Faery cups- thefts & punishments

The Luck of Edenhall

Faery drinking vessels feature prominently in British folklore. Acquired accidentally- or deliberately- from the faeries, they may be the vector of healing powers, as I have described in a post on trow cures. These vessels are typically of little value in themselves, being made of wood, bone, or ceramic, and they are taken because of their properties. Some though, are made of precious metals and are stolen for their cash worth; some are valuable both in monetary and practical terms. It’s these that I’m interested in here.

A butler boy called Luran, who served at Mingary Castle, on the Sound of Mull, entered a local faery mound and saw the faeries drinking from a “shining” magical cup which would fill with whatever liquid the holder asked for it to contain. The boy joined the celebration and, when the cup was passed to him, he asked for it to be filled with water, which he then used to douse the candles. In the sudden darkness, the boy made his escape with the cup in his hand; he was pursued, but an unknown voice told him to make for the shore. He then ran along below the highwater mark until he got to the castle, which he was able to enter using a secret stairway that led down to the beach. Luran reached safety with this magical cup by making use of a magical advantage, the fact that the sith folk, for reasons that are not entirely clear, cannot pass below the line of the hightide. Perhaps this aversion or impediment is related to the fact that water flows over the shore it twice daily (just as they cannot cross flowing fresh water); perhaps it is a result of the nature of briny water, for faeries notoriously can’t abide salt. Yet it doesn’t make full sense, because- as I’ve described- faery cattle just as often graze beneath the waves as on land.

We’ll have to leave this puzzle unresolved, but there’s plenty more to say about faery cups. Humans’ avaricious nature means that we have a long history of trying to steal these items from our faery neighbours. The oldest of these is William of Newburgh’s twelfth century account of a theft from Willy Howe in East Yorkshire. A man saw the faery hill open and light streaming out; he joined the feasting inside, was invited in and offered a drink of wine in a goblet. Cannily, the man didn’t risk consuming faery produce; instead he poured out the liquid and made off with the cup on his fast horse. This item “of unknown material, of unusual colour and of extraordinary form,” eventually was presented to King Henry I (1100-1135). The same king also features in a related story, this time told by Gervase of Tilbury. Near Gloucester, there was a mound where any huntsman could request a drink and a faery would appear bearing a cup. One hunter, instead of quenching his thirst, stole the cup and presented it to the Earl of Gloucester. Matters didn’t turn out as he’d probably anticipated, for he was executed as a thief and (again) the cup ended up with the king.

A third, undated, English story, from Edenhall near Penrith, recounts a theft by a butler from a faery gathering in the grounds of the hall. This vessel, the ‘Luck of Edenhall,’ came with a faery curse, though: if it was ever broken, the good fortune of Edenhall would end. Being made of glass, it has been very carefully treasured ever since. As it happens, the centuries of cherishing the cup came to nought in that the hall was demolished in 1934 because maintaining it had become too costly, and in 1958 the Luck passed to the Victoria and Albert Museum, were it can still be seen today (head of page).

These last examples are all English, but the majority, like the Mingary case from Argyllshire, are Highland Scottish. In The Peat Fire Flame, Alexander Macgregor tells of a man called Ewen on Raasay who stumbled upon a celebration in a faery knoll and, just as in East Yorkshire, managed to steal, rather than drink from, the marvellous cup offered to him. This time he escaped by dint of being a very good runner- faster even than the faeries’ dogs, which were set upon him (another version names the thief as Hugh MacLeod).

John Gregorson Campbell, who recorded the Mingary story, also recorded another from the same area and concerning another Luran- this time Luran Black who was farmer from Corryvulin on the coast of Ardnamurchan, at the northern end of the Sound of Mull. Luran found that his cows were dying, one by one, and suspected that the local sith folk of the knoll called the Culver were stealing them under the guise of death. He watched one night and, sure enough, a party of faeries came out of the hill and took one of his cows. Luran allayed their suspicions by helping to butcher it and, in gratitude, was invited in for a drink. As before, he seized a vessel and made a run for it and, as we’ve heard, was advised by a mysterious voice to run between high and low water. Luran escaped and appeared to have paid himself back for his stolen cattle. However, sometime later, he was travelling to Inverary Castle in a boat with the cup. During the passage over the water, both he and the vessel vanished completely. As for the helpful voice, it’s generally assumed by folklorists that this must have been another human who had been kidnapped or captured by the faeries (perhaps by drinking their wine).

