English Legends

[leslie]

The Lambton Worm
Around the time of the crusades (in some accounts) in the area around the river Wear, there is a tale told about a fearsome dragon, which terrorised the area and was dispatched with cunning by a brave warrior.

John Lambton, the young heir to Lambton Hall, was fishing on the river Wear one Sunday morning, while all the other villagers and castle residents were at mass in Brugeford Chapel. After a couple of hours of catching nothing, his hook was caught by something powerful and quick, thinking that he had hooked a great fish he set about landing the catch. He toiled for what seemed an age, and finally pulled his prize on the sandy bank.

He had caught a black worm like creature, which was only small, but twisted and coiled with great power. In appearance creature was completely black, with the head of a salamander and needle sharp teeth. It seemed to secrete a sticky slime, and had nine holes along each side of its mouth. Cursing he wondered what to do with the creature when an old man appeared from behind him, he asked the young Lambton what he had caught, and looking at the creature the old man crossed himself. He warned Lambton not to throw the creature back into the river. "It bodes no good for you but you must not cast it back into the river, you must keep it and do with it what you will." At this the old man walked away disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

John Lambton picked up the creature and put it into his catch basket, walking home he mulled over the stranger's words and looked again at the hideous thing lying in his basket. A feeling of unease swept over him and he threw the catch into an ancient well on the road back to the hall. (The well was forever after known as Worms Well).

The years passed and John Lambton went off to the crusades, with every passing year the worm grew in strength in its deep dark hole. The well became unusable as the water became poisoned, strange venomous vapours were seen rising out of the well, and village gossip surmised that the well had been cursed, and that something unworldly lived in its depths. One morning the village gossip was answered, during the night the worm, now in full maturity, had slipped out of the well and wrapped itself three times around a rocky island in the middle of the river, a trail of black slime outlined its path from the well.

The morning was a hive of activity as the news spread throughout the village and to neighbouring farms. Those brave enough went as close as they dared to get a glimpse of the creature. The dragon had no legs or wings, but a thick muscled body that rippled as it moved. Its head was large and its gaping maw bristled with razor sharp teeth, venomous vapours trailed from its nostrils and mouth as it breathed.

For a short time the dragon did nothing, during the day it stayed in mid stream and at night it came back to land and coiled itself three times around a knoll known as Worm Hill, leaving spiral patterns in the soft earth. This lull was short lived, for soon the beast became hungry and started to rampage around the countryside, always returning to Worm Hill or Worms Rock in the river Wear.

It took small lambs and sheep and ate them whole, and it tore open cows udders with its razor teeth to get at the milk, which it could smell from miles away.

The dragon became bolder and bolder, some brave villagers tried to kill the beast but where crushed and drowned in the river, or torn to pieces with its razor fangs.

Eventually the dragon came to Lambton Hall, where the lord lived on his own. Fortunately the local residents rallied at the hall, and were ready for its coming. They filled a large stone trough with warm milk from the nine kye of the byre. The dragon came to the hall gates but was distracted by the smell of the milk. It plunged into the trough and drained it dry, thus sated the dragon returned to its river abode.

Thus began a ritual that was not to be abated for seven years. The dragon stopped its roaming in the village and left the cows and the sheep alone. It only ventured up the lane to the hall for its daily offering of milk. As the years passed the trail became marked by a path of dark slime and the villagers returned to the village in some semblance of normality. Every so often people from far and wide would come to kill the dragon but would always meet the same fate as those early villagers.

After seven years had passed, John Lambton returned from the crusades a powerful and seasoned knight. When he heard of the plight of his village he devised plan to kill the beast. He went to the wise woman who lived in Brugeford to gain her advice. She told him that the plight of the village was his fault and that it was his duty to remedy the situation. " You and you alone can kill the worm, go to the blacksmith, and have a suit of armour wrought with razor sharp spear heads studded throughout its surface. Then go to the worm's rock and await its arrival. But mark my words well, if you slay the beast you must put to death the first thing that crosses your path as you pass the threshold of Lambton Hall. If you do not do this then three times three generations of Lambtons will not die in their beds."

John listened to the advice and swore an oath to complete it. He then went to the local blacksmith and had him forge a suit of armour embedded in double-edged spikes, and spent the night in the local chapel.

