Other stories of this man’s foreknowledge could be given almost ad lib. Many of his methods suggested and adopted were of the heart-frizzling, pin-sticking, wickenwood, and bottery-tree order. His rites and ceremonies, too, occasionally savoured of the time in which he lived; and, after all, there is not much to wonder at.
We are most of us very much influenced by the environments of our own day; and after seeing a few of my own sex in Town, I can forgive Wrightson much. Like many another clever man, he played to suit his audience, and sang the songs of the day. There was, if all is true, no need that he should have done so, and possibly he knew it—who knows?
Nanny Pearson was held in great fear by the good people of Goathland, and that, too, a good way into the present century. As a witch of the old school, Nanny’s fame was not confined to that locality. Many stories are still told of her and her doings, two of which I will give, as they afford a bit of new information, i.e. the power which holy water had over witches. I believe in her younger days she was a communicant of the Roman Catholic faith; be that as it may, she was neither better nor worse than her sister witches of any other faith, or no faith at all. It seems that a Mrs. Webster had a goose, which, as was the custom of the time, was sitting on a cletch of eggs near the fireside. Now, Nanny came daily to Mrs. Webster’s for milk, bringing an empty jug, which she left, taking a full one away with her. The goose was set one morning, and remained dutifully on her nest until evening; but as Nanny approached the house, off flew the goose in a great state of agitation, breaking two eggs, and could not be pacified until Nanny was well off the premises. The same thing occurred each time Nanny came for her milk, until some one, who was going to Scarborough, called upon the wise man and asked his advice. He told them to get a little holy water, put it in the jug with Nanny’s milk, and her power would be broken—I suppose that meant her power over the goose, for she worked a vast deal of ill after that. This was done; the jug with the holy water and milk in due course was handed to Nanny, and just as she took hold of it, the goose plucked up courage and flew at her, knocking it out of her hand. It was broken in the fall, the contents splashing over her feet and gown; with a shriek she fled, and from that day the goose was never disturbed again.
Years ago, the Squire of Goathland had a very beautiful daughter. Some old chap with any amount of money, and quite ugly, wished to wed her, and for some unknown reason the Squire favoured his suit; but, as is often the case, the damsel had given her heart to a young farmer in the neighbourhood. The elder lover got it into his head the couple would elope, so he sought the aid of Nanny; and the old hag helped him with a vengeance, inasmuch as she so sorely afflicted the damsel that she could not rise from her bed, and her legs began to die—I don’t quite know what that means; anyway, her limbs became useless. Her father told her that one of the female saints was greatly displeased with her obduracy, and would not restore power to her limbs until she consented to marry the man of his choice. This she flatly refused to do, choosing rather to die outright. The younger lover was distracted; he could not gain any reliable information, and a personal interview was impossible. So he did as every one else did in those days—he paid a visit to the wise man of Scarborough. The wise man, after a considerable performance of his own, placed a seeing-glass in front of the young fellow, desiring him to gaze steadily thereon, and to tell him if he saw the likeness of any one appear. Presently the young chap swore he had seen the face of Nanny Pearson. The wise man, on hearing this, declared that she was the origin of all the evil, and told him to return home, procure by some means a drop of Nanny’s blood, and steal a few drops of holy water; these had to be mixed in a cup of milk drawn from a red cow, and rubbed by him on the soles and calves of his lady-love, when all would be well. This was a strongish order, and well-nigh staggered the young chap. Firstly, how was he to procure a drop of Nanny’s blood? Stealing the holy water was a simple affair, as also was the red cow’s milk; but how to gain admission to his lady-love’s chamber, and apply the remedies when obtained, was not only a task of difficulty, but of danger. Bear in mind this was in the days of dogs and horsewhips, which were often freely used; but then, as now, love laughs at difficulties. Once let him become possessed of a drop of Nanny’s blood, and he would overcome all the other obstacles. On making his trouble known to an old dame in the village, one Janet Haswell, she told him something he already knew in part, i.e. that in a certain field a hare nightly sat, which neither dog could catch nor man shoot; this hare, declared the old lady, was none other than Nanny herself. She further assured him that if he melted some silver and made shot of it, he would be able to hit the hare, and perhaps he might find some blades of grass stained with blood. Most carefully the young fellow carried out the old dame’s advice. He was successful; he hit the hare, and found several blades of grass spotted with blood, which he carefully gathered. Next day Nanny was confined to bed, and for some weeks after. At the time, he alone knew the cause. Having procured a ladder, he invaded his love’s room, and applied the remedy, when she recovered instantly; he then retired. The damsel, rising and dressing herself, descended the ladder, and was conveyed to a place of safety, where she remained until they were wedded. This, by-the-way, I believe is the first recorded case of massage.
A curious belief still clings to Gribdale Gate. Any one who dares to stand near the said gate on New Year’s Eve, will see an old man open it, pass through, and then vanish. This takes place just as the new year is born. There is one man still living in Great Ayton who has seen the old chap thus herald in the new year. Again, old people of Great Ayton still aver that on a certain night a once noted witch, Nanny Howe, may be seen riding astride on a broomstick over Howe Wood just at midnight. This witch, so mounted, is said once to have chased the devil for miles—on this occasion the two must have fallen out; perhaps at that time honest folk got their due. Howe Wood is near Kildale.
