The weather this winter has been one of two things: wet and windy, or cold and bright. It is mid-January, the sky over Britain is either the deepest blue, or ash grey.
I've just celebrated a birthday. Born in Hanover, Germany on a British army barracks, 45 years ago. The ground was covered in 3 feet of snow, temperatures were anything between -10 in the day and -20 at night.
Celebrating another year older, I took a stroll with family at Middleton Top, between Wirksworth and Cromford, in Derbyshire. We wrapped ourselves in thick coats, hats, scarves and gloves. The frost crunched beneath our feet. With wispy, white breath we walked quickly, to keep warm.
Once back at the car park we drove to Scarthin Books, a piece of book-lovers heaven, in Cromford, and a place I have been visiting for 30 years. It is a happy place, where you can forage for hours, amongst books of every genre and every era. We thawed out in the cafe with coffee, hot chocolate and cake. Happy birthday to me. And happy January to all of you.
Below, is a story I first read in a very tatty book, of local folk stories (I'm sorry to say the name of it evades me). The tale is perfect for this blog post, because it was set beside the river Derwent and Cromford bridge.
The Water Weird of Derwent River
In the Derbyshire Dales nestled between Wirksworth and Matlock Bath, a short distance from the river Derwent, is a village named Cromford.
Late one night, a long time ago, when foot or horseback was the only way to travel, a young man tread the path to Cromford. His mother was old and he had received a message, she was terribly sick. If he waited until morning, he would miss the chance to spend one last night with her. So, he filled a knapsack with soup and cake, and headed out into the dark.
Remember, this was a time before electricity, television, or the internet, and most folk were tucked up in bed early. The only sound was the occasional rustle, of nocturnal creatures in the undergrowth. Suddenly, an owl hooted overhead, and the young man looked up. When his eyes returned to the path, an elderly lady dressed in green, stood before him.
"Young man, where are you going, so late at night?"
Despite the old lady giving him a fright, the young man smiled when he spoke.
"Mam! I travel to Cromford."
"The path to Cromford is dangerous at night. You should wait until morning before travelling on," the old woman replied.
"But my mother is sick, and I need to be with her," said the young man.
The elderly woman handed the young man a bunch of St John's Wort, a powerful plant against sickness.
"Once you freed a badger from a trap. I knew that badger well, and kindness should be rewarded. You will need this posy for protection against Crooker."
The young man thanked the elderly woman, and asked "who is Crooker?"
But to his astonishment the elderly woman had disappeared, so the young man continued on his journey.
Surprisingly, a short time later he saw another elderly woman, also dressed in green. When she spoke she repeated, what the previous woman had said.
"Young man, where are you going so late at night?"
The young man now found the whole experience very strange, but did not want to appear rude.
"Well Mam, my mother is sick, and I need to get to Cromford to care for her."
The elderly woman looked at him for a moment.
"The way to Cromford is dangerous. Take this bunch of primroses, a powerful plant against evil. You once freed a hare from a snare, I knew them well, and your kindness should be rewarded. This posy will protect you from Crooker."
The young man thanked the elderly woman as he took the primroses, and as before asked "who is Crooker?"
But, like the previous woman, the elderly woman had vanished, and the young man's question went unanswered.
By now, the young man was a little nervous, and he sped up his step, so he may reach Cromford a little sooner. However, not long after he came across a third elderly woman, also dressed in green.
"It is unsafe to travel this road after dark. Where are you heading so late?"
As twice previously, the young man repeated his story. The elderly woman handed him a bunch of daisies, beloved by the goddess Freyja—bringer of Spring.
"You once rescued a vixen and her cubs, from a pack of dogs. I knew them well and your kindness should be rewarded. This posy will protect you against Crooker.
The young man thanked her for the daisies, and was about to ask, who was Crooker? When she too disappeared. This time though, her voice whispered a warning, that echoed on the breeze.
"Before the moon rises, you must reach the shrine at Cromford Bridge."
Becoming more frightened, the young man tightly gripped his bunch of posies. The inky sky, was just gaining a silvery glow, and soon the moon would be up. His breath quickening, the young man began to run. But the path was rough, and slowed his pace, by the time he reached Cromford Bridge the moon was bright in the sky. Cautiously he stepped onto the bridge, holding his breath, an old ash tree creaked in the wind. Then, as he exhaled, he heard a whisper.
"Hungry!"
The young man gulped, his breath quickened, and his chest pounded. Again, he heard a whisper.
"Hungry!"
The river began to bubble and gurgle and churn up, into a foaming frenzy. The wind whipped up around him. The branches of the old ash tree, swept this way and that, grazing the young man as if trying to grip him. Then the water weird, rose from the river Derwent, and screamed.
"Hungry!"
In an instant, the young man realised it was Crooker. He ran to cross the bridge, throwing the daisies over his left shoulder.
"Give!"
Growled Crooker, demanding the tree toss the young man into the river. There was a splash. The branches of the old ash tree began to brush against the young man. This time, he tossed the bunch of primroses over his left shoulder, and once more wriggled free, from the branches grip.
"Give!"
Bellowed Crooker. The young man heard another splash, which spurred him onwards, running towards the bridge.
"Hungry! Hungry! Hungry!"
Screeched Crooker, in a frenzied rage. The river Derwent frothing and foaming, seemed to rise towards the bank, and the young man. The old ash tree was feeding Crooker the posies, which made Crooker very cross. He called louder and louder, to be fed the young man, who fearing he would die twisted and turned in a panic. The trunk of the old ash tree had opened into a gaping, gnarled mouth. As the wind screamed loudly, the young man tossed the St John's Wort straight towards the tree, which loosened its grip, enabling the young man to run the short distance across the bridge.
"Give!"
Crooker raged. The young man heard one final splash, before fainting in fright.
The people of Cromford village hearing the commotion, were aware someone had awoken Crooker. They sent for the priest, knowing like so many times before, a lone traveller would surely be dead. Surprisingly, when they reached Cromford bridge the river gently flowed, the old ash tree was still, and the young man slept soundly beside the shrine.
When the young man awoke the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream, and rushed on to his mother's house, fearing he was too late. But, when he opened the door his mother was stood making breakfast, her eyes bright. In that moment the young man knew, last night's events were real. He had no doubt, the three elderly women dressed in green had saved his life and his mother's; his previous acts of kindness had also played a part.
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