Read North Yorkshire Folk Tales for Free Online Page B

begins to tell. They draw back now to regain their breath, leaning panting on their staffs. Robin knows that it is only a matter of time before the friar beats him. He is only just able to deflect strikes that would crack his skull if they landed.
    ‘Friar!’ he calls. ‘Grant me a request! Let me just blow three blasts on my horn!’
    The friar laughs. ‘Blow till your eyes pop out! Much good may it do you!’
    Robin blows three blasts and before the valley has ceased echoing, fifty men in Lincoln green come running from their hiding places in trees and bushes. They all have bows with arrows on the string.
    ‘O ho! That’s how it is, is it?’ exclaims the friar. ‘In that case grant me a request! Let me whistle three times!’
    ‘Whistle till your cheeks burst!’
    The friar puts his fingers to his lips and whistles. From the abbey grounds on the third whistle come fifty great dogs, baying as they run. They charge down upon the outlaws who immediately begin to shoot at them.
    Now here is a strange sight! The dogs are so clever that they dodge the arrows and bring them back to the friar in their mouths. The outlaws are amazed. Soon they will have no more arrows.
    ‘Stop! Enough!’ shouts Robin, laughing in spite of himself. ‘My men need their arrows! What a man you are, Friar! My respect to you!’
    The friar mops his sweating face with his robe. ‘It was a good fight,’ he says. ‘My guess is that you are Robin Hood! I was hoping to stumble across you.’ Robin bows. ‘I am indeed and I would like to offer you a place in my band if you would like it. I’ve never seen such a fighter – and I’m sure the dogs would come in handy.’

    The friar considers. ‘Come to the greenwood, eh? Well, we friars are supposed to preach to the poor. I might be able to bring some smattering of holy learning to you poor benighted souls. But tell me first, do you have venison pasties in the forest?’
    ‘Of course! What else are the king’s deer for?’
    The friar smiles broadly. ‘Then Friar Tuck is your man. Lead on!’

2
G IANTS
O N G IANTS
    In the days before Darwin, people imagined their ancestors to have been much bigger than themselves; after all they were closer to the hand of God than we dwellers in degenerate times. Surely they must have been giants of men and women, not just larger but stronger, braver and more skilled than their feeble descendants! When King Arthur’s bones were conveniently discovered by the monks of Glastonbury in the twelfth century, no one was surprised that they were of giant size, indeed, that was considered proof that they really were Arthur’s bones.
    After the collapse of Rome, much technology was lost along with knowledge of the past. The ruins of Bath became the work of giants, Stonehenge their temple and long barrows their graves. Only lightly converted to Christianity, people knew that their ancestors had worshipped other gods, had perhaps been descended from those huge gods, mountain-crushers, sea-drinkers.
    The half-forgotten gods were regarded as devils by the new Christian Church, which took every opportunity to vilify them. Eventually old gods, ancestors and the Devil became gloriously confused. This explains why there is sometimes uncertainty in European folk tales as to whether the villain of a story is a giant or the Devil ( See The Devil’s Arrows).
    As folk tales get closer to our own time, belief in real giants waned. No longer terrifying, they seem to become increasingly stupid; often tricked, as in ‘Jack the Giant Killer’, by the sort of thing a baby would see straight through. However, the four Yorkshire giants in this chapter are still powerful: one is a kind road-builder and three are, let’s face it, pretty seriously nasty.
T HE G IANT OF D ALTON M ILL
Western Moors
    Jack was a lad full of mischief. He skived off any work whenever he could, not because he was lazy exactly, but because he was more interested in the things going on around him. He loved to