Several months after the occurrence recorded above of Huw Llwyd, when he had just started from his home one Sunday morning to go to his Church to officiate there, for he was the parson of Llan Festiniog, he observed that the Bettws-y-Coed ladies were approaching his house, and he perceived that their object was to witch him. He knew full well that as long as his back was turned towards them he was in their power, but that when he faced them they could do him no harm; so; to avoid their evil influence, and to frustrate their designs, he faced them, and walked backwards every step from Cynvael to the Llan, and in this way he escaped being injured by his female enemies. But this was not all. Huw Llwyd knew that when he reached the Church porch he was beyond witchcraft’s reach. Having arrived there he shouted out—“I defy you now, and before I leave the Church I will make you that you can never again witch anyone.” He was as good as his word, for by his skill in the black art, he deprived those two ladies, ere he left the Church, of their power to witch people, and during the rest of their lives they were like other women.
Huw Llwyd, who was born 1533, and died 1620, was a clergyman, and it was generally believed that priests could counteract the evils of the enemy of mankind.
The wide-spread belief of witches being able to transform themselves into animals is shown in the legends of many countries, and, as in the case of fairy stories, the same tale, slightly changed, may be heard in various places. The possibility of injuring or marking the witch in her assumed form so deeply that the bruise remained a mark on her in her natural form was a common belief. A tale in certain points like the one recorded of Huw Llwyd and the witches who turned themselves into cats is to be heard in many parts of Wales. It is as follows. I quote the main facts from my friend Mr. Hamer’s account of Llanidloes, published in the Montgomeryshire Collections, vol. x., p. 243:—
“An old woman, thought to be a witch, was said by a neighbour to be in the habit of visiting her nightly in the shape of a hare, and that in consequence she was deprived of her rest. The witch came to her bed, as a hare, and crossed it, and the tormented one was determined to put an end to this persecution. For this purpose she procured a hammer, which she placed under her pillow when she retired to rest. That night the old witch, unaware of the reception awaiting her, paid her usual visit to her victim. But the instant she jumped on the bed she received a stunning blow on the head, and, it need not be added, disappeared. Next morning, a friend of the persecuted woman, who was in the secret of the whole case, on some pretext paid the old woman, the supposed witch, a visit, and she was greatly astonished to find her laid up, suffering from a frightful black eye, which her visitor believed to be the result of the blow dealt her with the hammer on the previous night.”
The following tale was told me by the Rev. R. Jones, Rector of Llanycil:—
An old woman was evicted from a small farm, which she and her family had held for many years. She was naturally greatly annoyed at such conduct on the part of the landlord, and of the person who supplanted her. However, she procured a small cottage close by her late home, and there she lived. But the interloper did not get on, for she was troubled by a hare that came nightly to her house. A labouring man, when going to his work early in the morning, time after time saw a hare going from the farm towards the cottage occupied by this old woman, and he determined to shoot this hare. He procured an old gun, and loaded it with pebbles instead of shot, and awaited the approach of the hare. It came as usual, the man fired, and the hare rolled over and over, screaming and making a terrible noise. He, however, did not heed this much, for hares, when shot, do scream, and so he went to secure the hare, but when he attempted to seize it, it changed into all shapes, and made horrible sounds, and the man was so terrified that he ran away, and he was very glad to get away from the scene of this shocking occurrence. In a few days afterwards the old woman who occupied the cottage was found dead, and it was noticed by the woman who laid her out that her arm and shoulder were riddled with pebbles. It was thought that she was a witch, and that she had troubled the people who had deprived her of her farm, and that she did so in the shape of a hare, and no one doubted that the injury inflicted on the old woman was anything more than the shot of the man, who supposed that he had killed a hare, when in reality he shot and killed the old woman. The farmer was never troubled after the death of the woman whom he had supplanted.
Many variants of this tale are still extant. The parish clerk of Llangadfan, a mountainous parish in Montgomeryshire, gave me one, which he located in Nant-yr-eira, but as it is in its main points much like the preceding, I will not relate it.
In the Spectator, No. 117, are these words:—
“If the dairy-maid does not make her butter come so soon as she would have it, Moll White (a supposed witch) is at the bottom of the churn.”
Until very lately I had thought that the milk only was considered bewitched if it could not be churned, and not that the witch herself was at the bottom of the churn. But I have been disabused of this false notion, for the Rector of Llanycil told me the following story, which was told him by his servant girl, who figures in the tale. When this girl was servant at Drws-y-nant, near Dolgelley, one day, the milk would not churn. They worked a long time at it to no purpose. The girl thought that she heard something knocking up and down in the churn, and splashing about. She told her master there was something in the churn, but he would not believe her; however, they removed the lid, and out jumped a large hare, and ran away through the open door, and this explained all difficulties, and proved that the milk was bewitched, and that the witch herself was in the churn in the shape of a hare.
This girl affirmed that she had seen the hare with her own eyes.
As the hare was thought to be a form assumed by witches it was impossible for ordinary beings to know whether they saw a hare, or a witch in the form of a hare, when the latter animal appeared and ran before them along the road, consequently the hare, as well as the witch, augured evil. An instance of this confusion of ideas was related to the writer lately by Mr. Richard Jones, Tyn-y-wern, Bryneglwys.
Mr. Jones said that when he was a lad, he and his mother went to Caerwys fair from the Vale of Clwyd, intending to sell a cow at the fair. They had not gone far on their way before a large hare crossed the road, hopping and halting and looking around. His mother was vexed at the sight, and she said—“We may as well go home, Dick, for no good will come of our journey since that old witch crosses our path.” They went on, though, and reached Caerwys in safety, but they got no bid for the cow, although they stayed there all day long.
