It is a tradition to tell stories on Christmas Eve. One of my favourites is ‘Christmas at Cold Comfort Farm’ by Stella Gibbons. Every year I like to sit by the fire and read about the Starkadder’s marvellous Christmas dinner.

But there are many other tales to tell, and I’m going to tell you one from the moors. I was told the story as a youngster, and so my memory of it is very old indeed. The story itself is about past ages when all manner of mythical creatures and great beasts were abroad, especially at that time of year when the days are shortest and the nights longest. It’s a wise person who stays inside with their family by the hearth telling stories; and a foolish one that is laikin’ outside where the black Barghest with its fiery eyes might catch them.

As a child I used spend holidays with my aunt. She was the eldest sister of my father who in turn was the youngest of quite large family. She was a matriarch made of stern stuff and at that time had a farm called Stump Howe on the eastern edge of the moors, not far from the North Sea coast. She always kept me busy when we visited. Running a hill farm is hard work and there was no space for idle hands.

But at the end of the day, we would sit by the fire after our tea to rest. Being young I always had questions to ask. She answered me with stories that have stayed with me ever since. It’s probably why I’ve come back to the moors as an adult and am always on the lookout for tales of magic and legend. For it is times like these that make us the people we are.

One evening in the dark winter I asked her “Aunt, why is the farm called Stump Howe?”. And this was her answer.

“In the time long before the Romans built their roads and the Vikings arrived in their long ships, a people lived here who made the barrows and stone circles we can still see on the moor. There is one such round barrow on the farm, which we call the howe, and on the top of the howe there is an upright standing stone we call the stump. And that is why the farm is called Stump Howe.”

I was ready for this for every good story has been told many times before “Aunt, how did the stump get stuck in the top of the howe?” She was ready for it too and we all settled down to listen.

“One day, when everyone was going about their lawful business tending cattle and crops, a giant called Wade came out of the sea wearing his great leather pouch. He was in a bad mood and made a terrible fuss and bother, shouting and stamping, waving his hammer about. He was looking for his wife Bell who he thought should have been dancing attendance on him preparing his dinner. But she was off somewhere on her own having a bit of peace and quiet.”

“He walked from the sea right to where this farm is now. You can imagine how all the people were diving for cover, herding their animals this way and that, trying to avoid getting crushed by his giant feet. Then he stopped his rampage, stood just were the howe is and put his hand up to shade his eyes to help him see further. Being very tall he could see a long long way, and he spied Bell minding her own business milking her giant cow right on the other side of the moor; not far from the Devil’s Elbow and Saltersgate Inn where a fire has burned in the grate for two hundred years to hide the bones of a murdered excise man.”

“Now, the giant Wade wasn’t best known for being a patient man, and rather than walk politely over to where is wife was, he tried to attract her attention by throwing his hammer right across the moor intending to bonk on the head with it. But his wife was crafter and faster than he thought. She caught the hammer before it hit her and she scooped up a big pile of earth from where she was standing, flung it back across the moor to her husband and shouted a loud scolding that bent the trees flat.”

“Where Bell scooped up the earth is the valley we call the Hole of Horcum. A big clod of it landed not so far from here, and that is Freebrough Hill where King Arthur’s knights are sleeping; and when Bell threw away the hammer it gouged out Wade’s causeway that the Romans found to be so very useful for building their road as it was nice and straight as the hammer skidded across the moor.”

“And Aunt, tell me, just how did the stump get stuck in the top of the howe?”

“Well”, she said, “I was just coming to that. When Wade threw his hammer at Bell he threw it with such force that his leather apron jerked up and one of the stones he always carried in the pockets for making stone circles jumped out and landed on top of the howe. It’s stayed there to this very day.”

And that is the story of how the stump got on to the top of the howe and why Stump Howe farm has the name it does.

We also need a poem, so here are the only three lines remaining from the old English poem the Tale of Wade, thought to be part of the story in which the giant tells of the rescue of Theodoric by Hildebrand from a den of monsters.

Summe sende ylves & summe sende nadderes,

sumne sende nikeres the biden watez wunien.

Nister man nenne bute ildebrand onne.

Some are elves, some are adders,

and some are nixies that live in water.

There is no man except Hildebrand alone.

You can find out more about Wade on Wikipedia by looking for ‘Wade (folklore)’, though not all stories about Wade and Bell are the same as the one my aunt told me as folklore adapts to place and people. In other stories I’ve read it’s Wade who makes the Hole of Horcum and Bell who wears the leather apron with the stones. But of course, I believe my aunt because she lived there in Stump Howe and must have known best. Do you have any favourite Christmas Eve stories that you like to tell?

I’m away from the internet over Christmas and can’t reply to comments, so will give you my best Christmas wishes here. Merry Christmas one and all! Please remember to reach out to people who might be on their own at Christmas. Christmas on your own is a very lonely time - I've done it myself quite a few times - and lonely people are often shy about asking to be included. So, we need to be proactive about welcoming them in to our own warm story telling firesides and good cheer.

Rowan on the Moor

A Moodscope member