#local folklore

[chaoticdesertdweller]

[cecillias-garden]

In Jersey we leave the fae offerings of water ice so they'll keep the mosquitos at bay in the summer.

[blackthornwren]

Like Irish folk customs (and likely brought over from Europe), my home has death customs and superstitions. Bodies were stayed with (meaning someone sat up with them through the night), washed to preserve the freshness of appearance, and also strapped down to prevent them from rising again. Heavy coins were placed on the eyes to keep the eyelids closed and mirrors were covered - it was believed that if the coffin was reflected in any looking glass, there would be another death in that house before the end of the month.

[candles-crystals-cauldrons]

Been planning a page about local folklore and legends and one of them is about the Menhir or standing stones, so me and mum went to visit the Longstone, where the belief is that if you pass a baby through one of the holes it'll prevent or cure rickets, measles & whooping cough. My nan passed my oldest sister through the hole but I apparently had a big head as a baby so wouldn't fit.

Theres also the belief that there were more stones that originally were in a circle also but farmers and local land owners moved them two of them are at Lammas park, and you can see some are just incorporated into the farmers walls, the Longstone however would not budge

[witchescollection]

British Folklore: Oranges and Lemons

TW(s): Gore Mention, Mentions of beheadings, creepy vibe

Some of you may not know this about me, but I’m British!

There is a rhyme known as Oranges and Lemons. If you live in Britain, there’s no doubt you grew up singing the rhyme in the playground at school. When I was young, I definitely didn’t know what the rhyme was about - and I still didn’t until recently.

Here’s a reminder for those of you who have forgotten the lyrics or simply don’t know them:

“Oranges and lemons,

Say the bells of St. Clement's.

You owe me five farthings,

Say the bells of St. Martin's.

When will you pay me?

Say the bells at Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,

Say the bells at Shoreditch.

When will that be?

Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,

Says the great bell at Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

Chip chop chip chop the last man is dead”

Now rereading them, they seem really dark, right? Well, the rhyme likely originates from the 1744 book, Tommy Thumb’s Pretty Song Book. The original goes like this:

“Two Sticks and Apple,

Ring ye Bells at Whitechapple,

Old Father Bald Pate,

Ring ye Bells Aldgate,

Maids in White Aprons,

Ring ye Bells a St. Catherines,

Oranges and Lemons,

Ring ye bells at St. Clements,

When will you pay me,

Ring ye Bells at ye Old Bailey,

When I am Rich,

Ring ye Bells at Fleetditch,

When will that be,

Ring ye Bells at Stepney,

When I am Old,

Ring ye Bells at Pauls.”

There have been a variety of theories as to what the rhyme means, including public executions, Henry VIII’s famously difficult marriages, and even child sacrifice. However, the last two lines in the newer version don’t exist in the original, meaning majority of those theories don’t work.

The melody is reminiscent of each of the church bells mentioned in the song, and today, the bells of St. Clement Danes uses the melody.

FUN FACT: The melody of the rhyme is used in the 2017 film, It, whenever the antagonist is near.

So, overall, whilst we can theorise, the origins and meaning of the rhyme will forever remain a mystery. I think, that makes it all the creepier though. Who would create such a morbid rhyme for children?

What do you think the meaning of the rhyme is?

- Sage <3

[appleandelder]

A local lady just posted that she just had this experience and had bunch of pictures and everything it was crazy. Don’t have a link to her post but her is one about the Devil’s Footprints

[spiralthorn]

The river’s name is thought to come from the French “bonne chère” meaning “good cheer”.

[ofbloodandfaith]

I have literally been obsessed with Hypnos the god of sleep in Greek mythology for years, to the point I did an art project based on sleep in art school.

 I have also been obsessed with the relationship he has with his twin brother Thanatos (death) his wife, one of the Charities Pasithea, and his son Morpheus.

The fact that the god of sleep and the goddess of hallucination and relaxation bore the god of dreams is amazing.

The fact that sleep is the twin of death, that they are very similar but very different. That death is a permanent sleep and a permanent step into dreams, which actually links more to the Welsh myth of the afterlife Annwn which is the land of gold and plenty

[humanscandrivestick]

Halloween Countdown Day 12

Doc Tran tells us a local story in San Jose, about a girl named Amy and how Dio convinced him and Choco it was a great idea to go looking for her in the middle of the night. 8D

[iainwrites]

Why do I want “Luck of the Irish Investigations” setting to be in Atlantic Canada?  Why not, I reply.  Take some time to look into your area’s history, especially the myths and legends that have been circling around since the people first set up shop.  You may need to do a bit of digging to find them, but you’ll be amazed at how rich in potential content your stomping grounds can be.  

We have ghosts, goblins, devil sightings, lake and seas monsters, Bigfoot, burning ships that disappear, pirate treasure stories, forerunners and Second Sight, the good, the bad, the ugly and the stories to send you under the covers.  Why is my story set in the Atlantic Provinces?  Why shouldn’t it be?

