London Folk Tales (9 page)

Now, in that long ago time when wells were all round and witches were as commonplace as apples, there was a man whose wife died, leaving him with a little girl. She was bright and willing but he couldn’t manage on his own, so he married again before too long. His new wife had a daughter too, much of an age as his own, so that would be company for the child, he thought, as well as a mother to care for her.

But sadly it was the worst sort of company and no caring at all, for the new wife hated her stepdaughter from the moment she first clapped eyes on her, because her own child seemed as heavy and slow as a toad beside her. And mother and daughter between them made sure that young girl had such a hard time of it, it was a wonder she didn’t run off altogether. But she was always hoping that somehow she might please them, and befriend them, and so she kept on trying. They made her work so hard, she was almost spinning in her sleep, seeing to the fires, cleaning the floors, cooking the food, mending and making all the clothes. She never had a moment to sit still.

Even when she went to get water from the well, and was waiting for the bucket to drop down to the bottom, she had to take out her spindle and spin. But that was a pleasure too, for her, because that little wooden spindle was one thing she still had left from her dead mother.

Then one day she was at the well, spinning while she peered into the dark depths to see if the bucket was full, and, ‘oh dear!’ the spindle slipped out of her hand, and fell down into the water. The poor girl was beside herself. She could not go back without her spindle, and so she jumped into the well after it.

To her surprise she found that, instead of landing in water, there was soft green grass beneath her feet. She looked about, and saw she was in another world altogether. There were fields all around her, with a little path running through. But right beside her was a well just like the one above, and on the little wall around it sat her spindle, safe and sound. So she slipped it into her apron pocket, and set off on her way.

She walked and walked and walked, but saw no one. Not even a bird or a bee. Then suddenly she heard a strange voice crying, ‘I burn! I burn! I burn!’

She still couldn’t see anyone, but just ahead there was an oven, all on its own, with a little wisp of smoke coming out. Hurriedly she opened the door, and inside was a loaf of bread, just beginning to burn at the edges. So she took it out as quick as could be, and laid it on the grass to cool.

‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ said the oven. ‘I hope one day I can help you too. Break off a bite of bread if you like.’ Well she was very hungry, so she took a piece to eat, and went on her way wondering.

By and by, she heard a miserable moaning, ‘I burst! I burst! I burst!’ Before long she came to a cow, dripping milk, udders so full they were scraping the ground.

There was a bucket nearby, and milking stool too, so the girl sat down and set to. In no time the bucket was filled to the brim, and the cow was much relieved. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ she mooed. ‘I hope one day I can help you too. Drink as much as you like.’ Well the girl was very thirsty, so she drank her fill, and went on her way wondering even more.

After a while she heard a creaking voice calling, ‘I break, I break, I break!’

Around the corner there was an apple tree, its branches so loaded with big ripe fruit it was bent right to the ground. ‘Pick me please,’ said the apple tree. So she picked the apples into neat heaps until the tree could straighten up again.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ it rustled. ‘I hope one day I can help you too. Take as many as you like.’

Well she did like apples, so she walked on munching, wondering more than ever.

At last she came to a dark wood with branches and brambles tangled all around the path. She pushed on through, and finally found a broken old gate to an empty garden, with a tumbledown house in the middle.

She knocked on the door and it opened with a screech, and there was an old witch, with a nose down to her knees, fingernails as long as knives, and eyes even sharper.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose you want to eat and sleep, but it’s nothing for nothing in this house. You’re going to have to work for it, and hard too, or it will be the worse for you.’

‘I can work hard,’ said the girl, ‘for a little wage and a place to stay.’

‘Then you’d better come in,’ said the witch with a grin, ‘but watch the cat. She’ll bite and scratch.’

The girl stepped back as a cat slid by, all teeth and claws and wild eyes.

‘Now start,’ said the witch. ‘Straight away. Mend the gate, dig the garden, clean the house from top to bottom, fetch the water and the wood, and then you can cook my food. But there’s one thing you must remember. Never, ever, ever look up the chimney. If you do I’ll break your bones and bury you under the marble stones.’

So the girl got going, and when she was done, she was so worn out that she could barely see her own bite of food. But she didn’t forget to save some for the cat, though she got little thanks from the beast for that.

And it went on like this, day after day, and if it didn’t get any better, well it least it never got worse. But as for her wages, they never seemed to come, and when she asked the witch for them, all she got was a laugh.

Then one day the witch was out, and the cat was in, and prowling about. And all of a sudden it stopped, and stared at the girl, hard. ‘You know what to do, don’t you?’ it asked.

‘Goodness gracious!’ said the girl. ‘I never knew you could speak.’

‘Well if you don’t ask, you don’t get,’ said the cat. ‘And if you don’t look you don’t see.’

‘Look where?’ asked the girl.

‘Up the chimney of course,’ said the cat.

So the girl did look and what did she see but a bag. A big bag. And when she got it down she saw it was full. Full of gold.

‘I’d pick it up and run if I were you,’ said the cat. So the girl grabbed the bag and put it on her back, and she ran out the house, across the garden, through the gate, and off fast as she could through the wood.

But just as she had gone the witch came home, and straight away she could smell something wrong. So she looked up the chimney and saw that the bag was stolen and since the girl had gone too, then she knew.

‘Why didn’t you scratch and stop her?’ she asked the cat.

‘She fed me,’ said the cat. ‘And you never do that.’

So the witch spat at her and ran outside. ‘Garden, why didn’t you tangle and trip her?’

‘She dug me and cleared me and cared for me too. I never even get a glance from you.’

‘Gate, why ever did you let her through?’

‘She mended me and you never do.’

