Wildlife Matters: Embracing Nature Through Storytelling This Christmas

Hello and welcome to this week's Wildlife Matters podcast.

I'm your host, Nigel Palmer.

It's Christmas and whilst we all crave an idyllic time with good food and drink and even better company, for so many, it will be a time of increased stress and anxieties.

But even in the midst of this holiday rush, nature and its stories continue, continue to captivate us, providing a much needed escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life.

One of the things we like to do at Wildlife Matters is share stories.

Storytelling is an ancient art.

Over the centuries, many stories have been passed down through generations of storytellers.

And Britain has a rich tradition of folklore stories.

Many have regional origins and many stories are identical, except for those regional adaptations.

Here at Wildlife Matters, we like to share nature based stories and that is what we will do today.

So wrap yourself in your warmest coat and the hat as it's a chilly evening and go to the fire pit in the heart of the dark woods where we will be waiting for you.

We have steaming oat hot chocolate, a soya spiced latte and warm clove spiced mulled wine.

Please help yourself enjoy our delicious plant based cakes, grab some vegan chocolate and help yourself to one of our crumbly mince pies warming by the fire and waiting for you.

So take your seat and warm yourself by the fire.

The light flickers and illuminates the faces of the folk around the fire.

Some faces you recognize and others are new to you, but that's not important tonight.

What matters is that we are all here to share the joy of nature and storytelling.

So if you're comfortable, hold your warm drink in your gloved hands and feel the comforting warmth seep into your fingers.

And if you feel safe to do so, close your eyes and prepare for our first tale of the evening.

The Order Sprite is a traditional English folk story that originates from Somerset.

Some say it comes from a tale called the Woodcutter Spare that Tree.

The story follows the common belief that trees have spirits or sprites who live within the tree and protect the tree in return.

This was a common belief in old England, and I love telling this story as it builds in layers and engages the listeners.

Once.

Once upon a time, a farm worker named Tam lived in a cottage near a special well known as the Saints well.

He was fortunate to have access to the clearest, purest water in the valley, and many people believed it was the best water in the whole of Somerset.

Even on the hottest days, the water remained cool and untainted.

Tam used the well not only for his drinking water, but also as his larder.

He stored his butter, cheese, and even bacon in a bucket deep down in the well.

Thanks to the saints well, Tam was one of the few people who could enjoy fresh food on Christmas Day, something that was previously unheard of before modern refrigeration.

Beside the well stood an alder tree that had been there for as long as Tam could remember.

During one summer, when the tree's leaves were bright green, Tam noticed that a lower branch had grown over the well.

The presence of the branch made it quite difficult for Tam to draw water and get food from the well.

And despite his daily grumbling, Tam knew that cutting an order tree was not an option.

In the valley, no one dared to cut the order tree, a sacred tree believed to bleed and bring terrible things to whoever cut it.

As summer ended and autumn began to turn the leaves from green to the rustets of gold, some leaves started falling from the order's branch and in to the well.

Tam noticed them and he believed that they were contaminating the water's taste.

He complained to everyone who would listen that the well's sweet water now tasted bitter because of the fallen order leaves.

Tam's constant moaning tired everyone out.

So he finally decided to cut the branch from the tree to fix the problem.

That evening, Tam took his axe from the shed and spent the whole night sharpening it to remove the branch as quickly and as cleanly as he could.

In the morning, he went over to the alder tree with his freshly sharpened axe and laid it on the branch to pick out the right area to cut.

As Tam raised the axe above his head and brought it down onto the branch, he heard a loud, torturous moaning from high up in the tree's canopy.

Tam stopped and looked up, not knowing what he might see.

To his surprise, he saw thin wisps of wood smoke gently swirling around the leaves of the alder tree.

Immediately, Tam turned around and ran back to his house as fast as possible.

He checked inside.

He checked outside every room and even the thatch of the roof, but he could see no smoke at all.

Tam laughed to himself.

He thought it must have been his imagination.

And with that, he returned to the alder tree beside the saint's well.

Tam picked up his axe and again raised it high above his head before bringing it down hard onto the cut he had made in the branch of the alder tree that had grown across the well entrance.

For a second time.

There was a loud and horrible moaning sound from high up in the order trees canopy.

And as he looked up, Tam could not only see the wood smoke circling above him, but he could smell it too.

Quickly, Tam ran back to his house.

He hadn't set a fire in the half for days and no one's chimney let out wood smoke as he looked around the whole village.

He ran through his house, checking every room, but he could not see or smell the wood smoke.