The writer has heard variants of the following tale in several parts of Wales:—
An old woman, credited to be a witch, lived on the confines of the hills in a small hut in south Carnarvonshire. Her grandson, a sharp intelligent lad, lived with her. Many gentlemen came to that part with greyhounds for the purpose of coursing, and the lad’s services were always in requisition, for he never failed in starting a hare, and whenever he did so he was rewarded with a shilling. But it was noticed that the greyhounds never caught the hare which the lad started. The sport was always good, the race long and exciting, but the hare never failed to elude her pursuers. Scores of times this occurred, until at last the sportsmen consulted a wise man, who gave it as his opinion that this was no ordinary hare, but a witch, and, said he—“She can never be caught but by a black greyhound.” A dog of this colour was sought for far and near, and at last found and bought. Away to the hills the coursers went, believing that now the hare was theirs. They called at the cottage for the lad to accompany them and start the prey. He was as ready as ever to lead them to their sport. The hare was soon started, and off the dog was slipped and started after it, and the hare bounded away as usual, but it is now seen that her pursuer is a match for her in swiftness, and, notwithstanding the twistings and windings, the dog was soon close behind the distressed hare.
The race became more and more exciting, for hound and hare exerted themselves to their very utmost, and the chase became hot, and still hotter. The spectators shout in their excitement—“Hei! ci du,” (“Hi! black dog,”) for it was seen that he was gaining on his victim. “Hei! Mam, gu,” (“Hei! grandmother, dear,”) shouted the lad, forgetting in his trouble that his grandmother was in the form of a hare. His was the only encouraging voice uttered on behalf of the poor hunted hare. His single voice was hardly heard amidst the shouts of the many. The pursuit was long and hard, dog and hare gave signs of distress, but shouts of encouragement buoyed up the strength of the dog. The chase was evidently coming to a close, and the hare was approaching the spot whence it started. One single heart was filled with dread and dismay at the failing strength of the hare, and from that heart came the words—“Hei! Mam gu” (“Hi! grandmother, dear.”) All followed the chase, which was now nearing the old woman’s cottage, the window of which was open. With a bound the hare jumped through the small casement into the cottage, but the black dog was close behind her, and just as she was disappearing through the window, he bit the hare and retained a piece of her skin in his mouth, but he could not follow the hare into the cottage, as the aperture was too small. The sportsmen lost no time in getting into the cottage, but, after much searching, they failed to discover puss. They, however, saw the old woman seated by the fire spinning. They also noticed that there was blood trickling from underneath her seat, and this they considered sufficient proof that it was the witch in the form of a hare that had been coursed and had been bitten by the dog just as she bounded into the cottage.
It was believed in England, as well as in Wales, that witches were often hunted in the shape of hares. Thus in the Spectator, No. 117, these words occur:—
“If a hare makes an unexpected escape from the hounds the huntsman curses Moll White (the witch)!” “Nay,” (says Sir Roger,) “I have known the master of the pack, upon such an occasion, send one of his servants to see if Moll White had been out that morning.”
In Yorkshire Legends and Traditions, p. 160, is a tale very much like the one which is given above. It is as follows:—
“There was a hare which baffled all the greyhounds that were slipped at her. They seemed to have no more chance with her than if they coursed the wind. There was, at the time, a noted witch residing near, and her advice was asked about this wonderful hare. She seemed to have little to say about it, however, only she thought they had better let it be, but, above all, they must take care how they slipped a black dog at it. Nevertheless, either from recklessness or from defiance, the party did go out coursing, soon after, with a black dog. The dog was slipped, and they perceived at once that puss was at a disadvantage. She made as soon as possible for a stone wall, and endeavoured to escape through a sheep-hole at the bottom. Just as she reached this hole the dog threw himself upon her and caught her in the haunch, but was unable to hold her. She got through and was seen no more. The sportsmen, either in bravado or from terror of the consequences, went straight to the house of the witch to inform her of what had happened. They found her in bed, hurt, she said, by a fall; but the wound looked very much as if it had been produced by the teeth of a dog, and it was on a part of the woman corresponding to that by which the hare had been seized by the black hound before their eyes.”
The prevalence of the belief that witches could transform themselves into hares is seen from a remark made by Giraldus Cambrensis in his topography of Ireland. He writes:—
“It has also been a frequent complaint, from old times, as well as in the present, that certain hags in Wales, as well as in Ireland and Scotland, changed themselves into the shape of hares, that, sucking teats under this counterfeit, they might stealthily rob other people’s milk.”
Giraldus Cambrensis, Bohn’s Edition, p. 83.
This remark of the Archdeacon’s gives a respectable antiquity to the metamorphosis of witches, for it was in 1185 that he visited Ireland, and he tells us that what he records had descended from “old times.”
The transformation fables that have descended to us would seem to be fossils of a pagan faith once common to the Celtic and other cognate races. It was not thought that certain harmless animals only could become the temporary abode of human beings. Even a wolf could be human under an animal form. Thus Giraldus Cambrensis records that a priest was addressed in Ireland by a wolf, and induced to administer the consolations of his priestly office to his wife, who, also, under the shape of a she-wolf was apparently at the point of death, and to convince the priest that she was really a human being the he-wolf, her husband, tore off the skin of the she-wolf from the head down to the navel, folding it back, and she immediately presented the form of an old woman to the astonished priest. These people were changed into wolves through the curse of one Natalis, Saint and Abbot, who compelled them every seven years to put off the human form and depart from the dwellings of men as a punishment for their sins. (See Giraldus Cambrensis, Bohn’s Edition, pp. 79-81.)
But a striking instance of rapid transition from one form to another is given in the Mabinogion. The fable of Ceridwen’s cauldron is as follows:—
“Ceridwen was the wife of Tegid Voel. They had a son named Morvran, and a daughter named Creirwy, and she was the most beautiful girl in the world, and they had another son named Avagddu, the ugliest man in the world. Ceridwen, seeing that he should not be received amongst gentlemen because of his ugliness, unless he should be possessed of some excellent knowledge or strength . . . . ordered a cauldron to be boiled of knowledge and inspiration for her son. The cauldron was to be boiled unceasingly for one year and a day until there should be in it three blessed drops of the spirit’s grace.
“These three drops fell on the finger of Gwion Bach of Llanfair Caereinion in Powis, whom she ordered to attend to the cauldron. The drops were so hot that Gwion Bach put his finger to his mouth; no sooner done, than he came to know all things. Now he transformed himself into a hare, and ran away from the wrath of Ceridwen. She also transformed herself into a greyhound, and went after him to the side of a river. Gwion on this jumped into the river and transformed himself into a fish. She also transformed herself into an otter-bitch, and chased him under the water until he was fain to turn himself into a bird of the air; she, as a hawk, followed him, and gave him no rest in the sky. And just as she was about to swoop upon him, and he was in fear of death, he espied a heap of winnowed wheat on the floor of a barn, and he dropped among the wheat and buried himself into one of the grains. Then she transformed herself into a high-crested black hen, and went to the wheat and scratched it with her feet, and found him and swallowed him.”
