,” said the Highlander. “No, no,” said the barber, “I’ll give you a penny. If that does not satisfy you take your broom again.” The Highlander took it, and asked what he had got to pay. “A penny,” said strap. “I’ll gi’e you a bawbee,” said Duncan, “an’ if that dinna satisfy ye, put on my beard again.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 206. MOTIF: J.1210 [Clever man puts another out of countenance].

THE BUYER AND SELLER or THE CHINAMAN AND THE ORANGES A green-grocer engaged a Chinaman to sell oranges at the Railway Station. As the Chinaman knew no English the greengrocer told him how to answer the most probable questions. The first was: How much are the oranges? The answer would be: Fifteen shilling. The second should be: Are they juicy? As they weren’t very juicy the answer was to be: Some are and some aren’t. Should the questioner then say he would not buy, the rejoinder was to be: If you don’t someone else will. The Chinaman went to the Railway Station. “What time does the next train go to Exeter?” was the question put to him by a traveller. “Fifteen shilling,” was the reply. The traveller, indignant at what he thought to be leg-pulling, said angrily: “Is everyone in this place as daft as you are?” “Some are and some aren’t,” was the reply. The traveller, losing his temper, shouted: “If you try to make a fool of me I’ll hit you on the head with my umbrella.” The innocent Chinaman answered: “If you don’t, someone else will.” Folk-Lore (June 1938), p. 189. Told by Mr. Ronald Hilton, who heard it in Torquay. TYPE 1698K. MOTIF: X. 111.11 [The buyer and the deaf seller]. One of many stories dealing with deaf men or foreigners. There are various Scandinavian versions. See also “The Deaf Man and the Pig-Trough”, “Englishman and Highlandman”, “Geordy”.

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THE CALF’S HEAD GETS STUCK IN THE GATE “Maester, Maester,” cried the farm-boy one day, rushing into the kitchen in a state of great excitement, “the caaf got ’is yed droo the gyet, an’ caan’t get un out agyen.” “Get the zaa, bwoy. Get the zaa, an’ zaa’n’ out,” the farmer answered. Thereupon, the boy got the saw, and started to saw off the calf’s head. “Dang the bwoy! Why dissent zaa the gyet?” the farmer cried. Then, turning to his wife, he said: “Never mind, missis, we shall hae plenty o’ bif now.” Norton Collection, IV, p. 151, Berkshire. From Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, pp. 67– 8. TYPE 1294. MOTIF: J.2113 [Getting the calf’s head out of the pot]. Scattered examples of this occur in various places. Clouston gives examples in A Book of Noodles. Also in Greece, Asia Minor and India. F.J.Norton gives examples from Essex, Somerset, and Surrey.

THE CANNINGS VAWK I niver wur at Cannin’s but once as I knaws on, an’ that wur when Mr. Jones wur alive. I went awver wi’ he to Cannin’s Veast. I mind thur wur a lot on ’em thur from Ca’an as wur a-tellin’ up zuch tales as was never about the Cannin’s vawk. The’ tell’d I as zome on ’em got up the Church tower, and dunged that thur—what is it?—a-top o’ the tower, to make un grow as big as the spire. I never he-ard tell o’ zuch a thing! Should ’ee iver thenk as ’twer true? An’ the’ tell’d I as ’twarn’t but a vurry veow years ago as some on ’em hired as ther wur a comut ur what ’ee caals it, to be zeed in ’Vize market-place, an’ pretty nigh aal Cannin’s went in thur to zee un, an’ niver thought o’ lookin’ to zee wur they cudden zee un at whoam. What some gurt stups they must a bin! An’ thur wur a cooper ur summat o’ that, as cudden putt th’ yead into a barr’l; an’ a tell’d he’s bwoy to get inside and howld un up till he’d a vastened un. An’ when a done the bwoy hollered out dree the bung hawl, “How be I to get out, veyther?”—That bit tickled I, bless ’ee, moor’n aal on’t! Arterwards one on ’em axed I if thur wurden a Cannin’s girl in sarvice at our place; an’ I sez, “I b’lieve as ’tes.” An’ a sez, “Do ’ee ever zaa ‘Baa!’ to she?” An’ I sez, “Noa, vur why should I zaay ‘Baa’ to she?” An’ a sez, “You should allus saay ‘Baa!’ to a body as comes from Cannin’s.” “Wull,” I sez, “I shudden like to zaay ‘Baa!’ to any body wi’out I know’d the rason on’t.” An’ then a tell’d I as the’ had a tiddlin’ lamb as wur ter’ble dickey, an’ the’ putt un into the o-ven, to kip un warm, an’ shut un in an’ forgot aal about un, an’ lef’ un in thur. An’ when the’ awpened the o-ven agean a wur rawsted dree! Norton Collection, IV, p. II. Wiltshire. Dartnell and Goddard, Wiltshire Glossary, pp. 214–15. Collected by the Rev. E.H.Goddard, at Clyffe Pypard, W.Wilts., of Bishop’s Cannings. TYPE 1334 (variant). MOTIF: J.2271.1 [The local moon]. See “Growing the Churd”, “Pal Hal’s Quiffs.”


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THE CAP THAT PAID [summary] Dealer lodges £10 in ten different pubs, arranging that when he spends it, he should touch his cap, and say, “That’s all,” and the landlord should reply, “That’s right, Mr. So-andso.” Treats party of friends, and persuades them that payment is made by touching his cap. Sells cap to rich fellow-dealer for £300. When he is gone, dealer tries cap, and finds it does not work. Collected by T.W.Thompson from Eva Gray, Grimsby, 31 October 1914. TYPE 1539. MOTIF: K.111.2 [Alleged bill-paying hat sold]. See “The Irishman’s Hat”, “The Clever Irishman”.

CAPTAIN SILK In a party of ladies, on it being reported that a Captain Silk had arrived in town, they exclaimed, with one exception, “What a name for a soldier!” “The fittest name in the world,” exclaimed a witty female, “for Silk can never be Worsted.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 209. TYPE 1345*. Stories depending on puns. Puns and plays on words are little noticed in the Type- and Motif-Index. Type 1345* is the only classification in which they are mentioned and then as only occurring in three Greek examples.

THE CARDS A servant being denounced to his master as a gambler, denies the fact; and on a pack of cards being found in his pocket, he asserts that he is unacquainted with their use as mere cards; and that he uses them as an almanack, and sometimes converts them into a prayerbook. The four suits answer to the four quarters of the year; there are thirteen cards in each suit, and thirteen weeks in each quarter; the twelve coat cards correspond with the twelve months in a year; and there are just as many weeks in a year as cards in a pack. The King and Queen remind him of his allegiance; the Ten reminds him of the Ten Commandments; the Nine, of the nine Muses; the Eight, of the eight altitudes, and the eight persons who were saved in the Ark; the Seven, of the seven wonders of the world, and the seven planets that rule the days of the week; the Six, of the six petitions in the Lord’s Prayer, and of the six working days in a week; the Five, of the five senses; the Four, of the four seasons; the Three, of the three Graces, and of the three days and nights that Jonah was in the whale’s belly; the Two, of the two Testaments, Old and New, and of the two contrary principles, Virtue and Vice; and the Ace, of the worship of one God; With respect to the Knave, which he had laid aside, and had omitted to notice in its proper place, he says, on being asked its meaning by his master, that it will always remind him of the person who informed against him.

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Chatto, pp. 323–4. A summary of a chap-book (now lost?). Mentioned by S.W. Singer, Researches into the History of Playing Cards, London, 1816, p. 53, note, as having been heard by him “narrated by one of the itinerant venders of Chap-Books with much naivete in a short time.”) TYPE 1613. MOTIF: H.603 [Symbolic Interpretation of playing cards.] This is a particularly full version of a wide-spread tale, found in Scandinavia, Finland, France, Spain, Germany and America. The Eliot Notebooks contain a concise account of the same tale under the title of “The Soldier’s Bible”. (B. VII). See “The Perpetual Almanack”, where the story is particularized with name and place.

THE CASE IS ALTERED “The case is altered,” quoth Plowden—This saying of the famous Salopian lawyer of Elizabeth’s time is variously accounted for. How Plowden, having been beguiled into the then penal act of hearing Mass, which proved to be in reality a pretended performance, got up by his ill-wishers, when the feigned priest gave evidence that he had officiated and had seen Plowden present; “O, then the case is altered,” quoth Plowden, “No priest, no mass”: how again, hearing that his tenant’s bull had gored his (Plowden’s) ox, (otherwise told, that hogs had trespassed on his ground), he gave judgment that the owner should pay the value of the beast, but presently finding that it was his own bull which had gored the farmer’s ox, “O, then the case is altered,” quoth Plowden:—all this is reported in Ray’s and Hazlitt’s Proverbs, in Fuller’s Worthies, and in Grose’s Provincial Glossary, and quoted therefrom for local readers in Salopian Shreds and Patches, 11 August 1875 and 20 March 1878. Burne and Jackson, Shropshire Folk-Lore, p. 591. TYPE 1589. MOTIF: K.488 [Lawyer’s dog steals meat]. An inn in Banbury is named The Case is Altered, presumably after Plowden. See also “The Lawyer’s Dog Steals Meat”.

CATCHING AN OWL A somewhat superior Cockney, who had come down from London for “hopping” at Southover Farm…had annoyed a good many of our “home-dwellers”, by his ill-disguised contempt for “yokels”, and “country bumpkins”, and a punishment was accordingly prepared for him. Three of our natives took occasion one morning, when he was standing near them, to say in rather loud tones, that in the evening they were going owl-catching. The bait was swallowed. The Londoner turned round and eagerly asked to be allowed to join them. They agreed, but only on condition that he held the sieve to catch the owls as they fell. This he was perfectly ready to do. In the course of the day, two of the men having got a long ladder, put two buckets full of water on a broad beam that went across the top of the barn. As soon as it was dark they proceeded with their friend to search the barn for owls. The holder of the sieve they very carefully put exactly under the beam with strict orders


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to stand still while they went up to turn the owls out. The result is more clearly foreseen by the reader than it was by the Cockney. He had not stood long where he was placed before the buckets were emptied, and thoroughly explained to him a “yokel’s” idea of owl-catching in Southover barn. The Rev. J.Coker Egerton, Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways, p. 35. MOTIF: J.1500 [Clever practical retort].

“CAUSE BOB” I find written among old gests, how God made Saint Peter porter of heaven, and that God of His goodness soon after His passion, suffered many men to come to the kingdom of heaven with small deserving—at which time there was in heaven a great company of welchmen, which with their craking [boasting] and babbling troubled all the others. Wherefore God said to Saint Peter that He was weary of them, and that He would fain have them out of heaven. To whom Saint Peter said: “Good Lord, I warrant you that shall be shortly done.” Wherefore Saint Peter went out of heaven’s gates and cried with a loud voice—“Cause Bob!”—that is as much to say as “roasted cheese”, which thing the welchmen hearing, ran out of heaven a great pace. And when Saint Peter saw them all out, he suddenly went into heaven and locked the door and so sparred [barred] all the welchmen out. By this, ye may see that it is no wisdom for a man to love or to set his mind too much upon any delicate or worldly pleasure whereby he shall lose the celestial and eternal joy. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 132. TYPE 1656. MOTIFS: X.611 [How the Jews were drawn from Heaven]; X.650 [Jokes concerning other nations]. The joke about Welshmen and toasted cheese belongs, of course, to England; that of the Jews at the auction of old clothes seems to come chiefly from Eastern Europe.

CHISLEDON FOLLIES There were formerly two windmills close together (at Chisledon), but one was taken down at an early date, the reason of the removal being—as it is alleged—that there was not enough wind to turn the fans of both. There is another local jest concerning the windmill. It is said that an old rustic brought a sack of corn to the mill on his donkey, and, after unloading the ass, tied it up to one of the fans, then stationary, and that the miller set the machinery running, and hoisted the donkey high into the air, where it remained dangling for some time, until the halter broke, and let it fall to the ground. Norton Collection, IV, p. 12. Wiltshire. A.Williams, White Horse, pp. 106–7. TYPE 1349* [Tales]. The tale of the donkey tied to the windmill is also told of Northleigh in Oxfordshire. See “Austwick Carles”, etc.

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CHOOSING A WORKER An old Dalesman once gave this advice about choosing a man to work in the garden: “Tha mun goa by ’is trousis. If they’re patched on t’knees, you want ’im. If they’re patched on t’ seat, you don’t.” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. 5. MOTIF H.1569.1 [Test of industry]. See also MOTIF H.1569.1.1 [Man tests industry of prospective servant-girl]. Stories of servant tests are common in England, as for instance that of the three prospective coachmen asked how near they can drive to the edge of a precipice. The one is chosen who replied that he had never done such a thing. See also “The Choice of a Servant” (A, I).

THE CHORISTER’S MISTAKE A few years ago the village choir was out “Christmas-ing” at the farmhouses. On going across a paddock in the darkness one of the number stumbled and fell over a donkey that sprang up with the chorister on his back and scampered off with him. The choirman thought he was being carried off by the Evil One, and cried: “Please, Mister Devil, put me down. I’m a religious man, and a Psalm-singer.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 9a, p. 19. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, p. 67, Watchfield, Berks. MOTIFS: J.1785.3 [Ass thought to be the devil]; J.1785.4 [Man sees Hereford cow at night, thinks it is the devil, says, “O Devil, I defy thee! I am a psalm-singer, and a worshipper of God!”] Told of a parish clerk at Munslow in Corve Dale, in Burne and Jackson, Shropshire Folk-Lore, p. 598. See also “The Sexton of Molland”.

THE CHURCHYARD There was two chaps comin’ home fra work ya neet, an’ one had left the other and he’d getten practically home and he’d getten to t’ churchyard. And he heard some voices over there saying: “Yan fer me, yan fer thee; yan fer me, yan fer thee.” An’ he got a bit frightened like, an’ he thowt it was t’ divvil dishing t’ deead out. So when he plucked up courage he went and had a look and he fund it was two lads that had robbed a orchard dishing fruit out. TYPE 1791. MOTIF: X.424 [The devil in the cemetery].


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Printed by Edward M.Wilson in “Some Humorous Folk-Tales”, part III, FolkLore, LIV (March 1943), p. 260, no. 30. He collected it in September 1940 from James Raven, a farm-servant, at Cawmire Hall, Crosthwaite, in Westmorland. This is a fragmentary text of type 1791, The sexton carries the parson, an immensely popular tale (207 variants in Ireland, 131 in Finland). Baughman lists four references for England, and over thirty for the United States. See also “The Bag of Nuts”, etc.

THE CLERK OF BARTHOMLEY The Clerk of Barthomley…was once conveying to the colliery the vicar’s annual gift of a cask of ale, and made such loving acquaintance therewith on the way, that he was found fast asleep in the cart on arrival at the pit’s mouth. The miners, seeing his condition, and the depletion of the cask, took him down into the pit, and there left him to snore away his “bezzlin’ fit”. After some hours the thirsty soul began to hear strange and wonderful noises, and opening his eyes was amazed and horror-stricken to find himself lying in a dismal place, black as night, lit only by a few wandering lights, tenanted by uncouth beings, who on seeing him move, gathered round with terrific demonstrations. What did it all mean? Had he then died unawares, and was this the result? Suddenly, one of the tormentors cried, “Who be ye? What’s yer neam?” To which followed the answer in a trembling and submissive voice: “When I was alive, I was clerk at Barthomley; but any name you like to call me now, good master Devil.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 63, p. 75. Walter White, All Round the Wrekin (London, 1860), pp. 379–80. Barthomley, Cheshire. TYPE 835A*. A Scottish version of this is recorded in The School of Scottish Studies. There are also three Irish versions. See also “Not So Easy Cured”.

THE CLEVER APPRENTICE A shoemaker once engaged an apprentice. A short time after the apprenticeship began, the shoemaker asked the boy what he would call him in addressing him. “Oh, I would just call you master,” answered the apprentice. “No,” said the master, “you must call me master above all masters.” Continued the shoemaker, “What would you call my trousers?” Apprentice. Oh, I would call them trousers. Shoemaker. No, you must call them struntifers. And what would you call my wife? A. Oh, I would call her mistress. S. No, you must call her the fair lady Permoumadam. And what would you call my son? A. Oh, I would call him Johnny.

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S. No, you must call him John the Great. And what would you call the cat? A. Oh, I would call him pussy. S. No, you must call him Great Carle Gropus. And what would you call the fire? A. Oh, I would call it fire. S. No, you must call it Fire Evangelist. And what would you call the peatstack? A. Oh, I would just call it peatstack. S. No, you must call it Mount Potāgo. And what would you call the well? A. Oh, I would call it well. S. No, you must call it The Fair Fountain. And, last of all, what would you call the house? A. Oh, I would call it house. S. No, you must call it the Castle of Mungo. The shoemaker, after giving this lesson to his apprentice, told him that the first day he had occasion to use all these words at once, and was able to do so without making a mistake, the apprenticeship would be at an end. The apprentice was not long in making an occasion for using the words. One morning he got out of bed before his master, and lighted the fire; he then tied some bits of paper to the tail of the cat, and threw the animal into the fire. The cat ran out with the papers all in a blaze, landed in the peatstack, which caught fire. The apprentice hurried to his master, and cried out: “Master above all masters, start up and jump into your struntifers, and call upon Sir John the Great and the Fair Lady Permoumadam, for Carle Gropus has caught hold of Fire Evangelist, and he is out to Mount Potāgo, and if you don’t get help from the Fair Fountain, the whole of Castle Mungo will be burnt to the ground.” Norton Collection, VI, p. 101. Folk-Lore Journal, VII (1889), pp. 166–7. Given to W.Gregor by Mr. A.Copland, schoolmaster, Tyrie, Aberdeenshire. It is originally from Keith, a town and parish in Banffshire. TYPE 1940. See “Master of All Masters” (A, v).

THE CLEVER GYPSY [summary] A family of gypsies had a grinding-barrow, which was stolen by some pitman and thrown down a pit. One of the pitmen went to have his fortune told, and in the course of it gave away that he had stolen the barrow. Went to his mates, and told how the gypsy woman had divined it. In the meantime gypsy man stole pig from the ringleader and hid it. Ringleader went to gypsy woman to pay for barrow, and asked what had happened to pig. Woman led him to place. Reputation spread. Thefts in neighbouring manor, and gypsy woman called in to help. Asked for three meals, to be served by different servants. Counted meals, and servants took it she recognized them. Confessed, and showed gypsy where treasure was hidden. She led mistress of house to treasure. Some young men determined to test her further. Hid fox under dishcover,* and asked what was there. * Made pie from young fox.


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Woman said, “Many years I have wandered, all around and around. But this has found the old fox out.” All applauded. None more surprised than gypsy woman. Collected by T.W.Thompson from Gus Gray, Cleethorpes, 26 September 1914. TYPE 1641. MOTIFS: K.1956.2 [Sham wise man hides something and is rewarded for finding it]; N.611.1 [Criminal accidentally detected]; N.688 [What is in the dish? “Poor Crab”]. This is a widespread tale. Kennedy gives an Irish version in Fireside Stories. See also “The Conjuror, or the Turkey and the Ring”, “The Clever Irishman”.

THE CLEVER IRISHMAN [summary] Poor Irishman determined to make money. Stole farmer’s pig and hid it at a distance. Farmer asked everyone about it. Pat said he was very clever at dreaming things. Borrowed tobacco to smoke, and then told farmer where to look for pig. Thanked by farmer. Squire has lost three valuable plates; hears of Pat’s skill and takes him to Hall. Asks for three meals and eats them in kitchen. “That’s the first.” Cook confesses, etc. Plates dug up in garden and restored. Squire’s fox-hunting friends bake a fox in a pie. Pat to guess contents. “Miles and miles have I rambled, by crossroads, over the fields, and always knew my way about. But this has found the old fox out.” Thompson, Notebooks, from Shanny Gray, Grimsby, 8 November 1914. TYPE 1641. MOTIFS: K.1956.2 [Sham wise man hides something and is rewarded for finding it]; N.611. I [Criminal accidentally detected: “That is the first”]; N.688 [What is in the dish?” Poor Crab”]. This tale is widespread in Germany, Sweden, Lithuania, Turkey, France, Russia, Ireland, etc. Professor Megas gives several versions in his Greek Folk Tales. Kennedy gives a version, “Doctor Cure-All”, in Fireside Stories, pp. 116–19. See also “The Conjuror, or the Turkey and the Ring”, “The Clever Gypsy”, “The Three Kippers”.

A CLEVER SON A farmer’s son, who had been some time at the University, came home to visit his father and mother; and being one night with the old folks at supper on a couple of fowls, he told them, that by the rules of logic and arithmetic, he could prove these two fowls to be three. “Well, let us hear,” said the old man. “Why, this”, said the scholar, “is one, and this”, continued he, “is two; two and one, you know, make three.” “Since you ha’e made it out so weel,” answered the old man, “your mother shall ha’e the first fowl, I’ll ha’e the second, and the third you may keep to yoursel’.”

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The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 209. MOTIF: J.1539.2 [Scholar given third egg]. “A story very like this is of a schoolboy who had had a first lesson in logic, and undertook to prove that a pigeon was a fish-pie. His father promised him a beautiful chestnut horse as a reward for his learning, and gave him a horse-chestnut” (Neils M. Lund, 1911).

THE CLOCK Once upon a time there were a man who promised some beautiful clock he had as a prize to whoever could mind his own business for a year. At the end of the time, a young man come to claim it, and he give such a proof that he had minded his business for a whole year. So the man were just about to give him the clock, and he say, as he go to fetch it: “You’re the second young man as made sure to get the clock.” “Ah,” say the young man, “and how did he miss getting it?” “That’s not your business,” say the other. “You won’t get the clock.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 41, p. 52. Folk-Lore, III, p. 559. Lady Camilla Gurdon, from her gardener and his wife, S.E.Suffolk. TYPE 1416 (variant). MOTIF: H.1554.2 [Test of curiosity]. A variant of “A Daughter of Eve”, “The Mouse in the Jug”, which is among Vitry’s Exempla. See also “Bob Appleford’s Pig”, “That’s Not Your Business”, “Of the Ploughman that said his Pater Noster”.

COAT O’ CLAY [condensed version] Once upon a time in Lindsey there was a wise woman who was a rare one for giving advice to those in trouble. One day, as she was paring potatoes at her door, she saw the very picture of a fool coming up the path. “Good day, Missis,” said the fool, “I’ve come to see thee.” “So thou be,” said the wise woman. “I see that.” “The thing is, my folks say I’m a fool,” says he. “Ay, so thou be,” says she. “But what’s that to me?” “Well, see now. Mother says I’ll never be wiser all my born days, but couldn’t tha teach me summat, so that my folks ’ud think more of me?” “Not I,” said the woman. “Tha’ll be a fool all thy days till thou find a coat o’ clay, and then tha’llt know more than I do.” “If that’s so,” said the fool, “I’d better go and look for a coat o’ clay.” So he went off till he came to a drain with a foot of mud in it, and he lay down and rolled, till he was fairly caked. “There now,” he said, “I’m as wise as the best o’ them. I’ll go home and tell Mother.” He set off, but he passed a cottage on the way, with a romping lass at the door.


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“’Morning, fool,” says she. “Hast been ducked in the horsepond?” “Fool yourself,” says he. “I’ve got a coat of clay, and I’m as wise as the best of them. Shall I marry thee, lass?” “Aye,” says she, for she thought a fool would be an easy husband. “I’ll go and tell Mother,” says he, and gave her his lucky penny. But when he got to his Mother’s door, and told her about his coat o’ clay, and the lass he was to wed, she said he was a greater fool than ever, for the lass had nothing to bring, and a bad name into the bargain. So the fool went off, scratching his head, and sat down by the riverside, to think how he could get a proper coat o’ clay. He thought so hard that he fell asleep, and rolled over, plump, into the river. He pulled himself out alive all right, but wet, shivering and dripping, and he lay down in the dusty road, to dry himself in the sun. He rolled about in the dry dust, till he was all coated with it. Then he thought to himself, “Hi yi, I’ve got a rare coat of clay now. I must be clever already, to have got it without planning for it.” And he gave himself a last roll to make certain, when the Squire came galloping round (as if) the boggles were after him, and reined up just in time, as the fool scrambled into the hedge. “What the dickens are you doing there?” said the Squire. “Well, measter,” said the fool, “I fell into the river, and I lay down on the road to dry. And I lay down a fool, and got up a wise man.” “How’s that?” said the Squire, so the fool told him about the Wise Woman and the coat o’ clay. “Why,” said the Squire, laughing, “whoever but a fool would lay down in the middle of the road?” And he rode away, still laughing. The fool went on, sad enough, till he came to the inn. “Well, fool,” said the landlord, “thou’rt fine and mucky.” “Ay, I be mucky outside, and dusty inside,” said the fool, “but ’tis not the right coat o’ clay yet.” And he told the landlord all about it. “Ah,” said the landlord, “you need to lay the dust inside as well, to have a real coat o’ clay.” So the fool went into the inn, and he drank and drank, till he began to feel what a fine fellow he was. “That’s done it,” he said. “It’s wonderful how nice I feel.” And he got up and made for the door, only there seemed to be three of them. “Hi!” said the landlord. “You’ve not paid the score. Where’s my money?” “I didn’t get no money when I was a fool,” said the fool, pulling out his pockets. “But now I’m a wise man, I’ll get it quick enough, and I’ll give you a help on, landlord.” “You a wise man!” said the landlord. “You’re the biggest fool in the Parish, and always will be. And I’ll give you a help on, now.” And he kicked him out of the door into the road. The fool was terribly disappointed, but he thought to himself, “There’s a screw loose somewhere; I’ll up to the Wise Woman and ask her again.” So he went swaying up the road to the Wise Woman’s house, and he told her all his trouble, and how they all said he was as big a fool as ever. “Aye, so thou’rt, lad,” said the Wise Woman, “and so thou wilt be till thou be dead, and folks take and put thee in the ground. That’s the only coat o’ clay will be any use to thee.” “Oh, well,” said the fool, “I must off home, and tell Mother she was right after all, and she’d never have a wise man for a son.” And home he went.

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(Noodle Story.) Mrs. Balfour, Folk-Lore, I, pp. 305–10. TYPE 1681 (variant). MOTIFS: J.2450 [Literal fool]; J.2470 [Metaphors literally interpreted]. See also “A Pottle of Brains”.

THE COCK-FIGHTING PARSON Sancton was a famous place for cock-fighting, the sport being under the special patronage of the clergyman, of whom it is related that, reversing the usual order of things, he fell asleep during the singing of a long psalm, and, on being awakened by the clerk, cried out, “All right, a guinea on black cock! Black cock a guinea!” Norton Collection, VI, p. 49. Sancton, Yorks. Monthly Chronicles of North-Country Lore and Legend, II (1888), p. 237. TYPE 1839A. MOTIF: N.5 [Card-playing parson]. There are Livonian, Lithuanian, Irish, German and West Indian versions of this tale, in which the parson is a card-player.

THE COGGESHALL JOBS I. A Coggeshall Job. The saying is, that the Coggeshall folk wanted to divert the current of a stream, and fixed hurdles in the bed of it for the purpose. Another tale is that a mad dog bit a wheelbarrow, and the people, fearing it would go mad, chained it up in a shed. (E.C.Brewer, A Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, London, c. 1870, pp. 175–6) II. There were two windmills here, in close proximity, but as there was not sufficient wind to turn both of them, one was levelled to the ground. If an epidemic prevailed in a neighbouring parish, it is said the people were wont to hang up blankets in the roads, to prevent the pestilence being borne hither by the wind. An enthusiastic fisherman, seeing, as he supposed, the moon in the river, and being somewhat curious as to its structure, did his best to draw it out with a rod and line. (G.F.Beaumont, History of Coggeshall, pp. 254–6. Beaumont begins by resuming Brewer’s statement) III. The town of Coggeshall in Essex has long had associated with it a variety of facetious events, such as having a regiment of volunteers (train-bands) wherein all were officers; as lighting fires under plum-trees to hasten the ripening of the fruit; as putting hurdles across a meadow to stay the spreading of a flood, etc. (Cornelius Walford, NQ, 6, VI, 4 November 1882, p. 368) IV. A “Coxhall Job” means a foolish act. The Coggeshall people in past ages somehow acquired a reputation for Boeotian foolishness. Many stories are told to illustrate it, as of an old woman who, at the time of a flood, sent for a carpenter to pull down her staircase.


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(E.Gepp, An Essex Dialect Dictionary, 2nd ed. London, 1923, p. 32) V. Many stories are told in illustration of the stupidity of the people of Coggeshall, for instance, it is related that when they had built their church they found they had forgotten to make any windows. So they got some hampers, and set them open in the sun to catch the light, then shut them up tight, wheeled them into the church in barrows, and there opened them to let the light out. Another legend tells that the people thought that their church was in the wrong place. In order to move it, they went to one end to push it, laying their coats down on the ground, outside the opposite end, on the spot to which the wall was to be removed. When they judged that they had moved the building far enough, they went round to find their coats, but none were to be found. They at once concluded that they had pushed the wall over them, and went to look for them inside the church. Further, they are said to have placed hurdles in the stream to turn the river, and to have chained up the wheelbarrow when the dog bit it. (E.M.Wright, Rustic Speech, p. 182) Norton Collection, IV, pp. 13–15. Essex. I. MOTIF: J.1887 [The mad wheelbarrow]. II. MOTIF: J.1792 [Rescuing the moon]. III. IV. V. TYPE 1326. MOTIF: J.2328 [Moving the church]. TYPE 1245. MOTIF: J.2123 [Sunlight carried into a windowless house in baskets]. See also “Austwick Carles”, “Borrowdale Follies”, “Wise Men of Gotham”, “Yabberton Yawnies”, etc.

THE COLE-WORT It is a tricke among many Travailers, if they light into companie that they thinke have not passed the Seas, to tel wonders that wise men ought not to beleeve upon the first hearing. Among which kind of people, it fell out one day at an Ordinarie, that a certaine idle cōpanion, that loved to heare himself speake, and would talke more than either he understood or ever heard of, hearing divers at the table talking of the diversitie of soyles, and the natures of fruits, began himselfe with a fine, and all so fine kinde of lisping utterance, to tell that he had seene many countries, and noted the diversities of their natures; but of all, one especially hee noted for the fertilities of the soyle, where, among many kindes of rootes, Gowrdes, Melons, and such other kind of fruits, there grewe in one waste peece of ground, heere unto a garden, a Colewort of that hugeness for height and bredth, that foure score Tinkers, upon a sunny day sate at work together under the shadow of it. Nowe while everybody wondered at his tale, and some, that he was not ashamed to lye so broad that nobody could lie by him, one well conceited spirit of the company, upon the sudden, thinking to quite him in his kind, brake out into this speech: Why, it is not so strange as that which I heard was in the same place, that all those tinkers did worke together upon one kettle. For what use? (quoth the Travailer). Mary, Sir,

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(quoth the other,) to seethe your Cole-wort in. At which speech finding his lye hit him, with as much speede as he could, like a lying Gull, gat him away from the company. Norton Collection, VI, p. 82 A. Pasquil’s Jests (1604), p. 82, in Hazlitt, Shakespeare’s Jest-Books, III (1864). TYPE 1920A (variant). MOTIFS: X.905 [Lying contest]; X.1401 [Lie: the great vegetable]. See “Mark Twain in the Fens”, “The Man Who Bounced”.

COMICAL HISTORY OF THREE DREAMERS Three companions, of whom two were Tradesmen and Townsmen, and the third a Villager, on the score of devotion, went on pilgrimage to a noted sanctuary; and as they went on their way, their provision began to fail them, insomuch that they had nothing to eat, but a little flour, barely sufficient to make of it a very small loaf of bread. The tricking townsmen seeing this, said between themselves, we have but little bread, and this companion of ours is a great eater; on which account it is necessary we should think how we may eat this little bread without him. When they had made it and set it to bake, the tradesmen seeing in what manner to trick the countryman, said: let us all sleep, and let him that shall have the most marvellous dream betwixt the all three of us, eat the bread. This bargain being agreed upon, and settled between them, they laid down to sleep. The countryman, discovering the trick of his companions, drew out the bread half baked, eat it by himself, and turned again to sleep. In a while, one of the tradesmen, as frightened by a marvellous dream, began to get up, and was asked by his companion, why he was so frightened? He answered, I am frightened and dreadfully surprized by a marvellous dream: it seemed to me that two Angels, opening the gates of Heaven, carried me before the throne of God, with great joy: his companion said: this is a marvellous dream, but I have seen another more marvellous, for I saw two Angels, who carried me over the earth to Hell. The countryman hearing this, made as if he slept; but the townsmen, desirous to finish their trick, awoke him; and the countryman, artfully as one surprised, answered: Who are these that call me? They told him, We are thy companions. He asked them: How did you return? They answered: We never went hence: why d’ye talk of our return? The countryman replied: It appared to me that two Angels, opening the gates of Heaven, carried one of you before our Lord God, and dragged the other over the earth to Hell, and I thought you never would return hither, as I have never heard that any returned from Paradise, nor from Hell, and so I arose and eat the bread by myself. John Aubrey, Miscellanies (Reeves & Turner, 1890), pp. 68–9. From an old edition of Lazarillo de Tormes. TYPE 1626. See “Dream Bread”, “Three Irish Tramps”, etc.


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CONFESSED AND UNCONFESSED Two knights there were which went to a standing-field with their prince. But one of them was confessed before he went, but the other went into the field without shrift or repentance. Afterward, this prince won the field and had the victory that day—wherefore he that was confessed came to the prince and asked an office and said he had deserved it, for he had done good service and adventured that day as far as any man in the field. To whom the other, that was unconfessed, answered and said: “Nay, by the mass, I am more worthy to have a reward than he, for he adventured but his body for your sake—for he durst not go to the field till he was confessed—but as for me I did jeopard both body, life and soul for your sake, for I went to the field without confession or repentance.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 132.

THE CONJURER or THE TURKEY AND THE RING [summary] A Yorkshireman, named Robin Rostrum, envious of the wealth and easy living of gentlefolk, decided to become a conjuror. He purchased a false beard and whiskers, and made his way into Kent, where he settled on the estate of Sir Simon Gull, and before long a fortunate chance gave him the opportunity of building up a reputation as a magician. A precious diamond ring belonging to Lady Gull was missing, and she sent to Robin, in her husband’s absence, to discover the thief. He determined to seize the chance to live, for however short a time, in all the luxury and splendour of the rich; so he demanded a private room, with a blazing fire, three dainty meals, the best the cook could provide, and three bottles of champagne. Here he spent the evening alone, but when at last he made his way to bed the groom, John, crept into his room, hoping to find out what the conjuror had discovered. He heard Robin talking to himself in bed. “There goes one of the three,” he murmured, meaning one of the three days of revelry he had promised himself. But the groom believed he meant one of the thieves, and he stole away and told his confederates, Will and Ned. They were incredulous, but John persuaded Ned to accompany him the next night, when they both heard Robin, after another evening’s indulgence in the luxury of the rich, say quite distinctly to himself, “That’s two out of the three!” Still the third thief, Will, refused to believe, but the third night he consented to go with John to Robin’s bed-chamber, and heard him say, “I’ll bear anything, now I’ve got all three secure.” Robin, in fact, was fully expecting to be found out for an impostor, but at least he had had his three days of good living, and was prepared to take his punishment; but the guilty servants, in terror, presented themselves before him early next morning and restored the ring, begging him to have mercy and not reveal their crime to their mistress. Robin, therefore, only too glad to have escaped detection himself, took the ring to the poultry-yard, and forced the first turkey he met to swallow it. He then pretended to have discovered by his magic arts that one of the turkeys had picked it up by accident, and caused all the turkeys to be paraded and by the uncomfortable gobbling and swallowing of the luckless bird he picked out his victim, cut it up, and revealed the ring in its belly.

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The lady was overjoyed and when her husband returned told him the whole story. He, however, was suspicious and determined to test the conjuror. He clapped his hat over a robin which chanced to be picking up crumbs on the window-sill; then bade the conjuror be sent for and asked him to tell what he had beneath his hat. The horrified Robin exclaimed to himself audibly, “Poor Robin, art thou caught at last!”, which so amazed Sir Simon that he removed his hat and let the bird escape. He richly rewarded the magician, who, however, having learnt his lesson, returned to his former labours in Yorkshire. Norton Collection, V, pp. 163–8. TYPE 1641. See “The Clever Gypsy”, “The Clever Irishman”.

THE CONTRARY WIFE This farmer was brought up for the murder of his wife. Well after t’ judge had been talking all afternoon to him, t’ farmer said: “It’s about time ah was ga-en yam to feed. But before ah go ye’ll like to kna how it aw happened.” And t’ judge said: “That’s what we’ve been asking you all afternoon.” “Well,” t’ farmer said, “it was this way. My wife was one o’ them contrairy soort. An’ gittin’ up late one Sunday mornin’ ah said: ‘We’ll nut ga to t’ church this mornin’; it’s gitten a bit leeat.’ “And she said: ‘Yes we will. Git thisel finished and we’ll gang.’ “So when we set off ah said: ‘Shall we ga t’ nearest road?’ “And she said: ‘No, we’ll ga this t’other way.’ “So ga-en the way as she wanted us tull, we ad to ga across a wooden brig, an’ ah says tull er: ‘Ah’ll ga t’first an’ see if it’s seeaf.’ “She said: ‘Nea, ye waint; I’s ga-en first.’ “And when she got hafe-way across, t’ brig ga’e way, an’ she went in. And me thinking she would be still contrairy, ah ran as ard as ah could up t’ beck. An’ she was that jolly contrairy she went t’udder way. And so when ah got er oot, she was deead. She’s been contrairy aw er life,” he said. E.M.Wilson, “Some Humorous English Folk Tales”, part I, Folk-Lore, XLIX (1938), pp. 183–4. Told by Mrs Joseph Haddow, who heard the story from a neighbouring farmer, who heard it from an old woman in Ambleside, Westmorland. Included in The Folktales of England, p. 132. TYPE 1365A. MOTIF: T.255.2 [The obstinate wife sought for upstream]. Many versions in Finland and Sweden. Told of the Khoja (Tales of Nasr-ed-Din, New York, 1926, p. 191). See also “Knife or Scissors”.


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THE CORPSE IN THE CAB [summary] At the time of the body-snatchers, two doctors or chemists drove out of London, to fetch a body to make up into pills. On the way back they stopped at a public-house for a drink, and left the body sitting up in the cab with the reins in its hands. The groom came out, spoke to the inmate of the cab, and discovered that it was a dead man. He lifted the body out and got into the cab. The two doctors came out and began to move the body. “It’s warm!” “Yes, and so would you be, if you’d been in Hell!” At that they ran, and the groom kept the horse and cab. Thompson Notebooks, from Reuben Gray, Old Radford, Notts, 21 December 1914. TYPE 326B*. MOTIF: K.335.1.2.2 [Robbers frightened from goods by sham-dead man]. The tales of the resurrection men seem to have lingered longest among gypsies and travelling men, whose bodies were most liable to ill treatment. See Burker Legends (Part B, VIII). See also “The Brave Boy”, “Down the Rotten Row”.

“CORPUS MEUM” The Archdeacon of Essex, that had been long in authority, in a time of visitation, when all the priests appeared before him, called aside three of the young priests which were accused that they could not well say their divine service. And he asked of them, when they said mass, whether they said corpus meus or corpum meum. The first priest said that he said corpus meus. The second said that he said corpum meum. And then he asked of the third how he said, which answered and said thus: “Sir, because it is so great a doubt and divers men be in divers opinions thereto, and because I would be sure I would not offend, when I come to that place, I leave it clean out and say nothing therefore.” Wherefore he then openly rebuked them all three. But divers that were present thought more default in him because he himself before time had admitted them to be priests. By this tale ye may see that one ought to take heed how he rebuketh another, lest it turn most to his own rebuke. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 76. MOTIF: J.1263.1 [Repartee based on clerical ignorance].

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THE COW AS WEATHER-PROPHET A scholar of Oxenford which had studied the indicals* of astronomy, on a time was riding by the way, which came by a herdsman and inquired of him how far it was to the next town. “Sir,” quod the herdsman,” ye have nothid† past a mile and a half. But, sir, (quod he), ye need to ride apace, for ye shall have a shower of rain ere ye come thither.” “What!” quod the scholar. “It is not so, for here is no token of rain. For all the clouds be both fair and clear.” “By God, sir,” quod the herdsman, “but ye shall find it so.” The scholar then rode forth his way, and ere he had ridden half a mile further, there fell a good shower of rain that the scholar was well washed and wet to the skin. The scholar then turned his horse and rode again to the herdsman, and desired him to teach him that cunning. “Nay,” quod the herdsman, “I will not teach you my cunning for nought.” Then the scholar proffered him 40 shillings to teach him that cunning. The herdsman, after he had received his money, said thus: “Sir, see you not yonder dun cow with the white face?” “Yes,” quod the scholar. “Surely,” quod the herdsman, “when she danceth and holdeth up her tail it shall have a shower of rain within half an hour after.” By this, ye may see that the cunning of herdsmen and shepherds as touching alterations of weather is more sure than the indicals of astronomy. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 136. MOTIFS: J.130 [Wisdom acquired from animals]; L.144 [Ignorant surpasses learned man]; K.144.2 [Farmer surpasses astronomer in predicting weather]; B.141.3 [Ass’s behaviour predicts the weather]. Italian Novella: Rotunda.

CROWDY OF HIGHWORTH At that time there was a “wise man” of Highworth, who was given to star-gazing and fortune-telling. Meeting him one day, the squire thought to have a joke at his expense. “Well, and what have you been dreaming about now?” said he. “I dreamt I was in hell,” the other soberly replied. “Ho! Ho! And what was it like there?” asked the squire. “All they that had most money sat nearest the fire,” the dreamer answered. “Is that all?” the other inquired. “Not quite,” said the dreamer. “I walked about, and found a beautiful golden seat, and * indexes, signs. † nothing.


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was going to sit down when somebody took hold of my shoulder and said: ‘You mustn’t sit there! You mustn’t sit there!’ ‘And why not?’ said I. ‘That’s reserved for old Crowdy o’ Highworth,’ the other quickly answered.” Norton Collection, II, p. 239. Wiltshire. Alfred Williams, Round About the Upper Thames, p. 41. TYPE 1738 (variant). MOTIF: X. 438 [The dream: all parsons in Hell]. See “Old Charley Creed”.

THE CROWS FLY AWAY WITH THE PEAR-TREES When I was a young mon, I was a kyarter, and in them days there was a smartish bit of kyarrying by road, in waggins and drays, up towards Gloucester. Arter I’d abin a-goin’ up that road a time or two, I seed five beautiful pear-trees sot in the hedge longside the road just outside Newent; an’ the first time I seed ’em they was in full blowth, and a prety enough sight they was to be sure. Well, when it come September abouts, there they was loaded, so I whoas up my osses, and gets me a pocketful, and they was lovely—not mousey, but as soft as butter, and prety moreish. It come to me as it were mortal strange for any mon to plant sich desperate good peartrees in a hedge, and against the high-road, so I exes a mon as kept a public there about it. This be the tale as he telled. They pear-trees was firstly planted in a fine meadow near Pershore, where the land be very kind to pears, and good bearings of capital fruit they had on ’em. But misfortunate for the farmer mon as owned ’em, there was a rookery in some old elms overanighst ’em, and as soon as they pears was ripe, they domned old crows ud come and settle on the branches of they pear-trees, and peck, peck, peck, they ud go, till they ’a yut all the fruit that there was. When the next season come round, the farmer mon reckoned as he’d had enough of they old crows’ physic; so just afore they pears was proper ripe, he takes he a great kyan of bird-lime, and a long lother [ladder] and gaums the bird-lime all over they pear-trees’ branches. Next day were warm and sunny, and the fruit mellow-ripe. So kyaw! guz one old crow, then kyaw! guz another, and then flip-flop, the whole hustle on ’em guz off and settles in they pear-trees’ branches. Prety soon there was heard such a desperate squaking and craking cos they old crows could move ne’er a foot, and was sot as fast as a bussock [rabbit] in a snap-gin. “Lummydays,” says the farmer mon, “I ah got ’em this time, I’ll get my old gun, and shut the lot on ’em,” so off he guz to fetch ’un. They old crows heered what he said, and set up a-cawing and aflapping their wings fit to bust; and, as soon as they see the farmer mon come back wi’ his muzzle-loader, they made sich a tremenjous desperate flapping that up come all five pear-trees, by the roots, and, whiffley—whiffley—whiffley, off they flies, pear-trees and all, over along the river towards Tewkesbury. After they bin a-going for a while, there comes a smartish shower o’ rain, and that washed most of all the bird-lime away, and clunk, clunk, clunk, down drops they pear-

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trees into a hedge by the high-roadway, towards Newent—took good root they did, too, and there they be to this very day. But domme if I know what happened to they old crows arterwards. Norton Collection, VI, p. 60. Gloucestershire. H.J.Massingham, Shepherd’s Country, pp. 136–7. TYPE 1881*. MOTIF: X.1252 [Lies about crows]. Baughman gives an American version under motif X.1252aa [Big crows carry off cedar-trees].

THE CUCKOO-PENNERS Round April 15th they hold Cuckoo Fair Day down to Crewkerne, ’cos when cuckoo do come, they begins to think about putting in the ’arvest. If ’e come early, they get a good ’arvest, but if ’e come late, well, then they don’t ’ave much chance. Well, the Crewkerne wiseacres, they put their ’eads together, and they say, “Well, if us kept cuckoo, us ’ud get more ’n one ’arvest in one year.” So they outs, and they vinds a young cuckoo in a dunnock’s nest. Well, they veeds ’en, and while they keeps ’en ved and ’appy, the rest o’ the Crewkerne men, they builds a ’edge right round ’en. “Now,” say they, “Us’ll ’ave three ’arvests this year. Look ’ow the ’edge be agrowing!” Cuckoo were growing too. Well, the ’edge grew nice and ’igh, and the cuckoo grew ’is wings, and ’e flied nice and ’igh. And ’e went! Collected by Ruth L.Tongue from L.Wyatt in 1913; from Crewkerne, Somerset. TYPE 1213. MOTIFS: J.1904.2 [The pent cuckoo]; J.1904.2.1 [The cuckoo fenced to keep in spring]. See “The Borrowdale Cuckoos”, “The Wise Men of Gotham”.

THE CURATE AND THE FOOL A certain curate in the country there was that preached in the pulpit of the ten commandments, saying that there were ten commandments that every man ought to keep, and he that brake any of them committed grievous sin. Howbeit, he said that sometime it was deadly sin and sometime venial. But when it was deadly sin and when venial, there were many doubts therein. And a miller—a young man and a mad fellow that came seldom to church, and had been at very few sermons or none in all his life—answered him then shortly this wise: “I marvel, master parson, that ye say there been so many commandments and so many doubts. For I never heard tell but of two commandments— that is to say, ‘Command me to you’, and ‘Command me from you’.* Nor I never heard tell of mo’ doubts but twain—that is to say, ‘dout the candle’, and ‘dout the fire’.” At which answer, all the people fell a-laughing. * The pun is on ‘command’=‘commend’.


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By this tale a man may well perceive that they that be brought up without learning or good manners shall never be but rude and beastly, although they have good natural wits. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 64. TYPE 1833. MOTIF: X.435 [The boy applies the sermon]. This is one of many anecdotes of answers given to a sermon. See also “Breaking the Commandments”.

TO CURE A LYING TONGUE AND A BAD MEMORY An old man, Phil Ladds by name, who had a great reputation as a quack doctor, used to travel week by week through these parts. One day a servant-girl came to see him, and said— “I’m troubled with two bad complaints, Mus. Ladds, and I want you to cure ’em. I’ve got a lyin’ tongue and a bad memory, and I jus’ should be glad if you could get rid an ’em for me.” “Ah, well,” said the doctor, “I haven’t got the right stuff with me for those complaints to-day, but you come again when I’m round this way next week, and I’ll set you all right.” In the meantime the doctor made up a couple of pills, of asafoetida, or some such nauseous compound, and when the girl in due course presented herself again, he gave them to her, telling her to take one there and then, in the shop, and to chew it well, or else it would not do her the least atom of good. As soon as the girl began to chew she began to spit and splutter, and cried out— “Oh, Mus. Ladds, this is just beastly stuff you’ve given me, I can’t swallow it nohows in de wurreld.” “Ah, there,” said the doctor, “you’ve spoke the truth, that’s certain, so I’ve cured your lying tongue, and I’m sure you won’t forget that pill, so I’ve cured your bad memory. I shan’t charge you nothing; good morning.” The Rev. J.Coker Egerton, Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways, p. 33. MOTIFS: K.114.3 [Alleged oracular pill sold]; K.114.3.1 [Virtue of oracular pill proved]. See “Hot Metots”.

THE DAB-CHICK It is related of Aldbourne that a wag one day brought a dab-chick from Ramsbury, and put it in the pond, thereby rousing the natives to the highest pitch of curiosity, to know what kind of bird the stranger might be. After a consultation it was decided to fetch the oldest inhabitant; as he was an invalid he had, perforce, to be produced in a wheelbarrow. On trying to come up with the water-fowl, that naturally swam over to the other

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side. “Wheel ma round,” the old man shouted; then, as the bird swam back, “Wheel ma round agyen;” and so on, till, failing to get close to the bird, he gave his opinion afar off. “’Tis a dab-chick,” he declared, with oracular gravity. Thereupon the natives were satisfied, but when outsiders came to know the story, they laughed heartily, and ever since the good folks of Aldbourne have been styled “dabchicks” about the down-side. Norton Collection, IV, p. 120. Williams, Villages of the White Horse, p. 172. See “The Folkestone Fiery Serpent”.

DAFT WILL SPIERS Will, one day, upon his journey to Eglinton Castle to pay his regular daily visit, met his Lordship, who seemed not to notice him. The Earl, being only on a walk of pleasure through his policies, soon came in contact with Will again sitting at the bottom of a tree, picking a huge bone. “Ay, ay,” says the Earl,” what’s this you’ve got noo, Will?” “Ay, ay,” says Will, “anew* o’ frien’s whan folk has ocht: ye gaed by me awee sin’ an’ ne’er loot on ye saw me.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 203. Tales of the simple, or daft, are common in Scotland, e.g. “Sair Hodden Doon” (Dean Ramsay’s Reminiscences).

DAN GHOATE AND THE BULL Long years ago, before the days of Mr. Bruce, and the Public House Closing Act, in a large village in mid-Suffolk, dwelt a prosperous, and canny old farmer, whom I will christen Dan Ghoate, for the occasion, whose custom it was sometimes to sell a beast to the local butcher, to be killed and paid for according to the dead weight, after it had been dressed. On one occasion he so disposed of a fat bull to his butcher friend, and in due course went down to see the carcase weighed; to his surprise and vexation the weight was not nearly as much as he had expected, and he expressed himself plainly about it; the butcher, however, said there it was and he could see for himself there was no inside fat, and he would have to put up with it. So after some haggling the matter was settled, the money paid, and Master Ghoate departed, still feeling unhappy about the late bull. * enough.


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During dinner he was told the yardman wanted to see him, and stepping out the man said, “Th’ owd bull is home, Master.” “Oh, is he though,” said the farmer, “do you go and shut him up in the box, and I’ll come and see about him.” So, dinner over with much content, Mr. Ghoate went out, and satisfied himself it was indeed his deceased bull come home again. He then had him fed, locked up the door, put the key in his pocket, and told his man that anyone came after the bull he wasn’t to know anything about him, except that he had heard his master say that he was kilt and paid for. With the money in his pocket this simple Suffolk farmer set out in his gig, called on all his friends, and invited them to meet him at the Hare and Hounds for a spree; the company having assembled, they sat themselves down, ate, drank, and enjoyed themselves, day and night, and never left the premises, until the whole of the price of the bull was spent. And so farmer Dan, and his friends, made merry at the expense of the dishonest butcher, who never had the face even to claim the bull. Mardles from Suffolk, Ernest Cooper (1932), pp. 19–20. MOTIFS: Q.212 [Theft punished]; J.1510 [The cheater cheated].

DARLASTON GEESE “…While less-known gibes credit the good folks of Ganderopolis with shutting the tollgate to keep the wind out of the town; with trying to entice the cock from the steeple by throwing corn into the church-yard; with lifting their pigs on to the wall-tops to let them enjoy the spectacle of a procession passing along the street with bands and banners….” (F.W.Hackwood, Staffordshire Stories, p. 192) “When I was a boy at Dudley, it was generally known that it would be dangerous to pass in the vicinity of the church at Darlaston, and to pretend to throw down corn to entice the cock down from the steeple, as this would be very violently resented by the inhabitants. The tale told in explanation I do not now remember, and I have only been able to recover it recently in an incomplete form, from a narrator who derived it from his grandfather, who died at a great age in the fifties of last century…‘It is said that a man was going through Darlaston with corn in bags in a cart. The string round the mouth of one of the sacks became untied, and a quantity of corn fell into the roadway. If the cock on the steeple had been alive, he would probably have seen the corn.” “The charge of ‘putting a pig on the wall to see the band go by’ is still bandied about between the towns of the district. “The story about raking for the moon is still told against Tipton, and, I believe, some other places in the locality.” (T.E.Lones, Folk-Lore, XX, p. 355) “Who whistled the weathercock off the church steeple? Who shut the meadow-gate to keep the snow out?” (Of the Darlaston Geese, C.S.Burne, ‘Staffordshire Folk and their Lore’, Folk-Lore, VIII, pp. 375–6) Norton Collection, IV, p. 20. Staffordshire.

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TYPES 1335A [Rescuing the moon]; 1200. See “Borrowdale Follies”, “Coggleshall Jobs”, “The Wise Men of Gotham”.

THE DEAF MAN AND THE PIG-TROUGH [summary] A man who was very deaf was making a stone pig-trough one day, and seeing someone coming along the road, he thought to himself that the stranger would certainly ask him something about his work, and the price of it. And if he should say he did not want to buy it at that price, he would answer, “If thou doesn’t someone else will.” So the stranger came up and asked the way to Bolton. The deaf man said, “Pigtrough,” and the other said, “I asked you if this was the way to Bolton.” The deaf man answered, “Fifteen bob.” So the other said, “If tha’s gaan to be cheeky, I’ll punch thi back-side.” And the deaf man, “If thou doesn’t someone else will.” Printed by Edward M.Wilson in ‘Some Humorous English Folk Tales’, part I, FolkLore, XLIX (1938), pp. 187–8, no. 7, as told by Richard Harrison of Crosthwaite, who had heard the story five or six years before as a boy of eleven. It may be derived from part of a dialogue piece, “Johnny Shippard at Heam”, written by the Rev. Thomas Clarke of Ormside, which sold widely in the past century. TYPE 1698 B III. MOTIFS: X.111.5 [Deaf man on the bridge]. X.111.2 [Deaf peasants: travellers ask the way]. Baughman cites the present Westmorland text, and a similar one from the Carolinas. The Aarne-Thompson Type-Index cites 4 examples from India. Antit Aarne wrote a monograph on jokes about deaf people, Schwänke über schwerhörige Menschen (Finnish Folklore Fellows, no. 20, Hamina, 1914).

DEATH OF A WATCH After the battle of Falkirk, in 1746, a Highlandman was observed extracting a gold watch from the fob of an English officer, who had been killed. His comrade viewed him with a greedy eye, which the man taking notice of said to him, “Tamn you, gapin’ greedy bitch, gang and shoot a shentleman for hersel’, an’ no envie me o’ my pit watch.” Next morning, finding his watch motionless, and meeting his comrade, says to him, “Och! she no be care muckle about a watch, an’ you be like mine, what will you gi’e me for her?” The other replied, “I be venture a kinny.”* “Well, then,” said the other, “shust tak her, an’ welcome, for she be die yester night.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 216. TYPE 1319A* (variant). MOTIF: J.1781.2 [Watch mistaken for devil’s eye]. See also “The Three Irish Tramps”. * guinea.


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OF THE DECEITFUL SCRIVENER A certain scrivener, which had but a bare living by his craft, imagined how he might get money. So he came to a young man and asked him if he were paid 10 pounds which a certain man which was dead borrowed and ought to have paid his father in time past. The young man said there was no such a duty owing in his father’s name that he knew of. “It is of truth,” quod the scrivener, “for here is the obligation thereof which I made myself.” He provoked the young man so much that he gave him money for the obligation, and before the mayor he required the duty. The son of the man that was named to be debtor said plainly that his father never borrowed money; for if he had, it would appear by his books, after merchants’ manner. And forthwith he went to the scrivener and said to him that he was a false man to write a thing that never was done. “Son,” said the scrivener,” thou wottest not what was done that time. When thy father borrowed that sum of money, thou were not born. But he paid it again within three months after. I made the quittance thereof myself, whereby thy father is discharged.” So the young man was fain to give him money for the quittance. And when he had showed the quittance, he was discharged of that grievance. Thus by his fair fraud, the scrivener scraped money from them both. By this tale ye may see that the children in this our time be very prudent to get money. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 275. MOTIF: K.441.2.1 [Dishonest notary invents debt and collects from both parties].

THE DEVIL DEFINED The Rev. Mr. Shirra, burgher minister in Kirkcaldy, once gave the following curious definition of the devil: “The devil, my brethren, is ill ony way ye’ll tak him. Tak the D from his name, he’s evil, tak the E from his name, he’s vil; tak the V from his name, he’s il;” then, shrugging up his shoulders, and lengthening his sanctified snout, he said with peculiar emphasis, “He’s naething but an il, vil, evil, Devil, ony way ye’ll tak him!” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 215. TYPE 1833** The Puritan preachers always divided their sermons into headings, or “heads”. Sometimes, each separate word of a text would be a “head”, and sometimes even each letter of a word. See “A Sermon upon Malt”, told, like this instance, about a particular person (B, VIII.)

DISCREET ANSWERS There is a characteristic story of the boy minding a herd of pigs, and being accosted by the traveller. “Whose pigs be they, mi bwoy?” inquired he.

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“That owl’ fella’s ther, locks,” the youth answered shortly, pointing to the father of the herd. “Very good, mi bwoy, very good,” the other replied. Then he proceeded: “Wher do this road go to, mi bwoy?” “Dwun go nowher. A’s yer every night an’ mornin’ when I comes along,” the boy answered. “Capital! Capital!” the stranger exclaimed; then, “Wha’s thy father’s name, young ’un?” “I dwun know, but if thee’t stop yer an’ mind thase pegs a bit, I’ll gowhum an’ ax mother. Dursay ’er can tell tha,” the youth replied. Norton, Supplementary Collection, p. 13. Williams, White Horse, pp. 132–3. North Wiltshire, Liddington. TYPE 921 (variant). MOTIFS: H.561.4 [King and clever youth]; J.1113 [The clever boy]. See also “Farmer Gag’s Clever Son”, which is a full version of type 921.

DISTINCTION OF SONS AND DAUGHTERS About the year thretty-sax, a company differed “Whether it was better for a man to ha’e sons or dochters.” They could not ’gree, but disputed it pro and con. At last one of them said to Graham of Kinross (wha hadna yoked wi’ them in the argument), “Laird, what’s your opinion?” Quo’ he, “I had three lads an three lassies; I watna whilk o’ them I liked best say lang as they sucket their mither; but de’il hae my share o’ the callants when they cam to suck their father.” The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 208. MOTIF: J.226.3 [Choice between foolish son and wise daughters: latter chosen].

DO THAT IF YOU CAN In the great Dutch war, in the reign of Charles II, the English fleet and that of Holland fought in the Channel for three days successively; engaging in the day, and lying-to at night. But, just as they were preparing to renew the action, advice came off that an armistice was concluded upon, and the hostile parties began to exercise civilities. On board a Dutch man of war, which lay alongside of an English first-rate, was a sailor so remark-ably active, as to run to the mast-head, and stand upright upon the truck, after which he would cut several capers, and conclude with standing on his head, to the great astonishment and terror of the spectators. On coming down from this exploit, all his countrymen expressed their joy by huzzaing, and thereby signifying their triumph over the English. One of the British tars, piqued for the honour of his country, ran up to the top like a cat, and essayed with all his might, to throw up his heels as the Dutchman had done; but not having the skill, he missed his poise, and came down rather faster than he went up. The rigging, however, broke his fall, and he lighted on his feet unhurt. As soon


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as he had recovered his speech, he ran to the side, and exultingly cried out to the Dutchman, “There, d—n your eyes, do that if you can.” Norton Collection, V, p. 136. Scottish Jests (1838), pp. 239–40. TYPE 1611. MOTIF: K.1762 [Bluff: climbing the mast]. Though this story is here related to a special occasion, there are Finnish, Danish, Swedish, Russian, and American Indian versions of a very similar tale.

THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE [summary] A simple young man who greatly desired to become a doctor was apprenticed to a wellknown one, and accompanied him on his rounds. The doctor told an old labourer that he was ill from eating too many cockles. Afterwards the apprentice asked him how he knew, and the doctor replied that he had seen a large pile of cockle-shells outside the door. Soon after this the apprentice gravely offended the squire of the place, who was suffering from gout, by telling him that he had been eating too much fox-pie. He complained to his master that the squire had kicked him out, gout or no gout, and when the doctor asked why he had said such a thing he answered, “There were a lot of foxes’ heads and tails hanging on the walls just as you go into the house.” Thompson Notebooks, B, More Tales by Manivel Smith. Told at Burton-on-Trent, 20 January 1922. TYPE 18620C. MOTIF: J.2412.4 [Imitation of diagnosis by observation]. There are Spanish, Indian, and Cape Verde Islands versions of this tale. Also the Hodscha Nasreddin Tales (Wesselski, I, 250, no. 167). There is also an Italian novella instanced by D.P.Rotunda.

DOCTOR FELL’S DOG Some villagers meeting Dr. Fell in his walk, they mutually commended each other’s dog. When the Doctor asked one of them what his dog could do, the villager replied, “Oh, he could ought; he would fetch and carry, and lurry any beast or sheep off the moor, and would drive them through any gap he liked. Will your dog do all that, Dr. Fell?” “Eh!” said the Doctor, “that’s nought; my dog will do all that; and I will tell you what else he will do, and that is, after he’s ta’en the beasts home he’ll go back, and stop up the gap!” Hence the proverb, “As clever as the Vicar of Warcop’s dog.” E.Bogg, Lakeland and Ribblesdale, p. 114. TYPE 1920F*. MOTIF: X.1215.8 [Lie: intelligent dog].

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THE DOG AND THE HARES [summary] A man was bragging about his dog so much that his companion said he had a much better dog, a whippet that was a marvel for catching hares. To prove this they went up into a field, taking a scythe-blade with them. The dog’s master would not tell his friend why he needed the scytheblade (or “lay”) but when they came to a “smoot” or hole at the bottom of the field, he laid the blade in this hole with the point facing the way the hare would come. As soon as they got up to the top of the field, the dog put up a hare, and as the hare raced down the field towards the “smoot”, another hare started up and followed it. But they did not go through the “smoot”, but leapt over the wall. The dog, however, went through, and it was going so fast that it sliced itself clean in two. Then one half ran after one hare, and the other after the other. E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, XLIX, p. 191. June 1938. Told by J.D.Harrison, Crosthwaite, September 1936. He had heard it at the bar of the Royal Hotel, Bowness, Windermere. TYPE 1889L. MOTIF: X.1215.11 [Lie: the split dog]. This tale is known in Scandinavia, Canada, the United States and Spanish America. Regional variants are given by R.M.Dorson in American Folklore (Chicago, 1964), pp. 347–8, “Davy Crockett and Old Bounce”. A study of tall tales (Kemsten at Lyne Lodret) in which this tale-type is mentioned, has been made by Gustav Henningsen, and published by the Nordisk Institut for Folkedigtning (Studien, no. 1).

THE DOG THAT TALKED A man was entering a village inn one day, when a large sheepdog lying beside the door looked up, and said to him, “Good morning, sir.” The man stopped in astonishment, thinking he must be mistaken, but the dog said again, “Good morning, sir.” “Er—good morning,” he managed to reply, and going indoors, he said to the landlord, “That’s an extraordinary dog of yours just outside.” “Oh, I don’t know, sir,” answered the man, “I don’t know there’s anything special about him.” “Nothing special!” exclaimed the other. “He said ‘Good morning, sir’ to me as I came in.” “Impossible!” said the landlord. “But he did—he said it twice.” “Oh, no, sir, you must be mistaken,” said the man again. Then, after a pause, he asked, “Was there another dog there as well?” “I don’t think so,” said the guest; “but wait a minute. There was a little white terrier, but he was lying quite a way off.” “Ah! that’d be it,” the landlord said. “He’s a ventriloquist!” Margaret Nash-Williams from J.D.K.Lloyd, Esq., C.B.E., Wales, c. 1960.


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TYPE 1705 (variant) [A shaggy dog story]. MOTIF: B.210.1 [Person frightened by animals replying to his remarks]. In J.H.Brunvand’s A Classification for Shaggy Stories, JAFL, LXXVI (1963), this is numbered B.200. Eric Partridge examined this genre in The Shaggy Dog Story: Its Origin, Development and Nature. See also “The Horse that Played Cricket”,“The Two Elephants”, “The Tortoises’ Picnic”, “The Pious Lion”. DON NIPPERY SEPTO Rise, master of all masters, Out of your dungeon-decree, Put on your farty-crackers, Call up Dame, Dame Paradise, And your daughter, Stride-a-Bush. The black-faced Jifferer Has jumped into hot popolorum, And for want of Mount Clearum We’re all undone. The explanation being that a serving-man, discontented with his place, threw the cat into the fire, and before taking himself off, called up his master in these words; using terms which his master himself had assigned to his breeches, etc. Norton Collection, VI, p. 92. (3, Notes and Queries, IX (1866), p. 46. Contributed by A. Challsteth, of Gray’s Inn; “from an old Yorkshire woman learned in such mystic lore”. TYPE 1940. See “Easy Decree”, “Master of All Masters”, The Clever Apprentice”.

DONALD AND THE LAIRD A Scottish Laird and his man Donald, travelling southward: at the first English Inn, the room in where they were to sleep contained a bed for the master and a truckle for the man, which drew forth from beneath the larger couch. Such furniture being new to the Highlanders, they mistook the four-posted pavilion for the two beds; and the Laird mounted the tester, while the man occupied the comfortable lodging below. Finding himself wretchedly cold in the night, the Laird called to Donald to know how he was accommodated. “Ne’er sae weel a’ my life,” quoth the gilly. “Ha, mon,” exclaimed the Laird, “if it wasna for the honour of the thing, I could find it in my heart to come down.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, Amusing Prose Chap-Books, p. 201. MOTIF: J.1730 [Absurd ignorance].

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DOUGAL GRAHAM Dougal Graham, author of the well-known metrical history of the rebellion in 1745, being candidate for the place of town bell-man in the City of Glasgow, was desired to call “Gude fresh herrings new come in at the Broomielaw.” It not being the season for herrings, Dougal added, “But indeed, my friends, it’s a blaeflum. For the herrings no catch’d and the boats no come,” which procured for Dougal the situation. Dougal was a kind of Scotch Aesop, he had a large humph on one of his shoulders, and like his patrotype had wit. Calling in the street of the Gallowgate, opposite the Saracen’s Head Inn, where several officers of the gallant 42nd regiment were dining, at the close of the American War, some of whom knew Dougal before they went abroad, opening the window, called out, “What’s that you’ve got on your back, Dougal?” Knowing what the regiment suffered at Bunker’s Hill, Dougal replied, “It’s Bunker’s Hill; do you choose to mount?” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 213. MOTIF: J.1210 [Clever man puts another out of countenance].

DOWN THE ROTTEN ROW A few years ago, when resurrectionists throughout the country were become very common, a person of respectability was interred in the High Church burying ground of Glasgow. The relatives, who were persons of property, hired a few hungry weavers, who generally at that time were atomies ready-made, to watch the grave of their deceased relative; these, as they were one night on duty, perceived some persons enter the churchyard; they kept snug till such time as they could learn the object of their visit. It was not long before the intruders opened a grave, took out the corpse, put it into a sack and left it at the grave, and went in search of something else. One of the weavers, a droll fellow, said to his comrade, “Take out the corpse, and I’ll go into the sack, but do you observe the proceedings.” In a little time the resurrection men returned, and one of them getting the sack upon his back, marched off. When they got to the street, the one says to the other, “Which way will we take?” When the weaver, putting out his hand and gripping the fellow who was carrying him by the hair, bawled out, “Down the Rotten Raw, ye beggar.” He was soon set down, and the man who carried him went mad of the fright. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 217. TYPE 326B*. MOTIF: K.335.1.2.2 [Robber frightened from goods by sham-dead man].


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Another tale of the “Resurrection Men”. See Burker Legends, II, H. See also “The Brave Boy”, “The Corpse in the Cab”.

DOWN UNDERGROUND [summary] Lander Smith used to tell this tale about himself, when talking of the old lead-mining shafts that are found in parts of Derbyshire. “Once I was taking a walk over the hills, when the dog put up a hare, and while watching the dog I fell into one of these old shafts. It was so narrow that a man could only just get into it, and I landed at the bottom so bruised and sore that I was almost senseless. But I picked myself up, and found myself in a very strange place. There was a nice little lake, and a man with a team of horses was ploughing it ready to plant it with corn. Then I came to a gentleman’s park, and saw a ship sailing over it. Next there was a turnpike road, and a donkey riding on a man’s back. It was bearing the man so hard that I told it I’d knock its head off. That made it stop, for the time, anyway. Well, then I came to where a poor old roadman was breaking stones with a feather, and after that to a little house where a woman was fetching water in a riddle. “As I was getting rather hungry, I asked the woman if she could give me something to eat, and she said she had plenty of black puddings. She took me into her garden, and showed me a wonderful crop of them growing on a tree, and told me to help myself. “At the end of the adventure I met some gypsies, and when we were crossing the sea together, about mid-day we found a nice place to light a fire and eat our food. It was nearly dark by now, and I wondered where we had got to. Then I noticed some kilns and pot-banks, and said to myself, ‘This must be Stoke.’ And so it was, and there was my old woman waiting for me.” Dora E.Yates, Gypsy Folk-Tales, no. 36, p. 154. TYPE 1930. MOTIFS: X.1503 [Schlaraffenland: land in which impossible things happen]; X.1505 [Topsy-turvy Land]. Nonsense rhymes and stories have been popular in England since medieval times, as, for example, “Down on Yon Bank” (A, V). See also “Sir Gammer Vans”, “I Saddled my Sow” (A, I).

DREAM BREAD A Jew, a Scot and an Irishman were travelling together and one night they got lost in the mountains. All they had with them was a bottle of whisky. Well, as they wouldn’t agree to share this they decided that it should be the property of the one who had the best dream that night. Next morning, the Jew said, “I dreamed that I went to Heaven, and was given a great welcome there.” The Scot said, “I dreamed that I went to Heaven too and was given charge of all the angels.” The Irishman then said, “I dreamed that you both went to Heaven, and so, as I was left alone, I drank the whisky to comfort myself.”

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Norton Collection, V, p. 150. Cambridge. TYPE 1626, MOTIF: K.444 ]Dream bread: the most wonderful dream]. A widely spread type. One version given in Hodscha Nasreddin (Wesselski). There are 42 Irish versions, cited in the Aarne-Thompson Type-Index; Lithuanian, Icelandic, French, Spanish, German, Italian, Russian, Japanese, American, etc. See also “Three Irish Tramps”, Comical History of Three Dreamers”.

A DROLL: THE HUNTED HARE [summary] Emigrant to Australia got job on sheep-farm. Told to keep them on the run, so he chased them all day. Very hot and tired; farmer said he must be a good runner. Then told to gather all sheep into fold. Did so very quickly, but told farmer he would have been half an hour sooner, but the little brown one had given trouble. This was a hare. Thompson Notebooks, II. Heard by Gus (Gray?) from a pitman. TYPE 1316. MOTIF: J.1757 [Rabbit thought to be a cow: servant sent out to fetch in cows, found chasing rabbits]. This anecdote is frequently told of fairies and supernatural creatures, as, for instance, of the Yorkshire capelthwaite (Henderson, 236). Mistakes in the identity of creatures are a common subject of local taunts, as, for instance, “The Shapwick Monster”, “The Lincolnshire Yellowhearts”.

THE DUMB WIFE There was a man that married a woman which had great riches and beauty. Howbeit, she had such an impediment of nature that she was dumb and could not speak, which thing made him full oft to be right pensive and sad. Wherefore upon a day as he walked alone right heavy in heart, thinking upon his wife, there came one to him and asked him what was the cause of his heaviness—which answered that it was only because his his wife was born dumb. To whom this other said: “I shall show ye soon a remedy and a medicine therefore that is thus—Go take an aspen leaf and lay it under her tongue this night, she being asleep, and I warrant thee that she shall speak on the morrow.” Which man, being glad of this medicine, prepared therefore and gathered aspen leaves whereof he laid three of them under her tongue when she was asleep. And upon the morrow when he himself waked, he—desirous to know how his medicine wrought— being in bed with her, demanded of her how she did. And suddenly she answered and said: “I beshrew your heart for waking me so early!” And so by virtue of that medicine she was restored to her speech. But, in conclusion, her speech so increased day by day, and she was so cursed of conditions that every day she brawled and chided with her husband so much that at the last he was more vexed and had much more trouble and disease with her shrewd words than he had before when she was dumb. Wherefore, as he walked another time alone, he


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happened to meet again with the same person that taught him the said medicine, and said to him this wise: “Sir, ye taught me a medicine but late to make my dumb wife to speak, bidding me lay an aspen leaf under her tongue when she slept. And I laid three aspen leaves there— wherefore, now she speaketh. But yet she speaketh so much and so shrewdly that I am more weary of her now than I was before when she was dumb. Wherefore, I pray you teach me a medicine to modify her that she speak not so much.” This other answered and said thus: “Sir, I am a devil of hell, but I am one of them that have least power there, albeit yet I have power to make a woman to speak. But yet if a woman begin once to speak, I nor all the devils in hell that have the most power be not able to make a woman to be still, nor to cause her to leave her speaking.” By this tale ye may note that a man oftimes desireth and coveteth too much that thing that oft turneth to his displeasure. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 119. A well-known tale, used by Anatole France in the play, The Man who married a Dumb Wife, and also by Ashley Dukes in The Dumb Wife of Cheapside. The English folk-song “Dumb, Dumb, Dumb” is on the same plot.

DUTCH COURAGE A man had been drinking after dinner, and he was sitting at the table with a few drops of whisky still at the bottom of his glass. Presently a mouse climbed up the tablecloth and ran about the table picking up crumbs. It climbed up the glass, fell inside, and sucked up all the whisky. Then it began dashing round the glass until it knocked it over, stood up unsteadily on its hind legs, brushed back its whiskers, clenched its front paws, and said: “Now, wher’sh that damned cat!” K.M.Briggs, from Stella Pulling (college friend), Oxford, 1919. TYPE 111A*. This is the beginning of type 111A*, in which a drunken mouse challenges a cat. According to the Brunvand classification it is B.40. See also “The Mouse in the Alecask”.

“EASY DECREE” There’s some as thinks a farm lad must have a good memory, and there’s a tale about it. A farmer had just hired a lad, and he wanted to make sure he had a good memory. Well, in the evening, about nine o’clock, they’s been settin’ afore t’ fire, an’ he reckoned he’d try t’lad. “Well,” he said tull ’un, “it’s time we was going to t’ Easy Decree.” “What’s Easy Decree”? asked t’lad. “Bed’s Easy Decree” said t’ farmer, “we’ve lots of odd names for different maks of things here; I ca’ my breeches Forty Frappers.” “Oh!” says t’ lad, “an’ what d’ye call the stairs?” “L.K.C.”

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Then t’ lad, he sees t’ cat. “And what d’ye call t’ cat?” “That’s GreyFaced Jeffer.” “And what d’ye call t’ fire?” “Popolorum.” “And yer well?” “Resolution.” And yer haymew?” “Mount Etna, that’s as good a name as I can come by. And now we’ll away to this Easy Decree, but think on ye say them words ower to yoursel’ till you’re perfectly sure on ’em.” Well, next morning, t’lad was up early to put t’fire on. He warn’t just looking, and t’fire spread to t’cat’s tail, that was just settin’ by, and so t’cat felt its tail swinged, and ran out of t’kitchen, towards t’ barn. And t’lad, as soon as he saw what was happening, up and shouted: “Now, Maister, Maister, come rise from thy Easy Decree, put on thy Forty Frappers, and come down L.K.C. for the Grey-Faced Jeffer has gitten Popolorum to his tail, and he’s off to Mount Etna, without Resolution, and all will be burned.” “Aye,” says t’ farmer, “thou’s aw reet, lad. Thou’s gitten a good memory.” Norton Collection, VI, p. 93. Collected by E.M.Wilson from Mr James Harrison of Bowland Bridge, Westmorland, whe heard it as Elterwater in 1907, Published in FolkLore, XLVII 1936, p. 195. TYPES 1940, 1562. This is midway between the two types. See “Master of All Masters” and “Master and Servant”.

THE EATEN MOON There was a man that bringing his Mare to drinke, thought that he saw the Moone drunke up by his Mare, which indeed was onely hid and obscured in a cloud; the next day consulting with his neighbours of Gotham, after much laying of their cods heads together, it was concluded that they should rip the Mare & let out the Moone: Ever since these Gothes or Goates have thought all the world beholding to them for the recovery of the Moone. Norton Collection, IV, p. 139. From The New Age of Old Names by J.Wybarne (London, 1609), p. 125. TYPE 1335. MOTIF: J.1791.1 [Drinking the moon]. See “The Wise Men of Gotham”. See also “Swallowing the Moon”.

EDUCATING PIGS It was a Wiltshire man, however (if all tales be true), who determined to cure the filthy habits of his hogs by making them roost upon the branches of a tree, like birds. Night after night the pigs were hoisted up to their perch, and every morning one of them was found with its neck broken, until at last there were none left. Norton Collection, IV, p. 48. Clouston, Book of Noodles, pp. 54–5.


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TYPE 1682 (variant). MOTIFS: J.1904 [Absurd ignorance concerning place for animal to be kept]; J.1908 [Absurd attempt to change animal’s nature]. See also “The Three Sillies”.

ELDER’S HOURS A cunning carle invested with the semi-sacred office of “Ruling Elder”, or practically seemingly identified with that office, in order to gratify an inclination, scratched wi’ the neb o’ a fork, the figure 10 on the one side of his outer door, and figure 11 on the other; by which plan he was able to say wi’ “a good conscience”, at a’ times, an’ on a’ occasions, that he came aye hame atween ten and eleven. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 212. MOTIF: J.1252 [Quibbling answers].

THE ELEPHANT AND THE MOUSE A rogue elephant was tearing through the jungle, rooting up trees, and flinging them to left and right, trumpeting loudly, and full of pride in his strength and prowess. As he went, he noticed a mouse cowering at the side of his path of devastation. “HA!” roared the elephant, “YOU COULDN’T DO THAT!” “No, I couldn’t,” squeaked the mouse faintly. “I’ve been ill!” Margaret Nash-Williams, 1967. Heard from Enid Love about 1962 in London. TYPE: Brunvand B.501, JAFL, no. 299. This is another Shaggy Dog story, and as such is classified by Brunvand.

’ENERY MOW There was a well-known old tenant of Sir Thomas Acland in the parish of Exton, whom I will call by the name generally identifying him in his lifetime, which terminated in the last quarter of last century. Everybody called him “Ole Uncle ’Enery up tū Mow-town”. He was very fond of drinking either cider or ale, and later, as it became cheaper, gin and whiskey, when he could get it. In his youth and early manhood he and his brother Bob were men of most masterful energy, and it was not until old age began to come on that he often showed weakness or unsteadiness in “carrying” the beverage which he had the faculty to absorb. But once at least in his youth he seems to have been caught in his cups. It was his custom to go to Dunster for lime with a waggon and two horses. He was returning over Lype Hill in the evening when, warmed inside by good beer and cider, and outside by the slaking lime-lumps, covered with bags, he fell asleep, and the horses turned into the hedgerow to nibble the grass, while ’Enery slept on. A humorous neighbour came by and unyoked the horses and turned them into a field, leaving ’Enery reposing on the lime. When he woke up, he thus soliloquized:

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“Wull now, be I ’Enery Mow, or bain’t I ’Enery Mow? If I be ’Enery Mow, I’ve a-lost two ’osses, and if I bain’t ’Enery Mow, I’ve a-vound a waggin!” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 70, p. 84. From Moorside Tales and Talk, ed. W.W.Joyce, pp. 239–40. TYPE 1284. MOTIF: J.2010 [Uncertainty about own identity]. This is a common English anecdote. The doubt of identity is best known in the nursery rhyme of “Lawkamercyme (A, V)”. See “The Wrong Man”.

ENGLISHMAN AND HIGHLANDMAN An English vessel passing up the Clyde, fell in with a Highland sloop coming down, which the captain of the former hailed with the usual salutation of “Sloop ahoy!” when the following conversation took place: Captain. What’s your cargo? Highlander. Peulomon. Captain. Where are you bound for? Highlander. Potatoes. Captain. What’s your captain’s name? Highlander. Proomala. Captain. Where do you come from? Highlander. Yes; it’s a fine poat. Captain. Will you take us on board? Highlander. Yesterday. Norton Collection, VI, p. II. From The Scotch Haggis. TYPE 1698 (variant). MOTIF: X.111 [Deaf men and their answers]. In this case the men are foreigners to each other. See “We Three”, an allied type, but with more of a plot.

ENOCH AND ELI Eli and the pergola Enoch said to Eli, “I was comin’ through the park this mornin’ and I thought ’ow nice ’twould be to ’ave a pergola there.” “I agrees with yer,” said Eli, “but don’t yer think it’d be better to ’ave two, and breed from ’em?”


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Enoch asks the score Enoch was a supporter of the Albion, who are locally known as “the Baggies”. One Saturday night after ’e’d been into bed a few minutes, ’e got up and started dressing. ’Is wife asked ’im what ’e was going to do. “I’m goin’ down the road to ask Eli somethink.” Eli was in bed when Aynoch knocked, but ’e put ’is ’ead through the bedroom window and asked ’m what ’e wanted. “’Ow did the Baggies get on?” “Drawed, no goals.” Enoch came ’ome, got into bed, and a few minutes later, ’e got dressed and went to Eli’s house again. “What do yer want now?” said Eli. “Oh, I forgot to ask: What was the ’alf-time score?” Enoch attempts suicide Enoch’s wife came home from shopping, and found him hanging from a beam with a rope round ’is waist. “Whatever are ye doin’?” she asked. “I’m doin’ meself in.” “But yer can’t do it that way,” she replied, “yer want the rope round yer throat.” “Oh, no, I don’t. I tried it that way and I couldn’t breathe.” Enoch and the boiled ham for the mourners While Enoch lay ill ’is wife went up to ’im. ’Er said, “ D’yer fancy anythink nice to eat?” “Ar,” says Enoch, “I’d like a bit o’ that boiled ’am yo’ve got.” “ Oo, yo can’t ’ave any of that. That’s for the mourners.” Enoch dies Enoch ’ad died, and Eli went round to console the widow. “Would yer like to see ’im, Eli?” she said. “’E’s upstairs, and looks ever so peaceful.” Eli went up and when ’e came down the widow says, “What did yer think on ’im, Ayli?” Eli replied, “Don’t ’e look well?” “So ’e should,” said the widow. “’E’s just ’ad a wik at Blackpool.” Enoch and Eli on the motor-bike Enoch bought a new motor-bike. It was in the winter-time, and ’e was tryin’ it out one day and ’e bumped into ’is pal Eli, and ’e says, “Eli, what d’yer think on ’er?” So Eli says, “’Er looks a good ’un.” Enoch says, “Get on the back, and I’ll give yer a ride.”

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So Eli got on the back, and off they went. So Enoch says, “All right, Eli?” ’e says. “No,” says ’e. “The cold wind ain’t ’alf gerrin’ down my chest.” So Enoch stopped and ’e says, “Get off,” ’e says, “and put yer overcoat on back to front, and I’ll fasten it up at the back,” ’e said. “That’ll protect yer chest a bit.’ So Eli got off, and put his overcoat on back to front, and got on again, and off they went and after about a mile ’e says, “’Ow is it now, Eli?” But Eli wasn’t there. ’E’d fallen off. So Enoch about-turns, and went back the way ’e’d come, and presently ’e came to a crowd o’ people, and ’e stopped and there was poor Eli lyin’ on the floor in the road and so Enoch says to one of the bystanders, ’e says, “Is ’e ’urt much?” “I don’t know, ’e ain’t spoke since we turned ’is ’ead round the right road.” Enoch and the micrometer Enoch ’ad just done ’is first day’s work at a factory, and Eli said to ’m, “What a yer been doin’?” “Well, the fust thing was, I ’ad to learn to use a micrometer.” “A micrometer, what’s that?” “It’s an instrument with which yo can measure to a thousandth part of an inch.” “Oh, ar. ’Ow many thousandth parts are there in an inch?” ’E says, “Oh, millions on ’em.” Enoch’s glass eye Enoch had an accident to one of his eyes and ’ad it taken out, and under the Health Scheme ’e ’ad a glass eye put in its place. ’Is pal, Eli, said to ’im, “’Ow yer gerrin’ on with yer glass eye?” “It’s a failure,” says Enoch. “Why?” says Eli. “Because there’s no ’ole in it, as I can’t see through it.” Enoch and the mouser Every night in the local, Enoch used to boast about a cat ’e’d got at ’ome, a Persian cat, and what a wonderful mouser she was. This went on night after night, until ’is pal, Eli, got a bit fed up, and ’e says, “Look ’ere, Enoch,” ’e says, “Yo’m allus braggin’ about this cat o’ yourn,” ’e said. “I’d like to see ‘er and see what a wonderful mouser she is.” “All right,” says Enoch, ’e says. “After closin’ time, yo come down whum with me, and I’ll show ’er to yer.” So after closin’ time they went down to Enoch’s ’ouse, and there in the kitchen, in front of the fire, on the ’earth, was a very nice Persian cat. So the two men got a chair and sat quiet on either side of the fireplace, and presently a little mouse came out, and the cat didn’t stir, and then another mouse and then another, until there were ’alf a dozen mice playin’ about and still the cat didn’t stir. Presently one of the men made a scrapin’ noise with ’is chair, and the mice scuttled away.


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“Well, well,” says Eli, ’e says, “every night in the boozer, yo’m braggin’ about this cat o’ yours, and what a wonderful mouser she is—’er daen’t take no notice on ’em.” “I know ’er daen’t,” says Enoch, ’e says. “Them are our mice, but yo let ’ny strange mice come!” Enoch and the neighbour’s fowls Enoch ’ad moved into a council house, and ’is pal, Eli, asked ’im ’ow ’e liked it. “The ’ouse is a treat, but the bloke next door ’e keeps a lot o’ cocks and ’ens, and they start crowin’ about four o’clock in the mornin’ and I can’t get any sleep after that.” “Well,” says Eli, “yo can’t do anything about it, ’e’s entitled to keep fowl.” Sometime later, Enoch said to Eli, “I’ve found the solution to that row the fowl made next door.” “’Ow?” “I bought ’em off ’im. I’ve got ’em in my garden. Let ’em keep ’im awake, now!” Enoch’s new cap and red oil Enoch went into a shop to buy a new cap. After ’e’d tried on about a dozen or so, without being satisfied, the shopkeeper said, “Exactly what sort of a cap d’you want, sir?” “Well, I’ve just bought a new motor-bike,” says Enoch, “and I want a cap with a poke at the back.” After that he went down the road to another shop to get some red oil for his back lamp. Enoch’s odd shoes Enoch came into the local one night with odd shoes on: one brown and one black. ’Is pal, Eli, noticed this, and says, “Enoch, yo’m got different shoes on each foot.” “I know I have,” says Enoch, “and I’ve got another pair at omm like these.” Enoch’s pigeons Enoch started to keep pigeons. ’E told ’is pal, Eli, about ’em, and Eli said, “Where d’yer keep ’em, then?” And Enoch says, “Up in the attic.” “Oh, ar. Where do they goo when yer let ’em out?” “They fly across to the park opposite.” “Oh, ar. What time d’yer open the window and let ’em out?” “Nine o’clock.” “Why don’t yer let ’em out earlier than that?” “’Cus they don’t open the park gates till nine.” Enoch, his son, George Washington, and the privy Years ago there was no indoor sanitation in the Black Country. Enoch and his son, Eli, lived in a house with a privy at the bottom of the garden. The privy was made of wood,

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like a sentry-box. Be’ind the privy was the canal. One morning, Enoch said to ’is son, Eli, “Did yo push the privy into the canal last night?” “No, father, I didn’t,” said Eli. “Now, son,” said the father, “I’ll tell yo a story. Years ago in America there was a little boy called George Washington. One day ’is father noticed that a small apple-tree ’ad been cut down. ’E asked George if ’e ’ad done it. ‘Father,’ was the reply, ‘I cannot tell a lie. I did cut it down.’ “‘Because you’ve told me the truth,’ said the father, ‘I will not beat you.’ Now, did yo push the privy into the canal?” “Yes, Father, I did.” But the father gave Eli a good ’iding. Then Eli said, “I can’t understand it, dad. George’s father did not beat him, because he told the truth. I told yo the truth, but yer beat me. Why?” “Because”, said Enoch, “there’s a difference. George Washington’s father was not sittin’ in the tree.” Roy Palmer, Anecdotes and Tales from the Black Country. MS collection.

THE ESSEX MEN’S WELL During a season of great drought the inhabitants of the parish (in Essex) sank a deep well at the public expense. The well having been dug, the large heap of earth which had come out of it was, by common consent, voted an eyesore which ought to be removed. A parish meeting was accordingly held, to consider how the obnoxious heap should be got rid of. Many suggestions were made as to the best way of dealing with it, but at last it was proposed, and unanimously carried, that they should dig a large hole and bury it. Norton Collection, IV, p. 21. Egerton, p. 17. Of an unspecified Essex parish, perhaps Coggeshall. Source not given. Copied indirectly in Essex Review, XXXII, p. 209, and indexed as relating to Coggeshall. TYPE 1255. MOTIF: J.1934 [A hole to throw the earth in].

AN EXORCISM In a farre countrey there dwelled sometime a gentleman of good parentage, called Signor Myzaldo, who had to his wife a verie faire and beautifull gentlewoman. And as the beastes most greedilie gaze at the Panther’s skin, and the birds at the Peacock’s plumes; so every fair feminine face is an adamant to draw the object of men’s eyes to behold the beauties of women! experience proveth it true in the wife of Myzaldo, for she being a woman of singular perfection and proportion, was generallie looked on and liked of al, but favoured and loved especiallie of a yong gentleman called Peter, dealing with such secrecie, that they continually satisfied their desires without giving Signor Myzaldo the least occasion of suspition; and the meanes that they performed it with such secrecie was this. Everie weeke twice her husband rid from home, about certaine his affaires, and she very artificially neare to the highway that leads to the towne where Peter lay, had placed


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an asses head upon a tree, and when hir husband was gone forth, she tourned the head towards the town; but when he was at home, she alwaies had it looking to hir own house; using herein, as some thought, an Embleame, saying when she turned the Asses head forth, that the Asse hir husbande with the long horning eares was gone from home; and when it stood towards the house, that the Asse kept his chamber; but whatsoever in this hir conceit was, Peter alwaies knew when to come, and ever when Myzaldo was from home resorted to his house. Now it chanced that certaine boyes coming by, and seeing the Asses head stand there, threw stones at it and hit it so often, that at last they turned the Asses head towards the town; which Peter walking abroad and spying, thought that Myzaldo had gone from home; and therefore at night, walked towards his lovers house, and coming to the dore, finding it shut, according to his accustomed manner, knockt; the good wife awakt, heard him and was sore afraid that hir husband should hear him, and so lay still; by and by he knockt again mor lowd: Myzaldo awoke, and hearing this, asked of his wife who it was that rapt at the dore, or what that knocking meant: Oh, husband, quoth she, be stil, it is a foule spirit that hauntes this house, and yet hitherto we never durst reveale it, and it hath, thanks be to God, bin your good fortune never to hear it before. Myzaldo, richer by far than he was wise, beleeved his wife, and askt hir if it had done any harme: No, quoth shee, for I had learned a charme to send it home; frier Roland learned me it, and if it knocke again, you and I will goe down together, and I wil say my charme, and so we shall live at rest. Peter that thought som other friend had bin with his Lemman, taking in scorn that hir husband (as he thought) being from home he should not be let in, knockt againe amaine. With that Myzaldo and his wife arose, lighted a candle, and went down to the dore where Peter was: Then she wisht hir husband to kneele down upon his knees while she said the charme. With that she began thus: “Spirit, spirit, get thee hence, For here is no residence: Here thou maist not be This night to trouble me. For my husband and I Safe in our beds must lie, Therefore from hence goe, And trouble me no moe.” Now husband, quoth she, spit; and with that he spit, and Peter laught hartily, and wisht he might spit out his teeth for being at home. This charme said shee thrise over, and every time made him spit, that Peter might be assuredly perswaded that hir husband was at home. Upon that Myzaldo and his wife went to bed, and heard the spirit no more; for Peter went laughing home to his lodging. From The Cobbler of Caunterberie (1590), pp. 61–2. TYPE 1419H. MOTIF: K.1546 [Woman warns lover of husband by parody incantation]. Very probably borrowed from Boccaccio (VII, no. 1).

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See also the “Go from my Window” songs, such as that introduced into “The Untrue Wife’s Song”.

THE EXPENSE OF A WIFE An old bachelor who lived in a very economical style, both as regards food and clothing, and not altogether so very trig as some bachelors sometimes appear, was frequently attacked by his acquaintances on the propriety of taking a wife. He was very smartly set upon one day, and told how snod a wife would keep him, and many other fine things to induce him to take a wife, and among the rest, what a comfort it would be to him, if it was for naething else but to make his parritch in the morning. Says he, “I dinna doubt but she was mak my parritch, but the plague is, she wad be fair to sup the hauf o’ them.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 205. MOTIF: W.153 [Miserliness].

THE FAIR WIFE A certain wife there was which was somewhat fair, and—as all women be that be fair— was somewhat proud of her beauty. And as she and her maid sat together, she—as one that was desirous to be praised—said to her thus: “I’ faith, Joan, how thinketh thou? Am not I fair wife?” “Yes, by my troth, mistress,” quod she, “ye be the fairest that ever was except Our Lady.” “Why, by Christ,” quod the mistress, “though Our Lady were good, yet she was not so fair as men speak of.” By this, ye may see it is hard to find a beauteous woman without pride. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 146. MOTIF: W.116 [Vanity].

OF THE FAITH OF THREE FELLOWS Oft it happeth that the evil which is procured to others cometh to him which procureth it, as it appeareth by the fellows—of the which twain were burgesses and the third a laborer—the which assembled them together for to go to the holy sepulcher. These three fellows made so great provision of flour for to make their pilgrimage in such wise that it was all chaffed and consumed except only for to make one loaf only. And when the burgesses saw the end of their flour, they said together: “If we find not the manner and cautele for to beguile this villein—because that he is a right great gallant— we shall die for hunger. Wherefore we must find the manner and fashion that we may have the loaf that shall be made of all our flour.”


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And therefore they concluded together and said: “When the loaf shall be put within the oven, we shall go and lie us for to sleep, and he that shall dream best, the loaf shall be his. And because that we both been subtle and wise, he shall not mowe dream [be able to dream] as well as we shall, whereof the loaf shall be ours.” Whereof all they three were well content and all began to sleep. But when the laborer or villein knew and perceived all their fallacy and saw that his two fellows were asleep, he went and drew the loaf out of the oven and ate it. And after, he feigned to be asleep. And then one of the burgesses rose up and said to his fellows: “I have dreamed a wonder dream, for two angels have taken and borne me with great joy before the divine majesty.” And the other burgess, his fellow, awoke and said: “Thy dream is marvelous and wonderful, but I suppose that mine is fairer than thine is. For I have dreamed that two angels drew me on hard ground for to lead me into hell.” And after they did awake the villein, which—as dread-full—said, “Who is there?” And they answered: “We be thy fellows.” And he said to them: “How be ye so soon returned?” And they answered to him: “How ‘returned’? We departed not yet from hence.” And he said to them: “By my faith, I have dreamed that the angels had led one of you into paradise or heaven, and the other into hell. Wherefore I supposed that ye should never come again. And therefore I arose me from sleep, and because I was hungry, I went and drew out of the oven the loaf and ate it.” For oft it happeth that he which supposeth to beguile some other is himself beguiled. From A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 24–5. TYPE 1626. MOTIF: K.444 [Dream bread: the most wonderful dream]. The tale, of which this is a fairly early version, is to be found in an Italian novella, and in Ward’s Catalogue of Mediaeval Romances, but it has a wide traditional distribution: French, Spanish, Dutch, German, Italian, Russian, Greek, Indian, etc. Forty-two Irish examples are cited in the Type-Index. See also “The Three Irish Tramps”, “Dream Bread”, “The Comical History of Three Dreamers”.

THE FALSE ALARM Two dwellers in the hamlet of Thornton who believed in Meg [of Meldon]’s appearance as a ghost, and a friend of theirs, a Scotchman, who could not be brought to credit it, sat one night after having been at the smithy, in a public-house at Meldon, disputing as to her existence or nonexistence as a spiritual visitant. They then left in company for Thornton. At a certain part of the road one of the two believers, named Todd, gave some chains he was carrying from the smith’s shop to his mate and fell behind. As soon as the other two were out of sight and hearing he took a short cut across a corner of a field and placed himself behind a hedge at the foot of a bank, a favourite haunt of Meg, and getting himself into the most ghostly style he could assume, he awaited their arrival. The Scotchman came up first, shouting, “Where are ye, Meg? Let’s see you, Meg!” when Todd stepped out into view, saying, “Here’s Meg, what want ye wi’ Meg?” The other lad dropped the chains and made off, and the Scotchman after him. Todd, thinking

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he had overdone the thing, picked up the chains and ran after them to stop them, but the faster he ran, the faster ran they, the tinkling of the chains behind keeping up their terror. The two lads had got upon Meldon Bridge over the Wansbeck, which was then a very narrow and steep structure. At the one end of it, they disturbed a kyloe that had got out of a field. This started out as Todd was passing, and “gave a rout”, and ran headlong across the bridge behind him. Todd, taking the beast for Meg, increased his speed, the most frightened of the three. Thus there were three men and a kyloe all terrified and running at their utmost pith. The three men arrived home in a serious state of fear, from which they were long recovering. Denham Tracts, II, p. 252. The narrator adds a remark of identification. “Todd was said to be the father or grandfather to Jack Todd, the wood wagoner. Both the public-houses in Meldon were closed before my day.” MOTIF: K.1833 [Disguise as ghost]. There is some resemblance between this story and “The Black and White Devil”, B, II, in which, however, a real bogie intervenes. THE FALSE OLD MAWKIN There was a false old mawkin, In Bungay she did dwell, She loved her old man dearly, But another twice as well. Sing to the fol-de-ra! She went to the doctor’s shop, As hard as she could go, To see if there was anything she could find To turn her old man blind. Sing to the fol-de-ra! She made him a stew of two red toads She made him eat ’em all, Says he, “My dear, beloved wife I can’t see you at all.” Sing to the fol-de-ra! “If I could find my way to go, I’d go to the river and drown.” Says she, “I’ll go along with you, In case you go astray.” Sing to the fol-de-ra! She got up behind him, All ready for to plunge him in.


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He stepped a little to one side, And headlong she went in. Sing to the fol-de-ra! Coo, how she kicked and wholly shruk, As loud as she could bawl. Says he, “O my dear beloved wife, I can’t see you at all.” Sing to the fol-de-ra! Him being tender-hearted, And thinking she could swim, He got him a great long pole, And shoved the old mawkin in. Sing to the fol-de-ra! Norton Collection, V, pp. 2–5. East Anglia. From Baldry, The Rabbit-skin Cap, pp. 55–6. TYPE 1380. MOTIF: K.1553 [Husband feigns blindness, and avenges himself on wife]. A very similar story is told in the song “Johnny Sands” (possibly nineteenthcentury music-hall). The wife makes her husband so unhappy that he wants to drown himself. She encourages him in this, ties his hands, and herself engages to push him in. He steps aside at the last moment, and his wife falls in instead: Splashing, dashing, like a fish, “Save me, Johnny Sands!” “I can’t, my dear, though much I wish, For you have tied my hands.”

FARMER GAG’S CLEVER SON Farmer Gag, he lived at Ruardean, in the Forest of Dean, and he was in arrears with his rent. One day, the farmer’s youngest son met the landlord, who asks him where his father was. Lad says, “He’s off making a bad matter worse.” Landlord asks, “Where is your mother?” Lad says, “Baking a batch o’ bread as was ate last week.” The landlord asks where his sister was. Lad says, “In the other room crying over the fun she had last Whitsuntide.” The landlord asks where his brother was. Lad says, “Gone a-hunting; and all the game he kills, he leaves behind, and all as he doesn’t kill he brings home alive.” So then the landlord he says: “Well, if you come to my house tomorrow at twelve, not before nor not after, not coming straight down the road, nor across the fields, why, I’ll forgive your father the six months’ rent he owes.” The lad, he went the next day, and got there just at twelve o’clock.

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“How did you come?” says the landlord. “Across the road,” says the lad. “I told you you were not to come down the road nor across the fields.” “No more I didn’t,” says the lad. “I didn’t come down the road. I rode the old sheep, and he ran from one hedge to the other across the road, all the way, and scratched my face as you can see.” Then the lad, he was taken into the house, for to make his explanations. “Now, how was your father off making a bad matter worse?” “The cow died, and father he was at the public spending the money as ought to have bought us a new cow,” says the lad. “And your mother, who was baking a batch of bread as was ate last week?” “So she was; we hadn’t no bread last week, but borrowed from neighbours, and when I met you, she was baking a batch o’ bread to repay the neighbours with,” says the lad. “And about your sister, who you said was crying over the fun she had last Whitsuntide?” asks the landlord. “So she was,” says the lad. “She had saved some money, and at Whitsuntide she spent it all, and she was crying over that when you met me.” “And about your brother’s hunting?” asks the landlord. “What I said was true,” says the lad. “When we met, my brother was under an oak-tree hunting fleas, and all he killed he left behind, and all he did not kill he brought home alive.” So the landlord he gave a receipt for the six months’ rent that was due. Norton Collection, II, p. 269. Margaret Eyre, “Folklore of the Wye Valley”, FolkLore, XVI (1905), pp. 178–9. TYPE 921. MOTIFS: H.1051 [Task: coming neither on nor off the road]; H.583 [Clever youth answers the king’s questions in riddles]; H.583.2.1 [“What is your father doing?” “Making an evil greater”]; H.583. 4. 2 [“ What is your mother doing?” “Baking bread we ate last week”]; H.583.5 [“What is your sister doing?” “She is mourning last year’s laughter”]; H.583.3 [“What is your brother doing?” “He hunts, etc”]. There is a wide distribution of this tale. Examples are cited from Germany, Lithuania, Lapland, Spain, Sweden, Rumania, Hungary, the West Indies, etc. This example is more complete than many, for it contains the paradoxical task as well as the riddling answers. The sister’s plight is rather bowdlerized. See “The Clever Boy”, “Jack Hornby”, etc.

THE FARMER AND HIS MAN One day a farmer was walking round his farm, when he heard his man singing in a barn. So he stopped to listen and heard these words: “Bread and cheese, work as you please, Bread and cheese, work as you please.”


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The farmer then went and told his wife what he had heard. The farmer’s wife said: “How did he seem to be working?” “Oh,” he said, “I peeped through a loophole in the barn, and he didn’t see me; but I saw him, and he was working as slowly as he could.” “That’ll never do,” she said; “I’ll try him with something better than that.” So the next day she made a nice plum pudding and an apple pie for the man. Then she told her husband to go and see if he worked any better. So this time the farmer heard him singing: “Plum pudden and apple pie, Do your work accordingly. Plum pudden and apple pie, Do your work accordingly.” So the farmer went back to his wife and told her what he had heard. “How was he working?” she said. “Much better, but not so fast as he might do,” he replied. “Oh, well,” she said, “I’ll try him with better food than that.” So the next day she gave him roast beef and plum pudding, and told her husband to go and see if he worked any better. So this time the farmer heard him singing: “Roast beef and plum pudden, Do your work like a good un. Roast beef and plum pudden, Do your work like a good un.” Then the farmer told his wife what he had heard, and said the man was working as hard as a horse, and with all his might. So after this the farmer’s wife always fed the man on the best food that she could get, and he worked hard ever after. Norton Collection, V, p. 109. S.O.Addy, “ Four Yorkshire Tales,” Folk-Lore, VIII (1897), pp. 395–6; told to Mrs. S.O.Addy in Sheffield by a nurse about twenty-five years before. TYPE 1560. MOTIF: J.1341.11 [Hired men sing with displeasure of food: change song when food is improved]. See also “The Hungry Mowers”.

THE FARMER AND HIS OX There were a zurly old varmer, and ’e ’ad a girt ox. One day ’e said to it, “Thee girt orkurd vule. Stupid vule thou be, I wonder who taught thee to be zo orkurd?”

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And the ox turn round to varmer, and ’e say, “Why, it were thee, tha’ girt stupid vule!” Ruth L.Tongue. Heard about 1906 in Somerset. Recorded 28 September 1963. Briggs and Tongue, Folktales of England, p. 140. TYPE 1705 (variant). This seems a foreshadowing of the “Shaggy Dog” stories first recorded in 1925. For more regular examples see “The Horse who Played Cricket”, etc.

THE FARMER AND THE “PARSON” There were an old varmer coming whoame from Bridgwater Fair and he were proper market-merry. But he did try all ways to keep on causeway. There were a deep rhine* to each side of drove and he didn’t want no cold dip. So he were extra careful. He knowed the road were straight as a withy till he comed to the four-wents,† and he kept so near middle of it as any man could. But you wouldn’ believe how that road try to trick him. It went up and down like a caterpillar, and he never knowed when to lift a foot high or put it down flat; then it would give a wiggle like and he’d find hisself with both feet set two inches above they cold deep rhines; and then to make things worse the spunkies come out all a-shining and a-beckoning all round he. They was all round the poor man, beckoning so it made him dizzy. “I’ll be at bottom of they rhines afore I can walk two-three steps,” he say to hisself.” But I’ll beat’n! I’ll get whoame if I crawls.” So he get down on his all fours, and he go on up road which didn’t zigzag near so much. He were quite proud he was making road behave at last, and beating they bothering spunkies, when he look up and there in the mist, right in front of him, were a girt white thing and it had four arms! “Rhines and roads and spunkies!” groans varmer, “an’ now ’tis ghosteses. I’ll shut my eyes and go on.” Well, he crawled and he crawled and every time he took a peep, there were thic terrible white thing above him. In the end he just lay down where he was, and slept, as clean wore out as the knees of his breeches. When he woke up, sun was up, and he was flat on his face, below the parson at the four-wents. “Why do you call it a ‘parson’?” I asked. “It do point right way to go.” [The general finish of this is, “But it don’t go there itself.”] Ruth L.Tongue, Folktales of England, p. 124. Recorded 28 September 1963. Heard from an old Somerset groom about 1907. MOTIFS: X.800 [Humour based on drunkenness]; X.459 [Jokes about parsons]. * ditch. † crossroads.


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FARMER TICKLE AND THE OWL Farmer Tickle was confuting a lecturer, who had maintained that witches and witchcraft were mere superstition. “I was coming over Broadbury one night, and somehow or other I lost my way. You know all about that bog, don’ty, by the old Roman castle? …Knowing what I did about the bog, I was a bit frighted of falling into her. Presently I came to a bit of old quarry and rock, and I thought there might be some one about, so I shouted at the top of my voice, “Farmer Tickle has lost his way.” Well, just then, a voice from among the stones answered me and said, “Who? Who?” “Farmer Tickle of X——,” I say. Then the voice answered again and said, “Who? Who?” “Are ye hard of hearing?” I shouted, “I say tez Farmer Tickle as live in the old rummling farm of Southcot in X——parish.” As imperent as possible again the voice said, “Who? Who? Who?” “Tez Farmer Farmer Tickle, I telly’!” I shouted, “and if you axes again, I’ll come along of you with my stick.” “Who? Who? Who?” I ran to the rocks, and beat about with my stick, and then a great white thing rushed out—” “It was an owl,” said the lecturer scornfully. “An owl!” echoed Farmer Tickle. “I put it to the meeting. A man as sez this was an owl, and not a pixie, would say anything!” And he sat down amid great applause. S.Baring-Gould, The Vicar of Morwenstow, p. 161. TYPE 1322A*. MOTIF: J.1811.1 [Owl’s hoot misunderstood by lost simpleton]. Wesselski, Bebel, II, p. 158, no. 183. See also “The Man who answered the Owl”, “Jacob Stone and the Owl”.

THE FARMER AND HIS WIFE AND THE MIRROR Once there was a farmer who had a lot of land, and he looked well after his land, and kept everything in the best order he could. And one Sunday there’d been a lot of picknickers in one field and they’d left a terrible lot of litter. So the next morning after he’d finished his work, he would go and pick it up. And he searched about amongst it, and he found a lookingglass, and he said: “Ee! My! That’s just like mi grandfather and mi girtgrandfather,” he said, “I wonder where they’ve gitten that photograph at.” He said: “I’m takin’ that yam, and I’ll treasure it an’ aw.’ And when he got home he started off upstairs to put it in a drawer. And his wife wondered what on earth he’s gone upstairs for so early in the day. So she thought she’d watch him, and see what he was doing. She saw him put something into the drawer, so she thought when he’d come down she’d go up and have a look. So after her husband came down she went upstairs and very quietly opened the drawer. And she picked out this looking-glass, which she thought was a photograph. She held it up and said: “That’s the bloomin’ old geyser he’s been knocking about wi’, is it?”

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E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, XLIV (1938), pp. 277–8, no. 14. Told in March 1936 by Richard Harrison, of Crosthwaite, aged 17, who heard it from a native of Cartmel Fell. Briggs and Tongue, Folktales of England, p. 134. TYPE 1336A. MOTIF: J.1795.2* (Baughman) [Man finds mirror, thinks it is a picture of his grandfather]. Examples of this tale are irregularly distributed throughout Eastern Europe, Asia, Hawaii and the United States. Baughman cites a New Mexico and a Missouri text. A recent Maine version is given by R.M.Dorson in Buying the Wind, pp. 81–2. In its complete form, with a third person as umpire, it is commonest in Japan, with fifteen variants reported. One of the best, “The Nun as Judge”, is given by Keigo Sehi in Folktales of Japan, pp. 188–9. The story was printed as a Japanese tale in Arthur Mee’s The Children’s Encyclopaedia, London, 1908–10.

OF THE FAT WOMAN THAT SOLD FRUIT As a great fat woman sat and sold fruit in a Lent, there came a young man by and beheld her fruit earnestly. And specially he cast his eyes on her figs. She asked him, as was her guise: “Sir, will ye have any figs? They be fair and good.” And when she saw he was content, she said: “How many? Will ye have five pounds?” He was content, and so she weighed him out five pounds into his lap. And while she laid aside her balance, he went his way fair and softly.* When she turned her to have taken money and saw her chapman† go his way, she made after apace, but faster with her voice than with her foot. He, dissembling the matter, went still forth on. She made such a crying and folks gathered so fast that he stood still. So, in the press, he showed to the people all the matter and said: “I bought nothing of her. But that that she unbidden gave me I took. And if she will, I am content to go before the Justice.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 256.

FATHER, I THINK— There was a boy who was always making silly remarks and annoying his father very much. So one day his father said to him: “Tommy, you are always making silly remarks without thinking. Now, when you want to make a remark you must always think three times before you speak.” The next day the father was standing with his back to the fire. Tommy looked at him and then said very slowly: “Father, I think— “Father, I think— * slowly. † customer.


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“Father, I think your coat-tails are on fire.” “You silly boy! Why didn’t you say so at once?” E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, XLIX (June 1938): “Told by my father, Mr. Norman F. Wilson, in March 1936, who heard it about sixty years ago, probably from a Kendal nursemaid.” TYPE 1562. MOTIF: J.2516.1 [Think before you speak]. Sparsely reported from northern Europe. A Pennsylvania Dutch variant is reprinted in R.M.Dorson, Buying the Wind, p. 146. See also “King Edward and the Salad”, “They Took His Word”.

FIFTY RED NIGHT-CAPS Once there was a man who had fifty red night-caps to sell in the market. His wife put them into a sack for him, and he set off. He lived in a hot country, and when he got to a forest of palm-trees, he was glad to sit down and rest. He had plenty of time, so he thought he would have a nap. He opened his sack, and took out one of the red caps, and put it on, and went to sleep. But the monkeys were watching from the tree-tops, and whatever he sees a man do, a monkey will do it, if he can. So one by one they came down from the tree-tops, drew out a night-cap from the sack, and put it on. Then they ran back to the tree-tops, and chattered to each other so loud that the man woke up. There in the trees around him sat forty-nine monkeys in red night-caps, chattering at the tops of their voices. And his sack was empty. “Oh, what shall I do?” said the man. “How can I go back to my wife without a penny, and with nothing but one red nightcap?” And in despair, he plucked the night-cap from his head, and flung it to the ground. At once forty-nine red night-caps came fluttering down to the ground, and the man ran round and picked them up, and hurried off to the market to sell them. Fairy Stories of the British Isles, Amabel Williams-Ellis (Blackie, n.d.). MOTIF: B.786 [Monkeys always copy men]. See also “How They got Rid of the Ship’s Monkey”.

FIMBER VILLAGE TALES A gentleman riding through Fimber happened to meet with three of the inhabitants taking a repose on the grass, in the open green, the gentleman stopped his horse and with all the polite civility in the world, he asked: “Gentlemen, will one of you three be kind enough to direct me the nearest road to York?” None of the three feeling disposed to disturb themselves from their groundly repose, one of them politely raised his head and nodded in the direction the gentleman was to proceed. Not reading this guide-post very well, the gentleman urged a second request. “Will one of you three be so kind as to direct me the nearest road to York?” when one of the parties raised his feet and pointed in the direction the gentleman was to proceed.

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The stranger was so amused with the apathy of his guides that he rejoined—“I will give one of you three half a crown if you will tell me which is the laziest of the three?” “Sir,” said the first, “I will not thank you for your half-crown unless you throw it within my reach.” “Sir,” said the second, “I will not thank you for your half-crown unless you alight from your horse and put it into my hand.” “Sir,” said the third, “I will not thank you for it unless you put it into my pocket.” So it is for the reader to guess which was heir to the half-crown. A respectable inhabitant of Fimber went to pay a tradesman a bill to the amount of fifteen shillings. “And now, Billy,” [he] said, “here my lad, I’ve come to pay thee thy bill. Look’st thee, Billy, here’s a handful of monies, and look at it, Billy, as I count it down.” “Yes, Sir,” said Billy, casting his eye to the white cash, when the last shilling was put down, he replied, “It’s the amount of my bill to a tack, and feels myself much obliged to you, Sir, but out of this I owe you a sum of three shillings,” and Billy accordingly took three shillings from the sum he had received and handed it over to his customer, when his customer replied, “Od sort and death, Billy, thou’s boon to mack a sad raffle on’t; if thou gies me three shillings out of that money I shall owe thee the money still.” “No, Sir,” said Billy, “it’s the amount of my bill; you have paid it over to me, and if you take up that three shillings we shall be straight, Sir.” “Od sort, Billy again,” said the customer,” thou’s going to mack a sad raffle on’t, prithee, Billy, let me reckon it. Now Billy, my lad, thou must tak that money, and count it all over and see that it is good, put it into thy pocket, and then give me three shillings of thy own money and we shall be straight.” Billy, not wishing to tease his customer any longer, put his hand into his pocket and gave him the three shillings as he was requested to do, and thus settled the two accounts. “Now, Billy,” said the customer, “thou framest something like, and ah thinks a’st better scholar of t’two.” Here the reckoning between the men of commerce ended, and the customer proceeded homewards, not a little pleased that he had proved himself a cleverer arithmetician than Billy. Mrs. Gutch, County Folk-Lore, VI, p. 167 (Edmondson, pp. 16, 17). TYPE 1332 (variant). MOTIFS: J.1712 [Three men greeted by a stranger; greeting the greatest fool], J.1703 [Town of fools]. See also “The Wise Men of Godham”, “Austwick Carles”.

THE FIRST BANANA Two little sisters were making a train journey alone, and opposite them was a soldier just come back from overseas, who opened his knapsack and took out two long yellow things. “Like a banana?” he said. “What is it?” said the eldest little girl. “It’s a banana; you take the skin off it and eat it; it tastes good.” The little girls looked at the bananas doubtfully, and then the eldest peeled hers and began to eat it. Just then the train went into a tunnel. The elder sister said to the younger: “Have you begun to eat your banana yet?” “No,” said the younger. “Well, don’t, because it makes you go blind.”


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Briggs and Tongue, Folktales of England, p. 123. Heard by K.M.Briggs in 1944, in the R.A.F., Errol, Perthshire, probably from Mary Studholme, Cumberland. TYPE 1339B. MOTIF: (Baughman) J.2214(b) [Woman eats her first banana just before her train enters a tunnel]. Very soon after the beginning of the Second World War bananas became unobtainable in England, so that many children had never tasted them. It is against this background that the tale was told in England, but there are Wisconsin and Arkansas versions, in which the actors are from the backwoods. Baughman, p. 325.

THE FIRST CROP It has been reported that Sir——bought a field, and stipulated with the vendor that payment was to be made when the first crop was taken off. The calculating purchaser had the field sown with acorns, and the first crop would be oak timber. W.Dickinson, Cumbriana, p. 32. TYPE 1185. MOTIF: K.221 [Payment to be made at harvest of first crop]. In the Scandinavian and German versions of this type, the bargain is not with a human seller but with the Devil. See Kristensen, Danske Saga, 111 (1895), p. 382; (German) Schambach und Muller, Niedersächsische Sagen und Märchen, no. 170.

THE FOLKESTONE FIERY SERPENT, TOGETHER WITH THE HUMOURS OF THE DOVER MAYOR [summary] Being an ancient Ballad, full of Mystery and pleasant Conceit. Now first collected and printed from the various MS. copies in the possession of the inhabitants of the South-east coast of Kent, with notes by “A Wise Man of the East”. Chapbook. A peacock, arriving on Jacob’s Mount, a mile and a half east of Folkestone, taken for a fiery serpent. Nets set to catch it. It flew over them. If the nets had been higher, the Mayor thought they would have caught it. Various schemes proposed to destroy it. Finally, a letter written to the Mayor of Dover. The Dover men rowed over with their ordnance, and shot the fiery serpent, which proved to be no more than a peacock. The Gooseberry Fair was first held in the rejoicings that followed; and the Folkestone folks were called Turks ever afterwards, and their town Turkey; though why a turkey and a peacock should be confused no one understands. TYPE 1319*. MOTIF: J.1760 [Animal mistaken for something else]. This belongs to the local numskull tales examined by Field in The Pent Cuckoo. “It would be idle to collect the many other jokes which are related against Folkestone men—such as putting the fish-nets round the town to catch the small-pox, and then drown it at once in the sea; planting beef-steaks to grow young bullocks; throwing sparrows from the church steeple to break their necks; and their puzzling their brains for

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a month to find a rhyme for ‘Folkestone Church’, when all the Mayor could hit upon was ‘Knives and Forks’, or a thousand other like untruths.—They are a plain honest people, much like the other Kentish men, and seem to owe these jokes against them to the maliciousness of wit, which discovered that the anagram of FOLKESTONE made KENT FOOLS, rather than to any individuality of character.”

THE FOOL AND THE GENTLEMAN A fool there was that dwelled with a gentleman in the country which was called a great tyrant and an extortioner. But this fool loved his master marvelously because he cherished him so well. It happened upon a season, one of the gentleman’s servants said to the fool, as they talked of sermon matters: “By my troth, Jack [quod he], would to God that thou and I were both of us in heaven.” “Nay, by lady,” quod the fool, “I will not go to heaven for I had lever go to hell.” Then the other asked him why he had lever go to hell. “By my troth,” quod the fool, “for I will go with my master, and I am sure my master shall go to hell—for every man sayeth he shall go to the devil of hell. Therefore I will go thither with him.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 105. Bardolph expressed the same wish about his master in Henry V, II, iii.

THE FOOLISH IRISHMAN [summary] Patsy Daly, an Irishman looking for work, was advised by his friend Jimmy Gormon to go to a certain farm, where he was engaged. He was sent to put a letter in the post. He stuck it in a crack in a gate-post. The farmer very angry, but agreed to give him a further trial. Patsy sent next to buy two dozen oysters, and see that they were nice and clean. Passing the pub on his way back, he saw his friend Jimmy Gormon, and told him his errand. Jimmy suggested opening one, to see if they were clean, and said it was full of shot. Would clean them all for a shilling. He went into the inn and ate them, and brought Pat the empty shells. Next sent to buy some eels. On the way home, he stopped to act as Jimmy Gormon’s second in a fight, and the eels all escaped out of the basket. Patsy had to take it back empty. The farmer was very angry, but Pat begged for a fourth chance. The farmer gave him a letter to deliver to a big house, and he was to wait for the answer. On the way Pat opened the letter. It was to a justice of the peace, saying that Pat was the biggest rascal going, and asking him to put him in jail for three months, and give him the cat-o’-nine tails going in and coming out. Patsy went on to the inn, told Jimmy Gormon that he had a letter to deliver, and was afraid he might blunder, and gave Jimmy a shilling to deliver it for him. So Jimmy got the cat-o’-nine tails, and was jailed. Patsy was sorry for him, but thought he deserved it for playing that trick with the oysters. Thompson Notebooks, X. From Taimi Boswell, Oswaldtwistle, 9 January 1915.


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MOTIFS: J.2665 [The awkward servant]; K.978 [Uriah letter]; K.1851 [Substituted letter]; J.1510 [The cheater cheated].

FOOLISH JEM [Jem’s Master and a friend, sitting by the fire, with pipes and grog; enter Jem.] “I zay, Jem, thee meyaster here tells me thee bist the biggest fool ever he zid in he’s life; thee doesn’t know nuthen, and he can’t beat nuthen into the chucklehead on thee!” “I dunno zo much about that, Mr. Cooper, I med be chuckleheaded, and I dunno zo much as zome vokes, I’ll own, but I knows a thing or two vor all that.” “Well now, Jem, jest tell us zummet ye do know!” “Iss, I wull—I knows meyaster’s pigs be always fine and fat!” “All right, Jem, that’s zummet you do know—now let’s hay zomethin’ you don’t know!” “ Well, I can do that too, vor once—whose corn tes they gets to make ’em zo fat, I’m darned if I do know!” (Jem’s master was a miller.) Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 30b, p. 41. W.H.Long, A Dictionary of the Isle of Wight Dialect (Portsmouth, 1931), pp. 12–13.

THE FOREIGN ACCENT In the World War, the Poles, Free French and other exiles were felt by the local girls to be very glamorous, and the local boys had little chance to compete with them. One night in Dundee a W.A.A.F. on her night off was approached by a nice-looking boy. “You are very pretty girl,” he said with a strong foreign accent. “You come to pictures with me?” “O.K.,” said the girl, and they went to the pictures together. The girl was anxious to know from what country her companion came. “Are you a Pole?” she asked. “No, me not Pole.” “Free French?” “No, not French boy.” “Dutch?” “No, not Hollander.” “Russian?” “Not Russian.” “Well, what are you then?” “Me Scottish boy. Talk like this because no pretty girl go out with Scotsman.” Mary Studholme, R.A.F., Errol, 1944. MOTIF: X.760 [Jokes on courtship].

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THE FOUR “CRIES” O’ LADY BETTY Lady Betty had her dwelling in Auchencrow; she had a herd callant, or boy, who was engaged in tending her cows, about half a mile from the onstead—and in the morning she came out to the house end, and gave her shouts, or “cries”—but she cried so, that the boy could not, by any possibility, hear her: 1 “Callant, are ye for parritch, or brose? I think he says brose.” 2 “Thick, or thin? I think he says thin.” 3 “What are ye for to them—milk or butter? I think he says milk.” 4 “Sweet or sour, callant? I think he says sour.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 60, p. 72. G.Henderson, The Popular Rhymes, Sayings and Proverbs of the County of Berwick, Newcastle-on-Tyne (1856), pp. 50–1. There are many anecdotes of stingy masters or mistresses, but these are generally followed by some retort, e.g. “The Hungry Mowers”.

THE FOUR FELLOWS AND THEIR THREE DOGS There was four fellas talkin’ about dogs. One ald fella said: “By gum I hev a good dog. It’ll va near do owt but talk. Ya mornin’,” he said, “it was a gay lang time away, so,” he said, “I was wondering why it was away aw this time; I couldn’t weigh it up. So,” he said, “I went to look. An’ by gum,” he said, “what do you think it was doin’?” T’other said: “Nay, what was it doin’?” “Well chaps,” he said, “I’ll just tell ye,” he said. “Yan o’ t’ yowes had lambed,” he said, “a it was comin’ up t’ paddock, wi’ t’owd yowe i’ front of it, and a lamb under either fore-leg.” Yan o’ t’other chaps said: “Aye, aye, aye, a good dog an’ aw. Now but I’s gaan to tell ye what mine can do,” he says. “I whipped round t’sheep ya mornin’, an’ it took it a gay long while to do what it generally did. So,” he says, “I set off to hev a leeak,” he says, “an’ what the divvel do you think it was doin’?” “Nae idea,” t’others replied. “Well,” he said, “I’ll just tell ye. Now,” he said, “it was like this,” he said. “T’sheep had knocked a girt gap down and by the heck,” he said, “it was wa’in the bloke up.” Yan o’ t’others said: “Now I hev a gay good dog. An’ think a lot on it an’ aw,” he said. “Ya neet,” he said, “a was choppin’ turnips. I’d just about filt me swill,” he said, “an’ the damned lile whelp, it went an’ knocked t’ swill ower, an’ scaled t’ turnips all ower t’ spot.” He said, “T’ald dog was that mad it picked t’ swill up, dressed aw t’ turnips nicely back into it, and, by gum, it did cotton that whelp efter.” Norton Collection, VI, p. 82. Crosthwaite. Told to Dr. E.M.Wilson by Dick Harrison.


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April 1938. Heard from Mr. Tom Pearson of Borderside, Crosthwaite. He heard it thirty years before at Brough Hill Fair. TYPE 1920. MOTIF: X.1215.8 [Lie: intelligent dog]. See “Dr. Fell’s Dog”.

THE FRENCH MANSERVANT In the countrey dwelt a Gentlewoman who had a French man dwelling with her, and he did ever use to go to Church with her, and upon a time he and his mistresse were going to Church, and she bad him pull the doore after him and follow her to the Church; and so he took the doore betweene his armes, and lifted it from the hooks, and followed his mistress with it. But when she looked behinde her, and saw him bringe the doore upon his back: why, thou foolish knave, qd. she, what wilt thou do with the doore? Mary, mistresse, qd. he, you bad me pull the doore after me. Why, whorson, qd. she, I did command thee that thou shouldest make fast the doore after thee, and not to bring it upon thy back after me. But after this, there was much good sport and laughing at his simplicity and foolishnesse therein. Norton Collection, III, p. 50A. From Hazlitt, The Sack-Full of News, II, p. 187. TYPE 1009. MOTIF: K.1413 [Guarding the door].

THE FRIAR AND HIS BOY A certain friar had a boy that ever was wont to bear this friar’s money. And on a time when the boy was far behind his master as they two walked together by the way, there met a man the friar which knew that the boy bare the friar’s money and said: “How, master Friar, shall I bid thy boy hie him apace after thee?” “Ye,” quod the friar. Then went the man to the boy and said: “Sir, thy master biddeth ye give me 40 pence.” “I will not,” quod the boy. Then called the man with a high voice to the friar and said: “Sir, he sayeth he will not.” “Then,” quod the friar, “beat him.” And when the boy heard his master say so, he gave the man 40 pence. By this, ye may see it is folly for a man to say ye or nay to a matter except he know surely what the matter is. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. III. MOTIF: K.362.10 (variant) [“Give him what he wants”].

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THE FRIAR WHO TOLD THE THREE CHILDREN’S FORTUNES There was a friar who was in the habit of frequenting, in the exercise of his duties, a certain village where lived a very rich man, of whom he had never yet been able to get the value of a halfpenny. He thought, however, he would still go on trying his best; and it happened one day, as he came into the village, that he saw the man’s wife standing at the door of their house. But when the woman perceived the friar coming, she ran in and told her children, if the friar inquired for her, to say she was not at home. The friar, of course, had seen her going in, and suspected the cause; so he came up to the house, and asked the children if their mother was at home. They, as they had been bidden, answered, Nay. Still he stood there, and gazed first at one of the children, and then at another. Presently he beckoned the eldest to him, and asked him to let him see his hand. “Ah!” said he, loud enough for the mother to overhear him, “what sad things are in store for thee, poor child!” Then he looked at the palm of the second, and exclaimed, “Alas, this poor boy’s future is still darker than his little brother’s!” Lastly, he took the hand of the youngest child, and let it fall from him again, saying, “And thy lot is the hardest of all!” And when he had uttered these words, he turned away to go. But the mother, who had been listening at the back, rushed out, and implored him to stop, and not leave them so soon; and first of all she spread the table with her best fare, and invited him to help himself. When he had done, she begged he would explain to her what he meant just now by saying that all her children had gloomy prospects before them. He hesitated at first; but upon being pressed, he said: “The first shall be a beggar; the second shall be a thief; the third shall be an assassin.” The poor mother was distracted; but the friar begged her to be comforted, for, said he, “I think, mistress, I know a remedy.” She asked him eagerly what that was. Then he said to her: “Make the one that is to be a beggar a friar; the one that is destined to become a thief, an attorney; and the last, that will grow up to be a murderer, make him a physician.” W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 472. TYPE 921B*. MOTIFS: M.340 [Unfavourable prophecies]; M.306.2 (variant) [Two sons, one a purse-cutter and the other a killer. Wife tells husband they will make a pursedesigner of one and a butcher of the other]. Spanish anecdote. Type 921B* (Thief, Beggar, Murderer) occurs in Lithuanian and Greek tales, but without the ingenious framework of the friar’s advice to establish his foothold in the house.

THE FRIAR AND THE WHETSTONE There was a fryer in London, which did use to go often to the house of an old woman, but ever when he came to her house, she hid all the meat she had. On a time this fryer came to her house (bringing certain company with him) and demanded of the wife if she had any meat. And she said, Nay: Well, quoth the fryer, Have you not a whetstone? Yea, (qd. the woman); what will you do therewith? Marry, qd. he, I would make meat thereof.


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Then she brought a whetstone. He asked her likewise if she had not a frying-pan. Yea, said she, but what the divil will ye do therewith? Marry (said the fryer) you shall see by and by what I will do with it; and when he had the pan, he set it on the fire, and put the wheststone therein. Cock-body, said the woman, you will burn the pan. No, no, qd. the fryer, you will give me some eggs, it will not burn at all. But she would have had the pan from him, when that she saw it was in danger; but he would not let her, but still urged her to fetch him some eggs, which she did. Tush, said the fryer, here are not enow, go fetch ten or twelve. So the good wife was constrayned to fetch more, for fear lest the pan should burn; and when he had them he put them in the pan. Now, qd. he, if you have no butter, the pan will burn and the eggs too. So the good wife, being very loth to have her pan burnt, and her eggs lost, she fetcht him a dish of butter, the which he put into the pan, and made good meat thereof, and brought it to the table saying: much good may it do you, my Masters; now may you say, you have eaten of a buttered whetstone. Whereat all the company laughed, but the woman was exceeding angry, because the fryer had subtilly beguiled her of her meat. Norton Collection, V, p. 107a. The Sack-Full of News, 1673. TYPE 1548. MOTIF: K.112.2 [The soup-stone]. There are four American versions of this tale cited by Baughman. It is also well known in Ireland. Several manuscript versions in Types of the Irish Folktale, as well as those in printed books, Griffin, The Collegians, MacDonagh, Irish Life and Character. Yeats’ one-act play, The Pot of Broth, is a straightforward dramatization of the tale. In the versions here, however, there is little suggestion that the stone is magic.

THE FRIARS AND THE EELS Two friars sat at a gentleman’s table, which had before him on a fasting day an eel and cut the head of the eel and laid it upon one of the friars’ trenchers. But the friar, because he would have had of the middle part of the eel, said to the gentleman he loved no eel heads. This gentleman also cut the tail of the eel and laid it on the other friar’s trencher. He likewise, because he would have had of the middle part of that eel, said he loved no eel tails. This gentleman, perceiving that, gave the tail to the friar that said he loved not the head and gave the head to him that said he loved not the tail. And as for the middle part of the eel, he ate part himself and part he gave to other folks at the table. Wherefore, these friars from anger would eat never a morsel. And so they for all their craft and subtlety were not only deceived of the best morsel of the eel, but thereof had no part at all. By this ye see that they that covet the best part sometime therefore lose the mean part and all. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 77.

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GEORGE BUCHANAN AS ADVOCATE Three merchant pedlars (as they professed to be) came with a pack of goods, to put a trick upon a widow Woman, who kept an inn on the highway side; after they had drunk very hearty, they desired the woman to lay up the pack securely, and charged her strictly, before witnesses, to deliver it to none of them, unless they came altogether for it again. And in about three weeks thereafter, two of them returned, and desired the woman to give them the pack; telling her, that the other man was gone to such a fair with another pack, where they were all to meet; and how they all had a right to the pack alike: whereupon the poor simple Woman, not dreading any further harm, gave them the pack. So in a few days thereafter, the other man comes and demands the pack; the honest Woman told him plainly, that the other two men had been there before, and got it away: then he began to demonstrate to the woman, what great danger she was in, and forthwith raised a process against her by law, which cost the poor Woman a vast sum to defend, as the plea continued more than two full years: and a great court being one day to sit upon the process to decide it, which would undoubtedly have been done in favour of the pursuer, the proof being so clear, and the Woman herself not denying what the bargain was when she got the pack to keep. The poor Woman being in great straits, her purse being turned empty, and her attorney told her plainly as her money was done, he could no longer defend her; the woman once more plucked up her heart, and went to London to employ a new attorney to speak for her; but for want of gold she could get none to undertake it. George (Buchanan) being in a house where he heard the poor woman making a mournful complaint to one of her attornies, who gave her no comfort nor satisfaction; for when she told him, she had no money to spend, or give in defence of it, the attorney went away and would hear no more of the Woman’s grievous complaint, which made George to laugh very heartily, while the poor Widow sat weeping like one distracted. Poor woman, says George, you need not think that man will speak a word for you, or any else, unless you had brought him a purse of gold to loose his tongue; but as I have got a scheme of the matter, you may go home, and have patience until the time come; and then, my life for yours, poor Woman, that I shall send you an attorney, who will do your business for nothing. He gave the poor Woman more courage than any she had spoken with in London; for everyone told her, that all the attornies in the world could not free her. So accordingly at the day appointed, George dressed himself like an attorney, with his gown, and everything as he had really been so. The court being fenced, and the process read over, expences, and the value of the pack, having amounted to above seven hundred pounds, was ordered to be put in decreet against the poor Widow, which everyone was bemoaning but could give her no relief. Now George kept himself silent, hearing them all with great patience, until the very nick of time, he thought proper to address himself to the judges as followeth. My Lords, judges and gentlemen of this honourable Court and company, I have come from London, gratis, out of pure pity, to speak a word or two in favour of this poor Woman, who hath exhausted all her means in defence of a false accusation charged against her; and now when her money is gone, her speakers are dumb, and I see none to plead the cause of this poor Widow. Now, when sentence is upon the tapis of being


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pronounced against her, I earnestly desire this court to modify and drop the expences altogether. It is enough when the poor Woman has the pack to pay; for you all know the woman was no way enriched by it, when the other men got it away. Then the pursuer’s attorney made answer as follows. Sir, I would have thought that you, who have come from London, and professes to be a doctor of law, should know better things; know ye not, that he who gains the plea, gains his expences as well as the sum, or be what it will. Yes, it must, and shall be so, said the judges. Then, said George, this is all I want, which set the whole court a-laughing, thinking he was a fool, and become an adversary to the poor Woman. Giver over your sport, gentlemen, says George, I have not done yet— My Lords judges, you’ll hear me in this. If the poor Woman made a bargain with this merchant, and other two who was with him, for to keep that pack safely, and to deliver it to none of them, until they were all three present; now let that man who is here at the time, go and seek the other two, and they shall have their pack, for she has the pack safe enough; but she will keep by her first bargain. So I refer to you, judges and gentlemen, if this poor Woman be not in the right. This made the judges look one to another, and the whole court with one voice, declared the Woman to be in the right, and ordered the pursuer to go and seek his two companions. No, no, says George, the poor Woman must first have her expences, or security for it. Then the judge caused the pursuer to be arrested at the bar, until the Woman got satisfaction for all her trouble and expences. So George returned to London unknown, but for an advocate, whose fame was spread all over England; which caused many who had law-suits to search through London for him, but could never find the advocate who gained the Widow’s law plea. Norton Collection, V, p. 133. From The Witty and Entertaining Exploits of George Buchanan, 1703. A chapbook pp. 27–9.

GEORGE BUCHANAN AND THE BISHOP Mr George Buchanan was a Scotsman born, and although of mean parentage, made great progress in learning. As for his understanding and ready wit, he excelled all men then alive in the age that ever proposed questions to him. He was servant or teacher to King James the Sixth, and one of his private counsellors, but publicly acted as his fool. George happened one time to be in company with a bishop, and so they fell to dispute anent education, and he blanked the bishop remarkably, and the bishop himself owned he was worsted. Then one of the company addressed himself to him in these words: “Thou, Scot,” said he, “should not have left thy country.” “For what?” says he. “Because thou hast carried all the wisdom that is in it hither with thee” “No, no,” says he; “the shepherds in Scotland will dispute with any bishop in London, and exceed them very far in education.” The bishops then took this as an affront, and several noblemen affirmed it to be as the Scot had said. Bets were laid on each side, and three of the bishops were chosen, and sent away to Scotland to dispute it with the shepherds, accompanied with several others, who were to bear witness of what they should hear pass between them. Now George, knowing which way they went, immediately took another road and was in Scotland before them. He made an acquaintance with a shepherd on the border, whose

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pasture lay on the wayside where the bishops were to pass; and there he mounted himself in shepherd’s dress; and when he saw the bishops appear, he conveyed his flock to the roadside, and fell a-chanting at a Latin ballad. When the bishops came up to George, one of them asked him in French what o’clock it was? To which he answered in Hebrew, “It is directly about the time of day it was yesterday at this time.” Another asked him in Greek what countryman he was? To which he answered in Flemish, “If ye knew that, you would be as wise as myself.” A third asked him in Dutch, “Where were you educated?” To which he answered, in Earse,* “Herding my sheep between this and Lochaber.” This they desired him to explain into English, which he immediately did. “Now,” said they one to another, “we need not proceed any farther.” “What,” says George, “are you butchers? I’ll sell you a few sheep.” To this they made no answer, but went away shamefully, and said they believed the Scots had been through all the nations in the world for their education, or the devil had taught them. Now, when George had ended this dispute with the bishops, he stripped off his shepherd’s dress, and up through England he goes, with all the haste imaginable, so that he arrived at the place from whence they set out three days before the judges, and went every day asking if they were come, so that he might not be suspected. As soon as they were arrived, all that were concerned in the dispute, and many more, came crowding in, to hear what news from the Scottish shepherds, and to know what was done. No sooner had the three gentlemen declared what had passed between the bishops and the shepherds, whom they found on the Scots border, but the old bishop made answer, “And think you,” said he, “that a shepherd could answer these questions? It has been none else but the devil; for the Scots ministers themselves could not do it; they are but ignorant of such matters, a parcel of beardless boys.” Then George thought it was time to take speech in hand. “Well, my lord bishop,” says George, “you call them a parcel of ignorant, beardless boys. You have a great long beard yourself, my lord bishop, and if grace were measured by beards, you bishops and the goats would have it all, and that would be quite averse to Scripture.” “What,” says the bishop, “are you a Scot?” “Yes,” says George, “I am a Scot.” “Well,” says the bishop, “and what is the difference between a Scot and a sot?” “Nothing at present,” says George, “but the breadth of the table,”—there being a table between the bishop and George. So the bishop went off in a high passion, while the whole multitude were like to split their jaws with laughter. Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 247. From John Cheap the Chapman’s Library, by Dougal Graham (?).

