The Angels Of Mons or The Bowmen by Arthur Machen.

 

The battle of Mons occurred on the 23rd August 1914 and was the first major action of the war for the  British Expeditionary Force (BEF). They dug in on the Mons - Conde canal and faced a German army outnumbering them by 3 to 1, the battle was short and vicious, with their flanks falling back the British were in a dangerous position and a fighting retreat was inevitable.

The retreat would take two weeks and cumulate in the battle of the Marne which was fought between the 5th and 12th September, a victory for the allies, and resulted in stopping the German army from capturing Paris. 

Appearing in the London Evening News on the 29th September was a story called The Bowmen, it was written by Arthur Machen. Machen, a welshman, was known for his folkloric and supernatural tales, his work would influence future authors such as H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King.

The Bowmen would be the catalyst for rumours of supernatural beings helping the BEF in their retreat from Mons, the story was not advertised as being fiction, they probably did not think it was necessary to do so. However, some people believed what they were reading was in fact true, ever more thrilling tales of the Angels of Mons began to circulate, what follows is that story, The Bowmen by Arthur Machen;

"It was during the retreat of the eighty thousand, and the authority of the censorship is sufficient excuse for not being more explicit. But it was on the most awful day of that awful time, on the day when ruin and disaster came so near that their shadow fell over London far away; and, without any certain news, the hearts of men failed within them and grew faint; as if the agony of the army in the battlefield had entered into their souls.

On this dreadful day, then, when three hundred thousand men in arms with all their artillery swelled like a flood against the little English company, there was one point above all other points in our battle line that was for a time in awful danger, not merely of defeat, but of utter annihilation.

With the permission of the censorship and of the military expert, this corner may, perhaps, be described as a salient, and if this angle were crushed and broken, then the English force as a whole would be shattered, the Allied left would be turned, and Sedan would inevitably follow.

All the morning the German guns had thundered and shrieked against this corner, and against the thousand or so of men who held it. The men joked at the shells, and found funny names for them, and had bets about them, and greeted them with scraps of music hall songs. But the shells came on and burst, and tore good Englishmen limb from limb, and tore brother from brother, and as the heat of the day increased so did the fury of that terrific cannonade. There was no help, it seemed. The English artillery was good, but there was not nearly enough of it; it was being steadily battered into scrap iron.

There comes a moment in a storm at sea when people say to one another, "It is at its worst; it can blow no harder," and then there's a blast ten time more fierce than any before it. So it was in these British trenches.

There were no stouter hearts in the whole world than the hearts of these men; but even they were appalled as this seven times heated hell of the German cannonade fell upon them and overwhelmed them and destroyed them. And at this very moment they saw from their trenches that a tremendous host was moving against their lines. Five hundred of the thousand remained, and as far as they could see the German infantry was pressing on against them, column upon column, a grey world of men, ten thousand of them, as it appeared afterwards.

There was no hope at all. They shook hands, some of them. One man improvised a new version of the battle song, "Goodbye, goodbye to Tipperary," ending with "And we shan't get there." And they all went on firing steadily. The officers pointed out that such an opportunity for high class, fancy shooting might never occur again; the Germans dropped line after line; the Tipperary humourist asked, "What price Sidney Street? (the siege of Sidney Street, Stepney, 3rd January 1911)" And a few machine guns did their best. But everybody knew it was of no use. The dead grey bodies lay in companies and battalions, as others came on and on and on, and they swarmed and stirred and advanced from beyond and beyond. 

"World without end, Amen," said one of the British soldiers with some irrelevance as he took aim and fired. And then he remembered - he says he cannot think why or wherefore - a queer vegetarian restaurant in London where he had once or twice eaten eccentric dishes of cutlets made of lentils and nuts that pretended to be steak. On all the plates in this restaurant there was printed a figure of St. George in blue, with the motto, Adsit Anglis Sanctus Georgius - May St. George be a present help to the English.

This soldier happened to know latin and other useless things, and now, as he fired at his man in the grey advancing mass - 300 yards away - he uttered the pious vegetarian motto. He went on firing to the end, and at last Bill on his right had to clout him cheerfully over the head to make him stop. pointing out as he did so that the King's ammunition cost money and was not lightly to be wasted in drilling funny patterns into dead Germans.

For as the latin scholar uttered his invocation he felt something between a shudder and an electric shock pass through his body. The roar of the battle died down in his ears to a gentle murmur; instead of it, he says, he heard a great voice and a shout louder than a thunder peal crying, "Array, array, array!"

His heart grew as hot as a burning coal, it grew as cold as ice within him, as it seemed to him that a tumult of voices answered to his summons. He heard, or seemed to hear, thousands shouting: "St. George! St. George!"

