50 Fairy Stories

by Belinda Gallagher

  So they worked away at the rock, and planted it, and smoothed the sand down round it, and capital fun they had till the tide began to turn. And then Tom heard all the other babies coming, laughing and singing and shouting and romping, and the noise they made was just like the noise of the ripple. And in they came, dozens and dozens of them, some bigger than Tom and some smaller, all in the neatest little white bathing dresses, and when they found that he was a new baby, they hugged him and kissed him, and then put him in the middle and danced round him on the sand, and there was no one ever so happy as poor little Tom.

  “Now then,” they cried all at once, “we must come away home, we must come away home, or the tide will leave us dry. We have mended all the broken seaweed, and put all the rock-pools in order, and planted all the shells again in the sand, and nobody will see where the ugly storm swept in last week.”

  And this is the reason why the rock-pools are always so neat and clean – because the water babies come inshore after every storm to sweep them out, and comb them down, and put them all to rights again.

  Only where men are wasteful and dirty, and let sewers run into the sea instead of putting the stuff upon the fields like thrifty reasonable souls, or throw herrings, heads and dead dog-fish, or any other refuse, into the water, or in any way make a mess upon the clean shore – only there the water babies will not come, sometimes not for hundreds of years (for they cannot abide anything smelly or foul). They leave the sea anemones and the crabs to clear away everything, till the good tidy sea has covered up all the dirt in soft mud and clean sand.

  And where is the home of the water babies? In St Brandan’s fairy isle.

  Did you never hear of the blessed St Brandan, who far away, before the setting sun, saw a blue fairy sea, and golden fairy islands, and he said, “Those are the islands of the blest.” Then he and his friends got into a boat, and sailed away and away to the westward, and were never heard of again.

  And when St Brandan and the hermits came to that fairy isle they found it overgrown with cedars and full of beautiful birds, and he sat down under the cedars and preached to all the birds in the air. And they liked his sermons so well that they told the fishes in the sea, and they came, and St Brandan preached to them. And the fishes told the water babies, who live in the caves under the isle, and they came up by hundreds.

  He taught the water babies for a great many hundred years, till his eyes grew too dim to see, and his beard grew so long that he dared not walk for fear of treading on it, and then he might have tumbled down. And at last he and the five hermits fell fast asleep under the cedar-shades, and there they sleep unto this day. But the fairies took to the water babies, and taught them their lessons themselves.

  And on still clear summer evenings, when the sun sinks down into the sea, among golden cloud-capes and cloud-islands, and locks and friths of azure sky, the sailors fancy that they see, away to westward, St Brandan’s fairy isle.

  Now when Tom got there, he found that the isle stood all on pillars, and that its roots were full of caves all curtained and draped with seaweeds, purple and crimson, green and brown, and strewn with soft white sand, on which the water babies sleep every night. But, to keep the place clean and sweet, the crabs picked up all the scraps off the floor and ate them like so many monkeys, while the rocks were covered with ten thousand sea anemones, and corals, who scavenged the water all day long, and kept it nice and pure.

  But I wish Tom had given up all his naughty tricks, and left off tormenting dumb animals now that he had plenty of playfellows to amuse him. Instead of that, I am sorry to say, he would meddle with the creatures, all but the water-snakes, for they would stand no nonsense.

  So he frightened the crabs, to make them hide in the sand and peep out at him with the tips of their eyes, and put stones into the anemones, mouths, to make them fancy that their dinner was coming.

  The other children warned him, and said, “Take care what you are at. Mrs Bedonebyasyoudid is coming.” But Tom never listened, being quite riotous with high spirits and good luck, till, one Friday morning early, Mrs Bedonebyasyoudid came indeed.

  A very tremendous lady she was, and when the children saw her they all stood in a row, very upright indeed, and smoothed down their bathing dresses, and put their hands behind them, just as if they were going to be examined by the inspector.

