‘There’s a ghost in my house’- boggarts & poltergeists

I was recently invited to speak at London’s respected esoteric bookshop, Atlantis, and during our discussion, one participant asked the difference between boggarts and poltergeists. I had to think hard about this, to put it into words, and I thought it was worth sharing my conclusions.

Poltergeists are generally defined as noisy- usually mischievous- ghosts which are held to be responsible for unexplained noises (such as rappings) or that move furniture and throw objects such as crockery around inside a house; sometimes they are responsible for stones being thrown outside. They have traditionally been described as troublesome spirits who haunt a particular person- instead of a specific location. References to poltergeists are international and became more common from the early seventeenth century. Psychic investigators from the later nineteenth century onwards established that there generally seems to be a single human agent responsible for or connected with all the disturbance, whose removal will terminate the phenomenon. This may be a person with a physical or mental abnormality, or it may just be a pubescent child in a heightened emotional and physical state. No clear motivation seems to exist for the phenomena (unless, with the aforementioned adolescents, it is connected to an teenaged desire to be the centre of attention).

Regular readers will immediately see the contrast with the boggart. The latter is a being who’s tied to a specific location and family; even more importantly, the boggart has a personality and character- they’re more than just a source of nuisance noise (although they can certainly cause it). They speak, the interact, they undertake household chores; they can come almost to be a part of a family. In short, they’re not just a ghost in the house.

The majority of boggarts are unfriendly and unpleasant beings. The more malicious of these creatures will attempt to pull people down into their underground lairs, as with the Boggarts of Hellen Pot and Hurtle Pot near Chapel-le-Dale, in Yorkshire. At the Bee Hole area of Burnley there used to be a boggart who lurked in wait for solitary people. It was said to have once killed a woman there and then to have hung up her skin on a rose bush. The boggart at Horbury near Wakefield also attacks the unwary but most seem to be more likely simply to alarm travellers. For instance, at Bunting Nook, in Norton outside Sheffield, a boggart haunts the place where three roads meet and has been a particular terror to children passing by there. In fact, even the helpful boggarts we’re about to discuss might spend their leisure time elsewhere, scaring innocent travellers. There was a tradition that boggarts would disguise themselves as stones on moorland tracks, deliberately to trip up passers-by. Animals, especially horses, can see them better than people can and often when they rear up unexpectedly it’s because they have ‘taken the boggart’- they’ve spotted one, even if it doesn’t look like a boggart to the human observer. Another trick of the beings was to shrink to the size of a flea and then to scare horses by speaking inside their ears. It will be noted that all these beings are, as it were, ‘wild.’ They live independently of humans outside in the countryside, interacting with people when they choose. In this respect, they seem to be very clearly differentiated from poltergeists.

The foregoing examples notwithstanding, not all boggarts are bad, by any means. Some will take up residence in and around people’s homes or farms and will undertake the labouring roles usually performed by brownies and hobs. They can work for free for humans and, by doing so, make them rich. The helpful boggart at Hackensall Hall near Fleetwood in Lancashire assumed the shape of a horse, it was said, solely so that it could enjoy a warm stable and a hot pie at night. However, unlike the hobs, most labouring boggarts do not seem to have expected any sort of recompense at all for their gratuitous labours; in fact, it’s said that thanking or acknowledging the boggart is just what you shouldn’t do.

Boggarts may appear looking like large horses and, in that disguise, will work well for farmers and hauliers if they are well-used by them. If they are mistreated or neglected though, they will complain- loudly. They can be touchy, too. At Levenshulme in Lancashire a boggart helped out an elderly farmer with his reaping and gleaning but the pair fell out when the man half-seriously questioned whether the boggart had tired out his best horses whilst getting in the harvest overnight. In consequence of these careless words, the crop ended up back in the fields and the peevish boggart refused to perform any more tasks about the farm. Even so, he carried on doing the household chores until he overheard a neighbour asking the farmer whether he missed the boggart’s help with the farm work. The man confessed he did- and invoked a blessing upon him. With a shriek, the boggart abandoned the farm entirely.

