The fairies of Cornwall may be divided into four classes, the Small
People, the Pixies (pronounced Piskies or or Pisgies), the Spriggans,
and the Knockers. The first are harmless elfish little beings known
all over England, whose revels on fine summer nights have often been
described by those favoured individuals who have accidentally had
the privilege of seeing them. As a rule they, however, wish to think
themselves invisible, and in this county it is considered unlucky to
call them by the name of fairies. The stories told about them by our
old folk differed but slightly from those related elsewhere. There
was the well-known cow that gave the finest yield of milk, and
retained it all the year round when others of the herd ran dry, but
always ceased the flow at a certain time, and if efforts were made to
draw more from her, kicked over the the milking-pail. The milkmaid
discovered that the cow belonged to the small people, by reason of
her wearing in her hat a bunch of flowers having in it a four-leaved
clover, which rendered them visible, when she saw them climbing up
the cow's legs and sucking at her teats. The greedy mistress, when
the maid told her of this discovery, contrary to advice, washed the
poor animal all over with salt water, which fairies particularly
dislike (as well as the smell of fish and grease), in order to
drive them away. Of course she succeeded in her object, and by so
doing brought nothing but ill-luck for ever after on herself and
family. When unmolested, fairies bring good fortune to places they
frequent; but they are spiteful if interfered with, and delight in
vexing and thwarting people who meddle with them. It is well known
"that they can't abear those whom they can't abide." Then there were
the tales of persons spirited away to fairyland, to wait upon the
small people's children and perform various little domestic offices,
where the time has passed so pleasantly that they have forgotten all
about their homes and relations, until by doing a forbidden thing they
have incurred their master's anger. They were then punished by being
thrown into a deep sleep, and on awakening found themselves on some
moor close to their native villages. These unhappy creatures never,
after their return, settled down to work, but roamed about aimlessly
doing nothing, hoping and longing one day to be allowed to go back
to the place from whence they had been banished. They had first put
themselves into the fairies' power by eating or drinking something
on the sly, when they had surprised them at one of their moonlight
frolics; or by accepting a gift of fruit from the hands of one of
these little beings. There are also two or three legends of curious
women, who by underhand dealings have got hold of a mysterious box of
green ointment belonging to the fairies, which, rubbed on the eyes,
gave them the power of seeing them by daylight, when they look old,
withered, and grey, and hate to be spied upon by mortals. These women
are always interrupted when they have put the ointment on one eye
before they have time to anoint both, and by an inadvertent speech
they invariably betray their ill-gotten knowledge. They cannot resist
making an exclamation when they see a fairy pilfering or up to some
mischievous trick. Neither can they keep the secret of the side on
which they see, and they are quickly made to pay the penalty of their
misdeeds by a well-directed blow from the elf's fist, which deprives
them of the sight of that eye for ever. All these old wives' tales
are fully related by Mr. Bottrell in his three series of Traditions,
&c., of West Cornwall.
Fairies haunt the ancient monuments of this county, and are supposed
to be the beings who bring ill-luck on the destroyers of them. "Not
long ago a woman of Moushal (a village near Penzance) told me that
troops of small people, not more than a foot-and-a-half high, used,
on moonlight nights, to come out of a hole in the cliff, opening on
to the beach, Newlyn side of the village, and but a short distance
from it. The little people were always dressed very smart, and if
anyone came near them would scamper away into the hole. Mothers often
told their children that if they went under cliffs by night the small
people would carry them away into 'Dicky Danjy's hole.'"--Bottrell.
These small people are said to have been half-witted people who had
committed no mortal sin, but who, when they died, were not good
enough to go to Heaven. They are always thought, in some state,
to have lived before.
The small people go about in parties, but pisky in his habits, at
least in West Cornwall, is a solitary little being. I gather however,
from Mr. T. Q. Couch's History of Polperro that in the eastern part
of the county the name of Pisky is applied indiscriminately to both
tribes. He says two only of them are known by name, and quotes the
following rhyme:
"Jack o' the lantern! Joan the wad,
Who tickled the maid and made her mad;
Light me home, the weather's bad."
