Witch-lore runs so very much in the same groove, that one fairly good example throws light on many points of interest. It was either the evil eye, or the working of some spell, injury to cattle, or surreptitiously riding horses during the midnight hour, an amusement which it would seem witches were very prone to indulge in. Then followed a visit to the wise man, during which he did something, usually winding up on his part with an incantation, or the working of some anti-witch spell by the injured ones on their own account at home.
These charms for destroying the power of witches were numerous; in fact a careless inquirer would be led to the conclusion that every dale of any size possessed its own peculiar charm, but after a little careful research and comparison, such an opinion will be found to be untenable. The difference exists only in detail, nearly all springing from one or two common roots. When and how it came about these varied alterations crept in, is somewhat of a mystery, because one would naturally suppose, where such a vital point was at issue, every word and detail as to manipulation would be most carefully handeddown. The only solution I can offer—and I do so in all humility—is that these charms had their birth in remote ages. Afterwards local circumstances may have placed almost insuperable difficulties in the way of certain details being carried out; others would then be substituted as nearly approaching to the original as possible, probably by order of the priest or wise man. Add to this the fact that a fable told through long ages in different districts always unconsciously takes a local colouring, and you have a partial solution. Still, if the details differ, they do not run on widely diverging lines; in general they manage to keep fairly parallel, the main essentials being always kept well in sight. Whether animate or inanimate, thethinghad to be injured, and then something burnt; midnight was always the time chosen for the final part of the ceremony, seclusion, as far as possible, and absolute silence being necessary. Many of these rites and ceremonies, especially in connexion with witchcraft, consisting as they do of blood, death, and burning by fire, seem to be all that is left us of what may have been in remote ages a propitiatory sacrifice to some pagan god.
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 somegrey-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 WilliamPurkis 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 forthe 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 lookedthat 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 whatwould 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 theYorkshire Gazettewhich 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 marriedher 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 hadbeen 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 neeabody30.’
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 expectedincrease 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.
I think it must be put on record that witches sometimes did good even if they committed evil to bring it about. To do this, I shall have to step just over the boundary of the North into the West Riding. There was a widow residing in the village of Aldfield, whose son, her only support, lay at death’s door: he, so I was informed, was afflicted with a disease which was consuming his vitals. After the matter had been fully discussed by the neighbours, the consuming of his vitals was pronounced to be the result of a bad wish, the evil eye, or a witch spell, and, according to their verdict, one Nanny Appleby was suspected ofbeing the spell-worker. Nanny lived somewhere on the other side of Dalla Moor. This must have been before the days of the wise man of Mickley, or assuredly thither the widow would have gone. It seems that the poor mother screwed up courage to seek Nanny out herself, hoping to appease her—an almost hopeless task. Anyway, early one morning off she set; fortunately she met the old witch before she had completed half her journey.
On being questioned, Nanny swore she was innocent, but declared she knew what ailed the lad, and offered to go back with her and cure him. In much fear and trembling, the widow returned with Nanny, to the astonishment of the whole village. After having been left alone with the young fellow for some little time, Nanny told the weeping mother that her lad was possessed of a devil, which she promised to drive out. By what means she managed to induce the devil to let go his hold ’of the vitals’ is not known; but a terrific fight took place, furniture was smashed and pots were broken, amidst yells Satanic, and Nanny came off victorious. Having got the devil out of the young fellow, the next thing was, what must be done with the little imp? Nanny, however, seems to have been equal to the occasion. Of course such a doubtful customer could not be allowed to roam about at his own sweet will; oh dear no, Nanny would not grant a favour of that kind. The spirit was commanded to enter the body of a certain Tom Moss. Probably she had a spite against Tom; anyway the order seems to have been most promptly obeyed, for within a monthTom was found drowned in Grantley Lake. The invalid recovered, and so there is no doubt about anything.
