USING FOLKLORE IN MODERN CHILDREN'S STORIES by Sharon Tregenza

 I think folklore is an absolute gift to children's authors. The more I dip into it, the more wonderful stories come to light sparking ideas galore for new books.  Where else can you find so many ghosts, witches, giants and mermaids. 

Dragging these tales into the modern world is an interesting exercise in itself. Think of a giant struggling with an iphone, a mermaid having to deal with plastic pollution and a witch going viral with her TikTok dance. 

Old myths and legends feel fresh when they're transported into modern life. It also works well for creating a strong sense of place - mysterious caves, dangerous cliffs and creepy woods. All luscious stuff. 

The issues and themes haven't changed. I can look for the the greed, the courage and the kindness and they're all there. Just a twist of time here, and an update there, and before you know it you got a fun, scary story that everyone will enjoy.

* The illustrations I've used here are the artwork of Caitlin Turner. I bought these cards on my latest trip to Cornwall. I found them scary but beautiful.

Email: sharontregenza@gmail.com

www.sharontregenza.com

Folklore into fiction - by Lu Hersey

 I've recently been writing up some folklore stories as part of an ongoing project, and can't help noticing how easily I'm distracted. So many questions come up about each tale, I spend hours researching (which mostly means going down google rabbit holes), and of course there are no definitive answers. Which possibly goes some way to explain why folklore provides ongoing inspiration for fiction writers. Every story provides so many opportunities to speculate on what really happened.

By way of example - this is the story of the Mermaid of Zennor. (I'm unlikely to write a fiction story based on this in the near future, so if you feel there's something you'd find useful in it, go ahead!)

The basic story goes something like this: there was once a young man called Mathew Trewhella, son of the churchwarden, who sang every Sunday in the church choir in the tiny village of Zennor, Cornwall. His voice was so beautiful that it attracted the attention of a mermaid, who took to sitting on a rock in Pendour Cove, below the church, to hear him sing. (In some versions, she also had a beautiful voice, and when she sang, Mathew was captivated by the haunting sound, drifting up from the Cove)

Unable to stop herself, the mermaid came closer to the church every Sunday, until one day she ventured inside to find the man with the beautiful voice. Matthew was enchanted by her, they fell in love, and the mermaid enticed him to follow her back to the sea. The couple were last seen swimming out of Pendour Cove, and no one in Zennor ever saw them again. 

There are a few different versions of this story, but the basic elements are the same - choirboy Mathew Trewhella falls in love with a mermaid and follows her to the sea. Did they live happily ever after, or did he drown when they got into the ocean? The answer isn't part of the original story. But stories can grow over time...

In one version, a ship drops anchor near Pendour Cove many years (possibly centuries) later, and a mermaid appears, angry that the anchor has landed on the home she shares with her husband, Mathew Trewhella, and their children. The captain weighs anchor immediately, because every sailor knows mermaids have the power to send ships to the deep, but his telling of this encounter adds an extra layer to the original. 

In another version, Mathew's mother is heartbroken by his disappearance and mourns him ever after, but fortunately she is well looked after by her many other children. This extra snippet made me wonder if Matthew was simply fed up with the responsibility of looking after his elderly mother, and when he found a lover outside the village, made good his escape. 

Of course there's the basic question - do mermaids actually exist? Belief in the existence of intelligent sea living entities crosses many cultures, and there's often an element of truth, however slight, in most folklore tales. People believed in the existence of mermaids until very recently - and some (myself included) still think it's a possibility. Certainly something for a fiction writer to consider...

The only definite in the story is that someone, or maybe something, came to the church, unable to resist the sound of Mathew's voice. Was she really a mermaid? If she was, what happened to her tail? It's hard to believe a mermaid came into the church without the congregation kicking up a more of a fuss - traditionally mermaids only carry a mirror and a comb, Maybe this one wore a dress to cover her breasts and her fish tail, or the villagers were too scared - or in awe of mermaids - to say anything. It might even simply be that she was an outsider (Zennor is a very small village) who wore unusual clothes, and Matthew eloped with her. 

The point is that no one really knows what happened, and it was a very long time ago - which means you can make the story into anything you like. Perhaps it was originally intended as something as basic as a parable about the power of hymns drawing a heathen mermaid into the church (even if she didn't stick around long).

However you tell the story, the mystery of Matthew's disappearance has lived on for half a century - and legend has it you can still hear him singing out in the waves on a stormy night. And best of all, a beautiful mermaid chair, carved well over 400 years ago in memory of Mathew, still resides in Zennor church today. Enough to inspire any writer...

And that's the beauty of folklore.

Lu Hersey

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Here be Dragons - by Lu Hersey

No county has more dragon myths associated with it than Somerset (where I live), and I've recently been making a study of local folkore on the subject. In case you're interested, here are some useful bits of dragonlore I've come across so far.

I previously thought it was always the same story: dragon takes up residence somewhere, is very annoying to locals as it eats its way through surrounding livestock and people, until a brave dragon slayer goes forth and slays the beast. Order restored.

Turns out, it's not that simple. For a start, when is a dragon not a dragon but a wyrm, or a wyvern? Here's a brief explanation, in case you need one...