Here in the west he is a ragged merry little fellow (to laugh like
a pisky is a common Cornish simile), interesting himself in human
affairs, threshing the farmer's corn at nights, or doing other
work, and pinching the maidservants when they leave a house dirty at
bed-time. Margery Daw, in our version of the nursery-song, meets with
punishment at his hands for her misdoings--
"See saw, Margery Daw,
Sold her bed and lay upon straw;
Sold her bed and lay upon hay,
And pisky came and carried her away.
For wasn't she a dirty slut
To sell her bed and lie in the dirt?"
Should the happy possessor of one of these industrious, unpaid fairy
servants (who never object to taking food left for them by friends)
express his thanks aloud, thus showing that he sees him, or try to
reward him for his services by giving him a new suit of clothes,
he leaves the house never to return, and in the latter case may be
heard to say:
"Pisky fine, pisky gay!
Pisky now will fly away."
Or in another version:
"Pisky new coat, and pisky new hood,
Pisky now will do no more good."--(T.Q.C.)
Mr. Cornish, the Town Clerk of Penzance, mentioned at an antiquarian
meeting recently held in that town, "that there was a brownie still
existing in it; that a gentleman, whose opinion he would take on many
matters, had told him that he had often seen it sitting quietly by
the fireside." When mischievously inclined pisky often leads benighted
people a sad dance; like Will of the Wisp, he takes them over hedges
and ditches, and sometimes round and round the same field, from which
they in vain try to find their way home (although they can always see
the path close at hand), until they sit down and turn their stockings
the wrong side out, as an old lady, born in the last century, whom I
well knew, once told me she had done. To turn a pocket inside out has
the same effect. But to quote the words of a late witty Cornish doctor,
"Pisky led is often whiskey led."
Mr. T. Q. Couch in his before-mentioned book has two or three amusing
stories of their merry pranks. One is called "A Voyage with the
Piskies." A Polperro lad meeting them one night as he was going
on an errand heard them say in chorus, "I'm for Portallow Green"
(a place in the neighbourhood). Repeating the cry after them,
"quick as thought he found himself there surrounded by a throng
of laughing piskies." The next place they visited was Seaton Beach,
between Polperro and Plymouth; the third and last cry was "I'm for the
King of France's cellar." Again he decided on joining them, dropped the
bundle he was carrying on the sands, and "immediately found himself in
a spacious cellar, engaged with his mysterious companions in tasting
the richest wines." Afterwards they strolled through the palace, where
in a room he saw all the preparations made for a feast, and could not
resist the temptation of pocketing one of the rich silver goblets from
the table. The signal for their return was soon given, and once more
he found himself on Seaton Beach, where he had just time to pick up
his bundle before he was whisked home. All these voyages were made
in the short space of five minutes. When on his return he told his
adventures they were listened to with incredulity until he produced the
goblet, which proved the truth of his tale. After having been kept for
generations this trophy has disappeared. "These little creatures seem
sometimes," Mr. Couch says, "to have delighted in mischief for its own
sake. Old Robin Hicks, who formerly lived in a house at 'Quay Head'
(Polperro), has more than once, on stormy winter nights, been alarmed
at his supper by a voice sharp and shrill--'Robin! Robin! your boat
is adrift.' Loud was the laughter and the tacking of hands (clapping)
when they succeeded in luring Robin as far as the quay, where the
boat was lying safely at its moorings."
Another of his legends is about a fisherman of his district, John
Taprail, long since dead, who was, on a frosty night, aroused
from his sleep by a voice which called to him that his boat was
in danger. He went down to the beach to find that some person had
played a practical joke on him. As he was returning he saw a group
of piskies sitting in a semicircle under a much larger boat belonging
to one of his neighbours. They were dividing a heap of money between
them by throwing a piece of gold alternately into each of the hats
which lay before them. John was covetous, and forgot that piskies
hate to be spied upon; so he crept up and pushed his hat slily in
with the others. When the pile was getting low he tried to get off
with his booty without their detecting the fraud. He had got some
distance before the cheat was discovered; then they pursued him in
such hot haste that he only escaped with his treasure by leaving his
coat-tails in their hands. "The pisky's midwife" is common,--a mortal
who has been decoyed into fairyland discovers it by accidentally
rubbing her eye with a bit of soap whilst washing the baby. Like
those who have stolen and applied the green ointment, she loses
the sight of it by a blow from an angry pisky's fist. She meets and
recognizes the father at a fair where, as usual, he is pilfering,
and foolishly asks after the welfare of mother and child. But all
these stories in West Cornwall would be told of the "small people,"
as well as the well-known "Colman Grey" (of course the name varies),
which relates how a farmer one day found a poor, half-starved looking
bantling, sitting alone in the middle of a field, whom he took home
and fed until he grew quite strong and lively. A short time after a
shrill voice was suddenly heard calling thrice upon "Colman Grey." Upon
which the imp cried "Ho! ho! ho! my daddy is come!" flew through the
keyhole, and was never heard of after. Unbaptised children were, in
this county at the beginning of the century, said to turn, when they
died, into piskies; they gradually went through many transformations
at each change, getting smaller until at last they became "Meryons"
[16] (ants) and finally disappeared. Another tradition is that they
were Druids, who, because they would not believe in Christ, were for
their sins condemned to change first into piskies; gradually getting
smaller, they too, as ants, at last are lost. It is on account of
these legends considered unlucky to destroy an ant's nest, and a
piece of tin put into one could, in bygone days, through pisky power
be transmuted into silver, provided that it was inserted at some
varying lucky moment about the time of the new moon.
