Midwife to the Faeries

n a farm in a quiet green valley, there lived an old woman and an old man called Bet and Huw, with no one to keep them company except for a flighty young serving maid called Elin.

This Elin was a terrible dreamer, and she was always coming up with daft ideas. One evening, she took it into her head to leave a dish of bread and milk, and a big bowl of warm water on the kitchen hearth. In the morning, just as she had hoped, the bread and milk had gone, the water had been poured away; and on the table there was a bright gold coin.

‘Look!’ she cried to her mistress, ‘The Faeries came in here while we were asleep: they ate the supper I left out for them and bathed their babies in the bowl! They’ll be our friends for ever now!’

Bet and Huw were furious and forbade her to tempt the Faeries into the house again. But the foolish maid didn’t care, for she knew that the fields down by the river were full of their dancing rings. The next night, as soon as her work was done, she went down there to watch for them.

Very soon the evening mist came rising from the ground; and with it came the Faery dancers, weaving and swaying into twisting lines and circles, twirling their white robes about and tossing their long hair. Behind them, all in step, marched a little band of fiddlers and pipers, playing the strangest, sweetest music.

They saw Elin at once and swept her up with them, laughing and singing as they spun her round. The stars moved far across the sky while they danced, until she was too exhausted to take another step. Then they laid her gently onto the dewy grass and left her there to sleep.

Old Bet had spied upon her from the farmhouse and seen everything that had happened.

‘You fool!’ she scolded. ‘Haven’t you heard how the Faeries steal away young girls they take a fancy to?’

Elin just tossed her head. ‘That’s nonsense! I’m not scared.’

‘Those who have dealings with the Faeries,’ said Old Bet darkly, ‘should use magic charms to stop them from getting too close. By day you should always carry something metal: a knife would do just nicely; one small enough to fit into your pocket. And by night you should sleep with a branch from the rowan tree laid across your bed. Metal and rowan wood are two things the Faeries cannot abide; they will not touch you while you have them.’

‘Maybe ...’ said Elin. But she had a faraway look in her eyes.

Time passed. One morning Old Bet and Old Huw got up late. There was no sign of Elin, so they cooked their own breakfast and cleared away the dishes themselves. Still the maid didn’t appear. So Bet went up to the little attic bedroom where the girl slept, thinking maybe she was ill, and gave a loud knock upon the door. When no answer came, she flung it wide open.

Well, what a shock she got! The bed was cold and empty, and the rowan branch, intended for protection, was tossed carelessly into the corner on the floor. Old Bet took one look; then she hurried downstairs again, shouting to Huw at the top of her voice: ‘Oh what a carry-on, oh what a to-do! Lord have mercy on that foolish girl – she’s got herself stolen away by the Faeries!’

A year and a day later, there was a terrible storm. Rain bucketed down, the wind roared and lightning flashed as if the very sky were on fire. There was a great clap of thunder, and as it died down a loud, urgent knocking rattled the door. Old Huw went to open it.

There on the step stood a Faery man! His skin and his thick, curly hair were both pale as moonlight, and he was no taller than a very young child. ‘You’d best come in for a bit of shelter,’ Huw offered uncertainly.

But the Faery man shook his head. ‘It’s your wife I want,’ he said.