The Rhymney Fairies

Like the little girl who had a curl in the middle of her forehead, fairies can be very, very good or simply horrid.

The Rhymney fairies were sometimes at peace with their human neighbours; other times they only had minds to play mischievous tricks. When they were in such a mood they caused a real rumpus, ruffling the tempers of the people of Rhymney.

A certain farmer owned a field of golden wheat and a covey of cattle. He was a good man who, by the sweat of his furrowed brow, just managed to make ends meet. But, the fairies were a stink in his nostrils.

Every night, they crept from their haunts to plunder his field. The sly boots plodded home by a side wind with the wheat crop and mugs of milk still warm from the cows’ udders. They ground the wheat in their little mill into loaves of fairy bread, almost as light as they were.

The farmer’s blood boiled with rage because he couldn’t catch the artful dodgers. Many a time he tried, but they were too clever by half.

One night, when a bright moon played hopscotch with the clouds, the farmer lay in ambush. When he saw a legion of the little people traipsing into his field, he bolted into their midst, thwacking them head to heels with his staff.

The fairies thought that the gods had sent fire to destroy them, and shrieking with terror, they scurried for their lives. Never again did they dare return to the farmer’s field.

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