Unfortunately, it is most common for boggarts to combine both desirable and alienating qualities. It’s in this guise that they probably most approach the poltergeist. The boggart of Syke Lumb farm near Blackburn was known as a very hard worker when he was content- he would milk the cows, bring in the hay, fodder the cattle, harness the horses, load carts, and stack harvested crops. However, when he was irritated by some casual remark or unintended insult, he would smash the cream jugs and prevent the butter churning, interfere with livestock- such as setting them loose (or even driving them to the woods)- make it impossible to get hay out of the stack, upset loaded carts and pull off bed clothes and drag hapless sleepers down the stairs.

The boggart resident in the farm at Boggart Hole Clough, near Manchester, had even fewer redeeming qualities than that at Syke Lumb. He undertook small domestic tasks, such as churning and scouring pots and pans, and he could be very merry, playing with the children and joining in the laughter and jollity at Christmas. Nonetheless, his interminable pranks were very wearing- he’d put buckets up chimneys and would crack table legs. He’d scare the domestic servants and worry the farmhands, frighten the children and drive everyone to bed early to avoid him. He became more and more presumptuous, snatching the children’s bread and butter out of their hands and interfering with their porridge, milk, and other food- for example, putting spiders in the buttermilk and cinders in the bread. In the same manner, the sole occupation of the boggart at Greenside seemed to be disturbing the people in the house he shared with them: he would drum on an oak chest, shake the bed hangings and drag off the sheets during the night. These japes were unquestionably trying, but they were not intended malevolently. As said at the start, the essential difference with the poltergeist seems to be that these nuisance boggarts have a personality and a reason for the things they do, rather than being more purely a psychic process. These examples also highlight the fact that the boggart is very much of denizen of the north of England- especially Lancashire- as against the international nature of the poltergeist noted earlier.

It’s when domestic boggarts turn wholly against their former masters that the real problems arise and life can become miserable, if not intolerable. It’s been suggested that an angry boggart is in fact little different from the modern idea of a poltergeist and there are indeed many similarities- except for the clear motivation and sense of grievance of the former. In West Yorkshire some homes were so notorious for the trouble caused by the vexed household sprite that they came to be known as ‘boggart houses’- quite a few of these can still be found, for example at Midgeley, Luddenden, Brighouse, Elland and Leeds. Some ‘boggart chairs’ are also known, stones on which the boggarts would sit outside these houses. Misbehaving boggarts seems to have caused such a nuisance in West Yorkshire that the little town of Yeadon took desperate measures- the ‘town book’ records payments expended on boggart catchers.

Curiously, the same methods can be used to get rid of nuisance boggarts and poltergeist. Both can be laid, or exorcised, as I’ve described in an earlier post and in my book, Beyond Faery

Before concluding this posting, I should, however, recognise that the Reverend Robert Kirk differs from my opinion on the differentiation between the fae and poltergeists. In the Secret Commonwealth he stated that “the invisible wights which haunt houses seem rather to be some of our subterranean inhabitants (which appear to men of the second sight) than evil psirits or devils; because, though they throw great stones, pieces of earth and wood at the inhabitants, they hurt them not at all as if they acted not maliciously, like devils at all, but in sport, like buffoons and drolls.” (A Succint Accompt of My Lord Tarbott’s Relations, section 8).

The Green Knight- mediaeval faery mystery…

Although I’ve had the film sitting on Amazon Prime since the start of the year, I’ve only just got round to watching The Green Knight– and then only because I was given it as a DVD (yes, indeed) for my birthday last month. Anyway, it’s a good film- if strange- and though only bears a remote relationship to the original poem on which it’s based.

Having watched the film, I went back to my copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (as the Middle English poem is called today). This I bought second hand back in about 1985, when it cost me all of 25p. My version is the 1976 reprint of the Penguin Classics edition, originally retailing at the handsome price of 50p in those days.

I’m not sure I had read it again since I first bought it, but the story of Sir Gawain has had a special resonance with me since the late ’70s, primarily because of the 1973 film version of the story that I saw on TV at some point a few years after it was released. That impressed me hugely, because it created a magical, mystical atmosphere that- I have to say- was not so pronounced in the 2021 film with Dev Patel.

