by Bob Curran
Both children were brought into Sir Richard’s presence for questioning. Their skin was indeed a deep emerald green, and they appeared to have an Asian look about them (their eyes may have been slightly almond-shaped). When they spoke, they did so in a high fluting tongue, which Sir Richard found “shrill.” Once again, he attempted to get them to eat, assuming that food would provide some form of common language between them. A portion of cold beef and a chicken leg were given to each of them, but the children simply peered and prodded at them curiously, seemingly repelled by the cooked flesh; nor did they attempt to eat any of the apples, berries, or nuts that were placed in a bowl in front of them, seemingly unfamiliar with any of them.
Halfway through this curious experiment, an old serving woman came into the hall bearing a basket of long green beans. As soon as they saw these, the children commenced a loud and fluting racket and rushed toward her. With a scream she dropped the basket and fled, but the children pounced on the wicker container and began to cram the raw beans into their mouths.
What was to be done with them? Sir Richard took them as his wards and brought in a priest, Father Anthony, to teach them at least some measure of English. The knight fed them as well, although for long periods they would eat nothing but green beans. However, over a period of time, their tastes seemed to change and they began to devour cooked meats with relish. The girl seemed more eager to sample new foods than the boy, but she had always seemed the more adventurous of the two in any case.
An expedition was mounted to explore the hole from which the two had crawled, but although there was a large cavern-like space under the roots of the tree, it was impossible to advance any further. The storm had also dislodged soil and several great stones that had blocked off parts of the underground chamber, and it proved impossible to shift them. Any access that might have been available was now thoroughly sealed. Where the two children had come from still remained something of a mystery.
As time passed, both children began to lose their greenish tinge and began to interact more and more with those around them. The boy still remained rather sullen and uncommunicative, but the girl was quite chatty, and as she learned the language, communicated readily with those who wished to speak with her. The first question, of course, concerned where they had come from. Had they actually come from the Underworld?
They had lived, the girl told those who asked, in “The Land of St. Martin,” which was very far away. Here, she went on, the sun never rose beyond a certain point on the horizon, and the land was consequently very dark, although there was faint light. It was a land that had been populated by Celtic peoples who had ruled England before the coming of the Saxons, and there had once been commerce between the upper world and St. Martin’s Land in times long past. That trade, however, had gradually fallen away, and now the two dominions existed in isolation from each other. In her country, the girl said, everything was green—the land was green, the people were green, the animals were green, and even at times the very sky seemed green. There was little distinction between day and night in St. Martin’s Land, and the people there slept as they saw fit. Nevertheless, the countryside was very much like that around St. Mary’s—the people lived by farming and dwelt in small villages along the sides of great rivers, which broke up the landscape.
There was no formal religion among the people of St. Martin’s Land, although from time to time, they could hear a sound reminiscent of church bells, but nobody could tell from where it came. Still, some of the people often measured their days by it and the sound told them when it was time to stop work. At certain times there were heavy rains, but thankfully those occurred only infrequently, and most of the rain was no more than a light drizzle.
The people of St. Martin’s Land had a great veneration for living things, similar to the beliefs of the early Celtic peoples, and treated their animals, no matter how lowly, with great respect. They found it abhorrent to kill or devour any animal, hence the children’s aversion to cooked meat. Much of their food consisted of pulses, most of which had been planted during their season of rains.
Father Anthony found it interesting that there was no formal religion in St. Martin’s Land, and pressed the girl further on the matter. She told him that there was neither priest nor prelate among her people, nor was there a church of any description. There were, however, ancient stories saying that the people had once worshipped old gods such as the Celts had worshipped. Indeed, there were many ancient forts, monuments, and standing stones throughout the land. There were still some among her people who followed old ways.
Through climbing up to the summit of certain high hills, the girl claimed that she could see another, much brighter domain cut off from her own country by a broad, swift-flowing river. She had never been to this country, nor had anyone else in her village, and she claimed to know nothing about it.
How had the children come to the surface world, Sir Richard asked. The girl replied that she did not rightly know, but that she and her brother had been tending their father’s sheep on a very high hill in their own country. She herself had been trying to see the bright country from the summit of some very tall rocks, and they had actually allowed the sheep to stray. Fearing their father’s anger, they began to look for them and round them up again. One, however, had strayed into a very deep cave on the mountaintop, a large cavern that neither of the children had noticed before. As they went into it, the cave seemed very deep and dark, and as they advanced they heard the familiar sound of bells once again, ringing out from the gloom. They decided to go further into the cavern and to find out where they came from.
The ground beneath them, which had formerly been flat, now began to grow steeper and steeper, and they found themselves climbing upward. The sound of the bells grew louder and louder and then far away in front of them; they seemed to see a bright light—faint first but growing steadily as they approached it. Eventually, they stepped out into the brilliant light and, as they did so, the sound of bells stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. The light that was all around them now was so white that it nearly blinded them. They climbed out of a hole and found themselves on the edge of a forest near St. Mary’s-by-the-Wolfpits. Frightened, they attempted to crawl back into the hole from which they had emerged, but were suddenly set upon by hunters and captured.