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GEORGE BUCHANAN AND THE DROVER One night a Highland drover chanced to have a drinking bout with an English captain of a ship, and at last they came to be very hearty over their cups, so that they called in their servants to have a share of their liquor. The drover’s servant looked like a wild man, going without breeches, stockings, or shoes, not so much as a bonnet on his head, with a long peeled rung in his hand. The captain asked the drover how long it was since he catched him? He answered, “It is about two years since I hauled him out of the sea with a net, and afterwards ran into the mountains, where I catched him with a pack of hounds.” The captain believed it was so. “But,” says he, “I have a servant, the best swimmer in the world.” “Oh, but,” says the drover, “my servant will swim him to death.” “No, he will not,” says the captain; “I’ll lay two hundred crowns on it.” “Then,” says the drover, “I’ll hold it one to one,” and staked directly, the day being appointed when trial was to be made. Now the drover, when he came to himself, thinking on what a bargain he had made, did not know what to do, knowing very well that his servant could swim none. He, hearing of George being in town, who was always a good friend to Scotsmen, went unto him and told him the whole story, and that he would be entirely broke, and durst never return home to his own country, for he was sure to lose it. Then George called the drover and his man aside, and instructed them how to behave, so that they should be safe and gain too. So accordingly they met at the place appointed. The captain’s man stripped directly and threw himself into the sea, taking a turn until the Highlandman was ready, for the drover took some time to put his servant in order. After he was stripped his master took his plaid, and rolled a kebbuck of cheese, a big loaf, and a bottle of gin in it, and this he bound on his shoulder, giving him directions to tell his wife and children that he was well, and to be sure that he returned with an answer against that day se’nnight. As he went into the sea, he looked back to his master, and called out to him for his claymore. “And what waits he for now?” says the captain’s servant. “He wants his sword,” says his master. “His sword,” says the fellow,” what is he to do with a sword?” “Why,” says his master, “if he meets a whale or a monstrous beast, it is to defend his life; I know he will have to fight his way through the north seas, ere he get to Lochaber.” “Then,” says the captain’s servant, “I’ll swim none with him, if he take his sword.” “Ay, but,” says his master, “you shall, or lose the wager; take you another sword with you.” “No,” says the fellow, “I never did swim with a sword, nor any man else, that ever I saw or heard of. I know not but that wild man will kill me in the deep water; I would not for the whole world venture myself with him and a sword.” The captain seeing his servant afraid to venture, or if he did he would never see him again alive, therefore desired an agreement with the drover, who at first seemed unwilling; but the captain putting it in his will, the drover quit him for half the sum. This he came to through George’s advice. Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 250. From John Cheap the Chapman’s Library, by Dougal Graham (?).

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GEORGE BUCHANAN AND THE EGGS There was a travelling merchant who stayed at an inn, and he had two eggs for breakfast. They didn’t give him the bill till next time, and it was two years before he came back. When he came back, they gave him a bill for hundreds of pounds, for the hens that would have been hatched out of the two eggs, and the chickens that would have been hatched out of the eggs they would have laid, and so on. The merchant said he’d pay the two eggs, but no more, so they took the matter into court, and got a clever lawyer, and things looked bad for the merchant, when George Buchanan came into court, and saw how things were going. He went out and got some boiled peas, and came back, and offered to sell them for seed. The Folks began to laugh, and the judge said: “That’s no good. You’ll not raise plants from boiled peas.” “You’re just as likely to raise plants from boiled peas, my lord,” said George, “as to raise chickens from boiled eggs.” And so the merchant won his case. The School of Scottish Studies, Maurice Fleming from Mrs. Reid.

GEORGE BUCHANAN AND THE MINT George Buchanan was up in London with the King, and he took a fancy to look in at the Mint, and see them making money. So when they saw the King’s fool there, they thought they’d crack a joke on him. “Hold out your hat, Geordie,” they said, “and we’ll fill it with gold.” Geordie held out his hat, and they poured molten gold into it, and the heat of it burnt his hat, and the gold ran through. So they got a good laugh, and the next day, George Buchanan came with a new hat, and they laughed fit to burst themselves to see the gold pouring through. But next day Geordie went to a tinsmith’s, and he got a tin hat made for him, and covered it with felt, and back he went to the Mint again. They filled the hat right up with gold, but the tin did not melt, and George Buchanan got his hat full of gold.

GEORGE BUCHANAN AND THE TAILOR Two drunken fellows one day fell a-beating one another on the streets of London, which caused a great crowd of people to throng together to see what it was. A tailor being at work up in a garret, about three or four storeys high, and he hearing the noise in the street, looked over the window, but could not well see them. He began to stretch himself, making a long neck, until he fell down out of the window, and alighted on an old man who was walking on the street. The poor tailor was more afraid than hurt, but the man he fell on died directly. His son caused the tailor to be apprehended and tried for the murder of his father. The jury could not bring it in wilful murder, neither could they altogether free the tailor. The jury gave it over to the judges, and the judges to the king. The king asked George’s advice on this


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hard matter. “Why,” says George, “I will give you my opinion in a minute; you must cause the tailor to stand in the street where the old gentleman was when he was killed by the tailor, and then let the old gentleman’s son, the tailor’s adversary, get up to the window whence the tailor fell, and jump down, and so kill the tailor as he did his father.” The tailor’s adversary, hearing this sentence passed, would not venture to jump over the window, and so the tailor got clear off. Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 253. From John Cheap the Chapman’s Library, by Dougal Graham (?).

GEORGE BUCHANAN AND THE THREE BISHOPS George was met one day by three bishops, who paid him the following compliments: Says the first, “Good morrow, Father Abraham;” says the second, “Good morrow, Father Isaac;” says the third, “Good morrow, Father Jacob.” To which he replied, “I am neither Father Abraham, Father Isaac, nor Father Jacob; but I am Saul, the son of Kish, sent out to seek my father’s asses, and lo! I have found three of them.” Which answer fully convinced the bishops that they had mistaken their man. Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 252. From John Cheap the Chapman’s Library, by Dougal Graham (?).

GEORGE BUCHANAN’S RETURN George was professor of the College of St Andrews, and slipped out one day in his gown and slippers, and went on his travels through Italy and several other foreign countries, and after seven years returned with the same dress he went off in; and entering the college, took possession of his seat there, but the professor in his room quarrelling him for so doing. “Ay,” says George, “it is a very odd thing that a man cannot take a walk out in his slippers, but another will take up his seat.” And so set the other professor about his business. Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 253. From John Cheap the Chapman’s Library, by Dougal Graham (?). George Buchanan (1506–82) was an author and a man famous for his learning, who was tutor to James VI of Scotland, and to the Admirable Crichton. Tradition has chosen to make him into the King’s Fool, though crediting him with great natural shrewdness. Various well-known folk-anecdotes clustered round his name. His character is invariably a good one. George Buchanan as Advocate TYPE 1591. MOTIF: J.1161.1 [The three joint-depositors may have their money back when all demand it]. George Buchanan and the Bishop

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MOTIFS: K.1816.0.4 [Scholar disguised as a rustic along road, answers questions in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew]; J.1250 [Clever verbal retorts]. See also “The Miller at the Professor’s Examination”. George Buchanan and the Drover TYPE 1612. MOTIF: K.1761 [Bluff: provisions for a swimming-match]. North American Indian and Cape Verde Island versions are cited in AarneThompson. George Buchanan and the Eggs TYPE 821B (variants). MOTIF: 1.1191.2 [Lawsuit for chickens produced from boiled eggs]. A longer version of this is to be found in John Cheap the Chapman’s Library, reproduced in Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales. George Buchanan in the Mint MOTIF: J.1650 [Miscellaneous clever acts]. George Buchanan and the Tailor MOTIF: J.1173 [Series of clever unjust decisions: plaintiff voluntarily withdraws. (3) Man falls from a bridge and kills boatman’s son; must allow boatman to fall from bridge and kill him]. George Buchanan and the Three Bishops MOTIF: J.1262.4 [Levity regarding biblical passages].

“GET JONES TO SLEEP WITH YOU” June 4th [1876]. Dined at Lord Egerton of Tatton’s. Old Mrs. Mildmay told a rather improper story there, which was received with shouts of merriment. She was at a country-house where there was a very pleasant man named Jones, and there was also a lady who had a maid called Jones: the people in the house knew this, because there was a confusion about letters. The lady’s husband went away for the day and, as she was going to walk to the station in the evening to meet him, the mistress of the house asked Mr. Jones to walk with her. When the train came in, the husband was not there, but just then a telegram was brought in. “Oh,” said the lady, “Oh-o-o, I’m sure my husband is dead: I can’t open it.”—“Nonsense!” said Mr.Jones; “if he is dead, he cannot have sent you a telegram.”—“Well, I can’t open it; I know it’s something dreadful—I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” So at last, Mr. Jones opened it for her and read it aloud, not seeing at once what it contained. It was—“I am all right, unavoidably detained. If you are at all nervous, get Jones to sleep with you!” Augustus Hare, In My Solitary Life, p. 107. MOTIF: K.1544 (variant). [Husband unwittingly instrumental in wife’s adultery.] The humour of this tale consists in the perfect innocence of both husband and wife.


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A GIANT CABBAGE [summary] Two farmers were competing for the best crop of any kind. The first year, one won with a field of corn. The next time, the second planted an eight-acre field with just five cabbages—one at each corner, and one in the middle. The one in the middle grew so big that it pushed out the other four. Thompson Notebooks, B. Told by Phoenix Boswell at Windy Harbour, Siddington, Cheshire, 6 August 1923 or 5 August 1923. TYPE 1960D. MOTIF: X.1401 [Lie: the giant vegetable]. Anecdotes about enormous vegetables are widespread. Some of them are part of a story, as Grimm, no. 146; some are a part of a contest in lying (type 1920A). Examples of 19600 are cited in Aarne-Thompson from Finland, Esthonia, Sweden, Norway, Spain, Belgium, Italy, Rumania, etc. See also “Giant Parsnips”, “The Great Turnips”.

GIANT PARSNIPS Now Jack Thorkel—he’d been on about these parsnips!—great big long ’uns! he loved his garden you see—So—one of the overmen says, “Just a minute, Jack,” he says, “I want to see thou.” So Jack says, “What dost ’a want to see me about like?” he says, “Uh—hast tha got some parsnips in the garden?” he say, “Ay,—bye’ lad,” he says— “they’re bloody big ’uns!—“Well, look, Jack,” he says, “uh—Would thee mind takin’ ’em up like?” Jack says, “Why?” he says. “’Cos,” he says,—“the roots,” he says, “has come down that far—they’re coming through the roadways in the pit,” he says; “the ponies canna get past.” Roy Palmer, from Ewan MacColl and Charles Parker. TYPE 1960D. MOTIF: X.1401 [Lie: the giant vegetable]. This is one of the anecdotes recently found in oral tradition, collected by Mr Roy Palmer round Birmingham. The tale is a good example of local dialect.

GOOD AND BAD NEWS Two friends who had not seen each other a great while, meeting by chance, one asked the other how he did? He replied, that he was not very well, and was married since they had last met. “That is good news indeed.” “Nay, not so very good neither, for I married a shrew.” “That is bad, too.” “Not so bad, neither, for I had two thousand pounds with her.” “That is well again.” “Not so well, neither, for I laid it out in sheep, and they all died of the rot.” “That was hard, in truth.” “Not so hard, neither, for I sold the skins for more than the sheep cost me.” “Aye, that made you amends.” “Not so much amends, neither,

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for I laid my money out in a house, and it was burned.” “That was a great loss, indeed.” “Not so great a loss, neither—for my wife was burned in it.” Norton Collection, VI, p. 117. Glasgow. TYPE 2014A. MOTIF: Z.51.1 [The house is burnt down].

GOOD FORTUNE or THE MISER AND HIS WIFE Once upon a time there was an old miser, who lived with his wife near a great town, and used to put by every bit of money he could lay hands on. His wife was a simple woman, and they lived together without quarrelling, but she was obliged to put up with very hard fare. Now, sometimes, when there was a sixpence she thought might be spared for a comfortable dinner or supper, she used to ask the miser for it, but he would say, “No, wife, it must be put by for Good Fortune.” It was the same with every penny he could get hold of, and notwithstanding all she could say, almost every coin that came into the house was put by “for Good Fortune”. The miser said this so often, that some of his neighbours heard him, and one of them thought of a trick by which he might get the money. So the first day that the old chuff was away from home, he dressed himself like a wayfaring man, and knocked at the door. “Who are you?” said the wife. He answered, “I am Good Fortune, and I am come for the money that your husband has laid by for me.” So this simple woman, not suspecting any trickery, readily gave it to him, and, when her good man came home, told him very pleasantly that Good Fortune had called for the money which had been kept so long for him. Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes and Popular Tales, p. 153. TYPE 1541. MOTIFS: K.362.1, [For the long winter] J.2355, [The numskull talks about his instructions] K.1817.4.1. [Disguise as pedlar.] Ben Jonson refers to this story, and probably to this version of it. See also “Hereafterthis”.

GRANNY’S PILLS Dot was a small man, that’s why he got that name; but though he wasn’t very big he had a wonderful headpiece on him and, what’s more, he knew how to use it. His mother paid twopence a week for him to go to the National School, but when he left he soon found that he and hard work didn’t get on together. He managed to get hold of a suit of clothes from someone well-off and when he was rigged out in this, anyone who didn’t know him would have thought he was quite a gent. Dot left the Fens just at the time he could have been helping his old widowed mother, who got a living taking in other folks’ washing and mending, and for a few years no one heard of him. Then, one day, a farmer on a trip to Cambridge, saw him standing in the market place with a crowd of people round him listening as he told them that half the world’s troubles came from folks’ innards not working properly. It seemed he had the cure, though—“Rapid Motion Pills”—made from


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the recipe of his old Granny who lived till she was ninety-eight, and she might have lived longer than that if it hadn’t been for a sharp frost which made her slip as she was going down her garden path one day, so she finished up with a broken thigh and when she was found she was frozen as stiff as a board. “Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Dot was telling the crowd, “besides wanting to help you I want to earn an honest living; so I’m offering you these pills at threepence a box. You go to any chemist in town and he’ll charge you a shilling for the same quantity, but they won’t have half the power that these have got. And I’ll make you a fair offer, too. Take one of these pills and, if it doesn’t work, take two, and if those don’t do the trick then come back next Saturday and I’ll arrange to pay you five shillings a week as long as you live.” The farmer said that Dot was selling no end of boxes, and raking in a lot of money, but he didn’t seem keen for anyone from home to know about that. Then, for a few more years nothing was heard of him till a young chap, who’d been caught poaching and been given three months in gaol, brought some news of him. It seems he’d met Dot in prison, doing twelve months’ hard labour, though he wouldn’t tell this chap what it was for; the pair of them often worked side by side on the treadmill. When Dot left prison a chapel in Cambridge was holding some revival services, which was a stroke of luck for him with his gift of talking. It didn’t take him long to show that he could preach, and get the money into the collecting box, a lot better than most of the old hands who’d been at it for years. The chapel folks soon saw how good he was and in next to no time he was a full-blown missioner, going round the villages holding revival services in return for his keep, the collection and a little bit extra every time anyone was saved. This soon set him on his feet again and turned him back into a real, dapper little gent. Then the revivals began to fall off a bit, so Dot looked about for another job and soon found one that suited him down to the ground. He was made an agent for an insurance company which had opened in Cambridge, and he was so good at going round and getting customers that it wasn’t long before he was given a bigger district, which meant he had to move to Ely. When he was there he decided to take up preaching again as he reckoned that might put a bit more business in his way. You see, the chapel folk always gave the preacher his meals on Sundays and this gave Dot the chance of talking about insurance at the dinner table and so getting a few more customers on his book. Soon he had most of the chapel folk covered for burial expenses and quite a lot of them wanted to be insured against fire too. But Dot’s company didn’t handle that, so he turned that part over to a chap who was agent for a fire insurance company, in return for half the commission he got. Then Dot got an idea; why not wake up the revival business in the chapel he used to go to when he was a boy. He soon had things fixed up and told the folk on his collecting round that he was taking a holiday so would they pay a week in advance; this saved him from being told off by the company for letting things slide for a week. On the Saturday evening he went down into Soham Fen and had a chat with the chapel folk, telling them he was going to light a real fire of religious revival right across the fen. Board and lodging for him were soon settled, but some of the chapel people were a bit doubtful about letting him start the revival because they’d heard rumours about the kind of life Dot had led and they weren’t too keen about him wanting all the collections that

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were going to be taken. So in the end they all voted on it, and Dot got his way; those who were a bit against him thought that, after all, the collections probably wouldn’t come to much and, anyway, if he got a few new customers for the chapel then that would help to make up the loss later on. Dot preached every night that week until the Saturday, which was going to be the biggest meeting of the lot. By the time the doors were opened there was quite a crowd waiting to get inside the chapel. After a hymn Dot stood up on his box in the pulpit (he was too small, without the box, to see over the edge), and then shouted at the top of his voice: “Fire. Fire.” Then he dropped his voice, waved his arms about, and recited: “At night the cry of fire rang out; Are they all saved? came the fireman’s shout.” Well, that made everyone in the chapel sit as still as mice, wondering what was coming next. So Dot went on: “How many of you here want to be saved from Hell’s flames? Now, you listen to me. I lived for some time in Cambridge, a place which is just like Sodom. The streets were crowded with men who pushed me on one side as they rushed from one sin to another; the churches were empty but the alehouses were crowded. I can tell you, brothers and sisters, the Devil was running about everywhere and the whole town stank of Hell and I expected every day to see it go up in flames. Then I moved to Ely and that place is just like Gomorrah was. I found the city waist deep in sin, with crowds of people singing and shouting. So I called out to them: ‘Woe, woe be on this city,’ and a man standing near me said: “‘Shut up; is this the first time you’ve been to Ely fair?’ “‘A fair, is it,’ I said, ‘why, the place is full of the smoke of Hell.’ “Then I saw a pretty young woman coming towards me so I told her to remember Lot’s wife, but she only said she didn’t know her; so I went along, expecting the flames to come and burn the city up at any moment. Now, brothers and sisters, are there any of you here who want to be saved from Sodom and Gomorrah? Then, look; the gates of Hell are standing wide open ready for you; but are you going to pass through them to be burned up in everlasting fire? Is your sin as bad as mine is? Are you full of fear? I am. My heart is heavy and my whole inside is bound up with misery. What, my brothers and sisters, is the cure?” And a voice came from the back of the chapel: “Try a couple of your Granny’s Rapid Motion Pills.” W.H.Barrett, More Tales from the Fens, p. 12. TYPE 1832. (variant). MOTIFS: X.435 [The boy applies the sermon]; X.434 [The parson put out of countenance].


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THE GRATEFUL BEE A motorist was driving up to the Highlands of Scotland when a bee got into the car and couldn’t get out. He drew up at the side of the road at once and screwed down the window. “Out you get, old chap,” he said. “You’ll never get home if I drive on any further.” The bee flew at once to the window, but alighted on the glass, turned itself round, and to the motorist’s amazement, said in a tiny voice, “Thank you very much, I won’t forget it. If you’re ever in difficulties, call on me, for bees are everywhere.” With that, it turned round and flew away, before the motorist had found breath to thank it. He drove on, and went right into the Highlands of Scotland. He was exploring lonely moorland roads, and one day it happened that he lost his way and went on and on without finding any petrol pumps or even a farm where he could borrow a tin. The gauge marked lower and lower, and finally the engine gave a cough and a splutter, and conked out. All around him were miles and miles of heather and not a soul in sight. It was blazing hot. “Oh, bee! bee!” said the motorist, “I wish you could come to my help.” He had hardly spoken when a little dark cloud appeared in the distance, and a humming noise drew nearer and nearer. It was a perfectly enormous swarm of bees with one in front leading it. It was his friend. “What’s the matter?” he said. “I’ve run out of petrol, and I’m stuck miles from anywhere.” “Unscrew the cap of your tank,” said his friend, “and leave the rest to us.” The motorist unscrewed the cap, and the bee alighted on the pipe, sat there for a minute, and flew out. He was followed by thousands of bees till the motorist grew dizzy watching them, each one perching for a second and then flying off. At length his first friend said: “Screw the cap on again, your tank’s full.” “Thanks awfully,” said the driver. “I do appreciate your great kindness and all that; but you can’t drive a car on honey.” A buzz of amusement went round the swarm. “Bless your innocence,” said his friend. “This isn’t honey. You can drive anywhere on B.P.” Told by Dr. R.Melhuish, 1965. He had just heard it at a yachting club. MOTIFS: B.374 [Animals grateful for release]; B.481.3 [Helpful bee]. The humour of this tale lies in its starting solemnly like a normal fairy tale, and ending abruptly with a pun.

THE GRAVEDIGGER OF SORN The gravedigger of Sorn, Ayrshire, was as selfish and as mean a sinner as ever handled mattock or carried mortcloth. He was a very querulous and discontented old man, with a voice like the whistle of the wind through a keyhole. On a bleak Sunday afternoon in the

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country, an acquaintance from a neighbouring parish accosted him…and asked how the world was moving with him. “Oh, very puirly, sir, very puirly indeed,” was the answer, “the yard has done nothing ava for us this summer…if you like to believe me, I havena buriet a leevin’ soul this sax weeks.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 204. MOTIF: X.427 (variant) [A bad year for priests: few funerals].

THE GREAT TURNIPS O, that was nowte tull a crop o’ turmets ’at was grown abeùn twenty year sen bee Clem Mossop o’ Prior Skeàe nar Co’der Brig. It’s gūddish grūnd theer, and what wid that, and heavy mūckin’ an’ wide thinnin’ oot, he rais’t sec turmets as niver was heerd tell on, ayder afooar or sen—they wer’ sa big. Fwoke com fray a parts to leuk at them; an’ aboot Martinmas a young bull fairly eat his way intul yan on them, as a moose may’d intul a cheese, and beàd theer. They thowt t’beast was lost till a while efter Kersmas, when he woak’d oot on’t a gay bit fatter ner he went in. Clem was sa plees’t he het t’skell o’ t’ turmet carriet yām, an’ meàd them put some lang sticks across’t for pūrches, an’ it meàd a famish hen hull—t’hens a’ sat in’t at neet—while next winter, an’ then it soffen’t an’ fell togidder efter a hard frost. Norton Collection, VI, p. III. Cumberland. W.Dickinson, Cumbriana, or Fragments of Cumbrian Life (2nd edn., 1876), p. 50. TYPE 19600. MOTIFS: X.1401 [Lie: the great vegetable]; X.1401.1 [Lie: animals live inside great vegetable, usually feeding from it]. An Irish version is given by Duncan, Folk-Lore, IV, 129, 1893. Baughman cites various American versions from New York, North Carolina, Arkansas, etc. See also “A Giant Cabbage” and “Giant Parsnips”.

THE GREAT WIND Tommy* had a dog, and one day that dog, said Tommy, was carried up in a whirlwind, “yarrapy, yarrapy up to heaven, kow-welping up in they clouds, and never was sin no more”. Norton Collection, VI, p. 113. Gloucestershire. TYPE 1960 Z. MOTIF: X.1611.1 [Lies about big wind].

* Told of “Tommy Boots, now dead, but once the epical liar of Yabberton”.


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THE GREATER NEED A lad had taken his lass to the local cinema, but the lass arrived home in tears. “Wot’s up?” asked her mother. “He only took me in t’tanners,” she complained. “Well, ’ere’s sixpence; tek it straight to ’is ’ouse and give ’im it,” said mother indignantly. “He mebbe needs it more than we do.” The lass arrived at the house, knocked on the door, and her cinema escort answered the knock. “I’ve browt your tanner back,” she said, “Mother says you may need it more than we do.” “Nay,” said he, “you needn’t have bothered to-neet. It’d ’ave done in t’ morning.” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. 23. MOTIF: X.760 [Jokes on courtship].

THE GREY MARE IS THE BETTER HORSE: I A gentleman having married a lady of considerable beauty and fortune, but whose domineering temper and disregard of marital authority on all occasions made his home wretched, entreated her father to take back his daughter, and her dowry into the bargain. “Pooh, pooh!” said the old gentleman, “you know not the world. All women govern their husbands, and it is easily proved. Harness the five horses in my stable to a cart, in which I will place a basket containing one hundred eggs; leave a horse in every house where the husband is master, and an egg only where the wife governs. If you should find your eggs gone before your horses, you will think your case is not so uncommon; but if your horses are disposed of first, I will take my daughter home again, and you may keep her fortune.” At the first house the son-in-law came to, he heard the wife, in a shrill and angry voice, bid her husband answer the door; here he left an egg without any inquiry. He visited a second and a third house with the same result. The eggs were nearly all gone, when he arrived at the seat of a gentleman of position in the county. Having asked for the master, who happened to be not yet stirring, he was ushered into the presence of the lady. Humbly apologizing for the intrusion, he put the question of obedience: and on the lady replying she was proud to obey her husband in all things, the husband entered the room, and confirmed his wife’s words; upon which he was requested to choose which horse he liked. A black gelding struck his fancy, but the lady desired he would choose the grey mare, as more fit for a side-saddle. Notwithstanding the substantial reasons given why the black horse would be more useful, the wife persisted in her claim for the grey mare. “What!” said she; “and will you not take her then? But I say you shall, for I am sure the grey mare is much the better horse.” “Well, well, my dear,” replied the husband: “just as you please; if it must be so.” “Oh,” quoth the gentleman-carter, “you must now take an egg, and I must take all my horses back again, and endeavour to live happily with my wife.” Norton Collection, IV, p. 173. From Notes and Queries, VI, 3, pp. 95–6. From Wm.

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Platt. No source given, but implied to be British.

THE GREY MARE IS THE BETTER HORSE: II A gentleman, who had “seen the world”, one day gave his son a pair of horses, and a basket of eggs, saying, “Do you travel upon the high-road, until you come to the first house in which there is a married couple. If you find that the husband is master there, give him one of the horses. If, on the other hand, the wife is ruler, give her an egg. Return at once if you part with a horse, but do not come back so long as you keep both horses, and there is an egg remaining in your basket.” Off went the youth, full of his mission, and called at so many houses without finding the man really master that all his eggs save one were gone, and riding onwards he came to a house where he must make his final trial. He alighted and knocked at the door. The good wife opened it for him and curtsied. “Is your husband at home?” No, but she would call him from the hay-field. In he came, wiping his brows. The young man told them his errand. “Why,” said the goodwife, simpering, and twiddling a corner of her apron, “I always do as John wants me to do; he is my master, aren’t you, John?” To which John replied, “Yes.” “Then,” said the youth, “I am to give you a horse; which will you take?” Quoth John, “I think we’ll have the bay gelding.” “If we have a choice, husband, I think the grey mare will suit us better.” “No,” replied John, “the bay for me; he is more square in the front, and has much better legs.” “Now,” said the wife, “I don’t think so;—the grey mare is the better horse, and I shall never be contented unless I get that one.” “You must take an egg,” cried the youth, giving her the only one he had left, and he then returned home, with both horses, to inform his father how he had sped in his mission. Norton Collection, IV, p. 174. W.H.Clouston, in Origins and Analogues of some of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, ed. F.J.Furnival, E.Brock, and W.A.Clouston (London, 1888), pp. 523–4: “The origin of the expression [Gray Mare] is thus accounted for.” No source given. Reference to an Arabic parallel. See also Braga, no. 101, O Sacco das Nozes. TYPE 1375. MOTIF: T.252.1 [Who can rule his wife?] There are Swedish, Dutch, Italian and Brazilian versions of this tale. “The Grey Mare is the better Horse” is a common proverb to describe a house where the woman rules. See “The Henpecked Husband”.

GROWING THE CHURCH There were a little village, and they were very proud of their church, ’cos in the next town there was another church, and they were as alike as two peas. Well, town people they went and they measured their church all round; and village people they measured their church all round, and they were both alike. And then they measured the spires, and town church were a little bit taller—only about a inch.


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Well, village people were proper upset, they was. So they got together, and they ’ad a talk, and they were very busy that night, and when morning came, all the churchyard round little church were a girt ’eap o’ muck, so’s ’e’d grow ’igher. Ruth L.Tongue, from L.Wyatt, Somerset, 1913. Folktales of England, p. 129. Recorded 28 September 1963. TYPE 1200 (variant). MOTIF: F.802.1 [Big rocks grow from little rocks]. Baughman cites examples from Herefordshire, Oxfordshire, Suffolk, and New York. See “The Austwick Carles”, “The Wise Men of Gotham”, etc.

THE HALF-CUP OF TEA There was once a man who always complained that whenever he asked for a half-cup of tea he always got a full one. No woman, he said, could pour out a half-cup of tea; and if he met one who could he’d marry her because she’d be a wonder. Well, one day he went to a garden party, and a young lady whom he hadn’t met before was helping his hostess. She asked him if he’d like another cup of tea, and he said, “Just half, please.” She poured him out exactly half. He looked at her with great respect, and he thought she was a very pretty girl. He found out her name, and he saw a lot of her after that, and liked her more and more, and in the end he asked her to marry him. They were married, and on the honeymoon she said: “What made you first think of me?” “Well, do you remember the first day we met?” said her husband, “when I asked you for half a cup of tea.” “Oh yes,” she said, “I remember. There wasn’t a drop more in the pot, and I was so ashamed.” K.M.Briggs. Heard from Mrs. Mills about 1915 in Perthshire. There is a Pennsylvania Dutch version of this tale in R.M.Dorson, Buying the Wind, pp. 146–8.

THE HAMMER CALLED “SMILER” There was once a silly man who broke stones by the roadside, and he was so silly that he used to talk to the stones as he broke them. One day he struck hard at a big stone, but the hammer would not break it. “Now, lad,” said the silly man, catching his breath, and swinging the hammer back over his shoulder, “I’ll bet thee a shilling I do break thee.” So he struck the stone with a tremendous whack, but it was not broken a bit. “Now, then, lad,” said the silly man, pulling his coat off, “I’ll bet thee a sovereign I do break thee, now then.” So he struck the stone with another tremendous whack, but it was not broken a bit.

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“Way, lad,” said the silly man, pulling both his coat and waistcoat off, and hitching his breeches up with both hands, “I will break thee yet. I’ll get ‘Smiler’ to thee.” (He called his big hammer “Smiler”.) So he lifted “Smiler” up, and brought him down on the stone with all his might. But the stone was not broken a bit. “Way, lad,” said the silly man, “If I can’t break thee, I can throw thee o’er t’ wall.” So he threw the stone over the wall into a field. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 49. From Norton, Derbyshire. Addy identified the “Silly Man” with Thor, and his hammer with Thor’s Mjölnir, but there seems no reason for the identification.

“HAS PLUMMOCKS LEGS?” One day two lads were busy robbing an orchard; one was aloft in a damson plum-tree, pulling the fruit at random, and throwing them below to his comrade; the other at the foot was engaged in hot haste, stuffing them into his pockets, and from time to time hurriedly bolting one down his throat. Silence and expedition being imperatively incumbent in the situation, the first had not much time to select which to gather, nor the other which to put into his mouth. Suddenly the lad inquired fearfully of the one above, “Tom, has plummocks legs?” “Noa,” roared Tom. “Then,” said Bill, with a manly despair, “then I ha’ swallowed a straddlybeck.” Norton Collection, V, p. 208. Cornhill Magazine, IX (1864), p. 91, in an anonymous article, “Yorkshire”. The author adds, “Now a straddly-beck is a frog, from straddle beck, a ditch or rivulet”. TYPE 1319J*. MOTIF: J.1761.11 [Fool mistakes dung-beetles for fruit: eats them]. Indian, Swedish, Finnish. A joke in an early volume of Punch (c. 1900) runs: “Auntie, has goosegogs legs?” “No, dearie.” “Boo-hoo! Then I’ve swallowed a beastie!”

THE HAWK AND THE PARROT One day, as a parrot was walking about in a garden, a hawk came and flew away with her. As the hawk was carrying the parrot over a field, the parrot saw a ploughman who had weak, sore knees, and called out to him, “I say, old rotten-shins, I ride, I ride.” The ploughman answered, “Ay, and thou’lt have to pay for it soon.” The hawk then flew into the hedge on the other side of the field, and began to pluck the parrot’s feathers off. Whilst he was doing this, the parrot kept crying, “Oh, damn thee, thou lugs, thou lugs!” After a struggle, the parrot got loose and went and told the ploughman how the hawk had lugged.


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S.O.Addy, Household Tales, pp. 12–13. Calver, Derbyshire. TYPE 100*. MOTIF: B.211.3.4 [Speaking parrot]. All the tales have the motif of the speaking parrot in common. See the heading, “Parrot”, also, “May Colvin” (A, II).

THE HEDGE PRIEST An Irish parson was walking in Derbyshire one day when a heavy storm came on, and he had to take shelter under a tree. Two young gentlemen and two young ladies were also taking shelter under this tree. The parson saw that they all looked very sad, and he asked them what made them look so miserable. They said, “We are all on our way to church to be married, but the storm has hindered us, and we are afraid it is now too late.” “If that is all,” said the parson, “I can marry you.” They gladly agreed, so the parson took his prayerbook out of his pocket and married them at once. After he had said his marriage service, he repeated these lines over each couple: “Under a tree in stormy weather I married this man and maid together; Let him alone who rules the thunder Put this man and maid asunder.” S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 22.

THE HENPECKED HUSBAND There was once a poor husband that was ruled by his wife. One day she tormented him so much that he made up his mind to leave her and go into another country. So he set out on his way, and he had not gone far before he came to a farmhouse which stood by the roadside. Just as he was passing the door a cock crowed, and he thought the bird said, “Women are masters here!” He went a few miles further, and came to another farmhouse. As he went by a cock crowed again, and he thought the bird said, “Aye, and everywhere!” Then said the husband, “I will go back and live with my wife, for now I am certain that women are the rulers of men.” S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 27. TYPE 1375. MOTIF: T.252.1 [Unsuccessful search for man who can rule his wife]. See “The Grey Mare is the Better Horse” for a fuller example of this type, which is also to be found in Holland, Sweden, Livonia, Italy and Brazil.

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HENRY S. OF TRENIT HERON [summary] Henry, taking horses to York market, fell asleep in a ditch while they grazed. When he woke he saw a great black fellow with bulging eyes looking down at him, and heard clanking chains. Terrified, jumped out of ditch, and ran with clanking chains at his back. Tripped over clod in ploughed field, and lay exhausted, face to ground. Felt foot on back, heard voice. It sounded human and kind. Looked up and saw keeper with retriever on chain. Thompson Notebooks, III. Told by Henry to Gus Gray. TYPE 1321. MOTIF: J.1785 [Animals thought to be devils or ghosts].

HEREAFTERTHIS Once upon a time there was a farmer called Jan, and he lived all alone by himself in a little farm-house. By-and-by he thought he would like to have a wife to keep it all vitty for him. So he went a-courting a fine maid, and said to her, “Will you marry me?” “That I will, to be sure,” said she. So they went to church, and were wed. After the wedding was over, she got up on his horse behind him, and he brought her home. And they lived as happy as the day was long. One day, Jan said to his wife, “Wife, can you milk-y?” “Oh, yes, Jan, I can milk-y. Mother used to milk-y, when I lived home.” So he went to market, and bought her ten red cows. All went well till one day when she had driven them to the pond to drink, she thought they did not drink fast enough. So she drove them right into the pond to make them drink faster, and they were all drowned. When Jan came home, she up and told him what she had done, and he said, “Oh, well there, never mind, my dear; better luck next time.” So they went on for a bit, and then one day, Jan said to his wife, “Wife, can you serve pigs?” “Oh, yes, Jan, I can serve pigs. Mother used to serve pigs when I lived home.” So Jan went to market and bought her some pigs. All went well till one day, when she had put their food into the trough she thought they did not eat fast enough, and she pushed their heads into the trough to make them eat faster, and they were all choked. When Jan came home, she up and told him what she had done, and he said, “Oh, well, there, never mind, my dear, better luck next time.” So they went on for a bit, and then, one day, Jan said to his wife, “Wife, can you bakey?” “Oh, yes, Jan, I can bake-y. Mother used to bake-y when I lived home.” So he bought everything for his wife, so that she could bake bread. All went well for a bit, till one day she thought she would bake white bread for a treat for Jan. So she carried her meal to the top of a high hill, and let the wind blow on it, for she thought to herself


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that the wind would blow out all the bran. But the wind blew away meal, bran, and all— so there was an end of it. When Jan came home, she up and told him what she done, and he said, “Oh, well, there, never mind, my dear; better luck next time.” So they went on for a bit, and then, one day, Jan said to his wife, “Wife, can you brewy?” “Oh, yes, Jan, I can brew-y. Mother used to brew-y, when I lived home.” So he bought everything proper for his wife to brew ale with. All went well for a bit, till one day when she had brewed her ale and put it in the barrel, a big black dog came in and looked up in her face. She drove him out of the house, but he stayed outside the door and still looked up in her face. And she got so angry that she pulled out the plug of the barrel, threw it at the dog, and said, “What dost look in me for? I be Jan’s wife.” Then the dog ran down the road, and she ran after him to chase him right away. When she came back again, she found that the ale had all run out of the barrel, and so there was an end of it. When Jan came home, she up and told him what she had done, and he said, “Oh well, there, never mind, my dear; better luck next time.” So they went on for a bit, and then one day she thought to herself, “’Tis time to clean up my house.” When she was taking down her big bed she found a bag of groats on the tester. So when Jan came home, she up and said to him, “Jan, what is that bag of groats on the tester for?” “That is for Hereafterthis, my dear.” Now, there was a robber outside the window, and he heard what Jan said. Next day, he waited till Jan had gone to market, and then he came and knocked at the door. “What do you please to want?” said Mally. “I am Hereafterthis,” said the robber. “I have come for the bag of groats.” Now the robber was dressed like a fine gentleman, so she thought to herself it was very kind of so fine a man to come for the bag of groats, so she ran upstairs and fetched the bag of groats, and gave it to the robber and he went away with it. When Jan came home, she said to him, “Jan, Hereafterthis has been for the bag of groats.” “What do you mean, wife?” said Jan. So she up and told him, and he said, “Then I’m a ruined man, for that money was to pay our rent with. The only thing we can do is to roam the world.” Then Jan took the house-door off its hinges. “That’s all we shall have to lie on,” he said. So Jan put the door on his back, and they both set out to look for Hereafterthis. Many a long day they went, and in the night Jan used to put the door on the branches of a tree, and they would sleep on it. One night they came to a big hill, and there was a high tree at the foot. So Jan put the door up in it, and they got up in the tree and went to sleep. By-and-by Jan’s wife heard a noise, and she looked to see what it was. It was an opening of a door in the side of the hill. Out came two gentlemen with a long table, and behind them, fine ladies and gentlemen, each carrying a bag, and one of them was Hereafterthis with the bag of groats. They sat round the table, and began to drink and talk and count up all the money in the bags. So then Jan’s wife woke him up, and asked what they should do.

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“Now’s our time,” said Jan, and he pushed the door off the branches, and it fell right in the very middle of the table, and frightened the robbers so that they all ran away. Then Jan and his wife got down from the tree, took as many money-bags as they could carry on the door, and went straight home. And Jan bought his wife more cows, and more pigs, and they lived happily ever after. Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 7. TYPES 1387, 1541, 1653A. MOTIFS: K.362.1 [For the long winter]; J.2176 [Fool lets wine run in cellar]; K. 335.1.1.1 [Door falls on robbers from tree; they flee and leave money]. Zong-in-Sob gives a Korean version of this tale. See also “Mr and Mrs Vinegar”, “Good Fortune”, “Hoyik and Boyik”.

AN HONEST McGREGOR Donald McGregor, a notorious sheep-lifter (alias, sheep-stealer) in the north Highlands, being at last overtaken by the grim tyrant of the human race, was visited by the minister of the parish, whose appearance, however, was by no means agreeable to Donald. The holy man warmly exhorted the dying Highlander to reflect upon the long and black catalogue of his sins, before it was too late, otherwise he would have a tremendous account to give at the great day of retribution, when all the crimes he had committed in this world would appear in dreadful array, as evidence of his guilt. “Och! sir,” cries the dying man, “an’ will a’ the sheeps and the cows, an’ ilka thing Tonal has helped hersel’ to, be there?” “Undoubtedly,” replied the parson. “Then let ilka shentleman take her nain, an’ Tonal will be an honest man again.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 205. TYPE 1843 [Parson visits the dying]. Nineteen versions of this anecdote are cited in Aarne-Thompson from Finland.

THE HORSE WHO PLAYED CRICKET There was once a visiting cricket team—a town team—who went out to play against a country team. And just at the last moment as they got on the bus, they got a message from one of the team that he had broken his leg and couldn’t come. They hadn’t a spare man, and they hadn’t time to look for one, so the only thing was to hope that there might be some spare players in the home team, and they could borrow one. When they got to the place, the captain of the visiting team explained how it was, and asked the captain of the home team if he could borrow any member of the club for the game. “I’m awfully sorry,” said the home captain. “We’re such a small club that all our members are playing. I don’t know what we can do. Oh! I know, go and ask that old horse over there if he’ll stand in for you. He’s drawn the mower and the roller for years, and there isn’t anything he


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doesn’t know about cricket. He’s a good-natured old chap; go over and ask him nicely, and I’m sure he’ll consent.” So the captain of the visiting team walked over to the horse, and he said, “Excuse me, sir, the captain thinks you might be willing to oblige us. One of the team’s failed at the last moment, and the captain thought you might be willing to play for us. We don’t like to go home without a game at all.” “Well, I’m terribly out of practice,” said the horse, “but I don’t like to be disobliging. I’ll tell you what; put me down to bat last, and then I can’t do much harm.” So that was arranged. The home team won the toss, and they put the visiting team in to bat first. They may have been a small club, but every man of them was a cricketer, as the visiting team soon discovered. They had a couple of demon bowlers who knocked the wickets down like ninepins, and soon there were nine wickets down, with about twice as many runs. It was the old horse’s turn to go in, and soon the visiting team’s spirits began to rise, for he knocked those bowlers all over the field. The score went to twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, and it looked as if the old horse would stay there till he’d made his century, only unfortunately the tenth man got caught out, and that was the end of the innings. After this, the home team went in, and they soon showed they were as good at batting as they were at bowling, and the visiting captain put on every bowler they had, and they were all treated with contempt. At last, he went over to the old horse, who was fielding long-stop. “You’ve done so well for us in the batting, sir,” he said, “I wonder if you would try what you can do with the bowling?” The old horse looked at him, and he threw back his head, and laughed and laughed, “Bowling!” he said. “Who ever heard of a horse bowling at cricket?” From Piers Nash-Williams, 13 August 1963. Published in Folktales of England, p. 142. Brunvand, B.350.1 [Horse plays cricket; it can’t bowl]. Brunvand cites Eric Partridge, The Shaggy Dog Story, pp. 70–4; John Waller, Shaggy Dog and other Surrealist Fables (London, 1953), pp. 40–1, and C.B.S.Radio Files in New York City, accumulated from a Shaggy Dog Contest held in 1958.

HORSE’S EGGS [summary] An Irishman went into a shop and asked what a vegetable marrow was. Told it was a horse’s egg. Bought one for a shilling, and started to roll it home. On the way it rolled into a bush, and a hare started out. The Irishman chased it in vain. So he went back to the shop, and asked for a plough-horse’s egg. The racehorse foal had got away from him at once. Thompson Notebooks. From Gus Gray, Cleethorpes, 26 September 1914. TYPE 1319. MOTIFS: J.1772.1 [Pumpkin thought to be an ass’s egg]; J.1902 [Absurd ignorance concerning hatching of eggs]. This is a widely distributed tale. Clouston in his Noodles gives examples; Wesselski’s Hodscha Nasreddin, I, 249, no. 163, gives a version. It occurs all over Europe and in India, China, the West Indies, and America.

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Baughman cites many examples, but only from America. See “The Mare’s Eggs” for a full version from the Norton Collection.

HOT METOTS Weel, there was yae time there was a lad, and he was down-and-out. He hadnae a penny in his claes nane. “Well,” he says, “I’ll hae to try something,” he says, “’cos,” he says, “I haena a ha’penny and I’ll hae to try something.” So, he gaed awa’ to a field whaur there was a dose of sheep, and he pickit up aa the sheep’s dirt, and he gets some silver papers and he rowes up this sheepies’ dirt in the silver paper, and put them into little boxes. So, he gets a hurley-kin’-of-thing, and he gaed into the Castlegate in Aiberdeen, and tries to sell this sheep’s dirt. So he roars out: “Hot metots—good for a short memory! Come and buy some Hot metots—good for a short memory.” By comes a fairmer. He says, “Fit’s that ye’re sellin’ then?” “Hot metots—good for a short memory.” “And fit are they the box?” “Oh,” he says, “they cost a guinea a box.” “Well, if I thought,” he says, “they’d mak my memory langer,” he says, “I’ll buy two boxes.” “Oh, well, but—” the bloke he said, “this—ye should mind on this,” he says, “this should make ye mind.” “Well,” he says, “I’ll take twa boxes onieway.” So he handit over two guineas. Hame comes the fairmer, and of course he would open one of the boxes, and did take two-three of this sheep’s dirt. “Gode, it’s an aafie taste,” he said. “It minds me on sheep’s dirt.” Well, but noo a whilie eftir that again, this bloke’s back in the Castlegate, and by comes the fairmer. “ Hey, man,” he says, “fit kind o’ thing’s yon,” he says, “that ye were sellin’,” he says, “in the boxes for your short memory?” He says, “’Tis aafie like sheep’s dirt.” “Oh,” says the bloke, “sae it wis.” “’S’at?” he says. “Sae it wis.” “ Gode!” he says, “that’s aafie.” He says, “Well,” he says, “It will mak ye mind aa the days of your life ye ate sheep’s dirt.” School of Scottish Studies, told by Jean Stewart. Closely paralleled by MOTIF K.114.3 [Alleged oracular pill sold] and K.114.3.1 [Virtue of oracular pill proved]. (The dupe takes it. “It is dog’s dung,” he says, and spits it out. The trickster says he is telling the truth, and demands pay). A.Wesselski, Die Schwänke und Schnurrer des Pfarrers Arlotts, 9 vols., Berlin, 1910 (cited in Thompson, Motif-Index). Gonella, nos. 4, 4a, and 106. See “To Cure a Lying Tongue and a Bad Memory”.


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HOW MADDE COOMES, WHEN HIS WIFE WAS DROWNED, SOUGHT HER AGAINST THE STREAME Coomes of Stapforth, hearing that his wife was drowned comming from market, went with certayne of his friends to see if they could find her in the river. He, contrary to all the rest, sought his wife against the streame; which they perceyving, sayd he lookt the wrong way. And why so? (quoth he). Because (quoth they) you should looke downe the streame, and not against it. Nay, zounds (quoth hee), I shall never find her that way; for shee did all things so contrary in her life time, that now she is dead, I am sure she will goe against the streame. Norton Collection, IV, p. 168E. Pasquil’s Jests mixed with Mother Bunches Merriments, London, 1604. Reprinted in W.C.Hazlitt’s Shakespeare Jest-books, III (1864), p. 27 of Pasquil’s Jests. TYPE 1365A. See “The Contrary Wife”.

HOW MR LENINE GAVE UP COURTING Mr Lenine had been, as was his wont, spending his evening hours with the lady of his love. He was a timid man, and always returned to Tregenebris early. Beyond this, as the lady was alone, she deemed it prudent to let the world know that Mr Lenine left her by daylight. One evening, it was scarcely yet dark, and our lover was returning home through Leah Lanes. His horse started at an old woman, who had crept under the hedge for shelter from a passing shower. As Mr Lenine saw a figure moving in the shade he was terrified. “Tu-whit, tu-whoo,” sand an owl. “It’s only me, Mr Lenine, of Tregenebris,” said he, putting the spurs to his horse. Something followed him, fast as he might go, and he forced his horse up the hill by Leah Vean. “Tu-whit, tu-whoo, ho,” sang the owl. “It’s only me—Aunt Betty Foss,” screamed the old woman. “Tu-whit, tu-whoo, ho, ho,” sang the owl again. “Don’t ye be afeared, Mr Lenine,” shrieked Aunt Betty, almost out of breath. “Tu-whit, tu-whoo, ho, ho,” also shrieked the owl. “Oh, it’s only John Lenine, of Tregenebris,” stammered the frightened lover, who had, however, reached home. He went no more a-courting. He was fully persuaded that either a highwayman and his crew, or the devil and his imps, were upon him. He died a bachelor, and the charming lady became a peevish old maid, and died in solitude, all owing to the hooting owl. Some do say Betty Foss was a witch, and the owl her familiar. Norton Collection, VI. Hunt, pp. 336–7. Cornwall. TYPE 1322A*. See “Jacob Stone and the Owl”.

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HOW TO FIND WORK A slater being employed by a gentleman to repair his house in the country, took along with him a prentice, when they set to work, and continued to work for some days. The gentleman, having no conception the job was to be of such duration, came out one morning, and found the apprentice at work alone, when he expressed himself as surprised at the continuation of them working so long, and inquired what had become of his master, to which the boy replied, “He’s awa to Glasgow to look for a job, and if he got ane, this ane would be done the morn, and if he didna get ane, he didna ken when it would be done.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 203. This is a variant of the master and servant tales. See “The Hungry Mowers”.

HOW TO READ A SIGN-BOARD A Highland Drover, passing through a certain town, noticed a sign-board above an entry, with the following inscription: Green Teas, Raw Sugars, Marmalades, Jellies, Capped Biscuits, and all sorts of Confectionery Goods sold down this entry, read it as follows: Green Trees, Raw Sodgers, Mermaids, Jades, Scabbed Bitches, and all sorts of Confusionery Goods sold down this entry. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 202. MOTIFS: J.1746 [Ignorance of reading]; J.2496.2 [Misunderstanding because of a lack of knowledge of a different language than one’s own]. See also J.1802 [Words in a foreign language thought to be insults]

HOW THEY GOT RID OF THE SHIP’S MONKEY [summary] A ship’s monkey very strong and clever, imitated everything, became dangerous. Captain determined to get rid of it. Shaved himself, the monkey watching. Quickly turned his razor, and drew it across his throat. Monkey took shaving things and imitated him, but did not turn the razor. Cut off his own head.


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Thompson Notebooks, from Reuben Gray, Old Radford, Notts, 21 December 1914. MOTIFS: J.2401 [Fatal imitation]; K.890 [Dupe tricked into killing himself]. For imitativeness of monkeys see “Fifty Red Nightcaps”.

HOW TO ESCAPE ROBBERY A person extremely hard of hearing, travelling between Paisley and Greenock on horseback, some time since, had occasion to come off his horse, when the reins slipped from among his fingers; the horse finding himself at liberty immediately ran off. The deaf man quickly followed, determined to inquire at all he met, if they had seen his horse. The night was very dark; however, he had not gone far till he met with two men, whom he accosted with, “Did you see a horse without a rider?” when he was immediately collared. He thought it diversion; says he, “That’s no way to use a man in the dark;” and endeavouring to shake himself clear, when instead of slackening their hold they took fresh and firmer holds, and no doubt used violent language, of which his deafness deprived him of hearing; seeing all attempts to get clear fruitless, and dreading they had nothing in view but an intention to rob him, it instantly occurred to him his having an ear-trumpet sticking in the top of his boot, which he used in conversation. He immediately pulled it up, laid the muzzle of it across the fellow’s arm, and exclaimed, “If you don’t let go your grups, I’ll blaw your brains out in a moment!” They jumped over a hedge, and were out of sight in an instant; the deaf man called after them, “Set aff, set aff, my lads, or I’ll be the death o’ baith o’ you, learn never to meddle wi’ a man i’ the dark, for ye dinna ken what deadly weapons he carries.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 202. MOTIF: K.335.1 [Robbers frightened from goods].

HOYIK AND BOYIK A man after New Yearsmas packed a large sparl and hung it up. His wife was a silly stupid body, and wont to ask silly questions, and he often gave her off-hand answers. She asked him what this was for. He said it was for Fasterns een an da Lentern. After this he went out, and in came a man, a stranger “by his tale” but really a neighbour man in disguise, who had learned this. She said “what was his name?” He said “My name is Fasterns een.” She said he would be the man that her husband had packed the sparl for. He said “Yes.” So she gave it to him and he went away. When her husband came in she told him this, and he was very angry at her, and on Fasterns een he gave her as much food as she could eat and then starved her. Fasterns een is a festival and the supper is brose made by boiling half a cow’s head, and pouring the fat over oaten meal. The following complaint is deemed to be that of this old woman: A Fasterns een when I wis fu I tought I’s fast lang Lentern tru,

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I wizna fasted a day bit een, Till I wissed at lang Lentern hed been geen. I wisna fasted a day bit twa, Till I wissed at lang Lentern hed been geen. Whin I wis fasted o days tre, Gie me met ir dan I’ll dee.… Shetland Folk-Book, III, p. 10. TYPE 1541. MOTIF: K.362.1 [For the long winter]. See also “Good Fortune”, “Hereafterthis”.

THE HUNGRY MOWERS There was once a farmer who had a lot of hay, and he had to hire a lot of men to cut it down. It was not a very good tommy-shop (for the wife was a bit greedy, and gave them sloppy stuff for breakfast, curds and whey, and such-like), but the man didn’t know that. He managed to get about nine men, who started off next day. T’farmer thought they were a bit slow over their job, so he thought he’d go and see what they did, and how fast they were getting on. So as he peeped over the hedge he could hear them singing:

So he ran home right away and told his wife she wasn’t feeding them men half plenty. (“They are as wake as tewits; they can hardly hod their lays.”) And t’wife said: “They git a girt dinner ivvery neet, and plenty to eat through t’day, so they shouldn’t tak’ mich ’urt wi’ that.” But t’boss said tul ’er: (“I’s t’maister here.”) “Tha gits that girt ’am down an’ that fills t’biggest pan reet full, an’ tha mun do about fowerteen eggs for brikfast in t’mornin’. An’ tha’ll see a girt change’ll ’appen, when they’ve itten that.” “Ay, why,” she said, “I’ll likely hev to do as I’s tell’t.” Next mornin’ when they co’ down for brikfast, they seed a girt dish full o’ ham an’ eggs. So they started brikfast, an’ when they’d finished there was nowt left o’ t’ dish. So off they started to mow their hay again, and t’boss said to t’missis: “I’ll away up and see what happens this time.” And when he peeped ower t’hedge (they were goin’ like a steam engine):


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[The sentences in parentheses are additions of Mr Leighton’s, who looked over the story.] Briggs and Tongue, The Folktales of England, p. 139. From E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, XLIX (September 1936), p. 279. Told him by Richard Harrison, who heard it from Darwin Leighton, who had heard it in Berkshire. Tommy-shop: a farm where the food is good; wake: weak; tewit: plover; lay: scythe. TYPE 1567G.MOTIF: J.1341.11 [Hired men sing of displeasure with food; change song when food is improved]. Reported also in Finland (5 texts), and the United States (6). Baughman comments on the cante-fable form often taken by this type. The master-man becomes a masterslave relationship in Southern Negro tradition; see R.M.Dorson, Negro Folktales in Michigan (Cambridge, Mass., 1956), pp. 67–8, “The Mean Boss”, and note 37, p. 213.

THE HUNTED HARE [summary] An emigrant got work on a sheep farm, and told to keep sheep on the run. He chased them all day. At night, told to fold them. He does so very quickly, but says he would have been much quicker but for the little brown one. This was a hare. Thompson Notebooks. Collected from Gus Gray, Cleethorpes, 26 September 1914. This story is generally told about a Brownie, or other supernatural helper. TYPE 1316. MOTIF: J.1757 [Rabbit thought to be a cow]. See “The Shapwick Monster”.

THE HUSBAND’S ’BACCA [summary] A girl consented to marry a man if he gave up smoking. After wedding, he insisted on sleeping in a separate room. She asked why, and he said it was because she would not let him smoke. She rushed out to buy pipes and tobacco. On the way, she met her mother, and when she told her what she was going for, her mother said, “Bring an ounce for your father. He hasn’t slept with me for a month.” Thompson Notebooks, from Shanny Gray, Grimsby, 21 December 1914.

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“I’M COMING, COUSIN TOM” Many of the parsons of the old school, in addition to ministering to the spiritual needs of their parishioners, appear to have considered the exercise of some sort of temporal control over them as being in their province. We have heard it related of a former vicar of Peter Tavy, the Rev. Mr McBean, that he would never commence his morning service until he was satisfied that there was no company in the village inn, those being the days when closing hours were unknown. Accordingly, he arranged with his churchwarden, Roger Mudge, that when he had given out the hymn immediately preceding his discourse, that functionary was to go and ascertain whether the public-house was cleared of customers. Now, it so happened that the landlord of the inn, which stands, as all who are acquainted with Peter Tavy will know, adjacent to the churchyard, was a relative of the worthy churchwarden, who had, therefore, a delicate task imposed on him each Sabbath morn. He could do no other than carry out the parson’s instructions, and render him a faithful report, while it was equally certain that he could not be the means of getting his kinsman into trouble by stating the facts, if he should happen to find company in his house. That such would be the case he felt sure, for he knew that there were several among the more thirsty of the parishioners who infinitely preferred the draughts provided by the landlord to drinking at the fount to which the vicar pointed them. But the churchwarden was a resourceful man, and a man of peace, and he straightway hit upon an expedient by which he was able not only to satisfy the parson, but also his relative, and to quiet his own conscience into the bargain. He would walk very slowly towards the inn, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but with his eyes bent on the ground, and, repeating in a tone growing louder as he advanced, “I’m coming, Cousin Tom; I’m coming, Cousin Tom.” Arrived at the house, he would open the door and enter, and after satisfying himself that the room in which customers were served was empty, which by that time it was, the company having temporarily retired, he would return to the church and report the result of his visit. The sermon would then commence, the vicar at the same time congratulating himself on his parishioners showing such a regard for the hours of Divine worship. W.Crossing, A Hundred Years on Dartmoor, p. 47.

INSULT ADDED TO INJURY OF HIM THAT LOST HIS PURSE IN LONDON A certain man of the country, the which for business came up to London, lost his purse as he went late in the evening. And because the sum therein was great, he set up bills in divers places—that if any man of the city had found the purse and would bring it again to him, he should have well for his labor.


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A gentleman of the Temple wrote under one of the bills how the man should come to his chamber and told where. So when he was come, the gentleman asked him first what was in the purse; secondly, what countryman he was; and, thirdly, what was his name. “Sir,” quod he, “twenty nobles was in the purse; I am half a welshman; and my name is John up Jenken.” “John up Jenken (said the gentleman), I am glad I know thy name. For, so long as I live, thou nor none of thine name shall have my purse to keep. And now farewell, gentle John up Jenken.” Thus he was mocked to scorn, and went his way. Hereby ye may perceive that a man can not have a shrewd turn but otherwhile a mock withal [= insult will be added to injury], A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 253.

AN IRISHMAN An Irishman one day was walking on the streets of Belfast, found a light guinea, and got 18/- for it. Next day he was walking, and sees another, and says, “Allelieu, dear honey, I’ll have nothing to do with you, for I lost 3/- by your brother yesterday.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 208. MOTIF: X.600 [Humour concerning races or nations]. See “Four Irish Tramps”, etc.

AN IRISHMAN’S BREAKFAST IN LONDON When their constant diet was potatoes, there were frequent squabbles at the lodginghouses—to which many of the poor Irish on their first arrival resort—as to whether the potato-pot or the tea-kettle should have the preference on the fire. A man of superior intelligence, who had been driven to sleep and eat occasionally in lodging-houses, told me of some dialogues he had heard on these occasions: “It’s about three years ago,” he said, “since I heard a bitter old Englishwoman say, ‘To——with your ’taty-pot; they’re only meat for pigs.’ ‘Sure, thin,’ said a young Irishman—he was a nice cute fellow—‘sure, thin, ma’am, I should be afther offering you a taste.’” H.Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor, I, p. 119. MOTIF: J.1250 [Clever verbal retort].

THE IRISHMAN AND THE BULL One day as an Irishman was going through a field he suddenly met a bull, which first stamped and snorted and then ran at him. Just as the Irishman was about to mount a wall,

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the bull helped him over with his horns. The man was very angry when he got down on the other side, and he shook his fist in the bull’s face and said, “I’ll remember thee!” The next day he had occasion to cross the same field, so he took a good thick stick with him. But when he came to the field he found only two calves there. So he went up to one of the calves and thrashed it unmercifully. When he had done beating the calf he said: “Now, thou can go and tell thy father; he knows all about it.” Norton Collection, VI, no. XVIII (unclassified). Nottinghamshire. S.O.Addy, p. 35. MOTIF: J.1863.1 [Man beats calves because bull has butted him over fence]. Cited by Baughman with only one reference. See “Scroggins and the Calves”.

THE IRISHMAN’S HAT This Irishman, he’d got fifteen pounds and he didn’t want to take it haytiming with him, so he went to the first public-house and asked the landlord if he would keep five pounds for him. “Certainly.” And he said, “When I come back, I don’t want everyone to know our business, so if I lift my hat and say: ‘Do you remember the man with the white hat with the green band round it?’ (then you will give me the money).” So he went to the next public-house and said the same there, and to the third public-house and said the same there. And so when he was coming home from his hay-time place a butcher with his cart overtook him. And they go on about money matters and the Irishman said, “I can get money when you can’t.” And the butcher said, “How will you manage it?” So they had a bet of five pounds. So when they came to the first public-house, they went in and the butcher ordered drinks apiece. So when the landlord brought them, the Irishman lift’ his hat, and said: “Do you remember the man with the white hat with the green band round it?” The landlord said, “Yes, there’s five pounds for him.” So t’ Irishman said to t’butcher, “Come on, let’s try t’ next pub.” And there they did all t’same again, and t’butcher called for drinks as before an’ everything. And they said, “Well, we’ll go to t’next.” And all was said again—he got his five pounds again, and so he got his fifteen pounds. T’butcher said, “I think I’ll try t’next.” And t’Irishman said, “You’ll want this hat.” And t’butcher said, “How much for it?” He says, “Five pounds.” So t’butcher, going into the next public-house he came to, ordered himself a drink, and when landlord brought it, he lift’ his hat and said, “Do you remember the man with the white hat with the green band round it?” And t’ landlord said, “No, what’s up wi’ him?” He says, “Isn’t there five pund for me?” T’landlord said, “No, there’s mi shoe if ye aren’t gittin’ out.” So t’butcher lost his five pound bet.


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E.M.Wilson in Folk-Lore, XLIX (1938), pp. 184–5, no. 3. Told in March 1936, by Mrs. Joseph Haddow, who heard it from her father-in-law, a native of Ulverston. TYPE 1539. MOTIF: K.111.2 [Alleged fee-paying hat sold]. The same story, “The Cap that Paid”, is to be found in the Thompson Notebooks, told by Gus Gray at Cleethorpes, 7 October 1914. Baughman cites a version from Texas (Spanish), Riley Aiken, A Packload of Mexican Tales, Publications of Texas Folklore Society, XII (1935), pp. 1–87.

AN IRISHMAN’S RETORT [summary] A gentleman and his daughter met an Irishman. “Good morning, Pat, and bad luck to you!” “’Morning, your Honour, and the very best of luck to you—and may neither of our wishes never come true!” Thompson Notebooks, VI. MOTIF: J.1250 [Clever verbal retorts]. See “An Irishman’s Breakfast in London”.

“IT’LL MA [MOW] ITSEL’” There was a farmer had a lad and he said to him one day before hay time he said: “I’s gaan to shew thee how to sharpen a lay.” He got a start at sharpening. It took him about half an hour and when he’d finished he said to t’ lad: “Na then, it’ll ma itsel’.” T’lad thowt till hissel’: “That sounds aw reet.” And t’boss said to him: “Tha can ga an’ start i’ that first field an’ I’ll see how tha’s gitten on when I fetch t’dinner on.” T’lad got hod o’ t’ lay, ligged it down i’ t’ girss and went an’ sat down aback o’ t’ hedge and nivver bothered na mair about it. After a bit t’boss landed down and he could see na sign o’ t’ lad an’ he was a bit capped when he hadn’t med a start. Just then t’lad popped his heead ower t’dyke an’ t’ farmer said tul him: “What the divvel’s ta been doin’ aw t’ mornin’?” T’lad said tul ’im: “Stand back, it might start any minute.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 18, p. 29. E.M.Wilson. Told by Richard Harrison, 1939; heard from a local farmer, Ernest Moffat, Crosthwaite, Westmorland. MOTIF: J.2470 [Metaphors literally interpreted].

JACK HANNAFORD There was an old soldier who had been long in the wars—so long, that he was quite outat-elbows, and did not know where to go to find a living. So he walked up moors, down glens, till at last he came to a farm, from which the good man had gone away to market. The wife of the farmer was a very foolish woman, who had been a widow when he

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married her; the farmer was foolish enough, too, and it was hard to say which of the two was the more foolish. When you’ve heard my tale, you may decide. Now before the farmer goes to market says he to his wife: “Here is ten pounds all in gold, take care of it till I come home.” If the man had not been a fool he would never have given the money to his wife to keep. Well, off he went in his cart to market, and the wife said to herself: “I will keep the ten pounds quite safe from thieves;” so she tied it up in a rag, and she put the rag up the parlour chimney. “There,” said she, “no thieves will ever find it now, that is quite sure.” Jack Hannaford, the old soldier, came and rapped at the door. “Who is there?” asked the wife. “Jack Hannaford.” “Where do you come from?” “Paradise.” “Lord’s mercy! and maybe you’ve seen my old man there,” alluding to her former husband. “And how was he a-doing?” asked the old goody. “But middling; he cobbles old shoes, and he has nothing but cabbage for victuals.” “Deary me!” exclaimed the woman. “Didn’t he send a message to me?” “Yes, he did,” replied Jack Hannaford. “He said that he was out of leather, and his pockets were empty, so you were to send him a few shillings, to buy a fresh stock of leather.” “He shall have them, bless his poor soul!” And away went the wife to the parlour chimney, and she pulled the rag with the ten pounds in it from the chimney, and she gave the whole sum to the soldier, telling him that the old man was to use as much as he wanted, and to send back the rest. It was not long that Jack waited after receiving the money; he went off as fast as he could walk. Presently the farmer came home and asked for his money. The wife told him that she had sent it by a soldier to her former husband in Paradise, to buy him leather for cobbling the shoes of the saints and angels in Heaven. The farmer was very angry, and he swore that he had never met with such a fool as his wife. But the wife said that her husband was a greater fool for letting her have the money. There was no time to waste words; so the farmer mounted his horse and rode off after Jack Hannaford. The old soldier heard the horse’s hoofs clattering on the road behind him, so he knew it must be the farmer pursuing him. He lay down on the ground and shading his eyes with one hand, looked up into the sky, and pointed heavenwards with the other hand. “What are you about there?” asked the farmer, pulling up. “Lord save you!” exclaimed Jack. “I’ve seen a rare sight.” “What was that?” “A man going straight up into the sky, as if he were walking on a road.” “Can you see him still?” “Yes, I can.” “Where?” “Get off your horse and lie down.” “If you will hold the horse.”


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Jack did so readily. “I cannot see him,” said the farmer. “Shade your eyes with your hand, and you’ll soon see a man flying away from you.” Sure enough he did so, for Jack leaped on the horse, and rode away with it. The farmer walked home without his horse. “You are a bigger fool than I am,” said his wife, “for I only did one foolish thing, and you have done two.” Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 40. TYPE 1540. MOTIFS: J.2326 [A woman gives a traveller goods to take to her first husband in Paradise]; K.341.9 [The thief pursued lies on the ground and pretends to watch a man walking up to Heaven; the pursuer lies down by him and the thief steals his horse]. A wide distribution for this tale. Best known in Hans Sachs’ play, The Wandering Scholar. Clouston in his Book of Noodles devotes some pages to the tale. See also “The Woman who had Two Husbands”.

JACK HORNBY In the reign of King Arthur there lived near the Land’s End in Cornwall, a wealthy farmer, who had an only son, commonly called Jack Hornby. He was of a brisk and ready wit, and he was never known to be outwitted in any transaction. One day, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father sent him into the field to look after his oxen. While he was attending to them, the lord of the manor came across the field, and as Jack was known to be a clever boy, he began asking him questions. His first was, “How many commandments are there?” Jack told him there were nine. The lord corrected him, saying there were ten. “Nay,” quoth Jack, “You are wrong there. It is true there were ten, but you broke one of them, when you stole my father’s cow for your rent.” The lord of the manor was so struck by this answer, that he promised to return the poor man’s cow. “Now,” quoth Jack, “it is my turn to ask you a question. Can you tell me how many sticks go to build a crow’s nest?” “Yes,” said he, “there as many go as are sufficient for the size of the nest.” “Oh!” quoth Jack, “you are out again; there are none go, for they are all carried!” Jack Hornby was never again troubled with questions by the lord of the manor. Norton Collection, II, p. 271. Halliwell, Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, 1849, p. 50. Obviously from a chapbook. Cf. the version in the History of the Four Kings (Falkirk, 1823), story 8. TYPE 921. MOTIFS: H.561.4 [King and clever youth]; H.881 [Riddles with “none” for answer]. See also “Farmer Gag’s Wise Son”, “The Squire and the Farmer’s Boy”, “Jack and the Vicar”.

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JACK’S REWARDS AND WHAT HE DID WITH THEM [summary] Jack was a simpleton, and when his father died his mother said he must go out to work, but he could only do odd jobs. The first day he helped a pedlar to carry his pack, and the pedlar gave him a needle. He carried it home in a bundle of hay, and lost it. His mother said he should have stuck it in his cap. The next day he carried home some ploughshares for the smith, and was given an odd one. He put it in his cap, but as he was leaning down to drink out of the stream, it slipped in and was lost. “You should have tied a string round it, and pulled it behind you,” said his mother. Next day he worked for a butcher, who gave him a sheep’s pluck. He tied a string round it, and pulled it behind him, and there wasn’t much left by the time he got home. “You should have hung it over your shoulder,” said his mother. The next day he worked with a horse-coper, who gave him an old horse. He tied its legs together, and tried to lift it, but he couldn’t, so he had to leave it by the roadside. “You should have rode it back,” said his mother. The next day he worked with a dairyman, and did so well that the dairyman gave him an old cow. He got on its back. He didn’t find it easy to ride, but he got hold of its tail, and steered by that. On the way he passed a rich gentleman’s castle. The gentleman had a melancholy daughter, so melancholy that he had promised that any man who could make her laugh should marry her. When she saw Jack riding the cow, and steering it by its tail, she had to laugh, and the gentleman sent his servants running after Jack to tell him he was to marry the lady. They sent for Jack’s mother to come to the wedding, and they were all very happy, but Jack was never anything but a simpleton, and his wife had plenty to laugh at all her life. Thompson Notebooks, c. From Terence Lee, at Oxenholme, near Kendal, 6 September 1914. TYPE 1696. MOTIFS: J.2461 [“What should I have done?”]; J.2461.1.1 [Literal numskull drags meat home on a string]; J.2129.4 [Fool sticks needle in haywagon]. This tale is so widespread as to be almost universal. Baughman gives several versions of it, both from England and America. One version, “Epaminondas”, was popular as a camp-fire story among Guides and Brownies in the 1930S in England. English versions are: “Stupid’s mistaken Cries”, “Biddable Jack”, “What ought I to Say?”, “Lazy Jack”, “Jack and his Mother”. “I’ll be wiser next Time” is an Irish version given in Kennedy’s Fireside Fictions. The happy ending brings this version near to Grimm’s “Golden Goose” (110.64).

JACK AND THE VICAR For instance, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father, the farmer, sent him into the fields to look after his oxen, which were then feeding in a pleasant pasture: A country Vicar, by chance one day, coming across the field, called Jack, and asked him several questions: In particular, how many commandments there were? Jack told him, There are nine. The Parson replied, There are ten. Nay, quoth Jack, Master Parson, you are out of (?); it is true there were ten, but you broke one of them


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with your own maid, Margery. The Parson replied, Thou art an arch wag, Jack. Well, Master Parson, quoth Jack, You have asked me one question, and I have answered it; I beseech you, let me ask you another. Who made these oxen? The Parson replied, God made them, child. You are out again, quoth Jack, for God made them bulls, but my father, and his man Hobson, made oxen of them. These were the witty exploits of Jack. The Parson, finding himself fooled, trudged away, leaving Jack in a fit of laughter. From The History of Jack and the Giants (1807), pp. 2–3. TYPE 921. See “Jack Hornby” and “Farmer Gag’s Wise Son”.

JACK’S WONDERFUL BARGAINS [summary] Jack, strong and willing, but foolish, had worked seven years for a farmer, and at last was paid with a lump of gold to take home to his mother. He hid it under his hat, and found it very heavy; changed it for a horse that he admired. The horse threw him, so he changed for a cow. The cow was past milking, so he changed that for a young pig. A man carrying a goose told him the pig had been stolen, so he changed it for the goose. But it was the goose that had been stolen, so at the next village the constable took him before the old man who had owned it. Jack told him the whole story of all his exchanges, and the old man was so sorry for him that he gave him back the goose, and Jack took it with great pride to his mother. Thompson Notebooks, c. Told by Muldobriar Lee, Oxenholme, near Kendal, 6 September 1914. TYPE 1415. MOTIF: J.2081.1 [Foolish bargain: horse for cow, cow for hog, etc.]. This is a widespread story, best known in Hans Andersen’s “The Goodman is always right”, which ends with Motif N.11, a motif not occuring in this version, which has, however, a kindly and unusual twist in the compassionate present of the goose at the end. A similar contentment with changes for the worse is to be seen in “The Hedley Kow” (A II). See also “Mr Vinegar” (A, V).

“JACK GAHS COORTEN” …Antny Whitehead used ta tell t’ teal aboot a lad ’at was browt up in a girt dungeon ower Appleby hand. He nivver saw nowt o’ neeabody, tell he was a manbody. Than his fadder co heam, an’ let him lowse. T’first neet they went oot a walken they past a fine, gurt, strappen lass gaan ta t’ kirk e’t’ best bib an’ tucker. She smiled as she was gaan by, and sed “It was a grand neet,” t’auld fellow said ’twas. Nowt else was said, but when they’s gean on a bit, t’youg fellow said tull his fadder: “Whativver’s yon, fadder, ’at’s just gean by?” T’auld fellow dudn’t want ta gah intull a subject o’ that mack wi’ his sairy, silly lad, seea he snapt it oot ’at “It’s a geuse, is yon.”

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T’young fellow said nowt fer a few o’ yerds, an’ then he verra sharply blarted it oot: “Git’s a geuse, will ye fadder, as seun’s ye can?” Norton Collection, V, p. 201. B.Kirby, Granite Chips and Clints; or Westmorland in Words (Kendal 1900), p. 30. From E.M.W. TYPE 1678. MOTIF: T.371 [The Satans]. See also “The Boy who had never seen a Woman”, “Women or Devils”.

JACOB STONE AND THE OWL An old fellow who had stayed long in jovial company one winter evening, took his unwilling departure for home at a late hour, and at a puzzling corner where five ways met, he took the wrong turning. He wandered on, blundering into mire and brambles, for it was only a lane leading to some moors. Tanglefooted and muddle-headed, he sank down upon an old moot, and presently heard a loud shout of “Who? who, who, who-oo?” from just above his head. “Plaise, zur, ’tis me,” he replied. “Who, who, who?” again. “Jacob Stone, zur.” “Who, whoo?” “Jacob Stone, zur, tailor, and honest man, as ever lived.” “Weet, weet, wait,” then a rustle, as the owl flew out of the tree. “Can’t wait, zur, ’tis too cold: man a-lost, man a-lost!” raising his voice to a loud halloo. (“Hallo, Jacob, what’s the matter?” came a shout in reply, and the old fellow recognised the voice of a neighbour of his. “I was passing the end of the lane, and heard the talking, so I comed along to see what wast up to. Thee’t a purty old fellow to be out here theaz time o’ night; come along home wi’ I.”) Norton Collection, VI, p. 15. From the Blackdown Borderland. F.W.Matthews, Tales of the Blackdown Borderland (1923), pp. 113–4. TYPE 1322A*. Matthews says, “I have heard similar accounts in Somerset, Devon and Dorset, and even in Sussex.” MOTIF: J.1811.1 [Owl’s hoot misunderstood by lost simpleton]. In the Motif-Index a version is cited from A.Wesselski, Heinrich Bebel’s Schwänke (Munich, 1907), II, p. 158. Baughman cites Hunt, pp. 336–7, and seven versions from America. An orally recorded version is given by Ruth L.Tongue, also from Somerset, “The Tailor who answered the Owl” (Somerset Folklore, p. 48). See also “How Mr Lenine gave up Courting”, “Farmer Tickle and the Owl”.

THE JAMMING PAN There was a farm-house situated a long way from anywheres, about five or six miles from t’nearest house. At this farm they’d a terrible lot of fruit-trees, and damson time had come round again, and they were short of a brass pan for jamming with. T’ald farmer says ya day: “Eh, lad, I want thee te ga down to ald Jack Sowerby’s an’ git their brass pan.”


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T’lad says: “Nay, hang it. I’s nut ga-en fer a thing like that five mile. Neea, nut I.” So he went til his wife an’ said: “Hey, Libby! thee slip down to ald mother Sowerby’s an’ ex her for t’brass pan. Tell her we’re gaan te jam.” “Nae damn fear!” she says. “I’s nut gaan if jammin’ nivver gits done!” An’ he says: “Ye stupid ald beggar, ye. What thee an’ t’ lad? It looks damn like I shall hev ta ga mysel.” So he started off for it after they’d milked ya neet. Efter aw t’jammin’ had gitten done it was time for t’pan te ga back again. But t’question was, wha was gaan te tek it? So they held a conference ya neet, an’ it was gaan te fa’ on t’ald farmer te tek it back hissel’ again. So he says tul em aw ya neet: “Ah’ll tell ye what ah’ll dew: which yan o’ us speeaks after now this verra minute hes t’pan te tek back,” he says, “I’s damn sure it’ll nut be me!” Then the silence began. The family went to bed, nobody saying owt. Next mornin’ they aw gat up—still t’tongues was quiet. Aw went like that till drinking time. Then there was a girt rattle on t’dooer. Neeabody answered it. So this here chap walked in—he was a girt big roadster— a bad lookin’ sort of a chap he was—he says: “Good mornin’—grand mornin’.” Still silence, so he collared a girt lump o’ pasty an’ hed a pint o’ tea. Aw was still silent, so he crammed his belly as full as he could git it. He had a peep in yan o’ t’drawers, spot’ a ten bob note and pocket’ it. Still silence amongst the others. So he walks up to t’ald woman. “By gum!” he says, “Ye’re a smart lookin’ woman. D’ye mind if I gi’e ye a kiss?” Still silence, so he gev her yan. Then he walks up to t’dowter, he says: “By gum! thou’s as good a lookin’ as thi mother. Dosta mind if I gi’e thee yan?” He was a lile bit capped that nothing was said after all he’d done. So he gave her a kiss. Then he turned t’ald lad: “Na, come on. It’s thy turn now!” T’ald farmer said: “Nay, damn it. I’ll tek t’pan back!” E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore (March 1943), p. 258. Taken down in March 1932 from Richard Harrison, of Low Fell, Crosthwaite. TYPE 1351. MOTIF: J.2511 [The silence wager]. This type of tale has been studied by W.N.Brown in “The Silence Wager Stories: Their Origin and their Diffusion”, American Journal of Philology, XLIII, pp. 288–317. The best-known version in this country is the lively “The Barrin’ o’ the Door” (Child, p. 275). It is widely diffused, to be found in most European countries as well as in China, Turkey and India, Brazil, and Spanish and Portuguese America.

JOB’S BREECHES One night as Job Cork came off the downs, drough-wet to his very skin, it happened his wife had been a baking. So, when he went to bed, his wife took his leather breeches and put ’em in the oven to dry ’em. When he woke in the morning he began to feel about for his thengs, and he called out, and zed, “Betty, where be my thengs?” “In the oven,” zed his wife. Zo he looked in the oven, and found his leather breeches all cockled up together like a piece of parchment, and he bawled out, “O Lard! O Lard! what be I to do? Was ever man plagued as I be?” “Patience, Job, patience, Job,” zed his wife, “remember thy

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old namesake, how he was plagued.” “Ah!” zed the old man, “a was plagued surely; but his wife never baked his breeches.” T.Hughes, The Scouring of the White Horse, p. 227. MOTIF: J.1262.4 [Levity regarding biblical passages].

JOHN ADROYNS It fortuned that in a market town in the county of Suffolk there was a stage play, in which one named John Adroyns, who dwelled in another village two miles thence, played the Devil; and when the play was over, this John Adroyns departed in the evening from the town where the play had been acted to go home to his own house. But as he had brought no change of dress with him, he had to walk to the next village in the raiment which he had worn on the stage; and on the way he passed by a rabbit warren belonging to a gentleman of the village where he lived. At which very time it happened that the priest of a neighbouring church, with two or three other unthrifts, had brought with them a horse, a net, and a ferret, to catch rabbits; and when the ferret had been loosed, and was in the earth, and the net covered a hole of the burrow, close by the path which John Adroyns had to take, the priest and his companions suddenly became aware of the said John attired in the Devil’s apparel. Knowing that they were on an evil errand, and thinking it to be the Devil indeed, they all ran away. John, it being dark, perceived not the net, and stumbling over it fell down, so that he nearly brake his neck. But when he had a little come to himself, he saw that it was a net to catch rabbits, and he guessed that they fled for fear of him; and when he looked farther, he spied a horse, laden with coneys, tethered to a bush, and so he took the net, and leaping on the horse’s back with the coneys hanging down on either side of him, rode to the house of the gentleman who owned the warren, counting on thanks for his service. When he came to the place, he knocked at one of the gates, and one of the gentleman’s servants asked who was there, and forthwith opened the gate; and as soon as he set eyes on John in the devil’s raiment, he was terrified, and put to the door again, going to his master, to whom he vowed that the devil was at the door, and would have admittance. The gentleman despatched a second man to see what it was; and he, not daring to open the gate, demanded in a loud voice who was outside. John Adroyns answered as loudly back: “Tell thy master that I must needs have speech with him, ere I go.” This second fellow, when he heard that answer, likewise imagining that it was the Devil, returned to his master, and assured him that it was the Devil indeed there, and that he must speak with him before he departed. The gentleman began to grow a little frightened, and called his steward, whom he enjoined to bring him sure word who was at the gate. This steward, who was the wisest of the gentleman’s servants, thinking that he would so best see who was outside, came to the gate, and peeped through the chinks here and there; and he saw that it was Devil sitting on a horse, with coneys hanging down about him. Then came he in great haste and dread to his master, and said, “By God’s body, it is the Devil himself that is at the gate, sitting upon a horse laden with souls, and by likelihood he is only waiting for yours to be gone.”


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This gentleman, marvellously abashed, sent for his chaplain, and said to him, “Let the holy candle be lighted, and fetch holy water;” and they all went to the gate, and the chaplain said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command and charge thee, to tell me wherefore thou camest hither.” This John in the devil’s apparel, seeing them conjure in such manner, said: “Nay, fear me not, for I am a good devil; I am John Adroyns, your neighbour in this village, that acted the devil in the play. I bring your master a dozen or two of his own coneys with their horse and net that would have stolen them, whom I caused for fear to flee.” When they heard him thus speak, they knew his voice, and opened the gate, and let him in; and there was a right good laugh over the whole matter. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 449. MOTIFS: J.1786.1 [Man costumed as demon thought to be devil: thieves flee]; K.335.1 [Robbers frightened from goods]. An Indian example is cited for J.1786.1. See also “The Black and his Master” (A, IV).

JOHN DREW, THE SHOEMAKER John Drew, the shoemaker, was a religious man, and a Methodist preacher. He had a big business, and employed several apprentices, whom he kept at work till a very late hour at night. At last the apprentices became dissatisfied and contrived to find means of redress. Once every week the shoemaker went to Hannington to preach in the little chapel at night; his way back lay through a dense avenue of elms that made the road very dark. They agreed to wait for him there and accost him out of the darkness. Accordingly, as the old man was coming home late at night and passing beneath the avenue, he was suddenly hailed in a loud, deep tone of voice from the trees above his head. “John Drew! John Drew!” “Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth,” replied he fearfully. “Don’t keep your apprentices at work so late nights,” said the voice. “No, my Lord! I won’t, never more,” he answered, and, proceeding on his way, reached home in safety. The next afternoon, before tea-time, he called his apprentices together and told them how, as he was coming home from chapel the night before, the Lord spoke to him out of heaven, and told him not to keep his apprentices at work so late nights. “And now, henceforward, all you young men will go home at six o’clock,” said he. Norton Collection, V, p. 119. Highworth, Wilts. From Alfred Williams, Round about the Upper Thames. TYPE 1575**. MOTIF: K.1971.3 [Boy behind tree tells woman about the bad food he gets; she thinks God is speaking, and gives him good food]. See also “The Tailor and his Apprentices”.

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JOHN AND SALLY John worked on the road for many years, and Sally was his wife. By and by John got old, and tired of his work. John said to Sally, “Zally, I thinks I shall gie mi job up.” “Well, if ’e caan’t get on wi’t, a know, John, gie’t out,” Sally said. John said, “I’ll gie mi nowtice in to-marra.” “Ah, zo do,” said Sally. In the morning John went to master. “I must jack it up, maester. I caan’t manage it no longer.” “Well, if you caan’t manage it, John, you must gie’t out,” said master. John went home to Sally. “I chooked it up, you!” exclaimed he. “Aw right, Jacky. We shall get on zum’ow, mun.” The next day John walked about and seemed very miserable. Sally says to John: “Whyever dossent make thiself contented?” “I caan’t, you! I must get another job.” “What should ’e like to do then, John?” “Thinks ’e should like to go to school agyen.” Sally says, “I’ll go and see schoolmaester about it.” This she did, and said to him: “My owl’ chap wants to come to school agyen, you!” “All right,” said the schoolmaster, “tell John he can come; we’ll see what we can do for him.” Accordingly, John went to school. When he came home at night, Sally said: “’Ow didst get on at school?” “Didn’t get on at all, you.” “’Ow’s that, then?” “All the bwoys pinted at ma, an’ called ma girt ’ed, an’ thick ’ed. Byen a gwain ther’ na moore.” The next day John was as miserable as before. “Zally,” says he, “I ull go an’ ax gaffer to let ma go back to mi job agyen.” “Well, zo do, if tha cassent make thizelf contented,” replies Sally. Then John went to master and told him about it. “Yes, John,” says he, “you can go to your work again.” John went back with the shovel. Passing along, he saw something lying in the road. When he came to it, he found it was a small leather bag. John said to himself, “This’ll do aw right vor Zally,” and took the bag home. “Now, Zally, I got summat var tha. This’ll do djawwsid well to kip thi candles in. Durzay thee cast awpen in, Zally, but I caan’t.” After dinner Sally opened the bag, but did not tell John what it contained. It was full of money and notes. The next day John was out on the road again when a traveller came by. “Old man, how long have you worked on the road?” said he. “Aw, zum time, you,” John replied. “Did you find a bag?” “Aa-a!” “Where is it?” “Too-am. I gied un to Zally to kip ’er candles in.” “Could I come home and have a look at it?” “Aa-a! smine t’oot.” They went home together. “Zally, this vella wants to zee the bag what I vound.” Sally produced the bag. “Looks very much like my bag. How long have you worked on the road, old man?” “Aw, gwine in vifty year an’ more.” “And when did you find the bag!” “The vust day I started to work on the rawd.” “Well, that can’t be mine, then,” said the traveller, and took his departure. “Aa! but ’twas the zecond time I worked on the rawd, Zally, ye zee,” John said afterwards. Norton Collection, V, p. 6. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, pp. 23–31. Told by Aaron— —, an old haymaker, of Lashill, near Castle Eaton, Wilts. Learned from the local roadmender. TYPE 1381E. See “The Old Roadman”.


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JOHNNY TARRANT AND THE BUTTER Aa, poo owl’ Johnny Tarrant! I met ’e many a time a comin’ out o’ the whum ground, an’ dursaay a ed it about un then, if I’d oni a know’d. A ust to do the churnin’, an’ crib the butter reg’ler, an’ ’ide it in ’is ’at. A good many werd the ’igh ’ats in thame times, workvawk an’ all. The owl’ farmer ’ed suspicion an in at last, an’ led a trap farn. A got un to do the churnin’ at night, dost know. While a was at it a went indoors an’ made up a girt vire, as med be this un, an’ laays the supper an the table. When a’d a done churnin’ a ses: “Come along in ta supper, John.” “No, thenk ’e, maaster; I’ll get along whum,” t’other ses. “You come along in an’ ’ae some supper now, do ’e,” the owl’ man sed. So tha goes inside. Ther was a girt vire, anuf to roast a ox. The owl’ man made un set right up bi tha chimbly. Johnny wanted to take ’is ’at off, but t’other ’oodn’ let un. “You kip yer ’at on. ’Tis draafty in yer,” a sed. The owl’ man pawked the vire up all the time. By-’m-by the butter began to milt, an’ run down ’is ’ed an’ face. “’Ow tha dost sweat, you!” the owl’ fella sed. “Never sin a fella sweat so in mi life afoare.” “’Tis sa ‘ot in yer, maester,” t’other sed. So tha made un stop ther till ’twas all run down ’is ’ed an’ claws. A never cribbed the butter na moore, aater that. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 17, p. 28. Williams, White Horse, pp. 286–7. Uffington, Berks. MOTIF: K.439 [The thief is detected]. See “Skelton”, tale II.

THE JURYMEN OF MIDDLESEX A certain jury in the county of Middlesex was impanelled for the king to inquire of all indictments, murders, and felonies. The persons of this panel were foolish, covetous, and unlearned—for whosoever would give them a groat, they would assign and verify his bill whether it were true or false, without any other proof or evidence. Wherefore one that was a merry conceited fellow, perceiving their small consciences and great covetousness, put in a bill entitled after this manner; “Inquiratur pro domino regi si Jesu Nazarenus furatus est unum asinum ad equitandum in Egiptum—” and gave them a groat and desired it might be verified. The said jury, which looked all on the groat and nothing on the bill, as was their use, wrote “billa vera” on the back thereof. Which bill when it was presented into the court, when the judges looked thereon, they said openly before all the people: “Lo, sirs, here is the marveloust verdict that ever was presented by any inquest. For here they have indicted Jesus of Nazareth for stealing of an ass—” which when the people heard it, it made them both to laugh and to wonder at the foolishness and shameful privity [= conspiracy] of them of the inquest. By this, ye may see it is great peril to empanel any jurors upon any inquest which be foolish, and have but small conscience.

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A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 144. MOTIFS: J.1191 [Reductio ad absurdum of judgment]; J.1192 [The bribed judge]; J.1212 [The judge put out of countenance].

A JUST REMARK A certain son of St Crispian, who resides in Paisley, lifting up his fourcornered hat the other morning in a hurry, found it filled with his wife’s fal-de-lals; in a fit of wrath, he exclaimed, “Gudesake, Janet, what the de’il gars you stap a’ the trash in the house in a body’s hat?” “Trash, indeed,” exclaimed the indignant spouse, “stap it on your ain head, and the biggest trash in the house’ll be in’t.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 210. MOTIF: J.1250 [Clever verbal retort].

KING EDWARD VII AND THE SALAD When King Edward VII was staying at Sandringham, some of his grandchildren were staying with him, and were brought down to lunch. The King had a guest, to whom he was talking. Presently, one of the little grandsons said: “Grandpapa!” The King went on talking. “Grandpapa!” “Be quiet, David.” “But, Grandpapa!” “Little boys must be seen and not heard,” said the King. “Wait till I’ve finished talking.” He finished the conversation, and then said: “Well, what was it?” “Oh, it’s nothing, Grandpapa. There was a slug on your lettuce, but you’ve eaten it now.” Told in 1912 to K.M.Briggs in Perthshire, by Neils M.Lund, a Dane, living at Hampstead. TYPE 1562 (variant). See also “They Took his Word”, “Father, I think—”.

THE KING OF FOOLS There was a man that had a dull, lumpish fellow to his servant, wherefore he used commonly to call him the king of fools. The fellow at last waxed angry in his mind to be always so called and said to his master: “I would that I were the king of fools, for then no man could compare with me in largeness of kingdom, and also you should be my subject.”


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By this one may perceive that too much of one thing is not good. Many one calleth another fool and is more fool himself. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 250. MOTIFS: P.360 [Master and servant]; J.1250 [Clever verbal retort].

KNIFE OR SCISSORS There was a man and his wife having an argument, about something that had been cut. The man said it had been done with a knife, and the wife said: No, it had been done with scissors. And they kept on arguing till they got so angry with each other that he pushed her into the pond. And he kept shouting, “Knives”, from the bank, and she kept shouting, “Scissors”, from the water, as long as she could shout; each was determined to have the last word. And at last he called, “Knives”, and he was quite pleased with himself, because he thought he’d won; she didn’t call back. But much to his disgust—he thought he’d have a last look at her—and as she was sinking, she was there (here my informant paused and made a cross with her two forefingers) with her fingers crossed. Folktales of England, p. 133, from E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, LIV, p. 259, as taken down in January 1938 from Mrs. J.E.Bland, a native of Hull, then resident in Westmorland. She had heard the story in Hull as a child. TYPE 1365B. MOTIF: T.255.1 [The obstinate wife: cutting with knife or scissors]. The same story is published by E.G.Bales, “Folk-Lore from West Norfolk”, FolkLore, L, p. 72. It is fairly widely scattered through Europe, 44 examples being reported from Sweden. There are versions from six American states, as well as from Alberta, Canada. A recent text from Maine is to be found in Buying the Wind, by R.M.Dorson, p. 84.

TH’ LAD ’AT WENT OOT TO LOOK FER FOOLS Wonce when I was sittin’ i’ front o’ th’ Pywipe, doon by river at Lincoln, a man cum’d up wi’ won o’ them theare barges an’ sets hissen doon, an’ efter a bit we gets to talkin’, an’ has a pot o’ beer together. He was fra oot’n Oxfordsheer, an’ he tell’d me a rum taale aboot foaks ’at liv’d i’ them parts, an’ said it was all on it trew as Bible; bud I’m o’must fit to think ’at he’d putten a bit or two to it hissen, to top it up like. Well, he tell’d me ’at ther’ was an’ owd man an’ his wife, an’ thaay’d gotten a nice bit o’ land o’ the’r awn, an’ a nice bit o’ munny i’ bank an’ all. An’ thaay’d nobbud won bairn, a doughter; an’ wench had a sweetheart ’at was call’d Jack. An’ won daay owd man was i’ gardin’ a diggin’ taaties, an’ he thinks to hissen, “If I hevn’t liv’s here five an’ tho’ty year, an’ nivver putten noä paales round well! Why, if oor Polly marries Jack, an’ hes a bairn, it’s saafe to get i’to watter an’ droond itsen!” Then he sits doon an’ falls to cryin’ an’ groänin’, an’ oot cums his wife, an’ axes him what aails him. “Why,” says he, “if oor Polly marries Jack, an’ has a bairn, it’s tied to fall doon yon well an’ get droonded.”

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“Ey, that’s sarten,” says owd woman, an’ doon she sits an’ begins sobbin’ an’ goomn’ on fit to kill hersen. Then oot cums lass an’ all, an’ axes, “Whativer’s matter noo? Hes Jack happen’d owt?” “Naay,” says owd man, “nobbud well isn’t fenced off thoo knaws; an’ if thoo and Jack gets married and has a bairn, it’s saafe to fall i’to watter an’ droond itsen.” “I niver thowt o’ that afoor,” says lass, “bud it’s ower trew,” an’ she was soon agaate o’ cryin’ an’ all. An’ theare thaay stan’s bealin’ an’ carryin’ on, till thaay’s o’must wept enif to fill a wash-tub brimful o’ watter. Well, it happens ’at Jack cums up laane an’ fin’s ’em belderin’ all of a raw. An’ he axes ’em if coo’s tekken wrong waay, an’s deed i’ cauvin’. “Naay,” says owd man, “it isn’t that.” “Bank hasn’t brokken wi’ yer munny, has it?” says Jack. “Noä,” says owd woman, “it’s not that.” “Well then,” says Jack, “what’s up wi’ ye all?” An’ thaay tells him ’at it’s a oppen well, wi’oot a cage roond it, an’ ’at if he weds Polly, an’ Polly has a bairn, it’s saafe to fall i’to watter an’ get droonded. Well, when he heerd ’at thaay was makkin’ all this to-do aboot a nowt o’ that soort, he gets as mad as a bear, an’ says, “I’ll tent it fra droondin’. I weant nivver get married at all, if supposin’ I can’t fin’ three foaks as is as blaam’ed big fools as you, afoor I’ve gotten a pair o’ new boots worn oot.” Then he claps gardin’ gaate to wi’ a bang, goäs to shop an’ buys hissen a pair o’ new boots, cuts hissen a esh-plant, to notch doon all fools he can leet on i’ all cuntry-side. Well, afoor long he cums to a stackyard, an’ seas a man rare an’ throng shuvelin’ summats up agean stacks wi’ a scowp, nobbud ther’ wasn’t nowt at all i’ scowp, an’ soa Jack axes him what he reckons he’ doin’ on. An’ man says, “I’m shuvelin’ sunshine up to dry corn as was led when it was ower weet, but I doän’t seäm to get noa fo’ther wi’ it.” “Well, if iver I seed a born fool, thoo’s him,” says Jack. “Why doän’t t’ set sheäves up i’ stooks i’ sun? Thaay’s dry fast enif then.” “I niver thowt o’ that afoor,” says man; “bud awiver, I’ll try it noo,” an’ he flings doon shuvel, fetches his steel, an’ begins to tear stack top off. An’ Jack cuts a mark o’ his stick, an’ goäs a peäce fo’ther. An’ afoor he’d gotten far he cums up o’ a man ’at’s tryin’ to reast a cobble-stoäne oppen wi’ his knife. “What art tĕ doin’ on?” axes Jack. “Why,” says man, “I want to get ken’il oot’n this here stoan, bud knife’s that blunt it slips an’ slithers i’stead o’ gooin’ in.” “Here’s anuther on ’em,” thinks Jack, an’ notches his esh-plant agean, an’ then he says to man, “Thoo mun get a hammer an’ breäk cobble, if te wants to knaw what’s i’side on it.” “By goss!” says man, “that thowt niver cum’ed i’to my head, bud I’ll sea what I can do noo.” Well, Jack goäs a bit fo’ther, an’ afoor long he cums to an owd thackt barn ’ar’s grawn ower wi’ gress, an’ he seas a man sittin’ upo’ rig, a tryin’ to lug a coo up a-top on barn by a band roond its neck. An’ he axes man what he’s a doin’ on. An’ man says, “There’s a rare lot o’ gress up here, an’ I haate to seä it waasted, nobbud I can’t get coo up to eat it,—she’s that stewpid, the moor I pull won waay, the moor she pulls t’other.” “This caps all,” thinks Jack, an’ he cuts anuther nick i’ his stick, an’ says, “Get yer hook, soft ’un, an’ cut gress off’n thack, an’ fling it doon to coo, then she’ll eät it fast enif.” “Lau’sy me,” says man, “if I’d nobbud heerd tell o’ that waay afoor, I shouldn’t ha’ choak’d such ’n many coos wi’ this here band,” an’ he teks off to look fer his hook. Bud Jack begins to think ’at Polly an’ her feyther an’ muther isn’t noä softer than gen’rality o’ foäks, an’ soa he goäs back, an’s married afoor he’s gotten a munth’s wear oot’n his new boots. An’ owd man put a raalin’ roond well; nobbud when childer begun


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to cu, pwer thick an’ fast he pulls it up ageän, an’ says to his wife, ’at he’s sewer, if Loord means to tek ’em, a bit o’ fencin’ weän’t stan’ i’ his roäd. Bud not long efter that theäse here burial-clubs cum’d up, ye knaw, an’ them bairns begun an’ then bairns begun deein’ afoor iver thaay was big enif to creäp doon gardin’ to well. If Loord didn’t tek’ ’em, sum’ats else did, soa thaäy niver hed chance to fall i’to watter an’ droond the’rsens—an’ that’s th’end o’ taale. M.Peacock, Tales and Rhymes in the Lindsey Folk-Speech, p. 60. TYPE 1384. MOTIFS: H.1312.1 [Quest for three persons as stupid as his wife]; J.1701 [Stupid wife]; J.2123 [Sunlight carried into windowless house]; J.1904.1 [Cow taken to roof to graze]. A widely distributed story with many kindred versions. This particular tale does not appear to belong to the Lindsey district, but is said to come from Oxfordshire. See “The Three Sillies”.

THE LAD WHO WAS NEVER HUNGRY [summary] A farmer engaged a lad at a hiring fair, because he said he was “never tired, never hungry, and never dry”. But when he found that the boy ate, drank, and slept no less than anyone else, he asked him why this was. The lad replied, “It’s this way. I eat before I’m hungry, drink before I’m dry, and go to bed before I’m tired.” E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, XLIX (1938), p. 185. Told to him by Mrs. Emily Harrison, of Askam-in-Furness, who since her marriage has lived in Crosthwaite. She heard the tale when she was hired at Ulverston Fair, from an old farmer, who came from Preston, Lancashire. TYPE 1561, of which this tale is a version, is fairly common in Europe. Baughman cites two American forms, and a Mexican-American version appears in Buying the Wind, pp. 447–8. MOTIF: W.111.2.6 [Boy eats breakfast, dinner and supper one after the other; then lies down to sleep].

LANCASHIRE FOLLIES There are many places of which it is alleged that the inhabitants were formerly obliged to notch a stick to keep count of the days, and one village has still the reputation of having inhabitants so benighted that they cannot tell the day of the week without some extraneous aid, and have to put seven potatoes in the window-sill, and take one out every day. When they come to the last they know it is Sunday, and can don their best clothes. Norton Collection, IV, p. 27. Ormerod, Lancashire Life and Character, pp. 169–70. TYPE 1200. See “The Wise Men of Gotham”, “Yabberton Yawnies”, etc.

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LANDER LEE AND THE HEDGEHOGS [summary] A gypsy who had caught a fine lot of hedgehogs put them for safety during the night under buckets and tubs and so on; yet in the morning they had disappeared. So after breakfast he set out with his dog to trace them; and soon meeting a policeman, learnt that the hedgehogs had been impounded, and that he himself was wanted by the magistrate for allowing them to stray into the road. He was fined 6d. apiece for them, and politely enquired, “Is there anything to pay for their keep, Your Honour?” Thompson Notebooks, B.Told by Lily, daughter of O’Connor Boswell, at Renton, 24 July 1922, with identification by her father of the unnamed gypsy as Lander Lee, alias Smith.

HOW LANDER LEE HID FROM THE POLICE [summary] Lander, on horseback, met a police constable, and wishing to escape his notice, slid under the horse’s belly, and rode on upside down. A little later he saw a police sergeant coming. This time he hid under his horse’s tail. Still further on, he saw the Chief Constable himself; so he got inside the horse’s belly. The Chief Constable impounded the horse, as a stray, but Lander slipped out of its back end, and after waiting a minute or two, ran up and claimed his horse. Thompson Notebooks, B.Told by Eb. Smith at Willington (by Repton), 4 July 1921. MOTIFS: X.1012 [Lie: person displays remarkable ingenuity or resourcefulness]; X.1723.3 [Person enters animal’s body]. In the U.S.A.Paul Bunyan tales contain this motif (Baughman).

LANDER LEE IN A STRANGE COUNTRY [summary] Lander, having fallen down an old lead-mine shaft in Derbyshire, found himself with all his bones broken, in a country so strange that in spite of his injuries he got up to see it. A man was ploughing a lake, preparing to sow it with corn; a ship was sailing across fields; another man was breaking stones with a feather, another was being ridden by a donkey, which beat him so hard that Lander protested and threatened to report it. He asked an old woman for some food and she made him free of her black-pudding tree. Some gypsies gave him a lift home, driving their wagon across the sea. Half-way across they alighted to make a cup of tea. Then they yoked up again, and finally landed on a pot bank at Stoke. Thompson Notebooks, B.Told by Lias Boswell, at Derby, 24 November 1921. TYPE 1930. MOTIFS: X.1503 [Schlaraffenland: land in which impossible things happen]; X.1505 [Topsy-turvy land: land where all is opposite from usual]. See also “Sir Gammer Vans”, “Doun on yon Bank”, “The Wee Yowe”, “Mother Shipton’s House” (A, V).


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THE LAST MAN HANGED Arter Walford were ’anged up there to Dowsburgh, there was a lot o’ talk down to the Castle o’ Comfort Inn, and they got to talking, and then they got to drinking zider, and then one vellow getting a bit over-merry, they dared ’en to go up to Walford’s Gibbet. Well, ’twere getting late at night, and being over full o’ zider, ’e said ’e would, and off ’e goes. Well, no sooner be ’e out o’ front door than a couple o’ rascals gets out by back door, and straight up over the ’ill. Laughing to themselves, they come up through the barn, and the bushes like, till they come to the foot o’ the gibbet, and they ’ided in bushes. And bye and bye they ’ears bootses coming up ’ill, getting a bit slower like, as they comes nearer to where gibbet was, and they chuckles to theirselves, and then boots comes a bit slower like, and then, out o’ the air above ’em, comes a voice—“Oh! Idn’t it cold up ’ere! Be yew cold too?” Well, by the time the vellow with the boots and they two got down to Castle o’ Comfort, they weren’t cold no more. Ruth L.Tongue, recorded 29 September 1963. From a farmer’s daughter, of Cannington, near Bridgwater, in Somerset. Folktales of England, p. 106. MOTIF: E.422.0.1 [Hanged man thirsty, demands water to drink] is the nearest to this tale, though versions of type 326D* introduce a similar wager, with a faked ghost. Walford was a tinker who committed a murder at the end of the eighteenth century. The gibbet from which his body was hung in irons was at a crossroads on the Quantock Hills; it is still known as Walford’s Gibbet. See “The Boy Who Feared Nothing”.

THE LAW ABOUT FLIES [summary] A gypsy’s simpleton son (dinelo) asked his father what was the law about flies, for they were bothering him. “Hit it whenever you see one,” was the reply, so the son at once hit the one on his nose as hard as he could. Thompson Notebooks, B. “More Tales by Manivel Smith.” Told at Burton-on-Trent, 20 January 1922. TYPE 1586. MOTIF: J.1193.1 [Killing fly on the judge’s nose]. There is a version in Wesselski, Hodscha Nasreddin, I, p. 271; also a Rumanian version. A fatal killing of a fly occurs in “Silly Jack and the Factor”. See also “Two Irish Tramps”.

THE LAWYER’S DOG STEALS MEAT A solicitor in Penzance had a very large dog that was in the habit of coming into their (i.e. the butchers’) market and stealing joints of meat from the stalls. One day one of them went to the lawyer, and said, “Please, sir, could I sue the owner of a dog for a leg of

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mutton stolen from my stall?” “Certainly, my good man.” “Then, please sir, the dog is yours, and the price of the mutton is 4s. 6d.” The money was paid, and the man was going away in triumph, when he was called back by these words, “Stay a moment, my good man, a lawyer’s consultation is 6s. 8d.; you owe me the difference”: which sum the discomfited butcher had to pay. Norton Collection, V, p. 126. Cornwall. Courtney, “County Folk-Lore”, II, Folklore Journal, V, p. III. TYPE 1589. MOTIF: K.488 [Lawyer’s dog steals meat]. Two Irish, one Flemish, and one Walloon version cited in Type-Index, as well as three English. Baughman cites three from the United States. See also “The Case is Altered”. There is also a version in Hazlitt’s Shakespeare’s Jest-Books, I, 134.

LAZY JACK There was once a boy called Jack who lived with his mother in a little hut, and who was so lazy that he had never done a day’s work in his life. At length his mother got tired of seeing him basking in the sun all day in the summer and lying by the fire in the winter, and she said he should have nothing more to eat or drink from her until he had worked for it. It was root, hog, or die for him from that day on. So next morning Jack hired himself out to a farmer, and as he was a fine strong fellow he did a good day’s work, and the farmer paid him a penny at the end of it. But the great fool lost it on the way home. So his mother said to him, “You did ought to have put it in your pocket.” “I’ll do that the next time,” said Jack. Next day Jack hired himself to a cow-keeper, who gave him a jar of milk, and he put it in his pocket and carried it home, and there was hardly a drop left by the time he got back. So his mother said, “Why couldn’t you carry it on your head?” “So I will next time,” said Jack. Next day he went to the farmer again, and got a cream cheese for his pay, and clapped it on his head; but it was a hot day and the cream cheese was soft, and what wasn’t stuck in his hair was running down his shoulders by the time he got home. “You great fool!” said his mother, “You should have carried it in your hands!” “Well, then, I will next time,” said Jack. Next day he went to a miller’s who gave him nothing but an old Tom cat for his services, and Jack tried to carry it carefully home in his hands, but he got scratched for his pains, and the cat made off for home. “Why couldn’t you tie it with a string and lead it along?” said his mother. “Don’t take on, Mother,” said Jack. “That’s what I’ll do next time.” Next day was worst of all, for Jack worked with a butcher, and he did so well that the butcher gave him a fine shoulder of mutton, such as they’d not seen in their house for many a long day. But it didn’t look so fine by the time Jack had dragged it back over all


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the stones and through all the mud on his path home. This time his mother did lose her patience, and she called him all the names she could put her tongue to. “But what can I do, Mother?” said Jack. “You tell me different every time.” “What can you do? Why, carry it back on your shoulder,” said his mother, and she thought to herself he couldn’t do much harm with that. The next day Jack went out to work again, this time with a cattlekeeper, who gave him an old donkey at the end of the day. Jack had a great time hoisting it on to his shoulder, but he managed it in the end, and staggered away from the market-place. Now it happened that on his way he passed the house of a rich man who had one only daughter, a very beautiful girl, but she was deaf and dumb and had never laughed in her life, and the doctors had told her father that if she could once be made to laugh she would be cured. Her father had tried all means, but nothing would get even a smile from her, so at last he had said that if any man could make her laugh he should marry her. Well that day she was sitting sadly at her window, and she saw the donkey’s legs kicking in the air and Jack sweating away under his burden, and she laughed and laughed, and said, “Look, Father!” And her father was so overjoyed that he ran out and fetched Jack in, and they were married. And Jack fetched his old mother to live with him in a fine house, and they were all happy together. Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes and Popular Tales. TYPES 1696 and 571. MOTIFS: J.2461 [“What should I have done?”]; H.341 [Suitor test: making princess laugh]; T.68 [Princess offered as prize]; L.161 [Lowly hero marries princess]. See also “Jack’s Rewards”, “Jack and his Mother”.

THE LAZY WIFE I. There was a farmer once who had a wife who wouldn’t get up in the morning. One day he went out to feed the stock, and do the chores, and when he and the hands came in, there was the wife still in bed, and not a bit of breakfast on the table. So the farmer went to the foot of the stairs, and he yelled: “Fire! Fire!” at the top of his voice. Down comes the wife in her nightgown, in a terrible taking: “Where be the fire?” she cries. “Ah,” said the farmer, “that’s what we be all asking.” II. There were a farmer ’as had a very lazy wife. Long ago when they used to keep ’orses on the farm and they ’ad the old carters, they used to go out early to feed the ’orses and come back to breakfast. So when they got back the wife was still in bed. So ’e went to the foot of the stair and he shouted, “Fire! Fire! FIRE!” Then she come rushing down in ’er nightdress, and say, “Where ’er?” “Everybody’s ’ouse but ours,” ’e says. I. From Frank Rose, Swinbrook. First telling December 1962. 12 August 1963. TYPES 1350–1439 (Man and wife stories).

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II. “The Lazy Wife”, Folktales of England, p. 136. Recorded from Frank Rose (farmlabourer), Swinbrook, Oxfordshire, August 1963. His two versions are both given, since they differ. MOTIF: W.111.3 [The lazy wife]. A variant of this tale is in “Dialect Stories of the Upper Peninsula”, Journal of American Folklore, LXI, p. 137.

LIBERTY OF THE PRESS A master tailor in Glasgow (was) lately reading the newspapers to his family, and when expressing the title “Liberty of the Press in France”, one of his daughters interrupted him by asking what the liberty of the press meant? “I’ll soon answer that question,” said he: “You know when your mother goes out, and leaves the key in the cupboard door, where the bread, butter, and sugar lies, then you have access. “That’s the liberty o’ the press.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 201. Note: A cupboard is commonly called a “press” in Scotland.

LINCOLNSHIRE YELLOWBREASTS Once upon a time, when a many uncommon things came to pass, Alfred, a mighty man of our delightful and far-famed county…journeyed to the southern part of England, to seek curiosities for his observations in natural history. After wandering about the hills, and collecting here an insect, there a bird, or catching a fish, he chanced to spy something of a yellow colour lying on the grass by the side of a stream. He instantly made for the place, and found it to be a most extraordinary animal, such a one indeed, as he had never seen before. It looked to him like an unfledged bird; and by the fact of its having a yellow breast, he concluded it to be a species of lark. At once making off with his prize, he put it into a cage, fed it carefully, treated it most tenderly, and piped to it in the dark, for the purpose of teaching it to sing. After keeping it a considerable time, and not thinking it made any advancement in singing; and, moreover, not growing any larger, though uglier and more curious, he showed it to some friends…who…pronounced it to be nothing but a common frog; and from his persisting in the opinion, from its yellow breast, that it was a lark, from that time, my friends, we have been branded with this name. Alfred at last, being exasperated, took the fabled lark from the cage, and, throwing it into a pond, thought it would instantly be drowned. But lo! all it did was to turn over, and show him its yellow breast. Norton Collection, IV, p. 121. E.G.Kent, Lindum Lays and Legends (London, 1861), pp. 219–20. TYPE 1316* (variant). See “The Shapwick Monster”.


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THE LITTLE CUP-MAKER There were a little tradesman to Wincanton, as made cups, wooden ones, o’course, and ’e were coming back one night, along a very rough road, with a big ditch down both sides, and ’e slipped, and in ’e go, and ’e couldn’t get out, nohow. So he had to bide. An’ ’e bided, and then ’e shouted and then ’e bided again, and then ’e ’eard someone coming, and they was proper market-merry. So ’e call out again, “Friend, gi’ I a ’and.” And a voice come back to ’im, “Where be you?” “I be down ’ere.” “Oo be you?” “I be a little cup-maker from Wincanton.” “A little cup-maker,” came a very angry voice, “Just you bide where you be!”—And the voice went away, and the footsteps died, and the little cup-maker, ’e bided. Ruth L.Tongue. From Wincanton. MOTIF: X.800 [Humour based on drunkenness].

LITTLE DICKY MILBURN Says Mrs Milburn to her husband one morning: “If you don’t get up and get me a bottle of whisky, I shall die.” After a certain amount of remonstrance, Little Dicky arose and set out for Woodstock. Upon the way he met Tom the waggoner. “Good morning, Tom!” “Where are you going this morning?” said he. “I am going to Woodstock to fetch a bottle of whisky for my wife, for she says she will die if I do not,” replied Little Dicky. “Pooh! Pooh! It’s only the priest in league with her. Get into this sack and come back with me, and together we’ll go to the bottom of this business,” said Tom. Little Dicky accordingly got into the sack, and Tom lifted him upon the waggon, and they proceeded on the way. On arriving at the cottage, Tom halted his team, and knocked at the door: after a short delay, Mrs Milburn appeared. “Oh, good morning, Mrs Milburn!” said Tom. “I have had a bad misfortune this morning. I had a sack of hops fall off the waggon, and got rather damp; will you allow me to bring them in and dry them a little by the fire?” “Oh, yes, Tom. Pray bring them in and lay them down,” said Mrs Milburn. Then Tom, the waggoner, carried Little Dicky in the sack, and laid him down before the fire; the priest was sitting comfortably on one side. “Now, Tom,” said he presently, “let’s have a song while your hops are drying.” “No,” replied Tom, “but you shall sing first.” Then the priest began: “Little Dicky Milburn to Woodstock is gone, I hope he’ll be some time before he does return; And I for a pottle more ale, more ale, And I for a pottle more ale.

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Little Dicky Milburn, little dost thou think I’ve eat all thy victuals, and drunk all thy drink, And if God spares my life, I’ll lie with thy wife, And I for a pottle more ale, more ale, A pottle more ale, and adieu, my brave boys!” Norton Collection, IV, p. 155. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, London, 1923, pp. 293– 4. With the note: “The following fragment I several times encountered, in Oxfordshire. It is probable that the whole was originally in stanzas; but those who had any knowledge of the piece only remembered the story in outline. I give it exactly as I heard it at Bampton and Alvescot, Oxon.” Presumably collected between 1914 and 1916. TYPE 1360C. MOTIF: K.1556 [Old Hildebrand].

THE LITTLE MAGPIE AT YORK [summary] All magpies talk, even the young ones. One day Gus Gray saw a magpie’s nest with the young ones peeping over the edge. He thought he’d get one, so he began to climb the tree. When he was nearly up, the keeper came along, and he slid down so fast that he landed with a great thump. At that, one of the young magpies popped its head over the nest, and called out, “Have you hurt yourself, Gus?” Thompson Notebooks, W. From Gus Gray, Old Radford, Notts, 22 December 1914. MOTIF: X.1250 [Lies about birds].

THE LITTLE MALE There was a company of gentlemen in Northamptonshire which went to hunt for deer in the purlieus in the gulley beside Stony Stratford. Among which gentlemen there was one which had a welchman to his servant, a good archer. When they came to a place where they thought they should have game, they made a standing and ’pointed this welchman to stand by a tree nigh the highway and bad him in any wise to take heed that he shot at no rascal* nor meddle not without it were a male and if it were a male, to spare not. “Well,” quod this welchman, “let me alone.” And when this welchman had stand there a while, he saw much deer coming—as well of antlers as of rascals. But ever he let them go, and took no heed of them. And within an hour after, he saw come riding in the highway a man of the country which had a budget† hanging at his saddle bow, and when this welchman had espied him, he bad him stand and began to draw his bow and bad him deliver “that little male” that hung at his saddle bow. This man, for fear of his life, was glad to deliver him his budget and so did, and then rode his way and was glad he was so escaped. * fawn. † pouch, or male (thus the pun).


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And when this man of the country was gone, the welchman was very glad and went incontinent to seek his master, and at last found him with his company. And when he saw him, he came to him and said thus: “Master, by Cot’s bloot and her nail I have stand yonder this two hours and I could see never a male but a little male that a man had hanging at his saddle bow—and that I have gotten, and, lo, here it is—” and took his master the budget which he had taken away from the foresaid man. For the which deed, both the master and the servant were afterward in great trouble. By this ye may learn it is great folly for a master to put a servant to that business whereof he can nothing skill and wherein he hath not been used. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 93. MOTIF: J.2460.1 [Disastrous following of misunderstood instructions].

LONG CREDIT Soon after the battle of Preston, two Highlanders, in roaming through the south of MidLothian, entered the farmhouse of Swanston, near the Pentland hills, where they found no one at home but an old woman. They immediately proceeded to search the house, and soon finding a web of coarse home-spun cloth, made no scruple to unroll and cut off as much as they thought would make a coat to each. The woman was exceedingly incensed at their rapacity, roared and cried, and even had the hardihood to invoke divine vengeance upon their heads. “Ye villains!” she cried, “ye’ll ha’e to account for this yet.” “And when will we pe account for’t?” asked one of the Highlanders. “At the last day, ye blackguards!” exclaimed the woman. “Ta last day,” replied the Highlander; “tat be coot lang chredit—we’ll even pe tak a waistcoat too!” at the same time cutting off a few additional yards of the cloth. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 211. MOTIF: J.1261.7 [Judgment Day a long way off]. An Irish version of this tale, collected by Ó’Suilleabhain, is published in Béaloideas, XXI, p. 327. It also occurs in an Italian novella.

A LONG-WINDED PREACHER A parson in the country, taking his text in St. Matthew, Chapter viii, verse 14, “And Peter’s Wife’s Mother lay sick of a fever,” preached for three Sundays together on the same subject. Soon after two fellows going across the churchyard, and hearing the bell toll, one asked the other who it was for. “Nay, I can’t tell; perhaps,” replied he, “it’s for Peter’s wife’s mother, for she has been sick of a fever these three weeks.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 207. TYPE 1833 (variant). MOTIF: X.435 [The boy applies the sermon].

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LORD CRAVEN The Lord Craven lived at Ashdown Park, situated over the hill to the south of Shrivenham. One day he was walking down the hill into Ashbury, and came upon a short, fat farm-boy, lying on his belly in the road, and working his arms and legs about like a frog. When the noble lord drew near, the youngster began: “As black as a rock, As black as a raven, As black as the devil, And so is Lord Craven.” “Ho! Ho! What’s that? What’s that?” cried Craven, stopping short, and raising his stick to strike the youngster. Then the artful one began again: “As black as a rock, As black as a raven, As bright as the sun, And so is Lord Craven.” “Well done, boy! Well done, boy!” cried Craven; then, taking a crown piece and a halfsovereign from his pocket, he laid them on the palm of his hand and said: “Here, boy! Have which you like.” “I wunt be covechus, I’ll ’ae the little un,” the youngster replied, and promptly pocketed the golden coin. Norton, Supplementary Collection, VI, p. 16. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, pp. 59– 60. TYPE 921. This is a variant from Type 921, the conversation of the clever peasant boy. It entirely lacks the riddling element, however.

LORENZO DOW AND THE DEVIL Lorenzo Dow, a roving American, was a very eccentric person who did some outlandish things, both in America and in England and Ireland, in the Methodist following. He appears to have been constantly in hot water, and yet he made many friends. Once he was travelling near Long Compton when night came on, and it became very dark. Seeing a light he made for it, and entering the house asked leave to stay the night. The woman of the house agreed, but unwillingly, and then barred the door against further visitors. Soon her husband returned, and then a man who was in the house when Dow entered got into a


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large box, and hid himself under some flax “hatchlings”.* The husband, who had been drinking, was introduced to Dow, and then insisted that he should raise the Devil—“not that he believed in a devil, but if there was one, he should like to see him”. Dow, seeing his opportunity, said, “Well, if you are determined to see him, I suppose you can. Open the door, put out the light, and stand out of the way, or he may take you with him. When he comes, he will be in a flame of fire, and I warn you of the consequences.” Taking a box of brimstone matches, dipped at both ends, Dow lit them; then, muttering some unintelligible words, he set fire to the flax under which the wife’s friend was hidden, and cried, “Come forth, thou evil one, and begone for ever!” Out jumped the fellow, covered in flames, and with an unearthly yell disappeared through the open door. To his dying day the sobered husband maintained that Lorenzo Dow could raise the Devil, for he had seen him do it, and had seen and smelt Satan himself. Norton Collection, V, p. 87. Oxfordshire. P.Manning, “Stray Notes on Oxfordshire FolkLore”, VI. Folk-Tales, Folk-Lore, XIV, pp. 410–11. TYPES 1358 and 1358B. MOTIF: K.1554.1 [Trickster sets fire to barrel of tow in which paramour is hidden]. This tale is the familiar medieval “Devil among the Skins”. There are two good American versions, also many Lithuanian, some Russian, and some Japanese. (An English version of type 1535 is given by Winifred Petine, Folk-Tales of the Borders, London 1950, p. 2.)

THE LOST TICKET Four men were travelling together by train. One of them dropped his ticket on the floor without noticing, and one of the others picked it up, but said nothing. Hearing the ticket-collector further along the train, the four began to look for their tickets, and the man who had lost his became agitated. “Never mind,” said the others. “Cram yourself in under the seat, and our legs will hide you.” The man crept in, just in time, and when the collector came in, the other three handed up four tickets. “Four tickets for three passengers?” asked the puzzled official. “Yes,” they replied, “we have a friend with us who prefers to travel under the seat!” Heard in the train by K.M.Briggs, May 1967. MOTIF: X.583 [Jokes about travellers].

LOTHIAN TOM PART I This Thomas Black, vulgarly called Lothian Tom, because he was of that country, was born about four miles from Edinburgh; his father being a wealthy farmer, gave him a * refuse flax from spinning.

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good education, which he was very awkward in receiving, being a very wild, mischievous boy. When he was about ten years of age, he was almost killed by the stroke of a horse’s foot, which his father had who had a trick of kicking at every person that came behind him. But when Tom got heal of the dreadful wound, whereof many thought he would have died, to be even with the horse, he gets a clog, or piece of tree, which was full of wooden pins, such a thing as shoe-makers use to soften their leather on, and with a rope he tied it to the couple-bank in the stable, directly opposite to the horse’s tail, then gets on the bank, and gives it a swing, so that the pikes in the end of it, came with full drive against the horse’s backside, which made him fling, and the more he flung and struck at it, it rebounded back and struck him again; the battle lasted with great fury for a long time, which was good fun for Tom, until his father hearing some noise in the stable, came to know the matter, and was surprised to see the poor animal tanning his own hide, with his legs all cut and bloody! he cut the rope and the battle was ended; but the poor horse would never afterwards kick at any thing that came behind him. It happened one day that Tom went a fishing, and brought home a few small fish, which his grandmother’s cat snapt up in the dark. So Tom to have justice of the cat for so doing, catches her, and puts her into a little tub, or cog, then sets her adrift in a small mill-dam, ordering her to go fishing for herself; then set two or three dogs upon her, and a most terrible sea-fight ensued, as ever was seen on fresh water; for if any of the dogs, when attempting to board her, set up their noses, baudrons came flying to that place, to repulse them with her claws; then the vessel was like to be overset by the weight of herself, so she had to flee to the other, and finding the same thing there from thence to the middle, where she sat mewing always turning herself about, combing their noses with her foot. The old woman being informed of the dangerous situation of her dearly beloved cat, came running with a long pole to beat off the dogs and haul her ashore. What now, says Tom, if you be going to take part with my enemies, you shall have part of their reward; then gives the old woman such a push that she tumbled into the dam over head and ears, beside her beloved cat, and would undoubtedly have perished in the water, had not one of the people who was there looking at the diversion, come to her relief. After this Tom was sent to school to keep his hand out of an ill turn; and having an old canker’d crab-witted fellow for his dominie, they were always at variance; for if Tom had got his whips, which he often deserved, he was sure to be revenged upon his master again for it. So Tom perceived his master had a close-stool in a little closet within the school where he went and eased himself when need was: Tom gets a penny-worth of gunpowder, and sprinkled it on the ground directly before the seat, and lays a little of it along in a train to the fireside; then perceiving when his master went into it, and as he was loosing down his breeches sets fire to the train, which blew it all about his master’s backside, which scorched him terribly, besides the fright, for which Tom was severely whipt. Yet, in a little after, he began to study revenge on his master. So it happened one day as Tom was in the master’s house, his wife was stooping into a big meal-barrel, to bring out some meal; then he takes her by the feet, and coups her up into the barrel with her head down and her bare backside uppermost; then runs into the school, crying O master! master! the de’il’s looking out o’ your meal stand; wi’ a fat face and a black ill-farr’d mouth; yon’s just Auld Nick if he be living. So the master ran out with all speed he could, for to see what it was; and found it to be his own wife,


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speechless, and almost smothered to death; but as she could not tell who did it, Tom got clear off; yet he was not satisfied without some more revenge on the old fellow: and knowing his master had a fashion, when he was going to whip the boys if they would not loose their breeches willingly, he drew his knife and cut them threw the waistband behind: So Tom goes to a butcher, and gets a raw pudding, and fills it with blood and water, and puts it within the waistband of his breeches, then goes to the school next day, and as his master was sitting with his back to the fire, Tom lights a piece of paper, and sets his wig in a low, which burnt for some time unperceived, until the flames came fizzing about his ears; he first put out the flames by tramping on the wig, and being informed that Tom did it, flies to him in a rage, ordering him to loose his breeches, but Tom told him he was never so mad.—Then he drew his knife, whips poor Tom over his knee, and with a great struggle cuts the waistband of his breeches; but thro’ pudding and all, so that the blood gushed out, and Tom cried out Murder! Murder! Murder! and down he fell. The poor Dominie ran out of the school crying and wringing his hands. Word flew about that he was sticked by the Dominie, which made the people come running from several parts of the country round about to see how it was; but upon searching him, they found the empty pudding, which discovered all the fraud. Then two men had to get horses and ride after the poor Dominie, who had by this time got two or three miles away; and when he saw them riding after him crying to stop and come back again, he ran the faster until he could run no more, but fell down on the road, and prayed them to let him go, for, if he was taken back, he was sure to be hanged: and would not be persuaded that Tom was alive, until they forced him back, and he saw him. But he would be Tom’s teacher no longer; so Tom’s father had to seek another master for him. PART II There was a young woman, servant to Tom’s father, whom Tom had offended by some of his tricks, and she, to be up with Tom again, one night spread a handful of short nettles in his bed, between the sheets, which stung his legs and thighs so much, that he was obliged to quit his bed for some part of the night; for such he resolved to be revenged, whenever a proper opportunity offered. It happened in a few days after, that she was invited to a wedding, where the dancing and diversions induced her to stay all night, and on coming home in the morning, she fell a washing some clothes. But being fatigued with her night’s diversion and for want of rest, fell fast asleep with her hands extended in the tub, and standing on her feet, with her belly leaning on the tub; Tom perceiving this, slips her petticoat and smock over her head, facing the highway; several people passing by, while she continued in this posture, some of them were diverted with the sight, and others were ashamed at it; but a poor cadger had the misfortune to be coming that way at the time, and his horse taking fright at this unusual sight threw off his creels, and broke the poor man’s eggs all to smash; which so enraged him that he lashed her buttocks with his whip, in such an unmerciful manner, that with the smart and shame together, she had not the least inclination to sleep for the remaining part of the day. Tom being grown up to years and age of man, thought himself wiser and slyer than his father: and there were several things about the house which he liked better than to work; so he turned to be a dealer amongst brutes, a cowper of horses and cows, etc., and even

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wet ware, amongst the brewers and brandy shops, until he cowped himself to the toom halter, and then his parents would supply him no more. He knew his grandmother had plenty of money, but she would give him none; but the old woman had a good black cow of her own, which Tom went to the fields one evening and catches, and takes her to an old waste house which stood at a distance from any other, and there he kept her two or three days, giving her meat and drink at night when it was dark, and made the old woman believe somebody had stolen the cow for their winter’s mart, which was grief enough to the old woman for the loss of her cow. However, she employs Tom to go to a fair that was near by, and buy her another; she gives him three pounds which Tom accepts of very thankfully, and promises to buy her one as like the other as possibly he could get. Then he takes a piece of chalk, and brays it as small as meal, and steeps it in a little water, and therewith rubs over the cow’s face and back, which made her baith brucket and rigget.* So Tom in the morning takes the cow to a public house within a little of the fair, and left her till the fair was over, and then drives her home before him; and as soon as they came home, the cow began to rout as it used to do, which made the old woman to rejoice, thinking it was her own cow, but when she saw her white, sighed and said, Alas! thou’ll never be like the kindly brute my Black Lady, and yet ye rout as like her as ony ever I did hear. But, says Tom to himself, ’tis a mercy you know not what she says, or all would be wrong yet. So in two or three days the old woman put forth her bra’ rigget cow in the morning with the rest of her neighbour’s cattle, but it came on a sore day of heavy rain, which washed away all the white from her face and back; so the old woman’s Black Lady came home at night, and her rigget cow went away with the shower, and was never heard of. But Tom’s father having some suspicion, and looking narrowly into the cow’s face, found some of the chalk not washed away and then he gave poor Tom a hearty beating, and sent him away to seek his fortune with a skin full of sore bones. PART III Tom being now turned to his own shifts, considered with himself how to raise a little more money; and so gets a string as near as he could guess to be the length of his mother, and to Edinburgh he goes, to a wright who was acquainted with his father and mother. The wright asked him how he did; he answered him very soberly, he had lost a good dutiful mother last night, and there’s a measure for the coffin. Tom went out and staid for some time, and then comes in again, and tells the wright he did not know what to do, for his father had ordered him to get money from such a man, whom he named, and he that day was gone out of town.—The wright asked him how much he wanted. To which he answered a guinea and a half. Then Tom gave him strict orders to be out next day against eleven o’clock with the coffin, and he should get his money altogether. So Tom set off to an alehouse with the money, and lived well while it lasted. Next morning the wright and his two lads went out with the coffin; and as they were going into the house they met Tom’s mother, who asked the master how he did, and where he was going with that fine coffin. Not knowing well what to say, being surprised to see her alive, at last he told her that her son brought in the measure the day before, and had got a guinea and a half from him, with which he said he was to buy some necessities for the funeral. O the rogue! said * Spotted on body and face.


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she, has he play’d me that? So the wright got his lent money, and so much for his trouble, and had to take back his coffin with him again. Tom being short of money, began to think how he could raise a fresh supply, so he went to the port among the shearers, and there he hired about thirty of them, and agreed to give them a whole week’s shearing at tenpence a day which was two-pence higher than any had got that year; this made the poor shearers think he was a very generous honest and genteel master, as ever they met with; for he took them all into an ale-house, and gave them a hearty breakfast. Now, says Tom, when there is so many of you together, and perhaps from very different parts, and being unacquainted with one another, I do not know but there may be some of you honest men and some of you rogues; and as you are all to lie in one barn together, any of you who has got money, you will be surest to give it to me, and I’ll mark it down in my book, with your names, and what I receive from each of you, and you shall have it all again on Saturday night when you receive your wages. O! very well, goodman, there’s mine, take mine, said every one faster than another. Some gave him five, six, seven and eight shillings, even all that they had earn’d thro’ the harvest, which amounted to near seven pounds sterling. So Tom having got all their money, he goes on with them till about three miles out of town, and coming to a field of standing corn tho’ somewhat green, yet convenient for his purpose, as it lay at some distance from any house; so he made them begin work there, telling them he was going to order dinner for them, and send his own servants to join them. Then he sets off with all the speed he could, but takes another road into the town, lest they should follow and catch him. Now when the people to whom the corn belonged saw such a band in their field, they could not understand the meaning of it: so the farmer whose corn it was, went off crying always as he ran to them, to stop; but they would not, until he began to strike at them, and they at him, he being in a great passion, as the corn was not fully ripe; at last, by force of argument, and other people coming up to them, the poor shearers were convinced they had got the bite, which caused them to go away sore lamenting their misfortune. Two or three days thereafter, as Tom was going down Canongate in Edinburgh, he meets one of his shearers, who knew and kept fast by him, demanding back his money, and also satisfaction for the rest. Whisht, whisht, says Tom, and you’ll get yours and something else beside. So Tom takes him into the jail, and calls for a bottle of ale and a dram, then takes the jailer aside, as if he had been going to borrow some money from him; and says to the jailer, This man is a great thief, I and other two have been in search of him these three days, and the other two men have the warrant with them; so if you keep this rogue here till I run and bring them, you shall have a guinea in reward. Yes, says the jailer, go and I’ll secure the rogue for you. So Tom got off, leaving the poor innocent fellow and the jailer struggling together, and then sets out for England directly. PART IV Tom having now left his own native country, went into the county of Northumberland, where he hired himself to an old miser of a farmer, where he continued for several years, performing his duty in his service very well, tho’ sometimes playing tricks on those about him; but his master had a naughty custom, he would allow them no candle at night to see with when at supper. So Tom one night sets himself next his master, and as they were all about to fall on, Tom puts his spoon into the heart of the dish, where the crowdy was

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hottest, and claps a spoonful into his master’s mouth. A pox on you for a rogue, cries his master, for my mouth is all burnt. A pox on you for a master, says Tom, for you keep a house as dark as Purgatory, for I was going to my mouth with the soup, and missed the way, it being so dark; don’t think master, that I am such a big fool as to feed you while I have a mouth of my own. So from that night that Tom burnt his master’s mouth with the hot crowdy, they always got a candle to show them light at supper, for his master would feed no more in the dark while Tom was present. There was a servant girl in the house, who always when she made the beds, neglected to make Tom’s, and would have him do it himself. Well then, says Tom, I have harder work to do and I shall do that too. So next day when Tom was at the plough, he saw his master coming from the house towards him, he left the horses and the plough standing in the field, and goes away towards his master. Who cried, what is wrong? or is there any thing broke with you? No, no, says Tom, but I am going home to make my bed, it has not been made these two weeks, and now it is about the time the maid makes all the rest, so I’ll go and make mine too. No, no, says his master, go to your plough, and I’ll cause it to be made every night. Then, says Tom, I’ll plough two or three furrows more in the time, so Tom gained his end. One day a butcher came and bought a fine fat calf from Tom’s master, and Tom laid it on the horse’s back, before the butcher: when he was gone, Now, says Tom, what will you hold, master, but I’ll steal the calf from the butcher before he goes two miles off? Says his master, I’ll hold a guinea you don’t. Done, says Tom. Into the house he goes, and takes a good shoe of his master’s and runs another way across a field, till he got before the butcher, near the corner of a hedge, where there was an open and turning of the way; here Tom places himself before the hedge, and throws the shoe into the middle of the highway; so, when the butcher came up riding, with his calf before him, Hey, said he to himself, there’s a good shoe! If I knew how to get on my calf again, I would light for it, but what signifies one shoe without its neighbour? So on he rides and lets it lie. Tom then slips out and takes up the shoe, and runs across the fields until he gets before the butcher at another open of a hedge, about half a mile distant, and throws out the shoe again on the middle of the road; then up comes the butcher, and seeing it, says to himself, Now I shall have pair of good shoes for the lifting; and down he comes, lays the calf on the ground, and tying his horse to the hedge, runs back thinking to get the other shoe, in which time, Tom whips up the calf and shoe, and home he comes, demanding his wager, which his master could not refuse, being so fairly won. The poor butcher not finding the shoe, came back to his horse, and missing the calf, knew not what to do; but thinking it had broke the rope from about its feet, and had run into the fields, the butcher spent the day in search of it, amongst the hedges and ditches, and returned to Tom’s master at night, intending to go in search again for it next day; and gave them a tedious relation of how he came to lose it by a cursed pair of shoes, which he believed the devil had dropped in his way; and taken the calf and shoes along with him; but he was thankful he had left his old horse to carry him home. Next morning Tom set to work, and makes a fine white face on the calf with chalk and water: then brings it out and sells it to the butcher; which waxes good diversion to his master and other servants, to see the butcher buy his own calf again. No sooner was he gone with it, but Tom says, Now master, what will you hold but I’ll steal it from him again ere he goes two miles off? No, no, says his master, I’ll hold no more bets with you; but I’ll give you a shilling if you do it. Done, says Tom, it


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shall cost you no more; and away he runs through the fields, until he came before the butcher, hard by the place where he stole the calf from him the day before; and there he lies down behind the hedge, and as the butcher came past, he put his hand on his mouth, and cries Baw, baw, like a calf. The butcher hearing this, swears to himself that there was the calf he had lost the day before; down he comes, and throws the calf on the ground, gets thro’ the hedge in all haste, thinking he had no more to do but to take it up; but as he came in at one part of the hedge, Tom jumped out at another, and gets the calf on his back; then goes over the hedge on the other side, and thro’ the fields he came safely home, with the calf on his back, while the poor butcher spent his time and labour in vain, running from hedge to hedge, and hole to hole, seeking the calf. So the butcher, returning to his horse again, and finding his other calf gone, he concluded that it was done by some invisible spirit, about that spot of ground; and so went home lamenting the loss of his calf. When Tom got home he washed the white face off the stolen calf, and his master sent the butcher word to come and buy another calf, which he accordingly did in a few days after, and Tom sold him the same calf a third time, and then told him the whole affair as it was acted, giving him his money again. So the butcher got fun for his trouble. PART V There was an old rich blind woman, who lived hard by, that had a young girl, her only daughter, who fell deep in love with Tom, and he fell as deep in love with the money, but not with the maid. The old woman gave Tom many presents, and mounted him like a gentleman; but he used every method to put off the marriage, pretended he still wanted something, which the old woman gave the money to purchase for him, until he had got about thirty pounds of her money and then she would delay the marriage no longer. Tom then took the old woman and girl aside, and made the following apology: Madam, said he, I am very willing to wed with my dear Polly, for she appears as an angel in my eyes, but I am sorry, very sorry, to acquaint you that I am not a fit match for her. What, child, says the old woman, there is not a fitter match in the whole world for my Polly. I did not think your country could afford such a clever youth as what I hear of you to be, you shall neither want gold nor silver, nor a good horse to ride upon, and when I die, you shall have my all. O but, says Tom, madam, that’s not the thing, the stop is this: When I was in Scotland, I got a stroke from a horse’s foot, on the bottom of the belly, which has quite disabled me below, that I cannot perform a husband’s duty in bed. Then the old woman clapt her hands and fell a crying, O! if it had been any impediment but that, but that, but that wofu’ that! which gold and silver cannot purchase, and yet the poorest people that is common beggars have plenty of it. The old wife and her daughter sat crying and wringing their hands, and Tom stood and wept lest he should get no more money. O, said Polly, mother, I’ll wed him nevertheless, I love him so dearly! No, you foolish girl, said her mother, would you marry a man and die a maid? You don’t know the end of your creation; it is the enjoyment of a man in bed that makes women to marry, which is a pleasure like Paradise, and if you wed this man you will live and die, and never feel it. Hoo, hoo, says Tom, if I had got money I needed not been this way till now. Money, you fool, said the old woman, there’s not such a thing to be got for money in all England. Ay, says Tom, there’s a doctor in Newcastle, will make me as able as any

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other man for ten guineas. Ten guineas, says she, I’ll give him fifty guineas if he will. But here is twelve and go to him directly, and see what he can do, and then come again and wed my child, or she and I will both die for thy sake. Tom having now got twelve guineas more of their money, got all things ready, and early next morning set out for Newcastle, but instead of going there he came to old Scotland, and left Polly and her mother to think upon him. In about two weeks thereafter, when he was not like to return, nor so much as any word from him, the old woman and Polly got a horse, and came to Newcastle in search of him, went thro’ all the doctors’ shops, asking if there came a young man there, about two weeks ago, with a broken——to mend? Some laughed at her, others were like to kick her out of doors, so they had to return without getting any further intelligence of him. Now after Tom’s return to Scotland, he got a wife, and took a little farm near Dalkeith, and became a very douce man, for many years, following his old business the couping horses and cows, and feeding veals for the slaughter, and the like. He went one day to a fair, and bought a fine cow from an old woman; but Tom judged from the lowness of the price that the cow had certain very great faults. Tom gives the wife the other hearty bicker of ale, then, says he, Gude-wife, the money is yours and the cow is mine, you maun tell me ony wee faults it has. Indeed, she has na faut but ane, and if she wanted it, I wad never ha parted wi’ her. And what’s that, gudewife? said he. Indeed, said she, the filthy daft beast sucks aye hersel’. But, says Tom, if that be all, I’ll soon cure her o’ that. O! can you do’t? said she. If I had kent what wad do’t I wadna sold her. A-well, says Tom, I’ll tell you what to do, tak’ the price I gave you just now, and tie it hard and fast in your napkin, and give it to me, through beneath the cow’s wame, and I’ll give you the napkin again o’er the cow’s back, and I’ll lay my life for it, that she’ll ne’er suck hersel’ in my aught. I wat well, said she, I’se do that, an’ there should be witchcraft in’t. So Tom got it through below the cow’s wame, he takes out his money, and gave the wife her napkin over the cow’s back, as he promised, saying, Now, wife, you have your cow and I my money, and she will never suck herself in my aught, as I told you. O dole! dole! cried the wife, is that your cure? You’ve cheated me, you’ve cheated me. Tom being very scarce of money one time when he had his rent to pay, and tho’ he was well acquainted with the butchers in Edinburgh, and tried several of them, yet none of them would lend him as much, he was known to be such a noted sharper. So Tom contrived a clever trick, to give them all the bite in general, who thus refused him; in he comes next day (for they had all heard of the fine calf he was feeding), and tells one of the butchers who dealt with him that he was going to sell the calf he had at home. Well, said the butcher, and what will you have for it? Just thirty-five shillings, says Tom. No, says the butcher, but by what I hear of it, I’ll give you thirty. Na, says Tom, you must remember, that it is not the price of it, but you may give me twenty shillings just now and send out your lad to-morrow, and we’ll perhaps agree about it. Thus Tom went through ten of them on one day, and got twenty shillings from each of them, and kept his speech against the law, for whatever they offered him for his calf he told them to remember, that was not to be the price of it, but give me twenty shillings just now and send out your lad to-morrow and perhaps we will agree, was all that passed. So Tom went home with his ten pounds and paid his rent. Early next morning the fleshers came to Tom’s house for the calf, and every one called for his calf, but Tom had only one to serve them all.