For me, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is very evidently a faery text. We start, of course, with the knight himself, whose colour alone seems enough to scream out not just his supernatural but his fae nature. The knights of King Arthur’s court certainly call him that when he appears before them at New Year: “a phantom from Fairyland the folk there deemed him” (for fantoum and fayryȝe þe folk þere hit demed).

The Green Knight presents a challenge- to receive a blow with an axe from any present, on the understanding that he will be able to return that blow a year later. Gawain accepts the wager and chops off the knight’s head. That ought to be the end of that deal, except that the knight calmly picks up his head and declares that he’ll see Gawain at the Green Chapel next New Year. Then he vanishes and “What place he departed to no person there knew.” Not only does this “unearthly being” magically survive a fatal blow but- just like a faery- he disappears into thin air.

Gawain is renowned for his knightly and Christian virtues. He has made a promise and he must keep his word. Therefore, the following December he sets out to find the mysterious Green Chapel. The poem is written in a north western dialect of Middle English and Gawain’s journey takes him through the north west of England, around the Wirral, the Mersey, Cheshire and Lancashire and thereabouts. He wanders day after day through rocky landscapes, past groves of oak, hazel and hawthorn (three magical and faery trees) searching for the unknown chapel. Lost in an icy landscape, he finds a castle which takes him in and gives him shelter. Better still, it turns out he is very near to his destination and can stay with the household celebrating until the very morning of New Year’s Day.

His host is the affable Sir Bertilak. He goes out hunting everyday, striking another bargain with Gawain: Bertilak will give him whatever he’s caught during the day in return for whatever Gawain wins that day in the castle. This is a second test, because Bertilak’s wife three times tries to seduce him, although all that’s exchanged are a hug and a kiss. These he passes on to Bertilak, not naming the lady but implying she’s a lady in waiting. However, at his last meeting with the lord’s wife, she gives him a magic belt to protect him from the Green Knight’s axe. Gawain accepts this- because he’s afraid- and conceals it from Bertilak, because it would give away its source. He therefore breaks his word.

On New Year’s Day Gawain rides to the Chapel. It is “a smooth faced barrow on a slope beside a stream… All hollow it was within” (A balȝ berȝ bi a bonke þe brymme bysydeAnd al watz holȝ inwith.” For regular readers, this will look unavoidably like a faery knoll, a sithean as they’d call it in the Highlands. The Green Knight, as a faery, is bound to be connected to such a site. He aims three strokes of the axe at Gawain; the first two do not touch him; the third lightly nicks his neck. This reflects his encounters with the wife: twice Gawain politely refused her but a third time he did not act entirely properly nor openly.

Then, the Green Knight is revealed as being Bertilak- and his wife, we discover, is actually Morgan le Fay who used her magic powers to create the illusion of the knight beheaded and then revived. Her motivation seems to be her longstanding feud with her brother Arthur and his court, and a wish to expose and humiliate his most noble and honourable knight. Gawain, though, maintained his virtue. This test completed, the knight vanishes again- “To wherever he would elsewhere,” another example of nhis mysterious glamour.

In fact, it seems as though Morgan the Goddess (Morgne þe goddes), as the poem terms her, is actually present in the castle in two forms: temptress and scourge. She is the young and sexy seductress and she’s also an ‘old crone’ perhaps representing all the power and wisdom that she learned from Merlin. Elsewhere in the Arthurian romances, Morgan builds a chapel from which none who have been unfaithful in love may escape. The punishment of untrue lovers is a faery trait that I’ve discussed before.

There are, in truth, many layers to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, many themes and subtexts. I’ve just highlighted the aspects of most direct interest to this blog. As for the 2021 film, it’s well worth seeing; it’s its own story, with its own plot and denouement, different from the fourteenth century poem.

Sib & Siss: Some Lesser Known Female Faeries

We are very familiar with Queen Mab and Titania but, beyond that, named female faeries seem to be rather rare: we know of the weavers Habetrot and Scantlie Mab, whilst figures like the gyre-carlin, Nicnevin and the various Highland hags bear labels rather than personal names.

