Wideford Tales, Period Tales Options

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Wideford – The Prologue

The original settlement of Wideford was comprised of just forty families. The majority of the families were headed by women who had lost their men in a great war; their men had also lost the war. The victors required the land their homes stood on and, consequently, the survivors were forced to migrate abroad. The ships were full when they set out and their cargoes were made up of families from many areas of the country. Many died on the crossing. Those who survived made new alliances. Some settled close to the ports where they had landed. Many took wagons into the interior of the new country. The founders of Wideford were among the latter. They were not the first to drop out of the train; nor were they the last. Many pushed on into the unknown country: some for just a few miles, some for weeks of miles.

The town takes its name from these early settlers. The original form of that name was Widows’ Ford but this is only commemorated by the Widows’ Hall, the town meeting place. The hall doubles as a church when required; the present minister is as persistent as his predecessors in his demands for a separate building for worship. Usage and time contracted the town’s name to its present form and perhaps some day it may well change again. At the time of writing Wideford (pronounce all three syllables, Wi-de-ford) contains some three hundred souls. Some of these are descendants of the founders but many, like Annie Watson, are later arrivals. The town is split by the Lesser River, the natural shallows at this point supplying the other half of the town name.

In the early years, since the land is flat and arable, the folk soon became prosperous. The prosperity, however, was short-lived. Their profits attracted the attention of the tax gatherers of Alantown, the centre of power in the area, and the law arrived in the form of the town constable. This worthy’s main function is to assess and collect the annual tax due by the residents, though he also serves as the registrar of land, births, deaths and marriages. In short, the post holder is the face of authority and, hence, not the most popular resident in Wideford. Few can understand why they have to pay a man to pick their pocket. That’s not to say that Wideford didn’t receive any benefits from the system. A bridge was built across the Lesser just south of the ford to allow foot traffic and a gang of men arrived to build a road. The road only extended for a mile on either side of the town when the gang disappeared back to Alantown never to be seen again. The potholes that developed over time are well known to the locals; Willie Barker has a thriving sideline repairing broken wagon wheels. Catherine Wright fell from the bridge and drowned when Luke was just five years old. It is fair to say that folk in Wideford are less than enamoured with Alantown.

Lieutenant John Gillman served with distinction in the Peninsular Wars before resigning his commission in disgust at the waste and destruction of that campaign. He and his wife May arrived in Wideford shortly after. He bought land from Matthew Wilson just as Luke Wright would some ten years later. The Wilsons are among those who can trace their line back to the founders; this group also includes the Browns and the Barkers. James Nelson’s ancestors were among a second group of displaced immigrants who arrived in Wideford some fifty years after the founders.

This, then, is a brief insight into the past of Wideford to bring readers up to date with currently reported events. May it prove helpful.

Chapter 1 - Grimalkin

Jack Gillman was an honest farmer. He never cheated anyone and didn’t let anyone cheat him. So he couldn’t understand why someone should set a hex on him. There was no doubting that someone had; the spoilt milk, the interruption in the hens’ laying and the increase in small “accidents” all testified to that. Jack wasn’t superstitious but he was careful, and he had heard enough about hexes to worry. It was a fact that larger farms than his had gone under through witchcraft. Farmers like Jack didn’t have “small” losses. He had to cope with the land, the weather and insufficient hours in the day to make a living for his family: He had to compete with his fellows as well. This extra burden could be disastrous.

“May,” he called to his wife,” I’m going to see Annie Watson later. If anyone can help with this she can.”
“Do you think that’s wise,” asked May, “it’s just as likely that the old witch cursed us herself. She knows that I don’t like her, that I’m afraid of her.”
“Annie’s no witch, May,” Jack replied, “but she knows about hexes and how to fight them. She helped the Wilsons when that tinker cursed them three years ago.”
“Still, it’s not natural, what she knows, and if she can lift curses she can place them.”
“Annie won’t hurt me, May,” Jack said, “despite what you think she’s never harmed anyone as far as I know.”
“Well, you know best, Jack, but take someone with you just in case.”

Jack left his wife to her laundry and walked round to the byre. The bedding he had bought the week before was still waiting to be spread. He saw Luke leading Samson down the lane towards the farm buildings, and the horse looked lame. As he watched him approach, Jack considered the Luke problem. Luke Wright had his own small place, and worked two days a week for Jack to help with wedding plans. He had recently become engaged to a young girl from town. In fact, the arrangement was mutually beneficial, under normal conditions. Jack was grateful to have a strong back to share the heavier tasks round the farm. However, if the bad luck continued he would have to let Luke go. With nothing to sell, he couldn’t pay wages. Jack walked to meet Luke as he came into the yard.

