The Lazy Wife: A Manx Folk-TaleAuthor(s): Sophia MorrisonSource: Folklore, Vol. 19, No. 1 (Mar. 30, 1908), pp. 78-83Published by: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. on behalf of Folklore Enterprises, Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1254712 .

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COLLE C TANEA.

THE LAZY WIFE: A MANX FOLK-TALE.

THIS story was told from memory by a Peel woman who heard it some sixty years ago from her mother. She had heard the Manx verse given in MAfanx Ballads (A. W. Moore), at a Manx Concert in January, 1907, and she told me that she had a different story and knew another verse of the song. I have taken her yarn down as nearly as possible as she told it, but when it came to the name-guessing, she said that she had for-

gotten the names now, but that she knew that "The Lazy Wife

guessed a power of names-all she knew or ever heard tell of." I have taken the liberty of giving names to her guesses, so as to make a better story and also so as to preserve an old tradi- tion about there being only seven families on the Island at one time whose names all began with "Myl." Mylrea, Mylroi, Mylvridey, Mylchreest, Mylvoirrey, Mylvartin, Mylcharaine. Mollyndroat is probably Myl yn Druaight, Druid's servant.

The spinner in this type of story is usually a dwarf or a fairy, but my informant used the words foawr and giant, and was

positive that she told the tale as she had heard it. In connection with the belief that to know a man's name gives one power over

him, it is interesting to note that to this day charmers in the Isle of Man insist, before using their charms, on knowing the full name of their patient; and the name must be given as at their baptism, otherwise the charm will not work.

SOPHIA MORRISON,

(Hon. Sec. Manx Language Society).

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Collectanea. 79

WELL, there was a woman once, and she was scandalous lazy. She was that lazy she would do nothing but sit in the corner of the fhiollagh (hearth, fire-place) warming herself, or going out on the houses for newses the day long. And one day her man gives her some wool to spin for him; he was terrible badly off for clothes to wear, for she was letting them get all ragged on him. He had told her to mend them until he was tired, but all he could get out of her was, "1Traa dy liooar" (time enough).

One day he comes to her, and says: "Thou lhizggey my hraa (dawdler, slothful one), here is some

wool for thee to spin, and if it is not done a month from this day, I'll throw thee out on the side of the road. Thou and thy 'traa dy liooar' have left me nearly bare."

Well, she was too lazy to spin, but she would be pretending to be working hard when the husband was in the house. She used to put the* queeyl (wheel) out on the floor every night before the husband came in from work, to be letting on to him that she had been spinning.

The husband was asking her was the thread getting near spun, for he said that he was seeing the queeyl so often on the floor that he wanted to know if she had enough to take to the weaver. When it came to the last week but one, she had only one ball spun, and that one was knotted and as coarse as gorse. When her husband says to her:

"I'm seeing the queeyl middling often on the floor when I come home at night; maybe there's enough thread spun at thee now for me to take to the weaver next week?"

"I don't know, at all," says the wife, "maybe there is; let us count the balls."

Then the play began! Up she went on the lout (loft), and flung the ball through the hole, down to him.

" Keep count thyself, and fling the balls back again to me," says she to the man. And as fast as he flung the ball up to her, so fast she flung it down to him again. When he had counted the ball, maybe two score times, she says to him:

"That's all that's in." "Aw, 'deed, you've spun well, woman, for all," says he;

"there's plenty done at thee for the weaver."

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8o Collectanea.

Aw, then she was in the fix, and didn't know in her senses what to do to save herself. She knew she would sup sorrow if she was found out, but she could think of nothing. At last she bethought herself of the Foawr (giant) that lived in a lone- some place up the mountain, for she had heard tell he was

good to work, and the woman she says to herself: "I've a mind to go my ways to him." She took the road early the next morning, she and her rolls

of wool, and she walked up hills, down gills, till at last she came to the Foawr's house.

"What are thou wanting here?" says the Foawr. "I'm wanting thee to help me," says she; and she up

and told him about the ball of thread and everything. "I'll spin the wool for thee," says the Foawr, "if thou'll

tell me my name when thou come for the balls a week from

this day. Are thou satisfied?"

"Why shouldn't I be satisfied?" said the woman; for she

thought to herself it would be a middling queer thing if she

couldn't find out his name within a week. Well, the woman

she tried every way to find out the Foawr's name, but, go where she might, no one had ever heard tell of it. The time

was getting over fast, and she was no nearer to the Foawr's

name. At last it came to the last day but one.

Now, as it happened, the husband was coming home from

the mountains that day in the little everin', and as he neared

the Foawr's house, he saw it all in a blaze of light, and there

was a great whirling and whistling coming to his ears, and along with it came singing and laughing and shouting. So he drew

near the window, and then he sees the big Foawr inside sitting at a queeyl, spinning like the wind, and his hands flying with

the thread to and fro, to and fro, like the lightning, and he

shouting to the whistling queeyl: "Spin, queeyl, spin faster; and sing, queeyl, sing louder."

And he sings, as the queeyl whirls faster and faster:

"Snieu, queeyl, snieu; 'rane, queeyl, 'rane;

Dy chooilley chlea er y thie, snieu er my skyn.