The tale of Ceridwen, whose fame was such that she can without exaggeration be styled the goddess of witches, resembles in part the chase of the witch-hare by the black dog, and probably her story gave rise to many tales of transformations.
I now come to another kind of transformation. It was believed by the aged in Wales that witches could not only turn themselves into hares, but that by incantation they could change other people into animals. My friend, the Rev. T. Lloyd Williams, Wrexham, lodged whilst he was at Ystrad Meurig School with a Mrs. Jones, Dolfawr, who was a firm believer in “Rhibo” or Rheibo, or witching, and this lady told my friend the following tales of Betty’r Bont, a celebrated witch in those parts.
One of the servant men at Dolfawr, some years before Mr. Williams lodged there, laughed at Betty’r Bont’s supposed power. However, he lived to repent his folly. One night after he had gone to bed he found that he had been changed into a hare, and to his dismay and horror he saw a couple of greyhounds slipped upon him. He ran for bare life, and managed to elude his pursuers, and in a terrible plight and fright he ran to Dolfawr, and to his bed. This kind of transformation he ever afterwards was subjected to, until by spells he was released from the witch’s power over him.
Mr. Williams writes of the same servant man who figures in the preceding tale:—”However, after that, she (Betty’r Bont) turned him into a grey mare, saddled him, and actually rode him herself; and when he woke in the morning, he was in a bath of perspiration, and positively declared that he had been galloping all night.”
Singularly enough Giraldus Cambrensis mentions the same kind of transformation. His words are:—
“I myself, at the time I was in Italy, heard it said of some districts in those parts, that there the stable-women, who had learnt magical arts, were wont to give something to travellers in their cheese, which transformed them into beasts of burden, so that they carried all sorts of burdens, and after they had performed their tasks, resumed their own forms.”—Bohn’s Edition, p. 83.
From Brand’s Popular Antiquities, p. 225, I find that a common name for nightmare was witch-riding, and the night-mare, he tells us, was “a spectre of the night, which seized men in their sleep and suddenly deprived them of speech and motion,” and he quotes from Ray’s Collection of Proverbs:—
“Go in God’s name, so ride no witches.”
I will now leave this subject with the remark that people separated by distance are often brought together by their superstitions, and probably, these beliefs imply a common origin of the people amongst whom these myths prevail.
The following tales show how baneful the belief in witchcraft was; but, nevertheless, there was some good even in such superstitions, for people were induced, through fear of being witched, to be charitable.
An old hag went to a small farmhouse in Clocaenog parish, and found the farmer’s wife occupied in dyeing wool blue. She begged for a little wool and blue dye. She was informed by Mrs. --- that she was really very sorry that she could not part with either, as she had only just barely enough for her own use. The hag departed, and the woman went on with her dyeing, but to her surprise, the wool came out of the pot dyed red instead of blue. She thought that possibly it was the dye that was to blame, and so she gave up for the night her employment, and the next day she went to Ruthin for a fresh supply of blue to finish her work, but again she failed to dye the wool blue, for red, and not blue, was the result of her dyeing. She, in surprise, told a neighbour of her unaccountable failure to dye her wool blue. This neighbour asked her if she had been visited by anyone, and she in answer told her that old so and so had been at her house begging. “Ah,” was the response, “I see how it is you can never dye that wool blue, you have been witched, send the red wool and the part that you have not touched here to me, and I will finish the work for you.” This was done, and the same colour was used by both women, but now it became blue, whilst with the other, it was red.
This tale was told me by a gentleman who does not wish his name to appear in print, as it would lead to the identification of the parties mentioned, and the descendants of the supposed witch, being respectable farmers, would rather that the tale of their canny grandmother were forgotten, but my informant vouches for the truth of the tale.
A woman sold a pig at Beaumaris to a man called Dick y Green; she could not that day sell any more, but the following market day she went again to Beaumaris. Dick was there waiting her appearance, and he told her that the pig he bought was bewitched and she must come with him to undo the curse. Away the woman went with Dick, and when they came to the pig she said, “What am I to do now, Dick?” “Draw thy hand seven times down his back,” said Dick, “and say every time, ‘Rhad Duw arnat ti,’” i.e., “The blessing of God be on thee.” The woman did so, and then Dick went for physic for the pig, which recovered.
Before beginning this tale, it should be said that some witches were able to make void the curses of other witches. Bella of Denbigh, who lived in the early part of the present century, was one of these, and her renown extended over many counties.
I may further add that my informant is the Rev. R. Jones, whom I have often mentioned, who is a native of Llanfrothen, the scene of the occurrences I am about to relate, and that he was at one time curate of Denbigh, so that he would be conversant with the story by hearsay, both as to its evil effects and its remedy.
About the year 1815 an old woman, supposed to be a witch, lived at Ffridd Ucha, Llanfrothen, and she got her living by begging. One day she called at Ty mawr, in the same parish, requesting a charity of milk; but she was refused. The next time they churned, the milk would not turn to butter, they continued their labours for many hours, but at last they were compelled to desist in consequence of the unpleasant odour which proceeded from the churn. The milk was thrown away, and the farmer, John Griffiths, divining that the milk had been witched by the woman who had been begging at their house, went to consult a conjuror, who lived near Pwllheli. This man told him that he was to put a red hot crowbar into the milk the next time they churned. This was done, and the milk was successfully churned. For several weeks the crowbar served as an antidote, but at last it failed, and again the milk could not be churned, and the unpleasant smell made it again impossible for anyone to stand near the churn. Griffiths, as before, consulted the Pwllheli conjuror, who gave him a charm to place underneath the churn, stating, when he did so, that if it failed, he could render no further assistance. The charm did not act, and a gentleman whom he next consulted advised him to go to Bell, or Bella, the Denbigh witch. Griffiths did so, and to his great surprise he found that Bell could describe the position of his house, and she knew the names of his fields. Her instructions were—Gather all the cattle to Gors Goch field, a meadow in front of the house, and then she said that the farmer and a friend were to go to a certain holly tree, and stand out of sight underneath this tree, which to this day stands in the hedge that surrounds the meadow mentioned by Bell. This was to be done by night, and the farmer was told that he should then see the person who had injured him. The instructions were literally carried out. When the cows came to the field they herded together in a frightened manner, and commenced bellowing fearfully. In a very short time, who should enter the field but the suspected woman in evident bodily pain, and Griffiths and his friend heard her uttering some words unintelligible to them, and having done so, she disappeared, and the cattle became quiet, and ever after they had no difficulty in churning the milk of those cows.
