Fairies, Fairy Tales, Fairy Books

Fairies and Fairy Tales

Fairies, Fairy Tales, Fairy Books
Read Fairy Tales

German Fairy Tales
Swedish Fairy Tales
Norwegian Fairy Tales
French Fairy Tales
English Fairy Tales

Celtic Fairy Tales
Celtic Fairies
Welsh Fairy Tales
Irish Fairy Tales

Fairy Blog
Fairy Songs
Writing Resources

Finnish Mythology
Estonian Mythology
Mari-El Fairy Tales
Baltic Fairy Tales

Greek Fairy Tales
Roman Mythology

Slavic Mythology
Russian Monsters
Russian Fairy Tales
Polish Fairy Tales

Japanese Fairy Tales

Tales of Other Lands
List of Fairies
Chinese Folk Tales

Fairy Tales for Kids
Children's Dutch Fairy Tales
Fairy Tales Every Child Should Know

Fairy Tale Interpretation

From Welsh Folklore

After the Cymric folk, that is, the people we call Welsh, had come up
from Cornwall into their new land, they began to cut down the trees,
to build towns, and to have fields and gardens. Soon they made the
landscape smile with pleasant homes, rich farms and playing children.

They trained vines and made flowers grow. The young folks made pets of
the wild animals' cubs, which their fathers and big brothers brought
home from hunting. Old men took rushes and reeds and wove them into
cages for song birds to live in.

While they were draining the swamps and bogs, they drove out the
monsters, that had made their lair in these wet places. These terrible
creatures liked to poison people with their bad breath, and even ate
up very little boys and girls, when they strayed away from home.

So all the face of the open country between the forests became very
pretty to look at. The whole of Cymric land, which then extended from
the northern Grampian Hills to Cornwall, and from the Irish Sea, past
their big fort, afterward called London, even to the edge of the
German Ocean, became a delightful place to live in.

The lowlands and the rivers, in which the tide rose and fell daily,
were especially attractive. This was chiefly because of the many
bright flowers growing there; while the yellow gorse and the pink
heather made the hills look as lovely as a young girl's face. Besides
this, the Cymric maidens were the prettiest ever, and the lads were
all brave and healthy; while both of these knew how to sing often and

Now there was a great monster named the Afang, that lived in a big
bog, hidden among the high hills and inside of a dark, rough forest.

This ugly creature had an iron-clad back and a long tail that could
wrap itself around a mountain. It had four front legs, with big knees
that were bent up like a grasshopper's, but were covered with scales
like armor. These were as hard as steel, and bulged out at the thighs.
Along its back, was a ridge of horns, like spines, and higher than an
alligator's. Against such a tough hide, when the hunters shot their
darts and hurled their javelins, these weapons fell down to the
ground, like harmless pins.

On this monster's head, were big ears, half way between those of a
jackass and an elephant. Its eyes were as green as leeks, and were
round, but scalloped on the edges, like squashes, while they were as
big as pumpkins.

The Afang's face was much like a monkey's, or a gorilla's, with long
straggling gray hairs around its cheeks like those of a walrus. It
always looked as if a napkin, as big as a bath towel, would be
necessary to keep its mouth clean. Yet even then, it slobbered a good
deal, so that no nice fairy liked to be near the monster.

When the Afang growled, the bushes shook and the oak leaves trembled
on the branches, as if a strong wind was blowing.

But after its dinner, when it had swallowed down a man, or two calves,
or four sheep, or a fat heifer, or three goats, its body swelled up
like a balloon. Then it usually rolled over, lay along the ground, or
in the soft mud, and felt very stupid and sleepy, for a long while.

All around its lair, lay wagon loads of bones of the creatures, girls,
women, men, boys, cows, and occasionally a donkey, which it had

But when the Afang was ravenously hungry and could not get these
animals and when fat girls and careless boys were scarce, it would
live on birds, beasts and fishes. Although it was very fond of cows
and sheep, yet the wool and hair of these animals stuck in its big
teeth, it often felt very miserable and its usually bad temper grew

Then, like a beaver, it would cut down a tree, sharpen it to a point
and pick its teeth until its mouth was clean. Yet it seemed all the
more hungry and eager for fresh human victims to eat, especially juicy
maidens; just as children like cake more than bread.

The Cymric men were not surprised at this, for they knew that girls
were very sweet and they almost worshiped women. So they learned to
guard their daughters and wives. They saw that to do such things as
eating up people was in the nature of the beast, which could never be
taught good manners.

But what made them mad beyond measure was the trick which the monster
often played upon them by breaking the river banks, and the dykes
which with great toil they had built to protect their crops. Then the
waters overflowed all their farms, ruined their gardens and spoiled
their cow houses and stables.

This sort of mischief the Afang liked to play, especially about the
time when the oat and barley crops were ripe and ready to be gathered
to make cakes and flummery; that is sour oat-jelly, or pap. So it
often happened that the children had to do without their cookies and
porridge during the winter. Sometimes the floods rose so high as to
wash away the houses and float the cradles. Even those with little
babies in them were often seen on the raging waters, and sent dancing
on the waves down the river, to the sea.

Once in a while, a mother cat and all her kittens were seen mewing for
help, or a lady dog howling piteously. Often it happened that both
puppies and kittens were drowned.

So, whether for men or mothers, pussies or puppies, the Cymric men
thought the time had come to stop this monster's mischief. It was bad
enough that people should be eaten up, but to have all their crops
ruined and animals drowned, so that they had to go hungry all winter,
with only a little fried fish, and no turnips, was too much for human
patience. There were too many weeping mothers and sorrowful fathers,
and squalling brats and animals whining for something to eat.

