Folklore of Lincolnshire

by Susanna O'Neill

  These stories make similar appearances in many cultures around the globe. It has been said that in some Australian Aboriginal tribes, these eerie sightings were believed to be the spirits of lost or stillborn children. They called them the ‘min-mim’ and they were feared as dangerous creatures. Variations of the Tiddy Mun story in Lincolnshire say that when the people called to the Tiddy Mun appealing for mercy, they heard the wailings and whimpering of babies in the air and some even felt the cold embraces of their dead children, whom the Tiddy Mun had taken.

  A stream found between Brigg and Wrawby, possibly where the Shag Foal was seen.

  The Shag Foal is another beast that haunts Lincolnshire, leading travellers off the beaten path and into the marshes and bogs with its eyes blazing like beacons. Some say it is one and the same as the Will-o-the-Wisps, others say it is a creature akin to a rough-coated donkey or foal. The unsuspecting travellers follow the lights of its eyes and then become stuck in the bogs, whereupon the creature shows itself with a hideous laugh, half human half animal. One well-known sighting of the Shag Foal was near a stream between Wrawby and Brigg. This beast was known as the Lackey Causey Calf and tried to lead people into the stream.

  Folklorists Westwood and Simpson also mention the Lackey Causey Calf, claiming it is sometimes purported as being headless. They say that it is known as a shag-foal, as it has the appearance of a baby foal whose ‘fuzz is giving way to its adult horsehair, hence the tatters’.10 They believe these beasts could have been seen as petty demons during the Middle Ages and quote from the poet John Clare from 1821, who stated that it was a common myth in certain villages that the Devil sometimes appeared in the form of a ‘shagg’d foal’.

  Daniel Codd explains that nearer Scunthorpe, the creature is known as the Tatter Foal and lives in the marshlands around the area, tempting travellers and children into the bogs to be lost forever.

  Apparently, human bones were found near the place where the Brigg sighting was reported and Westwood and Simpson quote Mabel Peacock, who believed it was possible that some of these creatures could have been the spirits of murder or suicide victims who had come back in the shape of an animal. Perhaps this is the reason these tortured souls wish to lead others astray, into the treacherous marshland.

  Codd also mentions the legend of the sinister Dead Hand; this is the tale of a severed, bloody hand which grabs at passing travellers, pulling them into the swamps.

  Polly Howat also mentions this legend when she retells the tale of poor Long Tom Pattison, whose foolhardy bravery led him to venture into the wetlands when no one else would go. He meant to show his superstitious friends that the bogs were not full of the evil things they believed lurked there, by volunteering to walk around them alone the following night.

  Everyone tried to dissuade him, even his own mother, but these warnings only fuelled his desire to prove them wrong. He took his mother’s lantern and ventured out into the marshes, followed at some safe distance by a group of young lads who wanted to watch what would happen to him. As Tom neared the bogs, a chill wind rose and blew out his lantern and then all the evil things that lived in the wetlands began to rise and close in around him. The group following could no longer see Tom, but could hear his shouts as he fought with the horrors surrounding him. They got closer and eventually could see Tom’s face, looking pale as death, and they saw that he was being dragged further into the marshes by a ‘hand without a body, known as the Dead Hand’.11 The boys fled in terror and although search parties were dispatched at first light, Tom was not to be found.

  In her despair, his poor mother began to lose her mind and one evening, over a month later, she was seen running from the marshes calling for help. She led the crowd, which had quickly gathered, back into the bogs and they discovered her son sitting there, with his feet in the water. He was aged beyond his years and was gibbering some nonsense and pointing at horrors only he could see. The other hand, the one that had been grasped by the Dead Hand, was missing and all that was left was a ‘ragged stump’.

  Tom never told what had happened to him but acted like a madman, always muttering to himself with wild eyes and every evening running out into the marshes again. The unfortunate boy and his mother were both found dead within the year; he was lying in his mother’s lap, his expression one full of horror and torture, hers a look of contentment as she had at last found her boy. Both mother and son haunted those marshes ever after, along with the Dead Hand, contributing to the very stories Tom had hoped to dispel.

  Adrian Gray says that even up until a few generations ago, the Lincolnshire Carrs were still very isolated places where strangers hardly ever ventured: ‘…they [the Carrs] were once dank, inhospitable and even rather frightening. They were home to all manner of unpleasant creatures, among which boggarts and bogles were the least pleasant of all.’12

  Some believed prayers and secret chants would help protect them from these beasts and some even smeared blood around their doors. The word was that putting bread and salt out would please them and even help the success of their crop. The worst time was during the winter, when everything was dead and there was not much work to do. Bogles – naturally mischievous sprites – without any diversions, turned their attention to the people inhabiting the area. The locals obviously wished for the speedy arrival of spring to distract the bogles once more, and each day they would stand at their doors looking for the rising of the Green Mist which was said to signal the beginning of spring.