Moths were formerly believed in Cornwall to be departed souls, and
are still, in some districts, called piskies.
There is also a green bug which infests bramble-bushes in the late
autumn that bears the same name, and one of the reasons assigned for
blackberries not being good after Michaelmas is that pisky spoils them
then. Pisky is in some places invoked for luck at the swarming of bees.
It was once a common custom in East Cornwall, when houses were built,
to leave holes in the walls by which these little beings could enter;
to stop them up would drive away good luck. And in West Cornwall
knobs of lead, known as pisky's paws or pisky feet, were placed at
intervals on the roofs of farm-houses to prevent the piskies from
dancing on them and turning the milk sour in the dairies.
Country people in East Cornwall sometimes put a prayer book under a
child's pillow as a charm to keep away piskies. I am told that a poor
woman, near Launceston, was fully persuaded that one of her children
was taken away and a pisky substituted, the disaster being caused
by the absence of a prayer book on one particular night.--H. G. T.,
Notes and Queries, December, 1850.
Small round stones, known as "Pisky Grinding Stones," are occasionally
found in Cornwall; they are most probably parts of old spindles.
If piskies are kind and helpful little beings, spriggans or sprites
are spiteful creatures, never doing a good turn for anyone. It is
they who carry off poor babies from their mothers, when they have
been obliged to leave them for a few hours alone, putting their own
ugly, peevish brats in their cradles, who never thrive under the
foster-mother's care, in spite of all the trouble they may bestow
upon them. Mr. Bottrell tells the story of a spriggan, a married
man with a family, who took the place of a poor woman's child one
evening when she was at work in the harvest field. For although an
innocent baby held in the arms is thought in Cornwall to protect
the holder from mischief caused by ghosts and witches, it has no
power over these creatures, who are not supposed to have souls. The
scene of this legend was under Chapel Carn Brea, on the old road from
Penzance to St. Just in Penwith. The mother, Jenny Trayer by name,
was first alarmed on her return one night from her work in the harvest
field by not finding her child in its cradle, but in a corner of the
kitchen where in olden days the wood and furze for the then general
open fires were kept. She was however too tired to take much notice,
and went to bed, and slept soundly until the morning. From that time
forth she had no peace; the child was never satisfied but when eating
or drinking, or when she had it dandling in her arms. The poor woman
consulted her neighbours in turn as to what she should do with the
changeling (as one and all agreed that it was). One recommended her
to dip it on the three first Wednesdays in May in Chapel Uny Well,
[17] which advice was twice faithfully carried out in the prescribed
manner. The third Wednesday was very wet and windy, but Jenny
determined to persevere in this treatment of her ugly bantling,
and holding the brat (who seemed to enjoy the storm) firmly on her
shoulders, she trudged off. When they got about half-way, a shrill
voice from behind some rocks was heard to say,
"Tredrill! Tredrill!
Thy wife and children greet thee well."
Not seeing anyone, the woman was of course alarmed, and her fright
increased when the imp made answer in a similar voice,
"What care I for wife or child,
When I ride on Dowdy's back to the Chapel Well,
And have got pap my fill?"
