Hiding in the shadows: the Hikey Sprites of Norfolk

I've just finished reading Hikey Sprites: The Twilight of a Norfolk Tradition by the lovely Ray Loveday (who I feel very privileged to be acquainted with), and I am now well and truly away with the faeries!

A thin book - the sort you can soak up in one sitting - it charts Ray's journey into Norfolk folklore as he researched one of its particularly colourful characters, now largely forgotten.

The Hikey Sprite (also, it seems, known by several other names, including Hyter Sprite, Ikey Sprite and High Sprite) has been passed down the generations in many of this rural county's families. But as is so often the way with oral traditions, precisely what he, she or it actually is varies depending on who you speak to.

To some, it was - or came to be - simply a local dialect word for a flighty, lively or mischievous person; to others, it was a personification of the phenomenon created by marsh gas, also known as a Will-o'-the-Wisp or Jack-o'-Lantern; but to most, the Hikey was a supernatural being.

Some of Ray's interviewees likened them to faeries, goblins or spirits, while others realised they actually had no idea what they were, but in almost all cases Hikey Sprites were believed to be nocturnal beings, and were frequently used as a warning to children.

"If you're naughty, the Hikey Sprites will get you!" were the terrifying words doled out to wayward sons and daughters who refused to go to bed or who stayed out too late; though the beings were generally considered to be puckish rather than evil.

Specific areas were believed to be the domain of the Hikey Sprite - usually certain woods, lanes, streams, heaths and abandoned buildings. The sort of places, I suppose, that seem otherworldly, where one feels a change in the atmosphere or a sense of terror or melancholy - or maybe just areas that were deemed to be dangerous by parents trying to keep their children safe.

Foxley Wood in Norfolk - prime faery territory!

So, you may have noticed that I've used the past tense a lot here. That's because the tradition seems to belong mostly to the past. But thankfully, the Hikey is still alive and kicking in many areas of Norfolk's countryside today - predominantly in the north, north-east and east of the county.

Yet another thing I wish I could ask my old grandparents about; though, having been city dwellers, they may never have been inducted into this faery lore.

Well, I for one will be continuing this local tradition, and perhaps even indulging in a spot of research myself...

Do you have a Hikey Sprite memory to share? Or is there a folkloric being specific to the region you live in, whether in the UK or elsewhere in the world? I'd love to hear your stories!

Frozen in time

A couple of days after Christmas, my Holly King and I headed out into the Norfolk countryside to blow away the cobwebs of pre-holiday stress, finally making the pilgrimage to St Benet’s Abbey that we had talked about so many times.

The sky was a frosty blue when we set off, but as we crept nearer to the Abbey, along the narrow lanes of Broads country, a mist descended and the heavens clouded over. The light became muted, and the spidery trees now seemed to be surging out of the bare ground like grasping black hands.

When we stopped and climbed out of the car, we found ourselves standing in a peculiar calm, enveloping us into the silent landscape; the kind of moment that sends a little thrill coursing through your body as you feel yourself connecting with the earth and with centuries of history, while at the same time mourning the past.

In the distance, a huge wooden cross was silhouetted on the horizon, poignantly marking the point where the high altar once stood in the Abbey church.

As we approached, past the still waters of the medieval fish ponds, I could hear the cross telling its silent tale to the land.

Nowadays, only the geese congregate where the monks once worshipped; gazing out into the hazy distance, across the veins of silver water creeping through the melancholy plains.

Toes numb, and the saturated ground seeping into our boots, we turned back towards the remains of the Abbey gatehouse, now fused together with the brick tower of an 18th century mill – an icon of the Norfolk landscape.

And, as we reached the car, we turned to see the mists begin to lift, the sky return to blue... and the geese take flight.