Chatting with an old mother one day, she remarked, ‘Aye, things is altered noo. T’ young uns to’n up ther neeases’ (noses) ’at ommaist ivvery thing ’at yan yance thowt an’ did; tha deea nowt bud mak gam o’ yan if yan diz tell ’em owt, seea Ah nivver tells ’em nowt.’ This statement explains much; the old people nowadays do keep their mouths shut. It often happens that after an hour’s chat with some grey-headed occupant of the big armchair, you gain more information about the doings of days past than the rest of the household could have given you, were they even willing to do so, because in many cases they have little interest in things which ’happen’d afoor their tahm.’ But, bear in mind, the unsealing of aged lips can only be accomplished when properly approached, and a bond of mutual sympathy has been established; then the lips and hearts will pour forth such a wealth of bygone lore, that you will hardly be able to jot down your notes fast enough.
But to return to my old lady. ‘Why,’ said I, ‘when you were a girl there would be witches, or was that before your time?’ For the benefit of my readers I will give the rest of the story literally, but in standard English. ‘No,’ said she, ‘that it is not. There was one Dolly Makin; I once saw her myself, but she will be dead now, for she was over a hundred then; but my aunt once had a strange bout with her.’ ‘And where did Dolly live?’ I asked, for I had years before heard of this same Dolly Makin. ‘Nay, that’s mair ’an Ah can tell ya,’ said she. ‘And what did she do to your aunt?’ I inquired. ‘Nothing; she only tried to. It was like this. There was one Tom Pickles wanted to keep company with my aunt, but he found out that she had a liking for one William Purkis. It was always thought, when Tommy found this out, that he went to the witch and gave her something to work a spell on my aunt. Anyhow, one night when she had just finished milking, a fortune-teller came up and took hold of her hand, and told her a long story about the carryings-on of William Purkis and another lass, and she advised my aunt to take up with Tommy, telling her that things looked very black for her if she did anything else. But my aunt said that she would wed who she liked, and it would not be Tommy. At that the fortune-teller struck the cow with her stick; the cow lashed out and knocked the milk-pail over; my aunt flung the milk-stool at the fortune-teller’s head, but she ducked, and it missed her, and next moment they were one grappling with the other like all that. My aunt, however, was a well-built, strong lass, and after they had fought for a long time, neither gaining an advantage, the fortune-teller screamed out that my aunt had something about her that belonged to the unburied dead, or otherwise she would have mastered her, and had her in her power for ever. “But,” said she, as she walked away, “I have not done with you yet;” and then my aunt saw it was the old witch. My aunt did not know what the witch meant by saying she had something about her that belonged to the unburied dead; but news came next morning that her uncle had died the day before, and it happened that a brooch she was wearing had a bit of his hair in it. It was that which had saved her. It would have been useless trying to overtake the witch when she left her, even on horseback, for she once went from the top of Ingleborough to the top of Whernside at one stride.’ ‘But,’ I ventured to say, ‘it is a long way, that.’ I was not quite sure of the distance, but I knew I was within bounds when I added, ‘It will be quite nine miles.’ For a moment the old lady hesitated; even to her, after making all allowance for the witch’s marvellous power, it did seem a prodigious stride. ‘Well,’ she said, with a sigh of relief, as an idea struck her, ‘maybe I am wrong; it would be a leap;’ or, as she put it, ‘mebbe Ah’s wrang; sha wad loup it.’ Again I pointed out that it was an enormous leap. ‘Deean’t ya want her ti ’a’e deean’t?’ (i.e. ‘Don’t you want her to have done it?’) she questioned, losing her temper. And then I had to smooth her ruffled feelings. I knew I was precious near treading on her pet corn, but I wished to see how, as I knew, she would explain away the difficulty. ‘Whya, noo, ez you saay it’s a gertish loup,’ she admitted, and then added, ‘maist leykly sha wad deea ’t iv a hitch, strhad, an’ a jump; onny road, sha did it.’ That being settled, I asked what took place when she herself saw the witch. ‘Nowt, bud summat might ‘ deean.’ And then she explained that one evening, a few months before she was married, she and her sweetheart were walking to Feetham Holme when they saw an old lady sitting on a great stone. It seems she looked that sackless, that her sweetheart burst out laughing. The moment he did that, the old lady sprang to her feet, and almost shrieked, ‘Ya aren’t wed yet,’ and then disappeared. A moment afterwards, however, a black cat sprang across their path, which was a most unlucky omen. My informant could not say what it was, but something told her that the black cat was none other than the old witch. She mentioned none of her fears to her future husband, but the next day she paid a visit to the wise man of Reeth. To him she unburdened herself of all her fears, inquiring what would have to be done to break any spell Dolly might work to prevent her marriage. It seems there were only two things the wise man knew of equal to the occasion. One was to tear a piece of cloth from the garment of a man hanging from a gibbet, cut it into nine pieces, and burn them at dead of night, with every door and window not only closed but securely fastened. This she had declared to be quite impossible. Her next chance was to hear the last words of a man just before he was hanged, write the same on nine pieces of paper, stick a pin through each piece, and then burn them at midnight, doors and windows as before. This she thought might be managed. From a copy of the Yorkshire Gazette which came into the dale every week, she learnt that a man was to be hanged at York; so to Settle she went, and thence by the carrier to her destination. She had a cousin living in York, with whom she stayed until after the eventful day. She managed to hear the last words, and carried out all other injunctions, and so, as she said, ‘Dolly nivver c’u’d deea nowt nowther ti me ner onny o’ my bairns.’