[barberwitch]

The Spirit of the Barrens: The Jersey Devil

This post was was submitted by @wikthin to answer my request for local folklore for yule and witchmas. Thank you so dearly!

This is one of my favourite local legends – and my favourite version of the telling!

There was a proud family who lived deep in the heart of southern New Jersey, surrounded by the pines and the cedars and the sandy earth from which they reaped their wealth. Their name was Leeds, and they thought the land theirs, and well known by their neighbors. One son of the family, however, married a particular woman from afar and although she had not been born on their soil, she bore many children for her husband on it. She became known as Mother Leeds, and in some circles also known as a woman of ill repute who dabbled far more than any good Christian woman really should in things beyond her station. It was her will that built their house on the edge of two worlds, between the swamps of cedar and the sandy ranks of pitch pines in their armor.

Now, Mother Leeds had borne twelve hale and hearty children to her husband without losing a soul from this life, and she had grown tired. When she found herself fallen pregnant for the thirteenth time, she could only feel dismay at the roiling of her belly and the kicking of the infant inside. Nine months, she passed in exhaustion and – yes – in fear, for she was aging and worried that she mightn’t survive this thirteenth birth, for all knew the dangers of such a number.

When the night came that the labor pains were upon her, the thunder rolled and lightning shattered the sky above their home, and she found herself alone but for the midwife and her eldest daughter. Neither thunderous storm nor encouraging cries of the women could drown Mother Leeds’ cries, for the birth pains were worse than ever before and she feared for her life. In anger and in fear, she declaimed with all of her will at the final push, “Let this one be the Devil!!”

And he came into the world, pink and perfect and squalling as Mother Leeds fell back, spent and breathing hard. The midwife began to stand, to bring the Mother her thirteenth son when the babe began to change. His neck grew long, his legs twisted and strengthened, his face grew broad and long and tough while forked tail and wings sprouted from his spine. His eyes too were no longer human, but burned like black coals in his horse-like face. He screamed, echoing all of his Mother’s pains and freezing the blood of all in the room.

The Devil burst from the midwife’s grasp while she fainted, screaming with that terrible voice as he continued to grow and change. Windows of glass shattered, the storm howling into their home, and he leapt to the sill. He looked back but once at his mother, and with a lashing of his tail launched from the window and fled into the shelter of the cedars’ swamp and the carpets of needles that would evermore be his home.

The story only grows from there! One of my favourite continuations of the Devil’s story is the way he enters the legend of the Golden-Haired Girl.

The Golden-Haired Girl is a young woman who haunts the shores of New Jersey’s southern coasts, dressed always in an ephemeral gown of moonlight-white. She mourns, endlessly, her lover whom she lost to the unforgiving waters of the Atlantic. Here, tales diverge.

One version attributes his death to the notorious pirate Captain Kidd whose treasure is rumored to be buried somewhere along those same shores.

Another speaks of her father sending her back to England to prevent the marriage that he could not politically refuse and in so doing, tore his daughter’s heart in two, for her lover perished in a tempest before he left sight of the shores and so she may never leave the places they had once roamed together.

A final version claims that, interestingly, she had betrayed her family and had chosen instead to wed with the Devil. Her father again tries to ship her away, to preserve her purity, but she leaps from the bow of the ship and drowns as she strikes out to swim back to her home shores, swallowing the great salt sea as it swallows her. 

This final version then follows most smoothly with the continuation of the tale: that the Golden-Haired Girl can be seen on particular nights (some say full moon, others say dark moon but where her gown glows as the moon itself would have, and she takes the moon’s place on her vigil) watching out to sea, bare of foot and silent. Beside her stands the Jersey Devil, equally still and silent with his forked tail curled gently, protectively around her feet in quiet companionship.

Some versions say she looks for her lover to come home. Others say she searches for what she lost to the salt waves of the sea in her bid to return to the Devil and the Barrens.

It’s also worth it to note that very few versions of the Jersey Devil origin story and tales thereafter include the Devil hurting any humans – scaring them to a faint or icing their blood with his screams, often. Sometimes killing livestock. But I’ve never heard a local tell the story with the Devil killing humans, especially not those born in the area. I’ve only seen that version widely shared in the pretty sensationalized rendition in Weird New Jersey – otherwise, its very very rarely told that way in my experience. However, we do stand by the warning that one should never spend the night in the Barrens alone. 

(Regardless of the white stag, the black dog, and the black doctor, all three benevolent spirits of the area said to aid travelers and the injured!)

Happy Yule!!

Note: photos and gifs were added by me from open sourced images

[amaranthscastaways]

It’s a local tradition the kids are calling “locks of love”, from what I heard. I saw all these locks and didn’t know what they mean. Apparently, the lovebirds go down to the bridge and clip locks like these on it. They’re all over the whole length of the bridge.