Dragons

The dragon, or firedrake, is the best known, and the one fiction writers are most fond of. This beast is a gigantic reptilian creature with four legs, big, bat-like wings, and a covering of armoured scales. Usually sporting horns or a crest, it has massive, pointed, sharp teeth to chomp you with, and huge claws to swipe at you. It can lay waste to vast areas of land and kill any number of people and animals - and that's the problem.  Worst of all, it breathes out enough fire to cook the unfortunate hero sent to slay it - though luckily (for the hero, not the dragon) there'll always be the one vulnerable spot that a trusty spear can penetrate, kill the poor beast and save the day. These creatures also sometimes have magical powers of invisibility and self healing, just to give the hero a bit more to contend with. Sometimes they guard treasure, which helps make them worthy targets.

Wyrms

Unlike dragons, wyrms don't have legs. They're more like massive snakes with bodies as thick as oak trunks. They don't breathe fire, preferring to spit venom - and their diet of choice is (weirdly) milk (either cow or human), livestock, and of course, people. 

One version of the legend of the Gurt Wyrm of Shervage Wood specifies it eating two gypsies and a shepherd. (Such detail adds a certain something to the story...) If chopped in pieces, the wyrm can reform, which makes it difficult to kill. Fortunately, when the Gurt Wyrm was chopped in half by a woodsman, the two halves went off in different directions, saving the woodsman from being eaten - and leading to the creature's sad demise.

Wyverns

Wyverns are like dragons, but with two legs instead of four - and are, apparently, a bit smaller. They also have a sting in their tail like a scorpion. Most wyverns can fly. They were thought to carry diseases, and were blamed for outbreaks of the plague as well as other illnesses, both of people and livestock. I've found it very hard to pin down a specific case of a wyvern, but they feature widely in heraldry and church carvings.

Basilisks

Specific cases of basilisks are even harder to track down. Legend has it that basilisks are born when cockerels lay eggs (which is probably why it's hard to find examples). They are only a few feet long, and unlike others in the dragon family, kill by stare alone. The only creature immune from the stare of the basilisk is a weasel.

Not all our dragon legends fit into one of the above categories, but most do. Some guard treasure, some don't. Some seem to symbolise the church's battle against paganism, and others are connected to features in the landscape. Dragons appeared over an extensive period of time, though a few in Somerset seem to date back specifically to the time of King Alfred - possibly with a link to his battles against the Danish Vikings, who arrived in boats with huge dragons carved on the prow. As in all myth, there are usually elements of truth bound up in the stories.

Or perhaps dragons actually exist in some parallel reality, appearing for a time and disappearing? Some reported dragon sightings are surprisingly recent. A French farmer encountered what appeared to be a dragon attacking one of his cows in a field one night in 1978. An Icelandic man saw one emerging from the volcano Eyjafjallajokull in 2010, and a dragon appeared to several witnesses in Wisconsin in 2007.

Perhaps strangest of all, a group of ten Surrey ghost hunters witnessed the appearance of at least two dragons at Waverley Abbey in December 2023. It might sound unlikely, but the witnesses swear the strange creatures appeared really close to them, and they found the experience far more terrifying than any ghostly encounter. So if you desperately want to see a dragon, perhaps be careful what you wish for...

Lu Hersey

Website: Lu Hersey

Patreon: Writing the Magic

WHY CHILDREN STILL LOVE MYTHS AND LEGENDS. by Sharon Tregenza

I've been researching and writing a local myths and legends recently and was thinking about how they've endured. Despite the advances in technology, these stories have stood the test of time, and myths and folklore continue to influence children's literature.

I think one reason is their dramatic settings and colourful characters.  Who could resist a flying horse or a hero who travels through the underworld.

Here are three of the most popular children's books or series influenced by myths:

The 'Who let the Gods out' series by Maz Evans takes the prize for funniest. A laugh out loud romp with Olympian Gods from ancient Greek mythology.  

The Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan has now sold an astonishing 55 million copies. With monsters roaming the woods and demigods shooting flaming arrows Jason, Piper and Leo have their work cut out.

Norse Myths: Tales of Odin, Thor and Loki by Kevin Crossley-Holland introduces children to Norse Mythology through enchanting stories.

Myths and legends are rooted in culture and through them children are introduced to diverse world views and ancient civilisations. They help build curiosity and empathy in an an adventurous way. Long may they remain part of children's literature.

sharontregenza@gmail.com

www.sharontregenza.com

Going cuckoo - by Lu Hersey

 For various reasons (mostly the time of year), I've become cuckoo obsessed this month. So here's something about cuckoos and cuckoo folklore which doesn't even touch on the subject of how they manage to replicate exactly the eggs of the different bird species whose nests they lay their eggs in. (There might be a scientific explanation, but it looks like magic to me...)

The arrival of the cuckoo in April traditionally heralded the coming of summer - to the point where it was popularly believed that the bird actually brought summer with it. At Towedneck in Cornwall, a cuckoo feast was held on the Sunday nearest 28 April, as that was the date the cuckoo supposedly brought the summer in.

According to the Cornish folk tale, one very cold, wet spring, a farmer threw a log on his fire on 28 April and a cuckoo flew out. The weather immediately changed to warm and sunny - and so that became the date of the fair.

