This week, Wildlife Matters delves into the folklore of nature and wildlife IN A Christmas Storytelling Special. So join us around the campfire at the heart of the Dark wood for the first of two stories. The Black Fox,’ shifts focus to a greedy lord who, despite possessing vast wealth and power, cannot claim the woodland cottage owned by a woman he desires. Driven by obsession, he attempts to control everything around him, leading to supernatural occurrences marked by the appearance of a mysterious black fox. This fox symbolises the spirit of the woodland and acts as a protector of those who cherish nature. As the lord’s reckless pursuits lead to his downfall, the tale serves as a cautionary narrative about the perils of greed and the folly of disregarding the natural order. The intertwining of these stories offers a rich exploration of human folly contrasted with the wisdom found in nature, illustrating how ignorance can lead to catastrophic outcomes.
One review of the podcast version of this story said, “Palmer’s masterful storytelling captivates the audience, inviting listeners to reflect on their relationship with nature and the lessons learned from these age-old tales. The episode not only entertains but also encourages a deeper understanding of the interplay between humanity and the environment.
As the episode draws to a close, listeners are left with a powerful message about the importance of respecting nature and the consequences of our actions, reinforcing the idea that the stories we share shape our perceptions of the world and our place within it. The blend of ancient folklore with contemporary themes resonates deeply, making this episode a thoughtful exploration of morality and the human experience within the natural world.
Nigel Palmer, the host of Wildlife Matters, welcomes listeners to a festive storytelling session that delves into the rich tapestry of folklore linked to nature. This special Christmas episode presents two compelling tales that highlight critical themes of respect for the environment, morality, and the consequences of human actions.
Thank you for joining us tonight at the heart of the Dark Wood. We have lots of crumbly vegan mince pies, mulled wine and some steaming hot oak milk chocolate. So, if you are sitting comfortably, I shall begin to tell my tale, but first, let me dedicate this story to every fox, deer, hare, and hunted animal. We are closer than ever to ending hunting with packs of dogs. May your spirits run free – always.
The Black Fox, an Original folklore Story by Nigel Palmer
There are those who measure their days by the hands of a clock, their weeks and months by a calendar, whilst others, like me, measure time by the sun’s rising and falling – the turning of the seasons, by the coming and fading of snowdrops and bluebells, the arrival and departures of swallows, warblers, leaf buds and blossom and the colour of autumn trees.
She was one, just like us. She did not believe that the hands should shackle time on the face of a clock.
She lived in a small cottage deep in the heart of a patch of wild woodland. Little was known of her solitary soul, and people loved to fill the space around her life with speculation.
She owned both house and land. These two facts and her flaming red hair and natural beauty drew her the attention of the Lord of the Manor.
The Lord owned everything as far as could be seen: the hills, the valleys, and all around the wood. Each night, he looked out of his bedroom window, high up in his castle tower, knowing everything he could see – he owned – a satisfying thought for a greedy soul.
When he said All – he meant All except for a tiny cottage on its land within the woodland.
The Lord was accustomed to having everything he had wanted: money, the finest clothes, the fastest horse and any woman he desired, but he knew he didn’t own that small cottage in the woodland and that irritated and annoyed him.
It made him angry from deep within, a feeling he did not know nor could he control. It raged like a fire within him.
In truth, he wanted everything: the wood, the cottage and the woman.
He couldn’t believe that his Grandfather had given that woodland and cottage to the woman whom he heard many of the town folk call a witch all those years ago.
She had helped his Grandfather when he fell from his horse in the woods. She had set and healed his broken bones and returned him to the castle.
In thanks, he gave her what she desired, to own her cottage and the woodland so that she and her family could live there forever.
He had long felt his Grandfather was foolish, too kind to his staff and the common people. He cared for the land and the wild animals that lived within it and never hunted.
The Lord was the antithesis of his Grandfather, perhaps as a deliberate act. He had the fastest horse, dark as a raven from where he named him Midnight, and he held the most significant, fastest and most savage pack of hounds in the county.
He was irked whenever he looked over all his land and saw that wood and a small cottage. It annoyed him that this land was not his.
He desired the wood because he loved hunting. It irritated him that whenever his hounds caught the scent of a fox, they would dash into the woodland for refuge.
What frustrated him the most, however, was his desire for her—not because he loved her, but because she was the one thing he didn’t possess and couldn’t have.
The Lord was puzzled by his grandfather’s generosity toward her mother. He also wondered how her mother had outlived both his grandfather and his father. He could not think of any other explanation; perhaps her mother was a witch.
The Lord decided to make a plan that would get him everything he desired.
That night, as he lay in his bed high in the tower, the idea came to him. Of course, he would marry her, and as marriage in those days meant anything owned by the woman was passed to the man, he would then have the cottage, the woodland, and her. Feeling pleased with himself, he fell asleep.
Early the following day, the Lord began to implement his plan. At first, he tried to win her love with gifts of jewellery and the finest dresses and clothes, but she turned them away.
She did not want him or his gifts, for his eyes were cruel even when his words were softly spoken.
Next, he bought her diamonds, garnets, and rubies, and she asked him to leave immediately before shutting the cottage door in his face.
She did not want a cruel man who measured his worth by the acres he owned or the money and jewels in his bank.
He was a man who could not value all life. He hunted foxes, deer, and hares for pleasure and lost many of his hounds and horses by driving them too hard in pursuit of a kill.
Whatever he gave her, she spurned his gifts and his touch, and as time went on, he grew to hate what he could not have. And yet he fluttered around her like a moth drawn to a flame.