Here are a few lesser known individuals who are still worthy of our attention. In Samuel Harsnet’s puritan tract of 1603, A Declaration of Popish Impostures (the full title of which is the rather splendid ‘A declaration of egregious popish impostures to with-draw the harts of her Maiesties subjects from their allegeance, and from the truth of Christian religion professed in England, under the pretence of casting out devils. Practised by Edmunds, alias Weston a Jesuit, and divers Romish priestes his wicked associates. Where-unto are annexed the copies of the confessions, and examinations of the parties themselves, which were pretended to be possessed, and dispossessed, taken upon oath before her Majesties commissioners, for causes ecclesiasticall’) the author describes the customary offerings made in the sixteenth century to domestic faeries like the brownie and the hob:

“And if that the bowle of curds & creame were not duly set out for Robin good-fellow, the Frier, & Sisse the dairy-maide, to meete at hinch pinch, and laugh not, when the good wife was a bed, why then, either the pottage was burnt the next day in the pot, or the cheese would not curdle, or the butter would not come, or the ale in the fat [vat] would never have good head.”

Harsnet 134

Elsewhere in his book Harsnet uses the name Sisse (short for Cicely) as a generic term for a female servant, alongside John and Hob to denote farm labourers, but his usage in connection with Robin Goodfellow and ‘the Frier’- that is, Friar Rush, an ‘abbey lubber’ who haunts wine cellars- makes it clear we are discussing a faery rather than a mortal here. As for ‘hinch-pinch,’ it was a Christmas game a bit like hide and seek, except involving concealed objects. The seekers would be told they were freezing, cold, warm or burning depending on their proximity to the hidden item.

We learn about more female faes in the early seventeenth century booklet Robin Goodfellow, His Mad Pranks and Merry Jests. After recounting Robin’s llife, the faeries dance for a while to entertain him, after which “they left [off] and sat downe upon the grasse; and to requite Robin Good-fellowes kindnesse, they promised to tell to him all the exploits that they were accustomed to doe : Robin thanked them and listned to them, and one begun to tell his trickes in this manner.”

[Robin is introduced first to four male faeries, named– in typical fanciful and alliterative fashion- Pinch, Pach, Gull and Grim. Then the female faeries introduce themselves and their activities]-

The trickes of the women fayries told by Sib.

To walke nightly, as do the men fayries, we use not; but now and then we goe together, and at good huswives fires we warme and dresse our fayry children. If wee find cleane water and cleane towels, wee leave them money, either in their basons or in their shooes; but if wee find no cleane water in their houses, we wash our children in their pottage, milke or beere, or what-ere we finde: for the sluts that leave not such things fitting, wee wash their faces and hands with a gilded childs clout, or els carry them to some river, and ducke them over head and eares.

We often use to dwell in some great hill, and from thence we doe lend money to any poore man, or woman that hath need; but if they bring it not againe at the day appointed, we doe not only punish them with pinching, but also in their goods, so that they never thrive till they have payd us.

Tib and I the chiefest are, And for all things doe take care. Licke is cooke and dresseth meate, And fetcheth all things that we eat: Lull is nurse and tends the cradle, And the babes doth dresse and swadle. This little fellow, cald Tom Thumb, That is no bigger then a plumb, He is the porter to our gate, For he doth let all in thereat, And makes us merry with his play, And merrily wo spend the day.

Shee having spoken, Tom Thumb stood up on tip-toe, and shewed himselfe, saying, My actions all in volumes two are wrote, The least of which will never be forgot. He had no sooner ended his two lines, but a shepheard (that was watching in the field all night) blew up a bag-pipe: this so frighted Tom, that he could not tell what to doe for the present time. The fayries seeing Tom Thumbe in such a feare, punisht the shepheard with his pipes losse, so that the shepherds pipe presently brake in his hand, to his great amazement. Hereat did Robin Good-fellow laugh, ho, ho, hoh! Morning beeing come, they all hasted to Fayry Land, where I thinke they yet remaine.”

