Fairies at Eastern Green
Long ago, when fairies danced on Eastern Green, fisherman Tom Warren of Paul brought his boat ashore along Long Rock and his men began to unload. They had a boat full of smuggled goods; brandy, tobacco, and tea: a smuggler’s catch, no fish today. Tom was well known to be the bravest and boldest smuggler along the coast, and he loved the free-trading life. That night, the men split up to deal with the load. Two men set out to Market Jew (Marazion) where waited their best customers, another went to look after the horses. Tom thought he would take a nap; he lay down amongst the soft grass which grew all along Eastern Green in those days.
He was not long snoring and dreaming of the sea; when he was awoken by a clanging and clinking, a strumming and a tinkling, as little pipes and little fiddles played, as drums bounced and tambourines tapped. Tom was lying right in the middle of the fairy green. As he opened just one eye to look about him, he saw the moon high in the sky sending a mysterious hue across the sea and the green. It was then Tom saw the little people dancing about him. They wore green jackets and red hats. ‘I can deal with the little people,’ Tom thought to himself. ‘I’m the boldest and bravest smuggler along these Cornish shores.’ Tom watched them for a time and laughed out loud at their long scraggly beards, falling almost to their toes. ‘Have a shave, have a shave, old red caps!’ Tom taunted. Tom started to chant at the little men, ‘Shave! Shave! Shave!’
Then, as he was grinning to himself, he suddenly felt a little afeard, for all the men were armed. Little bows and arrows pointed at his eyes and slight slings aimed at his thighs. He saw tiny spears glinting in the moonlight. Tom watched as the spriggans grew, bigger and bigger until he could see the snarls on their faces, feel the anger on their breath. These were no mischievous piskies, these were vicious spriggans and Tom had been foolish enough to anger them right here on Eastern Fairy Green.
All at once, the spriggans charged at Tom who turned on his heel and ran fast as he could back to his boat. It took Tom a little while to get any speed, as he first had to untangle the ropes he hadn’t yet tidied away. The spriggans hurled a rain of pebbles after the smuggling boat but Tom knew one thing; these angry beings hated salt water; they would never try to follow him into the sea. 'Shave! Shave! Shave!’ Tom called out. But, as he squinted to see their angry little faces, he realized they had all disappeared, and in their place stood his fellow smugglers. They were all laughing at Tom for rowing the boat out in terror, when there was nothing pursuing him from the shore.
From that night on, Tom enjoyed telling the tale of how an army of spriggans chased him out to sea. But even though he often thought of them as he napped on the beach, Tom never again heard the little drums and nor has anyone since seen the fairies on Eastern Green.