The following witch story unfortunately is wanting in one or two points of interest. I am unable to give the witch’s name, or with certainty her dwelling-place. One or two things, however, tend to the belief that she was the Ayton witch, who flourished about 1750-80. If in this I am correct, she was known as Au’d Nanny; and though a native of Stokesley, she lived for many years in a tumble-down old cottage in the far corner of the green near the mill at Great Ayton.
Though doubtless a terror in her day, nearly all her deeds, like herself, have passed away. Two or three stories are yet told concerning Au’d Nanny, but they are unauthenticated and of doubtful origin. They seem to me most like latter-day ghost stories told to terrify children, with Nanny’s name tacked on to them. They preserve her memory and christian name, and that is all.
One story, however, I had from an old lady whose grandmother once had an encounter with Au’d Nanny. As the story was told to me in that matter-of-fact way which leaves small room for imagination to exploit itself, I have no doubt it was repeated, for my benefit, as her mother or grandmother had told it her years before. The main interest of the story lies in the fact that it contains a witch’s curse, and sets forth the proposition that a witch had the power not only of assuming the form of one recently dead, but could even inhabit the body itself.
To divest the story of much repetition and redundancy, it will be better to keep mainly to ordinary English.
It seems that her grandmother lived at Stokesley, and had a cousin living at Kildale, to whom she was deeply attached. This cousin’s name was Martha Sokeld. One day Martha was taken very ill, and sent for her cousin Mary Langstaff to come at once and nurse her. Mary sent word back she would be along directly; so after she had cleaned up and ‘putten things ti reets,’ she put on her hood and shawl and set off to walk to Kildale—‘an’ it’s a goodish step an’ all, Ah can tell ya; an’ ther’s nowt aboot that.’ Well, when Mary had walked above halfway, she saw an old woman ’hoppling alang t’ road.’ It seems there was something about the old lady which struck Mary as curious—‘sha didn’t leyke t’ leeak on her.’ What it was which made her feel certain the old body approaching was none other than ’t’ au’d witch31,’ she never could tell, but such became her conviction. So, to avoid the necessity of speaking to her, she stooped down and commenced to cull flowers from the hedge side. But on the old witch drawing near, she called out in a creaking voice, ‘Thoo’s neea call ti hing thi heead doon i’ that waay. Ah ken tha, Mary Langstaff, reet weel; aye, ez weel ez if thoo ow’d ma summat. Noo, ’t wadn’t ’a’e cossen32tha mich ti ’a’e passed t’ tahm o’ daay wi’ ma; bud sitha, Ah s‘an’t forgit ti-daay, an’ Ah knaw all ’at thoo off’ns sez aboot ma an’ all; but Ah’ll paay thaoot for ’t, Ah’ll paay tha oot for ’t.’ She then banged the ground three times with her stick, and when my informant’s grandmother looked up, the witch had disappeared. The reason why the witch did not do her an injury at that time was easily accounted for—she happened to be wearing in her bosom a bunch of wicken-tree, i.e. mountain ash, berries.
On arriving at her cousin’s, she found her almost recovered. She stayed with her a few days and then returned to Stokesley—this was on a Monday afternoon. Much to her surprise, who should walk in on Wednesday evening but Martha Sokeld. Martha told her she had had another bad bout, and felt she was not going to last long, but before she died she would like to see her sister who lived at Northallerton. She had got a ride so far on the way that afternoon, and then, after a night’s rest, she thought she would be able to go by the carrier to Northallerton. Just then she felt very tired, and thought if Mary would go over to Hannah’s and get her to put some things together which she wished to send to her sister, she could manage to get a nap lying on the settle. She was most pressing that Mary should not hurry back, but stop a good hour, giving as an excuse—she did not wish to be ‘wakken’d efter sha ’ed yance gitten ti sleep.’ Mary went to Hannah’s, but there was a something that made her feel very uneasy—she did not know what it was; ‘an’ i’ t’ end it gat sike a grip on her, ‘at sha left an’ set off yam agaan.’ So that she should not awaken her cousin if she had fallen asleep, she approached the house very quietly; and peeping between the shutters (they didnot fit very closely), she beheld a sight which made her ’oppen wide baith e’es’—her cousin, instead of being asleep, was sitting in front of a blazing fire, dropping things into a pan ‘an’ saying ower an’ up agaain’—
Fire cum,Fire gan,Curling smeeakKeep oot o’ t’ pan.Here’s a teead, theer’s a frog,An’ t’ heart frev a crimson ask;Here’s a teeath fra t’ heeadO’ yan at’s deead,‘At nivver gat thruff his task33;Here’s pricked i’ blood a maiden’s prayer‘At t’ e’e o’ man maunt see;It’s pricked reet thruff a yet warm mask,Lapt aboot a breet green ask,An’ it’s all foor him an’ thee.It boils, thoo’ll drink,He’ll speeak, tho’ll think,It boils, thoo’ll see,He’ll speeak, thoo’ll dee.
