Entry Posted May 16, 2009
A good contrast to the legend of Pennard Castle , in which the results of the fairy's magic was rather destructive, this delightful little story demonstrates how benign these diminutive folk were when kept to their own devices. The tale finds its roots amongst the historical writings of the Reverend J. D. Davies, who recorded the event in his "History of West Gower" as occurring sometime before 1770 at Eynon's Ford Farm, Penrice.
Very late one night, the farmer at Eynonsford Farm - remembered to recorded history only as Mr. S. - awoke to the sound of distant music. Seemingly issuing from one of his own barns, Mr. S. crept from his bed and, tip-toeing silently across the farmyard, followed the sweet, dreamy notes to the stable that housed his large prize ox. There, as he peeped within the out-building, he beheld a sight that so astounded him that he was fastened to the spot, unable to move or speak, as though a spell had been cast that made it impossible for him to interfere with the strange proceedings that were taking place within the barn.
Within the stable, both gathered around and actually climbing and dancing upon his fattened ox, cavorted so many tiny Verry-Volk that it was quite impossible to count their number. Fuelled by the intoxicating sweep of the music, a couple of the more sprightly of the little creatures occasionally leapt high into the air and, landing on the very points of the ox's horns, would there spin with such a swiftness that it made Mr. S. giddy just to witness the display. Another source of heightened merriment amongst the cavorting fairies was to kick the little green and scarlet caps from one another's heads whilst at all other times keeping their dance in perfect time to the music (which Mr. S. now spied issued from a single fiddler, supplied from one of their vast and increasing number).
With no warning, the music fell silent and the merriment died and Mr. S. realised with growing, yet futile, consternation that the verry-volk were now making preparations for a great feast - the sole course for which appeared to be the farmers very own prize ox. The verry-volk worked fast, taking only moments to kill the animal, skin it and hang it from one of the stable's cross beams in readiness for the meal. By now, the whole stable now seemed to crawl with verry-volk as more and more of the little creatures suddenly appeared for the feast until there was not a space left in the building to hold a single extra of their kind. Then, when it seemed that the stable walls would burst from their overcrowding, the ox was gently lowered and with an appetite as voracious as Mr. S. had ever witnessed, the verry-volk set about their very serious business of eating.
Despite the wonderment the farmer felt at beholding such a magical sight, he could not help but feel a little sorry for himself at the same time. He had spent a lot of money, time and effort into raising that ox, only to see the animal now devoured in a matter of minutes - and with no profit for him in it at all.
However, Mr. S. still felt himself unable to move himself to interrupt the party before him and all he felt able to do was to watch the verry-volks astounding behaviour. Little could he have realised at that moment what fantastic sights remained for him to witness that night.
As soon as the feast was over, the little people at once set about the curious task of gathering together all of the ox's bones and piecing them together in their rightful anatomical order. This work was undertaken in a most calm and precise manner but, just at the point where the animal's skeleton was nearly complete, the verry-volk noticed that just one small bone, belonging to the ox's ankle, remained absent. In that instant the serenity of their work was broken and the verry-volk became a most vexed group of little fellows. Such was their dismay at being unable to complete the skeleton that some of them sat down, their faces cupped in their tiny hands and wept openly at the situation. Others, meanwhile, clapped their hands upon their heads and pulled frantically at their hair as though they had been driven quite mad.
As time progressed, and the small bone could still not be located, the verry-volks became quite wild - Mr. S. hearing more than the occasional word of bad language issuing from the distraught group. Slowly, however, the verry-volk gave up their search and gathered up the skin of the animal around the not quite complete skeleton of the ox. As they finished stitching the skin together, Mr. S. was shocked to see the animal suddenly reanimate itself, rise to its feet and start chewing at its fodder as though nothing had disturbed it all night.
Seeing that the verry-volk were now ready to vacate the stable, Mr. S. suddenly found the strength to move and he raced back to his farm - fearful that the verry-volk's magic might be used against him should they discover him as a witness to their work. Clambering into his bed, he fell into a deep slumber from which he did not awaken until well into the next day.
When he did finally rise from his bed, Mr. S. guessed that the whole affair of the previous night had been nothing but a dream and he went to carry out his business on the farm in his usual manner. However, as he let his cattle out from the barns to feed in the meadows he could not help but gave a long hard look towards his prize ox. Smiling at first as he thought himself foolish at even dreaming of such an occurrence as the verry-volk's feast, his mirth disappeared instantly the moment he saw the animal walk towards him, limping from the very leg where the verry-volk had been unable to return the small bone to its ankle.
The Verry Volk Feast
