Chapter 14
Poet Dora Owen urged children never to forget that “there are elves and faeries yet.” She encouraged them to hold on to their beliefs in the face of apparent fact that the faeries have always been leaving the human world, never to be seen by us again. And yet—they have never finally and completely gone. In “Farewell to the Faeries,” the final chapter of her book Strange and Secret People, Carole Silver comments on this: “The faeries have been leaving England since the fourteenth century but have never quite left despite the rise of the towns, science, factories and changes of religion.” 448
Two processes have been believed to be working in parallel. There is an active departure on the part of the elves, a permanent withdrawal to a separate and possibly distant faeryland, united at the same time with a growing disbelief amongst the human population. Combined, these factors have convinced observers again and again that our Good Neighbours had deserted us. Despite these repeated protestations, though, they still linger. Neither they, nor we, can ever quite separate.
Always Leaving, Never Left
Poet Geoffrey Chaucer was the first to declare that the Fae had disappeared, as early as the closing decades of the 1300s, and there has been a chorus of lamenting voices ever since. These were strengthened from the mid-sixteenth century onward by a belief that it was the Reformation which had driven out the supernaturals.449
By the late sixteenth century Reginald Scot felt able to declare that “Robin Goodfellow ceaseth now to be much feared.” Elsewhere in his book The Discovery of Witchcraft he noted that “By this time all Kentish men know (a few fooles excepted) that Robin Goodfellow is a knave.” There wasn’t just disbelief, there was growing contempt for anything deemed childish or credulous. In 1591 George Chapman had a character in a play query whether “faeries haunt the holy greene, as ever mine auncesters have thought.” The faery faith was increasingly seen nostalgically, as a thing of the past, or at the very least as a matter for an older generation and for less well educated and more superstitious folk. Writing in 1639, Richard Willis described how “within a few daies after my birth … I was taken out of the bed from [my mother’s] side and by my sudden and fierce crying recovered again, being found sticking between the beds-head and the wall and, if I had not cried in that manner as I did, our gossips had a conceit that I had been carried away by the Faeries …” 450
These early sources would suggest that faery belief was a matter only of some imprecise “olden times” and was over and done with by the start of the seventeenth century—except for a few silly old women. That was far from being the case. As late as 1669, it seems, a spirit called “Ly Erg” still haunted Glen Moor in the Highlands. Describing the Hebrides in 1716, Martin Martin averred that “it is not long since every Family of any considerable Substance in these Islands was haunted by a Spirit they called Browny …” The domestic faeries had survived into the late seventeenth century, apparently, despite confident predictions to the contrary at least one hundred years before.451
Nevertheless, describing Northumberland in 1729 the Reverend John Horsley felt that “stories of faeries now seem to be much worn, both out of date and out of credit.” Fifty years later in 1779 the Reverend Edmund Jones alleged that, in the parish of Aberystruth, the apparitions of faeries had “very much ceased,” although the tylwyth teg had once been very familiar to the local people.452 In other words, there had been belief but it had been dwindling during the course of the eighteenth century, or had died out entirely.
