The Laily Worm and other evil stepmother stories

THE LAILY WORM

When I was seven years old, oh,
my mother she did die
My father married the worst woman
that ever your eyes did spy

And she has made me the laily worm
that lies at the foot of the tree
And me sister Lady Maisery
made the mackerel of the sea

And every Saturday at noon
the mackerel comes to me
And combs me hair with a silver comb
and washes it in the sea

"It's seven lords that I have slain
all at the foot of the tree
If you were not my father,
the eighth one you should be."

The lord's sent for his lady gay
as fast as send can be
"Oh where's me son that you sent from me,
and me daughter Maisery?"

"Your son is at the King's court,
serving for meat and fee,
Your daughter's at the Queen's court,
a maiden sweet and free."

"You lie, you lie, you ill woman,
so loud I hear you lie,
For me son he is the laily worm
that lies at the foot of the tree!
And me daughter Lady Maisery
Is the mackerel of the sea!"

And she has taken the laily worm
and given him strokes three
He's started out the bravest knight
that ever your eyes did see

And she has taken her silver horn
and loud and shrill blew she
And ne'er a mackerel came to her,
but the lady Maisery

"Me brother you made the laily worm
and the mackerel you made me,
You shaped me once an unseemly shape
but you'll never more shape me!"

From their website: Liverpool-born Eileen and London-born Graham have been playing on the folk circuit since the early 70s. They met at Swansea University and helped to run the college folk club there. They moved to London then Gloucestershire where they sang in 4 and 5 part harmony groups as well as touring the professional club and festival scene as a duo. Sheffield became their home in 1981. In addition to harmony work, their act focuses on Eileen's voice accompanied by Graham's guitar, harmonium, keyboard and English concertina.

Graham wrote "The Black Fox," which many people think is a folk song. The Pratts have some great albums. They recorded "The Laily Worm" on Borders of the Ocean. Visit their website for more information (and more recent pictures).

Collecting, in the context of folksongs and ballads, means traveling around to find people who know old songs and then recording the songs. Ethnomusicologists still go collecting - it's much easier now than it used to be!

Francis Child would no doubt drool when he saw guys like this. Unfortunately, at the time, folklorists were not interested in the TUNES of ballads, only the texts. And so Child made no attempt to preserve the melodies he heard. What a waste.

The typical traditional ballad is entirely concrete and objective: the most daring exploit is narrated without apparent partisanship; the most tragic event, without comment; the foulest crime, without moralizing.

Nowhere is the absence of all expression of feeling more noticeable than in the treatment of the preternatural and the supernatural... parrots, goshawks, crows and cranes have the gift not only of speech but of reason; wild boars threaten; laily worms entice... and these marvels are introduced with no expression that indicates they were considered anything out of the ordinary...

from Old English ballads and folk songs edited by William Dallam Armes

This is what drives me nuts. The Laily Worm and the Machrel of the Sea.

The narrator is turned into a worm and his sister into a mackerel. And his sister comforts her brother by combing his hair with a silver comb.

His sister... a mackerel... combs the worm's hair. I could accept a mythological worm having hair, and wanting it glossy and tangle-free, but still... mackerel.">

A good man had two children: a girl by a first wife, and a boy by the second. The girl was as white as milk, and her lips were like cherries. Her hair was like golden silk, and it hung to the ground. Her brother loved her dearly, but her wicked stepmother hated her.

"Child," said the stepmother one day, "go to the grocer's shop and buy me a pound of candles." She gave her the money; and the little girl went, bought the candles, and started on her return. There was a stile to cross. She put down the candles whilst she got over the stile. Up came a dog and ran off with the candles.

She went back to the grocer's, and she got a second bunch. She came to the stile, set down the candles, and proceeded to climb over. Up came the dog and ran off with the candles.

She went again to the grocer's, and she got a third bunch; and just the same happened. Then she came to her stepmother crying, for she had spent all the money and had lost three bunches of candles.

The stepmother was angry, but she pretended not to mind the loss. She said to the child: "Come, lay your head on my lap that I may comb your hair." So the little one laid her head in the woman's lap, who proceeded to comb the yellow silken hair. And when she combed, the hair fell over her knees, and rolled right down to the ground.