At one time cuckoo fairs were held over much of the country, possibly the most famous being one at Heathfield in Sussex. Here, the old woman supposedly in charge of all the cuckoos bringing summer is known as Dame Heffle, and she lets a cuckoo out of her basket at the annual Heffle (the old name for Heathfield) fair . The fair was started in 1315 when the Bishop of Chichester obtained permission to hold a weekly market and an annual fair, and was only recently cancelled because of the pandemic - hopefully to be revived in the near future. Anyway, it was said that the number of cuckoos heard during the summer after the release of Dame Heffle's cuckoo would depend on how grumpy (or not) the chosen Dame Heffle was feeling that day...

In Wales, it's considered unlucky to hear a cuckoo before 6 April, but very lucky to hear it on 28 April. To hear it after midsummer's day is a possible death omen (there were so many possible death omens in country lore, it's amazing anyone managed to stay alive...)

Having said that, all over Europe the cuckoo was regarded as a bird of omens, both good and bad, depending on when you hear it and what direction you heard it - and this varied from region to region. However one commonly held belief was that it was a good idea to have coins ready in your pocket, so when you heard the first cuckoo, you could turn them over to bring you luck for the year ahead.

People didn't fully understand bird migration until relatively recently, and had various ideas (depending on local tradition) about where the birds went when they disappeared. Some believed they roosted in rotten logs, and some believed they flew into fairy hills and burrows. A widely held (and surprisingly persistent) belief was that cuckoos turned into hawks for the winter - even though Aristotle dismissed the idea over 2000 years ago.

As most of us live in urban environments these day, you might not hear a cuckoo from one year to the next. But I'd recommend getting out to the countryside to listen out for one - a sure sign that summer is coming. Probably around 28 April is a good time... :)

Lu Hersey

Patreon account: Writing the Magic

Twitter/X: @Lu Writes

WILLOWS - myth and folklore. by Sharon Tregenza

 

WILLOWS - myth and folklore in my WIP.

I needed a wood for my WIP. It's a very important part of the story so the trees had to be full of mystery, and character - I chose willows. With their graceful drooping branches, that look like strings of leaves, the smallest breeze will set the whole tree in motion - the sound of their gentle shhhh and whisper created the perfect atmosphere.

The research proved even more fascinating than I'd hoped and gave me more ideas for plot twists and character development. I discovered that in Celtic folklore the grey willow tree is known as the 'Tree of Enchantment' and that the word 'wiccan' meant those who bend and manipulate. So the willow became a symbol of sorcery.

There's even a 'Willow Tree Zodiac'

* Ruled by: the 5th Lunar Month

* Dates: 15th April - 12th May

* Ogham Letter: Saille (S)

* Ruling Planet: Moon

* Ruling Elements: Water

People born under the willow sign are said to be instinctual, patient, loyal and as they are knowledgable about a great many topics, they are the go-to friend for advice. Ruled by the moon willow signs are in touch with their psychic side too. I used these characteristics to develop the grandfather in my book and also to enhance important situations.

The strong bond between my main character and his grandfather was shown in their shared love of creating willow animals. Willow trees are flexible, the branches can be manipulated without snapping which makes it a popular wood for weaving and wickerwork. It's even possible to create living sculptures this way. 

 

The willow dragon Aiden and his grandfather create becomes a significant part of the plot.

There's a lot more to the myth and magic of willows and I think, like most of us do, I often get lost in the joy of the research. 

The first draft is with the publisher now so hopefully the willows will create their magic for me too. 😊

 

Selkies: The secret world of shapeshifters - by Lu Hersey

NB. I wrote a version of this post for writer Steve Gladwin as part of his project on selkies. If you're interested in the subject, Steve will be posting other posts about selkies by various authors over the coming months.

 
As a child, I was obsessed with the idea of shapeshifting after reading a piece in Look and Learn about Geronimo. According to the article, the Apache tribes believed their most famous medicine man escaped from his enemies so often because of his ability to turn into a crow. He simply flew away. This really stuck in my mind. Was it actually true? I was completely captivated by the idea. I wanted to be a shapeshifter. 

Over the years, I read widely on the subject. A belief in shapeshifting was widely held by indigenous people across the globe. Shamans that can turn into bears, mountain lions or crows. Men that turn into werewolves. Witches able to turn into hares. And most dear to my heart, the selkies of the Celtic coasts and islands of Britain. Magical folk who are people on land and seals in the sea.

Painting by Jessica Shirley

My love of seals started many years ago, when my parents took me to visit a naturalist who lived on Dartmoor. His name was HG Hurrell and he had a captive grey seal called Atlanta, rescued as injured pup, that lived in a pool in his garden. That visit made a lasting impression on me. I must have been very small as the seal seemed so big - her huge, mournful face appearing out of the tiny pool like magic. I was captivated by her. When she made a sound, she sighed sadly, as if she was mourning for lost oceans - and I wanted more than anything to take her from this place in the heart of Dartmoor, back to the sea. I can't remember why Hurrell couldn't re-wild Atlanta - maybe because she thought she was human. She certainly seemed very human to me. And perhaps that's the key to the selkie myth - grey seals sound like people. They have eyes that seem to look into your soul. It isn't much of a leap to believing the change is possible.

These days, most people don't believe shapeshifting is possible, just as they don't believe faeries - or any other folkloric beings - exist. The puritans, and later scientists, knocked it out of us. And it seems when people no longer believe something exists, they no longer see it or experience it (or if they do, they tend to keep quiet about it.)*

But stories of these 'others' are peppered throughout our folklore, and any in-depth study makes you wonder. Magic is just out of reach, touching the edges of our collective conscious and haunting our dreams. Read any collection of folk stories, especially those told by people who have experienced these things themselves, and you realise just how close they are. Lost, maybe - like watching haunting video footage of life on St Kilda - but perhaps still out there somewhere, just under the surface.