"Ha! messire; ha! sweet Saint, grant us good deliverance!"

"St. George for merrie England!"

"Harrow! Harrow! Monseigneur St. George, succour us."

"Ha! St. George! Ha! St. George! A long bow and a strong bow."

"Heaven's Knight, aid us!"

And as the soldier heard these voices he saw before him, beyond the trench, a long line of shapes, with a shining about them. They were like men who drew the bow, and with another shout, their cloud of arrows flew singing and tingling through the air towards the German hosts.

**********************************************

The other men in the trench were firing all the while. They had no hope; but they aimed just as if they had been shooting at Bisley. Suddenly one of them lifted up his voice in the plainest English. "Gawd help us!" he bellowed to the man next to him, "but we're bloomin' marvels! Look at those grey gentlemen, look at them! D'ye see them? They're not going down in dozens, nor in 'undreds; it's thousands, it is. Look! look! there's a regiment gone while I'm talking to ye."

"Shut it!" the other soldier bellowed, taking aim, "what are you gassing about?" But he gulped with astonishment even as he spoke, for indeed, the grey men were falling by the thousands. The English could hear the guttural scream of the German officers, the crackle of their revolvers as they shot the reluctant; and still line after line crashed to the earth.

                                               **********************************************

All the while the latin bred soldier heard the cry:

"Harrow! Harrow! Monseigneur, dear Saint, quick to our aid! St. George help us!"

"High Chevalier, defend us!"

The singing arrows fled so swift and thick that they darkened the air; the heathen horde melted from before them.

                                               **********************************************

"More machine guns!" Bill yelled to Tom

"Don't hear them," Tom yelled back.

"But, thank God, anyway; they've got it in the neck."

In fact there were ten thousand dead German soldiers left before that salient of the English army, and consequently there was no Sedan. In Germany, a country ruled by scientific principles, the Great General Staff decided that the contemptible English must have employed shells containing an unknown gas of a poisonous nature, as no wounds were discernible on the bodies of the dead German soldiers.

But the man who knew what nuts taste like when they call themselves steak knew also that St. George had brought his Agincourt Bowmen to help the English."

A tall tale indeed in those dark times.

The Chindia Tower, Targoviste - A Short History.

The Chindia Tower (Turnul Chindiei) is the most striking part of the Princely Court of Targoviste, the name Chindia could come from a few meanings, one is a place of festival or feasting, another simply sunset, a time when the guard would sound the curfew. Or it could be that the name is a composite of two words Chin meaning 'punishment' and Dia meaning 'from.' There is no definite agreement on where the name originates.

The Princely Court was begun under the reign of Mircea the Elder, around the 1390's, it was a stone structure with wooden defences, and was first mentioned in a 1418 document to Michael I thus; "from the very house of my lordship, from the very town of my lordship, Targoviste."

The Court was added to under Michael I, this mainly being the Chapel or Lady's Church which would later have the Chindia Tower build on its bell tower.

The Chapel as viewed from the top of the tower.

By 1430 it was widely recognised that Targoviste was the capital of Wallachia, and it needed a suitable royal residence. As a result the main Princely house was constructed during the reign of Vlad II Dracul. This new palace was almost perfectly square, its walls were around 2m thick with a vaulted cellar, a large hall for ceremonies and greeting guests, and private rooms for the Princes family. This was a large construction and was completed around 1440.

The Palace built by Vlad II Dracul

Another addition was the Church of St. Friday or the Small Princely Church, it is said to be the best surviving example of mid fifteenth century Wallachian church architecture in existence, also the wooden defensive palisade was given a deep entrenchment.

Church of St. Friday from the top of the Chindia Tower.

The Chindia tower was constructed during the reign of Vlad III Dracula, or Tepes, the impaler. Today it stands at 27m, it has three floors with openings and balconies and a central spiral staircase. There is a curious opening on the side of the tower facing the Princely Court, this would have been a wooden bridge for easy access from the royal apartments.

The wooden bridge entrance in the tower's base.

The tower in Vlad's day would have been much shorter, only two floors high, in 1476 Stephen Bathory mentions a castle in Targoviste, this is almost certainly the tower and palace complex.

According to Dracula: Prince of Many Faces by R. Florescu and R.T McNally; "two monks who came to visit the palace at Targoviste climbed to the top of the Chindia Tower and were shown by Dracula the usual scene of horror in the courtyard below, which was strewn with impaled cadavers..." 

The tower was obviously a practical construction, it would have been the tallest building in the whole area and a great platform to keep an eye on invaders, plus knowing Vlad's love of psychological torture, taking messengers and any guest he wanted to influence to his way of thinking up to see the butchery all around would have been terrifying.

