A thread concerning Marianne Voaden, the esteemed White Witch. Pictured here outside her home in Bratton, Devon. #FolkloreThursday

She was a God-fearing Woman, and had no relations with the Evil-One. How she subsisted was a puzzle to the whole parish. But, then, she was generally feared. She received presents from every farm and cottage.

Sometimes she would meet a child coming home from school, and fixing her wild dark eye on it, say, "My dear, I knawed a child just like you, same age, red rosy cheeks, curlin' black hair. And that child shrivelled up like an apple as is picked in the third quarter of the moon...

...The cheeks grew white, the hair went out of curl, and she just died right on and away". Before the day was out, a chicken or basket of eggs as a present from the mother of that child was sure to arrive.

She possessed a two-story house with two brick chimneys. The thatch had given way in several places, but she would not have it repaired. When offered help to fix it, she would say "God made the sky, and that is the best roof of all".

After a while, the roof became leaky everywhere. Then she sought shelter for her head by stuffing up the chimney of her bedroom fireplace, and pushing her bed to the hearth, sleeping with her head and pillow under the stack.

But access to the bedroom became difficult, as the stairs, exposed to the rain, rotted and gave way, and she was compelled to ascend and descend by an improvised ladder. The rector of the parish went to her and remonstrated at the dangerous condition of the tenement.

"My dear", said she, "there be two angels every night sits on the rungs of the ladder and watches there, that nobody comes nigh me, and they be ready to hold up the timbers that they don't fall on me".

After a while, the ladder collapsed. Then the old woman descended for good and for all and took up her abode on the ground floor - kitchen and parlour, dining room and bedroom all in one. "And terr'ble warm and comfortable it be", said she.

Finally the whole roof fell in, and carried down the flooring of the upper story, but in such good manner that the "planchin" rested at one end against the wall, but blocked up door and fireplace.

she lived under it as a lean-to roof with no fire for several winters, amongst others a bitter one in 1893, and her only means of egress and ingress was through the window. Half the panes were broken and patched with rags. "Tes best as it be, the rain runs off more saunt".

As the water poured into her room, she finally took refuge in an old oak chest, keeping the lid up with a brick. "Tes terr'ble cosy", says she. Until one day the huntsmen called for her. From the midst of the ruins came a muffled response "Coming, my dears, coming"!

Presently she appeared. She was obliged to crawl out of her window that opened into the garden and orchard at the back of her house, go around it, and unlace the gate of thorns she had erected as protection for her garden.

As she conversed with the gentleman, and extended her hand for half crowns, the fire she had on to make tea caught some straw, and the room was in a blaze. Everything was consumed, her chest, and her book of charms. And Marianne was from then conveyed to the workhouse.

Sabine Barring-Gould (the author by which this story comes to us) drove over to see her with his daughter. Marianne noticed that the child had breakings-out upon her face.

"Ah my dear", said she, "I see you want my help. You must bring the little maiden to me, she must be fasting, and then I will bless her face, and in two days she will be well".

The cure for her whooping-cough was to cut the hair off the cross on a donkeys back, fasten it in silk bags, and tie them around the neck. "You see, Christ rode into Jerusalem on an ass, ever since asses have the cross on their backs, and the hair of these crosses cures maladies"

In one occasion, a man cutting hay wounded himself at Kelly, 8 miles away. At once the farmer bade a man take a handkerchief dipped in his blood and gallop for the tumble-down cottage and get Marianne to bless the blood. As soon as she did, the blood ceased to flow from his wound

By reason of these curative powers, it was common to see the village postman walking with one hand extended carrying handkerchief to the White Witch for blessing, for the rag had not touch any other being till it reached her.

The rectors son one day called on Marianne. She bought him out a glass of poppy wine she had made, fresh and muddy, "I am almost a teetotaller", said he, "and so can do no more than just sip this to your health and happiness", and put the glass to his lips...

"Ah! Mr Edward, dear", said she, "I've offered thickey glass o' wine to some, and they'm so proud and haughty as they wouldn't titch it, but you'm no so-and now my blessing shall be wi' you night and day-and gude fortune shall ever attend you-that I promise you".

Here, a recipe from her book of charms good for a sprain.
2oz turpentine oil
2oz swillowes
2oz oil of earthworm
2oz of nerve
2oz oil of opodeldoc
2oz Spanish flies.

Sabine bids you take this to an apothecary order it made and "observe his face as he reads it"

Here ends the account of Mirianne Voaden, I leave you with this photo of her tumble-down cottage.