Children are generally more open to such possibilities than adults - and that seems to be another requirement to becoming a shapeshifter. You have to start young. From all my reading, it seems shapeshifters are mostly born to families of shapeshifters - but often the first time they experience the change into another form is around puberty.

Adolescents, especially girls, go through so many changes during puberty - body shape, hormones, menstruation - it's no coincidence that poltergeists mostly manifest in houses where an adolescent girl is present. These body changes can be hard to deal with. You remember that bit in Carrie when she starts menstruating and screams the place down? Ignorance can make these changes terrifying.

It wasn't that bad for me, but even so, the only information I had on the subject (weirdly I knew more about actual sex from playground talk than I did about periods) was my mother telling me that one day when I was a bit older, my body would start to produce an egg once a month. 'What like a chicken?' I asked. 'No, much smaller,' she said. So I was thinking maybe wren's egg or even tiny hummingbird size. And that's all I knew until it happened. Worse, we were staying with some friends of my parents I'd never met before. There were whispered conversations and knowing looks and I just wanted to disappear through the floorboards. Adolescence is the most awkward, painful time for a lot of teenagers. We should give them more credit. It's not easy being a teen.

And that's what drew me to writing for teens. In Deep Water, I wanted Danni, the main character, to be the kind of age where girls go through these changes. Her symptoms are a lot more extreme than most teens (water starts pouring through her hands, that kind of thing) until the big change happens and she discovers (plot spoiler alert) that she's actually a selkie. Frankly I wish that had been my experience. The awkwardness would have been so much more worth it for the joy of gliding underwater as a seal.

I'm not alone in my obsession. Selkies abound in art, folksongs and folktales, and if you want to read the best ever non-fiction collection of oral folktales about them, try The People of the Sea by David Thomson. It's one of the most haunting books I've ever read. Thomson was a fluent Gaelic speaker, so as he travelled the Scottish and Irish islands between the wars, the inhabitants trusted him with their selkie stories - of men rescued by seals from stormy seas, taking seal women as their wives, seals suckling their children, island clans still known to be descended from selkies. Even back then, many of the island folk were wary - the story happened to an uncle, a friend, a distant relative. But they all believed, as did Thomson himself following a harrowing childhood experience, that selkies were real.

I challenge you to read it and not consider the possibility.

* Recently, folklorists like Jo Hickey-Hall have started recording people's personal encounters with faeries and other folkloric beings. If you're interested in the subject, or have experiences yourself, you can get in touch with her via Modern Fairy Sightings https://www.scarlettofthefae.com/

Deep Water is being reissued in paperback and ebook this summer by publisher Tangent Books. The trailer my daughter made for me when the book was first published by Usborne has a soundtrack taken from Emily Portman's song Grey Stone, about a selkie girl. The tune was originally noted down by David Thomson in The People of the Sea as an ancient Hebridean song actually sung by real selkies. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8_g-fmcS-w&ab_channel=thatcherryfilm

Lastly, here's a sneak preview of the cover art for the new edition of Deep Water, by wonderful artist Rhianna Wynter  - and thanks to Mark at the Folklore Podcast for putting us in touch.

By Lu Hersey

twitter: LuWrites

A load of old baubles - by Lu Hersey

People have been celebrating the turn of the year at midwinter for thousands of years. Originally marking the winter solstice, people decorated their homes with evergreens and fir branches as a reminder of the coming spring. The Romans celebrated Saturnalia over the solstice period, with decorations to honour the god Saturn. With the coming of Christianity, the evergreens came to represent the promise of everlasting life with God. 

Christmas trees came much later, an idea thought up by either Estonians or Latvians (they're still arguing about who thought of it first). Either way, they first appeared in town squares thanks to the Brotherhood of Blackheads. I went down a google rabbit hole to find out more about the Brotherhood of Blackheads, so to save you a bit of time and effort, they were a group of Christian merchants (male, single) who banded together to put down an uprising by the indigenous pagan population of Estonia, who wanted to get rid of Christians and foreigners. The Brotherhood then started an annual Christmas celebration, dancing around the fir trees they put up in the centre of town.

The first indoor tree we know about was erected in in the guild house in Breman in Germany in 1570, and decorated with apples, nuts, pretzels and paper flowers. It possibly wasn't the very first indoor tree, but it's the first one someone took the trouble to make a note of in the town records.  

There are various legends as to why the people of Germany started bringing fir trees into their own homes. The most popular is that Martin Luther was gazing up at the stars sparkling through the trees one night, and thought of Jesus, who left the stars of heaven to come to earth at Christmas. Luther brought a small tree indoors to tell the story to his children. 

Whatever the truth of this legend, indoor Christmas trees soon became popular throughout Germany, and were decorated with lighted candles (to represent stars), edible treats and roses made of paper or gold foil. A figure of the baby Jesus was placed on the top, later replaced with either a star, to represent the Star of Bethlehem, or an angel, who brought the news of the birth to the shepherds. Glass makers started making tree ornaments, and the Christmas tree bauble was born. 