It is a well-known fact that witches have a decided aversion to a stone with a hole through it. So one hanging in the house goes a long way towards keeping them outside; and an old horse-shoe, which has been picked up and nailed on the door, has even greater power. Again, any girl, whilst a maiden, who was so fortunate as to find three horse-shoes in one year, if she threw them over her left shoulder, and walked round them three times, being careful to preserve all three, not only she, but when married her children, could never be witch-held. This, be it observed, only protected the person, it did not extend to property of any kind.
Dolly Ayre, the Carthorpe witch, died within the ken of many now living. Richard Kirby, an old inhabitant of Carthorpe, gave me the following only a short time ago. I must really give it in his words. Filling his pipe, he began, ‘Aye! Ah ken’d her weel; she yance witched sum coos ov au’d Tommy’s, an’ sha wadn’t tak ’t off.’ I inquired what it was she would not take off, and was promptly informed it was ‘summat sha’d deean tiv ’em: a spell o’ sum soart ’at sha’d warked on ’em.’ Old Tommy, it seems, hurried off to the wise man, Sammy Banks o’ Mickly, who, after Tommy’s story had been told, ‘did summat, an’ Tommy did summat, an’ atween ’em tha baith did summat else ’at completely flustrated Au’d Dolly intiv a cocked hat, bud nut afoor sha’d mannished ti spell t’ leyfe oot o’ yan o’ t’ coos—ya see, iv a waay, sha ’ed t’ fost ho’d.’ On asking what they had done to master Dolly, he replied, with a shake of his head, ‘Naay, noo, Ah deean’t knaw; that war kept a dark secret. All ’at ivver war knawn, war ’at Tommy ’ed driven a peg o’ wickenwood inti summat, an’ ‘at he’d thrussen summat thruff t’ au’d witch’s latch slit, but what it war no man nivver knew, bud it mun ’a’e been summat varra larl, or else he c’u’dn’t ’a’e thrussen ’t thruff, an’ he bo’nt’ (burnt) ‘summat at midneet ’at stank warse ’an nowt. Aye! an’ noo ther war yance a queer thing happen’d at Ness, near Pickhill.’ A man, it seems, took a farm over the head of the then tenant. The man who had been so shabbily treated had once done a great kindness to Dolly, though, according to my informant, it was a most risky thing to offer a kindness to a witch, as they might take offence even at that. However, in the case mentioned, the kindness had been graciously accepted. When the new-comers arrived with their goods and chattels, they found written in blood-red writing on every door and shutter, these words, Bad Luck; there was also something written underneath, which no man could make out. ‘Aye,’ said the old man, in words which there was no gainsaying, ‘an’ afoor they’d gitten hauf ther sticks in, doon cam a lahtle bit ov a shelf they’d putten sum pans on, an’ it tumm’l’d reet on t’ top o’ yan o’ ther bairns, an’ killed it wheer it stood, an’ ther’s neea gitting ower that; noo, is theer?’
In this same Carthorpe, years ago, one of the houses was suspected of being witch-held, and everything about the place witch-stricken, and for some time neither land nor beast throve. It happened that one who possessed the power of smelling witches slept for a night under this particular roof. In the morning he said they were quite mistaken in supposing the house was witch-held, declaring that it was haunted. He advised them to prevail upon the parson to shout it down. The then Rector of Burneston, having been seen, kindly undertook the shouting down of the said spirit. To this end he partook of a good meal, rested for an hour, and then betook himself to the farmer’s well. There he read something out of the Prayer Book, which ‘incanted t’ spirit up ti t’ wellsahd,’ and then the parson called out, ‘For ever and for ay,’ to which the spirit replied, ‘For a year and a day.’ Then the parson at it again, and the spirit did the same, ‘and they baith went at it leyke all that foor ower tweea hoors, bud t’ parson gat t’ last wo’d acoz t’ spirit c’u’dn’t ho’d oot neea langer, an’ seea t’ parson wan t’ battle i’ t’ end, an’ cungled it doon; an’ seea that spirit nivver na mair, at noa tahm, ivver agaan c’u’d cum oot o’ t’ bad pleeace ti wark ill agaan neeabody[30].’
