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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780752479279 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The History Press |
| Publication date: | 11/30/2011 |
| Series: | Folk Tales: United Kingdom |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 192 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 11 - 14 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Essex Folk Tales
By Jan Williams
The History Press
Copyright © 2012 Jan WilliamsAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7524-7927-9
CHAPTER 1
Here be Dragons
Roll up! Roll up! Today we present, for your special delight, six of Essex's finest dragons!
Essex's dragon stories concern real villages in Essex, which still take pride in these whimsical tales. Often the stories are unknown in the rest of the country. Saffron Walden has the most frightening dragon of all because it is a basilisk, which can kill simply with a glance from its eyes. Wormingford's dragon is a crocodile and East Horndon's is a snake newly arrived off a ship.
The dragon stories were once so popular that villages competed for their ownership. The Essex village of Wormingford and the Suffolk village of Bures both claimed the same dragon. Wormingford (once called Withermundford) actually went one step further, for the village's name was developed from the word 'worm', a medieval name for a dragon. Wormingford Church has a splendid stained-glass window with the 'coccodil' busily swallowing a plump pair of legs, watched by a knight in armour on a horse and a fleeing maiden.
Essex folk are eager to tell you that, according to a document at Canterbury Cathedral, an unusual fight broke out near Little Cornard on the afternoon of Friday 26 September 1449.
In a marshy field on the Suffolk/Essex Border, two fire breathing dragons engaged in a fierce hour long struggle. The Suffolk Dragon was black and lived on Keddington Hill, while the dragon from Essex was reddish and spotted and came from Ballington Hill, south of the river Stour. Eventually the red dragon won and both creatures returned to their own hills to the admiration of many beholding them.
So Essex won!
The source for the Saffron Walden story and the Henham dragon is a pamphlet published in 1669 called 'The Flying Serpent' or 'Strange News out of Essex'. Strange news it certainly was! The stories were obviously concocted by William and Henry Winstanley. A jolly pair of jokers they seem to have been. William was a skilled conjurer, often fashioning dragon kites for his family. Henry built the first Eddystone Lighthouse and filled his House of Wonders at Littlebury with clockwork ghosts, robot servants, and trick chairs that suddenly whizzed people from the drawing room to the cellar or out into the garden. He even had Magic Dragons as a main attraction in his water theatre at Piccadilly. So it was simple for him to make a fake dragon.
Whatever their sources, these tales of Essex dragons make fine entertainment because of the undercurrent of humour. Yet you wonder. Could they contain an element of truth?
The Coccodil's Story
Once there was a king who was given an egg as a farewell present by the man he had fought for so long. How strange you say! Yet it is true. The great leader Saladin gave it to Richard the Lionheart when he left the Holy Land. The two may have been on opposite sides in the Crusade, but Saladin had a respect for the brave Englishman.
'This will keep you safe,' he said as he handed the English king the egg.
'Really?' Richard the Lionheart gazed down at the egg. It was a puzzle. There was nothing for it but to keep the egg as safe as he could in his saddlebags. Anything which kept him safe was to be treasured. His journey was going to take him through Germany, which he knew well enough was a place hostile to him. He had already disguised himself as a pilgrim to protect himself from possible robbers. It was not, however, to prove an effective disguise. Very quickly he found himself kidnapped by no less a person than Leopold, Duke of Austria.
In Richard's prison cell, the egg hatched into what at first looked like a tadpole and then a baby dragon. It kept the King amused while ransom arrangements were being made. The King made cooing noises at it until he realised it was growing alarmingly bigger and bigger. By the time he reached England, it was enormous! The King felt it safer to put the animal in the menagerie at the Tower of London. The menagerie keeper knew immediately what it was and he called it a 'coccodil' in that funny medieval way of his. It would be called a crocodile now.
* * *
'Majesty,' the keeper said, 'this coccodil is a fearsome creature. It will grow until it be twenty cubits long with a crested head, teeth like a saw and a tail extending to this length ...' He extended his arms to try to show the length, but his arms were inadequate.
'How shall we take care of it? It could eat us all up.'
