THE GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS ADVENT CALENDAR - Door 2 - The Library at Felbrigg Hall

Felbrigg Hall is a 17th century manor house which can be found not far from the village of Fellbrigg, in Norfolk. It was originally built to be the home of the Wyndham family, who had been squires of an estate there since medieval times. In December 1969, the last squire of Felbrigg Hall, Windham Ketton-Cremer, the last of his line, died and left the house and all its contents, together with the park and estate, to the National Trust.

However it seems that some family members decided to stay on. For several years a Mr David F. Musson of the National Trust was responsible for the house and opening it up to the public. Mr Musson did not believe in ghosts, however he did have a strange encounter, which he reported to leading ghost hunter Peter Underwood - 

“One winter's afternoon at about five o'clock I was working in the library on the first floor of the house sorting through the contents of the library desk. Light was fading fast and it was a very cold afternoon. I had an electric fire close beside me. The only lighting was a standard lamp and a table lamp. I was engrossed in my sorting work when I suddenly became aware of the feeling that someone else was in the room, and I looked up to see a gentleman sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace, apparently reading a fat leather-bound book. I did not react immediately and carried on with my work, before it dawned on me that there was no-one else in the room. I looked up again; the gentleman was still sitting there but gradually faded from view."

Mr Underwood made further enquiries and asked the butler to the late squire whether there had ever been a ghost in the library. He said:

“Oh yes, — the ghost of William Windham has regularly been seen sitting in the armchair on the far side of the fireplace reading a book. He always likes to read one of the collection of Samuel Johnson's personal library which he bought for the Felbrigg Hall library, and we keep two or three volumes from this collection on the table by the chair."

But while Mr Musson's encounter with this spectre took place on a December afternoon, it is said that the ghost can be summoned up by placing a certain combination of his favourite books by an armchair. However as no one is entirely sure exactly which books they are, and the library contains several thousand volumes, you best bet is still just to pay a visit to Felbrigg Hall on a dark December day... 

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FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - Man-size in Marble

Over the past few months we have been exploring the curious lore surrounding assorted ancient monuments that holds that at certain times, they move, rotate, walk, wander off for a drink, and even go for a swim. Along the way, we have frequently encountered theories that these strange old tales are perhaps rooted in the now lost and forgotten rites of our pagan ancestors; the legend of a standing stone that is said to dance or move around is a folk mis-remembering times when the locals would dance or move around the specially erected rock and so forth. However, we have frequently found that this magical power of animation seems to extend to assorted stones and monuments that have a far more recent origin. 

In the last instalment, while talking of stones that in a most surreal fashion that pop off for a drink or to take a dip, I could not help but be reminded of a book I read as a child - The Enchanted Castle (1907) by E Nesbit. Now in this classic children's novel, we learn that the statues in the garden of Yalding Castle enjoy a secret life of their own at night - 

Something white moved under a weeping willow; white hands parted the long, rustling leaves. A white figure came out, a creature with horns and goat's legs and the head and arms of a boy. And Gerald was not afraid. That was the most wonderful thing of all, though he would never have owned it. The white thing stretched its limbs, rolled on the grass, righted itself and frisked away across the lawn. Still something white gleamed under the willow; three steps nearer and Gerald saw that it was the pedestal of a statue empty.
"They come alive," he said; and another white shape came out of the Temple of Flora and disappeared in the laurels. "The statues come alive."

One of the castle's stone exhibits, a sculpture of a prehistoric saurian, also comes to life, and even goes for a swim in the lake, much like the standing stones we discussed last time.

At first, given that this is a magical tale for children, it would be easy to dismiss this coincidence as a mere piece of whimsy. However I then also recalled another tale by Nesbit, one that I heartily recommend not reading to the little ones! For E Nesbit also penned a great many tales for grown-ups, including a host of top notch macabre tales, and one of the most celebrated is a short story entitled Man-size in Marble. In that story, (which you can hear me read here) a young couple move to a country cottage where all is pleasant and idyllic, except for a curious local legend concerning some effigies in the the local church...