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Now, says Tom, whoever will give most, and speediest shall have it, I will put it to a roup. What, said one of them, my master bought it yesterday. Then, said Tom, you would be a great fool to buy it to-day, for it is fashious to lead and heavy to carry. Glasgow Chap-Book. Dougal Graham, “The Comical Tricks of Lothian Tom”. TYPE 1525 (variant). MOTIFS: K.258 [Stolen property sold to its owner]; K.300 [Thefts and cheats: general]; K.256 [Deceptive wages]; K.341.6 [Shoes dropped to distract owner’s attention]. The earlier parts of “Lothian Tom”, though on the same lines as some of the form of 1525, are different in detail. Part IV, however, takes up the regular story of “The Master Thief”. The Chap-Book is, in fact, a collection of tales of trickery in the same way that the “Appy Boswell” tales are a collection of tall stories. See also “The Maltman and the Poller”.

THE LOVINGE WIFE OF HIM THAT FEIGNED HIMSELF DEAD TO PROVE WHAT HIS WIFE WOULD DO A young married man on a time to prove, to hear and to see what his wife would do if he were dead, came into his house while his wife was forth washing of clothes and laid him down on the floor as he had been dead. When his wife came in and saw him lie so, she thought he had been dead indeed, wherefore she stood even still and devised with herself whether was better to bewail herself forthwith or else to dine first, for she had eat no meat of all the day. All other things considered, she determined to dine first. So she cut a collop of bacon and broiled it on the coals and began to eat thereon apace. At last the saltiness of the meat made her to thirst so sore that she must needs drink. So as she took the pot in her hand and was going down into her cellar to draw drink, suddenly came one of her neighbours for a coal afire. Wherefore she stepped back quickly. And though she was right thirsty, yet she set the pot aside, and as her husband had then fallen down dead, she began to weep—and with many lamentable words to bewail his death—which weeping and wailing and sudden death of her husband caused all the neighbours to come thither. The man lay still on the floor and so held his breath and closed his eyes that he seemed for certain to be dead. At last, when he thought he had made pastime enough, and hearing his wife say thus: “Alas! dear husband, what shall I do now?”—he looked up and said: “Full ill, my sweet wife, except ye go quickly and drink.” Wherewith they all from weeping turned to laughing, especially when they understood the matter and the cause of her thirst. Whereby ye may see that not without a good skill the poet said: “Ut flerent oculos erudiere suos” (Ovid, Remedia Amoris, 1. 690) A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 302. TYPE 1350. MOTIF: H.466 [Feigned death to test wife’s faithfulness].

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J.M.Synge’s one-act play, The Shadow of the Glen, is on this theme.

LUMP OF OLD WOOD An aged man, named Thomas Wood, sitting on a high three-footed stool in the gallery of the old Church of Falkirk, during divine service happened to fall asleep, tumbled on the floor with a great noise. The preacher stopped and demanded the reason of the noise. “Nothing, sir,” cried a wag, “but a lump of Old Wood fallen down.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery. Humour of Puns. Not given a place in the Motif Index.

THE MAID WHO WANTED TO MARRY A young Irish girl wanted to marry a young Irishman, so she went to Spinkhill to pray. When she had got very near to the church she knelt down behind a hedge and said: “O holy mother, can I have Patrick?” An old man who was behind the hedge, heard her question and said, “No, thou canst not.” But the girl said, “ Thee be quiet, little Jesus, and let thy mother speak.” S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 30. From Eckington, Derby. TYPE 1476A. MOTIF: K 1971.8 [Hidden man behind image gives unwelcome answer to suppliant.] See also “Nowt but a Tailor”.

MAISTER HOBSON In the beginning of queen Elizabeth’s reign, when the order of hanging out lanterns and candlelight first of all was brought up, the bedell of the warde where Maister Hobson dwelt, in a dark evening, crieing up and down, “Hang out your lanternes! Hang out your lanternes!” using no other words, Maister Hobson took an emptie lanterne, and, according to the bedell’s call, hung it out. This flout, by the lord mayor, was taken in ill part, and for the same offence, Hobson was sent to the Counter, but being released, the next night following, thinking to amend his call, the bedell cryed out, with a loud voice, “Hang out your lanternes and candle!” Maister Hobson, hereupon, hung out a lanterne and candle, unlighted, as the bedell again commanded; whereupon he was again sent to the Counter, but the next night, the bedell being better advised, cryed, “Hang out your lanterne and candle light! Hang out your lanterne and candle light!” which Maister Hobson at last did, to his great commendations, which cry of lanterne and candle light is in right manner used to this day.


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MAISTER HOBSON AND THE PYE-STEALER In Christmas Holy-dayes when Maister Hobson’s wife had many pyes in the oven, one of his servants had stole one of them out, and at the tauerne had merrilie eat it. It fortuned, the same day, that some of his friends dined with him, and one of the best pyes were missing, the stealer thereof, after dinner, he found out in this manner. He called all his servants in friendly sort together into the hall, and caused each of them to drink one to another, both wine, ale, and beare, till they were all drunke; then caused hee a table to be furnished with very goode cheare, whereat hee likewise pleased them. Being set altogether, he saide, “Why sit ye not downe fellows?”—“We bee set already,” quoth they—“Nay,” quoth Maister Hobson, “he that stole the pye is not yet set.”—“Yes, that I doe!” quoth he that stole it, by which means Maister Hobson knew what was become of the pye; for the poor fellow being drunke could not keepe his owne secretts. Hone, The Table Book, III, p. 419. From Pleasant Conceits of Old London (1607). I. MOTIF: J.2461.1 [Literal following of instructions about actions]. II. MOTIF: J.1141.1 [Guilty person deceived into gesture which admits guilt]. See “The Thief Detected”.

THE MALTMAN AND THE POLLER A certain maltman of Colbrook, which was a very covetous wretch, and had no pleasure but only to get money, came to London to sell his malt and brought with him four capons. And there he received four or five shillings for malt and put it in a little purse tied to his coat, and after went about the streets to sell his capons—whom a polling fellow [= a confidence man] that was a dicer and an unthrift had espied and imagined how he might beguile the man either of his capons or of his money. And he came to this maltman in the street bearing these capons in his hand, and asked him how he would sell his capons. And when he had showed him the price of them, he bad him go with him to his master and he would show them to his master, and he would cause him to have money for them. Whereto he agreed. This poller went to the Cardinal’s Hat in Lombards Street, and when he came to the door he took the capons from the maltman and bad him tarry at the door till he had showed his master, and he would come again to him and bring him his money for them. This poller, when he had gotten the capons, went into the house and went through the other, back, entry into Cornhill, and so took the capons with him. And when this maltman had stood there a good season, he asked one of the taverners where the man was that had the capons to show his master. “Marry,” quod the taverner, “I cannot tell thee. Here is neither master nor man in this house—for this entry here is a common highway and goeth into Cornhill. I am sure he is gone away with thy capons.” This maltman, hearing that, ran through the entry into Cornhill and asked for a fellow in a tawny coat that had capons in his hand. But no man could tell him which way he was gone. And so the maltman lost his capons and after, went into his inn all heavy and sad, and took his horse to th’intent to ride home.

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This poller by that time had changed his raiment and borrowed a furred gown and came to the maltman sitting on horseback, and said thus: “Good man, methought I heard thee inquire even now for one in a tawny coat that had stolen from thee four capons. If thou wilt give me a quart of wine, go with me and I shall bring thee to a place where he sitteth drinking with other fellows and had the capons in his hand.” This maltman, being glad thereof, granted him to give him the wine, because he seemed to be an honest man, and went with him unto the Dagger in Cheap. This poller then said to him: “Go thy way straight to th’end of that long entry and there thou shalt see whether it be he or no. And I will hold thy horse here till thou come again.” This maltman, thinking to find the fellow with his capons, went in and left his horse with the other at the door. And as soon as he was gone into the house, this poller led the horse away into his own lodging. This maltman inquired in the house for his fellow with the capons, but no man could tell him no tidings of such man. Wherefore he came again to the door all sad, and looked for him that had his horse to keep. And because he saw him not, he asked divers there for him. And some said they saw him, and some said they saw him not. But no man could tell which way he was gone, wherefore he went home to his inn more sad than he was before, wherefore his host gave him counsel to get him home and beware how he trusted any men in London. This maltman, seeing none other comfort, went his way homeward. This poller, which lingered always there about the inn, heard tell that the maltman was going homeward afoot, and appareled him like a man’s ’prentice, and got a little budget [purse] stuffed full of stones on his back, and went before him to Charing Cross, and tarried till the maltman came, and asked whither he went—which said: “To Colbrook.” “Marry,” quod the other, “I am glad thereof, for I must go to Brainford to my master to bear him money which I have in my budget, and I would be glad of company.” This maltman, because of his own money, was glad of his company, and so they agreed and went together a while. At the last, this poller went somewhat before to Knightbridge and sat upon the bridge and rested him with his budget on his back. And when he saw the maltman almost at him, he let his budget fall over the bridge into the water—and incontinent started up and said to the maltman: “Alas, I have let my budget fall into the water, and there is forty shillings of money therein. If thou wilt wade into the water and go seek it and get it me again, I shall give thee twelve pence for thy labour.” This maltman, having pity of his loss and also glad to get the twelve pence, plucked off his hose, coat, and shirt and waded into the water to seek for the budget. And in the meanwhile this poller got his clothes and coat whereto the purse of money was tied, and leaped over the hedge and went to Westminster. This maltman within a while after, with great pain and deep wading, found that budget and came out of the water and saw not his fellow there—and saw that his clothes and money were not there as he left them. He suspected the matter and opened the budget and then found nothing therein but stones. He cried out like a madman and ran all naked to London again, and said: “Alas, alas, help! or I shall be stolen. For my capons be stolen. My horse is stolen. My money and clothes be stolen. And I shall be stolen myself.” And so he ran about the streets in


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London naked and mad, crying always: “I shall be stolen! I shall be stolen!”—and so continued mad during his life and so died like a wretch, to the utter destruction of himself and shame to all his kin. By this, ye may see that many a covetous wretch that loved his goods better than God, and setteth his mind inordinately thereon, by the right judgement of God oftimes cometh to a miserable and shameful end. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 140. TYPE 1525 (variant). MOTIFS: K.311 [Thief in disguise]; K.346.1 [Thief guards pursuer’s s horse, while latter pursues a false trail; steals horse]; K.31.4 [Thief persuades owner of goods to dive for treasure; meantime robs him]. See also “Lothian Tom”.

A MAN ALL HEART A northern man there was which went to seek him a service. So it happened that he came to a lord’s place, which lord then had war with another lord. This lord then asked this northern man if that he durst fight. “Ye, by God’s bones,” quod that northern man, “that I dare, for I is all heart.” Whereupon the lord retained him into his service. So after, it happened that his lord should go fight with his enemies, with whom also went this northern man—which shortly was smitten in the heel with an arrow, wherefore he incontinently fell down almost dead. Wherefore one of his fellows said: “Art thou he that art all heart, and for so little a stroke in the heel now art almost dead?” To whom he answered and said: “By God’s sale [= soul] I is heart—head, legs, body, heels, and all—therefore ought not one to fear when he is stricken in the heart?” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 149. Master and servant tale. See “The Lad who was never Hungry”.

THE MAN THAT STOLE THE PARSON’S SHEEP There was once a man that used to steal a fat sheep every Christmas. One Christmas he stole the parson’s sheep, and his son, a lad about twelve years old, went about the village singing— “My father’s stolen the parson’s sheep, And a merry Christmas we shall keep, We shall have both pudding and meat, But you moant say nought about it.” Now it happened one day that the parson himself heard the boy singing these words, so he said, “My lad, you sing very well; will you come to church next Sunday evening, and sing it there?”

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“I’ve no clothes to go in,” said the boy. But the parson said, “If you will come to church as I ask you, I will buy you clothes to go in.” The boy agreed, and at the end of the service, the parson said he wished all the people to stay and hear what the boy had to sing to them. But the boy sang,— “As I was in the field one day, I saw the parson kiss a may; He gave me a shilling not to tell, And these new clothes do fit me well.” S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 18. Collected in Calver, Derbyshire. Published in The Folktales of England, p. 117. TYPE 1735A. MOTIF: K.1631 [The bribed boy sings a wrong song]. This tale is scattered through Europe, and Baughman gives five United States references. See also “The Parson’s Sheep” and “The Wee Boy and the Minister Grey”.

THE MAN WHO BOUNCED There were a stranger come to the village, and everything ’e saw, ’e knew something better. Trees in ’is country was ’igher, bridges was bigger, rivers was wider, and cliffs, well! they was real ’igh. And ’e were talking about someone as fell off a cliff, up ’is way, and ’ow ’e’d caught fire as ’e was falling down, it were such a long way down. Well, one o’ they as was listening says, “Oh! ay. Now we got a cliff down country, and there were a little vat vellow, round as a apple ’e were, and ’e were walking on top o’ cliff, wind took and caught ’en, and blowed ’en over. Well! when ’e got to bottom, ’e bounced. ’E bounced up a ’undred feet, ’e come down and ’e bounced up fifty feet. And what’s more, the poor little vellow, ’e went on a-bouncing and a-bouncing, for a week, and they ’ad to shoot ’un.” Ruth L.Tongue, from Somerset. Recorded 28 September 1963. TYPE 1920. MOTIF: X.1021.1 [Lie: remarkable bouncing rubber boots; man bounced so that he had to be shot to keep him from starving]. Baughman gives seven American references from the Mid-West and Far West. This is the first English version to be recorded.

THE MAN WHO COLLECTED HOLES A roadman was engaged in digging a deep and difficult hole in a country road. Presently a rich American drove up, and stopped to admire his work. “That’s a fine hole!” he said. “I collect holes. How much do you want for it?” “Five pounds,” said the roadman, after some thought.


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“Right,” said the other. “Can you deliver it to me at——?” He drove on, and the roadman, having collected a horse and cart, loaded the hole on to it, and set out, driving carefully, towards the hotel. But the road was rough, and the cart stuck in a rut, with a jerk, and the hole fell off it into the road. The man stopped, saw what had happened, and began to back his cart cautiously. But for all his care, the cart backed just too far, fell into the hole, and was lost, horse and all. So that was that! Heard in Wales about 1960, by Margaret Nash-Williams, from J.D.K.LloydBrunvand: B.825.

MARCH OF INTELLECT Two country carters, passing the entrance to the Arcade, Argyle Street, Glasgow, observed painted on the wall, “No dogs to enter here.” “No dogs to enter here!” exclaimed one of them. “I’m sure there’s no use for that there.” “What way, Jock?” replied the other. “’Cause dogs canna read signs,” said he. “Ha, ha, Jock, ye’re maybe wrang, I’se warran’ ye, gentle folks’ dogs ’ill ken’t brawly, for there’s schools, noo, whaur they learn the dumb baith to read and speak.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 218. MOTIFS: J.1880 [Animals or objects treated as if human]; H.1024.4 [Task: teaching an ass to read].

THE MARE’S EGG Two Cockneys, who had come down to stay a few days in the country, near Grately, on the borders of Hampshire and Wiltshire, met in their walk one morning an old man who, my informant said, was “a droll old chap”, and who happened to have a large pumpkin under his arm. The Londoners noticed that the old man was carrying something, though they could not quite make out what it was, and, confident in their power as towndwellers, they thought they would have a little joke at the old countryman’s expense. So they opened fire. “Good-morning, master.” “Good marnin’, zur.” “What is that you are carrying under your arm, friend?” “’Tis a mare’s egg, zur.” “Dear me!” said the Londoners, not liking to own their ignorance; “it’s the finest we ever saw.” “Ah, zur,” said the old man, “there’s lots of common uns about, but this is a thoroughbred un, zur: that’s what makes un look zo vine.” “Will you sell it?” said the Cockneys. “Well,” said the old man, “I doan’t mind partin’ wi’ un, though I doan’t s’pose you’ll give me the money I want for a thoroughbred mare’s egg.”

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After some bargaining, the men put their hands into their pockets and paid what was asked. The old man then handed over the pumpkin, and as he did so, looked at them very seriously, and said— “Now mind, zur, and do ’ee take great care wi’ un, for she’ll hatch soon.” Away went the Londoners with their mare’s egg, and as they were crossing a hill, just by Grateley station, which my informant pointed out, the one who was carrying the prize stumbled over one of the juniper bushes with which the hill is dotted about, and dropped the pumpkin, starting at the same time a hare out of the bush. In their excitement, and thinking, I suppose, that the fall had suddenly hastened the hatching, they shouted wildly to some men at work in a field at the bottom of the hill, “Hi! Stop our colt! Stop our colt!” Norton Collection, IV, p. 127. From Egerton, Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways (1812), pp. 19–20. Told him in a train from Salisbury to Grately, by a farmer, probably of Grately, W.Hampshire. Egerton adds that he later met Kentish and Lowland Scots versions. TYPE 1319. See also “Horse’s Eggs”.

MARK ME WELL A gentleman having missed his way, fortunately met a boy going with a pot of tar to mark his master’s sheep, asked the road to Banff, but was directed by so many turnings, right and left, that he agreed to take the boy behind him on the horse as he was going near to the same place. Finding the boy pert and docile, he gave him some wholesome advice relative to his future conduct, adding occasionally, “Mark me well, my boy.” “Yes, sir, I do.” He repeated his injunction so often, that the boy at last cried out, “Sir, I have no more tar!” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 216. MOTIF: J.1825. [Literal fool].

MARK TWAIN IN THE FENS When I was a boy some dons of Cambridge brought Mark Twain to a little pub near my home, to recover from a nervous breakdown. Well, he and the old Fenmen got on well together. Mark could tell a very fine yarn. He told those old fishermen that Americans never went fishing unless they took a mill with them. When the Fenmen asked what the mill was for, Mark replied that the fish were so large that no man could pull ’em out, so they had to use a mill. A short time afterwards, Mark saw a team of horses standing outside a blacksmith’s forge, and he said to old Chafer Legge the Fenman, “What are those horses waiting for?” Chafer said, “They’re waiting for the man that’s just going out fishing.” Another time, when the landlord of the Ship Inn where he was staying, showed him some large potatoes, Mark said, “Call them spuds? You ought to see what we grow in


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America! They’re so large that we can only get one into a saucepan at a time!” That evening a barge came along up the river, with a great big water-tube boiler for Cambridge gas-works. They moored it into the bank, aside of the Ship Inn. Mark went out and he saw this huge boiler lashed on the deck of the barge, and he said to the landlord, “What is that?” “Oh!” the landlord said, “That’s nothing. ’Tis just one of our saucepans we boil potatoes in.” Oh! he was a humorous old man! Published in The Folktales of England, p. 145. Recorded by W.H.Barrett, October 1963. TYPES 1920A and 1960D. MOTIFS: X.1435.1 [Lie: large potatoes]; X.1301 [Lie: the great fish]. Baughman cites variants of the great vegetable and the great kettle from the States. A Cornish text brought to Michigan is printed by R.M.Dorson in the Journal of American Folklore, LXI, pp. 138–40. See also “The Man who Bounced”.

MARKING THE BOAT: I An Irishman was hired by a Yarmouth maltster to help in loading his ship. As the vessel was about to sail, the Irishman cried out from the quay, “Captain, I lost your shovel overboard, but I cut a big notch in the railfence round the stern, just where it went down, so you will find it when you come back.” Norton Collection, IV, p. 91. Yarmouth. Clouston, Book of Noodles, p. 99.

MARKING THE BOAT: II A Yarmouth maltster hired an Irishman to assist in loading his ship with malt. Just as the vessel was about to sail, the Irishman cried out from the quay, “Captain, I lost your shovel overboard; but I cut a big notch on the rail fence round stern, right over the spot where it went down; so you’ll find it when you come back.” Norton Collection, IV, p. 91. F.Liebrecht, in Orient und Occident, II, p. 544. Note: source not stated, but would seem to be an English jest-book. Either the latter, or Liebrecht, must have been Clouston’s source.

MARKING THE BOAT: III There were two Yorkshiremen who went out fishing together in a boat. After a time, they found such an excellent spot that they decided to return there the next day, and one told the other to be sure to mark the place. When they got back, the first man said: “Did you mark t’place, as 1 told you?” The other answered:

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“Ay, I made a mark on t’bottom o’ t’boat.” Then the first man said: “Ey, you daft fool, they might give us another boat!” Norton Collection, IV, p. 89. J.L.P., Cambridge, 17 November 1940. TYPE 1278. MOTIF: J.1922.1 [Marking the place on the boat]. Baughman records North American examples in Ontario and North Carolina.

MASTER OF ALL MASTERS A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for servant. At last a funnylooking old gentleman engaged her, and took her home to his house. When she got there, he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things. He said to her: “What will you call me?” “Master or mister, or whatever you please, sir,” says she. He said: “You must call me ‘master of all masters’. And what would you call this?” pointing to his bed. “Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir.” “No, that’s my ‘barnacle’. And what do you call these?” said he pointing to his pantaloons. “Breeches, or trousers, or whatever you please, sir.” “You must call them ‘squibs and crackers’. And what would you call her?” pointing to the cat. “Cat, or kit, or whatever you please, sir.” “You must call her ‘white-faced simminy’. And this now,” showing the fire, “what would you call all this?” “Fire, or flame, or whatever you please, sir.” “You must call it ‘hot cockalorum’, and what this?” he went on, pointing to the water. “Water, or wet, or whatever you please, sir.” “No, ‘pondalorum’ is its name. And what do you call this?” asked he, as he pointed to the house. “House, or cottage, or whatever you please, sir.” “You must call it ‘high topper mountain’.” That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright, and said: “Master of all masters, get out of your barnacle, and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail and unless you get some pondalorum high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum.” …That’s all. Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 220. TYPE 1940. MOTIF: X.1506 [The extraordinary names; a place where animals and things are designated by senseless names]. There are many versions of this story; Jacobs has made a pastiche of some of them. The nearest version is “Master and Servant”, from Seven Notes and Queries, III, pp. 45–6 (1887), said to come from Yorkshire.


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In the version collected by Mayhew from a Manchester boy of 17, the final sentences ran: “Ten per cent, arise out of he’s of degree, Put on your forty cracks, come down and see, For the little white-faced Simeon Has run away with Hop Coleman, Under the little Cock-a-mountain, And without the aid of Resurrection We shall be damned and burnt to death.” A version sent in to The Countryman in 1968 runs: “Maister of all Maisters, get out of your Dunsterdecree, call on Dame Paradise and Mollybus because the sparks of Bright Angels fell on Bittabartas, and Bittabartas ran up the Steps of Diniard right upon Lintupon-Liniard, and had it not been for Lant-upon-Clear, all would have been lost that’s here.” Told to Leonard Taylor of Wells, Somerset, who heard it from his father, a native of Durham. In the Scottish version, “The Clever Apprentice”, given by Gregor, the servant himself has engineered the fire. This brings the story nearest to the sixteenth-century tale from Straparola, in which the wife sets fire to the house, and rouses the husband with his own rigmarole, which he is too slow to comprehend, so that he is burnt in his house. A similar, though undesigned, catastrophe occurs in a Somerset version contributed to Notes and Queries, III (1887), p. 89. A study of the tale, “The Barn is Burning”, by E.M.Wilson and K.Jackson, appeared in Folklore, XLVII (1936), pp. 190–202. There are many Irish versions. The tale is widely distributed outside Britain: Grimm, no. 140, Finland, Estonia, France, Denmark Holland, Belgium, Russia, Spanish America, the West Indies. See also “The Clever Apprentice”, “Don Nippery Septo”, “Easy Decree”.

MASTER AND SERVANT [tailor and apprentice] …the servant was an apprentice, and the master a consequential tailor, who desired to be called “master-above-all”, while his wife was “mistress-above-all”, and his daughter “miss-madame”. His house was “Straw-bungle”, the stream near it “the great river of Strabass”, and the tailor’s boots were “struntifers”. The fire was “the fire of vengeance”, and the cat was also known by some high-sounding name, which I have forgotten, as was also the kitchen chimney. The malicious apprentice amused himself by tying a light to the cat’s tail at night, and driving her up the chimney. He then shouted, “Masterabove-all, arise and put on your struntifers; call mistress-above-all, miss madame, and master John. For old (cat) has gone up Mount Etna with the fire of vengeance in her tail, and if you don’t get help from the great river of Strabass, the great castle of Straw-bungle will be burnt to the ground.”

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Norton Collection, VI, p. 98. Seven Notes and Queries, III (1887), p. 157. M.Damant, from Liverpool. TYPE 1562A. See “Master of All Masters”.

MASTER VAVASOUR AND TURPIN HIS MAN Master Vavasour, sometime a judge of England, had a servant with him called Turpin which had done him service many years, wherefore he came to his master on a time and said to him on this wise: “Sir, I have done you service long, wherefore I pray you give me somewhat to help me in mine old age.” “Turpin,” quod he, “thou sayest truth, and hereon I have thought many a time. I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Now shortly I must ride up to London, and if thou wilt bear my costs thither, I will surely give thee such a thing that shall be worth to thee an hundred pounds.” “I am content,” quod Turpin. So all the way as he rode, Turpin paid his costs till they came to their last lodging, and there after supper he came to his master and said: “Sir, I have borne your costs hitherto, as ye bad me. Now I pray you let me see what thing it is that should be worth an hundred pounds to me.” “Did I promise thee such a thing?” quod his master. “Yea, forsooth,” quod Turpin. “Show me thy writing,” quod Master Vavasour. “I have none,” said Turpin. “Then thou art like to have nothing,” said his master. “And learn this at me— whensoever thou makest a bargain with a man, look that thou take sure writing, and be well ’ware how thou makest a writing to any man. This point hath ‘vailed me an hundred pounds in my days, and so it may thee.” When Turpin saw there was none other remedy, he held himself content. On the morrow, Turpin tarried a little behind his master to reckon with the hostess where they lay, and of her he borrowed so much money on his master’s scarlet cloak as drew to all the costs that they spent by the way. Master Vavasour had not ridden past two miles but that it began to rain, wherefore he called for his cloak. His other servant said Turpin was behind and had it with him. So they hovered under a tree till Turpin overtook them. When he was come, Master Vavasour all angrily said: “Thou knave, why comest thou not away with my cloak?” “Sir, and please you,” quod Turpin, “I have laid it to gage for your costs all the way.” “Why, knave,” quod his master, “didst thou not promise to bear my charges to London?” “Did I?” quod Turpin. “Yea,” quod his master, “that thou didst.” “Let see, show me your writing thereof,” quod Turpin, whereto his master, I think, answered but little. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 284.


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TYPE 910A. MOTIFS: J.163.4 [Good counsels bought]; J.21 [Counsels proved wise by experience]. See “The Tale of Ivan”. This tale differs from others of its kind in that the counsel is immediately turned against the giver. See “The Niggardly Justice”, “The Merchant who lost his Budget”.

THE MASTERFUL HUSBAND A young man lately married to a wife thought it was good policy to get the mastery of her in the beginning, and came to her when the pot was seething over the fire. Although the meat therein were not enough [= cooked enough] he suddenly commanded her to take the pot from the fire—which answered and said that the meat was not ready to eat. And he said again: “I will have it taken off for my pleasure.” This good woman, loath yet to offend him, set the pot beside the fire as he bad. And, anon after, he commanded her to set the pot behind the door. And she said thereto again: “Ye be not wise therein.” But he precisely said it should be so as he bad, and she genteely again did his commandment. This man yet not satisfied, commanded her to set the pot ahigh upon the hen roost. “What!” quod the wife again, “I trow ye be mad.” And he fiercely then commanded her to set it there or else, he said, she should repent. She somewhat afraid to move his patience, took a ladder and set it to the roost, and went herself up the ladder, and took the pot in her hand—praying her husband then to hold the ladder fast for sliding, which he so did. And when the husband looked up and saw the pot stand there on high, he said thus: “Lo, now standeth the pot there as I would have it.” This wife, hearing that, suddenly poured the hot pottage on his head and said thus: “And now been the pottage there as I would have them.” By this tale men may see it is no wisdom for a man to attempt a meek woman’s patience too far, lest it turn to his own hurt and damage. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 123. TYPE 1408B. MOTIF: J.1545.3 [Fault-finding husband nonplussed].

THE MERCHANT THAT LOST HIS BUDGET BETWEEN WARE AND LONDON A certain merchant between Ware and London lost his budget and a hundred pounds therein, wherefore he caused to proclaim in divers market towns, whosoever that found the said budget and would bring it again should have twenty pounds for his labor. An honest husbandman, that chanced to find the said budget, brought it to the baillie of Ware, according to the cry, and required his twenty pounds for his labor, as it was proclaimed.

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The covetous merchant when he understood this, and that he must needs pay twenty pounds for the finding, he said that there was an hundred-and-twenty pounds in his budget, and so would have had his own money and twenty pounds over. So long they strove, that the matter was brought before Master Vavasour the good Judge. When he understood by the baillie that the cry was made for a budget with an hundred pounds therein, he demanded where it was. “Here,” quod the baillie, and took it unto him. “Is it just an hundred pounds?” said the Judge. “Ye, truly,” quod the baillie. “Hold,” said the Judge (to him that found the budget), “take thou this money unto thine own use, and if thou hap to find a budget with a hundred-and-twenty pounds therein, bring it to this honest merchant man.” “It is mine. I lost no more but an hundred pounds,” quod the merchant. “Ye speak now too late,” quod the Judge. By this tale ye may understand that they that go about to deceive others be often times deceived themselves. And some time one falleth in the ditch that he himself made. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 254. TYPE 926C. MOTIF: J.1172.1 [Not the same purse as was lost]. This is a widespread tale, though mostly in a semi-literary form: Italian novelle, Spanish exempla, and so on. Baughman cites it, but without examples. See “Master Vavasour and Turpin his Man”, “The Niggardly Justice”.

MERRY AND SAD A man asked his neighbor which was but late married to a widow how he agreed with his wife—for he said that her first husband and she could never agree. “By God,” quod the other, “we agree marvellous well.” “I pray thee—how so?” “Marry,” quod the other, “I shall tell thee: When I am merry, she is merry, and when I am sad, she is sad. For when I go out of my doors I am merry to go from her, and so is she. And when I come in again, I am sad, and so is she.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 137. MOTIF: J.1541.1.1 [Sharing joy and sorrow].

THE METAMORPHOSIS A party of Cantabs one day, walking along a street in Cambridge, espied an ass tied to a door, and being in want of an object wherewith to kill a little time, they resolved to pay bumpkin a trick, who, having disposed of his wares, was enjoying his pipe and his pint within doors. The Cantabs were not long at a loss what to be at, one of them proposing that the panniers should be put upon his back, and the bridle on his head, whilst the rest led the ass astray. In this condition stood the scholar, when Bumpkin, who had by this time finished his pipe and pint, came to the door; alla mazement at what he saw, he stood gaping for a minute or two, when the Cantab thus addressed him: “You must know, Sir,


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that I quarrelled with my father about seven years since, and, for my disobedience, I was changed into the degrading shape of an ass, to endure every hardship for that space of time; which being now expired, you are bound to set me at liberty.” Bumpkin, believing the tale, took off the panniers and bridle, and set the scholar at large. A few days after, Bumpkin went to a neighbouring country fair, to purchase another ass, in lieu of the one he had lost; and; after viewing different beasts, to his no small surprise, his old identical ass was offered to him; which, on seeing its master, brayed most piteously in token of recognition; but Hodge, nothing moved thereat, passed on to another, exclaiming—“So now you have quarrelled with your father again, have you? But dang me if I’ll have you again!” Norton Collection, V, p. 85. Facetiae Cantabrigienses (London, 1825), p. 10. In Joe Miller’s Complete Jest-Book, Bohn (1841), no. 15. See Clouston, I, p. 458. TYPE 1529. MOTIF: K.403 [Thief claims to have been transformed into an ass]. This is a widespread tale, and occurs in the Hodscha Nasreddin stories (II, 229). There are Lithuanian, French, Spanish, Dutch, German, Italian, Hungarian, and Philippine examples cited in Aarne-Thompson. See “The Pedlar’s Ass”.

A MILKING PROBLEM One here relates the Cotswold jest of the town youth who had come to learn dairy work. He, being provided with a stool and appointed to milk a nice quiet cow, went into the yard as directed. By and by the farmer at the top end of the yard heard a scuffling noise and went to see what was the matter. Arrived on the scene he found the youth struggling violently with the beast. “What b’e got at wi’ ’er? Why don’ ’e let the cow bide?” said he. “I can’t get the old hussey to sit down, sir,” replied the youth. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 16, p. 27. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, p. 197. Cricklade. MOTIF: J.1730 [Absurd ignorance].

THE MILL It is an amusing thing, To see a mill in full swing; The wheels they run so fast, And they caught a miff at last. Down by the river, in a cottage not far from the mill, lived the cowman, his wife, and grown-up daughter. It chanced that the miller, a man of nearly forty years, fell in love with the young woman, who frequently went to the mill in company with her mother for

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a gossip and stayed late. Then the husband and father, a senseless clown, fell into a fit of jealousy, and breathed dire threats against the miller, and abused his wife and daughter, who nevertheless continued their visits to the mill. One day he overheard his daughter say, “Mother, I shall never forget the miller.” Then he denounced them both, and said he would go and see the miller himself. He accordingly went to the mill and began to bluster, but the miller easily beguiled the rustic. “I can soon tell you what they gets at,” said he. “If you knows anything about a mill, you know as there’s a big wheel in a little house, and then a door, and some steps going up to a loft. In that loft there’s another big wheel, and a roller fits the cogs, and your two women likes to get hold of he and hae a good swing all round un.” Then the yokel went up the steps—he had never been inside a mill before—and when he saw the big wheel he thought he, too, would like to swing round it, which he attempted to do and got his hand crushed in the cogs. Immediately he put his fingers in his mouth, and bolting out of the mill, made for home. His wife and daughter between them tied up his fingers and condoled with the victim. Then he said he should never forget the miller. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 15, p. 25. Williams, Upper Thames, pp. 180–1. Told, in explanation of the rhyme, and with reference to Whelford Mill, Glos., by Elijah—, the “Grand old Man” of Inglesham, Wilts. MOTIF: Q.301 [Jealousy punished].

THE MILLER’S EELS A certeine sir John, with some of his companie, once went abroad a jetting, and in a moone light evening robbed a millers weire, and stole all his eeles. The poore miller made his mone to sir John himselfe, who willed him to be quiet; for he would so cursse the theefe, and all his confederates, with bell, booke, and candell, that they should have small joy of their fish. And therefore the next sundaie, sir John got him to the pulpit, with his surplisse on his backe, and his stole about his necke, and pronounced these words following in the audience of the people. All you that have stolne the millers eeles, Laudate Dominum de coelis, And all they that have consented thereto, Benedicamus Domino. Lo (saith he) there is sauce for your eeles my maisters. Reginald Scot, Discoverie of Witchcraft, p. 151. TYPE 1840B. At a date a little earlier than Scot the same story was told in Tales and Qutck Answers, A Hundred Merry Tales, racily. A variant of the tale is known in Finland and Sweden.


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THE MISER AND HIS WIFE See “Good Fortune”.

THE MISSING WIFE A man dashed into a Dales police station at midnight. “My wife,” he gasped. “Will you find my wife. She’s been missing since eight this evening. I must find her!” “Particulars?” asked the sergeant. “Height?” “I—I don’t know.” “Do you know how she was dressed?” “No, but she took the dog with her.” “What kind of a dog?” “Brindle bull terrier, weight 53 lb., four dark blotches on his body shading from grey to white, three white legs, and right front leg brindled all but the toes. A small nick in his left ear.” “That’ll do,” gasped the sergeant. “We’ll find the dog!” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. 14.

MR PENGELLY AND THE DEVIL Mr Pengelly was very ill and like to die. So one night the Devil came to the side of his bed, and said to him, “Mr Pengelly, I will trouble yu, if yu please.” “You will trouble me with what, your Honour?” says Mr Pengelly, sitting up in bed. “Why, just to step along of me, sir,” says the Devil. “Oh, but I don’t please at all,” says Mr Pengelly, lying down again, and tucking his pillow under his cheek. “Well, sir, but time’s up, yu know,” was the remark the Devil made thereupon; “and whether it pleases yu or no, yu must come along of me at once, sir. It isn’t much of a distance to speak of from Morwenstow,” says he, by way of apology. “If I must go, sir,” says Mr Pengelly, wiping his nose with his blue pockethandkerchief covered with white spots, and R.P. marked in the corner in red cotton, “why then, I suppose yu ain’t in a great hurry. Yu’ll give me ten minutes?” “What do’y want ten minutes for, Mr Pengelly?’ asks the Devil. “Why, sir,” says Mr Pengelly, putting his blue pocket-handkerchief over his face, “I’m ashamed to name it, but I shud like to say my prayers. Leastwise, they cudn’t do no harm,” exclaimed he, pulling the handkerchief off his face, and looking out. “They wouldn’t du yer no gude, Mr Pengelly,” says the Devil. “I shu’d be more comfable in my mind, sir, if I said ’em,” says he. “Now, I’ll tell yu what, Mr Pengelly,” says the Devil, after a pause, “I’d like to deal handsome by yu. Yu’ve done me many a gude turn in your day. I’ll let yu live as long as yonder cann’le-end burns.”

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“Thank’y kindly, sir,” says Mr Pengelly. And presently he says, for the Devil did not make signs of departing, “Would yu be so civil as just tu step out into t’other room, sir? I’d take it civil. I can’t pray comfably with yu here, sir.” “I’ll oblige yu in that too,” says the Devil, and he went to look after Mrs Pengelly. No sooner was his back turned than Mr Pengelly jumped out of bed, extinguished the candle-end, clapped it in the candle-box, and put the candle-box under his bed. Presently the Devil came in, and said, “Now, Mr Pengelly, yu’re all in the dark, I see the cann’l’s burnt out, so yu must come with me.” “I’m not so much in the dark as yu, sir,” says the sick man, “for the cann’l’s not burnt out, and isn’t like tu. He’s safe in the cann’l-box. And I’ll send for yu, sir, when I want yu.” Mr Pengelly is still alive, but let not the visitor to his farm ask him what he keeps in his candle-box, or, old man of seventy-eight that he is, he will jump out of his chair, and lay his stick across the shoulders of his interrogator. “They du say,” said my informant, “that Mrs Pengelly has tried a score of times to get hold of the cann’l-end, and burn it out, but the master is tu sharp for his missus, and keeps it as tight from her as he does from the Devil.” S.Baring-Gould, The Vicar of Morwenstow, p. 179.

MR PENGELLY AND THE TRAMP Mr Pengelly has the credit of having been only once in his life cheated, and that was by a tramp, in this wise: One day a man in tatters, and with his shoes in fragments, came to his door and asked for work. “I like work,” says the man. “I love it. Try me.” “If that’s the case,” says Mr Pengelly, “yu may dig my garden for me, and I will give yu one shilling and twopence a day.” Wages were then eighteen pence, or one and eightpence. “Done,” says the man. So he was given a spade, and he worked capitally. Mr Pengelly watched him from his windows, from behind a wall, and the man never left off work except to spit on his hands; that was his only relaxation, and he did not do that over often. Mr Pengelly was mighty pleased with his workman; he sent him to sleep in the barn, and paid him his day’s wage, that he might buy himself a bit of bread. Next morning Mr Pengelly was up with the lark. But the workman was up before Mr Pengelly or the lark either, and was digging diligently in the garden. Mr Pengelly was more and more pleased with his man. He went to him during the morning; then the fellow stuck his spade into the ground, and said, “I’ll tell yu what it is, sir; I like work, I love it; but I cannot dig without butes or shoes. Yu may look. I’ve no soles to my feet, and the spade nigh cuts through them.” “Yu must get a pair of shoes,” says Mr Pengelly. “That’s just it,” says the man; “but no bootmaker will trust me, and I cannot pay down, for I haven’t the money, sir,”


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“What would a pair of shoes cost now?” asks his employer, looking at the man’s feet, wholly devoid of leather soles. “Fefteen shilling, maybe,” says he. “Fefteen shilling!” exclaims Mr Pengelly; “yu’ll never get that to pay him.” “Then I must go to some other farmer, who’ll advance me the money,” says the man. “Now dont’y be in no hurry,” says Mr Pengelly, in a fright lest he should lose a man worth half-a-crown a day by his work.” Suppose I were to let’y have five shilling. Then yu might go to Stratton, and pay that, and in five days yu would have worked it out, keeping twopence a day for your meat; and that will do nicely, if yu’re not dainty. Then I would let’y have another five shilling, till yu’d paid up.” “Done,” says the man. So Mr Pengelly pulled the five shillings out, in two half-crown pieces, and gave them to the man. Directly he had the money in his hand the fellow drove the spade into the ground, and, making for the gate, took off his hat, and said, “I wish yu a gude morning, Mr Pengelly. And many thanks for the crown. Now I’m off to Taunton, like a long dog.” And like a long dog he went, and Mr Pengelly never saw him or his two half-crowns again. So the man who cheated the Devil was cheated by a tramp. That shows how clever tramps are. S.Baring-Gould, The Vicar of Morwenstow, p. 181. I. TYPE 1187. MOTIFS: E.765.1.1 [Life bound up wi th candle]; K.551.9 [“Let me live as long as this candle”]; K.210 [Devil cheated of his promised soul]. See also “Betty’s Candle”, “How the Devil came to Little Dunkeld Manse”. II. “Mr Pengelly and the Tramp”, appended to no. I, is a jocular tale in another vein, of the Master and man type, 1560, etc. No exact equivalent. See also “The Lad that Worked like a Horse”.

THE MONK OF LEICESTER who was four times slain and once hanged In the olden time, there was in the good town of Leicester a monastery of great renown; and among all the holy brethren who belonged to it there was none who could compare with Dan Hugh. Dan Hugh was young, and he was lusty, and for a fair woman he was ever on the watch. Now there was in this town a tailor, who had been married seven year or more to a good and comely wife; and when Dan Hugh was wont to pass that way, and to behold her, he conceived a passion for this woman, and wondered when he should be so fortunate as to find her alone, that he might have speech with her; and he thought that, if he could find an opportunity of addressing her, he should succeed in his suit. One day it happened that he found her by herself, and he came at once to the point. “Fair creature,” said he, “unless you agree to love me, I cannot live.” “O sir,” replied she, “I have a good husband.” “Say me not nay,” he pursued; “I must love thee, whatever it cost me.”

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“If it needs must be so,” quoth the woman, “come to me to-morrow, for my husband rideth out of town, and so we may enjoy each other’s society; and if ye come not, it is your fault. But,” she added, “if I prove kind to you, Dan Hugh, what present will you make me?” “Twenty nobles,” quoth he. “That is good,” quoth she. And so they kissed each other, and parted. The tailor returned home in the evening as usual, and his wife disclosed to him all that had occurred. “Why, wife,” he cried, “would you wrong me?” “Nay, nay,” she cried; “I will keep true to you, forsooth, and get the money into the bargain. Just before it is time for him to arrive, I shall lock you in the chest in our room, and when I call you must come.” So, when five o’clock struck, Dan Hugh, punctual to the minute, knocked at the door and was admitted. He locked the tailor’s wife in his arms, and kissed her: then he asked her if her husband was out of the way. “Yea,” she said, “and he cometh not back till the afternoon.” Dan Hugh took her in his arms, and would have dallied with her, but she loosed herself saying, “For shame, let go; first, I must have twenty nobles which you promised me.” And after some hesitation, when he saw that she was firm, he pulled out a purse and threw it into her lap. Then he thought that it was all right, and he drew her toward him once more. “Nay, nay,” she exclaimed, “let me put the money in the chest, and then I shall feel more easy.” She went to the chest, leaving the monk on the tiptoe of expectation, and when she opened it to put in the nobles, out leapt the tailor. Without giving their visitor time to collect himself, he dealt him a blow on the head which stretched him lifeless on the floor. Thus was Dan Hugh first slain. “Alack! husband!” cried his wife, “is he dead indeed? What can be done?” “You must give me your good counsel,” said the tailor, “so that we may get rid of this false priest.” And when the woman had thought a little she said: “Let us wait till the shades of evening have fallen, and then you must carry him and set him against one of the walls of the abbey, and go your way.” And so the tailor did. Now the abbot, hearing that Dan Hugh had gone out, marvelled where he could be when he failed to return at the due hour, and he was wrath with him, and sent one of his servants to look everywhere for the missing brother. The messenger searched high and low, and at length he perceived Dan Hugh standing by the wall. So he went up to him, and spake thus: “Dan Hugh, I have been seeking you, and wondering where you were.” Dan Hugh did not stir. “Sir,” proceeded the abbot’s man, “you must come to my lord straightway, or you will be in disgrace.” But Dan Hugh did not utter a word. Then the abbot’s man deemed it best to go to his master, and report to him what he had found. Quoth he: “Sir, Dan Hugh stands stock upright by the wall, and never a word will he speak to me, but he stareth upon me, like one that lacketh grace.”


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“Is it so?” demanded the abbot; “get me a staff, and I will see whether I can make him speak.” Then they went back together, and the abbot cried: “Why dost thou neglect thy holy service thus, fellow? Come hither, with a vengeance.” But never a whit did Hugh heed the bidding. “Rogue!” exclaimed the abbot, “will you not come? Beshrew me, I will give you a rap on your head which will make you wake up.” And he smote Hugh with his staff, and brought him to the ground. So was he a second time slain. “My lord,” said the abbot’s man,” see what you have done! Dan Hugh is dead. You will be suspended from your place.” “What is to be done, then?” quoth the abbot. “What reward will your lordship give me if I help you out of this dilemma?” asked his man. “Forty shillings shall be yours, my good fellow,” said the abbot. “He loved a tailor’s wife in the town passing well; I shall, as soon as it is dark, take the body, and prop it up against the man’s door, so that it may be supposed that the husband killed him, for he is angry enough with him, that is so.” The abbot’s man did as he had engaged, and ran home as fast as he could, when he had left the body at the tailor’s door. The tailor and his wife were very anxious about the affair, lest it should be found who had taken the priest’s life; and as they lay in bed, the tailor dreamed that Dan Hugh came back, and stood by their door. “Good Lord! man,” cried his wife contemptuously, “are ye afraid of a corpse? Methought that ye slew him.” Thereupon, notwithstanding, the tailor rose and went to the door with a poleaxe in his hand; and when he opened it he beheld the monk hard by, and he was in sore trepidation lest Dan Hugh had returned to take revenge. “Wife,” he called out, “he is here; I am a dead man, unless I strike first.” And he lifted his weapon, and struck Dan Hugh heavily on the head, so that he dropped down like a stone. And this was the third time. “Alas! wife,” said the tailor, “this caitiff will be our undoing. How are we to get rid of him?” “Wait till after midnight,” said she, “and then put him into a sack, and carry him to the mill-dam, and cast him in.” The tailor took this advice, and marched towards the mill-dam with Dan Hugh on his shoulder; but as he drew near the place, he saw two thieves also bearing a sack, and when they perceived the tailor, they took him to be the miller returning home, and let their load drop, and ran away. The tailor found that the other sack contained bacon stolen from the mill, and he took it up, threw it over his back, and made the best of his way home, leaving Dan Hugh behind. The two thieves, when the tailor had gone, returned in search of their bacon, and seeing the sack with the monk inside, mistook it in the dark for their own, and trudged merrily back to the place where they lived. One of them said to his wife: “Ope that sack, wife, and see what we have brought. It is good bacon, and we will make fine cheer.” And when the woman undid the sack, no bacon, but the dead monk was inside. “Merciful heaven!” she ejaculated, “have ye slain Dan Hugh then? Well, ye will be hanged for certain, if it is discovered.” “Nay, dame,” said they; “it is the false miller who did it.” And they went forthwith and took the sack back to the mill, and hung it up in the place from which they had stolen the bacon.

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When the miller’s wife rose in the morning, she went to the larder to cut some bacon for breakfast, and was aghast when she perceived the monk hanging from the hook, and the bacon gone. “Well,” she cried, “he has got his due, that is certain. This is the devil’s work; he slew him for robbing us of our winter’s store!” “Hush! wife,” interposed the miller, making his appearance; “the chief thing is to consider how we shall dispose of him.” The woman had a device ready at hand. “Sir,” said she, “in a field hard by my lord abbot hath a horse grazing. Let us wait till nightfall, and set the monk upon his back, fastbound, with a pole under his arm, as though he would joust; and the horse knoweth his way well to the abbey, and to-morrow, early in the morning, when the abbot sallieth forth on his mare to look after his workmen, he will meet the monk on his horse, and there will be sport.” The miller did as his wife counselled, and led the horse by the bridle till it came in sight of the abbot on his mare, and when the horse saw the mare, the miller let go the bridle, and off galloped Dan Hugh, tilting straight at the abbot. “Help! Help!” exclaimed his lordship, “for the love of the saints! for I see Dan Hugh will be avenged. Alas! I am a dead man!” And with that he jumped off his mare and ran for his life. His servants came up, and with their clubs and staves beat Dan Hugh unmercifully, till at last he fell off, and was lifted up dead. And this was the fourth time, and the last, for now they buried him. And so our story ends. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 480. TYPE 1537. MOTIFS: K.2151 [The corpse handed round]; K.2152 [Unresponsive corpse]. This is a widespread story, examined by Suchier in Der Schwank von der Viermal Getöten Leiche, 1922; and by Archer Taylor in Modern Philology. It occurs in all parts of Europe, Turkey, India, Korea, in the U.S.A., Spanish America, etc. It has also had various literary treatments. See “The Tale of a Dead Pig”.

THE MOON IN THE HORSE-POND A villager, coming home at a late hour, and seeing the reflection of the moon in a horsepond, believed it to be a green cheese, and roused all his neighbours to help him to get it out. They raked and raked away until a passing cloud sank the cheese, when they returned to their homes, grievously disappointed. Clouston, The Book of Noodles, p. 44. TYPE 1336. MOTIF: J.1791.3 [Diving for cheese]. The tale of the Moonrakers is told of over forty different places. See “The Wise Men of Gotham”.


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THE MOON IN THE WELL [summary] Ten Irishmen saw the moon reflected in a well, and took it for a fine cheese. The clever one among them said they must make a living chain, holding one another’s ankles until they could reach it. Finding the weight of the other nine too much, he called to the man at the bottom to get a firm hold there, while he got a better grip at the top. He let go, and spat on his hands, and they all fell in. Hearing their struggles, he called to them not to eat his share, jumped in on top of them, and all ten were drowned. Thompson Notebooks, VI. From Shanny Gray, Grimsby, 21 December 1914. TYPES 1336 and 1250. MOTIFS: J.1791.3 [Diving for cheese]; J.2133.5 [Men hang down on chain, until top man spits on his hands]. A Norfolk version given by E.G.Bales, Folk-Lore, L (1939), p. 73. Five other versions.

MOTHER ELSTON’S NUTS Mother Elston used to go from place to place selling nuts, and before she died she begged that a bag of them might be put in her coffin. Her wishes were fulfilled, and she was buried, and then it began to be said her ghost used to sit on her grave and crack the nuts. Many people heard it, and the clergyman of the parish was told. He said that, if at any time it was made known to him that the ghost was there, to be seen or heard, he would come at once and lay it. One fine night, after a neighbouring “revel”, three men rather the worse for drink came by, and saw some sheep in a field close to the churchyard. The thought struck them that here was a good opportunity for helping themselves, and while one man went into the church porch to keep watch, the others went to steal the sheep. Now, the man in the porch had brought a lot of nuts from the revel, and while waiting he began to eat them. Just then the sexton came by, and heard nuts being cracked, sure enough. So off he ran to the vicarage to fetch the parson, who agreed to come at once. Unfortunately he was afflicted with St Vitus’ Dance, and could not walk, being obliged to go in a perambulator. “Have you my perambulator?” said the parson. “No, sir; I don’t naw where he’s to,” replied the sexton. “Never mind; this little way you can carry me on your back,” said the parson. So off they set, and just inside the churchyard they heard the nuts still being cracked. The sexton stopped. “Go a little nearer,” urged the parson. The sexton went a little nearer. “Go a little nearer still”; and the sexton still went a little nearer. Then the parson began saying something to lay the ghost. But the man in the porch thought they were one of his mates with a sheep. “Is he fat?” he called. And the sexton was so frightened that he dropped the parson and ran away as fast as he could. But St Vitus’ Dance comes with a fright and goes with a fright, they say, and the parson was quite cured from that minute, and could walk as well as ever he could after.

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Norton Collection, VI, p. 30. Devonshire. Report and Transactions of the Devonshire Association, XXXII, 1900, pp. 87–8. Lady Rosalind Northcote. TYPE 1791. MOTIF: X.424 [The Devil in the cemetery]. Very widely distributed both in Europe and America. Baughman lists 42 versions. See also “The Bag of Nuts”, “The Churchyard’.

THE MOTHERLY ELEPHANT There was once a kindly she-elephant who accidentally stood upon a hen. She was much distressed, especially when she looked down and saw all the little chickens running about, cheeping. “Poor little motherless creatures!” she exclaimed. “I will be a mother to them!” And gathering the chickens tenderly underneath her, she sat down upon them. K.M.Briggs. Heard about 1925. Possibly American in origin. MOTIF: J.1900 [Absurd ignorance of animal’s nature or habits]; J.1902.1 [Numskull sits on eggs to finish the hatching].

THE MOUSE IN THE ALE-CASK Theer wur once a Moose, tha knaws, ’at ’appened to fall intiv a cask o’ aale, tha knaws. A Cat ’at wur on t’ look out fur its dinner comes oop an’ sees t’ lahtle beeast swimmin’ in t’ tub. “Sitha Missis Cat,” says Moose, “if tha’ll get me oot o’ this tha can a’e ma. Droonin’s sich a wat death—an’ ah caan’t abide the smell o’ beer.” So t’ Cat she lets doon her taail, tha knaws, an’ t’ Moose climbs oop. T’minnit she’s oot she runs tiv her ’oil an’ sits theer a-winkin’ her wiskers an’ nibblin’ her naails. “Fair dues! Fair dues!” cries t’ Cat, “tha said ah might a’e tha!” “Aw,” says Moose, “aw,” she says, “Missis Cat,” she says, “fooaks’ll say owt when they’re i’ liquor!” Norton Collection, I, p. 31. Yorkshire. Yorkshire Dalesman, I, ii (1939), p. 10. From a Dales correspondent, who asks for the locality of the dialect. No source given. Another version given by M.C.F.Morris, Yorkshire Folk-talk, 2nd edition (London, 1911), p. 118. TYPE III A*. MOTIF: J.1320 [Repartee concerning drunkenness].

“MUCKING THE TOWER” “As for that theere story they goat ’bout us,* that we dunged our tower to maake un graw, ’twas nawthin’ moore than this: * The men of St Agnes, Cornwall.


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“I’ll have ivy graw roun’ the tower,” says the passon. “And so you shall, my deer,” says the churchwarden. And when the passon was gone, he beginned to put some in: a Trura man looked in, and seed un, an’ thoft he was dungin’ the tower to maake un graw, and went hum and said so: and from that time they do ax how the tower do git on. And that’s how it was, and nawthin’ moore. And the ivy never grawed, nor the tower of coorse; and the moore the pity, for he’s uncommon short, but we’re goin’ to have a new waun.” Norton Collection, IV, p. 53. I.T.Tregellas, Peeps into the Haunts and Homes of the Rural Population of Cornwall (Truro, 1868), p. 62. From Tom Chynoweth, a St. Agnes miner, before 1840. TYPE 1200. MOTIF: J.1932.7 [Stones watered to make them grow]. See “Wiltshire Follies”.

THE MUTTON CHOP There was one silly old fellow in our own family who had a weakness for mutton chops. Returning tired and hungry from market, he ordered his wife to cook the accustomed chop, sat down in the chimney corner, stretched out his legs, and promptly went to sleep. His wife duly brought the chop, looked down from it to her sleeping lord, thought what a pity it was it should spoil, so quietly sat down and ate it! Then she left the well-cleaned bone at his elbow, and, dipping her fingers in the fat, rubbed it round her husband’s mouth. An hour afterwards he awoke. “Where’s my mutton-chop?” he growled. “Mutton chop! mutton chop!” replied the little woman shrilly,— “Why, you’ve eaten it, look at the bone—look at your mouth! Where’s your mutton chop, indeed!” The man looked, passed his tongue slowly round his mouth, and exclaimed, “Damme, so I have!” Mrs. E.B.Hall, of Reading (Norton Collection. Competition, “What Our Fathers Told Us”, 15 April 1909, p. 2, col. 3). MOTIF: K.401.1 [Dupe’s food eaten, then blame fastened on him].

“MY FATHER’S DOG” A certain scholar there was, intending to be made priest, which had neither great wit nor learning and came to the bishop to take orders, whose foolishness the bishop perceiving—because he was a rich man’s son—would not very strongly oppose him but asked him this small question: “Noah had three sons—Sem, Cham, and Japhet. Now, tell me (quod the bishop), who was Japhet’s father and thou shalt have orders.”

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Then said the scholar: “By my troth, my lord, I pray you pardon me, for I never learned but little of the Bible.” Then quod the bishop: “Go home and come again and solve me this question, and thou shalt have orders.” This scholar so departed and came home to his father and showed him the cause of the hindrance of his orders. His father, being angry at his foolishness, thought to teach him the solution of this question by a familiar example, and called his spaniels before him, and said thus: “Thou knowest well Coll my dog hath these three whelps—Ryg, Tryg, and Tryboll. Must not Coll my dog needs be sire to Tryboll?” Then quod the scholar: “By God, father, ye say truth. Let me alone now. Ye shall see me do well enough the next time.” Wherefore, on the morrow he went to the bishop again and said he could solve his question. Then said the bishop: “Noah had three sons—Sem, Cham, and Japhet. Now tell me, who was Japhet’s father?” “Marry, sir,” quod the scholar, “if it please your lordship—Coll, my father’s dog.” By this tale a man may learn that it is but lost time to teach a fool anything, which hath no wit to perceive it. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 127. MOTIF: J.2200 [Absurd lack of logic].

“NE’ER A PENNY” In a certain town there was a rich man that lay on his death bed, at point of death, which charged his executors to dole for his soul a certain sum of money in pence—and on this condition charged them (“as ye would answer afore God”): that every poor man that came to them and told a true tale should have a penny, and they that said a false thing should have none. And in the dole time, there came one which said that God was a good man. Quod the executors: “Thou shalt have a penny, for thou sayest truth.” Anon came another and said the devil was a good man. Quod the executors: “There thou liest. Therefore, thou shalt have ne’er a penny.” At last came one to the executors and said thus: “Ye shall give me ne’er a penny—” which words made the exceutors amazed and took advisement whether they should give him the penny or no. By this, ye may see it is wisdom for judges in doubtful matters of law to beware of hasty judgement. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 137. MOTIF: Q.68.1 [Truth-speaking rewarded].


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THE NEGRO AND THE MUSQUITO A West Indian who had a remarkably fiery nose, having fallen asleep in his chair, a negro boy who was waiting, observed a musquito hovering round his face. Quasi eyed the insect very attentively; at last he saw him alight on his master’s nose, and immediately fly off. “Ah! bless your heart,” exclaimed the negro, “me right glad see you burn your foot.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, Amusing Prose Chap-Books, p. 206. There is no Motif-Number for this, though jokes about fiery noses have been common from the page’s jest about the flea on Bardolph’s nose in Henry V to the campfire song: “The Captain’s Nose, the Captain’s Nose! Where she got it from, goodness only knows! In the depths of winter, when the cold wind blows, You can fry ham and eggs on the Captain’s nose.”

NORFOLK FOLLIES (a) Sleepy Ingham. Ingham is said to take the peaceful name of “Sleepy” from the circumstance that an aged inhabitant then living in an almost inaccessible locality in the marshes, once so completely lost his reckoning of time that he donned his Sunday clothes and went to church on Monday morning. (b) Silly Sutton. Sutton is awarded its rather unflattering title from the tradition that its ancient natives were wont to put their hands out of their bedroom windows to feel if it was daylight. Norton Collection, IV, p. 40. A Stalham correspondent in the Eastern Evening News, Norwich, 17 November 1892. Quoted in V.S.Lean, Collectanea (4 vols., Bristol, 1902– 4), 1,152. TYPE 1200 (variant). MOTIF: J.2716 [How to find out if it is raining].

NOT LOST BUT DROWNED A Leith merchant being on his usual ride to the south, came to the ford of a dark river, at the side of which a boy was diverting himself. The traveller addressed him as follows: “Is this water deep?” “Ay, gaen deep,” answered the boy. “Is there ever any person lost here?” “No,” replied the boy,” there was never any lost; there has been some drowned, but we aye get them again.”

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From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 209.

NEW TROUSERS (There was) a farmer’s son new leaving school. His father got him a new pair of trousers, and on the Monday, being t’auction day, the boy’s father said: “Hurry thisel up an’ thou can ga with me today wi’ t’ sheep.” So when the boy got upstairs to change he bethought himself about his new trousers. He shouts downstairs: “Father, can ah put me new pants on?’ He says: “No. Thou mun weear them ald ens out first.” So when they got set off with their sheep, t’sheep took a wrong turning, an’ t’ farmer said: “Now me lad, dart thisel’ past ’em.” “Nay, nay, fadder,” he says, “tha mun go thisel’; ah’ve to weear t’ald ens out first.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 20, p. 31. E.M.Wilson. Told by Mrs Haddow, of Haycote Farm, Bowland Bridge, Westmorland, April 1936; heard from her father, Mr J.Moffat of Bulman Strands, Crosthwaite, Westmorland. MOTIF: J.1250 [Clever verbal retorts].

A NEW WAY TO WAUKEN SLEEPERS IN CHURCH Mr Ogilvie, minister of the parish of Lunan in the county of Forfar, had a great deal of eccentricity in his composition. One Sunday, an old woman who kept a public house in the parish, with whom Mr Ogilvie was well acquainted, fell asleep in the church during sermon—not an uncommon occurrence. Her neighbour kept jogging in order to awake her. Mr Ogilvie, observing this, cried out, “Let her alane, I’ll wauken her mysel’, I’ll warrant ye.” “Phew! Phew!” (whistling) “A bottle of ale and a dram, Janet.” “Comin’, sir,” was instantly replied. “There now,” says the minister, “I told ye it wadna be lang afore I waken’d her.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 214. TYPE 1828. MOTIF: X.451 [Cock crows at church and the sexton awakes and begins to sing].

NEWBIGGIN The favourite story kept up against the “folks o’ Newbiggin” has always been that of their attempt to catch the moon. The legend goes that they, from time to time, seeing the moon shining over the hill, took it into their heads to try to lay hold of it. They therefore formed themselves into a band one night, and placing a ladder upon a sled, they climbed to the top of Jock’s Hill, intending to rest the ladder-foot there, and thereby capture the luminary. To their surprise, they found themselves as far as ever from the moon, and they felt baffled and descended the hill. On reaching the village one of the party, declared, to his astonishment, he found the moon shining into the hen-baulks. The moon, they


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concluded, was too fickle to lay hold of. No Newbiggin man, woman, or child, ever heard of the end of the moon affair. Norton Collection, IV, p. 39. Denham Tracts, I, p. 350, quoting Brackie, Border Treasury, p. 186, “who appears to have had it from James Telfer of Saughtree”, Roxburghshire. TYPE 1335 A (variant). MOTIF: J.1791.2 [Rescuing the moon]. This is one of the local gibe stories. See “The Moon in the Well”.

NEWS! Mr G. Ha! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home? Steward. Bad enough, your honour; the magpie’s dead. Mr G. Poor Mag! so he’s gone. How came he to die? Steward. Over-ate himself, Sir. Mr G. Did he indeed? a greedy dog. Why, what did he get that he liked so well? Steward. Horseflesh; he died of eating horseflesh. Mr G. How came he to get so much horseflesh? Steward. All your father’s horses, Sir. Mr G. What! Are they dead too? Steward. Ay, Sir; they died of overwork. Mr G. And why were they overworked? Steward. To carry water, Sir. Mr G. To carry water, and what were they carrying water for? Steward. Sure, Sir, to put out the fire. Mr G. Fire! what fire? Steward. Your father’s house is burned down to the ground. Mr G. My father’s house burnt down! And how came it to be on fire? Steward. I think, Sir, it must have been the torches. Mr G. Torches! what torches? Steward. At your mother’s funeral. Mr G. My mother dead? Steward. Ay, poor lady, she never looked up after it. Mr G. After what? Steward. The loss of your father. Mr G. My father gone too? Steward. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it. Mr G. Heard of what? Steward. The bad news, an’ it please your honour. Mr G. What? More miseries, more bad news? Steward. Yes, Sir, your bank has failed, your credit is lost, and you’re not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, Sir, to come and wait on you about it; for I thought you would like to hear the news. Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 168.

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TYPE 2040. MOTIF: Z.46 [The climax of horrors].

NICORBORE AND HIS MONEY [summary] There was once a silly man called Nicorbore, who lived as servant in a gentleman’s family. One day a sixpence was given to him. He took the coin, and buried it in the garden under a gooseberry bush, “for”, said he to himself, “the sixpence will grow bigger”. Another servant who had watched Nicorbore burying the sixpence put a shilling in its place. The next day Nicorbore dug it up, and replanted it, to “Grow a bit bigger yet.” The shilling duly “grew” into a half-crown, and the half-crown into a crown, but after that there was only a four-shilling piece there. This became a shilling, then a sixpence, and lastly a threepenny bit. This Nicorbore put in his pocket, saying, “I’ll put thee in my pocket, or thou’lt grow away altogether.” S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 37. TYPE 1200 (variant). MOTIF: J.2348 [Dupe is persuaded that money will grow if he buries it]. “The Sowing of Salt” is a widely distributed droll, though less popular than the “Pent Cuckoo”, “Mucking the Church”, or “The Moon-rakers”.

THE NIGGARDLY JUSTICE There was a justice but late in the realm of England called Master Vavasour—a very homely man and rude of conditions, and loved never to spend much money. This Master Vavasour rode on a time in his circuit in a place of the north country where he had agreed with the sheriff for a certain sum of money for his charges through the shire, so that at every inn and lodging this Master Vavasour paid for his own costs. It fortuned so that when he came to a certain lodging, he commanded one Torpin his servant to see that he used good husbandry and to save such things as were left, and to carry it with him and to serve him at the next ’bating. This Torpin, doing his master’s commandment, took the broken bread, broken meat, and all such things that was left, and put it in his male [bag], The wife of the house, perceiving that he took all such fragments and vittles with him that was left and put it in his male, she brought up the pottage that was left in the pot and when Torpin had turned his back a little aside, she poured the pottage into the male— which ran upon his robe of scarlet and other his garments,and rayed* them very evil that they were much hurt therewith. This Torpin suddenly turned and saw it, reviled the wife therefore, and ran to his master and told him what she had done. Wherefore Master Vavasour incontinent called the wife and said to her thus: “Thou drab (quod he) what hast thou done? Why hast thou poured this pottage in my male, and marred my raiment and gear?” * streaked


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“Oh sir,” quod the wife, “I know well ye are a judge of the realm, and I perceive by you, your mind is to do right and to have that that is your own, and your mind is to have all things with you that ye have paid for—both broken bread, meat, and other things that is left. And so it is reason that ye have. And therefore, because your servant hath taken the bread and the meat and put it in your male, I have therefore put in your male the pottage that he left because ye have well and truly paid for them. For if I should keep anything from you that ye have paid, for peradventure ye would trouble me in the law another time.” Here ye may see that he that playeth the niggard too much sometime it turneth him to his own loss. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 84. MOTIF: Q.276 [Stinginess punished]. Master Vavasour was a well-known character and several stories are told about him and his man. See “Master Vavasour and his Man Turpin”, “The Merchant who lost his Budget”. In the last, Master Vavasour is a good character; the other two are examples of “The Biter Bit”.

THE NIGGARDLY WHITE FRIAR There was a certain white friar which was a very glutton and a great niggin, which had an ungracious boy that ever followed him and bare his cloak. And, what for the friar’s gluttony and for his churlishness, the boy wherever he went could scant get meat enough, for the friar would eat almost all himself. But on a time, the friar made a sermon in the country wherein he touched very many miracles which Christ did afore his passion, among which he specially rehearsed the miracle that Christ did in feeding five thousand people with five loaves of bread and with three little fishes. And this friar’s boy which cared not greatly for his master, hearing him say so and considering that his master was so great a churl and glutton, answered with a loud voice that all the church heard, and said: “By my troth, master, then there were no friars there— ” which answer made all the people to fall on such a laughing that for shame the friar went out of the pulpit. And as for the friar’s boy, he then departed out of the church that the friar never saw him after. By this, ye may see that it is honesty for a man that is at meat to depart* with such as he hath to them that be present. * share

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A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 95. TYPE 1833. MOTIF: X.435 [The boy applies the sermon]. See “Philip Spencer”.

NOT SO EASY CURED A young farmer, who was very bad on the drink, got married. The young wife had a terrible job with him. One afternoon the young minister called at the farmhouse, and found the farmer’s wife ailing, and she seemed to be very depressed. So he asked her how she liked married life. “Oh,” she said, “it is dreadful the way he is going on. He is terrible bad on the drink, and he is away to the market to-day, and he will be coming home tonight drunk again. I wish something could be done with him!” “Well,” said the young minister, “I am sorry to hear of your unfortunate position, and I will do my best to help you, as I think I can cure him, and you say he will be coming home to-night drunk. If you tell me as near the time he will be home, I will call again later, just before that time, and see what I can do with him.” So the young wife told him it would be after ten o’clock. So he proposed coming back later and waiting for her husband, as he was perfectly sure her husband would never taste drink after he had done with him. So he came back later, and after waiting a long time till at last they heard the pony and trap coming. So they went out and the young farmer was lying drunk in the trap, and the pony, being both old and wise, had brought him home itself. The groom and the minister carried him in, and the minister got two white sheets. He rolled the farmer in one of them, and, with the assistance of the groom, they carried him down into a dark cellar, and laid him down on the floor. The minister, after rolling himself in the other white sheet, he lay down beside the farmer. After lying there for nearly two hours the farmer began to move. He put out his arm to feel where he was. His hands came on the minister’s face, and he gave him a kind of push. “Hie! Wake up. Where are we about?” “Wheest!” said the minister. “We are both dead.” “Oh,” said the farmer, “When did I die?” “You came in last night.” “And how long have ye been here?” “I have been dead a fortnight,” said the minister. “Oh, then, you that kens the place, haud awa’ and get me a drink. I’m full dry.” The minister saw then that he had tackled a hopeless case. School of Scottish Studies, MS.John Elliot, Selkirkshire. TYPE 835A*. MOTIFS: J.1321 [The unrepentant drunkard]; J.1323 [Should have brought him drink]. There are three Scottish versions of this tale in the archives of the School of Scottish Studies, and one Irish, published in Béaloideas, LV, supplement, p. 18.


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A NOTTS CLERGYMAN AND THE LONDON PICKPOCKET Dr Bigsby used to relate an anecdote about an old friend of his, a Nottinghamshire clergyman, who being in London, went one evening to the pit of Drury Lane Theatre, to see some famous actor of the day—Kemble or Kean. There was a great rush for admittance at the entrance, and, while sorely pressed by the crowd, he felt somebody’s hands busy with his watch pocket. Searching to see if his watch was safe, he found his fob was empty; whereupon, seeing a suspicious-looking fellow immediately in advance of him, he promptly charged him, but in a whisper only. “You’ve got my watch,” said he. At the next moment a watch was slipped into his hands by the party addressed, with the words, “Say nothing about it, here it is.” The clergyman conveyed the article to a more secure place of deposit, and thought little more of the matter until his arrival at the inn, after the close of the performance. On going up to his bedroom at the “Bull and Mouth”, the first object he saw was the black ribbon, with the seals appendant, of his own watch; and on examining his coat pocket, he found a most magnificent watch, of the value of some forty or fifty pounds, that had doubtless been stolen a short time before it had been handed to himself by the thief in question. He repeatedly advertised the watch in the newspapers, but it was never claimed; and he used afterwards to exhibit it to his friends, and tell its story to them, with a comic expression at the idea of having fleeced an “Arab” of his spoil in so unconscious a manner. J.P.Briscoe, The Book of Nottinghamshire Anecdote, p. 31 (Nottingham, 1879). MOTIF: N.360 [Man unwittingly commits crime]. This is the same plot as “The Five-Pound Note” heard in 1912, and published in Folktales of England, p. 101.

NOWT BUT A TAILOR Mrs S——, who had lived as housekeeper with a Catholic family near York (names and places being specified) for many years, had engaged one servant who became an object of curiosity to the rest of the maids; for as regularly as noon came, she would leave off work, and go to her chamber. By-and-by it was whispered about that their fellow servant spent the time in praying for a husband. One day one of the men hid himself in a closet adjoining the devotee’s room, and waited her arrival. At the usual time she came, and kneeling before the little framed picture of the Virgin and child, began, and continued for a long time: “A husband, a husband, sweet Mary, a husband! Send him soon, an’ he may be owt but a tailor.” “Nowt but a tailor,” the man at last shouted. She responded at once: “Hol’ thee noise, little Jesus, an’ let thee mother speak!” “Nowt but a tailor,” as sharply replied the man again. “Nay, owt but a tailor, owt but a tailor, but a tailor rather than nowt, good Lord.” Norton Collection, V, p. 60. C.C.R. in Notes and Queries, III, 12, 1867, P.537. North Yorkshire.

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TYPE 1476. See “The Maid who Wanted to Marry”.

OCONER’S PRISONER One called Oconer, an Irish lord, took an horseman prisoner that was one of his great enemies—which, for any request or entreaty that the horseman made, gave judgement that he should incontinent be hanged, and made a friar to shrive him and bad him make ready to die. This friar that shrove him examined him of divers sins and asked him among others which were the greatest sins that ever he did. This horseman answered and said: “One of the greatest acts that ever I did which I now most repent is that when I took Oconer the last week in a church and there I might have burned him, church and all—and because I had conscience and pity of burning of the church, I tarried that time so long that Oconor escaped—that same deferring of burning of the church, and so long tarrying of that time, is one of the worse acts that ever I did whereof I most repent.” This friar, perceiving him in that mind, said: “Peace, man. In the name of God, change your mind and die in charity or else thou shalt never come in heaven.” “Nay,” quoth the horseman, “I will never change that mind, whatsoever shall come to my soul.” This friar, perceiving him thus still to continue his mind, came to Oconer and said: “Sir, in the name of God, have some pity upon this man’s soul and let him not die now till he be in a better mind. For if he die now he is so far out of charity that utterly his soul shall be damned—” and showed him what mind he was in and all the whole matter as is before showed. This horseman, hearing the friar thus entreat for him, said to Oconer thus: “Oconer, thou seest well by this man’s report that if I die now I am out of charity and not ready to go to heaven. And so it is that I am now out of charity indeed. But thou seest well that this friar is a good man. He is now well disposed and in charity, and he is ready to go to heaven—and so am not I. Therefore I pray thee hang up this friar while that he is ready to go to heaven, and let me tarry till another time, that I may be in charity, and ready and mete to go to heaven. This Oconer, hearing this mad answer of him, spared the man and forgave him his life at that season. By this, ye may see that he that is in danger of his enemy that hath no pity, he can do no better than show to him the uttermost of his malicious mind which that he beareth toward him. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 75. MOTIF: J.1181.3 [Condemned man wins pardon by clever remark].


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AN OFFICER’S WIFE One of the town’s officers of Ayr was struck severely by accident on the head by his wife. After the fray was adjusted, the wife said to her husband, “Henry, had I killed you, and I been hanged for it, would you marry Kate M’Lauchlan?” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 208. MOTIF: J.2200 [Absurd lack of logic].

OLD CHARLEY CREED You remember old Charley Creed, lived down to Lawford? Well, he were a bit short tempered, and him and his man soon fell out and he told him to take himself off. “Where tew?” says Sam. “Oh, go to Hell,” shouts Charley. So Sam went off, and when next day came he never turned up to work. The next day he came back, and old Charley says, “And where’ve you been?” “Oh,” says Sam, “I went there where you telled me.” “Oh ah,” says old Charley, “and where be that then?” “To Hell,” says Sam, helping him along nicely. “’Twasn’t at all a bad place, and there were a lovely great fire, and a row of chairs, so I went and I sat down. Then in comes the Devil, with his horns and pitchfork, and says, ‘Here you, out of that, quick. We’re keeping that armchair for old Charley Creed.’” Ruth L.Tongue, Folktales of England, p. 138. Recorded September 1963 from Miss Tongue, who heard the story from Mrs. H——in Crowcombe Women’s Institute. TYPE 1738 (variant). MOTIF: X.688*(a) (suggested by Baughman for a similar story from U.S.A.). See “The Parsons’ Meeting”.

THE OLD FARMER AND HIS WIVES [summary] There was a farmer, aged 70, who had lost his wife, and found it hard to do all the work himself. He didn’t want a servant-girl or a housekeeper, so he thought he would marry again. He fixed on a decent-looking old pedlar woman, who had lost her husband, and was ready to take him. She cleaned the house well, but knew nothing of farming. He went off on business, and told her to feed and water the hens, and to milk the cows. She thought she would save trouble, so she threw all the poultry down the well, and a sack of grain after them. In the evening, she told the farmer what she had done. He took her to the well, and asked her to look for the fowls. When she peered down, he lifted her feet, and dropped

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her down the well. A good riddance. But he still found the work too hard. One day, on the way to market, he overtook a very decent-looking old woman, and gave her a lift. A long talk, and he liked her more and more. Finally asked her to marry him. She was not eager. He left her to sell his butter with hers, and in the evening she accepted him. She was a good wife, and they worked well together. Thompson Notebooks, XI. From Eva Gray, Grimsby, 3 November 1915. MOTIF: J.1903 [Absurd ignorance of animal’s eating and drinking]. This tale was made up by Eva Gray. The second half does not match the first in mood or plot.

“OLD JOHN AND YOUNG JOHN” [The widow of Ephesus] In a certain town there was a wife somewhat aged that had buried her husband whose name was John, whom she loved so tenderly in his life that after his death she caused an image of timber to be made—in visage and person as like to him as could be—which image all day long lay under her bed. And every night she caused her maid to wrap it in a sheet and lay it in her bed, and called it Old John. This wife also had a ’prentice whose name was John—which John would fain have wedded his mistress (not for no great pleasure, but only for her good [= property], because she was rich). Wherefore he imagined how he might obtain his purpose, and spoke to the maid of the house and desired her to lay him in his mistress’s bed for one night instead of the picture, and promised her a reward for her labor. Which maid overnight wrapped the said young man in a sheet and laid him in her mistress’s bed as she was wont to lay the picture. This widow was wont every night before she slept, and divers times when she waked, to kiss the said picture of Old John. Wherefore that said night she kissed the said young man, believing that she had kissed the picture. And he suddenly started and took her in his arms and so well pleased her then that Old John from thenceforth was clean out of her mind and she was content that this young John should lie with her still all the night—and that the picture of Old John should lie still under the bed for a thing of nought. After this, in the morning this widow intending to please this young John which had made her so good pastime all the night, bad her maid go dress some good meat for their breakfast—to feast therewith her young John. This maid, when she had long sought for wood to dress the said meat, told her mistress that she could find no wood that was dry, except only the picture of Old John that lieth under the bed. “Then,” quod the wife again, “fetch him down and lay him on the fire, for I see well he will never do me good nor he will never do better service though I keep him never so long.” So the maid by her commandment fetched the picture of Old John from under the bed and therewith made good fire and dressed the breakfast. And so Old John was cast out for nought, and burnt, and from thenceforth Young John occupied his place. By this tale ye may see it is no wisdom for a man to keep long or to cherish that thing that is able to do no pleasure nor service.


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A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 149. TYPE 1510. MOTIFS: K.2213.1 [The matron of Ephesus]; T.231 [The faithless widow]. A study of this type is being made by Elisabeth Brandon (Houston University). It is widespread traditionally and has had frequent literary treatment. Occurs in The Seven Wise Masters. Used by Christopher Fry in a one-act play, A Phoenix too Frequent. THE OLD MAN IN A WOOD There was an old man in a wood, As you shall plainly see, sir, He said he’d harder work in a day Than his wife could do in three, sir. “If that be so,” the old wife said, “And this you will allow, sir, Then, I’ll go drive the plough to-day, And you shall milk the cow, sir. “But you must watch the speckled hen, For fear she lay away, sir, And you must watch the spool of yarn, That I spun yesterday, sir.” But Tiney winced, and fussed about, And Tiney cocked her nose, sir, And Tiney gave the man a kick, The blood ran from the blows, sir. “Oh Tiney! pretty Tiney, dear, My pretty cow, stand still, ah! If you I milk another day It’s sore against my will, ah!” He went to feed the little pigs, That were within the stye, sir, But knocked his head against the door, Which made the blood to fly, sir. He went to watch the speckled hen, Lest she should lay away, sir, But clean forgot the spool of yarn His wife spun yesterday, sir. He went within to fetch a stick, To give the pig his hire, sir, But she ran in between his legs And cast him in the mire, sir,

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And as he looked at pig and cow, He said, “I do agree, sir, If my wife never works again, She’ll not be blamed by me, sir.” S.Baring-Gould, English Folk-Songs for Schools, p. 7. See Norton Collection, V, pp. 35–8 (two other versions). THE OLD MAN WHO LIVED IN A WOOD There was an old man who lived in a wood, As yü may plainly zee, He zed he cüde more work in a day, Than he’s wive cüde dü in dree. “If that be the case,” the old ’ummon zed, “If that be the case,” zed she, “Then yü shall bide at home tü-day, And I’ll go and dräve the plough. “But mind yü milk the cherry cow, For fear that her shüde dry, And mind yü tend the sucking pigs, That lie in yonder sty. “And mind yü watch the speckitty hen, For fear that her shüde stray, And mind yü wind the wisterd yarn That I spinned yesterday.” The old ’ummon her tüked the whip in her hand, And went to dräve the plough, The old man he tüked the milking pail, And went to milk the cow. But Cherry, her kicked, and Cherry her flinged, And Cherry her widden be quiet, Her gied the old man a kick in the leg, Which made he kick up a riot. He went to watch the speckitty hen, For fear that her shüde stray, But he forgot to wind the yarn His wife spinned yesterday.


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Then he swared by the zin, the müne and the stars, And all that wuz in Heaven, That his wife cüde do more work in a day, Than he cüde do in zebben. Sarah Hewett, Nummits and Crummits, p. 200. TYPE 1408. MOTIF: J.2431 [The man who did his wife’s work]. There are several songs on this subject, the best-known of which is, perhaps, “John Grumblie”. Sarah Hewett’s version is chosen as less familiar. See also “The Old Man in a Wood”.

THE OLD MOON BROKEN UP INTO STARS “Faather,” said the cobbler’s son to his sire one night, on seeing a half moon in the heavens high above the grand old tower that stands by the river, “What is it when the moon channges? What do thaay do wi’m? What becomes an in, I should like to know?” “Damn tha! Tha byets un up inta stars, dwun* ’em,” the irate parent replied, hammering away at the sole, and leaving his offspring with a look of great stupidity depicted upon his countenance. Norton Collection, IV, p. 149. Kempsford, Gloucestershire. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, p. 199. TYPE 1335 (variant). MOTIFS: A.764 [Stars as pieces of moon]; J.2271.2.2 [Stars made from the old moon]. Wesselski, Hodscha Nasreddin, I, p. 208.

THE OLD ROADMAN [summary] An old roadman of seventy was working on the road when a trap passed with a bag of guineas in it. It was dropped out. Old man thought it was a bag of buttons without shanks. Took it home to his wife, who said it was time he went to school again, if he thought that a bag of buttons. He went to school, but was mocked by the children, and left after a day. A week later the men in the trap came back, looking for the lost “portmanteau”. The old man didn’t know the word, but said a bit of leather had been dropped one day. Asked when, said it was the day before he had gone to school. So he was left with the bag. One day when his wife was out, a pedlar came to the door, and asked if he had any metal to sell. He offered him the “bag of buttons”, and the pedlar gave him the contents of his pack. Old man much pleased, but his wife so angry that she left him. Old man went to work with neighbouring farmer, and told to feed the * don’t

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poultry, and fetch some rum from the inn. Tied all the poultry in sacks and put them down the well, pouring down some grain for them. Then put on master’s coat, and went to fetch rum. On the way, saw an old blasted tree, was sorry for its nakedness, and put master’s coat round it. On the way back, saw the tree standing shivering, and poured the rum into a hole in it to warm it. When the master got back the old man was dismissed. Thompson Notebooks. From Gus Gray, Cleethorpes, 7 October 1914. Another version of the tale was told by Reuben Gray, Old Radford, 22 December 1914. TYPE 1381E. MOTIFS: J.1903 [Absurd ignorance concerning animal’s eating and drinking]; J.1873.2 [Cloak given to stone to keep it warm]; J.1856 [Food given to object]. See “John and Sally”.

THE OLD WOMAN THAT HAD SORE EYES There was an old woman the which bargained with a surgeon to heal her sore eyes, and when he had made her eyes heal and that she saw better, she covenanted that he should be paid his money and not before. So he laid a medicine to her eyes that should not be taken away the space of five days, in which time she might not look up. Every day when he came to dress her, he bare away somewhat of her household stuff, table cloths, candlesticks, and dishes. He left nothing that he could carry clean. So when her eyes were hole [= healed] she looked up and saw that her household stuff was carried away. She said to the surgeon that came and required his money for his labor: “Sir, my promise was to pay you when ye made me see better than I did before.” “That is truth,” quod he. “Marry,” quod she, “but I see worse now than I did. Before ye laid medicines to my eyes, I saw much fair stuff in mine house and now I see nothing at all.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 306. MOTIFS: K.333 [Theft from blind person]; K.1667.1 [Blind man gets back stolen treasure].

THE OLD WOMAN WHO CRACKED NUTS An old woman in a country village had been a wonderful cracker of nuts all her lifetime, that at her death she will’d that a bag of nuts might be put into her coffin to lay her hand upon, which was accordingly done; which old woman was often seen, after death, sitting in the church porch, cracking of nuts. Now it happened that a couple of butchers had made a bargain to steal sheep out of a pasture-ground adjoining to the churchyard. It was agreed upon ’em, that one should sit in the church porch and watch, while the other went to fetch a sheep on his back to him. Now it is to be remembered that the sexton belonging to the church, was a lame man, and us’d to be carried on a man’s back every winter’s morning to ring the five o’clock bell. He coming as usual, the butcher waiting for his


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companion, thought that he had been coming with a sheep upon his back, and said, Is it fat? Is it fat? The fellow, thinking that it had been the old woman a-cracking of nuts, was horribly frightened, and thereupon threw the lame sexton down, crying, Fat or lean, take him as he is, Mr Devil; and then ran out of the churchyard like a fellow distracted, leaving the poor affrighted sexton to crawl home upon all fours. Norton Collection, VI, p. 28. From a Bow Churchyard Chap-book. TYPE 1791. See “A Bag of Nuts”, “The Churchyard”, “Mother Elston”, “You take One, I’ll take One”.

THE OLDEST ON THE FARM Dar [said Tim Bell], that part o’ t’ country puts me i’ mind ov a Borradale stwoary. They’re varra helthy, lang-life’t fwoaks up theear, an’ bodder lal wid dokter’s phissick. A stranger was yance gaun up, an’ he com till a gray-heedid man sittin’ on a heap o’ steans yoolin’. “What’s t’ matter?” sed t’ stranger. “Me fadder’s lik’t meh!” “Your father! What age are you, pray?” “Sebbenty-three, sur.” “Well, I should like to see your father: he must be an old man.” “Well,” ses t’ oald chap, “if ye ga up ta that farm house, ye’ll see him.” An’ off t’ stranger went. When he gat theear, he knockt at t’ dooar, an’ a white-heedit man cam’ oot, leukin’ varra mad-like. “Oh!” sed t’ stranger, “Why did you whip your son whom I saw down the road?” “Becos,” sed he, “t’durty, nasty, lal jackenyaps was settin’ feaces at his grandfadder!” This mead t’stranger varra anxshus t’see t’oald fellah, an’ ta shak hands wid him. “Well bit,” sed t’son, “he can’t see varra weel, an’ he has sec a terrabel grip, ye mun be careful. We oalas tak hoald ov a lal plew cooter, ’at we keep in t’neuk, an’ he shaks that.” Seah t’stranger went in, saw t’oald chap, an’ gev him t’plew cooter as usual. An’ t’oald fellah nip’t it that hard ’at a greet lump com’ off t’end on’t. “Bless me life,” sed he, “fwoaks han’s is mead o’ nowt bit grissel, now-a-days; they’re good for nowt at aw. They shud nivver ha’ ta wurk till their sebbenty, an’ than ther beans git weel set afoar they begin…” Norton Collection, II, p. 206. From Betty Wilson’s Cummerland Teals. TYPE 726. MOTIF: F.571.2 [Sending to the older]. See also “Painswick Elders”, “The Keys of Craigashow”, “Old Parr”.

THE OTHER FELLOW’S SIDE Two Dales farmers became involved in an argument over payment for sheep. Words became high, and the only way out was legal action, but neither of them was anxious to meet the cost of a possible lost case. One of them went to see his lawyer, first stipulating that there would be no fee unless he had grounds for legal action, and gave a detailed account of the case.

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After listening, the lawyer said: “The other fellow hasn’t got a leg to stand. I’ll start on the case at once.” “I don’t think you’d better do that,” said the farmer thoughtfully, “You see, I gave you the other fellow’s side of the story.” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. 14. MOTIF: J.1130 [Cleverness in law court].

OUR LAWFUL SOVEREIGN An English officer dining with Lord Saltoon some years after the Battle of Culloden, his Lordship was adverting to the strong attachment manifested by the generality of Buchan to the unfortunate house of Stuart, and particularly remarked the devoted loyalty of his gardener, whom no bribe or entreaty could in the smallest degree influence. “I’ll bet 50 guineas,” said the Englishman, “that I shall make him drink the health of King George.” “Done!” replied his Lordship. The honest gardener was called in. The officer began by praising his loyalty and fidelity to his prince; pressed him to drink some glasses of wine; and when he thought him a little off his guard from the effects of the generous liquor, he began thus:—“Now, my friend, I know you are a good Christian and wish well to every human being; you can certainly have no objection to drink the health of King George? Come, my worthy fellow, a bumper to the health of his Majesty.” “Here’s to the health of our lawful Sovereign,” said the gardener. “Bless you, sir,” cried the officer, “that’s not King George.” “I am very much of your opinion,” replied the man, making a profound bow and retiring. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery. p. 216. MOTIF: J.1250 [Clever verbal retort].

OVER! One of the horses that used to draw lighters up the river was blind, and had been taught to jump over the stiles whenever the driver shouted, “Over!” As a result of this, the horse would jump whenever anyone shouted “Over!” to it. Some lightermen were one day waiting at a public house at Dowham when a man rode up on a hunter, famous as a jumper. The lighterman said he had a horse which was a better jumper than this hunter. An argument sprang up between the lighterman and the owner of the hunter, and a wager was made. Both men took their horses into the road. The lighterman laid a piece of straw down, led his horse up to it, and shouted, “Over!” The horse jumped as though to clear a stile. The hunter was then led up to the straw and the rider tried to make it jump, but all to no purpose, since the hunter could see no obstacle. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 52, p. 64. E.G.Bales, Folklore from West Norfolk, p. 75. Told by Mr. A.C.Crawford, of Wiggenhall. MOTIF: K.264 [Deceptive wager].


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A PADDOCK IN HEAVEN There was a man who had just died, and arrived in Heaven, and St Peter was showing him round. Presently they came to a high wall. “Hush,” said St Peter. He fetched a ladder very quietly, and climbed up, beckoning the newcomer to follow him. They went stealthily up and peered over the wall. It was one of the Heavenly Meadows, and there were a lot of rather ordinary-looking people walking about in twos and threes. “Who are they?” said the newcomer. “Sh,” said St Peter, “Don’t let them hear you. They’re the Primitive Methodists, and if they knew anyone else was in the place, they’d leave Heaven at once.” Folktales of England, p. 112. MOTIFS: X.597* (Baughman) [Jokes about new arrivals in heaven]; A.661.0.1.2 [St Peter as porter in Heaven]. A large cycle of modern stories exists about St Peter, and exclusive sects and individuals in heaven. The Indiana University folklore archives has a folder labelled “Modern Jokes: St Peter in Heaven”, containing thirty-one comic stories on this theme. See also “The Three Premiers”.

PADDY SHAW Paddy Shaw was a great fisherman; he used to make his own flies and he used to fish in the Kent. In fact, he said, he had to give up making his own flies, because t’ spiders took ’em as soon as he’d med ’em, he made them that natural. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 24, p. 35. E.M.Wilson. Told by Mr. Darwin Leighton, of Kendal, September 1936. TYPE 1920 (variant). MOTIF: X.1150 [Lies about fishing].

THE PAINSWICK ANCIENTS ‘Twer ai nation long toime agone—’undreds o’ years. Afore beer wur brewed when thur was nu’but waater ter drink, yer min’—not but oi be agun a quilt at times, nor a pipe o’ bacca neither. Well, as oi wur a saayin’, ’twur afore these things comm’d about, yer onderstan’… Well, some bloke as ’ad a bin hall over the world ’appened ter coom oop along this ’ere road one daay, an’ ’e wur tired—a pilgrim, thaay call’d un. Oi dwon’t knaaw what a pilgrim be, but ’owever, ’e wur tired, which caused un to set anunst a yep o’ stwons, as might be wur we be now…. Agen’im wur squat a mon as looked like a livin’ carpse, all shrivelled up, like, who were a blubberin’ of ’is ’eart hout. This ’ere travellin’ pilgrim, ’ad sid mony a hold man in ’is time, but ’e never coom’d athurt a cove o’ t’likes o’ this un. Bein’ kind o’ neck in ’is ’eart, like, t’pilgrim ’e ups and axes t’bloke what’s awry wi’ ’e. T’old bloke—a shakin’ an’ a sobbin’—ses as ’is sheather ’ad bin a yutting of un… T’pilgrim axed un whur ’is sheather did bide, then ketched ault on t’old bloke an’ carried un ter Pains’ick… Auter thaay coom’d ter t’sheather’s ’ouse, another

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old mon come ter t’door, nation angered, wi’ a dazzed girt stick purt nurly as big as ’issel’, seein’ as ’e wur bent neigh double, an’ ’ad a girt long white beard, as swep’ up t’ groun’. T’pilgrim, ’e wur flummuxed wi’ seein’ of a older mon as ’im as ’e carried on ’is back. But bein’ kinder venturesome, like, ’e ups an’ ses: “Elekee, owd mon, dwon ’ee budge, an’ kep thuck stick to theesel’.” Then thuck sheather ups an’ ses: “Oi’ll gie my son a dazzed gurt larropin’ if ’e dwon’t stop a doin’ what ’e ’ave bin adoin’. Cock thee eye oop in yon apple tree, guverner, ool’t. ’Is gran’sheather ’ave bin an’ rasked ’is old bwones a skinnin’ oop thuck tree, auter t’fruit, an’ this ’ere rascal ’ave bin a dubbin’ of un wi’ stones”…When t’pilgrim looked into the tree, ’e wur come over all scared, like, an’ ’e cleared off wi’ all t’ power ’e wur ter able, a saayin’ as folk lived for hever in Pains’ick. Norton Collection, II, p. 211. Farmer, A Wanderer’s Gleanings, pp 172–4. From an old man between Cranham and Painswick. THE THREE OLD MEN OF PAINSWICK Oh! Painswick is a healthful town, It hath a bricing breeze, Where men by nature’s rules might live As long as e’er they please. Before the glass and baneful pipe Had robb’d man of his strength, And water only was his drink, He lived a greater length. Two hundred years, or more, ago A pilgrim passed that way; And what that pilgrim heard and saw I will relate to-day. And while he stopp’d outside the town, To rest his weary bones, He saw a very aged man Upon a heap of stones. The pilgrim saw him with surprise, And surely thought he dream’d, The poor man was so very old, Methusaleh he seem’d! He’d travelled o’er the wide, wide world


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Amid its heat and cold, But he had never, never seen A man one half so old. His face was wrinkled like a skin That’s shrivelled by the heat; His hair was whiter than the snow We tread beneath our feet. It made the pilgrim very sad, As he was passing by, To see his old eyes fill’d with tears, To hear him sob and cry. The man was crying like a child, His tears fell like the rain, The pilgrim felt for him, and ask’d, “Old man, are you in pain? “Oh, tell me, tell me, poor old man, Why do you sob and cry?” The old man rubbed his eyes and said, “Feethur’s bin a b’yutting I.” “Old man, old man, you must be mad, For that can never be; Your father, surely, has been dead At least a century.” “My feethur be alive and well, I wish that he weer dy’ud, For he ha bin and byut his stick About my face and yud.” The pilgrim pick’d the old man up, And walk’d to Painswick town; “Oh, show me where your father lives, And I will put you down. “And I will tell the cruel man Such things must not be done, And I will say how wrong it is

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To beat his aged son.” The pilgrim shook a garden gate, An old man ope’d the door; His back was bended like a bow, His white beard swept the floor. If Adam he had lived till now, And lengthen’d out his span, Then Adam really would have seem’d Another such a man! The pilgrim felt amazed, indeed, When he beheld his sire; He held a great stick in his hand, His face was flush’d with ire. “Old man, old man, put down your stick, Why do you beat your son?” “I’ll cut the rascal to the quick, If he does what he’ve done. “Why, up in yonder apple-tree Grandfeether risked his bones; And while the old man pick’d the fruit, The rascal dubb’d with stones.” The pilgrim turn’d his head and saw, In a spreading apple-tree, A very, very aged man, The eldest of the three. The pilgrim was a holy man, Whose hopes were in the sky; He fled—he thought it was a place Where man would never die! Norton Collection, II, pp. 212–13. Gloucestershire. From Notes and Queries (1872). TYPE 726. MOTIF: F.57I.2 [Sending to the older]. There are many Irish versions of this tale. It occurs in Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Belgium, Poland, Germany and America.


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See also “The Keys of Craigachow”, “The Oldest on the Farm”, “Old Parr”, (B, VIII).

PAL HALL’S QUIFFS [Pal Hall, whose real name was William Peak Hall, was a builder who lived in Gloucester Street, Castle Hill, Cambridge. Many stories are told of his eccentricity, and some of them seem to be familiar to a number of older residents. He flourished about 1880. The exploits, or “quiffs’, attributed to him, display the same mixture of sharpness and dullness of wit as those of Nasreddin.] Once Pal Hall was building a privy in the garden, and when it was finished found that he had built himself in. He had forgotten to make a door. (H.R.M., 19 March 1941, “Heard some years ago, from J.Dowe”) Pal Hall was once leading a cart drawn by a donkey up Castle Hill. The cart contained a ladder. Half way up, Pal said to himself, “It seems to be hard going for the donkey. If I carry the ladder myself, it will ease it a lot.” So he got into the cart and put the ladder on his shoulder. (Mr Dobson, 4 April 1941) Pal Hall once built a waggon in his workshop. He made a good job of it but, when he had finished, found that it was too big to go through the door, and he had to take it to pieces before he could get it out. (Mr Dobson, 4 April 1941) One day Pal Hall’s wife sent him to the butcher’s for a leg of mutton. Just before he got there he stopped, and said to his son, “Bob, just run back and ask your mother whether she wants a fore-leg or a hind-leg.” (Mr Dobson, 4 April 1941) A neighbour was showing Pal Hall his runner beans which were just appearing above the ground. Pal saw the kernels, which had been pushed up to the surface, and said, “They’re coming up upside down. Take ’em all out, and plant them the right way up.” (E.C.S., 4 April 1941, also known to Mr Dobson) Pal Hall was a ganger when the old Shire Hall was being built. The men’s dinner had been left at the “Three Tuns” opposite to be heated. At dinner-time Pal sent one of the men to fetch it. He stopped to have a glass of beer first and meanwhile another man came and fetched the dinner. When the first man asked for it he was told it was already gone. He came back, and told Pal, “It’s gawn.” “Gawn?” “Yes, it’s gawn.” Pal then said, “Get me a crowbar, and I’ll have the devil out even if I have to break the oven out of the wall.” (Mr Dobson, 4 April 1941) [Mr Dobson, who remembers Hall quite clearly, and knew his family, also tells the following stories which illustrate a different side of his character. Unlike some of the previous tales, they probably have some foundation in fact. The cook at St John’s College disputed a bill for repairs done to the kitchen by Hall. In revenge, the latter sent in another bill, said to have been framed and preserved at the college, beginning, “To the Master, Fellows, and Scholars of St. John’s College, Cambridge. To fetching beer for the cook, from The Merry Men—£x.x.x.” A certain timber-merchant also disputed a bill of

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Hall’s. The timber-merchant was well off and used to go hunting. On the day of the hunt, Hall got out his mare, threw a sack over her back, mounted her, and rode off after the unfortunate timber-merchant, to whom he stuck like a leech until he had to abandon the hunt in disgust. Mr Dobson recollects having seen Hall outside the “Three Tuns” on an election day, wearing a top-hat which was half full of sovereigns. H.R.M. tells me that he has heard the phrase, “as silly as Pal Hall”.] (F.J.Norton) Norton Collection, IV, pp. 41–2. Cambridgeshire. TYPE 1242A. MOTIF: J.1874.1 [Rider takes the meal-sack on his shoulder to relieve the donkey of part of the burden]. These quiffs are a Cambridge example of the way in which tales cluster round a wellknown local character. See Clouston’s Book of Noodles, p. 19; Field’s Pent Cuckoo; Wesselski’s Hodscha Nasreddin.

PALMER’S ANECDOTES AND TALES chiefly from the Black Country Collected on 27 December 1966 by Roy Palmer from Mr. G——(aged 81) of Selly Oak, Birmingham. Mr Palmer writes: “The informant, who wished to remain anonymous, is a former office worker. He learned the tales from friends and workmates, and some ‘from books’, but he no longer remembers where he obtained particular pieces. He referred to longhand copies, which he had made a year ago. Normally he tells the tales from memory; he talked about the ‘art of story-telling’. He has lived in Birmingham all his life, but his mother was a Black Country woman. His accent varied; I have made some attempt to reproduce it. He did not give titles to die pieces. I have suggested titles for ease of reference.” A Bet in the After-life An old Black Country man lay dying. All ’is life ’e’d been a pigeon fancier, and many of ’is birds ’ad taken part in races. One day the vicar came to see ’im, and, sitting by ’is fireside, said, “Well, Joe, you will soon be leaving this wicked world and go up to ’eaven with the angels.” “Oh, ar,” says Joe,” and when I get theer shall I ’ave a pair o’ wings?” “Of course you will,” said the vicar. “And when yo die, will yo be there and ’ave some wings?” “Yes, indeed.” “Well,” said Joe, “when we meet, I’ll fly yer for a quid.” MOTIF: X.597 [Joke: new arrival in heaven]. See “A Paddock in Heaven”.


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Cat and Dog Life A little boy said to ’is father, “Dad, in this book it says that a man and ’is wife who are always quarrelling are leading a cat and dog life.” “Yes,” said the father, “that’s what they call it.” “I can’t understand it, dad. Look at our cat and dog on the hearth. They don’t quarrel.” “No,” said the father, “they don’t now, but yo tie ’em together, and see what ’appens.” TYPES 1350–1437. This is one of the many anecdotes about the relations between man and wife. A Cockney Fish A Cockney boy went into a fishmonger’s shop and asked for a haddock. “A Finnan?” said the fishmonger. “No,” said the lad, “a fick ’un.” TYPE 1698G. Cold Soup The diner said to the waitress: “I say, miss, you’ve got yer thumb in my soup.” “It’s all right. It ain’t ’ot.” Country woman at the Seaside An old countrywoman went to the seaside for the first time and was told before she went to bring back a bottle of sea-water, as it would be good for her rheumatism. When she got to the shore, the tide was in, so she asked an old boatman if ’e would sell ’er a bottleful. “Yer can fill it for threepence,” was ’is reply. The old woman went away and when she came back some time later, the tide was out. “My word!” she said to the boatman, “yo ’ave done some trade.” MOTIF: J.1959 [Absurd disregard of natural laws]. Difficulty for the Baby-sitter A lady was going to the theatre and she engaged a girl to look after the children while she was away. Before she went she gave the girl her instructions. “At eight o’clock give them a hot bath, and put ’em to bed.” When she got ’ome again she asked the girl ’ow she’d got on. “Well, madam, I bathed all except one without any trouble, but one, the little redheaded one, he didn’t ’alf make a fuss.” “Good heavens,” said the lady, “that was me ’usband.” TYPE 1316 (variant). MOTIF: J.1760 [Animal or person mistaken for something else].

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A Difficulty in Martineau Street A horse dropped dead in Martineau Street. Two policemen came on the scene, and one got ’is notebook out, and started to write: “On the 10th instant, at 11 a.m. a horse dropped dead in—er—um—’Ow d’yer spell Martineau, Bill?” “I dunno. Let’s drag it into ’Igh Street.” The Elephant’s Memory It is said that elephants have long memories, and the following seems to prove it. An explorer in the African jungle heard cries of distress and on investigating them, he found a baby elephant with ’is foot caught in a trap, so he released it. Years later, when he was back in England, a circus came to ’is town, and ’e went to see it. As ’e sat there at the start of the show, watching the parade of the animals, the elephants started to walk past ’im, when one of them stopped in front of ’im, put ’is trunk over, picked the man up out of the ninepennies, and put ’im in the five-bob seats. Expensive Homework The boy doin’ ’is ’omework, ’ad this som to do. “If a glass ’olds ’alf a pint o’ beer, how many glasses can yer get out of a gallon?” The next day the boy’s teacher got a note from the boy’s father, which read: “Dear Sir, The next time you set my boy a problem like the one last night, let it be in water, as it costs a lot to buy a gallon o’ beer.” The False Beggar A man sat in a city street with a card round his neck, which said, “Pity the Blind”. He was holding a tin cup for contributions. A gentleman passing dropped a penny in the cup, but it bounced out, and rolled across the pavement. The beggar got up, walked across, picked the penny up, and put it in ’is pocket. The gentleman said, “You’re a fraud! You’re not blind!” The beggar looked at ’is card and said, “My wife is a fool! She’s put the wrong card on me. I’m not blind. I’m deaf and dumb.” Grief at the Elephant’s Death An elephant lay dead in the zoo in its cage, and a man was standing in front of the cage, crying. A passer-by stopped and said to ’im, “You must’ve loved that elephant a lot to be so upset at its death.” “Love it!” was the reply. “I’ate the dam sight of it. I’ve got to bury it!” Marital Discord ’E ’ad just ’ad a row with ’is wife, and, putting on ’is ’at and coat, said, “I’m dining at the Club,” and stormed out. At the Club, he said to the waiter, “What’s the steak like?”


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“Tender as a woman’s heart, sir.” “Is it? I’ll ’ave a chop!” Mate in the Canal A Black Country boy stood by the canal side, crying. A man came along and ’e says, “What are yer cryin’ for, sonny?” “Oo,’ ’e says, “me mate’s dropped into the canal.” So the man says, “O dear!” So ’e plunged in and swam about a bit, and then ’e climbed out, drippin’ wet. ’E says, “I can’t find any boy in there.” “Oo,” ’e says, “it ain’t a boy. It’s the mate out o’ me sandwich.” An Overdose of Castor Oil A farmer had a sick cat, so he ’phoned the vet, who told the farmer to give the cat a pint of castor oil. “A pint?” said the farmer. “That seems rather a lot.” “It’s the right dose,” said the vet. So the farmer gave the cat a pint. Several hours later, the vet ’phoned the farmer. “’Ow’s the cow goin’ on?” “It wasn’t a cow, it was a cat.” “Good heavens!” said the vet. “What’s happened to it?” “Well,” said the farmer, “it’s out in the garden with twelve other cats: four are scratchin ’oles, four are fillin’ in, and the other four are lookin’ for fresh ground.” An Overlarge Tea-bottle A Black Country boy was just goin’ to work and ’e says to ’is mother, “Mother, I can’t get me tea-bottle in me pocket.” She says, “Pour a drop out, then.” Two Irishmen in London Two Irishmen, Pat and Mick, went to London for the day, and went for a ride on a bus. Every now and then, the conductor called the names of the streets: “William Street—John Street—Charles Street—Frederick Street—Percy Street. Mick got up, and said, “I think we get off ’ere.” Pat said, “Yo sit down and wait till yer name’s called.” An Unwitting Advertisement for Whisky The lecturer was explaining to his audience about the evils of spiritdrinking. “I will demonstrate what I mean. In my ’and is an ordinary earth-worm. I drop it in this glass o’ water, and it keeps alive and vigorous. Now I take it out o’ the water, and drop it into this glass o’ whisky, and yer see what ’appens—it dies. Any questions?”

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A man stood up and asked, “Would you please tell me the name of the whisky?” “Johnny Walker,” replied the lecturer. “Thank you,” said the man. “I’ll get a bottle o’ that on me way ’ome. I’ve suffered from worms for years!” The Vicar Provokes Swearing A Black Country vicar was going to ’ave a round of golf, and ’e engaged a Black Country youth to carry ’is clubs for ’im. Before the lad started out from home, ’is mother said, “Now look ’ere, yo, yo’m carryin’ the clubs for a clergyman. Now, yo mind yer language and none o’ yer swearin’.” “All right, mother,” ’e says. So off ’e went, and got to the golf links and there was the vicar waiting at the first tee. The vicar put ’is ball down on the first tee, made a mighty swipe at it, missed it, dug a lump of turf out, which went sailing through the air. The vicar shaded ’is ’ands. ’E said to the boy, “Where did that sod go?” ’E says, “Over the bloody ’edge, and yo started it.”

PAN-MUGS The old squire—that would be the grandfather of the present lord—was walking with his lady on Sunday morning across the park when they come upon a man fishing. “My man,” sez Squire, “don’t you know you’ve no business here?” “Yes, sir,” sez this man, who was a bit simple-like. “What’s your bait?” sez Squire. “Tea-cups,” sez he. “Tea-cups,” sez Squire, “tea-cups? Let me see your line.” So the fellow up with ’is line, and, sure enough, there was a tea-cup on the end of it. “And what do you expect to catch wi’ that?” sez Squire. “Pan-mugs, sir, pan-mugs.” “Oh-ho!” sez Squire, laughing to hissel. And he off to church and tell the clergyman all about it. But the man, he off with the tea-cup, and got plenty of fish, and cleared, afore Squire come back again. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 69, p. 83. A.L. in The Countryman, XXIX, no. 2 (1944), P. 179. MOTIF: K.1818.3 [Disguise as fool]. Anecdotes of the shrewd simpleton are fairly common, as, for instance, in many of the Hodscha Nasreddin tales.

THE PARROT TALES I. The Angry Mistress A woman had a parrot in a cage in her bedroom. One night while she was undressing, the parrot cried out: “Pretty bubs! Pretty bubs!” The woman was so angry that she threw the parrot, cage and all, out of the window on to a rubbish-heap. After a time the parrot began


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to look around, and saw a chicken lying by it, which had been completely stripped of its feathers. The parrot cried to it: “Poor byzzep, poor byzzep, did you say ‘Kyrim’?” Norton Collection, I, p. 73. From Cambridge, 11 April 1940. J.C.T.O. from H.L.P. TYPE 243. II. The Grocer and the Parrot There was once a grocer who had a beautiful parrot with green feathers, and it hung in a cage at his shop-door; it was a very shrewd sensible bird, and very observing; but it was a female, and as such could not hold its tongue, but proclaimed aloud all that it knew, announcing to everyone who entered the shop the little circumstances which had fallen under its observation. One day the parrot observed its master sanding the sugar; presently in came a woman and asked for some brown sugar. “Sand in the sugar!—Sand in the sugar!—Sand in the sugar!” vociferated the bird, and the customer pocketed her money, and rushed out of the shop. The indignant grocer rushed to the cage and shook it well. “You abominable bird, if you tell tales again, I will wring your neck!” and again he shook the cage, till the poor creature was all ruffled, and a cloud of its feathers was flying about the shop. Next day it saw its master mixing cocoa-powder with brick-dust; presently in came a customer for cocoa-powder. “Brick-dust in the cocoa!” cried the parrot, eagerly and repeatedly, till the astonished customer believed it, and went away without his cocoa. A repetition of the shaking of the cage ensued, with a warning that such another instance of tale-telling should certainly be punished with death. The parrot made internal resolutions never to speak again. Presently, however, it observed its master making shop-butter of lard, coloured with a little turmeric. In came a lady and asked for butter. “Nice fresh butter! ma’am, fresh from the dairy,” said the shopman. “Lard in the butter!—lard in the butter!” said the parrot. “You scoundrel, you,” exclaimed the shopman, rushing at the cage; opening it, drawing forth the luckless bird, and wringing its neck, he cast it into the ashpit. But Polly was not quite dead, and after lying quiet for a few minutes, she lifted up her head, and saw a dead cat in the pit. “Halloo!” called the parrot, “what is the matter with you, Tom?” No answer, for the vital spark of heavenly flame had quitted the mortal frame of the poor cat. “Dead,” sighed the parrot. “Poor Tom, he too must have been afflicted with the love of truth. Ah me!” She sat up and tried her wings. “They are sound. Great is truth in my country, but in this dingy England it is at a discount, and lies are at a premium.” Then, spreading her wings, Polly flew away; but whether she ever reached her own land, where the truth was regarded with veneration, I have not heard. No; she flew twice round the world in search of it, and could not find it. I wonder whether she has found it now. Norton Collection, I, p. 75. From Henderson Baring-Gould, pp. 331–2. Yorkshire. TYPE 243.

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III. The Parrot There was an old woman who had a parrot, and she was going off for the day one day, and she told the parrot to get a hundredweight of coal off the coalman when he came around. The parrot said he would do, so she hung him up in the backyard, locked up the house, and went. When the coalman arrived the parrot said he wanted a ton of coal. The man was rather surprised but did as he was told, and when the old woman came back again, she asked the parrot if he got the coal all right. The parrot said, Yes, he got it all right, so she went to have a look. When she saw the coal-house blocked up to the door she ran back into the house and gave the parrot a right good blacking, and to make it worse annoyed she plucked it out of the cage, and plucked its head. And then she put it back into the cage, and it sulked for about three days. One afternoon an old man came in with a bald head, and sat down underneath the parrot. He talked to the old woman for about an hour, and as he was getting up to go out, the parrot puts its head through the cage, and said: “Hallo! Has another bloke been buyin’ a ton o’ cooals?” Norton Collection, I, p. 74. From E.M.Wilson, told by Richard Harrison, heard from a local lad of his own age (17), September 1937. TYPE 243. IV. The Miner and the Parrot One day a Welsh miner was walking to the pits along a shady road. Suddenly he heard a voice say: “Good Morning!” He looked to right and left of him, and saw nothing. Then he heard the voice again say: “Good Morning!” He looked behind him and in front of him, and on each side of him, and still saw no one. Then he heard the voice above his head. He looked up, and there, in a branch above sat a grey parrot. He looked at it for some time, thinking it was an unusual kind of hawk. Then it opened its beak and again said: “Good Morning!” The miner was an unusually polite man. He took off his cap, and said: “Beg pardon, sir. I thought you was a bird!” M.E.Nash-Williams. Heard from Dr. V.E.Nash-Williams c. 1940. MOTIF: B.211.3.4 (Speaking Parrot). V. Highlander and Parrot An honest Highlander walking along Holborn, heard a cry, “Rogue Scot, Rogue Scot.” His northern blood fired at the insult, drew his broadsword, looking round him on every side to discover the object of indignation. At last he found it came from a parrot, perched on a balcony within his reach, but the generous Scot, disdaining to stain his trusty blade with such ignoble blood, put up his sword again, with a sour smile, saying, “Gin ye were a man, as ye’re a green geese, I would split your weem.”


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From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, Amusing Prose Chap-Books, p. 208. VI. The Parson and the Parrot There was a captain who had a parrot and he was going out on a voyage and he always took his parrot wherever he went. When they’d got out into the sea the ship struck an iceberg. All the life-boats had to be launched, and when everyone had got into them the captain grabbed his parrot and put it into a bag, and when the boat got to sailing they came across another liner and half of them got into the boat, the captain and his parrot being among them. When they were nearing land the captain let his parrot out of the bag and it flew into the town. It happened to be Sunday morning, so it made its way into the church and got behind the vestry curtain. When the vicar got into the pulpit the parrot flew out, and settled right under his nose. And he told the people to take no notice of it and he carried on with his sermon. Then he said: “Now, my friends, what shall we do to be saved?” And the parrot said: “Pump, ye beggars, pump!” Norton Collection, VI, p. 44. Folk-Lore, XLIX (September 1938), p. 284, E.M.Wilson, told by Richard Harrison. (Wilson himself remembered hearing it in Kendal as a schoolboy.) VII. The Scottish Parrot A parrot perched upon a pole at a cottage door, beaking itself in the sun, was observed by a rapacious hawk, which happened to be passing over it, suddenly dived down and seized poor Poll by the back; away the hawk flew with his prey. When passing over a garden Poll observed his old friend the gardener, and exclaimed, “I’m ridin’ noo, John Laurie.” Hawky, alarmed at hearing a voice so near, darted into a tree for safety, when after recovering a little, commenced to devour poor Poll, when it roared out with all its might, “Will you bite, you rascal.” The hawk terrified out of its wits, flew off with a birr, leaving Poll to proceed homewards at pleasure. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 201. TYPE 100*. VIII. The Parrot In olden times there was a roguish baker who made many of his loaves less than the regulation weight, and one day, on observing the government inspector coming along the street, he concealed the light loaves in a closet. The inspector having found the bread on the counter of the proper weight, was about to leave, when a parrot, which the baker kept in his shop, cried out, “Light bread in the closet!” This caused a search to be made, and the baker was heavily fined. Full of fury, the baker seized the parrot, wrung its neck, and

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threw it in his back-yard, near the carcase of a pig that had died of the measles. The parrot, coming to itself again, observed the dead porker, and inquired in a tone of sympathy: “O poor piggy, didst thou, too, tell about light bread in the closet?” Norton Collection, I, p. 72. From Clouston, p. 115, note 6, “Flowers from a Persian Garden”. TYPE 243. IX. The Parrot [summaries] A. [Told by Reuben Gray, Old Radford, Notts, 22 December 1914] A man tried to teach his parrot to talk. Could say any word but “uncle”. Finally, the master took a stick to him, saying, “Say ‘uncle’, you devil, say ‘uncle’!” and when the parrot was still silent, knocked him unconscious, and threw him outside. Sorry next morning, went to look for the body. It was not there. Presently he heard a voice in his hen-run saying, “Say ‘uncle’, you devil, say ‘uncle’!” It was the parrot, with a big stick in his hand. He had killed all the hens, and as the master comes up, he kills the rooster. “Oh, you——!” said the master, “I knew you could say ‘uncle’ if you wanted to!” B.[Told by Gus Gray, same time and place] A little later the coal man came, but the master did not want any coal; his cellar was full. The parrot was in the parlour, and as the coal man was going, he called out; “Oh, well, you’d better bring two carts then.” When the coal was brought, the master was so angry that he shaved the parrot. C.[Told by Gus Gray, same time and place] The cook used to entertain a policeman in the kitchen. The parrot threatened to tell, and the cook got so angry that she threw a dish of beans and bacon over it. Some days later the parrot told the mistress, and she accused the cook. The cook said the parrot was a liar, and asked what day this had happened. “The day it rained beans and bacon,” said the parrot. “There, you see,” said the cook. D.[Gus Gray, same time, same place] The parrot got into the church. The parson tried to teach it to pray, but it swore so dreadfully that he caught it by the feet, and whirled it round his head. “Forty knots!” shrieked the parrot. “And struck a rock!” said the parson, and dashed it against a pillar. And there was an end of it. Thompson Notebooks, VI. TYPES 237, 243.1, 1833A (variant), 1422 (variant), 1381B. MOTIFS: B.211.3.4 [Speaking parrot]; X.435.1 [“What says David?” “Pay your old debts”]; J.1151.1.3 [The sausage rain]; J.551.5 [Magpie tells a man that his wife has eaten an eel, which she said was eaten by another. The woman plucks her feathers out. When the magpie sees a bald man, she says, “You too must have talked about the eel”]; J.211.2 [A magpie is


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punished by his master, who throws him into the mud. When he sees a muddy sow, he says, “You too must have quarrelled with your master”]. The popularity of talking-parrot comic stories has been the subject of a thesis by Neil Rosenberg, which is lodged in Indiana University, Bloomington, U.S.A.

THE PARSON AND HIS BOON COMPANIONS Grandpater, fond of fast living, dined with the vicar on Saturday evening. The party, the parson included—let it here be said, par parenthesis, the parson was a fox-hunter, and fond of all kinds of gaiety and pleasure—played cards, and indulged in libations until three o’clock on the Sunday morning, when the parson said he must leave them to take a little rest prior to going through the services of the day. In his absence, the merry fellows played on until church time, when it was agreed that they should adjourn to the family pew, and hear what sort of a sermon their clerical friend would preach. Waxing warm, he denounced the besetting sins of the time, drinking, gambling, Sabbath-breaking, and other kindred infractions of the divine law. One said, “He is alluding to us.” Another, “He is as bad as we are.” A third, “Get up and tell him so!” One, more indignant and impetuous than the rest, arose, and was about to denounce “the hypocrite”, as he called him, when the occupant of the pulpit, seeing a storm brewing, turned towards the party, and stretching forth his arms, exclaimed, “I don’t mean you gentlemen in the leather trade; I allude to hard-hearted sinners who never repent.” Norton Collection, VI, p. iv. Worksop? or Nottingham? Nottinghamshire Facts and Fictions, a miscellany…collected and edited by J.P.Briscoe, 2nd series (Nottingham, 1877), pp. 50–1. A “family tradition”. TYPE 1833.

THE PARSON AND THE CARDS The Parson, that loved gaming better than his eyes, made a good use of it when he put up his cards in his gownsleeve in haste, when the clerk came and told him the last stave was a-singing. ’Tis true that, in the height of his reproving the Parish for their neglect of holy duties, upon the throwing out of his zealous arm, the cards dropt out of his sleeve, and flew about the church. What then? He bid one boy take up a card, and asked him what it was. The boy answers the King of Clubs. Then he bid another boy take up another card. “What was that?” “The Knave of Spades.” “Well,” quo’ he, “now tell me, who made you?” The boy could not well tell. Quo’ he to the next, “Who redeemed ye?” That was a harder question. “Look ye,” quoth the Parson, “you think this was an accident, and laugh at it; but I did it on purpose to shew you that, had you taught your children their catechism, as well as to know their cards, they would have been better provided to answer material questions when they came to church.” Norton Collection, VI, p. 50. Chatto, p. 321, quoting The Women’s Advocate, 1683. TYPE 1827A. MOTIF: N.5 [Card-playing parson].

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Fifty-five Finnish examples of this anecdote are cited, but it does not seem to be common elsewhere.

THE PARSON’S MEETING [summary] There was to be a parsons’ meeting, and all the members were sitting round the fire waiting for the last of their number to arrive. When he did come, he only looked round at them all, and smiled. The Bishop stood up and asked him where he had been. “I’ve been to Hell,” said he. “What was it like?” “Much the same as here: you couldn’t get round the fire for parsons.” E.M.Wilson, ‘Some Humorous English Folk-Tales’, Folk-Lore (March 1943), p. 259. Taken down from Mrs. Joseph Haddow, September 1940. TYPE 1738. MOTIF: X.438 [Dream: all parsons in Hell]. This anecdote is at a remove from its type, which deals with a recounted dream, and in this form is widely spread from Scandinavia to Greece and Russia. There are three French-Canadian versions and one American Negro (Dorson, 45). See also “Old Charley Creed”.

PARSON RADCLIFFE AND THE BISHOP There was a story told of a fox-hunting parson, Mr Radcliffe, in the north of Devon, when I was a boy. He was fond of having convivial evenings in his parsonage, which often ended uproariously. Bishop Phillpotts sent for him, and said, “Mr Radcliffe, I hear, but I can hardly believe it, that men fight in your house.” “Lor, my dear,” answered Parson Radcliffe, in broad Devonshire, “doanty’ believe it. When they begin fighting, I take and turn them out into the churchyard.” The Bishop of Exeter came one day to visit him without notice. Parson Radcliffe, in scarlet, was just about to mount his horse, and ride off to the meet, when he heard that the Bishop was in the village. He had barely time to send away his hunter, run upstairs, and jump, red coat and boots, into bed, when the Bishop’s carriage drew up at the door. “Tell his Lordship I’m ill, will ye!” was his injunction to his housekeeper, as he flew to bed. “Is Mr Radcliffe in?” asked Dr Phillpots. “He’s ill in bed,” said the housekeeper. “Dear me! I am so sorry. Pray ask if I may come up and sit with him,” said the Bishop. The housekeeper ran upstairs in sore dismay, and entered Parson Radcliffe’s room. The Parson stealthily put his head out of the bedclothes, but was reassured when he saw his room was invaded by his housekeeper, and not by the Bishop. “Please, your honour, his Lordship wants to come upstairs and sit with you a little.”


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“With me, good Heavens!” gasped Parson Radcliffe. “No, go down and tell his Lordship I’m took cruel bad with Scarlet Fever, it is an aggravated case, and very catching.” S.Baring-Gould, The Vicar of Morwenstow, p. 169. The fox-hunting parson was a peculiarly English character and would not be found as an international tale-type. MOTIF: X.410 [Jokes about parsons].

THE PARSON AND THE SHEPHERD LAD [summary] A boy was driving some sheep along the road, and met a parson, and because the boy was being brutal to the sheep, and making his dog bite them, the vicar stopped him and said that he ought to be kinder to his animals. “Give them names,” he suggested, and when the boy said he did not know any good names, the vicar suggested, “Our Father,” “Which art in Heaven,” and “Thy Kingdom Come”. A few days he met the boy again, and asked him how the sheep were getting on. “Er! Parson,” said the boy, “Our Father was a rascal, and Which art in Heaven ran into Thy Kingdom Come, and knocked it a horn off.” E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore (June 1938), p. 189. TYPE 1833D. MOTIF: X.435.4 [Names of persons in the Trinity].

THE PARSON AND THE WRECKER In former times, when a ship was being driven on the rocks on Sunday, whilst divine service was going on, news was sent to the parson, who announced the fact from the pulpit, or reading-desk, whereupon ensued a rapid clearing of the church. The story is told of a parson at the Poughill near Morwenstow, who, on hearing the news, proceeded down the church in his surplice as far as the font, and the people, supposing there was to be a christening, did not stir. But when he was near the door, he shouted, “My Christian brethren, there’s a ship wrecked in the cove, let us all start fair!” and, flinging off his surplice, led the way to the scene of spoliation. S.Baring-Gould, The Vicar of Morwenstow, p. 116. MOTIF: X.410 [Jokes about parsons].

THE PEDLAR’S ASS Three or four roguish scholars, walking out one day from the University of Oxford, spied a poor fellow near Abingdon asleep in a ditch, with an ass by him, loaded with earthenware, holding the bridle in his hand: says one of the scholars to the rest, If you

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will assist me, I’ll help you to a little money, for you know we are bare at present. No doubt of it, they were not long consenting. Why, then, said he, we’ll go and sell this old fellow’s ass at Abingdon; for you know the fair is to-morrow, and we shall meet with chapmen enough; therefore do you take the panniers off, and put them upon my back, and that bridle over my head, and then lead you the ass to market, and let me alone with the old man. This being done accordingly, in a little time after, the poor man awaking, was strangely surprised to see his ass thus metamorphosed. Oh! for God’s sake, said the scholar, take this bridle out of my mouth, and this load from my back.—Zoons, how came you here? replied the old man.—Why, said he, my father, who is a necromancer, upon an idle thing I did to disoblige him, transformed me into an ass; but now his heart has relented, and I am come to my own shape again, I beg you will let me go home again, and thank him—By all means, said the crockery merchant, I do not desire to have anything to do with conjuration; and so set the scholar at liberty, who went directly to his comrades, that by this time were making merry with the money they had sold the ass for. But the old fellow was forced to go the next day, to seek for a new one in the fair; and having looked on several, his own was shown him for a good one. Oh! said he, What, have he and his father quarrelled again already? No, no, I’ll have nothing to say to him. Norton Collection, V, p. 84. From Joe Miller’s Jests (1836), pp. 11–12, no. 67. The same story is told of Cambridge scholars in the 1841 edition of Joe Miller, and cited in Clouston, Popular Tales and Fictions, I, p. 458. TYPE 1529. MOTIF: K.403 [Thief claims to have been transformed into an ass]. This is a widespread story. There are French, Spanish, Lithuanian, Turkish, Dutch, Flemish, Italian, Czech, Spanish-American and Philippine versions. None, however, is given in Baughman. See “The Metamorphosis”.

PEVENSEY FOLLIES [summary] A certain bailiff of Pevensey, by courtesy known as “Mayor”, was one day thatching his pig-stye, when a letter of importance concerning his official duties was brought to him. He broke the seal and began to read, but the messenger noticed that he was holding the letter upside-down. On suggesting that it would be easier to reverse it, he was sharply rebuked in these words: “Hold your tongue, sir; for while I am mayor of Pemsey, I’ll hold a letter which eend uppards I like!” Another Pevensey magistrate, recently promoted to office, met a neighbour, who respectfully raised his hat to him. “Put on your hat, man, put on your hat!” he rejoined in a condescending tone, “for, although Mayor of Pemsey, I am still but a man.” A third man of Pevensey bought a bushel of red herrings to stock his horse-pond. A fourth, also a Mayor of the town, received a royal proclamation against the unlawful firing of beacons, and promptly apprehended an old woman for frying of bacon for her husband’s dinner. Norton Collection, IV, p. 43. Kent. From The Archaeologist and Journal of Antiquarian Science, I, p. 130.


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Extracted from a letter from Mark Antony Lower, dated Lewes, 4 October 1841, in which he tries to prove that the Gothamites took their name from the manor of Gotham, in Hailsham parish, and bordering on Pevensey, and not from the Nottinghamshire village. TYPE 1200 (variant). Field in The Pent Cuckoo deals with the Pevensey Gotham as well as Gotham in Nottinghamshire. See “The Austwick Carles”, “The Folkestone Follies”, etc.

“PHILIP SPENCER” A certain butcher dwelling in St Nicholas Fleshambles in London, called Paul, had a servant called Peter. This Peter on a Sunday was at the church hearing mass, and one of his fellows—whose name was Philip Spencer—was sent to call him at the commandment of his master. So it happened at the time that the curate preached. And in his sermon he touched many authorities of the Holy Scripture—among all, the words of the ’pistle of Saint Paul ad Philippenses: that we be not only bound to believe in Christ but also to suffer for Christ’s sake—and said these words in the pulpit: “What sayeth Paul ad Philippenses to this?” This young man that was called Philip Spencer had weened he had spoken of him, answered shortly and said: “Marry, sir, he bad Peter come home and take his part of a pudding, for he should go for a calf anon.” The curate hearing this, was abashed, and all the audience made great laughter. By this tale ye may learn that it is no token of a wise man to give a sudden answer to a question before that he know surely what the matter is. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 112. TYPE 1833. MOTIF: X.435 [The boy applies the sermon]. Three American versions are given by Boggs in North Carolina. See also “The Niggardly White Friar”.

PIERRE PATELIN: OF HIM THAT PAID HIS DEBT WITH CRYING “BEA” There was a man on a time which took as much ware of a merchant as drew to fifty pound, and riotously played and spent the same away within short space. So when the day of payment came he had neither money nor ware to pay, wherefore he was arrested and must come before the Justice. When he saw there was none other remedy but that he should be constrained either to pay the debt or else go to prison—wherefore he went to a subtle man of law and showed to him his case and desired him of counsel and help. “What wilt thou give me (quod the man of law), if I rid thee of this debt?”

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“By my faith,” said the debtor, “five marks—and lo, here it is ready. As soon as I am quit, ye shall have it.” “Good enough,” quod the man of law, “but thou must be ruled by my counsel, and thus do: When thou comest before the Justice, whatsomever be said unto thee, look that thou answer to nothing, but cry ‘Bea’ still, and let me alone with the rest.” “Content,” quod he. So, when they were come before the Justice, he said to the debtor: “Dost thou owe this merchant this sum of money or no?” “Bea!” quod he. “What! beast,” quod the Justice, “answer to thy plaint, or else thou wilt be condemned.” “Bea!” quod he again. Then his man of law stood forth and said: “Sir, this man is but an idiot. Who would believe that this merchant, which is both wise and subtle, would trust this idiot, that can speak never a ready word, with 40 pennyworth of ware?” And so with such reasons, he persuaded the Justice to cast the merchant in his own action [= decide against the merchant]. So when the sentence was given, the man of law drew the debtor aside and said: “Lo, how sayest thou now? Have not I done well for thee? Thou art clear quit of the debt that was demanded of thee. Wherefore, give me my money, and God be with thee.” “Bea!” quod he. “What!” quod the man of law, “thou needest not to cry ‘Bea’ no longer. Thy matter is dispatched. All is at a point—there resteth nothing but to give me my wages that thou promised.” “Bea!” quod he again. “I say,” quod the man of law, “cry, ‘Bea’ no longer now, but give me my money.” “Bea!” quod he. Thus the man of law, neither for fair nor foul, could get any other thing of his client but “Bea!” Wherefore, all angrily, he departed and went his way. By this tale ye may perceive that they which be the inventors and devisers of fraud and deceit been oftentimes thereby deceived themselves. And he that hath hid a snare to attrap others with, hath himself been taken therein. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 277. TYPE 1585. MOTIF: K.1655 [The lawyers mad client]. The early French interlude of Pierre Patelin is on this plot. The common phrase, “Revenons a nos moutons”, comes from this play. This story is widespread through Europe and America, and is also found in India, Africa and the West Indies. There are 3 Scottish and 59 Irish versions. The Scottish one-act play, Rory Aforesaid, by John Brandane is on the same theme.

THE PIOUS LION A missionary or explorer, unarmed, met a lion face to face in the jungle. He had heard that the best plan was to stare hard at an animal, so he fixed the lion with his eye. The


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lion, however, did the same and they stared at one another for a long time. Then the lion put its front paws together, and bent its head down over them. The man, puzzled, did the same, and there was another long pause. At last the lion raised its head and said, “I don’t know what you’re doing. I’m saying grace.” Margaret Nash-Williams, 1963. This Shaggy Dog story falls under Brunvand’s classification 8400–6499 [Stories about animals and humans, miscellaneous]. A different turn is given to the story of a frightened traveller who imitates the action of a bear. When the bear defecates, the man says he is ahead of him. (R.M.Dorson,” Dialect Stories of the Upper Peninsula”, Journal of American Folklore, 1948, LXI, “The Bear on Sugar Island”.)

A PITMAN’S DREAM A pitman residing at Windy Nook takes pleasure in repeating his dreams. One evening, some quarrymen, desirous of having a joke with him, asked Geordy to tell them a good one. After some little persuasion, he complied as follows:—“Wey, lads, aa dreamt the other neet aa wes deed, an’ wes tyaken doon belaa—ye knaas whor aa mean. When aa gets te the gates, the little imp that minds them says:—‘What’s yor trade? ‘A pitman,’ says aa. ‘Whor de ye come frae?’ ‘Windy Nyuk,’ aa tells him. ‘Come in, lad,’ he says, ‘thoo’s the forst pitman frae thor, but we’re swarming wi’ quarrymen.’” Norton Collection, II, p. 237. From the Monthly Chronicle, III, pp. 91–2. TYPE 1738 (variant). See “Old Charley Creed”, “The Parsons’ Meeting”.

THE PLOUGHMAN THAT SAID HIS PATER NOSTER A rude uplandish plowman, (which) on a time reproving a good holy father, said that he could say all his prayers with a holy mind and steadfast intention without thinking on any other thing. To whom the holy good man said: “Go to. Say one Pater noster to the end, and think on none other thing, and I will give thee mine horse.” “That shall I do,” quod the plowman, and so began to say: “Pater noster qui es in celis…” till he came to “Sanctificetur nomen tuum”, and then his thought moved him to ask this question: “Yea, but shall I have the saddle and bridle withal?” And so he lost his bargain. Tales and Quick Answers, ed. Zall, p. 263. TYPE 1835D*. MOTIF: H.1554.3 [Test of curiosity: the Paternoster]. See “The Clock”.

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POETIC TRUTH …And he was a poet, a bard, and, uh, he never bought any chalk—they use chalk to mark the trams—he always stole the chalk…and one man who one day had lost a big lump of chalk, and he wrote a verse on the tram so that the poet would see it in the night… “O Heavenly Father, confound the bloke Who in the night stole all my chalk, Keep Thou his hands from mischief still, And teach him how to do Thy will.” So when the other fellow came in he said, “Well, this is good, isn’t it? And I’m the bard, not him, and what’s more I haven’t taken his chalk,” so he drew a line under it and replied, “O God, give more grace To the man with the brazen face, Who said bad things about the bloke, Who never stole his blooming chalk.” Roy Palmer, from Ewan MacColl and Charles Parker. TYPE 1840B (variant). See “The Miller’s Eels”.

THE PORTMANTLE An ould man found one day, a young gentleman’s portmantle, as he were a going to es dennar; he took’d et en, and gived et to es wife; and said: “Mally, here’s a roul of lither, look, see, I suppoase some poor ould shoemaker or other have los’ en, tak’en and put ’en a top of the teaster of the bed, he’ll be glad to hab ’en agen sum day, I dear say.” The ould man, Jan, that was es neame, went to es work as before. Mally then opened the portmantle, and found en er three hunder pounds. Soon after thes, the ould man not being very well, Mally said, “Jan, I’ve saved away a little money, by the bye, and as thee caan’t read or write, thee shu’st go to scool” (he were then nigh threescore and ten). He went but a very short time, and comed hoam one day, and said, “Mally, I wain’t go to scool no moare, ’caase the childer do be laffen at me, they can tell their letters, and I caan’t tell my ABC and I wud rayther go to work agen.” “Do as thee wool,” ses Mally. Jan had not ben out many days, ’afore the young gentleman came by that lost the portmantle, and said, “Well, my ould man, did ’ee see or hear tell of sich a thing as a portmantle?” “Portmantle, Sar, wasn’t that un, sumthing like thickey? (pointing to one behind es saddle)” “I found one t’other day zackly like that.”


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“Where es et?” “Come along, I carr’d ’en en and gov’en to my wife Mally, thee sha’t av’en. Mally, where es that roul of lither that I giv’d tha the t’other day?” “What roul of lither?” said Mally. “The roul of lither I broft en, and tould tha to put ’en a top of the teaster of the bed, afore I go’d to scool.” “Drat tha emperance,” said the gentleman, “thee art betwattled, that was before I was born.” Norton Collection, V, p. 5. Cornwall. W.Sandys, Specimens of Cornish Provincial Dialect, Collected and Arranged by Uncle Jan Trenoodle (London, 1846), pp. 51–2. TYPE 1381E. Irish, Spanish, Hungarian and Russian versions of this tale have been collected. See “The Old Roadman”, “John and Sally”; also “Silly Jimmy and the Factor”.

