“Come away, come away, catch up a hand,
‘Follow our steps to the fairy ring.
‘We’ll show you mysteries you’ll not understand
‘’Till you have danced with the fairy king...”
I was at my desk earlier, when I heard a scrabbling in the kitchen.
I went to investigate and found my dog trying to get at a house martin that had found his way in. He had wedged himself behind a heavy planter and was transfixed with fear. His eye was so unblinking; his body so still I thought he was dead.
I fancy he might have raised one wing feather to me behind his back. Certainly, I wasn't expecting gratidude, but rescuing birds tends to set you up for the morning and when I walked the dog over the fields I was even more present than usual to the skies above me. There was a kite...oh! aother...riding the currents. A solitary crow and a twittery chaffinch in a rowan. And then, crowning the walk, from the hedgerow a skylark rose, she seemed to twirl on the spot for a moment, just yards above me––she was so close I could see the little brown crest on her head––before she disappeared, higher and higher, singing her song, warning of mother-love, rising from the depths of her throat.
On the way home, I picked a single branch of hawthorne, still in full blossom around our way, to perk up the vase of sudsy lilac and white broom I have in my lounge, adding a couple of sprays of cow parsley from the hedge; a much maligned wild flower that is beautiful in my opinion.
Yesterday I spent too long bent over my pond spotting the newts and enjoying the antics of the growing tadpoles when I saw several damselflies mating and laying eggs in my pond. The males seem to grab the females with their legs, which are all at the front of their long, ultralucsent bodies. They conduct a beautiful pas de deux, in which he releases his sperm and she bends her long body to receive it. Afterwards, I watched the females deposit the fertalised eggs into the pond. I thought damselflies were supposed to lay their eggs on floating leaves, but rather riskily, mine use a clump of floating dandelion seeds for the proccess. Even so, I'm hopeful we'll have some real-live water nymphs in our pond by the autum!
I didn't dare move for fear of missing something, and the sun was beating down hot on the back of my neck, making me think of the transition time from early to midsumer. I think I'm almost ready to move from Beltaine Bounce to Solstice Spirit. Even though bluebells and may still abound round here, I can see the lupins and the foxgloves all ready for action, their beautiful flower buds swelling ready to burst. I've got a wildflower area which is full of electric blue knapweek right now, but the delicate flowers of the toadflax won't be far behind.
In Anglesy, Bryn Celli Ddu is an almost intact buriel chaber aligned to the rising sun on the summer solstice. A shaft of sunlight pierces to the center of the burial chamber as the sun rises. Most years, it's going to be cloudy...or raining, but when it was built, Bryn Celli Ddu (Mound of the Dark Grove) in the early Neolithic Period, a henge (a type of earthen enclosure) was constructed around a circle of stones. Perhaps a 1000 years later, the chamber was erected. As we know, because the Roman told us so, that there were Ancient Druids in Anglesy, it stands to reason that they gathered at the site to mark the longest day of the year. And now, the Anglesy Druid Order gather each year, an echo of rituals that happened millennia ago.
Heuldro'r Haf––Summer Solstice in Welsh, was welcomed with dancing, merriment and the lighting of bonfires - all celebrations that were seen as essential to producing a bountiful crop. On Midsummer eve ––Gathering Day––it is told that Celtic Druids harvested herbs for medicine, believing this day, they were especially potent. Mistletoe in particular was thought to cure all illnesses and some report that it was cut with a golden scythe and caught in a cloth before it fell to the ground. Welsh girls would pick a sprig on Midsummer Eve and sleep with it beneath their pillow, hoping their dreams would foretell of future…hopefully romantic…events. Then on Gŵyl Ifan Ganol Haf––Midsummer Day––bonfires would be built and people stayed up to see the sun start to emerge so early in the morning.
Magic could happen (still can!) on a night like that, as it did to Berwyn Hughes He farmed a very small plot of land up in the Cambrians, and lived hand to mouth; one cow, one sow, a few hens and two small fields he scythed each year for hay and barley. Since his beloved mother had passed on, he’d lived alone, not brave enough to woo a woman to become his bride.
Although Berwyn worked hard, and was rarely seen at the village dances, he did have one interest. He was fascinated by fairies. At the top of a little hill about a quarter of a mile from his farm, was a ruined castle, said to be the abode of the "wee folk". Every midsummer Berwyn would creep towards the hill, after dark, and imagine he could see little figures flitting to and fro inside. One Midsummer he got carried away and crept closer and closer to the ruined castle walls. Enchanting music of pipes and flutes got louder and louder, and the slitted windows were ablaze with some sort of light from inside the castle. He could hear them singing,
“Come away, come away, catch up a hand,
‘Follow our steps to the fairy ring.
