Folklore of Lincolnshire (9 page)

The men journeyed into the black Fens, jumping at every shadow and noise around them. Eventually they saw branches of a twisted, ancient bush that were shaped like a cross, upon which flickered a light, like a Will-o-the-Wisp, and they knew they were in the right area. They looked around and then they saw the tell-tale boulder half in a deep pool. The men gathered round the stone and said a silent prayer, and then they heaved the rock up and threw it on the bank. For a fraction of a second they found themselves gazing into the most beautiful face any of them had ever seen; then they were blinded by a dazzling light as the moon rose back up into the sky, reclaiming her place amongst the stars and forcing all the evil spirits back into the shadows. The men now had a safe journey home, in the full light of the grateful moon, and the bogles retreated to their holes.

Boston, once one of the most flourishing ports in England until the decline in trade around the time of Elizabeth I, due to the silting up of the River Witham, was known as a safe haven for travellers.

The Boston Stump, visible for miles around, especially since it is surrounded by such flat landscape.

The famous tower, Boston Stump, is visible for miles around, views from the top reaching thirty-two miles and it was, at one time, used as a beacon, the lantern towering at a dizzy height of 272 feet, ‘through which the Fenland wind blows an eerie note’.
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The tower is said to have been used as a marker for travellers in the Fens and
the Wash and it became very important again during the Second World War, as a landmark for pilots going back to base.

The Fens are one of the few places in Britain which, when the conditions are just right, create a secure, magical arena for ice skating in the long winter months. The weather has to coincide with the flooding of the low-lying marshes and farm land – if the ice comes too late, in February or March, often there is no water left to freeze and skating is impossible – but when the freeze comes just after the fields and meadows have flooded, it produces an ideal environment for skaters, safe in the knowledge that even if the ice does crack, the water is only an inch or so deep and so no real disaster can occur.

Skating on the Fens is an age-old tradition and, originally, the skaters used flattened animal bones strapped to their feet. Then improvements were made in the Victorian era and steel blades were introduced, adding new speed for the ‘Fen runners’. The first people known to have started the trend were the farm workers who, with no farmland to work on in the frozen weather, started skating to keep warm! Then the inevitable competitions began and with no income from farming in such cold weather, racing for a loaf of bread or a slab of meat was plenty of motivation for the hungry souls. By the 1800s, Fen skating was a massive spectator sport and a National Skating Association was developed but, as previously mentioned, much depended on the right conditions. Coincidentally, at the time of writing this chapter those very conditions have presented themselves and many Fenland dwellers are dusting off the skates that have been packed away for years and are once again enjoying skating on the Fens.

The
Lincolnshire Life
magazine tells the story of a boggart who lived in the Fens. It explains that boggarts were wild creatures, half man half animal, who lived secretly in the small areas of wilderness left behind when the main areas of the Fen were drained. The magazine suggests they could have been descended from the ‘slodgers’. Before the drainage in the nineteenth century, ‘Fen slodgers’ made their living catching fish and fowl on the wetlands of the Fens, for trading and survival. Legend implies some ‘slodgers’ never accepted the transformation of the Fens and stayed behind, hidden from people and scraping an existence. The
Lincolnshire Life
magazine explains that they were extraordinarily strong and were also rather sly and cunning.

This particular boggart lived in the Fenland near a farmer, who wanted to drain the area round-about and use it for growing crops. One day, after he had been out ploughing the area, the boggart confronted him and told him in no uncertain terms that the land belonged to him and that the farmer had to clear out: ‘Most local men would have fled at first sight of the fearsome creature, with its ape-like stance, deep eye sockets and long, tangled hair; but the farmer, though apprehensive, stood his ground and engaged in argument.’
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The two, both believing the land was theirs, carried on arguing for some time until at last they reached an agreement. They decided that the farmer would till and sow the land but that they would share the end produce. The farmer would take what he grew in the soil and the boggart would have whatever grew above it.

They parted and didn’t meet again until harvest time. The farmer, quite a cunning man himself, had grown potatoes and when he went to collect his crop he also took with him a large cudgel for protection, in case the boggart turned violent at this trickery. The boggart was visibly displeased when he saw the large mound of potatoes the farmer had, but after spying the cudgel in his hands, he allowed the farmer his crop. He insisted, however, that for the next crop things would be reversed; the boggart would have all that grew under the soil and the farmer would have whatever was on top. The farmer went home very happy, planning the crop of beans he would grow. Of course at the next harvest the boggart lost out again and so, realising he had been tricked, this time he insisted corn would be grown. At harvest time they would each start at an opposite corner of the field and cut at the same time until they met in the middle. The farmer had no choice but to agree, although he was uneasy about the deal. He knew that with the strength of ten men, the boggart would be much faster at cutting the corn and would take the farmer’s share too. Just before harvest time the farmer crept out one night and laid some iron wires amongst the stalks in the boggart’s half, then when the day came the boggart’s blade was blunted in the first few strokes and the farmer ended up with more than his share of the crop. Luckily for the farmer, the boggart knew when he had met his match and left the area, never to be seen again.

Ethel Rudkin tells the story of another boggart who was often seen around Wildsworth, at Woofer Lane. The story goes that there was a party of poachers, around 1862, who were fishing along the Trent when they were frightened by the shrieking of otherworldly, mocking laughter. The men ran away, leaving their nets behind, all except one who was determined not to lose his equipment. That was until there was another blood-curdling shriek directly above him and then he was off with the others, net-less! The Woofer Boggard was a creature with a reputation and all the men had heard stories of it before but none had ever seen or heard it prior to that incident. Needless to say, none of them ever went back to poach there again.