Tinsel also started in Germany, originally made from beaten silver. The idea behind tinsel is connected to traditional folktales about the Christmas spider. All versions of this folktale centre on a poor family who can't afford to decorate their tree and leave it bare on Christmas Eve. Overnight a spider covers the tree in webs, and on Christmas morning the family awake to find the webs have miraculously turned to silver or gold. To this day, spider ornaments and silver webs for trees are popular in the Ukraine and over much of northern Europe, as they are considered lucky. 

Christmas trees were unknown in Britain until Queen Charlotte (the German wife of King George III) had one set up in Windsor Lodge in 1800. The idea caught on fast, and by Victoria's reign, anybody who was anybody had one in their home. All the first Christmas trees were decorated with lighted candles - which led to rather a lot of house fires. Fortunately someone invented strings of electric lights sometime in the early 20th century, and so these days few of us still run the risk of lighted candles. (Though I know one German family who do, and only put the tree up on Christmas Eve - and have to admit, candles look AMAZING)

Everyone has their own decorating preferences for Christmas trees. Some go for glittering white lights and themed baubles, which look tasteful and classy - and some don't. Our family always has coloured tree lights, for sentimental reasons - my grandmother loved coloured lights and she lived with us when I was a child. Every year, she'd repeat the story of how they reminded her of her honeymoon, which she and my grandfather spent visiting the Blackpool illuminations. Apparently they'd never seen anything so magical. (Of course it was a very long time ago, and neither of them had electricity at home back then). Anyway, our coloured Christmas tree lights remind me of her, and the warmth and love she brought into my life.

My mother aspired to white lights because she thought they were much more tasteful and had real class. But being a child of the war generation that wasted nothing, she could never bring herself to spend money on new white ones until the old ones broke. Unfortunately for her, my grandmother's coloured lights proved immortal (well, allowing for the odd blown bulb every year that my father painstakingly replaced - checking every single bulb until he found the faulty one) and somehow she never managed to achieve her white light goal. 

I often look wistfully at the beautiful white tree lights sparkling in other people's windows, and think of my mother. Perhaps one day I'll get some like the ones she aspired to and put them round the tree in memory of her - and that will tell a different story. And I will wish she could see them, along with the family she didn't live long enough to meet.

Our tree baubles are a hotchpotch, a family history of the last 30 years in bauble form. Some brought back from travels abroad, some given by friends, some chosen in shops, some handmade. Everyone has their personal favourites, and there's an annual squabble about which ones hang nearest the front (though this year, thanks to Covid, I got to dictate. But I missed the squabble. It's part of the tradition). 

If you have a Christmas tree, it probably tells your own story. But whether you do or not, I hope you have a peaceful and stress-free festive season, after what's been a very strange and difficult year for us all.

Lu Hersey 

PISKIES, MERMAIDS AND GIANTS by Sharon Tregenza

I recently published a small educational book with OUP based on a Cornish myth. This triggered a long-time wish to delve deeper into the folklore and legends that were a part of my upbringing. Cornwall has a rich heritage of stories and superstitions. I got really engrossed with the research (for engrossed read obsessed) and ended up with three huge folders crammed full of stories of mermaids, witches, giants and much, much more.

 

It's wonderful stuff. Here's a taster...

 

PISKIES, MERMAIDS AND GIANTS

PISKIES: mischievous little creatures known for dancing and playfulness. Their leader is Joan the Wad. They supposedly inhabit stone circles and ancient barrows. As a kid I convinced myself that I saw several of these little folk in the wood near our house.

MERMAIDS: Probably the most famous Cornish mermaid is the mermaid of Zennor who's wonderful singing lured a local man, Mathew Trewhella, away from the village never to be seen again. I claim a sort of kinship to this particular mermaid - my mother was a Trewhella. 

GIANTS: If you've been to Cornwall you'll know St Michael's Mount - the tidal island off Cornwall's southern coast with the fairy-tale castle on top. It's said that the giant, Cormoron, carried white granite from the mainland to build it. If you walk up to the castle you'll see a heart-shaped stone on the pathway. It's all that's left of the giant - if you stand still and listen carefully, you'll hear it beat. As an eight-year old I knew I heard the thrum of the giant's blood.

I'm not sure yet what I want to do with this treasure trove. Maybe take  the legends as they stand and adapt them for children. Maybe incorporate the mythical stories into contemporary MG fiction. Maybe both. In the meantime, I need to stop researching - but it's so addictive isn't it. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE.

www.sharontregenza.com

Email: sharontregenza@gmail.com

Phantom animals to chill the blood - by Lu Hersey

As background research for a new book, I've recently been reading all about animal phantoms, signs and portends. And as dusk deepens (at only 4pm on a November afternoon) I'm about to light the fire in an attempt to convince myself these are mere folktales. But are they?

Let's start with the Beast of Bodmin Moor as a sort of intro. Over the years, there have been numerous accounts of sightings of a great black cat roaming the Cornish countryside - I've seen pictures in local newspapers (always distant and usually blurry), read stories of dog walkers whose poodles have been terrified by something much bigger than a domestic cat, and read a fascinating exercise book full of people's hand written accounts of Bodmin Beast sightings (kept in a cafe in Minions in Cornwall) from cover to cover. Urban myth, I thought. Highly unlikely there's anything out there. Then one night, driving back late across a stretch of empty Cornish countryside, I saw a fleeting shadow, something that took the shape of a giant feline leaping across the narrow road in the headlights. Far too big to be any normal cat - so fast it was there and then gone in the blink of an eye (which I was trying to keep on the road).  Even though my heart was racing as I drove on, I tried to rationalise what I'd just seen. The mind plays tricks on tired people, driving late, and they make shadows into shapes that aren't real. Hopefully. 