"They do say, as on All Saints' Eve them two bodies sits up on their slabs, and gets off of them, and then walks down the aisle, in their marble"--(another good phrase, Mrs. Dorman)--"and as the church clock strikes eleven they walks out of the church door, and over the graves, and along the bier-balk, and if it's a wet night there's the marks of their feet in the morning."

Now while the animated statuary in The Enchanted Castle sounds like imaginative fun for young minds, the account of stalking statues in Man-size in Marble very much has the ring of authentic folklore about it, in particular the detail that they animate annually on a certain night of the year. Was there perhaps a real legend that Nesbit had heard which had provided the inspiration for this classic horror tale? 

My first port of call was the excellent Oxford Dictionary of English Folklore (2000) by Jacqueline Simpson and Steve Roud, and there was indeed a dedicated entry on statues. And aside from noting a widespread tradition of touching various statues for luck, we also have this - 

The other recurrent piece of folklore about a statue is the assertion that it gets down from its pedestal and walks about, or sits down for a rest, whenever it hears midnight strike; the lions at the door of Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge either roar or drink from the gutter

So then, it was indeed very likely that Nesbit's tale was informed by real folklore. And what's more, it did not take me long to find a possible candidate. At the Holy Trinity Church in the village of Ingham, Norfolk are the tombs of two knights, Sir Oliver de Ingham and Sir Roger de Bois. And according to local legend on the night of the 1st of August, ever year the stone effigies get down from their tombs and take a stroll down to the nearby Stalham Broad. In a highly dubious account related by Chas Sampson in Ghosts of the Broads (Jarrold 1976), it is alleged that when they reach the water's edge, the stone knights engaged in battle with the shade of a foreign knight.

However given that the same account claims that investigators not only witnessed all these strange events, but also photographed the now empty tomb plinths, and even took movie footage of the stone effigies lumbering away, we should perhaps take the claims of a battle with a chap wield a scimitar with a pinch of salt or two. One cannot help wondering whether the entire .Ingham story was completely fabricated to fill out a book of spooky Norfolk tales - something which I fear is quite likely as the volume was clearly aimed at tourists. But even if  that were case, the tale would appear to have been inspired in turn by actual folklore. For as I was to discover, there is no shortage of stories about statues that come to life...

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - The Peddlar's Dream

In the county of Norfolk, between King's Lynn in the west and Norwich in the east lies the market town of Swaffham. However while the town and its market have  been a centre for agriculture since the 14th century, the town is perhaps better known as being home to an oft-told folk tale. It's a tale of a good man and good fortune, and frequently is mentioned when the subject of prophecies and dreams come up. It's a tale that has been told many times, and its earliest incarnation is found in an old tome entitled An Essay Towards a Topographical History of the County of Norfolk  by  Francis Blomefield  (William Miller, London, 1805-10). In Volume 11 of this truly compendious essay, we have a letter by Sir William Dugdale, dated 29 January 1652, and in it he relates the following tale:

