Farndale Hob

There once was a farmer called Jonathan Grey and he lived with his wife Margery in Farndale. Now one night he was woken in the early hours by a noise coming from the barn.

At first he thought he must be dreaming but then his Margery woke up and within a few minutes the whole household were awake. They gathered in the kitchen.

But not one of them was brave enough to go and look. They all went back to bed, and to tell the truth they didn’t sleep very well that night. The steady thump of the flail continued till first light and then it stopped. Jonathan and his men crept cautiously to the barn door and looked inside. They couldn’t believe their eyes, more corn had been threshed than any one of them could have done in a whole day.

And the next night the unseen thresher was at work again. And by the time all of the corn had been threshed they’d got used to the noise and slept though it. But by then the unseen helper had become a regular hand on the farm.

In the spring he brought in the hay, in the summer he mowed and in the autumn he sowed. But at sheep shearing time he excelled himself dealing with whole flocks in a single night. There was no doubt about it good luck had come to the farm.

Now most folks believed that the work was being done by one of those small, brown, hairy folk all Yorkshire call hobs. Now these hobs are mostly friendly to humans provided they’re not deliberately annoyed. And the one sure way of annoying a hob is to suggest that they should cover up, because hobs cannot stand clothes. But generally they’re helpful, especially if they have a skill, like the one at Runswick Bay. Now that one lives in a cave called the Hob Hole and he can cure the hiccups when no one else can. All you have to do is to take the unfortunate child to the mouth of the cave and call out:

And as sure as eggs is eggs within a few days the cough will be gone.

Now Jonathan Grey was well satisfied with his hob and he discussed with his wife how they could reward the hob. Margery suggested that she put out a bowl of her best cream every night in the barn. Well they tried it out and sure enough the following morning the bowl was empty.

The hob stayed on doing the work of two for the wages of a bowl of cream. In the course of time Jonathan and Margery became quite well to do. But everyone’s luck runs out eventually and Margery in the prime of life sickened and died.

Jonathan was grief stricken and it was only then that he discovered that Margery had done almost as much work as the hob. When the worst of his grief had passed Jonathan decided he should take another wife.

Now Jonathan’s second wife was jealous and shrewish and above all she was of a saving disposition. She resented every mouthful the farm lads and lassies ate and above all she grudged the bowl of cream put out for the hob every night.

Jonathan took no notice, as long as he was master the hob would have his reward. But one night while Jonathan was out working late his wife put out the bowl as usual but it contained nothing but skimmed milk.

That night for the first time in years the hob was quiet. No corn was threshed, no harness mended, no wool carded and no spinning done.

Spring came but there was no help from the hob with the haymaking, nor with the sheep shearing in the summer. The harvest came and went but the hob did no mowing, tying or carrying. This was bad news and the farm was suffering but worse was to follow.

Churn as she might the wife’s butter wouldn’t come. The cream only rolled itself into tiny balls all farmers’ wives call pins and needles. Her cheeses went black with mould, her hams and bacons went rotten. Foxes stole the geese she was fattening for the Christmas market and the cows went dry. Sheep got foot rot and pigs swine fever. For every piece of good luck in the past there now seemed to be three calamities.

The house became haunted, it sounded as if a host of demons were throwing things around in the kitchen. There were blood-curdling screams though nothing was ever seen. Unseen hands snatched off the bedclothes while candles snuffed themselves out. Furniture moved of its own accord, doors locked and barred themselves while farmyard gates opened allowing the animals to wander off onto the trackless moor.

No servants or labourers would stay on the farm. Jonathan was at his wits end. He’d long suspected that his wife must have offended the hob in some way and although at first she denied it eventually she confessed that one night she’d put out skimmed milk instead of cream. Jonathan was in despair, he knew what revenge an offended hob could take. He tried his best to make amends but it was all to no avail. At last he decided to leave the farm and try his luck elsewhere.

All of their goods fitted easily onto one farm cart and the last thing to come out was their old feather bed. Jonathan placed it on top of all their other broken bits and pieces and the old churn from the dairy was upturned at the back of the cart. The grudging wife climbed up and sat on the feather bed. Jonathan took his seat and picked up the reins.

The horse moved off. They’d just gone round the first bend when Jonathan came face-to-face with one of his neighbours.

And then there was a strange voice.

Sat there cross-legged on the upturned churn was the oldest, ugliest, hairiest little man you’ve ever seen. His eyes bulged with malicious glee.

Jonathan knew he was beaten and he started to pull on the reins to turn the cart round.

And sad to say so it was.

So if you’re lucky enough to have a hob working about the house make sure that he receives his just reward and whatever you do don’t annoy him. For if you do, like Jonathan Grey you will rue the day.