During the next day John Lambton, clad in the specially made armour engaged in battle with the dragon in midstream. Every time the dragon tried to embrace him it cut itself to ribbons on the spikes, so that pieces of its flesh were sliced off and floated down the river on a crimson tide. Eventually the worm grew so weak that he could despatch it with one heavy sword blow to its head.

He then let out three blasts on his bugle to tell of his victory, and as a signal for the servants to release his favourite hound from the house to complete his vow. Unfortunately the servants forgot in the commotion and joy, and as John passed over the threshold of the hall his father rushed out to greet him. Dismayed John blew another blast on his horn and the servants released the hound, which John killed with one sweeping blow from his sword. But it was too late, the vow was broken and for generations after none of the Lambtons died in their beds. It is said that the last one died while crossing over Brugeford Bridge over a hundred and forty years ago.

[franek80]

Leslie;
That's cool, This forum gets better all the time

[bescheid]

Leslie

That was a wonderful story of the Legend! I certainly did enjoy reading thorugh it.

You country has so much interesting history through out the ages, I was hoping you would present some of the legends.

Charles

[Jaga]

Leslie,

how nice to update us with English legends! WE need more!

[kaima]

admin said:

Leslie,

how nice to update us with English legends! WE need more!

Here is one in graphical form, one that warns Maidens to be careful when seeking Prince Charming!

[leslie]

OK - one or two people seem to like English legends. Here's another one from the North-East of England.

"" The Witch of Seaton Delaval
One night, long ago, a young man was making his way home along a cart-track that led to Wallsend . The wind was high and he had his cloak wrapped tightly about his shoulders to keep out the bite of the fresh spring air. As he passed a church to his right, he noticed there was a light inside, but he was not overly concerned as people often lit candles at the Lady alter which gave off a dim light such as he had seen. He continued on his way without a second thought. A way farther down the track, however, he met two men cushing cattle from the fields.
"Why are you moving the cows so late in the evening?" he asked.
"Why, it's the last day of April," said one of the men with surprise. "If we leave them out in the open tonight they'll be cursed by witches for certain!" Then the traveller remembered that on the last day of April wicked witches gathered and cast spells upon the people and their animals. He had seen the damage that these witches could cause, he had seen the animals struck with disease and the crops fail in the fields for no apparent reason. And just then he remembered the light he's seen in the church and it occurred to him that it might be the black witches meeting before working their mischief.
At once he turned about and ran toward the church where the eerie glow still burned within. He climbed up to a window and peered into the shadowy interior. There, in a circle, around the flickering glow of a black candle, was a coven of black-robed witches. As he stared in disbelief, he could hear the incessant chanting and the voice of a central figure who was standing over a boiling pot. One by one she dropped things into the cauldron and sang:

"This is to cloud their joy and mirth
This is to kill the lambs at birth
This is to spoil the food in shops
And this is to burn and rot their crops!"

This was all too much for the young man, he was by this time very angry and he thought to himself, "Not if I can prevent it!" and saying this he burst through the church door and grabbed the witch next to the cauldron. She kicked and bit him fearfully but he did not release her. The other witches fled in panic, but he did not bother to chase them, satisfied that he had caught the ringleader. Despite the noise and pain she inflicted, he managed to haul her off to the prison where she remained until the day the trial arrived.
By this time, news had spread far and wide, and people came from all around to bear witness against the witch. The people were insistent that it was she who had been responsible for every ill occurrence of the past year. Not surprisingly, she was found guilty and sentenced to be burned at the stake. As the old witch was led away to the burning post, however, and the faggots were piled up around her, the people began to soften, for although she had done them such wrong in the past they felt sorry for her. Someone said:
"Why not grant her a last request?" and others in the crowd agreed it was a good idea. So one of the officials approached the witch and asked if there was anything they might do for her before the sentence was carried out. The old hag looked at him with an evil glint in her eye and said in a soft voice:
"Why, that's very kind of you. I know I have done the good people of Seaton Delaval a great wrong, but I repent with all my heart. All I ask is that you bring me two little wooden plates and set them beneath my feet. Mark you," she added, "They must be brand new and never used before!"
"Why, I have brand new dishes," said one woman in the crowd. "I'll go and get them right away." And she ran off to her house to get them. She reappeared ten minutes later with the two plates. The official set them under the witch's feet and, almost at once, a strange whirring sound filled the air. To everyone's astonishment, the witch flew up into the sky with the wooden plates supporting her. As she passed overhead she cursed the villagers and vowed she would make them pay dearly for trying to burn her. The people were frightened and began to run around in panic. But the woman who had brought the plates cried aloud:
"Do not fear! I had suspected some trickery and I only gave her one new plate. The other has been used a thousand times! Look ..." and as she spoke the used plate fell away from the witch's foot and she came tumbling out of the sky. Many looked away as she hit the ground, but just as many saw the witch of Seaton Delaval get her just reward. ""