Chindia Tower before restoration in 1840

Michael The Brave added to the tower installing artillery, it had many uses over the years, it was variously a beacon, clock and a prison, but it eventually began to decay. Between 1847 to 1851 the tower was restored adding another 5m to its height and giving us the tower we see today. 

In modern times the tower has become the civic emblem of the City of Targoviste and a great cultural icon of the Romanian people. It has housed a museum and hosts medieval festivals and related Vlad Tepes reenactments and festivities. It is regularly filmed for documentaries and is the backdrop for countless wedding and corporate photoshoots.

The tower has been used to advertise various products including a German KFC advertisement in 2014 that so angered Targoviste officials and the Romanian people in general, it was banned. The advert featured a naked man of small stature throwing himself off the tower into a red bowl held by a man in a large crowd below.

The site has a great gift shop with small models of the tower and a very informative guide book. The Princely Court is an amazing place to visit, it really fires the imagination, walking in the footsteps of history.

For the most detailed model I have ever encountered Squiz 3D take first place, the tower is in actual 1/56 scale, it has the correct amount of stairs inside, and all of the outside features are off set at the correct angles, it is accurate in every way. From base to roof it stands at 51cm (20" high!). As of the date of this post it is near to being available, not long now, I'll keep you posted.

Chindia Tower by Squiz 3D.

Photo of a very excited author by Julia Gosling. 

I produced a short video on my YouTube channel, yo  can view it here  Targoviste - Dracula's Palace

The Alnwick Vampire.

We begin this story with a bit of controversy, are the events mentioned in Annan (Dumfriesshire) or Alnwick (Northumberland)? We take this tale from the 12th century Historia Rerum Anglicarum by William of Newburgh, he mentions "the castle which is called Anantis," and that a "man of evil conduct" came up from Yorkshire.

So which is it to be, well, if it is Annan castle, then it would be under the control of the De Brus (The Bruce) family, who held properties in Yorkshire. So far so good, but, if it is Alnwick castle under control of the Percy family, then they too held grounds in Yorkshire, it could be either, for my money I plump for Alnwick, purely because it has to come from somewhere and I come from Northumberland.

This excerpt is taken from Historia Rerum Anglicarum by William of Newburgh, translated by Joseph Stevenson between 1853 - 1858. This story follows on from the previous one concerning the "Hundeprest," which I covered in a blog called Revenants; The Walking Dead of Medieval Britain.

Historia Rerum Anglicarum by William of Newburgh.

"Another event, also, not unlike this, but more pernicious in its effects, happened at the castle which is called Anantis, as I have heard from an aged monk who lived in honour and authority in those parts, and who related this event as having occurred in his own presence.

A certain man of evil conduct flying, through fear of his enemies or the law, out of the province of York, to the lord of the before named castle, took up his abode there, and having cast upon a service befitting his humour, laboured hard to increase rather than to correct his own evil propensities.

He married a wife, to his own ruin, indeed, as it afterward appeared; for, hearing certain rumours respecting her, he was vexed with the spirit of jealousy. Anxious to ascertain the truth of these reports, he pretended to be going on a journey from which he would not return for some days; but coming back in the evening, he was privily introduced into his bedroom by a maid servant, who was in the secret, and lay hidden on a beam overhanging his wife's chamber, that he might prove with his own eyes if anything were done to the dishonour of his marriage bed.

Thereupon beholding his wife in the act of fornication with a young man of the neighbourhood, and in his indignation forgetful of his purpose, he fell, and was dashed heavily to the ground, near where they were lying. The adulterer himself leaped up and escaped; but the wife, cunningly dissembling the fact, busied herself in gently raising her fallen husband from the earth.

As soon as he had partially recovered, he upbraided her with her adultery, and threatened punishment; but she answering, "Explain yourself, my lord," said she; "you are speaking unbecomingly, which must be imputed not to you, but to the sickness with which you are troubled." 

Being much shaken by the fall, and his whole body stupefied, he was attacked with a disease, insomuch that the man whom I have mentioned as having related these facts to me visiting him in the pious discharge of his duties, admonished him to make confession of his sins, and receive the Christian eucharist in proper form: but as he was occupied in thinking about what had happened to him, and what his wife had said, put off the wholesome advice until the morrow -- that morrow which in this world he was fated never to behold! -- for the next night, destitute of Christian grace, and a prey to his well earned misfortunes, he shared the deep slumber of death.

A Christian burial, indeed, he received, though unworthy of it; but it did not much benefit him: for issuing, by the handiwork of Satan, from his grave at night time, and pursued by a pack of dogs with horrible barkings, he wandered through the courts and around the houses; while all men made fast their doors, and did not dare to go abroad on any errand whatever from the beginning of the night until the sunrise, for fear of meeting and being beaten black and blue by this vagrant monster.