Fire cum,Fire gan,Curling smeeakKeep oot o’ t’ pan.Here’s a teead, theer’s a frog,An’ t’ heart frev a crimson ask;Here’s a teeath fra t’ heeadO’ yan at’s deead,‘At nivver gat thruff his task33;Here’s pricked i’ blood a maiden’s prayer‘At t’ e’e o’ man maunt see;It’s pricked reet thruff a yet warm mask,Lapt aboot a breet green ask,An’ it’s all foor him an’ thee.It boils, thoo’ll drink,He’ll speeak, tho’ll think,It boils, thoo’ll see,He’ll speeak, thoo’ll dee.
Fire cum,Fire gan,Curling smeeakKeep oot o’ t’ pan.Here’s a teead, theer’s a frog,An’ t’ heart frev a crimson ask;Here’s a teeath fra t’ heeadO’ yan at’s deead,‘At nivver gat thruff his task33;Here’s pricked i’ blood a maiden’s prayer‘At t’ e’e o’ man maunt see;It’s pricked reet thruff a yet warm mask,Lapt aboot a breet green ask,An’ it’s all foor him an’ thee.It boils, thoo’ll drink,He’ll speeak, tho’ll think,It boils, thoo’ll see,He’ll speeak, thoo’ll dee.
Fire cum,
Fire gan,
Curling smeeak
Keep oot o’ t’ pan.
Here’s a teead, theer’s a frog,
An’ t’ heart frev a crimson ask;
Here’s a teeath fra t’ heead
O’ yan at’s deead,
‘At nivver gat thruff his task33;
Here’s pricked i’ blood a maiden’s prayer
‘At t’ e’e o’ man maunt see;
It’s pricked reet thruff a yet warm mask,
Lapt aboot a breet green ask,
An’ it’s all foor him an’ thee.
It boils, thoo’ll drink,
He’ll speeak, tho’ll think,
It boils, thoo’ll see,
He’ll speeak, thoo’ll dee.
Something seemed to say to Mary, ‘Sha’s working a curse on thee an’ Tom’ (Tom was her sweetheart). ‘Thoo mun deea summat, or sha’ll mak mischief atween ya.’ So Mary opened the door and walked boldly in. She then told the witch—for by this time she had no doubt her visitor was such—that she had heard all she had said, and seen all she had done. She then took hold of the Bible, and said, ‘Ya mun deea yer warst; Ah ho’d byv this,’ meaning the Bible. No sooner had she said that she had heard and seen all, and declared that she held by the Bible, and dared her to do herworst, than the witch turned the pan wrong side up on the fire, and shrieking out, ‘Thoo’s ’scaped ma this tahm, bud Ah’ll mell on tha yet,’ disappeared. Early next morning a man rode over from Kildale, with the news that Martha Sokeld was nowhere to be found, and it was not until three days afterwards that her dead body was discovered on the moor head. The conclusion come to at that time (and which my informant thought most probable) was that the witch had lured Martha on to the moor and then spelled the soul out of her, taking possession of the body herself, and so deceived her grandmother. However, her grandmother lived until she was eighty-five, having brought up a large family; and so, as the old lady put it, ‘Efter that t’ au’d witch ’ed nivver been yabble ti deea owt tiv her; sha aiblins off’ns aim’d ti deea, bud it seeams ’at it nivver cam tiv a heead.’