The two following tales were told the writer by the Rev. T. Lloyd Williams, Wrexham. The scene of the stories was Cardiganshire, and Betty’r Bont was the witch.
A witch called at a farm when they were feathering geese for sale, and she begged much for one. She was refused, but it would have been better, according to the tale, had her request been granted, for they could not afterwards rear geese on that farm.
Another version of the preceding tale is, that the same witch called at a farm when the family was seated at dinner partaking of a goose; she requested a taste, but was refused, when leaving the house door she was heard to mutter, “Let there be no more geese at . . .” and her curse became a fact.
An old hag called at a farm and begged the wife to sell her a pound of butter. This was refused, as they wanted to pot the butter. The witch went away, therefore, empty handed. The next day when the maid went to the fields for the cows she found them sitting like cats before a fire, with their hind legs beneath them. I am indebted to my friend Mr. Lloyd Williams for this tale. A friend told me the following tale.
An old beggar woman was refused her requests by a farmer’s wife, and it was noticed that she uttered words that might have been a threat, when going away from the door, and it was also observed that she picked up a few straws from the yard and carried them away with her. In the course of a few days, a healthy calf died, and the death of several calves followed in rapid succession. These misfortunes caused the wife to remember the old woman whom she had sent away from her door, and the farmer came to the conclusion that his cattle had been witched by this old woman, so he went to a conjuror, who told him to cut out the heart of the next calf that should die, and roast it before the fire, and then, after it had been properly roasted, he was to prick it all over with a fork, and if anyone should appear as a beggar, they were to give her what she asked. The instructions were carried out literally, and just as the heart was being pricked, the old woman whom the wife had driven away came up to the house in a dreadful state, and rushing into the house, said—“In the name of God, what are you doing here?” She was told that they were doing nothing particular, and while the conversation was being carried on, the pricking operation was discontinued and the old hag became less excited, and then she asked the farmer kindly to give her a few potatoes, which he gladly did, and the old woman departed; and no more calves died after that.
Tales of the kind related above are extremely common, and might be multiplied to almost any extent. It would seem that the evil influence of witches was exerted not only at times when they were refused favours, but that, at will, they could accomplish mischief. Thus I have heard it said of an old woman, locally supposed to be a witch, that her very presence was ominous of evil, and disaster followed wherever she went; if she were inclined to work evil she was supposed to be able to do so, and that without any provocation.
I will give one tale which I heard in Garthbeibio of this old hag’s doings.
Pedws Ffoulk, a supposed witch, was going through a field where people were employed at work, and just as she came opposite the horse it fell down, as if it were dead. The workmen ran to the horse to ascertain what was the matter with it, but Pedws went along, not heeding what had occurred. This unfeeling conduct on her part roused the suspicion of the men, and they came to the conclusion that the old woman had witched the horse, and that she was the cause of its illness. They, therefore, determined to run after the woman and bring her back to undo her own evil work. Off they rushed after her, and forced her back to the field, where the horse was still lying on the ground. They there compelled the old creature to say, standing over the horse, these words—“Duw arno fo” (God be with him). This she did, and then she was allowed to go on her way. By and by the horse revived, and got upon his feet, and looked as well as ever, but this, it was thought, would not have been the case had not the witch undone her own curse.
In Anglesey, as I was informed by my brother, the late Rev. Elijah Owen, Vicar of Llangoed, it was believed that witches made void their own curses of animals by saying over them “Rhad Duw ar y da” (The Blessing of God be on the cattle).
The writer was told the name of the farm where the following events were said to have taken place, but he is not quite sure that his memory has not deceived him, so he will only relate the facts without giving them a locality.
A farmer had a good mare that went mad, she foamed at the mouth, rushed about the stall, and died in great agony. But this was not all, his cows kept back their milk, and what they could extract from them stank, nor could they churn the milk, for it turned into froth.
A conjuror was consulted, and the farmer was told that all this evil had been brought about by a witch who had been refused milk at his door, and her mischief was counteracted by the conjuror thus consulted.
Occasionally we hear of injured persons retaliating upon the witches who had brought about their losses. This, however, was not often attempted, for people feared the consequences of a failure, but it was, nevertheless, supposed to be attainable.
I will relate a few instances of this punishment of witches for their evil doings.
A neighbour, who does not wish to have his name recorded, states that he can vouch for the incidents in the following tale. A farmer who lost much stock by death, and suspected it was the work of an old hag who lived in his neighbourhood, consulted a conjuror about the matter, and he was told that his suspicions were correct, that his losses were brought about by this old woman, and, added the conjuror, if you wish it, I can wreak vengeance on the wretch for what she has done to your cattle. The injured farmer was not averse to punishing the woman, but he did not wish her punishment to be over severe, and this he told the conjuror, but said he, “I should like her to be deprived of the power to injure anyone in future.” This was accomplished, my informant told me, for the witch-woman took to her bed, and became unable to move about from that very day to the end of her life. My informant stated that he had himself visited this old woman on her sick bed, and that she did not look ill, but was disinclined to get up, and the cause of it all was a matter of general gossip in the neighbourhood, that she had been cursed for her evil doings.
Another tale I have heard is that a conjuror obliged a witch to jump from a certain rock into the river that ran at its foot, and thus put an end to her life.
Rough punishment was often inflicted upon these simple old women by silly people.
The tales already given are sufficiently typical of the faith of the credulous regarding witches, and their ability to work out their evil desires on their victims. I will now proceed briefly to relate other matters connected with witchcraft as believed in, in all parts of Wales.
There were various ways of counteracting the evils brought upon people by witches.