Then the stepmother hated her more for the beauty of her hair; so she said to her: "I cannot part your hair on my knee, fetch a billet of wood." So she fetched it. Then said the stepmother, "I cannot part your hair with a comb, fetch me an axe." So she fetched it.

"Now," said the wicked woman, "lay your head down on the billet whilst I part your hair."

Well! she said laid down her little golden head without fear; and whilst down came the axe, and it was off. So the mother wiped the axe and laughed.

Then she took the heart and liver of the little girl, and she stewed them and brought them into the house for supper. The husband tasted them and shook his head. He said they tasted very strangely. She gave some to the little boy, but he would not eat. She tried to force him, but he refused, and ran out into the garden, and took up his little sister, and put her in a box, and buried the box under a rose-tree; and every day he went to the tree and wept, till his tears ran down on the box.

One day the rose-tree flowered. It was spring, and there among the flowers was a white bird; and it sang, and sang, and sang like an angel out of heaven. Away it flew, and it went to a cobbler's shop, and perched itself on a tree hard by; and thus it sang:

"My wicked mother slew me,
My dear father ate me,
My little brother whom I love
Sits below, and I sing above
Stick, stock, stone dead."

For the rest of the story: Sur La Lune fairy tales. Painting from Yvonne R flickr stream.

There was a rich man who had a beautiful and pious wife, and they loved each other dearly. They had, however, no children.

Now there was a court-yard in front of their house in which was a juniper-tree, and one day in winter the woman was standing beneath it, paring herself an apple, and while she was paring herself the apple she cut her finger, and the blood fell on the snow.

"Ah, if I had but a child as red as blood and as white as snow!" A month went by, and two, and ... and when the sixth month was over the juniper's fruit was large and fine, and the seventh month she snatched at the juniper-berries and ate them greedily, then she grew sick and sorrowful, then the eighth month passed, and she called her husband to her, and wept and said, "If I die then bury me beneath the juniper-tree." Then she had a child as white as snow and as red as blood, and when she beheld it she was so delighted that she died.

Then her husband buried her beneath the juniper-tree, and he began to weep sore; after some time he was more at ease, and though he still wept he could bear it, and after some time longer he took another wife.

By the second wife he had a daughter, but the first wife's child was a little son, and he was as red as blood and as white as snow. When the woman looked at her daughter she loved her very much, but then she looked at the little boy and it seemed to cut her to the heart... and the Evil One filled her mind with this till she was quite wroth with the little boy, and slapped him here and cuffed him there, until the unhappy child was in continual terror.

One day ... the little boy came in at the door, and the Devil made her say to him kindly, "My son, wilt thou have an apple?" and she looked wickedly at him. "Mother," said the little boy, "how dreadful you look! Yes, give me an apple." Then it seemed to her as if she were forced to say to him, "Come with me," and she opened the lid of a chest and said, "Take out an apple for thyself," and while the little boy was stooping inside, the Devil prompted her, and crash! she shut the lid down, and his head flew off and fell among the red apples.

Then she was overwhelmed with terror, and thought, "If I could but make them think that it was not done by me!" So she went upstairs to her room to her chest of drawers, and took a white handkerchief out of the top drawer, and set the head on the neck again, and folded the handkerchief so that nothing could be seen, and she set him on a chair in front of the door, and put the apple in his hand.

After this Marlinchen came to her mother. "Mother," said Marlinchen, "brother is sitting at the door, and he looks quite white and has an apple in his hand. I asked him to give me the apple, but he did not answer me, and I was quite frightened." "Go back to him," said her mother, "and if he will not answer thee, give him a box on the ear." So Marlinchen went to him and said, "Brother, give me the apple."

But he was silent, and she gave him a box on the ear, on which his head fell down. Marlinchen was terrified, and began crying and screaming, and ran to her mother, and said, "Alas, mother, I have knocked my brother's head off!"

"Marlinchen," said the mother, "what hast thou done? but be quiet and let no one know it; it cannot be helped now, we will make him into black-puddings." Then the mother took the little boy and chopped him in pieces, put him into the pan and made him into black puddings; but Marlinchen stood by weeping and weeping, and all her tears fell into the pan and there was no need of any salt.

Then the father came home, and sat down to dinner and said, "But where is my son?" ...

For the rest: Sur La Lune fairy tales.