The story was an incredible one, and all who heard it were amazed. The girl further revealed that although she liked the surface world, her brother was most unhappy and pined for his own world, which she assumed was far below. He still found the surface world very strange. In her own world it was generally the women who were the stronger gender, while men, though the rulers and elders in each village, were generally much weaker. Thus, her brother was constantly sick and wanted to go back home. If local people found them strange with their green skin, then think how strange it was for them to be surrounded by pink-skinned men and women. If he did not return to St. Martin’s Land soon, she was afraid that he might die.
She had, therefore, searched for a way back to the underground kingdom, but had been unsuccessful. Sir Richard did not tell her that he had given orders to have the hole that they had crawled out of sealed up. He was frightened that a troop of armed knights might also emerge from it in order to retrieve the children, and was taking no chances. The children were therefore trapped on the surface world and there seemed no way back for them.
Father Anthony insisted that the children be baptized as Christians, and so they were, at a secret service that only Sir Richard attended. Even so, they seemed to find the religion rather strange and seemed extremely unsettled at Mass and other sacred events. They continued to live at Sir Richard’s castle, and though the girl seemed to settle into the routine of everyday life there, the boy still seemed morose and withdrawn.
Two years after they had been discovered, the girl’s dire prophesy came true; the boy seemed to become even more listless. He wouldn’t eat, he took no part in his lessons with the priest, nor did he engage in play of any kin
d. Sometimes, he was to be found down by the Wolf Pits looking longingly at the ground. And, as winter drew in, and the ground hardened like iron, he began to seriously sicken. Father Anthony did what he could—he offered prayers and sent to the Abbey at Bury for sacred water from the Well of Our Lady—but to no avail. As Christmas Day approached, the boy took an inexplicable fever and died.
His sister continued to live at the castle of Sir Richard de Colne for a time. Unlike her brother, she seemed to have adapted well to the world around her—she now ate foods that everyone else ate, she spoke English much better, albeit with a peculiar accent, and she also took with gusto to drinking and dancing. Her hair became fairer, and as she grew older she became more beautiful. And as she grew to womanhood, she became more forward and flirty in her ways. There were whispers that she’d actually become Sir Richard’s mistress, thus antagonizing the knight’s wife, but these were simply rumors.
In time, she left Sir Richard’s castle and married one of his squires. They went to live at Lenna, near King’s Lynn, but from time to time, she would leave her husband and return to St. Mary’s-by-the-Wolfpits, looking rather lost and lonely. She, too, now seemed to be pining for her former home in St. Martin’s Land. Then, one day, she simply vanished.
Many rumors circulated about her disappearance. Some said that, although married, she continued to be Sir Richard’s mistress, and this is why she returned. It was also said that she had borne several children to him in secret, and that in revenge, his wife poisoned her and made away with the body; others said that she’d been swept up in the savage conflicts that were still rampant throughout the countryside. Others affirmed that she’d managed to find a way back to the underground kingdom of St. Martin’s Land, but others stated that she’d run off with someone else and was living in Norfolk where she eventually died, a very old woman. What truly became of her will probably never be known.
Such is the story of the Green Children. Many have dismissed it as a mere fantasy, either dreamed up by monks or gullibly recounted as fact by them. But there may be some truth in the tale. There was, at the time, allegedly a book, copied down by one of Sir Richard’s scribes and dictated by the green-skinned girl concerning the “ancient religions and practices of St. Martin’s Land.” This was supposedly read by Sir Richard’s confessor—whose name is alternately given as Father Anthony or Father John—who found it so shocking that he hid it away and forbade anyone to read it again, declaring that “Christian eyes would never look upon the blasphemies that were writ therein.” This book is still reputed to be somewhere in the vicinity of Bury St. Edmunds.
There are also certain references in some of the medieval literature to “Green Jack’s Children.” Although it is never properly specified what these “children” were, it might be that they were the remnants of some Pagan woodland fertility cult, which dated back to Celtic times. It might just be that these children were not from a subterranean world at all, but were really members of a cult—the term “green” being a misinterpretation. This oversight may then have been elaborated upon by subsequent authors who portrayed them as coming from some other sphere outside the Christian world. “St. Martin’s Land,” some have argued, is a corruption of “Merlin’s Land,” referring to ancient Celtic beliefs concerning the wizard of Arthurian fable.