That dreaming one night if he went to London he should certainly meet with a man upon London Bridge which would tell him good news; he was so perplext in his mind, that till he set upon his journey he could have no rest; to London therefore he hasts and walk’d upon the Bridge for some hours where being espyed by a Shopkeeper and asked what he wanted, he answered you may well ask me that question for truly (quoth he) I am come hither upon a very vain errand and so told the story of his dream which occasioned the journey.  Whereupon the Shopkeeper reply’d alas good friend! should I have heeded dreams, I might have proved myself as very a fool as thou hast; for ‘tis not long since that I dreamt, that at a place called Swaffham Market in Norfolk dwells one John Chapman a pedlar who hath a tree in his backside under which is buried a pot of money.  Now therefore, if I should have made a journey thither to dig for such hidden treasure, judge you whether I should not have been counted a fool. To whom the pedlar cunningly said “Yes verily, I will therefore return home and follow my business, not heeding such dreams henceforward.”  But when he came home (being satisfied that his dream was fulfilled) he took occasion to dig in the place and accordingly found a large pot full of money which he prudently conceal’d, putting the pot amongst the rest of his brass.  After a time it happen’d that one who came to his house and beholding the pot observed an inscription upon it which being in Latin, he interpreted it, that under that there was an other twice as good.  Of that inscription the Pedlar was before ignorant or at least minded it not, but when he heard the meaning of it he said, “‘tis very true, in the shop where I bought this pot stood another under it, which was twice as big”; but considering that it might tend to further his profit to dig deeper in the same place where he found that, he fell again to work and discover’d such a pot, as was intimated by the inscription, full of old coine: notwithstanding all which he so conceal’d his wealth, that the neighbours took no notice of it.  But not long after the inhabitants of Swaffham resolving to reedify their church, and having consulted with the workmen about the charge they made a levy wherein they taxed the Pedlar according to no other rate than what they had formerly done.  But he knowing his own ability came to the church and desired the workmen to shew him their model, and to tell him what they esteemed the charge of the North Isle would amount to, which when they told him he presently undertook to pay them for building it, and not only that but of a very tall and beautiful tower steeple.

Now this tale has become famous the world over, and is much celebrated in the town itself, lending its name to the Pedlar's Hall Cafe and inspiring the carved wooden village sign for the town as seen in the photo above. However curiously, Swaffham isn't the only place that has a tale like this. Indeed an almost identical tale is told of Upsall Castle in North Yorkshire. In The Vale of Mowbray: A Historical and Topographical Account of Thirsk and Its Neighbourhood by William Grainge (Simpkin, Marshall, and Co. 1859) we have a story he entitles "Crocks of Gold" - 

Many years ago there resided in the village of Upsall, a man who dreamed three nights successively that if he went to London, he would hear of something greatly to his advantage. He went, travelling the whole distance from Upsall to London on foot, arrived he took his station on the bridge where he waited until his patience was very nearly exhausted and the idea that he had acted a very foolish part began to rise in his mind. At length he was accosted by a Quaker, who kindly inquired what he was waiting there so long for. After some hesitation, he told his dreams. The Quaker laughed at his simplicity, and told him he had had that night a very curious dream himself, which was that if he went to dig under a certain bush in Upsall Castle in Yorkshire, he will find a pot of gold; but he did not know where Upsall was, and inquired of the Countryman if he knew, who seeing some advantage in secrecy pleading ignorance of the locality; and then thinking his business in London was completed, returned immediately home, dug beneath the bush, and there he found a pot filled with gold, and on the cover an inscriptions in a language he did not understand. The pot and cover were however reserved at the village inn; where one day, a bearded stranger like a Jew, made his appearance, saw the pot, and read the inscription, the plain English at which was -

 "Look lower where this stood

  Is another twice as good"

The man of Upsall hearing this, resumed his spade, returned to the bush, dug deeper, and found another pot filled with gold far more valuable than the first: encouraged by this, he dug deeper still, and found another yet more valuable.
This story has been related of other places, but Upsall appears to have as good a claim to this yielding of hidden treasures as the best of them. Here we have the constant tradition of the inhabitants, and the identical but yet remains beneath which the treasure was found; an Elder, near the north-west corner of the ruins.

Now you will notice that this text boldly mentions that the tale is told in other places, and indeed it is. For to travel further north in the United Kingdom, we find it retold yet again and at an earlier date. In The Popular Rhymes of Scotland by Robert Chambers (W. Hunter, 1826), we learn the history of Dundonald Castle - 

Donald, the builder, was originally a poor man, but had the faculty of dreaming lucky dreams. Upon one occasion he dreamed, thrice in one night, that if he were to go to London Bridge, he would become a wealthy man. He went accordingly, saw a man looking over the parapet of the bridge, whom he accosted courteously, and, after a little conversation, intrusted with the secret of the occasion of his visiting London Bridge. The stranger told him that he had made a very foolish errand, for he himself had once had a similar vision, which directed him to go to a certain spot in Ayrshire, in Scotland, where he would find a vast treasure, and, for his part, he had never once thought of obeying the injunction. From his description of the spot, the sly Scotsman at once perceived that the treasure in question must be concealed in no other place than his own humble kail-yard at home, to which he immediately repaired in full expectation of finding it. Nor was he disappointed; for, after destroying many good and promising cabbages, and completely cracking credit with his wife, who esteemed him mad, he found a large potful of gold coin, with the proceeds of which he built a stout castle for himself, and became the founder of a flourishing family.