The faery faith was still apparently on the wane, or only just faded, as the next century began. This was particularly believed to be the case in Scotland. Shepherd poet James Hogg described the experiences of William Laidlaw, also called Will O’Phaup, who had been born in 1691 and who was “the last man of this wild region who heard, saw and conversed with the faeries; and that not once but at sundry times and seasons.” Will lived on the edge of Ettrick Forest, which was “the last retreat of the spirits of the glen, before taking their final leave of the land of their love …” The Fae’s departure was a regular theme for Hogg. For example, in 1818 in The Queen’s Wake he claimed that “The faeries have now totally disappeared … There are only a very few now remaining alive who have ever seen them.” Two years later Sir Walter Scott also confidently announced that “The faeries have abandoned their moonlight turf.” Writing of the Tay basin in 1831, James Knox agreed that “during the last century the faery superstition lost ground rapidly and, even by the ignorant, elves are no longer regarded, though they are the subject of a winter evening’s tale.” In a description of the Highlands in 1823 it was (again) said that brownies had by then become rare, but that once every family of rank had had one. Likewise, Alan Cunningham, a Lowland Scot, said that in Nithsdale and Galloway “there are few old people who have not a powerful belief in the influence and dominion of the faeries …” Once again, belief was said to be fading, except amongst the elderly and ill-educated rural poor, and even for them it was degrading to nothing more than a bedtime story.453
Simultaneously, the faeries of the Lake District were pronounced extinct and, at the opposite end of the country, Fortescue Hitchins mourned that in Cornwall “the age of the piskays, like that of chivalry, is gone. There is perhaps hardly a house they are reputed to visit … The fields and lanes are forsaken.” 454
Several eyewitness accounts of the faeries’ departure from the Scottish Highlands can be dated to about 1790, so that by the nineteenth century the days of Faery seemed conclusively to be over. And yet a lingering faith persisted with some into the middle of the century. In 1850 a Galloway road-mender refused to fell a local faery thorn, for example. Of Northamptonshire in 1851 it was said that “the faery faith still lingers, but is in the last stages of decay.” More than that, there were pockets of resistance. In 1867 John Harland could write that “the elves or hill folk yet live among the rural people of Lancashire.” Researching Devon folklore in the same year, Sir John Bowring interviewed four old peasants on Dartmoor who assured him that “the piskies had all gone now, although there had been many formerly.” Despite this, he was simultaneously told a version of the common story of pixies caught stealing grain from a barn, something that had apparently happened as recently as three years before. Describing the same region a few decades later, John Page claimed that “Faith in the elfin race is growing weaker by the day … The pixies are departing from Dartmoor.” Clearly it depended on whom you spoke to.455
Rehearsing what was by then a very familiar lament, John Brand declared of Shetland in 1883 that “not above forty or fifty years ago every family had an evil spirit called a Browny which served them.” This was the third time that the brownies’ recent departure had been recorded. In light of this, when that same year Menzies Fergusson said of the same islands that the “credulous times are long, long gone by and we can see no more of the flitting sea trow … Civilisation has crept in upon all the faery strongholds and disenchanted the many fair scenes in which they were wont to hold their fair courts,” we may be inclined to doubt his confident assertion.456
The valedictory tone persisted, nevertheless. Speaking of his youth in the first half of the century, Charles Hardwick stated that faeries had then been “as plentiful as blackberries” but this no longer seemed to be the case in the Lancashire of the 1870s. Recounting Cornish folk belief in 1893 Bottrell cited a verse to the effect that “The faeries from their haunts have gone.” Entering the next century, in 1912 a Mrs. Leather of Cusop near Hay-on-Wye recalled faeries being seen dancing under foxgloves in Cusop Dingle: a vision that was within the memory of people still living, she recorded.457
Repeatedly, from the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries, faeries were said to have only recently departed and the faery faith was felt to be in the process of dying out in the face of progress and rationalism. The faeries were always “yesterday,” it seemed—they were the property of a generation that was itself dwindling. They were remembered, but they were no longer encountered.
Modern Disbelief
Predictably, perhaps, twentieth-century writers echoed their predecessors—perhaps even more forcibly, given the accelerated urbanisation and mechanisation of our world.