Not the Beast of Bodmin Moor - just a neighbour's idea of a gateway ornament. But it is huge (and very alarming at dusk...)

Which brings me on to Black Shuck, the ghost dog of the fens. Seen by many people over the last thousand years or more, Black Shuck gets about too - versions of this beast have been spotted over much of Northern Europe. Folkloric rumour has it that he could be one of Odin's spectral hounds, or even one of Odin's two wolves. (Odin was known to the Anglo-Saxons as Woden - as in Wednesday, originally Woden's Day). Others suggest this ghostly black hound is tied in with the Wild Hunt, when spectral hunters ride out for the souls of the living to drag them back to the underworld. Either way, he's considered an omen of death - and that makes him pretty damn scary. 

Here's an early (translated from Middle English) account of phantom black hounds from the Peterborough Chronicle, one of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, written in about 1127: 

'Let no-one be surprised at the truth of what we are about to relate, for it was common knowledge throughout the whole country that immediately after (Abbot Henry of Poitou's arrival at Peterborough Abbey), the Sunday when they sing Exurge Quare, many men both saw and heard a great number of huntsmen hunting. The huntsmen were black, huge and hideous, and rode on black horses and on black he-goats and the hounds were jet black with eyes like saucers and horrible. This was seen in the very deer park of the town of Peterborough and in all the woods that stretch from that same town to Stamford, and in the night the monks heard them sounding and winding their horns. Reliable witnesses who kept watch that night declared that there might well have been as many as twenty or thirty of them winding their horns as near as they could tell. This was seen and heard from the time of his arrival all through Lent and right up to Easter.'

But the most famous account of Black Shuck (shuck is derived from scucca, OE for demon) comes later, in August 1577, in the church of Bungay and Blythburgh in Suffolk. This is the contemporary account published by Abraham Flemming: 'A strange and terrible wunder wrought very late in the parish of Bongay: a town of no great distance from the citie of Norwich, namely the fourth of this August, in the yeere of our Lord 1577, in a great tempest of violent raige, lightning and thunder, the like wherof hath been seldom seene. With the appearance of an horrible shaped thing, sensibly perceived of the people then and there assembled' (Flemming obligingly drew his version of this horrible shaped thing 'in a plain method according to the written copye'.)

Anyway, he goes on to tell us: 'this black dog, or the divel in such a likenesse (God he knoweth al who worketh all) running all down the body of the church with great swiftnesse, and incredible haste, among the people in visible fourm and shape, passed between two persons, as they were kneeling uppon their knees, and occupied in prayer as it seemed, wrung the necks of them bothe at one instant, clene backward, in so much that even at a moment where they kneeled, they strangley dyed.'

Apparently there was a clap of thunder as the great dog raced into Holy Trinity Church and killed two of the congregation, simultaneously causing the church steeple to fall through the roof. The dog left great scorch marks on the north door as he left, which can still be seen to this day. 

So what actually happened? A whole congregation of people saw something terrifying - but what was it? One explanation might be ball lightning, or some freak weather phenomenon - but the legend of Black Shuck stuck, and he has since been seen by many lone walkers across the Fens. Last century, a midwife in the 1930s recounted being followed by a phantom dog as she cycled home through the lanes near Tolleshunt Darcy. The dog was huge, and silently kept pace with her however hard she pedalled, until it suddenly vanished. Black Shuck was also (reportedly) seen by several people after a man out walking fell into the River Great Ouse and drowned - and as recently as 1953 a sighting of a great black beast was reported by a woman returning from a dance near Cromer. So maybe Black Shuck is out there still? 

Folklorist Christina Hole points out in English Folklore that early humans saw little difference between people and animals, and believed they had spirits of equal importance. To this day, a great many superstitions are based on animal lore, and the appearance of various animals and birds is seen as significant, portends of things to come. Not all are bad - the cuckoo is welcomed as the embodiment of spring, and the wren, robin and swallow are (or were) considered lucky. But there are also many animals of ill omen, depending on where and when you see them - and Black Shuck definitely counts as one. 

Of course it's impossible to say whether the phantom animals of folklore exist or not. Along with Faeries, belief in such things was universal before the Puritans came along - and so people saw ghosts, faeries and otherworldly creatures all the time. There are far fewer reports of them these days, but that could simply be because when we no longer believe something exists, we no longer see it. Or we rationalise what we do see to make it something else, a bin liner flapping in the road, a waving branch, a shadow, optical migraine, freak weather. Or maybe people fear ridicule if they report what they see.

The shadow cat I saw in the headlights might simply have been plastic covering from a silage roll blowing across the road. A deer that my mind made cat-shaped. A monster created in my imagination. Such things our early ancestors made stories about around the camp fires.

Or maybe it was a massive ghost cat....the Beast of Bodmin Moor itself. I rather like the possibility.