Chambers, much like Grainge, goes on to remark "This absurd story is localised in almost every district of Scotland, always referring to London Bridge". And indeed not only does the tale recur in other Scottish tales, but it appears in various other places in England and Wales too. Furthermore if we hop over the Channel to Europe, we find it flourishing there too, although of course with some other national landmark standing in for dear old London Bridge. The most famous example perhaps is found in the collections of folk tales recorded by the Brothers Grimm - 

Some time ago a man dreamed that he should go to the bridge at Regensburg where he would become rich. He went there, and after spending some fourteen days there a wealthy merchant, who wondered why was spending so much time on the bridge, approached him and asked him what he was doing there.
The latter answered, "I dreamed that I was to go to the bridge at Regensburg, where I would become rich."
"What?" said the merchant, "You came here because of a dream? Dreams are fantasies and lies. Why I myself dreamed that there is a large pot of gold buried beneath that large tree over there." And he pointed to the tree. "But I paid no attention, for dreams are fantasies."
Then the visitor went and dug beneath the tree, where he found a great treasure that made him rich, and thus his dream was confirmed.

from Deutsche Sagen (1816/1818), Vol. 1, No. 212

However the trail does not end there. Even earlier and further south, we discover an identical tale in that famous anthology of ancient tales  A Thousand and One Nights (AKA Arabian Nights). The 14th tale is called The Ruined Man Who Became Rich Again Through a Dream and goes like this - 

Once there lived in Baghdad a wealthy man who lost all his means and was thus forced to earn his living by hard labor. One night a man came to him in a dream, saying, "Your fortune is in Cairo; go there and seek it." So he set out for Cairo. He arrived there after dark and took shelter for the night in a mosque. As Allah would have it, a band of thieves entered the mosque in order to break into an adjoining house. The noise awakened the owners, who called for help. The Chief of Police and his men came to their aid. The robbers escaped, but when the police entered the mosque they found the man from Baghdad asleep there. They laid hold of him and beat him with palm rods until he was nearly dead, then threw him into jail.

Three days later the Chief of Police sent for him and asked, "Where do you come from?"

"From Baghdad," he answered.

"And what brought you to Cairo?"

"A man came to me in a dream and told me to come to Cairo to find my fortune," answered the man from Baghdad "But when I came here, the promised fortune proved to be the palm rods you so generously gave to me."

"You fool," said the Chief of Police, laughing until his wisdom teeth showed. "A man has come to me three times in a dream and has described a house in Baghdad where a great sum of money is supposedly buried beneath a fountain in the garden. He told me to go there and take it, but I stayed here. You, however, have foolishly journeyed from place to place on the faith of a dream which was nothing more than a meaningless hallucination." He then gave him some money saying, "This will help you return to your own country."

The man took the money. He realized that the Chief of Police had just described his own house in Baghdad, so he forthwith returned home, where he discovered a great treasure beneath the fountain in his garden. Thus Allah gave him abundant fortune and brought the dream's prediction to fulfillment.

from 

Now we cannot be sure of the exact age of the many tales collected in this volume, for scholars believe the first versions of the collection appeared in Arabic in the early parts of the 8th century, with various additional tales being added over the next few centuries. However what we do know is that this particular story of a most fortunate dream appears in as part of a poem by the 13th century Persian poet,  Jalal al-Din Rumia, who is best known in the West as simply Rumi. In his epic collection The Masnavi, we have the poem In Baghdad, Dreaming of Cairo: In Cairo, Dreaming of Baghdad which you can read in its entirety here. 

