I first caught the perfume of my wild twin by walking with muddy boots through wet grasses to my scrubby woodland den as a six-year-old. As the trees swirled I caught a scent and started to cry without understanding. I wove a pheasant feather in my hair. I hear it now in the owl court who hoot across the frost grass and moon-touched lawns of my cottage. There’s more than book smarts in that chill delirium. These are not domestic tones, not corralled sounds, but loose as Dartmoor ponies on the hill. They give me ecstasy. Not safety, not contentment, certainly not ease, not peace, but ecstasy. It’s almost painful. Makes me restless.
#FolkloreThursday’s Willow Winsham interviews storyteller Jean Edmiston and her daughter Amanda on their family storytelling tradition, and Jean’s new story, “The King’s Table”.
Paul Watson reviews a collection of essays which explores case studies of the associated folklore of landscape and place in countries throughout the world.
orever immortalised in Washington Irving’s ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ the Headless Horseman has undoubtedly become one of horror fiction’s most iconic spectres. This monstrous phantom which torments and pursues the lanky figure of Ichabod Crane set against backdrop of Tarrytown New York has become a staple of Americana. Whilst it’s said Irving was influenced […]
The Chime Child is one of the most enchanting books I know. It begins with the rustle of autumn deep in the Somerset countryside where villagers, mindful of the old ways, have set up a corn dolly for Harvest Festival.