He even rechecked the thatch of the roof just to be sure.

But he found nothing.

Tam thought, either I am going mad or a tree sprite in the order is tricking me.

He returned to the order tree beside the well, angry and frustrated.

He he didn't like being tricked and he decided to cut off the branch growing across the entrance to the well.

Tam picked up his axe and raised it high above his head.

He brought it down hard onto the branch of the order tree.

Once again the terrifying moan came from high up in the order tree and he looked up.

Tam could see thicker wood smoke swirling through the branches.

However, Tam was determined this time and he ignored it.

He raised his axe above his head and he struck another blow to that branch again.

The loud and terrifying moan came from high up in the tree and Tam could see and smell the smoke again.

But he ignored it, raised the axe high into the air and brought it down again onto the branch.

A loud wailing came from above as the branch now severed from the order tree crashed to the ground below.

Tam reached down and he picked up the branch.

It was a straight and fine piece of wood.

He looked up again and he could see thick wood smoke so dense that he couldn't even see the top of the tree and he could smell wood burning.

However, Tam was not to be fooled by the tree sprite.

He looked at the severed branch, wondering what use he could make of it.

And as he pondered, Tam could feel the heat of the fire behind him.

He resolutely said to himself, I am not being tricked by a tree sprite.

And stayed there.

Tam decided to use the sturdy straight branch to create a brace above the well entrance.

This would enable him to hang his rope and buckets there.

Now, despite hearing the sound of flames and feeling the heat and smelling the smoke, Tam remained still, determined not to be deceived again.

Suddenly, some of his neighbours appeared carrying buckets and shouting, fire.

Fire.

They pointed towards Tam's cottage and yelled, Tam, your house.

It's on fire.

Tam immediately turned to look and ran as fast as he could towards his cottage.

He and his neighbours did their best to fight the fire with their buckets of well water.

But it was too late.

The fire spread, and the flames eventually consumed Tam's little cottage.

They tore through the thatched roof and soared up high into the sky.

The fire raged uncontrollably.

Tam's neighbors retreated to the other side of the track, taking him with them.

They could only watch helplessly as the flames engulfed Tam's whole cottage, destroying everything in their path.

Tam was sitting on a grassy bank, sobbing and crying, still clutching the severed branch he had cut from the alder tree.

Once he could finally speak, Tam told his neighbours what had happened, and he explained how he had seen the thin, swirling smoke and smelled the wood smoke twice, but found nothing.

When he checked his cottage, he realized that the tree sprite had deceived him.

As he became more enraged by the deception, the sprite used his determination against him.

Tam continued to chop the branch from the tree, despite seeing and smelling the smoke, feeling the heat on the back of his legs, and hearing the crackling of the flames.

Tam suspected he was being tricked, and unfortunately, he was right.

However, the tree sprite he encountered was much more knowledgeable and experienced than Tam.

Even though the last of his cottage saddened Tam's neighbours, they all agreed that the tree sprite had given him ample warning about the danger of his actions.

And they acknowledged that Tam's recklessness was the main cause of the devastating fire that had consumed his home.

And may that, my friends, serve as a lesson to us all.

It is a lesson not suppress your instincts, nor should you ignore your emotional intelligence.

And don't stand against the wisdom of those who came before us.

Or you, like Tam, may pay the price.

It's almost as if everyone can see that Tam's actions are foolish, considering he already has everything he could have ever wanted.

Yet he persists, and despite numerous warnings, he eventually loses everything.

This serves as a cautionary tale.

As a result, people back then would rarely damage or cut down a tree, A message we should all heed today.

The story of the older sprite reminds us of the importance of respecting nature and the potential consequences of our actions.

Our second story for tonight is about a greedy man who owned everything he could see, but craved for even more.

Some may describe him as selfish, others narcissistic, and there's certainly a hint of truth in that characterization.

This man was a lord who possessed the largest pack of hounds and the fastest horses for hunting.

He lost many hounds as he drove them hard in pursuit of the local wildlife, viewing them as disposable and Easily replaceable.

If a horse didn't meet his expectations for speed, he would sell it at the market and purchase another, believing that that one would be faster.

You see, life had no value to him.

He was only interested in his gratification, focused solely on how much money, power and influence he had and how many acres he owned.

I want to dedicate this story to every fox, deer, mink, hare, otter and any animal that has suffered from hunting.

This is the black fox.

There are those who measure their days, 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 the snowdrops and the bluebells, the arrival and departure of the swallows, the warblers, the leaf buds and the blossom and the color of the 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.

And 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.

Except for that tiny cottage on its own land within the woodland.