  Legend tells of one particular family who were much troubled by the bogles one winter. The young daughter had become very sick and although doctors and priests had been called, the girl said the only thing that could save her was the arrival of the Green Mist. Every day, mother and daughter would wait at the door for the Green Mist to come and every day the ground was still hard with winter frost. The girl was convinced that if only she could live to see the cowslips bloom, she would die content with the arrival of summer. Her mother chided her for such words, saying she was tempting the wicked bogles to destroy her dreams with such suggestions.

  The next day as she opened the curtains, the mother rejoiced at seeing the Green Mist. She carried her daughter out into the garden, and at the bottom by the gate the girl spied some small cowslips growing. Each day after that, the girl seemed to grow steadily stronger and when she was strong enough to go out, she would visit the cowslips every day and dance around them.

  The healthy bloom that now filled her cheeks attracted the attention of a young man who passed by her gate every day. He saw how she loved the cowslips and one day, wishing to capture her heart, he picked some of the dainty flowers and offered them to her.

  Her face, however, was a picture of horror. She turned quite white and, grasping the flowers from his hand, she flew inside and went straight to bed. Her mother found her very ill and called the doctor, but it seemed nothing could be done. The poor girl died within a few hours, still holding onto the flowers her sweetheart had offered her. Her mother was inconsolable; in her heart she knew her daughter’s death was because of the unwitting challenge she had given the bogles.

  Daniel Codd relates a legend told by folklorist Mrs Balfour from the late 1800s, about more mischief that the bogles of Lincolnshire caused in the Fens.13 It is said that all manner of hideous creatures, including bogles, lived in the Fens and it was the task of the moon to chase away all the evils that lurked in the shadows, shining her light into the dark corners of the world. One night she decided to go and visit the sinister Fens and, wrapping herself in a black cloak, she made her way out into the dark, wet Carrs. She saw all the beasts and creatures she usually scared away; witches, boggarts, Will-o-the-Wisps and the souls of the dead rising from their watery graves. She wandered warily past but stepped on a loose stone and nearly fell in the marsh. She reached out to grasp a nearby tree to steady herself, but as soon as she touched it, the tree, Black Snag, stretched out its branches and wrapped her in its wooden embrace. She was terrified, unable to move and powerl
ess to help as a poor lost traveller stumbled through the Fens. The stranger was lured off the dark path by the eerie, flickering lights of the Will-o-the-Wisp and disappeared into the dark. The moon struggled to free herself, knowing the traveller would surely meet a grisly end alone in the dark Fens, and as she struggled her cloak became loose and some of her tremendous light shone out. The light lit up the Fens as far as the eye could see and the moon saw the traveller realise his mistake and find the path again, moving safely on his way. The tree shifted and the cloak fell back over the moon, again hiding the light, but all the bogles and other evil creatures had seen it and became aware of her presence. When they realised she was trapped, they rejoiced and planned how to ensnare her forever. If her light never shone again they would be free to roam the marshes every night with nothing to fear. The creatures all gathered together and carried the moon to one of the deep pools. The dead pushed her down and then the others rolled a huge boulder over her to trap her under the water forever.

  The people who lived round about watched apprehensively from their windows as there was no sight of the moon for the next few nights. They knew that without the light of the moon they were in great danger from the perils that lurked in the dark marshes, and it wasn’t long before the bogles grew bolder and began to approach people’s houses. The locals reverted to all the old ways of keeping them at bay; throwing out salt, wiping blood on the doors, placing a button on the window sill, but still no moon appeared.

  One night some locals were gathered in the pub, all postulating on what could possibly have happened to the moon, when one man stepped forward and gave his opinion. He told them how he had been coming home across the Fens one night and had got lost in the dark. He explained how there had been a sudden bright light that had shown him the right path home and had saved his life. He said that he thought it had been the moon and that it was still there, trapped in the Fens. The men decided to go and try to free the moon. The traveller told them to look for the landmarks he remembered – a boulder shaped like a large coffin, a cross and a candle.

  The men journeyed into the black Fens, jumping at every shadow and noise around them. Eventually they saw branches of a twisted, ancient bush that were shaped like a cross, upon which flickered a light, like a Will-o-the-Wisp, and they knew they were in the right area. They looked around and then they saw the tell-tale boulder half in a deep pool. The men gathered round the stone and said a silent prayer, and then they heaved the rock up and threw it on the bank. For a fraction of a second they found themselves gazing into the most beautiful face any of them had ever seen; then they were blinded by a dazzling light as the moon rose back up into the sky, reclaiming her place amongst the stars and forcing all the evil spirits back into the shadows. The men now had a safe journey home, in the full light of the grateful moon, and the bogles retreated to their holes.

  Boston, once one of the most flourishing ports in England until the decline in trade around the time of Elizabeth I, due to the silting up of the River Witham, was known as a safe haven for travellers.

  The Boston Stump, visible for miles around, especially since it is surrounded by such flat landscape.

  The famous tower, Boston Stump, is visible for miles around, views from the top reaching thirty-two miles and it was, at one time, used as a beacon, the lantern towering at a dizzy height of 272 feet, ‘through which the Fenland wind blows an eerie note’.14 The tower is said to have been used as a marker for travellers in the Fens and the Wash and it became very important again during the Second World War, as a landmark for pilots going back to base.

