The Witch Who Was Not All Black

Southland Times, Issue 20207, 18 June 1927, Page 23 (Supplement)

The Witch Who Was Not All Black

—First-Prize.— She was the fear of the country side, was this witch. Gossips talked about her over their cups of tea, and children quaked in their warm beds many a night, thinking that they heard the “Black Cat” at the window. How she got the name of “Black Cat” nobody knew, but everyone agreed that it was a good name. “Black” made you think of something bad, and as for “Cat” your thoughts wandered off to a dark night when a pair of green eyes crossed your path suddenly, and w’ere lost again in the darkness. That cold shudder of fear! So this old mystery woman lived several miles out of the village of Sulverry, in the “Dark Woods.” Courageous travellers who d-eed go near enough at night, often saw a red foggy light shining from the trunk of an enormous oak. This was the solitary home of the “Black Cat.” Of course, not everyone believes in such things as witches, and some only laugh at the mention of them. In the village of Sulverry, were two lads who did not believe in the “Black Cat.” These two boys, although they agreed upon this point, were otherwise sworn enemies. The younger boy’s name was Erie James, while the other was John Towns. So great was John’s hatred of Erie, that he was prepared to lose his honour for the sake of injuring his rival. Erie, whose father was a sea captain, had inherited an adventuresome spirit, and he determined to go to “Dark Woods” at night to see if there really was a “Black Cat” or not. He decided to go on the Ist June, and he told a few of his friends about his resolve. They were all afraid to accompany him, but somehow the news spread to John Towns, who was also unafraid of the witch. Although he told no one, he also decided to go to the “Dark Woods” on the night of June Ist. This would be a splendid opportunity to give that hateful Erie James a proper fright. Yes, he would teach Erie James that he would not stand any cheek. If only he could creep up behind him, as he advanced in the darkness, he could strike him and make off. Nobody would ever think it was John Towns’ doing. Those foolish people of Sulvery would be only too ready to put it down to the “Black Cat.” What a great scandal it would cause! In the shadowy depths of the Dark Woods, on June Ist, the “Black Cat” was leaning over a hot fire. In the flames she had a pot. containing a sweet smelling substance, which she kept stirrnig, while fumes bearing the eickly smell passed all around. The heat was reflected in her hard face, but round her mouth, the lines were slightly relaxed into a lurking smile. She chuckled —yes —she knew. Eleven o’clock saw two figures groping through the Dark Woods, one being unaware of his being tracked. Erie passed on, while John stealthily followed. Soon the red light from the witch’s dwelling passed across the faces of the boys. Then a sickly smell filled the air. Above hung bunches of inviting fruit with this exceedingly sweet smell. Erie, wishing to have the adventure over, and tantalised with the knowledge that the light in the forest was a reality, left the fruit untouched. John, in the darkness behind, snatched eagerly at the fruit which appeared to be a kind of grape. No sooner had the juice touched John’s lips than there was a rustling of the branches, and a fierce night bird swept down on Erie. The cruel feet were embedded in his hair, putting the boy into a frenzy. He tried to tear the bird from his head, but the claws only pressed the harder. In his wildness, he heard a voice at his side—rather a rusty voice perhaps—and looking out of burning eyes, he beheld what he least expected to see—a witch! She was saying: “Come here at once, boy” and Erie with the wild hope that she might save him from this terror, rushed to her. The “Black Cat” lifted the bird from his head, and began: “Lad, to-night I have saved your life. John Towns wished to strike when you were in the woods, and leave you. If you feel you can forgive him I will let you go unharmed back to Sulverry.” Erie’s brain was all awhirl. He had seen so much in the last few minutes that each added wonder seemed to come as a matter of course. She was speaking again. “This bird was your enemy, John Towns. He ate the fruit I prepared for him, giving him the shape of a night bird. I hate to be spied on, and I let him tear your hair as a punishment.” The amazed boy managed to answer that he would forgive his enemy. After the kindness of the witch in saving his life, what could he do but forgive the offender? Imagine his thoughts at that hour of the night in the lonely shadows of the “Dark Woods,” with a witch who was said to be wicked! Who said she was “Black”? No, no, the witch had revealed on that Ist June, her bright spot of kindness for those in peril. When Erie was nearly home, his heart warm with thankfulness to the witch who was not all black, and his brain muddled with various thoughts, he was overtaken by his old enemy, John. To his surprise, his feeling towards him was quite kindly. On that homeward trudge through the woods, the boys became true friends. They never told the Sulverry gossips the true nature of their visit to the “Black Cat,” but they stressed only her kindness to them. Some called her the “Spotted Cat,” but that has been dropped for a long time now, and everyone still speaks of the “Black Cat,” but she is not feared as she was before she revealed her true self to those boys on the night in the “Dark Woods.” —5/- and 4 marks to Cousin Margaret Robbie (15), P.O. Box 5, Woodlands. —Second Prize.— “The Witch!” The words were spoken breathlessly by children and fearfully by elder people as the form of a bent old woman, shabby and dusty, came down the lane. Her small black eyes darted sharp glances at the bystanders, and they in their turn turned respectful orbs to the supernatural human being who could turn the evil eye on any one of them, when some misfortune would fall on the victim. Superstition, ignorance, it certainly was, but at that time in small English villages it was quite common for an exceptionally old woman to be classed as a witch, and she and her home to be evil things. The witch plodded on, never saying a word, and her old shoulders drooped under the heavy load of old age, and when she pushed open her gate, and entered her house, tears glistened on the wrinkled cheeks. “If only they all couid understand,” she murmured. A child’s high, sweet treble sounded near the window, and a small stranger stood framed in the doorway. “What do you want?” demanded the witch sharply, because the child’s advent had given her a start. “I came to visit you ’cos all the children said I would be scared.” The little girl advanced into the room, rather fearfully, but with the air of one, who although going to be tortured, bears it smilingly. The witch’s eyes softened. She had been teased by daring children before, until her old bones ached with going back and forth chasing them from the gate. Then they would run away like scared rabbits; but this sweet, serious child was different, and the witch chuckled at her daring. The child was silent for a few moments, then asked: “You can do magic things, can’t you?” The old lady looked sadly at the eager questioner. “No, dear, I can do nothing magic.” “Don’t you like being a witch?” “Would you like being a witch, girlie?” “No-o!” she gasped. The old woman went on stirring a mixture over the fire. “I think I shall go home,” said the child, backing to the door. “Would you like to see me make dough-boys?” “Oh! yes please, and I’ll put on their buttons.” The girl was back at the table in a bound, and the old woman felt glad. It was good to have youth around her after years of solitude. For the first- time for many years she laughed gleefully with her small companion, who with a large apron over her frock was mounted on a chair pressing buttons on the dough-boys. They were put in the oven, and the visitor helped to prepare the afternoon tea. It was a merry meal, but like all good things, came to an end too quickly. “I’ll have to go now. Mother will be anxious, but I shall come again.” She kissed the old lady goodbye and went bounding down the lane. How silent the house seemed now. Footsteps echoed hollowly. The next morning the small stranger came and knocked at the door. Tears stood in her sea blue eyes, and her voice was sorrowful. “Mother said I can’t come and visit you any more. She was angry with me for coming at all.” “Where does your mother live, little sunbeam?” The words were soft, yet bitterness lurked like gall. “White Pine Farm.” The child gave a last smile and the lonely old soul at the door waved with apparent cheerfulness, but “Revenge” rung out sharply on the morning air. A week later a fire broke out at White Pine. Everyone blamed the Witch, and the child was rated soundly for going within reach of the evil presence. Revenge was in the mind of the Witch. Revenge had been carried out, and she was • lonelier than before, for not one child teased her now. A Witch causes misfortune to all she gazes upon. Silence was her lot. Her golden points had been found by a child alone. —2/6 and 3 marks to Cousin Cathrine Thomson (14), 37 Reuben Avenue, Brooklyn, Wellington.