A POTTLE OF BRAINS There was once a fool who set out to buy a pottle o’ brains from the wise woman who lived at the top of the hill. “Can ye sell me a pottle o’ brains, missis?” he says, after some humming and hawing, “for my mother says I’ll need it after she’s gone.” “Well,” says the wise woman, “mebbe I can help thee, if thou can help thyself. Thou must bring me the heart of the thing thou likest best, and if ’tis right, thou’lt be able to answer a riddle.” So the fool went back to his mother, and says: “I reckon I’ll have to kill the pig, for I likes a bit of fat bacon best of all.” So he kills the pig, and cuts out the heart, and away up with it to the wise woman. “Tell me now,” she says, “what runs without feet?” The fool scratched his head, but he was fair puzzled, and the wise woman said: “Away wi’ thee! Thou’st not brought the right thing yet.” So off he went, and as he got to his own door, they came running out to tell him that his mother was dying, and when he got in, she had no more life in her but just to give him a smile, and then she died. He sat down by the fire, and thought of all his mother had done for him since he had been a tiddy brat, until he burst out crying. “Oh, mother,” he says, “why didn’t thou bide with me? I like thee best of everything.” Then he thought would he have to take the heart out of his mother to buy his pottle of brains, but he just hadn’t the heart to do it, so next morning he took up his dead mother just as she was, and carried her up to the wise woman in a sack. “Here’s what I like best of everything,” he says, “so m’appen I can have my pottle o’ brains.” “M’appen,” says the wise woman. “What’s bright and shining, but isn’t gold?” “I can’t say,” says he. “Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you,” said the wise woman, “and thou’st not brought the right thing yet.” And she shut the door on him. So the fool sat down by the wayside and fairly howled. And presently a neighbour’s lass came by. “What’s the matter with thee, fool?” said she kind-like.

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“I’ve killed my pig, and I’ve lost my mother, and I can’t buy my pottle o’ brains, and who’ll look after me without them?” “I’ll look after thee,” says the lass. “They say fools make the best husbands. Dinnot thee greet now, and I’ll look after thee.” So they were wed, and she cooked and worked, and made the house so clean that at last the fool said: “Lass, I’m thinking I like thee best of everything.” Then he looked a bit sad-like, and said: “Does that mean I’ll have to kill thee, and take thy heart up to the wise woman?” “Not a bit of it,” says she. “Just take me up, heart and all, and mebbe I’ll help thee with the riddles.” “I reckon they’re too hard for women-folk,” says he. “Just try me,” says she. “Well, what runs without feet?” “Why, water,” she says. “So it do,” said the fool. “What’s yellow and shining, but isn’t gold?” “The sun,” says she at once. “So it be,” he says, “come along up with me.” And up they went to the wise woman. “I reckon I’ve got what I like best of all now,” he said. “Then tell me what has no legs, and then two legs, and then four legs,” says the wise woman. The fool began to scratch his head, but his wife whispered in his ear, “A tadpole.” “M’appen ’twill be a tadpole, Missis,” he says. “A tadpole it is,” said the wise woman. “And I see thou’s gotten thy pottle o’ brains already.” “Where be it?” he said, beginning to search his pockets. “In thy wife’s head,” she said. “That’s the only kind of brains a fool ever gets.” So the fool went home quite happy, and his wife’s brains were all he needed to guide him for the rest of his days. Mrs. Balfour, Legends of the Cars, retold by J.Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 125. TYPE 910G. MOTIF: J.163.2.1 [Fool told to get a pottle of brains]. In this tale the questions asked are answered by someone else, as in the main type, but the questions are different, and there is no disguise.

THE PREACHER’S PRAYER Another long-deceased Suffolk character was distinguished for his craftiness over a deal during the week, and his voluble and sanctimonious prayers in the Meeting House on Sundays; but on one occasion he was badly had by one of his “meetiner” friends, and was moved to pray for him publicly the following Sunday: “Oh Lord, look down upon Brother Midders, and chastise him for his evil ways. Come down through the ruff, Lord, and howd him over the bottomless pit, howd him there Lord so that he may repent of his wickedness, don’t drop him in dear Lord but shug him well.” Ernest Cooper, Mardles from Suffolk, p. 27. TYPE 1833** [Anecdotes of Sermons].


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This is one specimen of many tales of local preachers.

THE PRIEST WHO MADE BASKETS On a time there was a priest in the country that was not very well learned, and had but a small living; and he devised with himself how he might get some money, and at last he bethought him that making of baskets was a good trade, and so he fell to it, and took a servant; and so his servant and he made six baskets every week, and when he had made six baskets, then he knew it to be Sunday. And on a time he had made six baskets, and knew it not, and on the morrow began to make the seventh. But he had overlabored himself, and forgot to ring to Masse; then the people, resorting to church, caused the bell to be rung. When the priest heard it, he bad his servant go up to his chamber, and look how many baskets were made; and the servant went up, and found six baskets. Cocks body, master, qd. he, we have made six baskets already. What the devill, said the priest, have we made six baskets already! then do I know it is Sunday. Go therefore presently, and help them to ring to Masse; for by my troth I had forgot myselfe. Norton Collection, VI, p. 113A. The Sack-Full of News, Hazlitt, II, p. 186. TYPE 1848B. MOTIF: J.2466.2 [The reckoning of the pot].

THE PRIZE FOR LYING Formerly it was a custom at this village (Temple Sowerby) for the men to assemble on the green on the first of May, to compete for several prizes, three of which were reserved for the singular contest in the noble art of lying, the inhabitants to be the judges. The first prize was a grindstone, a useful article for a villager; the second was a hone or wetstone, useful in sharpening knives, razors, or small tools; the third prize was a wetstone of an inferior description. The candidate who contests for a prize begins a story—the most absurd and improbable—the more marvellous and romantic the better. After a considerable part of the day is spent in foolish-like pastimes and games at wrestling, the day often ended in a free fight or two. The Bishop of Carlisle was once passing through the village when the festival was in full swing. He inquired the reason of the assembly of the villagers, and on being made aware of the facts, he lectured the people rather severely on the sin and foolishness of such a diversion. “For my part,” the Bishop said, “I never told a lie in my life”; upon hearing this, the Judge immediately awarded the hone to his Lordship, and when he refused to accept it, he threw it into his carriage after him, telling him that in the future it would be useful to sharpen wits with. E.Bogg, Lakeland and Ribblesdale, p. 121. TYPE 1920. MOTIFS: X.905 [Lying contests]; X.905.4 [The liar: “I have no time to lie today”; lies nevertheless].

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PROMISING CANDIDATE Some years ago, a candidate for a Welsh burgh told his constituents that, if they would elect him, he should take care they should have any kind of weather they liked best. This was a tempting offer, and they could not resist choosing a man who, to use their own language, “was more of a Cot Almighty than Sir Watkin himself.” Soon after the election, one of his constituents waited upon him, and requested some rain. “Well, my good friend, and what do you want with rain? Won’t it spoil your hay?” “Why, it will be very serviceable to the wheat, and as to my hay, I have just got it in.” “But has your neighbour got his in? I should suppose rain would do him some mischief.” “Why, ay,” replied the votary, “rain would do him harm indeed.” “Ay, now you see how it is, my dear friend! I have promised to get you any kind of weather you like; but if I give you rain I must disoblige him: so your best way will be, I think, to meet together, all of you, and agree on the weather that will be best for you all,—and you may depend upon having it.” Norton Collection, VI, p. 40. Scotland. Scottish Jests, 1838, English section. pp. 362–3. TYPE 1830. MOTIF: J.1041.1 [Weather can please one only]. Wesselski, Hodscha Nasreddin, I, 218, no. I. The same theme is used in die medieval Play of the Weather.

THE PROPERTIES OF A WOMAN In the old world when all things could speak, the four elements met together for many things which they had to do because they must meddle always one with another, and had communication together of divers matters. And because they could not conclude all their matters at that season, they appointed to break communication for that time, and to meet again another time. Therefore, each one of them showed to the others where their most abiding was and where their fellows should find them if need should require. And first the earth said: “Brethren, ye know well, as for me I am permanent always, and not removable. Therefore, ye may be sure to have me always when ye list.” The water said: “If ye list to seek me, ye shall be sure ever to have me under a tuft of green rushes or else a woman’s eye.” The wind said: “If ye list to seek me, ye shall be sure ever to have me among aspen leaves or else in a woman’s tongue.” Then quod the fire: “If any of you list to seek me, ye shall ever be sure to find me in a flintstone or else in a woman’s heart.” By this tale ye may learn as well the properties of the four elements as the properties of a woman. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 83.


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PULLING THE DOOR A man and his wife set out for market, and after getting some distance upon the road, the man inquired whether his wife had pulled the door after her, meaning to ask if she had shut it. She replied in the negative, upon which he beat her, and sent her back to pull the door after her, and he would stop on the road till she returned. The woman went, and the husband, after waiting some considerable time, saw her toiling along, dragging something behind her, she having literally obeyed his orders, by lifting the door from its hinges, and procuring a piece of rope, fastened one end to the door and the other round her body, and thus actually pulled it after her. Norton Collection, III, p. 50. Stapleton, 2nd edition, quoting Walks round Nottingham, by “Wanderer”, i.e. Barker. Presumably told in Nottinghamshire. Also, somewhat recast, in Briscoe’s Nottinghamshire Facts and Fancies, 2nd series (Nottingham, 1877), pp. 8–9. TYPE 1009. MOTIFS: K.1413 [Guarding the door]; J.2470 [Metaphors literally interpreted]. This is generally part of 1653A [Man and wife in tree]; the door falls on the robbers below. As in “Mr and Mrs Vinegar”. See “The French Manservant”.

PUNCTUALITY When bosses were bosses, and men were men, but when there was a brotherhood which in many cases is not there today, an employer found that his employees were not always at work on time. One morning he was at the works early to find out who were the culprits. One of them (Joss) came strolling in twenty minutes or so after time, so the boss called for him. Joss went on taking no notice. During the morning the employer met Joss and said: “Haa wor it tha’ didn’t cum to me when I called on thi’ this morning?” Joss replied: “Ah, lad. Ah’d noa time to bother wi’ thee. I wor late enough as it wor.” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. II. This is one of the many master and man jokes, of which some examples are given in The Folktales of England.

THE PURSE AND THE PENNY SILLER Three young Highlanders, some years ago, set out from their native hills, to seek a livelihood amongst their countrymen in the Lowlands. They had hardly learned any English. One of them could say, “We three Highlandmen”; the second, “For the purse and penny siller”: and they had properly learned, “And our just right too;” intending thus

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to explain the motives o’ their journey. They trudged along, when, in a lonely glen, they saw the body of a man who had been recently murdered. The Highlanders stopped to deplore the fate of the unhappy mortal, when a gentleman with his servant came up to the spot. “Who murdered this poor man?” said the gentleman. “We three Highlandmen,” answered the eldest of the brothers (thinking the gentleman inquired who they were). “What could induce you to commit so horrid a crime?” continued the gentleman. “The purse and the penny siller,” replied the second of the travellers. “You shall be hanged, you miscreants!” “And our just right, too,” returned the third. The poor men were thus brought to the gallows on their own evidence, and presumption of guilt. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 214. TYPE 1697. MOTIF: C.2.2 [“We Three”, “For Gold”, “That is right”]. There are 86 Irish versions of this tale, which is widespread, including Grimm, no. 120, and examples ranging from Finland to the West Indies. A typical example of “sick humour”. See also “The Three Foreigners”, “The Three Hielandmen”, “We Killed Him”.

THE PUZZLED CARTER The account is related here of the carter returning with a team of six horses, and one of the heavy road waggons used to convey goods and produce before the advent of the railway. Passing through the village, away back on the road, he went into the inn and partook of an extra deep draught of the nut-brown liquor, and went on his way again. Byand-by he fell asleep on the waggon, and the horses, no longer urged with the long whip and shout, came to a standstill, and he fell off his seat onto the grass. About two hours afterwards, the old fellow awoke, while the sun was setting over the valley beneath. Starting up with surprise and stupefaction, and rubbing his eyes with his rough, horny fist, he cried out: “Lord a massy! Is it I, or byent it I? If’tis I, then I be lost; an’ if chent I, then I ’er found a waggin an’ six ’osses.” Norton Collection, V, p. 9. From Williams, White Horse, pp. 67–8. Wiltshire. TYPE 1382. MOTIF: J.2012 [Person does not know himself]. See Megas, I, p. 214, for a modern Greek variant.

THE PYNOTS IN THE CRABTREE A number of pynots* fought in a crabtree so fiercely that their beaks struck fire and set the tree ablaze. Then roasted crabs fell to the ground, which children picked up and ate. * magpies


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S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 23. TYPE 1889. MOTIF: X.1250 [Lies about birds]. See “Sir Gammer Vans”.

THE QUICKEST ROAD A visitor to the village asked a local lad the best way to a certain farm. The lad’s reply was: “Rooad is t’nearest, but field is t’quickest.” “How do you make that out?” asked the visitor. “Owd Joe’s bull is in that field, an’ I reckon tha’ll goa quick wi’ that behind thee.” Tales from “The Dalesman”, p. 5.

RABBITS BASTE THEMSELVES [summary] Fat rabbits baste themselves in baking; bottle made from skin of greyhound leaps from man’s girdle, catching hare. Hazlitt, Shakespeare Jest-Book. TYPE 1930. MOTIF: X.1215 [Lies about dogs]. See “Appy Boswell”.

THE RATE FOR THE JOB One day he [a rich farmer] was arranging with Moses, the day man, about the hoeing of a patch of beans. “Now, Mose! What ca’st do this for?” “Aw, I don’ know, maester. What can you gie?” “I’ll gie tha ’aaf a crown [an acre].” “Aw! Aaf a crown. Well, I’ll show ’e ’ow I can do’t for ’aaf a crown. Like this, look!” Here he put the handle of the hoe between his knees and dragged it behind him up the drills. “Baah! That wunt do. I’ll gie tha sixpence more,” said the farmer. “Must still trot with the ’ow, maester,” Mose replied. “I’ll make it another shillin’.” “I’d gie one blow yer an’ another ther’,” Mose answered, indicating his meaning with the hoe. “S’pose I must gie tha five shillings,” said the farmer. “Tha’s more like business, maester. Now I can do’t, an do’t well,” Mose replied.

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Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 13, p. 23. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, p. 76. Coleshill, Berks. TYPE 1567G (variant). See “The Hungry Mowers”. This is a duller version, without the song.

RATHMELL IN ENGLAND Once upon a time, haymaking was going on merrily in “Ramell” ings,* and one man of the village, there employed, had partaken somewhat too freely of the good things provided. Toward evening he fell asleep upon one of the haycocks, and was there left by his companions when they returned home for the night. Heavy rain came on: the river suddenly overflowed its banks, and the haycock, with its sleeping burden, floated some miles down the valley with the flood. A neighbouring farmer found it, on the following morning, stranded in shallow water, with the labourer still asleep. Seeing the man’s unusual, and somewhat perilous, position, he awoke him, and asked his name. “Tommy Johnson,” was the reply. “What,” said the farmer, “Tommy Johnson of Rammell?” “Ay,” rousing himself still further, rubbing his eyes, and looking around him. “Ay, Tommy Johnson, of Rammell, in England.” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 56, p. 68. Parkinson, Yorkshire Legends, 2nd series, pp. 197–8. Rathmell, on the Ribble, near Settle. This story is also told of Wansford, Northants. See Sternberg, Dialect and FolkLore of Northants, pp. 190–1, quoting Martin’s Natural History of Northants, 1712. The anecdote occurs in “The Ballad of Drunken Barnaby”.

RATS I reckon that my job must be the oldest one in the world—even old Noah had trouble with rats. You see, he took a pair of them into the Ark, a male and a female, and you know what two rats can do when they’re together, even for a short time. So, as it rained day and night for nearly a year, it wasn’t long before swarms of rats were worrying Noah quite a bit. One day he went to Shem and said: “You’d better start getting rid of these little beasts if you don’t want our boat to founder.” Shem went to Ham, who was in charge of the animals, and said to him: “The old man’s complaining about the boat being overrun with rats. He’s told me to take on the job of ship’s rat-catcher, as if I hadn’t enough to do already.” * Water meadows.


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“Don’t fret about that,” said Ham. “I know how to catch rats because I learned how to a few weeks after we’d been afloat. You see, when the old man was loading up, he’d only let two of each kind of animal come aboard, and one had to be male and the other female. But when the two stoats came along the gangway, he didn’t notice that they were both males. He didn’t see, either, that the two polecats we took on were both females. But I noticed that, just before we left dock, those two pairs were already making up to each other, so now I’ve got two litters of the craftiest-looking animals you’ve ever seen. They’re full grown now, and there’s another in the nest; so just you come along and see the very first lot of ferrets ever born get those rats out of their holes.” In a few days’ time, then, Shem was able to tell Noah that there wasn’t a rat left aboard because Ham had been able to get rid of them; and if this doesn’t show that ratcatchers go a long way back, then I’d like to know what does. We’re thought a lot of, too; you all know that I’ve caught rats for the Queen herself when her house was overrun with them. W.H.Barrett, More Tales from the Fens, p. 16. Told by Ratty Porter, the vermin catcher of Brandon Creek and district in Mr. Barrett’s youth. MOTIF: A.2291 [Animal characteristics obtained during Deluge]. This lively tale is illogical. It accounts for the creation of ferrets, but not for the survival of rats.

THE REAL PROBLEM An old mate of mine—Dai Mardy they called him—was driving a big horse in a low seam, in a low level, so then the Fireman came around—the top was very hard—and the Fireman said, “Well, what you want to do is to cut a bit under his feet”…so that the horse would go lower… So Dai looked at him and muttered something under his breath and the Fireman went on his way. Came past that way about an hour later, and he saw Dai banging like blazes at the top! He said, “What on earth are you doing there, Dai? I told you to cut a bit under his feet!” he said. “Look Mate—you can’t kid me,” he said, “it’s his ears are catching, not his feet!” Roy Palmer, from Ewan MacColl and Charles Parker. TYPE 1295B* (variant). The motif nearest to this is J.2171.6 [Man on camel has door broken dawn so that he can enter: does not think of dismounting].

THE RECUMBENT POSITION A District Visitor’s Tale “Yes, Miss, my pore owd dare is gone, he dint last long after you were here, and y’know when he laid so bad doctor he sent him a bottle o’ physic, and that was marked to be took in a recumbent position.

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“And, y’know, Miss, I hain’t got one, so I goes in to my neighbour and I says, ‘Mrs Jones maam,’ I says, ‘my owd man is mortal bad, and doctor he ha’ sent him some physic, and thass to be took in a recumbent position, and y’know I hain’t got one. Ha’ you got one?’ And she says, ‘No,’ she says, ‘I hain’t got one, but I know hew hev, leastways she had if she hain’t made orf with it, and thass Mrs Brown down at the White Hoss.’ “So down I goes to the White Hoss, and I says, ‘Mrs Brown maam,’ I says, ‘my pore husband is a layin’ bad, and doctor he ha’ give him a bottle o’ physic to be took in a recumbent position, and you know I hain’t got one, and my naybour, Mrs Jones, she hain’t got one, but she believe you ha’ one. Is that right?’ And Mrs Brown she say, ‘Yes,’ she say, ‘I ha’ got one, but I ha’ lent it out, and thass over to Wrentam,’ she say, ‘but there niver you mind if I be alive and well, I send my little boy for it in the morning.’ “And d’you, Miss, when that boy went the next d’mornin’, that woman had lorst it, and so I niver could give the pore owd dare that physic, and I ha’ got the bottle now if you’d like to see it.” Ernest Cooper, Mardles from Suffolk, pp. 118–20. MOTIF: X.111.7 [Misunderstood words lead to comic results].

THE RESTLESS HAGGIS Daft Will Callander lived with his sister Babie, in Port-Glasgow. Babie kept a lodginghouse for sailors. One Saturday night Babie was making a haggis for Sunday’s dinner, when one of her lodgers put four ounces of quicksilver into the haggis, unknown to Babie. On Sunday Will was left at home to cook the dinner; but when the pot began to boil, the haggis would be out of the pot. Will, faithful to his charge, held the lid on the pot until his patience was exhausted; at last Will ran off to the church for Babie. She sat in one of the back pews. Will beckoned to her two or three times; Babie as often nodded and winked to Will to be quiet. At last he bawled out, “Babie, come hame, for I believe the de’il’s got into the haggis, it’ll no bide in the pat; it’s out dancing on the floor, and if I had not locked the door, I think it would have been at the kirk as soon’s mysel.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 205. MOTIF: J.1813.8 [Sheep’s head has eaten the dumplings]. See “The Sheep’s Head and the Dumplings”.

RESURRECTION MEN Some years ago, a poor boy, whose mother was buried in the churchyard of Falkirk, used frequently to sit on her grave, and when destitute of other accommodation, would crawl in below one of the gravestones, and slept there for the night. On one of these occasions, the boy was roused from sleep by the noise of some voices in the churchyard. This was nothing more than a couple of resurrection men who had come on purpose to begin that


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great work rather prematurely; and as those who are raised before their due time cannot be supposed capable of standing on their legs, they had provided themselves with a horse, to gi’e them a lift. They were then disputing about how they could secure the beast, while they were raising the corpse. The lad, hearing this, and creeping out of his hole, cries, “I’ll haud him,” expecting some remuneration, no doubt. The fellows, seeing a resurrection commencing from under a stone, and hearing the offer of holding the horse, scampered off, and left the animal with a couple of sacks; and although the horse and sacks were advertised, they were never claimed, but sold for the benefit of the boy, which procured him better lodging than beneath a gravestone. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 218. TYPE 326B* (variant). MOTIF: K.335.1.2.2 [Robbers frightened from goods by sham dead man]. In this tale the lad unintentionally frightens the resurrection men. See “The Brave Boy” and the Burker stories (B, VIII).

“RESURREXI” A certain priest there was that dwelled in the country, which was not very learned. Therefore, on Easter even he sent his boy to the priest of the next town that was two miles from thence, to know what mass he should sing on the morrow. This boy came to the said priest and did his master’s errand to him. Then quod the priest: “Tell thy master that he must sing tomorrow of the Resurrection.” And furthermore quod he: “If thou hap to forget it, tell thy master that it beginneth with a great ‘R’—” and showed him the mass book where it was written Resurrexi, etc. This boy then went home again and all the way as he went he clattered still: “Resurrexi, Resurrexi.” But at the last he happened to forget it clean and when he came home, his master asked him what mass he should sing on the morrow. ‘By my troth, master,” quod the boy, “I have forgotten it—but he bad me tell you it began with a great ‘R’.” “By God,” quod the priest, “I trow thou sayest truth, for now I remember well it must be ‘requiem eternam’, for God almighty died as on yesterday, and now we must say mass for his soul.” By this ye may see that when one fool sendeth another fool on his errand, oftentimes the business is foolishly sped. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 135. This is one of many anecdotes about the ignorance of priests and parsons.

THE RETURNING HUSBAND A fellow with one eye, being abroad about his business, his wife in his absence entertained her lover. But it so happened that her husband came home, and entered the

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room before the loving couple expected him. At whose presence the woman, greatly alarmed, rose up and, running to her husband, clapped her hand on the eye he could see with, saying, “Husband, I dreamt just now that you could see as well with the other eye as with this; pray tell me.” Meanwhile, her friend slipped out of doors. Norton Collection, V, p. 47. From Clouston, I, p. 53. TYPE 1419C. MOTIF: K.1516 [The husband’s good eye covered]. There are many tales of duped husbands. A lively version is contained in the Scottish song, “Hame cam’ oor Gudeman at Night”. See “The Wife’s Song” and “An Exorcism”.

THE RICH MAN’S BEQUESTS There was a rich man which lay sore sick in his bed like to die, wherefore his eldest son came to him, and beseeched him to give him his blessing. To whom the father said: “Son, thou shalt have God’s blessing and mine. And for that, that thou hast been ever good of conditions, I give and bequeath thee all my land.” To whom he answered and said: “Nay, father, I trust you shall live and occupy them yourself full well by God’s grace.” Soon after, came his second son to him likewise, and desired his blessing. To whom the father said: “Because thou hast been ever kind and gentle, I give thee God’s blessing and mine and also I bequeath thee all my movable goods.” To whom he answered and said: “Nay, father, I trust ye shall live and do well and spend and use your goods yourself by God’s grace.” Anon after, the third son came to him and desired his blessing. To whom the father answered and said: “Because thou hast been evil and stubborn of conditions and would never be ruled after my counsel, I have neither lands nor goods unbequeathed, but only a little vacant ground where a gallows standeth, which now I give and bequeath to thee— and God’s curse withal.” To whom the son answered as his brethern did and said: “Nay, father, I trust ye shall live and be in good health, and have it and occupy it yourself, by God’s grace.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 69. This jocular tale reverses the ordinary fairy-tale pattern by making the third son the unsatisfactory one.

THE RICH MAN’S TWO SONS There was a very rich man who had two sons. He’d had them schooled very well and they were clever boys. He wanted them to go to India to learn foreign languages. He gave them plenty of money to go with and hoped they would progress. So they sailed on the boat and got to India, and when they got there one said: “Let’s not bother about learning any foreign language. Let’s have a right good time and see a bit of the country.” So they had parties and went about till a letter came one day saying that they


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had to come back again. So when they were coming on the boat they were afraid what their father would say with not learning any language. So one said to the other: “Don’t worry, we’ll get out of it all right.” When they got to England they hadn’t very far to go home. They had two fields to cross and one wall had some barbed wire across. So as they were thinking what to say one of them spied a hen with all its feathers off its back. So he said: “I’ve got a fine word.” And the other said: “What is it?” So he said: “Hen-scot-aback-bo.” And his brother was quite delighted. So hurrying to get home to tell their father the word, the other boy tore his trousers with getting over the barbed wire. So he said: “Ee! I’ve got a grand word!” And his brother said: “What is it?” So he said: “I-tory-en-to.” So when they got in their father and mother gave them a hearty greeting and told them they were going to have a party, and the boys had to give a demonstration of what they’d been learning. So when they got into the room they had supper first and then their father told the guests what his boys were going to do. So one got up and said: “Hen-scot-aback-bo.” And the other stood up and said: “I-tory-en-to.” And their father said: “Well, I’ll go to India an-shut-em-all.” E.M.Wilson, from Richard Harrison, March 1936. Westmorland. He heard it from a farmer on Walney Island. Folk-Lore, XLIX, September 1938, pp. 284–5. TYPE 1628*. Published also in The Folk-Tales of England. Reported only in Sweden.

“RIGHT NOUGHT” A certain fellow there was which proffered a dagger to sell to a fellow of his which answered him and said that he had right nought to give him therefore. Wherefore the other said that he should have his dagger upon condition that he should give and deliver unto him therefore within six days after, right nought or else 40 shillings in money. Whereto this other was content. This bargain thus agreed, he that should deliver this “right nought” took no thought until such time that the day appointed drew nigh. At the which time he began to imagine how he might give him right nought. And first of all, he thought on a feather, a straw, a pin’s point, and such other. But nothing could he devise but that it was somewhat. Wherefore he came home all sad and pensive for sorrow of losing his 40 shillings, and could neither sleep nor take rest. Whereof his wife, being aggrieved, demanded the cause of his heaviness—which at the last after many denies told her all. “Well, sire,” quod she, “let me herewith alone and get ye forth a-town, and I shall handle this well enough.” This man following his wife’s counsel went forth of the town and let his wife shift.

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This woman then hung up an earthen pot, whereof the bottom was out, upon the wall by a cord. And when this other man came and asked for the good man, she said that he was not within: “But, sir (quod she), I know your errand well enough, for I wote well ye would have of mine husband 40 shillings because he can not deliver to you this day right nought. Therefore, sir (quod she), put your hand into yonder pot and take your money.” This man, being glad, thrust his hand in, supposing to have taken 40 shillings of money and thrust his hand up through up to the elbow. Quod the wife then: “Sir, what have ye there?” “Marry,” quod he, “right nought.” “Sir,” quod she, “then have ye your bargain, and then my husband hath contented you for his dagger according to his promise.” By this, ye may see that oftentimes a woman’s wit at an extremity is much better than a man’s. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 109. TYPE 888A (distant variant). MOTIFS: J.1112 [Clever wife]; J.155.4 [Wife as adviser]. Among the many tales in which wives are false or foolish, there are a few in which they are wise and faithful. See “The Gobborn Seer” and “A Pottle of Brains”. Also “The Man who Wouldn’t Go Out at Night” (A, II).

ROB HALL AND THE GENTLEMAN [summary] Once Rob had a bet against a gentleman as to which could eat the most disgusting meat. The gentleman got all kinds of queer foods, but Rob Hall got some gingerbread and a bottle of beer, and went to a shop and bought a new chamber pot. He mixed the beer and the gingerbread together, and went along to where the gentleman was, and began to sup it. The gentleman was scunnered at the sight. “It’s not so bad,” said Rob Hall, and offered to let the gentleman taste it, but he started back. “No, no, Rob Hall,” he said. “You have me beat. You’ve won.” So Rob Hall finished his beer and gingerbread, and took his money. But the gentleman thought it was something different. School of Scottish Studies. Maurice Fleming, from Mrs Reid. TYPE 1529A* (distant variant). MOTIF: K.50 [Endurance contest won by deception].

A ROBBER’S CUNNING AGAINST ANOTHER ROBBER A gentleman who was a big landowner in a foreign country let his farms out to farmers who stocked them with sheep, and he had an agent who went round all the farms every six months, collecting the rents. This went on for some time, but one afternoon, when he was coming along a road with dense dark woods on either side, he had all the rent moneys with him. He was surprised when a robber came out of the woods, and demanded


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his money or his life. He begged the robber to spare his life, and he gave him all the rent money. The next time the agent went his rounds collecting the rents, the robber was there again, and he had to go home again without the rents. The gentleman was in a terrible rage about losing his rents, and his agent said it was no use him going, as he would just get them taken off him again, so they had to leave off collecting for a while, to see what could be done, when one afternoon a big burly man knocked at the gentleman’s door, and asked to see the gentleman. He was shown in, and was asked what he wanted. “Well, sir, I have just heard that your agent has been robbed of your rents two or three times.” “That is perfectly right,” said the gentleman, “but the robber is bad to catch, and what can be done?” “Well, sir, I am a robber, and I think as clever a robber as is in that line of business, and what I have come to you for is to let me collect your rents for you, and I promise to bring your rents safe back to you, or lose my life. I only want to meet the robber that can beat me at the game.” The gentleman laughed, and said he could not expect to get his rents back if he sent a robber to collect them. The robber said it was not the rents he wanted, but just to see if he could get the better of this other robber, and again he promised to bring the rents quite safe, if he would just let him have a try. Well, the gentleman thought if he sent his agent again it would just be the same thing. He was sure to lose them again. So he made up his mind to give this robber a try, so the robber asked if he could get the agent’s clothes. And he wanted to be as like the agent as possible, so they fitted him up as like the agent as they could; so he set out after he had got all the details of his journey. (So) he went on, and collected all the rents, then he proceeded on his way homeward. When he got to the dense woods, out came the robber, and demanded his money. So he handed over the money, and pretended to be awful afraid, and told the robber he was very much afraid to go home to his master, as he had lost the rents that often, and asked him to put two or three shots through his bonnet, just to let the master see what a narrow escape he had of his life. After putting some shots through his bonnet, he pled for the robber to put two shots through the flap of his coat, so again the robber obliged him; then again he wanted another shot through another part of his dress, but the robber said (his) revolver was empty. “Then, if yours is empty, mine is full,” and he had him covered, and took him prisoner to the gentleman’s house, where they locked him up, and went back to the woods, and found the robber’s lair. They got a big haul of money and jewellery. The robber gave the gentleman all his rents he had lost. The gentleman was so pleased, he asked the robber to accept of a sum of money for what he had done. “No,” said the robber, “I did not do this for any reward from you. What I wanted to find out (was) if I could outwit this robber, and I did, and now the rest of the spoil is mine, so I bid you good-bye.” School of Scottish Studies. John Elliot Notebooks. (Set a Thief to catch a Thief.) TYPE 1525H. MOTIFS: K.306 [Thieves steal from each other]; K.306.2 [Highjacking: thief robbed of his booty].

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THE SACK OF LIME A long time ago, I cannot tell how long, an old man had been beyond Keswick to fetch a load of lime—in these days they carried all their lime in sacks, upon horses; for carts were not then invented. Indeed they had not a road which a cart could have travelled on. When he came at that bridge which we have just passed, there came a shower of rain— the lime began to smoke—and the old farmer began to fear his horse and sack would take fire. In order to prevent these dreadful accidents, he procured a hatful of water from the river, to quench the lime. This, instead of curing, increased the smoke; and the old man emptied the lime into the river, very wisely declaring, “that the Dule was i’t’ seck, for water wodn’t slocken it!” Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 42, p. 53. The Remains of John Briggs (Kirby Lonsdale, 1825), p. II. Told of Crosthwaite, Cumberland. TYPE 1200. MOTIF: J.1810 [Physical phenomena misunderstood].

ST ANTHONY’S Scene: St Anthony’s Railway Station, near Newcastle. Dick and his mate Andrew, waiting for a train, fell into conversation. “Man, Andrew, aa had a funny dream last neet.” “Whaat was’t, Dick?” “Wey, man, aa dreamt that aa had deed, and that aa wes at the gates o’ heaven. Aa knocked at the door, and a porter chep shoots, ‘Who’s there?’ ‘Me,’ aa says. ‘Whaat’s yor nyem?’ he shouts agyen, ‘an’ whor de ye belang to?’ ‘Ma nyem’s Dick Smith,’ aa says, ‘an’ aa cum fra St Anthony’s!’ ‘St Anthony’s!’ he says. ‘Whor’s that?’ ‘Doon the Tyne,’ aa answers. ‘We knaa Tyneside varry weel,’ he says, ‘but aa nivver hard o’ St Anthony’s afore. But hould on,’ he says, ‘an’ aa’ll leuk in the buik.’ “He leuks in the buik, and aa expect he fund the nyem, becaas he comes agyen, and opens the door, leuks us aall ower from head to foot, an’ says wiv a bit laugh, ‘It’s aall reet, come in. Aa thowt ye wur trying a dodge on, for ye’re the forst yen that’s ivver come here from St. Anthony’s!’” Norton Collection, II, p. 236. Monthly Chronicle, I, p. 428. TYPE 802 (variant). MOTIF: E.758 [Rejoicing at arrival of rich man in Heaven: event so rare]. See “Two Chaps Who Went to Heaven”.

ST IVES, CORNWALL The people of St Ives, Cornwall, whipped a hake through the town to deter its voracious brethren from playing havoc with the pilchard shoals; sent out a boat to pick up floating millstones; and shot their nets to haul in a flock of sheep, which a storm had blown into the sea from the opposite shore of the bay.


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Norton Collection, IV, p. 38. J.H.Matthews, Notes and Queries, 8, x, p. 323; cf. Hunt, pp. 426–7. The mutton feast, the floating grindstone. The Mutton Feast An old tradition…says that a flock of sheep were blown from the Gwithian Sands over into St Ives bay, and that the St Ives fishermen caught them—believing them to be a new variety of fish—either in their nets, or with hook and line, and brought them ashore as their night’s catch. Hunt, p. 426. Hunt adds that “Mr. Fortescue Hitchins, some fifty or sixty years since, wrote a ‘copy of verses’ on this tradition”. The Floating Grindstone A party was got together on a promontory at the extremity of the bay which enclosed a fishing town. They were gathered to see a wonder, a floating grindstone. Seeing that grindstones were grindstones in those days, and worth many pounds sterling, a boat was manned, and away they went, the mover of the expedition being in the bow of the boat. As they approached the grindstone, this man planted his foot on the gunwale, ready for a spring. They were close aboard the circular mass,—“All my own, and none for nobody”, he cries, and sprang off, as he fancied, on to the grindstone. Lo! to his great surprise, he sank under water, presently popping up again, within his charmed circle, to be greeted with roars of laughter. He had leaped into a sheet of “salt sea foam”, which had gathered, and was confined within a large hoop. Hunt, pp. 426–7. TYPE 1200 (variant). MOTIFS: J.1860 [Animal or object absurdly punished]; J.1750 [One animal mistaken for another]; J.1770 [Objects with mistaken identity]. See “The Wise Men of Gotham”.

SCOTTISH PRUDENCE A parish clerk in the north of England, not long ago, hired a Scotchman for his servant, who was to go to the cart and plough, and do other occasional jobs when wanted. In the course of conversation at hiring, the clerk asked him, if he could submit to the unpleasant business of digging graves; to which he exclaimed, “I’ll warrant ye, maister, I could dig doon the kirk for that matter; but let me see, I hasn’t been put to that wark yet; aye, our auld bellman at Jedburgh used to say, he never had better pay nor better jobs than howking holes for fowk—faith, he was aye merry when fowk dee’d.” It happened soon after entering his service, that there was a severe storm of snow, which impeded all outdoor work. One morning he came to his master, and asked him what employment he was to go to that day. The employer hesitated for some moments, and at last told him, he could find nothing for him to do. Sawney, with great gravity, replied, “I think, maister,

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I’ll awa up to the kirkyard, an’ howk some graves; we may as weel hae a wheen ready, for they may come faster in when they ken we are prepared for them.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 200. This Scotsman evidently knew nothing of the belief recorded in the Somerset tale “The Open Grave” (B, XII) with its accompanying rhyme: “Gold and silver and all the world’s wealth, If you leave a grave open you’ll fill it yourself.”

SCROGGINS AND THE CALVES A townsman of Darleston was sauntering along a meadow in which some calves were grazing, when, as often is the case, they made after him, and began to play, gently butting towards him. Thinking they meant fight, he took off his coat and began to hit out right and left, till at last the poor calves, not relishing the treatment, ran away bellowing with all their might. A bull was in an adjoining field, which Scroggins observing, he exclaimed loudly to the retreating animals: “Yah gorne tell yar ole feyther um’ll sarve un the saäme!” Norton Collection, VI, p. III. Darleston. NSA, IV (1871), p. 182. “Well known among the trade classes in and about Darleston, Staffordshire”, D.Perry. A variant of MOTIF J.1863.1 [Man beats calves because the bull has butted him over the fence]. See “The Irishman and the Bull”.

THE SECRET AGENT An agent of a foreign power was sent to a village in mid-Wales, to make contact with another agent, who lived there. The houses had no names nor numbers; so, being at a loss, he knocked at a door at random. A woman put her head out of an upper window, and called down: “What do you want?” “Does Mr Jones live here?” he asked. “Yes, he does. What do you want with him?” Looking uneasily about him, the man, as softly as possible, gave a secret code word. “Oh, no, man!” in a loud clear voice. “Jones the Spy lives two doors further down.” Told to Margaret Nash-Williams at Oxford, about 1965. There are various stories told about localities where everyone has the same name; as that about one of the Highland regiments where a stranger came enquiring for Ian MacGregor. “Which Ian MacGregor will you be meaning? There are twenty-five Ian MacGregors here.” “It’s Red Ian MacGregor I want.” “Twenty of them are red.’ “Well,


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the red Ian MacGregor I’m wanting has the itch.” “Ach, man, twenty-four of them have the itch!”

THE SERJEANT TURNED FRIAR The adventure which you are now about to hear shews very clearly how wise those are who attend to their own affairs, and who do not flatter themselves that they can play some part which is strange and new to them without running a great risk of misfortune. What can a hosier know of the shoemaker’s craft, a smith of painting, or a draper of ways of teaching boys their lessons? Is it likely that a manservant who has done nothing but wait at table and attend to the winecellar will succeed as a cutler, or that one who has been brought up to the law will make money by turning merchant, or that a merchant will speed well if he becomes his own lawyer? A hatter might as soon turn philosopher, or a pedlar theologian. Now, listen to a case where this very sort of thing happened. A man, who all his life had tried to save up money, died, and left his property to a son, who was so unlike his father, that if he had had three hundred pounds bequeathed to him, instead of one hundred, it would not have sufficed to meet his extravagant tastes. One hundred good pounds in gold nobles had this youth; and so afeard was he lest, if he invested it in merchandise, some rogue should beguile him of it, that he kept it himself. First of all, he laid it in a crock, where no man might espy it; but the crock soon appeared to him to be too large and he laid it up in a cup. The cup pleased him for a time only, and then the safest place of all struck him to be, to lodge what remained inside his person. In short, he gradually squandered every shilling of his inheritance; and when he had no more of his own, he began to borrow money and goods of others without repaying anyone, since all went in luxury and riot. He lived merrily, kept agreeable company, and made people say that some were born under lucky stars. By little and little his purse grew thin, and his credit failed; and a friend, who pitied him, took him into his house, when he had pawned his coat for bread, and lay under a hedge for shelter. Under the roof of this kind protector our prodigal lay for some time so sick in body, as it was reported, that by no means might he stir abroad; and a certain merchant, to whom he was a debtor, went to a serjeant to ask him in what manner he should proceed, in order to secure this man, and gain his money. The serjeant said: “Do not disquiet yourself; leave it to me.” “Ah!” answered the merchant. “But he lies close; he will not come out.” “I have had great experience in these affairs; I will arrest him, and then you need not care. Let me be baked if I fail!” So the two parted; and the serjeant bethought him how he should compass the matter. “He is sick,” said he to himself; “he lacks spiritual counsel. It is well remembered! I will change raiment with a holy friar of my acquaintance, and I will seek speech of him under that colour.” He lost no time in seeking his friend, who lent him his attire; and as he paraded before the mirror, and rehearsed the part which he was going to play, he flattered himself that he

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was clean perfect. Off then started he to execute his mission in God’s name, and when he came to the house he knocked softly at the door. A damsel presently opened it, to whom said the pretended friar: “God speed, fair maid! Such a man (naming him) lodgeth here, doth he not?” “And what if he doth?” retorted she. “O, no harm, my good damsel. It does not pertain to my order to hurt any; but with him fain would I speak.” “By my faith, sir,” quoth she, “he aileth so ye are not like to have sight of him to-day.” Quoth he, “Fair maid, yet this much I pray you would do. Go to him, and say that an Austin friar would confer with him for his soul’s sake.” “That will I,” she replied. “Wait you here, father, till I come down again.” The maiden went up, and broke to the man the news, as she had been told; and he nothing mistrusting, desired her to return, and conduct the friar to his room, where they might converse together. The friar ascended to the chamber where the sick man lay, and when he saw him he greeted him with all becoming gestures and expressions. The sick man offered him his hand, and he grasped it with all religious fervour. Said he: “You are in trouble, sir, I understand.” “Yes; matters have gone better with me than they do just now,” he answered. “Be of good cheer, sir,” said the friar; “all shall be well with you anon. God will direct everything for the best; and so dismiss all sad thoughts, and take counsel with me. But while we converse, let this maiden leave us.” The girl descended again, and the sick man observed: “Now, holy father, let me hear straightway what happy tidings you have for me.” But the friar, as soon as they were left alone, whipped out his mace, and said: “I arrest thee; you are in my power, and shall not escape for all the money the mayor has in his purse. Get up, and come along.” The sick man, astounded and furious, raised himself in bed, and dealt the false friar a blow which felled him to the ground. He was afraid that he had slain the man and out of bed he jumped, and raised him on his feet, and rubbed him till he shewed signs of animation. Then presently he recovered himself, and grappled with his prisoner; and they tugged and lugged at each other, and tare each other’s hair, and at last both sprawled together on the floor, and rolled over and over, kicking and tumbling like pigs in a poke. Hearing the noise, the maid and her mother rushed upstairs; and when they espied the two fellows struggling and bleeding on the ground, they came to the succour of their lodger. The girl pulled the friar’s hood over his face, and belaboured him soundly, as he lay prostrate, with a battledore; while the wife basted him with her distaff till he was distracted with pain. Then they dragged him along the landing, and threw him between them down the staircase, saying: “Adieu, good sir, adieu! Pray commend us to the mayor.” The serjeant crawled away as best he could, and went home to have his sores dressed. “Ill luck betide him,” he muttered as he went, “who occasioned me to play the friar!” W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 475. From Sir Thomas More’s collected works, 1557. MOTIF: K.1826.1 [Disguise as a monk].


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THE SEVENFOLD LIAR [summary] One day as I was going along a road where I had never been before, I met a deaf and dumb man. I asked him how far it was to the next village. “A tidy step, mister,” he said, “maybe three or four miles.” Next I met a blind man, and asked him the time. He looked at his watch and said, “I make it twenty minutes to three.” After a little, I met a naked man, and wanting a smoke, I asked him to spare me a pipe of tobacco. And he took out his pouch from his pocket, and handed it to me to help myself. I reached the village, and the first thing I saw was a man with no arms wheeling a sack of potatoes in a wheelbarrow. A man with no legs was running after him, calling “Stop thief! Them’s my taters you’m taking.” When that to-do was over, I came upon an old man, a hundred years old, in tears. I asked his trouble, and he said that his grandfather, with whom he had been living for some years, had just got married again, and kicked him out of the house. Last of all I met a dead man being carried to his burial. He recognised me, although I had never been there before, and said, “Here’s a man that could do with a pint of beer.” And that was quite true. Dora E.Yates, Gypsy Folk Tales, no. 33, p. 151. TYPE 1965. MOTIF: X.1791 [Lie: deaf, dumb, blind and lame men catch hare]; F.571.2 [Sending to the older]. See “A Lying Tale”, A, IV. See also “The Painswick Ancients”.

THE SEXTON OF MOLLAND At Molland…there was a sexton called Tom Snow who, like many others, took too much ale or cider upon occasions. He proceeded one evening to the church in a semi-inebriated condition, not realising it was so dark, and in the building he was met by the nailed wings and forked tail of his satanic majesty threatening his movements in every direction. At last, after dodging about for some time, the clerk thus addressed the arch-enemy. “’Vaunt, Satan! ’Vaunt,” he repeated; “I’ve bin a bell-ringer and psalm-singer in this yer church vor vorty year come nex’ Revel twel’ month. ’Vaunt, Satan, ’vaunt, I tell ’e!” And with this imprecation, he sidled out of the church and got to his home. Norton, Supplementary Collection, p. 19. North Devon. Moorside Tales and Talk, edited by Walter W.Joyce (1935), p. 75. MOTIF: J.1785.4 (variant). [Man sees Hereford cow at night, thinks it is devil, etc.]. In this version, it appears to be the devil himself, not a substitute, that the sexton met See “The Chorister’s Mistake”.

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THE SHAPWICK MONSTER An unlucky crab had fallen out of a fisherman’s basket on his way over a lone common. A labourer, returning from his work, chanced to see the strange creature, and frightened at the sight, rushed off as fast as his legs would carry him, to “Shapwick Town”, and told all his neighbours of the “horrid zite as he’d a-zeen”. They, armed with sticks and stones and various implements of rural and domestic use, quickly went forth to behold the wonderful phenomenon. But none of them had ever “zeen the like afore”; so, to resolve their doubts, they with one consent, decided on calling in the old shepherd, the cutest man in the parish. But he, poor man, had been bedridden six years, therefore the difficulty arose as to how they could get him to the spot. At length it was suggested that he should be brought in a wheelbarrow. He consented, and now they all courageously approached the object of their curiosity. But the animal attempting to crawl away, inspired them with increasing terror, and the worthy shepherd himself exclaimed—“’Tis a land-monster! Wheel me off! Wheel me off! or we’re all dead men!” At this juncture the poor fisherman came upon the scene in search of his lost crab, which, to their horror and amazement, he quickly picked up, and restored to his basket, chaffing the good people of Shapwick not a little on their ignorant fears, whilst they, not a little ashamed, were glad enough to escape his raillery as soon as they could, but the joke has clung to them and their posterity ever since. Norton Collection, IV, p. 119. Dorset. From W.S., Notes and Queries, 4, VIII, p. 334. TYPE 1310*. MOTIF: J.1785.2 [Crab thought to be the devil]. See “The Folkestone Fiery Serpent”, “The Wise Men of Gotham”, “The Dabchick”, etc.

SHEEP FOR THE ASKING [summary] There was a young man, Jack, whose two elder brothers wanted to get rid of him as he was supposed to be a simpleton. They decided to tell him that they were going to Heaven in a sack, so that he should want to follow them. They tied him up, and set off towards the river, to throw him in, telling him that they would come on afterwards. On the way they stopped at a public-house, and left Jack outside in his sack. A man passing, asked him what he was doing in a sack and hearing that he was going to Heaven was envious; so Jack changed places with him, and went back home with the sheep the man had been driving. His brothers also returned home, after throwing the sack into the river, and were astounded to find Jack and the strange sheep at the house. He told them that he got the sheep by asking for them, and that he had not even got wet at the bottom of the river. The two brothers thought they would try the same thing, so the oldest was thrown in first. He splashed and struggled, and Jack told the other brother that he was picking out all the best sheep. So the second brother jumped in to get his share, and both were drowned. And Jack inherited the farm.


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Thompson Notebooks, c. Told by Durham Lees at Oxenholme, near Kendal, 7 September 1914. TYPE 1535, part V, or 1737. MOTIFS: K.842 [Dupe persuaded to take prisoner’s place in sack: killed]; K.1051 [Diving for sheep]. The full form of this tale is Grimm’s “Big Claus and Little Claus”, Type 1737. “The Master Thief” uses this theme, but often without a fatal conclusion.

“THE SHEEP OF GOD” A certain confessor in the holy time of Lent enjoined his penitent to say daily for his penance this prayer: “Agnus dei miserere mei,” Which was as much to say in English as “The Lamb of God have mercy upon me.” This penitent, accepting his penance, departed and that time twelve-month after, came again to be confessed of the same confessor, which demanded of him whether he had fulfilled his penance that he him enjoined the last year. And he said thus: “Ye, sir, I thank God, I have fulfilled it—for I have said thus to-day morning and so daily: ‘The Sheep of God have mercy upon me.’” To whom the confessor said: “Nay, I bad ye say—‘Agnus dei miserere mei’—that is, ‘The Lamb of God have mercy upon me!’” “Ye, sir,” quod the penitent, “ye say truth. That was the last year, but now it is at twelve month sith and it is a sheep by this time. Therefore I must needs say now—‘The Sheep of God have mercy upon me’.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 124. TYPE 1832N. MOTIF: J.2212.6 [The zodiac grows up: the kid becomes a goat]. Hodscha Nasreddin, I, 235, no. 105.

THE SHEEP’S DEVIL “Goo an up the ’ill, else I’ll send the devul aater ’e,” cried the Quenington shepherd boy to his flock one day, not perceiving the village pastor, who was close behind him. “And who is the sheep’s devil, my boy?” inquired the cleric. “That owl’ dog yander, locks!” answered he. “And who is the dog’s devil?” the vicar proceeded. “I be,” the boy replied. “And who is your devil, pray?” “Why, mi maester to be sure.” “And who is your master’s?” “You needn’t ax I that, zur. A yent very fer awaay vrom I, an’ the Biship’s ’is’n, an’ the Biship’s is the very owld ’un ’isself, fer ’tis what I bin larned ever since I tuk to shipcaddlin’,” the youngster replied. Norton, Supplementary Collection, p. II. Williams, Upper Thames, pp. 144–5. Gloucestershire.

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There is no type or motif number to this tale, but it is an engaging comment on the medieval Chain of Being.

THE SHEEP-HEAD A woman lived at some farm cottages not far off the church, and one Sunday she was busy making a big potful of broth, and she had in the pot a sheep-head, and a large dumpling. She had a big boy who was silly, and not very right. She had the pot on the side of the fire, and, as she wanted to go to church, she told the boy to look after the broth or she came back. After the woman had been away for some time, the boy thought he would have a look into the pot, and see what it was doing. So he lifted the lid and looked in; to his surprise, the heat had caused the sheep-head to move its jaws, and they were stuck in the dumpling. He threw the lid on again, and as the kirk was not far off, he ran up to the door, which was open, and he keeked in, and he got his eyes on his mother, and, to draw her attention, he hissed to her till she saw him and winked to him to go away. But he kept on hissing to her and she always winked to him, till his patience gave way, and he shouted out among all the kirk folk: “Ye’d sit winking there till the sheep-head eats the dumpling!” The woman was so affronted, she had to rise up and leave the church. School of Scottish Studies, John Elliot Notebooks. MOTIF: J.1813.8 [Sheep’s head has eaten the dumpling]. See “The Restless Haggis”.

THE SHEEP’S-HEAD AND DUMPLINGS “A woman went to church an’ left her li’ul bor at hum to look ahter the dinner wot was cookin’ in the boiler. There was a sheep’s head an’ some taters an’ an apple dumplin’. Durin’ the service the bor went runnin’ to the church an’ he called out: ‘Mother, mother, come home quick.’ The woman went ‘sh, sh’ for him to be quiet. ‘Sh, sh be damned,’ he say, ‘the sheep’s head has ett all the taters, an’ the apple dumpling has took off his jacket to fight it.’” (Which means: all the stew was boiled together. The sheep’s jaws had opened, the potatoes had gone into its mouth and the dough had boiled over the cloth. As far as I know this is purely a local tale.) S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 48. E.G.Bales, Folk-Lore (March 1939), p. 73; told by his father, who could not remember where he had heard it. MOTIF: J.1813.8 [Sheep’s head has eaten the dumpling]. Baughman cites three American versions. See “The Restless Haggis”, “The Sheephead”.


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SHOOTING FINCHES I was a-minding churries fur my feither when I do see vower and twenty vinches a setting in a churry-tree. So I ketches hold a my old muzzlelowder and I lowds he up uv fower and twenty tin-tacks. Then tling, wing, boom! I guz, and I nails they vower and twenty vinches to that churrytree. Norton Collection, VI, p. 75. Massingham, Wold Without End(1932), pp. 71–2. pp. 71–2. From Ebrington, Gloucestershire. Told by Tommy Boots, a local character, with a repertory of lying tales. TYPE 1894. MOTIF: X.1111 [Hunter shoots ram-rod full of ducks]. Boggs, North Carolina, gives a similar tale, p. 316. See “The Pynots in the Crabtree”.

SILLY JACK AND THE FACTOR [transcript from tape] Ye see, there was an old woman, and she had a little wee croftie placie, and she’d one son, and they called him Jack—but he was really right off, and…but she idolized him just the same, it was a’ the company she had, and of course he did a’ the work about the place. But they were very poor, very, very poor; it just took them to keep theirsels. But the one day she was gaun awa’ fae hame, and she said, “Now, Jack,” she says, “I’m gaun awa fae hame the day, but I’ll maybe be back in time before the factor gings awa—he’ll be in here, maybe, in the afternoon sometime. And hae on a big peat fire, so that the factor’ll get a good heat while he’s sittin’ waitin’ upon me, because he’ll maybe be here before I come back. And you’ll mind and put on a good fire.” And he says, “Ay, mither, I’ll pit on a good peat fire,” he says, “and I’ll hae the fire ready for the factor comin’ in past.” “Ah, well,” she says, “laddie, that’s whit to dae, an’ I winna be awfa lang.” But awa his mither gings outway. And of course, she’d been awa an ’oor or twa, when in by comes the factor lookin’ for his six-monthly rent, ye see. And the factor says, “Your mither in, Jack?” “Na, na,” he says, “my mither’s awa the day. But she tellt me to tell ye, sit doon and take a rest, and ye’ll get a heat, and she winna be awfa lang. She doesna want ye to gang awa,” he says, “until she comes back, and ye’ll get your money.” “Ah, well,” he says, “Jack, I’ll sit doon an’ I’ll take a rest.” So, of course, the factor sut doon upon the chair in front o’ this big peat fire, as it was a very cauld day, and he made he’s sel as comfortable as he possibly could. But wi’ the heat o’ this fire, the factor fa’s asleep. So poor Jack, he was sittin’ at the ither side o’ the fire, tryin’ to mak’ he’s sel as comfortable as he could, till his mither wad come in. And of course, he’s sittin’ watchin’ the factor, and the factor fell sound asleep wi’ the heat o’ the fire…and Jack sittin’ lookin’ intil his face.

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So suddenly there was a great big flee lichtit on the factor’s broo, you see, his baldy broo, and Jack got fascinated at this flee, traivellin’ back and forrit oot owre the factor’s baldy heid, ye see, and upon his broo. So he watched it for a good while, but bein’ nae very richt, God help us, he couldnae help hissel, and he says: “Come aff the laird’s broo, man!” But of course, the flee didna come aff. He waits for a wee whilie, he says—this flee still gaein’ roond aboot the tap o’ his baldy heid, and his baldy broo—so he says: “Come aff the laird’s broo, man!” But this flee’s still sittin’ on his broo, and he sits for a whilie langer, and he watches it, and he’s beginnin’ to get a wee bittie agitated noo at this flee, so he says:” Come aff the laird’s broo, man!…Oh, God, ye bugger,” he says, “ye winna come aff, will ye?” So up gets poor Jack, and he lifts the axe ’at he was i’ the way o’ hackin’ up sticks wi’, and he hits the flee, for to knock it aff the laird’s broo, but of course, he hits the flee richt enough, he killed the factor! ye see? Of course, when his poor mother came hame, she gets the factor lyin’ wi’ his heid hammered in two wi’ the axe. Noo she realised what her poor silly son had done, and she knew that this was the one thing that he wouldnae get aff wi’—it wad be the means o’ takin’ her son awa frae her, and pittin’ him intae some place. Well, naturally, him bein’ a’ that she had, she was goin’ to put up a fight for to save her son. So they had a big goat, a big billy-goat, and they cried hit “The Factor”. That was its name. So now, he wisnae very wise, but he wisnae sae silly as she made him oot to be. So she thought things oot owre, so as there was only one way she could save her son, mak’ him look worse than what he wis, and really mak’ things look as if he was a’ muddled richt. So they took the factor, and they buried him, him and her. See? But she kent that he would tell the police when they come roon’ aboot questioning aboot the factor, ye see; she kent he would tell the police. So she killed the billy-goat, and she put hit…she took the factor oot o’ the grave that him and her buried him intil, and she put the billy-goat intil the same grave—ye see? And she went awa further, and she put—made a new grave, and buried the factor hersel’ in the new grave—ye see?—withoot Jack’s help. So she went up the lum, and she tell’t him to look up the lum, but afore she went up the lum, she made a pot o’ porridge an’ milk—ye see? So she tellt him, “Look up the lum,” and when he lookit up the lum, she teemt doon the pot o’ cauld porridge and milk, an’ as hit was comin’ doon the lum, the poor fool was gobblin’ it up—ye see? So she tellt him it was rainin’ porridge an’ milk; and he thought it, when it was comin’ doon the lum. So whatever, anyway or another, a whilie passes, onyway, and the police was gaun roon’ every one o’ the hooses, makin’ enquiries tae everybody did they see the factor, when they had seen him last, and what time, and what ’oor. So of course, they came to Jack and his mither. So they askit him, so she tellt them what time she saw him at. (And of course, remember, she hidit the bag wi’ the money.) So whatever, anyway or another, the police questioned them upside down and backards foremost onyway or another, but poor Silly Jack says, “God, ay, man,” he says, “I killed the factor!” (His mither kent that he would say that, ye see, that he would tell the truth.)


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“Oh, you killed the factor,” the police says. “And where did ye pit him?” “Oh, God, min,” he says, “me and my mither buried him up here. Come on,” he says, “an’ I’ll let ye see,” he says, “whaur I buried the factor.” So of course the police went up wi’ him, for tae see whaur he had buried the factor… And his mither came up with him. “My God,” she says, “would you mind that poor silly laddie,” she says, “he disna ken what he’s speakin’ aboot,” she says. “It’s nae right,” she says, “you shouldna be questionin’ him an’ he’ll say ‘ay’ to a’thing, an’” she says, “but of course,” she says, “yez can dig up,” she says, “the grave. But,” she says, “yez will get a surprise.” “Noo haud your tongue, noo, mither,” he says. “I killed the factor,” he says. “An’ me an’ you buried him in here.” “Well, well,” she says, “it’s a’ richt. What nicht,” she says, “wis’t—when did you kill the factor?” “God, mither,” says he, “I mind fine,” he says, “it was yon day,” he says, “it was rainin’ porridge an’ milk.” “Oh, God bless me,” the policeman says, “this man,” he says, “is far,” he says, “fae bein’ richt,” he says (when they heard him sayin’ it was rainin’ porridge an’ milk). “But,” he says, “nevertheless we’ll hae to dig up the grave,” he says. “He insists,” he says, “that he killed the factor, an’ we’ll hae tae dig up the grave.” So they saw it was a new…a new dug-up grave. So of course they a’ started to dig, an’ they dug up the grave. So they did take oot the thing that was buriet in the grave. So when they pulled it oot, this was the billy-goat, and it had horns, ye see? So as they were pullin’ it oot, the poor fool lookit doon on tap o’ the thing that they were pullin’ oot o’ the grave—he was expecting to see the the deid man, but when he saw the billy-goat comin’ oot—he still thocht it wis the man, because he said: “Good God Almighty,” he said, “mither, he’s growed horns and whiskers since we buried him here last.” So therefore the police says, “Oh, God bless me,” he says, “the poor laddie,” he says, “ye hannae tae mind him.” So therefore the case was droppit, and the factor was never seen or heard tell o’. And the whole thing wis, the authorities thought that the factor had skidaddled awa wi’ a’ the money, and wasnae tae be gotten. And therefore it left poor Jack an’ his mither wi’ a’ the money, an’ him free o’ the murder, and aye left tae bide wi’ his poor auld mither. School of Scottish Studies, Hamish Henderson. Narrator Jeannie Robertson, Aberdeen. Another version told by Bella Higgins to Maurice Fleming, in which the mother herself had killed the factor; told also to Hamish Henderson. TYPES 1586A+1600, and 1381B. MOTIFS: H.472.1 [The buried sheep’s head]; K.661.1 [Fool’s brothers substitute a goat for the body of the man he has killed: thus save him]. This is a full version of the tale, with the addition of type 1381B (The rain of porridge). In this version it is the mother, not the brothers, who saves the simpleton. The tale has a wide distribution. There are 155 Irish versions recorded, and there are Finnish, Swedish, Greek, Russian, Turkish, Indian, and others. No full English version is recorded, though there are several allied versions of “The Old Man who went to School”. See “The Old Roadman”, “The Portmantle”.

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SIMPLE JOHN AND HIS TWELVE MISFORTUNES [summary] Simple John was a widow’s son. He was a coarse weaver, who made nothing but canvas, sacks and drugget; overgrown in body, and lacking in wit. His only sister was as simple as himself. She was married to Sleeky Willie, another weaver; and their mother was a rattle-pated creature too. They all lived together, and were known for a household of fools. At twenty-one, John determined to take a wife, and his mother sent him to the black butcher, who had three daughters, each possessed of a hundred marks, though there was little else in their favour. John, who knew that he had little choice, decided on Girzy, the eldest, though she was hump-backed and ill-favoured and, as he was soon to discover, as bad-tempered as she was ugly. His life with her became a series of misfortunes, though his mother-inlaw did her best to keep the peace between them, and his father-in-law gave them a cottage with all the necessary furnishings and paid the rent for the first three years. But on the first morning after their marriage John was sent out with the two new pitchers to draw water from the well. A troop of children gathered, and cheered him in mockery; but John began to clap and cheer with them, clashing the pitchers together till they broke; for which he received such a beating and tongue-lashing from his wife as to make him already repent of having married her. And this became the pattern of their days. He was sent to the butcher for meat and, trying to separate some dogs who were fighting, was bitten by one of them, while another ran off with the meat. He fell into a well which was too narrow for him to get out, and had to be pulled out by passers-by; when his wife decided to do the marketing herself, and left John at home to put on the pot for their dinner, he put it on with no water in it and went out to play at cat and dog with some boys. When he saw Girzy returning, he ran in and poured cold water into the red-hot pot so that it flew into pieces. A dog ran away with some cow’s puddings as he was washing them for his wife; he lost the money his father-in-law had given him to pay for a fat calf which he was to bring home from the country when he tried to use it to stop a runaway horse, and the napkin in which the money was tied up burst open and the halfpence fell into the river. The next day he dived in to try to recover some of them, and a thief ran away with his clothes, which he had left on the bank. A bull attacked him as he was carrying home buttermilk and spilled it; and at last poor John, convinced that he had been bewitched, went to the Minister and told him that he was the cause of all his misfortunes, for marrying him to such a wicked wife. The Minister counselled peace and patience, but John accused him of being himself a warlock; and went out cursing wildly, and threw stones, which broke all the Minister’s windows. For this his wife scolded him far into the night, so that at last John got up from the bed, candle in hand, and set fire to his weaving-tools so that the cottage was almost burnt down. Even that was not the worst, for next day Girzy sent him in search of eggs which a hen had laid away, and John fell into a ruinous kiln, cutting and bruising himself very badly. As soon as he could hobble out of doors with a stick after this disaster, he was met by a messenger telling him that his mother had died. Once again his mother-in-law


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patched up peace between him and his wife; the looms were mended, and all set right except his wife’s tongue, for which no cure was ever found. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, pp. 69 ff. TYPE 1408. This Chap-book is a series of embroideries upon the theme of type 1681: the fool as custodian of the home.

SIMPLE SIMON’S MISFORTUNES [summary] Simon was married to a shrewish wife named Margery. Their wedding-day was merry enough, but it was the last happiness Simon was to know. The first morning after their marriage, Margery flew into a passion on seeing her husband dressed in his best clothes. He said it was the custom on the first day after a wedding for the man and wife to walk abroad; but she retorted that in their marriage nothing of the sort could be done, he must get to work at once, so that nothing of what she had brought with her should be wasted, for her dowry had been forty shillings in money, a cow, and other livestock, and it was for him to look after them all. Simon went off in dejection, but on his way to work he met a former companion, old Jobson, who persuaded him to enter the ale-house, and drink to his wedded happiness. As they sat there, Margery and some of her gossips came in, and with harsh words and blows, drove out Simon and Jobson, remaining themselves to drink themselves into a stupor. When Simon returned home that night, Margery bound him hand and foot, and hoisted him in a basket up to the beam in their wide chimney, and left him there all night with a small, smoky fire under him. At last she let him down, gave him a mess of milk for his breakfast, and sent him off to the mill with a sack of corn. Half-way there, when he was growing very weary of the weight of the sack, he was overtaken by a man on horseback, leading a spare horse. The man offered to carry Simon’s sack on the spare horse and, as Simon could not keep up with his pace, promised to leave the sack at the mill for him. This, of course, he did not do, so poor Simon lost his corn. However, on this occasion, some neighbours went home with him to beg his wife’s forgiveness, so for once Simon escaped punishment. His next misadventure was when she sent him to market to sell a basket of eggs. He set the basket down on the ground, to try and break up a quarrel between two marketwomen, but one of them pushed him over and he fell into the basket and broke all the eggs. Simon flew at her in anger, but a constable came up and ordered that all three should be put in the stocks, with Simon in the middle. The clamour of the women so deafened poor Simon that, at least, when he at last reached home, he was unable to hear his wife’s scolding. She drove him from the house into the town, running after him with her cudgel and crying out for her money from the eggs, till at last he made his escape and found lodging that night in a pig-stye, among the swine.

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The next morning he returned home, and humbly begging her forgiveness was admitted to the house, and as Margery desired to attend a gossiping, she left Simon to make a fire and hang on the kettle. Simon did both, and then went out with a pail for water to put in the kettle. He met a runaway ox, with a butcher’s boy in pursuit, and joined in the chase, but they had run three or four miles before they secured the ox. Simon returning to the well found that his pail had disappeared, and of course the bottom was long since burnt out of his kettle. At that moment Margery returned and Simon received yet another beating, until some neighbours intervened, and persuaded her that it was but a mischance. His final misfortune and punishment occurred when she sent him to buy some soap. He dropped the money into the river, being startled by a flight of crows and, diving in to recover it, had his clothes stolen, and had to return both naked and penniless. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 69. TYPE 1408. Much the same as “Simple John”. These two tales are in the same vein as the 16thcentury interlude, The Disobedient Child.

SING IT!: I “Sing it, my lad,” said the lieutenant to the stuttering sailor, who rushed upon the quarterdeck to announce something unusual, but could not get a word out, “Sing it!” And sing he did: “The captain’s boy is overboard! Is overboard! is overboard! The captain’s son is overboard, Heave to, or he’ll be drowned!” Norton Collection, VI, p. xxi. E.R.Suffling, History and Legends of the Broad District (London, 1891), p. 153. Not given as local. MOTIF: X.135.2 [Stutterer tries to give alarm]. A story often told to Brownies, about a little girl who had crammed a bun into her mouth, and could not make the family understand that the house was on fire, can be told with a similar effect.

SING IT!: II A miller left a servant, who stammered in his speech, to watch the kiln, where oats were drying. By some accident, the kiln took fire. The servant ran in great agitation, to inform his master of the catastrophe, but, in his trepidation, was unable to utter a syllable. He continued staring and stamping for some time, when his master, alarmed, desired him to sing.


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The man immediately sang out lustily: “Tal-de-ral-al, the kill’s afire; Tal-de-ral-al, it’s all in a low.” Norton Collection, VI, no. XXII (unclassified). Leyden, p. 437. Given as the popular explanation of the phrase, “To cry as if the kill war on fire”=to make a great noise. MOTIF: X.135.2a [Stutterer tries to give alarm]. Baughman gives two American examples from Nevada and Montana. See also “The Twa Fools”.

SKELTON I [summary] Skelton returned late one night to Oxford, and lay at an Inn named ye Tabere, now the Angel. In the night he was so thirsty that he called to the tapster for drink. No one answered, so at last he did cry out and said: “Fire! Fire! Fire!”…and the host and hostess and the tapster with the hosteler did run to Skelton’s chamber with candles lighted in their hands, saying: “Where? Where? Where?” “Here, here, here,” said Skelton, and pointed his finger to his mouth, saying: “Fetch me some drink to quench the fire and the heat and the dryness in my mouth.” And so they did. II [summary] Skelton once cheated a man from Kendal, when they were passing the night at Uxbridge, on the road to London. He concealed a dish of butter between the lining and the outside of the other’s cap, so that when he put it on, the butter melted, and ran down his face. Skelton persuaded him that he had the sweating sickness. The Kendalman said: “By the misse I’se wrang! I bus goe till bed.” Skelton said: “I am skilled in physic—and especially in the sweating sickness…. Get you a kerchief and I will bring you to bed.” The Kendalman promised to pay his scot to London if he would cure him. Skelton caused the cap to be sod [= boiled] in hot lye, and dried it. In the morning they did ride merrily to London. III At a dinner in London a man asked Skelton whether he was a scholar of Oxford or of Cambridge. When he replied “of Oxford”, the other asked him, “Where was Christ during the 40 days between his Resurrection and Ascension?” “Where He was,” saith Skelton, “God knoweth. He was very busy in the woods among His laborers that did make faggots to burn heretics and such as thou art, the which dost ask such diffuse questions. But now I will tell thee more: When He was not with His mother and His disciples, He was in Paradise—to comfort the holy patriarchs’ and

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prophets’ souls, the which before He had set out of hell. And at the day of His ascension, He took them all up with Him into Heaven.” IV [shortened] A Welshman came to Skelton when he was at court, and begged his help in a suit to the king, by which he hoped to obtain a patent to sell drink. “What shall I write?” asked Skelton. The Welshman said: “Write ‘Drink’. Now…write ‘More drink’.” “What now?” said Skelton. “Write now, ‘a great deal of drink’. Now,” said the Welshman, “put to all this ‘drink’ ‘a little crumb of bread’, and ‘a great deal of drink to it…”. Then the Welshman said: “Put out the ‘little crumb of bread’ and set in ‘all drink’ and no ‘bread’. And if I might have this signed of the king,” said the Welshman, “I care for no more as long as I do live.” “Well then,” said Skelton, “when you have this signed of the king, then will I labor for a patent to have bread—that you with your drink and I with the bread may fare well, and seek our living with bag and staff.” V Skelton’s Epitaph upon a knave, one Swanborn, that was buried under St Peter’s wall in Oxford: “Belsabub his soul save, Qui iacet hic hec a knave: Jam sic mortuus est, Et iacet hic hec a beast: Sepultus est among the weeds: God forgive him his misdeeds.” [Free translation] Belsabub his soul save, He who lies here, lied, the knave; Now he’s dead, he’s lying still; He always lied and always will; Buried here among the weeds; God forgive him his misdeeds. VI [summary] When his parishioners had complained of his keeping a mistress, and Skelton had been rebuked by the Bishop of Norwich, he preached an indignant sermon to them on the text “He that doth exalt himself shall be made meek, and he that doth humble himself shall be exalted”. “And that,” said he, “I will show you by my cap. This cap was first my hood when that I was a student in Jucalico, and then it was so proud that it would not be contented but it would slip and fall from my shoulders. I perceiving this, that he was proud, what then did I? Shortly to conclude, I did make of him a pair of breeches to my hose to bring him low. “And when that I did see, know, or perceive that he was in that case, and almost clean wore out, what did I then to extol him up again? You all may see that this my cap was made of it that was my breeches.” VII A friar who had the Pope’s leave to beg within a given territory, came to ask Skelton if he might preach at Dis in his church the following Sunday. Skelton was not willing, but on the Sunday, the friar arrived just as Skelton, who had watched for his coming, had entered the pulpit. The friar showed the Pope’s Bull, which he carried in his hand; but Skelton said:


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“Masters, here is as wonderful a thing as ever was seen. You all do know that it is a thing daily seen, a bull doth beget a calf. But here, contrary to all nature, a calf hath gotten a bull. For this friar, being a calf, hath gotten a bull of the Bishop of Rome.” The friar, being ashamed, would never after that time presume to preach at Dis. VIII Wolsey’s epitaph Cardinal Wolsey had had a regal tomb made for himself to lie in after he was dead, and he asked Skelton to make an epitaph for it. Skelton asked to see the tomb, and they appointed to meet there on the following day. The ’pointment kept and Skelton—seeing the sumptuous cost, more pertaining for an emperor or a maximus king than for such a man as he was (although cardinals will compare with kings)—“Well,” said Skelton, “if it shall like your grace to creep into this tomb while you be alive, I can make an epitaph. For I am sure that when that you be dead, you shall never have it.” The which was verified of truth. IX The crafty miller [summary] A miller had promised Skelton to grind his corn without charge. But constantly the maids complained that he gave short measure, so that they could not make enough bread. The miller denied this, so Skelton sent a servant of his own to keep watch; and to distract his attention, the miller made his wife put one of their children into the pond, and cry out that he was drowning. In the confusion, the miller’s boy got some of Skelton’s corn into a sack, and made away with it. Skelton now threatened the miller with hanging if he would not tell him how he had evaded the watching servant. The miller confessed; and Skelton said that if he could steal his cup from the table while he was at meat, he would pardon him. The miller achieved this by getting one of his boys to set fire to an old pig-stye, and on the alarm, Skelton left his supper and went to quench the fire. And the miller crept in and took his cup. When this was missed, Skelton again sent for the miller, and threatened him with death unless he could steal the sheets from his bed while he and his wife were asleep. The miller as usual professed great terror at such a task, but next day he sent a boy with a pot of yeast, who crept into the bed while the two were asleep, and smeared the yeast all over the sheets. When Skelton and his wife awoke, they threw out the befouled sheets (as they supposed them to be) and called to their maid for a clean pair. The boy then crept away with the first pair, and in the morning they could not be found. Now Skelton laid one more task upon the miller, on pain of death—he was to steal the parson out of his bed at midnight, without his knowing what had happened. The miller therefore dressed up himself in a cope and took a prayer book, and went into the church. Then he fixed a number of small lighted candles on to the shells of snails, which went creeping about the church. He rang the bell, to wake the parson up, and made him think the church was on fire. When the parson ran in and demanded to know who he was, the miller replied: “I am St Peter, and I am sent out of heaven for thee. Because thou hast done good, God hath sent for thee afore doomsday come, that thou shalt not know the troubles of the world.” He bade the priest enter a great sack, and with many bumps and bruises, which he persuaded him were stages on the road to heaven, he carried him up to

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the chimney of his own house, and let him hang there. Next morning was Sunday, and no priest came to say the service. Skelton guessed the truth, and sent for the miller, and told him that for his irreverence he should surely be hanged unless he could steal his gelding from his stable, with two of his own men keeping watch. The miller then stole a man’s head from the gallows, and thrust it through a hole in the stable wall, so that the men thought it was himself trying to get in. They therefore cut off the head, and bore it to their master, leaving the stable door open. The miller then went in and took away the gelding. Upon this, at last Skelton forgave him, on condition that he became an honest man for the rest of his life. X Skelton suspected that some wine which he had ordered was below standard, and he went to the tavern, and seemed to be greatly dejected, so that the hostess begged him to tell her the cause of his sorrow. Skelton replied that it was past all remedy but at last consented to tell her that he feared he was doomed to go to hell. “For I sent this day to you for wine to say mass withal. And we have a strong law that every priest is bound to put into his chalice… some water and wine—the which doth signify the water and blood that did run out of Christ’s side when Longeous the blind knight did thrust a spear into Christ’s side—and this day I did put no water into my wine.” Then the vintner’s wife confessed that she had put into the vessel of wine ten gallons of water, and Skelton replied: “Dame, I do beshrew thee for thy labor, for I thought so much before.” Merry Tales made by Master Skelton (1567), A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 327 ff. (extracts). XI Of the beggars answer to Mr Skelton the poet A poor beggar that was foul, black, and loathly to behold came upon a time unto Master Skelton the poet and asked him his alms. To whom Master Skelton said: “I pray thee, get away from me, for thou lookest as though thou camest out of hell.” The poor man, perceiving he would give him nothing, answered: “Forsooth, sir, ye say truth. I came out of hell.” “Why didst thou not tarry still there?” quod Master Skelton. “Marry, sir,” quod the beggar, “there is no room for such poor beggars as I am—all is kept for such gentleman as ye be.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 252. XII Skelton and the Bishop of Norwich It fortuned there was a great variance between the Bishop of Norwich and one Master Skelton a poet laureat, insomuch that the Bishop commanded him that he should not come in at his gates. This Master Skelton did absent himself for a long season, but at the last he thought to do his duty to him, and studied ways how he might obtain the Bishop’s favor—and determined himself that he would come to him with some present and humble


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himself to the Bishop. And he gat a couple of pheasants and come to the Bishop’s palace and required the porter he might come and speak with my lord. This porter, knowing his lord’s pleasure, would not suffer him to come in at the gates—wherefore this Master Skelton went on the backside to seek some other way to come into the palace. But the palace was moated that he could see no way to come over except in one place where there lay a long tree over the moat (in manner of a bridge) that was fallen down with wind. Wherefore this Master Skelton went along upon the tree to come over. And when he was almost over, his foot slipped for lack of sure footing and fell into the moat up to the middle. But at the last, he recovered himself and, as well as he could, dried himself again and soddenly (= soaking wet) came to the Bishop—being in his hall then lately risen from dinner—which, when he saw Skelton coming soddenly, said to him: “Why! thou caitiff, I warned thee thou shouldst never come in at my gates, and charged my porter to keep thee out.” “Forsooth, my lord,” quod Skelton,” though ye gave such charge and though your gates be never so surely kept, yet it is not more possible to keep me out of your doors than to keep out crows or pies. For I came not in at your gates, but I came over the moat that I have been almost drowned for my labor—” and showed his clothes, how evil he was arrayed, which caused many that stood thereby to laugh apace. Then quod Skelton: “If it like your lordship, I have brought you a dish to your supper, a couple of pheasants.” “Nay,” quod the Bishop, “I defy thee and thy pheasants also—and, wretch as thou art, pick thee out of my house, for I will none of the gift.” Howbeit, with as humble words as he could, this Skelton desired the Bishop to be his good lord and to take his little gift of him. But the Bishop called him “daw” and “fool” oftentimes, and in no wise would receive that gift. This Skelton, then considering that the Bishop called him fool so oft, said to one of his familiars thereby that, though it were evil to be christened a fool, yet it was much worse to be confirmed a fool of such a Bishop, for the name of confirmation must needs abide. Therefore he imagined how he might avoid that confirmation, and mused a while. And at the last he said to the Bishop thus: “If your lordship knew the names of these pheasants, ye would be content to take them.” “Why, caitiff?” quod the Bishop, hastily and angrily. “What be their names?” “I wis, my lord,” quod Skelton, “this pheasant is called ‘alpha’ (viz. primus, the first) and this is called ‘omega’ (viz. novissimus, the last). And for the more plain understanding of my mind: If it please your lordship to take them I promise you this ‘alpha’ is the first that ever I gave you, and this ‘omega’ is the last that ever I will give you while I live.” At the which answer, all that were by made great laughter and all they desired the Bishop to be good lord to him for his merry conceits—at whose request ere they went the Bishop was content to take him unto his favor again. By this ye may see that merry conceits doth a man more good than to fret himself with anger and melancholy. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 102.

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Skelton, the poet, was made the hero of as many tales in England as George Buchanan in Scotland. I. See “The Lazy Wife”; though the alarm of fire is raised there for a rather different purpose. II. There are several anecdotes of butter melting and streaming down which has been hidden by a thieving servant under his hat, but none in which a man is duped by having butter planted on him. (See “Johnny Tarrant and the Butter”.) III. This is an example of type 1833C, motif X.435.3 [Where was Christ when he was neither in Heaven nor on earth?] IX. The Crafty Miller: a version of type 1525, “The Master Thief”. XI. See “Old Charley Creed”, a variant of type 1738, [All Parsons in Hell]. It will be seen that a man with a character as a humorist will attract various types of jokes to himself. The great example of this is Hodscha Nasreddin, but the same tendency is to be seen even with such local characters as Pal Hall.

THE “SLIBBURN MÜNE” Two Yorkshiremen from Slaidburn went to work in Leeds. For some time the sky was overcast, but one night it cleared, and a fine full moon shone out. The men gazed at it in amazement, and one said to the other: “Ee, lad, but yon’s oor Slibburn Müne!” K.M.Briggs. Heard from W.S.Hannam (Yorkshire solicitor), August 1915. TYPE 1334. MOTIF: J.2271.1 [The local moon]. This little “Rhozzum” has a fairly wide distribution. The Type-Index cites one version from Wesselski’s Hodscha Nasreddin (I, 218, no. 52) and Walloon, Italian, Serbo-Croatian, Russian, Greek, and Indian versions. Baughman cites a version from Ohio.

A SON OF ADAM A man was one day working. It was very hot, and he was digging. Byand-by he stopped to rest and wipe his face; and he was very angry to think he had to work so hard only because of Adam’s sin. So he complained bitterly, and said some very hard words about Adam. It happened that his master heard him, and he asked, “Why do you blame Adam? You’d ha’ done just like Adam, if you’d a-been in his place.” “No, I shouldn’t,” said the man; “I should ha’ know’d better.” “Well, I’ll try you,” says his master; “come to me at dinner-time.” So, come dinner-time, the man came, and his master took him into a room where the table was a-set with good things of all sorts. And he said:


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“Now, you can eat as much as ever you like from any of the dishes on the table; but don’t touch the covered dish in the middle till I come back.” And with that the master went out of the room and left the man there all by himself. So the man sat down and helped himself, and ate some o’ this dish and some o’ that, and enjoyed himself finely. But after awhile, as his master didn’t come back, he began to look at the covered dish, and to wonder whatever was in it. And he wondered more and more, and he says to himself, “It must be something very nice. Why shouldn’t I just look at it? I won’t touch it. There can’t be any harm in just peeping.” So at last he could hold back no longer, and he lifted up the cover a tiny bit; but he couldn’t see anything. Then he lifted it up a bit more, and out popped a mouse. The man tried to catch it; but it ran away and jumped off the table and he ran after it. It ran first into one corner, and then, just as he thought he’d got it, into another, and under the table, and all about the room. And the man made such a clatter, jumping and banging and running round after the mouse, a-trying to catch it, that at last his master came in. “Ah!” he said, “never you blame Adam again, my man!” Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 109. Narrator Mr. E.S.Hartland, from memory. TYPE 1416. MOTIFS: C.324 [Tabu: looking into jug under dish-cover]; H.1554.1 [Test of curiosity: mouse in jug]. In most versions of the tale it is the man’s wife who insists on looking into the forbidden vessel. Parallels: Jacques de Vitry’s Exempla, ed. Crane, no. 13, and notes, p. 139. Baughman gives five American variants; there are also Italian versions. A Breconshire version was given in Folk-Lore, XXIV, p. 517.

THE SONS WHO SALTED THEIR FATHER’S CORPSE A farmer who had two sons died in harvest time. And because the weather was fine the sons were very busy with their harvesting, and could not spare time to bury him. So one of the sons said to the other, “I’ll tell thee what we’ll do; we’ll take him down into the cellar, and lay him on the milk benk, and salt him.” The other son agreed; so they took their father’s body into the cellar and salted him, stopping up his ear-holes and nostrils to keep the flies out. About three weeks afterwards it began to rain, and the sons thought they could spare time to bury him. So they went to the parson and told him that their father was dead. The parson was astonished to hear the news, and asked how long he had been dead. “Three weeks,” said the sons. “Why, he’ll stink,” said the parson. “Nay,” said the brothers, “he’s as sweet as a pea, for we’ve salted him.” The parson was so taken aback at these words that he could not speak, and walked away. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 41. From Calver in Derbyshire. See “Salted Down” (B, IX).

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THE SOUND SLEEPER Many years ago there was a man in “Heffle” (Heathfield) parish…who, having a small annuity, lived upon it in idleness. Low as his credit was, he had managed to get considerably into debt, and the visits of his creditors in the hope of getting their money were frequent and pressing. The man was not an early riser, and persons who specially wanted to find him at home would make sure by calling before he was up. One morning a neighbour knocked at the door, and insisted on the man’s wife rousing her husband, and compelling him to settle an account. She accordingly went upstairs, woke her husband, and failing, as usual, to get any money, said rather sharply—“I wonder, John, how you can lie sleeping there, when you owe all the money you do.” “Oh, I can sleep very well,” he said, “if I do owe money; but,” turning round for another snore, he added, “I sometimes do wonder how they can sleep that I owe money to.” The Rev. J.Coker Egerton, Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways (London, 1884). MOTIF J.1081.1 [Indebted merchant enjoys untroubled sleep] is akin to this tale.

THE SQUIRE AND HIS HORSE The most noble and fortunate prince King Edward of England made war in France with a great puissance and army of people, whom the French King with another great host encountered. And when both the hosts should join and the trumpets began to blow, a young squire of England was riding on a lusty courser—of which horse the noise of the trumpets so pricked the courage that the squire could not him retain, so that against his will he ran upon his enemies. Which squire, seeing none other remedy, set his spear in the rest and rode through the thickest of his enemies, and—in conclusion—had good fortune and saved himself alive without hurt. And the English host followed and had the victory. And after, when the field was done, this King Edward called the squire and bad him kneel down, for he would make him knight because that he valiantly was the man that day which, with the most courageous stomach, adventured first upon their enemies. To whom the squire thus answered: “If it like your grace to make any-body knight therefore, I beseech you to make my horse knight and not me, for certes it was his deed and not mine, and full sore against my will—” which answer the King hearing refrained to promote him to the order of knighthood, reputing him in manner but a coward—and ever after favored him the less. By this tale a man may learn how it is wisdom for one that is in good credence to keep him therein and in no wise to disable himself too much. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 122. MOTIF: K.1951.2 [Runaway cavalry hero]. This motif is often part of the story of “Seven at a Blow” or “The Valiant Tailor”, but in these the hero is less candid and takes the credit for his horse’s daring.


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START AND FINISH Years ago there were two farmers whose farms lay next to each other. Both of the men had married about the same time and, as they were strict Baptists, when their sons were born one was called Alpha and the other one Omega. The two lads grew up together and were good friends. For a long time people called them “The Beginning and the End,” until a rich bookmaker, who was staying at the Ship on a fishing holiday, started calling them Start and Finish, and these names stuck to them for the rest of their lives. When their fathers died the two lads took over the farms and, until they were old men, stayed good friends. Then one day Start, when he called on his old friend, stopped to look at what lay in the swill-tub which was standing outside the kitchen door of the farmhouse. As he stood gazing into the tub, and sniffing the smell of sour milk, cabbage water, and fermenting potato peelings, the old billy-goat, which had the run of the yard, seeing a target bent over by the tub, backed a few paces, and then charged, scoring such a good hit that Start ended up by sitting in the swill. Just then Finish came round the corner to see what all the row was about, and he was so tickled to see Start floundering about in the swill that he burst out laughing. This put Start into such a flaming temper that he scrambled out of the tub, and started a free-for-all, with Billy getting a butt in whenever he got the chance. Well, next market day Start called on his lawyers and told them to bring Finish into court to get damages from him for battery and assault. Later in the day Finish came along to the same lawyers, and told them to do the same thing against Start. The lawyer chap explained that he couldn’t act for two clients and, as Start had been there first, he’d give him a letter to take to another lawyer who, he thought, was even better at squeezing money out of people than he was himself. So Finish set off with the note but, thinking that talking to a lawyer would be thirsty work, he called in at the Lamb and drank a couple of pints. Then he began to wonder if he wasn’t a silly old fool to go to law, and by the time he’d swallowed a third pint, he decided that life on a farm wasn’t so bad if a chap kept on friendly terms with his neighbours. So he looked at the envelope he’d been given and saw that it had been held so long in his warm hand that the flap had come unstuck. He thought about things for a minute or two, then made up his mind and took out the letter and read: “Dear Fleecem, “Two old geese have come to market; you pluck one and I’ll pluck the other.” Well, Finish got up from the table and wandered out into the street and walked along to the Sun, where he knew Start always put up his pony and trap. When he went into the inn he saw his old friend sitting alone at a table with a tankard in front of him. So Finish walked over to him and said: “Just read that letter.” Start read it, and then stood up and said: “All right, let bygones be bygones; we’ll shake hands and swallow a pint or two to soothe our ruffled feathers.” And so they did, until the landlord told them it was time to finish up their drink and start for home, when they were in such a happy state that it took three men to lift them into the trap; and when they drove out of the yard the ostler said: “Well, we’ve started them off but only they’ll know where they’ll finish.”

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But the two old men got home all right, because Start’s wife, who was sitting up waiting for him, found the pony trying to get into the stable, still hitched to the trap where the two bosom pals sat fast asleep. A few days after this Start called on Finish and asked him if he’d like one of his fat geese for his Michaelmas dinner. “That I would, bor,” said Finish. “Well, you can have one, if you promise to save the feathers,” Start told him. “I’ll do that,” Finish promised him. “Shall I bring them over to you, or will you come and fetch them?” “Put them in a bag,” said Start,“and bring them with you when we go to market next week.” So, on market day, the pair of them jogged along with two bags of feathers in the back of the trap. After stabling the pony and having a drink, the two men strolled down the street, each one carrying a bag of feathers. When they got to the first lawyer’s office they began going upstairs, shaking those goose-feathers out of the bags as they went along, so by the time they got to the landing, the feathers were floating all over the place. There was a butcher’s shop under the office and the butcher started swearing at the top of his voice when he saw his best joints all covered in fine goose down. When the lawyer got back from his dinner he saw the feathers all along the stairs, so he dashed into his office and opened the windows. The draught sent the feathers swirling and flying about in the street till it looked like a snowstorm. Some of them settled on the stalls, and got all mixed with rock and cockles, while a fishmonger roared out asking who in hell was going to buy fish covered with feathers instead of scales. While all this was going on, Start and Finish were watching through the windows of the Lamb; then, when everything was quiet again, they drove off home, laughing so much that people passing by said: “There are those two old fools, drunk again.” To Start and Finish, the whole thing was a huge joke, but the tradespeople made such a fuss that the police, after ferreting around, found out who’d played the trick and the two old chaps were taken before the magistrates, charged with a breach of the peace. The court-room was packed when the case was heard. Start and Finish pleaded not guilty, and the justices’ clerk, who turned out to be the other lawyer, Fleecem, asked what they had to say for themselves. The two men told him they understood that his lawyer friend sometimes did a bit of goose-plucking in his spare time and when the magistrate asked them what on earth they meant by that, Finish handed him that letter. Well, the magistrate read it out loud to the court and everybody roared with laughter till he told them to stop. Then he told Start and Finish that the case was dismissed and they could go; which they did. And they had a glorious booze-up in every pub in the town. W.H.Barrett, Tales from the Fens, p. 8. There is a similar story of a hypochondriacal woman who went from doctor to doctor, and at last opened a letter from one specialist to another, in which she read: “I am sending you a fat goose: pluck her well, and send her back to me.”


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THE STEEPLE AND THE PULPIT In a certain place on a time the parishioners had pulled down their steeple and had builded it up new again, and had put out their bells to be newfounded. And because they rang not at the bishop’s entering into the village, as they were wont and accustomed to do, he asked a good, homely man whether they had no bells in their steeple. He answered no. “Then,” said the bishop, “ye may sell away your steeple.” “Why so, and please your lordship?” said the man. “Because it standeth vacant,” said the bishop. “Then,” said the man, “we may well sell away another thing that we have in our church.” “What is that?” said the bishop. “That is a pulpit,” quod he. “For this seven years there was no sermon made therein.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 252. This jocular tale is a good piece of social history, illustrating the derelict state of many parishes, both before and after the Reformation. Unfortunately we do not know the date at which it first circulated.

STUPID’S MISTAKEN CRIES There was once a little boy, and his mother sent him to buy a sheep’s head and pluck; afraid he should forget it, the lad kept saying all the way along: “Sheep’s head and pluck! Sheep’s head and pluck!” Trudging along, he came to a stile; but in getting over he fell and hurt himself, and, beginning to blubber, forgot what he was sent for. So he stood a little while to consider; at last he thought he recollected it, and began to repeat: “Liver and lights and gall and all! Liver and lights and gall and all!” Away he went again, and came to where a man was sick, bawling out: “Liver and lights and gall and all! Liver and lights and gall and all!”

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Whereon the man laid hold of him, and beat him, bidding him say: “Pray God, send no more up! Pray God, send no more up!” The youngster strode along, uttering these words, till he reached a field where a hind was sowing wheat: “Pray God, send no more up! Pray God, send no more up!” This was all his cry. So the sower began to thrash him, and charged him to repeat: “Pray God, send plenty more! Pray God, send plenty more!” Off the child scampered with these words in his mouth, till he reached a churchyard, and met a funeral, but he went on with his: “Pray God, send plenty more! Pray God, send plenty more!” The chief mourner seized and punished him, and bade him repeat: “Pray God, send the soul to Heaven! Pray God, send the soul to Heaven!” Away went the boy, and met a dog and a bitch going to be hung; but his cry rang out: “Pray God, send the soul to Heaven! Pray God, send the soul to Heaven!” The good folk nearby were furious, seized and struck him, charging him to say: “A dog and a bitch agoing to be hung! A dog and a bitch agoing to be hung!” This the poor fellow did, till he overtook a man and a woman going to be married. “Oh! Oh!” he shouted:


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“A dog and a bitch agoing to be hung! A dog and a bitch agoing to be hung!” The man was enraged, as we may well think, gave him many a thump, and ordered him to repeat: “I wish you much joy! I wish you much joy!” This he did, jogging along, till he came to two labourers who had fallen into a ditch. The lad kept bawling out: “I wish you much joy! I wish you much joy!” This vexed one of the folk so sorely that he used all his strength, scrambled out, beat the crier, and told him to say: “The one is out, I wish the other was! The one is out, I wish the other was!” On went young ‘un till he found a fellow with only one eye; but he kept up his song: “The one is out, I wish the other was! The one is out, I wish the other was!” This was too much for Master One-Eye, who grabbed him and chastised him, bidding him call: “The one side gives good light, I wish the other did! The one side gives good light, I wish the other did!” So he did, to be sure, till he came to a house, one side of which was on fire. The people here thought it was he who had set the place a-blazing, and straightway put him in prison. The end was, the judge put on his black cap and condemned him to die. Hartland, English Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 257. From Folk-Lore Record, III, p. 153. TYPE 1696. MOTIF S: J.2461 [What should I have said?]; J.2461.2 [Literal following of instructions about greetings].

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There is a Hodscha Nasreddin version of this tale, also French and Indian, as well as a number of American versions. See Clouston’s Book of Noodles, pp. 123–6. See also “Jack’s Rewards, and what he did with them”.

“SUMMAT QUEER ON BATCH” There were a old widow body ’oo ’ad a little cottage up to Batch, and ’er come to market with ’er bits to sell, and she wouldn’t go home no now. Well, they axed ’en, and all she’d say was, “There’s Summat Queer on Batch!” and not a word more. Well, Job Ash, ’e say to ’er, “Never ’ee mind, my dear, I’ll go up Batch for ’ee. No fear.” And ’e up and went. ’Twere a bit of a unket wind up to Batch, road was lonely, and wind did blow whist. ’E got to cottage, ’twere a little cottage like, with a front door and back door opposite each other, and kitchen were one side o’ passage, sitting-room were t’other side o’ passage, and stairs was in cupboard. In ’e goes, front door were wide open, and ’e swing the bar acrost, and ’e go to back door, and ’e swing the bar acrost there. Then ’e take a look-see to kitchen. No one there neither. Then ’e rub ’is ’ands together, and ’e think o’ the drubbing the lads was going to ’ave. ’E opens door—cupboard door—upstairs to bedroom. When ’e got up to bedroom, wasn’t no one there neither. “Where be they tew?” said Job, and ’e come down, and front door were open—back door were open tew. Bar were set back. Well, Job ’e took a quick look-see outside back door, and it slammed tew behind ’im, and bar slid acrost. Well, Job, ’e took off round corner o’ that ’ouse; ’e didn’t stop to look—gets round by front door, as fast as ’e could, and just as ’e got to front door, that slam in ’is face tew, and bar come down acrost. Well, Job, ’e took a deep breath, ’e did, and then ’e takes a look over ’is shoulder, and there were Summat Queer standing right be’ind ’im. At that, Job, ’e took off down that road, like ’e were to Shepton Mallet races. ’E were a girt vleshly veller, and when ’e’d got about a mile or so, ’e sat down on a ’eap o’ stoneses, an’ ’e puff like a pair o’ bellowses, and ’e got out ’is neck-’ankercher, and ’e rub ’is face, thankful. An’ then ’e look down, and there’s a girt vlat voot aside o’’isn. Then ’e look up a little vurther, and there’s a girt ’airy ’and by ’is knee. And then ’e look up a little bit vurther still, and there’s a girt wide grin. “That were a good race, weren’t it?” sez it. “Ar!” sez Job, “and when I’ve got my breath back, us’ll ’ave another!” Ruth L.Tongue, in Folktales of England, p. 109. Recorded from Miss Tongue in 1963, who remembers this as a favourite story of an old North Somerset groom about 1907. MOTIF: J.1495.1 [Man runs from actual or supposed ghost; the ghost runs beside him; the man stops and rests, etc.]. Baughman records eleven American versions of this tale, but has found none in England. “Batch” is a piece of open moorland.


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SWALLOWING THE MOON Zakel was out one day with his donkey, one evening, and he saw the moon reflected in a great big—oh, a big thing of water they’d got in the back-yard. And he says, “Missus, look at this meoon, what’s it doin’ ’ere?” She says, “Ooh, I dunno,” she says, “it must be the Dudley meoon.” He says,” It ain’t,” he says, “it’s ’ere in our big jorum o’ water.” Well, at that moment, the old jack donkey was comin’ by, and he fancied a drink. So he drank from the water and at the same moment as he was drinkin’, there came a cloud over the moon, and when old Zakel looked again, the moon had gone. He says, “Eh, eh,” he says, “come out, Sarah, and see this,” he says, “our donkey’s bin and drunk the meoon.” From Gornal, Staffs. Collected from Miss Rhoda Dawtrey, of Tettenhall, by Roy Palmer, 9 April 1966. TYPE 1335. MOTIF: J.1791.1 [Drinking the moon]. One of the Hodscha Nasreddin stories (I, 241, no. 124). Also in Harris, Nights with Uncle Remus. No English example is given in Baughman. See “The Eaten Moon”.

THE TAILOR AND HIS APPRENTICES There was once a country tailor who had two apprentices, and he used to keep them at work till eleven o’clock at night. One day the tailor had to go to the town to buy cloth, and he came back late in the evening, passing on his way home through a lonely wood. The apprentices, who knew that he would come home through the wood, went out after dark, and got up a tree near the footpath on which they knew that their master would pass. In a short time they heard the tailor coming, and one of them called out “Abraham”. The tailor answered, “Yes, my Lord,” thinking it was God who had spoken to him. One of the apprentices in the tree said: “If thou keepest thy lads at work till eleven, Thou shalt not enter the kingdom of heaven.” When the tailor had gone the boys ran home quickly by a shorter way, and were at work when their master reached the house. As soon as he had opened the door he said to them, “Put your work away, lads, put your work away,” and they were never kept so late at work afterwards. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 5. TYPE 1575. MOTIF: K.1971.3 [Boy behind tree tells woman about bad food he gets; she thinks God is speaking, and gives him better food].

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See also “The Maid who wanted to Marry”.

THE TAILOR, THE KING, AND HIS SERVANTS A…king…had a tailor which was as good a workman of his craft as any was at that time in all the world. The which tailor had with him many good servants, whereof the one was called Medius which surmounted all the others in shaping or sewing. The king commanded to his steward that the said tailors should fare well and have of the best meats and of delicious drink. It happened on a day that the master steward gave to them right good and delicious meat in the which was some honey. And because that Medius was not at that feast, the steward said to the others that they should keep for him some of their meat. And then the master tailor answered: “He must none have, for if he were here he should not eat of it, for he eats never no honey.” And as they had done, Medius came and demanded of his fellows: “Why kept you not part of this meat for me?” And the steward answered and said to him: “Because that thy master said to me that thou eat never no honey, no part of the meat was kept for thee.” And Medius answered then never one word but began to think how he might pay his master. And on a day, as the steward was alone with Medius, he demanded of Medius if he knew no man that could work as well as his master. And Medius said nay and that it was great dommage of a sickness that he had. And the steward demanded what sickness it was, and then Medius answered to him: “My lord, when he is entered into his phrenzy or wodeness [= madness] there cometh upon him a rage.” “And how shall I know it?” said the steward. “Certainly, my lord,” said Medius, “when ye shall see that he shall set at his work and that he shall look here and there and shall smite on the board with his fist, then ye may know that his sickness commeth on him. And then, without ye take and bind him, and also beat him well, he shall do great harm and damage.” And the steward said to him: “Care not, my friend, for well I shall beware myself of him.” And on the morning next following, the steward came for to see the tailors. And then Medius, which knew well the cause of his coming, took away secretly his master’s shears and hid them. And anon his master began for to look after them and saw and searched all about, here and there, and began to smite his fist upon the board. And then the master steward began to look on his manners and suddenly made him to be taken and held by his servants; and after, made him to be bound and well beaten. Then was the master tailor all abashed, and demanded of them: “My lords, wherefore do ye beat me so outrageously? What offensce have I done, wherefore I must be bound and thus be beat?” And then the steward said to him in this manner: “Because that Medius told me that thou art frantic, and if thou be not well beat thou shouldest do great harm and damage.” And then the master came to his servant Medius and rigorously said to him: “Haa! evil boy, filled with evil words! When sawest thou me mad?”


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And his servant proudly answered to him: “My master, when diddest thou see that I eat no honey? And therefore I threw to thee one bowl for another.” And the master steward and all his servants began then to laugh and said all that he had well done. And therefore men ought not to do to any other that thing which they would not that men did to them. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 36–8. TYPE 1571*. MOTIF: J.1561.4 [Servant repays stingy master].

THE TAILOR WHO ANSWERED THE OWL There was once a village tailor who was more than half a coward, like many tailors before him. One night his work had kept him late, and he had to go through a dark wood to get home. There was no moon, and he wandered round and round in the wood, until at last in despair he yelled out, “Man a-lost! Man a-lost!” Immediately a hoarse voice answered him, “Who? Who?” “Please, zur, ’tis me, zur,” faltered the tailor. “Who? Who?” “Jacob Stone, zur.” “Who? Who?” “Honest tailor as ever lived, zur,” faltered the tailor, nearly dead with terror. At the next call he would have swooned outright, but just then a light came glimmering through the trees, and his old neighbour, the woodcutter, came towards him. “I heard ’ee a-call,” he said. “Proper dark and unket ’tis in wood; full of owls ’tis tew.” Ruth L.Tongue, Somerset, Blackdown Hills. TYPE 1322A*. MOTIF: J.1811.1 [Owl’s hoot misunderstood by lost simpleton]. See “Jacob Stone and the Owl”.

TAKE A PINCH OF SALT WITH IT There were a varm lad, and ’e went out on a job, and some one met ’e down to Langport town, and said to ’im, “Tom, what be doing ’ere? I thought ’ee ’ad a job down over.” “Ah,” ’e said, “I did, but first one ’o they sheep died, and us put un down to zalt, and us lived on that; then old cow died, and us put un down to zalt, and us lived on that; and last week, the Missus died, so I comed on ’ome.” Recorded from Ruth L.Tongue, 28 September 1963. Heard at Langport Women’s Institute, 1960. TYPE 1567 (variant). This is one of many tales about ill-fed servants. An Aberdeen version is told as a campfire story among the Scottish Boy Scouts.

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“TAKE TWO WI’T” A sheep-stealer was out one night, and after he had taken one from a flock, he was passing beneath a tree, and a wood-pigeon above said, “Take two, wi’t, take two; take two, wi’t, take two.” “Zo I wull,” said the man, and back he went for the second. As he was passing by with his double load, the pigeon sang the crooning section of his song: “Rope, rope, hang the man; rope, rope, hang the man.” The sheep-stealer stopped: the thought struck him that the treacherous voice above had purposely led him into trouble, and that punishment was sure now to come, so he dropped his burden, and ran for his life, and never stopped till he reached home. Norton Collection, VI, p. 20. Blackdown Borderland. TYPE 1322A. MOTIF: J.1811 [Animal cries misunderstood]. See “The Hangman’s Stone” B, IX, and “Sheep-stealers of the Blackdown Hills” B, IX, which combines the two tales. A similar story is told of the Hangman’s Stone in Preston, Gloucestershire, in Rudder, Gloucestershire Folk-Lore, p. 51.

THE TALE OF A DEAD PIG [summary] Two gypsies were driving past a farmhouse, and they saw a dead pig. It had died a natural death. They asked the farmer if they might have it, and he said they might. They would pick it up on their way back. That day a man was drowned in the reservoir, and his body was brought naked to the farm, and laid on the slab where the pig had lain. The gypsies came back after dark, and thought they had got a fine piece of dead meat. They carried it home, and did not know it was a man, till they struck a light. Then they were terrified, and put the corpse in the reservoir. Next day they craved for their dead pig, so they went to the farmer, and said they could not find the pig last night, and denied all knowledge of the dead man. They got their dead meat, washed down the feast with a drink and were so exhilarated, that they talked of it on the way home, and were overheard by the police. So they got three months in jail. Thompson Notebooks. From Johnny Smith, Oswaldtwistle, 11 January 1915. TYPE 1537 (variant). MOTIF: K.2151 [Corpse handed round]. See “The Monk of Leicester”.

“THAT’S NOT YOUR BUSINESS” Once upon a time there were a man who promised some beautiful clock he had as a prize to whoever could mind his own business for a year. At the end of the time, a young man came to claim it, and he give such a proof that he had minded his own business for a


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whole year. So the man were just about to give him the clock, and he say, as he go to fetch it: “You’re the second young man as made sure to get the clock.” “Ah,” say the young man, “and how did he miss getting it?” “That’s not your business,” say the other. “You won’t get the clock.” Norton Collection, VI, p. ii. Folk-Lore, III, p. 559, Lady Camilla Gurdon, from her gardener and his wife (S.E.Suffolk). TYPE 1416 (variant). MOTIF: H.1554.2 [Test of curiosity]. See also “Bob Appleford’s Pig”, “The Clock”.

THEY TOOK HIS WORD! The teacher, to impress on his pupils the need of thinking before speaking, told them to count one hundred before saying anything important. A few days later he was speaking with his back to the fire, when he noticed several lips moving rapidly. Suddenly the whole class shouted: “Ninety-nine, a hundred: Your coat’s on fire, Sir!” Norton Collection, V, p. 116. Wilson, Humorous Folk-Tales, I, pp. 186–7, quoting The Red Letter, 4 April 1936, contribution by Janet McIntyre, Castle Douglas, Kirkcudbrightshire. TYPE 1562. See “Father, I think”, “King Edward and the Salad”.

THE THIEF DETECTED or OF HIM THAT HAD HIS GOOSE STOLE A man that had a goose stole from him went and complained to the curate and desired him to do so much as help that he had his goose again. The curate said he would. So on Sunday, the curate—as though he would curse—went up into the pulpit and bad everybody sit down. So when they were set he said: “Why sit ye not down?” “We be set already,” quod they. “Nay, (quod the curate), he that did steal the goose sitteth not.” “Yes, that I do,” quod he. “Sayest thou that?” quod the curate. “I charge thee, on pain of cursing, to bring the goose home again.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 305. TYPE 964. MOTIF: J.1141.1 [Guilty person deceived into gesture which admits guilt]; J.1141.15 [The thief is tricked into revealing himself in church]. See also “The Stolen Pig” (Manning, Oxfordshire Folk-Lore), which is on the same theme. See also “Skelton”.

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THE THIEVES AND THE APPLES There was a man up in Cartmel had a very good crop of apples on one tree, and this tree was about a mile and a half from t’house. And he wanted those apples specially for the Harvest Festival. So he put a notice on t’tree: PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH THESE— THEY ARE WANTED FOR HARVEST FESTIVAL ON SUNDAY. When he went on t’ Saturday to pick ’em, he found his notice turned t’other side up, and the words written on it: ALL IS SAFELY GATHERED IN. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 50, p. 61. E.M.Wilson, Humorous Tales, II, no. 23. Told by Richard Harrison, August 1936. Heard from the joiner in Cartmel Fell. A version appeared in the Evening Standard of 10 May 1937. TYPE 1847*. MOTIF: J.1446 [Aaron’s censer]. In this case the quotation is from a hymn, rather than the Bible.

THE THISTLE A few Scotch and English travellers being met together, an Englishman took it upon him to run down the Thistle, exclaimed against the empty boast of its motto, Nemo me impune lacessit, when a Scotchman present observed, “The Thistle, sir, is the pride of the Scottish nation, but it is nothing in the mouth of an ass.” From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 212. MOTIF: J.1250 [Clever verbal retort].

THE THREE DOCTORS Once upon a time there was three wery clever doctors, an’ they ’ad a argument, which was the cleverest. So, what does one of ’em do, but take ’is eyes out, and put ’em on the table. The next one, ’e takes ’is arm off. An’the next, ’e takes ’is ’eart out. So they leaves ’em on the table, an’ goes to bed. In the morning the servant sees these queer things on the table, an‘throws ’em into the fire. Down comes the doctors, an’ wants their things back. So the servant didn’t know what to do. So, she kills the cat, an’ gets ’is eyes. Then she kills the pig, an’ gets ’is ’eart, an’ then she takes a robber’s arm, wot ’ad been hung for stealing, an’ she puts these on the table. Now these ’ere doctors puts these things back, an’ ’grees to met in a year’s time. In a year’s time, they comes back again, an’ axes each other ’ow they’ve got on. The first says, “Ever since last year, I can’t keep my ’and out of people’s pockets.” (That was the robber, you jin.) The next says, “I can’t stay in at nights, for chasing cats and mouses.” (That was the cat’s eyes, Rai.) And the last (with a huge chuckle) says, “An’ I can’t keep from rooting about muck with my nose, like a pig.”


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Norton Collection, II, p. 170. Gypsy. Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society, n.s., V (1911– 12), p. 153. Told to John Myers by Gyrenda Lovell, a gypsy. TYPE 660. MOTIFS: H.500 [Test of cleverness or ability]; F.688.1 [Persons with extraordinary powers remove vital organs]; E.782 [Limbs successfully replaced]; E.780.2 [Animal bodily members, transferred to person or other animal, retain animal powers and habits]; E.781.1 [Lost eyes replaced with those of an animal]; E.786 [Heart successfully replaced]. This is almost exactly the same as Grimm, no. 118. Forty-five Irish versions of this tale are recorded, and 13 Swedish. There are also French, Russian, Finnish, Polish, Flemish and other versions. Baughman cites one Kentucky version from M.Campbell.

THE THREE FOREIGNERS [summary] Three Frenchmen came to England, and as none of them knew the language at all, they listened outside a public-house, to see what they could pick up. They heard one man say, “Us three”, another, “Fifteen bob”, and a third, “Nowt but reet, and should be done.” Next day they came upon a dead body, and a policeman asked them who had killed him. The first man said, “Us three.” “What for?” asked the policeman. “Fifteen bob,” said the second man. The policeman said, “You’ll have to be hanged for this.” Then the third man said, “Nowt but reet, and should be done.” E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, June 1938, p. 187. TYPE 1697. MOTIF: C.495.2.2 [“We Three” “For Gold” “That is right”]. Told by Richard Harrison, of Crosthwaite, aged 16, in January 1936. He heard it from a labourer born near Whitehaven. This is a widely known type. It occurs in Grimm (no. 120) and is spread over most of Europe, and also known in India and the U.S.A. (Dorson, American Negro Tales, no. 150). A Märchen version (type 360) makes the replies the result of a contract with the devil, who finally rescues the three heroes from the gallows, to which their bargain brought them. See also “The Purse and the Penny Siller”, “The Three Hielandmen” and “We Killed Him”.

THREE IN ONE Billy Bones, the sexton, was in a bit of a temper. Old Mossy’s wife had said to him: “Dig well down, bor. My old man’s been top dog for over fifty years; now he’s gone, I want to be buried on top of him. Then I know I’ll be able to enjoy my time up above without him throwing his weight about.”

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So Billy had had to dig a double grave, two foot deeper than a single one, and he never got a penny extra for it. He was so mad about it that, when he’d finished, he went off home for his tea and quite forgot about the spade and pick that he’d left lying on the path. He hadn’t been gone long when Pimply Liz came into the churchyard. She was one of the parish handywomen,* and she wanted some of the last soil thrown out of the new grave. She knew that, if she got it before the moon shone on it, then she could make it into a poultice with yew leaves, and it would be a fine cure for running sores. But as she pattered down the path, in the dark, she didn’t see the pick which Billy had left there. When she trod on it, the handle flew up and gave her such a smack in the face that she stumbled and fell right into the open grave. Now, after Billy had had his tea, he found that he’d left his pipe lying on a tombstone. He lit his lantern and went to fetch it, but, as he was groping round for it, he heard a frightful noise coming out of the grave. Holding up the lantern, and peering down, he could just see what looked like a body there. This was too much for him, so he dropped the lantern, which fell right side up so didn’t go out, and started running. But his foot caught on the spade he’d left on the path, and the handle shot up and caught him full on the nose. When he staggered indoors, his wife couldn’t make head or tail of what he was trying to say; so she pushed the doorkey down his back to stop his nose bleeding and gave him a cup of tea. Well, he sat there, muttering about bodies in graves, till his old woman got fed up. At last she couldn’t stand any more of it, so she plugged his nose with sheep’s wool, gave him some parsnip wine to quieten him down, and went off to bed. Now, Nick Freebody, who could shift as much beer in one evening as most men can in a week, had just left the Black Horse and was coming along by Church Road. As it was pitch dark he was singing at the top of his voice, to keep his spirits up. As he got near the churchyard he could see, through the railings, a queer, flickering light, which looked as if it was coming out of the ground. This so scared him that he took to his heels and ran home, burst open the door, and, before his wife could say, as she usually did, “Drunk again,” fell down in a dead faint. He was so long getting his senses back that his wife began to think he must be dead. So she rushed round to her neighbour, old Larry Jenkins. When he saw Nick, he said he was only dead drunk, not dead, but he’d stay with her for a bit to see he came round all right. When Nick did come round, he sat up, sober as a judge, by that time, and told Larry what he’d seen. “Well,” said Larry, “as I’m on the Parish Council I think I ought to go and see who’s got a light in the churchyard at this time of night. I’ll go and get Billy Bones to come with me.” * Handywomen: the village nurses and midwives. Dirty and unhygienic as these women frequently were, they were often the only medical help readily available in remote Fen villages. Using herbal and semi-magical cures, the handywoman was not averse to letting it be known that she could also, on occasion, practise the blacker arts of witchcraft.


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When he got to Billy’s house he hammered on the door. This woke up Billy, who started yelling, so that his wife came running down with a candle in her hand, to see what was up. Then, what with the hammering on the door, and Billy’s yells, she started screaming too. Larry, outside, heard all this going on, but, as he couldn’t get Billy or his missus to open the door, and it was bolted, he rushed round to the Rectory, and knocked there. The Rector stuck his head out of the window and asked who wanted him. Larry started telling him all about a light in the churchyard, a body in a grave, Billy Bones murdering his wife, and something about Nick Freebody swearing he’d never touch another drop of beer for the rest of his life. As Larry was a strict teetotaller, the Rector couldn’t understand how he came to be in such a state, so he told him to wait there till he got dressed and came down. Then he woke his wife, and told her to make some strong coffee to sober Larry up, while he went downstairs, opened the door and took Larry into the kitchen. After they’d both had some coffee, the Rector said they really ought to go round to Billy Bones to see what was happening there; then they could go to the churchyard to find out about the other things. When they got to Billy’s they knew there was someone about because they could see a shadow on the blind. When the Rector knocked, Billy started shouting again, but his wife called out: “Who’s there?” When she knew who it was, she drew the bolt and let them in. They got the shock of their lives to see Billy’s face and beard all covered with blood, but, after a bit, he managed to tell them that he’d seen a corpse lying in Mossy’s new grave. So Larry and the Rector told him not to fret, they’d go and find out what it was all about. As they walked along the churchyard path in the dark, the Rector stepped on the pick, just as Pimply Liz had done, and the handle caught him a nasty jab in the stomach. He grabbed hold of Larry to keep his balance, and the pair of them found themselves leaning over the grave. Right at the bottom, waving a lantern, was Pimply Liz, which so scared the Rector, that he lost his footing, and fell in on top of her, bringing Larry down with him. When daylight came, Billy began to long for a smoke. He felt a bit braver by then, so he decided he’d go out and fetch the pipe he’d not found after all that to-do last night. As he walked over to the churchyard, a chap coming back with water from the pump, saw him and was very surprised to see that his face was all covered with blood. Thinking that Billy had, perhaps, been fighting and that there might be some more to watch, the chap set down his bucket and followed him. He came up with him just as Billy was standing on the edge of the grave, muttering to himself: “Three in one, three in one; I’ve never seen that before.” He was raving so badly that the man laid him out with a blow from the pick handle, then fetched a ladder so that the three in the grave could clamber out. Poor old Billy had to be taken off to the asylum, and, of course, the story of what happened went all round the village. That’s why, in all the pubs round here, even though it happened years ago, they still like to hear how the Rector, the handywoman and the parish councillor all spent a night together in a grave. W.H.Barrett, More Tales from the Fens, p. 30.

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TYPE 1791 (variant). MOTIF: X.424 [Devil in cemetery]. This is a lively detailed variant of the “Devil in the Churchyard” tale. See “The Bag of Nuts” etc. The parson is a more heroic character in this version than in most of the others.

THE THREE IRISH TRAMPS [summary] Three Irish tramps found a guinea on the road, and thought it was a redhot shilling. While they waited for it to cool, an English tramp came along, with a shilling in his pocket. He said he didn’t mind waiting for the shilling to cool, and they could take his, and buy some food at once. They buy tea, sugar and bread. Decide to take the tea that night, and the bread next morning. Pop tea and sugar in a pool, stir it with sticks, and drink the muddy water with great satisfaction. Spend the night in a haystack. Agree to tell their dreams in the morning. Youngest eats loaf, and says he dreamt he ate it. They went on their travels, found a snail, and did not know what it was. They sent for their student brother from Ireland, and were satisfied with his verdict that it was a summat. Went on and found watch. Insulted by its ticking, they smashed it. They were filled with remorse, and confessed to it as murder. The policeman allowed them to choose their manner of death. First asked to be hung from church steeple, second from a tree even higher. The third will not compete, but chooses a gooseberry bush. Quite willing to wait till it grows high enough. Still waiting. Thompson Notebooks, from Eva Gray, Grimsby, 2 December 1914. TYPES 1626, 1319A*, and 1587. MOTIFS: K.444 [Dream bread: the most wonderful dream]; J.1781.2 [Watch mistaken for the devil’s eye]; P.511 [Criminal allowed to choose his method of execution]; K.558 [Man allowed to pick out tree to be hanged on]. This is a combination of a variety of tales, many of them widespread. It is possible that this represents an early version of a tale that was afterwards divided. See “The Death of a Watch”.

THE THREE JOINT DEPOSITORS There is a tradition that one of the first public occasions which created an opinion of Lord Chancellor Egerton’s shrewdness and ability in his profession was shortly after he removed to Lincoln’s-Inn. He happened to be in court when a cause was trying, in which it appeared that three graziers had vested a joint deposit of a sum of money in the custody of a woman who lived in Smithfield, upon condition that she was to account for it upon their coming to demand it together. One of the graziers, by persuading her that he was commissioned to receive the money by his two partners, who were bargaining for some oxen, and only waiting for the money to conclude the purchase, prevailed upon her to entrust him with it, and he immediately absconded. The two other partners began a suit against the woman to recover their money. The cause was brought on, and a verdict would probably have been given in favour of the plaintiffs; when Mr Egerton stepped forward, and begged leave to speak as Amicus Curiae. Upon obtaining permission, he took care to establish the conditions upon


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which the defendant was entrusted with the money. These being readily allowed to be such as above stated; “Then,” said he, “the defendant is ready to comply with the agreement. The plaintiffs only may deservedly be charged with attempting its violation. Two of them have brought a suit against this woman to oblige her to pay them a sum of money, which, by the agreement, she was to pay to those two and to the remaining partner jointly, coming together to demand it—where is he? Why does he not appear? Why do not the plaintiffs bring their partner along with them? When they do this, and fulfil the agreement on their part, she is ready to come up to the full extent of it on hers; till then, I apprehend that she is by law to remain in quiet possession.” This turned the cause, and a verdict was found for the defendant. Norton Collection, V, p. 131. A.Chalmers, The General Biographical Dictionary, XIII. TYPE 1591. MOTIF: J.1161.1 [The three joint depositors may have their money back when all demand it]. There is a similar tale told of Noy in Lloyd’s Worthies (1670). See also “George Buchanan as Advocate”.

THREE LAZY ONES According to Williams’ Villages of the White Horse, ‘the idle tump’ at Lambourn is named after three men too lazy to direct a traveller except by drowsy gestures. See “Fimber Village Tales”.

THE THREE NOODLES, OR, THE HEAVENS MIGHT HAVE FALLEN There was once an old woman who left her daughter at home to get dinner ready when she went to church. On coming back she found nothing in order, and her daughter crying by the fireplace. “Heyday! What now?” said the incomer. “Why, do you know,” replied the girl, “as I was going to cook the dinner a brick fell down the chimney, and, you know, it might have killed me!” In a little while the husband came in, and finding both weeping, began, “What’s the matter here? All in tears?” “Why,” said his wife, “do you know, that as Sally was going to get the dinner ready a brick fell down the chimney, and, you know, it might have killed her!” Shortly after entered Sally’s sweetheart, and, seeing the confusion, burst out, “Why! How now? What! All weeping?” “Why, do you know,” whimpered the father, “as Sally was going to cook the dinner, a brick fell down the chimney, and, you know, it might have killed her!” “Well,” said the young man, “of all the fools I’ve seen, you are the three greatest, and when I find three as great as you I’ll come back and marry your daughter.” So away he went, till he came to where an old body should bake, but bewailed her illfortune, for she was trying in vain to drag the oven with a rope to the table where the

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dough lay. “Oh! you ninny!” exclaimed the young man; “you should take the bread to the oven, and not pull the oven to the bread. Well, that’s indeed fool number one.” “I didn’t think of that,” mumbled she. Then he wandered further—a long, long way—till he reached a place where an old wife should feed her cow with grass that grew on the roof of her cottage; but, instead of throwing down the grass to the cow, she was trying to draw the cow up to the roof. “Hullo! stupid!” exclaimed he, laughing, “cut grass and cast it down to the cow to be sure. Well, that’s fool number two, but it will be long enough ere I meet such another.” But, as he jogged along after this, he came to where a man was trying to put his breeches on. But, instead of holding them in his hand, he had propped them up with sticks, and was, to no purpose, taking run after run, to jump right into them, “Well, here indeed I have fool number three,” cried the lass’s sweetheart, turning homewards. So he went back to her cottage, and married Sally, the old woman’s daughter. As told in Essex, c. 1800. “Two English Folk-tales,” by Prof. George Stephens, FolkLore Record, III. pt. 2. pp. 155–6. TYPE 1384. See also “The Three Sillies”.

THE THREE OBEDIENT HUSBANDS There was three chaps in a public house, and when it came to closing time they went outside and one of them said: “I’ve gitten an idea, chaps. Which yan o’ us doesn’t do as t’wife tells us ta-neet when we ga yam es ta pay for drinks round ta-morn t’neet.” They all agreed to it and they all met as usual, t’next neet, and t’first chap started off and he said: “I gat yam an’ she started playin pop weasel. So I thowt if she could mek such a row I could ’elp it on, so I started. An then she said: ‘Aye that’s it. Ga an wakken aw t’street up.’ So I did dew. So I’s clear. I’ll ev a smook an hear you other chaps now.” T’second fella said: “I think I’ll clear mesel. I gat into t’house; I allus have a drink o’ milk afoor I ga to bed, an as I was fillin mi pot a lile drop spilt o’ t’ flooer. An she said: ‘Aye throw it all ower t’flooer.’ So up wi’ t’ jug an’ I did dew. So I’s clear aw reet.” T’third fella, scrattin’ his head, said: “I was sure it wad be me. I gat into t’house and she met me at t’dooer wi’ t’ poker. And just as I gat sat down she let go wi’ it, and just grazed mi heead. And t’ usual thing, she started playin’ shell; shoutin’ she did was turble. An I was as bad. An then she said: ‘Oh! ga an drown yersel!’” And he said: “Eh! I hadn’t the heart to dew it.” Folk-Lore, XLIX, September 1938. E.M.Wilson, collected from Richard Harrison, April 1937. Heard from a Dalesman on Walney Island. ta-morn=to-morrow; play pop weasel and play shell=to grow angry and scold; lile=little. MOTIF: N.13 [Husbands wager they will be able to do what their wives tell them]. A nineteenth-century music-hall song may have been the inspiration of this tale. The chorus ran:


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“I did it, I did it, it didn’t take me long! I did it, I did it, I didn’t think it wrong! The wife kicked up a rumpus, of that you may be sure; I only did as I was bid, a fellow can’t do more.”

THE THREE PREMIERS WHO WENT TO HEAVEN There was three premiers, an Englishman, a Scotchman, and a Welshman were going to Heaven. Well they started off and when they got to the gates they saw the door-keeper standing. They took no notice of him for the minute, and he grabbed hold of the Englishman and asked him where they were all going to. So they said: “Oh, we are going to Heaven.” So he said: “Well, I’ll have to have your sins written down first, and for so many sins you’ll have to canter once round the garden.” And the garden was about fifty acres. So the Englishman looked a bit surprised, the Welshman nearly fell, but the Scotty didn’t much mind. When he’d weighed all their sins up, he said to the Englishman: “You have to run once round, so get along and don’t delay about it.” When he came puffing back he told him to stand on the other side of the gates (and) he told the Scotchman to gallop round five times. When he had landed back again the doorkeeper said: “Where’s t’Welshman at?” The chap standing by said: “Oh, he’s just popped yam for his bicycle.” The Folk Tales of England, p. 114, reprinted from Folk-Lore, XLIX, June 1938, p. 191. Edward Wilson. Told December 1937 by Richard Harrison, who heard it from a joiner in the neighbouring parish. TYPE 1848 (variant). MOTIF: X.597* (Baughman) [Jokes about new arrivals in heaven]. See also “A Paddock in Heaven”, “The Two Chaps who went to Heaven”.

THE THREE SILLIES: I Once upon a time there was a farmer and his wife who had one daughter, and she was courted by a gentleman. Every evening he used to come and see her, and stop to supper at the farmhouse, and the daughter used to be sent down into the cellar to draw the beer for supper. So one evening she had gone down to draw the beer, and she happened to look up at the ceiling while she was drawing, and she saw a mallet stuck in one of the beams. It must have been there a long, long time, but somehow or other she had never noticed it before, and she began a-thinking. And she thought it was very dangerous to have that mallet there, for she said to herself: “Suppose him and me was to be married, and we was to have a son, and he was to grow up to be a man, and come down into the cellar to draw the beer, like I’m doing now, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a

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dreadful thing it would be!” And she put down the candle and the jug, and sat herself down and began a-crying. Well, they began to wonder upstairs how it was that she was so long drawing the beer, and her mother went down to see after her, and she found her sitting on the settle crying, and the beer running over the floor. “Why, whatever is the matter?” said her mother. “Oh, mother!” says she, “look at that horrid mallet! Suppose we was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be.” “Dear, dear! what a dreadful thing it would be!” said the mother, and she sat down aside of the daughter, and started a-crying too. Then after a bit the father began to wonder that they didn’t come back, and he went down into the cellar to look after them himself, and there they two sat a-crying, and the beer running all over the floor. “Whatever is the matter?” says he. “Why,” says the mother, “look at that horrid mallet. Just suppose, if our daughter and her sweetheart was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!” “Dear, dear, dear! so it would!” said the father, and he sat himself down aside of the other two, and started a-crying. Now the gentleman got tired of stopping up in the kitchen by himself, and at last he went down into the cellar too, to see what they were after; and there they three sat acrying side by side, and the beer running all over the floor. And he ran straight and turned the tap. Then he said: “Whatever are you three doing, sitting there crying, and letting the beer run all over the floor?” “Oh,” says the father, “look at that horrid mallet! Suppose you and our daughter was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him!” And then they all started acrying worse than before. But the gentleman burst out a-laughing, and reached up and pulled out the mallet, and then he said: “I’ve travelled many miles, and I never met three such big sillies as you three before; and now I shall start out on my travels again, and when I can find three bigger sillies than you three, then I’ll come back and marry your daughter.” So he wished them goodbye, and started off on his travels, and left them all crying because the girl had lost her sweetheart. Well, he set out, and he travelled a long way, and at last he came to a woman’s cottage that had some grass growing on the roof. And the woman was trying to get her cow to go up a ladder to the grass, and the poor thing durst not go. So the gentleman asked the woman what she was doing. “Why, lookye,” she said, “look at all that beautiful grass. I’m going to get the cow on to the roof to eat it. She’ll be quite safe, for I shall tie a string round her neck and pass it down the chimney, and tie it to my wrist as I go about the house, so she can’t fall off without my knowing it.” “Oh, you poor silly!” said the gentleman, “you should cut the grass and throw it down to the cow!” But the woman thought it was easier to get the cow up the ladder than to get the grass down, so she pushed her and coaxed her and got her up, and tied a string round her neck, and passed it down the chimney, and fastened it to her own wrist. And the gentleman went on his way, but he hadn’t gone far when the cow tumbled off the roof, and hung by the string tied


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round her neck, and it strangled her. And the weight of the cow tied to her wrist pulled the woman up the chimney, and she stuck fast half-way, and was smothered in the soot. Well, that was one big silly. And the gentleman went on and on, and he went to an inn to stop the night, and they were so full at the inn that they had to put him in a doublebedded room, and another traveller was to sleep in the other bed. The other man was a very pleasant fellow, and they got very friendly together; but in the morning, when they were both getting up, the gentleman was surprised to see the other hang his trousers on the knobs of the chest of drawers and run across the room and try to jump into them, and he tried over and over again, and he couldn’t manage it; and the gentleman wondered whatever he was doing it for. At last he stopped and wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Oh dear,” he says, “I do think trousers are the most awkwardest kind of clothes that ever were. I can’t think who could have invented such things. It takes me the best part of an hour to get into mine every morning, and I get so hot! How do you manage yours?” So the gentleman burst out a-laughing, and showed him to put them on; and he was very much obliged to him, and said he should never have thought of doing it that way. So that was another big silly. Then the gentleman went on his travels again; and he came to a village, and outside the village there was a pond, and round the pond was a crowd of people. And they had got rakes, and brooms, and pitchforks, reaching into the pond; and the gentleman asked what was the matter. “Why,” they say, “matter enough! Moon’s tumbled into the pond, and we can’t rake her out anyhow!” So the gentleman burst out a-laughing, and told them to look up into the sky, and that it was only the shadow in the water. But they wouldn’t listen to him, and abused him shamefully, and he got away as quick as he could. So there was a whole lot of sillies bigger than them three sillies at home. So the gentleman turned back home again, and married the farmer’s daughter, and if they don’t live happy for ever after, that’s nothing to do with you or me. Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 9. From Burne and Jackson, Shropshire Folklore.

THE THREE SILLIES II [Oxfordshire version] In a certain village there once lived a young woman so extremely noted for her prudence and forethought, that she was known among her neighbours as “Thoughtful Moll”. Now this young lady had a thirsty soul of a sweetheart, who dearly loved a drop of October, and one day when he came a-wooing to her: “O Moll,” says he, “fill us a tot o’ yeal, I be most mortal dry.” So Moll took a tot from the shelf and went down the cellar, where she tarried so long that her father sent down her sister to see what had come of her. When she got there she found her sister weeping bitterly. “What ails thee, wench?” said she. “O!” sobbed Moll, “don’t ye see that stwon in the arch, that stands out from the mortar like? Now, mayhaps, when I be married an’ have a bwoy, an’ he comes down here to draw beer, that big stwon’ll fall down on’m and crush’m.” “Thoughtful Moll!” said her admiring sister, and the two sat down, and mingled their tears together. The drink not being forthcoming, another sister is despatched, and she also stops. Meantime Dob grew chafed at the delay, and went down himself, to look after his love and his beer. When he

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hears the cause of the stoppage, he falls into a violent rage, and declares he won’t have Moll unless he can find three bigger fools than herself and sisters. It is noonday when Dob sets out on his travels; and the first person he saw was an old woman, who was running about and brandishing her bonnet in the sunshine. “What bist at, Dame?” says Dob. “Why,” says the old woman, “I be ketchin’ sunshine in this here bonnet, to dry me carn as I leased* in wet.” “Mass!” quoth Dob. “That’s one fool.” And so on he went, till he came to another Gothamite, who was dragging about the corn-fields a huge branch of oak. “What may ye be a-doin’ wi’ that, Measter?” says Dob. “Kain’t ye see?” says the man, “I’m a-gettin’ the crows to settle on this branch. They’ve had a’most all me crop a’ ready.” “The devil you are!” says Dob, as he went on his way. He meets no one else for a long time, and almost despairs of completing his number, when at last he sees an old woman trying all she could to get a cow up a ladder. “What are ye arter there, Missus?” says he. “Dwun’t ye see, young mon?” says she. “I’m a drivin’ this keow up the lather t’eat the grass aff the thack.” “Deary me!” says Dob. “One fool makes many.” And so he turned back, and married Moll; with whom he lived long and happily, if not wisely. Norton Collection, V, p. 19. T.Sternberg, Notes and Queries, V (17 April 1852), p. 364.

THE THREE SILLIES: III [Devonshire version] Sally Moggins’ eldest darter, Mary Jane, was a fine gurt strappin’ maid got tu. ’Er didn’ go out to sarvice like ’er tu older zisters, but bide ’ome to ’elp mother keep vore the ’ouze, an’ a fine maid to work ’er was, zo iverybody zed, an’d niver begritch’d plenty of elbow graise, same’s most o’ the lazy shirkin’ toads do nowadays. I daresay your washin’ machines an’ washin’ powders an’ globe polishes, an’ all that sort o’ trade they advertise to clain things wi’out your tichin’ o’ min be all very well so var’s they go, but they bain’t nort wi’out elbow graise arter all. Well, Mary Jane, as you might suppose, zune ’ad tu or dree young men ’ankering arter ’er, but the unly wan ’er’d ’ave ort to zay tu was Tom Chidley, thicky gurt rid-’aided chap what used to draive the fuss team of ’osses vor farmer Miller auver to Bangham. Wan day Mary Jane was churin’ about the ’ouze, jis’ like ’er always did, when zummin’ come’d auver ’er all to wance like; ’er zot down ’pon a chair, flinged ’er eppern auver ’er ’aid, an’ begin’d to rocky tu an’ fraw, sobbin’ same’s if the ’eart of ’er was ready to break. “Lord a massy me, maid,” zes ’er mother, starin’ tu ’er wi’ ’er eyes oppen zo wide’s tu tay-cups, “what a turn you do gi’e anybody to be sure. Whativer’s the matter wey ’ee?” “Aw, Mother,” ’er zes, “dont ’ee quarly wey me. I can’t ’elp it. You knaw funny things will come into anybody’s ’aid sometimes, an’ a quare thing come into my ’aid tho. * Gleaned.


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I can’t tell no more’n whet you can ’ow ’twas, but all to wance I begun to think to mezel: Sposin’ me an’ Tom was to git married, an’ sposin’ us was to ’ave a little bway, an’ sposin’ ’e was to git rinnin’ about to play, out’n court, an’—an’ (boo-oo!)—sposin’ ’e was to—(boo-oo!)—val’ into the weel, an’—(boo-oo!)—git drowned. Aw, mother, ’tis tu dreadful to think about.” “Wull, Mary Jane!” sez ’er mother, “of all the gurt sillies I iver yerd tell o’ if you don’t bait the lot! Whativer can I ’ave a du’d that a darter o’ mine should be jis’ a poor waik fule? Who du ’ee take arter I should like to knaw, wi’ yer old crackpot’ sposins’— sposin’ you was married, an’ sposin’ you was to ’ave a little bway—a dear little bway— an’ sposin’ ’e was to val’—Well, there, when you come to think of it, ’tis a sad an’ tichin’ idaya, a wisht idaya ’tis, vor a poor little innacent chiel to val’ into a weel, an— (boo-oo!)—git drowned”; an’ mother zot down ’pon another chair, an’ begun to go awn so bad’s the maid. Jis’ then, in come father. “’Ello,” ’e zes, arter starin’ a minit or zo to the pair o’ min zot there zide by zide rockin’ tu an’ fraw, “’Ello; be I in my own ’ouze, or bain’t I? What little game’s this gwain on yer, I should like to knaw? Is it what they cal’ a pantamine?” “Aw, mother,” sobbed Mary Jane, “you tell father; I’m sure I ain’t got the face tu.” “Wull, father,” zed ’er mother, “I’ll tell ’ee all about it, but don’t ’ee be angry wi’ the maid, ’er can’t ’elp it. You knaw funny things will come into anybody’s ’aid sometimes—pertic’ly into maids’ ’aids—an’ Mary Jane was workin’ away so well’s iver, when all to wance ’er begun to think to ’erzel’: Sposin’ ’er an’ Tom was married, an’ sposin’ they was to ’ave a dear little bway, an’sposin’ ’e was to git rinnin’ about out’n court, an sposin’ ’e was to val’ into the well an’ git—(boo-oo!)—drowned!” “Git out wi’ your cakey ole nonsense,” zes ’e; “you’m tellin’ properly waik an’ cabby. I niver zeed nor yerd jis’ a pair of old sillies in all my life, wi’ yer sposin’ ’er was to git married an’ yer sposin’ this an’ sposin’ that. Why Tom ’athn’ axed the maid ’it ’ath a? An’ what’s more ’e dithn’ seem in no gurt ’urry about it nuther. ’E’s mortal backward in comin’ voreward, if you ax me. But what was it you zed the chiel du’d? Val’d into the weel an’ got drowned? Wull, arter all, ’tis ruther a sad thought vor a poor little innacent chiel to—to—val’ into a weel—an’—an’—” Wull, now, I knaw you want believe it, but I’ll be dazz’d if father didn’ draa vore a chair bezide min, an’ zit down an’ begin to pipe ’is eye tu! That very instant who should ’appen to come in but Tom ’iszel’! The sight o’ the dree o’ min zot there side by side, an’ rockin’ tu an’ fraw, knack’n all to a ’eap. Arter starin’ a minit like anybody strook zo, ’e zes: “Whativer’s the mainin’ of this? Is it a ’zylum I’m come tu, or a raivival meetin’, or what?” “Aw, mother, you tell’n,” sez Mary Jane. “I couldn’ tell father, an’ I’m sure I couldn’ tell Tom.” Zo mother went dru the story wance more—the sposin’ they was to git married, an’ the sposin’ they was to ’ave a little bway, an’ sposin’ ’e was to val’ into the weel, an’ all the rest o’t. Bevore ’er could finish Tom burst out—“Well, if you bain’t the dree beggest sillies I’ve iver come across in all my born days T’ll—I’ll—niver go to baid more. Gaw. “Sposin’ us was married!’ Gude law! Purty vorward I cal’ that when I a’nt aiven axed ’er to name the day ’it. Countin’ chickin bevore they’m ’atched wi’ a vengeance that is! I’ll tell ’ee what ’tis: ruther than marry into jis a family of fules, I’ll be a bachelor to the end

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of my days. Zo yer’s off, an’ ceps’ I vind dree begger sillies than you be,—which id’n very likely—I’ll niver darken your door again.” Zo away went Tom, slammin’ the door arter’n, an’ growlin’ an’ mutterin’ like a bear wi’ a zore ’aid. “The gurt zart-’aided fules,” ’e kept aun zayin’ to ’iszel’, “I shall niver vind dree jis’ sillies again as they be vor sartain; no, net if I sarch from Dan to Bairshaiba. ’Tis all auver betwain Mary Jane an’ me for iver-an’-ever-amen.” But arter a little while ’e begun to cule down a bit, an’ thort to ’iszel’ ’e might jis’ so well keep ’is eyes oppen an’ zee what fules there might be gwain about. ’Twadn’ very long before ’e ’ad to pass dru a farm court, an’ there the fuss thing ’e ’appened to zee was a bway powerin’ some bowlin’ water into a zinc traw. “What be ’ee duin’ that vor?” ’e sez to the bway. “’Old yer tongue, can’t ’ee?” sez the bway. “I’m tryin’ a ’speriment.” “Aw; tryin’ a ’speriment be ’ee?” “Iss, I’m gi’ein’ the ’ens bowlin’ watter to see if I can’t git min to lay bowel’d eggs!” “Git out, you gurt silly,” sez Tom; “Why, thee’rt a begger fule than Mary Jane!” Zo ’e went on again, an’ come tu a ’ay mu; an’ up ’pon tap o’n there was a man tryin’ to pule up a cow wi’ a rope. “Whativer be ’ee about up there?” axed Tom. “Where’s yer eyes?” sez ’e. “Can’t ’ee zee what I’m bout? Tryin’ to pule up theze yer cow to gi’e ’er some ’ay to be sure.” “Git out,” sez Tom, “thee’rt a beggar fule than Mary Jane. Why diss’n’ draw the ’ay down to the cow, net try to pule the cow up to the ’ay?” “To be sure,” sez the man. “I niver thort o’ that.” Zo aun went Tom again, sayin’ to ’iszel’, “Wull, I’ll be darned if there idn’ tu begger sillies than Mary Jane I’ve mit wey a’ ready; I widn’ say I shan’t come across a third arter all.” Thicky night, as it ’appened, e’d got to share ’is baidrume auver to Bangham wi’ another chap. In the mornin’ when ’e oppened ’is eyes, there was theze yer ’tother chap out ’pon the floor, ’oldin’ ’is trousers in ’is ’ands, an’ takin’ frantic laips up in the air, both veet to wance, an’ comin’ down again thump, ’pon the planchin’. Tom watchn’ a minute or zo, an’ then axed’n what ’e thort ’e was duin’ o’. “Can’t ’ee zee what I’m duin’ o’?” ’e ’e snapped back. “Tryin’ to git into theze yer pair o’ trousers, bain’t I?” “Git out, yu gurt gawk,” sez Tom. “That idn’ the way to du’t; why dissn’ put een wan vute tu a time? ’Tis as aisy’s shillin’ pais then.” “To be sure,” sez the chap; “what a gurt silly I be. I niver thort o’ that.” “Wull, there,” sez Tom, “if I an’t a vound dree begger sillies than Mary Jane then arter all. I’ll be dazz’d if I don’t go an’ make it up wi’ the maid, same’s I zed I would, if so be ’er’s willin’.” Zo off ’e started to wance, an’ they made it up, an’ sure ’nuff they did git married, an’ they did ’ave a little bway; in fac’, in cor’se o’ time, they had sivver little bways—an’ maidens tu. “I s’pose, Tom,” sez ’is maister tu’n wan day when they was tellin’ together, ’bout raisin’ up families, “I s’pose you took gude care to fence in thick there weel bevore the children begun to come, didn’ ’ee?” “No, maister,” sez Tom, “I didn’.”