The following further information regarding Molly Cass, the Leeming witch, of whom mention has been made, was given to me by Abe Braithwaite, a noted character of Bedale twenty-five years ago. Molly, although a native of Exelby, lived for many years in a cottage close to Leeming Mill: some declare in a disused part of the mill itself. Be that as it may, one night whilst the miller, two others, and Abe’s grandfather were playing cards in the mill, George Winterfield (one of the players) had the nine of hearts dealt to him eight times in succession. As the ninth deal was proceeding, one of the players laid a guinea on the table, offering to wager Winterfield that amount to a shilling, that the nine of hearts did not fall to his hand that deal. ‘Put thi brass i’ thi pocket,’ saidAu’d Molly, popping her head just inside the door; ‘thi brass is nut foor him, an’ his brass is nut foor thee. Put thi brass i’ thi pocket, an’ leeak sharp aboot it.’ So terrified was the owner of the guinea of gaining the ill-will of Molly, that he pocketed his guinea at once. When the last card of the deal fell, and whilst the cards still lay on the table, Molly said, ‘Thoo’s gitten ’t again, George; tak thi han’ up and see,’ and such turned out to be the case. ‘Aye, thoo’s gitten it hard eneeaf, an’ thoo’s had it eight times alriddy; t’ au’d un’s34i’ tha noo, an’ he’ll nut leeav tha whahl he’s gitten tha altogither. Thoo hed thi chance, an’ thoo wadn’t tak’t, seea Ah’ve potched it inti t’ Swale’ (the name of the river hard by), ‘an’ thoo’ll ’a’e ti gan theer ti late it. T’ Swale’s waiting ti be thi brahdal bed. Thoo’d better gan noo; think on t’ langer thoo waits, an’ t’ langer thoo’ll stay35.’ On hearing this, George, turning as white as chalk, arose, saying, ‘Ah’ll wed her; Ah’ll mak an honest woman on her, if thoo’ll nobbut gi’e ma anuther chance; Ah’ve rewd all ’at Ah’ve deean.’ To which Molly replied, ‘Ah’s nut off’ns i’ t’ mahnd o’ gi’ing onnybody yah chance, let aleean tweea; thoo sez ’at thoo’ll tak her ti thi bed, Ah’ve sed ’at thoo s’all gan tiv hers. Noo, then, gan thi waays; thi brahd’s waiting foor tha, sha’s ligging asleep on a bed o’ bulls an’ segs. Oh, what a brahdal bed! Oh, what a brahdal bed!’ she screamed, banging to the door.
Winterfield left the company, saying he would goat once to his old sweetheart and promise to marry her. The night was intensely dark, and whether he missed his way and slipped into the beck, which was much swollen at the time, and his body drifted into the Swale, or whether it was as Molly shouted to him as he left, ‘Good-neet, George, all roads leead ti t’ Swale ti-neet,’ it is impossible to say. One thing, however, is certain—though he joined his old sweetheart, he never saw her again. It was as a corpse the current carried him along, and left his body late that night by the side of her, who, only a few hours before, in a fit of desperation and despair, had confided to the silent waters the whole of her sin and shame. Both bodies were found quite close together, tightly held by the ‘bulls and segs,’ in the backwater where the beck joins the Swale. I well remember, when fishing near the spot late in the evening for eels, an old lady remarking on what she considered my temerity, for she fully believed that any one who ventured near at midnight would see the dead body of a girl, and presently that of a man, float by, both being quite visible until they joined each other in the high seaves and bulrushes.