all of a sudden, and the people had such , a shock that they bumped into the shop windows sfnashing them as they went, so there was a big mix* up. As the witch went home she had a smile on her face to think of all the mischief she had done; but all |he same she had a warm feeling in her heart when she thought of the good deed she had also done. After that a battle raged in her between the good that was white, and the bad, that was black. —2 marks to Cousin Raymond Smith (11), Oreti Plains. —Highly Commended.— Many years ago there lived in Somerset, at Bath, a certain person called Old Maggie Mooney the Witch. She lived in the reign of Henry VIII, and a very queer sight she looked, with a tall black hat, and a long trailing black gown—the fashion of that time —and with a sallow sunken face, hooked nose and bright blue eyes. If a cow died or a crop failed or any other misfortune fell on a family it was said to have been done by Old Maggie for spite and the look on their faces brooded ill for the poor frightened little woman who shivered in her shoes at the slightest harsh word. She was cross-eyed and bowlegged, and she had once cured a lame dog, and a raven’s broken wing. Why, that was enough proof that she was a witch. There l?ved in the neighbourhood an Earl—Guy de Monfort by name—who had a wife, the very idol of his life, called Gwendolene. After ten years of married life she gave birth to a little girl whom they christened Gwendolene, after her mother. Twelve years passed by and little Gwen grew into a healthy girl, when another baby came into their household—this time a boy. Guy was delighted; but his joy was short-lived. For in ten days’ time his idolised wife and little girl were stricken down with a fever and died. He was heartbroken; his little boy also had it and was dying. As he was sitting in his big chair brooding over his ill luck—for his crops were failing too—his pet raven came and stood on his hand. He looked up and saw to his surprise, that a note was fixed to the bird’s leg. When he undid it he found it was a remedy to cure his little son. As he went to do as the note said he sent his men to find out who this good person was. He must be in the garden for the raven never went out of it, at least not to his knowledge, but, alas, their work was in vain. When the boy was well enough—for the remedy had cured him—the priest christened him Guy de Monfort. The Earl, forgetting that his son was restored to him, was so cross over the failure of his crops and the death of his wife and daughter that he banished Old Maggie from the village into the woods. * * » * Six years had passed and Monfort, was lying very ill and little Guy said, in a sad voice as he realised that his dear father was dying, “Oh papa. I’ll want you so. Don’t leave your little “Ah! my son,” was the reply, “I fear that it cannot be helped, unless I am delivered from death as you were.” At that moment his pet raven appeared, again carrying the remedy of his disease. Again the Earl sent out men to discover this strange mysterious person, but again the search was useless. And when Monfort was well he puzzled over this deliverance.