  And she had on a black bonnet, and a black shawl, and a pair of large green spectacles, and a great hooked nose, hooked so much that the bridge of it stood quite up above her eyebrows, and under her arm she carried a great birch-rod. Indeed, she was so ugly that Tom was Fairy Helpers tempted to make faces at her – but did not, for he did not admire the look of the birch-rod under her arm.

  And she looked at the children one by one, and seemed very much pleased with them, though she never asked them one question about how they were behaving, and then began giving them all sorts of nice sea-things – sea-cakes, sea-apples, sea-oranges, sea-bullseyes, sea-toffee, and to the very best of all she gave sea-ices, made out of sea-cows, cream, which never melt under water.

  And, if you don’t quite believe me, then just think – what is more cheap and plentiful than sea-rock? Then why should there not be sea-toffee as well? And every one can find sea-lemons (ready quartered too) if they will look for them at low tide, and sea-grapes too sometimes, hanging in bunches. Now little Tom watched all these sweet things given away, till his mouth watered, and his eyes grew as round as an owl’s. For he hoped that his turn would come at last, and so it did. For the lady called him up, and held out her fingers with something in them, and popped it into his mouth – and, lo and behold, it was a nasty cold hard pebble.

  “You are a very cruel woman,” said he, and began to whimper.

  “And you are a very cruel boy, who puts pebbles into the sea anemones, mouths, to take them in, and make them fancy that they had caught a good dinner! As you did to them, so I must do to you.”

  “Who told you that?” said Tom.

  “You did yourself, this very minute.”

  Tom had never opened his lips, so he was very much taken aback indeed.

  “Yes, everyone tells me exactly what they have done wrong, and that without knowing it themselves. So there is no use trying to hide anything from me. Now go, and be a good boy, and I will put no more pebbles in your mouth, if you put none in other creatures’.”

  “I did not know there was any harm in it,” said Tom.

  “Then you know now.”

  “Well, you are a little hard on a poor lad,” said Tom.

  “Not at all – I am the best friend you ever had in all your life. But I will tell you, I cannot help punishing people when they do wrong. I like it no more than they do. I am often very, very sorry for them, poor things, but I cannot help it. If I tried not to do it, I should do it all the same. For I work by machinery, just like an engine, and am full of wheels and springs inside, and am wound Fairy Helpers up very carefully, so that I cannot help going.”

  “Was it long ago since they wound you up?” asked Tom. For he thought, the cunning little fellow, ‘She will run down some day, or they may forget to wind her up.’

  “I was wound up once and for all, so long ago, that I forget all about it.”

  “You must have been made a long time!” said Tom.

  “I never was made, my child, and I shall go forever and ever, for I am as old as Eternity, and yet as young as Time.” And there came over the lady’s face a very curious expression – very solemn, and very sad, and yet very, very sweet. And she looked up and away, as if she were gazing through the sea, and through the sky, at something far, far off, and as she did so, there came such a quiet, tender, patient, hopeful smile over her face that Tom thought for the moment that she did not look ugly at all.

  And Tom smiled in her face, she looked so pleasant for the moment. And the strange fairy smiled too, and said:

  “Yes. You thought me very ugly just now, did you not?” Tom hung down his head, and got very red about the ear
s.

  “And I am very ugly. I am the ugliest fairy in the world, and I shall be, till people behave themselves as they ought to do. And then I shall grow as handsome as my sister, who is the loveliest fairy in the world. Her name is Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby. So she begins where I end, and I begin where she ends, and those who will not listen to her must listen to me, as you will see.”

  Poor old Mrs Bedonebyasyoudid! She has a great deal of hard work before her, and had better have been born a washerwoman, and stood over a tub all day. But, you see, people cannot always choose their own profession.

  Tom determined to be a very good boy all Saturday, and he was, for he never frightened one crab, nor tickled any live corals, nor put stones into the sea anemones, mouths, to make them fancy they had got a dinner. And when Sunday morning came, sure enough, Mrs Doasyouwouldbedoneby came too. Whereat all the little children began dancing and clapping their hands and Tom danced too with all his might.

