I was celebrating Beltane 1996 at The North Lodge, Monks Walk, Waverley Lane, Farnham where I was told this extraordinary story that I wrote down that night. When Dr Kathleen Anne Ball read the story on Facebook, she was captivated yet saddened by the ending at first, but then realized, one was free to create any ending they’d like, so she did:
In the sixteen hundreds - so this ancient tale relates - a lone woman, gripped by appalling poverty, strayed onto the Waverley Estate and there took shelter in the ivy covered cave. She had no known family and hence no persons or property to protect here in her infirmity, and gossip quickly arose about her mysterious past. In the local inn, the farm folk spoke in hushed tones, saying that she was a witch who had murdered her husband and children, and that she carried the plague as a punishment for her sins. Within days, farm hands drove her from the cave, accusing her of blighting their crops. Children threw stones at her, many causing open wounds that failed to heal. Warts spread across her unwashed face and lice tormented her days and nights, and she thought maybe their taunts were true. She gleaned what she could from the footpath verges, collecting hazel twigs to make a broom to sweep away the leaves from the entrance to her den within a hedge of thick hazel. A small cat took shelter with her and they huddled together for warmth and companionship. Occasionally, the cat brought a gift of vermin, frog or bird to add to her gruel and prevent total starvation. Her comb broke under her matted hair and her skirt became torn and tattered exposing her scratched legs. The humiliation of such deprivation and her solitary situation gave her much distress. She longed to attend St Andrews church but she had no clothes, money or status, so she watched from afar and she got to know the townsfolk and those who worked and raised their family and livestock in the surrounding hills. She knew the fancy lives of the Lord and Lady who owned the great estate, though she would never trespass on their extensive and rich pastures or she would have been shot by the gamekeeper without question. One evening, she collected earth from the Downs that she fashioned into a small vessel and in this bowl she collected water from the river. Over a small fire, built of fallen twigs, she warmed meagre fayre. In the cold and dark abode she kept a few windfallen fruits which fermented and made a drink to aid sleep - for the pain in her bones was fierce and sleep was always fitful.
The shepherds knew her hiding place in the undergrowth and, after many seasons, became accustomed to her quiet and shy presence. At night, when they guarded their flocks, they could hear her singing and mimicking the bleating of the lambs which aided the ewes at birthing time. A sleeping shepherd once awoke to find her helping with a difficult delivery. This began a strange unspoken relationship between them where she became his shepherdess and his animals became the healthiest flocks in the district. In return, he would provide her with tinder and wool. When his children were unwell, she would leave a sweet soothing remedy on a stone near her hovel, always calling out loudly in a shrill voice that her bowl needed to be returned within three days. The medication contained leaves, stalks, roots, flowers which she had learned the value of, their effects and their safety, which parts gave good sleep, which took pain away, which gave visions and which purged the body.
One cold day, the shepherd came to the old woman's hut. His entire family was unwell, himself, his wife, and their eight children. She immediately grabbed her bowl and ran down to the banks of the Wey river. The ferns and brambles tore at her flesh and shredded her old rags. The icy swamp made her shiver but the panic gave her strength. At the water's edge, she took the leaves and bark from the crying tree, cutting the bark with her fingernails as she had no knife. Gasping and fearful, she ran to the Lord's horse stable to steal some straw, then ran to the hive using the tinder to light the straw to make smoke to calm the bees. There she plied her arm within the hive and took the honey and placed it in her bowl. Never would she steal for herself. She ran back to the estate and awaited nightfall, creeping in terror to the estate again, she milked a cow, a crime that would have resulted in flogging had she been discovered. She ran back to the lake where she caught a fish with her bare hands, an act that could have resulted in imprisonment. With all her strength, she ran up the hill, snatching twigs as she ran. In her windy den, she made a fire and cooked the concoction, using nuts she collected for the coming winter, adding fermented fruits, some sweet berries - and remedy was ready!
She left her bowl with the contents on the stone and waited for the shepherd to come, crying out for her bowl to be returned within three days. Then, in fear and dread, she knelt upon the hard, damp earth, fasting with no food or drink, praying for the safe recovery of the family and that no blame would be placed upon her should God take them from this hard life into His safe home. But the bowl was never returned, not in three days, not ever. There was talk in the town of what happened to her - and there is still to this day. We will never know what became of this poor, lonely woman who lived a life of harrowing hardships, the family she cared for or the bowl she made.
One such story was of an old woman and a shepherd's family who’d arrived one day, many years before, in this land of mist and magic. They’d been brought there by the King of the fairies son, Prince Neander who had seen the deeds of the old woman and fallen in love with her soul. When he arrived to rescue her, she was inconsolable due to the sadness which stemmed from the the death of the poor shepherd's family. They had eaten wild roots in a stew, which she had warmed them about, but they hadn’t listened, thus causing their illness and eventual death.
She begged her Prince to bring them alive to his land of mist and magic. She couldn’t bare the thought of leaving this kind family in the hands of the townspeople. She could only imagine a cruel, meaningless burial for them.
So he agreed to spare them from the claws of death but only if she would consider marrying him. The Prince's tender and sincere heart melted her own and, in that moment, she was transformed into a beautiful fairy princess and they were married with all the fairy folk with the shepherd 's family in attendance. After several years of a Happy and contented life, they bore a lovely daughter who, of course, was both human and fairy folk - the loveliest and sweetest in the land. Her gift was to mesmerize, capture and transform the hardened hearts of those who listened to her stories. She often traveled between the dimensions, across the frequency barrier between her fairy home and the land of humans and to the lands that needed her magic most. And she always crossed the barrier carrying with her a strange cup made of earth and straw.
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