Besides, if all the oats were washed away, how could their wives make
flummery, without which, no Cymric man is ever happy? And where would
they get seed for another year's sowing? And if there were no cows,
how could the babies or kitties live, or any grown-up persons get

Someone may ask, why did not some brave man shoot the Afang, with a
poisoned arrow, or drive a spear into him under the arms, where the
flesh was tender, or cut off his head with a sharp sword?

The trouble was just here. There were plenty of brave fellows, ready
to fight the monster, but nothing made of iron could pierce that hide
of his. This was like armor, or one of the steel battleships of our
day, and the Afang always spit out fire or poison breath down the
road, up which a man was coming, long before the brave fellow could
get near him. Nothing would do, but to go up into his lair, and drag
him out.

But what man or company of men was strong enough to do this, when a
dozen giants in a gang, with ropes as thick as a ship's hawser, could
hardly tackle the job?

Nevertheless, in what neither man nor giant could do, a pretty maiden
might succeed. True, she must be brave also, for how could she know,
but if hungry, the Afang might eat her up?

However, one valiant damsel, of great beauty, who had lots of
perfumery and plenty of pretty clothes, volunteered to bind the
monster in his lair. She said, "I'm not afraid." Her sweetheart was
named Gadern, and he was a young and strong hunter. He talked over the
matter with her and they two resolved to act together.

Gadern went all over the country, summoning the farmers to bring their
ox teams and log chains. Then he set the blacksmiths to work, forging
new and especially heavy ones, made of the best native iron, from the
mines, for which Wales is still famous.

Meanwhile, the lovely maiden arrayed herself in her prettiest clothes,
dressed her hair in the most enticing way, hanging a white blossom on
each side, over her ears, with one flower also at her neck.

When she had perfumed her garments, she sallied forth and up the lake
where the big bog and the waters were and where the monster hid

While the maiden was still quite a distance away, the terrible Afang,
scenting his visitor from afar, came rushing out of his lair. When
very near, he reared his head high in the air, expecting to pounce on
her, with his iron clad claws and at one swallow make a breakfast of
the girl.

But the odors of her perfumes were so sweet, that he forgot what he
had thought to do. Moreover, when he looked at her, he was so taken
with unusual beauty, that he flopped at once on his forefeet. Then he
behaved just like a lovelorn beau, when his best girl comes near. He
ties his necktie and pulls down his coat and brushes off the collar.

So the Afang began to spruce up. It was real fun to see how a monster
behaves when smitten with love for a pretty girl. He had no idea how
funny he was.

The girl was not at all afraid, but smoothed the monster's back,
stroked and played with its big moustaches and tickled its neck until
the Afang's throat actually gurgled with a laugh. Pretty soon he
guffawed, for he was so delighted.

When he did this, the people down in the valley thought it was
thunder, though the sky was clear and blue.

The maiden tickled his chin, and even put up his whiskers in curl
papers. Then she stroked his neck, so that his eyes closed. Soon she
had gently lulled him to slumber, by singing a cradle song, which her
mother had taught her. This she did so softly, and sweetly, that in a
few minutes, with its head in her lap, the monster was sound asleep
and even began to snore.

Then, quietly, from their hiding places in the bushes, Gadern and his
men crawled out. When near the dreaded Afang, they stood up and
sneaked forward, very softly on tip toe. They had wrapped the links of
the chain in grass and leaves, so that no clanking was heard. They
also held the oxen's yokes, so that nobody or anything could rattle,
or make any noise. Slowly but surely they passed the chain over its
body, in the middle, besides binding the brute securely between its
fore and hind legs.

All this time, the monster slept on, for the girl kept on crooning her

When the forty yoke of oxen were all harnessed together, the drovers
cracked all their whips at once, so that it sounded like a clap of
thunder and the whole team began to pull together.

Then the Afang woke up with a start.

The sudden jerk roused the monster to wrath, and its bellowing was
terrible. It rolled round and round, and dug its four sets of toes,
each with three claws, every one as big as a plowshare, into the
ground. It tried hard to crawl into its lair, or slip into the lake.

Finding that neither was possible, the Afang looked about, for some
big tree to wrap its tail around. But all his writhings or plungings
were of no use. The drovers plied their whips and the oxen kept on
with one long pull together and forward. They strained so hard, that
one of them dropped its eye out. This formed a pool, and to this day
they call it The Pool of the Ox's Eye. It never dries up or overflows,
though the water in it rises and falls, as regularly as the tides.

For miles over the mountains the sturdy oxen hauled the monster. The
pass over which they toiled and strained so hard is still named the
Pass of the Oxen's Slope. When going down hill, the work of dragging
the Afang was easier.

In a great hole in the ground, big enough to be a pond, they dumped
the carcass of the Afang, and soon a little lake was formed. This
uncanny bit of water is called "The Lake of the Green Well." It is
considered dangerous for man or beast to go too near it. Birds do not
like to fly over the surface, and when sheep tumble in, they sink to
the bottom at once.

If the bones of the Afang still lie at the bottom, they must have sunk
down very deep, for the monster had no more power to get out, or to
break the river banks. The farmers no longer cared anything about the
creature, and they hardly every think of the old story, except when a
sheep is lost.

As for Gadern and his brave and lovely sweetheart, they were married
and lived long and happily. Their descendants, in the thirty-seventh
generation, are proud of the grand exploit of their ancestors, while
all the farmers honor his memory and bless the name of the lovely girl
that put the monster asleep.

Fairies, Fairy Tales, Fairy Books


Fairies, Fairy Tales, Fairy Books