1. The intervention of a priest or minister of religion made curses of none effect.
The following tale was told me by my friend the Rector of Rhydycroesau. When Mr. Jones was curate of Llanyblodwel a parishioner sent to ask the “parson” to come to see her. He went, but he could not make out what he had been sent for, as the woman was, to all appearance, in her usual health. Perceiving a strong-looking woman before him he said, “I presume I have missed the house, a sick person wished to see me.” The answer was, “You are quite right, Sir, I sent for you, I am not well; I am troubled.” In the course of conversation Mr. Jones ascertained that the woman had sent for him to counteract the evil machinations of her enemy. “I am witched,” she said, “and a parson can break the spell.” The clergyman argued with her, but all to no purpose. She affirmed that she was witched, and that a clergyman could withdraw the curse. Finding that the woman was obdurate he read a chapter and offered up a prayer, and wishing the woman good day with a hearty “God bless you,” he departed. Upon a subsequent visit he found the woman quite well, and he was informed by her, to his astonishment, that he had broken the spell.
2. Forcing the supposed witch to say over the cursed animals, “Rhad Duw ar y da” (“God’s blessing be on the cattle”), or some such expressions, freed them from spells.
An instance of this kind is related on page 242, under the heading, “A Horse Witched.”
3. Reading the Bible over, or to, the bewitched freed them from evil.
This was an antidote that could be exercised by anyone who could procure a Bible. In an essay written in Welsh, relating to the parishes of Garthbeibio, Llangadfan, and Llanerfyl, in 1863, I find the following:—
“Gwr arall, ffarmwr mawr, a chanddo fuwch yn sal ar y Sabbath, ar ol rhoddi physic iddi, tybiwyd ei bod yn marw, rhedodd yntau i’r ty i nol y Bibl, a darllenodd bennod iddi;” which rendered into English, is:—
Another man, a large farmer, having a cow sick on the Sabbath day, after giving her physic, supposing she was dying, ran into the house to fetch the Bible, and read a chapter to her.
4. A Bible kept in a house was a protection from all evil.
This was a talisman, formerly only within the reach of the opulent. Quoting again from the essay above referred to, I find these words:—
“Byddai ambell Bibl mewn ty mawr yn cael ei gadw mewn cist neu goffr a chlo arno, tuag at gadw y ty rhag niwaid.” That is:—
A Bible was occasionally kept in the bettermost farms in a chest which was locked, to protect the house from harm.
5. A ring made of the mountain ash acted as a talisman.
Rings made of this wood were generally placed under the doorposts to frustrate the evil designs of witches, and the inmates dwelt securely when thus protected. This tree was supposed to be a famous charm against witchcraft.
Mrs. Susan Williams, Garth, a farm on the confines of Efenechtyd parish, Denbighshire, told the writer that E. Edwards, Llwynybrain, Gwyddelwern, was famous for breaking spells, and consequently his aid was often required. Susan stated that they could not churn at Foel Fawn, Derwen. They sent for Edwards, who came, and offered up a kind of prayer, and then placed a ring made of the bark or of the wood of the mountain ash (she could not recollect which) underneath the churn, or the lid of the churn, and thus the spell was broken.
6. A horse-shoe found on a road or field, and nailed either on or above the door of a house or stable, was considered a protection from spells.
I have seen horse-shoes hanging by a string above a door, and likewise nailed with the open part upwards, on the door lintel, but quite as often I have observed that the open part is downwards; but however hung, on enquiry, the object is the same, viz., to secure luck and prevent evil.
7. Drawing blood from a witch or conjuror by anyone incapacitated these evil doers from working out their designs upon the person who spilt their blood.
I was told of a tailor’s apprentice, who on the termination of his time, having heard, and believing, that his master was a conjuror, when saying good-bye doubled up his fingers and struck the old man on the nose, making his blood spurt in all directions. “There, master,” said he, “there is no ill will between us, but you can now do me no harm, for I have drawn your blood, and you cannot witch me.”
8. Drawing blood from a bewitched animal breaks the spell.
In the days of my youth, at Llanidloes, a couple of valuable horses were said to be bewitched, and they were bled to break the spell. If blood could not be got from horses and cattle, it was considered to be a positive proof that they were bewitched, and unless the spell could be broken, nothing, it was said, could save them from death.
9. It was generally thought that if a witch said the word “God” to a child or person, whom she had bewitched, it would “undo her work.”
My friend Mr. Edward Hamer, in his “Parochial Account of Llanidloes,” published in The Montgomeryshire Collections, vol. x., p. 242, records an instance of this belief. His words are:—
“About fifty years ago the narrator was walking up Long Bridge Street, when he saw a large crowd in one of the yards leading from the street to a factory. Upon making his way to the centre of this crowd, he saw an old woman in a ‘fit,’ real or feigned, he could not say, but he believed the latter, and over her stood an angry, middle-aged man, gesticulating violently, and threatening the old dame, that he would hang her from an adjacent beam if she would not pronounce the word ‘God’ to a child which was held in its mother’s arms before her. It was in vain that the old woman protested her innocence; in vain that she said that by complying with his request she would stand before them a confessed witch; in vain that she fell into one fit after another, and prayed to be allowed to depart; not a sympathising face could she for some time see in the crowd, until the wife of a manufacturer, who lived close by, appeared on the scene, who also pleaded in vain on her behalf. Terrified beyond all measure, and scarcely knowing what she did, the old woman mumbled something to the child. It smiled. The angry parents were satisfied the spell was broken, the crowd dispersed, and the old woman was allowed to depart quietly.”
10. The earth from a churchyard sprinkled over any place preserved it from spells.
Mr. Roberts, Plas Einion, Llanfair D. Clwyd, a very aged farmer, told me that when a certain main or cock fighting had been arranged, his father’s servant man, suspecting unfair play, and believing that his master’s birds had been bewitched, went to the churchyard and carried therefrom a quantity of consecrated earth, with which he slyly sprinkled the cock pit, and thus he averted the evil, and broke the spell, and all the birds fought, and won, according to their deserts.
11. Anything taken into a church belonging to a farm supposed to be cursed broke the spell or curse laid upon the place from which that thing was taken.