Lheeish yn ollan, lhiams yn snaie

S'beg fys ec yn yen litqheragh Dy re Mollyndroat my ennym."

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Collectanea. 8 1

(Spin, wheel, spin; sing, wheel, sing; Every beam on the house, spin overhead, The wool is hers, the thread is mine. How little she knows, the lazy wife, That Mollyndroat is my name.)

When the husband got home that everin' he was late, and his wife said to him:

"Where have thou been so late? Did thou hear anything new ?"

Then he said: "Thou are middling good to spin thyself, ven-thie (housewife); but I'm thinking there's one in that's better than thee, for all. Never in all my born days did I see such

spinning, a thread as fine as a cobweb, and hear such singing as there was going on in the Foawr's house to-night."

"What was he singing?" says the wife. And he sang the

song to her:

"Snieu, queeyl, snieu; 'rane, queeyl, 'rane; Dy chooilley chlea er y thie, snieu er my skyn. Lheeish yn ollan, lhiams yn snaie. S'beg fys ec yn ven litgheragh Dy re Mollyndroat my ennym."

Well, well, the joy the woman took when she heard the

song! "Aw, what sweet music! Sing it again, my good man," says

she. And he sang it to her again, till she knew it by heart. Early next morning, she went as fast as her feet could carry

her to the Foawr's house. The road was long, and a bit lone- some under the trees, and to keep up her heart she sang to herself:

"Snieu, queeyl, snieu; snieu, queeyl, snieu; Dy chooilley vangan er y villey, snieu er my skyn. S'lesh hene yn ollan, as lesh my hene y snaie Son shenn Mollyndroat cha vow eh dy braa."

(Spin, wheel, spin; spin, wheel, spin; Every branch on the tree, spin overhead. The wool is himself's, the thread is my own, For old Mollyndroat will never get it.)

When she got to the house, she found the door open before her, and in she goes.

F

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82 Collectanea.

"I've come again for the thread," says she.

"Aisy, aisy, woman," says the Foawr; "if thou don't tell me my name thou won't get the thread, that was the bargain." And says he: "Now, what's my name?"

"Is it Mollyrea?" says she; to let on that she didn't know it.

"No, it is not," says he. "Are you one of the Mollyruiy ones?" says she. "I'm not one of that clan," says he. "Are they calling you Mollyvridey?" says she.

"They are not," says he. "I'll warrant your name is Mollychreest?" says she. "You are wrong," says he. "Are you going by the name of Mollyvoirrey?" says she. "'Deed I'm not," says he.

"Maybe your name is Mollyvarten?" says she. "And maybe it's not, at all," says he.

"They're saying," says she, "that there was only seven families

living on the Island at one time, and their names all began with "Molly," " and so," says she, "if you're not a Mollycharaine, you're none of the rael oul' Manx ones."

"I'm not," says he. "Now, be careful, woman, next guess is your last."

At that she pretended to be frightened, and says she slowly,

pointing her finger at him:

"S'lesh hene yn ollan, as lesh my hene y snaie, Son shenn-MOLLYNDROAT cha vow eh dy braa."

(The wool is himself's, the thread is my own, For old MOLLYNDROAT will never get it.)

Well, the Foawr he was done, and he was in a red rage, and he cries: "Bad luck to you! You never would have

found out my name unless you are a mummig yn aishnee"

(fortune-telling witch). " Bad luck to yourself, my boy," says she, "for trying to

steal a dacent woman's wool." "Go to the Jouyl (Devil), yourself and your fortune-telling,"

shouts he, jumping up and flinging the balls at her.

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Collectanea. 83

And away home with her, and her balls of thread. And if she didn't spin her own wool for ever after, that's nothing to do with you and me.

(See Mr. E. Clodd in Folklore Journal, vii. 1 38-43.)

NOTES ON SOME AMULETS OF THE THREE MAGI KINGS.

THERE are issued at the present time, at the great Cathedral at Cologne, two kinds of protective amulets whose origin may be traced back to medieval times. Of these, one is formed by metallic medals, of the type commonly used in connection with holy persons or places, the other has the less usual shape of printed slips of linen.

The slips, a little more than 6 inches by 3 inches, are produced in two forms, German and French, since pilgrims from far-off parts of Europe still visit the holy shrine. Each slip bears, upon its left, a design of the "Adoration of the Magi," above a view of Cologne wherein the Cathedral stands prominent, and upon its right an inscription, which, in both the forms, com- mences with an invocation of the "Holy Three Kings." After the invocation follows, on the German Zettel, the statement that "The Three Kings have been honoured and invoked since ancient times as types of faith and as protective patrons against the dangers of travelling, headache, fever, epilepsy, and the snares of enemies, as well as to prevent sudden death," and concludes with the remark that "This little picture has touched the relics of the Three Holy Kings in the great Cathedral at Cologne."

The French slip is somewhat more limited in its claims, saying, after the invocation, that "This ticket has touched the relics of the Holy Magi Kings at Cologne, whose protection is invoked against fever, epilepsy, sudden death, and all the accidents which may happen to travellers."

Besides being employed for the general purposes indicated by the inscriptions, the slips are occasionally carried by cavalrymen, or other horsemen, as a protection against accidents while riding.

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