Mally Dixon And Knurre-murre

: NURSEY STORIES
: Popular Rhymes And Nursery Tales

Stories of fairies appearing in the shape of cats are common in the

North of England. Mr. Longstaffe relates that a farmer of Staindrop, in

Durham, was one night crossing a bridge, when a cat jumped out, stood

before him, and looking him full in the face, said:



Johnny Reed! Johnny Reed!

Tell Madam Momfort

That Mally Dixon's dead.



The farmer returned home, and i mickle wonder recited this awfu' stanza

to his wife, when up started their black cat, saying, "Is she?" and

disappeared for ever. It was supposed she was a fairy in disguise, who

thus went to attend a sister's funeral, for in the North fairies do die,

and green shady spots are pointed out by the country folks as the

cemeteries of the tiny people. An analogous story is found in the

people-literature of Denmark. Near a town called Lyng is the hill of

Brondhoe, inhabited by the trold-folk, or imps. Amongst these trolds was

an old sickly devil, peevish and ill-tempered, because he was married to

a young wife. This unhappy trold often set the rest by the ears, so they

nicknamed him Knurre-Murre, or Rumble-Grumble. Now it came to pass, that

Knurre-Murre discovered that his young wife was inclined to honour him

with a supplemental pair of horns; and the object of his jealousy, to

avoid his vengeance, was compelled to fly for his life from the cavern,

and take refuge, in the shape of a tortoise-shell cat, in the house of

Goodman Platt, who harboured him with much hospitality, let him lie on

the great wicker chair, and fed him twice a day with bread and milk out

of a red earthenware pipkin. One evening the goodman came home, at a

late hour, full of wonderment. "Goody," exclaimed he to his wife, "as I

was passing by Brondhoe, there came out a trold, who spake to me,

saying,



Hoer du Plat,

Sueg til din cat

At Knurre-Murre er doed.



Hear thou, Platt,

Say to thy cat

That Knurre-Murre is dead."



The tortoise-shell cat was lying on the great wicker chair, and eating

his supper of bread and milk out of the red earthenware pipkin, when the

goodman came in; but as soon as the message was delivered, he jumped

bolt upright upon his two hind legs, for all the world like a Christian,

and kicking the red earthenware pipkin and the rest of the bread and

milk before him, he whisked through the cottage door, mewing, "What! is

Knurre-Murre dead? then I may go home again!"[19]



[Footnote 19: This analysis of the Danish tale is

taken from an article in the Quarterly Review,

xxi. 98.]