Enjoy
Leslie

[bescheid]

Haaaa, Leslie

That was good! The village woman that brought the wooden plates was very sharp indeed!

Charles

[leslie]

And yet another from the North-East of England

"The Cauld (Cold) Lad of Hylton
Long ago, at Hylton Hall, near Sunderland, there lived a mischievous brownie whom the servants called the 'Cauld Lad', because he wore no clothes and Hylton Hall was a cold kind of place in those days. This little fellow had a habit of turning the day's work upside down after everyone had gone to bed. The chairs and tables would be thrown on their backs and sides, and the dishes would be taken from the cupboards and strewn about the kitchen along with most of the cutlery. Food would be taken from the pantry and liberally spread around the place. (Especially the flour, for the Cauld Lad liked nothing better than to see clouds of this white powder cascading through the air.) If the ashes from the fire-place were still warm, he liked to rake them out, spread them over the hearth mat and lie on them.
But sometimes, just when the scullery maids could stand no more of the brownie's pranks, they would come into the kitchen and find the place spic and span, even things that they had left unfinished were tidied up and put in their proper places! So contrary was this faerie that they never knew what to expect next.
One night, near Christmas, the cook and her husband were returning from an evening out, and it was very late, so they entered the hall very quietly so as not to disturb those already asleep. As they crept past the darkened kitchen, they noticed a strange light coming from under the door, and, as they went to check what it was, they heard a small voice, singing:

Wae's me, wae's me, (Woe is me)
The acorn's not yet
Fallen from the tree,
That's to grow the wood,
That's to make the cradle
That's to rock the bairn, (baby)
That's to grow to the man
that's to lay me!

The cook pushed the door until it was slightly ajar, and peered into the kitchen. There, sitting on the edge of the table, and swinging his legs over the side, sat the brownie. He looked a forlorn little thing, wearing such a frown as might suit a child who is tired and refuses to walk any farther. He was about as high as a milking stool, and his skin was brown as you might expect, but it was covered in fine hair, so that he had the warm looks of a rabbit, though he was far too thin to be mistaken for one! His eyes were big as horse-chestnuts and their colour almost the same, and the cook and her husband smiled with delight when they saw his pointed little ears!
But at that moment he heard a tiny noise from them, and he was gone in a flash.
"Where did he go?" asked the astonished cook. Her husband did not know, but they suspected that they had scared the little fellow off, and that he would not return that night, so they took themselves off to bed.
The next day the downstairs parlour was full of talk of the Cauld Lad, for this was the first time that any of the servants had actually seen the brownie. The cook told everybody said what a cute little chap he was, and those who had not seen him were very disappointed indeed. Then the gardener suddenly said :
"You know, when I was a boy my father told me that brownie was under a spell." The others immediately wanted to know more and the gardener went on to tell them that the Cauld Lad had been always been mischievous and had once angered the Faerie king who placed the brownie under a spell which made him stay at Hylton Hall, and though he would much rather be with his own kind, in a place of which men know nothing, he must stay until such a time as someone released him from the spell. That, he told them, was the reason that he caused such a mess about the place, in the hopes that someone would banish him forever.
"Just how would we go about this spell-breaking?" asked cook, who had become most distressed at hearing the story.
"If I remember right," the gardener replied, "He has to be offered a gift of something which is not perishable, and if he accepts it, we'll see him no more."

This made the cook sad to think he would be gone forever, but she decided that it was the best thing to do for the brownie himself. So she set about making him a cloak and a hood, which he would be proud to show off once he reached the land of his own people. All that evening, she toiled away sewing and cutting and stitching until at last she had the finest hooded cloak that it was possible to create. It was of the smoothest silk, and lined with shimmering satin. Her husband told her that it was a wonderful gift that she had made for the Cauld Lad.