'Build it a strong cage, and keep it well fed and locked up in chains.'
The keeper did what was asked of him, but, by the end of a year, it had grown so big that it lashed its tail against the bars with such force that the bars broke. With a mighty crashing it was free of its chains at last. Down into the Thames it slid joyfully and then up it went, splashing through rivers and sliding through muddy marshes. On and on it swam through Essex, always travelling at night. The only signs it left behind were the mangled corpses of young men and women foolish enough to be out after midnight.
Swimming, crawling and ravaging its way, it came to a village called Withermundford on the river Stour. Total panic broke out at the very sight of those long jaws opening and closing, revealing spiked teeth from which nothing could escape. The Lord of the Manor sent out his archers to kill the coccodil, but the arrows bounced off its back as if it had been made of iron or hard rock, and the arrows that fell onto the spine made a tinkling sound just as if they had fallen on a bronze plate. The animal's hide was totally impenetrable.
Then, worst of all, came the rumour that the coccodil was demanding the flesh of virgins for its food, for even in the best-regulated community there is only a limited supply of virgins! The entire community wrung their hands in distress at the very thought of losing their sweetest maidens.
'Send for Sir George!' they shouted.
The only George known to the worthy villagers was a local Lord of the Manor called Sir George from Layer de la Haye, son of Eustice, Earl of Boulouge. He was a brave fellow and came swiftly enough through the forest to the ford where the creature waited. The sight of the coccodil glaring at him made him nervous. Yet the people were shouting encouragement at him. He could not let them down, especially those lovely girls, with their hands over their mouths, suppressing their screams.
He advanced three paces at a time, then suddenly stopped. Carefully he lifted his lance high. The coccodil suddenly leapt up to reach for the knight's plump left leg. As soon as its jaw crunched the armoured thigh, the pain of biting into plate armour was too much for the coccodil and it disappeared into the water, swallowed up in the mere, leaving behind a trail of bubbles and the cheers of lots of relieved people.
Even to this day many have noticed how the water of the mere gets agitated at times. Bubbles rise again to the surface. There is a whistling wind in the reeds and the strange water plants wave desperately. The wise nod their heads. They know what it is. It can only be the descendant of the mighty coccodil, cautiously seeking a plump virgin. Watch and see where the bubbles go!
The Glass Knight
'What's happening?' The people of Saffron Walden just could not understand it. Fruit was rotting on the tree. Birds were dropping dead from the sky. The rivers were poisoned. They were terrified. Soon there would be nothing left to eat or drink.
'It's the fault of that thing ... that monster ... that dragon,' a local farmer moaned. 'I have seen it in the fields and it's terrible. It just opens its mouth and puffs out that foul breath and then everything living in its path dies ...' As he talked, fear got the better of him, and he could no longer speak properly.
In the end, the sheriff said, 'Let's go and see the wise woman. Maybe she can explain it.' A small crowd gathered and followed him. They too wanted to hear what she had to say.
The wise woman was waiting for them on top of the hill. Her head nodded and nodded on her skinny neck as she greeted them. 'Ah! You have come. I have been expecting this. I have seen the beast myself and know what damage it does.' Very gently she patted the farmer's arms and encouraged him to tell everybody what the dragon looked like.
'It has the head and claws of a rooster.' For a moment the farmer half expected the people to laugh at him but they did not. His terror was too obviously real. Encouraged by the fact that they were taking him seriously, the farmer babbled on. 'It has the forked tongue of a serpent which swings backwards and forwards. It has the wings of a bat and a long arrow-shaped tail like ... like the Devil. All over its body there are barbs.'
'And what colour is it?'
'Every shade of black and yellow, with a white spot like a crown on its head. And it walks upright on two strong legs with a mighty tail ...'
This seemed to match the diagrams that the wise woman had found in her well-thumbed Book of the World's Most Hideous Creatures. Then she drew breath and asked the question that was obviously the most important of all. 'What are his eyes like?'
The farmer shook his head. He did not know. He had not looked into the dragon's eyes.