So then here we have a tale retold in many places and at many times, indeed it is one of those small number of tales that seems to recur everywhere. And folklorists have a catalogue of such stories - this one is commonly referred to as 'The Treasure at Home', and under the Aarne-Thompson-Uther Classification of Folk Tales it is number ATU 1646. Now given that we have several important literary landmarks for the story, it is widely though that this very popular tale was spread throughout Europe thanks the massive popularity of A Thousand and One Nights, and was adapted to fit local geography and history as it was retold in different places. 

However the first European edition of A Thousand and One Nights was a French version translated by Antoine Galland that appeared 1704, and was first translated into English in 1706. We should also note at this point that the works of Rumi were not translated until considerably later, with the first English translations appearing in the late 19th century. However if you have been paying attention to the dates, we find that while the Arabian Nights theory could well account for the versions referenced by Grainge and Chambers, the oldest English version, comes from a letter written in the 1650s. Now while we cannot rule out this old Arabic tale been spread orally across Europe before its printed incarnations, it is certainly intriguing that the Swaffham version predates other European version by a good century or more. Furthermore Sir William makes clear that it was already an old tale when he set it down in his letter, and this is supported by the fact that the original Swaffham version has a sequel built in that many other version do not - the business of the inscription and a second pot of gold. For this kind of embroidery is typical of a tale been around for a good while, gaining additional details and extra subplots as it is retold by different generations.

Stranger still is the fact that our hero is actually given a name - John Chapman - something very unusual for a folk tale. But even more intriguingly, there is some historical evidence to back up the story, for John Botewrigh, the Rector of Swaffham between 1435 and 1474 made an inventory of building and repair work done to the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul. And this tome is now known as the Swaffham Black Book, and in it we discover that in the mid 15th century the North Aisle of the church was rebuilt. And what is more, this renovation work was paid for by a fellow named John Chapman. And as part of this building work, new pews were installed and two of them are of particular interest for us: for their carved ends show a pedlar and his dog. Furthermore local tradition suggests that a third which shows a lady, is a representation of the shopkeeper in the story.

Of course, none of that can displace the fact that a version of the tale was circulating in the East some centuries before, but certainly the pews and Chapman's name appearing in the Swaffham Black Book does suggest that the story of his good fortune may have been doing the rounds while the goodly gent was still alive. Obviously Chapman, who served as a churchwarden, was a wealthy man, for construction work never comes cheap, particular in earlier times when a major building project may take years to complete. And given that in the 15th century, Swaffham was home to a thriving market, one wonders whether the tale had found its way to rural Norfolk thanks to travelling merchants, the very kind of folks Chapman would have been trading with.

Furthermore, in history we have many examples of less than virtuous men who in later life decide to bankroll various projects for their local churches. And usually these generous and charitable projects are seemingly done as a kind of penance for their earlier sins and misdeeds. Therefore it is tempting to speculate that the tale of Chapman's fortune may well have been deliberately adopted to disguise the real origin of his wealth. And rather than repaying the good Lord for his luck by refurbishing his local church, as many versions of the tale suggest, he may well have been atoning for making a lot of money through less than virtuous means...

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - Babes in the Woods

Babes in the Wood is a perennially popular pantomime (bet you can't say that quickly!*) running in many theatres up and down Britain every Christmas time. And this tale of orphaned children, wicked uncles and Robin Hood is actually one of the oldest of all the traditional pantos. 

It was first performed in 1827 at the Drury Lane Theatre, London, under the title Harlequin and Cock Robin: or, The Babes in the Wood. Indeed this original title tells us just how early a pantomime this is. For the British pantomime was evolved from performances of the older Harlequinade, in turn a British development of the Continental commedia dell'arte. In the 18th century Harlequinades were performed as part of the stagings of Classical plays, usually occurring in between Acts One and Two. However in the following century, it became more popular to perform the traditional Harlequinade as part of a retelling of a traditional fairy story and the modern pantomime began to emerge.