Late that night, they laid the cloak upon the kitchen table, and then hid themselves in a root-cellar at the far end of the room, where they could watch without being seen. Quietly they waited, as the hall clock ticked away the minutes, and chimed away the hours. At last, the dim light that they had seen before now glowed near the table, and as they strained their eyes to see, they could make out the shape of the Cauld Lad as he went immediately to the place where the cloak lay. He looked at it with the suspicion at first, then, on picking it up and holding it out, he saw that it was his size and must be meant as a present. His eyes lit up and an enormous smile stretched over his face from ear to ear! The cook and her husband were smiling too, but this time they were sure to make no noise in case they were to frighten the brownie away again. Carefully, the little faerie pulled the cloak across his shoulders and tied the draw cord around the neck. How splendid he did look! He skipped around the table-top and sang with delight:

"Here's a cloak, and here's a hood,
The Cauld Lad of Hylton will do no more good!"

And with that, he jumped in the air, snapped his fingers and disappeared ... and has never been seen or heard from that day to this!


Ohhhhhh!

Leslie

[leslie]

Just a short one today from the legends of the North-East of England.


The Brawn of Brancepeth

Some people say the village of Brancepeth was named after the great wild boar that lived in the nearby woods many years ago, `Brawn's path,' though some say it simply means `the path to Brandon,' which is a neighbouring village. No matter which is true, there was indeed a great brawn in the area once, and this is the true story of how it met its end.


The men of Brancepeth had tried all the conventional methods of ridding themselves of the boar, but their arrows barely scratched its skin and the only man who had been brave enough to attack it with a sword had been so badly mauled that no one else was prepared to attempt a similar effort. It was a wily creature, travelling at great speed through the forests and long grass on its way to and from different feeding grounds. Often it would stop and raise its snout to test the air, and if it caught the scent of hunters it would turn quietly about and hurry off in the opposite direction. Like all wild animals, the boar preferred to run away rather than risk confrontation, but if it was caught unawares, he was strong and ferocious enough to elude capture by even the most experienced of woodsmen.

At that time, there lived a man named Roger de Ferry, and he lived at Ferryhill. He decided to make a name for himself by ridding the countryside of the fearsome wild boar. He tried all the methods that others before him had tried, and of course he failed. He thought that if perhaps he were on horseback he could outrun the boar and lance it from above. So he saddled his horse and galloped off into the woods to seek the brawn. After many hours he finally came across it feeding in a copse near the village of Tudhoe, and smiling a broad smile he dug his heels into the horse and lowered his lance. The boar, still some fifty paces distant, looked up at the oncoming charger and, baring its great yellow teeth, let out a spine-chilling squeal. Roger's horse, unfortunately, was not so brave as he, and the sight of the startled boar made it rear up, sending the unfortunate horseman hurtling into the bushes where he landed heavily in a crumpled heap. Both brawn and horse took to their heels. For some days after this hunt, Roger stayed around his house and rubbed his sore bones.

When at last he was ready to try again, he climbed to the top of a hill and looked towards Brandon. Not having any sort of idea, he sat there most of the day just thinking, and he returned the next, and the one after that. It was on the third day of watching the comings and goings of the brawn that he noticed something peculiar, something which he thought might help him in his quest. After the boar stopped in the woods, either to eat or rummage around, it would speed off to the next feeding ground using the same path each time. This habit that the wild boar had formed was to be its downfall, and then and there Roger began make his plan to kill the great brawn.

Roger had noticed that it was always late afternoon by the time the boar reached the woods near Ferryhill, and from there it carried on its way down a path to Mainsforth where there were lots of acorns to be had. This was the place Roger planned to make his move. Early one morning, he set out along this path and dug a pit deep and wide for the boar to fall into. Hard and long he laboured, through the midday sun an early afternoon, until at last he was satisfied with the dimensions of the huge pit in the ground. Still he could not rest, for he had to cover the pit with branches and dry grass and he had to hide all the soil he had removed from the hole. All this accomplished, he sat atop a nearby rock and awaited the arrival of the brawn.