The wise woman's nods grew more and more frequent. She was growing increasingly agitated. 'I knew it! I knew you could not have looked into his eyes. You would have been dead if you had. I must warn you all. This monster is a basilisk!' she screamed. She waved her skinny finger at the crowd in warning. 'Never look into its eyes, for its baleful glance will kill any living creature. The basilisk is the rarest and most dangerous of dragons.'
She began to give all sorts of magical descriptions, using proper technical terms. Not everybody present understood all this mumbo jumbo, but they could sense the danger they were in. The town's sheriff advised that a knight be sent for, a knight with experience of rescuing other towns in danger.
'Yes. Yes!' the people all said.
The sheriff galloped off to see what could be done. Sighing with relief, the people went home to the safety of their warm beds.
It took a while to find a suitable knight. Sadly, some foolish people could not wait. They had to see the dragon for themselves and ventured into the street, only to be confronted directly by the dreadful eyes of the basilisk. One glance and death was immediate. The number of bodies lying in the street was alarming. If the killings were allowed to continue, there could be a severe decline in the population. The basilisk was such an enthusiastic maneater. Nothing seemed to deter him.
The knight was terrified to be told of all the basilisk's powers. The good people of Saffron Walden, it was clear, were in peril. He went to his room at the inn immediately to begin his preparations. Gloomily he polished his armour late into the night, going over and over the difficulties of fighting this sort of dragon. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he had taken on more than he could cope with. How could he kill such a ferocious maneater? How could he avoid the breath that burns all in front of it? It could not be defeated by a sword or a spear, for its poisonous blood would flow the length of the weapon like lighting, withering the body of the person holding it. There are some, however, who say that in this situation the herb rue can have healing qualities.
And those eyes! How hideous they were! It was curious that the beast only closed his eyes when he drank water from a pool. Did that hold a clue to its weakness? He was determined to find some way to help these people.
Right up until dawn, the knight tossed and turned; and you know how it is – sometimes in our sleep we get the answer to our most nagging problems. He woke to an early sun, feeling far more cheerful, yet he did not rush into action yet. He had something to arrange first. The people watched from behind their shuttered windows, getting more and more restless, but they had faith in the knight. Then one of the village lads caught a glimpse of the knight riding to the field where the basilisk lay.
'He's here. Hurrah!'
'Whatever is he wearing?'
'Whatever it is, I can see myself reflected in it.'
'It's a suit of armour made of crystal mirrors!'
'Whatever good will that do? He's got no sword. He's carrying rue and a sprig of magic rowan.'
Silence fell. The people had lost their faith in the knight, but slowly they followed him through the trees that lined the road. Then they stopped when he stopped. The knight stood in front of the basilisk with his eyes tightly closed. The monster itself rose up on its legs and stared at the knight, its baleful eyes glittering with malice and then, with an almighty shriek of pain, the loathsome creature saw itself reflected in the armour's crystal glass. The horror of the moment seemed to freeze him into complete immobility. The beast fell and was still; still in the finality of its death, caused by looking into its own toxic eyes.
No one moved. Then the knight rolled the basilisk's corpse into a hole in the ground and scattered it with rue to eliminate any trace of poison. An almighty cheer echoed on all sides. Drums, tabors and fiddles began playing and the people danced. All day and all night they danced, some dancing as far as Thaxted, and some say the dancing still goes on when the people remember their lucky escape.
And if you still doubt this tale, then know that the knight's sword was hung in Saffron Walden Church, and an effigy of the basilisk was set up in brass, with a table close by which told the entire story. Then, in the time of the Great Rebellion (or Civil War as some will call it), this was all taken down as being some monument to superstition. Lawless soldiers broke it into pieces.
Well, I say those fellows were no better than the basilisk for trying to destroy a fine thing! We should rebuild a monument to the crystal knight in today's troubled times. Courage and inventiveness should always be celebrated.
Strange News out of Essex
Edgar never forgot the summer of 1669; the summer he was nine years old and the dragon came to Henham. Such a noise and chatter! Nobody could quite believe it. It was the strangest news ever heard in Essex. To think a flying serpent had come to Henham, lovely little Henham on the hill! Some called it a dragon. Yet I want you to listen carefully; there's something about this tale that doesn't quite hang together.