Ailer Wood, her real name being Alice, was a witch of considerable note throughout the Bilsdale district fifty years ago. In the form of a cat or hare, she seems to have cared little either what kind or colour the hounds were which chased her. She never was caught, but then she had a little way of making herself invisible when too hard pressed; but in this she was not alone, a case in point having already being mentioned. Innumerable times was she fired at, ‘bud nivver nobody could hit her.’ On one occasion a damsel named Annie Wilson felt sure the old thing had bewitched her sweetheart. The reason for such a supposition lay in the fact that the young fellow had transferred his affections to some other fair charmer. My idea is that the other girl had bewitched him; that, however, was not Annie’s notion. She, like many another maiden of her time, went with the sorrow of her aching heart to the wise man of those parts, one Henry Wilson, who, after carefully listening to Annie’s woeful story, told her how she could discover if it was the witch who had cast a spell on her lover. She was to return home, turn the cricket[53] wrong side uppermost, pushing pretty close together and very securely into the wood nine pins, saying, as she pushed in the last one, ‘There’s nine for him and her and the witch’; in another place she had to push in another nine, repeating at the ninth, ‘There’s nine for the witch and her and him’; and lastly, in another place, another nine, concluding at the ninth by saying, ‘And there is nine more for all three of them, wi’ her in t’ middle.’ By this arrangement, the vile creature who had stolen her lover, was always mentioned so that she occupied a place nearest the witch. All this having been accomplished, the stool had to be set on its feet, and, under some pretext or other, Ailer was to be induced to seat herself thereon. On doing so, she would be unable to get up again until she truly answered any questions Annie asked her. Everything was carried out as ordered by Wilson: Ailer was called in, and offered a cup of tea, the stool having been pushed toward her; she was invited to seat herself, and have her bite and sup comfortably. Now, was ever a maiden nearer finding out just why her lover had deserted her? The stool was even put in front of the fire, and Ailer again invited to seat herself; but no, the witch quietly replied, it would not be possible for her to enjoy the good things they had given her, seated on the back of a ‘pricky-back otch’n[54].’ Ailer by some means had found out what had been done, and so escaped the charm which had been prepared for her.
No doubt exists in the minds of many people now, that hedgehogs milk the cows[55]. It seems they creep up to them whilst they are resting, and draw their milk from them. My old friend told me they always killed a hedgehog whenever they saw one, for that reason.
One Nancy Newgill, a Broughton witch, used to set hedgehogs to milk the cows of those she had a spite against, and it was commonly believed that at times she used to turn herself into one, and then ‘neeabody’s coos had onny chance’; anyway, there was one hedgehog which could run as fast as a hare, and never was catched, ‘ner killed ner nowt.’ This Nancy Newgill cast a spell on a certain Martha Brittain, from which she could obtain no ease, no matter what she took; so off to the wise man[56] Martha went. She was told to go to Stokesley, and buy a new fire-shovel, upon which she had to chalk Nancy’s name[57]; then to make a cake—the ingredients need not be given—and, after closing her doors and window, the cake was to be baked upon the shovel resting on the fire. This was done at four o’clock in the afternoon[58]. Now, at the time this cake was being baked, Nancy Newgill was ’luking’ weeds in a field a mile away, and standing quite close to her was my informant, Mrs. Peary. Suddenly Nancy clapped her hand on her stomach, crying out, ‘Ah mun gan yam! Ah mun gan yam!’ She left the field, and was ill for days after; but Martha Brittain began to mend straight away, and was as right as ever she could be.
This, however, is a small affair, compared with the case of a man who lived at Broughton, and had a spell cast on him, by whom he did not know; at least, he was divided in his doubts. He suspected first Nancy, and also a man with an evil eye at Nunthorpe, but he could not really say which of them had cast the spell; so he went to the wise man, but in this he got little comfort. The wise man told him, before he could do anything he must be quite certain who had cast the spell, because if he worked a counter-charm on any one, and they were innocent, what he did would fall upon the complainant, in addition to what he was already suffering. He advised him to ‘plump[59]’ both Nancy and the Nunthorpe man with it. On accusing Nancy, she was so indignant, and looked him so straight in the face, and swore such a fearful oath, that he felt certain she for once was innocent; in such contrast was the behaviour of the evil-eyed one of Nunthorpe, that he was equally satisfied that he was the man. So sure was he, that he told the wise man he would chance it; so they set to work. A fire of wickenwood having been lighted close on midnight, a ball of clay was beaten flat with the back of an old Bible; on this a rude figure was scooped out in the shape of a man. Into this rough mould was poured a mixture of pitch, beeswax, hog’s lard, bullock’s blood, and a small portion of the fat from a bullock’s heart. The whole having been melted and well stirred on the wickenwood fire, what remained of the mixture after filling the mould was divided; one-half was thrown into water, worked into a ball, and thrown away; the remaining portion was poured on to the fire, causing a most tremendous blaze; when this died out, the ashes were buried in the churchyard. The figure having been removed from its mould, and two small holes made to represent the eyes, a pin was thrust into one of these eyes, an incantation pronounced, and the spell was concluded. The pain left the man as he was returning home, and that very night the evil-eyed Nunthorpian was seized with a fearful pain, and before morning was blind of an eye—the eye corresponding to the one through which the pin had been thrust in the wax figure. I had the above from one who well knew the trio. My informant is still living.
Matthew Appleton, of Busby, for many years ruled the planets—it seems he ruled them so well that he found a pot of gold. This was ruling the planets to some purpose, and it is a great pity astronomers don’t work this seemingly dead science up a bit.