But these precautions were of no avail; for the atmosphere, poisoned by the vagaries of this foul carcase, filled every house with disease and death by its pestiferous breath. Already did the town, which but a short time ago was populous, appear almost deserted; while those of its inhabitants who had escaped destruction migrated to other parts of the country, lest they, too, should die.

The man from whose mouth I heard these things, sorrowing over this desolation of his parish, applied himself to summon a meeting of wise and religious men on that sacred day which is called Palm Sunday, in order that they might impart healthful counsel in so great a dilemma, and refresh the spirits of the miserable remnant of the people with consolation, however imperfect.

Having delivered a discourse to the inhabitants, after the solemn ceremonies of the holy day had been properly performed, he invited his clerical guests, together with the other persons of honour who were present, to his table. 

While they were thus banqueting, two young men (brothers), who had lost their father by this plague, mutually encouraging one another, said, 'This monster has already destroyed our father, and will speedily destroy us also, unless we take steps to prevent it. Let us, therefore, do some bold action which will at once ensure our own safety and revenge our father's death. There is no one to hinder us; for in the priests house there is a feast in progress, and the whole town is as silent as if deserted. Let us dig up this baneful pest, and burn it with fire.'

Thereupon snatching up a spade of but indifferent sharpness of edge, and hastening to the cemetery, they began to dig; and whilst they were thinking that they would have to dig to a greater depth, they suddenly, before much of the earth had been removed, laid bare the corpse, swollen to an enormous corpulence, with its countenance beyond measure turgid and suffused with blood; while the napkin in which it had been wrapped appeared nearly torn to pieces.

The young men, however, spurred on by wrath, feared not, and inflicting a wound upon the senseless carcase, out of which continually flowed such a stream of blood, that it might have been taken for a leech filled with the blood of many persons.

Then, dragging it beyond the village, they speedily constructed a funeral pile; and upon one of them saying that the pestilential body would not burn unless its heart were torn out, the other laid open its side by repeated blows of the blunted spade, and, thrusting in his hand, dragging out the accursed heart.

This being torn piecemeal, and the body now consigned to the flames, it was announced to the guests what was going on, who, running thither, enabled themselves to testify henceforth to the circumstances. When that infernal hellhound had thus been destroyed, the pestilence which was rife among the people ceased, as if the air, which had been corrupted by the contagious motions of the dreadful corpse, were already purified by the fire which had consumed it.

These facts having been thus expounded, let us return to the regular thread of history..........

A Ballade Of The Scottysshe Kynge - John Skelton 1513.

 

King James IV of Scotland.

The Battle of Flodden, 1513.

The battle took place on 9th September 1513, it was one of the bloodiest battles in a long and turbulent history between England and Scotland. The conflict began when King James IV of Scotland invaded Northumberland, England, fulfilling the terms of the Auld Alliance with France after King Henry VIII had launched his own campaign against France.

James crossed the border with a large army and captured several English strongholds before advancing further into Northumberland. The English army, commanded by the elderly Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, marched north to confront him. On the 9th September, the two armies met near Branxton Hill, close to the village of Flodden.

The battle ended in a devastating English victory. The Scottish army was shattered, and among the dead was James IV himself, who became the last British monarch to die in battle. Thousands of Scots were killed, including many nobles and members of the Scottish elite. The defeat had profound consequences for Scotland, leaving the country politically and financially weakened and placing the young Jame V, then only an infant, upon the Scottish throne.

Flodden has consequently become one of the most famous and tragic battles in Scottish history - a battle remembered not merely for its scale and bloodshed, but for the death of a King and an entire generation of Scotland's nobility.

The tune "Flowers Of The Forest" was written about the battle, it is still played to commemorate Scotland's war dead.

The Poet, The Poem.

In the 1490s John Skelton was appointed as tutor to Prince Henry Tudor, the future King Henry VIII. In 1498 he was ordained, in 1500 became the rector of Diss in Norfolk, and in 1502 he was imprisoned for an unknown offence for a short time before returning to his parish.

Prince Henry described Skelton as a "glory of British letters" and after his coronation in 1509, King Henry made him "regius orator" or Poet Laureate. Skelton had a biting wit and some of his poetry made him enemies, as well as many admirers, some thought he was more fitted to the stage than the pulpit.

This poem concerning the battle of Flodden is the earliest version, news of the death of James IV had not yet been realised, a later version was published with the updated news from the battle and was called "Skelton Laureate Against The Scotties." In his style "A Ballade Of The Scottysshe Kynge" is a mocking poem, triumphalist even, I present it here as a historical document and as close to the original as I can.

A Ballade Of The Scottysshe Kynge.

King Jamie, Jamie, your joy is all gone.

You summoned our King - why did you do so?