For some unexplained reason, witches held in great aversion posthumous children, more especially male children. In fact their malevolence was often made manifest prior to the child’s birth. An old dame gave me the following as having occurred years ago at Kirby Hill, near Boroughbridge. A young couple, recently married, met the witch (Sally Carey) near the Devil’s Arrows. What they had done to gain Sally’s displeasure, legend does not say, but as they passed the old lady she shook her stick, and almost screamed, ‘Ya want a lad, bud Ah’ll mak it a lass’; and sure enough, when the baby arrived, it was a girl. They had hoped it would be a boy, for much future fortune depended upon their having a son and heir. Still they hoped, should they be blest with a further addition, that the next arrival would be a boy. Three or four months after the birth of their daughter, the husband was thrown off his horse and killed.
Some time after the sad event, and late in the evening, Sally knocked at the widow’s door; on its being opened, the old hag screamed, brandishing her stick in the widow’s face, ‘It shan’t be a lad this tahm, nowther.’ So terrified was her victim that she fainted, and was found some time afterwards in a doubled-up position and unable to rise. By-and-by, when sufficiently recovered, her friends strongly urged her to pay a visit to the wise man of Aldborough. At last she was prevailed upon to do so, when a supreme effort on his part was made to break the witch’s power. Much of what the wise man did, the old lady had forgotten. All she remembered was that at midnight, with closed doors and windows, a black cat and a black cock bird were roasted to a cinder, on a fire made from boughs of the rowan-tree; a long incantation was also pronounced, of which she could not call to mind a single word, for as she put it, ‘wa war all ti freetened.’ The ’all’ consisted of the widow, my informant—then a maiden—and a mother of seven sons, the trio being necessary for the working of the charm. When the baby was born, it was a boy, but a cripple. Once again the wise man was visited. This time the almost heart-broken mother was assured that, if she remained unwedded for seven years, her son would outlive his weakness, his back would grow straight, and all would be well. This demand was readily complied with. ‘But,’ added the old dame, ‘t’ au’d witch tried all maks an’ manders o’ waays ti git her ti wed. Ah nivver knaw’d a lass seea pesthered wi’ chaps iv all mah leyfe. Sha’ (the witch) ‘war awlus sending some good leyke leeaking chap for ti ’tice her, bud sha kept single, and bested t’ au’d witch i’ t’ end, fer t’ bairn grew up ti be ez straight an’ strang a chap ez yan need wish ti clap yan’s e’es on. Ah mahnd him weel, an’ ther’s nowt aboot that.’
Only the other day I met an old fellow who firmly believed not only in the power of witches, but that they existed at the present day. He held that the evil eye accounted for many mishaps, which ‘fooak c’u’dn’t account for nooadays neea road at all.’ Of witches he had known several, but of fairies he could only speak from hearsay. ‘Nobbut sum fooak,’ explained he, ‘war yabble ti see t’ fairies’; he had never possessed that power; but he continued, ‘Ah’ve knawn fooak ’at ’ez seean ’em monny a tahm, bud that’s years sen noo.’ He had come to the conclusion that as people had got so into the way of saying there were no such things, ‘tha ’ed all ta’en t’ hig, an’ takken thersens fo’ther up t’ dale; bud tha cum back sumtahms ti t’ au’d spots, acoz yan offens sees t’ rings wheear tha’ve danced owerneet. Onnybody can see t’ rings fer thersens if tha nobbut tak ther een aboot wiv ’em; bud,’ said he, emphatically, ‘Ah think ’at tha mun awlus keep ther heead-gear on noo.’ I was given to understand that so long as a fairy kept its cap or bonnet on it was invisible, but this, I think, is a bit of lore gone wrong; he ought to have said, so long as they keep their invisible caps on, &c. This old chap gave me a bit of lore which was quite new to me.
We all know that witches kept a black cat, and as a rule it was a Thomas cat; but if, to work something especially evil, a witch took to keeping a black tabby, she was, by some higher power, compelled to keep that tabby until it had kittens. When this interesting event was about to come off, the said tabby was securely locked up and guarded until the expected increase arrived; immediately this happened, the whole lot were drowned. The reason for this hurried departure of mother cat and kitten babies from the land of the living was made quite clear. For had the witch a son when the kittens were born, and any person managed to steal one of the said kittens, the witch from that moment became a ’bustard,’ being bereft of all power to work evil; but if up to that time she had only given birth to girls, she remained a bustard only until a son was born; then all power was restored to her. My informant remembers a witch who was made a bustard of, and who never again regained power to work evil, being too old at the time to dream of having a son.
Perhaps the most widely adopted anti-witch charm was that of sticking a beast’s heart full of pins and roasting the same at midnight, being careful to observe the rule of closed doors and windows, absolute silence, and the refusal to admit any one during the performance of the rite; this, however, will be referred to by-and-by.