The Era of Faeries and Dragons
Illustrations by Richard H. Fay, Essay by Lisa Agnew
Folklore is often dismissed as an irrelevance, even by some scholars. Yet as a branch of historical study, its examination can throw much light upon a myriad of subjects. Within the folktale and the nursery rhyme, everyday lives of mediaeval residents can be glimpsed as if through a telescope peering back in time, peeling layer upon layer of lifestyle and belief from the words that have come down to us via these prose and verses.
Many were the creatures believed to impact the lives of the common man, blamed for bad luck or misfortune that befell a household in mediaeval times.
This is reflected in the folklore that has come down to us, thanks largely to the work of Joseph Jacobs (1854-1916), who published detailed notes to accompany his collections of fairy tales, exploring the comparative and historical aspects of the stories and providing information about their sources. An Australian by birth, he grew up in England, where he became famous as a scholar and folklorist. During the latter period of his life, he moved to America where he concentrated on research and publications centered on Jewish contributions to world culture. He was one of the first scholars to call attention to the importance of Jewish transmission of Aesopic fables in the ancient world and European Middle Ages.
When reading any collective of classic English fairytales, especially those illustrated by the likes of Sir Arthur Rackham, the uninitiated will be surprised, perhaps disturbed, to find that the stories within resonate of images far darker than the familiar Disneyesque manifestations and sanitized participants of children’s nursery rhymes and continental fables collected by the likes of the Brothers Grimm. Whilst the Grimm versions of these tales are certainly darker than, say, Disney’s interpretation, the older stories were something else again. In an earlier rendition, the famous St George & the Dragon features not only the champion crusading knight, his noble horse Bayard, and dragon of the title, but a fell enchantress named Kalyb, a Middle Eastern necromancer named Ormadine, Almidor the black king of Morocco, and the Egyptian princess Sabia. St George has to defeat the first three characters in order to marry the fourth.
Obviously influenced by the Crusades, this tale deviates significantly from the watered-down, more well-known version which features only St George, the obligatory princess, and their dragon foe. Interestingly, it is the horse Bayard around whom many comparative folklores revolve. Beside the Roman road of Ermine St in Lincolnshire, England, two sets of four horseshoe prints can be found, said to denote ‘Bayard’s Leap’. This refers to an early account, perhaps originally part of the St George story, of a knight astride his steed who went riding past the area. A bogey (ghost or evil imp) who haunted the place leapt up behind the hero and onto Bayard’s back. In his fright, the horse took three great jumps which were originally marked by three stones about thirty yards apart. There are also associations with the French hero Renaud de Montauban, who was given a magical horse by Charlemagne. This Continental Bayard left hoof prints in at least two sites on mainland Europe, one in the forest of Soignes, the other on a rock outside the city of Dinant (both locations are in modern-day Belgium).
The evolution of the myth of St George may well have taken centuries, yet folk of the mediaeval era would have had little doubt in the existence of enchantresses, bogeys, and necromancers. Especially if, in the best xenophobic tradition, such fell characters belonged to another race.
Another story in the same vein is prosaically named Tom-Tit-Tot, an English variant of the Continental Rumplestiltskein tale. Within its framework there is evidence of a residual pagan belief that to know the true name of something gives one power over it. The story tells of a nameless Thing, small, black, with a long tail, who helps a maiden spin five skeins a day for a month in order for her to remain queen. As payment, the maiden must guess the Thing’s name. If she fails to guess its name after a month of trying, she forfeits herself to it forever. In this version of the tale, Tom-Tit-Tot has no interest in any first-born child she might have. He is a far darker, more lascivious creature than Rumplestiltskein.