To you nothing about it was fitting,

to summon our King, your sovereign Lord.

A King, a summoner - it is a wonder.

Do you not know salt and sugar apart?

In your summoning you were far too impudent,

and your herald was not at all skilful.

You thought you did it very valiantly,

but (it was) not worth three skips of a pie;

Sir gallant squire, you were too swift.

Your will runs before your wit.

To be so scornful towards your ally,

your counsel was not worth a fly.

Before the French King, Danes, and others,

you ought to honour your lord and brother.

Believe you, Sir James, his noble grace,

for you and your Scots would turn his face.

Now you proud Scots of Galloway,

for your King may sing "well away."

Now you must recognise our King as your regent,

your sovereign lord and president.

In him is figured Melchisedec*,

and you are as desolate as Armelech*.

He is our noble champion.

A King anointed, and you are none.

Through your counsel your father was slain,

wherefore I fear you will suffer pain,

and you proud Scots of Dunbar,

indeed you are his homage man.

And suitors to his parliament,

you did not your duty therein.

Wherefore you may now repent it.

You carried yourself somewhat too boldly,

therefore you have lost your copholde*.

You are bound tenants to his estate.

Give up your game; you play checkmate.

For to the castle of Norham

I understand you came too soon.

For a prisoner there now you are,

either to the Devil or the Trinity.

Thanked be to St George, our Lady's knight,

your pride is past - and we (bid you) good night.

You determined to make a fraye,

our King then being out of the way,

but by the power and might of God

you were beaten with your own rod.

By your reckless will, Sir, in a word,

you have lost spurs, coat armour, and sword.

You had bet better to have baulked to Huntly* ranks

than in England to play such pranks.

But you had some evil seed to sow.

Therefore you are now laid very low,

your power could no longer attain

war with our King to maintain.

Of the King of Navarre you may take heed,

How unfortunate he does now speed,

in double wells now he does dream

That is a King without a realm.

from him example you would not take.

experience has brought you in the same brake (trap).

Of the outlaws you rough footed Scots,

we have well easd you of your boots.

You raw rank Scots and drunken Danes,

from our English bows you have fetched your bones.

It is not fitting in tower or town,

for a summoner to wear a King's crown,

that noble Earl, the White Lion.

Your pomp and pride have laid him down.

His son, the Lord Admiral, is very good.

His sword has bathed in the Scots' blood.

God save King Henry and all his lords,

and send the French King such another fall.

Amen, for Saint Charity,

and God save noble

King Henry

the Eighth.

*Melchizedek - a Biblical character roughly meaning King of Righteousness.

*Armelech - a Biblical character from 2 Kings, with his brother they murdered their father and were banished.

*copholde - perhaps cup holder meaning protector or privilege.

*Huntly - Alexander Gordon, 3rd Earl of Huntly, co-commander of the Scottish left flank, they withdrew rather than help the center where the King was killed.

The Baba Yaga - Russian Folktales 1868.

The Baba Yaga.

I know stepmothers get a bad press now and again, but this tale really takes the biscuit. To all stepmums out there you are awesome, we love you. Taken from "Russian Folktales" published in 1868.

Once upon a time there was an old couple. The husband lost his wife and married again. But he had a daughter by the first marriage, a young girl, and she found no favour in the eyes of her evil stepmother, who used to beat her, and consider how she could get her killed outright.

One day the father went away somewhere or other, so the stepmother said to the girl "Go to your aunt, my sister, and ask her for a needle and thread to make you a shift."

Now that aunt was Baba Yaga. Well, the girl was no fool, so she went to a real aunt of hers first, and says she; "Good morning, auntie."

"Good morning, my dear. What have you come for?"

"Mother has sent me to her sister, to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift."

Then her aunt instructed her what to do. "There is a birch tree there, niece, which would hit you in the eye -- you must tie a ribbon round it; there are doors which would creak and bang -- you must pour oil on their hinges; there are dogs which would tear you to pieces -- you must throw them these rolls; there is a cat which would scratch your eyes out -- you must give it a piece of bacon."

So the girl went away, and walked and walked, till she came to the place. There stood a hut, and in it sat weaving the Baba Yaga, the Bony Shanks.

"Good morning, auntie," says the girl.

"Good morning, my dear," replies the Baba Yaga.

"Mother has sent me to ask you for a needle and thread to make me a shift."

"Very well, sit down and weave a little in the meantime."

So the girl sat down behind the loom, and the Baba Yaga went outside, and said to her maid servant, "Go and heat the bath, and get my niece washed, and mind you look sharp after her. I want to breakfast off her."

Well, the girl sat there in such a fright that she was as much dead as alive. Presently she spoke imploringly to the servant maid, saying, "Kinswoman dear, do please wet the firewood instead of making it burn, and fetch the water for the bath in a sieve." And she made her a present of a handkerchief.

