Stories and Folklore
The Simonside Hills are the subject of many stories of ‘fairy folk’ and ‘little people’ and if you visit the area you will see how the landscape has promoted these tales!
The following reference to mystical Simonside appeared in the Morpeth Gazette in 1889:
‘And once upon a time did not the caverns and recesses amid the rocky heights of Simonside nightly witness the unearthly revels of a tribe of ugly elves and dwarfs - so says tradition - amongst whom it was dangerous for the solitary wanderer to venture, and is not the dismal “Caudhole Moss,” behind “Spy Law” - the home of Will o’ the Wisp, who, in former years, led benighted and unwary travellers by his treacherous luring light into the depth of the bottomless heaf.’
The Simonside Dwarfs also figure in Tyndale’s, Legends and Folklore of Northumbria, written in 1930:
‘About the middle of Northumberland, on the outskirts of that wild stretch of moorland which covers so many miles of it, overlooking Rothbury and the vale of Coquet, the Simonside Hills rear their shaggy heads to a height that might almost be called mountains, for often the clouds come down to sit upon their rugged shoulders. And then it is that those impish little dwarfs have the time of their lives - or used to in the olden days; one does not often hear of them now.
They were ugly, cross-grained little beings, who delighted in leading belated travellers astray among these trackless wastes, often landing them in bogs, or “moss-hags” as the local people called them. Often the country folk would see or hear these strange small people if they happened to be abroad after dark, especially the shepherds, whose work often kept them out late.
You don’t believe in these dwarfs? Neither did a certain man who lived some time in the eighteenth century. He vowed that he would go out one night and prove that all the stories about them were pure fable.
He himself had once heard “Roarie,” in a thick wood, and had proved that this fearsome “bogle” was nothing more alarming than an old owl! Dwarfs, indeed! The very idea of it! Well, he’d just show them.
So one dark night he set out, staff in hand, and warmly wrapped up in his thick Tosson plaid. For a long while he wandered about without seeing or hearing anything astir, not even the wild birds and beasts whose sounds and movements he was so sure had been mistaken by nervous folks for those of the supposed dwarfs.
But, just as he was about to go back home, he suddenly took it into his head to pretend that he was lost. That would settle the question, if anything would. So he began to call out, in the old local dialect, “Tint! Tint!”
The effect was instantaneous. He saw a light ahead, like the glow of a cottage window, and cautiously - for the night was dark and the path rough - he picked his way in that direction. But very soon he found himself confronted with a deep hollow left by someone digging out peat, which was now half-full of muddy water. So that was the game, was it? He was cured of his scepticism, but quite determined not to be outdone. So he picked up a loose piece of turf and threw it into the moss-hag, where it fell with a resounding splash. At once the light went out.
“Oh-o!” chuckled the adventurer, “they think I have fallen in and drowned myself, do they? But as he turned back he thought he would make just one more attempt. So again he shouted, “Tint! Tint!” This time three of the dwarfs appeared and began to chase him with lighted torches, and he turned and ran for dear life. Not far, however. For he soon saw that he was hemmed in on all sides by the repulsive little creatures, each carrying a lighted torch in one hand and a club in the other. They came nearer and nearer to him, waving their clubs as though they meant to attack in force. The only thing to do was to attack first. He charged at them with his heavy staff, and apparently knocked one down - though he did not feel as though he had touched anything solid. They all vanished, though, and he had a moment’s breathing space.
But it was not for long. The next moment they were back again with reinforcements, crowds upon crowds of hideous, menacing faces and murderous-looking clubs, till the sheer horror of the situation overcame him, and he sank senseless to the ground.
There he remained until the morning light had chased the demons back to their dens. And then, at last, he was able to make his way home unmolested.’