‘We’ll show you mysteries you’ll not understand
‘’Till you have danced with the fairy king…”
Berwyn hid in a grove at one side of the ruin and listened to the elfin revelry, and the laughter and singing. He could see the shadows of dancing figures, and the glowing light from the castle turned the leaves of the trees around him to gold. Not even realising he was doing so, Berwyn moved so close to the merry-makers he was almost among them.
They were beautiful people, slender and blonde, with flowers in their hair and tinkling voices. Some danced and danced to the music of flutes and fiddles, while others drank and feasted. All of a sudden, several of them tuned to him. ”Welcome, Berwyn Hughes, welcome, welcome…" echoed around the castle walls, repeated by every voice. A drink was pushed into his hand, and a beautiful, fay lady, who only came up to his shoulder, took him by the hands and spun him round, into the perpetual dance.
The short summer night flew, and Jamie was having a cracking time. As the first glimmers of light were seen on the horizon, one fairy came into the centre of the dancing, carrying a small moss-oak branch. “Let us ride to Carmarthen––Merlin’s town––and steal a young lady.”
“Ydyn! cried the others, “To Merlin’s town. Let us have some fun! Will you come too, Berwyn Hughes?"
"Aye, that will I!" Berwyn was thirsting for adventure, especially when he saw a troop of snow white horses standing at the door, ready to take them across the hills of Ceredigion. Jamie had never mounted such a fine horse, and to his further surprise, his steed rose with him into the air. He was presently flying over his own smallholding, surrounded by the elfin troop, and on and on they went, over the hills, the cwms, the llyns and pentres, until he heard the silvery voices cry, “Carmarthen, Merlin’s town!” They settled only a little way outside the centre of the town, on a green square where one of two grand houses stood. The troop dismounted and crept into one of the houses. They simply poured themselves through the locked door, and Berwyn followed them. There, in a pink and silver bedroom, Jamie saw a beautiful face, on a silken pillow in a splendid bed.
“Gwen Griffiths, Gwen Griffiths,” the fairies sang as they lifted the young lady, still dreaming and deep asleep, and carried away, while the moss oak was dropped in her place on the bed took her exact form.
The Fairy Raid: Carrying Off a Changeling, Midsummer Eve
Joseph Noel Paton (1821–1901)Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum |
“Come away, come away, catch up a hand,
‘Follow our steps to the fairy ring.
‘We’ll show you mysteries you’ll not understand
‘’Till you have danced with the fairy king...”’
Gwen Griffiths was placed before one rider on a fine white horse, and off they flew. As each fairy horse tired from her weight, she was passed to another, and another. Berwyn could see they were finally approaching the castle near his home, where the fairies lived. He seized his chance to speak ”You've all had your turn at carrying the young lady," said he. "Why wouldn't I get her for a while?”
“Let the lad take a turn," the fairies replied pleasantly, “he’s been marvellous company tonight.”
Holding his prize very tightly, he whispered into his horse’s ear and felt his steed drop, fast, out of the sky, until it was cantering across his own fields.
“Berwyn Hughts!” cried the fairies. “Is that the way you treat us?" And they too dropped down near the door, tossing all sorts of ugly spells. The fay folk turned Gwen into all sorts of strange shapes. At one moment she was a black dog, barking and trying to bite; at another, a glowing bar of iron, which yet had no heat; then, again, a sack of wool.
Jamie held her fast, for although sometimes he knew not what he was holding, he knew if he let her go, all was lost for the young girl. And all the while he was cantering like crazy for the door of his bothyn.
The beautiful girl became a salivating boar with sharp tusks, then a slimy newt, who was hard to hold onto, but still Jamie grasped her, and the baffled elves were turning away, when a tiny woman, the smallest of the party, exclaimed, “Berwyn Hughes has got her! Well, he can keep her. We'll send her deaf and dumb!'
Once the fay too had rode off, Jamie lifted the latch and went in, carrying to Gwen Griffiths, to his bed, tucked her up and let her sleep, while he had an hour in the rocking chair, then went out to milk his cows.
When he got back, she was shivering in her light clothing, stepping close to the humble turf fire, looking confused and terrified, but unable to speak a word. Berwyn tried to explain to her what had happened, but she could hear not a word, and Berwyn had never needed to learn his letters. All he could do was show her he meant her no harm. He made them both porridge, and brought her to his rough table to eat.
In normal years, Berwyn made only just enough from his land to feed himself, but for all that year, he laboured twice as hard, to find good clothes for the girl, and food for both of them. The young lady was very sad for a long time, and tears stole down her checks many an evening while Berwyn sat opposite her across the fire, making his salmon nets, an accomplishment lately acquired by him, in hopes of adding to the comfort of his guest.
But Gwen was always gentle, and tried to smile when she perceived Berwyn looking at her; and by degrees she adapted herself to their ways and mode of life. It was not very long before she began to feed the pig, help milk the cow, mash potatoes and meal for the fowls, and knit blue worsted socks.
So a year passed, and Midsummer came round again.