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“You didn’! Wull, what did ’ee du then?” “Why,” sez Tom, “I entered min all in the Burial Club, an’ tristed in Prauvidence.” Norton Collection, V, p. 22. William Weeks, Devonshire Yarns (new edition, greatly enlarged, Exeter, 1926), pp. 70–8. North Devon. From local tradition, or an imitation of other versions? Probably genuine. TYPE 1384. There are six complete English versions of “The Three Sillies”, as well as various separate motifs that belong to it. There are two from Essex, two from Oxford, one given by Miss Burne, possibly from Shropshire, and one from Devon. A is Miss Burne’s, reproduced by Jacobs. B is Oxfordshire, Sternberg. C is Devonshire, Weeks. The causes of the apprehension felt by the family are: an axe or mallet stuck in a beam; an insecure coping-stone; a brick which fell down the chimney; and the possibility that the unborn child might fall down the well. The acts of folly discovered by the wooer are: MOTIF: J.1904.1 [Cow taken to roof to graze]; J.1901.2 [Numskull gives hens boiling water so that they may lay boiled eggs]; J.2161.1 [Jumping into trousers]; J.1791.2 [Rescuing the moon]; [Branch dragged through field to catch birds]; [Oven dragged to dough]. Clouston devoted one chapter of his Book of Noodles to “The Three Sillies”. Kennedy gives a version in The Fireside Stories, and there are numerous American versions. See “The Three Noodles”. See also “The Wise Men of Gotham” for isolated motifs.

THE THREE TURNIPS A schoolboy’s story in Newcastle-on-Tyne relates how one man told his comrade of a remarkable dream he had had of an enormous turnip; whereat his comrade replied he had dreamt about an enormous kettle which was to boil the turnip in. The other day a Boston friend told the writer a Lincolnshire story of a man who grew such splendid turnips that there were only three in a tenacre field, and one grew so large that it pushed the other two out. This man had a mate who made such a big kettle that the man at one side could not hear the riveting at the other. Norton Collection, VI, p. 80. Lincolnshire. W.H.Jones in his notes to Folk-Tales of the Magyars, p. 361 (a), c. 1869. TYPES 1920, 1960D. MOTIF: X.1431.1 [Lies about big turnips]. See “Mark Twain in the Fens”, “The Great Turnip”.

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THE THREE WISHES: II Once upon a time, and be sure ’twas a long time ago, there lived a poor woodman in a great forest, and every day of his life he went out to fell timber. So one day he started out, and the goodwife filled his wallet and slung his bottle on his back, that he might have meat and drink in the forest. He had marked out a huge old oak, which, thought he, would furnish many and many a good plank. And when he was come to it, he took his axe in his hand, and swung it round his head as though he were minded to fell the tree at one stroke. But he hadn’t given one blow, when what should he hear but the pitifullest entreating, and there stood before him a fairy who prayed and beseeched him to spare the tree. He was dazed, as you may fancy, with wonderment and affright, and he couldn’t open his mouth to utter a word. But he found his tongue at last, and, “Well,” said he, “I’ll e’en do as thou wishest.” “You’ve done better for yourself than you know,” said the fairy, “and to show I’m not ungrateful, I’ll grant you your next three wishes, be they what they may.” And therewith the fairy was no more to be seen, and the woodman slung his wallet over his shoulder and his bottle at his side, and off he started home. But the way was long, and the poor man was fairly dazed with the wonderful thing that had befallen him, and when he got home there was nothing in his noddle but the wish to sit down and rest. Maybe, too, ’twas a trick of the fairy’s. Who can tell? Anyhow, down he sat by the blazing fire, and as he sat he waxed hungry, though it was a long way off supper-time yet. “Hasn’t thou naught for supper, dame?” said he to his wife. “Nay, not for a couple of hours yet,” said she. “Ah!” groaned the woodman, “I wish I’d a good link of black pudding here before me.” No sooner had he said the word, when, clatter, clatter, rustle, rustle, what should come down the chimney but a link of the finest black pudding the heart of man could wish for. If the woodman stared, the goodwife stared three times as much. “What’s all this?” says she. Then all the morning’s work came back to the woodman, and he told his tale right out, from beginning to end, and as he told it, the goodwife glowered and glowered, and when he had made an end of it she burst out, “Thou bee’st but a fool, Jan, thou bee’st but a fool; and I wish the pudding were at thy nose, I do indeed.” And before you could say Jack Robinson, there the goodman sat, and his nose was the longer by a noble link of black pudding. He gave a pull but it stuck, and she gave a pull but it stuck, and they both pulled till they had nigh pulled the nose off, but it stuck and stuck. “What’s to be done now?” said he. “’Tisn’t so very unsightly,” said she, looking hard at him. Then the woodman saw that if he wishes he must needs wish in a hurry; and wish he did that the black pudding might come off his nose. Well! There it lay, in a dish on the table, and if the goodman and goodwife didn’t ride in a golden coach, or dress in silk and


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satin, why, they had at least as fine a black pudding for their supper as the heart of man could desire. Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 99. TYPE 750A. MOTIF: J.2071 [Three foolish wishes]. Sternberg gives a version of the same story. Norton quotes an Irish version from Béaloideas. For Version I, see 1-522.

THE THRIFTLESS WIFE In a place not much frequented in the north of Scotland, there was a very honest and industrious family lived, who had one daughter, whose beauty was such that many suitors came to court her; but being of a thoughtless and simple disposition, her mother endeavoured to get her married to the first good offer, which happened soon after this resolution was made. A young man came a-wooing her, as several had done before him, but he was the most successful, as her mother wished to encourage his suit, and caused the daughter lay aside her distaff, at which she was spinning, and converse a little with her fond lover, who had come to court and call her his own. Having laid aside her distaff, at which she was so busy, her mother took the young man and her through various parts of the house, and showed him the great quantities of yarn which her fond daughter had spun. In the process of time, the young couple were married, he thinking himself fortunate in meeting with such a beautiful and industrious helpmate (as beauty and industry are seldom to be found in one person) and she in having met with such a kind and indulgent husband. The time, however, arrived, when each was to try their partner’s temper and dispositions, and also their management of household affairs. On arriving at her husband’s dwelling, shortly after the marriage, he showed her a great quantity of wool he had to spin, and requested that it might be done without loss of time; but instead of doing it herself, she gave it all out to her neighbours to spin, who were to receive for hire, each of them a parcel of the wool, and that before the work was finished; so that out of the large parcel given out, none returned but one trifling clew. On her husband asking her one day if the web was finished, she told him the yarn was spun, and next it would be wove. In the meantime it would be necessary for him to stay that evening at home, to get it winded upon clews. To this he readily consented, happy to have such a task imposed upon him. She cunningly devised the plan of putting him to one end of the house, and staying herself in the other, she rolled the ball of worsted backwards and forwards on the floor for the whole evening, making him believe at the time it was so many additional clews of the yarn she had spun that he had seen and handled. Next morning she arose by break of day, and went to her father, who was a weaver, and told him her pitiful story, and how she had beguiled her husband with the yarn. Her father, loth to expose her, said, as he had a web of cloth in the loom belonging to himself, she should have it, if she would behave better in future. Having got the web on her back, and returning home, she came to an alehouse on the roadside, where having stopped a little while to refresh herself, she got rather intoxicated, so that on her coming out of the house, she espied some trees, and in

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order to see how the web would appear on them, she wrapt one of them around, and sat herself down, and fell fast asleep. A pedlar coming that way, after having cut off her yellow hair, he next took the cloth and went merrily away. On her awakening, she went home in amazement, crying Where am I now? Where, says her husband, but in your own house, where you ought to be. But where is the web? My mother, said she, told me when I got it on my back, that I would be as braw as John’s wife; so that I tried how it would look on one of the trees; but suppose that they have swallowed it or hid it from me. The husband then, in a fit of despair, cried out, I must leave you; but she prayed him to continue with her, and she would do better in time coming. He next told her he was to kill a sheep for meat to them, and hoped she would not be foolish with it. The sheep being killed, he commanded that a bit should be put on for dinner, as he had divided it into as many pieces as there were stocks of kale in the yard. On his leaving the house, she went and laid to each stock in the garden, a piece of the meat. When he came home to dinner, perceiving a number of birds and beasts collected together in the yard, he asked what she had done, and was informed of her behaviour on this occasion, which quite enraged him the more, that he could scarcely refrain from beating her. But having a swine to kill, he would forbear for that time, in the hope that she would do better in that case. The swine was slaughtered, and the greater part of it laid aside to what he called Lent and the Lang Reed (a holy day on which a feast was to be holden), which she mistaking for some poor old man, asked every beggar their name, till one more cunning than the rest, informed her that he was the person of whom she had so long sought after, so got the pig on his back and departed. The husband having returned from his daily toil at the plough, she told him with heart full of glee, that Lent and the Lang Reed had been there, and had got his portion of the bacon, which again so vexed him to the heart, that he was determined to leave her. Yet once more her bitter tears and pitiful supplications softened his heart, and made him once more relinquish his project of abandoning her for ever, still flattering himself she would improve in wisdom. He then informed her he had a quantity of meal at the mill, and trusted she would go and winnow it, and be particularly careful that none of it should be lost. She promised fair, but as bad fortune haunted all her actions, she was again unfortunate; for having gone to make ready some meat for him with part of the meal, a flea unluckily made her entrance good into the barrel among the meal, and she taking the whole to the outside of the house to be sifted, and to catch the flea, the wind arose, and blew it all against the garden wall, and the walls of his house, which appeared as if they had been newly covered with snow, although this was in the middle of the summer, when everything else was green. When the husband returned, he found the house and ground all white, which caused him to remark, that there had been a great fall of snow in that place since he went away in the morning; but she having given him an explanation of the whole; he said he was now quite ruined, and could stay no longer with her, having tried every scheme and plan that man or wisdom could devise. They, however, made up matters once more, and he continued a little longer, saying, as he had some hurly-burly seed to sow, she would be careful of it; so took a jar, and digged a hole in the floor, and put in the jar with the seed, as he said it was, but it was true gold. The word of her foolishness having spread through a great part of the country, a packman came to offer her some finery for dresses, but she saying that she had nothing to give for them, unless a pigful of hurly-burly seed, which had been hid by her husband, in the midst of her floor. The packman, being cunning, requested to see


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it, and knowing its value, offered her what she wanted for it, which she readily accepted, and gave away the pigful of gold for a parcel of childish toys. On her husband’s return, she informed him of her good bargain, but was surprised to see him fly in a rage, exclaiming, he was now for ever done, ruined outright, and would not stay a moment longer, for no persuasion nor another. He then went away, but she followed, crying as she went; when, to retard her progress as much as possible, from following after him, he told her to bring the house door along with her on her back, with which she complied. They travelled hard all that day, and at night found themselves in the midst of a wood, in a sequestered part of the country. In order to avoid being devoured by wild beasts, they clambered up into the thicket of a lofty tree, right above a robber’s retreat. Having continued some time in this critical situation, she wearied with the door on her back, which she had contrived to take up into the tree, along with herself, she let it fall with such a tremendous crash on the top of the robbers’ hut, as made them suspect all was not right above. They then immediately fled, leaving all their gold and other valuables, with a well-plenished table behind them. One of the robbers, rather unwilling to part with so much riches, and rather loitering behind, was seized by the throat, and his tongue cut out by the root by the husband of the foolish woman, as by this time he had descended from the tree. The robber, having at length effected his escape, ran after his associates, crying Bide, Bide; but his mouth being full of blood, and his tongue cut out, they who heard him, knew from his cry that he had been in very great danger, and instead of thinking he called to them, as he ran after them to Bide, Bide, thought he cried Ride, Ride! So all of them made the best of their way, when the heart-broken farmer now loaded his foolish wife and himself with the spoils of their discovery, went home to their own place, and she reforming her ways, they ended their days in plenty and peace. Norton Collection, V, p. 195. Buchan, Ancient Scottish Tales, pp. 166–9. TYPES 1653, 1541. See “Hereafterthis”, “Mr and Mrs Vinegar”.

THE TIN CAN ON THE COW’S TAIL [summary] Abraham coming over Shap Fells one day leading one horse and riding another. Robber demanded his watch and chain. Abraham lays him out with loaded whip, gallops over him, and on to a house with a lighted window. Woman and daughter inside, invite him in, and leave him in a room with coffin and corpse. They go out and corpse sits up, and tells Abraham he is only pretending death to see whether the two women are playing false with another man. Women come back with the young farmer, and go upstairs. Husband gets out of coffin and follows them. Gunshot heard, then husband comes down saying, “I’ve settled that!” Wonders what death he shall inflict on Abraham. Abraham begs for life, but husband shuts him up in a biscuit tin, and rolls him down a mountain. Tin lands in a deep pool. Cows come down to drink; Abraham cuts a hole in tin, catches a cow’s tail in fingers, twists it round them till he can bite the fleshy part. Cow rushes away, pulling tin and Abraham with it. Gallops round hayfield till it drops dead with exhaustion. Haymakers come to help, and let Abraham out of the tin, unharmed but for the loss of

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two horses. Farmer gives him job, and when he has saved enough to buy old horse and cart he takes to the road again. Thompson Notebooks, D. From Pat Lee, quoting Abraham Lee. TYPE 1875 (variant). MOTIFS: K.1550.1 [Husband discovers wife’s adultery]; Q.411.0.2 [Husband kills wife and paramour]; X.1133.3 [Man in barrel grabs wolf by the tail, and is drawn out of danger]. This series of adventures is not so extravagant as most of its kind, and only becomes incredible when the hero is put into a biscuit tin. See “The Time I ran away with My Brothers”.

THE TINKER’S WIFE [summary] A tinker and his wife, having come to a good bit of country for earning some money, decided to take a little empty house and sell beer. The tinker bought one barrel and, leaving his wife to sell it, he went off on one of his rounds. At the week’s end he returned home and asked how she had got on. She replied that she had sold all the barrel of beer. He asked for the money, and she brought down one very large old-fashioned penny. He had told her to make “the biggest penny she could”, and this had been given her on the first day by a packman, to whom she had given the whole barrel in exchange. The tinker thought she might do better with a pig, so he bought her one before he next went away. He told her to count the cabbages in their garden, and fix a stick in the ground by each cabbage, and when the butcher came to kill and cut up the pig, she was to allow a piece of pig to each cabbage. When he had gone, she cut up the pig into as many pieces as there were cabbages, and stuck one piece on each stick all round the cabbages. When her husband came home, all the meat had disappeared. In despair at her stupidity, he told her to rake out the fire, and pull the door after her. So she raked the fire out into her apron, pulled the door right off its hinges, and slung it on her back, and so she trudged along behind her husband. At night they came to a hollow tree, and climbed into it for shelter. Soon a band of robbers came and settled down underneath them. They were praying for a bit of fire to cook their supper, so the tinker’s wife dropped the hot coals from her fire on to them. They took it for a godsend. Then she heard them praying for a drop of vinegar for their meat. She dropped a little vinegar on to each plate, and they were even more pleased. Now the door was becoming very heavy on her shoulders, and she let that too fall down the hollow tree, and this frightened the robbers so much that they ran off at top speed. Then Jack’s wife slipped down the tree and picked up the bag of gold they had left behind. One of the robber brothers was deaf and dumb, but a brave fellow, and he came creeping back to see what was wrong. When he saw Jack’s wife he mumbled to her, so she made signs to him to come up to her, and she would cure his speech. And when he put his tongue out as she told him, she cut half of it off. So he ran away bleeding to his brothers, who when they saw him were sure that the devil was in the old tree. Dora E.Yates. A Book of Gypsy Folk-Tales, p. 195.


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TYPES 1653, 1386, 1385*. MOTIFS: K.362.1 [For the long winter]; J.1856.1 [Meat fed to cabbages]; K.1413 [Guarding the door]; K.335.1.1.1 [Door falls on robbers from tree]. See also “The Thriftless Wife”, “Mr and Mrs Vinegar”, “Hereafterthis”, “Good Fortune”.

TOM’S CONVARSION I’ve never been convarted mysen, an’ I doänt knaw I’m ony wo’s fer that; bud wonce a partic’ler friend o’ mine was browt in at chappil, an’ it was finest spree him an’ me was iver consarned in. It was i’ this how it cum aboot. A lot o’ folks had c’llected munny, an’ built the’rsens a chappil; an’ ther’ wasn’t nowt to be said agen that, ye knaw. Nobbud when they’d gotten it dun thaay begun to think the’rsens a straange sight bigger an’ religiouser then uther foäks. An’ at last zum on ’em got that owerbeärin’ ther’ wasn’t noä livin’ i’ saame parish wi’ ’em. Well, Tom says to me won daay, when we was a knockin’ oot beäns wi’ flaails i’ t’ owd thack barn. “I can’t stan’ this noä moor. Here’s owd Hard-Fist been knaggin’ at me aboot this here religion agaan, I’ll gie him his fill on it afoor anuther weäk’s oot, just thoo mind if I doän’t.” “What art te up to noo?” says I. “Doän’t get thysen i’to ony truble. My owd gran’muther ’at larnt me th’ Loord’s Prayer, alus tell’d me to keäp clear o’ gaame-presarves, magistraates, an’ chappil-foäks, an’ she had raight on it too.” “Well, mun,” says he, “I’m that stall’d o’ theäse here goins’-on, ’at I’m boond to drop on ’em afoor I’ve dun, an’ if it hes to be, it mud as well be soon as laate.” Then he tells me to mind and be at crosstree, hairf a noor afoor foäks went i’t chappil o’ Sunda’ neet, an’ off he goäs wi’ anuther seck o’ beäns. That was upon ’Tho’sd’; an’ when I was at tha Horn o’ Setterda’ neet, I heerd as Tom hed gotten religion powerful, an’ at preächers an’ ivrybody was that setten up wi’ it thaay could hardlin’s beär the’rsens. Well, I niver let on ’at I’d heerd owt aboot it, bud when I gets oot’n hoose I leän agen wall and laughs fit to split mysen; an’ then I goäs to seä Tom, bud he wo’dn’t tell me nowt, an’ he look that solid I was o’most fear’d ’at what foäks was sayin’ was trew. Awiver, I cum’d to think diff’rent o’ Sunda’. When I gets to cross-tree, theare was Tom an’ two or three moor, waaitin’ fer me; an’ Tom says to us: “I’ve nobbud gotten this here to saay. When ye hear me beginnin’ to talk—an’ ye’ll be saafe to do that afoor I’ve dun—you just houd door to, an’ doän’t let noäbody oot, not if it’s iversoä.” Then he seas owd HardFist cumin’ along toon-streät, an’ he begins tellin’ us as how he’s left off his wicked waays an’ ’s takken up wi’ religion. An’ ’at he doesn’t think such’n a sinner as him can be saaved along wi’ reg’lar chappil foäks, bed ’at he’s gooin’ to do his best to get a good plaace i’ heaven. An’ then him an’ owd Hard-Fist goäs i’to chappil, an’ leaves us wi’ wersens ootside. Well, when all foäks hed gotten i’to the’r seäts, an’ door was shutten to, me an’ my maates went an’ stood an’ listen’d. An’ at fo’st off things went on reg’lar like, bud efter sarmon I heerd preacher saay: “Et, he’s been a greät sinner, bud he’ll do different noo;”

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an’ then Tom he gets up an’ begins to tell his exper’ence. At startin’ he groäned fit to lift roof off, bud efter a bit he got warm an’ sattl’d doon to his wark, an’ then, my wo’d, didn’t he let ’em hear th’ length o’ his tung! “It’s ivry wo’d on it trew,” says he, “I hav been a bad ’un, an’ noä mistaake; bud, Loord, here’s dozens o’ foäks i’Z this chappil’‘at calls the’rsens religious, ’at’s been as bad as me, an’ wo’s an’ all, an’ thoo mun excuse me, Loord, I’ve le’ed like a good un wheniver I’ve hed chanche to mak’ owt by it, bud I niver go six months at Kett’n, like Sep Barker ’at swore false agen his sister husband. Ey, Loord, I’m fair grufted in wi’ sin, bud I niver stoäl a flick o’ bacon fra a widder woman, as Kester Watson did when he robb’d his awn muther.” An’ then he groäns agen, wo’s than iver, an’ foäks gins to want to get oot ‘n chappil. Bud we houds to door agen ’em, an’ he teks a fresh start, an’ belders oot till ye could ha’ heerd him fair across toon-streät. “Ey, Loord, I knaw I’ve been cloäse wi’ my munny, bud I niver let noä bairn o’ mine dee on parish, lik Sam fra Top Farm; an’ if I hev’nt dun as I hed owt, I’ve niver carried on like owd Natty Hard-Fist, an’ him a married man too. Soä, Loord, if te can saave th’ likes o’ them Thoo mon’t forget a daicent chap like me.” Well, I couldn’t houd oot noä moor. I hed to let the sheck goä, an’ sit doon upo’ door-step an’ laugh till I was as weet as muck wi’ sweat. An’ them as was i’side was that mad they pull’d door awaay fra t’uther lads, an’ oot thaay cums, won a top o’ anuther. Owd Hard-Fist, an’ Kester Watson, an’ that lot, was i’ fo’st flight; an’ thaay alus let Tom aloane efter that. An’ fer a good peace thaay wasn’t as setten on bringin’ foäks in as thaay hed been afoor, nayther. M.Peacock, Tales and Rhymes in the Lindsey Folk-speech, p. 99. TYPE 1825. MOTIF: K.1961.1.2.1 [Parody sermon]. This is loosely connected with J.1211.1 [Peasant preaches about Bishop’s amours].

TOM PER CENT [A farmer hired Jack, and instructed him overnight. Jack was to do what he was required, or lose his head.] “Now, Jack,” said the farmer, “What’s my name?” “Master, to be sure,” says Jack. “No,” said he, “you must call me Tom Per Cent.” He showed his bed next, and asked, “What’s this, Jack?” “Why, the bed,” said Jack. “No, you must call that, he’s of degree.” And so he bid Jack call his leather breeches “forty cracks”; the cat, “white-faced Simeon”; the fire, “hot coleman”; the pump, “the resurrection”; and the haystack, “the little cock-a-mountain”. Jack was to remember these names or lose his head. At night the cat got under the grate, and burned herself, and a hot cinder struck her fur, and she ran under the haystack, and set it on fire. Jack ran upstairs to his master, and said: “Tom Per Cent, arise out of he’s of degree, Put on your forty cracks, come down and see; For the little white-faced Simeon Has run away with hot coleman


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Under the little cock-a-mountain, And without the aid of the resurrection We shall be damned and burnt to death.” So Jack remembered his lesson, and saved his head. That’s the end. Norton Collection, VI. p. 88. Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor, III, p. 391. Told by a boy of 17 from Manchester. TYPES 1940, 1562A. MOTIFS: X.1506 [The extraordinary names; a place where animals and things are designated by senseless names]. There are a great many variants of this tale. In some the apprentice purposely sets fire to the cat’s tail; in some the master is not sufficiently familiar with the names he has given, and allows the house to burn down (MOTIF: J.1269.12). Some appear to be a satire on learned language, and some are nonsense for its own sake. See “Master of all Masters”, “Don Nippery Septo”, “Easy Decree”. The type is discussed in “The Barn is Burning”, K.Jackson and E.Wilson, FolkLore, XLVII (1936), p. 195.

TOM TRAM CHAPTER I A merry jest between old Mother Winter and her son-in-law, Tom There was an old woman named Mother Winter that had but one son-inlaw, and his name was Tom: and though he was at man’s estate, yet would do nothing but what he listed, which grieved his old mother to the heart. Upon a time being in the market, she heard a proclamation, “That those that would not work should be whipped.” At which the old woman leapt, and with great joy home she comes, meets with her son and tells him the mayor of the town had made a decree, which was, “That all those that would not work should be whipped.” “Has he so?” says he. “Marry, my blessing on his heart; for my part, I’ll not break the decree.” So the old woman left her son, and went again to the market; she was no sooner gone but her son looks into the stone pots, which she kept small beer in; and when he saw that the beer did not work, he takes the pot, strips off his doublet, and with a carter’s whip he lays on them as hard as he could drive. The people who saw him do it, told his mother what he had done; which made the old woman cry out, “O! that young knave will be hanged.” So in that tone home she goes. Her son seeing her, came running and foaming at the mouth to meet her, and told her that he had broke both the pots; which made the old woman to say, “O thou villain! what hast thou done?” “O mother,” quoth he, “you told me it was proclaimed, ‘that all those that would not work must be whipped’; and I have often seen our pots work so hard that they have foamed so much at the mouth, that they befouled all the house where they stood; but these two lazy knaves,” said he, “told me, that they did never work, nor never meant to work; and

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therefore,” quoth he, “I have whipped them to death, to teach the rest of their fellows to work, or never look me in the face again.” CHAPTER II Another jest of old Mother Winter and her son, Tom Upon a time old Mother Winter sent her son Tom into the market to buy her a pennyworth of soap, and gave him twelvepence, and charged him to bring it home safe. Tom told her it should be so; and to that end it should be safe brought home, according to his mother’s charge, he goes and buys a penny-worth of soap, and hired two men with a hand-barrow to carry the soap, and four men with brown bills to guard it along to her, giving them the elevenpence for their pains, which made his mother in great fury go to the mayor of the town, who committed him to prison. Now, the prison window joining close to the mayor’s chamber window, Tom and some other merry prisoners like himself getting a cup of good liquor in their heads, began to sing and rear and domineer, insomuch that the mayor heard them that night, and charged them they should leave off drinking and singing of loose songs, and sing good psalms. Tom told him that he should hear that he would amend his life, if he would pardon his fault. The mayor said that for their misdemeanours, they should be that night in prison, and upon amendment, being neighbours, he would release them. In the morning they thanked the mayor, and Tom Tram prevailed so far with a friend of his, that he borrowed three shillings; which three shillings he spent upon his fellow-prisoners, which made the poor men be ruled by him, and do what he enjoined them to do; so when the mayor was gone to bed, the prison window as before observed, being close to the chamber-window they began to sing psalms so loud that the mayor could take no rest, which made him cause one of his servants forbid them leave off singing. Tom Tram said that it was the mayor’s good counsel that they should sing psalms, and sing they would as long as they lived there. Which made the mayor bid the jailor turn them out of prison,without paying their fees. CHAPTER III How Tom served his hostess and a tobacco seller—being another of his jests It happened that Tom was sent on an errand forty miles from his abode, over heaths and plains, where having dispatched his business, he chanced to be lodged in a room that opened into a yard, where his hostess kept many turkeys, which Tom seeing, he thrust pins into two of their heads, and in the night they died. The woman in the morning wondered how the fowls should come to die. Tom persuaded her that there was a great sickness where he dwelt amongst all manner of fowls, and wished his hostess to fling them away, which she did. Tom watched where she flung them, and when he took his leave of his hostess, it was at such a time when she was busy setting bread into the oven, so that he was sure that she could not look after him. So he goes and wraps the turkeys in his coat, and away he runs; but finding his two turkeys heavy, he sees a man that sold tobacco up and down the country at the foot of a hill, when he alighted to lead his horse down the hill, at the bottom of which he falls down, and lies crying as if he had broken one of his legs, and makes to the man a most piteous lamentation; that he was six or seven miles from any town, there being no house near; and that he was like to perish for


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want of succour. The man asked where he dwelt. He said with a knight, to whom Tom did live as a jester. The man knowing the knight, and thinking Tom’s leg had really been broken, with much ado lifted him upon the horse. When Tom was mounted he prayed the man to give him his master’s turkeys. Tom made the horse to gallop away, crying out, “I shall be killed! I shall be killed! O my leg! What shall I do? O my leg!” The man seeing him gone, stood in amaze, and knew not what to think; nevertheless, he durst not leave his turkeys behind him, for fear of displeasing the knight, but carried them lugging along fretting and swearing in his boots, till he came to the next town, where he hired a horse to overtake Tom, but could not, till he came to the knight’s house, where Tom stood to attend him coming, looking out at the window. When the man alighted, Tom then called to him so loud, that most of the house heard him. “O,” said he, “now I see that thou art an honest man; I had thought you had set me upon your headstrong horse, on purpose to deceive me of my turkeys.” The man replied, “A pox take you and your turkeys, for I never was played the knave with so in my life; I hope you will pay for the hire of the horse, which I was forced to borrow to follow you withal.” “That I will,” said Tom, “with all my heart.” CHAPTER IV How Tom paid the man for his korse hire Tom asked the man what way he intended to travel. “Marry,” said the man, “I must go back with the horse I have hired.” Quoth Tom, “What did you give for the hire of him?” Said the man, “I gave five shillings.” “Well,” said Tom, “I will set you to the next publichouse, and then we will eat one of the turkeys, and I will bring you in good silver the five shillings for the horse hire.” The place appointed being two miles off, Tom appoints three or four of his companions to meet him, who did not fail, for they were there before Tom and his friend, who came riding upon the horses—Tom upon the hired horse, and the man upon his own. Tom alighted, and called the hostler to set up his horse, and to give him oats enough, and caused a turkey to be roasted with all possible haste, which, according as he commanded, was performed. But Tom whispered to his consorts, and wished them to ply the man with drink; while he, in the meantime, went to the host and told him they came to be merry, and money was short with him and desired he would lend him ten shillings upon his horse. The host, having so good a pawn, lent it him, knowing it would be spent in his house. So Tom went, and gave the man five shillings for the hire of the horse, and spends the other five shillings freely upon him. By that time the day was pretty nigh spent, so that the man could get no further that night, but Tom and his companions took their leaves, and returned home, and the man went to bed little suspecting the trick Tom had put upon him. In the morning the man rising betimes, thinking to be gone, could have but one horse unless he paid ten shillings, for Tom had left word with his host, that paying the money he should have both horses. The man seeing himself cozened again by Tom, paid the ten shillings, and wished all such cheating knaves were hanged, away he went, fretting and foaming to see himself abused.

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CHAPTER V How Tom served a company of gentlemen It happened that a company of gentlemen being disposed to create mirth, rode some miles away from home to be merry. One of them would need have Tom to wait upon him, and Tom was as willing as he to be in that company, but as they were coming home, one of them cut the reins of Tom’s bridle, so that when Tom mounted upon his horse the reins broke, and the horse ran away with him in the midst of a great heath whereon stood a large gallows against which the horse stood, and rubbed his neck, so that the gentleman hooped and hallooed, and said, “Farewell, Tom, farewell.” But Tom alighted from his horse, and made fast the reins, and with his sword cut three or four chips from off the gallows; and at the next tavern Tom met with them, where they jeer’d him not a little; but Tom very earnestly entreated them to forbear, yet the more he entreated them, the more they played upon him. But to be even with them, in the morning Tom calls the hostler, and sends him for nutmegs and ginger, and gets a grater, and when he had grated them, he also grated the chips off the gallows, and mixed with the spice only a little nutmeg and ginger, he laid towards one end of the trencher for himself, and with a gallon of ale into the gentlemen’s chamber he goes, begging of them not to mock him any more with the gallows; and he would give them that ale and spice; and so, says he, “Gentlemen, I drink to you all.” Now, as soon as he had drunk, the hostler called to him, as he gave him charge before so to do. Downstairs runs Tom as fast as he could. The gentlemen made all possible speed to drink up all the ale and spice before he came up again, and that was what Tom desired. When he came again, seeing all the ale and spice gone, he says, “Gentlemen, will you know why my horse carried me to the gallows?” “Yes,” says one of them. “Well,” says Tom, “it was to fetch you some spice to your ale, and if you want, I have more for you”: and with that showed them the chips out of his pocket, and away he runs, leaving the gentlemen to look one upon another, studying how they should be revenged on him. CHAPTER VI How Tom rode a-gossiping Tom heard a company of women that would meet at the place a housewarming, to welcome one of the house. These women had formerly abused Tom, and now he thought to be even with them, so he goes to an apothecary’s shop, buys a pound of purging comfits, and puts them in a cake, with other spices, and dresses himself in women’s apparel, and gets a horse and a pannel, and to the house he comes, knocks at the door, and asked the maid, whether there were any women come a-house-warming? The maid said, “Not yet.” “I pray,” said Tom, “take this cake, and if I come not at the meeting, let them eat it and be merry, for I must go to a woman that is exceedingly unwell,” and away he goes. The women came, and wondered what woman it should be that left the cake. Some of them supposed that it was some rich lady. They stayed a while, and the person they expected to be with them not coming, they fell to their meat, and at last to the cake. But it was not long in their stomach before it began to work, so that all began vomiting, and were so sick, that they disordered the house. In which time Tom shifts himself into man’s apparel, and with a staff in his hand, came where his gossips were, and hearing them groaning all the house over, opened the door, and asked them what was the matter? They


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answered they were all poisoned. “Marry,” quoth Tom, “I hope not; if you please to let me have a horse, I will ride to Mr Doctor’s, and fetch an antidote, to deaden the poison.” “Take my horse,” quoth one; “Take my horse,” said another; “Or mine,” said a third. “Well, well,” said Tom. “I will take one.” And into the stable he goes, and takes three horses, and to the doctor’s he rides, and told him that all the people in such a house had eaten something that had poisoned them; and prayed him that he would, without delay, carry them some medicines, and that they had sent a horse for him and another for his man. The doctor, greedy of money, hastened thither with his medicine bottles as fast as the horses could carry them and his man. But the doctor no sooner came into the house than he saw there was no need of medicines. In the meantime Tom told not only all he met with, that there were such women met to be merry at such a place; and not only they, but all the women of the house were poisoned, but went likewise to their husbands, and told them the like, so that all the people thereabouts repaired thither, which made the women so ashamed that they knew not which way to look, because all that saw them judged they were drunk; so that instead of comforting them which they expected, they fell a-reviling them. The women also fell to scolding among themselves, and would have fought, had not their husbands parted them, by carrying them home. CHAPTER VII How Tom served a company of gypsies It happened on a day towards night, that there came a company of gypsies into a town, and had not very long been there till Tom met them, and asked them “What they made there?” They said they came to town to tell the people their fortunes, that thereby they might understand ensuing dangers. “Aye,” said Tom, “and where do you lie to-night?” They told him they could not tell. “Nay,” said Tom, “if you will be contented to lie in straw, I will bring you where you may lie dry and warm.” They thanked him, and told him they would tell him his fortune in the morning for nothing. Tom thanked them, and therefore conveys them into a little thatched house which had a ditch round about it, very close to the wall thereof. That house Tom helped them to fill with straw, and saw them take their lodging; and then, it being dark, Tom bade them good-night, and as soon as he was over the bridge, which was a plank, he drew it after him; and in the dead time of the night Tom gets a long pole, with a wisp of straw at the end of it, and sets the straw on fire, calling out to the rest of the fellows to shift for themselves; who, thinking to run over the bridge, fell into the ditch, crying and calling out for help, while, by Tom’s means, most part of the town stood to see the jest; and as the gypsies waded through the ditch, they took them and carried them into a house, where there was a good fire, for it was in the midst of winter; where Tom counsels them that they should never make him believe that they could tell him anything, that did not know what danger should befall themselves. “But”, says he, “because you cannot tell me my fortune, I will tell you yours. For to-morrow, in the forenoon, you shall be whipped for deceivers, and in the afternoon be hanged for setting the house on fire.” The gypsies hearing this so strict sentence, made haste to dry themselves, and next morning stole out of town, and never came any more there.

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CHAPTER VIII How Tom sold his mother’s trevot, and cozened an acqua vitae man that sold hot water In a winter night, coming home very late, Tom Tram fell with his arms before him, and at the last run his nose against a post. “What,” quoth Tom, “is my nose longer than my arms?” And afterwards he dropped into a well that was in the yard, and crying out, “Help, help! All is not well that is in the well!” the neighbours came and pulled him out, and he dropped like a pig that had been roasted on a spit; but he was then in a cold condition, so he went to bed, and covered himself, but before morning, Tom became unwell; and when some had discovered this, he told them that if he died of that sickness he should be buried by torchlight, because none should see him go to his grave. Just as he had said, in came a hot-water man, of whom he requested to give him a sup, which having tasted, he feigned himself to be in a hot fever, and rose up in his clothes, ran away with the acqua vitae man’s bottle of hot water, and took his mother’s trevot, and sold it for a long hawking pole, and a falconer’s bag, which being tied to his side, and having drank up the poor man’s hot water, he came reeling home with an owl upon his fist, saying, “It is gentlemanlike to be betwixt hawk and buzzard”; and he told the acqua vitae man that he had sent the trevot, with three legs, to the next town to fill the bottles again. CHAPTER IX How he hired himself to the justice, and what pranks he played while with them The justice at this time being without a man, and finding Tom to be a lively fellow, asked him if he would serve him. “Yes,” quoth Tom, “for I am a great many miles from the country.” As soon as they had agreed for wages, Tom was immediately entertained. But he had not lived long there, before the justice and his family were obliged to go to London, leaving nobody at home but Tom. Now in the justice’s absence, an Officer brought a lusty young woman and a little man with a complaint. So they knocked at the door, and Tom let them in; then placing himself in his master’s chair, he asked the woman what she had to say, who told him that the man she had brought before him illused her. “Adzooks,” quoth Tom, “is it possible that such a little fellow as this could illuse such a strapping dame as you?” “Alas! sir,” quod she, “although he is little, he is strong.” “Well, little whipper-snapper,” quoth Tom, “what do you say to this?” He replied, “Like your worship, it is false what she says. The truth is, I have been at sea, and coming ashore, where I received my pay, I met with this woman, and agreed with her for a pair of shoes, for half-a-crown, and when they were put on, I pulled out my purse to pay her honestly what I had agreed for; but she seeing that I had a considerable sum of money, contrary to our bargain, would force me to give her ten shillings, and because I would not, but struck her as she deserved, she has brought me before your worship.” “Have you got that purse of money?” quoth Tom. “Yes, sir,” said the seaman. “Give it into my hand,” said Tom. He receives it, and turning to the woman, said, “Here take it and get about your business.” She replied, “I thank your worship, you are an honest good man, and have done me justice.” The little seaman the meanwhile wrung his hands and bitterly cried out, “I am ruined, for it is every penny I had in the world.” “Well,” quoth Tom, “run after her, and take it from her again.” According to Tom’s order he runs after her, and when he came after her he said, “I must, and will, have my purse again.” Then she fell about his ears and cuffed him. Nay, this did not satisfy her, but she dragged him


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back again to Tom, who sat as justice, and told him that the fellow followed her for the purse, which he in justice gave her. “Well,” said Tom, “and has he got it?” “No,” said she, “I think not; before he should take it from me, I’d tear out both his eyes.” “Let me see it again,” says Tom. She gives it to him. “Is all the money in it?” quoth he. “Yes, sir,” said she, “every penny.” “Why then”, said he, “here, little whipper-snapper, take your purse again; and as for you, Mrs Impudence, had you kept your word as well as you did your money, I never had been troubled with this complaint. Here, Mr Constable, give her a hundred lashes at the town’s whipping post.” Which was accordingly done, and Tom was applauded for his just pro ceedings. CHAPTER X How Tom used a singing man of a cathedral church in the west Once there was a cathedral singing man that had very much angered Tom, and had made songs and jests upon him, whereupon Tom got on his back an ox-hide, with the horns set upon his head, and so lay in a hedgebottom, waiting till the singing man came by, who he was sure must pass that way. At last came the singing man. Up started Tom out of the hedge bottom in his ox-hide, and followed him. The singing man cried out, “The devil! the devil!” “No,” quoth Tom, “I am the ghost of goodman Johnson, living hard by the church stile, unto whose house ye came and sung catches, and owes me five pounds for ale, therefore appoint me a day when ye will bring me my money hither, or else I will haunt thee still.” The singing man promised that day se’enight, and accordingly he did; and Tom made himself brave clothes, with the money, and sweethearts came about him as bees do about a honey pot. But Tom wore a rope in his pocket, and being asked if he would marry, he would pull it out, and laugh, saying, “I have broken my shins already, and will be wiser hereafter; for I am an old colt, and now may have as much wit as a horse.” CHAPTER XI Of Tom Tram’s wooing Cicily Summers, the neat wench of the west Cicily Summers, whose nose was then as fair as the midnight sun, which shined as bright as Baconthine, was beloved of young Tom Tram; and a sad story to tell, he grew not worth the bread he ate, through pining away for her love. Tom was loath to speak, but still whistled. At last, when Cicily made no answer, he burst out thus: “O Cicily Summers, if I Tom Tram, son of Mother Winter, and thou Cicily Summers, be joined together, what a quarter we shall keep, as big as three half years; Besides, Cicily Summers, when thou scoldest, then Winter shall presently cool thy temper; and when we walk on the street they’ll say yonder goes Summer and Winter; and our children we shall call a generation of almanacks.” So they went to the parson and were married; but they fell out so extremely that they scolded all the summer season; and Tom drank good ale, and told old tales all the winter time, and so they could never but thrive all the year through. Tom lived by good ale, and his wife by eating oat-meal; and when Tom went to be drunk in the morning, she put oat-meal in the ale, and made caudle with mustard instead

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of eggs, which bit Tom so by the nose, that it would run water; but the next day he would be drunk again. From The Penny Budget of Wit and Package of Drollery, p. 127. TYPE 1526A. This is a tale of successful trickeries rather than of follies, but the same motifs are sometimes employed. Chapter II: MOTIF: J.1191 [Reductio ad absurdum of judgement]. MOTIF: Chapter IV: K.455.2 [Supper won by disguising as an invited guest]; K.455.4 [The other man to pay the bill]. Chapter X: TYPE 1532. MOTIFS: K.1833 [Disguise as ghost]; K.455.1 [Supper won by trick, the mutual friend].

THE TORTOISES’ PICNIC [summary] A father, mother, and baby tortoise decided to go for a picnic. After about three months they had assembled all their provisions, and set out. About eighteen months later they reached the wood where they had decided to have lunch. When at last everything else was ready, they found that the tin-opener had been left behind! The baby tortoise was sent back to fetch it, but the others were to wait for him before beginning to eat. After one year they began to feel hungry; after two years they were really in a bad way. But they still waited, and six years went by. They were ravenous and decided to eat just one sandwich each. Just as they picked them up a little voice said “Aha! I knew you’d cheat. It’s a good thing I didn’t start for that tin-opener!” “Baby” had been hiding behind a bush! Told by Celia Downes (aged about 26), August 1963. Has known this story since the age of fourteen, when she first told it to me. K.M.B. This is a Shaggy Dog story, listed by Brunvand as B.500 [The turtle that was sent back]; Brunvand cites eleven texts. There is an Australian version in Partridge’s The “Shaggy Dog” Story, pp. 82–3, and an English locale in Bennett Cerf, Laughing Stock (New York, 1945), p. 59.

TRAINING A COW “Ah dudn’t tell t’tial aboot t’ chap ’at cured t’coo frae makken him seea mich muck, bi stoppen her fodder.” Norton Collection, V, p. 204. B.Kirkby, Lakeland Words (Kendal, 1898), quoted by E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore (March 1943), p. 259. TYPE 1682. MOTIF: J.1914 [Horse taught to live without food]. See “Training a Donkey”.


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TRAINING A DONKEY (Once there was a man) he had this donkey, and he said it was a bad job had happened. He was just gettin’ his donkey doin’ without anything to eat, and he went and deed. E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore (March 1943), p. 259. TYPE 1682. MOTIF: J.1914 [Horse taught to live without food; dies]. This is an old and widespread joke. It possibly had its origin in Spain, for it occurs in Don Quixote. Clouston cites Greek versions in The Book of Noodles, II (1888). There are also Turkish parallels.

THE TRESPASSER’S DEFENCE On a time after this, the king and his court were going into the country, and they would have George (Buchanan) to ride before them in the fool’s dress; whereunto he seemed unwilling, but it was the king’s pleasure. So George was mounted upon an old horse, with a pair of old riven boots, the heels hanging down, and a palmer coat, patched over with pictures of divers kinds. George rode before them in this posture, which caused great laughter and diversion, until they came to an inn, where they alighted to dine, and in the time they were at dinner, George went into the stables, and with a knife cut all their horses’ chafts, not sore, but so as they might bleed. Now, as soon as dinner was over, and they mounted on their horses again, George riding before them as usual, in his palmer coat and old boots, they began to make their game of him: then George, turning about suddenly, and clapping his hands with a loud laughter, the king asked him what made him laugh so? Laugh, says George, how can I but laugh, when horses cannot hold their peace? O my sovereign, says he, don’t you see how your horses have rent their chafts, laughing at my old boots? Then, every man looking at his horse’s mouth, they were all in a rage against George. The king, causing George to dismount directly, charged him never to let him see his face on English ground. Now, George knowing that nothing could reconcile the king at this time, he came away to Scotland, and caused them to make a pair of great boots, and put a quantity of Scottish earth in each of them, and away he goes for London, to see the king once more. He hearing the king and his court was to pass through a town, George places himself up in an old window, and sets up his bare a—, to the king and his court as they passed. The king being greatly amazed to see such an unusual honour done to him, was curious to know the performer; so he called unto him, desiring him to come down; and finding it to be George, sir, says the king, did I not charge you never to let me see your face again? True, my sovereign, says George, for which cause I let you see my a—. But, says the king, you was never to come on English ground again. Neither I did, says George, pulling off his boots before the king, behold, my Sovereign, it is all Scots earth I stand upon. The king and his court being greatly diverted with this merry joke, George was admitted again to the king’s favour. Norton Collection, V, p. 128.

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TYPE 1590. MOTIF: J.1161.3 [Trespasser’s defence: man has earth from his land in his shoes]. See “George Buchanan”.

TROUT LOCK GOES SHOPPING FOR HIS WIFE [summary] Trout was famous for having very large feet. One day his wife asked him to go to the shop for her, and buy soap, sugar and salt. So as not to forget he kept repeating to himself as he went, “Salt, and sugar, and soap; salt and sugar and soap.” Thus preoccupied, he stumbled over a clod, and when he got up, could not remember what it was he had been saying. At last it came to him that it had been, “Tar, and rubber, and rope”; so he repeated this to himself all the rest of the way, and finally arrived back home. His wife, apart from bad language, threw the rope at him, saying she had no use for the things, and he had better use it to hang himself. [At the second telling, the shopping list was “Soap and soda and blue”, which Trout misremembered as “Pitch, and resin and blue”.] Thompson Notebooks, B. Told by Eb.Smith at Robin’s Cross, Repton, 29 April 1921. Repeated at Willington, 15 May 1921. MOTIF: J.2044 [Fool forgets master’s messages]. See “Stupid’s Mistaken Cries”.

TRUTHFUL GETS HIS REVENGE Years ago I had a great pal called Truthful Porter—he was called that because, folk said, he was the biggest liar in the Fens. When times were hard we found that the only way to get food and a bit of baccy was by poaching, and we did quite a lot of that. One night we were out in the woods when we found ourselves with three gamekeepers all round us. Truthful had a big cudgel with him, and he used it to lay those three chaps out; then we ran the four miles home as fast as we could go. Next day, a couple of policemen and the gamekeepers turned up at Truthful’s house and took him along to the lock-up, and the day after that the magistrates gave him six months. Well, those six months in Cambridge gaol gave him a lot of time for thinking as he padded round the treadmill, and he told me that he spent it planning what he was going to do to get even with those keepers when he was back home again. The day he came out of prison, he went along to a pub I’d told him to go to in Cambridge, because I’d promised to send the landlord some money so there’d be some beer waiting for Truthful when he was a free man again. Truthful told me that he downed his first pint at such a rate that the landlord said to him: “Prison skilly gives you a thirst, doesn’t it?” “It does a bit,” said Truthful, “but it’s that treadmill that I want to wash out of my guts.”


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“If that’s so,” said the landlord, “then try a bit of this in your next pint, it’s just the thing for driving prison out of a chap’s innards.” Truthful said that the landlord handed him over what looked like a bit of stone; anyway, he dropped it into his mug, and found that it added a bit of flavour to the beer. “What is it?” he asked. “It’s rock salt,” said the landlord, “though some people call it salt lick. I’ll tell you a funny story about it, if you like, that was told me by a chap who came in here the other week; he’d just come out from doing twelve months for shooting at a farmer’s bull. It seems that, where this chap came from, there was a path across a meadow that the village people used as a short-cut. Well, to stop them doing this, the farmer put a badtempered bull into the field. One day, this bull made the chap who was telling me about it, run for his life, so he swore he’d get even with it. He loaded his gun with a charge of rock salt, as he didn’t want to kill the beast, only tickle it up a bit, then went into the field. The bull charged head down, but the chap jumped to one side and took aim. The beast went round and round the field, he said, as if all the devils in hell were after it.” Truthful said, afterwards, that it was this tale that gave him the idea of getting his own back on those keepers, so he asked the landlord for a piece of the rock salt; he gave him a bit about the size of a half brick. Now, while poor old Truthful had been away, things had gone a bit hard for his family. His wife managed to keep the house going, but his eldest girl, who’d been housemaid up at the Hall, was given the sack when he went to prison; she managed to earn a bit, though, giving a hand here and there in the village. One of her jobs was doing housework for a chap who framed pictures and one day, when I called round to see her and her mother, she showed me what looked like a handful of half-sovereigns. They weren’t though, she said; the picture framer had painted some farthings with the gold paint he used, and had given her some. She’d put them on the mantelshelf just to show that she’d a pound or two put by. She was courting steady with a young chap who was learning to be a gamekeeper, though Truthful didn’t hold this against him because he found him useful in quite a lot of ways. He didn’t work on the Hall estate, but at another place on the other side of the river; he was friendly with the keepers’ page at the Hall, though, so he nearly always got to hear where the Hall chaps would be working at different times. He used to tell Truthful and me, when he did. This would be a great help to us when we wanted to set up our snares, so it seemed to make it all the harder to bear that we got caught by the keepers that night. Well, Truthful came back home, and it wasn’t long before he called on those keepers to tell them that they might expect a bit of trouble later on. One of them took the hint and cleared out, but the other two stayed on. Then Truthful came round to my place and told me what he’d planned to do to get even with those chaps; so now I’ll tell you how we did it. We waited till the big shoot was over; then, the next evening, we put a couple of those gold farthings on the path through the Ten Acre Holt, and hid nearby. We knew, you see, from Truthful’s girl’s chap, that the keepers would be coming along the path at that time, to call in at the pub on the estate. We knew, too, that it was nearly full moon that night, so we reckoned those farthings would be well lit up. Presently the two chaps came along, and we saw one of them, who was walking ahead of the other, bend down and pick up the farthings.

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“Why, here’s a bit of luck,” he called to his mate, “I’ve found a couple of halfsovereigns. Well, our beer won’t be costing us anything tonight, and we’ll still have something over to put in our pockets.” Now, Truthful had told his girl’s chap that he was to call in at the pub that night, after he’d made sure that the keepers were there, and spin a yarn that one of the gents at the shooting party had had a hole in his trousers pocket and had lost quite a lot of gold in the wood. We guessed that the keepers, when they heard this, would keep quiet about the money they’d already found, and that they’d soon be back to see if there were a few more half sovereigns lying about. So, while we waited, we looked about for the spring gun and trip wire that they’d laid—Truthful’s girl’s chap told us where to find it. We took the buckshot out of the gun and Truthful put in the rock salt instead; then we set it near the path, covered it up again with branches and went and hid up. After closing time, those keepers came along the path and we saw them bending down and looking everywhere for the gold they hoped to find. Suddenly one of them stumbled over the trip wire, and the gun banged off, giving them a peppering with rock salt just like that old bull had had. We nearly burst ourselves when we saw those chaps dancing about and scratching their thighs, and then letting down their trousers to see what in the world was stinging them. Next day, so we heard, they were still scratching and cursing, so their wives sent for the doctor. When he came and looked at the red spots on their legs, he said it must be smallpox, so no one was to go to their houses and those that were inside weren’t to come out; all their food was to be left on the doorstone. Well, the news got about, and the folk at the Hall cleared out, and went to their town house in case they got smallpox too. Truthful and I took over the shooting, and those keepers must have cursed more than ever when they heard us banging away, and knew there wasn’t a thing they could do about it. In about a week the two men got better, except that one of them still had a nasty red lump on his leg. The doctor said he’d have to open it with his knife, and when he’d done so he found a bit of rock salt, as big as a pea, right in the flesh. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, “how in the world did that get there?’ Of course the keeper had to tell him how it did. That was on the Saturday, and on the Sunday morning, the Rector called at the doctor’s house to find out why he’d not been in church, as he was one of the wardens. He found him sitting with a whisky bottle in front of him, and cursing and swearing at those keepers because they’d made him the butt of the village. “Who’s going to believe me,” he said, “when I tell folks what’s the matter with them? Why, they’ll all tell me I don’t know the difference between rock salt and smallpox.” But his troubles weren’t half so bad as the things the keepers had to put up with. You see, the landlord of the pub went to the squire and told him that two of his keepers had paid for their beer, the night they were peppered, with painted farthings, and would he do something to stop them doing the same thing again. When the squire had made sure that this was true, he sent for the keepers and told them that, if their fathers had done such a thing, they’d have been hung. They were luckier, though, he said, they were only going to lose their jobs; and he sacked them then and there. W.H.Barrett, More Tales from the Fens, p. 20.


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This elaborate piece of revenge is in the true spirit of the trickster stories, but there is no type or motif index number to it.

“TUMMAS FUDGIT” One day (Dr Bigsby) saw at a furniture broker’s shop in the country, a very old and curious timepiece exposed for sale. He asked the dealer if it were Dutch or English. “Oh, English,” said the owner; “the maker’s name is on the dial, and I have often seen clocks of his make.” “What is the name?” asked the Doctor. “Tummas Fudgit,” was the reply. The Doctor was puzzled at the moment, but on examining the dial, upon which certain words indistinctly appeared, engraved in very corroded steel, he read the oftrepeated warning tempus fugit (time flies) which the shopkeeper had so ridiculously misunderstood. J.P.Briscoe, The Book of Nottinghamshire Anecdote (Nottingham, 1879), P. 34 MOTIF: J.1803 [Learned words misunderstood by uneducated]. See also “A Well-known Artist”.

THE TWA FOOLS There was aince two men oot in a big liner, and there were twa feels (fools): one was a cook; the ither een was one of the crew. So they had been on deck ae day, and there was een aafie bothered wu’ a stutter,—he’d an aafie bad stutter. An’ the cook, he fell overboard. So he ran to the captain to tell the captain that the cook had fell overboard. He tried to tell the captain, but he couldnae get oot the words for stutterin’. He stutters an’ stutters an’ stutters. The captain he got fed up, and he says, “Good gracious, man,” he says, “if ye cannae say yer words,” he says, “sing them.” So he startit to sing: “Should auld acquentance be forgot, An’ niver brought til mind, The bloomin’ cook’s fell overboard, And he’s fifty miles behind.” School of Scottish Studies. Told by Lucy Stewart, Fetterangus. MOTIF: X.135.2 [Stutterer tries to give alarm]. See “Sing It!”

THE TWELVE WONDERS OF THE WORLD [summary] 1.A man who went twenty miles on shanks’ pony, though he had no legs, to get measured for a pair of breeches.

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2.An armless man who cut ten gross of clothes-pegs every morning. 3.A deaf man who used to follow hounds, and be first to give the hallo. 4.A dumb man who never went to bed without talking half the night in his sleep. 5.An in-foal mare who, at the end of seven years, dropped a little pig. 6.A donkey that built a nest in a tree and roosted in it every night. 7.A dog that swallowed itself when chasing its tail. 8.A hare that stopped a man to ask the time. 9.A fish drowned by falling off a bridge while crossing a stream. 10.A hen that laid eggs with rashers of bacon in them. 11.A set of old potatoes taking the young ones to church to be christened. 12.A clover-field taking a walk down a lane just when some gypsies were about to pasture their horses there without leave. 13.(And one more just as big) The man who has seen all the others. Thompson Notebooks, B. Told at Crewe’s Pond, Repton, 28 April 1924, by Manivel Smith. TYPE 1965. MOTIF: X.1780 [Absurdity based on the nature of the object]. See “Five Men”, A, V; “A Lying Tale”, “Sir Gammer Vans”, “The Sevenfold Liar”.

THE TWO BROTHERS There was a certain man that had two sons, unlike of conditions. For the eldest was lusty and quick and used much to rise early and walk into the fields. Then was the younger slow and unlusty and used to lie in bed as long as he might. So, on a day, the elder—as he was wont—rose early and walked into the fields, and there by fortune he found a purse of money and brought it home to his father. His father, when he had it, went straight to his other son, lying then in his bed, and said to him: “O, thou sluggard (quod he), seest thou not thine elder brother, how he by his early rising had found a purse with money whereby we shall be greatly helped all our life—while thou slugging in thy bed dost no good but sleep.” He then wist not what to say, but answered shortly and said: “Father (quod he), if he that hath lost the purse and money had lain in his bed that same time that he lost it, as I do now, my brother had found nor purse nor money today.” By this, ye may see that they that be accustomed in vice and sin will always find one excuse or another to cloak therewith their vice and unthriftiness. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 146.

THE TWO CHAPS WHO WENT TO HEAVEN [summary] Jack and Joe were on their way to Heaven. Joe waited at the bottom of the ladder, while Jack at the top was answering St Peter’s questions, and having his sins recorded on St Peter’s slate. Long before the agreed two days of waiting were up, Joe saw Jack returning down the ladder; St Peter had run out of chalk.


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E.M.Wilson. Westmorland. Folk-Lore, XLIX (June 1938), p. 113. Reproduced in The Folktales of England. Told by Richard Harrison, in September 1937; he heard it locally. TYPE 1848 (variant). MOTIF: J.2466.1 [A pebble for each sin]. A few instances reported in Ireland, France, Germany and Belgium. In R.M. Dorson’s Buying the Wind, pp. 80–1, “The Beans in the Court Jar”. But most of these tales are about the confessional, not about Heaven. Only Finland has “Chalk Marks on the Heavenly Stairs”. See “The Three Premiers who went to Heaven”.

THE TWO ELEPHANTS An explorer was going through the jungle. He had gone a very long way along a narrow track when he saw an elephant sitting quite still with its front feet together, very upright and quite quiet. He went by it cautiously, but it never stirred. Many miles farther on he came to another elephant, with its back to him, but in the very same attitude as the first. He was so surprised that he said aloud, “Whatever are you two doing?” “Hush,” said the elephant, “Don’t disturb us, we’re playing at being book-ends.” K.M.Briggs from J.Innes, 1948. Shaggy Dog story. Brunvand’s general category B.400–B.499 [Stories about animals and humans—miscellaneous] covers this tale, although it is not expressly included. MOTIF: B.211 [Animal uses human speech]. The present popularity of elephant jokes has resulted in two works: The Elephant Book, Lennie Weinbrant, Leonard Steur and Larry Sloan (Los Angeles, 1963), and There’s an Elephant in my Sandwich, Marcie Hans and Lynne Babcock (New York, 1963). For other elephant jokes see “The Elephant and the Mouse”, “The Elephant’s Memory” (Palmer’s Anecdotes).

THE TWO HARES: I “I was out walking one Sunday morning, when I saw a hare in a field, which I longed to have; so I shied a bit of ‘codgy-wax’ (cobbler’s wax), the only thing I had in my pocket, at ’un, when he ran away. What was my surprise, on getting over a stile to see two hares in the next field to face, the ‘codgy-wax’ had stuck to the nose of the first, and he in his fright had runned against the other, and was holden’ ’un fast, too. So I quietly broke the necks of both and carried em home.” Norton Collection, VI, p. 78. Cornwall. M.A.Courtney, “Cornish Folk-Lore”, Folk-Lore Journal, V, p. 191.

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THE TWO HARES: II “Mi Granfeyther wur a fine angler—oh, yes indeed ’e wur. But one day he cudna catch nought. So ’e gives o’er, an’ goes an’ sets ’iself in a glat in the hedge to eat ’is victuals wot ’e ’ad along o’ ’im. I must tell ’ee, Master Willie, as it wur a ploo (plough) field wot ’e wur a settin’ in. Well, when e’d ate up ’is victuals, ’e taks up a bit o’ cobbler’s wax, wot ’e ’ad along o’ ’im, fur to wax ’is lines. All o’ a sudden, ’e looks up, an’ wot d’ye think ’e sees? Well, wot ’e sees is a fine big old hare runnin’ down the furrow towaerts ’im. Mi Granfeyther taks the bit o’cobbler’s wax wot e’ ’ad in ’is ’and, an’ chuck it at th’ owd hare, an’ it strike ’er right on ’er nose,—’e wur a fine marksman, wur mi Granfeyther. Then th’ owd hare, she turns ’er around, an’ starts to lollop back up th’ furrow, when she meets anither hare coomin’ doan to meet ’er, and their two noses stick togither, acos o’ th’ cobbler’s wax, and they sticks so firm that they cudna git unloosed, so hard as they might pull. So mi Granfeyther goes to puck ’em up, and by gum, if ’e didna bag the two on ’em. Eh, ’e wur a fine marksman, wur mi Granfeyther.” Norton Collection, VI. Shropshire. Lilian Hayward, Folk-Lore, L, p. 315. Told her by her father, who heard it from an old man c. 1850. TYPE 1893A*. MOTIF: X.1114.1 [Two hares run into each other and are caught]. This tale is not widespread. One Irish version is cited in Aarne-Thompson and two Flemish; Baughman mentions no American version.

THE TWO IRISH TRAMPS [summary] Two Irish tramps, in England for the first time, saw a gold half-hunter watch and chain. Took its ticking for a voice. Frightened, smashed the glass. Ticking continued, and they ran away. Told a gentleman on the road, who persuaded them to go back with him. Gave them £5, and pocketed the watch. Next, saw a four-wheeled cart, and ran beside it for five miles, laughing because the big wheel could not catch the little wheel. Went to a pub for a drink, and saw a man eating beef. Much puzzled by the mustard. Man gave Mick a spoonful, and the tears ran down his cheeks. Said he was crying because it was the anniversary of his father’s death, who died two hundred years ago. The other guest much troubled by flies. Tramps asked what the law about flies was in England. Told you might hit them whenever you saw them. Hit the man a great blow on the nose. Explained reason. The man laughed, and gave them a drink. Thompson Notebooks. From Taimi Boswell, Oswaldtwistle, 9 January 1915. TYPES 1319A*, 1586. MOTIFS: J.1781.2 [Watch mistaken for the devil’s eye: knocked to pieces]; J.2066.7 [Dupe waits for rear wheels of wagon to overtake front wheels]; J.1742.3 [Peasants order whole helping of mustard]; J.1193.1 [Killing a fly on the judge’s nose]. See “Four Irish Tramps”, “The Law about Flies”.


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THE TWO LITTLE SCOTCH BOYS [summary] Two parents, one a Catholic and one a Protestant, sent their twin boys, one to a Catholic and the other to a Protestant school. Both did well, but the master in one school, jealous because his own son was being outclassed, set the clever boy three questions to be answered before he put him at the top of the class: the weight of the moon, the depth of the sea, and “What am I thinking about?” That evening, seeing his brother’s anxiety, the other twin offered to change places with him, so the next day they each went to the other’s school. The answers to the master’s questions were: the weight of the moon is a hundredweight, because there are four quarters in a hundredweight and four quarters in the moon; the depth of the sea is a stone’s throw, because a stone goes straight to the bottom; and “Please, sir, you’re thinking I’m wee Bobby, but I’m not. I’m wee Tommy.” Briggs & Tongue, The Folktales of England, p. 119. From E.M.Wilson, Folk-Lore, XLIX (June 1938). Westmorland. TYPE 922. MOTIFS: H.691.1 [Riddle: how much does the moon weigh?]; H.524.1 [Riddle: what am I thinking?]. Told by Mrs. Haddow, of Haycote Farm, near Bowland Bridge, Westmorland, January 1936. Heard from a travelling Scotsman. This is a shortened variant of “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury”. See notes to “A Professor of Signs”.

THE TWO PICKPOCKETS There was a provincial pickpocket who was very successful at his work, and he thought he’d go up to London and see what he could do there. So he went up to London, and he was even more successful. One day he was busy in Oxford Street when he suddenly found that his own pocket-book had been taken. He looked round and saw a very attractive blonde girl walking away. He was sure that she was the one who had picked his pocket, so he followed her and got his pocket-book back from her. He was so much taken by her cleverness in robbing him that he suggested that they should go into partnership together. And so they did, and succeeded brilliantly. At length the provincial pickpocket thought: “We’re the best pickpockets in London. If we married we could breed up a race of the best pickpockets in the world.” So he asked the girl, and she was quite agreeable, and they were married, and in due time a beautiful little baby boy was born to them. But the poor little fellow was deformed. His right arm was bent to his chest, and the little fist tightly clenched. And nothing they could do would straighten it. The poor parents were much distressed. “He’ll never make a pickpocket,” they said, “with a paralysed right arm.” They took him at once to the doctor, but the doctor said he was too young, they must wait. But they didn’t want to wait; they took him to one doctor after another, and at last—because they were very rich by this time—to the best child-specialist they could hear of. The specialist took out his gold watch, and felt the pulse on the little paralysed arm. “The flow of blood seems normal,” he said. “What a bright little fellow he is for his age! He’s focusing his eyes on my watch.” He took the chain out of his waistcoat, and

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swung the watch to and fro, and the baby’s eyes followed it. Then the little bent arm straightened out towards the watch, the little clenched fingers opened to take it, and down dropped the midwife’s gold wedding-ring. K.M.Briggs, from Ella Lowe, who heard it from her sister in London, some years before. Burford, February 1968. TYPE 1525H. MOTIFS: K.306 [Thieves steal from each other]; T.585 [Precocious infant]. This type is known in India and Hawaii. See also “The Stolen Sheep”.

THE TWO RINGS [summary] A man loved by two girls said he’d marry the one who gave him the finest ring. The rings both alike. The young man threw them both into the sea, and said he’d marry the one who could bring a ring back to him. They both went down to the sea day after day, but no ring was washed up. Years later, one of the girls was cooking a fish, and she cut it up to take the guts out, and what do you think she found inside?—The guts! Thompson Notebooks, from Gus Gray, Old Radford, Notts, 22 December 1914. A catch story, to be told after “The Bride who had never been kissed” (A, IV). TYPE 2204 (variant). Brunvand: D.210.1.

THE TWO TAILORS In a village somewhere in Scotland, two tailors sat at their work sewing clothes. One was a tall thin man, the other was a little deformed man, and could only walk with difficulty. As they sat sewing, they talked about ghosts, and the churchyard, and body-snatching; so their talk drifted to what one could do, and another could do. The big tailor thought he would try the little man’s courage, so he bet him a pound he would not sit in the middle of the churchyard among the tombstones for an hour in the middle of the night. The little tailor sat for a while, thinking about the pound, which he would like very much. So he said to his mate he would not mind sitting for an hour, but how was he to get there, as he was so lame, and could not walk that distance. The big (man) said, “I’ll give you a chance; I’ll carry you there, and when the time is up, I’ll come and carry you back.” So they agreed the bet, and that night at eleven o’clock the big tailor would carry the little tailor to the churchyard. It so happened that another two men were to meet in the churchyard. One was to steal a sheep, and the other was to steal a bag of potatoes, and they were to meet at the flat headstone in the middle of the churchyard. So the man with the bag of potatoes was there first, and was waiting on his mate coming with the sheep. So the big tailor came carrying the little tailor on his back. He had just got over the steps into the churchyard, when the man who was sitting waiting on his mate and thinking this was him with the sheep, (he) called out, “I hope he is a fat yin!” The little tailor heard him, and that was enough, and


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he sprawled off his mate’s back, and he could not walk, but he never crawled as quick in his life as he got clear of the kirkyard, and he told his mate it would be a long time or he took a bet on with him again. School of Scottish Studies, John Elliot Notebooks. TYPE 1791. MOTIF: X.424 [The devil in the cemetery]. See “The Bag of Nuts”, “Mother Elston”.

THE UNDERSTANDING CARTER The unconventional turn which rustic answers take, often puts the questioner sorely at a disadvantage, and sheer unpreparedness leaves the victory with the enemy. My father used to tell me of an unexpected speech of this kind made to a gentleman whom he knew in his early days, which would certainly have left me at a loss for a reply. The good man was out driving with his wife, who was noted for her bad temper and, in a narrow road, met a waggon, which they had some difficulty in passing. The lady, apparently thinking that the carter was not making as much haste as he ought to do to get out of the way, began to rate him pretty freely. Just, however, as they drew clear, the man stepped up to the carriage, and respectfully touching his hat to the gentleman, asked whether he might speak a word. The lady, thinking as he was going to apologise for his slowness, interposed, and said very sharply— “Yes, say whatever you have got to say.” Whereupon the man, again touching his hat, and looking hard at the gentleman said, very quietly— “Sir, I do pity ’ee from the bottom of my heart, for I’ve got just such another brute at home myself.” The Rev. J.Coker Egerton, Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways, p. 28. MOTIF: T.251 [The shrewish wife]. There is also a suggestion of T.251.9 [Husband consoled by seeing woman even more shrewish than his wife].

THE UNTRUE WIFE’S SONG Two men courted a pretty maid; one was rich, the other poor; and the rich man was old, but she loved the young poor man. Her father, in spite of her tears, forced her to marry the rich man; but her other suitor came under her window and tapped, and when the husband was away, she admitted him. So passed a twelvemonth, and she had a little child. Then, one night, the lover came under the window, thinking her goodman was from home. With his tapping the husband awoke, and asked what the sound was. She said that an ivy leaf, fluttered by the wind, struck the pane. But fearing lest the lover should continue to tap, she began to sing, as she rocked the cradle—

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“Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy, Begone, my love and my dear. O the wind is in the west, And the cuckoo’s in his nest, And you cannot have a lodging here.” Again the lover tapped, and the husband asked what that meant. She said that a bat had flown against the window. Then she sang— “Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy, Begone, my love and my dear. O the weather it is warm, And it cannot do thee harm, And thou canst not have a lodging here.” Then the lover called, and the husband asked what that was. She said it was the hooting of an owl, and then she sang— “Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy, Begone, my love and my dear, O the wind and the rain Have brought him back again, But thou canst not have a lodging here.” Again the lover rapped; then she sprang out of bed, threw abroad the casement and sang— “Begone, begone, my Willie, you silly, Begone, my Fool and my Dear, O the Devil’s in the man, And he cannot understan’ That tonight he cannot have lodging here.” Norton Collection, IV, p. 160. Devonshire. From Songs of the West, Baring-Gould, notes: pp. 12–13. From a blacksmith, John Abraham of Woolacott Moor, Thrushington, who heard it as a cante-fable by an old man in an alehouse near Bideford in 1864. TYPE 1419H. MOTIF: K.1546.1 [Woman warns lover of husband by singing song]. Various versions of the song persist independently. Several are given in Chappell’s Popular Music of the Olden Time, one arranged by Morley in Queen Elizabeth’s Virginal Book, and one traditional version that would suit the tale:


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“Go from my window, my love, my love; Go from my window, my dear, For the wind is in the west, And the cuckoo’s in his nest, And you can’t have a lodging here.” Chappell, p. 142. The song is quoted in The Knight of the Burning Pestle, and in Heywood’s Rape of Lucrece. See also “The Exorcism”.

A USEFUL APPETITE “Missis,” said old Ike Giles of “Fyas” to his young wife one day—who secretly kept her mother in food—“I caan’t make out why our mate bill is so high. A gets ’eavier aitch wik. Whatever becomes an’t all? “Why, our Jack”—the under-carter who lived in—“is sich a one to et,” said she. “I’ll jest ev ’e in to dinner along o’ I today, then, an’ see what a does wi’t all,” the farmer replied. This frightened the good wife; so she saw the youth and explained the situation to him, and urged him not to have any lunch, in order to be the better able to eat an extra big dinner. “Lar, missis,” said he, “if I don’ ’ae no lunch, I shaan’ want no dinner!” When dinner-time came he was brought into the kitchen and placed next to his master; a mug of ale was set beside his plate. He fell to, and devoured three platefuls of meat and vegetables, to the consternation of old Ike. “When bist gwain to drenk thi beer?” inquired he presently. “I never thinks o’ drenkin’ till I ’aaf finished mi dinner,” the other responded. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 7, p. 17. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, p. 57. Shrivenham district. TYPE 1561 (variant). This is one of many tales in which the servants are voracious, and the master grudges them their food. See “The Hungry Mowers”.

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THE USEFUL BIBLE A clergyman who lived at Leafield, not long ago, told the following. One morning he was visiting an old man, and this conversation took place: “That’s a beautiful Bible, John.” “Yessir. I uses en every däay.” “Well done! Will you read to me, John?” “Rade, sir? I cyant rade!” “But you said you use your Bible every day.” “So I do sir; straps me rayzor on en.” M.Groves. The History of Shipton-under-Wychwood, p. 53. MOTIF: J.1738 [Ignorance of religious matters].

“VOULEZ VOUS?—OUI!” Sir Charles Russell told us: When the 34th Regiment were quartered at Gibraltar, it had the stupidest and dullest set of officers that can possibly be imagined; they not only knew nothing, but they preferred to know nothing; and especially were they averse to learning anything of Spanish, which was certainly very short-sighted of them, as it cut them off from so many social pleasures. But nevertheless, they all very much admired a beautiful young Spanish señorita, who was living at Gibraltar, and pretended that they were not otherwise than in her good graces, which of course was simply bombast, as none of them knew a word of Spanish, and scarcely a word of French, so that not one of them had ever spoken a word to her. One day, while the regiment was at Gibraltar, a young ensign came to join, who had never been abroad before, and who knew even less of any foreign language than his comrades. Nevertheless, in a short time he had taken cue by them, and pretended more than all the others to be in the good graces of the young lady, and was well laughed at accordingly. One evening at mess, one of the officers mentioned that the señorita was going to Cadiz. “No, she is not,” said the young ensign. “Oh, you young jackanapes,” said his fellow-officers, “what can you know about it? You know nothing about her.” “Yes,” he said sharply, “I do. She is not going to Cadiz, and what is more, I beg that her name may not be brought forward in this way at mess any more; I am engaged to be married to her.” There was a universal roar, and an outcry of “You don’t suppose we are going to believe that?” But the ensign said, “I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman, that I am engaged to be married to her.” Then the Colonel, who was present, said, “Well, as he represents it in this way, we are bound to believe him.” And then, turning to the young ensign, said, “Now, my dear fellow, as we do accept what you say, I think you need not leave us up in the clouds like this. Will you not tell us how it came about? You cannot wonder that we should be a little


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surprised, when we know that you do not speak a word of Spanish, and only three or four words of French, that you should be engaged to be married to this young lady.” “Well,” said the ensign, “as you do accept what I say, yes, I do not wonder that you are a little surprised. I do not mind telling you all about it. It is quite true I do not understand a word of Spanish, and only three or four words of French, but that does not matter. After the ball at the Convent the other day [the house of the Governor of Gibraltar is called “the Convent”] we went out upon the balcony, and we watched the moonlight shimmering upon the waves of the sea, and I looked into her eyes, and I said, ‘Voulez vous?’ and she said, ‘Quoi?’ and I said, ‘Moi,’ and she said, ‘Oui,’—and it was quite enough.” Augustus Hare, In My Solitary Life, pp. 36–7, told by Mr. Herman Merivale (1806–74), barrister, Professor of Political Economy at Oxford (1837), Under-Secretary for India. The terse proposal to a willing bride is in the folk tradition, but a motif number has not been allotted to it.

A WAGER WON At Shipton-under-Wychwood Church there is a kind of bone-house, or hole, where the bones that were dug up in the churchyard have been put from time out of mind. In the village many years back there was a man that others thought to be daft, or not so sharp as he should be. He was challenged one night at the public-house that he dared not go to the bonehouse at twelve o’clock at night, and bring away a skull. The challenge was accepted, and on a given night he started. Two of the men were to go and see that he did the job, and they hid themselves in the bone-house. At the stroke of twelve he entered, and took up a head, when a voice said, “Put that down! That’s mine!” He did put it down, and took up another, when the voice again said, “Put that down! That’s mine!” “What?” he replied, “did you have two heads? Then I’ll have one of them.” And so he won his wager. Norton Collection, I, p. 154, from Stray Notes on Oxfordshire Folklore, VI, P. Manning from Folk-Lore, XIV, pp. 412–13. TYPE 326D*. MOTIF: H.1435 [Fear test: fetching skulls from charnel-house]. See “The Boy who feared Nothing”.

WANTED A PUP A country vicar once went to fill the pulpit of a colleague who was temporarily absent from his parish. After the service he thought he would gauge the effect of his discourse by the opinion of that very fair index of public feeling, the clerk. “Well, Rogers,” he said, “did you like my sermon?” “I did, sir,” was the reply. “I hope I was not too long?” he anxiously inquired. “No, yu wadden tü long awver’n,” rejoined Rogers. “Well, then,” said the vicar, “I hope it was not too short.” “No,” answered Rogers. “Ner’et tü short

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nuther, yü was jist about right.” The vicar felt relieved, and said, “I am glad of that because, to tell you the truth, while I was writing that sermon my dog got hold of four folios and destroyed them, and I was afraid it would be too short.” Rogers scratched his head and for a moment was very thoughtful, and then said, confidentially, “Lor! now, zir, did ’er ate um all up? I warndee yü widden mind letting our passen ’ome yer, have a pup of your dug widdee now? For he dü mappery a darned sight tü long tü plaise us, most times.” Sarah Hewett, Nummits and Crummits, p. 175. TYPE 1833** (Anecdotes of sermons). MOTIF: X.459 [Jokes on parsons: miscellaneous].

THE WEE BOY AND THE MINISTER GREY One day when the Minister Grey was out walking he overheard a wee boy singing a song. This wee boy made up songs out of his own head. And the Minister listened, and the wee boy’s song went: “My father stole the Minister’s sheep, Plenty of pies and puddings to eat, Since he stole the Minister’s sheep, It was on a merry Christmas.” Now the Minister had lost some of his sheep lately, so he knew the wee boy was telling the truth. So he said: “That’s a bonny song, my wee laddie. Just sing it again.” The wee laddie didn’t know what to do, so he just sang it again. The Minister said: “That’s such a bonny song, I’d like the whole congregation to hear it. So I’ll give you two pound, and a change of clothing, if you’ll sing it out in the Kirk on the Sabbath.” “I will,” said the boy, “if you’ll give me the two pound now.” The Minister gave the wee boy the two pound, and some clothing, and he thought he had the sheep stealers now. But the wee boy knew well enough his father would get into trouble for that song. So he climbed up a tree that looked over the Manse and the glebe, and he keeked about till he saw what he wanted to see. On the Sabbath, at the end of the service, the Minister stood up, and he said: “I’ve a wee boy here, who’s a very good singer, and I want you to listen to his song, for it’s every word true, and not a word of a lie in it. So sing up, my wee boy, and sing the truth.” So the wee boy stood up and he sang: “As I strolled out one fine summer’s day, Who did I spy but Minister Grey; He was rolling Molly amongst the hay; He was tossing her upside downwards.”


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And so the wee boy sang his song without a word of a lie in it, and he won his two pound and a new suit for making a fool of the Minister. The School of Scottish Studies, H.Henderson, from J.Robertson. Variant in S.O.Addy, Household Tales. TYPE 1735A. See “The Man that stole the Parson’s Sheep”.

WE KILLED HIM [summary] Three Irish tramps, who could only speak a few words of English, saw a snail, and took it for a strange man, killed it in fright, and then thought they must confess. They find a policeman. First said, “we”, second, “killed”, and the third, “him”. They were the only English words they knew, but they were enough to hang them. Thompson Notebooks, from Reuben Gray. TYPES 1697 (Misunderstood), 1319*. MOTIFS: N.275.2 [Criminal confesses because of misunderstanding of dialect]; J.1736 [Fools and the unknown animal]. See also “The Purse and the Penny Siller”, “The Three Foreigners”, “The Three Irish Tramps”, “We Three Hielanmen”.

“WE THREE HIELANMEN” Some Highlanders were ignorant of the English language, and as they intended to proceed to the low country in hopes of getting employment, they were primed with three English phrases, which it was hoped would get them on among the Sassenachs. The first phrase was, “We three Hielanmen”, intended as a reply to anyone inquiring who they were. The next one was, “For the mony and the penny siller”; this was meant as an answer to the question why they had come. In case the questioners should not engage their services, there was a third phrase in reserve, “If you don’t, another will.” The Highlanders accordingly set out, and had scarcely crossed the Lowland border, when they came on the corpse of a man who had been slain. They stopped to look at it, and while they were engaged in so doing the ministers of justice came up, and, turning to the Highlanders, inquired, “Who did this?” The reply was, “We three Hielanmen.” The next question was, “Why did you do it?” The answer was ready, “For the mony and the penny siller.” The sheriff, pleased at having so easily made out the evil-doers, exclaimed, “You scoundrels, I shall hang you for this.” To which the Highlanders complacently replied, “If you don’t, another will.” On which, the poor Highlanders were carried off to jail. Norton Collection, VI, p. 3, Notes and Queries, V.9. From I.M.P. TYPE 1697. See “The Purse and the Penny Siller”, “The Three Foreigners”, etc.

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THE WELCHMAN’S CONFESSION A Welchman dwelling in a wild place in Wales came to his curate in the time of Lent and was confessed. And when his confession was in manner at the end, the curate asked whether he had any other thing to say that grieved his conscience—which, sore abashed, answered no word a great while. At last, by exhortation of his ghostly father, he said that there was one thing in his mind that greatly grieved his conscience, which he was ashamed to utter for it was so grievous that he trowed God would never forgive him. To whom the curate answered and said that God’s mercy was above all, and bad him not despair in the mercy of God; for whatsoever it was, if he were repentant that God would forgive him. And so, by long exhortation, at the last he showed it and said thus: “Sir, it happened once that as my wife was making a chees upon a Friday, I would have ’ssayed whether it had been salt or fresh, and took a little of the whey in my hand, and ere I was ’ware part of it went down my throat again my will—and so I brake my fast.” To whom the curate said: “And if there be no other thing, I warrant God shall forgive thee.” So when he had well comforted him with the mercy of God, the curate prayed him to answer a question and to tell him truth. And when the Welchman had promised to tell the truth, the curate said that there were robberies and murders done nigh the place where he dwelt, and divers men found slain—and asked him whether he were consenting to any of them. To whom he answered and said yes and said he was party to many of them, and did help to rob and to slay divers of them. Then the curate asked him why he did not confess him thereof. The Welchman answered and said he took that for no sin, for it was a custom among them that when any booty came of any rich merchant riding, that it was but a good neighbor’s deed one to help another when one called another. And so they took that but for good fellowship and neighborhood. Here ye may see that some have remorse of conscience of small venial sins and fear not to do great offenses without shame of the world or dread of God—and as the common proverb is: they stumble at a straw and leap over a block. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, p. 78. TYPE 1800. MOTIF: V.29 [Confession—miscellaneous motifs].

THE WELCHMAN AND THE FRIAR In the time of Lent a Welchman came to be confessed of his curate—which in his confession said that he had killed a friar. To whom the curate said he could not absolve him. “Yes,” quod the Welchman, “if thou knowest all, thou wouldst absolve me well enough.” And when the curate had commanded him to show him all the case, he said thus: “Marry, there were two friars and I might have slain them both if I had list, but I let the one ’scape. Therefore, master curate, set the one against th’ other and then the offense is not so great but ye may absolve me well enough.”


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By this, ye may see that divers men have so evil and large consciences that they think if they do one good deed, or refrain from the doing of one evil sin, that it is a satisfaction for other sins and offenses. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 92–3. TYPE 1800. MOTIF V.29 [Confession—miscellaneous motifs].

A“WELL-KNOWN ARTIST” A certain auctioneer of Nottingham, enlarging upon the excellence of an engraving, said that nothing more need be added to show the value of the engraving than to mention that it was by that eminent and well-known artist, Pinxit. J.P.Briscoe, The Book of Nottinghamshire Anecdote, p. 34 (Nottingham, 1879). MOTIF: J.1803 [Learned words misunderstood]. See also “Tummas Fudgit”.

THE WHALE THAT FOLLOWED THE SHIP [summary] Captain of ship ill. The ship followed ominously by a whale. The captain has an armchair, a crate of oranges, and finally a fat old woman thrown overboard, to appease the whale, which swallows them all. But it still follows. Eventually, the whale is harpooned, and there is the old woman, sitting in the armchair, selling oranges at three a penny. Thompson Notebooks, V. From Josh Gray at Grimsby, 19 December 1914. TYPE 2027 (variant). MOTIFS: F.911.3 [Animal swallows man; not fatally]; F.913 [Victims rescued from swallower’s belly]. See “The Cat and the Parrot”, A, V.

“WHITTLE TO THE TREE” [summary] The men of Austwick in Yorkshire had only one knife between them, so they had a habit of keeping it always under one tree when it was not in use. If it was not there when wanted, the man needing it called out, “Whittle to the tree!” The plan worked well until one day a party of labourers took it to a neighbouring moor to cut their bread and cheese. At the day’s end they decided to leave the knife there for the next day, and to mark the place where it lay they stuck it into the ground just in the shadow of a great black cloud. But the next day the cloud was gone, and so was the whittle, and they never saw it again. Clouston, The Book of Noodles, p. 53.

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TYPE 1278*. MOTIF: J.1922.2 [Marking the place under the cloud]. See “Austwick Carles”, “Marking the Boat”.

WHY A DOG’S NOSE AND A WOMAN’S ELBOW ARE ALWAYS COLD In the days of the Flood the Ark sprung a small leak and Noah, who had forgotten to bring carpenter’s tools on board with him, was at his wits’ end how to act. His faithful Dog had followed him to the place where the leak was, and stood watching the influx of water. In his trouble Noah seized the Dog and crammed his nose into the leak. This stopped it, but in a few moments Noah perceived that the Dog must die if kept in such a position any longer. By this time Noah’s wife had come up and was standing by his side watching what was taking place. Noah thereupon released the Dog, and taking his Wife’s arm, stuffed her elbow into the crack. The danger was thus averted, but a Dog’s Nose and a Woman’s Elbow will remain cold as long as the World lasts. Norton, Supplementary Collection, no. 61, p. 73. B.Lowsley, A Glossary of Berkshire Words and Phrases (1888), p. 29. There is no type- or motif-number for this tale, though it is fairly widely diffused in England. It might be considered a sequel of Type 825 in, in which the Devil, in the form of a mouse, gnaws a hole in the Ark. In an elaboration of the story, Noah’s wife becomes impatient, so Noah sits on the hole himself, which is the reason why men always hold up their coat-tails and warm their backs at the fire (K.Lea, Oxford, January 1968).

WILTSHIRE FOLLIES “Le’s see, tha’s wher tha dunged tha monniment, to make e’ grow, down Churl way, un it?” “Naw tha didn’t, neether. Tha dunged the staple, tha did, at B’kampton, to make un graw as ’igh as tha tower.” “An’ wher was it as tha whitewashed tha owl’ rawn bool?”* “Aw, that was Lavinton way. Didn’ we ust to tarment ole Jakey ’bout ’e! Us got un as wi-yuld!” “An’ that yent so bad as gettin’ in tha pond, to save the owl’ duck from drowndin’. Tha’s right anuf, yun it?” * roan bull


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“Aw, aa, cos I wur ther an’ the best o’t wur, a put ’is best claws an to do’t wi’! Tha ole chap wur terr’ble frade tha duck ood be drownded, an’ ’gun gettin’ in aater ’n. Then Billy ’edger, the old cyarter, comes up an’ ses: ‘I should go an’ put mi best claws on vust, Willum, if I was in thy place.’ An’ baggar if a did n’t go an’ do’t, too, an zaved tha ole duck. But thee must’n’t saay nothin’ about it ther now, yels thee’t soon get chocked out on’t.” Norton Collection, IV. Williams, White Horse, p. 13. E.Wiltshire. TYPE 1200. MOTIFS: J.1909.7 [Fear that frog (or duck) may drown]. The accusation of manuring the church to make it grow is one very commonly employed in local taunts in England, but has not a motif-number. See “Growing the Church”, “Yabberton Yawnies”.

THE WISE FOOLS OF GOTHAM Cuckoo Bush, near Gotham, tradition says, was planted or set to commemorate a trick which the inhabitants of Gotham put upon King John. The tale is told thus: King John, passing through this place towards Nottingham, intending to go over the meadows, was prevented by the villagers, they apprehending that the ground over which a king passed was for ever after to become a public road. The king, incensed at their proceedings, sent from his court soon after some of his servants, to inquire of them the reason of their incivility and ill-treatment, that he might punish them by way of fine, or some other way he might judge most proper. The villagers, hearing of the approach of the king’s servants, thought of an expedient to turn away his Majesty’s displeasure from them. When the messengers arrived at Gotham, they found some of the inhabitants engaged in endeavouring to drown an eel in a pool of water; some were employed in dragging carts upon a large barn, to shade the wood from the sun; others were tumbling their cheeses down a hill, that they might find their way to Nottingham for sale; and some were employed in hedging in a cuckoo, which had perched upon an old bush which stood where the present one now stands; in short, they were all employed in some foolish way or other, which convinced the king’s servants that it was a village of fools, whence arose the old adage, “The wise men” or “The fools of Gotham!” Hartland, English Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 249, from Blount’s Tenures of Land, edited by W.Carew Hazlitt (London, 1874), p. 133. TYPE 1349*. MOTIFS: J.822 [Man plays fool to protect himself against king]; K.1818.3 [Disguise as fool]. The “Moonrakers” of Devizes claim that they earned the title from a trick by which they deceived the Customs officers into thinking them naturals (Field, The Pent Cuckoo, p. 48).

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THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM: I Of buying of sheep There were two men of Gotham, and one of them was going to market to Nottingham to buy sheep, and the other came from the market, and they both met together upon Nottingham bridge. “Where are you going?” said the one who came from Nottingham. “Marry,” said he that was going to Nottingham, “I am going to buy sheep.” “Buy sheep?” said the other. “and which way will you bring them home?” “Marry,” said the other, “I will bring them over this bridge.” “By Robin Hood,” said he that came from Nottingham, “but thou shalt not.” “By Maid Marion,” said he that was going thither, “but I will.” “You will not,” said the one. “I will,” said the other. Then they beat their staves against the ground one against the other, as if there had been a hundred sheep between them. “Hold in,” said one; “beware lest my sheep leap over the bridge.” “I care not,” said the other; “they shall not come this way.” “But they shall,” said the other. Then the other said: “If that thou make much to do, I will put my fingers in thy mouth.” “Will you?” said the other. Now, as they were at their contention, another man of Gotham came from the market with a sack of meal upon a horse, and seeing and hearing his neighbours at strife about sheep, though there were none between them, said: “Ah, fools! will you ever learn wisdom? Help me, and lay my sack upon my shoulders.” They did so, and he went to the side of the bridge, unloosened the mouth of the sack, and shook all his meal out into the river. “Now, neighbours,” he said, “how much meal is there in my sack?” “Marry,” said they, “there is none at all.” “Now, by my faith,” said he, “even as much wit as is in your two heads to stir up strife about a thing you have not.” Which was the wisest of these three persons, judge yourself. Of hedging a cuckoo Once upon a time the men of Gotham would have kept the cuckoo so that she might sing all the year, and in the midst of their town they made a hedge round in compass, and they got a Cuckoo, and put her into it, and said, “Sing there all the year, or thou shalt have neither meat nor water.” The Cuckoo, as soon as she perceived herself within the hedge, flew away. “A vengeance on her!” said they. “We did not make our hedge high enough.”


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Of sending cheeses There was a man of Gotham who went to the market at Nottingham to sell cheese, and as he was going down the hill to Nottingham bridge, one of his cheeses fell out of his wallet and rolled down the hill. “Ah, gaffer,” said the fellow, “can you run to market alone? I will send one after another after you.” Then he laid down his wallet and took out the cheeses, and rolled them down the hill. Some went into one bush, and some went into another. “I charge you all to meet me near the market-place;” and when the fellow came to the market to meet his cheeses, he stayed there till the market was nearly done. Then he went about to inquire of his friends and neighbours, and other men, if they did see his cheeses come to the market. “Who should bring them?” said one of the market men. “Marry, themselves,” said the fellow; “they know the way well enough.” He said, “A vengeance on them all. I did fear, to see them run so fast, that they would run beyond the market. I am now fully persuaded that they must be now almost at York.” Whereupon he forthwith hired a horse to ride to York, to seek his cheeses where they were not, but to this day no man can tell him of his cheeses. Of drowning eels When Good Friday came, the men of Gotham cast their heads together what to do with their white herrings, their red herrings, their sprats, and other salt fish. One consulted with the other, and agreed that such fish should be cast into their pond (which was in the middle of the town) that they might breed against the next year, and every man that had salt fish left cast them into the pool. “I have many white herrings,” said one. “I have many sprats,” said another. “I have many red herrings,” said the other. “I have much salt fish. Let all go into the pond or pool, and we shall fare like lords next year.” At the beginning of the next year following, the men drew near the pond to have their fish, and there was nothing but a great eel. “Ah,” said they all, “a mischief on this eel, for he has eaten up all our fish.” “What shall we do to him?” said one to the other. “Kill him,” said one. “Chop him into pieces,” said another. “Not so,” said another; “let us drown him.” “Be it so,” said all. And they went to another pond, and cast the eel into the pond. “Lie there and shift for yourself, for no help shalt thou have from us”; and they left the eel to drown.

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Of sending rent Once on a time the men of Gotham had forgotten to pay their landlord. One said to the other, “To-morrow is our pay-day, and what shall we find to send our money to our landlord?’ The one said, “This day I have caught a hare, and he shall carry it, for he is light of foot.” “Be it so,” said all; “he shall have a letter and a purse to put our money in, and we shall direct him the right way.” So when the letters were written and the money put in a purse, they tied it round the hare’s neck, saying, “First you go to Lancaster, then thou must go to Loughborough, and Newarke is our landlord, and commend us to him, and there is his dues.” The hare, as soon as he was out of their hands, ran on along the country way. Some cried, “Thou must go to Lancaster first.” “Let the hare alone,” said another; “he can tell a nearer way than the best of us all. Let him go.” Another said, “It is a subtle hare, let her alone; she will not keep the highway for fear of dogs.” Of counting On a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham who went fishing, and some went into the water and some on dry ground; and as they were coming back, one of them said, “We have ventured much this day wading; I pray God that none of us that did come from home be drowned.” “Marry,” said one, “let us see about that. Twelve of us came out,” and every man did count eleven, and the twelfth man did never count himself. “Alas!” said one to the other, “one of us is drowned.” They went back to the brook, where they had been fishing, and looked up and down for him that was drowned, and made great lamentation. A courtier came riding by, and he did ask what they were seeking, and why they were so sorrowful. “Oh,” said they, “this day we came to fish in this brook, and there were twelve of us, and one is drowned.” “Why,” said the courtier, “count me how many of you there be,” and one counted eleven, and did not count himself. “Well,” said the courtier, “how much will you give me if I find the twelfth man?” “Sir,” said they, “all the money we have.” “Give me the money,” said the courtier; and he began with the first, and gave him a whack over the shoulders that he groaned, and said, “There is one,” and he served all of them that they groaned; but when he came to the last he gave him a good blow, saying, “Here is the twelfth man.” “God bless you on your heart,” said all the company; “you have found our neighbour.” Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 204.


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These tales are the best-known and the fullest of the English local numskull stories. The whole subject of these local tales has been most interestingly dealt with by Field in The Myth of the Pent Cuckoo (see introductory essay to this section). The various anecdotes are as well known in the East as in Europe, where they are widely circulated. Other stories have attached themselves to the original tales, of which examples may be found in The Glasgow Chapbook. Those selected by Jacobs, from Hazlitt’s Shakespeare’s Jest Books, are probably the best. I. “Of Buying of Sheep”. Also in Zall’s A Hundred Merry Tales, p. 87. TYPES 1681*, 1327. MOTIFS: J.2062.1 [Which way the sheep shall return]; J.2062 [Foolish illustration of argument]. Cited in Clouston’s Noodles, p. 26. This incident is to be found in Yugoslavia and Greece, but is commonest in England. II. “Of Hedging a Cuckoo”. TYPE 1213. MOTIF: J.1904.2 [The Pent Cuckoo]. Field believes this tale to be the original nucleus of the Gothamite tales. It is one of the most widespread. See “The Cuckoo Penners”. III. “Of Sending Cheeses”. TYPE 1291. MOTIF: J.1881.1.2 [One cheese sent after another]. Widespread. Grimm, no. 9. Also Irish, Finnish, Dutch, Walloon, Hungarian, Russian, West Indian. A Scottish version from Sutherland was given by Dempster in the Folk-Lore Journal, VI (1888), p. 169. IV. “Of Drowning Eels”. TYPE 1310. MOTIF: K.581.1.1 [Drowning the eel as a punishment]. This is even more widespread than the preceding tale, ranging from Finland to the Philippines. Twenty-two examples are cited in Aarne-Thompson from Africa, twelve from Germany. Sometimes the tale is close to the Briar-Patch type, a fear of the water being artfully expressed by the victim. V. “Of Sending Rent”. MOTIF: J.1881.2.2 [Fools send money by rabbit]. This is less common than some of the other tales, but Keller gives a Spanish exemplum. VI. “Of Counting”. TYPE 1287 (Numskulls unable to count their own number). MOTIF: J.2031 [Counting wrong by not counting oneself]. This is another widespread tale. Thirty-six Irish versions of it are cited in AarneThompson. It is in Grimm (no. 143) and in Hodscha Nasreddin (no. 261). See also Clouston, Book of Noodles (pp. 28ff.), and Field’s Pent Cuckoo. There are fifty-two Swedish versions, and Russian, Hungarian, Indian, Indonesian, etc., are recorded. Baughman cites one from North Carolina (Boggs) as well as from Kentucky, and Negro versions from the southern states.

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THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM (The Merry Tales of) [selected tales] I There was a man of Gotham that rode to the market with two bushels of wheat, and lest his horse should be damaged by carrying too great a burden he was determined to carry the corn himself, upon his own neck, and still kept riding upon his horse till he arrived at the end of the journey. I will leave you to judge which was the wisest, his horse or himself. II A certain smith of Gotham had a large wasps’ nest in the straw at the end of the forge, and there coming one of his neighbours to have his horse shod, and the wasps being exceeding busy, the man was stung by one of them. The man, being grievously affronted, said, Are you worthy to keep a forge or not, to have men stung with these wasps? O neighbour, said the smith, be content, and I will put them from their nest presently. Immediately he took a coulter, and heated it red hot, and thrust it into the straw at the end of his forge, and set it on fire, and burnt it up. Then, said the smith, I told thee I’d fire them out of their nest. III A man of Gotham, that went mowing in the meadow, found a large grasshopper. He instantly threw down his scythe, and ran home to his neighbour, and said the devil was at work in the field, and was hopping among the grass. Then was every man ready with their clubs, staves, halberts, and other weapons, to kill the grasshopper. When they came to the place where the grasshopper was, said one to the other, let every man cross himself from the devil, for we will not meddle with him. So they returned again, and said, We are blest this day that we went no farther. O ye cowards, said he that left the scythe in the meadow, help me to fetch my scythe. No, answered they, it is good to sleep in a whole skin. It is much better for thee to lose thy scythe than to mar us all. IV A man of Gotham, riding along the highway, saw a cheese, so he drew his sword and pricked it with the point, in order to pick it up. Another man who came by, alighted, picked it up, and rode away with it. The man of Gotham rides to Nottingham to buy a long sword to pick up the cheese, and returning to the place where it did lie, he pulled out his sword, pricked the ground, and said, If I had had but this sword I should have had the cheese myself, but now another has come before me and got it. V A man of Gotham, that did not love his wife, and she having fair hair, he said divers times he would cut it off, but durst not do it when she was awake, so he resolved to do it when she was asleep; therefore, one night he took a pair of shears and put them under his pillow, which his wife perceiving, said to her maid, Go to bed with my husband, to-night, for he intends to cut off my hair; let him cut off thy hair, and I will give thee as good a kirtle as ever thou didst see. The maid did so, and feigned herself asleep, which the man


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perceiving, cut off her hair, wrapped it about the shears, and, laying them under the pillow, fell asleep. The maid arose, and the wife took the hair and shears, and went to the hall and burnt the hair. The man had a fine horse that he loved, and the goodwife went into the stable, cut off the hair of the horse’s tail, wrapped the shears up in it, and laid them under the pillow again. Her husband, seeing her combing her head in the morning, marvelled thereat. The girl, seeing her master in a deep study, said, What ails the horse in the stable, he has lost his tail? The man ran into the stable, and found the horse’s tail was cut off; then going to the bed, he found the shears wrapped up in his horse’s tail. He then went to his wife, saying, I crave thy mercy, for I intended to cut off thy hair, but I have cut off my own horse’s tail. Yea, said she, self do self have. Many men think to do a bad turn, but it turneth oft-times to themselves. VI A man of Gotham laid his wife a wager that she could not make him a cuckold. No! said she, but I can. Do not spare me, said he, but do what you can. On a time she had hid all the spigots and faucets, and going into the buttery, set a barrel of broach, and cried to her spouse, Pray, bring me a spigot and faucet, or else the ale will all run out. He sought up and down, but could not find one. Come here then, said she, and put thy finger in the taphole. Then she called a tailor with whom she made a bargain. Soon after she came to her husband, and brought a spigot and a faucet, saying, Pull thy finger out of the tap-hole, good cuckold. Beshrew your heart for your trouble, said she, make no such bargain with me again. VII A man of Gotham took a young buzzard, and invited four or five gentlemen’s servants to the eating of it; but the wife killed an old goose, and she and two of her gossips ate up the buzzard, and the old goose was laid to the fire for the gentlemen’s servants. So when they came the goose was set before them, What is this? said one of them. The goodman said, A curious buzzard. A buzzard! Why, it is an old goose, and thou art a knave to mock us, and so departed in great anger. The fellow was sorry that he had affronted them, and took a bag and put the buzzard’s feathers in it; but his wife desired him, before he went, to fetch a block of wood, and in the interim she pulled out the buzzard’s feathers, and put in the goose’s. The man, taking the bag, went to the gentlemen’s servants, and said, Pray, be not angry with me, you shall see I had a buzzard, for here be the feathers. Then he opened the bag, and took out the goose’s feathers; upon which one of them took a cudgel, and gave him a dozen of stripes, saying, Why, you knave, could you not be content to mock us at home, but you are come here to mock us also? VIII A man’s wife of Gotham was brought to bed of a male child, and the father invited the gossips, who were children of eight or ten years of age. The eldest child’s name was Gilbert, the second’s name was Humphrey, and the godmother was called Christabel. Their relations admonished them divers times, that they must all say after the parson. And when they were come to church, the priest said, Be you all agreed of the name? Gilbert, Humphrey, and Christabel, said the same. The priest then said, Wherefore came you

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hither? They immediately said the same. The priest being amazed, could not tell what to say, but whistled and said Whey, and so did they. The priest, being angry, said, Go home, you fools, go home. Then Gilbert, Humphrey, and Christabel, did the same. The priest then provided godfathers and godmothers himself. IX A young man of Gotham went a-wooing a fair maid: His mother warned him before hand, saying, whenever you look at her, cast a sheep’s eye at her, and say, How dost thou, my sweet Pigmy? The fellow went to a butcher and bought seven or eight sheep eyes. And when this lusty wooer was at dinner, he would look upon the fair wench, and cast in her face a sheep’s eye, saying, How dost thou do, my sweet Pigmy? How do I do, said the wench, Swine’s face, what do you mean by casting a sheep’s eye at me? O! sweet Pigmy have at thee with another. I defy thee, Swine’s face, said the wench. What, my sweet old Pigmy, be content, for if you live till next year you will be a foul sow. Walk, knave, walk, said she, for if you live till next year you will be a fool. X There was a man of Gotham that would be married, and when the day of marriage was come, they went to church. The priest said, Do you say after me. The man said, Do you say after me. The priest said, Say not after me such like, but say what I shall tell you: thou doest play the fool to mock the holy Scriptures concerning matrimony. The fellow said, Thou doest play the fool to mock the holy Scriptures concerning matrimony. The priest wist not what to say, but answered, What shall I do with this fool? and the man said, What shall I do with this fool? So the priest took his leave, and would not marry them. The man was instructed by others how to do, and was afterwards married. And thus the breed of the Gothamites has been perpetuated even unto this day. XI There was a Scotsman who dwelt at Gotham, and he took a house a little distance from London, and turned it into an inn, and for his sign he would have a boar’s head, accordingly he went to a carver, and said, Can you make me a bare head? Yes, said the carver. Then, said he, make me a bare head, and thou’s hae twenty shillings for thy hire. I will do it, said the carver. On St Andrew’s day, before Christmas (called Yule in Scotland), the Scot came to London for his boar’s head. I say, speak, said the Scotsman, hast thou made me a bare head? Yes, said the carver. He went and brought a man’s head of wood, that was bare, and said, Sir, there is your bare head. Ay, said the Scot, the meikle de’il! Is this a bare head? Yes, said the carver. I say, said the Scotsman, I will have a bare head like the head that follows a sow with gryces. What, whoreson, know you not a sow that will greet and groan and cry a-week, a-week. What, said the carver, do you mean a pig? Yes, said the Scotsman, let me have her head made of timber and set on her scalp, and let her sing—Whip whire. The carver said he could not. You whoreson, said he, gar her as she’d sing whip whire.


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XII In ole times, during these tales the wives of Gotham were got into an alehouse and said they were all profitable to their husbands. Which way, good gossips! said the ale-wife. The first said, I will tell you all, good gossips I cannot brew nor bake, therefore I am every day alike, and go to the alehouse because I cannot go to church; and in the alehouse I pray to God to speed my husband and I am sure my prayers will do him more good than my labour. Then said the second, I am profitable to my husband in saving of candle in winter, for I cause my husband and all my people to go to bed by daylight. The third said, I am profitable in sparing bread, for I drink a gallon of ale, and I care not much for meat. The fourth said, I am loath to spend meat and drink at home, so I go to the tavern at Nottingham and drink wine, and such other things as God sends me there. The fifth said, A man will ever have more company in another’s house than in his own, and most commonly in the alehouse. The sixth said, My husband has flax and wood to spare, if I go to other folks’ houses to do their work. The seventh said, I spare my husband’s wood and clothes, and sit all day talking at other folks’ fires. The eighth said, Beef, mutton, and pork are dear, I therefore take pigs, chickens, conies and capons, being of a lesser price. The ninth said, I spare my husband’s soap, for instead of washing once a week, I wash but once a quarter. Then said the ale-wife, I keep all my husband’s ale from souring; for as I was wont to drink it almost up, now I never leave a drop. XIII On Ash Wednesday, the minister of Gotham would have a collection from his parishioners, and said unto them, My friends, the time is come that you must use prayer, fasting, and alms, but come ye to shrift, I will tell you more of my mind. But as for prayer, I don’t think that two men in the parish can say their Paternoster. As for fasting, ye fast still, for ye have not a good meal’s meat in the year. As for almsdeeds, what should they give that have nothing? In Lent you must refrain from drunkenness and abstain from drink. No, not so, said one fellow, for it is an old proverb, that fish should swim. Yes, said the priest, they must swim in the water. I crave thy mercy, quoth the fellow, I thought it should have swam in fine ale, for I have been told so. Soon after the men of Gotham came to shrift and being seven, the priest knew not what penance to give. He said, if I enjoin you to pray, you cannot say your Paternoster. And it is but folly to make you fast, because you never eat a meal’s meat. Labour hard and get a dinner on Sunday, and I will partake of it. Another man he enjoined to fare well on Monday, and another on Tuesday, and another on Wednesday, and so on one after another, that one or another should fare well once in the week, that he might have part of their meat, on every day during the week. And as for your almsdeeds, the priest said, ye be but beggars all, except one or two, therefore bestow your alms on yourselves. Glasgow Chapbook, n.d. Amusing Prose Chap-Books, Cunningham, pp. 33–44. This chap-book collection is an omnibus of jocular tales, many of them having no connection with Gotham, and dealing only with individual simpletons. Most of them belong to wellknown types. I. TYPE 1242A. MOTIF: J.1874.1 [Carrying part of the load].

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This is one of the Hodscha Nasreddin stories. See also “Pal Hall’s Quiffs”. II. TYPE 1282. MOTIF: J.2102.4 [House burned down to rid it of insects]. Another Hodscha Nasreddin tale (no. 137). Also occurs in India and Indonesia. III. TYPE 1231. MOTIFS: J.2612 [The attack on the Crayfish]; J.1785.1 [Grasshopper thought to be the devil]. Comment in Field, The Myth of the Pent Cuckoo, p. 7. See “Shapwick Monster”. IV. MOTIF: J.2173.2 [Getting a sword to lift the cheese]. Comment in The Pent Cuckoo, p. 8. V. TYPE 1417. MOTIFS: K.1512 [Cut off hair]; K.1843.4 [Wife has maidservant impersonate her]. This widespread tale is borrowed from Boccaccio, or a Jest-Book, and inappropriately placed among the Gotham legends. VI. MOTIF: K.1549 [Adulteress outwits husband]. This is another intrusion into the Gothamite tales. VII. TYPE 1409* (variant). VIII. TYPE 1821. MOTIFS: T.596 [Naming of children]; J.2498 [Repeating the ceremony] IX. TYPE 1685. MOTIF: J.2462.2 [To throw sheeps’ eyes at bride]. This motif is also used in anger-bargains. X. Another version of TYPE 1821. MOTIF: J.2498 [Repeating the ceremony]. XI. TYPE 1699. MOTIF: J.2496.2 [Misunderstanding because of lack of knowledge of a different language]. Another tale entirely unconnected with Gotham. XII. No Tale-Type is assigned to this sketch, though the subject is common enough; as, for instance, in “Robin-a-Thrush” (Cecil Sharp and Baring-Gould, Folk Songs for Schools): “She swept the house but once a year. The reason is that brooms are dear.” XIII. This clerical anecdote is without a motif, and is again not part of the Gothamite cycle.

THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM: III [summary] The following incidents of the Wise Men of Gotham were known to Taimi Boswell, he thought from Leicestershire: 1.Raking the moon out of well. TYPE 1335A. MOTIF: J.1791.2 [Rescuing the moon]. 2.Walling the cuckoo. TYPE 1213. MOTIF: J.1904.2 [The pent cuckoo]. 3.Drowning a fish. TYPE 1310. MOTIF: K.581.1 [Drowning crayfish as punishment]. 4.An old woman weeding a field of turnips at midnight by candlelight. 5.A young woman looking for a needle in a field of newly sown grass. MOTIF: J.1920 [Absurd searches for the lost].


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Thompson Notebooks, from Taimi Boswell, Oswaldtwistle, 11 January 1915.

THE PORRIDGE IN THE WHIRLPOOL One day some men of Gotham were walking by the riverside, and came to a place where the contrary currents caused the water to boil as in a whirlpool. “See how the water boils!” says one. “If we had plenty of oatmeal,” says another, “we might make enough porridge to serve all the village for a month.” So it was resolved that part of them go to the village and fetch their oatmeal, which was soon brought and thrown into the river. But there presently arose the question of how they were to know when the porridge was ready. This difficulty was overcome by the offer of one of the company to jump in, and it was agreed that if he found it ready for use, he should signify the same to his companions. The man jumped in, and found the water deeper than he expected. Thrice he rose to the surface, but said nothing. The others, impatient at his remaining so long silent, and seeing him smack his lips took this for an avowal that the porridge was good, and so they all jumped in after him, and were drowned. Clouston, The Book of Noodles, p. 43. TYPES 1260 and 1297*. MOTIFS: J.1938 [Porridge in the ice-hole]; J.1832 [Jumping into river after their comrades]. There are 65 Finnish versions of this tale; Lapp, Norwegian, Swedish, French and Turkish. Something of the same tale is told by Addy about the Austwick Carles.

“WOLD FORRED” “I’ve heard my father tell o’ wold Forred, what used to be clark at Newchurch, and played a hobwoy* in church o’ Zundays; another wold feller, that lived at Pigspond, used to plaay a bazoon or zummet o’ the sort there besides. One Zunday aater the sarmon, they had to zing the Wold Hundred; but when the paason—Gill, I thinks hes naame was— finished up, wold Forred was fast asleep. T’other wold man nudges ’en and says, ‘Come, come, Richard, let’s strick up.’ ‘All right,’ zings out wold Forred, about half awake, ‘I’ll lay two half-crowns on the rid cock.’ The paason ruddered hes head at ’en when a heerd it, but a dedn’t zay nothen too’n, as I knows on.” * oboe.

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Norton Collection, VI, p. 47. W.H.Long, A Dictionary of the Isle of Wight Dialect, p. 62. TYPE 1839A (variant). MOTIF: N.5 (Card-playing parson]. See also “The Parson and the Cards”, “The Cock-fighting Parson”.

WOMEN OR DEVILS [summary] A boy was for a joke brought up entirely among men. One day his guardians took him to town, and pointed out all sorts of things in the shops. The only things he wanted to look at were the women. He asked what they were, and was told “devils”. At night, when all were telling what they had liked best in the town, he said, “I like best what you call devils.” Thompson Notebooks. Told by Eva Gray, Grimsby, 8 November 1914. TYPE 1678. MOTIF: T.371 [The boy who had never seen a woman: the Satans]. See also “Jacky goes Coorten”.

WOOL AND WITHIES [summary] Some travelling gypsies, Allisons by name, were devoted to an old horse of theirs, and used to take it about with them, long after it was too old and feeble to work. One day, when they had camped for the night, the horse fell and broke its back, and when they were certain it was dead they flayed it, and covered its body with an old sheet till the next day. But in the morning the horse was standing by the tiltcart, alive and with a whole back. It looked so pitiful without its skin that the gypsies took some sheep-skins they had been given by a farmer the day before, and bound them on the horse, using some strong willow-withies which they had cut for basket-making. The horse grew well and strong again, and every year after that, they got a clip of wool, and all the withies they needed from their wonderful horse. Thompson Notebooks, c. Told by Terence Lee at Oxenholme, 7 September 1914. TYPES 1889D and 1889P. MOTIF: X.1130.2.1 [Tree grows out of horse and gives rider shade]. See also “The Basket-maker’s Donkey”.

THE WRONG MAN [summary] A bearded Irishman staying at an inn asked to be called early. As he slept, some wags shaved him. He was called late, and left in a hurry. On his way he found he had no beard, and decided they had called the wrong man. Turned back to the inn, and told them to wake the bearded man, and send him off in a hurry.


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Thompson, Notebooks, from Reuben Gray, Old Radford, Notts, 21 December 1914. TYPE 1284. MOTIF: J.2012.1 [Numskull’s beard cut off: does not know himself]. A Hodscha Nasreddin story, 1.274, no. 298. Also Danish and Indian. See also “Lawkamercyme”.

YABBERTON (EBRINGTON) YAWNIES I The people of the village are credited with having perpetrated several foolish actions in days gone by, and indeed Ebrington is the Gotham of the Cotswolds. They put the clock forward to make Christmas come sooner; when they fancied that their candles were damp they put them into the oven to dry them; and among various other strange deeds of the same kind, they brought hurdles to hedge in the cuckoo. Field, pp. 156–7 Norton Collection, IV, p. 49. Ebrington, Gloucestershire. II The old inhabitants of Ilmington had an hereditary love of poking fun at their Gloucestershire neighbours, over the hill-top in Ebrington, whom they styled “mawms”, another name for fools. The series has never appeared in print as far as the writer is aware, but is important in the study of folk-rhyme. Bloom, p. 129 Bloom gives five pieces of doggerel, one describing the “mucking” of the church tower (1200); another a moonraking (*1335A); and a third a wheelbarrow story (p. 131): The Yebberton mawms to Campden went, To buy a wheelbarrow was their intent. They carried the barrow from Campden town, For fear that its wheels should bruise the ground. There was a mad dog came through the town, And bit the side of the barrow all round. They took it to the sea to be dipped, And swore the dog should be whipt. Bloom explains that dipping in the sea was an old cure for hydrophobia. The remaining rhymes describe how some practical jokers put a donkey down an Ebrington chimney; and how the “mawms” celebrated Waterloo by lighting a fire on the church tower. I. TYPE 1270. MOTIF: J.2122 [The drying of the candle]. II. MOTIF: J.1887 [The mad wheelbarrow]. See Field, The Pent Cuckoo, p. 15.

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YORKSHIRE FOLLIES or GIBES The snow plough I have heard it related of several towns in the North Riding that the local council decided that a horse-drawn snow-plough was out of date in these modern times; so they tried the experiment of sending the snow-plough out hitched to the back of the steam-roller. Not only was the job done in half the time, but it was pointed out that the roller made a nice smooth track for the plough to slide on, so there was no need to force it through the snow. The considerate bandsman Almost every village in the West Riding claims the story of the brass band which got back late at night after winning the band contest. So as not to wake the village they tiptoed up the main street in their stockinged feet; and, at the same time, to mark the triumphant occasion, they played See the Conquering Hero Comes at full blast. Norton Collection, IV, p. 36 [extract]. I, From Yorkshire Dalesman LXII p. 15, II. From M.Wilson, Leeds.

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NOVELLE For our knowledge of a great number of the Novelle, though not by any means all, we are dependent upon literary sources. This is unfortunately true of a great number of the folk tales of these islands. If they had not been written down at a time before verbal accuracy in transcription was thought necessary many of them would not have survived. The Novelle have been written down early, and have therefore been more tampered with than the Fairy Tales, but their foundation is traditional. Some of them have been happily preserved for us unspoilt, by the retentive memory of the Travelling People. The Novelle might be called “Naturalistic Fairy Tales”. The loutish simpleton of a hero gains the hand of the Princess, but without the help of a golden goose; the constancy and truth of the ill-used heroine wins her happiness in the end, but there is no fairy godmother or magical hazel-nut to help her. A fair number of specimens of the types 850–999 are to be found in this section of the Dictionary, though some have been placed in Part B among the Legends, as they were firmly believed to have historical foundation. One of the chief of these is 990, “The Seemingly Dead Revives”, which is hotly claimed by many places and for which a plausible case may be made out in the Erskine family. Types 851 and 853, in which the Princess is won by riddles or by repartee, are undoubtedly Novelle, and are widespread and common. One of the most popular of the tales is type 910, “Precepts Bought or Given Prove Correct”, which is to be found in all its forms; another is 922, often combined with 924. The best-known examples of these in England are “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury” and “The Language of Signs”. Both are widespread types and have been much studied. Anderson’s Kaiser und Abt is the definitive work on the subject. Mr. F.J.Norton has made a special study of “The Life-Saving Riddle” (type 927). He treated it in an article in Folk-Lore, LIII (1942), and he devoted 52 pages of his manuscript notes to examples culled from Europe and America, mostly in fragmentary forms. Type 930,“The Prophecy”,is a story that hovers on the edge of being a fairy tale. “The Fish and the Ring” is the best-known version of this in England, but there are a number of others. “Roswal and Lilian,” a romance still very popular in the sixteenth century, is another of these half fairy-tales. It might be related to the Grimms’ “Goose-Girl” (type 533), with a hero instead of a heroine. “The Squire of Low Degree”, very much in the Romance convention, was made popular by a good many chapbook versions. The Type-Index devotes a good many numbers to Robber Stories, of which the most popular in England is “The Robber Bridegroom” (type 95 5), though 925,“The Master Thief”, runs it close. Curiously enough, the Type-Index does not give much attention to the sympathetic treatment of outlaws and robbers. Types 950, 951 and 953 are the chief examples. There is a good and full Irish version of the last, “The Black Thief of the Glen”, but none outside the Celtic area in these islands. The Heroic Outlaw, however, is very characteristic of the English tradition, and that he also occurs in America is shown in an article in number 312 of The Journal of American Folklore. It is by Kent Steckmesser and is on Robin Hood and the American outlaw. By the fifteenth century the Tales of Robin Hood had endeared themselves to high and low in England. “The Litel Gest of


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Robin Hood “has been retold at some length as a good and full representative of this series. It is generally judged to be a fairly early one, and it has far more of a plot than many of the others, which might better be called episodes. The most characteristic pattern of the Robin Hood ballad, however, is the combat between Robin Hood and some local champion, who generally beats Robin and is then enrolled as a member of the band. In the same way King Arthur, when he did fight in a tournament, was generally unhorsed. In an old traditional tale it is commonly the newest arrival who is successful, as the new incident has been invented for his glorification. “Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar” has been chosen as an example of this type, and one or two rather different stories have been very briefly summarized. Other outlaw stories were “Fulke Fitzwarine”,“Brown Adam the Smith” and “Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough and William of Cloudesley”. This last introduces the international motif of the apple shot off the son’s head. The original popularity of these ballads was probably due to the Norman Conquest, but the ruling class adopted them from the peasantry. John Paston kept a servant to play Little John, and King Henry VIII and his courtiers went masking as Robin Hood and his Merry Men. A series of anecdotes in which a king meets a peasant and subsequently invites him to Court and enriches him is to be found in England, Scotland and France, but has no AarneThompson number. The nearest to it is type 921, “The King and the Peasant’s Son”, which turns rather on the cleverness of the boy than on his rusticity. There are several examples of this, as, for instance, “Farmer Gag’s Clever Son”. “King Edward and the Hermit” and “The King and the Miller of Mansfield” are examples of the king and peasant type. A more elaborate version of this, “The Founding of Littleport”, is to be found among the Local Legends. This selection of Novelle can only claim to be representative, not exhaustive, but it will be seen that it covers a fairly wide range of subject and treatment.

ADAM BEL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLEY Merry and joyous it is in the green forest, when the leaves are full and broad, to walk beneath its breezy shade and hearken to the wild birds’ song. It is of three good yeomen of the north country that I seek at present to tell you all: Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesley. Archers of approved skill were they, and outlawed for venison; and in the town of Carlisle where they dwelled, they sware brotherhood, and to the forest betook them. Whereof twain were single men; but Cloudesley had taken unto him a wife, and with moist eyes he brake from fair Alice, and the children clasped to his knee, to lead a strange new life in Inglewood with his two comrades,their hand against every man, and every man against them. So they made such shift as they could, and passed their days amid the forest glades and lawns, sustaining themselves on the king’s venison and the water of the brook; and ever and again a little boy, who had served Cloudesley as his swineherd, was sent to him privily, and brought him and the others victuals and raiment and news withal. Till, after a certain space of time, Cloudesley waxed homesick, thinking often on his young wife Alice and his sweet little ones, whom he had left behind him; and he said to

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the others, that he would fain make his way to Carlisle, to gladden his eyes with the sight of them all once more. For Alice, while she caused the little swineherd to pass to and fro with meat for the foresters, held it unwise to charge the boy with any message praying Cloudesley to come unto her, seeing that she was so straitly observed. Then said Adam Bel to him: “Ye go not, brother, by mine advice; for if ye be marked and the justice take ye, your life is even at an end. Stay, prythee, where ye are, and be content.” But Cloudesley replied: “Nay, wend thither I must; and if so I return not to you and Clym by noon, ye may augur that I am taken or slain.” And when his brethren saw that they might nowise prevail upon him they said no more, and he departed on his way, as it drew toward evening. With a light step, and an anxious heart, he sped along till he came to the gates of Carlisle, and he passed in thereat disguised, that no man might discern who he was; and he paused not till he was at his own window, and called on Alice his wife to undo the door, for it was her own William who stood without. Then when the joy of the meeting had a little abated, fair Alice gazed at him pensively, and said: “William, it is so that this house has been watched and beset for you this half-year or more.” But he replied to her: “Now I am here, bring me to eat and drink, and let us make good cheer while we may.” Now there was an old wife in the chimney corner, that Cloudesley had harboured for charity’s sake some seven years, and that had not of long time set foot on ground. This shrew and cursed crone, albeit she had eaten his bread so long, seized her occasion, and crept privily to the sheriff, where he lived, and warned him that that very night William the outlaw had by stealth come into the town, and was even now securely at home, where they might have him. The sheriff caused the bell to be rung, and the justice and the sheriff getting their men together, they soon encompassed the house round on every side. Then Cloudesley made all the doors fast, and took his sword and buckler and bow, and with his three children and fair Alice his wife mounted the stair to an upper chamber, where he imagined that he might withstand them all; and by his side his true wedded wife held a poleaxe in her hand. Cloudesley bent his bow, and the arrow shivered in two against the justice’s breastplate. “Beshrew the varlet,” muttered Cloudesley, “that dressed thee in that coat; if it had not been thicker than mine, thou hadst not spoken more.” “Yield, Cloudesley,” cried the justice, “and give up thy arms.” “A curse light on him,” cried Alice, “who lendeth us such counsel!” And they kept them all at a distance, for Cloudesley was at the window, with his bow ready bent, and none durst break the doors, so true an archer was he. “Set fire on the house, since there is no other way,” shouted the sheriff; and they did as he bad, and the flames quickly rose. Cloudesley opened a back window, and let down his wife and his children, and said to the sheriff, “For Christ’s love, hurt them not, but wreak all your ire on me.” And he kept his bow busy till all his arrows were spent and the fire nigh burnt his bowstring in twain. “This is a coward’s death,” he exclaimed, “and liever had I fallen sword in hand than thus.” And he cast down his bow, and taking his sword and buckler, leaped down among


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the throng, and smote them on every side, till only by hurling doors and windows at him could they make prisoner that stout and bold yeoman. Then they bound him hand and foot, and led him to prison and the justice commanded that he should be hanged the next morning, and that the gates should be shut, so that none might enter thereat. For the justice doubted that Adam Bel and Clym of the Clough might gain tidings of their fellow, and might essay to rescue him from the gallows. “Not Adam Bel, nor Clym, nor all the devils in Hell,” quoth the justice, “shall save thee from the rope this time.” Early in the morning a pair of new gallows was erected in the market place, nigh the pillory, and the gates of Carlisle were locked. Now Alice, seeing no other remedy, had that same night that Cloudesley was taken despatched with all speed to Inglewood the little swineherd, who crept unobserved through a crevice in the wall after dusk, and lost not a moment in finding the two foresters, where they lay under the greenwood shade. “Too long, too long,” cried he, “tarry ye here, ye good yeomen. Cloudesley is taken, and tomorrow betimes he shall be hanged on a new gallows in the market-place.” “He might have dwelled with us in peace,” said Adam Bel, “as I prayed him heartily to do, and now here is a shrewd pass.” And he took his bow in his hand, and a buck that bounded by was stretched suddenly on the ground. “That will serve us for our breakfast,” said he, “ere we go. Fetch me my arrow again, boy, for we shall have need enough.” Now when these yeomen had eaten their meal hastily, they girded on their swords, and took their bows and arrows and bucklers, and sped on their way, for time pressed, and it was a fair May morning when they reached the gates of Carlisle. II “We must devise some sleight,” said Clym of the Clough, “to get in. Let us say that we are messengers from the king.” “I have a fair letter,” quoth the other; “we will declare that we have the king’s signet; the porter is, I warrant, no clerk.” They beat hard at the door, and when the porter heard that they had the king’s seal, he unlocked the gate, and let them enter. “Now we are in,” whispered Adam Bel; “but by Heaven! I do not know how we shall make our way out again.” “Let us seize the keys,” whispered Clym. They beckoned the porter to them, and wrang his neck, and cast his body into a corner. “Now am I porter in his room,” cried Adam, “the worst they have had here in Carlisle this hundred year.” And without more ado they hastened to the market-place, placing themselves where they might not be noted. They espied the gallows, and the justice with his inquest, that had ajudged Cloudesley to die, and Cloudesley hard by in a cart, bound hand and foot, with a rope round his neck. The justice called a boy, and promised him the outlaw’s clothes, if he would dig his grave against the time for despatch. Cloudesley cast his eye aside, where his two brethren stood, and he said to the justice: “Such wonders have happened ere now as that a man who diggeth a grave for another lieth in it himself.”

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But the justice answered and said: “Ah! thou talkest proudly. I will hang thee, fellow, with my own hand.” Scarce had the words fallen from him, when an arrow pierced his breast, and a second the sheriff’s; the rest began to scatter, and Adam, running up to the cart, loosed Cloudesley, who wrenched an axe from a man near him. There was a panic; the bells were rung backward, the outhorns were blown, and the mayor with a strong force behind him arrived with their bills and their swords. The foresters, when they saw them, were dismayed by their numbers, and retreated towards the gate; and when they could no longer use their bows, they cut down all that came near with their swords, till at last they reached the gate, and unlocked it; and when they were without, Adam Bel threw the keys at the heads of the mayor’s men, and cried: “I give up my office. Prythee, elect a new porter.” And they waited not to see what further befell but took their way back to Inglewood, where Cloudesley found fair Alice and his children three, that had thought him dead; and there was great rejoicing among them all and they feasted to their heart’s ease. Then, when those three bold foresters, with Alice and her children three, had supped merrily together, and they had rested somewhat after that notable work at Carlisle, quoth Cloudesley to the others: “Brethren mine, let us even go straightway to London to our king to seek his grace, ere the tidings come to his ear, how the justice and sheriff be slain, with many more; and Alice and two of my children shall repair to a nunnery hereby, and my eldest son I shall take with me.” So, when they came to London, they sought our lord the king, pushing bluffly past the porter at the palace gate, and the usher, and all, who pressed after them in a body to know what they would have; and they said they had travelled far to obtain from the king a charter of peace. When they were brought into the presence of our lord the king, they fell on their knees, as the law of the land was, and each held up his hand; and they said: “Lord, we beseech thee to grant us grace, for we have slain your highness’s deer.” “What are your names?” asked the king. “Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough, and William Cloudesley.” “Ah! ye be those thieves,” returned the king, “that men have reported so oft to me? Gramercy, sirs, I shall see well that ye be hanged without more ado.” “We pray your highness,” said they again, “that you will suffer us to leave you with our arms in our hands till we are out of this place, and we will seek no farther grace.” “You talk rather proudly,” quoth the king. “Nay, nay; ye shall be of a surety hanged all three.” Now the queen, hearing the news of these archers having made so long a journey to see her lord the king, came to him, praying him, as he had made promise to her on their marriage to grant the first boon she should ask, to yield unto her the lives of those three yeomen; and the king, albeit he was wroth that she should have begged so mean a thing, when she might have had market-towns, castles and forests to her use and pleasure, said unto her: “I depart not, madam, from my word; they are yours.” “My lord,” she said, “much thanks. I undertake that they shall become to your grace good men and true. But, prythee, speak a word to them, that they may know your bounty to them.”


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“You are pardoned, fellows,” our lord the king said thereupon. “Go now, wash, and sit to meat.” A crafty man was William of Cloudesley, who thought of fair Alice and his sweet children, and wist well that the men of Carlisle would send messengers to London without delay to apprise our lord the king of what had there befallen; and, certes, scarcely were those three yeomen assoiled by our lady the queen’s favour, when, as they sat at meat in the king’s kitchen, there came a post from the north country to disclose the whole thing as it was. The messengers kneeled, and presented their letters, saying, “Lord, your officers of Carlisle in the north country greet you well.” And when our lord the king brake the seal, he was a sad man; for he found that those three yeomen, to whom he had granted grace, and leave to wash and eat at his board, had slain three hundred and more, with the justice and the sheriff, and the mayor and many other, and had ravaged his parks, and killed his deer, and by all that country were held in dread. “Take away the meat,” cried the king. “I can touch no more. What archers be these, that can do such feats with their bow? Marry, I have none such. Methinks I will see them shoot.” And his grace commanded that his bowmen, and the queen’s, should forthwith hold a meeting, and set up butts. Whereto Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough and William of Cloudesley were summoned to come. They all took their turns, and the king’s bowmen, and the queen’s, put out their whole strength and skill before those three yeomen of the north country; but those three yeomen carried everything; and there was much marvelling at such archery. But William of Cloudesley spake and said: “Gramercy, I hold him no archer that shooteth at such wide butts.” “What wouldest thou, then?” demanded the king. “Such a butt, lord,” he answered, “as men use in my country.” And the king gave him leave that he should shew his meaning. Then Cloudesley took two hazel wands in his hand, and set them up two hundred paces apart, and said to the king: “Whoso cleaveth them both in twain, I hold him an archer indeed.” No man that was with the king raised his voice or made a sign, but all were still and silent; and the king said: “There is none here who can do such a thing.” “I shall try then,” said Cloudesley, stepping forward suddenly; and fixing a bearing arrow in his bow, he drew it to the head, and split both the wands in two. “Thou art the best archer,” exclaimed the king, delightedly, “that I ever beheld.” “Wait a moment, lord,” said Cloudesley,” and I will shew your grace even more. Here is my little son, seven years old; dear enough to his mother and to me he is. Grieved in our hearts were we if any misadventure should befall him; yet, lo! I will bind him to a stake, and place an apple on his head, and at sixscore paces I will cut the apple in two.” None believed that even Cloudesley had the courage and steadfastness to achieve such a deed. But he called his son to him and fastened him with his back towards him, lest he might wince, to a post, and the apple was laid upon the child’s head, and sixscore paces were measured out. Cloudesley stood motionless for an instant, not a breath was heard throughout all that meeting, and many prayed for the yeoman that God would protect him in his task, and some wept. He drew out a broad shaft, fixed it in his good bow, and the next moment the apple fell from the child’s head, and not a hair was stirred.

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“God forbid,” cried the king, “that thou shouldest shoot at me! I perceive how my officers in Carlisle sped so ill when they had such a foe. But I have tried thee sorely, William, and thou art an exceeding good archer. I give thee eighteenpence a day, and thy clothing, and make thee a gentleman, and chief forester of my north country; and thy brethren twain shall be yeomen of my chamber. Thy little son, whom thou so lovest, I will place in my wine cellar, and when he cometh to man’s estate, he shall be farther preferred.” So said the king; and our lady the queen commanded that Alice should be brought to London to the court, and should be set over her nursery. So fared these three yeomen excellently well through the mastery of William of Cloudesley and the gracious offices of our lady the queen; and when they had gone on pilgrimage to Rome, to our holy father the pope, to obtain remission of their sins against God, they returned to their own land, and lived ever after in ease and worship. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 324. Cf. Child, 111, p. 174, no. 116. MOTIFS: K.2293 [Treacherous old woman]; R.169.5 [Hero rescued by friends]; F.661.3 [Skilful marksman shoots apple from man’s head].

THE BLACK AND HIS MASTER [incomplete] [summary] A gentleman travelled about a great deal with a black servant. Arrived at an inn. Black, stabling horses, found some bags filled with human legs. Warned his master to eat nothing but bread and cheese. Went up to sleep with master. They loaded their pistols, and stood by door, close to wall. Presently the floor slid aside, and the bed went down. The handle turned, they shot and killed the murderers. Went on at once. Passed lonely house on common. Black begged to be allowed to reconnoitre. He peeped in at window. Six robbers were sharing their spoils. “That’s mine, That’s mine,” etc. The black thrust his head in at the window, and roared, “Where’s mine?” Robbers thought it was the devil, and rushed away. Black gave his master all the money, and they went on home. Thompson Notebooks, VI, from Reuben Gray, Old Radford, Notts, 21 December 1914. TYPES 956A, 1791 (variant). MOTIFS: J.1786 [Man thought to be devil or ghost]; K.912 [Robbers killed as they enter house]; K.335.1 [Robbers frightened from goods]. See “Trick upon Travellers”, “The Bag of Nuts” (A, III).

BOBBY RAG Yeahs an’ yeahs an’ double yeahs ago, deah was a nice young Gypsy gal playin’ round an ole oak tree. An’ up comed a ‘squire as she wur a-playin’ an‘he falled in love wid her, and asked her ef she’d go to his hall, an’ marry him. An’ she says: “No, sir! you wouldn’t have a pooah gypsy gal like me.” But he meaned so, an’ stoled her away an’ married her. Now, when he bring’d her home, his mother warn’t ’greeable to let hisself down so low as to marry a Gypsy gal. So she says, “You’ll hev to go an’ stry her in de hundert


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mile wood, an’ strip her star’-mother-naked, an’ bring back her clothes and her heart and pluck wid you.” And he took’d his hoss, and she jumped up behint him, and rid behint him into de wood. You’ll be shuah it wor a wood! an ole-fashioned wood we know it should be, wid bears, an’ eagles, an’s sneks, an’ wolfs into it. And when he took’d her in de wood he says: “Now, I’ll ha’ to kill you here, an’ strip you star’-mother-naked and tek back your clothes an’ your heart an’ pluck wid me, and show dem to my mammy.” But she begged hard for herself, an’ she says: “Deah’s an eagle into dat wood, an’ he’s gat de same heart an’ pluck as a Christ’n; take dat home an‘show it to your mammy, an’ I’ll gin you my clothes as well.” So he stript her clothes affer her, an’ he kilt de eagle, an’ took’d his heart an’ pluck home, an’ showed it to his mammy, an’ said as he’d kilt her. And she hear’d him rode aff, an’ she wents an, an’ she wents an, an’ she crep’ an’ she crep’ on her poor hens an’ knees, tell she fun’ a way troo de long wood. Youah shuah she’d hev hard work to fin’ a way troo it! an’ long an’ by last she got to de hedge anear de road, so she’d hear any one go by. Now, in de marnin’ deah wuz a young gen’leman comed by an hossback, an’ he couldnt get his hoss by for love nor money; an’ she hed herself in under de hedge, fur she wur afrightened’ twor de same man come back to kill her agin, an’ besides youah shuah she wor ashamed of bein naked. An’ he calls out: Ef you’re a ghost go way! but ef you’re a livin’ Christ’n, speak to me.” An’ she med answer direc’ly: “I’m as good a Christ’n as you are, but not in a parable!” An’ when he sin her, he pull’t his deah, beautiful topcoat affer him, an’ put it an her, an’ he says: “Jump behint me.” An’ she jumped behint him, an’ he rid wi’ her to his own gret hall. An’ deah wuz no speakin’ tell dey gat home. He knowed she wuz deah to be kilt, an’ he galloped as fast as he could an his blood-hoss, tell he gat to his own hall. An’ when he bring’d her in, dey wur all struck stunt to see a woman naked, wid her beautiful black hair hangin’ down her back in long rinklets. Dey asked her what she wuz deah fur, an’ she tell’d dem, an’ she tell’d dem, an’ youah shuah dey soon put clothes an her, an’ when she wuz dressed up, deah warn’t a lady in de land more han’some nor her, an’ his folks wor in delight av her. “Now,” dey says: “We’ll have a supper for goers an’ comers an’ all gentry to come at.” Youah shuah it should be a ’spensible supper an’ no savation of no money. An’ deah wuz to be tales tell’d an’ songs sing’d, an’ everywan dat didn’t sing’t a song had to tell’t a tale; an’ every door wuz bolted for fear any wan would mak a skip out. An’ it kem to pass to dis Gypsy gal to sing a song; an’ de gentlemen dat fun her sez;” Now my pretty Gypsy gal, tell a tale;” an’ de gentleman dat wuz her husband knowed her, an’ didn’t want her to tell a tale, an’ he says: “Sing a song, my pretty Gypsy gal”: An’ she says: “I won’t sing a song, but I’ll tell a tale.” An’ she says: “Bobby Rag! Bobby Rag! Roun’ de oak-tree——Z”

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“Pooh, pooh!” says her husband, “dat tale won’t do.” (Now, de ole mother an’ de son dey knowed what wuz comin’ out.) “Go on, my pretty Gypsy gal,” says de oder young gentleman. “A werry nice tale indeed!” So she goes on: “Bobby Rag, Bobby Rag Roun’ de oak-tree. A Gypsy I wuz born’d; A lady I wuz bred. Dey made me a coffin Afore I wuz dead.” “An’ dat’s de rogue deah!” An’ she tell’t all de tale into de party, how he wur agoin’ to kill her, an’ tek her heart and pluck home. An’ all de gentry took’d an’ gibbeted him alive, both him an’ his mother; an’ dis young squire married her, an’ med her a lady for life. Ah! ef we could know her name, an’ what breed she wur, what a beautiful ting dat would be, but de tale doan’ say. Norton Collection, III, p. 28. Professor Sampson’s “Tales in a Tent”, 111, Gypsy Lore Journal (April 1892), pp. 201–3. Told by Johnny Gray, near Liverpool. TYPE 955 (variant). MOTIFS: K.1916 [Robber bridegroom]; S.62 [Cruel husband]; K.512.2 [Compassionate executioner substitutes heart]. Norton has listed this tale as 956B [The clever maiden alone at home kills the robbers], but it is much closer to the “Mr Fox”, “King Caley” tales, with a motif borrowed from the “Snow White” group. The unmasking by a tale brings it very close to “Mr Fox” or “The Oxford Student”. This is a cante-fable.

