Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall, Second SeriesBottrell, William
General
Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall, Second Series
Bottrell, William
Cornwall (England : County) -- Social life and customs; Legends -- England -- Cornwall (County)
In the Autumn of 1870 a pilot, or one of a pilot's crew, that
my informant called a "hobbler," gained upwards of twenty
pounds for his share of the "hobble," or pilotage of a ship,
which was only one night's work.
Next morning, whilst the "hobbler" was in bed, his wife,
elated with her husband's good luck, stood outside her door when
the neighbouring women were passing by to the spring for
water, and she was saying to a number of them, who gathered
around her, how lucky it was that her husband had met with such
a good hobble, just in time for her to pay off old scores at the
shops, and to enable her to get a little comfortable winter's[285]
clothing for her husband and children before cold weather
came. In her joy at the godsend, she continued a long time
detailing her plans for disposing of it to the best advantage, and
was about to go in as the women took up their pitchers, when
another hobbler's wife, who had been listening for some
time, turned round, in taking up her vessel of water, and said,
"Thee art ready to burst with pride because good luck es come
to thy door, but I wish to God that thee may'st never be the
better for it."
Saying this she departed. The pilot's wife—a moment before
full of gladness—was now "struck all of a heap." Cold shivers
passed through her; as she fell on the form she said that no
good would now come to her from the begrudged money, and
that the ill-wish had taken effect.
From that day to this she has never been like the same
woman; she has lost all heart to struggle for her family; when
her husband is at sea she fears he will no more return, and believes
something evil is constantly hanging over her head. Yet she can't
be said to have any known bodily ailment; the doctor told her he
didn't know what to give her, nor what could be amiss with her,
unless she was bewitched, so my informant said. She had also
sought aid of the pellar, or white wizzard, who visits the district
at stated times, and even he had to give her up.
In answer to my inquiry if the woman that ill-wished the
hobbler's wife was a witch, she replied, "No, not that the
neighbours knew of, and they supposed she didn't altogether
mean to do the harm she did, but it so happened that the bad
words passed her lips at the fatal minute when ill-wishes won't
fall to the ground; some call her a witch now, but they don't
think her one—she's too big a fool."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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