About twenty years ago, when the writer was curate of Llanwnog, Montgomeryshire, a Mrs. Hughes, a farmer’s wife, who was a firm believer in omens, charms, and spells, told me that she knew nothing would come of the spell against so and so, and when asked to explain the matter, she said that she had seen straw taken from that farm to kindle the fire in the church, and thus, she said, the spell was broken.
12. A pin thrust into “Witch’s Butter” would cause the witch to undo her work.
“Witch’s Butter” is the name given to a kind of fungus that grows on decayed wood. The fungus resembles little lumps of butter, and hence its name. Should anyone think himself witched, all that he has got to do is to procure “witch’s butter,” and then thrust a pin into it. It was thought that this pin penetrated the wicked witch, and every pin thrust into the fungus went into her body, and thus she was forced to appear, and undo her mischief, and be herself relieved from bodily pain by relieving others.
13. A conjuror’s charm could master a witch’s spell.
It was thought that when a person was under a witch’s spell he could get relief and punish the witch by procuring a charm from a conjuror. This charm was a bit of paper, often covered with illegible writing, but whatever was on it made no great difference, for the persons who procured the charms were usually illiterate. The process was as follows:—The party cursed took the charm, and thrust a pin through it, and having waited awhile to see whether the witch would appear or not, proceeded to thrust another pin through the paper, and if the witch were tardy in appearing, pin after pin was thrust into the paper, and every pin, it was thought, went into the body of the spiteful hag, and brought her ultimately to the house where her curse was being broken, in shocking pain, and when there it was believed she would say—
“Duw gatto bobpeth ag a feddwch chwi.”
God preserve everything which you possess.
14. Certain plants were supposed to possess the power of destroying charms.
The Rev. D. James, Rector of Garthbeibio, was asked by Evan Williams, the Voel, a parishioner, whether he feared witches, and when answered in the negative, his interrogator appeared surprised; however, awhile afterwards, Williams went to the Rectory, and told the rector that he knew why he did not fear witches, and proceeded to tell him that he had seen a plant in the front of the rectory that protected the house from charms. This was what he called, Meipen Fair. In some parts of England the snapdragon is supposed to possess a like virtue, and also the elder tree.
Mr. Davies, schoolmaster, Llangedwyn, informed the writer that at one time hyssop was hung on the inside of the house door to protect the inmates from charms.
15. The seventh daughter could destroy charms. The seventh son was thought to possess supernatural power, and so also was the seventh daughter, but her influence seems to have been exerted against witchcraft.
16. The sign of the cross on the door made the inmates invulnerable, and when made with the finger on the breast it was a protection from evil.
The sign of the cross made on the person was once common in Wales, and the advice given by the aged when a person was in any difficulty was “ymgroesa,” cross yourself. The custom of crossing the door on leaving the house lingered long in many places, and, I think, it is not altogether given up in our days.
17. Invoking the aid of the Holy Trinity. This was resorted to, as seen in the charm given on page 270, when animals were witched.
It was generally supposed that a witch could not pray, and one way of testing her guilty connection with the evil one was to ascertain whether she could repeat the Lord’s Prayer correctly. If she failed to do so, she was pronounced to be a witch. This test, as everyone knows, must have been a fallacious one, for there are good living illiterate people who are incapable of saying their Pader; but such was the test, and failure meant death.
Some fifty years ago, when the writer was a lad in school, he noticed a crowd in Short Bridge Street, Llanidloes, around an aged decrepit woman, apparently a stranger from the hill country, and on inquiring what was going on, he was told that the woman was a suspected witch, and that they were putting her to the test. I believe she was forced to go on her knees, and use the name of God, and say the Lord’s Prayer. However, the poor frightened thing got successfully through the ordeal, and I saw her walk away from her judges.
Another manner for discovering a witch was to weigh her against the Church Bible; if the Bible went up, she was set at liberty, if, on the other hand, she were lighter than the Bible, she was a witch, and forfeited her life.
Swimming a witch was another method, and this was the one generally resorted to. The suspected person was taken to a river or pool of water, her feet and hands were tied, and she was thrown in; if she sank she was innocent, if she floated she was a witch, and never reached the bank alive.
Such as the preceding were some of the ridiculous trials to which poor, badly clad, aged, toothless, and wrinkled women were put by their superstitious neighbours to ascertain whether these miserable women were in league with the devil.
1. It was formerly believed that men could sell themselves to the devil, and thus become the possessors of supernatural power. These men were looked upon as malicious conjurors.
2. Another species of conjurors practised magical arts, having obtained their knowledge from the study of books. These were accounted able to thwart the designs of evil workers of every description.
3. There was another class of men supposed to have obtained strange power from their ancestors. They were looked upon as charmers and conjurors by descent.
1. Those who belonged to the first-mentioned class were not in communion with the Church, and the first step taken by them to obtain their object was to unbaptize themselves. The process was as follows:—The person who wished to sell himself to the devil went to a Holy Well, took water therefrom three times into his mouth, and spurted it out in a derisive manner, and thus having relieved himself, as it was thought, of his baptismal vow, he was ready and fit to make a contract with the evil one.
2. The second kind of conjurors obtained their knowledge of the occult science from the study of books. Generally learned men were by the ignorant supposed to possess uncanny power. When the writer lived in Carnarvonshire he was informed that Owen Williams, Waenfawr, had magical books kept in a box under lock and key, and that he never permitted anyone to see them. Poor Owen Williams, I wonder whether he knew of the popular rumour!
The following tale of Huw Llwyd’s books I obtained from the Rev. R. Jones, rector of Llanycil.
The story, as it has reached our days, is as follows:—It is said that Huw Llwyd had two daughters; one of an inquisitive turn of mind, like himself, while the other resembled her mother, and cared not for books. On his death bed he called his learned daughter to his side, and directed her to take his books on the dark science, and throw them into a pool, which he named, from the bridge that spanned the river. The girl went to Llyn Pont Rhyd-ddu with the books, and stood on the bridge, watching the whirlpool beneath, but she could not persuade herself to throw them over, and thus destroy her father’s precious treasures. So she determined to tell him a falsehood, and say that she had cast them into the river. On her return home her father asked her whether she had thrown the books into the pool, and on receiving an answer in the affirmative, he, inquiring whether she had seen anything strange when the books reached the river, was informed that she had seen nothing. “Then,” said he, “you have not complied with my request. I cannot die until the books are thrown into the pool.” She took the books a second time to the river, and now, very reluctantly, she hurled them into the pool, and watched their descent. They had not reached the water before two hands appeared, stretched upward, out of the pool, and these hands caught the books before they touched the water and, clutching them carefully, both the books and the hands disappeared beneath the waters. She went home immediately, and again appeared before her father, and in answer to his question, she related what had occurred. “Now,” said he, “I know you have thrown them in, and I can now die in peace,” which he forthwith did.
