CHAPTER X
WITCHCRAFT—continued
So far as we have gone, it will be evident to those who read a little between the lines, that mixed up with fact, imagination, and exaggeration, there exists a very considerable amount of respectable myth. But to which of the ancient myths we owe many of the stories told in connexion with our local witches, is often somewhat difficult to determine; but certain it is that nearly all of them possessed the power, so common to those of an earlier date, of changing themselves into some animal, the hare and cat being the favourite forms which they assumed when hard pressed. Very similar stories exhibiting this power are told of the following well-known local witches, all of whom flourished during the present century:—Peggy Flaunders, of Marske-by-the-Sea; Bessy Slack, of West Burton, Wensleydale; Nanny Pearson, of Goathland; the Guisborough witch, Ann Grear; Nan Hardwicke, of Spittal Houses; Au’d Nanny, of Great Ayton; Nanny Howe, of Kildale; and Nanny Newgill, of Broughton and Stokesley. Then there was Dolly Makin and Au’d Mother Stebbins, who seem to have had no regular place of abode, but tramped the country with a few small wares.
Of these and others, pretty much the same stories are told, differing only in slight details. These also bear a very strong resemblance to others current in different parts of Europe, but of much earlier times. Then, too, we have their malicious attacks on the dairy, either in the form of spoiling or purloining the produce, or in surreptitiously milking the cows, though the latter was more prevalent further north, and often practised by the German witches. But in the exercise of the evil eye, and in the committal of all manner of evil acts, our North Riding witches held a position second to none.
Again, the methods used to overcome their power and break their spells, as has been said, runs very much on the same lines throughout Europe.
Peggy Flaunders died in 1835, at the age of eighty-five, and was buried in the churchyard at Marske-by-the-Sea.
Many old people have a lively remembrance of Peggy, with her tall hat and red cloak; and the stories which are told to-day of the pranks she played and the wonders she worked, make us open our eyes with amazement, because we are not listening to the marvellous deeds of some person who lived in mediaeval times, but of one who lived amongst those now living. Do you wish to hear of her doings from one who knew her? then find your way to Boyes Wetherell’s cottage, and have a chat with the old worthy, and you will have such an outpouring of ancient customs, rites, lore, smuggling stories, and the doings of days gone by, together with touches of his own eventful life, as will stock your mind with information such as it is only possible to obtain from an original source[36].
But of Peggy and her doings.
On one occasion Peggy is said to have cast a spell against one Tom Pearson (who lived on a farm near Marske), and every head of cattle he possessed died. Whether this ruined him or not, is not known, but he left the farm, and his cousin took it. As this cousin crossed the threshold for the first time, Peggy passed by. (This cousin, it seems, had once befriended Peggy.) She called out to him as she passed, ‘Thoo ’ez mah good wishes,’ and with that she turned three times round, threw her cloak on the ground, jumped over it, mumbled something, and walked away, and from that day everything prospered ’awlus wiv him.’
For three weeks in succession, Hannah Rothwell’s butter didn’t come rightly, churn as long as she might; and at the same time Mary Parker, her next-door neighbour, began to get very little milk from her cow. These two old worthies having talked the matter over, decided they would pay a visit to Jonathan Westcott of Upleatham, a wise man of that day[37]. Jonathan, on hearing what they had to say, declared it was all owing to Peggy’s malice. So far as Mrs. Rothwell was concerned, she was told to return home, scald her churn out three times, first with boiling water, in which a handful of salt had been dissolved; secondly, with boiling water in which a handful of wicken-tree berries had been thrown; and, thirdly, with a large amount of plain boiling water. She had also to get two small wickenwood pegs and drive them into each end of the churn, and whilst turning the churn with the last filling of water, she had to repeat, as she pretended to look if the butter was coming,—
This tahm it’s thahn,