THE BOY WHO OUTWITTED THE ROBBER Some years ago, out in Australia, a gentleman lived on an estate. It was a wild and lawless part of the country, and a long way from town. He kept a big staff of servants in the house, including a boy for doing the odd jobs, such as bringing in coals and firewood. This boy had a habit of listening at the back of doors, to hear what was said in the room. The gentleman kept a lot of saddle-horses in a large stable, and of course it took a lot of grooms to look after them. There was a head groom. For miles around there was always a danger of robbers. The gentleman was needing cash from the bank, so he sent out to the stable for the head groom to come in. He told him he wanted him to go to the town for this money. It was a big sum of money, and the head groom refused to take the job on, as he said he would never get back with it. The gentleman was in a fix, and asked the head groom to send in the other grooms,to see if one of them would go to the town, which took a day to go and a


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day to come back. So he tried every groom he had, and none of them would take the job on. After they had left the room, he was pacing up and down the room, lamenting and saying he did not know what to do now, when the door opened and in came the kitchen boy. “I will go for you,” he said. The gentleman asked the boy where he had been standing just now. “Oh, I was behind the door, sir.” “And you heard what I said to the grooms?” “I did, sir, and I heard them all refuse to go, but let me go, and I will bring the money back safe for you.” “How can you bring it, if all the grooms cannot do it?” And he kept pacing the room. At last he turned to the boy. “Well, boy, I have made up my mind to give you a try and a chance. I will give you the best saddle-horse in the stable, so come with me and pick your horse.” They went along to the stable; the gentleman pointed out all the best horses, but the boy declined to take any of them till he came to an old lean horse. “That one will do all right for me.” “On,” the gentleman told the boy, “that old horse is not much good. You should have a better one.” “Oh no,” said the boy, “that one will do me grand.” “Very well,” said the gentleman, “go to the kitchen, and get your lunch put up, and I will get a letter written for the bank.” The gentleman gave the grooms orders to get the horse saddled, and put on the two money-bags. Not long after, the boy was ready and got on to his horse, after getting the letter for the bank. So the boy travelled on all day till about four o’clock in the afternoon, when he had to go down a path in a glen. It was a long, narrow and shaded path, and when he was nearing the foot of the glen he spied a robber on a fine black horse standing not far off the path behind a tree. When the boy approached, the robber came out and ordered the boy to stop, and asked him where he came from, and where he was going, and what he was going for. “Oh, if that’s what you want to know, I will just have to tell you! I am going to the town for money.” “How much money are you going for?” “I don’t know, but I know it is a lot of money, for I have the two money-bags, and I think it will be a big sum.” “Did your master send you for as much money as that, when he knows there is as many robbers about?” “Oh, I am not feared for the robbers,” said the boy. “Are you coming back this way again?” “Yes,” said the boy, “I will be back to-morrow afternoon about four o’clock.” “All right,” said the robber. The boy said to himself, “He surely thinks I am a softie!” Well, the boy went on till he reached the town, then he put up at a hotel for the night. The next morning, after he had got his breakfast, he got his horse and went to the bank, and asked to see the manager, when he gave him the letter.

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“Dear me,” said the manager, “why did your master send you for all this money? He might have known better! And as many robbers in these parts of the country!” “Oh,” said the boy, “I will take his money home all right, but I would like to speak to you in private.” So he took him into another room with his saddle-bags, and when he came out they were both full. After getting his bags strapped on to his horse, he mounted and rode off. He proceeded on his way till just about four o’clock, and he reached the glen where the robber was waiting for him. “Well, boy, you are back again, and very near your time. And how did you get on?” “Oh, fine,” said the boy. “Did you get the money?” “Yes, I got the money all right,” and he slapped his saddle-bags with his hand. “Well, I will see you up the glen,” said the robber. As the path went up, the glen was narrow. The boy with his old horse went first, and the robber behind. After going some distance up the glen, the robber rode forward, and stuck his pistol in the boy’s back, and demanded him to hand over the money or he would put a bullet through him. “Oh,” said the boy, “I thought you said you would see me safe up the glen.” “Hand over the money!” “All right,” said the boy, “I will just have to give it to you,” and he unbuckled the saddle-bags, and when he was going to hand them over, he turned and threw them both down into the deep glen below, and gave his old horse the spurs. It leaped forward just in time to miss the robber’s bullet; the robber cursed the boy, and he had to dismount to go down to get the bags. The boy had carried on to a safe distance, then stopped and watched the robber as he was down at the bags, then he ran down and mounted the robber’s beautiful black mare, and left the robber his old one. He was not long in going home on his beautiful charger, and they all came out to see how he had got on. His master asked him if he had got the money. “Oh, ay,” said the boy, “I have your money all right barring a ten shillings which I had to get the bank manager to fill the saddle-bags with farthings to fill the bags. The robber has got them, but I took his horse, and left him the old one.” The money he had concealed on his person. The gentleman was so pleased with the boy for his cool and daring courage, he took him in hand and had him trained as his manager. He was now a general favourite with all the grooms and servants. And this brings to an end the exploits of a bold and fearless boy. School of Scottish Studies, John Elliot Notebook. TYPE 1525J; MOTIF: K.439 [Thief loses his goods]. A very similar tale is told in the folk-song “The Silly Old Man” (Songs and Ballads of the West, Baring-Gould and Fleetwood Sheppard, 1892, no. XVIII).

THE BRAVE BOY The Burkers were coming to the churchyard body-snatching, and no one dared watch. A brave boy said he would watch if his mother would give him a white sheet. He wrapped


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himself in it, and hid behind a gravestone. The cart rolled up at midnight, and he heard one of the men saying: “Who’ll hold the horses?” He rose up and shrieked: “ALL RIGHT, I’LL HOLD THE HORSES!” The Burkers all ran, and he drove the horses to the police station and got a good reward. School of Scottish Studies, M.Fleming from Mrs Reid. TYPE 326B. MOTIFS: J.1782.6 [Person in white thought to be ghost]; K.335.1.2.2 [Robbers frightened from goods by sham dead man]. There is a great body of tradition among tinkers of Scotland about the “Burkers”, or “Resurrection Men”, as they were called in England. See Part II, Historical, “Burker Tales”. See also “The Corpse in the Cab”, “Down the Rotten Row”.

THE BRIDE WHO HAD NEVER BEEN KISSED [summary] A rich young man was determined to marry only a girl who had never been kissed. Travelled everywhere looking for one. One day stopped at poor road-mender’s cottage to water his horse. Saw very pretty little girl of eight years old among children, who had only been kissed by her father and mother. Offered to adopt her and gave parents £200. Travelled for about ten years, putting the child to school here and there. At last he settled in Brighton and found suitable guardian for girl. He was to go away for two years, and come back to the girl, and wed her if she had not been kissed. Before leaving, he threw a diamond ring into the sea, and told her she must return it to him when he came back. The girl did the cooking and often went down to the sea to see if the ring had been washed up. Near the end of the time a woman came to the door selling fish. The girl’s guardian told her to buy it and cook it for their supper. As she cleaned the last fish she found the ring. The guardian came back well pleased with the girl, who showed him the ring. They were married, and went to find her parents, who had prospered and bought a little inn. Collected by T.W.Thompson from Eva Gray, Grimsby, 8 November 1914. MOTIFS: C.120 [Tabu: kissing]; N.211.1 [Lost ring found in fish].

BROTHER JUCUNDUS Long ago, in a Yorkshire town, there were two monasteries so close together that a single wall separated them. They were St Mary’s Abbey and St Leonard’s Priory. Now one of the monks of St Leonard’s was a fat jovial fellow named Brother Jucundus. All his life he had loved good food and plenty of it, and even more he loved good wine and plenty of it. How he had come, in middle age, to forsake his gay companions and enter a monastery, he never quite knew, but there he was, and after about a year of bread and vegetables, thin ale, and long prayers at midnight, daybreak and noon,

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he began to sigh for old times when he had lived on the fat of the land, had ridden to hounds and had helped himself to rich red wine whenever he had had a mind to do so. It was the custom of the brethren in St Leonard’s to have a nap between one and two in the afternoon. One sunny day Brother Jucundus was alone in his cell, trying very hard to go to sleep but unable to do so because of the noise outside. There was the sound of many feet on the pavement. There was laughter. There was much shouting. He could hear music in the distance, and suddenly he realised that it was fair day. The fair! Brother Jucundus sat upright on his hard bed. The fair! There would be whirligigs and stalls and side-shows and dancing dogs and drinking booths. There would be fun and excitement. Brother Jucundus sighed as he looked at his bare feet and felt the stuff of his habit. Suddenly he decided that no matter what happened he must escape from his prison and share in the frivolity outside. Stealthily opening the door of his cell he peeped out. All was still except for the snoring of some of the monks. He went on tiptoe to the Prior’s room, helped himself to a silver crown from the alms-box, and then tiptoed to the Porter’s lodge where he carefully laid hold of the keys, opened the outer door of the monastery and joined in the merry crowd hastening to the fair. A happy man was Brother Jucundus that afternoon. He talked with everybody. He laughed till his fat body heaved again. He ate dozens of gingerbread horses. He saw the bearded woman. He went round and round on the whirligig, shouting like a schoolboy. He won a pocketful of nuts. He drank a long draught of ale; then another draught; then a third and after that a fourth, his red face becoming redder than ever. There was a see-saw, and Brother Jucundus climbed on rather unsteadily, two gay young men sitting at the other end. Down went the gay young men, and up went the merry monk, waving his arms and singing: “In dulce jubilo, Up, up, up we go!” Then he looked down. For a moment the happy smile forsook his round face. There behind him stood two brethren from St Leonard’s Priory, their faces stern, their eyes fixed upon him. But Brother Jucundus’s happy smile returned. He waved to his brethren and invited them to join him. The see-saw came down with a bump, Brother Jucundus rolling off. Though quite unable to stand on his feet, he somehow managed to sing again: “In dulce jubilo, Down, down, down we go!” Without a word the two monks who had been sent to look for their wayward brother picked him up, put him in a wheelbarrow, and conveyed him to the monastery. There the Prior and Chapter sat with severe and relentless countenances as the two brethren, who had searched all that afternoon, told how Brother Jucundus had been found on a see-saw. Plainly he had broken the rules of the Order. But they were fair to him. “What have you to say in defence?” asked the Prior, shocked beyond measure.


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Brother Jucundus beamed on his grim-visaged brethren as he lolled back in the wheelbarrow. “In dulce jubilo…” he began in his fine baritone. It was enough. Brother Jucundus had brought disgrace on all, and it was unanimously agreed that he must suffer death for his crime. Solemnly, therefore, the monks left the Chapter House, four of them supporting Brother Jucundus along the stone-flagged court and down the steps leading to the wine cellar. Perhaps some inkling of what was going on began to dawn on the victim of the monks’ righteous indignation, for, as the procession descended to the dim cellar, he began singing: “…down, down, down we go!” They sat him on a stool in the corner of the cellar. They gave him a loaf of new bread and a cruse of water. Then some of the brethren brought stones and mortar, and gradually they walled him in. Brother Jucundus watched the mason monks at work, encouraged them with sly and goodnatured remarks, and now and then broke into singing as he waved his hand to the Prior and the rest of the Chapter who were looking on with frowning faces. Long before the wall was raised to the level of Brother Jucundus’s massive chest, he was sound asleep, but the work went on until the vaulted roof was reached, after which the Prior committed the soul of Brother Jucundus to the mercy of God, and then in company with the other monks left him to his fate. A cruel fate it was, for Brother Jucundus was to starve to death slowly in his dark cold prison. Happily, however, he was at first unaware of this. He snored for some hours, and when at last he awoke he began struggling hard to free himself. He pushed and kicked. He threw himself this way and that. Suddenly he felt the wall behind give way, and the next moment he tumbled backward amid an avalanche of stones and mortar. For the life of him he could not tell where he was. Nothing he could see was familiar. He picked himself up, rubbed his shins, shook the mortar from his habit, and staggered painfully up the cellar steps and along corridors where thin-faced monks walked silently. Only after some hours did Brother Jucundus discover that he had fallen out of St Leonard’s Priory into St Mary’s Abbey. What is more, he had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire, for if life had been dull in St Leonard’s, it was far duller in St Mary’s, where monks were sworn to utter silence, except on Easter Day. No one asked who he was, or where he had come from, the silent monks assuming that he was a novice, who had joined the monastery in the usual way. His bed was harder than the one he had had in St Leonard’s. The food was coarser and there was less of it. The strict rules of the Order irked Brother Jucundus’s jovial spirit sorely, but he could do no other than eat what was set before him, meditate on his sins and keep to the daily routine of prayers. For all that he lost the roundness of body and fulness of face that had been his in St Leonard’s; and how he longed for the comfort he had once enjoyed! Now it came to pass that after twelve months the Cellarer of St Mary’s died, and that by a happy inspiration the Abbot appointed Brother Jucundus to that office. Thus it happened that when fair day came round again, Brother Jucundus, though unable to escape from St Mary’s and go up and down on the see-saw once more, was able to slink down to the cellar and there help himself, not to the thin ale served daily to the monks,

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but to a cask of old Malmsey kept for special guests. Brother Jucundus filled a mug with Malmsey and drained it. He filled it again, and then again, and after that so many times that he lost count, and was perfectly content to sit on the stone floor and draw off the Malmsey as quickly as he could. Meanwhile the monks waited in the refectory for their morning ration of ale. Their mugs remained empty. The silent fraternity dared not utter a word of protest, but they shuffled their feet under the tables, turned in their seats and mumbled among themselves. At last the Abbot could contain himself no longer. With long strides, his brow clouded, he marched off in the direction of the cellar, the rest of the monks, by common con-sent, following hard on his heels. Where was the Cellarer? No one knew, but all were determined to find out. Through the cloisters the angry monks hurried, down the steps, and so to the cellar, finding there a sight the like of which they had never seen before. Brother Jucundus lay on the floor, his head resting against a butt of their best Malmsey, and as he waved his mug, he sang: “In dulce jubilo Up, up, up we go!” This was too flagrant an offence to be passed over, a sin too great for mercy. Abbot and monks considered the matter, there in the cellar, and with all speed. Though it was not Easter Day, the emergency provided them with an excuse for breaking silence, and by unanimous vote it was decided first to excommunicate Brother Jucundus with bell, book and candle, and then to wall him in the cellar, the scene of his crime, and leave him to die a lingering death. No sooner was this said than it was done. There was a convenient recess in one of the walls, indeed, a number of loose stones were actually to hand. Mortar was mixed, and one or two monks rolled up the sleeves of their habits and set to work to wall in Brother Jucundus. They gave him a loaf of bread fresh from the oven. They filled a cruse with water and put it by him. Within an hour the offending brother was lost to sight, and though they could still hear him singing the monks had no compunction in leaving him there to die. Now Brother Jucundus was much too lively to know what was afoot, and so he kept on singing: “In dulce jubilo Up, up, up we go!” as if he were enjoying all the fun of the fair. And he was still roaring forth as lustily as ever when, as it happened, the Cellarer of St Leonard’s Priory went down to draw ale for the monks. He had filled a flagon and was about to carry it to the refectory when he stood as one turned to stone. The colour drained from his cheeks. The flagon dropped from his nerveless fingers. Someone was singing. He knew the voice. He recognised and remembered the words. Only one man had a voice like that. Only one could sing:


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“In dulce jubilo, Up, up, up we go!” in just that utterly carefree manner. He was Brother Jucundus! With something between terror and joy on his countenance the Cellarer rushed up the steps, calling aloud to the rest of the fraternity that Brother Jucundus was alive and singing. How the monks stared at him. They were slowly filing out of the church, their faces even more grave than usual, for they had been to the recitation of Sext, and the office of the dead, their Prior having died only a few days before. At first they looked with contempt at the excited and flushed Cellarer. Poor fellow, perhaps in his grief for their dead Prior he had gone out of his mind? Or had he been drinking more than his own ration of ale? No doubt it was this last alarming thought which prompted the monks to turn from the refectory to the cloisters, following the agitated Cellarer down to the cellar, where, after a few minutes’ silence, they were one and all astonished to hear someone singing: “In dulce jubilo, Up, up, up we go!” It was a miracle. A year to the very day had Brother Jucundus been walled up in that narrow sepulchre, and yet here he was singing as merrily and lustily as ever! For a moment not one of the monks could believe his ears. Then some ran off for chisels and pickaxes, and in next to no time they were hacking at the wall they had built twelve months before. Stone after stone was loosened; and, there, to the wonder and amazement of all, was Brother Jucundus, less corpulent than before, thinner in the face to be sure, but alive—alive after being walled up for a whole year! Even the loaf of bread was still warm. The cruse of water was untouched. It was a miracle indeed, and with one voice the brethren cried, “Jucundus, our Prior! Jucundus, our head and father!” So, carried up the steps on the shoulders of the admiring and joyful monks, Brother Jucundus was enstalled in the Prior’s seat, and there he remained, jovial as ever, to the end of his days. H.L.Gee, Folk Tales of Yorkshire, p. 112. Told to him by his father. This pleasant tale of “Lucky Accidents” has no specific type-number. MOTIFS: Q.455 [Walling-up as a punishment]; V.475.2 [Monk who has forsaken order forgiven and miraculously reinstated].

BROWN ADAM THE SMITH [summary] There was no truer man to his lady than Brown Adam the Smith, but they have banished him to the Greenwood, and there he has built a bower for his lady and himself. One day he went hunting, and sent back the birds he caught to his lady with a message that he

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would be back next day. But when he got back next morning and looked in at the window of his bower he saw a false knight tempting his lady. He showed her a diamond ring, said it should be hers if she would love him, but she refused it. Next he offered her a purse of gold, and she refused that too. Then he flashed out his long sword, and said he would kill her if she would not lie with him. “Brown Adam is slow in coming,” sighed the lady. At that Brown Adam started up, and said, “Lady, I’m to your hand.” He fought the knight, and took his bow and his sword from him, and a dearer pledge than that—four fingers of his right hand. Child, II, pp. 373–6, no. 98. MOTIFS: T.210 [Faithfulness in marriage]; N.455.6 [Husband learns of wife’s fidelity through conversation overheard]. This an example of the sympathetic treatment of outlawry in British tradition. A lyrical example is “The Lament of the Border Widow” in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, pp. 108–13. See “Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough and William of Cloudesley” and “Robin Hood”.

CANNY JACK There was a shoemaker who had a very sharp apprentice. The parson had a savage dog, and laid a wager that Jack could not get the dog into the cobbler’s shop. Jack went to the kennel, held the mouth of a poke to the door, and kicked on the end, so the dog ran into the poke, and Jack took him to the shop. The parson next wagered that Jack could not get the sheet off his bed at night, without his knowledge. Jack looked through the keyhole, saw some frumety in the kitchen, went at night, put some in the bed, and crept under. The parson woke, pulled off the sheet, and Jack ran away with it. The parson next wagered that Jack could not get him into the cobbler’s shop without his knowing it. Jack wrapped himself in a sheet took three pokes, two with a hole in the end, went at night to the church tower, and began to toll the bell. Up comes the clerk, and says: “Who are you?” Jack says, “I’m an angel from Heaven, come to forgive you your sins.” The clerk says, “Will you forgive mine?” Jack says, “Creep into this poke,” which he did, and ran away. After, the sexton comes (and the same thing happens). Next comes the parson and says, “Who are you?” Jack answers as before and the parson creeps into the poke. Jack ties up the mouth, goes downstairs with him. As he knocks him about on the way, the parson says, “Where are we?” Jack says, “First step to Heaven, second step,” and so on. Then he takes him to the shop, and says, “We’re in t’cobbler’s shop.” Norton Collection, V, p. 70. Folk-Lore, XX (1909), p. 76. Collected by Miss Alice Egerton, 1893 or earlier. Gainford, Co. Durham. TYPE 1525A. This is a shortened version of “The Master Thief”. MOTIFS: H.1151 [Theft as a task]; H 1151. 3 [Stealing sheet from bed]. Irish versions: “Jack the Cunning Thief”, Kennedy, Dublin University Magazine (January 1847), pp. 9–14. “Billy and the Rabbits”, Béaloideas, II, pp. 341–51.


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See also “Jack the Robber”. “The Master Thief”, “The Clever Thief”.

CAP O’ RUSHES Well, there was once a very rich gentleman, and he’d three darters. And he thought to see how fond they was of him. So he says to the first, “How much do you love me, my dear?” “Why,” says she, “as I love my life.” “That’s good,” says he. So he says to the second, “How much do you love me, my dear?” “Why,” says she, “better nor all the world.” “That’s good,” says he. So he says to the third, “How much do you love me, my dear?” “Why,” says she, “I love you as fresh meat loves salt,” says she. Well, he were that angry. “You don’t love me at all,” says he, “and in my house you stay no more.” So he drove her out there and then, and shut the door in her face. Well, she went away, on and on, till she came to a fen. And there she gathered a lot of rushes, and made them into a cloak, kind o’, with a hood, to cover her from head to foot, and to hide her fine clothes. And then she went on and on, till she came to a great house. “Do you want a maid?” says she. “No, we don’t,” says they. “I hain’t nowhere to go,” says she, “and I’d ask no wages, and do any sort o’ work,” says she. “Well,” says they, “if you like to wash the pots and scrape the saucepans, you may stay,” says they. So she stayed there, and washed the pots and scraped the saucepans, and did all the dirty work. And because she gave no name, they called her Cap o’ Rushes. Well, one day there was to be a great dance a little way off, and the servants was let go and look at the grand people. Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go, so she stayed at home. But when they was gone, she offed with her cap o’ rushes, and cleaned herself, and went to the dance. And no one there was so finely dressed as her. Well, who should be there but her master’s son, and what should he do but fall in love with her, the minute he set eyes on her. He wouldn’t dance with anyone else. But before the dance were done, Cap o’ Rushes she stepped off, and away she went home. And when the other maids was back, she was framin’ to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on. Well, next morning, they says to her: “You did miss a sight, Cap o’ Rushes!” “What was that?” says she. “Why the beautifullest lady you ever see, dressed right gay and ga’. The young master, he never took his eyes off of her.” “Well, I should ha’ liked to have seen her,” says Cap o’ Rushes. “Well, there’s to be another dance this evening, and perhaps she’ll be there.” But, come the evening, Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go with them. Howsumdever, when they was gone, she offed with her cap o’ rushes, and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance.

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The master’s son had been reckoning on seeing her, and he danced with no one else, and never took his eyes off of her. But before the dance was over, she slipped off and home she went, and when the maids came back, she framed to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on. Next day they says to her again: “Well, Cap o’ Rushes, you should ha’ been there to see the lady. There she was again, gay an’ ga’, and the young master he never took his eyes off of her.” “Well, there,” says she, “I should ha’ liked to ha’ seen her.” “Well,” says they, “there’s a dance again this evening, and you must go with us, for she’s sure to be there.” Well, come the evening, Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go, an do what they would, she stayed at home. But when they was gone, she offed with her cap o’ rushes, and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance. The master’s son was rarely glad when he saw her. He danced with none but her, and never took his eyes off her. When she wouldn’t tell him her name, nor where she came from, he gave her a ring, and told her if he didn’t see her again he should die. Well, afore the dance was over, off she slipped, and home she went, and when the maids came home she was framing to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on. Well, next day they says to her: “There, Cap o’ Rushes, you didn’t come last night, and now you won’t see the lady, for there’s no more dances.” “Well, I should ha’ rarely liked to ha’ seen her,” says she. The master’s son, he tried every way to find out where the lady was gone, but go where he might, and ask whom he might, he never heard nothing about her. And he got worse and worse for the love of her, till he had to keep his bed. “Make some gruel for the young master,” they says to the cook, “he’s dying for love of the lady.” The cook she set about making it, when Cap o‘Rushes came in. “What are you a’ doin’ on?” says she. “I’m going to make some gruel for the young master,” says the cook, “for he’s dying for love of the lady.” “Let me make it,” says Cap o’ Rushes. Well, the cook wouldn’t at first, but at last she said yes; and Cap o’ Rushes made the gruel. And when she had made it, she slipped the ring into it on the sly, before the cook took it upstairs. The young man, he drank it, and saw the ring at the bottom. “Send for the cook,” says he. So up she comes. “Who made this here gruel?” says he. “I did,” says the cook, for she were frightened, and he looked at her. “No, you didn’t,” says he. “Say who did it, and you shan’t be harmed.” “Well, then, ’twas Cap o’ Rushes,” says she. So Cap o’ Rushes came. “Did you make the gruel?” says he. “Yes, I did,” says she. “Where did you get this ring?” says he. “From him as gave it me,” says she. “Who are you then?” says the young man.


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“I’ll show you,” says she. And she offed with her cap o’ rushes, and there she was in her beautiful clothes. Well, the master’s son he got well very soon, and they was to be married in a little time. It was to be a very grand wedding, and everyone was asked, far and near. And Cap o’ Rushes’ father was asked. But she never told nobody who she was. But afore the wedding she went to the cook, and says she, “I want you to dress every dish without a mite o’ salt.” “That will be rarely nasty,” says the cook. “That don’t signify,” says she. “Very well,” says the cook. Well, the wedding day came, and they was married. And after they was married, all the company sat down to their vittles. When they began to eat the meat, that was so tasteless they couldn’t eat it. But Cap o’ Rushes’ father, he tried first one dish and then another, and then he burst out crying. “What’s the matter?” said the master’s son to him. “Oh!” says he, “I had a daughter. And I asked her how much she loved me. And she said, ‘As much as fresh meat loves salt.’ And I turned her from my door, for I thought she didn’t love me. And now I see she loved me best of all. And she may be dead for aught I know.” “No, father, here she is,” says Cap o’ Rushes. And she goes up to him and puts her arms round him. And so they was happy ever after. E.S.Hartland, County Folk-Lore, I. Suffolk, p. 40 (told by an old servant to the writer when a child); A.W.T., “Suffolk Notes and Queries”, Ipswich Journal (1877). TYPE 510B. MOTIFS: H.592.1 [Love like salt]; N.711.6 [Prince sees heroine at ball, and is enamoured]; R.221 [Heroine’s threefold flight from ball]; H.94 [Identification by ring]. See also “Catskin”, (A, II), “Ashypelt”, (A, II), “Mossycoat” (A, II).

THE CELLAR OF BLOOD [summary] A farm in the middle of a wood, supplied with every luxury and means of entertainment, and kept by an innkeeper, his wife and grown-up son and daughter. Much frequented by the young men of the neighbourhood, among them Squire King Caley, who made great friends with the son, and courted the daughter. At length asked her to visit his house, to meet his mother and sister, at eight o’clock the next night. The way to the house was unknown to her, but Squire King Caley said he would kill a pig, and leave a trail of its blood. The daughter consulted her parents, who advised against it, but allowed her to go if she rode her mare Bessy. She set out, taking a present of cakes. A long journey, and derelict stables when she got there. A large house, with “Dr Foster” on a brass plate at the door. The girl went in. There was a large dog in the kennel and an old woman in the kitchen, who would say nothing. A parrot in the parlour. Coaxed to talk, warned girl to flee. Looks in cellar, finds it full of blood. Fled as Dr Foster arrived, dragging a captive lady.

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Hid in kennel. Dr Foster threw lady’s hand to dog. Girl fed dog with cakes, and got hand from it. Mounted Bessy, and rode home with Dr Foster in hot pursuit. Told whole story to parents. Father had plan. Met King Caley as if all were well, invited to big story-telling party in two days. Rang up Scotland Yard. Detectives came disguised as farmers. Girl disguised as young man. All to tell their dreams. Girl last. Began to tell her experiences. King Caley tried to interrupt. All wanted to hear. Hand produced, and recognized as belonging to fiancée of one of the guests. King Caley arrested and hanged. Collected by T.W.Thompson from Eva Gray at Grimsby, 18 September 1914. TYPE 955. MOTIFS: B.143.1.3 [Warning parrot]; J.1147 [Detection through feigned dream]; H.57.2.1 [Severed finger a sign of crime]; K.1916 [Robber bridegroom]. There are many versions of this Robber Bridegroom tale in England. See “Mr Fox”, “Mr Fox’s Courtship”, “The Girl who got up a Tree”. See also “The Oxford Student” (B, VIII).

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD [summary] A gentleman of Norfolk and his wife both fell ill, and as they lay dying, they commended their two young children to the care of the husband’s brother. The children, a little boy of three years and a girl younger still, were to be in their uncle’s care until they were grown up. The boy was then to inherit three hundred pounds a year, and the girl on her marriage was to receive five hundred pounds. The uncle vowed by all that was most sacred to observe his brother’s wishes, and the parents kissed and blessed their children for the last time. But when a year had gone by the uncle’s avarice was aroused, and for the sake of the inheritance he resolved to kill the children. He hired two ruffians who were to take them into a wood and there make away with them. He told his wife, who was fond of the children, that he had decided that it would be better for them to be brought up by a friend in London. The children went gaily away with the two men, and their happy chatter at being on horseback and riding into the woods so worked on the feelings of the ruffians that they repented of what they had undertaken. One of them, more hard-hearted than the other, would have carried out the work, but the other stoutly refused, and in a fight he killed his accomplice. The terrified children looked on, and when it was over he led them away further into the wood and left them there, promising to return and bring them food, for they were already crying for hunger. The children wandered away, and night fell, but no help came to them. At last they died from hunger and grief, lying in one another’s arms, and the robins took pity on them, and covered their bodies with leaves. From that time all went amiss with the wicked uncle. His barns caught fire, his crops failed, his cattle died, and two of his sons were drowned on a voyage to Portugal. Within seven years he was a ruined man, and last of all, the truth about his crime against the two children came out, for the villain who had killed them, being condemned to die for a


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robbery he had committed, confessed the whole. But the wicked uncle had already died in jail. Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. III. From Percy’s Reliques. MOTIFS: S.71 [Cruel uncle]; S.143 [Abandonment in forest]; B.450 [Helpful birds]; Q.211.4 [Murder of children punished]. An Elizabethan play, Two Tragedies in One (Yarington), was written about “The Babes in the Wood” but without the incident of the robins. Robins were, however, credited with burying people lost in the woods. Cf. “Go, call the robin redbreast and the wren”. The broadside ballad which is here summarized was not admitted by Child to his Traditional Ballads.

THE CLEVER BOY This landlord, as no rent was forthcoming for several quarters, determined to take a ride round, and look up his long-winded tenants. He accordingly mounted his nag, and trotted from farm to farm, but could not meet with anyone for some time. At last he came up with a boy, the son of one of the defaulting farmers, and addressed him. “Where’s thi father?” he said. “Oh! He’s gone to make a bad matter wuss,” the boy replied. “How’s that, gone to make a bad matter wuss?” “He went to market yesterday, wi’ a cow, best cow we’d a-got. Was in want o’ money, an’ a means to bide ther’ till ’tis all gone.” “Is thi mother at home?” “Yes, very busy bakin’ the bread we ate yesterday.” “How’s that, bakin’ the bread you ate yesterday?” “Why! ‘Er’s bakin’ some more in the place on’t, to be sure.” “Thee’s got a sister. Wher’s she?” “Upstairs, cryin’ for want o’ calico to make her a milkin’ smock.” “Well”, says the landlord, “if thee can’st come to my house neither daylight nor dark, neither a foot nor a hossback, neither naked nor clothed, I’ll forgive thi father the rent.” When the Squire had gone, the boy considered and eventually thought out a way to do it. He waited till the sun had set behind the wood, then took off his clothes, wrapped a calf net around him, jumped upon the donkey, rode up to the front door of the manorhouse, and challenged the landlord. “Well! Well! You’ve beat me. There! There! Go on about thi business and tell thi father there’s no more rent due now till Christmas,” he said good-humouredly. Norton Collection, 11, p. 270, from Wiltshire. Williams, Upper Thames, pp. 216–17. TYPE 921. MOTIFS: H.583.2.1 [What is your father doing? Makes an evil greater]; H.583.4.2 [What is your mother doing? Baking the bread we ate last week]; H.1053.1 [Task: coming neither on horse nor foot; on another animal]; H.1054.1 [Task: coming neither naked nor clad]; H.1057 [Task: coming neither by day nor by night]. There is an element of type 875 [Peasant’s wise daughter] in this version of the tale.

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See also “Farmer Gag’s Clever Son”, “Jack Hornby”, “George Buchanan” (A, III).

CLEVER JACK There was once upon a time, and a very good time it was, a young man, and he runned away, and got along with a gang of thieves, and he went to a gentleman’s house, and got in, because one of his mates sweethearted the servant, and got her away, and she left the door open. And the door being open, the young man got in and robbed the house of a lot of money, £1000, and he took it to their gang at the cave. Next day there was a reward out to find the robber. Nobody found him. So the gentleman put out two men and a horse in a field, and the men were hidden in the field, and the gentleman put out a notice that anyone that could catch the horse should have him for his cleverness, and a reward as well; for he thought that the man that got the £1000 was sure to try to catch that there horse, because he was so bold and clever, and then the two men hid would nab him. This here Jack (that’s the young man) was watching, and he saw the two men, and he went and caught two live hares. Then he hid himself behind a hedge, and let one hare go, and one man said to the other, “There goes a hare,” and they both run after it, not thinking Jack’s there. And while they were running, he let go t’other one,and they said, “There’s another hare,” and they ran different ways, and so Jack went and got the horse, and took it to the man that offered the reward, and got the reward; it was £100; and the gentleman said, “D——n it, Jack’s done me this time.” The gentleman then wanted to serve out the parson, and he said to Jack, “I’ll give you another £100 if you’ll do something to the parson as bad as you’ve done to me.” Jack said, “Well, I will”; and Jack went to the church and lighted up the lamps, and rang the bell, and the parson he. got up to see what was up. Jack was standing in one of the pews like an angel, when the parson got to the church. Jack said, “Go and put your plate in a bag; I’m an angel come to take you up to Heaven.” And the parson did so, and it was as much as he could drag to church in a bag from his house; for he was very rich. And when he got to the church, Jack put the parson in one bag, and the money stayed in the other; and he tied them both together, and put them across his horse, and took them up hills and through water to the gentleman’s, and then he took the parson out of the bag, and the parson was wringing wet. Jack fetched the gentleman, and the gentleman gave the parson a horsewhipping, and the parson cut away, and Jack got all the parson’s money, and the second £100, and gave it all to the poor. And the parson brought an action against the gentleman for horsewhipping him, and they were both ruined. That’s the end of it. H.Mayhew, London Labour and the London Poor, III, p. 399. TYPES 1525 and 1737. MOTIFS: K.341.5.1 [Theft of horse by letting loose a rabbit, so that drivers join in the chase]; K.842 (variant) [Dupe persuaded to get into sack]. A tale widely distributed through the world in varying forms. Kennedy gives a very full and lively version in “Old Fireside Stories of Wexford” Dublin University Magazine (January 1867), pp. 9–14. “Billy and the Rabbits” is another version collected by T.Kavanagh, Béaloideas, II, pp. 348–51. See also “Canny Jack”, “Jack the Robber”.


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THE CLEVER MAID AND THE ROBBER The master and mistress of a house went out and left the servant girl behind to look after the house. She heard a knock at the door; the girl opened it and found a woman there who asked to come in. It was pouring with rain. The girl said she could not let her in as her master and mistress were out. However, she did eventually let her in. The stranger went and sat in a chair near the fire, and soon the girl noticed that this stranger was a man. She thought she would find out. To do so she offered “her” an apple, but instead of giving her it, she copped it to her. The stranger brought his legs together quickly. The girl’s suspicions were now confirmed, as she knew that, if the stranger had been a woman, she would unconsciously have opened her legs as if to catch the apple in her lap. After some time the stranger fell asleep with his mouth open. The girl was cooking a joint for her master and mistress when they came home. Seeing the stranger had fallen asleep, she poured boiling fat down his throat and killed him. When the master learned what had happened, he rewarded the girl by keeping her without her being obliged to work. Norton Collection, III, p. 18. E.G.Bales, Folk-lore, L, p. 74 (1939), “Folk-lore from West Norfolk”. (Told to R.Crawford of Wiggenhall by Mr F.Buck, who said it was true, and took place near King’s Lynn, he did not know when.) TYPE 958D. MOTIFS: K.1836 [Disguise of man in woman’s dress]; H.1578 [Test of sex: to discover person masking as other sex]. The test of knees clapped together is used in Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, chapter II. See also “The Cook at Combwell”, “The Servant Maid of High Spittal”, “The Robber and the Housekeeper”.

THE COVETOUS RICH MAN It befell sometime that a goodman laborer went from life to death, the which laborer left nothing to his son but only a house. The which son lived by the labor of his hands poorly. This young man had a neighbor which was much rich—which demanded of the said young man if he would sell his house, but he would not sell it because that it was come to him by inheritance and by patrimony. Wherefore the rich man his neighbor conversed and was full oft with him for to deceive him. But the young man fled his company as much as he might. And when the rich man perceived that the young man fled from him, he bethought himself of a great deception and falsehood, and demanded of the poor young man that he would hire to him part of his house for to delve and make a cellar, the which he should hold of him, paying to him yearly rent. And the poor young man hired it to him. And when the cellar was made, the rich man did do bring therein ten tuns of oil, of the which five tuns were full of oil and the other five were but half-full, and did do make a great pit in the earth and did do put the five tuns which were half-full in it, and the other five above them. And then he shut the door of the cellar, and delivered the key to the poor young man, and prayed him fraudulently to keep well his oil. But the poor young man

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knew not the malice and falsehood of his neighbor, wherefore he was content to keep the key. And within a while after, as the oil became dear, the rich man came to the poor, and asked of him his goods, and the young man took to him the key. The rich man then sold his oil to the merchants, and warranted each tun all full. And when the merchants measured their oil, they found but five of the ten tuns all full. Whereof the rich man demanded of the poor young man restitution. And for to have his house, he made him come before the judge. And when the poor man was before the judge, he demanded term and space for to answer, for him thought and seemed that he had kept well his oil. And the judge gave and granted to him a day of advice. And then he went to a philosopher which was procurator of the poor people, and prayed him, for charity, that he would give to him good counsel at his great need. And he rehearsed and told to him all his cause and swore upon the holy evangels that he took none of the rich man’s oil. And then the philosopher answered to him in this manner: “My son, have no fear, for the truth may not fail.” And the next morrow after, the philosopher went with the poor man into judgement, the which philosopher was constituted by the king, for to give the just sentence of it. And after that the cause had been well defended and pleaded by both parties, the philosopher said: “The same rich man is of good renown, and I suppose not that he demanded more that he should have. And also I believe not that this poor young man may be maculed nor guilty of the blame which he putteth on him. But, notwithstanding, for to know the truth of it, I ordain and give sentence that the pure and clean oil of the five tuns which are full to be measured, and also the lye (dregs) thereof; and after, that the pure and clean oil of the five tuns which been but half-full be measured, and also the lye thereof; And that man look if the lye of the five tuns half-full is equal and like to the lye of the five tuns which been full. And if it be not so—that as much lye be found within the vessels which been half-full as in the other—it shall then be sufficiently and right wisely proved that none oil hath been taken out of them. But if there not be found as much lye in the one as in the other, the poor shall be condemned.” And with the sentence, the poor was content. A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 20–1. TYPE 1591 (variant). MOTIFS: K.2100 [False accusation]; J.1142 [Pseudo-scientific method of detecting]. THE CROODIN DOO “Where hae ye been a’ the day, My bonnie wee croodin doo?” “O I hae been at my stepmother’s house; Make my bed, mammie, now! Make my bed, mammie, now!” “Where did ye get your dinner, My bonnie wee croodin doo?” “I got it in my stepmother’s; Make my bed, mammie, now, now, now!


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Make my bed, mammie, now!” “What did she gie ye to your dinner, My bonnie wee croodin doo?” “She ga’e me a little four-footed fish; Make my bed, mammie, now, now, now! Make my bed, mammie, now!” “Where got she the four-footed fish, My bonnie wee croodin doo?” “She got it down in yon well strand; O make my bed, mammie, now, now now! Make my bed, mammie, now!” “What did she do wi’ the banes o’t, My bonnie wee croodin doo?” “She ga’e them to the little dog, Make my bed, mammie, now, now, now! Make my bed, mammie, now!” “O what became of the little dog, My bonnie wee croodin doo?” “ O it shot out its feet and died! O make my bed, mammie, now, now, now! O make my bed, mammie, now!” Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk-Tales, p. 7. MOTIFS: S.31 [Cruel stepmother]; S.111 [Murder by poisoning]; B.776 [Venomous animals]. The well-known folk-song “Lord Rendal” (Child, no. 12), is on a similar theme and is also in dialogue form. THE CRUEL MOTHER 1 There lives a lady in London, All alone and alone ee She’s gane wi’ bairn to the clerk’s son, Down by the greenwood sae bonnie. 2 She’s taen her mantle her She’s gane aff to the gude green wood. 3 She’s set her back untill First it bowed and then it broke.

an

about, oak,

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4 She’s set her back untill Bonny were the twa boys she did bear.

a

tree,

5 But she took out a little pen-knife, And she parted them and their sweet life. 6 She’s aff untill her father’s ha; She was the lealest maiden that was amang them a. 7 As she lookit oure the castle She spied twa bonnie boys playin’ at the ba.

wa,

8 “O if those two babes were mine, They should wear silk and sabelline!” 9 “O mother dear, when we were thine, We neither wore the silks nor the sabelline. 10 “But out ye took a little pen-knife, And ye parted us and our sweet life. 11 “But now we’re in the heavens hie, And ye’ve the pains o’ hell to drie.” Child, Ballads, I, p. 221, D. (a) From Kinloch’s MS., V, 103, in the handwriting of James Beattie. (b) From Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, from the recitation of Miss C.Beattie. MOTIFS: S.12.2 [Cruel mother kills child]; E.225 [Ghost of murdered child].

DAFT JACK AND THE HEIRESS or THE SUITOR AND THE BANNOCKS Oncet upon a time, ye see, there was an aul’ wumman, and she’d three sons, James and John, and her youngest son, he was Jack but he wasna right, but she thought a lot of him because he was very, very clever, although he wisna richt, and wis a good help til his mither. But one day, this great rich lord wi’ plenty of money, he’d a beautiful daughter, ye see, and she said she didnae want to marry any man, but she would marry the man that wad give her three answers; she would have three answers for the man she would marry—doesn’t matter who he wis, rich or poor, and she said if he could answer her she would marry him. But, oh, this was a long way away from this old woman’s house, ye see, so the oldest son, he says tae his mither, he says, “Mither, bake me a bannock,” he says, “and roast me


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a collop. I’m gaun away,” he says, “to see if I can win this beautiful lady’s hand in marriage.” “Ah, well,” his mither says,” “aa right,” she says, “laddie, and if ye want to ging and see if ye win this bonnie lady,” she says, “you’ll ging. Ah, well,” she said, “do you want a big bannock wi’ a curse, or a wee bannockie wi’ a blessin’?” Of course James was a bittie greedy, ye ken, he was aa for his-sel’, ye see; he wisnae thinkin’ aboot them at hame, and them haean little. So he says, “Och,” he says, “mither, ye can bake me,” he says, “a big bannock,” he says, “wi’ a curse,” ye see. But oh, she roasts the collop and she bakes this big bannock til him. But whenever he gaes awa’ she says, “Curse ye, curse ye, wherever ye go,” see. Ah well, bit James goes away oniewey, and he’s on the road. Ah, bit the other brother, he follows. “I think,” he says, “I’ll follow James.” He says, “I think I’m gaun awa’ to he’s estate to see if I can win the haund of this bonnie lady.” So of course his mother says to him, “Do you want a big bannock wi’ a curse, or a wee bannockie wi’ a blessin’?” “Och,” he says, “Gie me a big collop and a big bannock wi’ a curse.” So he goes away tae, and his mother says, “Curse you, curse you, wherever ye go!” Ah well, bit he gaes on the road oniewey and he catches up wi’ his brother, ye see; the two of them’s on the road now, goin’ to this big castle to try and win this bonnie lady. A day or two passes noo. Jack he takes the notion noo to see if he could win this bonnie lady, ye see, and he says, “Och,” he says, “mither,” he says, “I think,” he says, “I’m gaun awa’ to see if I can win the haund of that bonnie lady tae,” he says. “Ah, God help ye!” she says. “Poor silly laddie, you bide at hame. You’re aa the company that I’ve got. An,” she says, “it’s nae use of you goin’ awa’,” see. But it wisnae that Jack wis ill-lookin’, he was good-lookin’, but he was jist a poor cratur and he went aboot, folk thocht he was silly, but he wisnae so silly, see. “Ah,” he says, “mither, I’m gaun awa’,” he says, “to see if I cannae win,” he says, “this bonnie lady.” “Oh well,” she says, “Jack, if ye have to go,” she says, “ye’ll jist have to go.” She said, “Do you want a big bannock wi’ a curse or a wee bannockie wi’ a blessin’?” “Ah weel, Gode help us!” he says, “mither, I wadnae like,” he says, “to tak’ a big bannock,” he says, “wi’ a curse. For I wadnae like to leave you,” he says, “here, wi’ nae enough,” he says, “to feed you.” (He was mair considerate for his mither.) Afore he gaed awa’ she baked a wee bannockie and roasted a wee collopie, and away he goes. And as soon as he gaes awa’ she says, “Bliss ye, bliss ye, whaurever ye go!” ye see. Ah, bit he goes on, and he’s traivellin’ on and tryin’ to catch up wi’ his brothers, ye see. But I forgot to tell ye that his brithers had a horse each of them gaun awa’, and he was on his feet, for he had nothing. An’ he’s gettin’ on the road, oniewey, and stoppin’ here and there, and gettin’ a bit of his collop and his bannock, and a drink of water of some spring-well, ye see, and he’s traivellin’ on. But whatever, oniewey or anither, he catches up wi’s brithers, because they had met in wi’ some robbers and they had robbed them of everything that they had—they hadnae very much, but they robbed them of everything and took their horses.

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Ah well, but he traivels wi’ them an’s halferin’ what he had. But when he’s gaun on the road, ye see, he looks doon, and he sees a wee birdie’s eggie, ye see, and he lifts it up—it was hale. An’ he says, “Oh, brothers dear,” he says, “but look what I’ve f’un’.” “Oh, for God’s sake,” they say, “Jack, throw it awa’. That’s for nae use tae ye.” “Na, na,” he says, “I’ll tak’ that,” he says, “it’ll maybe come in handy.” So he taks the wee egg and he pits it by in his pocket. On the road farther he goes, ye see, and he looks doon and he lifts up a wee crooked stick, ye see, and he says, “Oh, brithers dear, brithers dear,” he says, “bit look what I’ve f’un’.” and they laughed at him, ye see, and made a fool of him. They said, “Throw that awa’.” they said, “That’s nae use—it’s only a crooked stick.” “Ach,” he says, “I’ll pit it in beside my egg,” he says, “it’ll maybe come in handy.” But on they go again, and they’re nearin’ this castle, ye see, now, and they were jist near aboot it when he looks doon an [laughter] he sees a blue-moulded shite, ye see (noo, Hamish, ye’ll nae need to tell that story), but he lifts it up, and he gaes til his brithers, and he says, “Brithers dear,” he says, “brithers dear,” he says, “look what I’ve f’un’.” And they said, “Oh, for God’s sake!” They haud their nose, ye see. They turned awa’ frae him. And they gets on to him, teeth and nails, and they hit him and aathing. But aw, it made nae difference—he had faith that he needed this bluemoulded shite, and he puts it in his hat, and he pits this aul’ hat upon his head again, and he gaes on the road. But they’re walkin’ awa’ withoot him, noo, ye see, wi’ the smell. An’ they comes to this big castle, and they gets in. And when the guess was the night it was goin’ to be held, so there a big platform kinna thing, ye know, and this young lady she’s walkin’ back and forrit, ye see, and this big place was full of lords and earls, ye see, and things like this, wealthy men of aa kind, and poor men too, but when they cam’ in they had to sit doon nearer the front, and she’s staundin’ lookin’ at them, so when Jack he comes doon, he had to gaun nearer. So when he sees this lovely young woman staundin’ up, ye see (he never saw a sicht like this in his life), awa’ in the back of beyont where he belonged til, ye see, he looks up like this, ye see, and he couldnae help his-sel’. He said it oot, he says, “God bliss me!” he says. “What a bonnie lady!” Well, ye see, she paid attention to this when he said that. But he said it right from his heart, he said it to her, and everybody heard him, he said, “God bliss me!” he says. “What a bonnie lady!” And she says, “Ah,” she says, “bit there’s fire in my airse,” ye see. He says, “Will you let me roast my eggie?” “Na, na,” she says. “Ye’ll burn your fingers.” “Ach bit,” he says, “I have a crookit stick,” he says, “for the purpose.” She says, “Ging awa’ and shite.” “Ah, bit,” he says, “I’ve shite my hat a’ready.” So Jack won the beautiful lady’s hand in marriage, and the three bushels of gold. That was a story of my grandfather’s too. School of Scottish Studies. Collected by Hamish Henderson from Jeannie Robertson, 1959. TYPE 853. MOTIFS: H.507.1 [Princess offered to man who can defeat her in repartee]; H.507.1.0.1 [Princess defeated in repartee by means of objects accidentally picked up].


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See “The Three Questions”, “The Princess of Canterbury”.

THE DORSETSHIRE GARLAND or THE BEGGARS’ WEDDING [summary] In Dorset there lived a knight and a merchant who were near neighbours, and close friends. The knight had one young daughter, and the merchant one son, and it was early agreed between them that these two should marry when the time came. But the merchant and his wife both fell sick, and on their deathbed they entrusted their child to the knight, begging him to remember his promise, which he solemnly engaged to do, and to bring the child up in accordance with the rites of the English Church. So the two children grew up together, and became devoted to one another. But the knight was avaricious, and coveted the boy’s heritage of ten thousand pounds, and thought as well, that he could make a greater marriage for his daughter, for as she grew up she was very beautiful. The knight therefore hired a beggar to take the little boy away and kill him. But the child’s helplessness and innocence won the beggar’s heart, and he took him to his own home and brought him up as his own son. But the little boy, only five years old, pined so sorely for his companion that the beggar and his wife resolved to steal the knight’s little daughter also. So the two children grew up in the company of numbers of beggars, and the knight, when his little daughter’s clothes were brought to him (for the beggar had thrown them into a hedge to escape discovery) believed her to be dead, and bitterly repented of his wickedness. When the children were nearly grown up, the beggar and his wife resolved that they should marry, and should have a wedding so grand that the whole countryside should hear of it and be present. After the wedding the beggar intended to return the girl to her father’s home. The preparations were made, the richest clothes purchased for the bride, and a procession of beggars and cripples with their crutches hobbled after her to the church. The great crowds were astonished at the beauty of the bride and at her handsome bridegroom. After the wedding the beggars supplied a great feast of all the bread and cheese and noggins of ale they had begged along the road to Dorchester; and after the feast they danced to the bagpipes, gentry and beggars and cripples all together. But the knight was astounded at the loveliness of the bride and felt certain she must be his daughter. The old beggar persisted that she was his own child, till at last the knight asked her if she had not a mark like a rose on her breast. So the truth came out, and the knight was overjoyed. He confessed his guilt, and took the two to his home. But very soon afterwards he died, leaving the two “Beggars of Dorsetshire” six thousand pounds a year. They did not forget to be grateful to the old beggar and his wife who had had pity on them, and who thus ended their days in great peace and comfort. J.S.Udal, Dorsetshire Folk-Lore, p. 308. From the Rev. Canon Mayo, Somerset and Dorset Notes and Queries, (1901), p. 115. MOTIFS: T.61.5.1 [Betrothal of children]; K.512 [Compassionate executioner]. The medieval Romance of “Florice and Blancheflower” deals with this theme of the two loving children.

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See also “The Drainer of Coquetdale”.

THE DRAINER OF COQUETDALE The Tale of the Coquet In an old thatched cottage in the moor near Coquetdale Water a man lived all by himself. He made his living by cutting sheep-drains on the hills. He made his own food, and lived rather a lonely life. He was very fond of fishing. As the Coquetdale Water was quite near, he spent a lot of time at that, his favourite sport. Early one morning he was fishing, and he happened to look down the water, and he was a bit surprised to see a rather queerlooking man, like as if he was carrying something in his arms, and appeared to be looking for something in the water. The drainer took the road down, and hid himself in the bushes, so that he could watch the man’s movements, as he had a strong suspicion that he was after no good. As the man came nearer, the drainer now saw that he was carrying a baby, and by all appearance he was looking for a deep hole in the water to throw it in. There was a big hole just between the drainer and the man. So the drainer watched to see if he would stop at this hole. This was just what he did, and the drainer lost no time. He stepped out of his hiding place, and demanded what he was going to do with the bairn. He saw that he was a Yetholm gypsy, and he told the drainer that was no business of his. The drainer had the butt end of his rod in his hand. He raised it above his head, and seized the gypsy, and took the baby from him, and laid it on the grass. Then he gave the gypsy such a hiding he was glad to get away. After he was at a safe distance, he cursed and swore at the drainer, but he was glad to make off. The drainer now turned to the child. It had been sleeping; but the noise of the two men had wakened it; and it was crying. He got it up in his arms, and carried it home and fed it. And looking down at the clothes, he saw it had the appearance that it had been some gentleman’s child. He discovered a grand gold locket and chain round its neck, so he took it off and opened it. It contained the photo of a gentleman on one side, and a young lady on the other. So he put it away in his kist. After thinking of the big job he had got into, to bring up the child and do his work at the drains, but he was determined to do his best for the child, so he made arrangements for milk at a shepherd’s house. He was very anxious to find out who the child belonged to. Away further down the Coquet there was a gentleman and his wife lived in a mansion house and a small estate. They had an only child, a girl. As this gentleman was a strong gambler, and had run into debt, and was needing money badly, he did not much care what he did, as long as he could get a way out. He had a brother, the very opposite, as he and his wife were both good, and liked by everyone; but they were both in poor health, and had to go away foreign for the good of their health. Not long after they had settled in their new foreign home, a child was born, but the mother did not recover, and died shortly after the birth of their baby boy. The father wrote to his brother on the Coquet, and asked him, if anything happened to him, as he was feeling very poorly, would he take and bring up the boy, and he had a small fortune to leave the boy, when he grew up and was (of an) age to look after it; but if anything


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happened to the boy, he would get the money himself. When his brother received this letter, he wrote and told him he would take great care of the boy, and he would give him his fortune when he came of age. Not a great time after this, he got word that his brother had died, and he had to go to see about his brother’s affairs at the foreign quarters, and bring the child home to the Coquet. After arriving home with the child, he gave the child to the care of the old housekeeper. He had got a considerable sum of money which his brother left for this child, and as he was badly needing money, he began to think of getting rid of the boy some way. At last he thought of a plan. He got a Yetholm gypsy and offered him £10 to drown the boy. The gypsy gladly accepted the job, and promised to do the job all right. The gentleman told the housekeeper he was taking the child away to a friend for some time, but the housekeeper did not think he was telling the truth. She had seen when she was dressing the child he had a gold locket and chain round his neck; she was also well acquainted with the child’s baby clothes; and she was very sorry when the baby was taken away. We now return to the drainer and the child. They were getting on fine; he loved the boy as his own son. He had to take the child with him when he went to the drains. He was awfully good to it, and it knew him only as its own father. He grew up to be a fine lad, and a great help to his father. His father taught him to read and write in his spare time; and he helped his father with the drains, and he was also fond of fishing. When he was nearly out of his teens in age, one evening, as he was fishing at the foot of some rocky cliffs, he was alarmed by the sudden screaming of a young woman’s voice, up on the crags above him. He had to run some distance to a grassy bank, where he could climb up to see what was wrong. He arrived at the top, and looked over where the screams were. He saw a young lady had fallen over, and was clinging to some roots; and he saw if she let go, she would be dashed to death. He cried to her to hold on, and he would save her. He was very active, and he was soon down and got hold of her; and after a bit of a struggle, he brought her up to the top. The young lady was so thankful. She asked him his name, but he would not tell her. She said if he would come with her, she would get reward from her father, but he told her it was nothing, and begged her to say no more about it; but she was not satisfied, and told him she would find out who it was. Some time after he was at the fishing, and they met again and became friendly. This went on for some time, and they fell in love with each other, and, after going together for about a year, he asked her to be his wife, and she consented. But neither of them had told their parents; and (when) the young girl told her father, who was no other than the young man’s uncle who expected that he was drowned; but he did not know him as anyone else but the drainer’s son, and he forbade his daughter never to meet him again. The drainer noticed that there was a great change in his son’s looks, as he seemed to be worrying about something. So one night the drainer asked his son what was wrong, as he saw he was awful worried. The son did not care to tell his father, but the father asked him if the trouble was anything to do with his sweetheart. The son told him it was, and his sweetheart was forbidden to meet him again, as he was only a drainer’s son. The father asked his son if the young lady was agreeable to marry him. “Yes,” he said, “she is very anxious to be my wife.” “Then get yourself dressed, and I will go down with you to her father, and I will put this right.”

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The son did not know that his father knew as much about his birthrights. So, after dressing, they set out for the mansion house. After knocking at the door, the old housekeeper came, and after telling the housekeeper what he had comed for he let the old woman see the gold locket and chain. She knew it at once, and told him she would be a witness. So she went to the gentleman’s room, and told him the drainer wanted to speak to him. He told her he didn’t want to see the drainer, but the drainer was just behind the door, and walked in. “Well, sir, you don’t want to see me but I have come to claim my adopted son’s rights. You thought the gypsy you employed to drown your brother’s son, had drowned him, and you thought to get all your brother’s wealth he had left to his son. But you are found out, and I will now demand the fortune that was left to him, for he is heir, and I have proof that I speak the truth. Here is the gold locket and chain, and the clothes which was on him when I got him. And now your housekeeper can prove it.” The housekeeper spoke up and said, “They are the same things which the baby had on when I dressed it.” “Now,” said the drainer, “hand over every penny of his fortune, and I will give you twenty-four hours to clear out of the country, or I will hand you over to the police.” The gentleman saw he was done, and he gave the lad his father’s money, and begged the drainer to give him time to make his escape out of the country. The drainer’s son married the young lady, and both the drainer and his son took over the mansion house. The drainer stopped the drain-ing, and lived with them on the banks of the Coquet. The old housekeeper got her job on for life. So this concludes the tale of the Coquet. School of Scottish Studies, John Elliot Notebook, 1952. Selkirkshire. MOTIF: S.71 [Cruel uncle]. See “The Dorsetshire Garland”.

THE FOOLISH BROTHER [summary] Princess to be won by answers to three questions. Three poor brothers court her among others, the youngest a fool. On the way he picks up three things, a turd, a crooked stick and an egg. Three questions: Princess. I’ve got fire in my tail. Fool. I’ve got an egg to cook. Princess. You’ve got a turd. Fool. Yes, in my hat. Princess. How will you get it out? Fool. With this crooked stick. Fool wins the Princess. Collected by T.W.Thompson from Shony Gray, 31 October 1914.


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TYPE 853. MOTIFS: H.507.1 [Princess offered to man who can defeat her in repartee]; H.507.1.0.1 [Princess defeated in repartee by means of objects accidentally picked up]; L.161.2 [Fool wins beautiful woman as wife]. See also “The Princess of Canterbury”, “Daft Jack and the Heiress”.

THE GIRL WHO GOT UP THE TREE A girl who was leaving her master’s service at a farm in the country told her sweetheart that she would meet him near a stile where they had met many times before. This stile was overhung by a tree. The girl got there before him and found a hole dug underneath the tree, and a pick-axe and spade lying by the side of the hole. She was much frightened at what she saw, and got up the tree. After she had been up the tree a while her sweetheart came, and another man with him. Thinking that the girl had not yet come, the two men began to talk, and the girl heard her sweetheart say, “She will not come to-night. We’ll go home now, and come back and kill her tomorrow night.” As soon as they had gone, the girl came down the tree, and ran home to her father. When she had told him what she had seen, the father pondered awhile, and then said to his daughter: “We will have a feast and ask our friends, and we will ask thy sweetheart to come and the man that came with him to the tree.” So the two men came along with the other guests. In the evening they began to ask riddles of each other, but the girl who had got up the tree was the last to ask hers. She said: “I’ll rede you a riddle, I’ll rede it you right, Where was I last Saturday night? The wind did blow, the leaves did shake, When I saw the hole the fox did make.” When the two men who had intended to murder the girl heard this, they ran out of the house. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 10. TYPE 955 (variant). MOTIF: G.661.1 [Ogre’s secret overheard from tree]. This is one of the commonest of English legends. See “The Cellar of Blood”, “Mr Fox’s Courtship”. See also “The Oxford Student” (B, VIII).

THE HEIR OF LINNE [summary] The Heir of Linne stood ragged and cold at his father’s gate, and his old nurse, looking through a window near, sang a lament for him. She was the only one who would give him a meal, for he had wasted his substance and sold his house and lands to John o’ the Scales, his father’s steward. He went now into the hall, where twenty nobles were sitting

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drinking with the new laird. Some said that he should be given food and some that he should be turned away; John o’ the Scales mockingly sent him a sip of wine and told him to be gone. He turned and went out, and remembered a little key that his mother had given him, which unlocked a hidden door. He opened it, and found a chest with enough gold in it to make him a rich man. He went back to the banquet hall. John Scales said tauntingly that he was supposed to have bought the lands cheap, but he would sell them back to the Heir for a third of what he had given. The Heir called the lords at table to witness the promise, and they laughed and said it was a safe offer. Then the Heir paid down a luck penny as earnest, and immediately counted on to a gaming table enough gold to buy back the land. He called up the old nurse, paid her for the bread and wine she had given him, and made her head of his household. The Heir of Linne had come to his father’s gate alone and in rags, but he came out of it convoyed by fifteen lords. Child, V, pp. 16–17, no. 267. Percy remodelled this ballad, taking the plot of a poor contemporary broadside “The Drunkard’s Legacy”, founded on type 910D [The treasure of the hanging man]. Though Percy arbitrarily inserted this feature, it is a sign of his instinct for folk tradition that he thus allied the ballad to an international tale-type. TYPE 910D (variant). MOTIFS: J.21 [Counsel proved wise by experience. Father has left money which will fall out when spendthrift goes to hang himself]; N.517 [Treasure hidden in building].

HIND HORN [summary] Hind Horn and all his forebears lived in the greenwood, but he came forth from it and served the king of Scotland for seven years. All this time he received no wages. One day, he spied the king’s daughter through a hole which he bored with an auger in her door. He fell in love with her, and she with him. He gave her a silver wand “to rule ower all Scotland”, and she gave him a golden ring, which possessed the power of showing by its brightness and colour whether she remained true to him. Hind Horn sailed away to a far country, and after a long time his ring showed that “she loved another man”. So he returned home, and as he landed he met a beggar and asked what news there was, since he had been away for seven years. The beggar replied that it was the wedding-day of the king’s daughter. Hind Horn persuaded the beggar to change clothes with him, so the beggar rode away in his cloak on his horse while Hind Horn walked up to the palace, dressed as a beggar. But he begged nothing, nor would receive anything from any man until he came to the palace gate. He called for the bride in the name of Hind Horn, and she came down to him with a cup of red wine in her hand, which she gave to him. As he drank, he dropped the ring into the cup, and when she saw it she asked how he came to have it in his keeping. He replied: “I got it not by sea, nor got it by land, Nor got I it on a drownd man’s hand.


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But I got it at my wooing gay, And I’ll gie’t you on your wedding-day.” She at once replied: “I’ll take the red gowd frae my head, And follow you and beg my bread.” But he told her that he was no beggar-man, and threw off his disguise, showing the rich golden garments underneath it, and so Hind Horn stole his bride from her bridegroom. Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, Vol. I, version H, p. 206. TYPE 974. MOTIFS: F.825 [Extraordinary ring]; T.61.4.5 [Betrothal by gold ring]; H.94.4 [Identification by ring dropped in cup of wine]; K.1371.4 [Lover in disguise abducts beloved]. The motif of love induced by a glimpse through an auger-bore is not included in the Motif-Index. This ballad is derived from the medieval Romance of “King Horn” (Wells, p. 9). The incident of the ring is found also in the popular version of St George. See “St George and the Dragon” (A, II).

HOW JACK BECAME A MASTER THIEF, AND MARRIED THE SQUIRE’S DAUGHTER [summary] A poor old woodman turned his three sons out into the world as soon as they were all grown up. Jack, the youngest, took a lonely road which his brothers did not care for. It was a wild night, so he knocked at a cottage door and asked for shelter. The old woman told him that a band of robbers lived there, but Jack persisted, and she let him in and fed him. Then he lay down on a bed in the corner and pretended to go to sleep. When the robbers returned he sat up and told them he was known as the Master Thief, and had come to try which of them could teach the other any new tricks. So they let him stay. Next day, Jack first tricked a farmer out of a sheep which he was taking to market by dropping two shoes in two different places. The farmer left the first shoe alone, but on seeing the second, tied up his sheep to a post, and went back for the other. Jack then drove off the sheep to the robbers’ house, to their admiration. The day after, he duped the same farmer again and stole his ox. Jack had a rope, and pretended to hang himself from a tree beside the farmer’s way. Then he dodged through the wood, and did the same again, a little further on. The farmer thought he had passed two different hanged men; and when Jack repeated the trick, and made him believe he had seen a third, he went back to see if he could do anything to help them. So Jack went off with the ox, which the farmer had tied to a tree, and again the robbers confessed that he had beaten them at their own game.

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The third time, the farmer was on horseback, and Jack undertook to steal the horse from under him. He went into the wood and began to bellow like an ox and baa like a sheep. The farmer thought it must be his own lost animals he heard, dismounted, and went to look for them; and so Jack got away with the horse. Now the robbers elected Jack as their master and gave him a feast. Then they showed him a cave with a great iron door where their stolen treasures were locked up, and another cave full of their disguises. They begged a favour, that Jack would allow them a day’s holiday from work on the next Thursday, which was fair day, and that he would stay and guard their treasure while they were away. So Jack stayed at home with the housekeeper, and the robber’s horses, which he had advised them to leave at home as the fairground was not far away. He talked to the housekeeper and, when she complained of her low wages, promised to make her rich. He showed her the hidden treasure, entered the cave, and stuffed his own pockets and a bag he had with him full of gold. Then he told the housekeeper to go in and help herself. She did, and he locked the door on her but left the key in the lock. He changed into a smart riding suit which he took from the disguises, and rode away, taking with him the farmer’s sheep, ox and horse. These he returned, to the great joy of the farmer and his wife, who had thought them lost for ever and could ill afford it. Jack gave them a present of £10, though they were reluctant to receive it. Then Jack returned home to his parents and told them all his story, for they were afraid so much wealth could not have been honestly won in so short a time. Next day he told them that he was going up to the hall to ask for the squire’s daughter in marriage. He told the squire his story, and the squire, to test him, promised to consider his suit if he could steal the goose from the spit in his kitchen on the following Sunday. So Jack disguised himself as a beggar, went to the back door, and was told he might sit in the porch till dinner was over, and then there might be a few scraps for him. But Jack had brought with him three hares in a sack and, while all the servants were watching the roasting goose to make sure it was not stolen, he released one of the hares into the yard, and in spite of their orders the servants were lured out to chase it. They made so much noise that the master came out to see what was wrong, and when the first hare got away, Jack released the second, and then the third. In this excitement the goose was forgotten, and Jack made off home with it and then sent his father to bid the squire, his wife and Miss Susan to dine with them. It was a delicious meal, and confirmed what the squire had already guessed— the identity of the beggar in the porch. But he was not yet ready to give his daughter to Jack. He told him that, on the following night, the six horses in his stable would each have a man seated on its back, and Jack must try to steal the horses before daylight without harming any of the men. So this time Jack disguised himself as an old woman and, creeping into the stables about 2 a.m., begged leave to lie on the straw out of the bitter cold. The men, who had been keeping their spirits up with whisky, said she might stay, and later they saw her taking a nip from a flask, which she willingly shared with them. An hour later, they saw her taking another nip, and this time they asked for a drop. She said she had another flask, and they could have it all—what they had left in the first was enough for her. But this second flask contained a strong sleeping-draught, and soon all six men were fast asleep. Jack pulled them down from their horses as gently as he could, and at first dawn he led the horses off home, changed his clothes, and appeared with them just as the squire sat


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down to breakfast. The six sleeping men in the stables proved the truth of Jack’s story; and the squire told him that if he could carry out one last and harder task he should have Susan for his wife. This was to trick the priest of some of his cherished possessions, for the priest had been mocking at the squire for being so easily taken in. Jack disguised himself as an angel, and accosted the priest from a tree-top, saying that he was sent to bid him prepare for his death, for the next night he would carry him away in a sack to Heaven. The priest carried out Jack’s instructions faithfully. He gathered all his worldly treasures together and solemnly renounced them; fasted and prayed all day, and waited beneath the tree for the angel. He had brought a large sack with him, and when darkness began to fall Jack cried out to him to get into it and, climbing down from the tree, he dragged the sack over rough ground to the squire’s goose-house, and shut him inside it for the geese to peck at. Then Jack went back for the valuables the priest had renounced, and took them to the squire for proof. The squire was delighted, gave his consent to Jack’s marriage, and they rescued the unhappy priest, bruised and pecked, but quickly restored with the squire’s good brandy. So Jack and Susan were married, and in due time Jack became the squire. Thompson Notebooks, c. Told by Muli and Terence Lee. TYPE 1525. See also “Jack the Robber”, “Canny Jack”, “Clever Jack”.

THE INDEPENDENT BISHOP Once King George came to Worcester, and went to see the Bishop. Now he was a very independent man, and would give way to nobody, therefore he had fixed to his door a brass plate, and on it was this: “The Independent Bishop of Worcester.” When King George saw this he stared. “I like this!” he says. “This won’t do at all. I’ll give him independent, indeed!” So he walked in. When the Bishop came in, he said, “I see you call yourself the Independent Bishop of Worcester?” “Yes,” said the Bishop, “so I am; I am afraid of no man,” says he. “Well,” says King George, “you must come to me in the Tower of London in three weeks’ time, and you must answer three questions. If you can answer truly, you can keep the plate on the door; if not, off it comes, and you shall not call yourself the independent Bishop any more. You shall tell me first, how soon I can travel all round the world; secondly to a farthing, what I am worth; thirdly what I think at the moment we are speaking.” “Very well, your Majesty,” said the Bishop. And the King went off to London. Next morning the Bishop was up very early. He had not slept a wink, and he kept walking up and down, up and down the walk in his garden. His old gardener asked him what the trouble was. “Nothing at all, nothing at all,” said the Bishop. But he walked up and down faster and faster, and the gardener, an old servant, ventured to ask him again what was the matter. “Well,” said the Bishop, “I’ll tell you. You’ve served me well these many years.” “Is that all?” said the gardener, when the Bishop had finished. Then he thought a bit. “Does the King know you well?” he asked. “No,” said the Bishop, “he saw me yesterday for the first time.”

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“They say I’m a bit like your Lordship,” said the gardener; “give me a suit of your clothes, and I’ll answer those questions in the Tower of London for you.” It was agreed, and when the day came, the King, with the courtiers all round, asked the first question: “Well, how soon can I travel all round the world?” “You must go with the sun,” said the gardener, “then it will take you exactly twentyfour hours.” “Well done,” said the King, and all the courtiers said, “There! That’s one for the Bishop.” “Ah!” said the King, “but you must tell me what I am worth.” “Nothing at all; only one man in the world has ever been worth anything, and that was our Saviour; he was sold for thirty silver pence, and you therefore cannot be worth one farthing.” “True again,” said the King. “Another to the Bishop!” they all chanted. “Another to the Bishop!” “But you cannot tell me what I think,” said King George. “You think I am the Independent Bishop of Worcester, but I am his gardener and servant, come to answer for him,” said he. The King laughed, and they all said, “The Independent Bishop! Another for the Bishop!” So the Gardener took good news home to his master, who was independent still, and he kept that plate on his door as long as he was Bishop of Worcester. Leather, Herefordshire, pp. 177–8. Told by a mason in Laytown. TYPE 922. See “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury”.

JACK AND THE KING or YOU’RE A LIAR Long ago there was a king, and anyone that would get him to say,“You are a liar,” would get his daughter married to him. So there went hundreds of young men, and none of them could get him to say “You are a liar”. There was a servant boy, and he asked his master to buy him a suit of clothes; so the master did, and he went to the king’s house. He said to the servant, “I want to see the king.” The king came out, and asked what was the matter with him. He said he came to see if he could get him to say “You are a liar”. Then said the king, “Come here until I show you a great tree that grows here below.” So they went down. Said the king, “Did you ever see such a tree in your life?” Replied Jack, “The smallest tree in our wood is bigger than that.” Then said the king, “Come down farther until you see the meadow that is here below.” So they went down. Said the king, “Did you ever see such grass as that in your life?” Then said Jack, “The after-grass in our meadow is better than that.” “Well,” said the king, “come here until I show you a great turnip which grows here beyond.” So they went over. “Did you ever see such a turnip as that?” said the king. Then said Jack, “When we were pulling our turnips, the little ones we were leaving after us, the smallest of them was bigger than that. When we had them all pulled, we let


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in the sheep to the turnip-ground. One of them began to eat on the side of a turnip, and in three weeks she came out on the other side with two lambs.” “Very good,” said the king; “come up to the garden until you see a beanstalk which grows there.” So they went up. Said the king, “Did you ever see such a beanstalk as that in your life?” “I did,” said Jack; “there grew one in our garden. When it was two months old, you could not see the top of it; so I prepared one day to climb the beanstalk. I was two days climbing, and I sat down and ate my supper, and I slept all night in the branches. I started to climb in the morning, and on the approach of evening I heard a great noise over my head; what was it but a nest of bees; so I went in on the door of the nest. The old queenbee met me; she went to sting me; I drew my sword and cut off her right wing, it fell on me, and I lay under it for two days, for I could not get up; but the weather was so very warm, the wing began to decay. The third day I got out from under it, so I went on further. I heard another great noise over my head; what was it but a nest of wasps; I got afraid, and says I to myself’ I will leap’; so I did, and sank to my shoulders in the rock! I could not get out, so I cut off my head, and sent it away for help to take me out of the rock. A fox came out of a den, and began snarling at my head. I gave one leap, and I bursted the rock for two miles, and I ran over and hit the fox one kick, and I knocked three kings out of him, and the worst of them was a better man than you!” says Jack. “You are a liar!” says the king. So Jack had to get the king’s daughter married to him, and they lived happy ever afterwards. Norton Collection, II, p. 249. Folk-Lore (1893), IV, pp. 188–90. TYPE 852. MOTIFS: H.342.1 [Suitor tests: forcing king to say “That is a lie”]; X.1431.1 [Lies about great turnips]; X.1401.1 [Lie: animals live inside great vegetable, feeding on it]; X.1455.1 [Lies about remarkable cornstalks]; F.54.2 [Plant grows up to sky], X.1282.1 [Lie: the great bee]; X.1731.2 [Man falls from height and goes through solid rock up to shoulder]; X.1726 [Man cuts off own head]. The lively “King of the Liars” covers the same ground, with some variations on the lies.

JACK THE ROBBER or JACK AND HIS MASTER There was a waggoner at a farm, and a dairy maid, an’ they got coortin’ together. And in length of time this girl come that way by him. An’ the master gid him a little ’ouse what was empty on the farm, to live in, them bein’ two good sarvints, an’ the first child ’is name was Jack. In length of time the father died an’ left this child to his mother. This boy tuk to smokin’ when ’ee was about twelve years old, an’ ’ee got to robbin’ the master’s plow-socks to take ‘em to the blacksmith’s to sell ’em to rise ’bacca. An’ one day ’ee was prowlin’ about, an’ ’ee meets the master’s chain-harrow on the field, an’ ’ee takes that to the blacksmith’s and sells it. Now the master was goin’ down to the blacksmith’s one day, ’avin’ some business, an’ ’ee ’appened to see ’is chain-harrow. “’Oo did you get this off?” ’ee sez.

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“Off Jack,” ’ee says. “Well, well!” ’ee sez. “This boy’ll ruin me afore long; ’ee robs everything ’ee can lay ’ands on.” ’Ee goes back to the ’ouse, an’ ’ee sez to the lad’s mother: “Either you or ’im’ll ’ave to lave from ’ere, or your boy’ll ruin me.” An’ the poor mother began to cry, an’ Jack was off the same time prowlin’. Jack comes back that night, an’ ’is mother sez: “Oh, Jack, my lad, you’ve done a very bad thing for me. Either you or me’s got to lave the place.” “Never mind, mother,” says Jack. “I’ll go.” Poor Jack travels on, an’ ’ee goes miles that night, till ’ee got benighted. ’Ee could see a light a distance off from him in the dark. So ’ee makes off for this light, an’ when ’ee gets there, what was there but a big gentleman’s hall? Who was standing outside but the gentleman? “Hallo! my boy,” ’ee sez, “where are you off to?” ’Ee sez, “A-robbin’, I’m goin’, sir.” ’Ee sez, “Take time a bit, my boy, I’ve eleven robbers inside there myself now.” “Oh, sir, I can’t take time,” ’ee sez,” I’m too hungry and footsore from travellin’: I must get in somewheres,” ’ee sez, “to find something to ate.” ’Ee pulls a little pane out of the dairy winder, an’ gets in through the winder. When ’ee gets inside, ’ee finds a hard crus’ of cheese, and an empty candlestick. An’ ’ee was gnawin’ at ’is crus’ of cheese, when one of the robbers comes into the pantry to ’im. An’ ’ee works the trigger of the candlestick up an’ down displayin’ it like a pistol, an’ ’ee sez, “Deliver your money or your life.” An’ the robber ’ands ’im eleven pounds. They all comes out now, these eleven robbers, an’ they wos deliverin’ the money up to the master, wot they got. An’ this last one wot come out, ’ee sez to ’im, “Where’s yourn?” “I’ve got none,” ’ee sez, “I ’ad eleven pounds tuk off me, and if I didn’t give it up, I should ’ave ’ad my brains blown off.” Now the master sez to the men: “Surround the ’ouse,” ’ee sez, “and watch which way ’ee comes out. Don’t you ’urt ’im or ’arm ’im, not till you brings ’im to me.” It ’appen, ’ee came out where the master stood, the same way as ’ee went in. So. “Hello, my boy,” ’ee sez, “’ow did you get on?” “Well, sir,” ’ee sez, “there was someone inside there, and I ’ad eleven pounds off ’im.” ’Ee sed: “Would you like to come for apprentice for a robber, my boy, and I’ll give you so much a week?” “Yes, sir,” ’ee sez. “I don’t mind.” So ’ee was with them for about six months, an’ ’ee got a cleverer robber than wot the master ’isself was. ’Ee ’ad a bit of money by ’im, an’ ’ee thought ’ee’d make ’is way back to ’is mother to see ’ow she was gettin’ on. As ’ee was goin’ back near home, he meets this farmer on the road. “Hello, Jack, my lad,’ ’ee sez, “where ’ave you bin?” “I’ve bin prentice to a robber,” ’ee sez. “Prentice to a robber, my lad,” ’ee sez, “you was big enough robber when you was ’ere before. Well, Jack,” ’ee sez, “I’ll try if you can rob.’ ’Ee sez, “My man’s going to sich a place to-morrow for a ship, and,” ’ee sez, “if you can’t take that ship off ’im without ’is seein’ you, I shall behead you.”


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Jack gets up next mornin’, an’ ’ee just ’as a look wot sort of man was goin’ for the ship. An’ all Jack looked at was ’is feet, an’ the man ’ad a very bad pair of boots on, so Jack sez, “I’ll soon do you,” ’ee sez, an’ ’ee goes to the shop, an’ ’ee buys a pair of eights. So Jack puts these shoes under ’is arm, an’ ’ee makes ’is way along the road to meet this man, by a wood. So Jack listens for ’im at the end of this wood, an’ ’ee ’ears ’im comin’. ’Ee was comin’ goin’ “Yoop, yooee,” to the ship, an’ the ship was goin’ “Baaa.” And Jack sez,” ’Ee’s comin’! now’s my time.” So as ’ee was comin’ along, Jack drops a new shoe in the road, and walks on in front of him. The man picks up this new shoe, an’ tries it on ’is foot. “Eh, sirree!” ’ee sez,” shouldn’t I look well if I ’ad the ’tother un. Well,” ’ee sez,” one’s no use without ’tother ’un, an’ I’ll lave it where I fund it, ’cos if I was to go home with a new shoe and an old ’un, how the master would laugh at me.” It happens ’ee goes on the road four or five hundred yards further, an’ ’ee fund the t’other in the road. “Eh, sirree,” ’ee sez, “wot a fool I must be to throw the t’other ’un in the road, now I’ve fund this ’un. Well,” ’ee sez, “it wouldn’t ’take me not long to go back for the t’other, if I tie the ship to the hedge; and shan’t I look grand goin’ ’ome to the master with a new pair of boots on?” He goes back for the t’other. So while ’ee was away, Jack goes an’ collars the ship, and away to go with it! He takes it ’ome, and ’ee puts it in the pig-sty. When the man gets ’ome, the master asks ’im where was the ship. ’Es sez, “I brought it in the yard ’ere,” ’ee sez. “Where then?” “I brought it in the yard ’ere.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure of it, sir.” “Did you see any man on the road?” “No, sir, I saw no one.” “I can’t see no ship in the yard ’ere,” ’ee sez. “You’re a fine fellow to go to buy a ship, and to lose it on the road.” The master goes to Jack. “Have you got the ship, Jack?” “Yes, master,” ’ee sez, “’Ee’s in the pig-sty.” “Well,” ’ee sez, “my man’s goin’ to the same place for another one tomorrow,” ’ee sez, “and see if you can steal the t’other ’un off ’im, and if you can’t do that,” ’ee sez, “Jack, I’ll behead you.” So off this man goes to fetch the ship, but the master didn’t tell the man nothin’ about Jack takin’ the ship off ’im. So Jack was settin’ down at the end of the wood, listenin’, listenin’ for the ship to come. ’Ee ’eared the ship comin’ an’ the man a-shoutin’ “Yoop, yooee!” and the ship went “Baaaa.” Jack went “Baaaa!” back again in the wood, an’ began to rattle the laves. An’ this man says to ’isself, “Husht!” ’ee sez, “Dasht!” ’ee sez, “there’s that ship I lost last night.” So the ship went “Baaaa,” an’ Jack went “Baaaa,” again. “Eh,” ’ee sez, “if I catch that ship,” ’ee sez, “an’ take it ’ome, wouldn’t the master be very good friends with me again?” So ’ee runs up the wood after Jack, and Jack kips runnin’ afore ’im, shoutin’ “Baaaa.” An’ Jack tuk ’im about ’alf a mile up the wood, an’ Jack knowed the near cut to come back, an’ come back and an’ tuk the t’other ship as ’ee’d fastened to the hedge, while ’ee was after the t’other ’un.

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So the man goes ’ome, and the master axed ’im where was the ship. So ’ee didn’t like to tell ’im as ’ee’d fastened it to the hedge, while ’ee was after the t’other ’un. An’ the master sez: “You’m no good to me, losin’ my ship. I’ll give you the sack.” Goes down to Jack, the master did, an’ ’ee sez, “Have you got the ship, Jack?” “Ay, master,” ’ee sez, “’ee’s in the pig-sty.” “Well, now, Jack,” ’ee sez, “I’m goin’ to put you on to a hot job this time,” ’ee sez. “I’m goin’ to have twelve soldiers,” ’ee sez, “and all armunition in my room to watch you comin’, and if you can’t take the middlemost sheet from underneath me and my missus, ’itout them seein’ you, I’ll be behead you.” Now Jack know’d where there’d bin a young man newly buried in the churchyard hard by, an’ ’ee goes an’ gets a pick and shovel, an’ ’ee rises this dead body up. ’Ee goes an’ gets a long ladder, one as reached from the side of the ’ouse to the top of the chimley, an’ ’ee gets a piece of rope. ’Ee ties it round this dead man’s neck in a slip-knot, an’ ’ee loosed ’im down the chimley. “Husht! He’s comin’. I can ’ear ’im,” the master sez. “Now, boys, get ready. When I sez, ’Fire’, you fire,” ’ee sez. He shouted “Fire!” and all the men fired. They thought they’d killed ’im—the room bein’ so dark with the smoke, they couldn’t see what sort of man he was. He sez: “Thank God! We’ve killed ‘im. If we ’adn’t killed ’im, ’ee’d ’ave killed we in time. Bring ’im along, boys. We’ll soon dig a bit of a hole for ’im somewheres.” So, while they were away burying him, Jack goes upstairs to the missus. “By gum!” ’ee sez, “’tis cowld. Thank God, we’ve killed ’im. Lie further.” He got into bed with the rawnie. So all the time ’ee got suvin’ the rawnie, ’ee kept tarderin’ the sheet from under ’er. “I’ll go and see if they’ve buried ’im,” ’ee sez. “By gum! They’re a long time over it.” Out ’ee goes, with the sheet, an’ the master comes in, an’ ’ee tells ’er to lie further. So the rye begins to lel a bit of minj. “By gum!” she sez, “you want it oftener to-night till another time. It’s not above ten minutes since you had it afore.” “I’ll bet my life Jack’s bin ’ere again,’ sez the master. Now we’ll lave the master to stand a bit, an’ go back to the mother. So in the morning Jack sez to his mother: “Mother,” ’ee sez, “give me one of them owld bladders as hang up in the house, and,” ’ee sez, “I’ll fill it full of blood, an’ I’ll tie it round your throat, an’ when the master comes up to me, to ax me if I got the sheet, me an’ you’ll be ’avin a bit of arglement, an’ I’ll up with my fist, and hit you on the bladder, an’ the bladder’ll bust, an’ you’ll make yourself to be dead.” Now the master comes. “Have you got the sheet, Jack?” An’ just as he’s axin’ ’im ’ee ups with ’is fist, an’ hits his mother. An’the master sez: “Oh, Jack, what did you kill your poor mother for?” “Oh, I don’t care. I can soon bring ’er right again.” “No,” sez the master. “Never, Jack.” And Jack begins to smile, an’ ’ee sez, “Can’t I? You’ll see then.” And ’ee goes behind the door, an’ fetches a stick with a bit of a knob to it. Jack begin to laugh. He touches his mother with this stick, and the owld ’ooman jumped up. (This is s’posed to be an inchanted stick.) An’the master sez: “Oh! Jack,” ’ee sez, “what shall I give you for that stick?”


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“Well, sir,” ’ee sez, “I couldn’t let you ’ave that stick, my inchantment would be broke.” “Well, Jack, if you’ll let me ’ave that stick, I’ll never give you another thing to do as long as you live here.” So ’ee give ’im fifty pounds for this stick, and sed ’ee’d never give ’im nothin’ else to do for ’im. So the master went ’ome to the ’ouse, and ’ee didn’t know which way to fall out with the missus to try this stick. One day at dinner-time, ’ee ’appened to fall out with her: the dinner she put for ’im didn’t plase ’im. So ’ee ups with ’is fist, an’ ’ee knocks ’er dead. In comes the poor sarvint girl, an’ sez: “Oh, master, whatever did you kill the poor missus for?” He sez: “I’ll sarve you the same,” and ’ee sarve ’er the same. In comes the waggoner, an’ ’ee axed what did ’ee kill the missus an’ the sarvint for. An’ ’ee sez: “I’ll sarve you the same,” ’ee sez. He wanted to try the stick what ’ee ’ad off Jack. He thought he could use it the same way as Jack. So ’ee touched the missus with it fust, but she never rose. He touched the sarvint with it, but she never rose. He touched the waggoner, an’ ’ee never rose. “Well,” ’ee sez, “I’ll try the big end,” ’ee sez, an’ ’ee tries the knob. So ’ee battered an’ ’ee battered with the knob, till ’ee battered the brains out of the three of them. He does no more, an’ ’ee goes up to Jack, an’ sez: “Oh, Jack, you’ve ruined me for life,” ’ee sez. “Jack, I’ll ’ave to drown you.” So Jack says, “All right, master.” “Well, get in this bag,” ’ee sez; an’ ’ee takes ’im on ’is back. As ’ee was goin’ along the road, ’ee took very short, an’ went to do a job for ’isself. Him bein’ a very methylist man, ’ee went one field off the road. During the time ’ee was down there, there came a drovier by with ’is cattle. Now Jack’s head was out of the sack. “Hello, Jack, where are you goin’?” “To Heaven, I hope.” “Oh, Jack, let me go: I’m an owlder man till you, and I’ll give you all my money and this cattle.” Jack told ’im to onloosen the sack to let ’im out, and for ’im to get into it. Away goes Jack with the cattle and the money. So the master comes up, taking no notice of it, an’ ’ee picks up the bag, an’puts it on ’is shoulder, an’ goes on till ’ee comes to Montfort’s Bridge. He sez: “One, two, three,” an’ away ’ee chucks ’im over. Well, Jack goes now about the country daling in cattle. So in about three years’ time he comes the same way again, round the master’s place. So, “Hallo, Jack,” ’ee sez: “wherever did you get them from?” “Well, sir,” ’ee sez, “where you throwed me. If I’d ’ad a little boy at the turnin’ to turn ’em straight down the road, I should ’ave ’ad as many more.” So ’ee sez: “Jack, will you chuck me there, an’ you stop at the turnin’ to turn ’em?” So Jack sez, “You’ll ’ave to walk till you get there, for I can’t carry you.” An’ when ’ee got to the bridge, Jack put ’im in the bag, an’ Jack counted ’is “one, two, three,” same as ’ee counted for ’im, and away ’ee goes. And Jack went and tuk to the farm, and makin’ very good use of it, for a many a ratii ’ee mook’d mandi atch adre the puv with my tan for pookerin’ that hokhaben about lesti.

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(For many a time he’d let me stay in the field with my tent for telling you that big lie about him.) Norton Collection, V, pp. 64–8. Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society, 3rd series, IX, pp. 51–6. Recorded by John Sampson from Cornelius Price, II April 1897. TYPE 1525. MOTIFS: H.1151 [Test: stealing]; K.341.6 [Sheep stolen by means of shoes laid separately on road]; K.341.7 [Second sheep stolen by bleating in wood]; H.1151.3 [Theft of sheet]; K.362.2 [Master deceived into burying dead man]; K.113 [Pseudo-magic resuscitation object sold]; K.940.2 [Man betrayed into killing his wife, unable to resuscitate her]; K.842 [Trickster escapes from sack through exchange with shepherd; shepherd drowned]; K.1051 [Diving for sheep; dupe drowned]. There is a wide duplication of this tale, Grimm, no. 192. A fragmentary version, “The Cobbler and the Calf”, is given by Clouston, Popular Tales and Fictions, and there is a full and lively version in Kennedy’s Old Fireside Stories of Wexford. An American version, “The Clever Thief”, is given by Boggs in N.Carolina Folklore, p. 308. See also “How Jack Became a Master Thief and Married the Squire’s Daughter”, “Canny Jack”, “Skelton: The Crafty Miller”.

THE KING AND THE HERMIT [slightly shortened] It happened in good Edward’s time that his grace went to Sherwood to solace himself with hunting the deer, and with raising the great hart among the coppices and on the moors. And when the king’s men had dispersed themselves about, and returned to his grace to report to him what they had seen, his grace asked them in manner following: “In what places have ye seen most game?” To whom they answered, sinking on knee: “Everywhere, east and west, lord, there is of game great plenty. Ere the sun go down, we can shew your grace two thousand head.” An old forester drew near, and “Forsooth, lord,” quoth he, “I saw under the greenwood tree a deer, and such large antlers as he bare I never of my days beheld before.” “Lo!” said our king then, “I will grant unto thee a royal pension to thy life’s end, if so thou wilt bring me that-to.” On the morrow, betimes, they set out, the king and his men, with dogs and trusty bows: and when they came to the greenwood, they spread their nets, and their gins, each archer standing by his tree, bow in hand. Then they gave three blasts on the bugle-horns, and uncoupled the hounds; and the hounds ran as if they were mad, and started the game out of the covers. The king and his men followed with shouts and blowing of horns through the forest; the king rode on a good horse; but the beast began to tire, for his grace had been in the saddle from midday till evening: and he fell behind the rest, to let his courser breathe, till at last he was left alone, and knew not where he was. And the night began to draw on. The king thought within himself: “While there is still light, it will be better to take shelter under some tree; for if it grows dark, and I fall into a pit, my horse and I were in evil case. St Julian, as I am a true knight, send me grace this same evening to meet with some


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abiding place! Every year that I live I will make some offering to yield poor folk shelter for thy sake!” Now not much further had our king ridden, when he became aware of a light in the distance, where the wood waxed thinner; and as he approached, he saw that it was some hermitage or chapel. A little wicket he soon perceived, but it was fast, and he called out, that those within might hear his voice. And presently at the door of this dwelling in the forest stood a man, who by his mien and presence appeared to be a hermit; and as he wended his way toward the gate where the stranger stood, he told his prayers on his beads. And when he saw the king he said: “Sir, good even!” To whom the king replied: “Well met, Sir Friar. I beg thee to suffer me for this night to be thy guest; for I have ridden far in the forest, and have lost my way, and it grows toward nightfall.” The hermit said: “Verily, for such a lord as thou art, my poor lodging is in no wise meet; I dwell here in the wilderness among the wild creatures, and sustain myself on roots or whatever I may get, as it is the will of the Lord.” The king answered and said, “I beseech thee, then, that thou wilt shew me at least the way to the nearest town, and ere a fortnight is passed thou shalt hear from me to thy advantage; or if thou canst not thyself go, that thou wilt suffer thy boy to lead me a mile or twain on the road, while it is yet twilight. How far is it, pray you, to the town?” “Five miles,” replied the friar, “and a wild road it is, by Our Lady! except ye have the day before you.” “By God, hermit!” cried the king. “With thee I shall lodge to-night, or else I should come to some mishap.” “Well,” replied the hermit peevishly, “I cannot fight with you, and if ye must come in, let it be so, a’ God’s name, and ye must take even what ye can get.” So the king put up his horse, and two handsful of barley-straw he fetched out of some corner for him, for the beast had had a hard day. The hermit looked askance at him, but the king took no heed, and hewed some wood, and kindled a fire, and seated himself down before it. “Dear hermit, let me have some supper. The sorrier the day, the merrier the night! By God! If I were a hermit in this forest, when the king’s keepers had gone to rest, I would sally forth east and west, with my good bow in my hand, and my arrows in a thong, and see what I could get to gladden myself and my guests. What needeth the king venison?” The hermit said to the king: “Good sir, prythee tell me where thou livest.” “Sir,” replied the other, “in the king’s court I have dwelled many a day; and my lord rode on hunting, as great lords use to do, and after a great hart have we ridden from noon to eventide, and yet he escaped away. I am foredone with weariness. I pray thee give me to eat, and thou shalt not repent the service.” The hermit went away and fetched bread and cheese and thin ale; and the king took thereof, for he thought that other meat the hermit had none. Yet very shortly he had enough. “Now, hermit,” he said, “if I were in such a place as this, I should learn to shoot; and when the king’s keepers were well asleep, thou mightest get of the best. Thou mightest shoot the wild deer, and no forester espy thee.”

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“Why,” quoth the hermit, “were I taken in such a fact, I should be thrown into prison, and, an’ I could give no bail, should be bound hand and foot, and it would be a mercy if I were not hanged.” “Now come, hermit,” answered the king, “as thou art a true man, if thou canst handle a bow, make no secret of it to me; for, by God! no man shall have it from me, so long as I live. Come, hermit, if thou hast any venison, give me of the best.” The hermit said: “Men of high estate look jealously at my order, and would fain put me in prison, if so they might find that I busied myself with such things. It is our calling to spend our days in prayer and fasting, and to take no heed for our meat. Many a time nought passes my lips but milk of the kine. Warm thyself by the fire, and then get to sleep, and I will lay my cope over thee.” The friar eyed his visitor steadfastly, and considered in his mind, and then he continued thus: “Thou seemest a fellow something different from any that I have seen this long time in these parts. Let me see what can be done.” And he went to a chest, and drew forth two candles and lighted them, and set them on the table. The king marvelled after the words which the hermit had before spoken, but held his peace. Presently the hermit fetched a cloth, and spread it, and laid fine bread upon it, and baked venison: and he bad him choose whether he would partake thereof, or have hot collops; and he might have them salt or fresh, as liked him best. The king ate and laughed, and said, “Well, hermit, I might have had dry cheer, had I not touched upon the shooting! I swear the king himself is not better off than we, an’ we might only come by some drink to wash it merrily down.” The hermit called his boy—William Allen was his name—and he said to him: “Go, and by the side of my bed thou wilt see a bundle of straw, and underneath there is a horn pot—God forbid that we should stint of it! And when thou hast brought it, give our guest’s horse corn and bread to eat. Return with despatch, and bring me my cup, and we will drink till dawn, and have sport. I will see what sort of fellow thou art.” The king was debonair enough, and answered, “Whatso wilt thou have me do, command me.” “When the wine comes, canst thou say Fusty bandy as? and I will make response, Strike, pantnere” “Yea,” quoth the king. But as soon as the boy entered with the flagon and the cups, the friar looked at the king, and the king was silent, for he had forgotted the words. “Fie, man,” said the hermit, “wilt thou take all night to learn them? Say, Fusty bandy as.” “Fusty bandy as,” said the king. “Strike, pantnere,” said the hermit. Then these two set to their wine, and the boy filled their cups again and again. The king said: “For this good cheer I shall give thee reward, hermit. It is the merriest carouse I have had this seven year.” “God bless us all!” quoth his host. “But, alas! when thou comest again into thy lord’s presence, thou wilt forget the friar.” “Fear not,” said the king, “thou shalt not be forgotten. To-morrow we will go away together, and trust me, hermit, when we come unto the king’s gate, the best there is to be had shall be set before us two.” The hermit answered so—“I have been in the king’s court, sir, ere now, and have had given to me to eat a root, and have been kept loitering about half the day. Weenest thou


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that I am so pressed that I must hang my heels till I am called? I have neighbours hereabout whom-unto I send presents of wild deer’s flesh, and they let me have in return bread and ale, and so I live well enough.” “Hermit,” said the king, “by my faith, I am well pleased with thee, thou art a bonny friar. I tell thee, man, though I be indifferently clad, I make bold to go thither, and bring with me guests two or three; and no man shall say me nay, but I may do my pleasure.” “By Our Lady,” said the hermit, “I trust that ye be a true man, if I came there, as ye say unto me. But for whom should I ask, prithee?” “Jack Fletcher is my name; all men know me; and ye will find that I am a man of worship in the king’s service.” The hermit, thus reassured, answered: “Come then, Jack, into the chamber hard by, and I will shew thee something more.” The king followed the hermit into his bedroom, and spied about the hermit’s bed many a broad arrow hanging. The hermit handed him a bow, and said unto him— “Jack, draw it up.” But the king could scarce bend the string. “Sir,” he said, “there is no archer that the king hath that can shoot with this.” Then the hermit took the bow, and placed in it an arrow of an ell long, and drew it to the head. “Jack,” said he, “there goes not the deer in the forest but that arrow should find it. Jack, since thou art a fletcher by craft, thou mightest now and again help me to a shaft or two.” The king answered that he would. “Jack,” said the hermit, “an’ I were sure that thou wast true, I could shew thee yet more still.” The king sware that he would never betray him, and the hermit took him into his larder, where were troughs filled with venison. “Jack, how thinkest thou? While there is deer in the forest, now and then I may happen on some of the best; the king can have no better. Jack, if thou wilt, take some of my arrows, and we will try them in the morning.” They went back to their cups, and drank and talked till daybreak, and when they rose betimes, the friar said: “Jack, I will go with thee a mile or twain, to put thee in thy way.” “Much thanks,” replied the king, “But last night, when we were together, you promised me that you would come some day to the king’s court, and see what passes there.” “Certes,” answered the friar, “I shall come, as I am true man, before to-morrow night.” The friar guided the king through unknown recesses of the forest, and brought him to a place which he knew, and then these two bad each other a warm farewell: and when the friar was out of sight, the king put his bugle to his lips, and sounded a loud blast and his knights and lords, who had been scouring the forest in search of him, came up, and were rejoiced to see our lord and king once more, whom they had thought to be lost. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 223. TYPE 921 (distant variant). This is an unfinished version of a common anecdote in which an affable king, incognito, talks with a peasant, and afterwards rewards him for his entertainment. It

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occurs also in France and Scotland, where one of the best versions is “The Gudeman of Ballangeich” (B, VIII). See also “The King and the Northern Man”, “The King and the Tanner”.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY In King John’s reign the Abbot of Canterbury was so rich and grand that the king became jealous, and sent for the Abbot to reproach him. The Abbot claimed that he was only spending what had been given in pious gifts to the Abbey. But the king replied that everything in the kingdom belonged to the king. However, he promised to spare the Abbot’s life if he could answer three questions. These were: “Where is the centre of the world?”, “How soon can I ride round the world?” and “What do I think?” He gave the Abbot a week to find the answers, and the Abbot was in despair for he thought the questions unanswerable. No learned man in Oxford could help him, and he returned to Canterbury to say farewell to his monks. On the way he met his shepherd, who at once offered to take the Abbot’s place, for a fool could sometimes succeed where a wise man could not. The Abbot at last gave an unwilling consent, and the shepherd, his face hidden in a monk’s cowl, and attended by the Abbot’s usual great retinue, returned to London. To the question “Where is the centre of the earth?” the shepherd, planting his crozier in the ground, said, “Here. Measure it and see.” “A merry answer and a shrewd,” said the king. “How soon may I ride round the world?” “Rise with the sun, and ride with him, and you will go round it in twenty-four hours.” The king passed this answer also, and asked, “What do I think?” “That I am the Lord Abbot of Canterbury, your Grace, but I am only his poor shepherd, come to ask pardon for us both.” The king was delighted with this, and would have made the shepherd Abbot in place of his master, but the shepherd could neither read nor write, so the king gave him the pardon, and a princely present, as well as a pension of four nobles a week for the rest of his life. Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 146. Child, no. 45. TYPE 922. MOTIFS: H.541 [Riddle propounded with penalty for failure]; K.1961 [Sham churchman]; H.561.2 [King and abbot]; H.681.3.1 [Where is the centre of the earth?]; H.681.1.1 [How far to the end of the earth? A day’s journey; the sun does it daily]; H.524.1 [What am I thinking?] Anderson, Kaiser und Abt, has made a study of this widespread tale-type. A typical example is one of the Hodscha stories. The well-known ballad, “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury”, tells the story neatly, adding another question, Motif H.711.1 [What am I worth?]. See also “The Professor of Signs”, “The Miller at the Professor’s Examination”, “George Buchanan and the Bishop” (part A.Jocular).


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THE KING OF THE LIARS [transcription from tape] Well, this was a king, and he was very ill. His wife was deid, ye see, and he’d one daughter, and he sent in for the daughter one day, and he says, “Look here”, he says, “ye can prepare yoursel’ for a shock,” he says. “In about a year’s time, the doctor’s told me,” he says, “I might pass away, maybe before it. Now I think,” he said, “ye should get up the Good Advisers here to me, and I’ll tell them what I’m going to do with my kingdom, ye see, before I die. I want ye,” he says,” to go down for them now and take them up.” So anyway the girl went out and she was aafie forlorn-like about her father dyin’, and took the three Wise Men (as they cry them) up to the side of the King’s bed, ye see. So the king told them that he was dyin’ jist any time, the doctor said, and he wanted a man to reign as king, ye see. (Are ye listenin’, Toby?) “I’ve made up my mind,” says the king, he says, “the man that can make me call him a liar will get my daughter’s hand in marriage, and my kingdom, ye see.” “Well, that soonds fair enough,” says the Good Adviser, he says, “if ye want to do that, fair enough,’ he says, “but it could go on for years, this carry-on.” “No, no,” he says, “I think if the right man comes in, a clever man that can trap me, that I can call him a liar, he’ll get my daughter’s hand in marriage.” “Very well,” said the Good Advisers, “we’ll leave it at that.” Well, for the first nine months, there was knights, nobles, tramps off the road, earls and dukes, and all these Knights of the Round Stables, come to tell the King that—to see if they could make him a liar—tell him the story, you see. But none of them succeeded in making the king cry him a liar. Now, to make a long story short, Toby, at the bottom of the old wood there was a wee, what they call a toll-hoose, and there was a lazy laddie in there—they cried him Silly Jeck the Water Cairrier. He done nothing but cairried water to the servants in the castle— carried water to his mother, and he lay and slep’ amongst the cinders, and he scraped the pots—for meat, ye see, when he was hungry. So the mother got on to him one day—she was an auld wummin and she was milkin’ the coo, and she says, “Jeck,” she says, “wil ye no break a wee bit of stick for the mornin’s fire?” “Ach, mother,” he says, “I’m tired,” he says, “I want a sleep.” “A sleep,” she says, “ye’ve duin nothing aa day,” she says, “but lie, aboot that barn oot there,” she says. “Ye’ll no dig the gairden,” she says, “ye’ll do nothing. Ye’ll no take the coo oot to the field.” “Ach, well,” says Jeck, “if that’s the way o’t,” he says, “I’m goin’ away up to the king’s castle,” he says, “and I’m goin’ to tell him a story, anyway,” he says. “You tell him a story!” she says. “If you go up near the King’s castle,” she says, “ye’ll get shot.” “Well,” he says, “I was speakin’ tae a man in the toon the day,” he says, “oniebody can go up,” he says, “tramps off the road can go, and I’m jist as good to go,” he says, “and tell him a story, as the next yin.” “Oh well,” she says, “laddie, please yersel,” she says, “but I hope ye win,” she says. “Ach, well, mother,” he says, “I’ll go up and see, onieway.”

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Well, Jeck had nae sword, but when he was goin’ into a place like that—he was halfdaft—he tied a scythe-blade wi’ a big string at the side of his——roon his waist, to let on he had a sword, ye see, tied to his side, a scythe-blade. He took this wi’ him for protection. He marches doon this big drive, ye see, throu’ the gates, and here a soldier—a guard—stopped him at the gate, ye see, one of the soldiers, and he says, “Hullo,” he says, “Jeck, where are you goin’?” he says,—aa the sodgers kent Jeck, ye see—aa the guardsmen kent Jeck—Jeck says, “I’m goin’ in,” he says, “to see the King.” “Haw, haw, haw,” he says, “you goin’ to see the King, Jeck. Man,” he says, “dinnae be silly,” he says; “if you go in there,” he says, “the sodgers ’ll chase ye oot,” he says. “Ye’ll be the laugh at ye.” “No, no,” says Jeck, “I don’t think you’ve onie right to stop me,” he says, “ye’d better let me by.” “Oh, well,” he says—the sodger bowed to Jeck, makin’ a fool of—he says, “all right,” he says, “in you go,” he says, “away you go.” So, anyway, Jeck marches in, thought he was a sodger, ye see, and the scythe-blade was swinging’ back and forrit frae his side—and he goes up to the door, and aa the sodgers and the guards in the castle’s laughin’ at him passin’. Up, and he knocks at the big knocker on the door, ye see, and the butler’s come oot— man wi’ a red coat, swallow-tail coat, cam oot, and he says—everybody kent him well, ye see— “Jeck,” he says, “what are ye doin here?” he says, “I hope ye’re not thinkin’,” he says, “the cow’s roon about the castle here,” he says; “you lookin’ for your coo?” “Naw,” said Jeck, “I’m up to see the King.” “Well,” says the——, says, “What are ye up to see the King aboot?” He says, “I’m up,” he says, “to see,” he says, “if I can cry him a liar.” “Oh, ye are! Oh well,” says the butler, he says, “ye’re jist as well to have a go as well as any other body,” he says, “Jeck, I cannae keep ye back,” he says. “It’s free to all comers.” Jeck went, ye see, and the maids is lookin’ at Jack, inside, and laughin’ at Jeck, at his old guttery boots, ye know, and his old torn trousers—he hadnae a patch on the airse o’ his troosers—his shirt-tail was hingin’ oot. So, anyway, up he goes on this plush carpets, red carpets, up the stair, ye see, and he goes up to the King’s Castle, and they rang a bell, ye see, at the door, and the Good Advisers invited Jeck in. So Jeck saluted the King, ye see, and he says, “How ye gettin’ on, King,” he says; “ye’ve been a long time lyin’ in bed?” “Aye,” says he, “Jeck, I have. I havenae seen you,” he says, “for years.” “No,” he says, says Jeck, “and I don’t like comin’ to visit oniebody,” he says, “in a state of this kind,” he says, “seein’ ye’re no-weill in bed. For”, he says, “I cam’ up,” he says, “King,” he says, “to win your daughter’s hann in marriage.” So the King looks at him, ye see—weighs him up and doon. The Good Advisers gied a wee-bit smile t’each other, so the King gien a wave wi’ his hann for them to g’ootside, ye see. So the Good Advisers turns and walks oot of the room. So this great big stately room, ye see, and Jeck wi’ his guttery boots, and he lookit terrible-lookin’, stannin’ aside the King in the bed; and he startit tellin’ the King the story.


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Noo, this is the story that Jeck tell’t the King, ye see. He says, “You have knew my father,” he says, “King,” he says, “before he died?” “Yes, a fine man,” he says, “your father was, Jeck.” “Ah, but,” says Jack, “he wasna good as me.” “Was he no?” said the King. “No,” says Jeck. “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” “Oh, no,” said the King. “Well,” he says, “my father turned very ill,” he says. “Yes,” said the King. “And,” he says, “I was left to run the wee-bit land doon there mysel’.” “Oh, I see,” says the King. He says, “What did ye dae, Jeck?” “Well,” he says, “when my father died,” he says, “I had to cut corn,” he says, “cut wheat,” he says, “and dae aa this things, and,” he says, “d’ye ken what I cut it wi’?” The King looked at his side, and he says, “Wi’ your scythe-blade,” he says, “I mean that sword you’ve got at your side,” the King says tae him. “Naw, naw,” he says, “it wisnae the sword,” he says, “it was wi’ a heuk.” (Noo a heuk’s a wee thing ye cut grass wi’—ye see roadmen usin’ it, at the side of the roads—a wee hookit thing like a big knife, like a knife. No, something like a neap-shar, but no a neap-shar—it’s a heuk, for cuttin’ grass.) So, anyway, Jeck says, “I’ve cut,” he says, “forty acre of wheat,” he says, “or corn,” he says, “in two hours.” “God bless us!” says the King, he says. “Ye must hae been goin’—jist yerself’, Jeck?” “Jist mysel’,” says Jeck. “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” “Oh, no,” said the King. “I’ll no cry you a liar.” “Well,” he says, “I started, it was a bonnie morn,” he says, “and the birds was whistlin’, and I started cuttin’ the corn, and,” he says, “jist when I was goin’ away to start,” he says, “what comes oot of the corn,” he says, “but a broon hare. And,” he says, “wi’ the excitement I ran eftir the hare,” he says, “I’m aye fond of stewed hare,” he says, “and rabbits,” he says, “and I’d nae dog or nothin’,” he says, “I was jist a herd, and I took the heuk and I threw it eftir the hare. And,” he says, “it stuck, and then the heuk whirlt throu the air, and it stuck in the hare’s back-end—the hannle of the heuk. Noo,” he says, “the hare went roon the corn, and went roon the corn and went roon the corn,” he says, “aboot forty mile-an-hour, and the heuk stickin’ in its——here. Roon the corn, and roon the corn it went, till it flattened every taste of corn in the field,” he says, “less nor an hour.” “God bless us,” says the King. “I never heard the like of that before, Jeck.” “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” says Jeck. “Oh, no,” said the King. “Well,” he says, “now,” he says, “there was a great famine,” he says, “started,” he says. “That was a poor year,” he says, “for corn and wheat,” he says. “What you know,” he says, “the famine.” “What famine?” said the King. “The big famine,” he said, “before my father died.” The King says, “I never seen nae famine.” “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” “Oh, no,” says the King. “I’ll no cry ye a liar.”

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“Well,” he says, “it was the year of the big famine,” he says, “and here,” he says, “nobody in Britain,” he says, “England or Scotland,” he says, “had wheat. The boats,” he says, “were stormy”, he says, “stormy in the sea,” he says, “at that time. There were gale eftir gale,” he says, “for aboot six weeks, and the boats couldnae get across,” he says, “tae other countries, to get wheat or corn or meal owre to this country.” “I cannae mind of that,” says the King. “Ah, well,” says Jeck, “I can mind it,” he says, “and I dint think I’m a liar, am I, King?” “No,” he says, “ye’re nae liar,” he says. “Well,” he says, “what are ye speakin’ aboot?” he says to the King. “Well, that’s aa right,” says the King, he says. “Carry on. What happent?” So the King’s gettin’ interested in this, ye see. He thocht Jeck was silly, but he’s no so silly: he didnae think what to make of him. “But anyway,” he says, “well,” he says, “there were no boats, but I went up,” he says, “to tell aa the heid men,” he says, “in the toon, that I would get wheat and corn back,” he says, “in aboot a day’s time. So they looked at me,” he says, “and they laughed at me.” He says, “Ye needna laugh,” says he to them, he says, “I’ll get wheat and corn,” he says, “back,” he says, “in nae time t’ye,” he says, “jist maybe aboot a day.” Says the King, “Where was ye to get wheat and corn?” Jeck says, “I was going to hae two jumps,” he says, “and three leaps,” he says, “and I was goin to cross the Mediterranean,” he says, “into Africa or France or these countries; and I was goin’ to load mysel’,” he says, “and jump back again.” “Jump the sea!” says the King, he says, “how could—no human bein’, Jeck,” he says, “could jump the sea.” “Aye, but,” he says, “I could jump the sea,” he says, “and quay and aa,” he says, “I could clear the toon and everything,” he says, “wi’ a jump.” He says, ‘D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” “Oh, no,” says the King. “I’ll no cry ye a liar.” he says, “How did ye dae’t?” “Well,” he says, “I took two runnin’ leaps,” he says, “a hop, step and leap,” he says, “what they dae at the games. And,” he says, “I flew throu the air,” he says, “and I landed in Africa. And the first man that come to see me,” he says, “was a big chief,” he says, “wi’ feathers stickin’ in his heid,” he says. “He did the Rumba roon aboot me,” he says, “dancin’”, he says, “like a whale dancin’ aboot me wi’ feathers stickin’ in his heid. So,” he says, “I spoke in Gaelic tae him.” “Gaelic!” says the King. “Yes,” he says, “I spoke in Gaelic tae him.” “And did he ken Gaelic?” “Aye,” he says, “he kent Gaelic,” he says. “God bless us! I never heard o’ onieone, either an African or a savage speakin Gaelic before.” “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” says Jeck. “No, no,” says the King, “I’ll no cry ye a liar.” Well, he has the King trementit to daith—the King didnae ken what to make of him— he’d the King a raigl’t.


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But, anyway, here, now, to make a long story short, he goes and tells—he gets throu the savages and that, he gets throu the savages to tell what happent aboot the corn and they were stervin—this country was stervin. Well, now, “How are ye goin’ to get the wheat and that back?” the savages says tae him. Jeck says, “I’ll get the wheat and that back.” Noo, there was something bitin’ the back of his neck, and Jeck put his hand doon the back of his neck, cried—he caught a flea, and he turns the skin ootside-in, for a bag. He says, “Fill that.” So the King started laughin’, “Haw, haw—.” Says Jeck, “Whar are ye laughin’ at, man?” “Fill a flea-skin,” he says, “with wheat and corn,” he says, “that’s ridiculous!” “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” says Jeck. “Well—oh, no, oh, no,” said the King. I’ll no cry ye a liar.” (He was gettin’ a bit stupid noo, ye see.) “Well,” he says, “they pit four-hundred and fifty thoosand ton,” he says, “of wheat,” he says, “in the flea-skin.” “God bless us!” said the King; “that’s an aafie corn,” he says, “and wheat,” he says, “tae pit in a, intil a flea-skin. And,” he says, “how did ye get it ower?” “Ah,” he says, “that was the bloomin’ trouble,” he says, Jeck says. “I was in a mess noo,” he says, “I startit trailin’ it and humpin’ it on my back.” “Thoosands of tons on your back, Jeck?” “Aye,” says Jeck, “thoosands of tons. D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” “Oh, no,” said the King. “Well,” he said, “what cam owre but a flock of geese? And,” he says, “the sky,” he says—“I thought there were going to be a thunderstorm,” he said, “there were so many geese,” he said, “it blackent the sun. And,” he says, “they cam doon lower, and cam doon lower, and when they cam doon lower, the first of them says to me, ‘Jeck, Jeck, are ye in a bit of trouble?’ he says. ‘We were flyin away to Scotland,’ he says, ‘and weseen you doon ablow us,’ he says, ‘and some of them says, “There’s Jeck doon there, we’ll hae to go doon and help him.”’ ‘It was very kind of ye,’” Jack says to the geese. He says, “The geese spoke t’ye and cam doon to help ye, Jeck?” “Aye,” says Jeck. He says, “What did they dae?” “Ah, that is what I’m gaun to tell ye,” said Jeck. “They tell’t me to get on, on their back. And they spread oot their wings, flat on the grund, just like a big sheet—like a big blanket,” he says, “over this wide area,” he says, “of desert.” “And what happent?” says the King. “Well,” he says, “I humphed and plowtered,” he says, “till I got the corn and the wheat”, he says, “owre on top of the seagulls’s back. And I sat doon beside the corn,” he says, “and I fell fast asleep. But,” he says, “when I wakent up,” he says, “I’m fleean owre the North Sea, and I’m lookin’ doon at wee ships,” he says, “gettin’ wrecked in the gale. And,” he says, “I could dae nothin’ to help them. And,” he says, “I’m lookin’ owre the side—” “How did ye look owre the side?” he says. “How monie geese were they?” He says, “They were five hundert and fifty million.”

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“Five hundert and fifty million!” says the King—“God bliss!” “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” says Jeck. He says, “How did ye see doon throu the geese, Jeck?” He says, “I jist opent the feathers up like that,” he says, “and lookt throu a hole,” he says, “throu them. And,” he says, ‘I could see everything,” he says, “like a telescope,” he says, “doon throu the geese’s belly,” he says, “doon throu their stomicks, the wings.” “God bliss us!” said the King. “I never heard the like of that before.” “Naw,” says he, “and it will be a while before ye hear’t again,” says Jeck. “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” “Oh, no,” said the King. Well, Toby, it went on like that. They were comin’ across the North Sea, and they were near the Scottish coasts, when aa the geese startit to speak to each other, and, aw, there was an aafie noise, wi’ them kecklin’ and cairryin’-on. They got tired, wi’ the weight of corn on their back, this thoosans of ton of wheat and corn on their back—they got tired. So here now, when they [were] fleean owre, they said, “Jeck, we’ll hae to let ye go.” He says: “We can dae nothing. We’re on Scotland, the ground of Scotland now, and,” he says, “we’re tired,” he says. ‘Ye’ll need to let us go.” “And the geese done a dirty thing, King.” “What did they dae?” said the King. (The King’s interested noo, ye see.) “What did they dae?” said the King. “They opent up their wings, and put me and the corn and the wheat, cam doon,” he says, “they cam mountin’—the noise,” he says, “frae the heavens,” he says, “like a thunderbolt or thunderstorm,” he says, “of hailstones, the corn and the wheat comin’ throu the sky, and I’m comin’ doon along wi’d.” “Gode bliss us!” says the King, “did ye get kilt, Jeck?” “Ah,” says Jeck, “haud on till ye hear what happent. I cam’ doon that fast,” he said, “I thought I’d land,” he says, “at my mother’s back-door,” he says, “but instead of me landin’ at the back-door,” he says, “I went on to a big rock,” he says, “that was sittin’ beside the shore,” he says, “up to the neck,” he says, “into a big whinstane rock.” “Up to the neck—wis ye not kilt?” says the King. “Naw,” says Jeck, “I was stuck in the rock and I couldnae get oot. And,” he says, “all I could dae,” he says, “was to move my heid back and forrit like that,” he says, “and I couldnae get oot, my body’s disappeart into the rock.” “Och,” says the King, “I wadnae believe that, Jeck.” “Ye wadnae believe—d’ye mean to cry me a liar?” “Oh, no,” says the King. “I wadnae cry ye a liar.” “Well,” he says, “I didnae know what to dae,” says Jeck, he says, “and I’d only aboot two hundert yairds or three hundert yairds,” he says, “to go hame,” he says, “to my mother’s hoose. And all the corn,” he says,—“covert the wud,” he says, “there were nae trees to be seen,” he says—“so much corn and everything. And”, he says, “in the excitement of the birds comin pickin’ the corn and everything,” he says, “I didnae ken what to do. I tried to shove mysel’ oot of the rock, and I couldnae. And,” he says, “the best thing I can dae is try and manoeuvre my sword—” he’d this old sword—he says, “I have it at my side here,” he says, “this sword here,”—he says, “it cost me a few thoosan’ pound, that sword.”


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The King looked at the scythe-blade, and he says, “That a sword?” he says. “That’s a scythe-blade.” “That a scythe-blade!” says Jeck. “It’s a better sword,” he says, “than monie guid men,” he says, “has doon in the courtyaird doon there.” “Ach! That’s a scythe-blade.” “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” says Jeck. “No, no,” says the King, he says. “That’s a good gold sword you’ve got.” (See!) “Well,” he says, “I plowtert,” he says, “and I moved my airm back and forrit,” he says, “and I cut my heid off.” “Ye cut your heid off!” says the King. “Yes,” he says, “and it was the only wey I could get away,” he says. “I tellt my heid to run hame and tell my mother to come wi’ help, to get me oot of the rock.” “Ye tellt your heid,” he says, “to run hame! How did ye manage that, Jeck?” he says, “when ye’d nae heid on?” “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” says Jeck. “Oh, no,” says the King. “I’ll no cry ye a liar.” “Well,” he says, “my heid rowellt hame,” he says, “and I tellt it to hurry up, and the heid startit rowellin’ like a big baa,” he says, “along this dusty track. But,” he says, “as my heid was goin’ on the road,” he says, “here there was a fox,” he says, “stole my mother’s hens—I hatit this fox,” he says. “I’d two or three shots at it and I missed it. But,” he says, “the fox started to chase my heid. And it’s efter it,” he says. “And I’m sayin’, ‘Run, heid, run!’ I’m sayin’. ‘Run, heid, run!’ I’m shoutin’.” “How could ye shout,” he says, “like that, Jeck,” he says, “without a heid,” he says. “How did your heid get on?” “Just a minute,” he says. “D’ye mean to cry me a liar?” says Jeck. “Oh, no,” said the King. “I’ll no cry ye a liar.” “Well,” he says,” the fox was catchin’ up on my heid—catchin’ up on my heid,” he says, “and jist when the fox was goin’ to catch up on my heid—goin’ to bounce my heid,” he says, “wi’ the excitement I cried, ‘Hooch!’ and I jumped richt oot of the rock. And when I jumped oot of the rock, I ran efter the fox,” he says, “whan it’s got a grip of my heid in its mouth. And,” he says, “I kickit the fox, and I kickit the fox, and I kickit the fox, and I kickit siven young foxes oot of the fox,” he says. “And,” he says, “d’ye ken this, King?” “No, it’s what?” says the King (and the King’s gettin’ excited, and he’s sittin’ up in his bed by this time, ye see—he feels right, too)—he says, “I kickit siven young foxes oot of the fox,” he says, “and,” he says, “the worst fox’s shite was better’n you.” “YE’RE A LIAR!” says the King. “Well,” he says, “for that,” he says, “I’ll get your daughter’s haund in marriage, and your castle,” and the king faintit and dee’d. And he’s there yet, Toby, and he’s mairrit to the lassie. That was a good story, Toby, eh? School of Scottish Studies. Told to Hamish Henderson by Andra Stewart, 1956. TYPE 852. MOTIFS: H.342.1 [Suitor test: forcing princess (king) to say, “That is a lie”]; X.108 [Lie: Occupations of remarkable man]; X.1110 [The wonderful hunt];

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X.1258 [Lies about geese]; X.1731.2.1 [Man falls from height and is buried in earth]; X.905.1 [Master brought to say, “You lie!”]. This is a widespread tale. It is in Grimm (no. 112), and is spread all over Europe, and in Africa, America, India, and Indonesia. 228 Irish versions are cited (Béaloideas, IV, pp. 151ff.) and even more are cited in The Types of the Irish Folktale (O’Suilleabhain and Christiansen). See “Jack and the King”. For rather similar tales see also “Daft Jack and the Heiress”, “The Princess of Canterbury”.

THE KING AND THE NORTHERN MAN There was a man who had had handed over to him from his father in Northumberland, in a dale, a fair estate in land. The old man kept in his time a good house in the country, and staved the wolf from the door; and it was the king’s land which he held, and twenty shillings a year he paid to our lord the king therefore. In due course, then, the father died, and the eldest son succeeded to him, paying the same rent. A wife and bairns and an aged mother had he to keep by his labour; yet well enough he might have thriven withal, but a crafty lawyer, who collected the rents for our lord the king, and who had a farm just adjoining this one, cast a grudging eye on the poor man’s estate, and thought within himself how he might compass his downfall. So he went to this husbandman on a time, and said to him: “Thy lease has expired. The king wins no credit from such fellows as thee. Thou must depart. The world is before thee.” The poor man prayed him to be a good master unto him, and to grant him a continuance of his lease, and he would give him forty shillings. But the crafty lawyer declared that not even forty pounds would satisfy him, for he must yield up his farm to him, and lie at his courtesy. “I have a wife and bairns,” said the poor man; “I cannot do so. Thou seemest a good fellow. Leave me free in my land, and I will give thee five marks.” The lawyer refused to hearken unto the husbandman, and threatened to dispossess him and his from their holding; and the neighbours privily held counsel with the poor northern man, and spurred him on to laying his case before the king himself. He was nearly distracted, and scarce knew what to do. But at last he asked his old mother’s blessing on his knees, and took leave of his wife and bairns, and fetched out his bob-tailed dog, saying unto him, “And thou sall gang wi’ me to the king.” His jerkin was of gray, and his bonnet was blue; and he carried a good staff in his hand, and he and his bob-tailed dog forth went on their way. Hardly a mile and a bit had he walked from the town, when he met one of his neighbours, and begged of him how far it might be to the king’s court, for thitherward, quoth he, he was bound, as fast as he could hie. The other said he was sorry for him; it was a matter of nine or ten days’ journey to the king. “Alack,” cried the poor husbandman, “had I wist it had been so far to him, I would never have gone out of the town, and had liever spent some silver at home.”


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They trudged along, he and his dog, and little had they to eat, and hard was their lodging. Many and many a day passed, and mile after mile was left behind, ere they spied the steeples of churches, and the house-tops as thick together as could be. “There is no cheap land hereabout,” thought the husbandman. But when he came unto London city, and inquired for the king, they told him that he was at Whitehall. So thither accordingly he repaired, and as he went, he was amazed at the fine dresses of the folks whom he met in the streets. “Good God!” he cried, “If a man had a thousand pound, he might come to the end of it here.” He went to a tavern, and gat his supper, and then went to bed. But he lay so long the next morning, that the court had removed to Windsor. “Ye ha’ lain too long, man,” said his host. “The court is gone to Windsor; it is farther to walk by twenty mile.” “Curses upon it!” exclaimed the countryman. “I should ha’ known better. The king had wind of my being here, and has gone out of my way.” “Tush, tush!” said the landlord, “think not he fled for you. But make the best of your way to Windsor. The king will pay your charges.” So to Windsor he went, with his staff on his shoulder, and his bobtailed dog at his heel; and although the gates of the castle stood wide open, he laid on them with his staff, till the whole place echoed with the blows. A porter appeared, and asked him whether he was mad, and what he wanted. “Why, I am a tenant of the king, and must speak with him,” said the poor northern man. “There are plenty here,” answered the porter, “who can deliver a message for thee.” “There is not a knave among ye to whom I will unbosom what I have to tell,” quoth the other. “I were told, ere I left home, I should not get my suit for nought; here’s a penny for thee.” “Thanks,” said the porter; “I’ll fetch a nobleman to thee, to hear what thou hast to say.” The porter told the nobleman that a clown was at the gate; no such strange fellow had been seen there this seven year, and he called them all knaves that the king kept, and was exceeding liberal in his rewards, for he had bestowed on him a whole single penny, if he might be let in. The nobleman desired the porter to admit the stranger; and when the porter returned he told the poor northern man to leave his staff behind the door, and to let his dog lie in the courtyard. “A pretty cur thou hast brought with thee!” said the porter. “I’ll warrant, if the king see him, he will want to keep him for himself.” “I’ll be hanged,” said the poor northern man, “if I go to the king without my staff and my dog; there may be fellows hanging about that, for lack of money, will pick my purse.” “Yea,” replied the porter; “I reckon you should go well armed, for you do not know what may happen.” “Let him in with his dog and his staff,” said a courtier,advancing: and the stranger bobbed and ducked, and thought it might have been the king. “If ye be sir king,” quoth he, “as I verily trow ye are, ye’re the goodliest man that ever I see. So many jingle-jangles about a fellow’s neck I never beheld in my days before.” The courtier told him that he was not the king, though he had a fine coat, and the other said: “If ye be not he, help me to the speech of him, and I’ll give ye a groat.”

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The courtier went to the king, and let him understand what kind of man was outside, and demanded an audience of him, and dubbed all rogues or worse that were in the place; and the king desired that he should be admitted with his staff and dog, and when the game of bowls was over which the king was playing, he would hear what he had to say. So the courtier fetched the poor northern man, who followed him with his staff in his hand, and his bob-tailed dog at his heel, through all the courts and rooms and ante-rooms, and he wondered why the king left them all empty instead of filling them up with corn and hay, and he looked up to the painted ceilings and stumbled over something, and fell sprawling on the ground. At last they came within sight of the alley where the king and his friends were playing at bowls; and the king had taken off his doublet, and was in his shirt, the weather was so hot. “Lo,” said the courtier, “the king is yonder, fellow; he’ll speak with thee anon.” “What!” said the stranger,” he in his shirt? Why, he is an unthrift, that hath spent his money and pawned his coat! Beshrew me, if that fellow in yon gay clothes hath not won his coin and his doublet of him.” But when the courtier approached the king, he made obeisance to him, and the poor northern man then knew that he was indeed him whom he had sought from so far; and when the king gave him leave, he shewed him the whole case. “Where is your lease, man?” asked the king. “Here it be, sir,” replied the poor farmer,” if you can read.” “Why, what if I cannot?” returned our king. “I have a son, seven year old, who can read it as fast as thou canst run on the highway.” The king took the lease, and when he had read it, then he said to the poor northern man: “I warrant thee, thou haddest not forfeited it, though thou had felled five ash trees more.” “Ay, ay,” quoth the other, “none of your warrants for me. He that is at me about this, cares nought for your warrants or mine.” “He shall have an injunction,” said the king, “to restrain him from troubling thee, fellow.” “What sort of a thing be that?” asked the stranger. “Why,” answered his grace, “it is a letter that I will cause to be written to him.” “O!” said the stranger, “keep it to yourself; I could ha’ got one written a long way cheaper in my own country.” “It is an attachment,” said our king, “till he pay thee a hundred pounds, good fellow; and thou canst call on all thy neighbours to take part with thee.” “I see that you are fond of writing,” said the stranger. “I see,” said our king, smiling, “that thou art hard of belief.” “Well,” said the poor northern man, “for thy pains, I give thee a shilling.” “I’ll have none of thy shilling,” said our king. But the fellow threw it, so that it fell inside his shirt, next to his skin. “Beshrew thee!” said our king, ‘dost thou not see I am hot with bowling? Thy shilling strikes cold to me.” Then our king, when he wearied a little of this talk, sent for twenty pound, and said unto the poor northern man, “Here, fellow, is for thy charges up and down.”


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And the poor northern man took the gold wonderingly, thinking to himself that if he had known the king had so much, he would have kept his shilling in his purse. “Farewell, good fellow,” said our king, then; “and see if the lawyer do not obey our command, when he has our letter delivered to him.” The courtiers gave him a good dinner, and taking him to the winecellar, made him drunk; and when he had come to himself, away he started on his journey home, staff in hand, his dog and he. The lawyer met him in the street on the Monday morning after his return, and cried, “Well, you are a stranger indeed!” And then he told him where he had been, and the lawyer asked him why they could not have settled the dispute in a neighbourly way. So the poor northern man shewed him how he was no match for the like of him, nor were his neighbours; and he had got a letter from the king for him. Now the king’s letter was to command that the lawyer should be seized and put into the stocks till he had paid the poor northern man one hundred pounds; and when the lawyer said the letter was good, and that he would go home and fetch the money, the neighbours took him and bound him, and till the poor northern man was satisfied there he stayed. And the poor northern man was commended for his good courage; and he saw well that the letter of our lord the king had more virtue than if he had got one written for him cheap in his own country. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 439. TYPE 921 (variant). This tale differs from others like it in that the hero does not meet the king incognito, but makes a direct appeal to him. See “The King and the Hermit”, “The King and the Tanner”.

THE KING AND THE TANNER [summary] King Edward, out hunting with some lords in Warwickshire, met a tanner of Daventry, riding bareback some way ahead of him, with a number of black cow-hides hanging down on either side for his only saddle, and the horns were still on the hides. He was on his way to the tan-yard; but the king overtook him, and bade him good-day; first bidding his lords to wait in the rear, while he made sport with the tanner. He asked the man the way to Drayton Bassett, and was told: “Turn left when thou comest to the gallows tree.” “I will beg the Lord Bassett to requite thee for thy courtesy,” replied the king. “Wilt thou not accompany me to him?” But the tanner answered that he was in haste to get to the end of his own journey, and the stranger’s horse was better than his own. He asked the king what sort of a man he was, and being told, “A wanderer about,” replied: “I had a brother that followed that kind of trade, and he came to a bad end.” Still the king pressed the tanner to ride with him, if it were only a mile; the man still roundly refused, until, hearing sounds behind him, he looked round and saw the king’s men riding up at speed. He took them for a band of thieves, and not wishing to be robbed

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of his hides and his money, he said to the king: “For fellowship, then, I will ride with thee. If we meet again, thou must do as much for me.” So, as they rode, the king inquired of the man what reputation the Lord Bassett had in those parts. But the man said he knew but little of him, for he bought none of his leather; but that his servants spoke of him as a good man. At last they came to Drayton Bassett, and seeing that Lord Bassett and the rest, as they dismounted, knelt before the king, the tanner knew the truth, and would have slunk away, in fear of being hanged for his plain speaking; but the king was watching him, and bade him stay, for they were going hunting together. When they came to the chase, the king made the tanner change horses with him, for his own, he said, stood too high. Laying his hides across the back of the king’s horse, the tanner mounted, but the black hides so frightened the horse that it bolted, the rider’s head struck the bough of an oak, and he fell sprawling to the ground. The king laughed aloud, saying, “I could not help laughing, wert thou my own mother!” But the tanner boldly replied: “I beshrew the son who could make sport of his own mother so!” But at the end, the king changed horses with him again, and they promised to entertain one another if ever they met again, and when they reached Drayton Bassett, the king commanded a recompense of a hundred shillings to be given to the tanner, and they parted in friendship. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 362. Child, no. 273. TYPE 921 (variant). See also “The King and the Hermit”, “The King and the Northern Man”.

THE LADY IN WANT OF A HUSBAND [summary] A handsome young gypsy was walking down the road at the entrance to Nottingham, when he saw some big notices saying that a certain great lady was in want of a husband. He heard that she was rich, and beautiful and a princess, and the description of the man she wanted just fitted himself. So he determined to go the next morning and apply for the job. In the meantime, however, some workmen warned him that this lady had had seven husbands already, and no one knew what had become of them. But, though on his guard, he nevertheless, being bold and in need of money, went to the house next morning, and knocked at the door. A maidservant answered, and asked whether he had come to marry her mistress. “Yes, if she is willing,” he replied, and the girl took him upstairs, and the lady at once decided that he was the very man she wanted. They had a grand wedding, and all seemed well. But during their first night together, the man woke up, and found that his wife was not there. In the morning she was back in bed, and asked him if he had slept well. His suspicions were aroused, but he said nothing. The next night the same thing happened. So the third night the husband only pretended to go to sleep. Presently his wife slipped out of bed, dressed herself quietly, and crept downstairs. Her husband followed at a safe distance, and she left the house, and took a little pathway that led to some graves. On one


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of them the soil was loose, and she scooped it away with her hands, and got down into the grave. He crept up to her, and found her eating little bits of flesh and bone. “What are you eating, my dear?” he said. “CORPSE, YOU WRETCH, CORPSE.” Dora E. Yates, Gypsy Folk Tales, p. 149. TYPE 507A (variant). MOTIFS: T.172 [Dangers to bridegroom in bridal chamber]; T.173, [Murderous bride]. This is a distant variant of the tale of the possessed bride who destroys her husband on the bridal night. It has been given a slightly jocular turn, and the supernatural element is omitted. The bride’s reply had probably been bowdlerized in this version. In another version she says, “Corpse, you bugger, Corpse”.

THE LADY ISABEL [summary] In the fifteenth century a Scottish baron had a daughter, the Lady Isabel, who was far famed for her beauty and her wealth; but these were matched by her virtues—above all, by her devotion to her father. She was his idol, and he had resolved to marry her to the son of his oldest friend, the owner of broad lands in a distant part of Scotland. The two had never met, for the young man had been sent abroad, to learn the art of war; and though all reports spoke of his manly beauty and qualities, the Lady Isabel could not love him; for she had given her heart to his cousin Roderick, a penniless, yet noble and gallant youth, who had confessed his love for her. He too had departed abroad, having no hope of winning his lady, and she, resolved to do her duty to her father, refused many suitors, but could not prevent her sad feelings from showing in her face and behaviour; so that her father, who knew the young Roderick to be all that he could wish in his daughter’s chosen lover, almost repented of his former promise to his old friend, yet could not bring himself to break it. When her nineteenth birthday was near, her father sent out invitations to a host of friends, and prepared such a banquet as had never before been held even in that hospitable hall. None, not even the Lady Isabel, could tell why such lavish entertainment should be provided, nor why chests of magnificent clothing and jewellery should be added to all those she already possessed. When all was done, and the day arrived, the old Baron confessed to her that on that night, the Earl of Ormisdale, her affianced lover, would arrive, and that it was his wish that all his guests, on leaving the banqueting hall, and before they entered the ballroom, should put on masks. He did not wish her motion on first meeting her betrothed to be too plainly visible to all. She begged for a more private meeting, but he was determined that all should be as he had planned. As always, she obeyed, and the ball began, the Lady Isabel playing her full part in it, her heart all the time filled with anxious fear and trouble. A flourish of trumpets heralded the arrival of the young Earl. He was masked like the rest, and after being presented to her, led the Lady Isabel out to the dance. As they sat together after the dance, he spoke to her gently and at last won her to confess that her

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heart was already given to another. Yet, she said, for her father’s sake, if he would consent to marry her on such terms, she was ready to become his wife. Her father then came up and told her that this must be her bridal night; for his purpose the banquet and ball had been given; and in the midst of her astonishment and despair, he loudly called on all the guests to unmask. The young Earl unmasked with the rest, and was discovered to be no other than Roderick himself. His cousin was dead, and he was now the Earl of Ormisdale. So the night ended in rejoicing and the Lady Isabel had the reward of her devotion. The Book of Scottish Story, pp. 336–9. MOTIFS: T.69.2 [Parents affiance children without their knowledge]; T.131.1.2.1 [Girl must marry her father’s choice]; T.134.2 [Betrothed parties do not see each other till night of wedding]; T.96 [Lovers reunited]; Q.65 [Filial duty rewarded].

THE LIFE-SAVING RIDDLE: I There was a man convicted of stealing a sheep; he was sentenced to death, but the magistrates said he could go free if he could ask a riddle they could not answer, and he was liberated for three days so that he might invent one. As he went out of prison he saw a horse’s skull by the roadside. Returning to prison on the third day in despair, he noticed that in it was a bird’s nest with six young ones, and he thought of the following riddle: “As I walked out, As I walked out, From the dead I saw the living spring. Blessed may Christ Jesu be For the six have set the seventh free.” E.M.Leather, Herefordshire, pp. 178–9.

