This book is dedicated to Paula Cox, who always made the space to listen to stories and share them gently on her travels.
First published 2018
The History Press
The Mill, Brimscombe Port
Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG
www.thehistorypress.co.uk
© Xanthe Gresham Knight & Robin Knight, 2018
The right of Xanthe Gresham Knight & Robin Knight to be identified as the Authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised 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 the permission in writing from the Publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 7509 8836 0
Typesetting and origination by The History Press
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd
eBook converted by Geethik Technologies
Contents
About the Authors and Illustrator
Acknowledgements
Foreword by Catherine Smith
Introduction
1 The Chalk Giant – How Stories Came to Sussex
Wilmington
2 The Devil and St Dunstan
Mayfield
3 The Secret Guardian of Sussex
Rye
4 Puck and the Dancing Shoes
Lewes and Rottingdean
5 Skylarks of Sussex
The Ashdown Forest
6 Devil’s Dyke
Hove, Poynings
7 Smuggler’s Boots
Isfield, Burling Gap
8 A Sackful of Pig
Beeding Hill, Steyning
9 The Lychpole Highwayman
Lychpole
10 The Shepherd and the Moon
Saltdean, Telscombe
11 A Thimbleful of Sugar
Rottingdean
12 The Rise of the Sussex Doughman
Lewes, Alfriston and Firle
13 Seven Sisters and One True Shepherd
The South Downs between Seaford and Eastbourne
14 Duddleswell Woman, the Hare-y Witch
Duddleswell
15 Jack and the Devil
Ashdown Forest
About the Authors and Illustrator
ROBIN KNIGHT is a poet, freelance journalist and novelist and has lived in various parts of Sussex for decades. He has walked, ridden, cycled or driven over almost every inch of the terrain in these stories.
XANTHE GRESHAM KNIGHT has been a storyteller for over twenty years, and has toured the world to perform for children, adults and families. She has now come home to Sussex. These local tales and images have rooted her in the streets, downs, seas and beaches of this county. This is her first written collaboration with Sherry and Robin.
SHERRY ROBINSON is an artist and musician and has worked with Xanthe Gresham Knight on collaborative storytelling adventures for over twenty years. A lover of magic realism, Sherry has created many musical compositions in response to the rich visual images evoked by the stories. She finds drawing similar to playing a musical instrument. It is a way of entering other worlds.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to John Copper and family for the songs, all recorded in the Copper Family Songbook. In this collection, we have incorporated details and characters from Bob Copper’s books Early to Rise, A Man of no Consequence and the prize-winning A Song for Every Season.
To Paula Cox (1960–2018), artist and dearest friend, with whom we spent many happy hours discussing the stories and images in this book. She had a real belief in the power of storytelling.
Thanks to Ray Williams of Blanton Museum of Art, Texas, for guidance on how to develop ‘A Thimbleful of Sugar’, James Easton, Allan Davies and Philippa Tipper for ‘Jack and the Devil’, Des and Ali Quarrell of Mythstories Museum of Myth and Fable for the inspiration for ‘Seven Sisters (and One Shepherd)’.
Thanks to www.sussexfolktalecentre.org, Brighton Libraries for the many books, including The Wilmington Giant by Rodney Castleden, Folklore of Sussex by Jaqueline Simpson, and A Dictionary of The Sussex Dialect by Revd W.D. Parish.
For further reading, Michael O’Leary’s Sussex Folk Tales is a gem for both adults and children. There are some excellent storytelling clubs in Sussex – if you would like to find out more please visit:
brightonstorytellers.co.uk
guesthousestorytellers.com
Foreword by Catherine Smith
Here in Sussex, we know we’re very lucky. We can run around on glittering beaches and wade into sparkling seas; we have towering white cliffs, springy green hills splodged with sheep … and lots of very odd-sounding place names. We also have plenty of stories, ancient stories that show us how Sussex was shaped, not only by the weather and the passing of time, but by people from ‘elsewhere’ who settled in this beautiful place. These stories show us how Sussex people used to live, and what they believed – they are special to Sussex, but also contain echoes of stories from all around the world, such as the idea of trying to fish the moon out of a pool or star sisters that land on high places to dance.
So … did you know that the name ‘Sussex’ came from the old word for ‘South Saxons’ (Suthsaxe)? (Imagine those Saxons: ‘A band of warrior pirates from Northern Europe, who arrived on the coast like wolves among sheep.’) Or that Sussex was once the smuggling capital of England?
Ever wondered how people used to travel between towns and villages, and whom they might have encountered along the way – perhaps a hard-hearted highwayman or, even worse, a phantom hard-hearted highwayman …
Ever wondered how the Seven Sisters and Devil’s Dyke acquired their names?
