Read Online Folklore of Lincolnshire by Susanna O'Neill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susanna O'Neill
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share too. Just before harvest time the farmer crept out one night and laid some iron wires amongst the stalks in the boggart’s half, then when the day came the boggart’s blade was blunted in the first few strokes and the farmer ended up with more than his share of the crop. Luckily for the farmer, the boggart knew when he had met his match and left the area, never to be seen again.
Ethel Rudkin tells the story of another boggart who was often seen around Wildsworth, at Woofer Lane. The story goes that there was a party of poachers, around 1862, who were fishing along the Trent when they were frightened by the shrieking of otherworldly, mocking laughter. The men ran away, leaving their nets behind, all except one who was determined not to lose his equipment. That was until there was another blood-curdling shriek directly above him and then he was off with the others, net-less! The Woofer Boggard was a creature with a reputation and all the men had heard stories of it before but none had ever seen or heard it prior to that incident. Needless to say, none of them ever went back to poach there again.
The Lincolnshire Life magazine relates a sad tale situated around Monks Abbey in an area known as The Willows. A long time ago there was a beautiful lady who lived close to the banks of the swift-flowing River Witham. There was a legend that the river was magical, but it also had fast currents and deep pools within it. The lady was being wooed by a handsome knight with whom she was in love. He would ride out to meet her everyday and they would sit together on the banks of the river, below the weeping willows.
There was a small island out in a deeper pool of the river and there grew some of the prettiest flowers the lady had ever seen. They were the loveliest blue, like the summer sky, and so delicate that she longed to hold a bunch in her hands and smell their petals.
One spring day, when the birds were singing and the sun was shining down on the flowers, they shone even more brightly than before, the blue dazzling the beautiful lady, until she begged her sweetheart to fetch some for her. The noble knightloved his lady dearly and dutifully waded into the water to pick her the flowers. However, there was much deep, soft mud on the river bottom and his armour was very heavy in the water. He carried on regardless and made it to the island where he picked her the finest bunch of the blue flowers he could find. Then, holding them high above the water, he began to make his way back to her. He found the way back much harder, his feet, ankles and knees swallowed up in the mud. The current was tearing at his tiring legs and his armour was now so heavy that each step seemed like a thousand. He struggled to get back to her but was sinking rapidly and he realised he would not make it. Holding his head high and the flowers even higher, he called out to her, ‘Forget me not, forget me not, forget me not!’ 16 Then he was gone, sinking beneath the water, and the last thing she saw was her posy of blue flowers disappearing along with her lover. It is said that even now, on certain spring days, you can hear the sound of a lady crying and her brave knight calling to her.
Christopher Marlow tells of the story of a Louth girl, Fanny, known as Fan o’ the Fens. 17 She was apparently renowned for her beauty and she lived in a cottage with her old widowed mother, near the moor. Her mother had been complaining of being harassed by a magpie that supposedly followed her everywhere, all through the day, repeating every word she said and generally tormenting her. Eventually, she was so perturbed that she asked the Wiseman of Louth to help her. He believed someone had placed a spell on her and called a meeting in her house, in front of the neighbours. He made everyone sit round in a circle and then said that the guilty person would be shown to them when the sleeping cat by the fire awoke and went to sit on their shoulder. Everyone watched with bated
Ethel Rudkin tells the story of another boggart who was often seen around Wildsworth, at Woofer Lane. The story goes that there was a party of poachers, around 1862, who were fishing along the Trent when they were frightened by the shrieking of otherworldly, mocking laughter. The men ran away, leaving their nets behind, all except one who was determined not to lose his equipment. That was until there was another blood-curdling shriek directly above him and then he was off with the others, net-less! The Woofer Boggard was a creature with a reputation and all the men had heard stories of it before but none had ever seen or heard it prior to that incident. Needless to say, none of them ever went back to poach there again.
The Lincolnshire Life magazine relates a sad tale situated around Monks Abbey in an area known as The Willows. A long time ago there was a beautiful lady who lived close to the banks of the swift-flowing River Witham. There was a legend that the river was magical, but it also had fast currents and deep pools within it. The lady was being wooed by a handsome knight with whom she was in love. He would ride out to meet her everyday and they would sit together on the banks of the river, below the weeping willows.
There was a small island out in a deeper pool of the river and there grew some of the prettiest flowers the lady had ever seen. They were the loveliest blue, like the summer sky, and so delicate that she longed to hold a bunch in her hands and smell their petals.
One spring day, when the birds were singing and the sun was shining down on the flowers, they shone even more brightly than before, the blue dazzling the beautiful lady, until she begged her sweetheart to fetch some for her. The noble knightloved his lady dearly and dutifully waded into the water to pick her the flowers. However, there was much deep, soft mud on the river bottom and his armour was very heavy in the water. He carried on regardless and made it to the island where he picked her the finest bunch of the blue flowers he could find. Then, holding them high above the water, he began to make his way back to her. He found the way back much harder, his feet, ankles and knees swallowed up in the mud. The current was tearing at his tiring legs and his armour was now so heavy that each step seemed like a thousand. He struggled to get back to her but was sinking rapidly and he realised he would not make it. Holding his head high and the flowers even higher, he called out to her, ‘Forget me not, forget me not, forget me not!’ 16 Then he was gone, sinking beneath the water, and the last thing she saw was her posy of blue flowers disappearing along with her lover. It is said that even now, on certain spring days, you can hear the sound of a lady crying and her brave knight calling to her.
Christopher Marlow tells of the story of a Louth girl, Fanny, known as Fan o’ the Fens. 17 She was apparently renowned for her beauty and she lived in a cottage with her old widowed mother, near the moor. Her mother had been complaining of being harassed by a magpie that supposedly followed her everywhere, all through the day, repeating every word she said and generally tormenting her. Eventually, she was so perturbed that she asked the Wiseman of Louth to help her. He believed someone had placed a spell on her and called a meeting in her house, in front of the neighbours. He made everyone sit round in a circle and then said that the guilty person would be shown to them when the sleeping cat by the fire awoke and went to sit on their shoulder. Everyone watched with bated
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