Fairy manifestations from this era are most often portrayed as creatures that fall far short of our modern ideals of flighty delicacy and altruism. They helped folk, to be sure, yet always demanded something in return, usually something beyond the power of most mortals to give. In this way, they forced the mortals to forfeit their lives. They also kidnapped mortal infants, so it was believed, leaving changlings in their place. They were fey in name and deed and it is only comparatively recently that popular culture has morphed them into safer manifestations like Tinkerbell (though even Tinkerbell exhibits a vestigial wicked side.) Small and evasive by nature, they engendered more common 
belief than the sturdier creatures of Middle Age mythology giants and dragons, who were too large and apparently absent to garner the same depth of mystery. Belief in giants and dragons harken back to pre-history, as do fairies, yet, as there was no convincing evidence of their continued survival, it was assumed that these larger manifestations of myth had died out.
Effigies of giants, in particular, are still evident within the historical landscape of Britain. They feature in place names such as Thursford in Norfolk and Tusmore in Oxfordshire, where both prefixes derive from the Old English word thyrs, which means giant.
They also feature in caricature. The Cerne Abbas Giant carved into the turf of a hillside in Dorset is very likely either prehistoric or 2nd century CE Celtic in origin, its outlines periodically scoured clean by locals. Gog and Magog were supposedly two giants captured by the Trojan leader and, in myth, founder of Britain, Brutus, who took them to his palace in Troynovant (New Troy, i.e. London) to be porters. The Guildhall in London has housed effigies of the pair for at least three centuries. A pair, perhaps not the originals themselves, was replaced after the destruction of the Guildhall in the Great Fire of London in 1666 and again replaced after the Blitz of 1940.
Upon incidental examination, it seems incredible that such beliefs could have survived across the ages, especially after the arrival of Christianity. Yet the Christian practice of sanctioning pagan temples for their own religion, which was undertaken by papal order, unknowingly helped to retain these beliefs. In a letter from Pope Gregory I to Abbott Mellitus, written during the latter’s visit to Britain in 597 CE, the Pope instructs that the temples of the idols in that nation ought not to be destroyed, but let the idols that are in them be destroyed; let holy water be made and sprinkled in the said temples may they more familiarly resort to the places to which they have been accustomed.’ This extended to holy wells, ancient earthworks, and other obviously ancient pagan sites. A church was specifically erected below the Cerne Abbas Giant in an attempt to nullify its rampant symbolism. However obfuscating its intent, the policy succeeded in preserving many originally pagan beliefs, including extremely archaic pre-Christian beliefs concerning the eye, which are mirrored in the Roman Catholic Church’s Extreme Unction, where the anointing of the eyes, ears, nostrils, lips, hands and feet of a dying person is seen to symbolize neutralization of the senses through which most sins are committed.
Joseph Jacobs’ favorite folk tale, Childe Rowland, incorporates many traces of these primitive pagan customs. Embedded in this story we find references to the number three, which was a holy number to the pagans well before Christian belief mingled the reference with that of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. There are also repeated references to burial mounds and barrow breaking and a persistent belief that one should never partake of fairy vittles.
In this tale the hero, Childe Rowland, strives to save his sister, Burd Helen, who has been abducted by the Elfin King and taken into fairyland. The Dark Tower within fairyland is obviously a prehistoric burial mound, or barrow, many of which can still be seen dotted about the English countryside. The terraces on this hill were identified by Jacobs as possibly referring to Neolithic terrace cultivation practices, and barrows are even now referred to by some residents of the British countryside as the dwelling places of fairies.
An illuminated carbuncle lights the interior of the Elfin King’s Dark Tower, a detail which often appears in stories of violated prehistoric tombs. One William Budden, an historian writing in 1685, regaled his readers with a tale of barrow-breaking, telling us that ‘upon entering the chamber, they found the figure of a man in armor, having a truncheon in his hand, and a light burning before it. At their first approach, the image made to strike, so at the second step, but with greater force; but at the third it struck a violent blow, which broke the glass to pieces, and extinguished the light.’ This was said to have taken place at Torbarrow Hill, close to the Roman city of Cirencester. However, its details are also found in the tales of Gerbert, Pope Sylvester II, who is remembered in the common folklore of Italy as a magician.