In 1923, folklorist Mary Lewes recorded a “practically universal belief among the Welsh country folk into the middle of the last century [which] is scarcely yet forgotten.” She blamed education and newspapers for having quenched the people’s spirits: “Mortal eyes in Cambria will no more behold the Fair Folk at their revels.” She lamented that “even the conception of faeries seems to have been lost in the present generation.” A couple of years later, reflecting on western Argyll as it had been in the 1850s, another writer reminisced over the “dreamland” people had inhabited before “the fierce eye of bespectacled modern omniscience” had dispelled belief. “These were the days of elemental spirits, of sights and sounds relegated by present day sceptics to the realm of superstition or imagination.” Adopting a similar tone, and whilst maintaining that belief in the Cornish piskies was not entirely extinct, Bottrell nonetheless condemned the “love of unpoetical facts [that] had come into fashion, until they were frightened away.” By the 1920s, it was really only old people who recalled the wealth of the Cornish folktales. The faery faith was also felt to be going or gone by this time from Herefordshire, Shropshire, and from the Lake District.458
Times changed, but the refrain didn’t. Toward the end of last century, describing Sussex folk belief, Jacqueline Simpson made a familiar declaration to the effect that “although it is most improbable that a belief in faeries is seriously entertained by any adult of the present generation, it was a different matter in the nineteenth century … Even one generation ago, it was not utterly extinct.” Of the Dartmoor pixies, another writer of the same period was of two minds whether true belief persisted into the 1960s. On the one hand she felt it was only incomers who liked to keep the stories alive, and that genuine faith had died out centuries before; on the other hand, she still heard from time to time of sightings and of respectful conduct maintained.459
“The Faeries Travel Yet”
Continually, then, it has seemed to investigators to be the case that faery belief had been strong until only a generation or so before they wrote, but had since expired. This has been asserted every few decades over several centuries. For this reason, when Robin Gwyndaf alleged as recently as 1997 that “faery belief persisted in Wales until the late 1940s or early 1950s,” how confident should we be in the red line he seeks to draw? As we’ve seen, plenty of writers have done the same before, and have found themselves subsequently contradicted (or repeated). The demise of the faeries has rolled forward every generation; it is always—apparently—just passed out of sight, just over the horizon. Equally, there have been stubborn writers who have not been so ready to pronounce the faeries’ obituary.460
As already noted, the faeries were declared dead and gone from the Lake District in both 1825 and the early twentieth century. Another observer was not so pessimistic. “The shyness of the British faery in modern times has given rise to a widespread belief that the whole genus must be regarded as extinct,” wrote a Mrs. Hodgson in 1901, yet she felt confident specimens could still be found in remote Cumberland and Westmorland neighbourhoods. On the Welsh borders in the 1870s Francis Kilvert was told by David Price of Capel-y-ffin that “we don’t see them now because we have more faith in the Lord and don’t think of them. But I believe the faeries travel yet.” In 1873 William Bottrell confidently wrote that, in West Cornwall, “belief in the faeries is far from being extinct.461
In assessing the true state of faery belief, it seems that it all depends on who does the asking and whom they’re talking to. The evidence of the recent Fairy Census, and of Marjorie Johnson’s collection of sightings in Seeing Fairies, suggests that—contrary to all reports—the faeries are still present and active. It’s only with a little retrospect, when we’ve had a chance to pull together the evidence, that we can truly judge the state of the faery faith at a given point in time. Our perspective on the present can be narrow, but with hindsight we can better assess the scale and continuity of sightings and belief. When disparate references are combined, it seems often to turn out that the Good Folk are as alive and well as they ever were.
New Faery Forms
People continue to see faeries and they see them too in new shapes and doing new things. Earlier, I mentioned the surprising new forms of faeries that have been identified during the last century or so: the furry faeries, faeries like trees, and faeries like points of light. What we see when we hear the word “faery” seems to be under constant challenge and revision.
There’s more to this transformation than just outward physical description though. Our conceptions of the purpose of faeries has been evolving over the last hundred years as well. This last section very briefly sketches some of the newer ideas that have emerged.
The impact of Rosicrucian and Theosophist thinking has grown steadily since the seventeenth century and, over the last 150 years, has become particularly strong in faery lore. As a result of this influence, it has become conventional to view faeries as nature spirits, part of a natural hierarchy that can range from nearly invisible “elementals” all the way up to angels, and whose purpose is to stimulate and even guide the growth of plants. Out of this, in the last few decades, has emerged a broader concept of faeries as guardians of the entire planet and its environment. In contrast, as the foregoing description of traditional faery functions and behaviours will suggest, the folklore record for these beings is quite limited.