  And as for the pretty lady, I cannot tell you what the colour of her hair was, or, of her eyes. No more could Tom, for, when anyone looks at her, all they can think of is that she has the sweetest, kindest, tenderest, funniest, merriest face they ever saw, or want to see. But Tom saw that she was a very tall woman, as tall as her sister. But instead of being gnarly and horny, and scaly, and prickly, like her, she was the most nice, soft, fat, smooth, pussy, cuddly, delicious creature who ever nursed a baby, and she understood babies thoroughly, for she had plenty of her own, whole rows and regiments of them, and has to this day. And all her delight was, whenever she had a spare moment, to play with babies, in which she showed herself a woman of sense, for babies are the best company, and the pleasantest playfellows, in the world, at least, so all the wise people in the world think. And therefore when the children saw her, they naturally all caught hold of her, and pulled her till she sat down on a stone, and climbed into her lap, and clung round her neck, and caught hold of her hands. And then they all put their thumbs into their mouths, and began cuddling and purring like so many kittens, as they ought to have done. While those who could get nowhere else sat down on the sand, and cuddled her feet – for no one, you know, wear shoes in the water. And Tom stood staring at them, for he could not understand what it was all about.

  “And who are you, you little darling?” she said.

  “Oh, that is the new baby!” they all cried, pulling their thumbs out of their mouths, “And he never had any mother,” and they all put their thumbs back again, for they did not wish to lose any time.

  “Then I will be his mother, and he shall have the very best place, so get out, all of you, this moment.”

  And she took up two great armfuls of babies – nine hundred under one arm, and thirteen hundred under the other – and threw them away, right and left, into the water. But they did not even take their thumbs out of their mouths, but came paddling and wriggling back to her like so many tadpoles, till you could see nothing of her from head to foot for the swarm of little babies.

  But she took Tom in her arms, and laid him in the softest place of all, and kissed him, and patted him, and talked to him, tenderly and low, such things as he had never heard before in his life, and Tom looked up into her eyes, and loved her, and loved, till he fell fast asleep from pure love.

  And when he woke she was telling the children a story. And what story did she tell them? One story she told them, which begins every Christmas Eve, and yet never ends at all forever and ever. And, as she went on, the children took their thumbs out of their mouths and listened quite seriously, but not sadly at all, for she never told them anything sad, and Tom listened too, and never grew tired of listening. And he listened so long that he fell fast asleep again, and, when he woke, the lady was nursing him still.

  “Don’t go away,” said little Tom. “This is so nice. I never had any one to cuddle me before.”

  “Now,” said the fairy to Tom, “will you be a good boy for my sake, and torment no more sea beasts till I come back?”

  “And you will cuddle me again?” said poor little Tom.

  “Of course I will, you little duck. I should like to take you with me and cuddle you all the way, only I must not,” and away she went.

  So Tom really tried to be a good boy, and tormented no sea beasts after that as long as he lived, and he is quite alive, I assure you, still.

  The Touch of Iron

  By William Elliot Griffis

  READING TIME: 10 MINUTES

  Some people believe the fairies were the original inhabitants of ancient lands before humans came and drove them to hide in caves and wild places. Another common belief is that fairies cannot stand the touch of cold iron. This story uses these two ideas to tell its tale. Cymry is the Welsh word for the inhabitants of Wales.

  Ages ago, before the Cymry rowed in their boats across the sea, there was a race of fairies already in the Land of Honey, as Great Britain was then called.

  These ancient fairies, who lived in caves, did not know how to build houses or to plough the ground. They had no idea that they could get their food out of the earth. As for making bread, pies and goodies, they never heard of such a thing. They did not know how to use fire for melting copper, nor did they know how to get iron from ore to make knives and spears, arrow heads and swords, and armour and helmets.

  All they could do was mould clay to make things to cook with. When they baked this soft stuff in the fire, they found they had pots, pans and dishes as hard as stone, though these were easily broken.

