The Buried Moon
“If you take myth and folklore, and these things that speak in symbols, they can be interpreted in so many ways that although the actual image is clear enough, the interpretation is infinitely blurred, a sort of enormous rainbow of every possible colour you could imagine.”
― Diana Wynne Jones
I recently unearthed a local folk story about the moon during research for a book, and as you all know I’m a bit of a nerd for this shit, I had to share it with you. I love discoveries like this one because they teach us new things about what is already known and provides an insight into our modern lives that we might not have gained before.
This story is about the moon and was collected in a book of local stories by a local woman who lived in the carrs (a wooded bog) of Lincolnshire, UK.
Once, when the woods were still new and boglike, the moon was a protector of the land. When its silver glow covered the land, the woods were safe to travel. But on those nights when the moon was dark and only stars burned brightly in the black depths of the sky, all manner of evil creatures stalked the carr. On nights such as this, best to stay out of the woods, better still to stay warm in your bed…
Hearing such tales, the moon decided to see for itself and so it wrapped a cloak of blackest night about itself so that it’s light might be hidden and instead of rising in the sky as it should have done, made its way beneath the boughs. And it found that all manner of creatures did indeed stalk the carr. Soon the moon had seen enough, but as it turned to go, the cloak got tangled in a vine and the moon slipped and fell, sinking into the waters. It struggled and pulled and pulled and struggled, but it was no good. The moon was stuck fast.
Before long, a frightened traveller hurried close by. The moon should have been high in the sky by now, but instead the sky was pitch black, and he could hear the bogies and other such creatures in the undergrowth, could hear their calls and cries and was that a growl? Hearing the traveller’s approach, the moon renewed its struggle, and though it could not free itself, it dislodged the cloak for a moment, long enough that silver light spilled out and frightened away the night creatures, allowing the traveller safe passage.
The moon was alone once more. Resigned to its fate, the moon struggled no more.
The next night, the townsfolk gathered in the tavern. They were worried. What would become of their town if people couldn’t travel safely? They needed to do something. Just then, a traveller spoke up. He told his tale of the journey through the bog and the creatures that had been scared away by a bright light that came not from the sky but from the water. With that, a search party headed into the woods to find the missing moon.
When they came to the place where the moon lay beneath the waters, with the sounds of the night creatures all around, the townsfolk were afraid, but then they thought of all the moon had done for them and called out. Hearing their voices, the moon struggled and pulled. The townspeople pulled and pulled and before long, the moon was free from the water and back in the night sky, casting the land in silvery light and the townsfolk were safe once more.
Great story, right? And like the quote at the top says, folklore and stories can be interpreted in so many ways, the threads woven together in many wondrous and varied colours to form huge tapestries and tales of wonder and that is one part of their beauty and allure. Another is their call to action, for that is what they also are. They have to be if we are to learn the lessons they contain. What I like about this story is the result of collective action, not that organized by any leading figure or authority, but of local people organizing and coming together to get shit done. We would do well to take heed of these lessons today.
References
Balfour, M. C. (June 1891). "Legends Of The Cars". Folk-Lore Vol II, No II, pp. 157-165
Jacobs, Joseph. More English Fairy Tales
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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