After this adventure, she took the advice of another neighbour, who
told her the best way to get rid of the spriggan and have her own
child returned was "to put the small body upon the ashes' pile, and
beat it well with a broom; then lay it naked under a church stile;
there leave it and keep out of sight and hearing till the turn of
night; when nine times out of ten the thing will be taken away and
the stolen child returned." This was finally done; all the women of
the village after it had been put upon a convenient pile "belabouring
it with their brooms," upon which it naturally set up a frightful
roar. After dark it was laid under the stile, and there next morning
the woman "found her own 'dear cheeld' sleeping on some dry straw,"
most beautifully clean and wrapped in a piece of chintz. "Jenny nursed
her recovered child with great care, but there was always something
queer about it, as there always is about one that has been in the
fairies' power--if only for a few days."
There are many other tales of changelings, but they resemble each other
so much that they are not worth relating. In the one before quoted from
Mr. Bottrell he gives a third charm for getting a child restored, as
follows: "Make by night a smoky fire, with green ferns and dry. When
the chimney and house are full of smoke as one can bear, throw the
changeling on the hearthstone; go out of the house, turn three times
round; when one enters, the right child will be restored." Spriggans,
too, guard the vast treasures that are supposed to be buried beneath
our immense carns and in our cliff castles. No matter if the work
be carried on by night or by day, they are sure to punish the rash
person who ventures to dig in hopes of securing them. When he has
got some way down, he finds himself surrounded by hundreds of ugly
beings, in some cases almost as tall as he, who scare the unhappy
man until he loses all control over himself, throws down his tools,
and rushes off as fast as he can possibly go. The fright often makes
him so ill that he has to lie for days in bed. Should he ever summon
up courage to return to the spot, he will find the pit refilled,
and no traces to show that the ground had been disturbed.
Knockers (pronounced knackers) are mine fairies, popularly supposed to
be (as related elsewhere) the souls of the Jews who crucified Christ,
sent by the Romans to work as slaves in the tin mines. In proof of
this, they are said never to have been heard at work on Saturdays, nor
other Jewish festivals. They are compelled to sing carols at Christmas
time. Small pieces of smelted tin found in old smelting-works are
known as "Jews' bowels." These fairies haunt none but the richest tin
mines, and many are reputed to have been discovered by their singing
and knocking underground; and miners think when they hear them that
it is a sign of good luck, because when following their noises they
often chance on lodes of good ore. When a miner goes into an "old
level" and sees a bright light, it is a sure sign that he will find
tin there. Knockers like spriggans are very ugly beings, and, if you
do not treat them in a friendly spirit, very vindictive. "As stiff as
Barker's knee" is a common saying in Cornwall; he having in some way
angered the knockers, either by speaking of them disrespectfully or
by not leaving (as was formerly the custom) a bit of his dinner on the
ground for them (for good luck), they in revenge threw all their tools
in his lap, which lamed him for the rest of his life. Mr. Bottrell
tells a similar story of a man named Tom Trevorrow, who when he was
working underground heard the knockers just before him, and roughly
told them "to be quiet and go." Upon which, a shower of stones fell
suddenly around him, and gave him a dreadful fright. He seems however
to have quickly got over it, and soon after, when eating his dinner,
a number of squeaking voices sang,
"Tom Trevorrow! Tom Trevorrow!
Leave some of thy 'fuggan' [18] for bucca,
Or bad luck to thee to-morrow!"
But Tom took no notice and ate up every crumb, upon which the knockers
changed their song to
"Tommy Trevorrow! Tommy Trevorrow!
We'll send thee bad luck to-morrow;
Thou old curmudgeon, to eat all thy fuggan,
And not leave a 'didjan' [19] for bucca."
After this such persistent ill-luck followed him that he was obliged
to leave the mine.
Bucca is the name of a spirit that in Cornwall it was once thought
necessary to propitiate. Fishermen left a fish on the sands for bucca,
and in the harvest a piece of bread at lunch-time was thrown over the
left shoulder, and a few drops of beer spilled on the ground for him,
to ensure good luck. Bucca, or bucca-boo, was, until very lately
(and I expect in some places still is) the terror of children, who
were often when crying told "that if they did not stop he would come
and carry them off." It was also the name of a ghost; but now-a-days
to call a person a "great bucca" simply implies that you think him
a fool. There were two buccas--
"'Bucca Gwidden,' the white, or good spirit,
'Bucca Dhu,' the black, malevolent one."