He attempted to buy her house, offering much more than it would ever be worth, but she politely declined.
Then, he offered her a vast sum for her woodland, but she just smiled politely and firmly said, “No, thank you.”
Having failed to win her love, cottage, or woodland, he felt lost and unsure what to do next. He couldn’t understand her, yet he thought he loved her. What would the Lord do next?
A few weeks later, one night, a large and mysterious fire engulfed the small cottage, reducing it to ashes. The flames raged so fiercely that no one could approach the house, and there was a deep fear that she had perished in the inferno that consumed her home.
The local town was full of gossip. Some around felt that she had got what she deserved, for there are always those who fear a woman who chooses to live alone.
Some people felt sad, while others called her a witch. Whispers circulated that he—the Lord—was to blame, that he had gone to her house, taken what she refused to give, and set both her and her home on fire to destroy the evidence. Still, he was the Lord of the Manor, and no one dared confront him directly.
Around this time, a large black fox appeared in the woodland.
A black fox is not entirely black; it has dark legs, ears, and sometimes a black ridge along the highest point of its back. These foxes are rare, and this one was notably large.
Some said it was the size of a wolf, its eyes as bright as the stars. Its tail was longer and bushier than any dog fox but sleek and narrow in shape, resembling a vixen’s tail.
Night after night, the chickens from the Lord’s estate were mysteriously disappearing. In response, the Lord instructed his keepers to watch over the animals day and night, penalising them by deducting the cost of the lost chickens from their already meagre wages.
Despite their grumbling about the wage cuts, the men knew they could do nothing but remain vigilant and diligent. However, the chickens continued to vanish night after night.
One evening, the Lord decided to take the watch himself. He remained still and silent, observing his surroundings. It was then that he saw a large black fox slipping through the castle walls and helping itself to his chickens. The Lord jumped up and gave chase, but the nimble and agile fox easily outran him.
The following night, the Lord took his two finest hounds to the farm, and they sat silently. Once again, the black fox appeared and helped itself to one of his chickens. The Lord then unleashed his best pair of hounds, which gave chase deep into the night, far beyond the castle walls. Neither hound returned, nor were they ever seen again.
The next night, the Lord took his horse, Midnight, to the farm, and they waited there. The Lord was mounted on the fastest horse in the county, and once again, the black fox entered the castle grounds and stole one of his chickens.
In an instant, the Lord dug his heels deep into Midnight’s ribs, and the chase began. It was a pursuit that lasted long into the night, taking them through valleys and woodlands, far, far away from the castle walls.
As dawn began to break and the sun rose in the early morning sky, the Lord noticed that his special horse, Midnight, was slowing down and barely managed to clear the last hedge they jumped.
Instead of showing compassion for his exhausted mount, the Lord pushed on, chasing nothing but the mist.
Eventually, poor Midnight stumbled and collapsed on the ground. In the ensuing fall, both the Lord and his horse tumbled in a large heap on the moor, and tragically, Midnight died from exhaustion.
It took the Lord three days to walk back to his castle, and with every step, he grew redder and angrier.
Upon his return, his men informed him that the Black Fox had been visiting every night, continuing to steal chickens. Worse still, it was sitting in the castle garden and calling out like a woman screaming deep into the night.
Around this time, the Lord began to notice problems all around him. His ships were sinking one by one, and his investments started to fail. His servants began to leave as his mood grew darker, believing he was cursed.
And still, each night, the Black Fox would call, all night in his garden, a shrill shriek like the ghosts of the dead calling from hell, troubling his dreams even on the rare occasion he managed to sleep.
Things were falling apart, and he was slipping ever closer to madness, consumed by his desire to own and control everything and not ever be able to have the woman he loved.
It was then that he vowed to kill the Black fox. The look in its eye reminded him of something, but he would not say who it was.
With the remnants of his fortune, he hired the swiftest horse and gathered what was left of his hound pack. And at dusk, they rode out of the castle and into the dark night.
The story says that the Black Fox taunted the Lord with her chilling call, driving his hounds to exhaustion until their paws were bloodied and their bodies were worn.
By dawn, the hounds could still be heard howling at the rising sun—lost and broken. The Lord had ridden as fast as his horse could carry him, but no matter how swiftly they galloped, the Black Fox consistently outpaced them.
With the hounds now gone, the Black Fox led the Lord to the crumbling wall of an old cottage. As he approached the dilapidated structure, his heart raced, and he slowed his horse to a stop.
He dismounted and walked towards a large gap in the broken wall. As he passed through it, the Black Fox let out a spine-chilling shriek—a sound no one would ever want to hear again—before rearing up before him.
Terrified, the Lord ran back to his horse and leapt onto it, riding away swiftly into the night.
Some say he rode so fast that he crossed the river between this world and the next. Others claim the devil took him for his own.
The Black Fox still roams through the gardens of the manor house.
The woodland trees have claimed the area, scattering sapling oaks across the lawns while wild ivy climbs over the statues and fountains.
The castle’s crumbling walls could no longer support the roof, which eventually collapsed, leaving a massive pile of stone and rubble.
To this day, hunters fear encountering the Black Fox. They believe she is a creature of ill omen, perhaps even a witch, but the ordinary folk understand her true nature.
The Black Fox protects those with good hearts and minds, those who care for the natural world.
People still draw her image with charcoal in hidden spots around their homes to ward off misfortune.
Today, the Black Fox wanders the deep woods, wild and free. You know you are protected and safe if she allows you to see her.
And that is a perfect place for us to end our story.