Now while other pantomime stories come from traditional fairy tales, Babes in the Wood, while being part of the British folk traditions, has somewhat different roots. As we learned last time, the pantomime Babes in the Wood was formed from joining together the story of an old English ballad with legends about Robin Hood. The ballad story line is played out in Act One with the titular characters being rescued by Robin and his Merry Men in Act Two. However this is not the ending of the original tale - to briefly recap - a boy and girl are orphaned and fostered with an uncle. However the uncle is a wicked rogue who  hired two rogues to kill the children so he can claim their inheritance as his own. However the hired ruffians quarrel and the children are allowed to escape into a forest. However rather than being found and the wicked uncle being defeated, as the modern panto tells, in the original ballad the children starve to death and are buried by kindly robins.

Surprisingly while the first stage version of the tale, penned by Dr. Samuel Arnold and performed in 1793, added a happy ending with the children being restored to her loving parents, the first pantomime version of 1827 retained the original's grim ending for the babes. And this was because this story was already well-known, and furthermore had been extremely popular for several centuries.

Before its theatrical incarnations, the ballad of The Children in the Wood had being reprinted many times in many different chapbook editions, and versions of it had appeared in Mother Goose collections of nursery rhymes. Hence these early stage versions stayed true to the original, for the public would be expecting the tale to have a dark and tragic end. And while Robin Hood first enters the story to save the day in an 1867 pantomime, even at the close of the 19th century the original tragic ending was retained in picture book versions from children such as the one illustrated by Randolph Caldecott from 1879. 

The first known reference the ballad actually dates back to the 16th century, with a version printed by Thomas Millington of Norwich in 1595 under the somewhat unwieldy title of The Norfolk gent his will and Testament and howe he Commytted the keepinge of his Children to his own brother whoe delte most wickedly with them and howe God plagued him for it. Mercifully for librarians and humble scholars like myself, the title was soon shortened to The Children in the Wood, and indeed that is the title of the earliest complete surviving text of the ballad, a blackletter edition published in 1640. And you can read in the full text here

While later versions would end with the death of the babes and their robin-assisted burial, the original ballad goes further and proceeds to detail the fate of the wicked uncle - 

And now the heavy wrath of God
Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:
His barns were fired, his goods consumed,

His hands were barren made,

His cattle died within the field,

And nothing with him stayed.

And it goes on to describe how his sons died young, he lost his lands and riches, and seven years after his foul plot he was arrested for robbery and died a miserable death in while rotting in gaol. 

Now then the origin of the story has been much debated by folklorists. An early theory was that it originates as a piece of Tudor propaganda, essentially being a thinly disguised version of the famous accusations that Richard III murdered the princes in the tower. However while it is possibly, and indeed likely, that the tale was circulating a good deal earlier than 1595, there's no clear reason to link this ballad to Richard III. Indeed it doesn't make much sense to disguise Richard as a gentleman of Norfolk, as he had no lands or titles in that county, and furthermore the uncle's demise hardly matches the downfall of the last Plantagenet king. Given that the accusations that Richard murdered his nephews were already widely circulated by the time the ballad appeared in print, there is no reason why they would be coding the allegations in such an obtuse and cryptic manner.

The fact that it first saw publication in Norwich also suggests a different basis for the ballad. At this time ballads and tales were only printed because they were popular, and therefore we should perhaps be looking for more local origin: a well known tale told in Norfolk. And indeed a quick look at the signs for the villages of Watton and Griston seems to confirm we are on the right track - 

Indeed local lore does affirm that Norfolk is not only the source of the tale but claims it is a true story too. The sinister events unfolded in the mid 1500s while the de Grey family lived at Griston Hall. Thomas de Grey Snr. died in 1562 and left Griston Hall, its lands and a considerable inheritance to his son Thomas Jnr. who then was a mere seven years old. The boy was made a ward of Queen Elizabeth, and as was customary at in Tudor times, was arranged a marriage with another child Elizabeth Drury. However should young Thomas die, then his uncle Robert de Grey could claim the inheritance and lands. However there was no great love between Robert and the lad, and records show there had been some argument between Thomas Snr. and Robert over the will. Four years later in 1566, young Thomas was sent away to visit his step mother Temperance Carewe (his late father's second wife) and while there, or while en route, the lad died and Robert claimed the lands and monies. 