These newer perceptions have expanded the scope of faery for us and have identified new members of the faery family. However, this had led to some confusion over the nature and purpose of those beings already known. The “nature spirit” concept can have the tendency to reduce all of the Good Folk to tiny cogs in the natural machine and to deprive them of their individuality and free will. Elementals and elves ought not to be equated—they’re different beings with different functions.
Secondly, the importation of external ideas, inherent in Theosophy, has also had a complicating effect on faery lore. The roster of native British faeries, sketched out at the start of this book, has been very freely swelled with categories of supernaturals from many other lands and cultures. Dwarves, vilas, peris, and devas—not to mention entirely made-up beings such as gnomes—have all been divorced from their roots and assimilated, with writers often struggling as a result to find some relationship between them where little (or none) may exist. Confusion and uncertainty can result when attempts are made to identify and classify beings; furthermore, people’s preconceptions about what they see can be affected, which can make it difficult to assess what they have actually witnessed. Avoiding the risk of this confusion was part of my deliberate focus on British faery types alone in this book.
The second strong element in recent faery thinking is not unrelated to the last. It might be called the “Faery Faith” and it has involved a reassessment of the faeries’ relationship to us in spiritual rather than physical terms. In fact, the two new visions of Faery are very far from separate, but the Faery Faith conceives of itself as a reversion to an older interaction with the Fae. They are seen as powerful semi-deities whom humans can contact through worship and magic. The faeries may use their supernatural abilities to assist those who show them the proper respect. Once again, this view of Faery draws upon authentic themes in the traditional materials and combines them with elements from witchcraft and goddess worship. This spiritual awareness of nature, combined with reconstructed magical ceremonies, reconfigures the entire dynamic that exists between the Good Folk and ourselves whilst preserving the power of the Fae and the sense of awe with which they should be approached.
The result of these combinations of ideas has been, especially in North America, the emergence of a tradition of witchcraft that places great emphasis on contacts with Faery for wisdom and magical power. Since the 1960s diverse pathways have been formulated by numerous teachers and groups that are distinct from the British Wicca inspired by Gardner and Alex Sanders. Whilst traditional witchcraft may be distinguished by its focus on medieval lore and practice, and its sense of being a craft rather than being a Neopagan religion, a core element of the diverse new approaches has been the incorporation of faery folklore and beliefs into personal practice. Methods used include contacting faeries, journeying to the otherworld, and honouring the particular faeries who feature in the path’s mythology.
Amongst the paths followed are Feri or Vicia, as developed by Victor and Cora Anderson in the late 1940s; Faery Wicca—a Celtic pathway working with the Tuatha Dé Danann; and the Faerie Faith, a Neopagan practice that has branched off from the “Old Dianic” tradition developed by Mark Roberts and Morgan McFarland in Texas in the 1970s. The Faith believe in a symbiotic relationship with the faery folk, in the spiritual reality lying behind nature, and in a reverence for the earth. The joy and spontaneity of the faery realm is used as a focus for dynamic spiritual connection with the inner Fae. Lastly, heritage witchcraft—as exemplified by the teachings of Ari Devi and Grayson Magnus—seeks to collaborate with faery beings for initiation into the faery mysteries, self-realisation, and higher awareness. This is achieved through a romantic courtship between the mystic and a faery lover.
