Three green ladies

Beech, by P Lewis (Wellcome Collection, P. Domain)

I once tweeted a thread featuring a highly abridged adaptation of a folktale called ‘One Tree Hill’ for #FolkloreThursday, which seemed like it might make a poem. Below is my attempt to do just that, with a ballad-style version of the story. I don’t write a lot of poems with fixed rhyme schemes, but it seemed to make sense here.

I first came across the tale in Katherine Briggs’ A Dictionary of British Folk Tales, that version is set somewhere in Yorkshire. There seem to be various other similar stories from around the UK, including another, where I found the beeches, which I’ve borrowed for mine.

Three green ladies

Three beeches once stood together
atop a hill that none dared climb,
for fear of three green ladies,
who danced there, for a time.

Save for one young man, a farmer,
who each midsummer’s day,
took a posy to the top for them –
left before dusk was underway.

Years passed, his sons went in his place,
once he’d grown old and slow,
yet not all behaved as he did,
they’d scoff and joke and crow.

One year, the eldest took an axe,
swung for the tallest, fairest tree,
who clouted back, as he struck,
set red head-blood pouring free.

That wanton brother’s life was done,
the second ventured up next year,
seeking wood and vengeance,
blind fury cost him dear.

Only the youngest, then lived on,
to continue what dear old dad had done,
fetch flowers for those women,
be sure to be gone with the sun.

A duty done right to his dying day.
But no folk go there now, all the people flown,
so nobody visits and nobody sees,
the sad green lady, who dances on her own.