THE LIFE-SAVING RIDDLE: II There was once a lady, very beautiful, and well-born. For some reason or other she was condemned to die a cruel death. She pleaded her case, and her beauty and her great goodness touched the judges, till they so far relaxed their severity, as to promise that she should save her neck if she could propose a riddle which they could not answer in three days. She was given a day to prepare. They came to her in her cell to know the riddle. She said: “Love I sit, Love I stand,


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Love I hold, Fast in hand. I see Love, Love sees not me. Riddle me that Or hanged I’ll be.” The judges could not guess, so she was acquitted. Then she gave them the explanation. She had a dog called “Love”. She had killed it, and with its skin had made socks for her shoes—on these she stood; gloves for her hands—and these she held; a seat for her chair—on that she sat; she looked at her gloves and she saw Love; but Love saw her no more. F.J.Norton, Folk-Lore (March 1942), p. 35. W.Henderson, Notes on the Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties of England and the Borders. Appendix of Household Tales, by S.Baring-Gould, p. 318.

THE LIFE-SAVING RIDDLE: III A young man had been sentenced to be transported for some crime, but if he could make a true riddle, he should be set free. He went into the garden with his mother, and she told him to draw milk from her breast through her wedding ring, and they made up this riddle about it: “A riddle, a riddle to you I’ll tell, He drank out of a needful well; Through a golden ring the stream it run, And in the garden the deed was done.” Told at Bromyard, 1908. Leather, Herefordshire, p. 179. TYPE 927. MOTIFS: H.542 [Death sentence escaped by propounding riddle judge cannot guess]; H.793 [Riddle: seven tongues in a head]; H.805 [Riddle of the murdered lover—this has been bowdlerized by making Love a dog]; H.790 [Riddle based on unusual circumstances]. See F.J.Norton, Folk-Lore, March 1942, pp. 27–57, for a full examination of this tale. The versions of it which have survived in both England and America are slight and incomplete, and mostly whittled down to riddles, of which Norton has made a large collection, both from England and America. One of the most complete is “Tom Otter”, which was contributed to Notes and Queries, VIII, p. 208, by T.R.E.N.T. It is as follows: “The two versions of an old riddle given below are commonly current in Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire, in which counties they are believed by tradition to refer to a titmouse and her brood, found between the jaw-bones of the murderer, Tom Otter, who was gibbeted in the parish of Saxilby in the year 1806:

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“There were nine tongues within one head; The tenth went out to seek for bread, To feed the living within the dead. As I went out, so I came in, And out of the dead I saw the living spring; Seven there were, and six there be, Tell me the riddle, and then hang me.” Notes and Queries, VIII, p. 208. The first version is given verbatim in Lincolnshire Notes and Queries, II, p. 183, in an article on Tom Otter (really Temporel, or Temple), by R.E.C., who gives a similar explanation of the riddle. See also “Under the Earth I Go”.

THE MILLER OF ABINGDON In the town of Abingdon there formerly dwelled a widow, that had two sons. These young fellows went to school at Cambridge, which lay five miles distant: little learning enough they gat, and all that they had to keep them at bed and board, and to clothe them withal, their poor mother gave, for other means of nurture they had none. Seven years she kept these lads at school, and then she said to them, that the times were so hard and dear that she could do no more for them. Her sons bad her to be of good cheer, for, quoth they, we will go up and down the country, and make our suit to kind people, and all will go well. So they started on their travels, and throve so well, that they brought back to the old woman, ere many days were over, a bushel or two of wheat. Full glad was she at this sight; but they lost no time, and borrowing a neighbour’s horse, took it to the mill to be ground. A jolly fellow was the miller of Abingdon, and he had a fair daughter with a charming face and figure. Jenkyn, the town-clerk, loved her right well, did he. Now, this miller was a shrewd man, and of every one’s corn which came to him, the blame was not his if he did not take pretty heavy toll. The two poor scholars knew with what sort of a customer they had to deal, and arranged to watch him closely while their corn was being ground, in order that none might be lost; and they even let him understand that they could not afford to let any go astray, so precious to them it was. The miller, who well comprehended what this their drift was, was at first rather perplexed when he saw how wary the youths were, and wondered how he should circumvent them. A happy thought came into his head. He took his little son aside, and said to him so: “Boy, loose these fellows’ horse privily, and lead him into our back-yard ere the meal be ready. I will be even with them yet.” The little boy did as he was bidden, and when the sack was filled up one of the youngsters heaved it on his shoulders, and down they went, both of them, to lay it on the horse’s neck, and so return home. But they when reached the door, and looked out, no horse was there. “Alas! alas!” they cried, “we are undone; our horse has run away.”


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“By God!” exclaimed the miller, holding up his hands, “then see you him no more; for some thief has spied him out, and has made away with him.” One scholar said to his companion, “Let us go in search of him, you one way, and I the other.” But so afeared were they lest the miller should purloin some of their meal while they were away, that they tied the sack up tightly, and set a seal on it. When they had at last set out the miller laughed heartily to himself, and sware many a good oath, that if he might get none of their corn, he would help himself to their meal. His daughter came to the mill, to bring him his dinner, and he brake unto her the whole case. He related to her how two scholars had come on horseback from Abingdon, to have a measure of corn ground, “and they gave me a hint,” quoth he,” that they would not have me steal any of it.” The girl smiled. “But, daughter,” he continued, “fetch me a white sheet, prythee, and we will see what can be done.” So she did; and they two placed the sheet on the floor, and shook the sack lustily over it, so that a good bit of meal escaped through and yet the sack was whole. They shook the sack, and beat it, till they had got a fair peck for their pains. The miller bad his daughter take up the sheet and when she had, he held a bag, into which she emptied the loose flour. “And now, daughter,” he said, “go home with that to your mother, and tell her the news.” So the maiden did. Meanwhile the scholars, after wandering about the whole day, could get no intelligence of their horse, and they thought that the best thing to be done was to return to the mill, and carry the sack by turn to Abingdon, as best they might. The miller was sorely afflicted by the news which they brought, and was as greatly astonished as they were at the disappearance of the animal. They told him, however, that they thought the wisest course would be to put up for the night at his house, if he would kindly lodge them, and resume their search in the morning. “For,” said they, “it will never do to shew ourselves in Abingdon without the horse.” “By God!” cried the miller, “that gladly will I, sirs, and you shall sup to your full content.” “We will pay you your price, whatever it be,” they rejoined, somewhat proudly. So, presently, going to fetch the sack, where they had left it, one of them lifted it up to see how heavy it was. “By St John!” cried he, “that fellow has helped himself, I will wager a crown.” “Nay, nay,” put in the other; “look, the sack is unbroken.” They said no more, and, carrying the sack between them, the scholars accompanied the miller to his house. The miller’s wife welcomed them, and his daughter too, and they asked them to sit round the fire, while the supper was being gotten ready. They soon set to their meal, and there was good ale, with which they wet their mouths well; but one of the brothers could not keep his eyes off the miller’s daughter, and he privily trod on her foot, whereat she blushed, and turned her face from him away. Ths supper over, says the miller to his daughter, “Get a bed ready for these scholars, and make it comfortable, that they may sleep till day.” Turning to them, “And if so be

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you hear any noise in the night, you may suppose it is my man, who is at work up town; when he comes in the dog will bark.” Now the person whom the miller meant was Jenkyn, the lover of his daughter; and they all slept in the same loft, and Jenkyn had one bed, and the miller and his wife a second, and the maiden her own, being the third. The two scholars lay in a room just adjoining, and they had to pass to it through the other; and as they passed their eyes fell on a cake, which the girl had made for Jenkyn, against the time he came. But little guessed they it was from their flour. An accident, however, detained Jenkyn in town that night. He had to go to a fair by daybreak the next morning, and so had no choice but to sleep at Abingdon. The two brothers lay in bed, talking each to other in a whisper. One said to the other: “By God and St Michael! I can get no sleep for thinking of that girl. I should like ever so much to contrive some means of finding my way to her.” “O, that is nonsense,” his brother said, “I am thinking of our horse, that we borrowed, and by Jesus, that us so dearly bought! I would that we might come by him again!” But the other prayed him to lie still while he got up and tried the door. He opened it very quietly, and a low voice inside murmured, “Jenkyn, are you there?” “Yea, forsooth,” rejoined the scholar, in an undertone: and in he went. The room was dark, and he did not know his way about, and instead of making for the bed, he bruised his shin against a form, which made him groan. “Why, Jenkyn,” said the voice again, “you ought to be able to manage better than that by this time.” And by the sound he was guided to the right point, though he could not help laughing in his sleeve at the damsel’s mistake. When they had been together for some little time, she told him all about the two scholars, who had come to her father’s mill on the Monday morning with their corn, and how the miller had treated their horse, in order to have his will of the meal, and how when the horse could not be found they arranged to sleep at the miller’s, and were in the next room. The scholar, whom she took to be Jenkyn, laughed at the tale, and said, “That was cleverly managed, my darling.” And so they fell asleep. The miller’s wife had occasion to rise, and though she was so familar with the place, it was a spacious apartment where they lay, and she at first went astray; but presently she knew that she had found her husband’s bed, because at the foot there was a child’s cradle, and when her hand touched the cradle, she was sure that she was in the right track; for she was not aware that the other scholar had artfully shifted the cradle while she still slept, and laid it by the side of his own couch. She lifted up the coverlet unsuspectingly, and lay down by the scholar. The miller was as sound as a rock. The fellow that feigned himself to be Jenkyn knew better than to wait for daybreak, and he said to the miller’s daughter: “My dear, I must dress myself, for I have to attend a fair the very first thing in the morning.” “Buy me, sweeting,” she whispered, “cloth for a new gown, and I will give you the money when I see you.” “By Jesus!” he replied, “I have but three shillings; that will not be enough.” She put her hand out of bed, and gave him out of a money-box thirty shillings, and the cake also, which, quoth she, she had made expressly for him.


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The scholar wished her good day; for, as he told her, his master would expect him by cockcrow, and went away merrily with the money and his cake. But he thought that, as he passed his brother’s bed, he would let him understand what good fortune he had had; and groping in the dark till he came to the one without the cradle, he roused the miller out of his sleep, and unfolded the whole story, even to the concealment of the horse in the millyard. The miller started up, and there was a fine fray, in the course of which the miller had his head broken, and the scholar escaped. He rejoined his brother; they hastened to the mill, recovered their horse, threw the sack of flour on his back, and made the best of their way home with their thirty shillings, their cake and their meal. They gave back the horse to their neighbour, and repaired to Cambridge, by their mother’s advice, to be out of the miller’s way. But he kept his bed many a long day through the buffeting which he had got on that ever-to-be-remembered night, while his daughter found that she had given her love, her savings, and the cake to the wrong man. The two scholars prospered well. They had their lodging and entertainment for nothing, the flour of which the miller had cozened them was restored to them with interest; and the money which was to buy the miller’s daughter a new gown at the fair served to gladden the heart of the poor widow. The saying goes that the miller was never allowed to forget how he had once been outwitted by two striplings from Cambridge. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 464. TYPE 1363. MOTIFS: K.1345 [Tale of the cradle]; J.1510 [The cheater cheated]. A common Noodle Tale. Boccaccio, Decameron, IX, no. 6. By a curious geographical error, Abingdon is placed near Cambridge instead of Oxford. See Chaucer, “The Reeve’s Tale”. There are Danish, Scottish, and many Irish versions of this tale recorded.

THE MILLER AT THE PROFESSOR’S EXAMINATION See “The Professor of Signs”. Folklore Record, II, p. 173. Hartland, English Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 253.

MR FOX Lady Mary was young, and Lady Mary was fair. She had two brothers, and more lovers than she could count. But of them all, the bravest and most gallant was a Mr Fox, whom she met when she was down at her father’s country house. No one knew who Mr Fox was; but he was certainly brave, and surely rich, and of all her lovers, Lady Mary cared for him alone. At last it was agreed upon between them that they should be married. Lady Mary asked Mr Fox where they should live, and he described to her his castle, and where it was, but, strange to say, did not ask her, or her brothers, to come and see it.

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So one day, near the wedding-day, when her brothers were out, and Mr Fox was away for a day or two on business, as he said, Lady Mary set out for Mr Fox’s castle. And after many searchings, she came at last to it, and a fine strong house it was, with high walls and a deep moat. And when she came up to the gateway, she saw written on it: BE BOLD, BE BOLD But as the gate was open, she went through it, and found no one there. So she went up to the doorway, and over it she found written: BE BOLD, BE BOLD, BUT NOT TOO BOLD Still she went on, till she came to the hall, and went up the broad stairs till she came to a door in the gallery, over which was written: BE BOLD, BE BOLD, BUT NOT TOO BOLD, LEST THAT YOUR HEART’S BLOOD SHOULD RUN COLD But Lady Mary was a brave one, she was, and she opened the door, and what do you think she saw? Why, bodies and skeletons of beautiful young ladies all stained with blood. So Lady Mary thought it was high time to get out of that horrid place, and she closed the door, went through the gallery, and was just going down the stairs, and out of the hall, when who should she see through the window, but Mr Fox dragging a beautiful young lady along from the gateway to the door. Lady Mary rushed down-stairs, and hid herself behind a cask, just in time, as Mr Fox came in with the young lady, who seemed to have fainted. Just as he got near Lady Mary, Mr Fox saw a diamond ring glittering on the finger of the young lady he was dragging, and he tried to pull it off. But it was tightly fixed, and would not come off, so Mr Fox cursed and swore, and drew his sword, raised it, and brought it down upon the hand of the poor lady. The sword cut off the hand, which jumped up into the air, and fell of all places in the world into Lady Mary’s lap. Mr Fox looked about a bit, but did not think of looking behind the cask, so at last he went on dragging the young lady up the stairs into the Bloody Chamber. As soon as she heard him pass through the gallery, Lady Mary crept out of the door, down through the gateway, and ran home as fast as she could. Now it happened that the very next day the marriage contract of Lady Mary and Mr Fox was to be signed, and there was a splendid breakfast before that. And when Mr Fox was seated at table opposite Lady Mary, he looked at her. “How pale you are this morning, my dear.” “Yes,” she said. “I had a bad night’s rest last night. I had horrible dreams.” “Dreams go by contraries,” said Mr Fox; “but tell us your dream, and your sweet voice will make the time pass till the happy hour comes.”


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“I dreamed,” said Lady Mary, “that I went yestermorn to your castle, and I found it in the woods, with high walls, and a deep moat, and over the gateway was written: BE BOLD, BE BOLD” “But it is not so, nor it was not so,” said Mr Fox. “And when I came to the doorway over it was written: BE BOLD, BE BOLD, BUT NOT TOO BOLD” “It is not so, nor it was not so,” said Mr Fox. “And then I went upstairs, and came to a gallery, at the end of which was a door, on which was written: BE BOLD, BE BOLD, BUT NOT TOO BOLD, LEST THAT YOUR HEART’S BLOOD SHOULD RUN COLD” “It is not so, nor it was not so,” said Mr Fox. “And then—and then I opened the door, and the room was filled with the bodies and skeletons of poor dead women, all stained with their blood.” “It is not so, nor it was not so, and God forbid it should be so,” said Mr Fox. “I then dreamed that I rushed down the gallery, and just as I was going down the stairs, I saw you, Mr Fox, coming up to the hall door, dragging after you a poor young lady, rich and beautiful.” “It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,” said Mr Fox. “I rushed downstairs, just in time to hide myself behind a cask, when you, Mr Fox, came in dragging the young lady by the arm. And, as you passed me, Mr Fox, I thought I saw you try and get off her diamond ring, and when you could not, Mr Fox, it seemed to me in my dream, that you out with your sword and hacked off the poor lady’s hand to get the ring.” “It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,” said Mr Fox, and was going to say something else as he rose from his seat, when Lady Mary cried out: “But it is so, and it was so. Here’s hand and ring I have to show,” and pulled out the lady’s hand from her dress, and pointed it straight at Mr Fox. At once her brothers and her friends drew their swords and cut Mr Fox into a thousand pieces. Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 148. Contributed by Blakeway to Malone’s Variorum Shakespeare. TYPE 995. MOTIFS: K.1916 [Robber bridegroom: robber marries girl under pretence of being a fine gentleman]; S.161 [Mutilation: cutting off hand]; R.210 [Escape]; Z.14 [Runs]; H.57.2.1 [Bridegroom exposed by exhibition of severed hand]; Q.211 [Murder punished].

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See “Mr Fox’s Courtship” (below), with notes. See also “The Oxford Student”, (B, VIII), “The Brave Maid Servant” (B, IX), “The Cellar of Blood”.

MR FOX’S COURTSHIP There were a young maid as had a girt vortune in gold an’ silver, an’ a red-headed hosebud called Mr Fox came a-courting she. He’d a tongue on him zo smooth as scald cream, an’ the maid her liked ’n more’n a bit. But she didn’t trust ’n, mind, not altogether, so when he asked her to meet’n over-right the covert one Saturday night her didn’t gainsay ’n nor yet her didn’t zay no. Mind he were sure she’d go and she was bound to zee for herzelf zince her mind wasn’t quite clear ’bout ’n. Her bedecked herself and ’er went there early on and was up top of a girt tree when Mr Fox comed by. And he didn’t come alone nuther! There was the two of en a-digging a grave right under the tree. Then they took out knives, so they did, and they waited for the maid to come along, see. Well, they waited and they waited. Her zoul a’most vailed her and she was ready to swound to find he wasn’t worth a nort. But her were a spirity maid! And when morning come she did climb down and go on home. The next time Mr Fox come a-courting and showing all his teeth properly agrin, she asks’n a riddle, see: “Last Zaturday night as I zat high, Awaiting vor one, but tew come by, Tree it did bend, my zoul it did quake Vor to see the hole they two did make—” Then Mr Fox he stops agrinning all to a sudden, and he outs the window like a vlash of vire. But the maid her’d a-told the Hunt where he was to and there they all was a-waiting vor’n. Don’t reckon he digged no more graves for pretty young maidens with vortunes. The Folktales of England, p. 90. Recorded from Ruth L.Tongue, 29 September 1963, who heard this cante-fable from a farmer’s daughter who was told it by her grandfather in Thorn St Margaret on the Blackdown Hills. TYPE 955C (Baughman). MOTIFS: G.661.1 [Ogre’s secrets overheard from tree]; B.651.1 [Marriage to fox in human form]. Baughman cites six English versions, and five from the United States. Miss Tongue knew two Somerset songs on this theme: False Foxes I Where was I last Saturday night? Up in the ivy-tree. False foxes under me, Digging a hole to bury me,


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One had a shovel, t’other had a spade, The one that had nothing was heaviest laid, My heart did ache, And my tongue did shake, To see what a hole the fox did make, When I was up in the ivy-tree. False Foxes II Where were I last Saturday night? I were up in the ivy-tree. False foxes under me, Seeking to bury me, Under the ivy-tree. The boughs they did shake, My heart it did quake, To see the grave they digged for me. But as for me, I were up in the tree. Gold and silver and all the world’s wealth, Who leaves a grave open will fill it hisself. As they creeped oop in the dark o’ the moon, I were up in the ivy-tree. They fell in the grave and they di-ed soon; I were up in the ivy-tree. The boughs they did shake, their necks they did break, All in the grave they digged for me. But as for me, I were up in the tree. Gold and silver and all the world’s wealth, Who leaves a grave open will fill it hisself. For the motif of the chorus of this song, see “The Open Grave” (B, Witches). Another fragmentary cante-fable, also from Somerset, contains a riddle, “’Tis too little for a hoss, too large for a bee”, to which the answer runs: “Too little for a hoss, too large for a bee, I reckon ’twas the grave you digged for me.”

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Heard by Miss Tongue about 1910; published in Word-Lore, I (1926), p. 33. See “The Oxford Student” (B, IX), “The Girl who got up a Tree”.

THE NUT-BROWN MAID [summary] The nut-brown maid was a baron’s daughter, whose lover came to her late one night to tell her that because of a false accusation he was condemned to die, or else to fly to an outlaw’s life in the greenwood. She replied that she loved him, whatever might befall, but he bade her a sad farewell, saying that he must be gone by nightfall. She replied that she could never again be happy without him; and if he were indeed bound for the forest, she would go with him. He said: “All will say that you did it from wantonness; your fair name will be gone.” But she answered: “True love is above shame. The blame would be theirs who sought to defame me.” But he warned her that if she followed him she would have to bear a bow, and live, as he would, in ceaseless fear of the law, risking the cruel death of being hanged from a tree. But she said she was ready to do and bear even that, rather than lose his love. He spoke of the thorny forest paths, of frost, snow, rain, with no shelter from summer heat or winter cold; but she told him that she had shared his joys, and was now ready to share his sorrows; for where he was she could not be sad. Then he spoke of hunger and thirst, but she said an archer such as he could always find meat, and the river would give them drink. With youth and health, all this would be as nothing to them. “But are you willing,” he asked, “to cut short your hair, and gird your kirtle as high as your knees, to be better able to bend a bow against an enemy?” “Yes, even this,” was her reply, “and hardest of all, to leave my sweet mother.” To prove her still further, he continued: “You believe this now, but ‘soon hot, soon cold’ is true of all women. Let me go alone.” She reminded him that she had not been easy for him to win, and that at last, she, with her noble ancestry, had been faithful to him, who was only a squire. “God forbid,” he then cried, “that a baron’s child should be beguiled into wedding an outlaw! It would be said that I had foully betrayed thee.” “Never by me,” she answered, “but if you go alone you betray me, then I shall be forsaken indeed and soon die.” “Thou wilt be sad if thou goest with me,”—this was his last warning—“for I have already in the forest a fairer maid than thee, and there will be strife between you.” “If thou hadst a hundred paramours, I would serve them all as their handmaid,” she answered, and at that, at last, he confessed that all had been said only to try her, and see if she was indeed faithful to him. There was no banishment, and he himself was an Earl’s son, and his father being lately dead he would take her as his bride to his broad lands in Westmorland, and endow her with them all. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 235. TYPE 887 (variant). MOTIF: H.387 [Bride test: constancy]. The beautiful fifteenth-century poem of which this is a summary was first printed in Arnold’s Chronicle (Antwerp, 1502). The plot of the lover testing his true love’s


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constancy is a common one, as, for instance, in “The Saucy Sailor”. The final insult, of expecting his old love to welcome a new one, occurs in the ballad of “Fair Annie” (Child, no. 62). See also “The Squire of Low Degree”.

DE ’PINIATED ENGLISHMAN AND HELLFIRE JACK [summary] Boastful Englishman in French hotel provokes a Frenchman into saying he will back his estate against the Englishman’s that he would go and sleep with his wife in his absence. The Englishman had never allowed his wife even to look at another man. Frenchman takes two boxes of jewellery, each worth £2000, and travels through England till he finds the Englishman’s home, where he bribes the washerwoman to help him get into the lady’s room. She conceals him in a chest of drawers, and persuades her mistress to let it be placed in her own bedroom, as she has no room to keep it in her own small house. When the lady comes up to bed, first she kisses her husband’s portrait, then gets into bed, lightly covered as the night is hot. The Frenchman steals a gold garter from her leg, cuts her husband’s name from the quilt, and takes these as proof back to France. Englishman unconvinced till he says that he noticed a small mole under the lady’s left breast. This convinces Englishman he has really been there. Enraged Englishman returns home, denounces his wife, and flings her into pond. He joins the army. Wife not drowned, resolves to be avenged on the Frenchman. Dresses as groom, and gets work in same hotel, hears story of ‘piniated Englishman, and that the man she wants is in the hotel at that moment. Gains introduction to him, draws his sword, and kills him. Seized, and brought to court. Her identity discovered, and she is sentenced to transportation. Bribes two sailors, Hellfire Jack and Damnation Bill, to hide her in a sack, and carry her to London. Divides gold ring with Jack, promising to reward them if they meet again. Still hoping for news of her husband, she opens a free hostel for seafaring men, and at last an old sailor turns up who tells her that her husband had fought furiously against the French, and been cut to pieces. She ceases to grieve for him, and presently Jack and Bill arrive at the hostel, and are richly entertained. Next morning they find new clothes laid out for them, and lady invites them into her parlour. She recognizes Jack, and puts half ring into his wine. Jack retrieves his half, which had been thrown on the midden with his old clothes, and puts both halves into her glass when he pours it out. He and the lady are married, Bill lives with them, and they want for nothing all the rest of their days. Thompson Notebooks, VIII. TYPE 882. MOTIFS: N.15 [Chastity wager]; K.1342 [Entrance into woman’s room by hiding in chest]; K.2112.1 [False tokens of wife’s unfaithfulness]; K.1837 [Disguise of woman in man’s clothes]; Q.411.4 [Death as punishment for treachery]; H.152.1.1 [Woman entertains every traveller in hopes of finding her husband]; H.94 [Identification by ring]. This is a very widespread tale on which several monographs have been written. It was used by Shakespeare as the plot for Cymbeline. This version has an unromantic ending. The husband and wife are never reconciled, and the husband is killed in the wars;

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but the motif of recognition by a ring is used for a later lover. Baughman gives no example of this tale in native tradition.

THE PRINCESS OF CANTERBURY There lived formerly in the County of Cumberland a nobleman who had three sons, two of whom were comely and clever youths, but the other a natural fool, named Jack, who was generally engaged with the sheep: he was dressed in a parti-coloured coat, and a steeple-cro wned hat with a tassel, as became his condition. Now the King of Canterbury had a beautiful daughter, who was dis-tinguished by her great ingenuity and wit, and he issued a decree that whoever should answer three questions put to him by the princess should have her hand in marriage, and be heir to the crown at his decease. Shortly after this decree was published, news of it reached the ears of the nobleman’s sons, and the two clever ones determined to have a trial, but they were sadly at a loss to prevent their idiot brother from going with them. They could not, by any means, get rid of him, and were compelled at length to let Jack accompany them. They had not gone far, before Jack shrieked with laughter, saying, “I’ve found an egg.” “Put it in your pocket,” said the brothers. A little while afterwards, he burst out into another fit of laughter on finding a crooked hazel stick, which he also put in his pocket: and a third time he again laughed extravagantly because he found a nut. That also was put with his other treasures. When they arrived at the palace, they were immediately admitted on mentioning the nature of their business, and were ushered into a room where the princess and her suite were sitting. Jack, who never stood on ceremony, bawled out, “What a troop of fair ladies we’ve got here!” “Yes,” said the princess, “we are fair ladies, for we carry fire in our bosoms.” “Do you?” said Jack, “then roast me an egg,” pulling out the egg from his pocket. “How will you get it out again?” said the princess. “With a crooked stick,” replied Jack, producing the hazel. “Where did that come from?” said the princess. “From a nut,” answered Jack, pulling out the nut from his pocket. “I’ve answered the three questions, and now I’ll have the lady.” “No, no,” said the king, “not so fast. You have still an ordeal to go through. You must come here in a week’s time, and watch for one whole night with the princess, my daughter. If you can manage to keep awake the whole night long, you shall marry her next day.” “But if I can’t?” said Jack. “Then off goes your head,” said the king. “But you need not try unless you like.” Well, Jack went home for a week, and thought over whether he should try and win the princess. At last he made up his mind. “Well,’ says Jack, “I’ll try my vorton; zo now vor the king’s daughter, or a headless shepherd!” And taking his bottle and bag, he trudged to the court. On his way thither, he was obliged to cross a river, and pulling off his shoes and stockings, while he was passing over he observed several pretty fish bobbing against his feet; so he caught some and put them into his pocket. When he reached the palace he knocked at the gate loudly with his crook, and having mentioned the object of his visit, he was immediately conducted to the


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hall where the king’s daughter sat ready prepared to see her lovers. He was placed in a luxurious chair, and rich wines and spices were set before him, and all sorts of delicate meats. Jack, unused to such fare, ate and drank plentifully, so that he was nearly dozing before midnight. “Oh, shepherd,” said the lady, “I have caught you napping!” “Noa, sweet ally, I was busy a-feeshing.” “A fishing,” said the princess in the utmost astonishment: “Nay, shepherd, there is no fish-pond in the hall.” “No matter vor that, I have been fishing in my pocket, and have just caught one.” “Oh me!” said she, “let me see it.” The shepherd slyly drew the fish out of his pocket and, pretending to have caught it, showed it to her, and she declared it was the finest she ever saw. About half an hour afterwards, she said, “Shepherd, do you think you could get me one more?” He replied, “Mayhap I may, when I have baited my hook;” and after a little while he brought out another, which was finer than the first, and the princess was so delighted that she gave him leave to go to sleep, and promised to excuse him to her father. In the morning the princess told the king, to his great astonishment, that Jack must not be beheaded, for he had been fishing in the hall all night: but when he heard how Jack had caught such beautiful fish out of his pocket, he asked him to catch one in his own. Jack readily undertook the task, and bidding the king lie down, he pretended to fish in his pocket, having another fish concealed ready in his hand, and giving him a sly prick with a needle, he held up the fish, and showed it to the king. His majesty did not much relish the operation, but he assented to the marvel of it, and the princess and Jack were united the same day, and lived for many years in happiness and prosperity. Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 211. TYPE 853. MOTIFS: H.507.1 [Princess offered to man who can defeat her in repartee]; L.100 [Unpromising hero]; H.507.1.0.1 [Princess defeated in repartee by means of objects accidentally picked up]; H.328 [Suitor test: powers of endurance]; L.10 [Youngest son triumphant]. This chap-book version of the tale has evidently been bowdlerized, as has that given by Halliwell, and “The King of Cumberland’s Daughter”. For the actual words used by the fool, see “Silly Jack and the Lady”. See also “The Three Questions”.

THE PROFESSOR OF SIGNS: I [summary] A famous Professor of Learning once came to England to examine all the scholars there. He went to Oxford, and it fared so badly that the students of Cambridge began to be anxious, and hit on a plan to raise the reputation of the place. So when the professor was expected some of the most learned dressed up as labouring men, and went to mend the roads. Presently the professor drove along, and his coachman called out to ask if he was on the right road. The road-man answered him in Latin. They rode on a little further and

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met another party who answered them in Greek. The professor thought to himself: “This must be a learned place, since the very roadmen talk Latin and Greek. I must hit on some other subject to examine the students in.” So, when he got to Cambridge, he announced that he would test them in the Language of Signs. At this there was great consternation in the University, and none was more distressed than the best scholar of them all, a poor, one-eyed student, who had hoped for preferment from this examination. Whilst the others were preparing themselves, he wandered gloomily along the banks of the Cam, where he met a friend of his, a oneeyed miller, who asked why he was so sad. The student told him everything, and the miller suggested that he should try his luck, for he was a hardy fellow, and feared nothing, and since the test was to be silent, his speech would not betray him. They changed clothes, and the student waited anxiously outside the Examination Hall. At first all was silent, but presently there was a great burst of applause, and the miller came slipping out. “Here, change quickly,” he said, “they say I’ve won.” The student pulled on his gown, and got into the Hall just in time to hear the Professor explaining. “It was remarkable,” he said. “Never would I have believed that a man could follow every turn of my thought. First I held up an apple, to signify that by the apple Mankind had fallen. But quick as thought he held up a piece of bread, to show that by the Bread of Life we were all redeemed. Then I held up one finger, to show there is but one God, but he held up two, to signify that we must not forget Christ, so I held up three, to remind him of the Trinity, and he very quickly clenched his fist, to show that three are yet one. He never faltered nor mistook, and richly deserves the Prize.” The scholar was delighted, but he wondered very much how the poor miller had gained such knowledge, so, as soon as he could slip away from the congratulations of his friends, he went to ask the miller’s side of the disputation. “He was a quarrelsome old fellow,” said the miller, “but I gave as good as I got. First he scrabbled in his pocket, and he took out a green apple, and shook it under my nose, as much as to say he’d throw it at my head if I didn’t watch out. So I felt in my pocket, but all I could find was an old bit of crust, so I shoved that under his nose, as much as to say, ‘You throw the apple, and I’ll throw the crust.’ With that, he put away the apple, and poked his finger at me, as much as to say, I’ll thrust out your eye!’ So I poked my two fingers at him, to say, ‘If you do, I’ll put out your two!’ Then he scrabbled at me with his three fingers, to show he’d scratch my face. And I wasn’t going to stand that, so I doubled up me fist and shook it at him, to show I’d knock him down. And at that he clapped me on the back, and said I’d won.” Norton Collection, II, pp. 281–2. Folk-Lore Record, II (1879), pp. 173–6.

THE PROFESSOR OF SIGNS: II [Aberdeen version] A learned Professor from Spain having visited Aberdeen University for some purpose, put the question to the Senators if they had a professor of signs? Although they did not know what this meant, still to keep up the character of the University they answered in the affirmative, thinking the Professor would not wait, and expressed their regret that he


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was out of town. But the Professor expressed his determination to see him before leaving, which put the Senators in great difficulty. Now, there lived in the town a sharp-witted shoemaker, who, when he had a glass, was ready for any project. The affair was stated to him, and he was willing to do anything for the honour of the city. The examination day came, and the shoemaker, in a Professor’s dress, was introduced, and seated opposite the Spanish Professor, with instruction he was not to speak but to sign his replies. So the Professor held up an orange, when the shoemaker at once held up a piece of oat-cake; the Professor then held up his forefinger, the shoemaker instantly held up two fingers; the Professor now held up three fingers and thumb, which was followed by the shoemaker holding up his clenched fist in a menacing manner. The Professor then bowed his satisfaction, and the shoemaker withdrew. When the Professor said that he had never met such an educated man, such a man in his country would soon realize a fortune, seeing how easy they could communicate without language—the other Professors of Aberdeen were anxious to hear an explanation of the signs, which were afterwards explained thus: I held up an orange to say that my country produces such fruit; he held up a cake in reply that your country produced the staff of life. I held up one finger to say that I believe in one God; he held up two to say Father and Son: I then held up three and a thumb, to say Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are yet only one; he held up his entire hand, carrying out the full meaning of our creed, saying the same in substance, wisdom and power. The Professor then retired. The Senators were then anxious to hear the shoemaker’s version of the signs; who being brought in to explain, said with triumphant glee, “Ye’ll be nae mair fash wi‘that character. He held up an orange, saying can you match that. I held a piece of cake, as much as to say that’s worth all your oranges. He looked me in the face and pointing with his fingers, as much as to say ye have but ae e’e. I held up twa to tell him my ane was worth his twa. He then held up three fingers and thumb, meaning that our three would only make ane good one. This was too much, so I shook my neeve in his face, and he was glad to stop the quarrel that would have taken place.” Norton Collection, II, p. 283. Folk-Lore Record, III, pt. I, pp. 128–9. From J.Napier, current C.1820. TYPE 922. MOTIFS: K.1816.0.4 [Scholars disguised as rustics along the road]; H.607 [Discussion by symbols]; H.607.2.1 [Learned professor from one university examines by signs a professor from another—actually a shoemaker or miller]; J.1804 [Sign language misunderstood]. Norton has made copious notes on this tale, pointing out that it consists of two parts: (a) the students posted along the road; and (b) the discussion in sign language. Straparola is an early source of (a); Anthony a Wood gives a version of it which dates from the sixteenth century, and differs a good deal from Straparola. The (b) story is earlier known, the first written version being in The Gloss of Accursius (C.1260). It is also found among the Nasr-el-Din stories. It was used by various writers, among them Rabelais. A Dutch version from Utrecht is the only example beyond these islands of the combination of (a) and (b). In this an Indian prince, on his way to Leyden, is greeted in Latin and Hebrew by students dressed as rustics. He is so impressed that he decides to examine the university in the sign language of which he is master. He is answered by a one-eyed gypsy. See also “The Miller at the Professor’s Examination”, “George

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Buchanan”, “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury”, “The Independent Bishop”, “The Two Little Scotch Boys”.

THE ROBBER AND THE HOUSEKEEPER The’ was wonst a big high gentleman what lived in a fine mansion, a very grand place it was an’ no mistake, standing back in its own grounds an’ the’ was a carriage drive leading up to it from the road, an’ trees growing all about it. I can’t tell you exac’ly who he was, but he was some very high notified gentleman. Now it so come about at the time I’m a-speaking on as this gentleman, an’ the iady his wife, an’ their son—they only had but one son—an’ their two da’ghters, they all went away for a week’s holiday. An’ they had a little baby, this gentleman an’ lady had, but they didn’t take it wid ’em; they left it at home wid the housekeeper; an’ they left one ’n the sarvant gals as well for comp’ny for the housekeeper, but the tother sarvant gals they took wid ’em. They’d be gone away now some two or three days, when the’ comes knocking at the doar’n the house an owld woman—or so sh’d ’pear to be—a rale comital owld woman. An’ this owld woman got a-gate telling tales and things, an’ sich funny tales she towld that she kept the housekeeper an’ the tother sarvant in fits o’ laughing. She got on an’ got on, one tale a’ter another, an’ all the time they was standing at the back doar, all the three ’n they. Whatsumever, a’ter a bit, the one sarvant says to the tother: “Shall we ax her to come in and sit down a bit?” “Well, aye,” says the tother, “She’ll be a bit o’ good comp’ny for we.” So they axes her in, an’ sets vittles afoare her—plenty to eat an’ drink—an’ a’ter she’d had a bellyful they all sits talking an’ telling tales, an’ laughing till nigh upon night time. So whatever to you, the owld woman now begins to ax ’em for one bit o‘thing an’ another, an’ they gies her these, for they wa’n’t o’ no value not to speak on. Getting bowld-like she axes ‘em for summat else, an’ this thing it was of some value though what it was exac’ly, I couldn’t rightly say—not now. Whatsumever, it was kept upstairs, this thing was what she’d axed for, so the sarvant an’ the housekeeper as well, they both goes upstairs, an’ they leaves the little baby downstairs in the kitchen wid the owld woman. Whether it was they couldn’t find it, or whether it was they was talking it over a bit as to how they should get rid’n this owld woman, or what, I couldn’t say, but they was a t’emendous long while upstairs, an’ the owld woman gets out o’ patience wid waiting. “If you don’t come down at wonst,” she hollers out, “and bring me that thing what I axed you for, than I shall restroy this baby.” Whatsumever, they ’pears to take no notice on her, so she makes for the baby, an’ is just going to knock its brains out, when out jumps a big, black ’triever dog, as had been sleeping in the corner wid one eye open all the time, an’ which she’d never as much as noticed afoare. It has her by the throat afoare she could stir hand or limb to keep it off, an’ shakes the life out’n her—aye, kills her stone dead on the spot it does. As soon as they hears the baby scream the housekeeper an’ the tother sarvant they comes rushing downstairs, an’ they finds the owld woman lying dead on the floar, an’ the big ’triever dog standing over her. Now being as she is dead they begins to sarch her, an’ what should they find oot but that the owld woman isn’t a woman at all, but a man


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dressed up in woman’s things. There’s something suspicious about this, they thinks, an’ they goes through all his pockets, an’ there they finds a ’volver,—a six-chamber ’volver—a dagger and a horn. Whatsumever to you, the housekeeper now takes an’ blows this horn, three times she blows it, an’ no sooner has she done this but what three robbers comes running up the drive, as fast as ever they can. She doesn’t lose not a minute; she snatches up the ’volver and shoots two ’o they dead on the spot, an’ the third she’d have sarved the same, only but he run away agen afoare she had the time. Now when the master and mistress come home agen it was only nat’rallike ’at the first thing they should ax was, how had their little baby been this long time. “Oh! quite well,” says the housekeeper, for she didn’t like to say nothink about the robbers. But the tother sarvant she wasn’t agen telling, so she up an’ towld the whole story. When the master heeard this he was very pleased at the way the housekeeper had done to the robbers. He should make her comfor’able for the rest ’n her life, he said, an’ she should have a house ’n her own, near by to his, an’ no more work to do, that was not unless she had a mind to, an’ she shouldn’t want for nothink, he said, as long as he had money to buy it wid. So soon a’ter he had a very tidy soart ’n a house builded in his own grounds, an’ this he gi’ed to the housekeeper for her very own, to do as she liked wid. Whatever to you, the robber as had run away, an’ missed getting killed, he put a ’vartisement into the papers saying as how he’d like to find a job as coachman wid some gentleman; he was very used to horses, he said, an’ a good stidy driver. Now it just so happened as the gentleman what lived in the mansion next to the one where the housekeeper was, stood in want ’n a coachman, so when he seen the ’vartisement in the papers, he sent for the robber, an’ gi’ed him a month’s trial, an’ when the month was up, he took him on for good. Afoare long this robber gets on wid the housekeeper, and goes courting her very strong. An’ she gets rale sweet on him, her not knowing like who he is, for he was a very good-looking man, an’ pleasant spoken enough when it suited his parpose. A’ter a bit he axes her will she marry him. She doesn’t say “Yes” nor yet she doesn’t say “No”, but she goes straight to her master, an’ tells him all, an’ axes him: “What shall I do?” “Oh! that’s soon answered,” he says. “If you’re fond on him,” he says, “then marry him, but if you don’t like him,” he says, “then don’t marry him.” “Oh! I love him,” she says. “Well then,” he says, “that being the state o’ ’fairs, you go and tell him you’ll have him.” So she did, and afoare long they got married, an’ went to live in the house what the gentleman ’d had builded for her. At first they was very happy, of course, like everybody is. About six months passed, an’ then one day the robber tells his wife as he’s going to take her to see his delations. “You know, my dear,” he says, “we now been married this long time, an’ I ha’nt as much as set eyes on one ’n my own people from that day to this. They must think it strange ’n we not going over to see ’em.” “Yes, dear,” she says, “we ought to go, and I’m sure it’ll be a great pleasure to me.” “It will,” he says, and away he goes to harness the pony and yoke it. She gets into the trap besides him, and off they sets. He drives on and on over mountains and all manner of wild lonesome places all that day, and all the day a’ter that agen. About the fourth day she begins to be a bit anazy in her mind, an’ wonders, poor thing, wherever they can be going to, an’ whenever will they get there. She works herself up into sich a state till at last she bursts out crying; she

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couldn’t keep it in no longer. “Oh! my dear husband,” she says, “where are we going to, and however much farther is it?” “Be quiet, woman,” he says, “You’ll find out just now; ’an plenty soon enough that’ll be, for if you only knew what was to happen to you when we get to my brother’s house you wouldn’t be fretting your heart out to get there.” “Oh! my dear,” she says, “whatever is up with you, talking so strange-like?” “Well, if you will know,” he says, “it was you murdered my two brothers, an’ now we’re a-going to take us vengeance on you.” At that she begun crying agen, an’ begging him on her bended knees to take her back home, but he didn’t take not a bit o’ notice on her, only towld her to stop her hollering, or it would be the worse for her. In about another day they came to the robber’s house, and the robbers they tak an’ shuts up the housekeeper in a room, and strips her stark mother naked, an’ ties her up to the ceiling by the hairs ’n her head, an’ leaves her there, whils’ they go an’ talk over what kind o’ death they shall put her to. Whatsumever, they hadn’t tied her hands, so as soon as they’re gone out’n the room, she gets to work breaking her hairs, two or three at a time, bit by bit, till at last she works herself loose. She opens the window as quiet as ever she can, an’ Lord! she was a-frightened for fear they should hear her, but they didn’t, so she gets out. She takes a good look round to make cartain as nobody is watching her, an’ then away she runs as fast as her legs can take her, away back on the road they’d come. Whatever to you, she might be gone from the robber’s house p’r’aps three or four hours, an’ she was fair fit to drop, an’ all of a faint, when she comes up wid an owld man driving a cart full of nothink but apples. An’ she towld this owld man ’bout the state she was in—which there wa’n’t no need for, as he’d got eyes an’ could see for hisself—an’ how she was running away from some robbers as was going to take her life, an’ where it was she was wanting to get to. “Oh!” she says, “if only you could find it in your heart to do a kindness to a poor woman in trouble, an’ help her on her way a bit!” The owld man was very sorry for her, an’ so, being as he was going her road, he towld her to jump up besides him, which she did pretty quick, as you can guess. An’ he shifts the apples away from one side o’ the cart, an’ tells her to lay herself down there, an’ she does, an’ he covers her all over wid the apples. He drives on now, an’ for about two days they goes on and on over the mountains an’ places, an’ never sets eyes on a soul. Then a fine gentleman on horse-back comes up wid they. It was the robber this was, an’ the owld man knowed it well enough, for he was a cunning owld fellow. He’d heeard the horse coming along behind him all the while, but he hadn’t as much as turned round. “My good man,” says the robber, “have you seen annythink on a woman going stark mother naked?” “No—o,” the owld man answers him, and goes on driving on. “But she’s come this road,” says the robber, “and she must have passed you somewheres, for she isn’t behind you.” The owld man pulls up. “Well,” he says, “now I come to think’n it, I seen somethink yesterday what looked very funny; I couldn’t make nothink on it. Something white it was, ’way back on the owld road, right over yonder, miles and miles back. What it was though I couldn’t say I’m sure.” “Ah!” says the robber, “that must ha’ been her,” and with that he puts spurs to his horse, an’ gallops off to look for her down the owld side road, what was many an’ many a mile back. The owld man laughs to hisself, an’ goes on agen, an’ he gets a long way afoare the robber comes up wid him a second time. “Stop, you owld white-headed rascal,” he


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shouts—the robber does, cussing and swearing somethink awful; “you been telling me lies for a parpose.” “No,” says the owld man,’ “that I ha’n’t, for I ha’n’t never told you no lies at all.” “Well, anyhow,” says the robber, “the woman ha’n’t gone that road what you towld me.” “Well, I never said as she had,” says the owld man, very quiet-like. “All I said was I seen some funny white thing along the owld road. It was you yourself,” he said, “as said it must be her.” “Ah,” says the robber, “I can see you got moare knowledge on her nor what you lets on, you owld varmint. I shouldn’t wonder if you ha’n’t got her in your cart all the time.” “No, I ha’n’t,” says the owld man, “but if you don’t put no trust in my words, p’r’aps you’ll believe your own eyes. Look,” he says, an’ he pulls off the cover’n his cart, an’ shows the robber his cart full of apples. “She’s not here, is she now?” “No,” says the robber. “I can’t see nothink only but apples.” Then a’ter this the robber leaves him, an’ the owld man drives on now, till he comes to the place where the housekeeper lives. Whatever to you, the first thing the housekeeper does is to go an’ tell her owld master everythink what has happened to her, an’ she begs him to save her from the robber. “My dear,” he says, very kind-like, “don’t you think no moare about it. You must stay here,” he says, “in my house, an’ you shall have everythink what you wants—plenty to eat and to drink, an‘plenty o’ grand clothes to wear, an’ a lady companion to be wid you always. And as for the robber,” he says, “just leave him to me; I’ll see to it as he don’t do you no harm. I got a plan for catching him,” he says; “it’s just now come into my head.” An’ wid that he goes off, an’ orders bills to be put out everywheres, on every barndoor, and every tree, and every gate-post for miles and miles round, saying as on sichan’-sich a day, he’ll give a big feast, and as everybody is axed to it, rich and poor, they’ll all be made welcome. Now it gets on an’ gets on till it’s only but two days afoare the feast is to be gi’ed, when the robber he comes back agen into them parts, an’ of course it’s not long afoare he sees the bills. He goes to his wife’s house but it’s empty. Well, he thinks it over to hisself as the best he can do is to reguise hisself an’ go to this feast; she is sure to be there, he thinks, an’ he can watch her where she goes a’ter when it’s over. On the night n’ the feast, there is the housekeeper, all dressed in silks and satins, an’ her lady companion at her side, walking up an’ down, up an‘down, in the grand hall where the supper is laid. An’ the master he is standing at the door shaking hands wid everybody as they comes in. Of course, they’re both’n looking out for the robber. Now it’s a curious thing that though they seen everybody as come in, they didn’t see the robber among ’em, neither the one nor yet the tother didn’t. And agen when all the guests is sat down to the tables they both walks back’ards and far’ards an’ backards an’ farards, an’ they has a good look at everybody, an’ yet they can’t find him, though they know as he must be in the room somewheres. “Well, this is uncommon strange,” says the master, “but I’ll find him yet afoare the night is out, just you see.” Now a’ter when they’d all eaten till they couldn’t eat no more, an’ drunk most all the wine, the master he gets up from his place, an’ he begins to make a bit’n a speech. “I been greatly pleased,” he says, “wid your company here to-night. An’ now,” he says, “afoare you go—and I shall be very sorry to have to part from you—the’s just one thing. I’m now going to call for a toast,” he says, “which I wants all ’n you here present, every one ’n you, to drink standing up, wid your left hands flat open above your heads, so.” It was a cunning trick, this was, for the robber, you see, had the first two fingers ’n his left hand cut off by the middle joints, so that when they all stood up an’ raised their hands to

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drink the toast, he was f’un’ out. The master tells his servants to seize him, an’ he sends to fatch a rigiment o’ soldiers, an’ they comes, an’ they shoots him. An’ that was the end of the robber. A Book of Gypsy Folk-Tales, Dora E.Yates, p. 139. Also in Thompson’s Notebooks. TYPE 956B. MOTIFS: K.912 [Robbers killed as they enter house]; Q.411.1 [Punishment: winning a wife and then killing]. There is a wide distribution of this tale, in Scandinavia, Spain, Russia, Turkey, Hungary, etc. Baughman cites several examples from America, and many, in varying forms, are to be found in England. “The Hand of Glory” bears some resemblance to it, and “The Long Pack” has the killing of the robbers and their summoning by the blast of their own horn in common with it. See also “The Brave Maid Servant”, “The Clever Maid and the Robber”, “The Cook at Combwell” (B, IX), “Trick upon Travellers”.

THE ROBBERS AND THE OLD WOMAN [transcribed from tape] There was oncet an aul’ wummin, she lived hersel’ in a wee hoosie in the country, oh, in the back of beyont, but she was turnin’ very very aul’. She was awa’ aboot echty or echty-odds, and of course she was gettin’ a bittie dottled, kind of things, speakin til hersel and one thing and another. Bit she was supposed to hae a lot of money, ye see, hidden in this hoose—a lot of money (she was real miserly-kind, ye know), and there was three men cam to rob her that nicht, three men. And one of this men wanted ae ee, but the three of them was gaun to help each ither and get the money—steal the money and murder the aul’ wummin and get awa’ wi’d, ye see, ’cos ’twas in a lonely place. One of this men wanted ae ee. But it happent to be, oniewey or sanither, that that nicht this puir aul’ cratur she had the brander (you know the brander she used to keep in her fire, and some of them has them in the country, real auld fashiont—they used to roast the kippers and things upon the branders, ye see). And she was—wi’ this auld-fashiont brander on—she was roastin’ this kippers for her supper. But she was speakin’ away to the kippers as if they were human-beings, ye see, as dottled folk does, ’cos I’ve sat and watched them, ye see. She’s speakin’ away to this kippers, ye see, in an aul’ chair, owre this aul’-fashiont fire, ye see, roastin this kippers and turnin them, ye see. But she didnae ken there was three men come to murder her and robher at night. But one was comin’ doon the lum (that was the wey that he was gaun to enter, ye see, because the hoose was aa lockit up, and he was gaun to enter—comin doon the lum). But she’d this wee bittie o’ a fire on, ye see, nae very much, twathree sticks, and she’s roastin this kippers. The first kipper, she says, “Ha, ha,” she says,” there’s three o’ yese, and there’s one of yese,” she says. “Gaunawa’,” she says,“soon,” she says, “for I’ll roast you and I’ll toast ye,” she says, “and I’ll eat ye for ma supper.” Ye see. Now, a lot o’ them aye sais, not only wis she a miser, but a lot o’ them said that she was an’ aul’ witch, ye see—well, they believed it in that days, onieway—whether they were or no, they’d only to say it.


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But this—there was a story oot, oh, years afore, that this aul’ woman was an aul’ witch, ye see. An’ this man at this time, was the first yin wis comin’ doon the lum when she was roastin’ the first kipper, and she’s speakin’ to the kipper and she’s not speakin’ tae him at all. She didnae ken aboot a man comin’ doon the lum, so that’s whit she said. “Ha, ha,” she says, “there’s three o’ yese, and there’s one o’ yese gaun awa’,” she says, “and I’ll roast ye,” she says, “and I’ll toast ye, and I’ll eat ye for my supper.” He says, “God bliss us!” he says, “she kens I’m comin’ doon.” He says, “She’s gaun to roast me and toast me for her supper.” So he’s up the lum and oot’n it. “Naw, naw,” he says to the ither yins, he says, “Praise God!” he says, “I’m nae gaun to rob her,” he says, “or kill her—she kens,” he says, “that I wis comin’ doon the lum—she kent,” he says, “we’re here. She said there was three of us and that I wis—ye know—wan was gaun awa’, and she wis gaun tae eat me—roast me and eat me, ye see.” So he says, “No, no,” he says, “I’m nae taen nothin’ todae.” He’s off and away. He got feared. Ach, doon the second yin goes, he says, “He’s too yella,” ye see. “She’s nae a witch,” and aa this and the next thing, bit he gaes doon the lum. Now she’s roastin’ the second kipper by this time. An’ she says, “Ha, ha, there’s one o’ yese awa’,” she says, “and this the second yin to come,” she says, “But I’ll roast ye, and I’ll toast ye,” she says, “and I’ll eat ye for my supper.” But he took a hert-fricht tae, ye see, and he’s up the lum—he wondert whit way she kent—’cos naebody seed them gaen near this place, ye see. An’ he’s up the lum and he tells the ither yin—“No, no,” he says, “that’s a witch richt enough,” he says. “She kent,” he says, “’at I was comin’ an‘she was preparin’ for to roast me and toast me for her supper. So,” he says, “no, no,” he says, “I’m nae g’t’ hae nothin’ to dae wi’ her.” So he’s away too, runs away too. Noo the last yin to come wanted ae eye. Bit it just happent to be that her last kipper didnae hae an ee either—it wantit an ee. Well, we wadnae pey onie notice whether the kipper had an ee or no, but an aul’ dottled bodie like this sees queer kinna ferlies, they staund out to them. So she pits the kipper on and she’s roastin’ it and turnin’ it, ye know, and doon comes this man wantin’ the ee, and he’s the yin that was goin to murder her. An’ he’s quite desperate for to kill her, and get her money. “Ha, ha!” she says, “come oan,” she says, “come awa’! A’m jist waitin’ fur ye!” she says. (But it was her kipper she was speakin’ til.) She says, “Jist come awa’,” she says, “hurry up and come,” she says, “I’m waitin’ upon you,” she says, “ye’re the third yin to come,” she says, “and ye want a ee.” Noo this made it mair convincin’ to him when he heard her sayin’ this. “An’,” she says, “the third yin wants a ee,” she says. “Ye’re the third. But,” she says, “I’ll roast ye,” she says,” and I’ll toast ye, and I’ll eat ye for my supper.” (She beginnin’ to get high kind noo, ye see, wi’ this kipper, wantin’ the ee.) So when he hears this, he says, “God bliss us! It’s recht enough.” He says, “She even kens I want an ee.” So he’s up the lum and away. So it was only the puir aul’ dottled wumman speakin’ til her three kippers, that saved her ain life. My mother tell’t, so it must have been her father’s story. School of Scottish Studies. Collected by Hamish Henderson from Jeannie Robertson, 1959. TYPE 1653F. MOTIF: N.612 [Numskull talks to himself and frightens robbers].

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The same motif occurs in “The Conjuror, or the Turkey and the Ring”, and “The Clever Gypsy”.

ROBIN HOOD AND SIR RICHARD AT THE LEA From the Gest of Robin Hood One fine day Robin Hood was leaning against a tree, waiting for an adventure. Little John and Will Scarlet and Much the Miller’s son were with him, and they were all hungry. Robin had sworn on that day that he would have no dinner until a guest had come. They had heard three Masses and it was a good three hours past dinner-time. “Master,” said Little John, “you would be all the better of a meal.” “Take the bows in your hands, the three of you,” said Robin, “and go up to Watling Street, and if you see knight, or baron, or abbot, bring him to dinner with me.” “Give us our charge before we go,” said Little John. “Do no harm to any husbandman, nor to a good yeoman, or an honest knight, but if you see Abbots or Bishops, or Archbishops, or the proud Sheriff of Nottingham, beat them and bring them here bound.” The three outlaws went by Sayles to Watling Street, and looked up and down, and soon they saw a knight riding towards them. He was a poor knight in threadbare clothes, and he was riding a thin wretched horse, his head was bent, and tears ran down his cheeks. In spite of that, Little John greeted him like a king. He knelt down before him and said, “Welcome Sir, my master has waited dinner for you three hours.” “Who is your Master?” said the knight. “Robin Hood.” “He is a good yeoman,” said the knight, “I have heard him well spoken of. I will come with you.” So they led him through the greenwood, and as they went the tears ran down his cheeks. When they came to the outlaw’s lodge, Robin Hood greeted him courteously, and he answered in the same style. They washed and sat down to dinner. It was a great meal of venison and game, and all sorts of birds large and small, washed down with good wine. “I’ve not tasted such a good meal for three weeks,” said the knight. “If ever I come this way again, I shall try to give you as good a one.” “I’ll thank you for it when it comes,” said Robin, “but I hope I’m not so greedy as to crave for a future meal. But what can you pay me for the meal we’ve just had? For it doesn’t seem right for a yeoman to pay for a knight’s dinner.” “I’m afraid I can’t pay you what it’s worth,” said the knight. “To tell you the truth, I’ve only got ten shillings.” “Look in the knight’s coffer,” said Robin Hood; “if he has no more than that, we’ll not take it.” Little John spread his cloak on the ground, and emptied the knight’s coffer on to it. Then he counted up all the pennies and groats and shillings he had shaken out. “That’s right enough, Master,” he said, “he’s got exactly ten shillings.” “Fill up your glass,” said Robin, “and tell us your troubles. How do you come to be so poor? Were you a yeoman forced to take knighthood? Or did you get into trouble through riotous ways?”


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“No,” said the knight, “my fathers have held the land before me for generations, and now I have no wealth except my wife and children. It happened this way. My eldest son is twenty years old, and he went jousting, and he had the misfortune to kill a knight and his squire from Lancashire, and I have spent all my money in fines to redeem him, and in the end I had to borrow money from the Abbot of St Mary’s Abbey. Four hundred pounds it was, and I put my land in pawn for it. To-morrow it is due, and I cannot raise the money.” “What will you do if you lose your land?” said Robin. “I see nothing for it but to leave my wife and children, and go over the seas to the Holy Land.” “Have you no friends you can borrow from?” said Robin. “I thought I had friends enough,” said the knight, “good friends and many while I was rich, but when misfortune came, they all started away from me like a flock of sheep.” Tears came into Little John’s eyes, and Scarlet and Much cried with him for pity. “If I lent you the money,” said Robin, “is there anyone who would stand surety for it?” “God is my only friend now,” said the knight, “unless it might be Our Lady. She has never failed me till this day.” “That’s the best surety you could find in the length and breadth of England,” said Robin Hood, “you shall have the four hundred on Our Lady’s word.” For Robin Hood held Our Lady in special honour, and for her sake he would never harm any woman, or attack any party in which a woman travelled. They arranged that the money was to be repaid that day year. Little John measured out the gold with a liberal hand, and besides that they gave the knight rich clothes, of scarlet and green to wear instead of his ragged clothing, and gave him a new horse and fine weapons. Robin Hood lent him Little John to be his yeoman, and he and the knight, Sir Richard at the Lea he was called, set out for York, where the Abbey of St Mary stood. The Abbot had made all preparations to get Sir Richard’s land, which was worth much more than four hundred pounds. He had hired the Chief Justice to act for him. The day came, and the Abbot and the Justice and a great company sat at meat waiting for sunset, when the bond would fall due. The Prior and many more thought the Abbot meant to hold by his bond. At last the knight came in, not in the good clothes given him by Robin, but in his old rags. He knelt to the Abbot, and asked for a few days’ grace to collect his money, but the Abbot scoffed at him, and called him a rogue. The good knight got to his feet and said, “You have no right to mock at a man who has fought well and earned a good name everywhere. If you had been civil, I would have paid you with interest, but now you shall have your four hundred pounds and no more.” And he paid it him before all the company, and the Abbot had to take it and give him quittance. Then he and Little John put on their rich clothing, and left the rags behind them, and rode back to the knight’s castle in great joy. The year went on, and the knight gathered all the rents as they came in, and set aside four hundred pounds with interest to pay Robin Hood, and besides that he had a hundred bows made with a sheaf of the best arrows for each, and he got together a party of young men to bear him company. But Little John was with him no longer, for he had returned to Robin. This is what had happened to Little John. One day when the young men were shooting, the Sheriff of Nottingham was passing by, and Little John shot so well that he asked him his name. “Reynold Greenleaf,” said Little John. The Sheriff invited him to

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come into his service, and Little John asked leave of his master, the knight, and went with him; but he thought to himself that he would be the worst servant the Sheriff had ever had in all his life. And so he was. One day the Sheriff was going hunting, but Reynold Greenleaf slept late and did not go. Later on he woke up and felt hungry and thirsty. The butler said he could have no drink till the Sheriff came home. Greenleaf gave the butler a blow that nearly killed him, and broke the cellar door with a kick, and took all the drink he wanted. Then he went to the kitchen. But the cook was a sturdy fellow, and wasn’t to be bullied. He met Little John man to man, and they fought for three hours, and at the end of it they loved each other like brothers, and the cook consented to go off to the greenwood with Little John. They rifled the Sheriff’s house and off they went. As soon as Robin had welcomed them, Little John went off to find the Sheriff, and told him he had found a green stag in the forest, with seven score hinds, and all with horns so sharp that he had not dared to attack them. The Sheriff wanted to see the sight too, and Little John led him along to Robin Hood. Robin feasted him, but the Sheriff was none too pleased to see the wine served in his own gold and silver cups. That night, at Robin Hood’s orders, all the young men stripped and slept in the greenwood in their shirts, and the Sheriff had to do the same. He had never passed such a miserable night in his life, and when Robin told him that he was to stay there for a year, and be trained in outlaws’ ways, he was ready to come to terms. He took a solemn oath that he would never harm Robin Hood and his men again, and if need were he would help them. Then Robin Hood let him go, but the Sheriff never meant to keep his oath. Soon after this the day came when Sir Richard’s money was to be returned, and he set out in good time. But as he and his company went along, they passed a place where there was a great wrestling match for valuable prizes, a white bull, and a charger, and jewels of silver and gold. An honest yeoman was the best wrestler there, but the crowd grudged him the prize, and was closing in on him. For Robin Hood’s sake the knight stood by the yeoman, and he and his company saw fair play whilst the match went on. But the day was passing. “Well,” said Little John, as he stood in Barnisdale, with his companions, “now for dinner!” “No dinner for me today,” said Robin; “I fear Our Lady’s angry with me, for this is the day when the knight should pay back his money. It is past midday and there’s no sign of him.” “It’s not sunset though,” said Little John, “I’ll lay my life that the knight is true.” “Take your bows,” said Robin, “and go to Watling Street, and see if there is a messenger from him in sight, or a rich man to make us sport, or a poor man in need of help.” The outlaws went off, and when they had watched a little while, they saw two black monks coming towards them, each riding a good palfrey, with a company of fifty men. There were only three of the outlaws, but they aimed their arrows at the chief monk, and drew them to the head. “Halt,” said Little John, “if one of this company stirs, your leader is a dead man. We have orders to take him to our Master.” “Who is your Master?” said the monk. “Robin Hood.” “I have heard no good of him,” said the monk. “He is a bold thief.” “You’re a liar,” said Little John, “you must come and dine with him.” At the name


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of Robin Hood the fifty men with the monk took to their heels, and there was only a little page and a yeoman brave enough to bear him company. Robin bowed and lifted his hood to the monk, but the monk was too surly to make any return. “This is a churl,” said Little John. “Never mind,” said Robin Hood, “he has never learnt manners.” For all that they waited courteously on the monk, gave him water to wash, and served him with good food and drink. “Where is your Abbey when you are at home?” said Robin, “and whom do you serve?” “I am the cellarer of St Mary’s Abbey,” said the monk. “You are all the more welcome,” said Robin. “You must drink wine with me. And yet I know Our Lady is angry with me. She has not yet sent me my pay.” “Never fear, Master,” said Little John, “the monk is Our Lady’s servant. He has told us so himself. No doubt she has sent him with the money to pay you.” “No, no,” said the monk in terror, “I have heard nothing of all this.” “Sir,” said Robin, “a year ago a poor knight borrowed four hundred pounds from me, with Our Lady as surety. Our Lady is a true woman as any in England, and could never let me want. Tell me, how much have you in your coffers?” “Four hundred pounds!” said the monk. “I swear to you I have only twenty marks in my coffers.” “Look, Little John,” said Robin Hood, “if that is all he has, I will take nothing; if he has less, I will lend him some.” Little John spread his cloak, and shook eight hundred pounds out onto it. “Master,” he said, “Our Lady has doubled your loan. There are eight hundred pounds here.” “I vow,” said Robin, “that Our Lady is the best surety in the land. You are welcome as her messenger. Stay and dine with us again?” “No, no,” said the monk, “This is the dearest dinner that ever I ate. I wish I had never come this way. It would have been cheaper in Blyth or Doncaster.” At that he put spurs to his horse and rode away. He had hardly gone before the knight rode up with his company, and knelt at Robin’s feet. “What brings you here?” said Robin, “and have you regained your land?” “Thanks to you, I have redeemed it,” said the knight, “and here is your money again. I am sorry we are late, but we stopped on the way to help a poor yeoman who was having hard usage.” “I thank you for any yeoman whom you help,” said Robin. “As for your money, Our Lady, who stood surety for you, has paid it already.” “Here it is,” said the knight, “four hundred pounds, and twenty marks for interest, and I pray you, take these bows and arrows for friendship’s sake.” “I will take them gladly,” said Robin, “but as for the money, that is paid already, and I will never take it twice.” He told the knight all about the cellarer from St Mary’s, and they all laughed. Then Robin said to Little John, “Go to my treasury, and fetch out four hundred pounds, for the monk overpaid me.” He gave the four hundred pounds to the knight, and said, “Take that to gild your spurs, and buy yourself a new charger. As for the money you returned to me, put it out to brokerage, so that you may never be caught so bare again. But if ever you are in need, come to me in the greenwood, and I will give you something to spend.” Then they parted in great love, and the knight rode home to his castle.

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The Sheriff had not forgotten his dinner with Robin, though he had put his oath out of his mind. He made a plan to trap the outlaws. He proclaimed a great archery contest, with a golden arrow as the prize. Robin Hood and his merry men, trusting in the Sheriff’s oath, came to the contest. There were archers from far and near, but Robin shot better than any of them, and the prize was given to him. But just as he turned away, the Sheriff blew his horn, and horns sounded all round, and a great ambush of men broke out on them. “Bad luck to you, traitor,” said Robin, “If I had you in the greenwood, you should pay for this.” The outlaws drew together, and shot around them, but they were outnumbered, and could only retreat. Little John was wounded in the leg. “Don’t leave me to the Sheriff,” said Little John. “Draw your sword and cut off my head.” “We won’t kill you, and we won’t leave you,” said Robin. “God forbid,” said Much, who was the stoutest man after Little John; and he got Little John on his back, and staggered away with him. They could have never have got to the greenwood, but the knight who had borrowed from Robin, Sir Richard at the Lea, had his castle near at hand, and he took them in and made them welcome, and held the castle against the Sheriff and all his men. Forty days they spent there, till the Sheriff was tired of the siege, and Little John’s leg was healed, and they went back to the greenwood. In the meantime the Sheriff had sent letters to the king, telling him all that Robin Hood and Sir Richard at the Lea had done against his peace, and the Sheriff was anxious to catch Robin Hood, but he was safe in the greenwood. So he laid an ambush for Sir Richard at the Lea, when he was out hawking, and carried him captive to Nottingham. His lady, however, when she saw her husband caught, rode to the greenwood, and told Robin what had happened. Robin got all his band together, in great anger, and they followed hot-foot right into Nottingham. “Stop, Sir Sheriff, I want a word with you,” said Robin, and he loosed an arrow, and shot down the Sheriff, and before he could rise again, Robin whipped out his sword, and cut off his head, and that was the end of his treachery. Then Robin Hood’s men attacked the Sheriff’s, and drove them back, and Robin cut Sir Richard’s bonds, and gave him a bow in his hand and they all made off to the greenwood together, to live there until Sir Richard could win pardon from the king. When the king heard of the death of his Sheriff, he set off for the north, to catch Robin Hood himself. On the way up he stopped at Plumpton Park, and his anger was doubled, for there were only a few deer left of all the hundreds with which the park had been stocked. When the king got to Nottingham, he offered Sir Richard’s castle to any man that would bring him his head; but no one dared attempt any-thing against Sir Richard whilst he was under the protection of Robin Hood. For half a year the king hunted for Robin, and all the time Robin lived in the greenwood, and shot the king’s deer, just as he chose. At last a forester told the king that he would show him how to meet Robin Hood face to face. The king and five of his knights rode to an Abbey, and there they disguised themselves as monks, and the king as their Abbot, and the forester led the king’s horse towards Barnisdale. They had not gone far into the forest before Robin Hood and his men were across the way. Robin seized the king’s horse, and asked him of his charity to give the poor outlaws something. The king said he had been spending much money in Nottingham with the king, and had only forty pounds. Robin had his bags searched, and


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they found the forty pounds. Robin divided it into two and gave twenty to his men, and twenty back to the Abbot for his expenses on the way. The supposed Abbot showed Robin a letter from the king, summoning Robin Hood to his Court. Robin knelt at the sight of it, and kissed the letter. “I love our king better than any man in the realm,” he said, “you shall dine with us for the king’s sake.” They went deeper into the greenwood, and Robin blew his horn, and seven score young men in Lincoln green came running up, and the king was better served at his dinner than he was at his own Court. After dinner they set up garlands to shoot, and any man who missed forfeited his tackle, and earned a buffet from Robin Hood. Robin shot the best of all, but at last he missed the garland, and they all shouted that he must have his buffet like the rest. “Well, I’ll give the Abbot the buffet,” said Robin. At that the king rolled up his sleeve and he gave Robin such a clout that he nearly knocked him down. As he did so, the hood slipped back from his face, and both Sir Richard and Robin Hood knew him, and they fell on their knees, and all the wild outlaws knelt too, when they saw them kneeling. Then the king and his five men could have been in great peril, but there was no treachery in Robin’s heart, and he begged for a pardon for himself and his men, and Sir Richard at the Lea. The king pardoned them if they would come back and take service at his Court, and Robin consented to do so, only he said if he wearied of the king’s Court, he would go back to the greenwood, and shoot the dun deer again. Then the king and his knights took off their monks’ clothes, and borrowed Lincoln green from Robin, and off they went to Nottingham, playing pluck-buffet on the way, and whenever the king missed his shot, Robin cuffed him soundly, but the king could never win against Robin. So Robin went to Court with all his men, and he was there for fifteen long months. But money was not so easy to get in the king’s Court as in the greenwood, and Robin gave lavish presents, and soon he had spent all he had, and had nothing left to pay his men, and by the end of the year only Little John and Scarlet were with him. Then one day Robin stood and watched the young men shooting, and his heart sickened for the greenwood. He got the king’s leave to go on pilgrimage to a chapel he had built for Our Lady near Barnisdale, but once he got there he never came back, he went deeper into Barnisdale, and there he found all his fellowship waiting for him, and for more than twenty years he lived merrily in the greenwood, and the king never caught him again. And in the end he was betrayed by his cousin, the Prioress of Kirksley, and her lover, Roger of Doncaster, a priest, for he went to her house for bloodletting, and there she bled him to death. But he would not let Little Johnavenge him because she was a woman. “Cryst have mercy on his soule, That dyed on the rode! For he was a good outlawe, That dyde pore men much good.” From Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, no. 117, III, pp. 39–78.

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SUMMARIES OF SOME OTHER ROBIN HOOD BALLADS ROBIN HOOD AND THE CURTAL FRIAR One bright morning in May, Little John shot a hart at a distance of five hundred feet. Robin Hood declared that he might ride a hundred miles without finding another who could shoot so well; but Will Scadlock told him that a certain “curtal Friar” in Fountains Abbey was a match for them both. Robin thereupon vowed that he would neither eat nor drink before meeting that friar. He armed himself, and rode to Fountains Dale, and found the friar, fully armed also, walking by the water. Robin alighted, tied his horse to a thorn, and bade the friar carry him on his back across the stream. The friar obeyed him in silence, but as soon as they were across, bade Robin in turn to do the same for him. Robin carried the friar to the other side, also in silence, and as the friar leapt lightly off his back, he bade him once again to carry him over. The friar took him up, but in the deepest part of the water he threw Robin in. They both swam to land, then Robin seized his bow, and took aim at the friar. The friar put the shot by with his buckler, and another, and another, till all Robin’s arrows were used. Then they fought with swords from ten in the morning till four in the afternoon. At last Robin fell on his knee and begged the friar to let him blow three blasts on his horn, and at the sound fifty men with bows bent came running over the plain. Finding that they were Robin’s men, the friar begged leave to “whute whutes three”, and at his whistle fifty bandogs came running. The friar said each dog should attack a man, and he himself would fight with Robin; but when Robin demurred two of the dogs ran at him in front and in the rear, and tore the cloak from his back. Then Little John bade the friar call his dogs off, and when he would not, he took aim, and slew ten of his dogs. The friar cried to him to stop, and promised to agree with Robin Hood. Then he became Robin’s man, with the promise of a noble for his pay every Sunday, and so they returned merrily to Nottingham. Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, no. 123, III, p. 120.

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE Robin Hood has dreamt that he was attacked by two yeomen, and goes to look for them. He finds one, Guy of Gisborne, looking for him and, after a shooting match, they fight, and Robin cuts Guy’s head off. In the meantime the Sheriff of Nottingham had found the outlaws, attacked them, and made Little John prisoner. Robin, somehow learning this, puts on Guy’s cloak and winds his horn as a token that Robin Hood is slain. The Sheriff greets him as Guy, Robin frees John and gives him Guy’s bow. John shoots the Sheriff. Child, no. 118, III, pp. 89–94. First printed in Percy’s Reliques. There are some unexplained passages in this ballad.


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ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN Robin Hood went alone looking for adventure through the greenwood, and met a tall stranger on a narrow bridge. Neither would give way, and they agreed to fight it out with singlestick, the one who knocked the other into the water to be victor. After a fierce fight Robin was knocked in, and acknowledged himself beaten. Then he blew his horn and his band came up. They wanted to duck the stranger, but Robin said he had been beaten in fair fight, and he offered the stranger a place in his band. His name was John Little, but he was rechristened Little John amid great merriment. Child, no. 125, III, pp. 133–6. From A Collection of Old Ballads (1723).

ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK On a fine summer morning Robin longs to go to mass, and sets out with Little John alone. As they go they have a roving match. Little John wins, but Robin disputes the score, and they part in anger. Robin goes alone to the church, and is recognized by a monk whom he once robbed. The monk brings the Sheriff and his men against Robin, who makes a valiant fight, but is taken after his sword has broken. The Sheriff keeps him in prison and sends the monk with letters to the King to know his pleasure. News comes to the greenwood; all despair except Little John who, accompanied by Much, waylays the monk and his page, kills them both, and takes the letters to the King. The King rewards Little John and gives orders that Robin is to be sent to him alive. Little John returns and tells the Sheriff that the King has given the monk preferment and sent him in in his place. He is feasted. At night he goes to the prison, kills the gaoler and frees Robin. The Sheriff searches Nottingham, but Robin is safe in Barnisdale. He offers to make Little John captain in his place, but Little John only wishes to remain one of his company. When the King learns the truth he is disgusted at having been deceived by Little John, but admires his fidelity to his master. Child, no. 119, III, pp. 94–101. From a manuscript of about 1450 in Cambridge University Library. This is one of the finest of the ballads, but unfortunately several pages are missing.

ROBIN HOOD AND WILL SCARLOCK Scarlock he induced upon this occacion. One day meting him as he walked solitary and lyke to a man forlorne because a mayd to whom he was affyanced was taken from him by the violence of her friends, and given to another that was auld and welthy, whereupon Robin, understandyng when the maryage day should be, came to the church as a beggar, and having his company not far of, which came in so soon as they hard the sound of his

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horne, he toking the bryde perforce from him that was in hand to have maryed her and caused the preist to wed her and Scarlocke togeyther. Thom’s Early Prose Romances, p. 548. From MS, Sloan 715. This is an early summary of a tale told about a different person in the ballad of “Robin Hood and Allan-a-Dale” (Child, no. 138). (Scadlock, Scarlock and Scarlet are probably the same man.) There is no satisfactory treatment of the subject of the noble outlaw in either the Typeor the Motif-Index, nor have they been allotted a place among the Migratory Legends, although Child cites various parallels to some of the incidents. Child has a full and informative essay on Robin Hood as an introduction to the “Litel Gest” retold above. “Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar” and “Robin Hood and Little John” have been chosen to represent the many ballads in which the hero fights with some local champion, is worsted and enlists the victor in his band. This is a special feature of the Robin Hood tales, and seems to be peculiar to them. A collection of the Robin Hood ballads was made by Ritson, and edited by Gutch (2 vols., 1897). Robin Hood and his Merry Men were the characters of the midsummer festivities, and fragments of fifteenth-century Robin Hood plays have survived. It was claimed by Margaret Murray that Robin Hood was the god of the witches; on the other hand, J.W.Walker identified him as an actual character (Yorkshire Archaeological Journal, 1944). The matter is given full treatment by Maurice Keen (The Outlaws of Mediaeval Legend, 1961). In the Gest there is a close connection between romance and ballad. Like King Arthur, Robin will not dine on certain days until he sees an adventure. “Gamelyn” is cited by Child as a parallel. See also “Fulke Fitzwarine” (B, VIII), and “Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesley”.

ROSWAL AND LILIAN I There was once in the realm of Naples a worthy king, that was nevertheless somewhat distrustful and overbearing in his conditions. Who by his queen had an only son, called Roswal, a paragon of beauty and valour. Now this worthy king had in his council three knights, and because they gainsaid his authority he cast them into a deep dungeon beneath his palace, there to be their lives during; and of that dungeon he kept the key by day and by night. Young Roswal, who lay in a chamber over the prison, heard the groans of these illfated men, and it stirred him to compassion when he thought how stern and hopeless a doom was theirs; and one night, while his father the king slept, he came privily in, and taking the key from beneath his pillow, set free those three gallant knights, and restored the key again to its place unmarked. The gaoler marvelled when, in the morning, he went to take the prisoners their scanty meal, and found the dungeon empty; and when he had reported to the king this strange accident, the king waxed exceeding wrath, and swore by the rood that whoso had done


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that deed should die the death; yet, inasmuch as none had the key, as it seemed, all held it to be some miracle whereby those three knights were thus enlarged. Till young Roswal came to the king his father, and made open confession that it was he who had perpetrated the act; and thereupon, for that the king was hard of heart, and brooked not at all that insolency, the fair young prince was adjudged to die, nor might the tears of his mother, nor a regard for the youth of the guilty one, effect more than a change from death to banishment. Attended by the high steward of the kingdom, and furnished with every royal appointment, he set out for the court of the king of Beaune, to whom his father gave him a letter making known who he was, and praying him of his courtesy to entertain him for a season. But the steward, noting well that Roswal was richly provided with money and jewels, and considering that they were both of years to answer to the king’s letters, thought within himself that he might do well to despatch the prince on the way, and whereas the king of Beaune knew not the heir of Naples, counterfeited that unhappy boy in his presence. Nevertheless, in the event, he slew not Roswal, whom he yet bound to secrecy, and stripped of all that he had, his princely clothing, his jewels, his money, and his letters, and left naked and hungry by the wayside; and he spurred his steed, and came to the court of Beaune, where he was received with all honour beseeming the letters that he bore in his hand. For the king of Beaune, when he saw how the friendship of the king of Naples might be profitable unto him, was mighty content at the visit of his son, and joyfully assented to his suit, when the prince that was indeed the false steward, sought after a while the hand of Lilian, the king’s daughter; and when the contract of marriage was signed between the ambassadors of these two kings, the day was fixed for the solemnities, and a tournament was proclaimed in honour of the bride. II Let us leave the false steward, and speak of young Roswal, whom he would have drowned in a brook, as he stooped to drink, in the journey from Naples, but desisted only because the youth sware upon his honour never to reveal the secret, and surrendered to the steward his treasure and letters, with all that he had. He wandered he wist not where, when the false steward had gone, and came to a poor cottage, where a kind woman received him, and lent him food and shelter. To whom, seeking his birth and name, he answered and said, “I come from a far country, and my name is Disaware.” The goodwife, perceiving how debonair he was, and how in feature and disposition he favoured her own son, sent him to the same school, and thought to rear them as brethren; and Roswal, that had been well nurtured, moved the schoolmaster to wonder, for that he knew more than he did, and his learning did not reach to the instruction of the strange youth in any science that the boy kenned not already well enough. It came to pass that the high steward of Beaune, understanding these rare qualities, took Disaware for his page, and carried him to court, where the eye of Lilian the princess observed him; and in process of time, while the prince of Naples, that was truly the false steward, was already affianced to her, this royal maiden grew privily enamoured of the page, and less and less in conceit of him who was appointed in due time to be her spouse.

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But all the while, who Disaware was, and whence he came, she knew not, nor would he break his vow to the wicked steward of his father the king. And as the time for the tournament approached, which was to endure three days, Disaware became melancholy and absorbed, and the princess urged him to make her privy to the cause of his discontent, and asked why he should not let his name stand among the jousters. But he resolved her nought, and as touching the tournament, he was not expert in such exercises. The nearer it drew to the day, he waxed the sadder, and on the morning of the tilting he rose with the dawn and repaired to the forest with his dogs on hunting. For he could not bear the sorrow that his secret passion for Lilian the princess bred in his mind. Yet he had no heart to follow the chace, and rode listlessly about, when he was suddenly accosted by a venerable figure in the likeness of a knight, who led by the bridle a white charger, carrying at the saddle-bow a suit of white armour. He was the more amazed when the figure stood before him, and addressed him in these words: “Prince, don this harness, and mount this horse, and so clad resort to the tournament. At thy return thou wilt find me here. I will hunt the deer with thy hounds, and present unto thee the game.” Disaware, not presuming to question or disobey so lofty a summons, armed himself, leaped into the saddle, and entered the lists, where he overcame all foes without breaking his own spear, and at last, preparing to charge the prince of Naples, that was the false steward and seeing him motionless with fear and astonishment, checked his steed in midcareer, and vanished from sight. The king of Beaune and all present were transported with wonder and admiration of the prowess of the White Knight, and the king vowed that he would make him an earl, an’ he knew who he was. But Disaware had returned to the forest, and unarmed himself, and when they repaired to the palace, he was already in the hall, laden with the fruits of the chase. III Lilian the princess was angry because Disaware, in place of doing his enterprise for her honour in the tournament, contented himself with the humbler trophies of the forest; and while she spake at large of the valour of the White Knight, she besought and enjoined him to attend the second day’s tournament, and signalize his valour for her sake. He bowed, but gave that gentle lady no pledge; and he mused whether he should again meet with a like adventure in the forest, and who the stranger could be that had so befriended him, and called him by his princely title. Nor did he deem him a mortal, but rather some spirit of the woods. A second knight, clad like the former, met Disaware the following day, leading a gray horse, charged with a suit of gray armour, and greeted him in like manner as the first knight had done; and the prince of Naples, that was in verity the false steward, not seeing the White Knight, rejoiced at his coming triumph in the tilt. But the Gray Knight, challenging him, laid him senseless on the ground, and then engaged all the others there present, and when he had vanquished them by turn, disappeared as before. Lilian the princess was, among the rest, greatly astonished by these feats of chivalry, yet she imagined, when she viewed the Gray Knight, as he fought in the lists, that he something resembled her own Disaware. But when she hastened back to the palace,


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Disaware had just returned from hunting, and of all the doings in the tournament wist nought. On the third day, not the White Knight, not the Gray, but one mounted on a bay steed, clad in green armour, with a red shield, and a golden helmet, defied all comers, and threw the false steward, that he was wounded nigh to death; and when all was done, he cast, as he rode past her place, a gold ring into the lap of Lilian the princess, and so vanished. Now, when he returned a third time to the forest to restore his horse and armour, he was met, to his great amazement and joy, by the three knights that he had delivered from prison, and were the cause of his exile from the court of his father the king; and they shewed him that, because he had so suffered for their sakes, therefore they had done him this good office, and would yet do more, to the intent that the false steward might not fulfil his wedding with Lilian the princess. Now as the season for the nuptials approached, Lilian the princess had been filled with despair, and wist not what she should do; but she at length made confession to her father, the king of Beaune, that she loved not the prince of Naples, and that her heart was entirely set on Disaware, whom she believed to be fully as noble by his birth as the prince. Her tears and prayers were bootless, however; and that gentle lady was married in the church to the prince of Naples, who was the false steward; and after the celebration of the marriage, the bride and the bridegroom sat in the hall on the dais, side by side, to receive the guests as they passed before them, and saluted them, to do them worship. There was a great throng to wish them Godspeed ere they departed; and among the others three strangers, magnificently clad, appeared, and did reverence to the king and to Lilian the princess, but the prince of Naples they marked not. Then the king demanded of them wherefore they marked not the prince that was his daughter’s wedded husband; and they answered and said they perceived not the prince. At which answer the king and all that were present wondered; but anon entered the hall Disaware, to whom the knights drew near, and made obeisance, falling on their knees, and kissing his hand. This strange spectacle struck the assembly speechless. The false steward was persuaded that all his misdeeds and deceit were on the eve of discovery; and in fact the three knights that had paid homage to their lawful prince proceeded to unfold the whole story, while Roswal, that kept no longer his feigned name, and yet had not broken his vow, acknowledged all his obligations to his benefactors. The false steward was straightway hanged, and the true Roswal was united to Lilian the princess. The feast lasted twenty days, and the prince of Naples gave largesse to the minstrels ere he and his dear lady, whom he had so hardly won, went their way back to Naples to his father’s kingdom. He approved himself good lord to all those who had befriended him in his adversity: the good wife and her son, the schoolmaster, and the good steward who had promoted him to be his page. They were richly requited, and, as the story saith, the boy with whom he learned his book died a bishop. After the death of his father and of the father of Lilian, the prince Roswal became king of Naples and Beaune; and when God called him at length away, of his three sons, the eldest was King of Naples, the second king of Beaune, and the third pope of Rome; and his two daughters married the king of France, and the prince of Apulia. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 385.

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TYPE 533 (variant). MOTIFS: S.322.1.5 [Boy turned out of doors by father]; K.2242 [Treacherous steward]; K.1934 [Impostor forces hero to change places with him]; K.1933 [Impostor forces oath of secrecy]; R.222 [Unknown knight: three-day tournament]; H.152 [Recognition through accidental encounter]. The motif of the prince freeing his father’s captives is found in several fairy stories, though the captive is generally a monster, e.g. Lang, The Crimson Fairy Book, pp. 22–8, “The Hairy Man”. It is not, however, to be found in the Motif-Index. This is a romance version of “The Goose-Girl” (type 533) with a hero in the heroine’s place. Motif R.222 is intertwined with it. The ballad of “The Lord of Lorne” (Child, no. 271) is believed by Child to be founded on this tale.

THE SQUIRE OF LOW DEGREE A squire of low degree loved the king’s daughter. He was a man for whom everyone had a kind word, for he was courteous and debonnair, and he was marshal of the royal hall, who set the king’s guests in the order which they should keep when they met together to dine or to feast. Now all marked how, whatever he did to conceal it, this squire grew more and more oppressed by melancholy, and none knew what the occasion and reason of the same were; but it was for that this squire loved the king’s daughter and heir, namely, the king of Hungary. Not a soul wist how well he loved her. He had privily nursed his passion for that lady seven years, and not a whit nigher was he yet to a fulfilment of his dreams. Oftentimes he wandered out of the king’s hall, or out of his own chamber into the palace gardens, where the birds were singing upon the trees, as if it might be that they sought by their sweet melody to assuage his distress and brighten his cheer; and he was wont to seat himself in an arbour, hard by that princess’s window-casement, and make his lament to the creatures of the air. “O, that I were rich,” he cried, “or high-born—nay, or a king’s son, that I might be worthy of that dear lady! O, that I could do some enterprize to deserve her hand, like Sir Gawayn or Sir Guy of Warwick! Then should no man win her from me!” But it was of no avail, for he was poor and unknown, and only the marshal of the king, her father’s, hall; and one day it happened that he was in the arbour, just below the lady’s casement, when he was so troubled in spirit, that he lifted up his voice in piteous wise, and at length sank down in a swoon. In her oriel, fair with painted glass, the king’s daughter stood; and when she heard the sound of that squire’s voice, as he thus bemoaned his fate, she removed one of the ivory pins wherewith the casements of the oriel were made fast, and threw the casement wide open. The sun was clearly shining through the rich glass windows, and upon the garden, and upon the arbour, and that lady saw the squire, as he lay on the ground, and said unto him: “Sir, why lamentest thou in this manner night and day? I prythee, discover to me the cause, and, an I may without reproach, I will seek to lighten thy sorrow.” The squire rose to his feet, and knelt on one knee, and answered so: “Lady, my grief, be avised, so it please you, is all for the love of you. Seven years have I kept my secret, and I know that you are of such high lineage that I cannot hope to


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gain your hand. But a word from you might be to me a comfort and a joy, and if, as I sorely doubt, you deny me, I will forsake this land, and my kith and kin, and go as a pilgrim into foreign countries, using my spear as a staff, and beg my bread, where Christ Jesus was born and crucified; nor no other mistress, to my life’s end, will I have! Therefore, sweet lady, by Him that died on Good Friday for us all, and harrowed hell, I beseech you to speak truly to me, and let me not be deceived.” Then the king’s daughter replied to him, as she stood in the sunlight in the painted oriel above the arbour: “Squire, thou shalt have my love; but thou must make no man privy thereto, and thou must go forth and serve my royal father in his wars, and cast away thy brooding over thy fate; and thus all may peradventure be well hereafter. But I warn thee against my father’s steward, for he hath an evil tongue, and misliketh thee; and if he betrays thee to the king, thou must suffer the law, whereof I should be sorely ill-content. To deserve my love, thou art to engage in deeds of chivalry and perilous adventures across the seas, in Lombardy and at Rhodes. And I straitly charge thee that thou must fight at Rhodes three Good Fridays; and if thou so doest, thou art worthy to wear thy spurs, and thou shalt get a shield of blue, in token of thy loyalty, with vine-leaves festooned, and a white baudrick, and a red cross, and all other things to knighthood appurtenant. And thou art to go everywhere, with six yeomen upon thee attending, and for thy cost I will give thee a thousand pounds, so that thou mayest lack for nought; for it is not enough to say, ‘Go, and fear not’; a man of worship must have wherewithal he may maintain his quality and estate; and thou wilt return and present thyself to the king my father as a knight that hath (like Sir Guy or the Comely Unknown, as I have read in the Book of Arthur) ever upheld the right, and is worthy to seek in the way of marriage his daughter and heir. Therefore, sir, go thy way, and God prosper thee! Seven years I shall await thy coming back, and shall remain in my solitary maidenhood!” So the squire joyfully departed, and prepared to take his leave of the king and the queen, and all the court, that he might speed on his journey; for he was impatient to begin to deserve the love and the hand of that great lady, who would make him, for that she was her father’s heir, king of that country, when the old king should die. Now, while the squire thus discoursed with the king’s daughter, the steward was hard by, and they wist it not, and every word that fell from their lips he heard well; and he began to devise in his mind how he might best make the case known to the king his master, and cross that squire, of whom he was full jealous, for he also loved that lady, and longed to gain her for his wife, that he might reign in that country after the king that now was. And it was of this false steward that the lady bad the squire beware, lest he might come to a knowledge of their intent, and denounce him to her father. The squire yet did service in the hall, until such time that it was convenient to depart, and by his gentleness and courtesy took all hearts; and the king looked upon him, as he knelt to tender him the dishes, and thought within himself that he was the seemliest man he had ever viewed. But the steward, at the first occasion, sought his master, and opened to him the matter, leaving nothing untold, and saying how the princess had made promise to him thus and thus, and, “Sir”, quoth he, “had they not espied me at last, I ween verily they would have lain together.” The king refused to believe the tale, for he said to the steward that the squire had served him in his hall his whole life, and he could not be guilty of so foul a deed, nor did

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he think that his daughter would consent thereto; for he might come to win that lady in wedlock, since many men rise from lowly station to high degree, nay, to a crown, by valour, or by good fortune, or by marriage; and he warned the steward not to defame the squire, for that, if he found that he bare false witness against him, he would cast him into prison, and a shameful death he should die. Then the steward stood firm in what he had declared, and said that he would lose his life if it were not as he had avouched. “Sir,” quoth he, “if you will grant unto me certain armed men, I will take this squire to-night in the princess’s chamber and bring him to you.” “Steward,” the king replied, “you shall have as many as you desire. Be in readiness against he comes, but be not seen; for I command you in nowise to hinder him, if he merely speak with the lady my daughter, yea, if he even kiss her. But if he do offer to break her chamber, shew yourself incontinently, and take him in my name, and hold him, till you know my pleasure.” The steward answered that he would fulfil what the king bad him; and anon the hour for dinner came, and then all assembled in the hall, the king and his court. Now, when the squire had, as he was wont, served the king, on his knee, he departed, and coming again, knelt down, craving leave to pass the sea, that he might enact deeds of chivalry in divers countries, and become a true knight. And the king assented to his prayer, and promised him gold and men to bear him company, saying that he trusted that he would ever remain loyal to him, as he had heretofore done. Now, when the squire and his companions had taken their departure, and had reached a certain village a mile away, the squire sorely longed once again to speak with his dear lady, the king’s daughter. So, leaving the rest, he hastened back alone, and entered the postern gate, and approached the tower where the princess lodged: and as he went along, he noticed how men hung about him as they would watch him. But he did not yet know that the steward had played false; and when he came to the chamber of the king’s daughter, “Thy door,” he cried, “undo, for I am beset round about with spies, O, undo thy door, my betrothed!” The king’s daughter slept; and when at length the sound of a voice outside awoke her, she took it to be some rude trespasser on her privacy, for she knew her truelove to be far away. But when she demanded who it was, and the voice answered, “Undo thy door, it is thy own squire, who cometh once more to bid thee adieu,” she opened the door, and kindly greeted him and again exhorted the squire to comport himself so, that her royal father might, on his return from the wars, see fit to wed them straight one to the other. Then he saluted her tenderly, and took his leave. Now, meanwhile, the steward was lying in wait for that squire, as he issued forth from the princess’s chamber, and at a convenient point they encompassed and attacked him, thirty and four all told. The squire laid some of them dead at his feet, and then, after a fierce combat, nearly severed the steward’s head from his body. But he was outnumbered, and taken captive; and they stripped him of his surcoat, and arrayed in it the dead steward, whom they left at that lady’s door, when they had slashed his face, so that none might know that it was not the squire. Then they took him before the king, and the king commanded that he should be cast into a deep dungeon; and so it was done. But it happened shortly after that, that the king himself went to the prison, and said to the squire: “I am content that thou shouldest go


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forth, and cross the sea, and approve thyself in the eyes of all men; and when thou dost return, it may be that thou shalt yet wed my daughter. But I charge thee, go secretly, and let no man weet thy counsel.” And the king at that time had knowledge how the steward’s guard had wrought a deceit on his daughter, and had stripped the surcoat from the squire, to put it on the dead body of their master. The squire was fain enough, and the king gave him of his own treasure all that he needed; and he went on his way, and performed many valiant acts in Tuscany, Lombardy, Portugal, and Spain, and made his offering at the Holy Sepulchre, as his lady had enjoined upon him. Now, it happened that, when the king’s daughter undid the door of her chamber, and stood forth there, as she rose from her bed, as naked as she was born, she beheld the body of the false steward; but because it was arrayed in the squire’s garment, and his visage was disfigured, she took it to be indeed her own true lord, and threw herself down upon the corpse, and bitterly wept. But presently, lest any should come upon her at unawares, she lifted the body up, and took it, and laid it in a secret place, where none should surmise, and anointed and embalmed it, inclosing it in a sweet-smelling coffin, and she set it at her bed’s head, and every night and every morning she kissed it and prayed by it. This she did seven years together, and kept her counsel, and none wist wherefore she mourned so long. But her royal father feared lest such sorrow might bring her to her end, and he sought to yield her diversion by hawking, hunting and fishing, if he might prevail on her to accompany him. But she prayed him not to persuade her, for she listed not to turn to any such things, for she mourned for one, no man should know whom. Yet her father the king guessed well how the case stood, and said nevertheless not a word to her. At last after seven years the squire, who had become the flower of chivalry, bad farewell to the strange lands, which he had visited, and returned secretly to his own country that none was privy to his return save the king only; and the king was overjoyed to see him again, and after a while commanded him to abide in his own house, till he the king had avised himself of what his daughter’s mind was, and had communed with her. So the king repaired to the tower where his daughter’s chamber lay, and when he came near, he heard her lamentations, albeit seven years had come and gone since the squire, as she thought, was slain by the false steward; and when he had listened for a season, he came to the door, and desired that it might be opened to him. “O, father,” quoth she, “thou hast heard all that I spake!” “Daughter,” he said, “grieve no longer. Thou art to be wedded to a king.” Then he unfolded to her the story. How the steward had accused the squire of unknightly discourtesy toward her, and had held him in hand, that had he the steward not been by, the squire would have lain with her; and how after, when the squire, her own truelove, had slain the steward, and was fain to yield to force of numbers, and was taken, the body of the steward, wrapped in her lord’s surcoat, was laid at her chamber door to beguile her; then again how, when they who were with the steward brought the squire to prison, he the king had with his own hand privily enlarged him, and sent him across the sea, to seek his fortune, and he repeated: “And now, daughter, weep not, for thou shalt espouse a king, or may-be an emperor.” The king’s daughter replied, that she cared not to wed any man, seeing that her own truelove was dead; and as she uttered these words, she fell into a swoon.

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The king her father raised her up, and bare her in his arms breathing into her ear as they went along; “Thy sweetheart liveth, and is here, lady. He hath been in foreign lands, and hath won much renown. I shall make him a knight, and one of my great lords, and after me, he shall wear the crown.” “O, why then,” asked she, “if thou diddest know all this, diddest thou not discover it to me? But if the squire be truly here, let me see him.” Then when she was brought where he was, and she perceived that he was whole in limb and health, she uttered a loud cry and fainted away. The squire caught her in his arms, and kissed her over and over again, till she rallied, and became sensible of her unexpected happiness. Her father the king spake unto her and said: “Daughter, have herewithal thy own truelove, and let no one seek to depart you two, under pain of God’s displeasure.” And he drew her tenderly toward him, and kissed her once, twice, and thrice. The country was full of rejoicing at the glad tidings of the safety of the squire, and his forthcoming nuptials with the king’s daughter. There was banqueting, music, and minstrelsy; and the king gave order that all the chivalry of Hungary should be summoned to honour the marriage of the squire and his lady with a tournament, and joust and merrymaking, and the story says that the festivities lasted forty days. At the end whereof the king called his twelve councillors unto him, and his son, the squire of low degree, and his daughter whom that squire had espoused, and in the midst of them all he yielded up the crown, and made the squire king in his room, and all did him homage. W.Carew Hazlitt, National Tales and Legends, p. 367. MOTIFS: T.91.6.4 [Princess falls in love with lowly boy]; H.387.1 [Bride’s constancy tested by seven years’ mourning over supposed dead lover].

THE STORY OF THE MILLER There was once upon a time a miller, had a meal-mill at this countryplace. In those days the Kings were very strict, wad take land off them and their premises, ye see, for some reason. So (it was a Sunday) the miller was walkin’ down the lade-side, the river-side, and he saw the King and his army comin’ on horseback, ye see. The King stopped and he says, “Hullo,” he says, “are you the miller along here?” and the miller says, “Yes.” He knew he was a nobleman of some kind, so he says, eh— “Well,” he says, “I’ve come to collect your mill and take everything—your land off ye,” he says, “and your meal, and that,” he says, “for every year that ye’re makin’ it,” he says. “But I’m a sportin’ man. I always give a man a chance.” He says, “I’ll give you three guesses,” he says, “and if you can guess the three guesses within a year and a day,” he says, “keep your mill.” So the guess he was given, it was impossible for tae get them; that was to sort ae jist gie the men a chance, to keep them in agony, ye know, and thinkin’ aboot the thing. So anyway, he says, “What is the guesses?”


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“Well,” he says, “first”, he says, “I want to know the weight of the moon,” see. And the second was, “Hoo many stars were in the sky?” And the next one—“Can you tell me,” the King he says,—“Can you tell me what I’m thinkin’ on? An’ I’ll give ye a year and a day to find that out.” So the miller says, “Now,” he says, “wait a minute,” he says. “That’s the weight of the moon,” he says, “and all the stars that’s in the sky, and what you’re thinkin’ on,” he says, “your Highness,’ and the King says, “Yes.” “Well,” he says, “all right, a year and a day,” so of course the army and the King rode away. But as the years, as the weeks was gaun by, the months was gaun by, the girl asked him—his luvely daughter, and she says, “Father, what’s wrong with you—you’re awful worried,” she says, “this last two or three weeks.” “Och,” he says, “nothing.” He wadnae tell her to keep the girl frae worryin’, ye see. But at the finish-up, she coaxed him to tell, and he told her. “Well,” he says,—he told her about the King giving the guesses, and he says, “How I’m goin’ a do it, I don’t know!” But here this is where Jack comes in. There was a man, Silly Jack, weren’t there? Jack—she goes and tells Jack—he was workin’ hard aboot the place (he was a kinna daft fella this), and she goes and tells him that her father was goin’ tae—so Jack made a bargain wi’ her. “Well,” he says, “if I can get your father’s life saved,” he says, “and save his property,” he says, “will ye marry me?” And the girl says, “Jack, I’ll do anything you want, if ye can save my father’s life and save the mill and aathing.” So anyway, the father’s goin’ aboot worried—I think he takes tae his bed at the finishup, no-weel, ye see, and Jack’s jist workin’ aboot the mill as usual, and when the year and the day cam up, to meet the King, Jack goes and dressed his-sel as the aul’ miller— he pits a grey wig on his heid, ye ken, a beard, a long white beard, his white moustache, and a stick and the miller’s old claes, an’ a pair of white boots, the meal that was on his boots, ye see. He goes along the mill-lade, jist marchin’ along as usual as what the miller does, but he—the old man’s lyin’ in the bed no-well—it was Jack was goin’ along, ye see. So he meets the King, and he stops as usual. “Aye,” he says, “are ye the old miller? You look very old.” “Aye,” says the miller, “I am gettin’ old.” He says, “Did ye find out,” he says, “the guesses,” he says. “I want you,” he says, “to know what I’m thinkin’ on. Have ye got the riddles yet?” ye see. So he says, “No,” he says, “but it didnae give me no thought. But I’ll try my best,” says the miller, he says, “an’ guess them,” see. So the King says to him, “What is the first one?” he says. “What was the first one again?” he says. The King says, “The first one is, Jack,” he says, “is the weight of the moon.” So Jack says, “Oh, that’s easy.” (But he thought it was the old miller, ye see, the old miller.) “Oh, that’s easy.” “Is it?” says the King. “What is it?” “Well,” he says, “there’s four quarters in the moon. An’”, he says, “four quarters in a ton—that must make the moon a ton, ye see.”

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(Four quarters in the moon’s four quarters of a ton—the moon must weigh a ton.) “So,” he says, “if ye don’t believe me,” he says, “ye’ll go and weigh it,” he says, “or do something like that,” he says, “to prove it.” “Well,” he says, “it might be so,” he says, “I don’t know,” he says; “I believe,” he says, “ye’re right there. But,” he says, “the second one,” he says, “I’ll puzzle ye,” he says. “How many stars are in the sky?” So, of coorse, Jack got oot a blunder, a big figure, you know, that the King couldnae hardly follow, ye see, and the King looked at him, scratched his head, looks at him. He says, “Well, if ye don’t believe me,” he says, “ye start and coont them.” So the King couldnae coont aa the stars, ye see, and he says, “Well,” he says, “it could be right, Miller,” he says. “But,” he says, “the last one’ll beat ye,” says the King, “ye cannae tell me,” he says, “what I’m thinkin’ on.” “Oh yes,” says Jack, he says, “you’re thinkin’”, he says, “ye’re speakin’ til the old miller,” he says, “but you’ll find,” he says, “it’s his good-son ye’re speakin’ tae.” An’ he pulls off the wig and the beard off his face and stretched his-sel up. It was very clever, wasn’t it? That’s one of my father’s. School of Scottish Studies. Collected by Hamish Henderson from Andrew Stewart, 1955. TYPE 922. MOTIFS: H.541 [Riddle propounded with penalty for failure]; H.691.1.1 [“What does the moon weigh?” A pound, since it has four quarters]; H.702.1.1 [How many stars in the heavens? A million, and if you don’t believe it, count them yourself]; H.524.1 [What am I thinking?]. This lively recent version of “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury” differs chiefly from the usual tale in making the miller the man who is questioned and not the man who answers, and in the help given by the daughter. See also “The Independent Bishop”, “King John and the Abbot of Canterbury”. “The Professor of Signs” and others like it are closely related to this tale.

SUGAR AND SALT Once upon a time there was a father who had two daughters. Calling them to him one day he said to them, “What is the sweetest thing in the world?” “Sugar,” said the elder daughter. “Salt,” said the younger. The father was angry at this last answer. But his daughter stuck to it, and so her father said to her, “I won’t keep a daughter in my house who believes that salt is the sweetest thing in the world. You must leave me and seek another home.” So the younger daughter left her father’s house and wandered here and there, suffering much hunger and cold, until at last she was befriended by the fairies. As she walked through a wood one day listening to the songs of the birds a prince came hunting for deer, and when he saw her he fell in love with her at once. She agreed to marry him, and a great banquet was prepared at the prince’s house. To this banquet the bride’s father was bidden; but he did not know that the bride was his own daughter.


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Now, at the wish of the bride, all the dishes were prepared without salt. So when the guests began to eat they found that the food was tasteless. At last one of them said, “There is no salt in the meat!” And then all the guests said, “There is no salt in the meat!” And the bride’s father spoke the loudest of all. “Truly, salt is the sweetest thing in the world,” he said; “though, for saying so, I sent my own daughter away from my house, and shall never see her face again.” Then the bride made herself known to her father, and fell on his neck and kissed him. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 48. TYPE 923. MOTIF: H.592.1 [“Love like salt”; girl compares her love for father to salt; experience teaches him the value of salt]. The point of the tale is blurred in this version, and better shown in “Cap o’ Rushes” (A, II). Shakespeare used the same theme, drawn from Holinshed, for King Lear. See “Cap o’ Rushes”.

THE TALE OF IVAN There were formerly a man and a woman living in the parish of Llanlavan, in the place which is called Hwrdh. And work became scarce, so the man said to his wife, “I will go search for work, and you may live here.” So he took fair leave, and travelled far toward the east, and at last came to the house of a farmer and asked for work. “What work can ye do?” said the farmer. “I can do all kinds of work,” said Ivan. Then they agreed upon three pounds for the year’s wages. When the end of the year came round his master showed him the three pounds. “See, Ivan,” said he, “here’s your wage; but if you will give it me back I’ll give you a piece of advice instead.” “Give me my wage,” said Ivan. “No, I’ll not,” said the master; “I’ll explain my advice.” “Tell it me, then,” said Ivan. Then said the master, “Never leave the old road for the sake of a new one.” After that they agreed for another year at the old wages, and at the end of it Ivan took instead a piece of advice, and this was it: “Never lodge where an old man is married to a young woman.” The same thing happened at the end of the third year, when the piece of advice was: “Honesty is the best policy.” But Ivan would not stay longer, but wanted to go back to his wife. “Don’t go today,” said his master; “my wife bakes to-morrow, and she shall make thee a cake to take home to thy good woman.” And when Ivan was going to leave, “Here,” said his master, “here is a cake for thee to take home to thy wife, and, when ye are most joyous together, then break the cake, and not sooner.” So he took fair leave of them, and travelled towards home, and at last he came to Wayn Her, and there he met three merchants from Tre Rhyn, of his own parish, coming

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home from Exeter Fair. “Oho! Ivan,” said they, “come with us; glad are we to see you. Where have you been so long?” “I have been in service,” said Ivan, “and now I’m going home to my wife.” “Oh, come with us! You’ll be right welcome.” But when they took the new road, Ivan kept to the old one. And robbers fell upon them before they had gone far from Ivan as they were going by the fields of the houses in the meadow. They began to cry out, “Thieves!” and Ivan shouted out “Thieves!” too. And when the robbers heard Ivan’s shout, they ran away, and the merchants went by the new road and Ivan by the old one till they met again at Market Jew. “Oh, Ivan,” said the merchants, “we are beholding to you; but for you we would have been lost men. Come, lodge with us at our cost, and welcome.” When they came to the place where they used to lodge, Ivan said, “I must see the host.” “The host,” they cried, “what do you want with the host? Here is the hostess, and she is young and pretty. If you want to see the host, you’ll find him in the kitchen.” So he went into the kitchen to see the host; he found him a weak old man turning the spit. “Oh! oh!” quoth Ivan, “I’ll not lodge here, but will go next door.” “Not yet,” said the merchants. “Sup with us and welcome.” Now it happened that the hostess had plotted with a certain monk in Market Jew to murder the old man in his bed that night while the rest were asleep, and they agreed to lay it on the lodgers. So while Ivan was in bed next door, there was a hole in the pine-end of the house, and he saw a light through it. So he got up and looked, and heard the monk speaking. “I had better cover this hole,” said he, “or people in the next house may see our deeds.” So he stood with his back against it while the hostess killed the old man. But meanwhile Ivan out with his knife, and putting it through the hole, cut a round piece off the monk’s robe. The very next morning the hostess raised the cry that her husband was murdered, and as there was neither man nor child in the house, but the merchants, she declared they ought to be hanged for it. So they were taken and carried to prison, till at last Ivan came to them. “Alas! Alas! Ivan,” cried they, “bad luck sticks to us; our host was killed last night, and we shall be hanged for it.” “Ah! tell the justices,” said Ivan, “to summon the real murderers.” “Who knows,” they replied, “who committed the crime?” “Who committed the crime!” said Ivan. “If I cannot prove who committed the crime, hang me in your stead.” So he told all he knew, and brought out the piece of cloth from the monk’s robe, and with that the merchants were set at liberty, and the hostess and the monk were seized and hanged. Then they all came together out of Market Jew, and they said to him: “Come as far as Coed Carrn y Wylfa, the Wood of the Heap of Stones of Watching, in the parish of Burman.” Then their two roads separated, and though the merchants wished Ivan to go with them, he would not go with them, but went straight home to his wife.


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And when his wife saw him she said: “Home in the nick of time. Here’s a purse of gold that I’ve found; it has no name, but sure it belongs to the great lord yonder. I was just thinking what to do when you came.” Then Ivan thought of the third counsel, and he said: “Let us go and give it to the great lord.” So they went up to the castle, but the great lord was not in it, so they left the purse with the servant that minded the gate, and then they went home again and lived in quiet for a time. But one day the great lord stopped at their house for a drink of water, and Ivan’s wife said to him: “I hope your lordship found your lordship’s purse quite safe with all its money in it.” “What purse is that you are talking about?” said the lord. “Sure, it’s your lordship’s purse that I left at the castle,” said Ivan. “Come with me and we will see into the matter,” said the lord. So Ivan and his wife went up to the castle, and there they pointed out the man to whom they had given the purse, and he had to give it up and was sent away from the castle. And the lord was so pleased with Ivan that he made him his servant instead of the thief. “Honesty’s the best policy!” quoth Ivan, as he skipped about in his new quarters. “How joyful I am!” Then he thought of his old master’s cake that he was to eat when he was most joyful, and when he broke it, lo and behold inside it was his wages for the three years he had been with him. Jacobs, Celtic Fairy Tales, p. 195, from Lluyd, Archaeologia Britannia (1707). Cornish. TYPE 910. MOTIFS: J.163.4 [Good counsels bought]; L.222.1 [Modest choice for parting gift: money or counsels: counsels chosen]; J.21.5 [“Do not leave the high road”]; J.21.3 [“Do not go where an old man has a young wife”]; J.21 [Counsels proved wise by experience]; L.290 [Modesty brings reward]. Jacobs has altered the last incident. See also “The Three Good Advices”, “The Tinner of Chyannor”, “Yallabritches”.

THOMASINE BONAVENTURE [summary] Thomasine was the daughter of a small farmer in the parish of Week St. Mary, in Cornwall. She was born about the year 1450, and grew up without formal education, though with much natural beauty and ability and a contented heart; so that her simple life and the care of her father’s sheep and geese were all she needed for happiness. A traveller riding over the moor observed Thomasine, and entered into talk with her. Her beauty and intelligence so charmed him that he persuaded her parents to allow her to enter his service, promising her good wages and privileges, and undertaking to care and provide for her in his far-away London home. In this family she spent many years, and when at last her master’s wife died, Thomasine became his second wife. He was now a prosperous city draper, and two years later, on his death, left a large fortune to his widow. Unspoilt by her wealth and position, Thomasine grew in grace of mind and manners, and

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was courted by many suitors. Her second husband, Henry Gale, was an eminent citizen, but he too died, and Thomasine inherited a second fortune while still less than thirty years old. Before long she was again married, her husband, John Percivall, being carver to the Lord Mayor in 1487. For this service he was, as custom dictated, made a Sheriff; and in 1499, was himself elected Lord Mayor, and knighted by Henry VII. He lived to a great age, but eventually, on his death, Lady Thomasine inherited her third fortune. She returned in her grief to her childhood’s home, and spent her late years in many good works for its people; roads and bridges were constructed at her cost; prisoners were cared for, and the poor fed and clothed. She founded a chantry and free school, to pray for the souls of her parents and her three husbands, and other relatives. The school was endowed with a library, and its learned master, Cholwell, in the reign of Henry VIII, was in all likelihood the originator of the name “Bonaventure”, bestowed upon Thomasine because of her good fortune. She died at the age of eighty, honoured and loved by all who knew her. Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, p. 454. TYPE 875 (variant). MOTIFS: J.1111.4. [Clever peasant daughter]; J.180 [Possession of wisdom]; V.400 [Charity].

THE THREE GOOD ADVICES [transcription of tape] Oncet upon a time there was a man and a woman lived in a wee cottage, away up about the north of Scotland somewhere, ye see, and this man was a baker to trade, but in the village he was stayin’ in, the old man of the baker’s shop died, and this man was thrown out of a job—there were no baker’s shop there. But he stuck his place for about two year, and things was gettin’ very hard wi’ him, ye see, so one day he says to the wife, he says, “I think”, he says, “I’ll go and look for a job,” he says. “Things are very tight,” he says— “nae work comin’ into the hoose,” he says, “and the two lassies at school,” he says, “I’ve got to go and look for a job, ye see.” So his wife says, “Where are ye goin’ ’a go?” “I don’t know,” he says; “if ye jist make me up a piece,” he says, “gie me a blanket wi’ me,” he says, “I’ll march the road, and I’ll try and get a job in some toon,” he says; “I’ll surely get a job somewhere, ye see. Doesnae maitter what it is.” So anyway, in the mornin’ she gies him a piece and gies him a blanket—made her man as comfortable as she could for the long journey. And he’s waved his kiddies farewell, and kissed his wife, and off he went—sets off, ye see. So anyway, on he goes— oh, he marched on till he was aboot six weeks on the road, till he comes marchin’ intae a village. In the village, there was four cross-roads in this village in the street, a crossroads. An he comes in—he looks up the one street and he looks doon the ither street, and he’s standing at the corner—it was kinda well on in the night. An across the street was a baker’s shop; it was shut. In the front of the baker’s shop there was a stoot man stannin’, like the wan, the boss of the shop, was stannin’. An this man of the shop was matchin’ this other man across the street,—the baker—stannin’ watchin’ the man that was lookin’ for the job, ye see.


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So he comes marchin’ owre to the baker to ask where there was a lodgin’-hoose or anything where he could sleep for the night, and the man directed him where he could get lodgings. He says, “What are ye doin’?” he says—“Ye’re a stranger here,” says the man of the shop. “Yes,” he says, “I’m a stranger,” he says. “I’m looking for a job.” He says, “What kinna job are ye lookin’ for?” “Well,” says the man, “it’s a funny thing,” he says, “you asked me that,” he says— “jist the same kinna job you are,” he says. “I’m a baker. I’m a baker to trade.” “Well,” says the man, “I could do wi’ a man for a baker,—a man to make pastries.” They’ve come to an agreement, an’ asked the wages, and the man tellt him. “Well,” he says, “ye’ll get your lodgings,” he says. “I’ll gie ye a good pay, and everything.” So he was there for aboot six month, and he could make the loveliest pastries ever, the man—he was aboot the best baker this man had—the boss of the baker’s shop—told him he was a good baker. And he got so much wi’ his keep—got his food and his bed, but at the end of the year he got so much of his wages, a lump sum for goin’ away. Now he was wearied for his wife and two wee lassies—see—so he says to the man, “I’m goin’ home,” he says, “the day after to-morrow,” he says, “I’m goin’ back home,” he says—“I want to see the wife and kiddies. And,” he says, “I’ll be liftin’ aa my wages,” he says, “I don’t know what might happen me, for I’ve a long road to go home.” “That’s all right,” says the man, he says, “but,” he says, “there’s one thing,” he says, “I’m goin’ to ask ye,” he says. “I jist cam in to see ye, man,” he says, “before ye were goin’ away up to your bed,” he says, “whether wad ye take your year’s wages, or take three good advices.” So the baker looked at him, says, “What d’ye mean, Boss?” “Well,” he says, “I’m only askin’,” he says, “Whether wad ye take three good advices,” he says, “or wad ye take your year’s pay?” “Well,” he says, “ye’ve got me noo,” he says, “ye see, I cud dae wi’ my week’s pey. An’,“he says,” wi’ three good advices I could walk oot in the road there and get killed,” he says, “or something like that.” And he says, “Wad ye gie me up to the morn’s mornin’ to think it owre?” So the man says, “Yes, that’ll do,” he says. “If you wait till the morn’s mornin’ ye’re gaun away to-morrow,” he says, “I’ll—ye can decide then which of the things ye want to take—your money or your three advices.’ So away, thinkin’ in bed—he could hardly sleep. An’ he says—whan he cam doon for his breakfast in the mornin’, the Boss says, “Well,” he says, “George,” he says, “did ye make up your mind what ye’re goin’to take,” he says, “your money”, he says, “there’s your wages; there’s your packet,” he says, “there’s a fair lump of money in it—I know you could be daein’ wi’ the money. And,” he says, “I’ve got three good advices to gie ye,” he says. “Have ye made up your mind which o’m ye’re gonnae take?” “Well,” says the man, “I could dae wi the money,” he says, “but I think I’ve made up my mind,” he says, “to take the three good advices.” “Well,” he says, “you took a wise decision,” the man says. “Well,” he says, “the best advice is: Never take a near-cut!” He says, “Never get into a hoose,” he says, “where there’s a red-heidit man, a redheidit wumman, a red-heidit—an auld red-heidit man, an auld red-heidit wumman, an’ a red-heidit son.”

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“Oh,” says the man, “I’ll mind that.” “And,” he says, “your third advice is,” he says, “There’s a half-loaf, an‘don’t break that half-loaf,” he says, “till ye break it in your wife’s apron. Get her to haud oot her apron,” he says, “and break the half-loaf in your wife’s apron—see?” “Very good,” says the man. “But,” he says, “there’s your week’s pey to ye. It will cairry ye hame.” So he bid his boss farewell, and said, “You were very good to me,” and bid his family farewell, and away he set off for home. In them days it was mail-coaches—there were nae motor-cars, an’ buses—horseback and mail-coaches. He’s marchin’ the road back, and his feet were sore, travellin’. Well, he came to a near-cut, and across this near-cut, across the fields, was takin’ aboot three mile off him, off his journey, see. He forgot aboot the advice, and he says, “Well,” he says, “I’m goin’ owre this nearcut,” he says, “and it’ll cut three mile off me. And,” he says, “my feet’s sore, I’ll have to go across this field.” Well, he went owre the stile, and he’s marchin’ through this field—it was a moonlight’s night—and the frost was on everything. When he’s comin’ over the field, he hears the scream of a man, and this was Burkers cuttin’ a packman’s throat, in the middle of the field, jist as he was comin’ owre the brae of the hill. The screams over the roads were something terrible. He backs back, and he backs back, and he ran for his life till he got on to the road, and he ran doon the road, and wi’ the excitement—he ran doon the road—he ran to a wee crofter’s hoose at the side of the road, and when he ran in oot the road, there was a red-heidit man, an auld red-heidit wumman, and a red-heidit son. And he knew he’d done wrong. The man said, “What is it?” “Ah”, he says, “I’m tired—I got chased there and I cam in,” he says, “to see if ye could pit me up for the night.” “Well,” says the man, he says, “I’ tell ye,” he says, “ye can gie him some parritch,” he says, “and milk there—gie him a feed.” So he mindit on the three advices noo; he says, “I’m goin’ ’a be murdered here the night,” says, “this is a Burker’s hoose. Well,” he says, “listen,” he says, “before ye gie me a wee bite of meat and that,” he says, “and before ye’s pit me in the byre,” he says, “will ye let me oot for a minute—I want to do something, see?” The man says, “Aye, aye,” he says, “jist gang oot there, and dinnae be long.” And here, when he went oot, he went into the reed—that’s where they keep the manure—coo’s manure and horse-manure—he went into the reed, and he sat in a corner of the reed; he never cam back in again. An’ they’re searchin’ for him up and doon, here and there, and they couldnae fin’ him; they searched byre, stacks and everything, but they hadnae an idea tae gaun into the reed where the dung was, where he was sittin’—see?, he was hidin’ in there. He bade there tae aboot the break of day-light, and here was the mailcoach comin’, wi’ the mail and two horses. The man had a gun on top of the thing, and his two dogs, and the horses comin’ trottin’ along the road. He jumps owre and he held his hand up to the man like that, and tellt the man to gie him a lift. And he still had his parcel. He got on to the mailcoach, and he tells the man goin’ along the road what happened. “Well,” he says, “if they come eftir ye,” he says, “I’ll gie them an unce of leid,” he says, “oot of my gun, wi’ this blunderbuss, I’ve got,” he says, “and I’ll put my dogs on them,” he says. “Ye should watch what ye’re daen, man.” But when he got to the wife’s


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hoose, the wife was glad to see him, and the wee lassie; she throwed her arms aroond her man and tellt him to come in. “God”, she says, “you look fagged oot,” she says, and she says, “Have ye got the money?” “No,” he says, “I’ve only got this, what’ I’ve got left,’ ’he says, “aboot three pound,” he says. “Did ye no get nae mair nor that,” she says, “for your year’s workin’?” “Naw,” he says, “that’s aa I’ve got,” he says, but he started tellin’ her aboot the three good advices. He says, “My first good advice was no to take a near-cut through the field, and whan I went through the field,” he says, “there was a man gettin’ murdered. An’,” he says, “the other yin was no to gaun intae a hoose where there was red-heidit folk. But,” he says, “that’s what I done,” he says, “and I sat in the reed aa night. An’,” he says, “my third good advice,” he says to his wife, “was this wee halfloaf. The baker told me,” he says—“the boss at the baker-shop told me for to haud oot your apron. Now,” he says, “haud oot your apron until I break the half-loaf.” An’ the wife held oot the apron, like that, and he broke the half-loaf. It was full of gold sovereigns. “Jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle,” the gold sovereigns fell intae her apron, and they lived happily ever after, and she was glad to see her man—he was near killed. So the three good advices peyed him, didn’t it? That’s the finish of it, and that’s the end of my story. My mother told us that story, years ago, when I was a wee boy. School of Scottish Studies. Collected by Hamish Henderson from Andrew Stewart, 1955. TYPE 910A. MOTIFS: J.163.4 [Good counsels bought]; J.21 [Counsels proved wise by experience]; J.21.5 [“Do not leave the high road”]; L.222.1 [Modest choice for parting gifts: money or counsels; counsels chosen]; L.290 [Modesty brings reward]. See “The Tale of Ivan”, “The Tinner of Chyannor”, “Yalla-britches”. See also “The Reid-Heidit Family” among the Burker Tales.

THE TINNER OF CHYANNOR When Trereen village, near the Logan Stone, was a flourishing market town, merchants of Tyre used to come there for the tin trade, and many Jews settled in the region for the sake of farming the tin-land, and selling the tin at St Michael’s Mount. At one time the tin-streams round Trereen seemed to be giving out, and a knot of tinners who lived between Chyannor and Trengothal were standing in the market-place of Trereen, the Garrack Zans, discussing their trouble. One of them, an older man than the rest, named Tom Trezidder, offered to journey inland and try his fortune, for it was rumoured that there was tin up country, beyond Market Jew. In those days this was a great adventure, and all the village came to gether to bid Tom farewell, and his wife was in sad distress. However, Tom went bravely away, and not far beyond Goldsythney he engaged himself to a Jew tin-farmer, who was delighted with Tom for his experience and industrious ways. He gave him just enough to live on, and promised to make up his wages at the end of the year.

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But when this arrived, he contrived to put Tom off for another year, and gave him only a piece of advice: “Never leave an old road for a new one.” He also persuaded Tom to send for some of his former companions to help with the work. Only a few came, and at the year’s end, the same thing happened—no wages, and the same piece of advice. But at the end of the third year, all of them were tired of being put off, and decided to go home. Tom Trezidder, who was a favourite with his mistress, received from her a good currant cake to take home to his wife, and the same advice, “Never leave an old road for a new one.” So the tinners set off together, and came nearly to Penzance on the western side. Here they found that a new road had been made, which was a short-cut, and led over the hills. All the others decided to take this road, but Tom remembered the advice they had so often been given, and he kept to the old road round the hills. Presently he sat down to eat his fuggan, when suddenly he saw his companions sadly and slowly coming down the hill towards him. They had been attacked by robbers, who had taken their small bit of money, and beaten them for not having more. Tom was now thankful that he had followed his master’s advice, and he got safely home at last. His wife was delighted to see him safe, and made him some herby tea. He showed her the cake, but when he added that it and a piece of advice were all the wages he had brought home, she was so angry that she threw the cake at his head. He stooped to avoid the blow, and the cake was shattered to bits against the dresser. Out on to the lime-ash floor rolled a stream of gold coins. As they joyfully gathered them up, they noticed a piece of paper, which when they unscrewed it, proved to contain the exact account of Tom’s earnings over the three years. His master had carefully hoarded them for him, and so the old couple found themselves provided for for the rest of their days. And often they prayed in gratitude for the honest Jewish merchant and his wife. From R.Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, p. 344. TYPE 910A. MOTIFS: J.163.4 [Good counsels bought]; J.21 [Counsels proved wise by experience]; J.21.5 [“Do not leave the high road”]; L.222.1 [Modest choice for parting gifts: money or counsels; counsels chosen]; L.290 [Modesty brings reward]. In this version of the tale the same piece of counsel is given each time. In various forms the tale has a world-wide distribution. See also “The Tale of Ivan”, “The Three Good Advices”, “Yalla-britches”.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP [shortened version] When a rabbi would die, he demanded of his son: “My son, how many good friends hast thou?” And his son answered to him: “My father, I have as I suppose, an hundred friends.” And the father answered to him: “Beware and look well that thou suppose none to be thy friend without that thou hast assayed and proved him. For I have lived longer than thyself, and unnethe have I got half a friend, wherefore I marvel much how thou hast gotten so many friends.” …His son demanded of him, “My father, I pray you that ye will give to me counsel how I shall mowe prove and assay my friends.” And his father said to him: “Go thou and kill a calf, and put it in a sack all bloody and bear it to thy first friend, and say to him that it is a man which thou hast slain, and that for the love of which he


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loveth thee that he will keep thy misdeed secretly and bury it to the end that he may save thee.” The which counsel his son did, to whom his friend said: “If thou hast done evil, I will not bear the pain for thee, for within my house thou shalt not enter.” And thus one after other, he assayed all his friends and every of them made to him such an answer as the first did… And then he returned again to his father and told him how he had done. And his father answered to him: “Many one been friends of words only; but few been in fait or deed. Go thou to my half-friend, and bear to him thy calf, and thou shalt see and hear what he shall say to thee.” And when the son came to the half-friend of his father, he said to him as he did to the others. And when the half-friend understood his fait or deed, he anon took him secretly into his house, and led him into a sure and obscure place, where he did bury his dead calf. Whereof the son knew the truth of the half-friend’s love. …And then the father said to his son that the philosopher sayeth that the very and true friend is found in the extreme need. Then asked the son of his father:” Sawest thou never man which in his life got a whole friend?” And his father said: “I saw never none, but well have I heard it said My son, sometime have I heard of two merchants which never had seen each other. The one was of Egypt, and the other was of Baldak, but they had knowledge each of other by their letters, which they sent and wrote friendly one to the other. It befell then that the merchant of Egypt came into Baldak, for to chepe and buy some ware or merchandise, whereof his friend was much glad and went to meet him, and brought him benignly into his own house. “And after that he had cheered and feasted him by the space of nine days, the same merchant of Baldak waxed (grew pale) and became sick… and his friend came to him and said: ‘My friend, I pray thee that thou wilt show and tell to me thy sickness.’ “And his friend said to him: ‘I pray thee that thou wilt make to come hither all the women and maidens which been in thy house, for to see if she which my heart desireth is among them.’ And anon his friend made to come before him both his own daughters and servants, among the which was a young maid which he had nourished for his pleasure. And when the sick man saw her, he said to his friend: ‘The same is she which may be cause of my life or death.’ The which his friend gave to him for to be his wife, the which he wedded, and returned with her into Baldak with great joy. “…But within a short while after, it happed and fortuned so that this merchant of Egypt fell in poverty, and for to have some consolation and comfort he took his way towards Baldak and supposed to go and see his friend. And about one evening he arrived to the city; and for as much as he was not well arrayed nor clothed, he had shame by daylight to go into the house of his friend, but went and lodged him within a temple nigh by his friend’s house. “It happed then that on the same night that he lay there, a man slew another man before the gate of the said temple, wherefore the neighbors were sore troubled. “And then all the people…came into the temple, wherein they found nobody save only the Egyptian, the which they took and like a murderer interrogated him why he had slain that man which lay dead before the portal of the temple. “He then, seeing his infortune and poverty, confessed that he had killed him; for…he would rather die than live any more. Wherefore he was had before the judge, and was condemned to be hanged. And when men led him toward the gallows, his friend saw and

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knew him, and began to weep sore, remembering the benefits which he had done to him. Wherefore he went to the Justice and said: ‘My lords, this man did not the homicide, for it was myself that did it, and therefore ye should do great sin, if ye should put this innocent and guiltless to death.’ And anon he was taken for to be had unto the gallows. “And then the Egyptian said: ‘My lords, he did it not, and therefore evil should ye do to put him to death.’ And as the two friends would have been hanged each one for the other, he which had done the homicide came and knew and confessed there his sin, and addressed himself before the Justice and said: ‘My lords, none of them both hath done the deed, and therefore punish not ye these innocents. For I alone ought to bear the pain.’ “Whereof all the Justice was greatly marvelled…and took them all three and led them before the king. And…he granted grace to the murderer, and so all three were delivered. And the friend brought his friend into his house and received him joyously. And after, he gave to him both gold and silver, and the Egyptian turned again to his house.” And when the father had said and rehearsed all this to his son, his son said to him, “My father, I know now well that he which may get a good friend is well happy, and with great labor, as I suppose, I shall get such a one.” A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 15–18. TYPE 893. MOTIFS: H.1558.1 [Tests of friendship. The half-friend]; R.169.6 [Youth saved from death-sentence by father’s friend]. The source of this is possibly the Gesta Romanorum, no. 129. It is also to be found in popular tradition. Lithuanian, Icelandic, French, Spanish and African versions are cited.

TWO IRISH LADS IN CANADA A young Irishman in Ireland who was very anxious to seek his fortune in Canada made up his mind to work his passage and try his luck there. He had a sweetheart. She was a nice and well-doing Irish girl, and before they parted each gave the other a ring as a keepsake to remember one another by. They parted, and he proceeded on his way to Glasgow, where he was to get the ship for Canada. At Glasgow he had some time before he went on board the ship, and he met in with some of the passengers who was going with the ship, he met in with another Irish lad called Mick. He had been working in Glasgow, and he was going out to see if he could better himself. So the two struck up a friendship, and proposed keeping together. So after they landed in Canada, they bought some small stuff, and each carried a pack of a lot of useful things. They went round the country selling their wares. They had taken a small house to rent, and made their own food. They did not make much for some time, but they began to do better, and they bought a donkey and cart, and were getting on better. The lad from Ireland, called Pat, got letters occasionally from his sweetheart in Ireland, but Mick said he had no sweetheart. As Pat was a bit careless, leaving his loveletters lying about, Mick read them on the sly, and knew all that his mate’s sweetheart wrote. So one day Pat got a letter from his sweetheart, telling him to come home, as her uncle had died and left her heir to a fortune and his estate, with a big house. So Pat told his


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mate he would have to go home, as his sweetheart had been left a fortune. “Well,” said Mick, “I will just have to carry on, as I have no sweetheart.” So Pat was making arrangements to go home, when his mate Mick disappeared, and he did not know what had comed of him. So Pat arrived home, and was making his way to his sweetheart’s estate she had directed him to come to. When he came to the gates, a fruiterer with a donkey and a float with all sorts of nice fruit came forward. Pat stopped him and asked him where he was going with all the fruit. “Oh,” said the man on the float, “there is a big day up at the bighouse.” “Oh,” said Pat, “What is on up at the big house today?” “Oh, haven’t you heard that the young lady is getting married today to her sweetheart?” “I did not know,” said Pat, “as I did not hear the news. But,” said Pat, “will you sell me your turn-out?” The Irishman was so astonished he asked Pat if he meant it, or was it just a jest? “It is no jest. If you will sell me your turn-out with the fruit I will give you a good price.” “Well,” he said, “I had no intention of selling, as the outfit suits me very well; but give me an offer, and I will consider it.” Pat made him a big offer, and the fruiterer accepted it, and after Pat had paid him—“Now,” said Pat, “I want your clothes, and I will exchange you with mine.” Pat had a good suit on, and the man just laughed, and asked Pat what he meant by his strange deal. “Oh,” said Pat, “I just want to go up to the mansion, to see the fun.” So they exchanged their clothes, and Pat jumped on to his float, and drove up to the mansion. He went to the kitchen door, as the fruiterer had told him to do, and after selling a lot of fruit, he drove along in front of the big house, and as he looked up at one of the open windows, he saw his sweetheart, and sitting beside her was his lost mate, Mick. Pat stopped, and selected a nice apple, and drew the ring off his finger, and pressed it into the apple, and turned round and called up, “Would you like an apple, my lady?” And he threw it to her, and she caught it. Pat drove on slowly. The lady had found something hard in the apple and, after looking at it, pulled out the ring. When she saw it, she knew it at once, and begged to be excused a few minutes. She gave orders to a servant to run after the fruiterer, and bring him back, as she had something to say to him. The fruiterer came back, and she knew him. She said she could not understand how such a change had taken place, when she saw this other man, and he said he was Pat, her sweetheart. But when the ring appeared he was found out. So Pat and her went back to her room, and his treacherous mate was thrown out. She told Pat that his mate was in such a hurry to get married she began to get very suspicious, and thought there was something wrong; and it was a good job Pat landed in time, and found out the cunning fiend he had as a mate. School of Scottish Studies. John Elliot’s Notebook. TYPE 974. MOTIFS: N.681 [Lover arrives home just as mistress is to marry another]; T.61.4.5 [Betrothal by ring]; K.1915 [The false bridegroom]; H.94 [Identifcation by ring]. This tale bears a very close resemblance to “Hind Horn”, of which it is a modern version.

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UNDER THE EARTH I GO It’s something the same as “The Story of the Miller”, and the joke in this one was—the boy had to give this King a joke that the King’s men and his knights and that couldnae guess, and the King hisself couldnae guess—so he got a year and a day for to do the same thing, so it was the opposite way about, like—the boy had to give the King the riddles; so here, when the boy gave the riddles, he hadnae to tell him the riddles—he had to give the riddles when he—to the place—he had a year and a day to think what riddles he was going to give the King. So here, he mounted his horse, Jack, and he went to the King’s palace, and all the army was there, ye see, and the King’s guards, so the riddle had to be read out, so Jack read the riddle out, and the riddle was: “Under the earth I go, On the oak-leaf I stand, I ride on the filly that never was foaled, And I carry the dead in my hand.” So they tried to guess and guess, and everybody tried to guess, but they couldnae make out what it was. And what the thing was, Jack, his father had an old mare, she was infoal. He knocked the mare down, and killed her, cuts up the mare, which was near foalin’, takes the foal out, out of her stomach, ye see, rears it up, gets on its back, fills his hat up with earth, puts oak-leafs in his shoes, and that’s where the riddle goes. He made a whup of the mother’s hide—skin, and that was what the riddle was, and they couldnae guess it, and he told them. Under the earth I go: he takes his hat off—it was full of sand. He takes his boots off. He says, “I ride on this filly,” he says, “it was never foaled”; he told them how he’d done it. An’ he says, “I carry the dead in my hand”; it was the mother’s dead skin he had in the hand for the whip. It’s quite good, wisn’t it? School of Scottish Studies. Collected by Hamish Henderson from Andrew Stewart. TYPE 927. See “The Life-saving Riddle”.

THE UNGRATEFUL SONS They have a tradition at Winterton that there was formerly one Mr Lacy, that lived there and was a very rich man, who, being grown very aged, gave all that he had away unto his three sons, upon condition that one should keep him one week, and another another. But it happened within a little while that they were all weary of him, after that they got what they had, and regarded him no more than a dog. The old man perceiving how he was slighted, went to an attorny to see if his skill could not afford him any help in his troubles. The attorny told him that no law in the land could help him nor yield him any


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comfort, but there was one thing onely which would certainly do, which, if he would perform, he would reveal to him. At which the poor old man was exceeding glad, and desired him for God’s sake to reveal the same, for he was almost pined and starved to dead, and he would willingly do it rather than live as he did. “Well,” says the lawyer, “you have been a great friend of mine in my need, and I will now be one to you in your need. I will lend you a strong box with a strong lock on it, in which shall be contained £1000; you shall on such a day pretend to have fetched it out of such a close, where it shall be supposed that you hid, and carry it into one of your sons’ houses, and make it your business every week, while you are sojourning with such or such a son, to be always counting of the money, and ratleing it about, and you shall see that, for love of it, they’ll soon love you again, and make very much of you, and maintain you joyfully, willingly and plentifully, unto your dying day.” The old man having thanked the lawyer for this good advice, and kind proffer, received with a few days the aforesayd box full of money, and having so managed it as above,his graceless sons soon fell in love with him again, and made mighty much of him, and perceiving that their love to him continued stedfast and firm, he one day took it out of the house and carry’d it to the lawyer, thanking him exceedingly for the lent thereof. But when he got to his sons he made them believe that (he) had hidden it again, and that he would give it to him of them whome he loved best when he dyd. This made them all so observant of him that he lived the rest of his days in great peace, plenty and happiness amongst them, and dyed full of years. But a while before he dyd he upbraded them for their former ingratitude, told them the whole history of the box, and forgave them. County Folk-lore, V, Lincolnshire (Gutch and Peacock), p. 362. From the diary of Abraham de la Pryme, pp. 162–3. TYPE 982. MOTIF: P.236.2 [Supposed chest of gold induces children to care for aged father]. This type is given literary treatment by Ernest Seton Thompson in Two Little Savages.

THE WRIGHT’S CHASTE WIFE [summary] In the days of Edward IV there lived a wright whose work was so good that he feared no man’s rivalry. So engrossed was he in his work that for long he gave no thought even to marriage. He had friends everywhere, and was welcome wherever he went. But at last he heard of a maid so well spoken of for her beauty and virtue, that he decided to woo her. Her mother was a widow, and told him that she could give no dowry to her daughter but a garland of white roses. But this garland had the power to remain fresh and unwithered as long as the daughter was faithful to her husband; if ever she betrayed him, it would wither. The man was delighted both with his bride and his garland. He led her home and for three days they held revels. But soon the wright began to think how when he was away from home, his lovely bride would be tempted by other men. He therefore built a tower of stone, with a strongwalled chamber of plaster of Paris inside, whose doors were too

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strong for any to unlock them. In the middle of this room was a trapdoor, so cunningly made that if one only touched it, he would be flung down into the cellar. Soon afterwards the lord of the town sent for the wright to build him a hall—a task for two or three months; and asked whether he would like to have his wife with him during that time. As they were talking, the lord noticed the wright’s hat, on which he wore his garland. When he heard of its strange power, the lord determined to put it to the test. That night he visited the wright’s wife, who at once asked for news of her husband. But the lord only spoke of his own love for her, and offered her 40 marks in gold if she would lie with him that night. The lady refused, and said that her husband would certainly know of it if she betrayed him. But the lord persisted, and at last she bade him give her the money first, and then he should have his will. She led him to the strong chamber and, as he climbed the difficult stair, the lord stumbled, and fell on the wright’s trapdoor; and through it 40 feet into the cellar below. The lady feigned as great surprise as his own, but mercilessly threatened to leave him there until her husband returned. His threats were of no avail; and next day he began to beg her for food. “Not unless you sweat for it,” she replied, and set him to spin flax. He agreed, and she kept him spinning for a night and a day, and at last gave him food and drink, and also more flax to spin before he gained another meal. When the steward of the estate noticed his lord’s absence he asked the wright if he had seen him. “Not since yesterday,” he answered. The steward then also noticed the garland in the wright’s hat, and receiving the same answer, he followed the same course as his lord. He offered the lady 20 marks in return for her favour and she, with a great show of secrecy, accepted it and led him up to the secret chamber, where he too fell through the trapdoor and joined his lord, to their mutual surprise. Unlike his master, the steward refused with scorn to work for his food. In due time the lord had spun his day’s stint and received his meal, which he declined to share with the steward; and so the steward also was eventually constrained to spin for his food. As they were both missing, the proctor of the parish came to the wright to enquire whether he knew anything of them. He too was struck by the garland in the wright’s hat and fell into the same trap as the others, eventually joining them in the cellar, the wife being richer by another 20 marks. He vowed that he would never join the lord and the steward in their menial labour, but when he saw them eat and drink in return for their work, and neither of them would offer him a mouthful, at last he too called for work and was given a distaff and some wool to wind. Thus they all remained until the wright came home and, hearing a great noise from the cellar, demanded of his wife what it was. “Some men have come to help us,” she replied. But the wright recognized his lord, and bade his wife release him at once. But the lord begged for mercy, confessing his fault; and the wife refused to let him go free until she had sent for his lady to learn the truth, and fetch her husband home. The lady, who had supposed her lord was dead, was secretly rejoiced to hear news of him, and she laughed heartily at his confession and how the wright’s wife had tricked the three men. Her lord said, “Ah! You would have worked as we did, if you’d been in the same plight.” They all returned home that same night, and the steward and the proctor vowed they would not go back to that place for “five and forty year”. The lady left all their money with the wright’s faithful wife, and the white-rose garland remained unwithered.


