OISIN AND THE HARE
Oisin is a hero from Irish mythology. He was the son of the semi-divine hero, Finn mac Cumhaill (Finn McCool).
The story says that one day Oisin was out hunting on the moors when he flushed out a hare. He shot an arrow at it but only managed to wound it on the leg. The hare ran off into some bushes and Oisin followed. Hidden away in the dense undergrowth he found a doorway which opened into a cave and an underground passageway diving down into the earth. He followed the passage until he came out into a huge cavern, where he found a beautiful woman bleeding from a wound in her leg …
THE HEATHFIELD HARE
A Tale from the West Country
Heathfield is a solitary place, a lonely hamlet surrounded by empty, barren moorland. It was, and still is, the kind of place where the imagination can run riot and people can see all sorts of things – including witches and pixies and magical hares.
One day an old woman made a mistake. She thought it was morning, so she got out of bed, got dressed and prepared to go into town, to market. She put on her cloak, put the panniers on her pony and set off. It was a mistake because it wasn’t morning, it was midnight! Perhaps it was the full moon which made her think it was daylight.
As she crossed the moor she heard the sound of hunting horns blowing in the distance and the belling of hounds. Suddenly a hare appeared and veered towards her. When it got close it leapt on to the hedge where she was able to reach out, grab it by the ears, and bundle it into a pannier.
The woman had not gone much further when she saw a sight that chilled her to the core. Coming across the moor towards her was a headless black horse and on its back sat a rider with little horns poking out from under his cap. When she looked further she saw that in one stirrup was a booted foot, but in the other was a cloven hoof. A forked tail hung down over the horse’s rump. This rider was surrounded by hounds that gave off a faint luminous light, and around the whole group was a sulphurous smell. The woman knew exactly who she was dealing with.
But, however powerful the Devil might be, he is not infallible, and he doffed his cap and politely asked the old woman if she had seen which way the hare had gone. The woman normally made a point of being truthful and honest but she thought there was no sin in telling lies to the Father of all Lies so she said no, she hadn’t seen it.
When she had gone a little further she became aware of movement in the pannier and, to her surprise, the lid opened and there emerged a beautiful young woman dressed all in green. She told the old woman not to be afraid and thanked her for saving her from an unimaginable fate.
‘I am not of this earth,’ she said, ‘but because of a great wrong done many years ago I was doomed to spend my days being hunted, either on the earth or below it, until I could outwit the hunters and get behind their tails while they went searching for me in the wrong direction. Now, thanks to you, I have achieved that and can rest in peace. In return I would like to reward you. From now on all your hens will lay two eggs, where once they laid one, and your cows will give an endless supply of milk. As well as that you will be able to talk twice as much as you did before and your husband will never be able to win an argument. But I must also give you a warning: beware of the Devil. He is a great cheater, but when he finds out that you were clever enough to cheat him he won’t like it and will be looking for a way to get his own back. Beware of him and remember that he can take on any form, other than that of a lamb or a dove.’
With that, the green lady vanished and the old woman went on her way to market where she did good trading and went on to live out her days very comfortably.
People around Heathfield still remember her and her story and also know that because Christ was the lamb, and the Holy Spirit the dove, the Evil One can never take on those shapes.
HARE OR HUMAN
There was once an old woman who came up with a good way of making money. Whenever she was running short of cash she would send out her grandson to the local huntsman to tell him that he had seen a hare at a particular location. Without fail the huntsman would reward the boy with a sixpence (which was quite a lot of money for poor people in those days) and then call out the hounds, which always saw the hare disappearing into the distance but were never able to catch it.
When this had happened too many times for it to be coincidence, the huntsman and the other gentlemen involved began to suspect that someone was taking them for fools. It was almost as if the hare knew the hounds would be coming … and where did the hare manage to disappear to?
‘The Devil is in the dance,’ they thought, ‘there is some trickery involved here.’ So the local powers that be, including a Justice of the Peace and the vicar, laid their plans. If the Devil was involved then surely the combined powers of Church and State should be able to overcome him. Gradually they began to see how it was done and they decided to lay a trap.
They realised that the boy always reported the hare at about the same time of day, so the huntsman made sure that his hounds were ready and could be loosed instantly. A neighbour kept watch on the old woman’s cottage and as soon as she and her grandson left together he was ready to run and alert the huntsman.
After a few days of waiting the trap was sprung. The old woman and her son left her house and then split up, the boy heading towards the huntsman and the old woman towards the spot where the hare would be seen. Almost before the boy had delivered his message the hounds were off and came up upon the hare far sooner than expected. The chase was fast and close, so much so that the poor boy gave himself away by crying out, ‘Run, Granny, Run!’
The hounds followed the hare right up to the old woman’s house, where it squeezed through a hole at the bottom of the door which was too small to allow them to follow. The hunters attempted to break the door down but her magic would not allow them to, until the vicar and the justice arrived. They went in and upstairs to the bedroom where they found the old woman still out of breath and covered in scratches and cuts from the chase. She denied she was a witch or that she had been the hare, but when they threatened to bring the hounds up to her room to let them decide whether she was hare or human she admitted it. The local inhabitants wanted to duck her but her grandson fell on his knees, sobbing and pleading for his grandmother’s life and in the end she was let off with a good whipping.
