Pany-y-Fud Fairies

In the parish of Bedwellty is a small farmhouse called Pant-y-fud.

Many mornings ago, in the days of our great-grandfathers, the farmer went out to feed his oxen in the stable. When he finished he lay down in the hay to take breath because it was still early enough for the cockerels to have sleep-dust in their eyes.

In a trice, he spied a throng of fairies tripping into the stable, and the sweetest music this side of heaven fell upon his ears. Dancing to their fairy music, their tread was so light that they tickled the ground.

The farmer watched in awe, and the soft strains made him feel drowsy. One fairy, more beautiful than the rest, danced towards him. She was draped in a dress of green silk, greener than the oak’s first spring leaves, tied about her waist by a golden catkin. Crowning her head was a garland of yellow broom flowers and in her hands she carried a cushion which she placed under the farmer’s cheek. He listened to the fairy airs in dreamy delight until a cockerel crowed its early alarm.

“Cock-a-doodle do…Cock-a-doodle-do…”

The fairies, afraid of the day, disappeared like the dew; but for before the lovely fay tugged away her cushion. Soon it was daylight, and never again were fairies seen in Pant-y-Fud farm.

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