Now Robert de Grey was not well liked to begin with as he was a Catholic and his corner of Norfolk was predominately Protestant. And so soon rumours began to circulate that he was responsible for the boy's death, and that the boy had been done away with while travelling through Wayland Wood. Robert provoked further ill feeling and strengthened the credibility of the allegations by attempt to seize the dower funds (that is the assets and monies agreed to be provisioned for a bride should her husband die before her) promised to Elizabeth Drury. The Drurys did not take this lying down and the matter was taken to court with a lengthy legal battle ensuing, which ended with Robert having to return some of the seized lands and assets.

For the rest of his life, Robert was in trouble with the law: later he would be fined and imprisoned in both Norwich and London for recusancy (the failure to attend Anglican services) and is said to have died disgraced and bankrupt. Furthermore there is another link to the original ballad - Reverend Thomas Kent in his The Land of Babes in the Woods (1910) reveals there was an expedition to Portugal organised by a Thomas Cavendish of  Suffolk in 1588, which he speculates that Robert's sons had joined and did not return from. The Reverend Kent also postulates that the inclusion of the robins burying the children may well be a poetic allusion to Robert - the uncle who was robbing his nephew and covering up the evidence.

Having lost the lands and fortune, Griston Hall passed into new ownership and was extensively rebuilt in 1597. A new wing was added and local lore holds that rooms in that new extension were named "The Babes", "The Wicked Uncle" and "Robin Redbreast". Furthermore it said that there were carved mantle pieces which showed scenes from the ballad, even including the robins - sadly however they were removed around a hundred years ago and have since vanished. 

The story is certainly well embedding in the local culture, with the deeds of the ballad finding their way into the signs of the nearby villages, and Old Griston Hall was locally known for many years as 'the Wicked Uncle's House'. Furthermore in Wayland Wood, there was a huge ancient oak tree which was said to be where the babes met their tragic end. And such was the popularity of the ballad, this venerable tree apparently was a popular place to visit, something of a tourist attraction, until it was destroyed by a bolt of lightning in 1879.

But local legend goes further, for it is said that Wayland Wood is haunted. Ghostly children have been seen flitting between the ancient trees, and there have been so many reports of folk hearing spectral sounds of infants crying and sobbing that locally it is called "Wailing Wood". Indeed some have said that is how the wood gained its name. But sadly, as appealing as this is, this tract of forest is documented in the Domesday Book in 1086 as Wane-lone, and so the similarity between 'wailing' and 'Wayland' is purely coincidental. 

However all this talk of a wicked uncle, wailing in woods, and the ghosts of a boy and girl, cannot help but put me in mind of a certain tale by MR James, namely Lost Hearts (1895). This famous ghost story features all of these elements, albeit in a different shaped tale, but one we must note occurring in the neighboring county of Lincolnshire. And indeed Dr James was familiar with the Norfolk legends, for in his guidebook Suffolk and Norfolk (1930) he notes -

Watton is undistinguished except that near it the deaths of the 

Babes in the Wood is located, in Wayland or Wailing Wood

And while the stories of the ghostly babes may have influenced Lost Hearts, Jamesian scholars also speculate that the local nickname for Wayland Wood may have inspired the haunted location and title of another tale - Wailing Well written in 1927.

So then, with rich associations with robins, pantomimes, ghost stories and MR James, the tale of Babes in the Woods, despite being based on a possible case of murder most foul, could be said to contain most of the quintessential elements of the traditional British Christmas! 

* British readers - OH YES WE CAN! **

** Mr Moon -  OH NO, YOU CAN'T!***

*** Stop that the lot of you! - Ed.