3. Hereditary conjurors, or charmers, were thought to be beneficial to society. They were charmers rather than conjurors. In this category is to be reckoned:—
(a) The seventh son of a family of sons, born the one after the other.
(b) The seventh daughter in a family of daughters, born in succession, without a brother between. This person could undo spells and curses, but she could not herself curse others.
(c) The descendants of a person, who had eaten eagles’ flesh could, for nine generations, charm for the shingles, or, as it is called in Welsh, Swyno’r ’Ryri.
Conjurors were formerly quite common in Wales; when I say common, I mean that there was no difficulty in obtaining their aid when required, and they were within easy reach of those who wished to consult them. Some became more celebrated than others, and consequently their services were in greater requisition; but it may be said, that each district had its wise man.
The office of the conjuror was to counteract the machinations of witches, and to deliver people from their spells. They were looked upon as the natural enemies of witches. Instances have already been given of this antagonism.
But conjurors could act on their own account, and if they did not show the same spiteful nature as witches, they, nevertheless, were credited with possessing great and dangerous power. They dealt freely in charms and spells, and obtained large sums of money for their talismanic papers. They could, it was believed, by their incantations reveal the future, and oblige light-fingered people to restore the things they had stolen.
Even a fishing rod made by a conjuror was sure to bring luck to the fisherman. Lovers and haters alike resorted to the wise man to attain through his aid their object.
There were but few, if any, matters beyond their comprehension, and hence the almost unbounded confidence placed in these impostors by the superstitious and credulous.
Strange as it may seem, even in this century there are many who still consult these deceivers, but more of this by and by.
I will now relate a few tales of the doings of these conjurors, and from them the reader can infer how baneful their influence was upon the rustic population of Wales.
This glass, into which a person looked when he wished to solve the future, or to ascertain whom he or she was to marry, was used by Welsh, as well as other magicians. The glass gave back the features of the person sought after, and reflected the future career of the seeker after the hidden future. It was required that the spectator should concentrate all his attention on the glass, and, on the principle that they who gazed long should not gaze in vain, he obtained the desired glimpse. Cwrt Cadno, already referred to, professed to have such a glass.
But, the magician’s glass is an instrument so often mentioned in connection with necromancy in all parts of the world, that more need not be said of it.
I will now give a few stories illustrative of the conjuror’s power.
A famous conjuror, Dick Spot, was on his way to Llanrwst, and he turned into a public house at Henllan for refreshments. He called for a glass of beer and bread and cheese, and was charged tenpence for the same, fourpence for the beer, and sixpence for the bread and cheese. This charge he considered outrageous, but he paid the demand, and before departing he took a scrap of paper and wrote on it a spell, and hid it under the table, and then went on his way. That evening, soon after the landlord and landlady had retired for the night, leaving the servant girl to clear up, they were surprised to hear in the kitchen an unaccountable noise; shouting and jumping was the order of the day, or rather night, in that room. The good people heard the girl shout at the top of her voice—
“Six and four are ten,
Count it o’er again,”
and then she danced like mad round and round the kitchen. They sternly requested the girl to cease yelling, and to come to bed, but the only answer they received was—
“Six and four are ten,
Count it o’er again,”
and with accelerated speed she danced round and round the kitchen.
The thought now struck the landlord that the girl had gone out of her mind, and so he got up, and went to see what was the matter with her, with the intention of trying to get her away from the kitchen. But the moment he placed his foot in the kitchen, he gave a jump, and joined the girl in her mad dance, and with her he shrieked out—
“Six and four are ten,
Count it o’er again.”
So now the noise was doubled, and the good wife, finding that her husband did not return to her, became very angry, if not jealous. She shouted to them to cease their row, but all to no purpose, for the dancing and the shouting continued. Then she left her bed and went to the kitchen door, and greatly disgusted she was to see her husband and maid dancing together in that shameless manner. She stood at the door a moment or two observing their frantic behaviour, and then she determined forcibly to put a stop to the proceedings, so into the room she bounded, but with a hop and a jump she joined in the dance, and sang out in chorus with the other two—
“Six and four are ten,
Count it o’er again.”
The uproar now was great indeed, and roused the neighbours from their sleep. They from outside heard the mad dance and the words, and guessed that Dick Spot had been the cause of all this. One of those present hurried after the conjuror, who, fortunately, was close at hand, and desired him to return to the inn to release the people from his spell. “Oh,” said Dick, “take the piece of paper that is under the table and burn it, and they will then stop their row.” The man returned to the inn, pushed open the door, rushed to the table, and cast the paper into the fire, and then the trio became quiet. But they had nearly exhausted themselves by their severe exertions ere they were released from the power of the spell.
A conjuror, or Gwr Cyfarwydd, was travelling over the Denbighshire hills to Carnarvonshire; being weary, he entered a house that he saw on his way, and he requested refreshments, which were given him by a young woman. “But,” said she, “you must make haste and depart, for my brothers will soon be here, and they are desperate men, and they will kill you.” But no, the stranger was in no hurry to move on, and though repeatedly besought to depart, he would not do so. To the great dread and fear of the young woman, her brothers came in, and, in anger at finding a stranger there, bade him prepare for death. He requested a few minutes’ respite, and took out a book and commenced reading it. When he was thus engaged a horn began growing in the centre of the table, and on this the robbers were obliged to gaze, and they were unable even to move. The stranger went to bed, and found the robbers in the morning still gazing at the horn, as he knew they would be, and he departed leaving them thus engaged, and the tale goes, that they were arrested in that position, being unable to offer any resistance to their captors.
There are several versions of the Horn Tale afloat; instead of being made to grow out of a table, it was made to grow out of a person’s head or forehead. There is a tradition that Huw Llwyd was able to do this wonderful thing, and that he actually did it.
