Free Oxfordshire Folktales by Kevan Manwaring Page B

they sang hymns praising the risen Christ. Reverend Hartlake talked about the ‘Water of Life’ and how it should always be shared. Then the formal part was over and freshly baked Easter biscuits were offered around – folk picnicked in small groups, breaking bread amid the green.
    Then Old Bliss the Teller settled down on a stump and told them a strange story, how once in the land travellers were offered refreshing draughts from wells, such as this one they sat next to, by maidens with cups of gold. Until one day a greedy king, Amangons, wanted the cup, the water and the maiden for himself. He took by force what had been given freely. His knights followed suit, despoiling the other maidens and desecrating their wells. Amangons had his cup of gold – but at what cost? He retired to his castle where he became ill – his maiden could not help him. He could not die or get better, but lived on and on, becoming the Fisher King. The land became a wasteland, the wells were abandoned and no traveller was offered a cup of gold any more.
    Old Bliss lit his pipe and sat back, contemplating a smoke ring.
    ‘Is that it?’ asked Lucy, disappointed by the ending.
    ‘Oh no, young missy! That’s not the end of it by a long chalk. Then a young knight came, from a distant land, pure of heart, who, upon hearing about the Fisher King, decided to go and help. He journeyed to his castle, and, finding it and the King in a terrible state, he set to make things better. Amangons withered away on his throne, coughing and groaning with no one to serve or care for him. The knight felt compassion in his heart. ‘Your Majesty, what ails thee?’ he asked. The King coughed hoarsely and weakly gestured for a cup. The knight found an old golden goblet, gave it a wipe with the sleeve of his tunic and filled it with good clean water from his own waterskin, before offering it to the King. Amangons stretched out a shaking hand and slowly, painfully, drank it. He immediately felt better, the light returning to his eyes. He looked upon the good knight and smiled, saying: ‘The Grail is in the giving; not the taking.’ The Fisher King was healed and the land laid waste no more.
    Old Bliss concluded his story to a round of applause.
    ‘What about the maidens and the cup of gold?’ asked Lucy.
    ‘My, you are a curious one, aren’t you!’ Laughter rippled around the glade. ‘Well, they seemed to vanish from the land, but now and again, if you’re lucky, you might catch a glimpse of one, offering a cup of kindness to a passing stranger.’ He winked at his audience. ‘Which reminds me…’ He smacked his lips. ‘Anyone have a drink for a thirsty teller?’
    Hartlake, who had been listening to the tale with stern attention, suggested to the villagers they must share the Waters of Life, otherwise they might turn corrupt too! Scowling fondly at Old Bliss, the Reverend declared to his flock it was time to return. The villagers followed, and someone struck up a tune on a fiddle. An Easter Monday fair awaited them upon their return, tables laid out with fine food and drink. They had completed their rite of Spring and had made ‘Spanish Water’ – Holy Water.
    Lucy savoured her bottle of sunlight, cool in her hands, and stored up the memories of the day: the bluebells; Hartlake’s sermon; Old Bliss’s tale; and the blessing of the wood – which was the best medicine of all. And you don’t need to go to Spain to enjoy that.

    This story was inspired by the following fragment, which I found in Katherine Briggs’ The Folklore of the Cotswolds:

    On Easter Monday the people of Leafield considered it their right to go to one of the forest springs to make ‘Spanish Water’. This was kept as a remedy for almost every disorder. On Easter Monday I have met troops of Leafield people going through the forest with their bottles to make Spanish Water.

    Another source, June Lewis-Jones’ Folklore of the Cotswolds, says this was done on Palm Sunday: ‘The