David England - Berkshire Folk Tales

We dedicate this book to all those generations of Berkshire local historians and librarians who have collected and preserved these stories.

Battle of Assedone

Battle of Ethandun

the Fate of John Ever-Afraid

Reminiscence of a Villainous Life

The Reckoning and the Redemption

Within these pages are the voices of folk and the firesides of centuries; the dust of ages gathered from castle, keep and cottage, transported by eye, ear and mind, polished with age and retelling, cut to shape and breathed on by succeeding generations.

This collection of traditional stories from the Royal County of Berkshire is set to indulge, intrigue and dazzle the imagination. Time on these pages stands still and centuries stand in suspension; yesterday and today merge as you, the reader, take up the telling.

Del Reid, 2013

The Society for Storytelling

Coordinator for National Storytelling Week

It is the summer of 1899. A group of antiquaries set out from Reading on a tour of Berkshire in a wagonette. At each town or village on their itinerary, they, or the locals they meet on their journey, tell their favourite Berkshire folk tales. The route the antiquaries take is described in the text, so that you too can make the journey and tell the tales.

In 1909 Miss L. Salmon wrote about Untravelled Berkshire in her delightful book of the same name. Indeed, much of the old county remains untravelled, with its varied landscapes, picturesque villages and historic inns; its churches and churchyards superimposed on ancient sacred sites, all accessible via quiet, winding lanes. Our book is a gazetteer to help you discover this land and its stories.

The antiquaries have differing voices, and this is reflected in their tales. As an illustration of this, compare the three stories based in the Vale of White Horse: White Horse Revels, King Gaarge and the Dragon, and Wayland the Smith.

Researching the sources of Berkshire folk tales has been an essential element in writing this book, as is shown by our extensive bibliography. Sometimes, a folk tale consists of unconnected fragments. Then, as storytellers, we have the intuitive task of making connections and weaving a convincing tale, with characterisation and drama. At other times, we are faced with an unwieldy, incoherent mass of source data. Then, as storytellers, we have the task of picking out the essential elements and presenting them as a coherent story. Thus, we have sought to write entertaining tales whilst remaining faithful to our sources. In so doing, where we felt it was necessary, we have recorded the bare bones of a story, as we received it, below our tale.

We hope you enjoy travelling with the antiquaries on your Berkshire folk tales journey.

David England and Tina Bilb, 2013

It was the beginning of 1899; the last year of the nineteenth century and fast approaching a new millennium. My brother, David, had taken up an interest in folklore and was voicing concerns that the old tales would soon be lost as more and more people learned to read and moved into the towns. Thus was born the idea for a trip during the summer vacation, with a group of antiquarian acquaintances who my brother had been in correspondence with over the last year or so. We would research what tales had already been collected, enquire about possible contacts to meet on our journey, and travel the length and breadth of the county retelling the tales we had collected. We would meet our contacts to hear more along the way, and explore the landscape from which the stories had arisen. A motley crew in a ship of fools, our uncle called us, but what did we care for that.

It was agreed that we should gather in Reading, where the Great Western and the South Eastern railways meet. Rooms were booked at the Great Western Hotel, opposite the station, and on the appointed day our happy band assembled: Professor James Gaunt, Revd John Plumb, Cecil Vanderpump, Mrs Arabella Trump, William Beauchamp Esq., Dr Harold Benjamin, Joseph Cleave, Henry Rowland, David and me.

Berkshires ancient county town is situated a short distance from the south bank of the Thames, and a little upstream of its junction with the Kennet. It is linked to the Severn via the Kennet & Avon Canal and is 39 miles from London along the Great West Road. Reading is the commercial centre of a thriving agricultural district; it has extensive breweries, iron foundries, and agricultural implement and engineering works. Boats are built by the riverside and there are brick, tile and pottery works nearby. The two industries, however, for which the town is famous throughout the world, are the great biscuit works of Messrs Huntley & Palmers, and the seed establishment of Messrs Sutton & Sons.

The town has a long history and was first recorded in 868. But it was the founding of Reading Abbey that increased the importance of the town immeasurably. In medieval times, Reading was famous for producing fine woollen cloth. One notable worthy of the town was Old King Cole, whose wagons of cloth held up the King for so long that his anger turned to the realisation of how useful an ally the wealthy Thomas Cole would be. The result of their meeting, so the story goes, was the creation of a standard measure for cloth throughout England. But a gruesome fate awaited Thomas, as our good friend and colleague Dr Benjamin related:

Hundreds of years ago, the Hospice of Colebrook provided refuge and hospitality to passing pilgrims visiting Windsor. Locals called it the Ospice, the name corrupting over the centuries to become the Osbridge Inn. Thanks to English explorers, word of Africas curious and exotic creatures inspired another change of name: it became the Ostrich Inn.

The landlords name was Jarman, and he and his wife ran a thriving tavern. Wealthy merchants would stop over at the Ostrich for a comfortable nights lodging, good ale and a feast of scrumptious penny pork pasties. One such merchant was Thomas Cole, a rich and successful clothier from Reading. As he rode down from London, his mouth watered at the prospect of those penny pasties, richly filled with roasted pork and spices, and oozing with thick pork gravy.

On arrival at the Ostrich, Thomas quickly stabled his horse, handed over his purse (fat from his London trade) to Jarmans wife for safe keeping, and put in his order for penny pork pasties.

Oi put e in moi bes room, zur, above moi warm kitchen, said Jarmans wife. Youm be warm as pork crackling.

Later, sated on good ale and pork pasties, Thomas retired to the Jarmans best room.

Unbeknown to the patrons of the Ostrich, there was a dark side to the Jarmans business. It had been the wifes idea to make the floor of the best room pivot on an iron beam, with the floor held in place by two stout iron pins, and it was Jarman who had crafted it. The bed was bolted to the pivoted floor, positioned over a mighty cauldron used to seethe the liquor for brewing.

The moonless night was deepest dark. Nearby, a screech owl uttered a piteous cry. A raven, blacker than the night, croaked by the bedroom window. Thomas Cole was oblivious to these dire warnings and snored on. The Jarmans listened at the door until Thomas snoring fell into a steady rhythm. Then they tiptoed down to the kitchen. Jarman quietly slipped out the two iron pins. Slowly, oh so slowly, the finely balanced best-bedroom floor, with the bed upon it, tipped the still sleeping Thomas of Reading like a burial at sea into the foaming deep into the hot foaming oil in the cauldron beneath.