Old Ethel ( VILLAGE TALES EP. 26 )

Around Christmas ‘Old Ethel’ a bag lady, makes a regular appearance at the bottom of 

Gold Hill, Shaftesbury, at a time when such people were greeted with suspicion,

 but was Old Ethel a witch? 

A kind gesture from a child who knows no better, is rewarded and the benefit doesn’t stop there.

Next to the Old Drum and Monkey is a building built around the same time and our village museum records it as being the home of the brewery owner when the pub itself was the brewery. In the past when water was unfit to drink, farm workers, particularly during harvest, would quench their thirst with small beer, a cheap low alcohol beverage. John Humby now occupies the house and has done so since his predecessor bought it over a hundred years ago. John’s family owns Shiplane Farm, land that once was part of Delamere Park. The farm is very successful and is now being run by John’s daughter. There are minor dynasties everywhere in the country and it is worth taking care to know who you are talking to before talking to them about someone else. It’s not unusual to find they are related, sometimes closely.

Shiplane Farm lies east of our village on what was once called Shipston Lane. Shipston itself is a reduction of ‘Sheep’s Town’ to which various ‘droves’, or ‘green lanes’, made their way when sheep and other livestock had to be herded to market. Beyond Shipston approaching Shaftesbury, a hamlet of no more than three or four dwellings nestles by a brook and that is where John Humby’s family originates. When I asked him to tell me more he gave me a strange look, which as you know is more than likely to encourage me thinking there is a story to be told.

’Twas my grandfather who told me this and I’ve never been able to prove whether tis true or just a fantasy. This goes back to when he was a lad and his father, my great grandfather, was a farm hand working on the Delamere estate. Now, you know a bit about Shaftesbury, have you ever heard of a character called ‘Old Ethel’?’

I told him I hadn’t

‘She was what you might call a tramp, more recently a ‘bag lady’. She’d always arrive at the winter solstice, three or four days before Christmas. Nowadays she’d be referred to as homeless, but in them days those kind were looked upon with suspicion and being that she’d arrive when she did, people thought it a sign she was a witch, or somethin’. She’d set herself up at the foot of Gold hill in a blocked up doorway to give her some shelter. It’s there in that stone wall on the left. She’d be there until Christmas Eve, then gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Gone, just like that.’

I asked John more about Old Ethel but all he knew was that she was not treated well, the people feared her but they were reluctant to antagonise her in case she put a spell on them.

‘Folk believed such things could happen. If you had any bad luck, you’d blame Old Ethel. Children were told that if they didn’t do as they were told, Old Ethel would creep in at night when they were asleep and take ‘em away and they’d never see their mums and dads again. There were shops on the hill then and they complained she was ruining their trade, and just before Christmas.’

John told me that at the time his grandfather Albert was about ten and Albert’s sister Audrey, two years his junior. Their father, John’s great grandfather, was a farm hand working on the Delamere estate which at the time was going bankrupt. Albert and Audrey went to school in Shaftesbury walking the three miles there and back, not uncommon in country areas. 

It was a tradition at their school that on the last day of the Michaelmas term pupils would receive a gift, usually a small cake donated by the church governors. Such an act was considered a Christian duty. Arriving home, Albert presented his cake to his mother who’s gratitude would be understandable. A cake or two, however small, would help make a difference to their Christmas. Audrey arrived a little later and was reprimanded for not keeping up with her brother. Then her brother was reprimanded for not looking after his sister. Audrey was asked whether she too had received a cake, to which Audrey replied that she had, but of the cake there was no sign. Poor Audrey was shouted at, threatened and shaken whilst her mother insisted angrily that Audrey tell her what had she done with it?

‘All little Audrey would say was that she didn’t know. Her mum was angry cos she thought she’d been selfish and eaten it. Then when her father came home and heard the story and saw Audrey’s tears, he couldn’t reprimanded her further but picked her up, gave her a hug, and told her not to worry. He said they would wrap up warm and go out to see if the cake could be found. Course then Audrey owned up and said she’d given it to the old lady. Her mother, my great grandmother, asked her which old lady and Audrey told her it was the old lady at the bottom of the hill.’

John said both parents were horrified fearing what Old Ethel might of done, what we might call these days ‘stranger danger’, and remember many thought her to be a witch but Audrey explained that the old lady looked so cold and hungry, that she gave the cake to her, even though she was quite hungry herself. Such a generous act, and particularly on the eve of Christmas made both mother and father relent and instead praise her, and consider their own behaviour and whether their opinion of Old Ethel was really justified. 

‘Later that night after the children had gone to bed the presents were brought from their hiding places and put beneath, now here’s a thing, a cluster of twigs or branches painted white and decorated that served as a Christmas tree, that’s been a Humby tradition ever since. Anyway, in the morning the presents were unwrapped. Story goes Audrey got a new frock for her doll, and Albert a cart for the wooden horse to pull that he was given the year before. There would have been some more simple presents, maybe a gingerbread man or some sweets that were distributed by the church or the gentry doing what was called, ‘gooding’. 

‘Gooding?’

‘Yeh, what couldn’t be understood was the one present that remained for which neither parents were responsible. Before either of them could stop her, Audrey saw her initial on it and was tearing off the wrapping to reveal the most amazing Christmas cake. The parents couldn’t understand it. It wasn’t there the night before and there had been no callers. This didn’t worry Audrey who in her innocence found such things quite possible, after all what else does Father Christmas do?’

Audrey was certain it was from Old Ethel, but the parents thought Old Ethel could never have afforded such a cake, besides she had little enough food for herself; but Audrey would not be silenced. Eventually her father suggested they set out that Christmas morning to thank Old Ethel for the cake. But really it was just so that Audrey could see that what she thought was impossible.

Audrey and her father searched most of the morning but Old Ethel had disappeared.

‘She’d moved on, as she had done before.’

‘That what they thought had happened, but Audrey was never convinced. There’s seldom any proof with these things, you either believes it or you don’t.

‘Was that it then?’

‘Consider this, Old Ethel never appeared again, and the following day. . .’

‘Boxing Day?’

‘Yep, a man from Dorchester called at my great grandfather’s with an offer of work; and more. He was buying one of the Delamere lots when they was going to auction during the spring and wanted my great grandfather to manage it. Just like that, out of the blue. Now, what do you think of that.’

‘Well . . . .’

‘When the gentleman from Dorchester died he left the farm to my great grandfather, who left it to Audrey who left it to my father, who left it to me, now my girl’s got it. All because of a simple act of generosity and self sacrifice from a child who didn’t know any better. Call it what you like, luck, wizardry, destiny, anything, but one thing it isn’t, is a co-incidence.’

Considering what else many people are asked to believe as this time of year, a kind gesture prompting some good fortune and the magical appearance of a Christmas cake is probably not asking too much.

Listen to Village Tales and other short stories from the HONKEYMOON CAFE

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Written and read by Barkley Johnson.