The Reverend R. C. MacLeod tells an almost identical tale of a farmer called Lurran from Luskintire on Harris. He escapes pursuit because he has several advantages: he’s a quick runner, he crosses over a stream, and because he seeks shelter in his mother’s cottage. She is a witch and cast spells over the house which made it impossible for the fairies to enter. For some time Lurran never left the house unless his mother had put a spell on him, but one day he forgot, and went out with no magical protection. The fairies quickly found and killed him, and so avenged themselves for the theft of their cup. I have recorded before an extremely similar story from Dun Osdale on Skye, in which a faery cup is stolen and the mother protects her son with charms against faery vengeance- but she fails to guard him against human thieves, so that he’s murdered by a man stealing the goblet.

Another man called Luran, this time from South Uist, seems to have had a lucky escape.  He entered a fairy knoll, sticking his knife in the threshold of the door so that it could not close forever behind him, and then stole a golden cup.  As he fled the fairies called out “If porridge was Luran’s food, he would catch the deer.”  Imprudently, perhaps, he took this as advice that it would make him even swifter and started to eat porridge as recommended.  In fact, he put on weight and, when he rashly decided to make a return visit to the knoll, he was unable to outpace the fairies and was caught.  Surprisingly, his captors settled for recovering their stolen cup and then let him go. 

The Dunvegan cup and faery flag

Luran is a common name in Highland stories of faery and mermaid encounters, just as faery cups are regularly stolen. The ‘Fairy Cup of Dunvegan,’ is an oak chalice mounted with silver owned by the Macleods of Dunvegan Castle on Skye. It came originally from Harris, stolen by a man from a faery knoll using a combination of trickery (he repeatedly called out a faery form of greeting that stopped them in their tracks and bought him time to widen the gap between them) coupled with the faery aversion to certain substances: when the man got home, he threw the chamber pot over his pursuers. Quite reasonably, the faeries hate urine and left him alone after that.

Lastly, we have two very similar accounts from the Isle of Man. A man once stole a silver cup from a ferrishyn feast at Cronk Mooar.  The faery owners were, predictably, outraged and pursued him.  He escaped by wading along the river there; the fairies called on him to walk on the stones, but he stayed in the water, and got away.  A variant of this story involves the man being pursued as far as a cow shed; there he was able to sprinkle the cows’ urine (mooin ollee) at the doorway and around the walls as a defence against the fairies until dawn.  When daylight came, they retreated to their hills and he was able to make his way home unmolested.

In conclusion, it’s hardly a surprise to learn that stealing faery cups is a dangerous (and sometimes fatal) enterprise. The thief needs physical prowess (either his own or a horse’s), as well as luck, daring and, very often, a knowledge of the various charms that can be deployed against faeries. More strangely, though, these stories of valuable faery cups are not really about the cups. The gold and silver vessels provide a reason for the adventures, but the real interest is in the way that a mortal can outwit and escape faery pursuers. The message for listeners is (to some degree), don’t steal from the faeries, but it’s more a lesson in what substances or strategies will defeat them. As for the cups, if they’re not retrieved by the faeries, they’re forgotten by the storytellers or, in spite of the effort invested in acquiring them, they’re given away surprisingly easily.

Faery healing & health- the human role

St Mary’s Well, Inchberry

As I have described in previous posts– as well as in my book on the Faery Lifecycle- the faeries are renowned for their healing abilities. This is the case because they have been known to teach a few fortunate mortals their skills, which primarily involve an expertise in the curative powers of common herbs– although some ritual elements in the healing process may also be required. With a typically human-centred focus, there is a widespread tendency for us to simply accept the fact that we have been the lucky recipients of this medical knowledge, as if the faeries acquired it for no other reason than to benefit humans. This egocentric attitude undervalues the years of study and experiment that must have been required for this expertise to be developed. What’s more, by taking these skills for granted, baselessly assuming they were learned for us, we overlook the clear implication: that faeries fall ill and need to be cured.

The conventional image of faery-kind is very static: we assume that their culture does not develop and we consider that they themselves are unchanging. A long time ago I wrote a post which pointed to the plain evidence that faeries can be killed; they are not immortal and invulnerable. The folklore record clearly indicates instead that, whilst being very long lived, they will- ultimately- pass away. In the late seventeenth century the Reverend Robert Kirk expressed this with his usual style in the Secret Commonwealth: “They are not subject to sore Sicknesses, but dwindle and decay at a certain Period, all about ane Age.” This was repeated by him several times in various ways: “They live much longer than wee; yet die at last, or [at] least vanish from that State” or (exactly like humans) they “have Children, Nurses, Mariages, Deaths, and Burialls…” A century previously, Reginald Scot had already confirmed the same thing- the faeries were “subject to a beginning and an end, and to a degree of continuance.”

Implicitly, I’ve pointed this out already: in my posting earlier this year on trow cures, I described a trow child with jaundice. The cure used by the trows for their own patient was effective for humans, too. What emerges from this is the simple fact that we are partners in experience: faeries and humans are born, live and die; we are susceptible to the same injuries, illnesses and accidents. This joint susceptibility to suffering and mortality means, in fact, that medical help can flow both ways between us.

