Fairies in Rock Music - Sit Down by the Fire

Sit Down by the Fire can be found on Should I Fall From Grace With God by The Pogues, the LP was their biggest chart success (reaching #3 in th UK charts and #88 in the US) and spawned their most famous song (and - FACT! - best popular Christmas song of all time) - Fairytale of New York. Anyway, Sit Down by the Fire seems to be very well informed as to certain aspects of fairy folklore (and has a nice bit of rude bathos at the end).

Sit down by the fire
And I'll tell you a story
To send you away to your bed
Of the things you hear creeping
When everyone's sleeping
And you wish you were out here instead

It isn't the mice in the wall
It isn't the wind in the well
But each night they march
Out of that hole in the wall [1]
Passing through on their way
Out of hell [2]

They're the things that you see
When you wake up and scream
The cold things that follow you [3]
Down the Boreen [4]
They live in the small ring of trees on the hill [5]
Up at the top of the field

And they dance on the rain
And they dance on the wind
They tap on the window
When no-one is in
And if ever you see them

Pretend that you're dead
Or they'll bite off your head
They'll rip out your liver
And dance on your neck
They dance on your head
They dance on your chest
They give you the cramp
And the colic for jest [6]

They're the things that you see
When you wake up and scream
The cold things that follow you
Down the Boreen
They live in the small ring of trees on the hill
Up at the top of the field

They play on the wind
They sing on the rain
They dance on your eyes
They dance in your brain [7]

Remember this place
It is damp and it's cold
The best place on earth
But it's dark and it's old
So lie near the wall
And cover your head
Good night and God bless,
Now fuck off to bed

[1] The holes that can sometimes be found in planks of wood are occasionally referred to as elf-bores, reflecting the belief that a piece of wood from which the knot has dropped out was the operation of the fairies. It is sometimes said that to look through an elf-bore is to view fairy-land (and such voyeurism was not considered wise).

The elf-bore features in one famous folktale in particular, commonly known as The Boggart, in which one of the children teases the creature repeatedly by shoving a shoehorn through “a large knothole” in a closet wall “behind which the Boggart lived”. This action angered the Boggart so that one day he took the shoehorn and threw it so violently at the young man that it “hurt him badly” and (according to his father) “almost killed” him.

[2] Fairyland is often thought to be part of an underworld that also includes Hell and fairies sometimes seem to have a symbiotic relationship with Hell, or are indebted to it in some way. This indebtedness leads to the teind – a payment the fairies have to make every seven years to the devil. A variety of reasons are given for this, including theories that fairyland might be an area of hell that the Fairies had loaned off of the devil.

Another reason could be the common belief that fairies were fallen angels, Wikipedia has the following to say on the subject:

A third belief held that they were a class of "demoted" angels. One popular story held that when the angels revolted, God ordered the gates shut; those still in heaven remained angels, those in hell became devils, and those caught in between became fairies. Others held that they had been thrown out of heaven, not being good enough, but they were not evil enough for hell. This may explain the tradition that they had to pay a "teind" or tithe to Hell. As fallen angels, though not quite devils, they could be seen as subject of the Devil.

[3] Certain fairies are described as cold, especially those who have something in common with ghosts. The Cauld Lad of Hylton strikes me as a particularly notable example. In fact it is a gift of clothes that finally exorcises him. A summary of his story can be found on wikipedia.

[4] A boreen is an Irish term for a narrow, rough, unsurfaced road, or a small, narrow urban road.

[5] I’m not too familiar with any obvious links between rings of trees and fairies, though obvious links between mushroom rings and fairies exist, or stone circles and fairies.

Having said that, the few times I have visited ancient earthworks on hills they have been notable for having trees upon them, whilst often the surrounding land is rocky and barren. I suppose that when earth is moved onto an otherwise barren hill trees and bushes can take root there whereas the surrounding earth is too shallow for them. So perhaps this line might infer an old barrow or hill fort.

Quite besides that it seems fitting for a natural landmark, such as a spinney, to provide a home for the fairies.

[6] The infliction of various ailments was often blamed on fairies, and cramp and colic are particularly associated with them. Fairies are described as inflicting aches, pains and ailments on people by pinching or by flinging small sharp stones known as elf-shot.