After a while, he saw the boar trotting speedily along the track, unaware and unconcerned, tail erect and eyes looking straight forward. To Roger's delight, it plunged headlong straight into the hole and could not climb the walls to escape. Roger climbed down from the rock and plunged his lanced again and again into the brawn, until it lay quite dead. He had done what all the others had failed to do and the locals were so grateful to be rid of the viscous wild boar that they erected a cross beside the place where he dug the pit. The stone cross has long since vanished, but there is still a tablet built into a wall at Cleve's Cross farm near Ferryhill. It is inscribed:

THE LARGE STONE JUST ABOVE PART OF CLEVE'S CROSS
MARKS THE SITE WHERE BY TRADITION THE BRAWN OF
BRANSPETH WAS KILLED BY ROGER DE FERRY ABOUT THE
YEAR 1200,

Enjoy

Leslie

[bescheid]

Leslie

well,,now once again, you have out done your self with another excellent tale of delight! That was indeed a wonderious story to behold!

Thank You!

Charles

[leslie]

Charles
Thank you for your kind words and support. I only hope I'm not boring too many of the forum members - after all it is a Polish Culture forum!
Leslie

[leslie]

The penultimate story of some of the Northern legends. The last one will be from Yorkshire.

The Stanhope Faeries
Faerie folk come in a great variety of shapes and sizes, from smallest of wood elves to the tallest of giants. The word `faerie' simply means magical or strange, and so all manner of creatures -- both bad and good -- came to be known by that name. One such group, known chiefly for their wickedness, lived near Stanhope in Weardale.
One spring morning, a little girl from the village was gathering up a posy of pretty flowers to take home to her mother and father. As she walked alongside the river, she fancied she could hear the sound of voices coming from an opening in the ground where the soil had subsided and left what looked like a small cave. Now, anyone who knew better would have turned around and gone on their way, for it is unwise to pry into the doings of faerie folk, but this little girl had no knowledge of such things and so she bent down to look. There inside the bank she saw a host of the hill people feasting and making merry around a small fire. Their laughter was beautiful and she could hardly wait to tell her parents what she had seen when the little people finished their dancing and disappeared into the ground.
As fast as her legs could carry her, she ran home and burst into the house with the news. But even as she spoke, her parents looked at each other in dismay, for they knew that the faeries would return that night and carry off the child to live with them. It was forbidden for any mortal to spy upon them, and their jealousy always resulted in the abduction of the offender. The parents did not tell this to the little girl, but she sensed that she had done something wrong by the silence in the room.
Quickly and quietly the father put on his jacket and cap and left the house by the back door. The mother began to prepare the supper in silence and the child played with her doll, not knowing the danger she was in. The father had gone to see an old woman who lived between Stanhope and Frosterley, for she was said to be wise in the ways of the little people. When she heard what the man had to say, an anxious look came upon her old face and she told him:
"This is a bad thing indeed, and you must be aware of the consequences or you would not be here to see me. Fortunately, there is one way for you to save your daughter."
The man looked greatly relieved at this and begged the old woman to tell him what he ought to do. She looked at him and said:
"This may sound a simple task, but do not treat it lightly, for if you do not do exactly as I say your child will be claimed by the faeries and lost to you forever."
She told him that the faeries must take the girl at the first attempt or else they could not have her at all. The only way they could be prevented from succeeding was if a perfect silence was maintained. There was to be no noise whatsoever in the child's room. The man offered to pay the old woman for her advice, but she would accept nothing. So he went home in a slightly happier mood and told his wife all he had heard.
"That does not seem so difficult a thing," said his wife, and her heart too felt a little less burdened. The man made sure that all the windows and their shutters were tight so that the wind could not rattle them, then he oiled the hinges on all the doors. He nailed down every loose floorboard and dampened the fire so that it would not crackle. All the clocks in the house were removed and, lastly, the man and his wife sat downstairs so that they would not even accidentally make a noise. The wife did not much care for this idea, but eventually she agreed that it would be for the best.
So the house was in complete silence when the faerie host arrived, and as they realized that the father had discovered how to thwart their plan they became very angry and were about to leave. But alas! Just as they were going the little dog that slept in the back yard sensed their presence and began to bark furiously. The man, realizing that he had forgotten about the dog, looked over at his wife, and she looked back, horrified. The two ran upstairs but, too late! To their dismay and despair the bed was empty and their little girl had disappeared forever.