Consider, for instance, the case of an old woman from Somerset who was recognised within her community for her healing skills and medicinal knowledge. News of this must have spread, for on one occasion she was called away to attend a pixie’s wife when her own peoples’ remedies had been exhausted and it seemed that nothing more could be done for her. The woman looked after the pixie morning and evening for a long period until she was completely recovered, after which she was very well paid for her dedication to duty. Humans can cure faeries, just as much as the reverse is the case. So, at St Mary’s Well, Inchberry (near Elgin), a healer called Dame Aliset once used water from the well to cure a sickly faery child. She asked for no payment, but the grateful faeries blessed the water source, giving it the power to restore lost youth.

Dunnan Fort

Apparently, it’s not just our medicinal skills which may be important, but also our willingness to help another in need. At Dunnan Fort on the Rhins of Galloway, a man was approached by a faery woman and her sick child, asking him to fetch her some water from a nearby spring. Refusing to assist- out of fear- he ran away, but was cursed and died within a a few days.

Compare this incident to that of a young man on the Shetland island of Fetlar. Returning home one evening on a red coloured mare and leading her grey foal on a rope, he passed Stackaberg, a rocky outcrop with an ancient cairn on top which was reputed to be a home of the trows. As he passed by, a voice called out: “Dee at rides da red and rins da grey, tell Tona Tivla at Fona Fivla has faa’n ida fire an brunt her!” (Thee that rides the red [pony] and leads the grey, tell TT that FF has fallen in the fire and burnt herself.”

Stackaberg- the highest point on Fetlar

Rather alarmed, the man hurried home. His wife met him outside their house, remarking that he was as white as a sheet. He explained what had happened and- as soon as he repeated the message he’d heard-there came a shriek and a clatter from the byre, and a little trow woman ran out exclaiming “Less and doull! Dat’s my bairn dat’s faa’n ida fire at Stackaberg!” (Loss and sorrow, that’s my child that’s fallen in the fire…). She rushed away, leaving the stunned husband and wife to go into the byre, fearing that the trow had been harming their cow. The beast, though, was quite content- but lying beside her there was an unusual, small copper pan of milk. From then on, whenever the farmer or his wife went to the byre to milk their cow, they found it had already been done, and the little copper pan was sitting there filled and waiting for them. What’s more, although the pan was not large, it always seemed to have enough milk for whatever they needed, and they never ran out. The couple were thereafter always favoured with luck and prosperity in everything they did- their reward for passing on the urgent message about the injured child (even if it was done unwittingly).

The faeries are widely termed our ‘Good Neighbours’ and, as we may see, neighbourly acts performed by both sides can result in mutual health and happiness.

Faery cattle- some more reflections

The stones of Calanais (Callanish), Lewis

Faery cattle can come in a couple of forms, as we shall see and they’re a subject I’ve looked at in several previous posts. Here, a few Highland Scottish examples raise interesting questions about faery temperament.

The standard faery cow (crodh sith) of the Highlands forms the dairy herds of the sith folk. They will graze during daytime on notably lush pastures on islands and the mainland, but would seem to be shut up in their byres overnight by their owners- and these shelters are underwater (just as the Welsh cattle of the gwragedd annwn in Wales emerge from lakes). An example of such beasts comes from the duns of Bracadale on Skye. These are ancient, fortified sites which are also faery dwellings. When some local labourers tried to take stones from Dun Taimh in order to build a new cattle shed for Murdo MacLeod, they were prevented by him because he understood the disaster that could befall the community as a result of such an grievous insult to the faeries. It would have been very likely that plague would have struck down and killed all his cows within his newly built byre- and very probably those of his neighbours too. In recognition of his respect and wisdom, the faeries met with Murdo to thank him and to reward him with the gift of a herd of their white cattle- which emerged from the sea and filled his new completed shed.

Across Britain, there are also accounts of magically productive cows that appear during times of famine. Sent by the faeries (often the faery queen), these provide limitless milk for people- until the gift is abused in some way. Previously, I’ve given examples from England and Wales, but two Scottish ones are of especial interest. At Callanish on Lewis, one such magic cow came out of the waves at a time of need and entered the famous stone circle, where people were able to fill pails with its milk and so stave off starvation. However, as always happens, a local witch decided to milk the cow into a sieve. As her container never filled, she managed to exhaust the cow’s ‘never-ending’ supply and- insulted by this treatment of their gift- the faeries called the animal back below the waves. The placing of this story within a megalithic circle is notable because an identical incident is described at Mitchell’s Fold circle in Shropshire, on the English-Welsh border. That the cows made themselves available within these monuments underlines the close association seen between the faery folk and the ancient sites of the land (as is the case asl well with the brochs and duns of Skye, noted above).

