In the period between Christmas and Twelfth Night, there is a tradition in Cornwall of Guise-Dances and Guise-Plays. My favourite perhaps is that of Duffy and the Devil; a Rumplestiltskin type story set in the landscape surrounding my cottage in the area of St Buryan and Lamorna. Within this story we find witches’ meetings, Boleigh Fogou, and the Devil – Buccaboo (Bucca Dhu) or ‘The Old One’. We pick up the story here with Old Bet, the witch of the mill, making her way to meet with her coven and the Devil;
When nearly dark and a few stars glimmered, Betty turned the water from the mill-wheel and closed the flushet. Then, having donned her steeple-crowned hat and red cloak, she fastened the jack of beer to one end of a “giss” (hempen girth), and her “crowd” to the other, slung them across her shoulder, under her cloak, took a black-thorn stick, closed her door, and away she went over the hill. She went up the “Bottom” (glen) between Trove and Boleigh, till she passed the Fuggo Hole, and there, amongst the thickets, she disappeared! All this Bottom was well-wooded, and the upper part thickly covered with hazel, thorn, and elder; and a tangled undergrowth of briars, brambles, and furze, surrounded a wood called the Grambler Grove. Few persons liked to pass near this place, because strange noises were heard, and fires often seen within it by night, when no one would venture near the place.
Duffy waited up many hours after the servants had gone to bed, in great impatience for her husband’s return. Her fears and doubts increasing, she remained seated in the kitchen chimney-corner, attending to a pie on the hearth; that it might be kept hot for the Squire’s supper. It came into her head at times, as a kind of forlorn hope, that the crafty old witch might somehow get the Devil to take her husband instead of herself. About midnight, however, her uneasy musings were interrupted by the dogs rushing in, followed by Squire Lovell, who seemed like one distracted, by the way he’ capered about and talked in broken sentences, of which his wife could make neither head nor tail. Sometimes he would caper round the kitchen, singing snatches of a strange dancing-tune; then stop, try to recollect the rest, and dance till tired out. At last the Squire sat down and told his wife to bring him a flagon of cider. After draining it, he became more tranquil, and, when Duffy asked if he had caught a hare, he answered,
“I’ve seen queer sights to-night, and the damn’d hare—as fine a one as ever was chased—most in the dogs’ mouths all the while. We coursed her for miles, yet they couldn’t catch her at all.” Then he burst out singing;
“To-morrow, my fair lady,
You shall ride along with me,
Over land and over sea,
Through the air and far away!”
“O! the funny devil! How he tossed up his heels and tail when he danced and sang;
“‘To strange countries you shall go,
For never here can you know.’
“I’ve forgotten the rest,” said he, after a pause; “but give me supper, and fill the tankard again. Then I will begin at the beginning, and tell ’e all about the strange things I’ve seen to-night. I wish you had been there; it would have made ye laugh, though I havn’t seen ’e so much as smile for a long time. But give me supper, I tell thee again, and don’t stay gaping at me like a fool frightened! Then, and not before, I’ll tell thee all about our uncommon chase, and we will ride ‘Over land, and over sea, with the jolly devil, far away, far away!’”
Duffy placed a pie on the board and helped the Squire. After supper he came more to himself, and said,
“We hunted all the way down, both sides of the Bottom, from Trove to Lamorna without seeing a hare. It was then dark, but for the starlight: we turned to come home, and, up by Bosava, out popped a hare, from a brake of ferns close beside the water. She (the hare) took up the moors; we followed close after, through bogs, furze, and brambles, helter-skelter, amongst mire and water. For miles we chased her—the finest hare that ever was seen, most in the dogs’ mouths all the way, yet they couldn’t catch her at all. By the starlight we had her in sight all the way till far up the Bottom, between Trove and Boleigh; there we lost all sight and scent of her at last, but not till, tearing through brakes of brambles and thorns, we found ourselves in the Grambler Grove. And now,” continued he, after a pull from the flagon, “I know for certain that what old folks say is true—how witches meet the Devil there of summer’s nights. In winter they assemble in the Fuggo Hole, we all know; because one may then often hear the devil piping for their dance under our parlour floor—that’s right over the inner end of the Fuggo. And now I believe what we took for a hare was a witch that we chased into this haunted wood. Looking through the thickets I spied, on a bare spot, surrounded by old withered oaks, a glimmering flame rising through clouds of smoke. The dogs skulked back and stood around me like things scared. Getting nearer, and looking through an opening, I saw scores of women some old and ugly, others young and passable enow as far as looks go. Most of them were busy gathering withered ferns or dry sticks, to the fire. I noted, too, that other witches, if one might judge by their dress, were constantly arriving—flying in over the trees, some mounted on ragworts, brooms, ladles, furze-pikes, or anything they could get astride of. Others came on through the smoke as comfortable as you please, sitting on three-legged stools; and alighted by the fire, with their black cats on their laps. Many came in through the thickets like hares, made a spring through the flame, and came out of it as decent lasses as one might see in BuryanChurch of a holiday. A good large bonfire soon blazed up; then, by its light, I saw, a little way back sitting under a tree, who should ’e think? Why no less than old witch Bet, of the Mill. And by her side a strapping dark-faced fellow, that wasn’t bad looking and that one wouldn’t take to be a devil at all but for the company he was with, and the sight of his forked tail that just peeped out from under his coat-skirts. Every now and then Old Bet held to his mouth a black leather jack, much like ours, and the Devil seemed to like the liquor by the way he smacked his lips. Now said I to myself I don’t much dislike nor fear thee, devil or no, as thee art so honest as to drink hearty. So here’s to thee, wife!”
Duffy was very impatient, but took care not to interrupt the Squire. After draining the flagon, he continued to say;
“Faix, I should think the Devil got drunk at last by the way he capered when the witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced round the fire with him in their midst. They went round and round so fast one couldn’t follow their movements as Betty beat up on her crowd the old tune of
‘Here’s to the Devil, with his wooden spade and shovel,
Digging tin by the bushel, with his tail cocked up.’”
“Over a while Old Bet stopped playing; the Devil went up to her, drained the jack, took from her the crowd, and sang a dancing-tune I never heard before. The words, if I remember right were,
‘I have knit and spun for her
Three years to the day,
To-morrow she shall ride with me,
Over land and over sea,
Far away! Far away!
For she can never know
That my name is Tarraway!’”
“The witches then sung as a chorus,
‘By night and by day
We will dance and play,
With our noble captain -
Tarraway! Tarraway!’”
“I thought the words odd for a dancing-tune, but devils and witches do queer things.”
“The witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced madder and faster, pulled each other right through the fire, and they wern’t so much as singed, the bitches. They spun round and round so fast that at last, especially when the Devil joined in, my head got light. I wanted to dance with them and called out as I advanced, ‘Hurra! my merry Devil, and witches all!’ In an instant, quick as lightning, the music stopped, out went the fire, a blast of wind swept away umers (embers) and ashes, a cloud of dust and fire came in my eyes and nearly blinded me. When I again looked up they had all vanished. By good luck I found my way out of the wood and home. I’ll have another hunt to-morrow and hope for better luck.”
The full play can be read in the Cornish Witchcraft Archive. This and other Cornish folktales can be found at Sacred Texts