The female faeries have fanciful and suggestive names just like the males- Licke, Lull, Tib and Sib- although the last of these may well echo Sisse the dairy maid. They engage in the typical activities of their kind, visiting houses- which they expect to have been made ready for their arrival- and either rewarding or punishing the housewife accordingly. They live under a hill, as we might expect, but the moneylending business run from there is a very unexpected aspect of their economy. They act out of charity, yet they impose stiff conditions upon those needy individuals they help. This ‘kindly capitalism’ smacks of loan-sharking, it has to be said, and reminds us (yet again) that the faeries aren’t to be messed with. A deal’s a deal, however much the purpose of the loan was to alleviate poverty.

See too my How Things Work in Faery (2021) and Who’s Who in Faery (Green Magic, 2022).

The Smell of Human

In previous posts I have alluded to folklore reports that the faeries have a distinctive smell (perhaps not always agreeable to humans) which distinguishes and identifies them- or their recent presence at a place (see the discussions in my books on The Faery Lifecycle and Manx Faeries.)

It’s only fair to add, though, that this process works both ways. There are two stories from the Isle of Man which illustrate this. Firstly, a man who was walking from Peel to Surby across the mountains came across a fine house where he was offered lodging for the night. However, soon after his arrival he was told he would have to be hidden because some faery visitors had arrived. His concealment notwithstanding, his presence inside a barrel was easily exposed by their sensitive noses. As soon as he’d been found, the house and all the company evaporated, leaving the man sitting alone on the moor in the sunshine.

Secondly, a very grubby fisherman from Port Erin was forcibly washed by the faeries. Whilst it’s true that he’d seen them swinging on the gorse, dressed in their red caps and red and green clothes, this punishment was evidently about something more than his intrusion on their privacy, and I think it’s reasonable to infer that they objected to his odour as much as to the fact that he’d trespassed on their pastimes.

These two incidents are, I believe, unique in faerylore, but they’re not alone in wider folklore. Most readers will, I’m sure, be familiar with the rhyme from Jack and the Beanstalk “Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.” In this fairy tale, it’s a giant speaking, but the origin of the phrase seems to have been rather different. In Shakespeare’s King Lear Edgar, pretending to be mad, chants:

“Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still ‘Fie, foh, and fum
I smell the blood of a British man.”

King Lear, Act III, scene 4
Thomas Moran, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came, 1859

This line doesn’t seem to have been Shakespeare’s invention either, because it appears in the ballad of Child Rowland and Burd Ellen.

“With ‘fi, fi, fo, and fum!
I smell the blood of a Christian man!
Be he dead, be he living, wi’ my brand
I’ll clash his harns [brains] frae his harn-pan!”

This time, though, the lines are spoken by the King of Elfland, whom Rowland also calls ‘Bogle of Hell,’ before fighting and killing him, so that he can release members of his family from fae captivity. These are Ellen, his sister, who was carried off to Faery by its monarch, as well as their two brothers, who went to rescue her but were defeated by the elf king. The Warlock Merlin had advised the three brothers that they should kill every person they met with after entering the land of Faery, and that, in addition, they should neither eat nor drink of what was offered to them in that country, whatever their hunger or thirst might be; for if they tasted or touched food in Elfland, they would remain in the power of the elves, and would never see Middle Earth again. We’ve looked at this taboo before. In this story, only the youth Child Rowland had the strength of character to obey these instructions to the letter.

Behind this ballad lay a now-lost folk tale, which also inspired John Milton’s poem Comus and George Peele’s 1595 play The Old Wive’s Tale, in which the faery knight Huanebango exclaims “Fee, fa, fum/ Here is the Englishman!”

As we’ve seen, the sensitivity of the faeries to the humans’ smell is also linked to a rather vampiric interest in their blood. In fact, this isn’t wholly unknown amongst the more beastly and deadly faeries, such as the ‘mere maid‘ or water sprite in the Scottish story of Lorntie. Riding by a lake, Lorntie sees a woman floundering and apparently drowning in the water. He dashes to save her, but fortunately his squire sees the trap and holds him back. In a rage, the maiden declares:

“Lorntie, Lorntie, were it not for your man,
I’d have got your heart’s blood, skirling in my pan.”

To conclude- some unwelcome news: not only may we smell a bit to the faeries- but we might be quite tasty too…

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