A second magical cow appeared at the spot known as the Quiraing on Skye. Each summer, a white cow would appear on the plateau known as the Table and the most comely virgin would be chosen locally to milk it, supplying the community with the sweetest milk they ever tasted. One year, a visiting tinker assaulted the dairymaid and then stole her clothes and left her for dead. Dressed in her garments and a wig, he went to the Table to milk the cow, but it wasn’t tricked by his disguise: it used its horns to toss him into nearby Staffin Bay, where he drowned, and then the cow vanished, once again outraged by this abuse of supernatural generosity. The girl recovered, but the cow was never seen again. This incident seems to encompass several levels of meaning: the violent rape of the girl may be an offence of the faery sense of propriety- as I described in my previous post– and reason alone for the faeries to impose sanctions. Secondly, though, I’ve noted before how men dressed in women’s clothes is, for some reason, highly objectionable to the fae. Perhaps they are aggrieved because they see it as an insult to their intelligence- they can see straight through the trick; may be it in some manner violates their notions of the correct order of things. We can’t know, but it always displeases them, that’s for sure.

The Table in the Qiraing, Skye

Faeries and True Love- some remarks

The remarkable geological formation know as Brimham Rocks, near Ripon in the Yorkshire Dales, is the site of a curious faery incident:

“Edwin and Julia were madly in love with each other but Julia’s father was implacably opposed to their relationship. Finally, when Edwin asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage., her father forbade the pair to see each other ever again. Facing this cruel separation, and unable to contemplate the prospect of life without each other, they decided to leap off Brimham Rocks and so be united forever. The couple jumped hand in hand to their certain deaths from the precipice now called Lovers’ Leap but, by some miracle, instead of plummeting to the ground, they floated gently down. Some said that the fairy who lived among the rocks had witnessed their misery and, knowing they could be happy if only they were allowed to marry, had spared them. Discovering what she’d planned, Julia’s father had to reconcile himself with her love and at last consented to their wedding. The pair lived happily ever after (of course).”

This faery intervention in human love is, in many respects, quite at odds with the common conduct of British faeries. Just within the same county of Yorkshire, they will regularly be found demonstrating their more typical behaviours: often this is indifference to humankind- faeries seen dancing on (or in) hills and inside faery rings at night (for instance at Fairy Cross Plain, Fryupdale, Danby); sometimes, though, there is active hostility. This may be triggered by the actions of a person, such as the man who stole a golden goblet from a faery dance at Willy Howe, East Yorkshire, and was pursued by an angry horde until he was able to leap over a stream. On other occasions, the faery being is (it seems) preternaturally antagonistic towards people, as with the boggart known as Jeanie o’ Biggersdale, who haunted Mulgrave Woods north of Whitby, and who would pursue and kill any travellers who dared to risk passing through her domain.

The Hob Holes, Runswick, by Stephen McCulloch, geograph,.org,uk

From time to time, faery folk will act benignly towards us mortals, but they generally have to be asked to do this: the hobthrush of Runswick Bay, North Yorkshire, could cure whooping cough (if requested correctly to do so by parents). The same hob could also lure the unwary into his ‘Boggle Hole’ on the shore so that they drowned when the tide came back in. The least one might expect from such creatures was a nasty fright (as at the Hob’s Hole near Sandsend) or the experience of being led in circles until you were utterly lost (as at Elbolton Hill, near Threshfield North Yorks).

So, to return to Edwin and Julia at Lover’s Leap, why would the faery haunting the rocks (the ‘spirit of the place’ perhaps) wish to intervene in a human romance? This kind of behaviour seems more like what we’d expect of a faery godmother in a fairy tale or Disney film than the conduct we can more reasonably find amongst the distinctly tough and non-sentimental British faery clans. There are, of course, faery lovers (though not so much in Yorkshire) but their intervention with human partners is quite different from what we’re discussing here. In a much earlier post, however, I noted some evidence that faeries do (at least from time to time) intervene to punish unfaithful lovers and- by implication- promote true love. Why might this happen?

My guess is that interventions like these take place because there’s something in it for the faery folk. Stable partnerships and households in the human world are, arguably, in the faeries’ favour. Given their propensity for entering human homes to benefit from warmth, food and hot water, my suspicion is that encouraging happy families is, really, an expression of faery self interest. Edwin and Julia lived happily ever after in their human home- and the faeries could then raid their larder at night, enjoy the products of their dairy and, generally, make free with their goods, on the basis that “what’s thine is mine and what’s mine is mine.” This may be excessively unromantic and unsentimental, but it makes the most sense within the wider context of faery conduct and morals.