a child I was fascinated by my Uncle Bob’s stories of ‘The Raggedy Man’, a spirit who would appear to children when they were in danger or needed to make a key decision in their lives.
The Raggedy Man has many different names, each part of world has their own set of stories and myths, but all follow the same path. A mysterious stranger appears to offer guidance, wearing a hat wide enough ‘To caste shade upon the face of the stranger, shielding his eyes from all but the most curious’ (Rev. Thomas Burke, 1755, York). The myths also state that the Raggedy Man carried no weapons but instead he carried a flute, penny whistle or nose flute. Whilst the hat size appears to change from generation to generation one thing is consistent: the children say the Raggedy Man’s clothing is made up of patches that change constantly.
Nor is the myth tied to one part of the country or even one religion. Tales of the enigmatic children’s spirit can be found from every walk of life.
In 1190 the Jewish community of York were taking refuge in Clifford’s Tower. The streets were full of people protesting against moneylenders and they blamed the Jewish community for a lot of their problems.
A young apprentice to a Jewish goldsmith was alone, frightened and carefully making his way towards a place of safety, the tower at the centre of the city. Isaac made his way very carefully towards what he hoped was safety, carefully avoiding the mob in the cramped, dirty streets, clinging 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.
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