The
Lincolnshire Life
magazine relates a sad tale situated around Monks Abbey in an area known as The Willows. A long time ago there was a beautiful lady who lived close to the banks of the swift-flowing River Witham. There was a legend that the river was magical, but it also had fast currents and deep pools within it. The lady was being wooed by a handsome knight with whom she was in love. He would ride out to meet her everyday and they would sit together on the banks of the river, below the weeping willows.

There was a small island out in a deeper pool of the river and there grew some of the prettiest flowers the lady had ever seen. They were the loveliest blue, like the summer sky, and so delicate that she longed to hold a bunch in her hands and smell their petals.

One spring day, when the birds were singing and the sun was shining down on the flowers, they shone even more brightly than before, the blue dazzling the beautiful lady, until she begged her sweetheart to fetch some for her. The noble knight
loved his lady dearly and dutifully waded into the water to pick her the flowers. However, there was much deep, soft mud on the river bottom and his armour was very heavy in the water. He carried on regardless and made it to the island where he picked her the finest bunch of the blue flowers he could find. Then, holding them high above the water, he began to make his way back to her. He found the way back much harder, his feet, ankles and knees swallowed up in the mud. The current was tearing at his tiring legs and his armour was now so heavy that each step seemed like a thousand. He struggled to get back to her but was sinking rapidly and he realised he would not make it. Holding his head high and the flowers even higher, he called out to her, ‘Forget me not, forget me not, forget me not!’
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Then he was gone, sinking beneath the water, and the last thing she saw was her posy of blue flowers disappearing along with her lover. It is said that even now, on certain spring days, you can hear the sound of a lady crying and her brave knight calling to her.

Christopher Marlow tells of the story of a Louth girl, Fanny, known as Fan o’ the Fens.
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She was apparently renowned for her beauty and she lived in a cottage with her old widowed mother, near the moor. Her mother had been complaining of being harassed by a magpie that supposedly followed her everywhere, all through the day, repeating every word she said and generally tormenting her. Eventually, she was so perturbed that she asked the Wiseman of Louth to help her. He believed someone had placed a spell on her and called a meeting in her house, in front of the neighbours. He made everyone sit round in a circle and then said that the guilty person would be shown to them when the sleeping cat by the fire awoke and went to sit on their shoulder. Everyone watched with bated breath as, when the cat awoke, it circled round the group and then climbed up Fan’s lap and then onto her shoulder, where it settled, purring contentedly. She was immediately branded a witch and the cat was labelled as her witch’s familiar, sure evidence of her dark arts. Poor Fan o’ the Fens was shunned by all the villagers and even her sweetheart, Simon Girsby, left her for another woman, Rose Hipkin. The lad, however, began to put on weight and everyone noticed that since leaving Fan, he was becoming fatter and fatter. He consulted a white wizard, who told him he was under the spell of a witch and that the witch would be revealed to him that very day, burning.

On the way home, Simon had to pass by Fan’s house and as he did so, she ran out, covered in flames and screaming for help. She nearly died and was badly burnt but still protested her innocence. The spell seemed to have been lifted from Simon, however, and he was soon as slim as he had ever been.

People began to notice that Fan’s temperament started to change and she began to play neighbours off against each other, causing trouble and seeming to hate the villagers as much as they hated her. One such neighbour was Thomas Friskney, who had to pass her house every day, but each time his horses refused to go past the cottage, until one day he was so fed up that he shouted a curse on all witches. Fan was seen to overhear him and some time later, Thomas was taken ill with great pain in his chest. It was discovered he had a live snake inside him and the villagers
had to use an old method of tempting the snake out with a bowl of fresh milk, as that is the only way to lure a snake out, if you should ever accidentally swallow one, tail first!

The ruins of Monks Abbey, Lincoln. Found along Monks Road, the abbey once stood beside a leafy lane in open fields, above the deep River Witham. Now the ruins are situated within a housing estate, having being swallowed up by the city.

It was rumoured that Fan o’ the Fens would regularly fly out on a stick to meet the Devil in the dark marshes when there was a full moon and the people decided to try and catch her in the act. The only drawback was that if one were to see this Devil worshipping on the night of a full moon, it was certain the watcher would die within the year – only a wiseman was exempt from the rule. So, the local wiseman was appointed the task of watching Fan’s house and settled himself in the bushes opposite on the night in question. After a while, he heard voices and chanting coming from an upstairs room, then a window opened and he watched Fan fly out on a broom, followed by numerous other witches. He entered the house and searched her room, finding evidence of Devil worship, and then went back to hide in the bushes. When Fan and the others arrived back at dawn, the wiseman knocked loudly on her door. He pushed past her when she opened it and stormed to her room to catch the others, but the room was empty and all signs of Devil worship had disappeared. Only Fan was left, so he caught her and took her to the local
constable. The girl was put on trial, where many gave evidence against her, including the wiseman and Simon Girsby, but it was deemed that there was not sufficient proof to condemn her. She was freed, but some of the villagers and the wiseman were so outraged that they forced their way into her house and took the poor girl to the local pond. There they gave her the ultimatum of either confessing to being a witch, or being plunged into the river. Of course, the girl confessed and said all the allegations against her were true but the villagers were in such a frenzy now that they submerged Fan into the river anyway and nearly drowned her. Then they beat her with sticks and drove her out of the village with warnings never to return. The locals celebrated the expulsion of the witch and Fan o’ the Fens was never seen in those parts again.