[poppypiperpooka]

A White Lady also known as the Mulher de Branco, is a type of female ghost reportedly seen in rural areas and associated with some local legend of tragedy. White Lady legends are found around the world. Common to many of legends is the theme of losing or being betrayed by a husband, boyfriend, or fiancé. They are often associated with an individual family line or said to be a harbinger of death similar to a banshee.

 In popular medieval legend, a White Lady is fabled to appear by day as well as by night in a house in which a family member is soon to die.

Glamis Castle, Scotland, is said to be haunted by a young woman dressed in flowing white robes. There are various stories concerning her history, one of which is that she was a daughter of the Lyon family who occupied the castle in the 17th century. When her affair with a manservant was discovered she was banished to a tower on the battlements. Unable to endure her suffering, she threw herself to her death from the same tower. The ghost of the White Lady has been reportedly seen a number of times over the years, often on the grounds surrounding the castle. She has also been reportedly seen in the room in which she was imprisoned.

Darwen is a market town and civil parish located in Lancashire, England, and is reportedly haunted by a ghost. In Darwen’s old cemetery there is a gravestone of a supposed White Lady, whose eyes open when she is touched. There have been reported sightings of her ghost walking around the area at night, seeking her child. The White Lady of Darwen is said to have died during childbirth, or to have been raped and murdered by a group of men who stole her child. She is said to manifest in response in response to the spoken phrase “White lady, white lady, I stole your black baby”, before attacking the speaker and causing them to faint. Local folklore says that the white lady of Darwen killed a group of teenagers who were on a camping trip in the White Hall Park in the late 1980s, within 2 hours of them visiting her grave.

The White Lady of Willow Park is native to a small, heavily wooded park of Newton-le-Willows, Merseyside, in the northwest England. She is thought to be the tormented spirit of a bride who was drowned in the lake by her husband on their wedding night. Variations on her method of death include being bricked up in a cave and hanging herself in the kitchen.

Now like most of Europe, there are stories abound of White Ladies in North America, too. One of which is  the White Lady of Acra in New York, which goes back to the late 1700s when a young woman failed to show up at a neighbour’s home. A search found her wagon overturned where it appeared she had attempted to cross the swollen Acra Creek above the old tannery and somehow the wagon broke loose from the horse and flipped over in the current. A search was made in and along the creek, as well as for days afterwards but she was never found. At odd times over the past 200 years or more – a young woman dressed in all white has been seen appearing at night along the road she last travelled on as well as near the cemetery not far from her tragic accident.

The Headless Bride is a ghost who is said to haunt the Old Faithful Inn at Yellowstone National Park, supposedly murdered by her ambitious new husband, who was previously one of her servants. According to the tale, the newlyweds went on a trip to Yellowstone. However, the young man managed to gamble away the money. When the woman asked her father for more money, and he refused, the husband beheaded his wife and fled. According to the legend, she haunts only the Old House, since that was the only part built when she was alive.

There are many more similar legends and hauntings of White Ladies all over the world not just these above.  Beeford in East Yorkshire. Muncaster Castle in Cumbria.  Roughwood Nature Reserve in the Black Country . The Old Mill Hotel in Motherwell. Branch Brook Park in New Jersey. Durand-Eastman Park in Rochester New York. Union Cemetery in Easton, Connecticut. Stepney Cemetery in Monroe, Connecticut. Tolamato Cemetery in St. Sugustine, Florida. Mukilteo, Washington off Clearview Drive. Madisonville, Louisiana in the Palmetto Flats by Highway 22. Wopsononock Mountain and Buckhorn Mountain in the west part of Altoona, Pennsylvania. Fremont, California in Niles Canyon.

There have been sightings in Germany, the Philippines, Malta, Portugal, Brazil, and the Czech Republic.

The White Lady has even been a subject in popular books, movies, video games and TV shows.

Maybe your community has a local legend about a White Lady.

[tituscrow]

Cursed Object

Thomas Busby’s Chair

"Do you have a favorite chair in your home? Consider cursing it after you die so no one else can sit on it without dying. That’s what Thomas Busby did in 1702, right before he was executed for strangling his father-in-law to death for — you got it — sitting in his chair. Supposedly 63 people who have sat on the chair met untimely deaths, sometimes mere hours after plopping their keister on Busby’s beloved chair. In 1972, the Thirsk Museum actually had to suspend it from the ceiling to prevent people from committing suicide by chair."

Before it went to the musuem it lived in a local pub. I used to go to this pub before they put the chair on the ceiling. Now I think it has been destroyed to save anymore ‘accidental’ deaths!! Spooky shit!

[ofbloodandfaith]

My thoughts get pulled between Hellenic and Cymraeg polytheism constantly, which comes from worshipping two very different pantheons.

But it happens in my life too, like the two jobs I have had this year one has been in Cwmbran (Bran - Welsh) and Swansea/ Abertawe (Swan - Zeus - Hellenic), and my new job that I start in a month is back in Cwmbran.

A coincidence maybe, but it is something I think about.