[7] Hallucinogenic visions and mental illnesses are also associated with fairies. They seem to me to have long been blamed for the effects of eating the wrong variety of wild mushroom, or for things like dementia, alcoholism, post-natal depression, strokes and suchlike.

And - at the end of the day - Shane MacGowan is currently about as close as a human gets in terms of sound and appearance to some sort of Bogle or Hobyah, and he parties like a Cluricane. Huzzah for the Pogues!

Folklore Alive and Well - Black Shuck

Another attempt to provide a bit of evidence to show how certain folk tales (if not folk beliefs) are very much with us even in the twenty first century.

Black Shuck is East Anglia’s contribution to the Black Dog legends that come from all over the British Isles. In fact he is the most famous of the Black Dogs, though he has a lot in common with regional variations such as Padfoot, Skriker, Barguest, Shagfoal, Guytrash and others.

Black Dogs in England often fit the same pattern: large (often compared to a calf in size), black and shaggy fur, large and glowing eyes, portent of death (should you see one you or someone close to you will soon die).

Wikipedia gives the following information about Black Shuck:

For centuries, inhabitants of East Anglia have told tales of a large black hellhound with malevolent flaming eyes (or in some variants of the legend a single eye) that are red or alternatively green. They are described as being 'like saucers'. According to reports, the beast varies in size and stature from that of simply a large dog to being the size of a horse.

The legends of Black Shuck roaming the Anglian countryside date back to the time of the Vikings. His name may derive from the Anglo-Saxon word scucca meaning "demon", or possibly from the local dialect word shucky meaning "shaggy" or "hairy". The legend may have been part of the inspiration for the Sherlock Holmes novel The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Sometimes Black Shuck is referred to as the Doom Dog. It is said that his appearance bodes ill to the beholder, although not always. More often than not, stories tell of Black Shuck terrifying his victims, but leaving them alone to continue living normal lives.

One of the most notable reports of Black Shuck is of his appearance at the churches of Bungay and Blythburgh in Suffolk. On the August 4, 1577, at Blythburgh, Black Shuck is said to have burst in through the church doors. He ran up the nave, past a large congregation, killing a man and boy and causing the church tower to collapse through the roof. As the dog left, he left scorch marks on the north door which can be seen at the church to this day.

The encounter on the same day at Bungay was described in "A Straunge and Terrible Wunder" by the Reverend Abraham Fleming in 1577:

“This black dog, or the divel in such a linenesse (God hee knoweth al who worketh all,) runing all along down the body of the church with great swiftnesse, and incredible haste, among the people, in a visible fourm and shape, passed between two persons, as they were kneeling uppon their knees, and occupied in prayer as it seemed, wrung the necks of them bothe at one instant clene backward, in somuch that even at a mome[n]t where they kneeled, they stra[n]gely dyed.”

It does seem that, around East Anglia sightings of the dog are still regularly recorded, a lengthy list of them can be found on the Shuckland website (great site that gives a detailed analysis of Black Dog sightings and features a few myth-busting articles as well).

In recent years Black Shuck has provided the inspiration for a reasonably well known rock song and a book of poetry.

Black Shuck: The Ghost Dog of Eastern England by Martin Newell is a poem about the Black Dog, it follows Shuck on a journey through both time and space in an attempt to follow in the phantom dog's tracks through the half-forgotten villages and lanes of North Essex, Suffolk and Norfolk. The poem begins with the theory that the dog was brought (metaphorically speaking at least) over with the Vikings - the hound of Odin (a theory that the keepers of the Shuckland website are quick to be dismissive of, by the way, and they wouldn’t be impressed with Newell’s use of the word 'Snarleyow' either). The theme of Shuck as a death portent is heavily referenced in the poem, and one sequence were a warplane jettisons spare bombs over a village is particularly memorable.

Better known, of course, is the song by the Darkness (who were a British hard rock band active a few years ago that took their light-heartedness seriously, or their seriousness with a light-heart, it was hard to tell). Their song Black Shuck was a decent enough blend of pyrotechnical lyrical ability, and largely concerned the Blythburgh church incident.



