he man called Rob o’th’ Deans might have been the most dishonest man in Walsden. Nothing was safe around him. If a neighbour left even the smallest thing outside, Rob would slyly snatch it up.

Yet if anyone asked if he’s seen such-and-such a thing, he’d never admit to taking it, of course. Instead he blamed it on the fey folk, the fairies – according to Rob, what they wouldn’t steal wasn’t worth taking.

But the fey folk were watching and listening. They heard what Rob said about them, and decided that sooner or later they’d make him pay. They had patience, and they knew that sooner or later he’d give them the chance.

It proved to be sooner rather than later. Rob was ambitious; he thought highly of his talents as a thief, and wanted a target that fitted his status. So he set off for Langfield, going to the inn at Mankinholes, where he drank deep and long and late. Returning home, much the worse for wear, he broke into the warehouse of James Michaels and stole two bales of worsted cloth.

On the way home, Rob needed to rest. The bales were heavy, it was dark, and he was suffering from his time on the ale. Up by the Eve Stone he swore he heard something, and decided it was a good point to break his journey, hiding out of sight behind the stone until whoever it was had passed.

No sooner was he comfortable than a strange thing happened. He heard music and laughter – where would that be coming from out there? Curious, but not wanting to show himself, he climbed the Stone, lying flat on top.

What he saw amazed him. There in the distance was a huge table, set with a silk cloth that shimmered in the breeze, and weighed down with gold and silver plate all laden with food. All around it, dressed in their finest clothes, were the fey folk, feasting and laughing under a single light suspended from a tall pole.

The oldest of the fairies was blowing bubbles to amuse the giggling children, who chased and fanned them as they rose in the sky. One drifted close to the Eve Stone, right by Rob’s nose, where it exploded with a pop!

Rob was covered in fairy dust – dust that sent a mere mortal fast into sleep. As he slept the oldest fairy began to sing softly, 

The fairy Oldfather began to sing.......

Let us now merry merry be 
And sing ye elves so merrily 
For Rob has been our enemy 
And fallen into our hands, ho… 

The fey women began to sing......

He that lays his neighbours a trap 
May himself never meet good hap,
But fall himself into the gap, 
That he had made for others, ho 

Then they all sang together.......

Come, now all ye sprites from below 
For the day will son show his brow, 
Revenge, defer not, - take it now, 
While Rob is in our hands, ho.

With that, the fey folk took the stolen cloth and placed it under Rob’s arm on top of the Stone. Then the oldest of the fairies raised his staff and they disappeared, leaving only Rob, still fast asleep.

He was found at daybreak, still sleeping with the stolen goods right by him – and this time no one would believe his tale of the fairies. Instead they hauled him off to Halifax Gaol, where he was tried at the Quarter Sessions.

I don’t know if he was transported or sent to the gibbet, but one thing was certain – Rob o’th’Deans was never seen in Walsden again. 

This story came to the class from Paul Degnan.