That wasn’t quite the end of the story, though, for a few years later she was again caught and accused of witchcraft and this time she was taken before a very stern judge who sentenced her to be burned at the stake.
THE KENNET VALLEY WITCH
So she became a little mare
As dark as the night was black;
But he became a golden saddle
And he clung on to her back.
(Song: ‘The Two Magicians’)
There are many stories about animal transformations – animals which become human, or humans who become animal. In some the animal form is ‘good’, in some it is definitely not!
As we have just seen, one of the most common folk tales found all over Britain is of a witch who transforms herself into an animal, or who transforms the object of her spite into an animal. Often a clever person then manages to injure or mark her in some way while she is in her disguise so that her identity is proved when she returns to her human form. Here is a version from the Kennet Valley in Wiltshire/Berkshire. It is an area jam-packed with ancient archaeology and history, so it is not surprising that old beliefs and tales linger on there. This story was told around 1902.
There were two farm workers who shared a cottage. One was a carter and the other a thatcher. Their cottage was just a tiny, thatched building for which the term ‘cottage’ was almost too grand! It had just one room up and one room down plus a tiny lean-to kitchen added on the back. Because it was so small the two men shared everything, including meals and the bed. Although they lived together and worked for the same master the two men were entirely different. The thatcher was a tall, strong man with a ruddy complexion. He looked the picture of healt
h. The carter, though, was bent and weedy and never had any energy. He almost didn’t have the strength to get out of bed in the morning and would often fall asleep on the cart. When that happened, the horses were usually able to find their way on their own so it didn’t really matter.
One morning the thatcher said, ‘Isn’t it strange that we eat the same food and sleep in the same bed and do similar work for the same master and yet we’re so different.’
‘You’d be as bad as me if you were ridden all night as hard as I am,’ replied the carter, and went on to explain that every night a witch came and put a bridle on him and rode him about like a horse.
Now the thatcher was sorry for his friend and offered to help. He was a big, powerful man so he suggested that the next night they should change sides in the bed. Then, when the witch came she would have to contend with him!
That night they did as he said and, sure enough, the witch came and saddled and bridled the thatcher and rode him all around the neighbourhood. At last she took him into a stable and tied him up with a lot of other horses who, he realised, must also be poor men who had been bewitched in their sleep by other witches.
When they were left alone the thatcher pulled off the enchanted bridle and hid under the manger. When the witch returned he leapt out and put the bridle on her instead. Then he rode her hard towards home. But on the way he stopped at a blacksmith’s. He woke the sleeping blacksmith, who complained loudly and long but eventually gave in and agreed to put a new shoe on the horse’s left forefoot. When this had been done the thatcher rode her home and left her outside the farmhouse.
The next day the two men went to their work as usual and the thatcher met the farmer strolling around looking very worried. ‘It’s my wife,’ he said, ‘she’s ill and won’t get up.’
‘Make her get up,’ said the thatcher, but the farmer couldn’t.
‘Then make her put her left hand out of bed,’ said the thatcher, but again the farmer said she refused. ‘Make her,’ said the thatcher, ‘and if she won’t then pull it out from the covers yourself.’
When the farmer eventually made her uncover her hand there was a great iron horseshoe on it and he knew immediately what it meant. ‘I thought I was married to a good woman,’ he lamented, ‘but in fact I’m married to a devil!’
I don’t know exactly what he did, but the farmer was soon free of his wife, who was never seen again, and everybody, including the carter, lived much more happily.
THE HEDGEHOG AND THE DEVIL
‘Off we go again,’ the hedgehog said to the Devil.
You all, no doubt, know of the race between the hare and the tortoise, the story Aesop told to warn against being too cocksure of your own ability. Here is a variation:
One day Hedgehog made a bet with the Devil that he could beat him in a race. It was agreed that they would meet at night in a ploughed field and run up and down the furrows until one of them had had enough and gave up. Hedgehog, however, got his brother to help him. He stationed his brother at the other end of the course and then he and the Devil lined up and someone shouted, ‘Go!’.
Hedgehog didn’t move, but the Devil ran as fast as he could to the other end of the field where Hedgehog’s brother poked up his head and said, ‘Off we go again.’ The Devil skidded to a halt and ran back the way he’d come as fast as he could to where the first hedgehog was waiting. ‘Off we go again,’ he said. And in this way they ran the Devil to death.
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MAGICAL TRANSFORMATIONS
So she became a duck
A-floating on the pond
And he became a shaggy old drake
And he chased her round and round.
And she became a sheep
A-laying on the common
And he became a shaggy old ram
And he quickly fell upon her.
(From the ‘Two Magicians’)
THE SMALL-TOOTH DOG
A Derbyshire version of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ collected by Sydney Oldall Addy in the last years of the nineteenth century.