The Baba Yaga waited a while, then she came to the window and asked, "Are you weaving, niece? Are you weaving, my dear?"

"Oh yes, dear aunt, I'm weaving." So the Baba Yaga went away again, and the girl gave the cat a piece of bacon, and asked, "Is there a way of escaping from here?"

"Here's a comb for you and a towel," said the cat; "take them, and be off. The Baba Yaga will pursue you, but you must lay your ear to the ground, and when you hear that she is close at hand, first of all throw down the towel. It will become a wide, wide river. And if Baba Yaga gets across the river, and tries to catch you, then you must lay your ear to the ground again, and when you hear she is close at hand, throw down the comb. It will become a dense, dense forest; through that she won't be able to force her way anyhow."

The girl took the towel and the comb and fled. The dogs would have rent her, but she threw them the rolls, and they let her go by; the doors would have begun to bang, but she poured oil on their hinges, and they let her pass through; the birch tree would have poked her eyes out, but she tied the ribbon about it, and it let her pass on; muddled everything about, if it didn't do much weaving.

Up came the Baba Yaga to the window, and asked, "Are you weaving, niece? Are you weaving, my dear?"

"I'm weaving, dear aunt, I'm weaving," gruffly replied the cat.

The Baba Yaga rushed into the hut, saw that the girl was gone, and took to beating the cat, and abusing it for not having scratched the girls eyes out. "Long as I've served you,' said the cat, "you've never given me so much as a bone, but she gave me bacon."

Then Baba Yaga pounced upon the dogs, on the doors, on the birch tree, and on the servant maid, and set to work abusing them all, and to knock them about. Then the dogs said to her, "Long as we've served you, you've never so much as pitched us a burnt crust, but she gave us rolls to eat.

And the doors said, "Long as we've served you, you've never poured oil on us." The birch tree said, "Long as I've served you, you've never tied a single thread round me, but she fastened a ribbon around me." And the maid servant said, "Long as I've served you, you've never given me so much as a rag, but she gave me a handkerchief." 

The Baba Yaga, bony of limb, quickly jumped into her mortar, sent it flying along the pestle, sweeping away the while all traces of it flying with a broom, and set off in pursuit of the girl. Then the girl put her ear to the ground, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was chasing her, and was now close at hand, she flung down the towel. And it became a wide, such a wide river! Up came the Baba Yaga to the river, and gnashed her teeth with spite, then she went home for her oxen, and drove them to the river. The oxen drank up every drop of the river, and then the Baba Yaga began the pursuit anew.

But the girl put her ear to the ground again, and when she heard that the Baba Yaga was near, she flung down the comb, and instantly a forest sprang up, such an awfully thick one! The Baba Yaga began gnawing away at it, but however hard she worked, she couldn't gnaw her way through it, so she had to go back again.

But by this time the girl's father had returned home, and he asked, "Where's my daughter?"

"She's gone to her aunt's" replied her stepmother.

Soon afterwards the girl herself came running home.

"Where have you been?" asked her father.

"Oh, father!" she said, "mother sent me to aunts to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift. But aunt's a Baba Yaga, and she wanted to eat me!"

"And how did you get away, daughter?"

"Why like this," said the girl, and explained the whole matter. As soon as her father had heard all about it, he became wroth with his wife, and shot her. But he and his daughter lived on and flourished, and everything went well with them.

The Hindhead Murder - 1786.

This is a tragic tale of a good samaritan, it is said that no good deed goes unpunished, well here is the proof. It is the 24th September 1786 and a series of events will prove the undoing of three murderous sailors.

The General Advertiser, 3rd October 1786;

"On Sunday last, a shocking and barbarous murder was committed by three abandoned villains; The unfortunate person, who fell a sacrifice to these ruffians, accidently met them at a public house at Monhill, near Godalming, Surrey, and as they were seafaring men, he treated them plentifully; when he paid the reckoning, he changed a guinea, and told them (as they said their money was short) he would assist them on the journey to Portsmouth, as long as it lasted.

They went along together, and travelled as far as the Red Lion at Road Lane, where he treated them a second time: they then proceeded on their journey, but had not got above two miles farther to a place called Hind Head, where they committed the above cruel and inhuman murder.

All of them were taken a short time after, and carried before Justice Fielding, of Haslemere, Surrey, when, after separate examinations, they were committed to Guildford gaol."

The murder was truly awful, the callousness exhibited was breathtaking, as this man was treating them to drinks at each pub the other three planned what they were going to do to him. The Times of the 4th October gave more detail to the crime, stating;

".......these monsters knocked their benefactor down, and they all immediately assisted in stripping him quite naked, the poor man all the time imploring them to spare his life: but they were deaf to his entreaties, and with their knives mangled his body much too shocking to relate, and then nearly severed his head from the body.