Lu Hersey

Twitter: @LuWrites

Things to do while spirits, ghouls and old gods walk the earth - by Lu Hersey

October 31st is the ancient Celtic fire festival of Samhain, now celebrated as Halloween, but a seasonal festival that predates Christianity. Most of the main pagan festivals were brought into the Christian calendar to entice people into the church, and the feast of Samhain became All Hallows Tide - but remained a time of year associated with spirits and death. It's a few days when the barriers between worlds are at thought to be at their thinnest, the dead can return from their graves and spirits and old gods walk the earth. 

Witches, Goblins & Ghouls - illustration by Arthur Rackham 1907

The festival celebrates the end of summer, when the last of the harvest comes in, and it's a good time to set goals for the future. Right up until Victorian times people celebrated with ritual fires and beacons lit on hilltops for the purification of the land, blowing their horns and circle dancing around Hallow fires. The bravest leapt through the flames or walked over the embers - or got drunk and set off on wild hunts to sabotage other people's beacons and fires, returning with burning peats fixed like pennants on the top of sticks. In Wales, as the fires died down, everyone fled back down the hill to escape the hwch ddu gwta, the tailless Black Sow, one of the terrors abroad on Halloween - and there are many of them lurking in our folklore that date well back into prehistory. 

Samhain was also the turning of the year, as the Celtic new year started as the harvest ended. Because the veil between worlds is at its thinnest, it was (and still is) considered a good time for any kind of divination for the year ahead. (If you're at all superstitious, some of the following rites are quite scary and probably best avoided!) 

A tradition in Wales and Scotland was to mark a white stone and throw it into the Hallow Fire (embers in your bbq bowl, fire or wood burner would probably work if you want to risk it). In the morning people went to look for their stone - if it was in tact, they'd be safe for the following year. If it was cracked, lost, had inexplicably moved or had a footprint near it, it foretold an early death. (See what I mean? You'll probably be fine whatever happens to your blooming stone, and if not, do you really want to know?)

Many other Halloween traditions are ancient divination rites, once taken very seriously. One involved courting couples placing two hazel or chestnuts in the embers to roast - if they cooked well, it foretold a happy marriage, but if they burnt or exploded, the marriage was doomed. Another was to find the initial of your future partner's name (my grandmother actually used to do this with me) by peeling an apple carefully, all in one strip, and throwing the peel over your left shoulder. It invariably falls in the shape of a letter... (though trying this several times with my grandmother over the years, I found that your partner is almost certain to have a name starting with S, C or possibly a lower case E, P or D if you squint or look at it upside down) 

Apples feature in many Halloween rites

Another apple rite is to stand in front of a mirror at midnight, with one candle lit, eating an apple with one hand and brushing your hair with the other. The form of your future husband or wife should appear over your left shoulder. Frankly if a shadowy figure appears over your left shoulder at midnight, you're more likely to choke on the apple or run screaming - but apparently this was a common practice and taken very seriously. A variation is to cut the apple into nine pieces, eat eight of them with your back to the mirror and then chuck the ninth piece over your left shoulder - if you turn quickly enough you might catch a glimpse of your future partner in the mirror. 

A widely practised Hallow-tide rite was to melt a lump of lead in a spoon and drop the melted lead into cold water - the molten lead forms the shape of your future partner's trade. (This probably takes a leap of faith - a bit like reading tea leaves or coffee bubbles. Otherwise everyone would be partnered with a shapeless blob. However it probably works very well if you're looking for the clues to your new manuscript...)

Okay, last one for now - and keep the fire hydrant handy. This is a divination game for a group of people to find portends for the year ahead. Place 12 candles on the floor in a circle. Each candle represents one month of the year, so starting in November (remember Samhain is the start of the Celtic year), the players take it in turns to leap over each candle, one month at a time. If the candle falls over or goes out with all the activity, it doesn't bode well for that particular month - but if it stays alight, the month will be good. 

Witches and their familiars - illustration by Arthur Rackham, 1907

If you want to try any of the above, good luck. You're more likely to be busy dealing with small people dressing up as ghosts and witches and eating too many sweets. Probably simpler to spend some quiet time casting off all the negatives from the past year and setting your goals for the year ahead. A bit like New Year's Eve. Because once upon a time, that's what it was. 

Lu Hersey

Twitter: @LuWrites

Web: http://luhersey.com/

Charms, amulets and face masks - by Lu Hersey

We're now at a point where Covid-19 is unlikely to be going away anytime soon, so (if

you've managed to avoid it so far) you want to feel you have some kind of protection. Looking at the appalling death statistics is very sobering - but sooner or later, we all have to leave home to get food, visit the pharmacy or go to work. There is no vaccine yet - so what do you do?

Tamsin Rosewell (of Kenilworth Books) and I share an interest in folklore, and we were speculating on social media about how long it would be before people turn back to ancient forms of witchcraft, magic and folklore remedies to ward off impending doom. Because it's a subject I research a lot for my writing, I've come up with a few ideas used by our ancient (and not so ancient) ancestors to get you started. I'm only including a very small selection here. Pick whichever you feel most drawn to if you want to make an amulet or charm for yourself (or buy one online if it all looks too complicated).

First off, amulets. People throughout the ages have worn amulets for a variety of purposes, including to attract love, wealth or good fortune, or for protection. Here are a couple of examples of protection amulets, possibly more use than love or wealth if you're worried about catching an illness.