R. H., a farmer in Llansilin parish, who lost several head of cattle, sent or went to Shon Gyfarwydd, who lived in Llanbrynmair, a well-known conjuror, for information concerning their death, and for a charm against further loss. Both were obtained, and the charm worked so well that the grateful farmer sent a letter to Shon acknowledging the benefit he had derived from him.
This Shon was a great terror to thieves, for he was able to spot them and mark them in such a way that they were known to be culprits. I am indebted to Mr. Jones, Rector of Bylchau, near Denbigh, for the three following stories, in which the very dread of being marked by Shon was sufficient to make the thieves restore the stolen property.
Richard Thomas, Post Office, Llangadfan, lost a coat and waistcoat, and he suspected a certain man of having stolen them. One day this man came to the shop, and Thomas saw him there, and, speaking to his wife from the kitchen in a loud voice, so as to be heard by his customer in the shop, he said that he wanted the loan of a horse to go to Llanbrynmair. Llanbrynmair was, as we know, the conjuror’s place of abode. Thomas, however, did not leave his house, nor did he intend doing so, but that very night the stolen property was returned, and it was found the next morning on the door sill.
A mason engaged in the restoration of Garthbeibio Church placed a trowel for safety underneath a stone, but by morning it was gone. Casually in the evening he informed his fellow workmen that he had lost his trowel, and that someone must have stolen it, but that he was determined to find out the thief by taking a journey to Llanbrynmair. He never went, but the ruse was successful, for the next morning he found, as he suspected would be the case, the trowel underneath the very stone where he had himself placed it.
Thirty pounds were stolen from Glan-yr-afon, Garthbeibio. The owner made known to his household that he intended going to Shon the conjuror, to ascertain who had taken his money, but the next day the money was discovered, being restored, as was believed, by the thief the night before.
These stories show that the ignorant and superstitious were influenced through fear, to restore what they had wrongfully appropriated, and their faith in the conjuror’s power thus resulted, in some degree, in good to the community. The Dyn Hyspys was feared where no one else was feared, and in this way the supposed conjuror was not altogether an unimportant nor unnecessary member of society. At a time, particularly when people are in a low state of civilization, or when they still cling to the pagan faith of their forefathers, transmitted to them from remote ages, then something can be procured for the good of a benighted people even through the medium of the Gwr Cyfarwydd.
Events occurred occasionally by a strange coincidence through which the fame of the Dyn Hyspys became greatly increased. An event of this kind is related by Mr. Edward Hamer. He states that:—
“Two respectable farmers, living in the upper Vale of the Severn (Cwm Glyn Hafren), and standing in relationship to each other of uncle and nephew, a few years ago purchased each a pig of the same litter, from another farmer. When bought, both animals were, to all appearance, in excellent health and condition, and for a short time after their removal to their new homes both continued to improve daily. It was not long, however, before both were taken ill very suddenly. As there appeared something very strange in the behaviour of his animal, the nephew firmly believed that he was ‘witched,’ and acting upon this belief, set out for the neighbouring conjuror. Having received certain injunctions from the ‘wise man,’ he returned home, carried them out, and had the satisfaction of witnessing the gradual recovery of his pig. The uncle paid no attention to the persuasions and even entreaties of his nephew; he would not believe that his pig was ‘witched,’ and refused to consult the conjuror. The pig died after an illness of three weeks; and many thought the owner deserved little sympathy for manifesting so much obstinacy and scepticism. These events occurred in the spring of the year 1870, and were much talked of at the time.”—Montgomeryshire Collections, vol. x., p. 240.
Conjurors retained their repute by much knavery and collusion with others.
Tales are not wanted that expose their impostures. The Rev. Meredith Hamer, late of Berse, told me of the following exposure of a conjuror. I know not where the event occurred, but it is a typical case.
This man’s house consisted of but few rooms. Between the kitchen and his study, or consulting room, was a slight partition. He had a servant girl, whom he admitted as a partner in his trade. This girl, when she saw a patient approach the house, which she was able to do, because there was only one approach to it, and only one entrance, informed her master of the fact that someone was coming, and he immediately disappeared, and he placed himself in a position to hear the conversation of the girl with the person who had come to consult him. The servant by questioning the party adroitly obtained that information respecting the case which her master required, and when she had obtained the necessary information, he would appear, and forthwith tell the stranger that he knew hours before, or days ago, that he was to have the visit now paid him, and then he would relate all the particulars which he had himself heard through the partition, to the amazement of the stranger, who was ignorant of this means of communication.
At other times, if a person who wished to consult him came to the house when the conjuror was in the kitchen, he would disappear as before, stating that he was going to consult his books, and then his faithful helper would proceed to extort the necessary information from the visitor. On this, he would re-appear and exhibit his wonderful knowledge to the amazed dupe.
On one occasion, though, a knowing one came to the conjuror with his arm in a sling, and forthwith the wise man disappeared, leaving the maid to conduct the necessary preliminary examination, and her visitor minutely described how the accident had occurred, and how he had broken his arm in two places, etc.
All this the conjuror heard, and he came into the room and rehearsed all that he had heard; but the biter was bitten, for the stranger, taking his broken arm out of the sling, in no very polite language accused the conjuror of being an impostor, and pointed out the way in which the collusion had been carried out between him and his maid.
This was an exposure the conjuror had not foreseen!
Conjurors, when engaged in their uncanny work, usually wore a grotesque dress and stood within a circle of protection. I find so graphic a description of a doctor who dealt in divination in Mr. Hancock’s “History of Llanrhaiadr-yn-Mochnant” that I will transcribe it:—“He” (the raiser of the devils) “was much resorted to by the friends of parties mentally deranged, many of whom he cured. Whenever he assumed to practise the ‘black art,’ he put on a most grotesque dress, a cap of sheepskin with a high crown, bearing a plume of pigeons’ feathers, and a coat of unusual pattern, with broad hems, and covered with talismanic characters. In his hand he had a whip, the thong of which was made of the skin of an eel, and the handle of bone. With this he drew a circle around him, outside of which, at a proper distance, he kept those persons who came to him, whilst he went through his mystic sentences and performances.”—Montgomeryshire Collections, vol. vi, pp. 329-30.