He had a decree drawn up and offered £5O to any man, woman or child who would discover this strange personage who wished to keep his, or her doing secret. He also heard rumours that his raven—the raven that snapped at any stranger—was carrying remedies to different people. Weeks passed and months too, for that matter, but no one found this man, nor did they find any clue to show them the whereabouts of him.

Another four years had passed and Guy was ten. The crops had failed again and Monfort was ramping with rage. He was preparing a dispatch to send to the King asking if the witches in his district could be burnt at the stake. He was just beginning to write it out when in-came his little son. “Papa,” he said, “a man called Bishop de Morne has come and he wants to see you; and, ” he said entreatingly as they went arm in arm down stairs, “may I go a little way in the woods to see if I can shoot a bird with my little bow and arrow?” “Certainly, my son,” he relied, “but be sure to be home inside the castle, not out, by sunset, for there are people who would love to kidnap you,” and with that he entered the reception-room. “Hurrah,” cried Guy, “Father never said that I was to take an attendant with me and of course I won’t. ” So off he flew to get his bow and arrow. Out. of the castle he hastened eager to get away before they found out, and into the bush. He i went farther into the woods than he had ever been before, but he never noticed it, so absorbed was he in the work of watching for a bird. At last he saw one and shot at it, and, to his delight, he hit it; but instead of falling to the ground it fell into a tree. “Oh, I say; what a nuisance,” he said, and straightway began to climb the tree. Up he went till he reached the bird. Suddenly his foot slipped and he found himself hanging by his hands to the very branch where lay his prize. But, alas, the branch was rotten, and he fell with a thud to the ground. When he came to, for he was stunned, he found himself in a small room with a Jittle old lady bending over him. “Where am I?” he gasped, “How did I get here?” “I carried you here,” said the old woman—a very queer old woman Guy thought,

very like the witches in his fairy books—- “ And you are in a cottage in the woods. Ah! Don’t move you have hurt your foot. Now for repayment for what I have done, you must tell me the news of the village from whence you come.” “Oh,” replied Guy—he was rather scared of the look of commandment in the woman’s eyes—“ There is a certain woman, I think they call her Old Maggie Mooney the Witch, and, because the King has demanded more money and they haven’t got it to give to him, for the crops have failed, they are sending to the king to ask if they can burn the witch at the stake, so as to get good luck. Poor old woman I feel very sorry for her. Why what’s the matter ” The woman sank into a chair and sobbed out “I am Maggie the Witch,” “Then they shall not do that. I shall see to that, for my father, Guy de Monfort, will do anything I say to him,” cried little Guy. “There, there, little master. lam doomed to die at the stake,” and she dried her tears. In the. days that followed Guy learnt to love Old Maggie and she told him the story of her life. Guy, to his delight found out that it was she that had saved him and his father from death, and that the raven, whose wing she cured, was his father’s pet, and it came to visit her every day. Two weeks later Guy was able to walk and he went home. In the meantime the distracted father had searched the woods but in vain, and he had thought that his son was dead. After the first greetings had been exchanged Monfort heard about the cottage in the woods and Maggie. So delighted was he that he gathered the villagers together and told them about Maggie and that it was she who had sent the remedies to them. They all agreed to have her back in the village to act as a doctor. When she was sent for she immediately came to the conclusion that she was to be burnt, and the poor, frightened little woman was ready to die. She was ever so delighted when she heard the proposal and consented to live in the village. And Guy said he would cancel the dispatch. “And,” she said smiling at the happy faces around, “you see, all witches are not. all black.” —2 marks to Cousin Dorothy Maslen (14). “Te Haringa,” 314 Taranaki Street, Wellington.