  The Fens are one of the few places in Britain which, when the conditions are just right, create a secure, magical arena for ice skating in the long winter months. The weather has to coincide with the flooding of the low-lying marshes and farm land – if the ice comes too late, in February or March, often there is no water left to freeze and skating is impossible – but when the freeze comes just after the fields and meadows have flooded, it produces an ideal environment for skaters, safe in the knowledge that even if the ice does crack, the water is only an inch or so deep and so no real disaster can occur.

  Skating on the Fens is an age-old tradition and, originally, the skaters used flattened animal bones strapped to their feet. Then improvements were made in the Victorian era and steel blades were introduced, adding new speed for the ‘Fen runners’. The first people known to have started the trend were the farm workers who, with no farmland to work on in the frozen weather, started skating to keep warm! Then the inevitable competitions began and with no income from farming in such cold weather, racing for a loaf of bread or a slab of meat was plenty of motivation for the hungry souls. By the 1800s, Fen skating was a massive spectator sport and a National Skating Association was developed but, as previously mentioned, much depended on the right conditions. Coincidentally, at the time of writing this chapter those very conditions have presented themselves and many Fenland dwellers are dusting off the skates that have been packed away for years and are once again enjoying skating on the Fens.

  The Lincolnshire Life magazine tells the story of a boggart who lived in the Fens. It explains that boggarts were wild creatures, half man half animal, who lived secretly in the small areas of wilderness left behind when the main areas of the Fen were drained. The magazine suggests they could have been descended from the ‘slodgers’. Before the drainage in the nineteenth century, ‘Fen slodgers’ made their living catching fish and fowl on the wetlands of the Fens, for trading and survival. Legend implies some ‘slodgers’ never accepted the transformation of the Fens and stayed behind, hidden from people and scraping an existence. The Lincolnshire Life magazine explains that they were extraordinarily strong and were also rather sly and cunning.

  This particular boggart lived in the Fenland near a farmer, who wanted to drain the area round-about and use it for growing crops. One day, after he had been out ploughing the area, the boggart confronted him and told him in no uncertain terms that the land belonged to him and that the farmer had to clear out: ‘Most local men would have fled at first sight of the fearsome creature, with its ape-like stance, deep eye sockets and long, tangled hair; but the farmer, though apprehensive, stood his ground and engaged in argument.’15

  The two, both believing the land was theirs, carried on arguing for some time until at last they reached an agreement. They decided that the farmer would till and sow the land but that they would share the end produce. The farmer would take what he grew in the soil and the boggart would have whatever grew above it.

  They parted and didn’t meet again until harvest time. The farmer, quite a cunning man himself, had grown potatoes and when he went to collect his crop he also took with him a large cudgel for protection, in case the boggart turned violent at this trickery. The boggart was visibly displeased when he saw the large mound of potatoes the farmer had, but after spying the cudgel in his hands, he allowed the farmer his crop. He insisted, however, that for the next crop things would be reversed; the boggart would have all that grew under the soil and the farmer would have whatever was on top. The farmer went home very happy, planning the crop of beans he would grow. Of course at the next harvest the boggart lost out again and so, realising he had been tricked, this time he insisted corn would be grown. At harvest time they would each start at an opposite corner of the field and cut at the same time until they met in the middle. The farmer had no choice but to agree, although he was uneasy about the deal. He knew that with the strength of ten men, the boggart would be much faster at cutting the corn and would take the farmer’s share too. Just before harvest time the farmer crept out one night and laid some iron wires amongst the stalks in the boggart’s half, then when the day came the boggart’s blade was blunted in the first few strokes and the farmer ended up with more than his share of the crop. Luckily for the farmer, the boggart knew when he had met his match and left the area, never to be seen again.

  Ethel Rudkin tells the story of another boggart who was often see
n around Wildsworth, at Woofer Lane. The story goes that there was a party of poachers, around 1862, who were fishing along the Trent when they were frightened by the shrieking of otherworldly, mocking laughter. The men ran away, leaving their nets behind, all except one who was determined not to lose his equipment. That was until there was another blood-curdling shriek directly above him and then he was off with the others, net-less! The Woofer Boggard was a creature with a reputation and all the men had heard stories of it before but none had ever seen or heard it prior to that incident. Needless to say, none of them ever went back to poach there again.

  The Lincolnshire Life magazine relates a sad tale situated around Monks Abbey in an area known as The Willows. A long time ago there was a beautiful lady who lived close to the banks of the swift-flowing River Witham. There was a legend that the river was magical, but it also had fast currents and deep pools within it. The lady was being wooed by a handsome knight with whom she was in love. He would ride out to meet her everyday and they would sit together on the banks of the river, below the weeping willows.

  There was a small island out in a deeper pool of the river and there grew some of the prettiest flowers the lady had ever seen. They were the loveliest blue, like the summer sky, and so delicate that she longed to hold a bunch in her hands and smell their petals.