Somerset Folklore - The Witch of Wookey Hole.
The terrifying Witch of Wookey. In no way connected to Chewbacca or a certain sci-fi franchise…
Somerset is a mainly rural county found in South West England. It is bordered by the Bristol Channel, and Gloucestershire to the north, Wiltshire to the east, Dorset to the south-east, and Devon to the south-west. Its largest settlement is the city of Bath, but perhaps its most unusual location is Wookey Hole Caves.
Wookey Hole Caves are a series of limestone caverns, and are a big tourist attraction in the area, with the upper levels being dry caves that are accessible to tourists. The word ‘Wookey’ is thought to be from the Old English wocig (meaning an animal trap). The caves have a long history of human occupation, dating as far back as the Stone Age, but their most notorious occupant was the Witch of Wookey.
The ‘Witch of Wookey’ is a large stalagmite thought to resemble a witch’s face in profile. A small stone nearby is also thought to be the sleeping remains of her dog. Both these stones come with a legend, which goes thus:
In medieval times, these caves became the lair of an evil witch. Cattle sickened and died, crops failed, and some people even disappeared under sinister circumstances. Folk began to suspect that there were dark forces at work, and the locals were increasingly convinced that the much-feared Witch of Wookey Hole was to blame.
Desperate, the locals sent to nearby Glastonbury Abbey for aid. The Abbot duly despatched a monk, Father Barnard, to investigate. On entering the caves, the good Father soon found himself confronted by the witch. She tried to curse him, but God’s power preserved him from harm. Taking some water from the River Axe, as it flowed through the caves, he blessed it and sprinkled it over the witch. As he did so, he made the sign of the cross and recited the Pater Noster (Lord’s Prayer).
The witch let out a blood-curdling scream and then fell suddenly silent. The holy water turned her to stone. A sinister-looking stone ‘statue’ can still be seen in the caves today, commonly referred to as the Witch Stone. Thus, the witch was vanquished, and the surrounding countryside freed from her dark curses. Sadly, some of the holy water landed on her small dog, also petrifying him.
There are many other stories associated with these caves, a few of which I list below:
The Ghostly Monk
The cave is said to be haunted by the spirit of the monk who battled with the witch. Witnesses claim to have seen a hooded figure close to the entrance of the cave. Some say they were greeted by the strong scent of incense, or heard a whispered voice in prayer.
The Giant Eel
It is claimed that a giant eel once dwelt in the River Axe. It became quite a nuisance, causing severe damage to the local fishermen’s nets. Eventually tiring of the slimy pest, the river men gathered together and drove it upriver into the cave, where it is still said to inhabit the underground pools. Cave divers beware!
I will leave you with a poem from 1748, written by Dr Henry Harington. He was moved to write the piece after hearing the legend of the witch. Finally, my new book, Threads of Shadows, has just been released. Like its predecessor, it is a horror novel told through short stories. So if you enjoy ghosts, monstrous entities and strange folk magic - inspired by folktales - please give it a try. Links after poem.
Stay spooky, my friend.
In aunciente days tradition shows,
A sorry wicked elf arose,
The witch of Wokey hightp,
Oft have I heard the fearful tale.
From Sue and Roger of the vale,
Told out in winter night.
Deep in the dreary dismal cell
Which seem'd, and was y-cleped hell,
This blue-eye'd hag was sty'd;
Nine wicked elves have legends sayne
By night she chose her guardian train,
All kennell'd close her side.
Here screeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy sides possest,
Night howling through the rocks;
No wholesome herb cou'd here be found,
She blasted every plant around,
And blister'd o'er the flocks.
Her haggard face so foul to see,
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to be,
With eyne of deadly leer;
She nought devis'd but neighbours ill,
On all she wreak'd her wayward will,
And marr'd all goodly cheer.
All in her prime, have poets sunge,
No gaudy youth, gallante and younge
Ere blest her longing arms;
Hence rose her fell despight to vex,
And blast the youth of either sex,
By dint of hellish charms.
From Glaston came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell despight,
And well he did I ween;
Save hers, sich mischief ne'er was knowne,
And since his mickle lerninge showne,
Sich mischief ne'er has beene.
He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He cross'd the water, bleste the brooke,
Then — Pater-noster done,
The gastly hag he sprinkled o'er,
When lo! where stood the hag before,
Now stood a gastly stone.
Full well 'tis knowne adown the vale,
Tho' strange may seem the dismal tale
Eke wondrous may appear;
I'm bold to say, there; s never one
That has not seen the witch in stone,
With all her household gear.
But tho' this lernede clerke did well,
With grieved heart, alas I tell,
She left this curse behind;
"My sex shall be forsaken quite,"
"Tho' sense and beauty both unite,"
"Nor find a man that's kinde."
Now lo e'en as this fiend did say,
The sex have found it to this day,
That men are wondrous scante;
Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,
With all that's good, and virtuous join'd,
Yet scarce there's one gallante.
Shall such fair nymphs thus daily moan!
They might I trow as well be stone,
As thus forsaken dwell;
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks
From Oxenford come down, ye sparks,
And help revoke the spell.
Yet stay — nor thus despond, ye fair,
Virtue's the gods peculiar care,
Then mark their kindly voice;
"Your sex shall soon be blest again,"
"We only wait to find sich men"
"As best deserve sich choice."
Dr Henry Harington (1748)