In a town in the east
The parishioners were visited upon
By a curious beast
And his eyes numbered but one and shone like the sun
And a glance beckoned the immediate loss
Of a cherished one
It was the coming of the
(Black Shuck) Black Shuck
(Black Shuck) That dog don't give a fuck

Flames licked round the sacred spire
And the congregation's last line of defence
Was engulfed in fire
As the flaming priest stepped into the firing line
On the business end of a beam of despair
God, he took his own life
During the coming of the
(Black Shuck) Black Shuck
(Black Shuck) That dog don't give a fuck

A nimbus of blue light surrounds a crimson paw
As he takes another fatal swipe
At the Blythburgh Church Door
(Black Shuck) Black Shuck
(Black Shuck) That dog don't give a fuck

Not quite as literary as the Newell effort, of course, but with a charm of it's own I'm sure you'll agree. To the right there is an image of the 'claw marks' left on the Blythburgh Church Door (a larger image can be seen on the Shuckland website).

There are plenty of other recent references to Black Dogs in literature, such as The Skriker and a number of Shagfoal apparitions in Alan Moore's Voice of the Fire. Black Shuck seems to remain the most popular manifestation by far though.

Folklore Alive and Well - Hobgoblin Ale

I'm going to start something of a recurring theme now, the idea that folklore should not be regarded as something people did in the past and now only exists in reference books. I also defy the opinion that folklore has been replaced by fantasy literature, or stories about UFOs and alien abductions. Those things owe their existence to folklore for sure, but I happen to believe that it could do quite well for itself without them. this has nothing to do with any sort of belief in fairies or goblins (I find a stated belief in such things somewhat sad myself), but just a conviction that we pay more lip-service and experience the trappings of this living tradition, the images and stories, a lot more than we may realise.

I’m also going to wax lyrical about booze for a bit.

I’d like to think my fondness for a bottle of Hobgoblin Ale has absolutely nothing to do with my interest in folklore, though I’m philosophical enough to accept that my choice of tipple might be influenced in some way by it being linked to an enthusiasm of mine. I think I’d still find it terrifically tasty if it was named after something boring, like ‘sweetish dark ale’ or ‘greydrab’ or ‘banging on and on about sport’.

Oh I admit it! The fact that there is a beautifully executed cartoon Hobgoblin peering from the label, alongside the word “Hobgoblin” in big letters, does add a great deal to the appeal.

I also like to think I recognise which particular nixie the Wychwood Brewery chaps were thinking of when they decided on his look and apparel. I paraphrase the Wikipedia entry on Redcaps:

A Redcap is a type of malevolent murderous goblin found in British Folklore. They inhabit ruined castles found along the border between England and Scotland. Redcaps are said to murder travellers who stray into their homes and dye their hats with their victims' blood (from which they get their name). Redcaps are very fast in spite of the heavy iron pikes they wield and the iron-shod boots they wear. Outrunning the buck-toothed little demons is quite impossible; the only way to escape one is to quote a passage from the Bible. They lose a tooth on hearing it, which they leave behind.

Well, our ale-quaffing Hobgoblin looks capable of some malevolence, the beetling brows, the red eyes and claws, the armoured bracers. He wields a weapon (not a pikestaff, admittedly, but he is sometimes shown with a long-hafted axe, which suggests to me knows how to handle a polearm). He has irregularly spaced snaggle teeth. He wears a red cap.

Admittedly many of these aspects are relatively ubiquitous in the design of cartoon goblins from Spiderman to The Lord of the Rings, but it would be nice to know if the Redcap was consciously referred to during the design process by whoever developed the look of the Wychwood character.

If so I think it's a good example of how even the most savage of these old folk tales continues to inform the world around us, that they do so on a daily basis and in all kinds of largely unacknowledged ways.

Something of a Bugbear

I thought I'd perform a quick image search today in order to find some costume designs from productions of The Skriker in order to have something to talk about on the blog, and I found a brief interview with George Popovich, the director of theatre at the Henry Ford Community College in Dearborn, MI. He is talking about a production of the play that they were preparing at the time. Very interesting it seems too - why do I always find out about productions of the Skriker after they finish their run?

When asked about what makes the play special he is quoted as saying: "The theme is intense and riveting, it's all rooted in Celtic Irish mythology, the fairy lore. A lot of people think fairies are Tinkerbell, and actually that's not the case at all. That's all been whitewashed and 'cutied up' to sell dolls. The world of fairies is a vile, ambitious world. Fairies can be good, evil (or) both at the same time." He then goes on to talk about the environmental subtext and the technical innovations the theatre used in the production.

