Welcome,
Friends.
Welcome to a festive edition of Tea and Fairy Tales.
Here I will read to you two stories to bewitch and delight.
So as always,
Take your time to relax.
Perhaps brew a cup of your favourite hot drink and settle into a cozy place to hear these tales.
We start,
Quite traditionally,
With what might be considered a ghost story.
In the British Isles we are very fond of gathering around,
Crackling fires and telling ghost stories during the festive season,
Perhaps to make us feel even more grateful that we are inside,
Safe and warm.
This folktale is called The White Kitten.
One bitterly cold winter,
A caravan of travellers was struggling up a hill during a snowstorm on Christmas Eve,
Desperate to reach the village of Stow-on-the-Wald by midnight.
Stow-on-the-Wald is a very beautiful village within the Cotswolds in the west of England.
But the snowstorm was so fierce they were brought almost to a standstill.
But they didn't want to stop completely because they were scared of the ghosts that haunted the forests that loomed around them as they tried to reach the village.
The folks called these ghosts the Snow Foresters.
And despite their best effort,
The travellers did get stuck in the snow.
Their horses just couldn't keep going through that thick snow and the storm that whirled around them.
So they came to stop.
And as soon as they did come to a standstill,
The Snow Foresters descended,
Whining and screeching,
Whirling around the caravan of travellers,
Pattering on the windows.
The ghosts surrounded the caravan,
Whining and screeching and pattering on the windows.
But amongst all this noise,
A little boy of the group heard a moaning that was not the Snow Foresters.
And he opened the door just a chink and a little white kitten leapt in.
Send it out,
Said his mother,
For white cats belong to the witches and are thought to be bad omens.
No,
Mum,
It's as lost as us and as little as me.
We can't turn it out.
And what's more,
Tis Christmas Eve tonight.
And on Christmas Eve,
It's said the cats will speak if we ask them in rhyme.
And so,
Inspired by this superstition and hopeful he will earn the right to keep the kitten,
The little boy says,
Is this true,
Kit Kat?
Can you speak?
Tell us that.
And with that,
The Kit Kat speaks.
It is true,
Said the Kit Kat,
And you'll all win safe through if you can keep on until the church bells.
Harken to the birds a-twittering and follow after them.
And with that,
Right above them,
Above the sound of the Snow Foresters,
They heard a twittering.
A twittering of hundreds of little bird flying up to sing their own Christmas carols on the way to the church at Stowe-on-the-Wall.
And with this,
They all plucked up their courage and strengthened their hearts and shouted to the horses to heave as they drew up out of the snow and were moving once more.
And the party all sang every carol they could think of to keep the Snow Foresters at bay.
Until they came at last to the edges of the village and a little farm.
And there,
A farmer let them lodge for the sake of Christmas charity.
And come morning,
When the sun was shining on Christmas Day,
The Christmas bells were ringing out and the snow had stopped.
And the little white kit cat was gone.
The little boy was sad to lose the cat,
But he cherished the memory of their moments with this special being.
I am grateful to have met her,
Said the little boy,
For she was not a witch's cat.
I think she was a fallen angel earning her way home.
The Pig and the Witch One Thursday at the end of harvest,
The witch known as Old Betty went to Penzance,
Intending to buy a pig that she might fatten for a fine midwinter feast.
She found a pretty pig which suited her fancy,
And she turned around to gather her coins when one Tom Trenoweth purchased the sow while the witch's back was turned.
And Betty was furious.
She shook her bony finger at Tom and cast a curse under her breath.
But he took no notice and took his pig home.
But when Tom rose early the next morning,
He found that the pig's side door was open and the pig was rooting around in a neighbour's garden,
And it took many hours to get the pig back again.
And scarce a night passed that the pig did not escape,
Often causing mischief that Tom would have to pay for.
And this was not the only problem.
November passed and the pig was given piles of corn and milk and oats,
And she never got any fatter.
In fact,
The more she ate,
The leaner she seemed to become.
So the pig was getting thinner and thinner as midwinter approached.
Tom,
Finding that his pig had eaten and destroyed more than she was worth,
And all the time getting leaner,
Decided to sell her.
So he fastened a rope to her leg,
Intending to lead her to market.
But as soon as he had tied the rope,
A hare leaped out from a bush beside the road,
And the pig followed after at such a pace that she was dragging Tom along behind her.
She dragged him over the moors,
Over hedges and ditches,
Through bogs,
Brambles,
For many miles.
Exhausted,
His clothes torn to rags,
And going almost as fast as the hare,
They finally stopped for a moment by a bridge.
And Tom took this moment to cut the rope,
And he fell,
Splat,
Into a cold stream.
And the pig took shelter under the bridge,
And suddenly this hare was nowhere to be seen.
Tom sat,
Wet and downcast.
But then,
Who should come by but old Betty,
With her basket upon her arm?
When she saw Tom sitting in the wet,
She seemed surprised.
Tom told her a pig was under the bridge,
And admitting defeat,
She could have the beast.
The old witch gave Tom half of what he paid for the pig,
And he was glad to accept it.
Then Betty went down to the mouth of the bridge,
And the pig came out and followed her home as peaceful and as loyal as a dog.
Tom,
Relieved of this riotous pig,
Took the road home,
And stopped at an inn to spend his coins on a restorative beer.
All who heard Tom's story agreed that the hare that crossed his path was probably no other than the witch herself in hare form.
Such the story goes.
And old Betty,
She took her pretty pig home.
But she did not eat her for Christmas.
She feasted on vegetable pies and apple cider instead.
In fact,
Betty kept her pig for many years,
And that pig led a happy life and had many piglets.
And they all received special servings of oats and dried fruits and grains soaked in apple cider from old Betty each and every Christmas.
That brings us to the end of our two little tales for festive fairy and folk magic.
And all that now remains is to wish a very Merry Christmas,
A joyful midwinter,
And a bright Yuletide to all.