One of them still not satisfied, said to his companion, 'Lend me your knife, I'll have another cut at him,' which being given, they dragged him about two hundred yards out of the road, and then proceeded towards Portsmouth."

Fortunately the villains were seen in their attempt to hide the body by two men, they hurried back to Road Lane where they drummed up eight men to help them follow the murderers. They came upon the three sailors at Rake, near Petersfield and captured them, it appeared the sailors had already decided to commit murder that day, dangerous men indeed.

The Times correspondent further stated;

"They were conducted under strong guard; and on coming to the house, where the mangled corpse of the poor man lay, the guard insisted on their getting out the coach, to see and touch the body; one of them was much affected, and shed tears; but the other two seemed totally unconcerned, and with an unpardonable audacity declared, 'they would do it again, had they an opportunity.'"

The three sailors, Edward Lonegon, Michael Casey and James Marshall were tried at Kingston Assizes and found guilty, it was an open and shut case. They were sentenced to death by hanging, after which their bodies were to be hung in chains at Hindhead, on what was to become known as Gibbet Hill.

The body of the poor unknown victim was interred in Thursley churchyard where he lies to this day, his gravestone was paid for by local residents. On the stone is engraved;

In memory of

A generous but unfortunate sailor

Who was barbarously murder'd on Hindhead

On September 24th 1786

By three villains

After he had liberally treated them

And promised them his farther assistance

On the road to Portsmouth.

A stone was also placed near the murder site by a Mr James Sitwell, known as the Sailor's Stone this monument was moved a couple of times over the years, the first was in 1826 because of a road realignment, and the second was in 1932 when it was shifted back to its original position due to road widening. The original inscription read:

ERECTED

In detestation of a barbarous murder

Committed here on an unknown Sailor

On Sep, 24th 1786

By Edwd. Lonegon, Mich. Casey & Jas. Marshall

Who were all taken the same day

And hung in chains near this place

Whoso sheddeth Man's blood by Man shall his

Blood be shed. Gen Chap 9 Ver 6

In 1807 - 1809 the painter William Turner created a series of monochrome prints (mezzotint) that were published in 1811 under the title Liber Studiorum, number 25 of these prints was created in 1808 and is of Hindhead Hill and clearly shows the gibbet still in situ. Although, by the time Turner visited one of the malefactors had gone, he came down during a big storm on the 23rd December 1790, hence why his gibbet is a T shape instead of a triangle.

Hind Head Hill - William Turner

The area was said to have an evil air, and when finally the gibbet was gone, a Celtic Cross was erected in its place. Financed by Sir William Erle in 1851, the cross has four latin inscriptions on its base, which read; 

POST TENEBRAS LUX

IN OBITU PAX

IN LUCE SPES

POST OBITUM SALUS

Which translates thus; 

Light After Darkness

Peace In Passing Away

Hope In Light

Salvation After Death

This tragic event has been mentioned by several famous authors, for instance in Nicholas Nickleby (1838-1839) by Charles Dickens, Nickleby tells the tale to Smike as they pass the Devil's Punchbowl, a wide depression in the earth at the base of Gibbet Hill, much to Smike's "greedy interest."

In the Christmas supplement of the Dublin Daily Express of 1890, Bram Stoker had published Gibbet Hill, in this uncanny short story a man falls asleep on the hill and encounters three very odd children with evil and supernatural intent.

The Reverend Sabine Baring-Gould published his The Broom-Squire in 1896, here he tells the tragic tale of the unknown sailor's daughter who suffers at the hands of the Broom-Squires family.

The Man From Morocco or Souls In Shadows (1926) by Edgar Wallace has the story set in modern times with an unknown sailor bludgeoned to death on the Portsmouth road.

In Punchbowl Midnight (1951) by Monica Edwards has a character that becomes cursed because she defaces the Sailor's Stone with a knife.

The Legend of Hob O' The Stob Hill (Morpeth) by James Service 1834.

 

I've said, and say again, that they who praise,

With such inveterate glee, the good old days,

Are somewhat apt in prejudice to wander,

And treat the present age with less than candour;

But for his  reason should you press your poet,

Hark to his tale, that  probably will show it!

Have you sir, seen a comet? - yes! - she shines

Exactly with the lustre of these lines;

No head, nor fountain of her light, we find,

But she's extremely luminous behind!

So if my story's dark at first - the rhyme

Will sparkle now - and then blaze forth in time,

Spreading around new light on times gone by -

On tales once famed in Border Minstrelsie!

