The Storyteller: Pixies 'up to old tricks' prove to be convenient cover for crime
To be honest, I am really intrigued by the tiny creatures residing in Dartmoor without being noticed. Recently, I came across a set of Letterbox clues that were inspired by a book about the Pixies, written by William Crossing. The clues are spread out across the moor in places where the Pixies supposedly carried out their activities. This is a perfect combination for me and I find it extremely exciting.
Do you remember when I wrote about my Letterbox hunt after Easter and stumbled upon a sheep stuck in the rocks at Sheepstor? I believed that I was led there by the Pixies to help the sheep. It turns out that the Pixie Cave, where I was searching for a stamp, was just nearby. Unfortunately, I was unable to find it at that time, so I plan to go back. Before that, I took my walking group to explore Bellever Forest, Laughter Tor, and Bellever Tor, where the Pixies are known to hang out. We even visited the spot where poor Tom White got into trouble after being forced to dance at one of their parties. I have since added several of these stamps to my collection. Recently, during one of my solo walks, I went after another stamp related to an intriguing tale called Modilla and Podilla. The story takes place in an isolated cottage called Merrifield, which is located at the foot of Brent Hill. The Letterbox associated with the story sits on the hillside overlooking both Merrifield and Brent Hill.
I began my hike near the parking lot at Shipley Bridge. While most people head towards the Avon Dam, I decided to take the route along the lane that crosses the Bala Brook. This path is less challenging compared to the open moor. The rocky path, called Diamond Lane, led me to a steady climb towards the moor gate at the top. After that, I went towards Corringdon Ball in the west, where tall stone gateposts hold beautiful granite spheres. I used the gate as a guide to search for various letterboxes, including the Pixie stamp that I was excited to find. Fortunately, I found it quickly without any trouble.
After successfully including it in my book, I believe it's only fair to recount the peculiar story of Modilla and Podilla with you. The house named Merrifield is situated at the base of Brent Fore Hill and surrounded by trees, concealed in the shadows of Brent Hill. In the previous era, when folks living in the countryside placed great importance on superstitions, everyone was convinced that Pixies lived amongst them. Although nobody has seen one, they remained the subject of legends, and everyone had stories to tell, even if they were exaggerated. But, on a fateful Winter's night, the women of Merrifield experienced something unusual that they could recount for the rest of their lives. During those times, winters were harsh, so they made the most of any opportunity to celebrate special occasions and this particular night was no different.
On their son's birthday, the father kept the boys working late in the fields, while the mother and her daughters prepared a delicious meal. The meat had been roasting over the fire for some time, filling the kitchen with a mouth-watering aroma. Suddenly, the outside door opened by itself, even though it had been secured from inside. The women looked up from their vegetable preparations and saw a tiny man with green trousers and jacket, a red pointed hat, and a keen sense of smell. He poked his head inside and made his way towards the fireplace, ignoring the women staring at him in amazement. He stood on tiptoe and savored the delicious aroma of the meat with his little nose.
After finishing his meal, he started to explore the spaces and corners around the fireplace. Once he finished his inspection, he returned to stand under the spit and pulled out one of his hairs from under his hat. He repeated this strange action three more times, watching as nothing happened to the hair in the flames. The women were left wondering what the purpose of this was. Suddenly, a small voice outside called out "Modilla! Modilla!" which sounded like it came from a Pixie. The creature in the fireplace spun around as if it heard its name and responded with "Podilla! Podilla!" Then, another urgent cry of "Modilla!" came from outside. The women assumed this was a warning call to the little visitor that it had been seen. With a final cry of "Podilla!", the creature fled as fast as it could towards the still open door.
He left the room quickly and closed the door loudly, surprising the women. They ran to the door but it was locked from the inside, as usual. They unlocked it and also went outside to look for any signs of the small visitors they had just seen. However, they found nothing strange. The moon was bright that night and they expected to see something unusual. At first, they thought it was all in their imagination, but after talking to each other, they believed it was real and not a hallucination. They couldn't wait for the men to come back so they could tell them the story about the visitor and how he burned his hair.
Back in the day, things were much less complicated. People who lived in the countryside had no problem pointing fingers at Pixies if their milk went sour or their hens weren't laying eggs. They believed that the grass circles that showed up in freshly mowed fields were evidence of fairies and Pixies partying together all night. Even when people built new houses, they were okay with leaving cracks in the bricks so the little ones could come and go as they pleased.
However, not all members of the community were easily fooled. Some individuals were actually pleased to blame Pixies for their wrongdoings. There was a tale that began in the Aish Ridge area, which is near Brent Hill, claiming that Pixies were spotted riding horses during the night. The next morning, the farmer who owned the horses noticed that they were sweaty and agitated. He gladly placed the blame on the local Pixies. This version of the story also pleased the local illegal goods smugglers. They were actually responsible for taking the horses and riding them to the nearest coastline to collect the booty. Then, they would ride them back to the field, exhausted, and use the Pixies as their scapegoat. The Pixies were innocent in this scenario.
As I stumbled upon some additional stamps and my Pixie container while hiking on the hillside, I carried on and trekked over Brent Fore Hill. I also crossed over Red Brook and ventured through Old Hill. Following the tin mining gullies led me to the old Zeal Tor Tramway path, which took me back to the car park. It was a magical experience as the vibrant full moon shone above me, just like the one spotted by the ladies at Merrifield during their encounter with the Pixies.