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Adam de Cobham. Ed. Furnivall, Early English Text Society, 1865. TYPE 882A*. MOTIFS: H.432.1 [Rose as chastity index]; K.1218.1.2 [The entrapped suitors: the chaste wife has them caught; forces them to work for her]. The Fairy Story version of this tale is to be found in “The Three Feathers” and other variants of the “Nicht Nought Nothing” tale (type 313). Russian and Lappish traditional versions of this tale have been cited. The plot was used as the basis of a play by Massinger (The Picture) and later by de Musset in Barberine. In both the motif of the chastity-index is used.

YALLA-BRITCHES Farmer Bernard was at a loss what to do wi’ ’isself, and bolts off to market. Ther’ a met wi’ other farmers. Walks and strakes about the market. Couldn’t zee nothin’ to ’tract ’is attention. Goes by owl’ Yalla-britches’ office. “Le’s go in an’ zee owl’ Yalla-britches, an’ yer what ’e got to talk about.” Knocks at the door. Out comes Yalla-britches. “Oh, good morning.” “Good morning.” “What’s the business?” “I come for a little o’ your advice to know ’ow to get on in the world.” Yalla-britches stood an’ considered a bit. Goes to ’is desk, lays ’olt of a bit of paper, pen an’ ink—all at ’and. Writes on paper—“Never put off till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day.” Wraps it up, gies it to Bernard. Bernard takes it. “What’s the fee?” “Zix an’ aaight pence.” Farmer Bernard thought he was foolish to gie zix and aaight pence for what ’e knowed afore. Anyhow, he got ’is owl’ nag in the trap, an’ went off early, an’ ’is missis congratulated un for bein’ home early. ’Ad ’is tea an’telled the missis about owl’ Yallabritches. Rap comes at the door. “Maaster come home?” “Yes.” “Wants to zi’n.” Bernard goes to the door. “What’s the matter, carter?” “Nothing the matter, maaster, but ther’s that bit o’ whate. We be anxious to get it in. If you be agreeable we’ll ae’t in ’fore us gies out.” Well! tha went on an’ got it done. All comes in to zupper. Off home to bed. Latish. In the night a thunder-storm comes on. Farmer Bernard opens window. “It rains cats an’ dogs, missis. A double zix an’ aaightpence the fust night.” Jumps into bed. Everybody else’s whate washed away but his’n. Norton Collection, II, p. 267. Alfred Williams, Upper Thames, pp. 298–9. From Elijah Iles, of Inglesham, Wilts, aged nearly 95, c. 1914–16. TYPE 910. MOTIF K.163.4 [Good counsels bought].

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THE YOUNG PRINCE When Scotland was first inhabited, it was governed by several kings, one of whom had married a princess of great virtue, who had an only son, but, she dying before he came of age, the king married another woman, but less virtuous than the former had been, as she afterwards gave proof by her cruelty to her stepson. The young prince, having borne up with her ill-treatment for a long time, at length determined to leave his father’s court, and seek for new adventures in a foreign land. Having at length arrived in a kingdom where there was a young princess; he made love to her, but she scorned his proffers with high disdain, although in her heart she partly loved him. After having continued in this kingdom for some time, he received a message from his father to return home, as the queen, his stepmother, longed to see him, having concealed her hatred to him. On the arrival of the letter, the prince consulted his favourite and faithful servant (whom he justly held in high estimation for his wisdom and fidelity), if he should obey the mandates of the letter, and return to his father’s court, or remain where he was. The servant advised him to comply with his father’s request, but upon no account to enter the queen’s apartments, nor to taste of any thing that might be given him to eat or drink; for she certainly had a design upon his life. If drink were offered to him, he was to have a hunting-horn by his side so constructed as to hold what was put into it without being observed. All things being now prepared for his journey homewards, on their arrival at his father’s palace, he was hailed with every demonstration of joy, and entreated to come in. This he declined, and excused himself by saying, that he had engaged in a very particular business so as to occupy the most of his time on that visit, but would shortly after return with more leisure. The queen then, seeing herself likely to be disappointed in her diabolical purpose, insisted much upon him to drink of something before his departure, which at last he consented to do, to prevent any suspicion that might arise from his obstinacy. Shen then gave him the poisonous, though fortunately not murderous, draught; but he, being advised of the nature of it beforehand, put it secretly into his horn, and left her. They (he and his servant) had not been far off when the servant proposed to the prince to get a cake baked with the liquid, and to give it to a dog, to try on him the verity of their suspicions. This being done, the dog to which it was given had no sooner eaten it than he swelled, burst, and died. Three ravenous birds that came and ate his flesh and picked his bones, immediately burst and died. The same fate awaited twenty-four crows that also ate of the flesh. Such was the nature and strength of the poison which this murderous woman had prepared for the young prince. Having now left the country, he went a second time to visit his former mistress, the foreign princess; but on his arrival at her father’s court, she still denied him her hand. It was, however, so far agreed upon, that if he would put forth a riddle which she was unable to expound, then would she consent to be his wife. He then gave her the following: The horn killed one, and that one killed three, and these three killed twenty-four. A whole day being allowed for her for its solution, but being unable to comprehend its


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meaning she became very uneasy. One of her maids of honour proposed to bribe his servant with a purse of money, and thereby elicit from him the secret. She went accordingly to the servant, and with a purse of gold, requested him to give her the secret, for which he should have the money; but he would not consent to her demand upon any other terms than her lying with him that night. To this condition she was at first quite averse, but at length consented. No sooner had the dawn of morning appeared, than she demanded of him the fulfilment of his promise, but he excused himself by saying that he would give it to none but a maiden. She insisted that she was one of the queen’s maries, and consequently a maiden. This reasoning, however, was not sufficient for him, after what had so lately passed. She had no help but to return and inform the princess of her bad success. The second, and the third maid went on the same errand, but were alike unsuccessful, having been served in the same manner as the first had been. The princess at length determined to try her own success; but on her arriving at the prince’s lodgings, the servant had had him so far instructed as to be able to imitate his voice, and mimic his gesture so completely, that he passed for the servant. She, of course, lay with the prince instead of his servant, as she imagined she had done; but still came short of her wished-for knowledge of the horn and the beasts. When the time appointed came for her to give in the explanation of the riddle, she could not, so had no alternative but to marry him. The prince however, being willing to give her another chance of escaping from the marriage bed, said, that he would put forth another riddle, and if she could unriddle it aright, she should be free from all her former obligations regarding him. This being agreed to by all parties concerned: He said that last night, Jack, his man, had shot three milk-white swans, and the master-man the master-swan. Not four, my lord, she replied; he answered no. Then father, she said (addressing him), it is this prince that I will have. They were then accordingly married, and lived for many years in great splendour, while the prince’s miserable stepmother pined and died of a broken heart. Norton Collection, II, p. 246 from Buchan, Ancient Scottish Tales, pp. 18–20. TYPE 851. MOTIFS: S.31 [Cruel stepmother]; S.111 [Murder by poisoning]; P.361 [Faithful servant]; H.342 [Suitor test: outwitting princess]; H.551 [Princess offered to man who can outriddle her]; H.565 [Riddle propounded from chance experience]; K.527.1 [Poisoned food given to animal instead of intended victim]; H.802 [Riddle: one killed none and yet killed twelve]; H.81.2 [Clandestine visit of princess to hero]. This very complete example of type 851 was probably once a Fairy Tale, but has lost its supernatural elements. See also “The Life-Saving Riddle”.

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NURSERY TALES The Nursery Tales are perhaps those that have the greatest chance of survival amongst us, for small children will always demand them, and if mothers no longer tell them they are likely to hear them on the wireless. People also commonly remember longest what they have heard earliest. There is one type of Nursery Tale included in this selection which is not likely to be told to the very small, though it will be popular among older children. This is the alarming story, ending with a shout that is meant to startle the listener. Examples are “The Old Man in the White House”, very popular with schoolchildren, and “The Strange Visitor”. The rigmarole stories like “Henny-Penny” and “The Old Woman and her Pig” are suitable for very young children, and such animal tales as “The Three Bears” and “The Three Little Pigs” are perennially popular. “The Three Bears” has no type number, probably because it was long regarded as being the invention of Robert Southey, who actually only retold it. Even if he had been the originator, it has gone through enough changes in the course of transmission to qualify it as a late folk-tale. There is a group of tales of this kind, those that have been invented and handed down for several generations in one family, which should rank as folk-tales by virtue of this oral transmission. Examples are “The Pear Drum” and “The Man in the Wilderness” [A, II], Nonsense tales and jingles are popular with the very young, and keep their popularity as the children grow up. Some, like “Sir Gammer Vans”, are pure nonsense; some, like “The Cattie in the Kiln Ring”, had probably originally a satiric intention and have been adopted by children. It is possible that some of them may have originated in thieves’ cant, like the nursery rhyme, “As I went over Humber-Jumber, Humber-Jumber, Jiney O!” and have been innocently adopted, as it has, for their pretty rhythm.

THE BONE There was once a family who were very, very poor—so poor that they could not even buy a bone with which to make soup to stay their hunger. So one of them stole out to the graveyard, and there dug up a bone. He returned with it, and it was put in the pot with some water, and the pot was set on the fire, till the soup should be ready. As the family were all sitting round the hearth while the pot was boiling, they heard a voice say Give me my bone! They all sat very still. Presently the voice said again

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Give Me My Bone! Still they took no notice. The voice said a third time GIVE ME MY BONE! [The narrator, suddenly and fiercely] Tak’ it! Folk-Lore (December 1939), p. 378. Told by Mrs Holden, of Bebington, Cheshire, who heard it in childhood from her Scottish mother. [This story is told in subdued and mysterious tones.] This tale was also known in Lancashire, the climax being (in a tone of violent exasperation): TAKE Your Bone! TYPE 366. MOTIF: E.235.4.3 [Return from dead to punish theft of bone from grave]. See “The Man whose Wife had a Golden Arm”, “Teeny-Tiny”. THE CAT AND THE MOUSE The cat and the mouse Play’d in the malt-house: The cat bit the mouse’s tail off. Pray, puss, give me my tail. No, says the cat, I’ll not give you your tail, till you go to the cow, and fetch me some milk. “First she leapt, and then she ran, Till she came to the cow, and thus began— Pray, cow, give me milk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again. No, said the cow, I will give you no milk, till you go to the farmer, and get me some hay. First she leapt, and then she ran, Till she came to the farmer, and thus began— Pray, Farmer, give me hay that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me milk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again. No, says the farmer, I’ll give you no hay, till you go to the butcher, and get me some meat. First she leapt, and then she ran,


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Till she came to the butcher, and thus began— Pray, Butcher, give me meat, that I may give farmer meat, that farmer may give me hay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me milk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again. No, says the butcher, I’ll give you no meat, till you go to the baker, and fetch me some bread. First she leapt, and then she ran, Till she came to the baker, and thus began— Pray, Baker, give me bread, that I may give butcher bread, that butcher may give me meat, that I may give farmer meat, that farmer may give me hay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me milk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again. “Yes,” says the baker, “I’ll give you some bread, But if you eat my meal, I’ll cut off your head.” Then the baker gave mouse bread, and mouse gave butcher bread, and butcher gave mouse meat, and mouse gave farmer meat, and farmer gave mouse hay, and mouse gave cow hay, and cow gave mouse milk, and mouse gave cat milk, and cat gave mouse her own tail again! Norton Collection, VI, p. 172. Halliwell, Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales (1849), pp. 33–4. TYPE 2034. MOTIF: 2.41.4 [The mouse regains its tail]. See paper in JAFL, XLVI, p. 86. Examples in America, Africa, Busset, Contes Berbères, no. 45, and Nouveaux Contes Berbères, no. 168. English and American versions cited by Baughman. THE CATTIE SITS IN THE KILN-RING SPINNING The cattie sits in the kiln-ring, Spinning, spinning; And by came a little wee mousie, Rinning, rinning. “O what’s that you’re spinning, my loesome, Loesome lady?” “I’m spinning a sark to my young son,” Said she, said she.

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“Weel mot he brook it, my loesome, Loesome lady.” “Gin he dinna brook it weel, he may brook it ill,” Said she, said she. “I soopit my house, my loesome, Loesome lady.” “’Twas a sign we didna sit amang dirt then,” Said she, said she. “I fand twall pennies, my winsome, Winsome lady.” “’Twas a sign ye warna sillerless,” Said she, said she. “I gaed to the market, my loesome, Loesome lady.” “’Twas a sign ye didna sit at hame then,” Said she, said she. “I coft a sheepie’s head, my winsome, Winsome lady.” “’Twas a sign ye warna kitchenless,” Said she, said she. “I put it in my pottie to boil, my loesome, Loesome lady.” “’Twas a sign ye didna eat it raw,” Said she, said she. “I put it in my winnock to cool, my winsome, Winsome lady.” “’Twas a sign ye didna burn your chafts then,” Said she, said she. “By came a cattie, and ate it a’ up, my loesome, Loesome lady.” “And sae will I you—Worrie, worrie—guash, guash,” Said she, said she. Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 53.


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TYPE 111. MOTIF: K.561.1.1 [Cat fails to be beguiled into releasing mouse]. Versions of this tale are known in Finland, Norway, Denmark, Belgium, Russia, Greece, Indonesia and America. Lewis Carroll’s “Fury said to a Mouse” is on something the same theme. The usual tale is of a vain attempt to escape death by a captured mouse. In this version the mouse takes the initiative and seeks for reparation.

CHICKEN-LICKEN As Chicken-licken went one day to the wood, an acorn fell upon her poor bald pate, and she thought the sky had fallen. So she said she would go and tell the king that the sky had fallen. So Chicken-licken turned back, and met Hen-len. “Well, Hen-len, where are you going?” And Hen-len said, “I’m going to the wood for some meat.” And Chicken-licken said, “Oh! Hen-len, don’t go, for I was going, and the sky fell upon my poor bald pate, and I’m going to tell the king.” So Hen-len turned back with Chicken-licken, and met Cock-lock. “Oh, Cock-lock, where are you going?” And Cock-lock said, “I’m going to the wood for some meat.” Then Hen-len said, “Oh, Cock-lock, don’t go, for I was going and I met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.” So Cock-lock turned back, and met Duck-luck. “Well, Duck-luck, where are you going?” And Duck-luck said, “I’m going to the wood for some meat.” Then Cock-lock said, “Oh, Duck-luck, don’t go, for I was going, and I met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chickenlicken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.” So Duck-luck turned back, and met Drake-lake. “Well, Drake-lake, where are you going?” And Drake-lake said, “I’m going to the wood for some meat.” Then Duck-luck said, “ Oh, Drake-lake, don’t go, for I was going, and I met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.” So Drake-lake turned back, and met Goose-loose. “Well, Goose-loose, where are you going?” And Goose-loose said, “I’m going to the wood for some meat.” Then Drake-lake said, “Oh, Goose-loose, don’t go, for I was going, and I met Duck-luck, and Duck-luck met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chickenlicken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.” So Goose-loose turned back, and met Gander-lander. “Well, Ganderlander, where are you going?” And Gander-lander said, “I’m going to the wood for some meat.” Then Goose-loose said, “Oh, Gander-lander, don’t go, for I was going, and I met Drake-lake, and Drake-lake met Duck-luck, and Duck-luck met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Henlen, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.” So Gander-lander turned back, and met Turkey-lurkey. “Well, Turkey-lurkey, where are you going?” And Turkey-lurkey said, “I’m going to the wood for some meat.” Then Gander-lander said, “Oh, Turkey-lurkey, don’t go, for I was going, and I met Gooseloose, and Goose-loose met Drake-lake, and Drake-lake met Duck-luck, and Duckluck

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met Cock-lock, and Cock-lock met Hen-len, and Hen-len met Chicken-licken, and Chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.” So Turkey-lurkey turned back, and walked with Gander-lander, Goose-loose, Drakelake, Duck-luck, Cock-lock, Hen-len, and Chickenlicken. And as they were going along they met Fox-lox. And Fox-lox said,” Where are you going, my pretty maids? “And they said,” Chickenlicken went to the wood, and the sky fell on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king.” And Fox-lox said, “Come along with me, and I will show you the way.” But Fox-lox took them into the fox’s hole, and he and his young ones soon ate up poor Chicken-licken, Hen-len, Cocklock, Duck-luck, Drake-lake, Goose-loose, Ganderlander, and Turkeylurkey, and they never saw the king to tell him that the sky had fallen! Halliwell, Popular Tales and Nursery Rhymes, pp. 29–31. Norton Collection, VI, pp. 179–80. TYPE 2033. MOTIFS: Z.43.3 [Nut hits cock on head; he thinks world is coming to an end]; Z.53 [Animals with queer names]. See “Chickie Birdie”, “Henny-Penny”.

CHICKIE BIRDIE Once upon a time, as a chicken was pecking under a gooseberry bush, a gooseberry fell on his head. “Dear me,” said Chickie Birdie, “the lifts are falling. I wonder if the king knows. I think I’ll go and tell him, and perhaps he will give me a reward.” So away started Chickie Birdie. He had not gone far before he met Henny-Penny. “Good morning, Chickie Birdie,” said she; “and where are you going?” “I’m going to tell the king the lifts have fallen.” “Who told you, Chickie Birdie, who told you?” “Who told me! The thing that I both heard and felt! Why, it came ripple-rapple down on my forepen” (beak). “I’ll go with you, Chickie Birdie.” So they went on together, and they met Goosey-Poosey, Duckydaddles, CockieLockie, and Pow-Parley (turkey) with each of whom the same formula is gone through. They all went on together, and presently it began to rain, and they took refuge in a washing-house. Presently up came Tod Lowrie, and he begged hard to be let in: “Just his fore-paw, because it was getting so wet,” then “only just the tip of his nose,” “his head,” and so on, until he got in altogether. Then they all cried out, “Tod Lowrie, Tod Lowrie, the huntsmen and the hounds are coming! Jump in here.” So he jumped into the boiler, and Goosey-Poosey poured hot water upon him! Then they went on to the king, and Chickie Birdie told him all about the lifts falling, and he thanked them very much, and ordered them a good dinner. Norton Collection, VI, p. 184. From Notes and Queries, X, p. 464. Contributed by Selina Gage. From a Dumbartonshire lady who had known it in childhood. This version has a happy ending, something after the style of the Three Little Pigs.


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TYPE 2033. MOTIFS: Z.43.3 [Nut hits cock on the head]; Z.53 [Animals with queer names]; K.891.1 [Intruding wolf tricked into jumping down chimney into pot, and killing himself]. See also “Chicken-Licken”, “Henny-Penny”, “The Hen and her Fellowtravellers”. An Irish version, “The End of the World”, told by P.Kennedy, was printed in the Dublin University Magazine (January 1867), pp. 8–9.

THE DEUKIE AND THE TOD [summary] The deukie was sweeping her house and she found a penny. She took it to market and bought a kettle, and on her way home she met the tod. The tod came with her to her house one night, and said “Deukie, are you in?” “Yes,” she said, but when he asked to come in, she would not let him. “Where are you going to-morrow morning?” he asked. “To a bonny rig of corn.” “I’ll go with you.” But she would not let him go. Next night he came again, and said, “Where are you going to-morrow morning?” “To a bonnie rig of bere.” “Tell me and I’ll go with you.” But she did not tell him. A third time the tod came and said, “Where are you going to-morrow morning?” “To a bonnie rig of peas.” “Tell me and I’ll go with you.” But she did not tell him. But the next evening when he came to her door, and asked as usual, “Deukie, deukie, may I come in?” she replied, “Yes,” and opened the door. She gave him a seat on the lid of the sone-bowie, and the tod fell into the bowie, and she took her kettle and poured the water in and drowned the tod. Gregor, Folk-Lore Journal, III, p. 271. Norton Collection, VI, p. 132. TYPE 124. MOTIF: K.891.1 [Intruding wolf tricked into jumping down chimney and killing himself]. This is the second half of “The Three Little Pigs”, in which the wolf makes an appointment with the pig to met at various places, and is thwarted; finally gets into pig’s house, and is boiled in the pot. American versions: The Journal of American Folklore, XV (1902), pp. 64–5; Boggs, North Carolina Folklore, pp. 243–4. Grimm’s Three Little Kids, type 123, is a parallel without the house-building. Fairly widespread through Europe. Versions in Spanish America, West Indies, Turkey. See also “The Three Little Pigs”, “The Three Pigs”, “The Three Wee Pigs”, “Chickie Birdie”.

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DOUN ON YON BANK Doun on yon bank, I found a sheep shank, And up in yon glen I tint it again; I gaed to the leddy to mak my complaint, And she gave me the sowen pan to lick; I brunt my tongue, I ran to the well, The well was dry, and so was I, So I put my big tae in my mooth, And hoppit a’ the way to Aberdeen, And there I saw mair ferlies than fifteen: The mare was makin’ the parritch, The foalie was lickin’ the theedle, The doug was rinnin’ through the house tinklin’ the keys, The cat in the awmrie, makin’ the cheese; The bull in the varn buffin’ the rye, The gudeman in the loan milkin’ the kye, The gudewife in the byre feedin’ the gryce, The maid in the roast chasin’ the mice; And a bonnie yellow-haired laddie sittin’ at the fit o’ the stair, Kaimin’ doun his bonnie yellow hair, When by cam Cockie-leerie-la and whippit aff his nose, And he never, never kaimed mair! Norton Collection, VI, p. 85. Miscellanea of the Rymour Club, I, pp. 212–13. TYPE 1935. MOTIF: X.1503 [Topsy-turvy land]. The mutton shank which begins this nonsense rigmarole may have some significance, for a mutton bone was used for scrying and magic. The motif of the yellowhaired laddie occurs in the tale of the “Wee Wee Mannie”. The bird pecking off a nose is familiar in “Sing a Song of Sixpence”.

THE ENDLESS TALE: I Once upon a time there was a king who had a very beautiful daughter. Many princes wished to marry her, but the king said she should marry the one who could tell him an endless tale, and those lovers that could not tell an endless tale should be beheaded. Many young men came, and tried to tell such a story, but they could not tell it, and were beheaded. But one day a poor man who had heard of what the king had said came to the court and said he would try his luck. The king agreed, and the poor man began his tale in this way: “There was once a man who built a barn that covered many acres, and that reached almost to the sky. He left just one little hole in the top, through which there was only room for one locust to creep in at a time, and then he filled the barn full of corn to the very top. When he had filled the barn there came a locust through the hole in the top


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and fetched one grain of corn, and then another locust came and fetched another grain of corn.” And so the poor man went on saying “Then another locust came and fetched another grain of corn” for a long time, so that in the end the king grew very weary, and said the tale was endless, and told the poor man he might marry his daughter. S.O.Addy, Household Tales, p. 15. This is the most complete of the English versions of “The Endless Tale”, having the romantic suitor’s task element. TYPE 2301A. MOTIFS: H.335 [Suitor’s task]; H.901 [Tasks imposed on pain of death]; Z.11.1 [Corn carried away a grain at a time]; L.161 [Lowly hero marries princess].

THE ENDLESS TALE: II Sometime was a king which had a fabulator the which rehearsed to him at every time that he would sleep, five fables for to rejoice the king and for to make him to fall into a sleep. It befell then on a day that the king was much sorrowful and so heavy that he could in no wise fall asleep. And after that the said fabulator had told and rehearsed his five fables, the king desired to hear more. And then the said fabulator recited to him three fables well short, and the king then said to him, “I would fain hear one well long, and then shall I leave well thee sleep.” The fabulator then rehearsed to him such a fable: Of a rich man which went to the market or fair for to buy sheep, the which man bought a thousand sheep. And as he was returning from the fair, he came unto a river. And because of the great waves of the water, he could not pass over the bridge. Nevertheless he went so long to and fro on the rivage of the said river that at the last he found a narrow way, upon the which might pass scant enough three sheep at once. And thus he passed and had them over one after another. And hitherto rehearsed of this fable, the fabulator fell on sleep. And anon after, the king awoke the fabulator, and said to him in this manner: “I pray thee that thou wilt make an end of thy fable.” And the fabulator answered to him in this manner: “Sire, this river is right great, and the sheep is little, wherefore let the merchant do pass over his sheep. And after, I shall make an end of my fable.” And then was the king well appeased and pacified. From A Hundred Merry Tales, ed. Zall, pp. 28–9. TYPE 2300. MOTIF: Z.II [Hundreds of sheep to be carried over stream]. There is a slightly different slant to this tale, as the teller does not enumerate the separate sheep, but leaves time for their crossing, during which he sleeps.

THE ENDLESS TALE: III It was a dark and stormy night, and the Captain stood on the bridge, and he said to the Mate, “Tell us a yarn.”

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And the Mate began, “It was a dark and stormy night, and the Captain stood on the bridge, and he said to the Mate, ‘Tell us a yarn.’ And the mate began,” etc. Briggs and Tongue, Folktales of England, p. 149. Heard by K.M. Briggs from Grace Crowder in 1919, in Oxford. This comes under type 2320 (Motif z.17, Rounds) of which 112 are reported from Lithuania. Baughman gives examples collected in half a dozen states. There are several variants of this tale. A Girl Guide campfire one heard in 1922 began, “It was a dark and stormy night, and the robbers came in two by two…” etc. A song that was popular at that time to the tune of” For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”, went as follows: The bear went over the mountain (repeat twice) To see what he could see. And what do you think he saw? (repeat) The other side of the mountain (repeat twice) Was all that he could see. So what do you think he did? (repeat) He went back over the mountain (etc.)

FIVE MEN Once there were five men floating down a river on a slab of marble. One of the men was blind; one was deaf and dumb; a third had no arms; another had no legs; and the last member of the group wore no clothes. All at once the blind man shouted: “I see a duck!” “He’s right,” said the deaf and dumb man, “I can hear it quack.” The man without clothes pulled a gun from his pocket and handed it to the armless man, who shot the duck. The legless man swam out and brought it in. The man who wore no clothes drew a match from his pocket, built a fire and roasted the duck. After the five had eaten their fill, they went floating merrily on down the river on the slab of marble. Norton Collection, VI, p. 67 (source unknown). Brewster, p. 300. TYPE 2335. MOTIF: Z.19.2 [Tale filled with contradictions]. See “The Sevenfold Liar”, “A Lying Tale”. DA FLECH AN’ DA LOOSE SHACKIN’ DIR SHEETS Da Flech an’ da Loose lived togedder in a hoose; An’ as dey shook dir sheets, Da Flech shü snappered, an’ fell in da fire, An’ noo da Loose she greets. Da Crook he saw da Loose greetin’, an’ says he ta da Loose,


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“Loose! Loose! why is du greetin’?” “Oh! da Flech an’ I wer’ shackin wir sheets. Da Flech shü snappered an’ fell in da fire. Noo what can I du bit greet?” “Oh! dan I’ll wig-wag back an’ fore!” says da Crook. Sae da Crook wig-waggit, an’ da Loose she grett. Da Shair saw da Crook wig-waggin’; an’ says he ta da Crook, “Crook! Crook! why is du wig-waggin’?” “Oh! da Flech an’ da Loose wer’ shackin’ dir sheets; Da Flech fell i’ da fire an’ brunt. An’ noo da Loose she greets, an’ I wig-wag.” “Oh! dan,” says da Shair, “I’ll jimp o’er da flör.” Sae da Shair she jimpit; an’ da Crook wig-waggit; an’ da Loose she grett. Da Door he saw da Shair jimpin’; an’ says he to da Shair: “Shair! Shair! why is dü jimpin’ o’er da flör?” “Oh! da Flech an’ da Loose wer’ shackin’ dir sheets; Da Flech fell in da fire, an’ da Loose she greets; Da Crook wig-wags, an’ so I jimp.” “Oh! dan I’ll jangle upo’ my harrs.” Sae da Door jingle-jangled; da Shair he jimpit; da Crook wig-waggit, an’ da Loose she grett. Da Midden he saw da Door jinglin’, an’ says he ta da Door: “Door! Door! why is dü jingle-janglin’ upo’ dy harrs?” “Oh! da Flech an’ da Loose wer’ shackin’ dir sheets, Da Flech fell i’ da fire, an’ da Loose she greets; Da Crook wig-wags; da Shair he jimps; An’ I jingle-jangle upo’ my harrs.” “Oh! dan,” says da Midden, “I’ll scrieg o’er wi’ maeds.” Sae de Midden he scriegit; da Door jingle-jangled; da Shair he jimpit; da Crook wigwaggit; an’ da Loose she grett. Da Burn he saw da Midden scriegin’, an’ says he ta da Midden: “Midden! Midden! why is du scriegin’ o’er wi’ maeds?”

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“Oh! da Flech an’ da Loose wer’ shackin’ dir sheets, Da Flech fell i’ da fire, an’ da Loose she greets. Da Crook wig-wags; da Shair he jimps; Da Door jingle-jangles; an’ sae I scrieg’ o’er wi’ maeds.” “Oh! dan I’ll rin wimple-wample.” Sae da Burn ran wimple-wample; da Midden he scriegit; da Door he jingled; da Shair he jimpit; da Crook wig-waggit; an’ da Loose she grett. Da Loch saw da Burn rinnin’ wimple-wample, an’ says he to da Burn: “Burn! Burn! why is du rinnin’ wimple-wample?” “Oh! da Flech an’ da Loose wer’ shackin’ dir sheets, Da Flech fell i’ da fire, an’ da Loose she greets. Da Crook wig-wags; da Shair he jimps; Da Door jingle-jangles; da Midden scriegs o’er wi’ maeds; An‘sae I rin wimple-wample.” “Oh! dan I’ll swall o’er my brim.” Sae da Loch he walled and he swalled; da Burn ran wimple-wample; da Midden he scriegit; da Door he jingled; da Shair he jimpit; da Crook wigwaggit; an’ da Loose she grett—when doon comes the Flüd, an’ sweeps awa’ da Hoose an’ da Loose, da Crook an’ da Shair, da Door an’ da Midden wi’ da maeds, a’ doon i’ da müddow where da Burn ran wimplewample. An’ sae ends da storie o’ da Flech an’ da Loose. Norton Collection, VI, p. 126. K.Blind, “A Grimm’s story in a Shetland folklore version”, Archaeological Review, I (1888), pp. 348–9, with commentary. THE FLEA AND THE LOUSE [translation] The Flea and the Louse lived together in a house: And as they shook their sheets, The flea she stumbled and fell in the fire, And now the louse she weeps. The Pot-hook he saw the louse weeping. “Louse, louse, why are you weeping?” “Oh! the Flea and I were shaking our sheets: The Flea she fell and she fell in the fire, So what can I do but weep?”


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“Oh! Then,” said the Hook, “I’ll wig-wag back and forward.” So the Hook wig-wagged, and the Louse she wept. The Chair saw the Hook wigwagging “Hook, Hook, why are you wig-wagging?”—etc. etc. “Oh! Then,” said the Chair,“I’ll jump over the floor.” So the Chair he jumped; the Hook wig-wagged—etc. etc. The Door he saw the Chair jumping “Chair, chair, why are you jumping on the floor?”—etc. etc. “Oh! Then,” said the Door, “I’ll jingle upon my hinges.” So the Door jingle-jangled; the Chair he jumped,—etc. etc. The Midden he saw the Door jingling. “Door, door, why are you jingle-jangling upon your hinges?”—etc. etc. “Oh! Then,” said the Midden, “I’ll swarm over with maggots.” So the Midden he swarmed, the Door jingle-jangled,—etc. etc. The Burn he saw the Midden swarming. “Midden, midden, why are you swarming over with maggots?”—etc. etc. “Oh! Then I’ll run wimple-wample.” So the Burn he ran wimple-wample; the Midden he swarmed,—etc. etc. The Loch saw the Burn running wimple-wample. “Burn, burn, why are you running wimple-wample?”—etc. etc. “Oh! Then I’ll swell over my brim.” So the Loch he welled and he swelled; the Burn ran wimple-wample; the Midden he swarmed; the Door he jingled; the Chair he jumped; the Hook wig-wagged; and the Louse she wept. Then down came the flood and swept away the House and the Louse, the Hook and the Chair, the Door and the Midden, with the Maggots—all down into the meadow where the Burn ran wimple-wample. So ends the story of the Flea and the Louse. Montgomerie, The Well at the World’s End, p. 13 (Shetland). TYPE 2022. MOTIF: Z.32.2 [The death of the little hen].

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See also “Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse”. THE FOX AND THE GEESE There was once a Goose at the point of death, So she called her daughters near, And desired them all with her latest breath, Her last dying word to hear. “There’s a Mr Fox,” said she, “that I know, Who lives in a covert near by, To our race he has proved a deadly foe, So beware of his treachery. “Build houses, ere long, of stone or of bricks, And get tiles for your roofs, I pray; For I know of old Mr Reynard’s tricks, And I fear he may come any day.” Thus saying, she died, and her daughters fair, Gobble, Goosey, and Ganderee, Agreed together, that they would beware Of Mr Fox, their enemy. But Gobble, the youngest, I grieve to say, Soon came to a very bad end, Because she preferred her own silly way, And would not to her mother attend. For she made, with some boards, an open nest, For a roof took the lid of a box; Then quietly laid herself down to rest, And thought she was safe from the fox. But Reynard, in taking an evening run, Soon scented the goose near the pond; Thought he, “Now I’ll have some supper and fun, For of both I am really fond.” Then on to the box he sprang in a trice, And roused Mrs Gobble from bed; She only had time to hiss once or twice Ere he snapped off her lily-white head. Her sisters at home felt When poor Gobble did not appear,

anxious

and

low


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And Goosey, determined her fate Went and sought all the field far and near.

to

know,

At last she descried poor Gobble’s head, And some feathers not far apart, So she told Ganderee she had found her dead, And they both felt quite sad at heart. Now Goosey was pretty, but liked her own way, Like Gobble and some other birds. “‘Tis no matter,” said she, “if I only obey A part of my mother’s last words.” So her house she soon built of nice red brick, But she only thatched it with straw; And she thought that however the fox might kick, He could not get e’en a paw. So she went to sleep, and at dead of night She heard at the door a low scratch; And presently Reynard, with all his might, Attempted to jump on the thatch. But he tumbled back, and against the wall Grazed his nose in a fearful way, Then, almost mad with the pain of his fall, He barked and ran slowly away. So Goosey laughed, and felt quite o’erjoyed To have thus escaped from all harm; But had she known how the fox was employed, She would have felt dreadful alarm. For Gobble had been his last dainty meat, So hungry he really did feel— And resolved in his mind to accomplish this feat, And have this young goose for his meal. So he slyly lighted a bundle of straws, And he made no more noise than a mouse, Then lifted himself up on his hind paws, And quickly set fire to the house. ‘Twas soon in a blaze, With fright almost ready to die,

and

Goosey

awoke,

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And, nearly smothered with heat and with smoke, Up the chimney was forced to fly. The Fox was rejoiced to witness her flight And, heedless of all her sad groans, He chased her until he saw her alight, Then eat her up all but her bones. Poor Ganderee’s heart was ready to break When the sad news reached her ear. “‘Twas that villain the fox,” said good Mr Drake, Who lived in a pond very near. “Now listen to me, I pray you,” he said, “And roof your new house with some tiles, Or you, like your sisters, will soon be dead, A prey to your enemy’s wiles.” So she took the advice of her mother and friend, And made her house very secure, Then she said, “Now, whatever may be my end? The fox cannot catch me, I’m sure.” He called at her door the very next day, And loudly and long did he knock, But she said to him, “Leave my house, I pray, For the door I will not unlock; “For you’ve killed my sisters I know full well, And you wish that I too were dead.” “Oh dear,” said the Fox, “I really can’t tell Who put such a thought in your head: “For I’ve always liked geese more than other birds And you of your race I’ve loved best.” But the goose ne’er heeded his flattering words, So hungry he went to his rest. Next week she beheld him again appear, “Let me in very quick,” he cried, “For the news I’ve to tell you’ll be charmed to hear And ‘tis rude to keep me outside.” But the goose only opened one window-pane, And popped out her pretty red bill,


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Said she, “Your fair words are all in vain. But talk to me here if you will.” “Tomorrow,” he cried, “there will be a fair, All the birds and the beasts will go; So allow me, I pray, to escort you there, For you will be quite charmed, I know.” “Many thanks for your news,” said Ganderee, “But I had rather not go with you; I care not for any gay sight to see,” So the window she closed and withdrew. In the morning, howe’er, her mind she changed, And she thought she would go to the fair; So her numerous feathers she nicely arranged, And cleaned her red bill with much care. She went, I believe, before it was light For of Reynard she felt much fear; So quickly she thought she would see each sight, And return ere he should appear. When the Goose arrived she began to laugh At the wondrous creatures she saw; There were dancing bears, and a tall giraffe, And a beautiful red macaw. A monkey was weighing out apples and roots, An ostrich, too, sold by retail; There were bees and butterflies tasting the fruits, And a pig drinking out of a pail. Ganderee went into an elephant’s shop, And quickly she bought a new churn; For as it grew late, she feared to stop, As in safety she wished to return. Ere, however, she got about half the way, She saw approaching her foe, And now she hissed with fear and dismay, For she knew not which way to go. But at last of a capital plan she bethought Of a place where she safely might hide;

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She got into the churn that she just had bought, And then fastened the lid inside. The churn was placed on the brow of the hill, And with Ganderee’s weight down it rolled, Passing the Fox, who stood perfectly still, Quite alarmed, though he was very bold. For the Goose’s wings flapped strangely about, And the noise was fearful to hear; And so bruised she felt she was glad to get out, When she thought the coast was clear. So safely she reaches her own home at noon, And the Fox ne’er saw her that day; But after the fair he came very soon, And cried out in a terrible way— “Quick, quick, let me in! oh, for once be kind, For the huntsman’s horn I hear; Oh, hide me in any snug place you can find, For the hunters and hounds draw near.” So the goose looked out in order to see Whether Reynard was only in jest; Then, knowing that he in her power would be, She opened the door to her guest. “I’ll hide you,” she said, “in my nice new churn.” “That will do very well,” said he; “And thank you for doing me this good turn; Most friendly and kind Ganderee.” Then into the churn the Fox quickly But, ere the Goose put on the top, A kettle she brought of water quite And poured in every drop.

got; hot,

Then the Fox cried,” 01 I burn, I burn, And I feel in a pitiful plight.” But the Goose held fast the lid of the churn, So Reynard he died that night.


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MORAL Mankind have an enemy whom they well know, Who tempts them in every way; But they too at length shall o’ercome this foe, If wisdom’s right law they obey. From A Treasury of Pleasure Books for Young People, J.Cundall, 1856. TYPE 124. Literary version. See “The Three Wee Pigs”.

THE FOX AND THE PIXIES Once upon a time there lived in a remote part of Dartmoor a large and very wily fox. He was an extremely experienced hunter, and normally he lived on a diet consisting of fieldmice, young rabbits, moles and rats, with an occasional plump chicken stolen from one of the many farms situated on the fringe of his wild moorland home. But one evening, when he was roving about in search of his supper, he suddenly came upon a small colony of pixies. Now the fox was very hungry indeed, and he gobbled up several of the pixies before the startled little people could take refuge in their houses, and then, still feeling famished, he went up to the first house and asked to be admitted, but the pixy inside called out in a shrill voice, “I will not let you in, and the door is barred!” Furious at the little creature’s defiance, the fox leaped on to the roof of the little house, tore a hole in it with his strong sharp claws, and then seized the unfortunate pixy and gobbled him up. The fox then went to the next house, which was built of stone, and asked to be let in, but the occupant shouted out, “I will not let you in, and the door is barred!” Without further ado, the fox sprang on to the roof of the little house, and tearing it apart he grabbed the terrified pixy and gobbled him up. The third house, however, was made of iron, and when the fox knocked at the door the pixy called out defiantly, “I will not let you in, and the door is barred!” Licking his lips in anticipation, the fox jumped on to the roof of the iron house and commenced to tear at it with his sharp claws, but to his great astonishment he was quite unable to make the slightest impression on the tough material of which it was made, so, with the pixy’s jeering taunts ringing in his ears, he was forced to look elsewhere for the rest of his supper. The next evening the fox returned to the iron house, and exerted all his wiles in an endeavour to deceive the pixy. For some time he met with no success, until, at last, he mentioned a tempting field of turnips on a neighbouring farm to which he offered to give the fairy safe conduct. The pixy agreed to meet the fox at 4 o’clock the next morning. However, he was highly suspicious of the cunning animals’s intentions, so he got up early, found his own way to the field, and returned laden with turnips long before the fox was out of bed.

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The fox was extremely annoyed at being so easily outwitted, and for a long time was unable to devise another scheme to ensnare the pixy. At length, he remembered that Widecombe Fair was due to open the following day, so he proposed to the pixy that they should set out for it together at 3 o’clock the next morning. The fairy readily agreed to the suggestion, and once again got the better of his adversary because the fox was only up in time to meet the pixy returning home with his fairings—a clock, a crock, and a fryingpan. Seeing the fox approaching, the pixy got into the crock and rolled himself down the hill, and the fox, unable to find him, abandoned the search in a very bad temper, and went elsewhere in the hope of finding something for his breakfast that would be more easy to catch. The pixy was so weary by the time he reached his home that he forgot to fasten the door. The next morning the fox returned to the iron house and was very surprised to find the door ajar, so he went in and found the tired fairy still asleep in bed. Seizing the little creature he put him into a box, closed the lid, and turned the key. “Let me out,” cried the dismayed pixy, “Let me out, and 1 will tell you a wonderful secret.” Eventually the fox was persuaded to lift the lid of the box, and the angry little fairy jumped out. Swiftly casting a powerful spell, he forced the fox to take his place in the box? and there the unfortunate animal at length died. J.R.W.Coxhead, The Devil in Devon, pp. 29–31. From the Athenaeum (1846). TYPE 124. See “The Fox and Geese”, “The Three Little Pigs”, etc. This is the same story as “The Three Little Pigs”, without the chimney episode. In Devon the pixies are generally called “Pigsies”, so that it is possible that the fairy element may be a result of misunderstanding. The rather lame and summarized ending may have been suggested by the singing game: A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go, We’ll catch a fox and put him in a box, And never let him go.

THE GOLDEN ARM There was once a man who travelled the land all over in search of a wife. He saw young and old, rich and poor, pretty and plain, and could not meet with one to his mind. At last he found a woman, young, fair, and rich, who possessed a right arm of solid gold. He married her at once, and thought no man so fortunate as he was. They lived happily together, but, though he wished people to think otherwise, he was fonder of the golden arm than of all his wife’s gifts besides. At last she died. The husband put on the blackest black, and pulled the longest face at the funeral; but for all that he got up in the middle of the night, dug up the body, and cut off the golden arm. He hurried home to hide his treasure, and thought no one would know.


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The following night he put the golden arm under his pillow, and was just falling asleep, when the ghost of his dead wife glided into the room. Stalking up to the bedside it drew the curtain, and looked at him reproachfully. Pretending not to be afraid, he spoke to the ghost, and said: “What hast thou done with thy cheeks so red?” “All withered and wasted away,” replied the ghost, in a hollow tone. “What hast thou done with thy red rosy lips?” “All withered and wasted away.” “What hast thou done with thy golden hair?” “All withered and wasted away.” “What hast thou done with thy golden arm?” “THOU HAST IT!” Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 138. TYPE 366 (variant). MOTIF: E.235.4.1 [Return from dead to punish theft of golden arm from grave]. See also “Peggy with the Wooden Leggy”. “The Bone”, “The Liver”, “The Old Man at the White House”, “Teeny-Tiny”, “The Lady that went to Church”, employ the same method.

THE HEN AND HER FELLOW-TRAVELLERS A hen picking at a pease-stack, a pea fell on her head, and she thought the lifts were faun (the firmament was falling). And she thought she would go and tell the king about it. And she gaed, and gaed, and gaed; and she met a cock. And he said: “Where are ye gaun the day, henny-penny?” and she says: “I’m gaun to tell the king the lifts are faun.” And he says: “I’ll gang wi’ ye, henny-penny.” And they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed; and they met a duck. And the duck says: “Where are ye gaun the day, cocky-locky, hennypenny?” “We’re gaun to tell the king the lifts are faun.” “I’ll gang wi’ ye, cocky-locky, henny-penny.” “Then come awa’, ducky-daddles.” And they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed; and they met wi’ a goose. And the goose says: “Where are ye gaun the day, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, henny-penny?” “We’re gaun to tell the king the lifts are faun.” And he says: “I’ll gang wi’ ye, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, henny-penny.” “Then come awa’, goosie-poosie,” said they. And they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed, till they came to a wood, and there they met a tod. And the tod says: “Where are ye gaun the day, goosie-poosie, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, henny-penny?” “We’re gaun to tell the king the lifts are a faun.” And he says: “Come awa’, and I’ll let ye see the road, goosiepoosie, ducky-daddles, cockylocky, henny-penny.” And they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed, till they came to the tod’s hole. And he shot them a’ in, and he and his young anes ate them a’ up, and they never got to tell the king the lifts were faun. Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 59. TYPE 2033. MOTIFS: Z.43.3 [Nut hits cock on head: he thinks the world is coming to an end]; Z.53 [Animals with queer names].

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HENNY-PENNY One day Henny-Penny was picking up corn in the cornyard when—whack! something hit her upon the head. “Goodness gracious me!” said Henny-penny, “the sky’s a-going to fall; I must go and tell the king.” So she went along and she went along and she went along till she met Cocky-locky. “Where are you going, Henny-penny?” says Cockylocky. “Oh! I’m going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” says Hennypenny. “May I come with you?” says Cocky-locky. “Certainly,” says Henny-penny. So Henny-penny and Cocky-locky went to tell the king the sky was falling. They went along and they went along and they went along, till they met Duckydaddles. “Where are you going to, Henny-penny and Cockylocky?” says Ducky-daddles. “Oh, we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” said Henny-penny and Cockylocky. “May I come with you?” says Ducky-daddles. “Certainly,” said Henny-penny and Cocky-locky. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles went to tell the king the sky was a-falling. So they went along and they went along and they went along, till they met Gooseypoosey. “Where are you going to, Henny-penny, Cockylocky, and Ducky-daddles?” said Goosey-poosey. “Oh! We’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” said Hennypenny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles. “May I come with you?” said Goosey-poosey. “Certainly,” said Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, and Ducky-daddles. So Hennypenny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey went to tell the king the sky was afalling. So they went along and they went along and they went along, till they met Turkeylurkey. “Where are you going, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Gooseypoosey?” says Turkey-lurkey. “Oh! we’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling,” said Henny-penny, Cockylocky, Ducky-daddles and Goosey-poosey. “May I come with you, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, and Goosey-poosey?” said Turkey-lurkey. “Why, certainly, Turkey-lurkey,” said Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles and Goosey-poosey. So Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey all went to tell the king the sky was a-falling. So they went along and they went along and they went along, till they met Foxy-woxy, and Foxy-woxy said to Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey, “Where are you going, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey?” And Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey said to Foxy-woxy: “We’re going to tell the king the sky’s a-falling.” “Oh! but this is not the way to the king, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey,” says Foxy-woxy; “I know the proper way; shall I show it to you?” “Why certainly, Foxy-woxy,” said Henny-penny, Cockylocky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So Hennypenny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, Turkey-lurkey, and Foxy-woxy all went to tell the king the sky was a-falling. So they went along and they went along and they went along till they came to a narrow dark hole. Now this was the door of Foxy-woxy’s cave. But Foxywoxy said to Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Gooseypoosey, and Turkey-lurkey, “This is the short way to the king’s palace: you’ll soon get there if you follow me. I will go first, and you come after, Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-


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daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey.” “Why, of course, certainly, without doubt, why not?” said Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Goosey-poosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So Foxy-woxy went into his cave, and he didn’t go very far, but turned round to wait for Henny-penny, Cocky-locky, Ducky-daddles, Gooseypoosey, and Turkey-lurkey. So at last at first Turkey-lurkey went through the dark hole into the cave. He hadn’t got far when “Hrumph”, Foxywoxy snapped off Turkey-lurkey’s head and threw his body over his left shoulder. Then Goosey-poosey went in, and “Hrumph”, off went her head, and Goosey-poosey was thrown beside Turkey-lurkey. Then Ducky-daddles waddled down, and “Hrumph”, snapped Foxy-woxy, and Ducky-daddles’ head was off, and Duckydaddles was thrown alongside Turkey-lurkey and Goosey-poosey. Then Cocky-locky strutted down into the cave, and he hadn’t gone far when “Snap, Hrumph!” went Foxywoxy, and Cocky-locky was thrown alongside of Turkey-lurkey, Goosey-poosey and Ducky-daddles. But Foxy-woxy had made two bites at Cocky-locky, and when the first snap only hurt Cocky-locky, but didn’t kill him, he called out to Hennypenny. So she turned tail and ran back home, so she never told the king the sky was a-falling. Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 113. TYPES 2033, 2010 I A, 20.C. MOTIFS: Z.43.3 [Nut hits cock on head, etc.]; Z.53 [Animals with queer names]; J.1810 [Physical phenomena misunderstood]; 8.296 [Animals go a-journeying]. This is the well-known version of Type 2033, and was recovered by Jacobs from Australia. There are Scottish and Danish versions, and one American. See Taylor, Journal of American Folklore, XLVI (1933), pp. 77–89. See also “Chicken-Licken”, “Chickie Birdie”, etc.

THE HOBYAHS Once there was an old man and woman and a little girl, and they all lived in a house made of hemp-stalks. Now the old man had a little dog named Turpie; and one night the Hobyahs came and said, “Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl!” But little dog Turpie barked so, that the Hobyahs ran off; and the old man said, “Little dog Turpie barks so that I cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning, I will cut off his tail.” So in the morning the old man cut off little dog Turpie’s tail. The next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, “Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl!” But little dog Turpie barked so that the Hobyahs ran off; and the old man said, “Little dog Turpie barks so that I cannot sleep nor slumber; and if I live till morning, I will cut off one of his legs.” So in the morning the old man cut off one of little dog Turpie’s legs. The next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, “Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl!” But little dog Turpie barked so that the Hobyahs ran off; and the old man said, “Little dog Turpie barks so that I cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning, 1 will cut off

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another of his legs.” So in the morning the old man cut off another of little dog Turpie’s legs. The next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, “Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl.” But little dog Turpie barked so that the Hobyahs ran off; and the old man said, “Little dog Turpie barks so that I cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off another of his legs.” So in the morning the old man cut off another of little dog Turpie’s legs. The next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, “Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl!” But little dog Turpie barked so that the Hobyahs ran off; and the old man said, “Little dog Turpie barks so that I cannot sleep nor slumber, and if I live till morning I will cut off another of his legs.” So in the morning the old man cut off another of little dog Turpie’s legs. The next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, “Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl!” But little dog Turpie barked so that the Hobyahs ran off; and the old man said, “Little dog Turpie barks so that I cannot sleep nor slumber; and if I live till morning I will cut off little dog Turpie’s head.” So in the morning the old man cut off little dog Turpie’s head. The next night the Hobyahs came again, and said, “Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl!” And when the Hobyahs found that little dog Turpie’s head was off, they tore down the hempstalks, ate up the old man and woman, and carried off the little girl in a bag. And when the Hobyahs came to their home they hung up the bag with the little girl in it, and every Hobyah knocked on top of the bag and said, “Look me! Look me!” And then they went to sleep until the next night, for the Hobyahs slept in the daytime. The little girl cried a great deal, and a man with a big dog came that way and heard her crying. When he asked her how she came there and she told him, he put the dog in the bag, and took the little girl to his home. The next night the Hobyahs took down the bag and knocked on the top of it, and said, “Look me! Look me!” and when they opened the bag—the big dog jumped out and ate them all up; so there are no Hobyahs now. Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 118. Published in the Journal of American Folk-Lore, III, p. 173. Current in a family deriving from Perth. MOTIFS: F.451.3.6.5.2 [Dwarfs fear dogs]; B.332 [Too watchful dog killed]; G.441 [Ogre carries victim in bag]; K.525.6 [Escape, leaving dog as substitute]. THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT This is the house that Jack built. This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the rat,


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That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the dog, That worried the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the maiden all forlorn, That milk’d the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the man all tatter’d and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milk’d the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter’d and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milk’d the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt

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That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cock that crow’d in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter’d and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milk’d the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the farmer sowing his corn, That kept the cock that crow’d in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter’d and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milk’d the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That kill’d the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. Norton Collection, VI, p. 187. Halliwell, The Nursery Rhymes of England, pp. 175–8. TYPE 2035. MOTIF: Z.44 [The house that Jack built]. See Opie, Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, for full notes on this type. Versions of the story are found in Germany, France, Scandinavia, Spain, India. Halliwell traces it to a Hebrew rhyme, supposed to hold religious significance: “A Kid, a Kid, my Father bought for two pieces of money” (Nursery Rhymes, pp. 112–14). This seems a little strained. There are many embroideries and parodies on this rigmarole. One, heard in the 1920S, ends: “This is the feathered biped whose shrill clarion aroused from slumber the ecclesiastical functionary, denuded of hirsute appendages, who united in the bonds of Hymen the dilapidated individual to the disconsolate spinster, who lactated the quadruped with rectangular excrescences, which elevated the canine quadruped, which lacerated the feelings of the feline domestic animal, which destroyed the noxious vermin, which devoured the agricultural produce deposited in the edifice which John erected.” It is worth noting that all the words used in this are not only more pompous, but less exact.


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I SADDLED MY SOW I saddled my sow with a sieve full of buttermilk, put my foot into the stirrup, and leaped nine miles beyond the moon into the land of Temperance, where there was nothing but hammers and hatchets and candlesticks, and there lay bleeding Old Noles. I let him lie, and sent for Old Hippernoles, and asked him if he could grind green steel nine times finer than wheat flour. He said he could not. Gregory’s wife was up in the pear-tree gathering nine corns of buttered peas to pay St James’s rent. St James was in the meadow mowing oat cakes; he heard a noise, hung up his scythe at his heels, stumbled at the battledore, tumbled over the barn-door ridge, and broke his shins against a bag of moonshine that stood behind the stairsfoot door, and if that isn’t true you know as well as I. Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes and Tales, p. 147. TYPE 1930. MOTIF: X.1503 [The land of Cockayne]. See “Mother Shipton’s House”, “Sir Gammer Vans”. I WENT TO MARKET I went to market and bought me a cat. Cat had four legs, I had but two. ‘Tis almost midnight; what shall I do? I went a little further and found me a dog. Dog wouldn’t carry the cat; cat wouldn’t goo; ‘Tis almost midnight, what shall I do? I went a little further and found me a boy. Boy wouldn’t carry the dog; Dog wouldn’t carry the cat; cat wouldn’t goo. ‘Tis almost midnight; what shall I do? I went a little further and found me a stick. Stick wouldn’t beat the boy, Boy wouldn’t carry the dog (etc.) I went a little further, and found me a fire. Fire wouldn’t burn the stick (etc.) I went a little further and found me some water. Water wouldn’t quench the fire (etc.) I went a little further and found me an ox. Ox wouldn’t drink the water (etc.)

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I went a little further and found me a butcher. Butcher wouldn’t kill the ox (etc.) I went a little further and found me a rope. Rope wouldn’t hang the butcher (etc.) I went a little further and found me some grease. Grease wouldn’t grease the rope (etc.) I went a little further and found me a rat. Rat began to eat the grease, grease began to grease the rope; Rope began to hang the butcher; butcher began to kill the ox; Ox began to drink the water; water began to quench the fire; Fire began to burn the stick; stick began to beat the boy; Boy began to carry the dog; dog began to carry the cat; Cat began to goo. So now it’s all over and I am happy. Norton Collection, VI, p. 160. Word-Lore, I, pp. 274–5: “Learned in childhood by the late George Sweetman of Wincanton, and subsequently recorded by him.” TYPE 2030. See also “The Old Woman and her Pig”, “The Wife and her Bush of Berries”. THE LADY THAT WENT TO CHURCH There was a lady all skin and bone; Sure such a lady was never known; It happen’d upon a certain day, This lady went to church to pray. When she came to the church stile, There she did rest a little while; When she came to the church yard, There the bells so loud she heard. When she came to the church door, She stopt to rest a little more; When she came to the church within, The parson prayed ‘gainst pride and sin. On looking up, on looking down, She saw a dead man on the ground; And from his nose unto his chin,


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The worms crawl’d out, the worms crawl’d in. Then she unto the parson said, Shall I be so when I am dead? O yes, O yes, the parson said, You will be so when you are dead. Here the lady screams. Norton Collection, I, p. 244. Gammer Gurton’s Garland, pp. 29–30. TYPE 366 (variant). There are many versions of this story, all aimed at startling the listener with a sudden cry at the end. Two Oxfordshire and one Staffordshire versions are given in FolkLore, Halliwell has one version, and Mabel Gutch another from Lincolnshire. Some are published in The Miscellanea of the Rymour Club. See “Ma Uncle Sandy”. For the true type see “The Man whose Wife had a Golden Arm”, “The Bone”, “Teeny Tiny”. Another version is “The Strange Visitor”, where the ghost comes in answer to a wish. LAWKAMERCYME There was an old woman as I’ve heard tell, She went to market her eggs for to sell; She went to market, all on a market-day, And she fell asleep on the king’s highway. There came by a pedlar, whose name was Stout, He cut her petticoats round about. He cut her petticoats up to the knees, Which made the old woman to shiver and freeze. When this little woman first did wake, She began to shiver, and she began to shake; She began to wonder, and she began to cry— “Lawkamercyme, this is none of I!” “But if it be I, as I do hope it be, I’ve a little dog at home, and he’ll know me; If it be I, he’ll wag his little tail, And if it be not I, he’ll loudly bark and wail.” Home went the little woman, all in the dark, Up got the little dog, and he began to bark; He began to bark, so she began to cry, “ Oh! deary, deary me, this is none of I!”

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Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes and Tales, p. 56. Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 59. TYPE 1383. MOTIF: J.2012.2 [Woman s garments cut off; does not know herself]. A widespread tale, Grimm, nos. 34 and 59. Finnish (33 variants), Swedish, Estonian, Dutch, Czech, and Russian versions are cited. Also in Nasr-el-Din stories. Baughman cites four American versions. See also “The Puzzled Carter” (A, III).

THE LITTLE CAKE There was a little wife and a little man. They had a little pot and they had a little pan, little iron-tongs, and little everything the people had. One day the little wife baked a little cake and set it outside the window to cool. By and by a little hen, passing, saw the cake in the window. She jumped up and began to eat it. At this the cake was very angry. So down it got from the window and set off running along the road. It ran, and ran, till it came to three women washing beside a well. They all looked up, and seeing the cake cried: “Welcome, welcome, little cake, Where came you from?” The cake said: “I came from a little wife, little man, little pot, little pan, little iron-tongs, and little everything the people had.” So they tried to catch it, and when they could not, they threw water at it. Then it ran and ran, till it came to three men working in a wood. And seeing the cake, they cried, “Welcome, welcome, little cake, Where came you from?” The cake said, “I came from a little wife, little man, little pot, little pan, little iron-tongs, and little everything the people had.” They also tried to catch it, but could not. So they threw their axes at it. Then it ran and ran, till it met a fox on the road, and the fox said: “Welcome, welcome, little cake, Where came you from?” The cake said, “I came from a little wife, little man, little pot, little pan, little iron-tongs, and little everything the people had.” The fox said, “Come up on my back.” So the cake jumped up on his back. Then the fox said, “Come up on my brow.” Then the cake went up on his brow. The fox holding his head a little higher, said, “Come up on my nose.” The silly little cake came up on his nose. “Come into my mouth,” he cried, and with that he tossed the cake in the air. When it was falling, he caught it with his teeth and ate it all up. This was the end of the little cake. It might as well have stayed at home.


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Norton Collection, VI, p. 138. Miscellanea of the Rymour Club, II (1912–19), pp. 83–4, contributed by “Touch” from Douglas Water, near Loch Lomond. TYPE 2025. MOTIF: Z.33.1 [The flying pancake]. A widespread tale. Thirty-three Irish versions are cited. Jacobs gives one, “The Johnny Cake”, from The Journal of American Folklore. There are versions cited from Scandinavia, Holland, Germany, Russia, and Slovenia. Miss Mary Clarke (author of Stories to Tell and More Stories To Tell), used to tell a pleasant cante-fable version, “The Curranty Bun”.

THE LIVER There was a wife an’ she dee’t, an’ her man green’t [longed] for her liver. He took it oot an’ roastit it, an’ ate it; an’ she cam’ in ae day. He said: “Fat makes your feet sae braid?” “I’ve gaen mair than ever I’ve read.” “Fat makes your een sae howe?” “It’s lyin’ sae lang amon’ the dowe.” “Fat gars your guts hing oot?” “IT WAS YOU! IT WAS YOU!” Norton Collection, I, p. 233. From Cruden, “Stray Notes on the Folk-Lore of Aberdeenshire and the North-East of Scotland”. Folk-Lore, xxv, p. 355. TYPE 366. See “The Bone”. There is an element here of “The Strange Visitor”.

A LYING TALE There was once five men: the one had no eyes, the second had no legs, the third was dumb, the fourth had no arms, the fifth was neck’t. The blind man exclaimed, “Eh, lads, I see a bird!” The dumb man said, “I’ll shoot it!” The man without legs said, “I’ll run after it!” The man without arms said, “I’ll pick it up!” and the neck’t man said, “I’ll put it in my pocket!” Chorus of Yorkshire children: “Eh! That is a lee!” Norton Collection, VI. Henderson and Baring-Gould, p. 63. Yorkshire. TYPE 1965. MOTIF: X.1791 [Deaf, dumb, blind and lame men catch hare]. See “The Five Men”, “The Sevenfold Liar” (A, III).

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MA UNCLE SANDY Ma uncle Sandy was gaun alang the road ae nicht an’ made up on a nigger; an‘the nigger lookit at ma uncle Sandy, an’ my uncle Sandy lookit at the nigger; an’ the nigger was awfu’ feared for my uncle Sandy, an’ ma uncle Sandy was awfu’ feared for the nigger; an’ they gaed, an’ they gaed, an’ they gaed alang the road, an’ it began to get dark; an’ they cam’ to a wud; an‘the nigger lookit again at ma uncle Sandy, an’ ma uncle Sandy lookit again at the nigger; an’ the nigger was awfu feared for ma uncle Sandy, an‘ma uncle Sandy was awfu’ feared for the nigger; an’ they gaed, an’—they—gaed,—an’— they—gaed DEEp—deep—deep—doon—into—the—wud; an’ it got DARKER—an’ darker—an’ darker! an’ ma uncle Sandy—lookit—at—the WOW! Norton Collection, I, p. 257. From Miscellanea of the Rymour Club, I, p. 190. TYPE 366 (variant). See “The Lady that went to Church”.

THE MARRIAGE OF ROBIN REDBREAST AND JENNY WREN There was a auld grey Poussie Baudrons, and she gaed awa’ down by a waterside, and there she saw a wee Robin Redbreast happin’ on a brier; and Poussie Baudrons says: “Where’s tu gaun, wee Robin?” And wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And Poussie Baudrons says: “Come here, wee Robin, and I’ll let you see a bonny white ring round my neck.” But wee Robin says: “Na, na! grey Poussie Baudrons; na, na! Ye worry’t the wee mousie; but, ye’se no worry me.” So wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to a fail faulddyke, and there he saw a grey greedy gled* sitting. And grey greedy gled says: “Where’s tu gaun, wee Robin?” And wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And grey greedy gled says: “Come here, wee Robin, and I’ll let you see a bonny feather in my wing.” But wee Robin says: “Na, na! grey greedy gled; na, na! Ye pookit a’ the wee lintie, but ye’se no pook me.” Se wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to the cleuch o’ a craig, and there he saw slee Tod Lowrie sitting. And slee Tod Lowrie says: “Where’s tu gaun, wee Robin?” And wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And slee Tod Lowrie says, “Come here: wee Robin, and I’ll let you see a bonny spot on the tap o’ my tail.” But wee Robin says: “Na, na! slee Tod Lowrie; na, na! Ye worry’t the wee lammie; but ye’se no worry me.” So wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to a bonny burn-side, and there he saw a wee callant sitting. And the wee callant says: “Where’s tu gaun, wee Robin?” And wee Robin says: “I’m gaun awa’ to the king to sing him a sang this guid Yule morning.” And the wee callant says: “Come here, wee Robin, and I’ll gie ye a wheen grand moolins out o’ my pooch.” But wee Robin says: “Na, na! wee callant; na, na! Ye speldert the gowdspink; but ye’se no spelder me!” So wee Robin flew awa’ till he came to the king, and there he sat on a winnocksole,† and * hawk. † window-sill.


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sang the king a bonny sang. And the king says to the queen: “What’ll we gie to wee Robin, for singing us this bonny sang?” And the queen says to the king:” I think we’ll gie him the wee wren to be his wife.” So wee Robin and the wee wren were married, and the king, and the queen, and all the court danced at the waddin’: syne he flew awa’ home to his ain water-side, and happit on a brier. Douglas, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales, p. 10. MOTIF: B.282.9 [Wedding of wren with another bird]. Another version is in Folk-Lore Journal, I, p. 66. In Scottish fable the robin and the wren are closely associated. “The Robin Redbreast and the Wren Are God Almighty’s Cock and Hen.” See the songs: “The Wren she lay in care’s bed” and “Jenny Wren fell sick”, Opie, The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, p. 242 and footnote.

MR KORBES THE FOX Once upon a time, not in your time, nor in my time, but in a very good time, Cockie Lockie and Hennie Penny decided to make a journey together. Some say one thing and some another about why they wanted to travel; what is certain, however, is that they thought they would first call on Mr Korbes the fox, because he had invited them both to dinner. The cock had a beautiful carriage, with four red wheels, and to this carriage he harnessed four sleek and well trained mice. When everything was ready, the cock and the hen sat down in the carriage and the cock called out: “Now mice be ready, And wheels run steady, For we’re all on our way, A visit to pay To Mr Korbes the fox.” Then the mice set out at a good pace. After a while they met a cat, and they stopped the carriage to talk to her. “Where are you going?” says she. “First to the house of Mr Korbes,” answered the cock. “Take me with you,” says the cat. “Certainly,” says Cockie Lockie, “But take care you don’t dirty my beautiful red wheels as you get in.” Then the cock started the carriage again:

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“Now mice be ready, And wheels run steady, For we’re all on our way A visit to pay To Mr Korbes the fox.” They went and they went, and they kept meeting people on the way, who all wanted to know where they were going. When they heard, they all wanted to come too. So the carriage with the beautiful red wheels was stopped first for a needle, and then for a pin, and then for a duck, who all got into the carriage drawn by the four mice. Each time when he wanted to start off again, Cockie Lockie said the same thing: “Now mice be ready, And wheels run steady, For we’re all on our way A visit to pay To Mr Korbes the fox.” Last of all they met a millstone. Luckily they were quite near Mr Korbes’s house by this time, because, as you can guess, the millstone was rather heavy. However, in he got, and for the short way that was left, the mice managed quite well. When they got to the house, Cockie Lockie and Hennie Penny both got down out of the carriage and went to ring the door bell. While they were doing this, the others began to talk among themselves, and what they all said was, that it was not really at all safe for a cock and a hen to go and visit a fox. The duck especially quacked a great deal about how dangerous she always thought it was to visit such a person. But next moment Cockie Lockie and Hennie Penny came back. Mr Korbes seemed to be out, they said, and they had decided to wait for him. The others nodded to each other, and the cat spoke: “Cockie Lockie, and Hennie Penny! We all thank you very much for bringing us here in your beautiful carriage with the red wheels. But we think that as Mr Korbes is a fox, he is really not the right kind of friend for you.” The duck quacked, and nodded her head to show how much she agreed with what the cat was saying. “Why not?” said Cockie Lockie in surprise. “He especially invited us to come to dinner with him, as soon as our beautiful carriage with the red wheels was ready.” “I daresay he did,” answered the cat, “but I think he invited you simply to eat you up!” When she heard that, Hennie Penny was so frightened that she fainted, while Cockie Lockie looked round him in terror, wondering how they could possibly escape. But the others had thought of a better plan than trying to escape. First the mice drew the carriage into the barn. Then the others unharnessed them, and the mice hid. The next thing was for the others to creep quietly into the empty house, and to take up their positions ready for Mr Korbes. After a while, home he came. He soon noticed with pleasure a smell, just like the smell of a hen or a duck. It was a very delicious kind of scent to him, and, what’s more, he thought it might have something to do with his plan of inviting Cockie Lockie and


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Hennie Penny to dinner. Perhaps they had been here and just gone for a walk, and would soon come back. So he thought there would be no harm in having a nice fire ready, and he fetched some more wood, and bent down to blow a little flame into the dead-looking ashes. But “Good Gracious! What was that?” He heard a terrible angry screech, and then a cloud of ashes spurted up into his face, so that he was nearly blinded. (That was the cat.) He couldn’t see properly, so he went to wash his face in a pail of water that he always kept ready in the scullery. But as soon as he tried to wash, all the water in the pail seemed to splash up, and in a moment he was wet through. (That was the duck.) He went to where his towel hung, and had already begun to dry his face, when he felt two dreadful scratches, one on each cheek. (That was the pin and the needle, who had hidden themselves in the towel.) Mr Korbes began to dance about with rage, and as he rushed to the door, he cried out in a fury: “The house is bewitched! The house is bewitched!” But the millstone had managed to balance itself on top of the lintel, and as Mr Korbes tried to rush out, down it fell thump on top of him, and that was the end of Mr Korbes. Now Cockie Lockie and Hennie Penny had perched themselves up on a high beam, and when they were quite sure that the fox could do them no harm, they came fluttering down. They had of course been watching, and had seen everything that had happened, and now they thanked the others most heartily for all they had done. The end of it was that they all decided that Mr Korbes’s house was one of the nicest they had ever seen, so they all settled down in it, and they all lived happily together there for the rest of their lives. Cockie Lockie often harnessed up his mice, and took them all for drives in his beautiful carriage with the red wheels. A Williams-Ellis family tradition. Printed in Round the World Fairy Tales. TYPE 210. MOTIFS: B.296 [Animals go a-journeying]; K.1161 [Animals hidden in various parts of a house attack owner with their characteristic powers, and kill him when he enters]. This is the only example of this precise story in English tradition, though there are eleven Irish versions, and two in Grimm, and it is almost world-wide. It is possible that this tale, though orally transmitted, originally came from the Grimm tale. It is obviously a good deal shortened, for there should be a snatch of dialogue and a repetition of the rhyme for each creature that is picked up. See “How Jack went to seek his Fortune”.

MR MIACCA Tommy Grimes was sometimes a good boy, and sometimes a bad boy; and when he was a bad boy, he was a very bad boy. Now his mother used to say to him: “Tommy, Tommy, be a good boy, and don’t go out of the street, or else Mr Miacca will take you.” But still when he was a bad boy he would go out of the street; and one day, sure enough, he had scarcely got round the corner, when Mr Miacca did catch him and popped him into a bag upside down, and took him off to his house. When Mr Miacca got Tommy inside, he pulled him out of the bag and set him down, and felt his arms and legs. “You’re rather tough,” says he: “but you’re all I’ve got for

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supper, and you’ll not taste bad boiled. But body o’ me, I’ve forgot the herbs, and it’s bitter you’ll taste without herbs. Sally! Here, I say, Sally!” and he called Mrs Miacca. So Mrs Miacca came out of another room and said: “What d’ye want, my dear?” “Oh, here’s a little boy for supper,” said Mr Miacca, “and I’ve forgot the herbs. Mind him, will ye, while I go for them.” “All right, my love,” says Mrs Miacca, and off he goes. Then Tommy Grimes said to Mrs Miacca: “Does Mr Miacca always have little boys for supper?” “Mostly, my dear,” said Mrs Miacca, “if little boys are bad enough, and get in his way.” “And don’t you have anything else but boy-meat? No pudding?” asked Tommy. “Ah, I loves pudding,” said Mrs Miacca. “But it’s not often the likes of me gets pudding.” “Why, my mother is making a pudding this very day,” said Tommy Grimes, “and I’m sure she’d give you some, if I ask her. Shall I run and get some?” “Now, that’s a thoughtful boy,” said Mrs Miacca,” only don’t be long, and be sure to be back for supper.” So off Tommy pelters, and right glad he was to get off so cheap; and for many a long day he was as good as good could be, and never went round the corner of the street. But he couldn’t always be good; and one day he went round the corner, and as luck would have it, he hadn’t scarcely got round it when Mr Miacca grabbed him up, popped him in his bag, and took him home. When he got him there, Mr Miacca dropped him out; and when he saw him, he said: “Ah, you’re the youngster who served me and my missus that shabby trick, leaving us without any supper. Well, you shan’t do it again, I’ll watch over you myself. Here, get under the sofa, and I’ll set on it and watch the pot boil for you.” So poor Tommy Grimes had to creep under the sofa, and Mr Miacca sate on it and waited for the pot to boil. And they waited, and they waited, but still the pot didn’t boil, till at last Mr Miacca got tired of waiting, and he said: “Here, you under there, I’m not going to wait any longer; put out your leg, and I’ll stop you giving us the slip.” So Tommy put out a leg, and Mr Miacca got a chopper, and chopped it off, and pops it in the pot. Suddenly he calls out: “Sally, my dear, Sally!” and nobody answered. So he went into the next room to look out for Mrs Miacca, and while he was there, Tommy crept out from under the sofa and ran out of the door. For it was a leg of the sofa that he had put out. So Tommy Grimes ran home, and he never went round the corner again till he was old enough to go alone. Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 164. Told by Mrs. Abrahams, who heard it from her mother. TYPE 327 (variant). MOTIFS: G.441 [Ogre carries victim in bag]; K.550 [Escape by false plea]; G.82.1.1 [Captive sticks out bone instead of finger]. This is probably a cautionary tale belonging to one family, of the same type as “The Pear Drum”.


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Jacobs says that Mr. Miacca rewarded good boys as well as punished bad ones. Among literary tales “Uncle David’s Nonsensical Story” (Holiday House) is of something the same kind.

MR VINEGAR [summary] Mr and Mrs Vinegar lived in a vinegar bottle, but one day Mrs Vinegar was sweeping her house so hard that she shattered it to pieces. She rushed out in her grief and remorse to meet her husband, and told him what had happened. He comforted her, and taking the door upon his back he went away with his wife to try to mend their fortunes. At nightfall they entered a thick forest, and as they were now very tired, Mr Vinegar climbed up into a tree, pulled the door up after him, and they prepared to spend the night there. Presently, Mr Vinegar was awakened by voices under the tree, and found that a band of robbers had gathered there to divide their booty. He was so terrified that his trembling shook the door down out of the tree, on to the heads of the robbers. They all fled in terror, but Mr Vinegar did not dare to stir until daylight. When at last he ventured down, and lifted the door, he found a heap of golden guineas under it. The two now joyfully agreed that Mr Vinegar should take the money to market and buy a cow, so that his wife should have milk and butter to sell, and thus restore their fortunes. He bought a beautiful red cow for forty guineas, and drove it up and down out of sheer joy and pride. A man who was playing the bagpipes, followed by a crowd of children, and pocketing plenty of money, caught his notice, and he begged him to exchange the bagpipes for his cow. The man agreed, making a great favour of it, but Mr Vinegar found that he could not play the bagpipes at all; the children mocked him, and he grew so mortified and so cold, that at last he was thankful to exchange his bagpipes for a pair of warm gloves. Then he set out on his way home, but as he was growing very weary, he met a man walking along with a stout stick. He exchanged the stick for the gloves, and was nearly home, when a parrot on a tree called out to him in a mocking voice,” Mr Vinegar, you have exchanged your forty guineas, your cow, your bagpipes, and your gloves, and have nothing to show for them but an old stick that you might have cut out of any hedge.” It laughed aloud, and Mr Vinegar was so enraged that he flung the stick at the parrot. It caught in the tree, so he returned to his wife with nothing at all. She gave him a beating that almost broke every bone in his body. Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes and Popular Tales, p. 149. TYPES 1653, 1415. MOTIFS: K.335.1.1 [Door falls on robbers from tree]; J.2081 [Foolish bargains: progressive type]. The tale is racily told by F.A.Steel in Rackham’s Book of English Fairy Tales. The good fortune comes at the beginning of this story instead of at the end, and Mrs Vinegar is a shrew, not a fond wife. See “The Thriftless Wife”, “The Tinker and his Wife”, both in A, III, for parallels to 1653.

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MOTHER SHIPTON’S HOUSE ’Ave you ’eard the ’istory of Mother Shipton’s ’ouse blowing away? It blew 99 miles yondside the moon; I went in search of it. I was running 4,000 miles as fast as I could with my two shins in my pockets and with ’ead under my arm. There I met old Jack the Pensioner who had got his middle eye at the Battle of Waterloo, and he full stare ahead. Then I mounted a buck flea’s back, which took me over the Mounts of Stilligo and through the Bogs of Bottomie. Then I met old Jack the Coachman who was driving two led ’osses and a empty carriage loaden with 8,000 million magpies who had drunk tea while they was as black as a pass of snow. He said: “If you want to find Mother Shipton she’s at the bottom of the sea making steel ’ats out o’ deal boards.” Told by Luke Stanley (aged 62), Barrow-on-Humber, 23 March 1955. B.B.C. record, no. 1903, back. TYPE 1930. See “Sir Gammer Vans”, “I saddled my Sow”.

MOUSE AND MOUSER [summary] The Mouse went to visit the Cat, and found her sitting behind the hall door, spinning. MOUSE: What are you doing, my lady, my lady? What are you doing, my lady, my lady? CAT: I’m spinning old breeches, good body, good body, I’m spinning old breeches, good body, good body. MOUSE: Long may you wear them, my lady, etc. (The same formula continues throughout.) CAT: I’ll wear ’em and tear ’em, good body, etc. MOUSE: I was sweeping my room, etc. CAT: The cleaner you’d be, etc. MOUSE: I found a silver sixpence, etc. CAT: The richer you were, etc. MOUSE: I went to the market, etc. CAT: The further you went, etc. MOUSE: I bought me a pudding, etc. CAT: The more meat you had, etc. MOUSE: I put it in the window to cool, etc. CAT: The faster you’d eat it, etc. MOUSE: The cat came and ate it, etc. CAT: And I’ll eat you, etc. Springs upon the mouse and kills it. Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 48. TYPE 111. See “The Cattie sits in the Kiln Ring”.


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THE OLD MAN AT THE WHITE HOUSE There was once a man who lived in a white house in a certain village, and he knew everything about everybody who lived in the place. In the same village there lived a woman who had a daughter called Sally, and one day she gave Sally a pair of yellow gloves and threatened to kill her if she lost them. Now Sally was very proud of her gloves, but she was careless enough to lose one of them. After she had lost it she went to a row of houses in the village and inquired at every door if they had seen her glove. But everybody said “no”, and she was told to go and ask the old man that lived in the white house. So Sally went to the white house and asked the old man if he had seen her glove. The old man said: “I have thy glove, and I will give it thee if thou wilt promise me to tell nobody where thou hast found it. And remember, if thou tells anybody I shall fetch thee out of bed when the clock strikes twelve at night.” So he gave the glove back to Sally. But Sally’s mother got to know about her losing the glove, and said: “Where did you find it?” Sally said: “I daren’t tell, for if I do the old man will fetch me out of bed at twelve o’clock at night.” Her mother said: “I will bar all the doors and fasten all the windows and then he can’t get in and fetch thee;” and she made Sally tell her where she had found her glove. So Sally’s mother barred all the doors and fastened all the windows, and Sally went to bed at ten o’clock that night and began to cry. At eleven she began to cry louder, and at twelve o’clock she heard a voice saying in a whisper, but gradually getting louder and louder: “Sally, I’m up one step.” “Sally, I’m up two steps.” “Sally, I’m up three steps.” “Sally, I’m up four steps.” “Sally, I’m up five steps.” “Sally, I’m up six steps.” “Sally, I’m up seven steps.” “Sally, I’m up eight steps.” “Sally, I’m up nine steps.” “Sally, I’m up ten steps.” “Sally, I’m up eleven steps.” “Sally, I’m up twelve steps!” “Sally, I’m at thy bedroom door!!” “SALLY, I HAVE HOLD OF THEE!!!” Reprinted from S.O.Addy, “Four Yorkshire Folk-Tales”, Folk-Lore, VIII (1897), pp. 393–4, told by Richard Hirst, aged 18, of Sheffield. TYPE 366.

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A rather unusual version of the story designed to startle the hearers. The motifs which do not occur in other versions are: C.420.2 [Tabu: not to speak about a certain happening]; D.1825.4.3 [Magic power to see lost things]. A literary version of this tale is Mark Twain’s “The Man with the Golden Arm”. See also “The Golden Arm”, “Teeny-Tiny”, “The Bone”, etc. Also “The Strange Visittor”, “The Lady that Went to Church”, “Peggy with the Wooden Leggy”.

THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG: I An old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked sixpence. “What,” said she, “shall I do with this little sixpence? I will go to market, and buy a little pig.” As she was coming home, she came to a stile; the piggy would not go over the stile. She went a little further, and she met a dog. So she said to the dog, “Dog! Bite pig, piggy won’t get over the stile, and I shan’t get home tonight.” But the dog would not. She went a little further, and she met a stick. So she said, “Stick! stick! beat dog; dog won’t bite pig, piggy won’t get over the stile; and I shan’t get home tonight.” But the stick would not. She went a little further, and she met a fire. So she said, “Fire! fire! burn stick; stick won’t beat dog; dog won’t bite pig” (etc.). But the fire would not. She went a little further, and she met some water. So she said, “Water! water! quench fire; fire won’t burn stick; stick won’t beat dog; dog won’t bite pig” (etc.). But the water would not. She went a little further, and she met an ox. So she said, “Ox! ox! drink water; water won’t quench fire” (etc.). But the ox would not. She went a little further, and she met a butcher. So she said, “Butcher! butcher! kill ox; ox won’t drink water; water won’t quench fire; fire won’t burn stick” (etc.). But the butcher would not. She went a little further, and she met a rope. So she said, “Rope! rope! hang butcher; butcher won’t kill ox” (etc.). But the rope would not. She went a little further, and she met a rat. So she said, “Rat! rat! gnaw rope; rope won’t hang butcher” (etc.). But the rat would not. She went a little further, and she met a cat. So she said, “Cat! cat! kill rat; rat won’t gnaw rope” (etc.). But the cat said to her, “If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat.” So away went the old woman to the cow. But the cow said to her, “If you will go to yonder haystack, and fetch me a handful of hay, I will give you the milk.” So away went the old woman to the haystack, and she brought the hay to the cow. As soon as the cow had eaten the hay, she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had lapped up the milk, the cat began to kill the rat; the rat began to gnaw the rope; the rope began to hang the butcher; the butcher began to kill the ox; the ox began to drink the water; the water began to quench the fire; the fire began to burn the


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stick; the stick began to beat the dog; the dog began to bite the pig; the little pig in a fright jumped over the stile; and so the old woman got home that night. (Variant of antepenultimate paragraph.) But the cow said to her, “If you will go to yonder haymakers, and fetch me a wisp of hay, I’ll give you the milk.” So away the old woman went; but the haymakers said to her: “If you will go to yonder stream, and fetch us a bucket of water, we’ll give you the hay.” So away the old woman went, but when she got to the stream, she found the bucket was full of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay. Norton Collection, VI, p. 151. Halliwell, The Nursery Rhymes of England, fourth ed. (1846), pp. 182–4.

THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG: II “In the Derbyshire version it was a ‘brig’ which the pig would not go over, and children were told that it was because of ‘ the devil that was in it.’… “The old woman had duly bought her pig, and had driven it home almost as far as the ‘brig’ near her home, when the pig, piglike, refused to go any further, and began to head backwards. A dog coming near, she appealed to it. ’Dog, dog, bite pig; pig wunner goo o ’er th’ brig, an’ Ah shonner get home tonight!’ Nothing was heard about her old man’s supper, either in the first appeal or in any of the following requests to dog, stick, axe, fire, water, ox, butcher, rope, rat, cat and man. It will be noticed that in the Derbyshire story, told as I learnt it, an axe is appealed to, and lastly, a man. The old woman had appealed to everything, as far as the cat, which like the rest, would not, nor was there mention of milk in a saucer, as an inducement to the cat to kill the rat. Just then a man in white appeared, and to him the old woman appealed. The man spoke to the cat, which began to kill the rat, the rat to gnaw the rope, rope to hang butcher butcher to kill the ox, ox to drink the water, water to slack the fire, fire to burn the axe, axe to chop the stick, stick to beat the dog, dog to bite the pig, pig to run o’er the brig, ‘an’ so th’owd woman got home that night.’ I remember the children used to make a ring, and as they rattled off, ‘The cat began to kill the rat,’ etc. danced round merrily. The most interesting bit in the story; as told in Derbyshire to me and other children, was that the man was Christ Himself.” (Heard over 50 years before.) Norton Collection VI, p. 155. From Notes and Queries, 10, III, pp. 74–5. 1905. Tho. Radcliffe, Worksop.

THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG: III The ordinary tale. It begins: “There was an old woman was sweeping her garden and she found a farden; she swept a little further and she found another.” A hook is added to the characters, to cut the stick, and the story ends with the rope, which began to hang the

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butcher. The refusal of each of the characters is left to be inferred. It is a good dialect version. Told by Ben Baxter, Southrepps. Collector, S.Ennis. B.B.C. record, no. 22157, front. November 1955. Baxter said: “Now I’m an old man, and my grandmother used to tell me this tale when I was quite a lad.” TYPE 2030. MOTIF: Z.41 [The old woman and her pig]. The ending in II introduces also MOTIF H.1023.2 [Task: carrying water in a sieve]. There are several versions of this tale, which has a very wide distribution. A version given by W.W.Newell in JAFL XVIII, pp. 35–6, begins, As I was going over London Bridge, I found a penny ha’penny, and bought me a bird. A version in the Miscellanea of the Rymour Club, II, pp. 81–3, has a sung chorus: Pig won’t go! Pig won’t go! I see by the moonlight, ’Tis a very fine night, And I should have been home An hour and a half ago. That given by Blakeborough (pp. 253–5) is evidently affected by the nursery rhyme of “There was a Crooked Man”. It begins with a rhyme: A little crooked woman had a little crooked broom, She found a crooked sixpence when sweeping her little crooked room, She set her off to market, which was a crooked mile, Along a crooked pathway, with a little crooked stile. With her little crooked sixpence a little pig she bought, And with her band tied to its crooked leg her homeward way she sought. Blakeborough’s version, as well as the rhyme, has the air of being a little dressed up. See also “I went to Market, and bought me a Cat”, and “The Wife and Her Bush of Berries”.

THE PEAR-DRUM Once upon a time there were two little girls. Their names were Blue-Eyes and Turkey. Blue-Eyes was named after the colour of her eyes and Turkey after the red dress she wore. They lived in a little house on a moor with their mother and the baby. Their father was a sailor voyaging to far-away lands.


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One day Blue-Eyes and Turkey went for a walk upon the moor, and they met a Gipsy Girl playing on a pear-drum. When she played, a little man and woman came out of the drum and danced. Blue-Eyes and Turkey were enchanted, and begged her to give them the pear-drum. “I will give it you,” she said, “but only if you are very naughty! Come back tomorrow.” So Blue-Eyes and Turkey were very naughty. They shouted, and spilled their food, and refused to go to bed, and scribbled on their books. Their mother was grieved, but next day they both got up very early and went out on the moor. There they met the Gipsy Girl, and again she played the pear-drum. “We were very naughty,” they cried. “Can we have it?” “Tell me what you did,” she replied. So they told her. “Oh, no,” said the Gipsy Girl, “you were only a little naughty. You must be far worse than that.” So that day they were as naughty as they could be. They threw their cups on the floor, and tore their clothes, and walked in the mud up to their knees, and pulled up all the flowers in the garden, and let the pig out so that it ran away. Their mother was still more grieved than before, but next day they got up very early and went out to meet the Gipsy Girl. Again she told them they had not been naughty enough. “You must be really bad,” she said. So they went home. This time they broke the chairs and smashed the china, and tore their clothes to pieces, and whipped the dog and struck the baby and beat their mother with their fists. Their mother said sadly, “Blue-Eyes and Turkey, you must not be so naughty. If you do not stop, I shall have to go away, and instead there will come a new mother with glass eyes and a wooden tail to live with you.” But still they thought of the wonderful pear-drum and said to each other, “To-morrow we will be good. Once we have got the pear-drum we will be good again.” Next morning they got up very early and went out on the moor. There was the Gipsy Girl, but she had no pear-drum. “Where is the pear-drum?” they cried. The Gipsy Girl laughed. “It is gone. We Gipsies are all going away to-day. I am the last to leave.” “But we did as you told us”—and they told her all the things they had done. The Gipsy Girl laughed again. “Yes,” she said, “you have been really naughty, and now your mother has gone away, far, far away to find your father, and instead you have a mother with glass eyes and a wooden tail.” Blue-Eyes and Turkey wandered about on the moor all day, but when evening came, they went back to their house. There were no lamps lit, but in the glow of the firelight they could see through the window the glitter of their new mother’s glass eyes, and hear the thump of her wooden tail. Folk-Lore, LXVI, p. 303. J.Y.Bell. TYPE 779B*. MOTIFS: K.2261.1 [Treacherous gipsy]; D.1211 [Magic drum]; Q.233 [Punishment for yielding to temptation]. The gypsy girl in this story plays the part of Satan, but she is falser than Satan, for she does not perform her side of the bargain. This is a family story, and was probably a cautionary tale invented by the first teller in the family. The mother with glass eyes and a wooden tail is an unusual invention, but there is an authentic thrill about her.

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PEGGY WITH THE WOODEN LEGGY Once upon a time there lived together a very rich gentleman and his wife, and they had a young and beautiful child—one of the fairest earth had seen. She had bright golden hair. Her eyes were blue, and her teeth like pearls from the ocean. Her parents loved her very dearly, and if in their power would grant her every wish that she asked. But Peggy fell down and broke her leg, and her father bought her a wooden one. And with Peggy having a wooden leg, the children called her Peggy Wooden Leg, and her father didn’t like that name. And at last, thinking that something was wrong with her, he bought her a cork one, and then they called her Peggy Cork Leg. And going into a shop one day, she asked the shop man if he could change her leg for a golden one. At last she was taken ill and died, and the butler of her father’s house, thinking it was a sin to let her be buried in her golden leg, stole it, and hid it in his box. He was asleep one night, and he thought he heard a knock, knock, knocking at the door. He said, “Now, bother me, what’s that? No ghosts here.” On turning the bed-clothes down he lay aghast, for there at the foot of the bed stood the ghost of beautiful Peggy, not as he had seen her the day before, beautiful as marble, but with features without flesh, sockets without eyes, head without hair, and mouth without teeth. He was terrified, but he thought he would speak to her, and he says, “Peggy, is that you? “And she replied, “Yes,’tis I.” Then he says, “Peggy, where are those beautiful eyes of yours?” She said, “They are worm-eaten and gone.” And he said, “Where are those beautiful pearl teeth of yours?” She said, “Worm-eaten and gone.” And he said, “Where are those beautiful golden locks?” And she said, “Worm-eaten and gone.” And he said, “Where is that beautiful golden leg of yours?” And she said, “YOU-HAVE-GOT-IT!!! and vanished through the floor. Norton Collection, I. Derbyshire. Told by Florence Cooper, of the Peak Hotel, Castleton, Derbyshire, 1901. Memorials of Old Derbyshire, edited by J.C.Cox, London, 1907. Derbyshire Folk-Lore, S.O.Addy, pp. 359–60. TYPE 366. See “The Golden Arm”. PUDDOCK, MOUSIE, AND RATTON There lived a Puddock in a well, And a merry Mousie in a mill. Puddock he would a-wooing ride, Sword and pistol by his side. Puddock came to the Mousie’s inn, “Mistress Mousie, are you within?”


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“Yes, kind Sir, I am within, Softly do I sit and spin.” “Madam, I am come to woo, Marriage I must have of you.” “Marriage I will grant you none Till Uncle Ratton he comes home.” “See, Uncle Ratton’s now come in, Then go and bask the bride within.” Who is it that sits next the wall But Lady Mousie both slim and small? Who is it that sits next the bride But Lord Puddock with yellow side? But soon came Duckie and with her Sir Drake; Duckie takes Puddock, and makes him squeak. Then came in the old carl cat With a fiddle on his back: “Do ye any music lack?” Puddock he swam down the brook, Sir Drake he catched him in his fluke. The cat he pulled Lord Ratton down, The kittens they did claw his crown. But Lady Mousie, so slim and small, Crept into a hole beneath the wall; “Squeak,” quoth she, “I’m out of it all.” Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 170. If we may judge by the Motif-Index and the Type-Index, this rhymed tale is peculiar to England and Scotland and the Appalachian Mountains. There are a great many versions, from the early “Frog and the Mouse” to the musichall “Frog he would a-wooing Ride”, which is perhaps the best known of all. The rhyme is fully treated in The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes.

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SCRAPEFOOT [summary] Once upon a time there were three bears who lived in a castle in a great wood. Near by them lived a fox whose name was Scrapefoot. He was very frightened of the bears, but very curious about them. One morning he saw the bears going out for a walk, and he stole into their Castle. He came first into a great hall with three chairs in it, a big one, and a middle one, and a little one. He tried the big one, but it didn’t suit him, and nor did the middle one, but the little one was just right, and he sat in it so hard that he broke it to pieces. He jumped up, and went to the table, and there he saw a big bowl, and a middling bowl, and a little bowl, all full of milk. He lapped at the big bowl, but it was too sour, and he liked the middling bowl no better; but the little bowl was so good and sweet, that he lapped it all up. After that he went upstairs. There were three beds in the room upstairs, one big bed, one middling bed, and one little bed. Scrapefoot tried the big bed, but it was much too hard, and the middling one was very little better; but the little bed was so soft that Scrapefoot curled himself up in it, and went to sleep at once. Presently the bears came back from their walk, and the Big Bear went to his chair, and said: “WHO’S BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR?” and Middling Bear said, “Who’s been sitting in my chair?” And the Little Bear said: “Who’s been sitting in my chair, and has broken it all to pieces?” Then they went over to the table, and the Big Bear said: “WHO’S BEEN DRINKING MY MILK?” and the Middling Bear said: “Who’s been drinking my milk?” and the Little Bear said: “Who’s been drinking my milk, and has drunk it all up?” Then they went upstairs to look, and the Big Bear said: “WHO’S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED?” and the Middling Bear said: “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” and the Little Bear said: “Who’s been sleeping in my bed? And see here he is!” And the Bears grabbed Scrapefoot before he was well awake, and the Big Bear said: “LET’S HANG HIM!” and the Middle Bear said: “Let’s drown him!” But the Little Bear said: “Let’s throw him out of the window!” So the Big Bear took two legs on one side, and the Middle Bear took two legs on the other side, and they swung him to and fro, to and fro, and shot him out of the window. Away he sailed, and down he came with a crack. He thought every bone in his body was broken. But in a minute he got up and shook one leg—that was all right. Then he shook another leg—that was all right, and then another and another. Then he wagged his tail— that was all right. Then he galloped off into the forest as fast as he could go, and never came near the Bears’ castle again. Joseph Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, from J.O.Batten. Possibly the most primitive version of “The Three Bears”. See “The Three Bears” for notes.


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SIR GAMMER VANS Last Sunday morning at six o’clock in the evening as I was sailing over the tops of the mountains in my little boat, I met two men on horseback riding on one mare: so I asked them, “Could they tell me whether the old woman was dead yet who was hanged last Saturday week for drowning herself in a shower of feathers?” They said they could not positively inform me, but if I went to Sir Gammer Vans he could tell me all about it. “But how am I to know the house?” said I. “Ho, ’tis easy enough,” said they, “for ’tis a brick house, built entirely of flints, standing alone by itself in the middle of sixty or seventy others just like it.” “Oh, nothing in the world is easier,” said I. “Nothing can be easier,” said they: so I went on my way. Now this Sir G.Vans was a giant, and bottle-maker. And as all giants who are bottlemakers usually pop out of a little thumb-bottle from behind the door, so did Sir G.Vans. “How d’ye do?” says he. “Very well, I thank you,” says I. “Have some breakfast with me?” “With all my heart,” says I. So he gave me a slice of beer, and a cup of cold veal; and there was a little dog under the table that picked up all the crumbs. “Hang him,” says I. “No, don’t hang him,” says he; “for he killed a hare yesterday. And if you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the hare alive in a basket.” So he took me into his garden to show the curiosities. In one corner there was a fox hatching eagle’s eggs; in another there was an iron appletree, entirely covered with pears and lead; in the third there was the hare which the dog killed yesterday alive in the basket; and in the fourth there were twenty-four hipper switches threshing tobacco, and at the sight of me they threshed so hard that they drove the plug through the wall, and through a little dog that was passing by on the other side. I, hearing the dog howl, jumped over the wall; and turned it as neatly inside out as possible, when it ran away as if it had not an hour to live. Then he took me into the park to show me his deer: and I remembered that I had a warrant in my pocket to shoot venison for his majesty’s dinner. So I set fire to my bow, poised my arrow, and shot among them. I broke seventeen ribs on one side, and twenty-one and a half on the other; but my arrow passed clean through without ever touching it, and the worst was I lost my arrow: however, I found it again in the hollow of a tree. I felt it; it felt clammy. I smelt it; it smelt honey. “Oh, ho,” said I, “here’s a bees’ nest,” when out sprang a covey of partridges. I shot at them; some say I killed eighteen; but I am sure I killed thirty-six, besides a dead salmon which was flying over the bridge, of which I made the best apple-pie I ever tasted. Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 39. TYPE 1930 (variant). There is a seventeenth-century version of this tale printed in Penny Histories (Bodleian, Wood, 704). It is an interesting example of the way in which tales are whittled

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down in oral tradition. It is called “A Strange and Wonderfull RELATION of an Old Woman that was Drowned at RATCLIF High-way a Fortnight Ago.” The beginning is not unlike the traditional story: “It was last Sunday morning, at four o’clock in the afternoon, before Sun-rise, going over Highgate-Hill in a Boat, I met a Man I overtook. I asked him, If the Old Woman was dead that was drowned at Ratcliff Highway a fortnight ago? He told me he could not tell; but if I went a little further, I should meet with two men a Horseback, upon a Mare, in a blew Jerkin and a pair of Freestone Breeches, and they would give me true intelligence.” After various non sequiturs, the narrator arrives at Sir John Vang’s house. “At last I arrived at Sir John Vang’s house, ’tis a little House all alone, encompassed with forty or fifty other Houses, having a brick Wall made of flint stones round about it, knocking at the door, Gammer Vangs (his wife) appeared: Gammer Vangs, said I, is Sir John Vangs within? Walk in, said she, and you shall find him in the little, great, round three-square Parlour. This Gammer Vangs had a little Old Woman to her Son, her Mother was a Church-Warden of a Troop of Horse, and her Grandmother was a Justice of the Peace; but when I came into the little, great, round, long three-square Parlour, I could not see Sir John Vangs, for he was a Gyant, but I espied abundance of wicker-bottles, and just as I was going out he call’d me, asking what I would have. So looking back I espyed him just creeping out of a Wicker-bottle. (It seems by profession he was a Wicker-Bottle-Maker), and after he had made them he crept out of the stopper-holes.” The tale ends in a traditional way with a rhyme: Awake, arise, pull out your eyes, And see what time of day, And when you have done pull out your tongue, And see what you can say. These non sequiturs were very popular in the seventeenth century. Corbet wrote two; an earlier one is to be found in Chambers’ Early English Lyrics, “My Lady went to Canterbury” (c, LI). See “Five Men”, “A Lying Tale”, “Mother Shipton’s House”.

THE STRANGE VISITOR A wife was sitting at her reel ae night; And aye she sat, and aye she reeled, and aye she wished for company. In came a pair o’ braid braid soles, and sat down at her fireside; And aye she sat, &c. In came a pair o’ sma’ sma’ legs, and sat down on the braid braid soles; And aye she sat, &c. In came a pair o’ muckle muckle knees, and sat down on the sma’ sma’ legs; And aye she sat, and aye she reeled, and aye she wished for company. In came a pair o’ sma’ sma’ thees, and sat down on the muckle muckle knees; And aye she sat, &c. In came a pair o’ muckle muckle hips, and sat down on the sma’ sma’ thees.


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And aye she sat, &c. In came a sma’ sma’ waist, and sat down on the muckle muckle hips; And aye she sat, &c. In came a pair o’ braid braid shouthers, and sat down on the sma’ sma’ waist; And aye she sat, &c. In came a pair o’ sma’ sma’ arms, and sat down on the braid braid shouthers; And aye she sat, &c. In came a pair o’ muckle muckle hands, and sat down on the sma’ sma’ arms; And aye she sat, &c. In came a sma’ sma’ neck, and sat down on the braid braid shouthers; And aye she sat, &c. In came a great big head, and sat down on the sma’ sma’ neck. “What way hae ye sic braid braid feet?” quo the wife. “Muckle ganging, muckle ganging.” (gruffly) “What way hae ye sic sma’ sma’ legs?” “Aih-h-h!—late—and wee-e-e—moul.” (whiningly) “What way hae ye sic muckle muckle knees?” “Muckle praying, muckle praying.” (piously) “What way hae ye sic sma’ sma’ thees?” “Aih-h-h!—late—and wee-e-e—moul.” (whiningly) “What way hae ye sic big big hips?” “Muckle sitting, muckle sitting.” (gruffly) “What way hae ye sic a sma’ sma’ waist?” “Aih-h-h!—late—and wee-e-e moul.” (whiningly) “What way hae ye sic braid braid shouthers?” “Wi’ carrying broom, wi’ carrying broom.” (gruffly) “What way hae ye sic sma’ sma’ arms?” “Aih-h-h!—late—and wee-e-e moul.” (whiningly) “What way hae ye sic muckle muckle hands?” “Threshing wi’ an iron flail, threshing wi’ an iron flail.” (gruffly) “What way hae ye sic a sma’ sma’ neck?” “Aih-h-h!—late—and wee-e-e moul.” (pitifully) “What way hae ye sic a muckle muckle head?” “Muckle wit, muckle wit.” (keenly) “What do you come for?” “FOR YOU!” (at the top of the voice, with a wave of the arm and a stamp of the foot) Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 64. TYPE 366 (variant). MOTIF: E.422.1.10.1 [Dismembered corpse reassembles]. This is the most poetic of the tales designed to startle the listener by a sudden shout. The theme is rather different and centres on the danger of a rash, unspecified invitation. The same motif occurs in the Highland story of The Goodwife’s Midnight Labours (McKay). Presumably the skeleton which appeared piecemeal was not a ghost but Death personified. The wailing chorus seems a reminiscence of keening. See “The Golden Arm”, “The Old Man in the White House”, etc.

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TEENY-TINY: I Once upon a time there was a teeny-tiny woman lived in a teeny-tiny house in a teenytiny village. Now one day this teeny-tiny woman put on her teeny-tiny bonnet, and went out of her teeny-tiny house to take a teeny-tiny walk. And when this teeny-tiny woman had gone a teeny-tiny way, she came to a teeny-tiny gate; so the teeny-tiny woman opened the teeny-tiny gate, and went into a teeny-tiny churchyard. And when this teenytiny woman had got into the teeny-tiny churchyard, she saw a teeny-tiny bone on a teenytiny grave, and the teeny-tiny woman said to her teeny-tiny self, “This teeny-tiny bone will make me some teenytiny soup for my teeny-tiny supper.” So the teeny-tiny woman put the teeny-tiny bone into her teeny-tiny pocket, and went home to her teenytiny house. Now when the teeny-tiny woman got home to her teeny-tiny house, she was a teenytiny tired; so she went up her teeny-tiny stairs to her teeny-tiny bed, and put the teenytiny bone into a teeny-tiny cupboard. And when this teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep a teeny-tiny time, she was awakened by a teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard, which said, “Give me my bone!” And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head under the teeny-tiny clothes, and went to sleep again. And when she had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice again cried out from the teeny-tiny cupboard, a teeny-tiny louder, “Give me my bone!” This made the teeny-tiny woman a teeny-tiny more frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head a teeny-tiny further under the teeny-tiny clothes. And when the teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tine cupboard said again a teeny-tiny louder, “Give me my bone!” And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny bit more frightened, but she put her teeny-tiny head out of the teeny-tiny clothes, and said in her loudest teeny-tiny voice, “TAKE IT!” Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes and Popular Tales, p. 148.

TEENY-TINY: II There was once a teeny-tiny woman who lived in a teeny-tiny house all on her teeny-tiny lone. One day she went out for a teeny-tiny walk, and came to a teeny-tiny churchyard, where she picked up a teeny-tiny bone. Then she went back to her teeny-tiny house, and had her teeny-tiny tea, and went to her teeny-tiny bed. As she lay in her teeny-tiny bed, she heard a teeny-tiny voice saying, “Give me my bone.” The teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny frightened, so she pulled her teeny-tiny bedclothes over her teeny-tiny head. And the teeny-tiny voice said a teeny-tiny louder, “Give me my bone.”


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The teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny more frightened, and she pulled the teeny-tiny bedclothes a teeny-tiny tighter. Presently the teenytiny voice said in a teeny-tiny shriek, “Give me my bone” Then the teeny-tiny woman sat up in her teeny-tiny bed, and took the teeny-tiny bone off her teeny-tiny window, and said, “TAKE IT!” Told to Renée Haynes about 1911 by her grandmother, Mrs. Waller (who was T.H. Huxley’s eldest daughter). TYPE 366. See “The Bone”, “The Liver”. THIS IS THE KEY OF THE KINGDOM This is the key of the kingdom. In that kingdom there is a city. In that city there is a town. In that town there is a street. In that street there is a lane. In that lane there is a yard. In that yard there is a house. In that house there is a room. In that room there is a bed. On that bed there is a basket. In that basket there are some flowers. Flowers in the basket, basket in the bed, bed in the room, etc., etc. Norton Collection, VI, p. 115. The Nursery Rhymes of England, Halliwell, p. 174. TYPE 2013. MOTIF: Z.49.4 [There was an old woman who had a son]. The song “The Tree in the Wood” is the best-known version of this formula.

THIS IS NONE OF I See “Lawkamercyme!” A THRAWN SONG There was a wee bird,

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It took a fit in every han’, And whuppit awa’ to Ayr’s Lan’, Frae Ayr’s Lan’ to Aberdeen, And saw ferlies fifteen. It saw an auld man in the byre bin’en the kye, and an auld wife in the close chackin’ the mire to the hens, throwing banes in her face. The auld mar makin’ the porridge, and the wee foal lickin’ the stick. There’s an auld cat makin’ cheese, and a wee kitten janglin’ keys. The dog in the ash-hole makin’ brose. Doon comes a cinder and burns his nose. The cock in the chimney-top kaimin’ down his yellow hair. Come down, sir, what are ye doin’ up there? Norton Collection, VI, p. 86. Miscellanea of the Rymour Club, II, p. 100. Fragment from Crawfordjohn (1820–30). Contributed by Dr Knight, Uddington. TYPE 1930. See also “The Wee Yowe”, “Doun on Yon Bank”, etc.

THE THREE BEARS Once upon a time there were Three Bears, who lived together in a house of their own, in a wood. One of them was a Little, Small, Wee Bear; and one was a Middle-sized Bear; and the other was a Great, Huge Bear. They had each a pot for their porridge; a little pot for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized pot for the Middle Bear; and a great pot for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a chair to sit in; a little chair for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized chair for the Middle Bear; and a great chair for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a bed to sleep in; a little bed for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; a middle-sized bed for the Middle Bear; and a great bed for the Great, Huge Bear. One day, after they had made the porridge for their breakfast, and poured it into their porridge-pots, they walked out into the wood while their porridge was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths by beginning too soon to eat it. And while they were walking, a little girl named Silver-hair came to the house. First she looked in at the window, and then she peeped in at the keyhole; and seeing nobody in the house, she lifted the latch. The door was not fastened, because the Bears were good Bears, who did nobody any harm, and never suspected that anybody would harm them. So little Silver-hair opened the door, and went in; and well pleased she was when she saw the porridge on the table. If she had been a good little girl she would have waited till the Bears came home, and then, perhaps, they would have asked her to breakfast; for they were good Bears—a little rough or so, as the manner of Bears is, but for all that, very good-natured and hospitable. So first she tasted the porridge of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was too hot for her. And then she tasted the porridge of the Middle Bear, and that was too cold for her. And


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then she went to the porridge of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and tasted that; and that was neither too hot nor too cold, but just right; and she liked it so well that she ate it all up. Then little Silver-hair sate down in the chair of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was too hard for her. And then she sate down in the chair of the Middle Bear, and that was too soft for her. And then she sate down in the chair of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too hard, nor too soft, but just right. So she seated herself in it, and there she sate till the bottom of the chair came out, and down she came, plump upon the ground. Then little Silver-hair went upstairs into the bed-chamber in which the Three Bears slept. And first she laid down upon the bed of the Great, Huge Bear; but that was too high at the head for her. And next she lay down upon the bed of the Middle Bear; and that was too high at the foot for her. And then she lay down upon the bed of the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and that was neither too high at the head nor at the foot, but just right. So she covered herself up comfortably, and lay there till she fell fast asleep. By this time the Three Bears thought their porridge would be cool enough; so they came home to breakfast. Now little Silver-hair had left the spoon of the Great Huge Bear standing in his porridge. “SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!” said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice. And when the Middle Bear looked at his, he saw the spoon was standing in it too. “Somebody has been at my porridge!” said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice. Then the Little, Small, Wee Bear looked at his, and there was the spoon in the porridge-pot, but the porridge was all gone. “Somebody has been at my porridge, and has eaten it all up!” said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice. Upon this, the Three Bears, seeing that someone had entered their house, and eaten up the Little, Small, Wee Bear’s breakfast, began to look about them. Now little Silver-hair had not put the hard cushion straight when she rose from the chair of the Great, Huge Bear. “SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!” Said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great rough, gruff voice. And little Silver-hair had squatted down the soft cushion of the Middle Bear. “Somebody has been sitting in my chair!” said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice. And you know what little Silver-hair had done to the third chair. “Somebody has been sitting in my chair, and has sate the bottom of it out!” said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice. Then the Three Bears thought it necessary that they should make further search; so they went upstairs into their bed-chamber. Now little Silver-hair had pulled the pillow of the Great, Huge Bear out of its place. “SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!” Said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice. And little Silver-hair had pulled the bolster of the Middle Bear out of its place. “Somebody has been lying in my bed!” said the Middle Bear in his middle voice. And when the Little, Small, Wee Bear came to look at his bed, there was the bolster in its place; and the pillow in its place on the bolster; and upon the pillow was little Silverhair’s pretty head—which was not in its place, for she had no business there. “Somebody has been lying on my bed—and here she is!” said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

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Little Silver-hair had heard in her sleep the great, rough gruff voice of the Great, Huge Bear; but she was so fast asleep that it was no more to her than the roaring of wind, or the rumbling of thunder. And she heard the middle voice of the Middle Bear; but it was only as if she had heard someone speaking in a dream. But when she heard the little, small, wee voice of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, it was so sharp, and so shrill, that it awakened her at once. Up she started; and when she saw the Three Bears on one side of the bed, she tumbled out of the other and ran to the window. Now the window was open, because the Bears, like good, tidy Bears, as they were, always opened their bedroom window when they got up in the morning. Out little Silver-hair jumped; and away she ran into the wood; and the Three Bears never saw anything more of her. Joseph Cundall, A Treasury of Pleasure Books for Young People (1856). No type or motif is assigned to this tale. The first widely known version of “The Three Bears” is that given by Southey in 1837 in The Doctor, IV, pp. 318–26. This was exactly copied by Jacobs in English Fairy Tales, p. 93. The heroine was an old woman. The story was not, however, originated by Southey, for a metrical manuscript version had been written by Eleanor Muir in 1831, for her godson. She described it as “the celebrated Nursery Tale of the Three Bears put into verse”. This is in the Osborne Collection in The Toronto Public Library, and has now been published by the Oxford University Press. N.G., in The Three Bears and their Story (1841), describes the author of The Doctor as the “original concocter” of the tale, but Joseph Cundall, whose version is given here, said that it had been often told, but never better than by Southey. In Mother Goose’s Fairy Tales (Routledge, 1878) the three bears for the first time become Father, Mother, and Baby, and the little girl is Silver Locks. In 1889 she has become Little Golden-Hair, and very shortly after that, if not before, she took final shape as Goldilocks. In Dickens’ reference to the tale in Our Mutual Friend, it is three hobgoblins, not three bears, who own the house. In More English Fairy Tales (p. 87) Jacobs published “Scrapefoot”, which he had lately discovered, in which the intruder was not a human being, but a fox. Jacobs thought it probable that this was a much earlier version, in which case the tale belongs to the early Bear and Fox tale-cycle. See “Scrapefoot”.

THE THREE GOLDEN BALLS There was once an old woman who lived with her husband and her three little daughters. One was named Pepper, one Salt, and one Mustard. One day their father told them he was going to the fair, and he asked them what he should bring them home, and they all said, “A golden ball each.” Their father then wished them good-bye, and set off. In the evening he returned, and brought each of them a golden ball, which they got up early next morning to play with. Their mother told them that if they lost them, she would hang them up on the gallows-tree. They were very happy playing, when little Pepper began to cry. Her sisters asked her what was the matter, and she told them she had lost her ball. They dared not go home because of their mother.


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But alas! it got so late that they went home. Their mother, seeing that little Pepper was crying, asked what ailed her; and she said, “I have lost my ball.” And the mother, in her anger, hung her up on the gallows-tree. Next day, the father went to her, and she said: “Oh, father, have you found my ball, Or have you paid my fee, Or have you come to take me down From this old gallows-tree?” And he replied: “I have not found your golden ball, Nor have I paid your fee, Nor have I come to take you down From this old gallows-tree.” Bye and bye her sisters came to see her, and she said: “Oh, sisters, have you found my ball, Or have you paid my fee, Or have you come to take me down From this old gallows-tree?” And they made the very same answer as the father had given. So poor little Pepper had to stop there all night. The next day brought her better luck. Her sweetheart came to see her, and she asked: “Oh, Charlie, have you found my ball,” etc., etc. And he replied: “’Tis I have found your golden ball, And I have paid your fee, And I am come to take you down From this old gallows-tree.”

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Then her sweetheart cut her down, and they were changed into two little birds. Soon after her father came, and heard two little voices up in the tree, asking: “Oh, father, have you found my ball,” etc., etc. On hearing this, the father ran away, very frightened, and his wicked wife and two little daughters came against the tree, and heard the little voices say the same words. All of a sudden they heard a great rustling of leaves, and looking up, they saw the forms of little Pepper and her sweetheart flying to the ground. And they all went home and lived a great many years. Norton Collection, I, p. 179F. Folk-Lore, VI (1895), pp. 306–8, contributed by M. Damant: “Told by a young woman, a native of Romsey, aged about 21.” This is a nursery version of “The Golden Ball”, with the heroine a little girl in spite of her sweetheart, all implications of loss of virginity forgotten and only the rhyme remembered, as if the story had been newly built out of the rhyme. See “The Golden Ball”(A, 11).

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS: I [summary] Once an old sow sent her three little pigs out into the world to seek their fortunes. The first of them begged some straw from a man whom he met, and built a house with it. Then a wolf came along, and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” The pig replied: “No, no, by the hair on my chinny chin chin.” The wolf said:” Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.” So he huffed and he puffed, and he blew the house in, and ate up the little pig. The second pig begged some furze from another man, and built his house, and just the same thing happened to him. But the third pig begged some bricks, and made his house of them. And the wolf found that he could do nothing to the brick house, so he said, “Little pig, in farmer Smith’s Home-field there are some fine turnips. Meet me there tomorrow morning, and I will show them to you.” “Yes,” said the little pig. But he got up early and found the turnips before the wolf got there. So then the wolf said, “Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple-tree. Meet me there at five tomorrow morning.” But the little pig got there at four. However, the wolf arrived while he was still up the tree. He threw an apple down to the wolf, and while the wolf was picking it up, the little pig ran down the tree, and away to his home. Next day the wolf said, “There is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon, shall you go?” “Yes,” said the pig. “Be ready at three,” said the wolf. So the pig got to the fair at two, and bought a butter-churn. On the way home he saw the wolf coming, and did not know what to do. So he hid in the churn, and it rolled down the hill, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran off home and did not go to the fair at all. He went and told the little pig what he had seen, and the pig laughed at him for having been so frightened. This made the wolf so angry that he vowed he would come down the chimney and get at the little pig that way. But the pig put a great pot of water to boil on his fire, and just as the wolf started to come down the chimney, the pig took off the lid. So the wolf fell into the pot, and the little pig ate boiled wolf for his supper.


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Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes, p. 16.

THE THREE LITTLE PIGS: II There was once upon a time a pig who lived with her three children on a large, comfortable, old-fashioned farmyard. The eldest of the little pigs was called Browny, the second Whitey, and the youngest and best-looking Blacky. Now Browny was a very dirty little pig, and I am sorry to say spent most of his time rolling and wallowing about in the mud. He was never so happy as on a wet day, when the mud in the farmyard got soft, and thick, and slab. Then he would steal away from his mother’s side and, finding the muddiest place in the yard, would roll about in it and thoroughly enjoy himself. His mother often found fault with him for this, and would shake her head sadly and say: “Ah, Browny! Some day you will be sorry that you did not obey your old mother.” But no words of advice or warning could cure Browny of his bad habits. Whitey was quite a clever little pig, but she was greedy. She was always thinking of her food, and looking forward to her dinner; and when the farm girl was seen carrying the pails across the yard, she would rise up on her hind legs and dance and caper with excitement. As soon as the food was poured into the trough she jostled Blacky and Browny out of the way in her eagerness to get the best and biggest bits for herself. Her mother often scolded her for her selfishness, and told her that some day she would suffer for being so greedy and grabbing. Blacky was a good, nice little pig, neither dirty nor greedy. He had nice dainty ways (for a pig), and his skin was always as smooth and shining as black satin. He was much cleverer than Browny and Whitey, and his mother’s heart used to swell with pride when she heard the farmer’s friends say to each other that some day the little black fellow would be a prize pig. Now the time came when the mother pig felt old and feeble and near her end. One day she called the three little pigs round her and said: “My children, I feel that I am growing old and weak, and that I shall not live long. Before I die I should like to build a house for each of you, as this dear old sty in which we have lived so happily will be given to a new family of pigs, and you will have to turn out. Now, Browny, what sort of a house would you like to have?” “A house of mud,” replied Browny, looking longingly at a wet puddle in the corner of the yard. “And you, Whitey?” said the mother pig in rather a sad voice, for she was disappointed that Browny had made so foolish a choice. “A house of cabbage,” answered Whitey, with a mouth full, and scarcely raising her snout out of the trough in which she was grubbing for some potato-parings. “Foolish, foolish child!” said the mother pig, looking quite distressed. “And you, Blacky?” turning to her youngest son, “what sort of a house shall 1 order for you?” “A house of brick, please, mother, as it will be warm in winter, and cool in summer, and safe all the year round.” “That is a sensible little pig,” replied his mother, looking fondly at him. “I will see that the three houses are got ready at once. And now one last piece of advice. You have heard

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me talk of our old enemy the fox. When he hears that I am dead, he is sure to try and get hold of you, to carry you off to his den. He is very sly and will no doubt disguise himself, and pretend to be a friend, but you must promise me not to let him enter your houses on any pretext whatever.” And the little pigs readily promised, for they had always had a great fear of the fox, of whom they had heard many terrible tales. A short time afterwards the old pig died, and the little pigs went to live in their own houses. Browny was quite delighted with his soft mud walls and with the clay floor, which soon looked like nothing but a big mud pie. But that was what Browny enjoyed, and he was as happy as possible, rolling about all day and making himself in such a mess. One day, as he was lying half asleep in the mud, he heard a soft knock at his door, and a gentle voice said: “May I come in, Master Browny? I want to see your beautiful new house.” “Who are you?” said Browny, starting up in a great fright, for though the voice sounded gentle, he felt sure it was a feigned voice, and he feared that it was the fox. “I am a friend come to call on you,” answered the voice. “No, no,” replied Browny, “I don’t believe you are a friend. You are the wicked fox, against whom our mother warned us. I won’t let you in.” “Oho! is that the way you answer me?” said the fox, speaking very roughly in his natural voice. “We shall soon see who is master here,” and with his paws he set to work and scraped a large hole in the soft mud walls. A moment later he had jumped through it, and catching Browny by the neck, flung him on his shoulders and trotted off with him to his den. The next day, as Whitey was munching a few leaves of cabbage out of the corner of her house, the fox stole up to her door, determined to carry her off to join her brother in his den. He began speaking to her in the same feigned gentle voice in which he had spoken to Browny; but it frightened her very much when he said: “I am a friend come to visit you, and to have some of your good cabbage for my dinner.” “Please don’t touch it,” cried Whitey in great distress. “The cabbages are the walls of my house, and if you eat them you will make a hole, and the wind and rain will come in and give me a cold. Do go away; I am sure you are not a friend, but our wicked enemy the fox.” And poor Whitey began to whine and to whimper and to wish that she had not been such a greedy little pig, and had chosen a more solid material than cabbage for her house. But it was too late now, and in another minute the fox had eaten his way through the cabbage walls, and had caught the trembling, shivering Whitey, and carried her off to his den. The next day the fox started off for Blacky’s house, because he had made up his mind that he would get the three little pigs together in his den, and then kill them, and invite all his friends to a feast. But when he reached the brick house, he found that the door was bolted and barred, so in his sly manner he began, “Do let me in, dear Blacky. I have brought you a present of some eggs, that I picked up in a farmyard on my way here.” “No, no, Mister Fox,” replied Blacky, “I am not going to open my door to you. I know your cunning ways. You have carried off poor Browny and Whitey, but you are not going to get me.”


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At this the fox was so angry that he dashed with all his force against the wall, and tried to knock it down. But it was too strong and well-built; and though the fox scraped and tore at the bricks with his paws, he only hurt himself, and at last he had to give it up, and limp away with his forepaws all bleeding and sore. “Never, mind,” he cried angrily as he went off, “I’ll catch you another day, see if I don’t, and won’t I grind your bones to powder when I have got you in my den!” and he snarled fiercely and showed his teeth. Next day Blacky had to go into the neighbouring town to do some marketing and to buy a big kettle. As he was walking home with it slung over his shoulder, he heard a sound of steps stealthily creeping after him. For a moment his heart stood still with fear, and then a happy thought came to him. He had just reached the top of the hill and could see his own little house nestling at the foot of it among the trees. In a moment he had snatched the lid off the kettle and had jumped in himself. Coiling himself round he lay quite snug in the bottom of the kettle, while with his fore-leg he managed to put the lid on, so that he was entirely hidden. With a little kick from the inside he started the kettle off, and down the hill it rolled full tilt; and when the fox came up, all that he saw was a large black kettle spinning over the ground at a great pace. Very much disappointed, he was just going to turn away, when he saw the kettle stop close to the little brick house, and in a moment later Blacky jumped out of it and escaped with the kettle into the house, when he barred and bolted the door, and put the shutter up over the window. “Oho!” exclaimed the fox to himself, “you think you will escape me that way, do you? We shall soon see about that, my friend,” and very quietly and stealthily he prowled round the house looking for some way to climb on to the roof. In the meantime Blacky had filled the kettle with water, and having put it on the fire, sat down quietly waiting for it to boil. Just as the kettle was beginning to sing, and steam to come out of the spout, he heard a sound like a soft muffled step, patter, patter, patter overhead, and the next minute the fox’s head and fore-paws were seen coming down the chimney. But Blacky very wisely had not put the lid on the kettle, and, with a yelp of pain, the fox fell into the boiling water, and before he could escape, Blacky had popped the lid on, and the fox was scalded to death. As soon as he was sure that their wicked enemy was really dead, and could do them no further harm, Blacky started off to rescue Browny and Whitey. As he approached the den he heard piteous grunts and squeaks from his poor little brother and sister, who lived in constant terror of the fox killing and eating them. But when they saw Blacky appear at the entrance to the den, their joy knew no bounds. He quickly found a sharp stone and cut the cords by which they were tied to a stake in the ground, and then all three started off together for Blacky’s house, where they lived happily ever after; and Browny quite gave up rolling in the mud, and Whitey ceased to be greedy, for they never forgot how nearly these faults had brought them to an untimely end. Andrew Lang, The Green Fairy Book, p. 100.

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THE THREE WEE PIGS There was once a pigs’ house where they were getting thick on the ground. The old sow had a younger family, so one day she sent out Dennis and Biddy and Rex to find their fortunes for themselves. They wandered on and on, till they got up by the Devil’s Elbow and Glenshee, and the wind was blowing, and it was snowing and raining at once, and oh! but their trotters were sore! So they sat down by the roadside, under the shelter of a wood. They sat for an hour. They had but one pipe and one match between them, and Dennis lent his pipe to Rex, and Rex dried the match in his hair, for it was soaked, and he sat and smoked the wee cuttie pipe. Presently they heard a cart coming along, and it was loaded with straw. Biddy thought she’s build herself a house, if the man would give her some straw. And the man was very kind and obliging, for he was sorry for them, turned out of their Mother’s house on such an awful day, just because Dennis had trod on one of the wee piglets by mistake. So he gave them the straw, and some matches too, and Biddy built herself a cosy wee house. The other two were sitting a bittie longer, when they heard a cart coming up with slats of wood on it, and who should be driving it but Jimmie McLauchlan, who was at school with Dennis. So Dennis asked him for some of the slats of wood, to build himself a wee wooden housie. And Jimmie gave it him and welcome. Well, Dennis had hardly set to work when a lorry from Fife came up the road, with a load of bricks on it. Rex cried to the man, and he stopped, and threw out as many bricks as Rex needed to build himself a brick house. And there they were all settled for the night. But as Biddy was sitting in her cosy wee house, she heard someone knocking. “Is that you, Dennis?” she said. “Oh, no, it’s an old friend,” said a voice that she knew well. “Just let me in and have a news with you.” “Oh, no, I’ll not let you in,” said Biddy, for she knew the wolf’s voice when she heard it. “Then I’ll puff and I’ll blow, and I’ll blow your house in,” said the wolf, and he blew so hard that all the straw scattered. But just as he got in at the front door, Biddy ran out at the back, and went to Dennis’s house. “He’ll not blow this down,” said Dennis. And that moment they heard the wolf at the door. “Let me in, I’ve a great piece of news for you.” “No, we’ll not let you in,” they said. “Then I’ll puff and I’ll blow, and I’ll blow your house in.” And he blew so hard that he blew all the slats apart, and Biddy and Dennis had only time to get out of the back door, and scamper to Rex’s house before the wolf was in at the front. He raced on after them to Rex’s house, but though he puffed and he blew, he couldn’t blow it down. So he crept up on to the roof to jump down the lum. But Biddy had given Rex some straw to make a bed, and when they heard the wolf on the roof he threw all the straw on the fire, and it blazed up, and burnt him to death. So they hooked him down the chimney, and cut him up into collops, and roasted him for their supper. But there are no houses up in the wood now, for the pigs were all taken to the old people’s houses, and there they died. School of Scottish Studies. Hamish Henderson, from Bella Higgins. Heard from her mother.


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TYPE 124. MOTIFS: Z.81 [Blowing the house in]; J.2133.7 [Intruding wolf falls down chimney and kills himself]. In version I the two first pigs are eaten by the wolf, and there is a further trial of wits between the third pig and the wolf, reminiscent of the Brer Rabbit stories. The same is true of the doggerel version printed by Joseph Cundall of “The Fox and the Geese”. Version II, found by Andrew Lang, gives a happy ending to all three pigs, and the same is true of III, the delightful “Three Wee Pigs”, collected by Hamish Henderson. See “The Fox and the Geese”.

TITTY MOUSE AND TATTY MOUSE Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse both lived in a house, Titty Mouse went a leasing and Tatty Mouse went a leasing, So they both went a leasing. Titty Mouse leased an ear of corn, and Tatty Mouse leased an ear of corn, So they both leased an ear of corn. Titty Mouse made a pudding, and Tatty Mouse made a pudding, So they both made a pudding. And Tatty Mouse put her pudding into the pot to boil, but when Titty went to put hers in, the pot tumbled over, and scalded her to death. Then Tatty sat down and wept; then a three-legged stool said: “Tatty, why do you weep?” “Titty’s dead,” said Tatty,” and so I weep.” “Then,” said the stool, “I’ll hop,” so the stool hopped. Then a broom in the corner of the room said, “Stool, why do you hop?” “Oh!” said the stool, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, and so I hop.” “Then,” said the broom, “I’ll sweep,” so the broom began to sweep. “Then”, said the door, “Broom, why do you sweep?” “Oh!” said the broom, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and so I sweep.” “Then,” said the door, “I’ll jar,” so the door jarred. “Then,” said the window, “Door, why do you jar?” “Oh!” said the door, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, and so I jar.” “Then,” said the window, “I’ll creak,” so the window creaked. Now there was an old form outside the house, and when the window creaked, the form said: “Window, why do you creak?” “Oh!” said the window, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and so I creak.” “Then,” said the old form, “I’ll run round the house”; then the old form ran round the house. Now there was a fine large walnut-tree growing by the cottage, and the tree said to the form: “Form, why do you run round the house?” “Oh!” said the form, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, and the door jars, and the window creaks, and so I run round the house.” “Then,” said the walnut-tree, “I’ll shed my leaves,” so the walnuttree shed all its beautiful green leaves. Now there was a little bird perched on one of the boughs of the tree, and when all the leaves fell, it said, “Walnut-tree, why do you shed your leaves?” “Oh!” said the tree, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom

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sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, and so I shed my leaves.” “Then,” said the little bird, “I’ll moult all my feathers,” so he moulted all his pretty feathers. Now there was a little girl walking below, carrying a jug of milk for her brothers’ and sisters’ supper, and when she saw the poor little bird moult all its feathers, she said: “Little bird, why do you moult all your feathers?” “Oh!” said the little bird, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut-tree sheds its leaves, and so I moult all my feathers.” “Then,” said the little girl, “I’ll spill the milk,” so she dropt the pitcher, and spilt the milk. Now there was an old man just by on the top of a ladder thatching a rick, and when he saw the little girl spill the milk, he said: “Little girl, what do you mean by spilling the milk? Your brothers and sisters must go without their supper.” Then said the little girl, “Titty’s dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut tree sheds all its leaves, the little bird moults all its feathers, and so I spill the milk.” “Oh!” said the old man,” then I’ll tumble off the ladder and break my neck,” so he tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck; and when the old man broke his neck, the great walnut-tree fell down with a crash, and upset the old form and house, and the house falling knocked the window out, and the window knocked the door down, and the door upset the broom, and the broom upset the stool, and poor little Tatty Mouse was buried beneath the ruins. Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales, p. 77. TYPE 2022. MOTIF: Z.32.2 [The death of the little hen; she is characteristically mourned by various animals and objects]. See also “Da Flech an’ da Loose”.

THE WEE BANNOCK There was a wife bakin’ bannocks, and there was a man cam and wanted ane o’ them. And he said to the wife: “Yer bannas is burnin’: come awa’ and I’ll turn them.” And the wife said: “Na, I’ll turn them;” and he said: “Na, I’ll turn them;” and she said: “Na, I’ll turn them.” And as they were threepin’, ane o’ the bannocks got up and ran awa’ and they couldna catch’t. And it ran and ran or it cam to a sheep, and the sheep wanted it, and it said to the sheep: “I’ve beat a wee wife, And I’ve beat a wee man, And I’ll try and beat ye too if I can.” So it ran and ran, and beat the sheep. And it cam to a goat, and it said to the goat:


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“I’ve beat a wee wife, And I’ve beat a wee man, And I’ve beat a wee sheep, And I’ll try and beat ye too if I can.” And it ran and ran and beat the goat. And it cam to a fox, and it said to the fox: “I’Ve beata wee wife, And I’ve beat a wee man, And I’ve beat a wee sheep, And I’ve beat a wee goat, And I’ll try and beat ye too if I can.” And the fox said: “Get on my back and I’ll carry ye,” and the banna said: “Na, I’ll rin mysel’.” And the fox said: “Na, get on my back, and I’ll carry ye o’er the burn.” Sae the banna got on its back, and the fox turned round its head, and took a grip o’t. And the banna cried, “Oh, ye’re nippin’s, ye’re nippin’s, ye’re nippin’s.” And the fox said: “Na, I’m just clawin’ mysel’.” And it took anither grip, and the banna cried: “Oh, ye’re nippin’s, ye’re nippin’s, ye’re nippin’s.” And the fox nippit it a’ awa’ but a wee bit, and it fell into the burn, and that was the end o’ the banna. Norton Collection, VI, p. 134. Selkirkshire. Chambers, pp. 86–7. TYPE 2025. MOTIF: Z.33.1 [The fleeing pancake]. See “The Little Cake”.

THE WEE, WEE MANNIE Once upon a time when all big folks were wee ones and all lies were true, there was a wee, wee Mannie that had a big, big Coo. And out he went to her one morning, and said: “Hold still, my Coo, my hinny, Hold still, my hinny, my Coo, And ye shall have for your dinner, What but a milk-white doo.” But the big, big Coo wouldn’t hold still. “Hout!” said the wee, wee Mannie— “Hold Hold still, my Coo, my dearie, And fill my bucket wi’ milk, And if ye’ll no’ be contrairy

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I’ll gi’e ye a gown o’ silk.” But the big, big Coo wouldn’t hold still. “Look at that now!” said the wee, wee Mannie. “What’s a wee, wee Mannie to do, Wi‘sic a big contrairy Coo!” So off he went to his mother at the house. “Mother,” he said, “Coo won’t stand still, and wee, wee Mannie can’t milk big, big Coo.” “Hout!” says his mother, “take stick and beat Coo.” So off he went to get a stick from the tree, and said— “Break, stick, break, And I’ll gi’e ye a cake.” But the stick wouldn’t break, so back he went to the house. “Mother,” says he, “Coo won’t hold still, stick won’t break, wee, wee Mannie can’t beat big, big Coo.” “Hout!” says his Mother, “Go to the butcher and bid him kill Coo.” So off he went to the Butcher, and said— “Butcher, kill the big, big Coo, She’ll give me no more milk noo.” But the Butcher wouldn’t kill the Coo without a silver penny, so back the Mannie went to the house. “Mother,” says he, “Coo won’t hold still, stick won’t break, Butcher won’t kill without a silver penny, and wee, wee Mannie can’t milk big, big Coo.” “Well,” said his mother, “go to the Coo and tell her there’s a weary, weary lady with long yellow hair weeping for a sup of milk.” So off he went and told the Coo, but she wouldn’t hold still, so back he went and told his mother. “Well,” said she, “tell the Coo there’s a fine, fine laddie from the wars sitting by the weary, weary lady with the golden hair, and she weeping for a sup of milk.” So off he went and told the Coo, but she wouldn’t hold still, so back he went and told his mother. “Well,” said his mother, “tell the big, big Coo there’s a sharp, sharp sword at the belt of the fine, fine laddie from the wars who sits beside the weary, weary lady with the golden hair, and she weeping for a sup o’ milk.” And he told the big, big Coo, but she wouldn’t hold still. Then said his mother, “Run quick and tell her that her head’s going to be cut off by the sharp, sharp sword in the hands of the fine, fine laddie, if she doesn’t give the sup of milk the weary, weary lady weeps for.” And the wee, wee Mannie went off and told the big, big Coo.


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And when the Coo saw the glint of the sharp, sharp sword in the hand of the fine, fine laddie come from the wars, and the weary, weary lady weeping for a sup of milk, she thought she’d better hold still; so wee, wee Mannie milked the big, big Coo, and the weary, weary lady with the golden hair hushed her weeping and got her cup o’ milk, and the fine, fine laddie new come from the wars put by his sharp, sharp sword, and all went well that didn’t go ill. Jacobs, More English Fairy Tales, p. 177. TYPE 2015. MOTIF: Z.39.2. [There was a wee, wee wumman, who had a wee, wee coo]. A version of this, “There was a wee, wee wumman, who had a wee, wee coo”, is printed in JAFL, XLVI, p. 81, no. 2016. This tale is both more amusing and more poetic than “The Old Woman and her Pig”, but it does not follow the same logical sequence. See also “The Old Woman and Her Pig”, “The Wife and Her Bush of Berries”. THE WEE YOWE There was a wee yowe, Happin frae knowe to knowe, It lookit up to the mune, And saw mae ferlies na fyfteen; It took a fit in ilka hand, And happit awa to Airland; Frae Airland to Aberdeen: And when the yowe cam hame again, The gudeman was outby herdin’ the kye; The swine were in the spence, makin’ the whey; The gudewife was but an’ ben, tinklin’ the keys, An’ lookin’ owre lasses makin’ at the cheese; The cat in the ass-hole, makin’ at the brose— Down fell a cinder, and burnt the cat’s nose, An’ it cried: “Yeowe, yeowe, yeowe,” etc. Norton Collection, VI, p. 84. Chambers, p. 27. From a recitation in Ayrshire. TYPE 1930. A very similar version beginning “There was a wee bird” is given by Norton (VI, p. 86) from the Miscellanea of the Rymour Club. See also “Down on Yon Bank”.

THE WIFE AND HER BUSH OF BERRIES There was a wife that lived in a wee house by hersel’, and as she was soopin’ the house one day, she fand twall pennies. So she thought to hersel’ what she wad do wi’ her twall

V Nursery tales

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pennies, and at last she thought she couldna do better than gang wi’t to the market and buy a kid. Sae she gaed to the market and coffed a fine kid. And as she was gaun hame, she spied a bonny buss o’ berries growin’ beside a brig. And she says to the kid: “Kid, kid, keep my house till I pu’ my bonny, bonny buss o’ berries.” “’Deed no,” says the kid, “I’ll no keep your house till ye pu’ your bonny buss o’ berries.” Then the wife gaed to the dog, and said: “Dog, dog, bite kid; kid winna keep my house till I pu’ my bonny buss o’ berries.” “’Deed,” says the dog, “I’ll no bite the kid, for the kid never did me ony ill.” Then the wife gaed to a staff and said: “Staff, staff, strike dog; for dog winna bite kid, and kid winna keep my house,” etc. “’Deed,” says the staff, “I winna strike the dog, for the dog never did me ony ill.” Then the wife gaed to the fire, and said: “Fire, fire, burn staff; staff winna strike dog, dog winna bite kid,” etc. “’Deed,” says the fire, “I winna burn the staff, for the staff never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Water, water, slocken fire; fire winna,” etc. “’Deed,” says the water, “I winna slocken fire, for fire never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Ox, ox, drink water; water winna slocken fire,” etc. “’Deed,” says the ox, “I winna drink water, for water never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Axe, axe, fell ox; ox winna drink water,” etc. “’Deed,” says the axe, I winna fell ox, for ox never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Smith, smith, smooth axe; axe winna,” etc. “’Deed,” says the smith, “I winna smooth axe, for axe never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Rope, rope, hang smith; smith winna smooth axe,” etc. “’Deed,” says the rope, “I winna hang smith, for smith never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Mouse, mouse, cut rope; rope winna hang smith,” etc. “’Deed,” says the mouse,” I winna cut rope, for rope never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Cat, cat, kill mouse; mouse winna cut rope; rope winna hang smith; smith winna smooth axe; axe winna fell ox; ox winna drink water; water winna slocken fire; fire winna burn staff; staff winna strike dog; dog winna bite kid; kid winna keep my house till I pu’ my bonny buss o’ berries.” “’Deed,” says the cat, “I winna kill the mouse, for the mouse never did me ony ill.” WIFE: “Do’t, and I’ll gie ye milk and bread.” Wi’ that the cat to the mouse, and the mouse to the rope, and the rope to the smith, and the smith to the axe, and the axe to the ox, and the ox to the water, and the water to the fire, and the fire to the staff, and the staff to the dog, and the dog to the kid, and the kid keepit the wife’s house, till she pu’d her bonny buss o’ berries. R.Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 57. TYPE 2030. See also “The Old Woman and her Pig”, “I went to Market”.

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