Whilst I am glad that he stresses the fairies' moral capriciousness whilst dismissing their cutesy public image [1], he also makes a claim that I often see levelled at fairy lore, that it is an inherently Celtic tradition - by which they seem to mean that it is 'an Irish thing'.

Now I don't mean to appear the least bit ignorant of the debt that the canon of British Folklore owes to the Gaelic world, or that Ireland provides hotspots where many folktales have arisen, but to stress this importance over that of Cornwall, the Orkneys, Yorkshire, Lincolnshire and many other areas of England, Scotland and Wales is just unfair.

Especially when referring to The Skriker. The main character is taken (via Katherine Briggs, I imagine) from a collection of folk tales from Lancashire. "Skriking" is still a fairly common slang word for wailing and crying in the north-west of England - use it in conversation in Salford and they'll know what you mean, use it in Dublin and you'll get blank looks. The play's supporting cast are mainly English spirits as well, Black Dogs from Norfolk, Lincolnshire's Yallery Brown, Cornish Spriggans, northern England's Jenny Greenteeth, and so on. Scotland may lay claim to the Kelpie, Blue Men and Thrumpins, and Redcaps were said to haunt the towers on the English/Scottish borders. Wales gets a look in with Black Annis. Jimmy Squarefoot is Manx.

But, if my memory serves, the only sizable area of the British Isles that doesn't contribute a particular creature to the play is Ireland. There ain't no Leprechauns, Cluracanes, Formorians, Finn Mchuuls or wide-eyed magic salmon in the Skriker! [2]

I wonder if American commentators in particular are tempted to believe that all the perplexing, beautiful, terrifying, wise folktales of these islands simply must be Irish, due to romantic notions of what Ireland is and what England couldn't possibly be. [3]

Seeing as Americans seem to have an appetite for these stories (The Skriker is performed there far more regularly than it is in the UK) this is a temptation I would suggest they resist if they want to get to the bleeding heart of folktales and learn the truth of the heritage of these stories.

[1] I'm also bloody glad that he thought the environmental subtext was important and that he was interested in applying technical innovations to theatrical performances, so I don't want it to seem that I disapprove of his thrust at all. However, environmental concerns and directoral adventures, whilst laudable, are not the topic of this post. "I think Americans often miscredit significant aspects of folklore to the Irish" is.

[2] I was moved to do a bit more research after writing this, and it turns out I was recollecting poorly. Rawheadandbloodybones is said to have his roots in Ireland. By way of a weak excuse he is a particularly minor character in The Skriker and I had forgotten all about his inclusion.

[3] I feel that a good proportion of Americans may tend towards a fonder overall feeling towards 'Irishness' than they do towards 'Englishness' - particularly in regards to folklore. This is based on a variety of reasons.
* The fact that England used to run areas of America until they won their war of independence, providing a temptation to cast Brits as historical villains (see a variety of Hollywood movies with Mel Gibson's involvement, The Patriot, Braveheart, et al).
* The fact that England's administration now largely buoys up the political decisions of the American administration regardless of their popularity with the people of England, providing a temptation to cast Brits as ineffectual and/or toadies.
* The Irish Diaspora in America, which leads to the temptation to believe that there is something inherently more interesting, deep and/or noble about Irishness, because people often give in to the further temptation to see their own heritage as superior to that of others (judging by George Popovich's surname this may not a particular issue for him, but I believe this perception is widely held, if subconsciously so, in the US).
* A sense of sympathy with the underdog in regards to the troubled history between England and Ireland.
* The perception that Irish life is more rustic and rural and less modern and metropolitan than English life, and the belief that those who live a rustic existence must appreciate folklore to a greater degree than city-dwellers or suburbanites.
* The tourist industry trappings of Ireland you see in duty free shops on the Emerald Isle - soft-toy Leprechauns, gaily painted bodhrans and guinness glasses decorated with a four-leaved clover (the same sort of mass-produced cutesiness George Popovich himself warns against).