Now, the lord was accustomed to having everything he 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.

In fact, it made him so 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 that cottage to the woman whom he heard many of the town folk call a witch.

All of 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 then returned him to the castle.

In thanks, he gave her what she desired, and that was to own her cottage and the woodland so that she and her family could live there forever.

He had long felt his grandfather to be foolish, too kind to his staff and to the common people.

He cared for the land and the wild animals that lived within it.

And he 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 it Midnight.

And he had the largest, fastest, and most savage pack of hounds in the whole country.

He was irked whenever he looked over all his land and saw that wood and the small cottage.

And it annoyed him that the land was not his.

He desired the wood because he loved hunting.

And it irritated him that whenever his hounds caught the scent of a fox, the fox would dash into that woodland for refuge.

What frustrated him 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 towards her mother.

He also wondered how her mother had outlived both his grandfather and and his father.

He could not think of any other explanation other than her mother was a witch.

The lord decided to make a plan that would get him everything he desired.

And that night, as he lay in 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 quite pleased with himself, he drifted off to sleep.

Early the following day, the lord began to implement his plan.

At first, he tried to win her love with gifts of jewelry and the finest dresses and clothes.

But she turned him and 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 he had in his bank.

He was a man who could not value all life.

He hunted foxes, deer and hare for pleasure, and lost many of his hounds and horses by driving them too hard in pursuit of the 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 the flame.

He tried to buy her house, offering much more than it would ever be worth, but she just 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, her cottage or her 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 that small cottage, reducing it to ash and rubble.

The flames had raged so fiercely that no one could approach the cottage, and there was a deep fear that she had perished in the inferno that consumed her home.

The local town was full of gossip.

It 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 and taken what she had 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.

It was around this time that a large black fox appeared in the woodland.

A black fox isn't 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 tale.

Night after night, the chickens from the lord's estate were mysteriously disappearing.

In response, the lord instructed his keepers to keep watch over the chickens day and night, penalizing them by deducting the cost of the lost chickens from their already meager 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 to taking them through valleys and woodlands far, far away from the castle walls.

A storm 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 that they had jumped.

Instead of showing compassion for his exhaustive mount, the lord pushed him on hard, 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 there from exhaustion.

It took the lord three days to walk back to his castle, and with every step he grew redder and he grew angrier.

Upon his return, his men informed him that the Black Fox had been visiting every night, continuing to steal chickens.

But worse still, it was sitting in the castle garden and calling out like a woman, screaming deep into the night.

It was around this time the lord began to notice problems all around him.

His ships were sinking one by one, and his investments were falling.

His servants had begun to leave as his mood grew darker, believing that the lord was curse.

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 itself, troubling his dreams.

Even on that rare occasion that he did manage to fall asleep.

Things were falling apart and he was sleeping, slipping ever closer to madness, consumed by his desire to own and control everything and not ever be able to have the woman that he loved.

Was then that the lord vowed that he would kill the Black Fox.

The look in its eye reminded him of something, but he would not say who or what 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 that lord with her chilling call, driving his hounds to exhaustion until their paws were blooded and their bodies were worn out.

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 began to race and he slowed his horse down 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 at 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 the fountains.

The castle's crumbling walls could no longer support the roof, which had eventually collapsed, leaving a massive pile of stone and rubble.

To this day, hunters fear encountering a 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.

And 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.

I'm sure many of us will feel that the Lord got what he deserved, as the Black Vixen completely outsmarted him.

Of course, the story has some deep meaning that extends beyond the despicable hunting of wild animals.

Power, wealth and influence can often corrupt those who crave it, and this law certainly did not make the most of his numerous opportunities in life.

Thank you for joining us around the fire pit in the heart of the Dark Wood this evening.

We hope you have enjoyed the stories we chose to share tonight.

I'd like to take a moment just to explain the absence of interviews so far in series five of the Wildlife Matters podcast.

You see, we recorded some wonderful interviews but unfortunately our storage disk failed and we've lost all of them and we can't begin to re record these interviews until next month.

So we are sharing our own adventures and some stories over the Christmas period.

If you have enjoyed our storytelling, then please follow our dedicated podcast, the Nature Storyteller, available on all major podcast platforms.

For now.

We wish you a peaceful and joyful Christmas with everything that you hope for.

And we look forward to welcoming you back to the fire pit at the heart of the dark woods on New Year's Day evening where we will share some more nature based folklore stories.

Until then, keep curious wild ones.

I been your host, Nigel Palmer, and this is is Wildlife Matters signing off.