“Stone bruise,” called Luke, “happened just after I started the ploughing in the north field. Got about three furrows done.”
“How bad is it?” asked Jack.
“Not too bad,” Luke replied, “but he won’t be able to pull the plough anymore today. I’ll put a poultice on and let him rest; he should be okay by tomorrow.”
“Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose,” replied Jack, “but I’m fed up with all these things going wrong. Could you start spreading the bedding after you’ve seen to Samson? I’m going into town to see Annie.”
“Fair enough, gaffer,” Luke paused, “and if you don’t mind me saying you’re doing the right thing, about seeing Annie that is.”
“I hope so, Luke, I hope so.”

Jack went back to the kitchen to see May. “Samson’s lame,” he told her, “that means that the ploughing is going to be put back at least one more day. Luke will be working in the byre instead; I’m going to see Annie before anything else happens.”
“Okay, Jack. How long do you think you’ll be?”
“Well, I have to walk in now, and I’ll have to wait till Annie is free, then I have to walk back. I don’t think I’ll be back for a few hours anyway. I’ll eat in town so don’t keep lunch.”
“You’ll have to change, “May told him, “you can’t go into town in those trousers and boots. I’ll make up some sandwiches you can eat on the way.”

Changed and with May’s sandwiches in his pocket, Jack started walking into Wideford. At just over two miles, the journey would take about half an hour on foot. As he walked, he thought of the problems, trying to remember exactly when they had started. There was the ladder that broke when he started to clean out the loft; but ladders did break especially old ones like that. The first real occurrence that he could relate to a hex was the day when the hens stopped laying. That was Tuesday, almost a week ago now. He tried to think of anyone who could have a grudge against him, held strongly enough to hex him that is. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of anyone though he was sure that Annie would ask. He took out one of the ham and cheese sandwiches May had given him and started to munch. After a couple of bites, he found that he had no appetite and tossed what was left onto the side of the road for the birds. Perhaps he would be ready for the other on the way back. Eventually, he crested a hill in the road and saw the town lying before him. He saw Annie’s house standing a little apart from the others, the hives in her garden advertising her main source of income.

Annie Watson stood man-tall and cedar-straight, so that Jack found himself looking up into her grey eyes as she greeted him.
“Well, John Gillman, what can I do for you today? Are you looking for honey or medicine?” Something of May’s trepidation echoed inside of Jack despite his words earlier.
“Medicine I suppose, Mrs Watson,” stammered Jack, “though it’s a strange ailment I have that affects my farm and not me.”
“Strange ailments cost more,” replied Annie, though the twinkle in her eye softened the words,” suppose you tell old Annie about yours?”

As Jack told her of the happenings at his farm, starting with the hens and finishing with the laming of Samson, Annie listened in silence. When he had finished she asked, “What of the cats, how are they?”
“Cats?” Jack echoed, “I don’t know, I never see them. May sees to them if they need it.”
“Then I’ll have to come out to see for myself,” said Annie, “it wouldn’t do to give you the wrong medicine, now would it?” she almost smiled.
“The horse is lame,” said Jack,” I had to walk in. I haven’t got the trap.”
“There’s nowt wrong with shanks’ pony,” Annie replied, “It’s got me where I wanted to be more often than not. I need an hour to get some things together. I’ll meet you on the road. You’d best be off and buy some milk if yours has soured.”

On the way back, Annie talked of new births and times past and never once referred to the hex. “You haven’t asked me who I thought was behind the hex,” Jack interrupted her, “though to be honest I have no idea at all on that.”
“Best wait to see that we are dealing with a hex and not something else,” Annie’s tone was patient as if she was talking to a child,” time enough to look for blame when we know for sure.”
“What else could it be?” Jack was genuinely puzzled,” what with the hens, and the milk souring? Nothing in nature causes that.”
“And what do you know of nature, John Gillman, with thirty summers behind you? In thirty more you might start to see her ways, but even then you won’t understand them at all.” Jack was confused by this last.
“Most people call me Jack,” was all that he could manage in reply.
“Your parents named you John, that is the name they will recognise you by. That is your given name and the one I will use.” Jack kept quiet for the rest of the journey.

Luke had gone by the time they reached the farm but May was in the yard watching. Jack saw her start at the sight of Annie by his side, but if Annie did she gave no sign. May went inside, to put on the kettle Jack supposed, as they reached the turn into the farm. Annie slowed down then, looking around and listening, but said no word. As they entered the yard, she stopped completely with eyes closed and breathed in slowly. Then she allowed Jack to show her into the house kitchen.