  To hunt the deer, or fight the wolves and bears, they fashioned clubs of wood. For javelins and arrows, they took hard stone like flint and chipped it to points and sharpened it with edges. This was the time which we now call the Stone Age. When the fairies went to war, their weapons were wholly of wood or stone.

  They had not yet learned to weave the wool of the sheep into warm clothing, but they wore the skins of animals. Each one of the caves in which they lived was a boarding house for dogs and pigs, as well as people.

  When a young man of one fairy tribe wanted a wife, he sallied out secretly into another neighbourhood. There he lay in wait for a girl to come along. He then ran away with her, and back to his own daddy’s cave.

  When the Cymry came into the land, they had iron tools and better weapons of war. Then there were many and long battles and the fairies were beaten many times.

  So the fairies hated everything made of iron. Anyone of them, girls or boys, who had picked up iron ornaments, and were found wearing or using iron tools, or buying anything of iron from the cave people’s enemies, was looked upon as a rascal, or a villain, or even as a traitor and was driven out of the tribe.

  However, some of the daughters of the fairies were so pretty and had such rosy cheeks, and lovely bodies, and beautiful, long hair, that quite often the Cymric youth fell in love with them.

  Many of the fairy daughters were captured and became wives of the Cymry and mothers of children. Over time, their descendants helped to make the bright, witty, song-loving Welsh people.

  Now the fairies usually like things that are old, and they are very slow to alter the ancient customs to which they have been used, for, in the fairy world, there is no measure of time, nor any clocks, watches, or bells to strike the hours, and no calendars.

  The fairies cannot understand why ladies change the fashions so often, and the men their ways of doing things. They wonder why beards are fashionable at one time, then moustaches long or short at another, or smooth faces when razors are cheap. Most fairies like to keep on doing the same thing in the old way. They enjoy being like the mountains, which stand, or the sea, that rolls, or the sun, that rises and sets every day and forever. They never get tired of repeating tomorrow what they did yesterday. They are very different from the people that are always wanting something else.

  That is the reason why the fairies did not like iron, or to see men wearing iron hats and clothes, called helmets and armour, when they went to war. They no more wanted to be touched by iron than by filt
h, or foul disease. They hated knives, stirrups, scythes, swords, pots, pans, kettles, or this metal in any form, whether sheet, barbed wire, lump or pig iron.

  Now there was a long, pretty stretch of water, near which lived a handsome lad, who loved nothing better than to go out on moonlight nights and see the fairies dance, or listen to their music. This youth fell in love with one of these fairies, whose beauty was great beyond description. At last, unable to control his passion, he rushed into the midst of the fairy company, seized the beautiful one, and rushed back to his home, with his prize in his arms. This was in true cave-man fashion.

  When the other fairies hurried to rescue her, they found the man’s house shut. They dared not touch the door, for it had iron studs and bands, and was bolted with the metal they most abhorred.

  The young man immediately began to woo the fairy maid, hoping to win her to be his wife. For a long time she refused, and moped all day and night. While weeping many salt water tears, she declared that she was too homesick to live.

  She was a smart fairy, and was sure she could outwit the man, even if he were so strong, and had every sort of iron everywhere in order to keep her as it were in a prison. So, pretending she loved him dearly, she said:

  “I will not be your wife, but, if you can find out my name, I shall gladly become your servant.”

  “Easily won,” thought the lover to himself. Yet the game was a harder one to play than he supposed. It was like playing ‘Blind Man’s Buff ’, or ‘Hunt the Slipper’. Although he made guesses of every name he could think of, he was never ‘hot, and got no nearer to the thing sought than if his eyes were bandaged. All the time, he was deeper and deeper in love with the lovely fairy maid.

  But one night, on returning home, he saw in a turf bog, a group of fairies sitting on a log. At once, he thought, they might be talking about their lost sister. So he crept up quite near them, and soon found that he had guessed right. After a long discussion, finding themselves still at a loss as to how to recover her, he heard one of them sigh and say, “Oh, Siwsi, my sister, how can you live with a mortal?”