This time, Berwyn was careful to make not a sound as he went up the hill as the midsummer sun dipped below the horizon. He hid quietly in the grove of trees and listened with sharp ears and heard their singing;
“Come away, come away, catch up a hand,
‘Follow our steps to the fairy ring.
‘We’ll show you mysteries you’ll not understand
‘’Till you have danced with the fairy king…”
As before, there were bright lights in the castle windows, and the shadows show all the party of the Fay drinking, feasting, and dancing the midsummer night away. As before, they chattered loudly, their voices raised above the fiddles and flutes.
"That was a poor trick Berwyn Hughes played us this night last year, “ said one of them, “when he stole the nice young lady from us."
"Ay," Berwyn heard the voice of the tiny woman who had cast the spell on the young girl. "and I punished him for it, for there she sits, a dumb image by his hearth.”
The fairies all screamed with laughter, then one of them cried out in delight, “Little does he know that three drops out from this chalice I hold in my hand would bring back her her hearing and her speech."
Jamie's heart beat fast. He waited a long time in the grove. Almost until the sun was up. Then he entered the castle hall. Again he was greeted by a chorus of welcomes from the company--"Here comes Berwyn Hughes! welcome, welcome, Berwyn!"
Berwyn smiled back, nodding and tapping his foot to the music as if he fancied a dance. But he slowly moved close to the little woman, and said, “Let me drink your health.” He snatched the chalice from her and darted to the door. As he ran down the hill, he glanced back. All the fairy troop were running after him, no - they were flying after him – getting closer all the time, their fine fingers reaching out to snatch back the chalice. He never knew how he reached his bothyn, but he arrived there breathless, and slammed the door tight, bolting it twice. But he knew that the fay could melt through doors, so he ran over to where Gwen was asleep and dashed three drops of the liquid that still remained at the bottom of the chalice, over her lips and closed eyelids.
The girl began to speak, and her first words were words of thanks to Berwyn. As soon as she spoke the sun seemed to rise, more quickly than was usual, even for the solstice morn, and when Berwyn looked out of his little window, the fairies had all disappeared into the morning mist.
The two of them had so much to say to one another, that long after midday, and all through their morning work, they were talking.
"Berwyn," said the lady, "I must go to my father and mother."
“There is no money with me to hire a carriage for you," he replied.
“I am as strong as any farming woman now” she replied. “If you show me the way, we can get there by foot.”
And so the two of them walked all the way from to Carmarthen. It was not as easy as the fairy journey; but at last they rang the bell at the door of the house in the big green square.
"Tell Mr Griffiths that his daughter is here," said Berwyn to the servant who opened the door.
"The gentleman that lives here has no daughter. He had one, but she died a year ago."
"Do you not know me?” cried Gwen.
The girl shook her head and in a few moments the girl's father came to the door.
"Dear Tad, it’s your Gwen, come back!”
"How dare you call me Tad?" cried the old gentleman, angrily. "You are an impostor. I have no daughter."
"Look in my face, father, and surely you'll remember me."
"My daughter is dead and buried. She died a year ago." The old gentleman's voice changed from anger to sorrow. “
"Stop, dear Tad, till you look at this ring on my finger. Look at your name and mine engraved on it."
"It certainly is my daughter's ring; but I fear you came about it in no honest way."
"Call Mam, she will be sure to know me," said Gwen, and she began to cry bitterly.
"My poor wife has been sent mad by the sorrow of her bereavement Why should I renew her grief by reminding her of her loss?"
But at last the mother was sent for.
“Mam,” she began, when the old lady came to the door, "don't you know your daughter? Look in my face, and surely you'll know me."
The old lady shook her head.
"Look at this mole on my neck. Surely, mother, you know me now?"
"Yes, yes," said the mother, "my Gwen had a mole on her neck like that; but then I saw her in her coffin, and saw the lid shut down upon her."
Then Berwyn stepped forward and told his story, of midsummer last year, of the fairy journey, the moss oak replacement of Gwen, and of the three drops that had released her from her enchantment.
Gwen told how kind he had been to her - how he had saved her from enchantment in the world of the fay.
Once they heard the story, Gwen's mam and tad could not make enough of Berwyn. They treated him with every distinction, and said they did not know what to, do to show their gratitude.
“I know a way,” said Gwen, and a blush came to her cheek. Berwyn and I have lived like brother and sister this past year, but now I think it is time for our wedding to take place. He saved me from the fairies, and has worked for me ever since. I love him with all my heart.”
This being her resolution, the old gentleman said that Jamie should become his son-in-law. There was a splendid wedding, and, once the cow and the pig and the hens had been found good homes, they all lived together in the grand Carmarthen house, and Jamie was heir to untold wealth at his father-in-law's death.
“Come away, come away, catch up a hand,
‘Follow our steps to the fairy ring.
‘We’ll show you mysteries you’ll not understand
‘’Till you have danced with the fairy king...”