Protective amulet made to the design of Elizabethan magician Dr John Dee's table, filled with complex Enochian magick symbols. He believed the design was communicated to him by angelic forces and would ward off all evil. 

The ankh symbol basically means 'life' - even eternal life, which could be handy. This one in lapis lazuli with reed symbolism possibly represents the life giving Nile. Creating a protective amulet such as an Egyptian Ankh, or a scarab became ritual in itself and could only be made by someone with the power to make it.

Less complicated than amulets are the more folkloric protection charms such as hagstones, which can be found by anyone on the right type of beach. Also witch bottles, which contrary to popular belief, were made to protect a household from ill luck, not curses put on people by witches. Usually placed in the fabric of the building, under the entrance or built into a boundary wall, they were still commonly included in rural constructions until at least the 1960s.

Two witch bottles - the bottle on the left is a modern version (this one was made by Cornish witch, Levannah Morgan) filled with ends of wool from craft makings. (Historically they contained iron nails, urine and hair). It can be placed by the hearth, door or on a window sill. The other bottle is one I found in a crumbling old boundary wall in Cornwall (and cleaned very carefully!) In front of the bottles are hagstones, which are traditionally strung above doorways for protection.

The Nazar eye, a charm to ward off evil, has been made in one form or another for thousands of years. It remains a popular charm today.

Algiz - the Nordic rune most commonly interpreted as meaning 'protection', or 'sanctuary.'  A popular choice as a rune pendant. (This one is part of a rune set  )

Holding faith in ancient talismans and charms might seem quaint, but there are some new, far more dangerous and baffling beliefs already out there. Flat earthers are creationists who think only 'the truth' will save us (whatever 'the truth' is) from the virus. Along with the EDL and the 'there is no virus, it's a conspiracy and the problem is all about 5G' believers (mostly followers of David Icke, who also thinks the queen's a lizard), they've started arranging 'gatherings' of like-minded people across the country. protesting against the lockdown and avoiding any kind of social distancing.

Covering all bases, flat earthers like the owner of this car organise 'gatherings' of like minded people protesting against the lockdown, as they believe the virus is a conspiracy. These 'gatherings' are best avoided by anyone with half a brain.

To cap it all, in Glastonbury (where I live) there's at least one person who thinks playing the bongo drums on Glastonbury tor ALL NIGHT LONG, will do the job of keeping the virus at bay. If he keeps it up and the virus doesn't get him, I might forget social distancing and strangle him myself.

Whatever your opinion on ancient amulets or alternative ways to help ward off illness, it seems most of us can't resist the idea of charms against ill fortune. Even it's as simple as crossing your fingers, or wearing a pair of lucky pants.

However, despite my personal fascination with magical objects, this post isn't intended to stop you using your common sense. I'll be the first to admit that social distancing, plastic gloves, hand gel and a face mask are probably much more effective.

Me, ready to enter Tesco. Stylish face mask, hand gel in bag, sadly no amulet.

by Lu Hersey
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Lughnasadh and the endless cycle of death and rebirth - by Lu Hersey

In the Celtic wheel of the year, August 1st is the ancient fire festival of Lughnasadh. Also widely known as Lammas (from Anglo Saxon hlaef-mass, when the first loaf of the harvest was consecrated at mass), it's traditionally the point in the year when the first grain is harvested. It's likely we've been celebrating this event for thousands of years, ever since the first farmers became dependant on growing crops - which was enough for me to want to write about it.

John Barleycorn - the personification of the crop

There's a lot of folklore about the harvest, much of it centring around the Green Man, or John Barleycorn -  a personification of the crop who must sacrifice himself every year to enable life to continue. In some areas, John Barleycorn's death was mourned with wreaths decorated with poppies or cornflowers, but a far more widespread (and very old) tradition is the making of a corn dolly. This is a plaited shape made out of stalks from the last sheaf of the grain crop, believed to hold the spirit of the grain. The following year the corn dolly is ploughed back into the ground, so the spirit grows back when the next crop is sown. Basically, John Barleycorn folklore is about the endless cycle of death and rebirth.

When I was much younger, a combination of watching folk horror movies like Straw Dogs and the Wicker Man, laced with a background soundtrack of Traffic's John Barleycorn Must Die, meant this time of year wedged itself into my subconscious. Which goes some way to explain why I felt compelled to write a John Barleycorn based, teen folk thriller. 

To give yourselves a flavour of this season, and as all writers like a bit of practical research (okay, displacement activity), here's a link to how to make your own corn dolly  Go on, you know you want to...

Gillian Nott is a great name for corn dolly maker...

Even better, if you're feeling really ambitious, you can make a crop circle. My book (it's called Broken Ground) is full of them, so I researched a lot. There's a wonderful guide written by one of the best known human (can't speak for the aliens) circle makers, John Lundberg and fellow circle maker Rob Irving called The Field Guide: The Art, History & Philosophy of Crop Circle Making. Admittedly I've never tried it, but I read the book and did a lot of sitting in crop circles at all times of the day and night. As I said, research and displacement activity are closely linked...

visiting a crop circle at dusk

If nothing else, have a good Lughnasadh - even if you just make it an excuse for a good meal, lighting a few candles, and possibly drinking a little mead. I wouldn't recommend writing a book about it though. Takes blooming ages.


Lu Hersey
@LuWrites
luhersey.com