A tinkling farewell
Have you seen the tiny tracks in the sand that appears as if by magic? Some say they are worm castings, but we know, don’t we, that they are the tracks of the pobel vean, the little folk, the piskeys. The piskeys dance among the sand dunes revelling in the way the sand blows this way and that, creating dunes and burying houses.
One beautiful moonlit night, the sea was dancing as Richard trudged back up the hill from St Ives to Lelant. His basket was full of pilchard as the fishing had been good. He was thinking how happy his wife Alcey would be when she saw the silver fish. His lips were smacking at the taste. He looked up and saw lights in the old church. This puzzled him as no one had been there since the vicarage had been buried in sand along with its surroundings during a violent storm when the dunes shifted.
He decided to creep nearer and spy on what was going on. As he drew close he heard the church bell tolling. Not a clear ringing sound to carry the miles out to sea and across land. No, this was a dull, heavy thud of clang, as if the bell were wrapped in cloth to muffle the sound. He was a bit frightened and went to peer through one of the windows to see what was happening.
Inside the whole church was bright with moonlight though there were no candles lit. Richard stared in amazement as the church was filled with pobel vean, the little folk. They crowded the aisles where a funeral procession was taking place. Every one had a mournful expression as the bier was carried by six piskeys wearing wreaths of roses and bearing boughs of sweet smelling myrtle. On the bier was the body of the fairest creature Richard had ever seen. She was tiny, tinier than any doll and as beautiful as any angel. Her golden hair was entwined with white flowers.
The procession reached the altar where a party of large piskeys dug a small hole. Gently the tiny body was laid in the hole and the company crowded round for one last glimpse. The boughs of myrtle were broken and laid on top of her with the wreaths of roses as the crowd wailed, 'Our queen is dead! Our queen is dead!'
When the grave was filled, the piskeys, as one, shrieked loud enough to shiver the windows. Richard was so startled that he too shrieked. The church was plunged into darkness. Piskeys scrambled every which way to get out, some stabbing Richard with their sharp nails as they fled. Both he and the piskeys were so scared that all of them raced away in every direction, Richard losing some of his pilchards in his flight.
At least, that’s what he told Alcey.