The Perplexing Point of Yallery Brown

One of my favourite folktales is that of Yallery Brown, though why I find the story so compelling makes me wonder. Here is a short version taken from Wikipedia:

According to the story, a young lad named Tom was sitting in a field resting during his daily labours when he heard a little whimper, like the sound of a young child in distress. Upon further investigation Tom found a little creature trapped under a flat stone. The creature was like a ragged little man and had yellow-brown skin, the colour of dark mustard. The little man begged Tom to help free him from the stone. Tom knew that he should just leave the creature where he lay, but it whimpered so much that eventually Tom took pity upon it and lifted the stone from on top of the little man. The creature jumped up in delight, introduced itself as Yallery-Brown then promised to reward Tom by granting him a wish. Being workshy, the young lad asked for help with his daily chores. Yallery-Brown clapped his hands and said it would be so. Tom thanked the creature who flew into a rage and warned that it must never be thanked or dire consequences would follow. As a parting word Yallery-Brown told Tom that if he ever needed him he was to call his name.

The next day, when Tom set about his tasks, he found that the jobs were already doing themselves. The broom was rushing around the room sweeping the floor of its own accord and the quern was grinding the corn without human assistance. After many days of the same thing happening, the people began to whisper that Tom was a witch or warlock. This worried Tom, so he called for Yallery-Brown. Tom thanked the creature for its help but told it that it was no longer needed. Yallery-Brown again flew into a rage and told Tom his help would be withdrawn, but as he had been thanked Tom would be left with a curse. The little man vanished with the words:

“Work's thou will, tha'll niver do well, Work's thou mowt, tha'll niver gain owt, For harm an' mischance an' Yallery-Brown, Tha's let out theeself from unner the stone!"

Yallery Brown was as good as his word. Tom was plagued with bad luck and ill fortune his whole life.

Why does such a story strike me as being so interesting? It doesn't seem to offer any sort of redemption to its hero - poor Tom was fated to be doomed from the moment he performed his act of mercy. He doesn't get to grow or change in any way. He didn't really do anything wrong - a little bit of sloth, perhaps - some absent-mindedness in forgetting the bizarre ban on thanking the creature - ignoring his hunch that it is somehow wrong to free Yallery Brown (and note that the version told above emphasises these negative qualities more than many others I have come across, for example a version found here is rather more sympathetic towards Tom). Really, the story is just irredeemably grim.

And I love it! But why?

Jospeh Campbell (a student of Jung who came up with many influential theories on storytelling) taught that in order for a tale to work in any sort of satisfactory manner (I simplify horribly here) it requires three elements, a Call (to Adventure), a Time of Trial and a Return (to Normality).

Yallery Brown certainly contains the Call (Tom hearing the creature's wails and freeing it) and the Time of Trial (the rest of the story), but there is no obvious return, Tom is just punished, and then punished more, and then punished more, until he dies.

One of the things that seems to distinguish a folktale from a children's fairy story is the lack of an obvious moral lesson. Take Little Red Riding Hood for example, and the lesson seems to be "if you're a young girl on your own, it's not a good idea talk to strangers", the Three Billy Goats Gruff and the Three Little Pigs both extol the virtues of lateral thinking and teamwork in confronting problems, and a plethora of tales strike a chord with those who want to believe that being good will reap rewards and that telling the truth is also a redeeming virtue.

Not so the folktale, shun the stranger and he will follow, rape and kill you anyway, match wits with the uncanny and you discover that they outstrip you in the ability to trick and confound, stand up to bullies and you end up getting eaten.

I can't help thinking that there is more painful honesty in the folktale, as nice as it is to think that the noble and virtuous receive their rewards it is often the unpleasant who inherit the Earth. The innocent do suffer and apt justice does not get served to the guilty. Liars thrive. As fairy stories for adults, perhaps folktales do away with the need for a point, and instead force us to face harsh aspects of an absurd existence.

There is no return to normality, because normality is a somewhat niave and fragile concept anyway.

Welcome - and by way of an Explanation

Write about what you're enthusiastic about, people often advise.

Well my main enthusiasm, the primary one, is music. I listen to music all the time and I enjoy playing it too, I play drum, mandolin, guitar and the sitar - all at varying degrees of mediocrity. I am in a rock band - who put up with me regularly picking up the mandolin with admirable forbearance - and I take part in the Nottingham School of Samba too.

But there are lots of blogs about music, so I thought I'd start one devoted to folklore instead. Ideally I’d like to come across as some sort of online combination of Katherine Briggs and Brian Froud, but I'm sure I'll just rant inanely about fairies and post crap poems.