Many of these new perceptions are difficult to accommodate with the testimony of folklore experience which this book has laid out. In this more traditional view, there is very limited evidence of any faery concern for our spiritual or moral development—or, for that matter, for their own, given that the faeries might most often be regarded as amoral, if not sometimes immoral. Equally, the sources provide only scattered indications of any wish on their part to collaborate with or assist us in material or personal improvement. The older views are clearly more pessimistic about faery motivations and moods. A new openness and receptiveness on our part—and perhaps a new urgency in our need to reconnect with natural forces—may very well have changed the ways in which we interact with the supernatural, revealing aspects and interests formerly concealed from us by the Fae. For example, in the last example given, of faery consorts, we may identify a positive development of our relationship away from the often possessive and dangerous lhiannan shee to something far more mutual and spiritual.
Final Thoughts
It’s impossible to be didactic about the Good Folk, especially when the subject is beings who are invisible and secretive. Contacts with them are rare and fleeting, so any impressions formed will always be uncertain and unconfirmed. As I’ve suggested, the lack of consistency throughout the reports may seem to give excellent grounds for rejecting them all as fictions. What is odd, though, is that these tales derive from a period when there was a genuine and widespread belief in (and fear of) faeries. This being so, you might expect the folk stories to provide listeners with consistent and coherent statements about the supernaturals, so that audiences might be forewarned and forearmed. The lack of correspondence between accounts might then be argued to be an indicator of authenticity.
Experience is ultimately the key—and people still have faery encounters, probably just as often as they ever did. Whilst belief may not be so widespread as once it was, our interactions with Faery carry on and, in many respects, seem more intense than ever. We continue to be amazed—and we continue to learn.
448. Dora Owen, “Children, children, don’t forget”; Silver, Strange & Secret People, 185.
449. See for example Jones, Aberystruth, 85 or James Hogg, The Queen’s Wake, 1813, 380; & A Queer Book, 1831, 168.
450. Scot, Discovery, “To the Reader” and Book XVI, chapter 7; Chapman, A Humorous Day’s Mirth; R. Willis, Mount Tabor—or Private Exercises of a Penitent Sinner, 92–93.
451. M. Martin, A Description of the Western Isles, 391.
452. Dalyell, Darker Superstitions, 541; Martin, A Description of the Western Isles, 391; Horsley, Materials for a History of Northumberland, 1730, cited in Denham Tracts, 136; Jones, Aberystruth, 84.
453. Hogg, “Odd Characters” in The Shepherds Calendar, vol. 2, 150; The Queen’s Wake, 1813, 380; Knox, Topography of the Basin of the Tay, 111; W. Grant Stewart, Popular Superstitions, 139; A. Cunningham, Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, 236.
454. Craig Gibson, “Ancient Customs,”108; Hitchens, A History of Cornwall from the Earliest Records, 1824.
455. Aitken, A Forgotten Heritage, c. VI; Sternberg, Dialect and Folklore, 131; Lancashire Folklore, 110; J. Bowring, “Devon Folklore Illustrated,” Transactions of the Devonshire Association, vol. II (1867) 70; Crossing agreed—Tales of Dartmoor Pixies cc. 1 & 4; Page, Dartmoor, 40.
456. Brand, Zetland, 169; Fergusson, Rambling sketches, 121.
457. Hardwick, Traditions, Superstitions and Folklore, 124; Bowker, Goblin Tales, Introduction; Brand, Description of Zetland,169; Fergusson, Rambling Sketches, 121; Traditions and Hearthside Stories of Cornwall, 2nd series, 112.
458. Lewes, Queer Side, 111, 113 & 139; Grant, Myth, Tradition & Story, 1 & 3; Bottrell, Traditions and Hearthside Stories, vol.1, 75; Leather, Folklore of Herefordshire, 43; Palmer, Shropshire, 141; Rowling, Folklore of the Lake District, 28.
459. Simpson, Folklore of Sussex, 52; St. Leger Gordon, The Witchcraft and Folklore of Dartmoor, 16 & 21.
460. Gwyndaf, in Narvaez, The Good People, 155.
461. Hodgson, “On Some Surviving Fairies,” 116; Simpson, Welsh Border, 72; Bottrell, Traditions and Hearthside Stories, vol. 2, 245.