Raggedy Man Tales. GM Jordan

to the shadows.

      He happened upon what he thought was an old beggar sitting in a doorway. Isaac’s heart was in his mouth and he found he could not speak, but the stranger looked kindly upon the boy and told him to seek sanctuary not in the tower

      but at the home of one of his master’s clients, the house was not far away in the Shambles. When the boy turned once again to the tower, the man sat upright and spoke to him in fluent Hebrew, advising him once again to go to the Shambles.

      Afraid of the man, Isaac did as he was told and fled the few streets towards the woman’s house. The kindly family took him in and hid him, next morning they awoke to the terrible news that the tower had burnt down.

      When Isaac told the story of the night before nobody knew who the man in rags could possibly be and the boy was sent to London and safety.

      The First English Report

      Illustrated by Cornelia Abfalter

      In 1560 John Oberon was a teacher in Stratford-upon-Avon. He and his wife were unable to have children and he would spend his days in the classroom teaching Latin and the classics. At night he would sit outside his Warwickshire home and play a flute, telling the children all about the faeries and magical creatures that inhabited the woods.

      During the winter Oberon became very ill, the fever raged for days and nothing the doctors of the time could do would break it. After a week John Oberon passed away. His beloved students carried him through the town and out into the countryside where they laid him to rest inside a faery mound.

      For four years the town progressed, the children never forgot their teacher but they grew older and their memories blurred.

      One day a group of them were playing around the stones surrounding the faery mound, as darkness fell, they saw a light shining from between two of the stones. Fearing the faeries were returning to the land, they shook with fear, huddled together in case the queen of the faeries decided to take them back to her kingdom. When the light faded all that remained, sitting on the stone covering the grave of their former teacher, was a man dressed in green and brown rags. His face was obscured by the wide brim of a hat and on his shoulder sat a bogart, the creatures wide eyes blinked at them, its ears flicking when sounds caught its attention. The man placed a dirty bone flute to his lips and blew gently. The most beautiful music drifted through the still night and the children found themselves dancing as tiny faeries and butterflies flew around their heads.

      When the Raggedy Man had finished playing his music he sat down and looked at them, bidding them to come forward.

      “When you see me do not be afraid, do not run and cower, for I am your friend.” he said, holding out his hand a small winged faery landed in the palm of his hand. “As long as you remember me, then I will be here for you and if you need me you simply have to call for me. The faery folk will not hurt you, but beware the changelings.”

      As the night closed in around them the children ran home to tell their parents, only young William stayed. Cross legged on the cold grass he watched the Raggedy Man play a while longer.

      When they found him next morning he was fast asleep under a blanket of leaves. Yet it was spring, and all the leaves were still on the trees.

      The Changeling

      Illustrated by Cornelia Abfalter

      The parish priest of Donaghdee in Ireland reported the case of Mary O’Connor in the 1700’s. The exact date cannot be found as the church mysteriously burned to the ground in 1870, but by then it was already a well-known folk story.

      Mary had been sent by her father to fetch a jug of water and a loaf of bread. It was the height of summer and she had a long way to go. The baker that usually supplied the village had been called away and another could not be sent for several days.

      The road to the next town was long and curved its way through the hills. Mary set off with her mother’s jug and a small basket. As she passed through the wild woods, she was aware of several creatures watching her from the trees, they followed, jumping from branch to branch.

      When she stopped to look at them, she could see they were cats. Laughing, she watched them jump to the next tree and as they started to play she tossed small twigs for them to chase, they rolled onto their backs and flicked them into the air. As they got bored, one by one, they wandered off to find something else to occupy their attention. However, as she walked along the road one cat stuck close to her, staying in her shadow and watching her intently until she got close to the edge of the village, where it disappeared.

      Mary stayed out longer than she should have and on the way home night fell. As she was only halfway home Mary took shelter in the rocks by the side of the road and made a fire to keep herself warm. As the moon rose, she drifted to sleep, only to be awoken a short while later by the sound of music. As she peered over the side of the large rock that sheltered her, Mary could see ‘a man dressed in rags playing sweet music a little way off’.

      Calling to the man, Mary gripped a branch, ready to strike out if threatened but the man turned to face her, smiling as he did so. Mary told the priest that

      the man put her at her ease straight away, advising that she make a flaming torch and go home straight away. He watched as she gathered the sticks needed and packed them tightly as she had seen her mother do, then she lit them in the fire and hurried along the road. The man did not walk with her but she was aware that he was watching over her.

      As Mary approached the house, she could see her parents sitting at the dinner table laughing.

      Knowing that they would have been worried and would certainly have not been so jolly Mary crept to the house and peered through the window. There at the table sat an exact copy of herself. Mary said, “Sure it was like looking into a mirror and seeing myself.”

      She thought about all the things that had happened during the day and realised that the cat that had followed her so intently must have been a changeling.

      Mary sat and thought about all the things she had been told about changelings. She went to her father’s workshop and looked at the tools, she was about to pick up an axe when the stranger appeared in the door.

      “Do you wish to kill the creature or simply drive it from your home?” he asked.

      “Have I a choice?”

      “Sure, there are always other ways instead of killing, how did your Nan and the old folk keep unwanted visitors from her home?”

      “Well she always had a dish of cream outside of an evening, never had foxglove in the house and above the door...” Mary stopped talking as she remembered the visits to her grandmother’s house. She thought for a moment and selected

      an old iron horseshoe from the pile her father always kept in the corner of his smithy. Creeping towards the kitchen door, Mary burst in and confronted those gathered around the table. Quick as a flash the changeling cried out “Mother! Father! What is this devil that looks like me?”

      As Mary’s father ran towards his daughter, her mother protected the imposter. Just as the blacksmith reached the door, Mary tossed the horseshoe onto the table in front of the changeling. With a scream it reverted to its natural shape and jumped through the window to escape, for the one thing