In these extraordinary stories, you’ll meet a surprising cast of characters, including the Devil himself – also known as ‘Mr Lucifer’, who was happily at home in Sussex until Saint Dunstan, Grannie Annie, and a clever boy called Jack set to work; a hare with magical powers; a gleeful fairy called Puck; a brave and clever girl who outsmarts smugglers to regain possession of her precious mare and foal; a terrifying butter-loving giant made of bread … you’ll meet centaurs, dancers, shepherds and abandoned children. They all have wonderful stories to tell you.
Catherine Smith
CATHERINE SMITH lives in Lewes and is a writer of poetry, fiction, Live Literature and radio drama. She teaches for The Creative Writing Programme in Brighton, The Arvon Foundation and The Poetry School.
Introduction
Although I’m not rich and although I’m not poor,
I’m happy as those that’s got thousands or more.
Folk song from the Copper Family Songbook
Like songs, stories are jewels, mined from the hearts of storytellers and the earth beneath their feet. Every time you tell a tale or sing a song to someone else, it shines a little brighter.
Particularly, the Copper family of Rottingdean have shared with us their Sussex riches: songs and stories collected over hundreds of years. John Copper, born in 1949, learned songs at the knee of his grandfather, Jim. As the family rehearsed, he kept young John interested by hiding a tube of smarties somewhere on his person and helping the lad search through his pockets:
‘Let’s hev a look in this ’un, young brancher, shall us? Doh, ’tent in there noither!’
The smarties were always in the last pocket.
Folk tales, too, are handed down from generation to generation. We
hope that you will pass them on, and in so doing, find the smarties in the pocket of each.
Xanthe and Robin
1
The Chalk Giant – How Stories Came to Sussex
• Wilmington •
When spring comes in the birds do sing,
The lambs do skip and the bells do ring …
Old Jack Pettit’s Song –
farmworker of Rottingdean
Before the first flints were struck to make a fire, before the first stories were told to warm the heart and before the seasons came to Sussex, there lived a girl giant and a boy giant who were brother and sister.
The girl was called Shine because the second she was born, the sun rose, and wherever she went, the sun followed. Whether Shine got her sparkle from the sun, or whether the sun got its sparkle from Shine, no one knew.
The boy was called Dum because the first time he opened his mouth it was to sing:
Dum de dum diddle
Rol me rol riddle
Skip de skip skiddle.
Shine ran from east to west over the grass and shingle collecting things to share with her brother in the evening: crab apples, thymescented honey, sheep’s teeth and tusks. She kept them in a heap in the corner of their cave.
Dum spent his days looking after the little sheep. In those days, there were thousands in these parts. They gave the giants milk, cheese and fleeces. It took about eighteen sheeps’ fleeces to make a single coat for a giant.
One day, Shine found a piece of stag antler. She gave it to Dum. He made holes along the bone with a sharpened stone, put the whistle to his mouth and started to play. As he practised, the bees buzzed, the fish flipped and the leaves rustled. In those days, it was always summer.
As soon as the sun began to sink, all the other giants huddled underneath their sheepskins and went to sleep. Dum would take a soft piece of chalk and draw pictures on the rocks and Shine would say, ‘Once upon a time … Once upon a time … Once upon a time …’ but she could never think of what to say next. She was looking for a string of words to help her fall asleep, words that would make pictures, pictures that would make dreams.
One evening, Dum and Shine were playing hide and seek. It was Shine’s turn to hide. She ran fast around Windover Hill because at any moment Dum would be shouting, ‘Coming ready or not!’ She stopped abruptly. There was a gate in the grass in the side of the hill. It had two posts on either side and two doors that met in the middle. She pushed and they creaked apart, but just a chink. Whether in those days gates spoke when they creaked, or whether giants could understand the language of doors, I don’t know, but this is what it said:
Give me a gift to enter in
And ‘Once upon a time’ begins.
There’s fire below, and tales unheard
They lie in wait, each spark a word.
But once the words begin to burn
The fire keeper can’t return.
Shine had no idea what ‘fire’ was, but she longed for a story. ‘Please have this,’ she said to the door. Pulling off her hat made from the bark of the silver birch, she threw it into the darkness in front of her.
The door opened and she passed through. Seeing a white path hugging the inside of the hill she began to walk and the gate closed behind her. It was dark, but Shine could find her steps by following the ribbon of white chalk, which spiralled down until she came to another gate. She pushed. It creaked like the first one:
A gift will cause these gates to part
Then ‘Once upon a time’ can start.
Shine was excited, how she longed for a story! She took off her necklace of oyster shells and threw it into the darkness. The gate opened. She passed through it and carried on walking down the winding path.
At the following five gates, Shine gave away:
her snakeskin belt,
her prized white feather,
her favourite stone with the hole in the middle,
her bracelet of walnut shells,
and finally, her cloak of many sheepskins.
She shivered, but not for long because behind the seventh door was a pile of flints and dry branches.
