English Villages

by P. H. Ditchfield

“Some say the screech-owl, at each midnight hour, Awakes the fairies in yon ancient tower. Their nightly dancing ring I always dread, Nor let my sheep within that circle tread; When round and round all night, in moonlight fair, They dance to some strange music in the air.”

Then there were brownies; and knockers, who worked in mines, and showed rich veins of silver; and elves—all of whom were included in old village superstitions, and many were the tales told of the good deeds they did, and the luck they brought. Nor must we forget the story of the invisible smith who inhabited Wayland Smith’s Cave, in Berkshire. Whenever a farmer tied up his horse in the cave, and left the money on a particular stone, on his return he found his horse shod by the kind efforts of the invisible smith. There is also the old Berkshire story of the old witch who lived in a cave by the roadside, and who, by the power of her “evil eye,” could stop the strongest team of horses, so that, however much the carters lashed and swore at them, the animals would not budge an inch until she permitted them to go. Here are a few of the common superstitions current in Berkshire. If a corpse be kept over a Sunday another death will occur before the week is out; should a big bumble-bee enter the window, a guest may be expected; and when the woodpecker, commonly called the yaffle, laughs, they say the rain is coming. When the thick mist lies in the valley, the people say it is the White Lady, a belief closely akin to the Dame Blanche, who is said in Normandy to haunt streams. If one row of freshly sown seeds or potatoes does not come up, it foretells a death in the family. If a girl mends her clothes on her back, she risks having a drunken husband. A screech-owl is unlucky, and so also is it if a bird fly against the window.

A woman came to the rectory a few years ago for a drop of sacramental wine, which she wanted for an infant who had “the graspings.” This complaint I discovered to be a craving for something, accompanied by restlessness; and it was supposed that a drop of sacramental wine would cure an infant so troubled. If the mother before the child was born craved for drink, this craving was communicated to the child, and could only be remedied by a drop of wine used in Holy Communion. This superstition, which I have met with elsewhere, probably is a relic of pre-Reformation days, and of sacramental Reservation.

A tramp was passing through a Hampshire village a short time ago, and calling at a house, begged for a glass of water. The woman who lived there said that she was sorry she could not give him water to drink, as there was a child in the house unbaptised, and therefore it would be unlucky. The origin of this superstition it is difficult to trace.

These are some of the legends and superstitions which linger amongst us. Every neighbourhood has its stories, its legends, and romantic histories. It is a sad pity that these should pass away without any record being made. Many curious customs and ceremonies relating to christenings, marriages, and burials linger in remote hamlets; and charms, curious remedies, and other relics of the quaint superstitions of our forefathers, are full of interest to the lover of our English villages.

As we walk in the fields, or study the old map of the parish, the names of the fields invite our attention. These are full of interest, and often tell us about matters which would be entirely forgotten. Some names tell us of the great forests which used to exist all over the country, when kings and noblemen, outlaws and poachers, used to hunt the deer and the wild boars in many a successful run. These forests were large tracts of country in its natural state, partly wood, partly heather and grass, which were owned by the king, and were especially brought under the harsh forest laws of the Norman sovereigns.

Some of our field-names remind us of the existence of these old forests where corn now grows, and also of swamps and islands where everything now is dry and far removed from water. Sometimes they tell us of the old common lands which used to be farmed by the villeins and borderers, and of the strange way in which they used to manage their farming. Each man used to keep one or more oxen for the village plough until they made up the team into eight; then they ploughed the land in strips of an acre or half-acre each, divided by a bit of unploughed turf called a balk. Each strip was a furlong, i.e. a “furrow long,” i.e. the length of the drive of a plough before it is turned. This was forty rods, or poles, and four of these furrows made up the acre. These pieces of land were called “shots,” and there were “headlands,” or common field-ways, to each shot; and “gored acres,” which were corners of the fields which could not be cut up into strips, and odds and ends of unused land, which were called “No Man’s Land,” or “Jack’s Land.” It is curious, too, that all the strips belonging to one man did not lie together, but were scattered all over the common land, which must have been a very inconvenient arrangement for farming purposes. There were also in each village community a blacksmith, whose duty it was to keep in repair the ironwork of the village ploughs, a carpenter for the woodwork, and a pound-keeper, or punder, who looked after the stray cattle. Many of the “balks” still remain on the hillsides where these old common lands existed, and the names of the fields bear witness to the prevalence of this old field system.

They tell us, too, of the way in which attempts were made to force the growth of particular crops, and in many parishes you will find a “flax piece,” which reminds us of a foolish Act of Henry VIII. ordering the cultivation of that plant. Metals, too, which have long ago been worked out, and trades which no longer exist, have left their traces behind in the names of our lanes and fields. Also they speak of the early days when the wolf or the bear might be seen in our woods or fields, or of the beaver which loved the quietude of our streams, of the eagle which carried off the lambs undisturbed by sound of the keeper’s gun. Sometimes he was disturbed in his thefts by the flight of a good strong English arrow, which came from a sturdy English bow drawn by a good strong English arm. The English archers were famous everywhere, and many a battle has been won by their valour and their skill. A law was passed in the reign of Edward IV. that every Englishman should have a bow of his own height, and that butts for the practice of archery should be set up in every village; and every man was obliged to shoot up and down on every feast-day, or be fined one halfpenny. Consequently, in some villages we find a field called “The Butts,” where this old practice took place.[[11]]

Many villages are associated with the lives of distinguished men—authors, soldiers, and statesmen. Perhaps your village may have bred other poets besides “the mute inglorious Milton” of Gray’s Elegy. Not far from where I am writing was Pope’s early home, the village of Binfield, which he calls—

“My paternal home, A little house, with trees arow, And, like its master, very low.”