One story says that Gerbert and a servant found an underground cavern full of treasure. Within its passages stood golden knights, who brandished fearsome weapons as soon as anyone attempted to touch the treasure. This cavern was illuminated by a gem-like light, before which stood the statue of a child with a bow in its hands. Gerbert’s servant, transfixed by the glittering sight before him, attempted to pocket some of the treasure. This only enraged the knights and caused the statue to let fly an arrow which extinguished the light. The two only escaped when the servant relinquished his claim to the portion of treasure. Perpetual lamps thus appear quite common in the annals of European folklore. William Camden, a 16th century British historian, makes mention of a belief that the ancients possessed the art of dissolving gold, or perhaps white powdered gold, into an oil that would burn in untended lamps for many ages.
So it seems it is the lot of Britain’s first inhabitants to be remembered for posterity as fairies, guardian hob-goblins, and giants. Personages of more recent history are more likely to be morphed by popular folk memory into heroes, or at least anti-heroes. Robin Hood is probably the most famous example, yet he only robbed from the rich because the poor had nothing he wanted. He certainly did not give any of his ill-gotten gains away. His nemesis in legend, King John, may well have been an inept ruler, but it was he who signed the Magna Carta and he who maintained rule of England in the absence of his brother Richard, whose main passions had always lain elsewhere.
Nursery rhymes especially preserve historical events within verses which, on the surface, can seem downright innocuous.
Mary, Mary Quite Contrary is one of the least obvious but most descriptive once the reader is aware of the code employed within the rhyme. The ‘Mary’ of the title is Mary, Queen of Scots. The growing of her garden alludes to the growing graveyards filled with her victims. Silver bells and cockle shells are actually instruments of torture employed by her Catholic retainers, and Pretty Maids All in a Row refer to the Scottish version of the guillotine, the Maiden.
Nursery rhymes are filled with dark allegories of life in the Middle Ages. Goosey Goosey Gander also broadly hints at the religious intolerance of this era, while the figure of Mother Goose was originally a generic persecuted witch. Doctor Foster (Went to Gloucester) retells an historical incident which befell King Edward I. There appears to be little rhyme or reason to how folk memory deals with the defining traits of its heroes and villains. Whether she actually lived in this world or not, the origins of the classic Cinderella story can be found in the English tale of Tattercoats who, having lost her mother at birth, ostensibly lives in the castle of an old lord, her grandfather, who resents her for being alive when his own daughter is dead, and swears never to look upon her face.
Tattercoats grows up with an old nurse who only ostensibly cares for her, sometimes giving her scraps of food to eat or a torn petticoat to wear. Her only friend is a crippled gooseherd, who feeds his flock of geese on a nearby common. The gooseherd listens to her woes and cheers her by playing merry tunes on his pipe.
Meanwhile, news of the king’s grand plans for a ball is spreading throughout the land. Tattercoats’ grandfather perks up at this news, intent on meeting the king, yet never once does he consider his poor granddaughter. Hearing the news and knowing that she would not be able to go to the ball; Tattercoats seeks the solace of her friend. The gooseherd plays his little pipe, temporarily cheering her, and they skip off down the road. Before they had gone very far, a handsome young man, splendidly dressed, rides up and stops to ask the way to the castle where the king is staying. When he discovers that they are going his way, he gets off the horse to accompany them, remarking that ‘you seem merry folk, and will be good company.’ ‘Good company indeed!’ replies the gooseherd, and plays another curious tune on his pipe.
The gooseherd’s sweet music made the young man stare and stare at Tattercoats until he could no longer see her rags, only her beautiful face. He immediately asks for her hand in marriage, yet she scoffs, saying ‘No, not I, for you would be finely put to shame if you took a goose-girl for your wife!’ However, the more she refuses him, the sweeter the pipe plays, and the deeper the young man falls in love. He begs her to come that night at twelve to the king’s ball, just as she is, with the gooseherd and geese, in her torn petticoat and bare feet. Eventually, she agrees. Come twelve o’clock, she and the gooseherd turn up at the castle and the prince, Tattercoats’ admirer, announces to his father that he has found his bride. The gooseherd plays a few sweet notes on his pipe and Tattercoats’ rags are changed into beautiful robes sewn with glistening jewels. A golden crown is laid upon her head. The old lord cannot stay at court, for he has sworn never to look upon his granddaughter’s face. He returns to his castle, more sad and bitter than ever. The gooseherd is never heard of again. Tattercoats and her prince live happily ever after, of course.