Morpeth's good town is - just as you may know it;

But as it was - the histories don't show it;

My legend will - 'tis local - and 'tis true,

A point that more concerns myself than you,

And how I came by it will prove it such,

Being taken - that is stolen - from the Hutch,

Which all the corporations deeds are held in,

As old and obscure as Meg o' Meldon! -

A huge and ugly oak and iron box,

They keep up stairs, secured by seven vast locks;

But what are locks to antiquarian fingers?

A hint's enough - meanwhile my story lingers.

King John, it seems, had made a desperate kick up,

And the whole nation reel'd and had a hickup;

Now what they quarrel'd for, it matters not,

We care not now, nor did then one jot;

On one side stood the king, and on the other

Was the Lord Morpeth and his younger brother.

In those hot days it was a sort of fashion,

That whatsoe'er the landlord chose to dash on,

The tennant followed, were it for good or evil -

"Go on, I follow - be it to the devil!"

And not a vassal dared his leader's steps shun,

A general rule, but there was one exception.

Hob o' Stob Hill, simpleton by rule,

And wise enough, at least, to seem a fool,

Took, as few wiser men have ever done,

A witty way to cherish number one!

Such beings were and are - who can dispense,

A pound of sound, with half a grain of sense;

Sages look queer, and strange how instinct can

So well supply the place of mind  in man! -

Hob had a wife, one of those gentle dearies

Who ruled with rod of iron - whose chief fear is

Not to be fear'd - who at the altar say,

"I will command"  for "honour and obey."

Now Hobby's was a ticklish situation;

The King commanded him, with half the nation,

To join the Royal banner, - and his lord

Bade Hob against the king to draw his sword;

His wife, with a voice as terrible as either,

Cried, "draw thy sword, I charge thee, Hob, for neither."

"Right!" said the king - "left!" cried the baron, - "halt!"

Roar'd the domestic tyrant, - Hob at fault

Scratch'd his shock head, and rolled his eyes, and cried,

"There's only ae way to please aw," - and died.

Such accidents were not much heeded then;

The king and baron, both in want of men,

Desired the mourning widow out of hand

To furnish one of each, or lose the land.

In those days, would you think it? ladie's money

Could make a bitter bargain sweet as honey.

So Hobby's widow found a match, and he

Went as trooper to the king, - while she

In Hobby's jack, and armed with good broad sword,

Mounted on one eyed mare, and joined her lord! -

"Meg," said the amazon, "keep ye the hoose,

Look to the cows, and watch the cleckin goose;

And, for poor Hobby, tyek the silly creature

On your strang back, and fling him i' the water."

Away she sallied, and to do the job

Maggie approached; when, lo! up started Hob,

Capering as though death had but mad him stronger,

And swore he had but died to live the longer;

Free from his fears, and severed from his wife,

He hoped to lead a semi joyous life.

Alas! how vain are human hopes! the king

Threatened on Morpeth fire and sword to bring.

Then stood the town on t'other side of the river,

And the lord's bailiff then was the land giver;

He caused the freemen, as the king came down,

To save their lives and sacrifice the town.

The patriot freemen quickly fired their houses,

And on their backs bore off their goods and their spouses.

Hobby excepted! - he, with wiser aim,

Struggled to save his cottage from flame,

And kindly offered to his brother freemen,

Ransom for all their goods, except their women.

Not to digress, - this ne'er was his intent,

He took them as a Morpeth compliment!

What that phrase means, authorities don't tell us,

But Hob's words may, - said he, "maw canny fellows,"

"Ye knaw that aw was buckled wiv a marrow,

That kept me like a tyed belaw a harrow,

A naggy, stupid, fulish, yammerin howdie,

A parfit bison, and a huel for crowdie;

She gave me nowt i' plenty but her tongue,

O' that  a Morpeth compliment she flung.

My lord, aw wad na flickered at his order,

Wasn't for a raid of foray o'er the border;

But yens awn sells to whack at yen another,

I see nae gude in't; - then to join tother,

Aw mean the king, - maw certes! when maw wife

In maw awn breeks had met me i' the strife,

She wad hae whumbled me and ta'en maw life.

Ye brainless culls, ye set the town a-lowe,

And what I saved, ye wad hae frae me now,

But tyek whe likes, and let him keep whe can,

Maw part is aye to play the canny man!

Yer aw wise beggars - aw's a cull - but, hark!

A wealthy fuil outweighs a hungry clerk;

Ye die to live in story - when aw died,

It was to live wi' peace abuin maw head;

And when yer story's tell'd in efter day,

Ye maunna think to carry a' the praise,

For on this spot six hunder years hereafter,

Clusters of bonny lasses, wi' loud laughter,

And witching smiles, shall praise the canny skill

And living death o' Hob o' the Stob Hill!"