Edgar was most impressed with the story told by a fine gentleman wearing a splendid blue velvet suit and riding a grey mare. It may have been because the fine gentleman, riding out on that May morning, had caught the first glimpse of the Henham dragon. He announced to the villagers on his return, 'I tell you, I have never been so frightened in my life. I was riding past the farm they call the Lodge, minding my own business, when without any warning the dragon came out of the meadow. It attacked me and my horse. It was quite, quite terrifying to see a creature of such monstrous size rise up in that way before us. I swear to you, I was convinced the horse and I were close to death. I gripped the mare firmly with my thighs, and spurred her homewards. As I galloped, I caught a glimpse of the farmer who owned the field where the beast sat. I shouted to him, 'Quick! Quick! Get your cattle indoors. They're in danger! The dragon will have them.' I can tell you the farmer's face was as pale as cheese. He did not hesitate. He crossed to his fields with his dog at his heels and his droving stick in his hand, and immediately directed his cattle up to his cowshed. I never stopped to see if he got there safely. I just wanted to get home and warn you all what I had seen.'
A few days later another story came from two men in the same parish. Mind you, they came out of the pub so Edgar was not sure what to make of their tale, although it had a lot more detail to it. They said that they had seen the dragon on a hillock sunning himself. He was stretched out to his fullest extent, so it was easy to get a true impression of the size of the creature. It was gigantic!
'We were armed with clubs and staves, yet we dared not get any closer. The dragon lolled over onto his chest and seemed to be challenging us to approach him. Now the way I would describe him was he was eight or nine foot long, the smallest part of him being the size of a man's leg, and the middle of him as big as a man's thigh. His eyes were very large and piercing. In his mouth he had two rows of teeth which appeared very white and sharp, and on his back he had two rather small wings. The wings did not seem in proportion to the rest of his body. We thought those wings would seem too weak to carry such an unwieldy body.'
The crowd that had gathered to hear this story were getting more and more interested. 'What did you do?'
'We were not sure how we should proceed. I went off to get a gun and my brother watched the dragon, which still stood as though it was totally unafraid. Then it seemed to lose patience and went off to the woods making as much noise as a wild boar rustling its way through the leaves.'
It seemed incredible that so many grown-ups seemed to believe these stories. For the rest of that summer, group after group of men set out to find this scary beast. They were well-armed with guns, muskets and fowling pieces. Yet the creature did not emerge again, although surely it must have been hungry. The other thing that was puzzling was that all the people who went to see the dragon returned looking remarkably cheerful. What was going on? People like a churchwarden, a constable and an overseer of the poor had given evidence of sighting the dragon, so there had to be some truth in it.
Then, one day, young Edgar bumped into his cousin, Noah. Noah was older than he was and thought he knew everything. Noah guessed exactly what Edgar had on his mind. 'I know what you're going to ask. You're going to ask about that dratted dragon again. Come with me and I'll show you something.'
The boy found himself being taken to one of the outhouses at Mr Henry Winstanley's house. It was growing dusk but it was still possible to see that lying on the straw was the outline of something that looked like some misshapen monster.
'Go on. Get closer. Take a proper look at it.' Noah pushed Edgar closer. For a moment he trembled. Then he touched it. It seemed to be made of canvas and wood. 'Go on, put it on. Oh you big baby. Let me show you.' Noah slipped the contraption over his head and sure enough he looked just like the dragon in the field.
'Who ever made a thing like this?'
'Henry Winstanley of course! Don't you remember those dragon kites Henry made? Well, he did this and his uncle spread the story in his magazine.'
'But so many people joined in with the silliness and they were all adults!'
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Essex Folk Tales by Jan Williams. Copyright © 2012 Jan Williams. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Title,Acknowledgements,
Illustrations,
Foreword,
One Here be Dragons,
Two Battles Long Ago,
Three Hero or Villain?,
Four The Discovery of Witches,
Five Women in Love,
Six Things that go Bump in the Night,
Seven The Cabinet of Curiosities,
Eight Holy Ways,
Bibliography,
Copyright,