The gooseherd is obviously a pre-cursor to Cinderella’s fairy godmother, in the same vein as characters like the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Flutes and lutes and music generally are often employed by fairy-like folk. The above story nicely illustrates the fact that fairies can be perceived as good or malicious, a la the Pied Piper, whose basis can be found in history (1212 to be exact) and the German version of the lamentable Children’s Crusade.
The old lord is the original wicked step-mother, but with an edge of genuine pathos.
Within these older versions of our modern fairytales, the humanity of the villains is still apparent. Their motivations, however skewed, can still been worked out and even garner our sympathy.
Another English variant on the Cinderella story is Catskin (also known as Cap o’ Rushes) which, in the more well-known Continental version, appears to have amalgamated with the Tattercoats story to make up the familiar version known by children throughout the world.
The fact that folklore in general has largely become marginalised as a source of genuine tradition may have something to do with an association with women (old wives’ tales) and, by extension, with children, and perhaps also with the fact that spreading urbanization has gradually encroached upon the traditional realms of the fairy folk. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Hugh Miller (1802-1856), a Scottish palaeontologist and folklorist, recorded what was purported to be the final departure of the fairies from Scotland:
One Sabbath morning , just as the shadow of the garden dial had fallen on the line of noon, a herd-boy and his sister saw a long cavalcade ascending out of a ravine through a wooded hollow. It wound amongst the knolls and bushes, and, turning round the northern gable of the children’s cottage, began to ascend the eminence toward the south. The horses were shaggy diminutive things, speckled dun and grey; the riders, stunted, misgrown ugly creatures, attired in antique jerkins of plaid, long grey cloaks and little red caps, from under which their wild uncombed locks shot out over their cheeks and foreheads. The boy and his sister stood gazing in dismay and astonishment as rider after rider, each one more uncouth and dwarfish than the one before, passed the cottage and disappeared among the brushwood on the hill, until at length the entire rout, except for the last rider, who lingered a few yards behind the others, had gone by. ‘What are ye, little mannie, and where are ye going?’ asked the boy. ‘Not of the race of Adam’, said the creature, turning for a moment in his saddle. ‘The People of Peace shall nevermore be seen in Scotland.’
Many were the lessons passed down in the oral tradition of the common folk. Shakespeare himself is an excellent source of folklore references. In King Lear, he also makes liberal use of the story format from the tale of Catskins and uses a multitude of archaic folk knowledge in his other well-known plays. The ‘Middle Earth’ references from Childe Rowland resonate within the works of JRR Tolkien. ‘Fe fi fo fum’, also from Childe Rowland, is thought by some to be a linguistic remnant of a prehistoric counting system and is a phrase ubiquitous with fairytales.
The realities of medieval life can still be gleaned from an indepth examination of nursery rhymes and folklore, both of which served a similar purpose by entertaining and warning the unwary of dangers, both real and imagined.
Sources:
- English Fairy Tales, Wordsworth Classics, 1994.
- Albion: A Guide to Legendary Britain
- Jennifer Westwood, Granada Publishing, 1985.
- www.sacred-texts.com
- www.mythfolklore.net
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Authors: Lisa Agnew, Richard H. Fay. Form: Essay. Length: 3000 words. Editor who accepted this story: Previous Editors.
Author Bio
Abandoned Towers Content: Peebles’ Contraption The Era of Faeries and Dragons
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Author Bio
Richard H. Fay is a published artist, illustrator, poet, and writer of non-fiction, as well as an amateur medievalist, folklore nut, fan of classic speculative literature, and avid reader of true tales of the supernatural and the unexplained.
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