Once upon a time there was a merchant who travelled all over the country buying and selling. He also owned a fleet of ships and sometimes travelled far away over the seas to strange countries in search of more exotic goods to trade. When he was on one of these journeys he was attacked by bandits who carried off all his goods and money. His life was only saved thanks to a small-tooth dog which happened to come on the scene at just the right moment and frightened the bandits off.
The dog took the merchant to his house, which was very grand, and he dressed the merchant’s wounds and looked after him until he was fully recovered from his ordeal. When the time came for him to leave the merchant said he would like to give the dog something as a token of his thanks and to show how grateful he was. ‘Will you accept from me a fish I have which can speak twelve languages?’ asked the merchant.
‘No, I will not,’ said the dog.
‘Then will you accept from me a goose which lays golden eggs?’ asked the merchant.
‘No, I will not,’ growled the dog.
‘Then will you accept from me a mirror in which you can see what people are really thinking?’
‘No,’ said the dog, ‘I will not.’
‘Then what can I offer you?’ asked the merchant.
‘I will have the thing you hold most dear,’ said the dog. ‘Bring me your only daughter!’
When he heard this the merchant was very sorry, for his daughter was truly the thing he held most dear. ‘In that case,’ said the merchant, ‘give me one week after I have returned home in which to spend time with my daughter and to take my leave of her, and then you may come and fetch her.’
The dog agreed, and sure enough at the end of the week he came and knocked on the door of the merchant’s house. His daughter had been told about the bargain and, although she wasn’t very pleased with the idea, she was prepared to go with the dog for her father’s sake. She came out of the house and climbed on to the dog’s back and he ran off like the wind, back to his own house. The merchant’s daughter stayed with the dog for a month and was treated very well and was quite comfortable in his grand house, but towards the end of that time she started to feel homesick and she moped around the house looking very unhappy.
When the dog asked her what the matter was, she said that she wanted to go to see her father. The dog agreed, saying that she could go, on condition that she only stay for three days. ‘But before I let you go,’ said the dog, ‘what do you call me?’
‘A great, foul, small-tooth dog,’ she replied.
‘Then,’ said the dog, ‘I will not let you go.’ The girl cried so much at this that the dog relented and said he would take her after all. ‘But what do you call me?’ he asked.
‘Your name is As-sweet-as-a-honeycomb,’ said the girl, happily.
‘Then jump up on my back and I’ll carry you home.’
When they were well on the way back to the merchant’s house they came to a stile. The dog slowed. ‘What do you call me?’ he asked.
‘A great, foul, small-tooth dog,’ said the girl, thinking that they were nearly home.
‘Then,’ said the dog, ‘I will not let you go.’ And he didn’t jump over the stile but turned and ran back towards his house. They stayed at the dog’s house for another full week and the girl again begged the dog to take her home. ‘What do you call me?’ he asked.
‘Your name is As-sweet-as-a-honeycomb,’ said the girl.
‘Then jump up on my back and I’ll carry you home.’
So the girl got on the dog’s back and off they ran. When they got to the stile the dog asked, ‘What do you call me?’
‘Your name is As-sweet-as-a-honeycomb,’ said the girl, and on they ran until they came to a second stile.
By now they were almost within sight of the merchant’s house, so when the dog asked, ‘What do you call me?’ she did not think he would turn round and take her all the way back again.
‘A great, foul, small-tooth dog
,’ she said.
The dog growled and leapt in the air and turned and ran at top speed back to his house where they stayed for another full week. After she had cried and moped around all that week she again begged the dog to take her home, and he agreed. So she mounted upon his back again and off they ran. When they got to the first stile he asked, ‘What do you call me?’
‘As-sweet-as-a-honeycomb,’ and the dog jumped over the first stile.
When they got to the second stile he asked, ‘What do you call me?’
‘As-sweet-as-a-honeycomb,’ and the dog jumped over the second stile.
When they got to the gate of the merchant’s house he again asked, ‘What do you call me?’
And the girl started to say ‘A great f …’, but she saw the sad look which started to come over the dog’s face and she felt him hesitate and start to turn so she said, ‘As-sweet-as-a-honeycomb.’ And the dog walked up to the door of the house and the girl dismounted from his back and rang the doorbell. She expected the dog to leave her and run off back to his own house and come back in three days’ time, but to her surprise, he stood up on his hind legs and reached up and pulled off his dog’s head and then he wriggled and shook and stepped out of his dog’s coat and there stood the finest young nobleman the girl had ever seen.
And, as you can no doubt guess, they were soon married and, to prove this is a fairy tale, they all lived happily ever after.
The idea of someone being disguised by a ‘second skin’ which they can put on or take off is very common in folklore all over the world. In this collection it includes silkies, frog princes and werewolves! Where did the idea come from? I once read a description of travellers in Russia who looked like huge bears with all their fur coats and mittens and hats, but when they dismounted from their troikas and entered a house they shed them and emerged in all their glory, like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Perhaps that’s a clue.
Where Dragons Soar: And Other Animal Folk Tales of the British Isles Page 12