Shine got an idea. She picked up one stone and struck it against the other. It sparked! Shine struck again but this time she held the spark against the wood and fire flashed. Red and orange flames warmed her cold bones. The Hill seemed to sigh a happy sigh and soon Shine knew why. In the crackle she heard words:
Once upon a time, in a land between the hills and the sea …
While Shine was listening to the world’s first story, Dum was searching for her. He tried all their secret places but she was nowhere to be found. He was so unhappy he couldn’t sing a song or play a note. Without his music, the bees stopped buzzing, the fish stopped flipping and the leaves fell off the trees. Without Shine’s sparkle, bit by bit, day by day, the sun lost its strength. It rose late and sank early. Every day it became weaker. The giants became weak with cold and hunger. Dum stared at the sea. He couldn’t move for sadness.
Then, one morning, he heard a rapping in his heart like a knocking on a door. ‘Ready or not! Come and find me!’ It was Shine’s voice. Only he could hear it. He was on his feet running just as he had months ago during their game of hide and seek. He could feel her speaking to him, ‘Cold, really cold!’ He came to Windover Hill, ‘Warm! Getting warmer! Hot! Burning hot!’
The grass parted and Dum saw a double gate. It had two posts on either side and two doors that met in the middle. He pushed and they creaked apart, but just a chink:
A song will open up these gates
Inside your sister Shine awaits.
And once the singer is inside
It’s no more seek; it’s no more hide.
Once the seeker enters in
The Hill will make him sing and sing.
Dum sang:
Rol me rol riddle
Skip de skip skiddle.
Dum de dum diddle
Whistle me whistle.
The gate opened, Dum took out his bone flute and walked through. As it closed behind him, he started to follow the same path that Shine had taken, playing all the while. Each time he came to a gate, it opened.
When he was through the seventh gate, he saw Shine sitting beside a fire. Amazed by the blaze, he stopped playing. In the crackling flames he heard, ‘Once upon a time in a place between the hills and the sea …’ but Dum shut his ears to the rest. He could see Shine’s eyes were misty; she was far away in another world. She looked thin and tired and her sparkle had dimmed. He must get her back into the sun. She needed it, and it needed her.
‘Shine!’
As if coming up from the bottom of a well, Shine gasped for air and blinked, her eyes snapping into focus.
‘Dum! Where have I been?’
Dum explained that she had been lost for months, that without her the sun was dying and the giants were cold and starving.
Shine was on her feet. ‘Let’s go home. Now!’
But as they pushed the gate to begin the journey upwards, it creaked:
The hill is lonely, both can’t go
Send Shine above, leave Dum below.
Then Shine can share the stories learned
And save the sun on her return.
The tales can go where tales belong
But shepherd stay and sing your song.
Shine returned to the daylight alone with her pockets full of flints and her heart full of stories. As soon as the sun saw her, it started to beam. Down in the cave, Dum played his whistle and sang his songs to the fire and the darkness.
Whistle me whistle
Dum de dum diddle.
Rol me rol riddle
Skip de skip skiddle.
His notes vibrated up through chalk and flint and as they bounced off the rock, they increased in volume so that in the world outside the hill, the water caught the rhythm and started to burble, the wind whistled, the bees buzzed and the birds copied his melodies. Spring had come and once more everythi
ng was singing Dum’s song. The giants found themselves humming along, harmonising and making up their own tunes.
That evening, Shine struck the two flints together and for the first time the giants had fire.
They gathered round and Shine began to tell all the stories she had learned when she was inside the hill.
After six months, once the trees had fruited, Shine decided it was time to return to Dum. She took a basketful of apples, wild strawberries, mulberries, elderberries, hazelnuts, walnuts and honey. The seven gates of Windover Hill opened at her offerings. Brother and sister hugged each other and shared their news, then Shine sat beside the fire and Dum took the chalky path upwards.
Every year, Dum and Shine swapped places. When Shine came out of the hill it was spring and summer, when Dum returned, autumn and winter.
The winters were hard. Dum stood, hands against the gateposts of Windover Hill, waiting for Shine to call him, ‘Ready or not! Come and get me!’ Seeing him standing there, the hungry giants took heart. They remembered that winter never lasts – Dum would soon fetch Shine out of the hill.
As the years passed, the giants began to get tired. Dum and Shine felt that their work was done, the pattern of summer and winter had been firmly established. The next race, that of human beings, was waiting to take their place. It was time for them to go.
Dum carved an outline of himself, back against the grass, hands against the gateposts, into the chalk of Windover Hill, as a reminder that the cold of winter is always followed by the warmth of spring. Then he, Shine and all the giants gathered together the new race of people and, beside a blazing fire, passed on their songs and stories. When that was done, the giants melted into the rocks and rivers and Dum and Shine journeyed the spiralling white path inside the Hill. Each time they passed through a gate, it shut, never to open again. Brother and sister curled up like dormice and fell asleep beside the fire.
The new race passed on the songs and stories to their children and their children’s children. And every story that you will ever hear, every song that you will ever sing, is an echo of those very first songs and stories. Sing them, tell them – all the hills are listening!
Sussex Folk Tales for Children Page 1