The witch kicked it, and ran on through the wood, screaming and swearing and sniffing out the trail. The girl was well ahead; she had reached the apple tree. But she heard the witch getting closer and closer; soon she would catch her up:

Apple tree, Apple tree hide me, before the old witch can find me.

If she do, she’ll break my bones and bury me under the marble stones.

Apple tree do hide me.

The tree bent down and scooped her up, and put her high up on its trunk.

Soon enough the witch came up. ‘Apple tree, did you see, a girl as skinny can be? She looked and she took my long-tailed bag, and she’s got my gold, she got all I had.’

‘Yes,’ said the tree, ‘she ran off to the right.’ So the witch chased after, down the path to the right, and the girl climbed down and went off to the left.

But by and by the witch saw she was tricked, and she turned and she ran the other way. Now the girl could hear her catching up again. Just then she saw the cow:

Cow, oh Cow, do hide me, before the old witch can find me.

If she do, she’ll break my bones and bury me under the marble stones.

Oh Cow, do hide me.

So the cow hid her in the long, long grass, under her swishing tail.

Sooner than ever, the witch was there. ‘Cow, oh Cow, did you see, a girl as skinny can be? She looked and she took my long-tailed bag, and she’s got my gold, she got all I had.’

‘Yes,’ said the cow, ‘she ran off to the left.’ So the witch chased after, down the path to the left, and the girl came out from under the cow’s tail, and ran off to the right.

But by and by the witch saw she was tricked, and ran back the other way. Now the girl heard her almost at her heels:

Oven, oh Oven, do hide me, before the old witch can find me.

If she do, she’ll break my bones and bury me under the marble stones.

Oven, do hide me.

‘Very well,’ said the oven, ‘crouch behind me, but when the time comes be ready.’

The girl had hardly hidden herself before the witch was there. ‘Oven, oh Oven, did you see, a girl as skinny can be? She looked and she took my long-tailed bag, and she’s got my gold …’

‘Yes,’ said the oven, ‘look in me. She climbed inside to hide.’

So the witch opened the oven door, and reached right in, to grab the girl. But the oven gave a lurch and the girl gave a push, and then slammed the door shut, and that was that.

She thanked the oven, picked up the gold and danced all the way to the well. Spindle in the water, she went after, back home dry and safe. And weren’t they surprised when she arrived with her great big bag of money! As there was so much, her father said she should have half, to do with as she wished.

The stepmother, of course, was none too pleased with this. But when she’d heard the whole tale through, she thought her own daughter should go too; for where there’s money found, there’s always hope of more.

So she sent her own child off to the well, telling her exactly what to do. This girl never even tried to spin; she just took her mother’s spindle and threw it in. She didn’t really want to jump in after, but her mother had told her it was not real water.

So in she leaped. But the well was deep, and the water was wet, and she couldn’t swim, so down she went.

When her daughter did not come home, the mother went to the well to see where she had gone. Some say she slipped. Some say she jumped. All say she went in and never came up.

So the girl and her father were left by themselves. And with riches aplenty they lived very well.

Gilbert Becket was a mercer, not a knight. He knew all about trading cloth, especially silk, but he didn't know how to fight. Nor would he, normally, have wanted to.

But a call had come from Pope Urban that the Holy Lands must be saved from the Infidel, and all lords of Christendom should leave local strife and unite in a new Just War. ‘God Wills It', the word went out; ‘
Deus volt
', the Crusader's cry. All must ‘take the cross' and make himself a ‘soldier of the Church.'

Europe was whipped into a frenzy of fervour, princes and barons excited by promises of feudal fiefdoms, soldiers by dreams of rich pickings, and traders and travellers by hopes of safer shipping routes. Even pilgrims, who had always been guaranteed safe passage by Muslim rulers, were swayed by the spread of stories of massacres now taking place. But the deciding factors for many were the Papal promises. Indulgences for all participants; however sinful, they would go straight to heaven if they died. And financial incentives like the waiving of all debts for three years. A huge lure, since everyone assumed the Crusades could be done in one.

It was this that drew Gilbert. He had just paid his issue fees, having finished his apprenticeship, and he was setting up his own business. Although he came from a wealthy mercer family, he wanted to stand on his own two feet. So he had borrowed a large amount from a money lender near the London Stone. Good rates, though high interest and punishing penalty clauses for default. Those didn't worry Gilbert, because he knew the silk trade was booming. And with three years without interest he might even clear his debts!

Besides, as his father pointed out, travel was good for traders. ‘It could be a chance to make personal contacts in some of the cities you pass through. Venice, of course, but also Ragusa, and maybe, even Jerusalem itself!' he boomed enthusiastically. And if Old Becket was behind an idea, it was bound to be a sound one.

The less sound reasons for leaving home, Gilbert kept to himself. He had no need of Papal indulgences because his peccadilloes were so minor, easily absolved at no great cost. Ever since he was fourteen he had kept his head down, doing nothing but work, learning his trade. And throughout this last year all he could hear was talk, talk, talk of the Holy War – the excitement and fun, and the glory to be won. Gilbert was young, and before he settled down he wanted a taste of the free life of a knight!

He wasn't the only one. His servant, Richard, whom he had known ever since he was born, was as boyishly eager as he was. They took the Cross together, making their vows as a pilgrim would, and joined a Norman baron's entourage, setting off at once for France.

Their first shock was the crossing. Neither had been in a ship before, and the sea was rough. So was the lifestyle once they arrived in France. Nothing was as Gilbert had imagined. Disgusted by the food, the sleeping quarters and the lack of washing facilities, and exhausted by army training and daily drills, he might not have managed at all if not for Richard, who was well-used to physical work, and eating whatever you got. Richard also had an endless store of jokes and anecdotes to cheer his master up, and that soon won them other friends.