“Will you take some tea, Mrs Watson?” May’s nervousness filled the room.
“I will that, Mrs Gillman, it’s a fair stroll from town,” Annie said, “and the tea will taste sweeter taken with friends.”
“The company does improve the flavour,” agreed May, “though I don’t get much of that out here.”
“Men folk will eat and drink what you make without compliment,” Annie said, “but a woman appreciates the chance to enjoy what she has not prepared.”
“Come sit by the fire,” May smiled, “I have some fresh scones too.”
Jack wasn’t sure what had happened but May’s tension had completely gone and she seemed at ease.
“Why don’t you pour, John? “Annie asked, “and close your mouth, lad, there’s flies about.”

After tea Annie asked May about the cats.
“It’s strange,” May said, “I haven’t seen hide or hair of them in a week.”
“And the rats?” asked Annie.
“Well, none around the house,” May confirmed.
“And I haven’t noticed any round the barn or byre,” Jack put in.
“The dogs are still here though?” Annie wasn’t asking.
“Yes,” Jack said, “though they growl a lot and their hackles are always up.”
“Then that confirms it,” said Annie, “I didn’t sense evil when I entered the farm, but the birds were quiet and there is uneasiness in the air. The farm isn’t hexed, you’ve got a grimalkin.”
“A grimalkin?” queried Jack, “a cat is causing all this? Are you sure?”
“I do not speak of cats, John Gillman,” Annie snapped, “the grimalkin is a free spirit of nature sometimes almost seen in mist. The grey striped cat is called for it because it disappears in mist too, but the grimalkin is older than the cat, it is as old as nature herself.”
“Is it dangerous?” May wanted to know.
“All nature spirits are dangerous to the uninformed,” answered Annie, “but the grimalkin is not malicious, and rarely does real harm to living things, even under these circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” Jack asked.
“I said the grimalkin was a free spirit. Have you ever seen a herd of horses suddenly gallop across a field? Or watched spring lambs gambolling and jumping? Have you ever felt such joy and energy that you had to run it off and been breathless but happy afterwards? This is the gift of the grimalkin; it celebrates life and freedom. Now one is trapped on your farm, in bondage.”

“But how?” Jack was confused again,” I’ve never even heard of these things, how could I trap one?”
“I doubt that you would have the knowledge needed,” answered Annie, “though such knowledge does indeed exist. The most obvious explanation is that you bought it.”
“I did no such thing,” exclaimed Jack,” what would I want with a beast that sours my milk and stops hens laying?”
“You wouldn’t,” laughed Annie, “what you bought would be something associated with the grimalkin, like bedding.”
Jack felt a cold shiver run up his spine. He had bought that bedding over a week ago.
“But why does a spirit need a bed?” he asked.
“The grimalkin has no need for bedding,” Annie explained, “but it has to be identified with something to signify captivity. Bedding, a feeding bowl, even a leash would do as well for that.”
“I bought mixed bedding at market last week, it was really cheap,” Jack offered, “though I’ve no idea which farm it came from.”
“Well, that explains the where, “said Annie, “Now we have to decide what to do about it.”
“Can’t we just let it go?” asked May.
“No,” Annie replied, “The binding magic is strong. There is a ritual to release the grimalkin, it’s quite straightforward but takes time.”
“If I bought it can’t I just sell it on?” suggested Jack.
“Yes you could,” Annie confirmed, “but then you would be passing your problems on to your neighbours, and the grimalkin would still be bound.”

Jack and May looked at each other for a few moments in silence. Annie waited.
“What does the ritual involve?” asked Jack.
“First you must take responsibility for the grimalkin. That means that you must offer it sustenance, but you must follow the cycle of the moon. Each night from the first night of the new moon set a bowl of milk and honey on a spot near the bedding you bought. You must do this every night until the last night of the waning moon. On that night, you must offer milk and vinegar. This signifies that the honey-moon is over and the grimalkin is freed.”
“But the milk is sour, “argued Jack.
“That is why you bought some in town today,” answered Annie, “only milk produced on the farm will sour. You must buy fresh each day. I’ll send it out with Luke. On a positive note tonight is the first night of the new moon so you can start right away. In three weeks you’ll be free and so will the grimalkin.”
May stood. “We’d best get started then,” she said.
“I’ve brought two jars of honey,” said Annie, “one is more than enough for the ritual; the other is for you, Mrs Gillman.”
“My thanks to you, Mrs Watson, and I’ll be dropping in for some more soon,” May smiled.

After the three weeks had passed Jack’s cows gave milk that didn’t sour, his hens starting laying and the cats came back. Of course, so did the rats.