There are also a couple of extremely plausible explanations. The first has been put forward by the Fortean writer Mike Dash, who says that the tale may have a more mundane interpretation. The children, he thinks, may have been two malnourished waifs from the Suffolk village of Fornham St. Martins—St. Martin’s Land—who were caught up in the wars between King Stephen and the Empress Maud. Although today, the two locations are relatively close, in medieval England, they would have seemed like two different countries. It is extremely doubtful whether anyone in St. Mary’s would have ever been to Fornham St. Martins, and the two areas might have spoken different dialects of English that might have initially appeared unintelligible to each other. However, the bells the children claimed to have heard were those of Bury Abbey, which was not terribly far away from Fornham, calling the monks there to prayer at certain times of the day. The children arrived at St. Mary’s by way of a series of extensive Neolithic flint mines that stretched under Thetford Forest, and which might have given the impression of an underground kingdom. Their “greenness” might actually have been a disease known as “green chlorosis” caused by severe malnourishment.
In 1998, the writer Paul Harris set forward another explanation. This depends on the story of the discovery being slightly later in time and during the reign of Henry II (1154–1189), who succeeded Stephen. During both reigns, the east of England experienced an influx of Flemish immigrants, many of whom worked as fullers (dyers). During Henry’s reign these “foreigners” were attacked, and in 1173 there was a great massacre of Flemish immigrants near Bury. Could it be that the boy and the girl had escaped this slaughter, and had fled into Thetford Forest to avoid being killed, there to live for a while as feral children? They were then discovered and taken to St. Mary’s where they were treated as wonders. The “greenness” of their skin might well have come from constant exposure to fuller’s dyes. It is certainly a plausible explanation, and one that may well fit in with the facts—many other accounts seem to suggest that they appeared during Henry’s reign and not that of Stephen.
And yet, there are lingering mysteries that have never been explained. The fact that they would not eat meat such as beef—regarded as a “luxury food” and much sought after by many villagers—is one. The other is their clothing, which appears to have been “gown-like,” and made of some material unknown to weavers around St. Mary’s. Did they exist at all? Folklorists such as Kathryn Briggs have traced several elements in the tale common to several other stories, and have hinted that it may be no more than an invention—“a pleasing tale”—to entertain medieval listeners. St. Martin’s Land has never existed.
In 1887, near the town of Banjos in Spain, two green-skinned children—a boy and a girl—were found cowering near the entrance to a large cave, which had been recently sealed by a landslide. They were dressed in long gown-like clothes of an unknown material and spoke in a strange fluting language. They were both described as being “Asian-looking” with almond-shaped eyes. They were brought back down to the town where they were taken in and looked after. What became of the boy is unknown, but the girl lived for about five years before dying in 1892. In that time she had learned a little Spanish (the boy does not appear to have learned it), and stated that she came from a “land that was far away,” and that she and her brother had been lifted by a “mighty whirlwind” and deposited in Spain. The name of the land from which they came was called “San Martino” (St. Martin’s Land). So who knows—perhaps somewhere far below, lies another country in which green-skinned people live and, from time to time, may even venture up into the sunlight to meet us.
20
The Lost Dutchman Mine
For some reason, mines have often fascinated the human imagination. Perhaps this is because dark shafts leading into the bowels of the Earth are suggestive of mystery, adventure, and danger. And of course, mines also suggest wealth, hidden away beneath the surface of the world. Maybe it is for this reason that tales concerning lost mines appear frequently in the folklore of many cultures.
The most famous of all such places is, of course, King Solomon’s Mines, said to be located somewhere on the African continent. Others disputed this location, and state that King Solomon’s Mines lay somewhere near the splendid and fabulously wealthy port of Ophir, although no one is exactly sure where this was. The Mines were reputedly vast gold mines, and were linked with the name of the biblical king of Israel who was believed to have sent expeditions there to look for African wealth. From these mines, Solomon is supposed to have obtained a greater part of his legendary wealth. However, after the king’s death, the location of the Mines was reputedly lost, although they were still known to a handful of native t
ribes living in their vicinity. The legend came to prominence once more with the publication in 1885 of Sir Henry Rider Haggard’s famous novel King Solomon’s Mines, which featured his rather swashbuckling hero, Alan Quartermain. The Indiana Jones of his day, Quartermain led an expedition through uncharted African territory to eventually find the entrance to the fabled workings. Haggard had undoubtedly heard the legend from his friend Sir Henry Bulwer, lieutenant-governor of Natal Province in South Africa, and his book raised interest in the possible existence of the Mines. This was the age of British exploration, and it was said that a number of expeditions were sent into both the deserts of North Africa and the forest of South Africa to look for the Mines, none of which were successful.
Although there were reputedly more fabulously wealthy mines, none have achieved the folkloric status of the Lost Dutchman Mine, somewhere in Arizona, which has enjoyed something of a legendary reputation to equal that of King Solomon. The Mine, reputedly based in the Superstition Mountain area to the east of Phoenix, is mentioned in story and song, and was even the subject of a pop record during the late 1950s/early 1960s.
Superstition Mountain
Although it bears the name of a single mountain, and is sometimes described as a “mountain range,” Superstition is actually an area of rocky terrain full of cliffs, gullies, and blind canyons, with several “spires” and “peaks” amid the jumble. Large parts of this region remain unexplored, even today. It is not surprising that this strange and often eerie landscape has spawned legends and folktales about it.
