Welcome, dear listener. It is Folklore-ish Thursday. It is also Day Ninety Seven of the October Frights Blog Hop. Or it seems like it. Nearly a week since I took the little donkeys for a proper, all-out run and not a ‘Quick, before those three poodles turn up’ sort of dash. But today we spend a little time in my beloved Yorkshire Wolds, sort of, we look at the twisted The Journal of J Linseed Grant and you can still win a copy of my novella A Study in Grey (see later below)…

Keen folklorists and students of psycho-geography will be aware that the Yorkshire Wolds are not normal. Apart from the recognised features of the Wold Newton Triangle, famous for its meteorite amongst other oddities, there are other pockets of strangeness which lie almost hidden in the folded landscape.

One place of note is the unmarked, hard to find village of Gorse Muttering, where some of the last Cunning Folk reside, quietly keeping watch against the Growing Cold and the Children of Angles and Corners. Their tools are cold iron, red thread and the Deck of Seasons, inheriting traditions which go back farther than the tramp of Roman sandals past the cavalry barracks at Malton (once called Derventio).

The New Faiths from the East were never good at understanding the roots of this land, and their hasty attempts to place church, mosque or synagogue are only temporary measures for some, not especially unwelcome but of limited use when the barghest comes down from the high moors. Those beast which cannot recognise God cannot fear Him, and so the Cunning Folk must do.

Strongly influenced by land, sea and storm, they carry many of the traditions of Northern Europe on their ageing backs, ready for the Half-World to open. The rook and jackdaw aid them; oak, ash and thorn stand ready.

Yew that is old in churchyard-mould,
He breedeth a mighty bow.
Alder for shoes do wise men choose,
And beech for cups also.
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,
And your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Kipling, Puck of Pook’s Hill

(In an autumnal aside, talk of trees reminds me that I need to go and pick our apples, so that I can carefully wrap each one in tissue and stack them in a cool, airy place in the garage. Then I can forget about them and find them next Spring, a rotting, bubbling mass in the process of growing cider-coloured legs.)

And then, of course, there is the village of St Botolph-on-the-Wolds, a rather more warped pocket where monstrous lint seems to collect, and the whip-poor-wills cough in the grip of perpetual sinus trouble. St Botolph’s, as it is generally known, is clearly marked, but no-one really wants to go there if they can help it.

This is the territory not only of plucky young Sandra and her beloved, slightly psychopathic pony, Mr Bubbles, but also of that aged gentleman J Linseed Grant (no relation).

For some time we have been collecting, and cataloguing, the fragmentary journals of this curious recluse, occasionally offering up said fragments for scholarly inspection. In his rickety house high above the village, Linseed Grant retains a small household which is of constant consternation to him:

• Mrs Gumworthy, his housekeeper. A tyrannical and indifferent cook with occasional homicidal tendencies, whose scheme to market free-range Norwegian rat milk was such a commercial disaster.
• Mshindi, the under-gardener. The Swahili son of a Scarborough cobbler with enthusiasm but no knowledge of the English garden.
• Henrietta. A nicely-turned out ex coal-miner with a fondness for ironing petticoats and wearing his dainty ankle-boots to church.
• Mother. Something kept heavily locked and chained in the attic.
• Father. Something else altogether, with a surprising number of limbs.
• The Black Dog. A dominant beast, known for her fondness for DIY and carpentry.
• The Dog that is Born of Kangaroo. A loveable idiot.

And so here are a few illustrative extracts from…

The Journal of J Linseed Grant

17th March: “Two days of full sun. Winter must come soon. Dog evacuated himself on snowdrops today, and I heard daffodils sob with relief. Drums, drums in the deep. No, hang on, washing machine stuck on spin cycle. I must be strong, for Mother…” (Rest of entry badly charred, and curiously smeared with Fowler’s Black Treacle)

2nd April: “The albino penguins have escaped. Unfortunate, given the recent snow. Believe that my housekeeper, Mrs Gumworthy, is trying to poison me. Should sausages have legs? Second draft of ‘Sandra’s First Pony’ returned from publisher. The covering letter is surprisingly blood-stained and contains a number of threats. I do not think they liked it. Tomorrow I shall go into the attic again. Perhaps Mother will know what to do… (From a discarded shirt cuff, written mostly in Indian ink; some raspberry jam also involved)

9th April: “Went for a walk. Couldn’t find one. On the moors, a large pony appeared to be dismembering something pallid and fungoid. The pony seemed to be enjoying himself; the pallid, fungoid thing not so much. Do not think this village will be winning any Picturesque Britain awards. The floral clock is stuck at five past twenty seven again, and the Dog Born of Kangaroo is still upside down…” (Fragment written in cerise lipstick across the backs of two separate ducks)

14th April: “Have been writing solidly for three days now. Still spelling it wrong and forgetting the second L. Must try a new word tomorrow. The dominant black dog appears to disagree with recent scientific developments. Find that she has shredded a copy of Physics World all over the dining room floor. Terrifying dreams of a koala bear, whatever that is. I suspect Mrs Gumworthy has been adding water to the laudanum. My nights are vast and solidy, and Father is scratching to escape his crib…” (Fragments found written underneath a small toad, mostly in green charcoal)

19th April: “My housekeeper Mrs Gumworthy seems to think that ground glass is a condiment. Have had to burn all the salt and pepper shakers. Her last pay rise may have been insufficient. The dominant black dog is teaching the others basic carpentry. Today I found plans for a trebuchet. This does not bode well for the local cats. None of the albino penguins came home last night. I wonder if Father is loose on the moors again? Dear Father – so many limbs and so little time…”(Fragment found etched on a greenhouse window with home-made vinegar)

1st May: “A day of great excitement. My housekeeper, Mrs Gumworthy, has finally shot the home-made yoghurt and buried it as far from the house as possible. She still had to hit it with a shovel several times to make it stay there. Now we can use the East Wing again, after ritual cleansing. Father O’Hanrahan called and gave me the last rites. As I am feeling quite well, and was potting up tomatoes at the time, I must assume that he too has taken against me…” (Fragment found partially burned in glasshouse, written mostly in communion wine)

You can find journal extracts fairly regularly on John Linwood Grant’s Facebook timeline, should you really want to. There’s even a little follow button top right.

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Finally, to our three regulars of this particular week:

Occult Detective Quarterly

Do see if you can support the Kickstarter for this excellent project – plenty of options and rewards. We’re more than halfway funded, but we need your help to go that little bit further.

occult detective quarterly kickstarter

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The Competition

This is open until the end of the 15th, and it’s easy, really. My series Tales of the Last Edwardian features a man called Mr Dry, the Deptford Assassin. He is ruthless, exceptionally effective, and reputed to have killed Jack the Ripper. A whisper that Mr Dry is in town is enough for most folk – but what is his first name?

For a chance to win one of five copies, all you have to do is to e-mail us with Mr Dry’s FIRST NAME and your choice of format – epub or mobi – in the subject line. At the end of the Blog Hop, we’ll select five people at random and send them the book. It’s that simple. How do you find out that name? Search the site, Watson.

a study in grey competition

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The October Frights Blog Hop

Lots of writers of paranormal and horror fiction involved, so try out some of the links below. More free things, too.

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We end. We go to do writerly things, and will be back soon. We thank you for the loan of your ears, as always…