Rosy the cow had soft brown ears, twinkly eyes and a coat slick as silk. When Dame Pendar of Buryan went to milk Rosy, the cow always gave her a full pail of the best creamy milk in all of West Penwith. If she was milked day and night, Rosy would likely have enough milk for all of Cornwall. Dame Pendar was the proud maker of the very tastiest cheese and the creamiest clotted cream. People came for miles to the farm to taste the delicious treats of the Pendar dairy. Rosy’s milk flowed in the summer, Rosy’s milk flowed in the spring, Rosy’s milk flowed in the autumn, and winter it flowed as well – Rosy gave milk all year.

But every evening, as the sun waned and the field was lit with a fairy hue, Rosy kicked away her bucket and ran away across the field. Dame Pendar sighed a heavy sigh, she knew Rosy still had the best milk to come, a milk folk would travel far to drink. She ran after Rose and carefully placed the bucket on the grass. She bent to milk, stroking the cow's soft hide. The beast turned her head, nostrils quivering, brown eyes glaring, and she lifted a hoof and kicked the bucket and ran away.

One spring, Rose gave birth to a beautiful calf and everyone thought her milk would be just for the little one, but milk kept on flowing and the cream and butter were even more delicious than before. Yet every evening Rose kicked away her milking bucket and ran away across the fields with her calf following behind.

Now, Dame Pendar had a maid who liked to go visiting her friends. One evening, the maid walked home across the fields singing, concentrating on lifting her long skirts above the marshy grass so they didn't get wet and stained. She didn’t notice Rose and her calf until she was right beside them, and she dropped her hat in shock. Rose was so surprised to see the maid she opened her mouth, and out fell the bunch of grass she was chewing. It landed right in the maid’s hat. Laughing, the maid lifted the hat straight back onto her head.

All at once, she saw little people clambering all over Rose’s back. One tiny fellow stood on her head with a long blade of grass and scratched behind her ears, another brushed her coat slick as could be. Many small people in green jackets and hats sat along Rose’s back. Little ladies in flowery dresses and mop hats danced in a ring about the calf. Rose stood still as the piskeys milked her. The richest milk she had saved for her fairy friends.

The maid watched the piskeys in delight - this was why Rose disappeared of an evening, she had friends! Dame Pendlar came across the fields with a bucket and set down to milk, and all at once the piskeys disappeared.

‘I’ve seen piskeys all about Rose,’ said the maid in excitement.

‘You’ve no doubt got a four leafed clover somewhere about you. Let me see, turn out your pockets and your hat.’

‘Look! I have one in my hat, it must have given me piskey-sight.’

‘Piskey-sight indeed. And they menaces have taken all my best milk.’

With her words, Rose looked straight at Dame Pendar, her nostrils flaring and her ears back in disgust. She kicked away the bucket and ran off across the fields.

‘We must leave the piskeys alone, or our luck will run out,’ said Dame Pendar.

But she was too late. Every morning, they milked Rose and every morning she gave sour milk. Dame Pendar went to consult the local witch, who lived at Penberth. Surely, she could help.

The witch had hair red as a winter fire and eyes green as meadows. She had healed all the village ills and would surely help Rosey with her sour milk.

‘Your cow has been piskey-laden. You must leave the piskeys well alone or your luck will not return. But I fear more must be done,’ said the witch.

‘I want to get rid of the small people,’ said Dame Pendar crossly. ‘They take the best milk of an evening.’

‘If you must,’ said the witch. ‘Piskeys hate the sea. Sprinkle your cow with salt and wash her udder and the fields with briny sea water.’

Dame Pendar went back to the farm determined to put things right, she did as the witch advised.

Rose swished her tail as the Dame covered her udders in brine. She scraped her hooves and swung her head from side to side in puzzlement. Rose was not a silly cow, she had the best milk in all of Cornwall after all! This would never do. She kicked her bucket and ran away, her little calf following close behind. She ran all the way to Sennen and no one milked her ever again.

The piskey luck left the Pendars with the cow Rosy, and their misfortune began. In time not a Pendar in Buryan had land of their own, and not one had the fortune of piskey sight or a piskey cow from that day to this.

 Retold by Anna Chorlton

from William Bottrell 'Traditions and Hearthside Tales of West Cornwall 2'