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From Cornwall’s Wonderland, by Mabel Quiller Couch; London & Toronto: J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd., [undated — circa 1914]; pp. 112-117.


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Black and white engraving of  a pattern of stylized grape leaves and grape clusters, as the head-piece for this chapter.

BARKER AND THE BUCCAS

PERHAPS some of you have never heard about the “Buccas,” or “Knockers,” as some people call them, the busy little people about the same size as piskies, who are said to be the souls of the Jews who used to work in the tin mines in Cornwall.

The Buccas live always in rocks, mines, or wells, and they work incessantly pickaxing, digging, sifting, etc., from one year’s end to the other, except on Christmas Day, Easter Day, All Saints’ Day, and the Jews’ Sabbath. On those days their little tools are laid aside, and all is quiet, but on every other you can, if you listen, hear them hammer, hammer, dig, dig, and their tongues chattering all the time.

A lot of these little people lived and worked within the sides of a well in one particular part of Cornwall, the name of which I will not tell you, for in the first place you would not be able to pronounce it if I did; and in the second, you might be tempted to go there and disturb them, which would make them angry, and bring all kinds of ill-luck and trouble upon yourself.

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The story I am going to tell you is of someone who did disturb them, and pried upon them after laughing at them. The name of the youth was Barker, a great, idle, hulking fellow, who lived in the neighbourhood of the well where these little Buccas dwelt.

Now this Barker often heard the neighbours talking about the Buccas, and praising their industry, and, like most idle people, he disliked hearing others praised for doing what he knew he ought to do but would not. So, to annoy the neighbours, and the Buccas, too, he declared he “didn’t believe there wasn’t no such things. Seeing was believing, and when they showed him a Bucca ’twould be soon enough for him to b’lieve there was such things.” And he repeated this every time the little men were mentioned.

“ ’Tis nowt but dreams,” he sneered, “there ba’nt no Buccas in Fairy Well, no more nor I’m a Bucca.”

“You a Bucca!” cried the neighbours, “why, they wouldn’t own such a lazy good-for-nothing. They does more work in a morning than you’d get through in a year, you who never does a hand’s-turn for anybody and haven’t sense enough to earn your own bread!”

“I’ve sense enough to find out if there’s any 114 such things as Buccas in that there well, and I’ll go there and watch and listen till I finds out something, and if there’s Buccas there I’ll catch one!”

So away he went to spend his time idly lying amidst the tall grass and ferns which grew thickly around the well. This sort of job suited him to a nicety, for the sun was warm and pleasant, and he did no work, for, said he, if he was to work he wouldn’t be able to hear any sounds that might come from below. And for once he spoke the truth.

Day after day Barker went and lay by the Fairy Well, and at first he heard never a sound but the birds singing, and the bees humming, and his own breathing. By and by, though, other sounds began to make themselves heard by him, noises of digging and hammering, and numbers of little voices talking and laughing merrily.

Barker could not at first make out what they said, but he could understand that they were always busy. Instead, though, of taking them as an example, the lazy fellow only said to himself gleefully that if others worked so hard, there was the less need for him to do so!

Having discovered that his neighbours were right, and that there really were such people as 115 Buccas, you would have thought that he would have hurried home to tell of his discoveries; but no, he liked the lazy life, lying in the sun by the well, doing nothing. So he kept quiet about his discovery, and every day started off for his favourite spot, making the excuse that he was still watching for Buccas.

As the days passed by he began to understand what the little workmen said, and he gathered from their talk that they worked in sets, and that each set worked for eight hours, — which was, of course, the origin of the Eight Hours Day we hear so much about. He also found that when they had finished they hid away their tools, and every day in a fresh place. I cannot tell you why they hid them, or from whom, unless it was those other “little people,” the Fairies and Piskies, who love to be up to mischief when they are not doing good. It could not have been from each other that they hid the things, for they talked together about the hiding-places.

One evening, when the day’s work was coming to an end, Barker heard the usual discussion begin. “I shall hide mine in this cleft in the rock,” said one.

“Very well, then, I will hide mine under the ferns.”

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“Oh,” said a third, “I shall leave mine on Barker’s knee.

You may be sure it gave Barker quite a shock to hear his own name spoken in those mysterious regions, it frightened him, too, but before he could stir his big, lazy body and run away, — as he meant to do, — he felt three hard blows, bang! whack! bang! And then a heavy weight fell crash upon his knee.

Barker roared and bellowed like a great calf, for the pain was very great, and he was a big coward.

“Take it away! take it away!” he cried, but the only answer was peal upon peal of mocking laughter. “Oh my poor knee, oh my poor knee, I’m lame for life! Take away them tools! Oh my, oh my!” but the more he screamed, the more the Buccas laughed. They laughed and laughed until they were tired, then they vanished, and Master Barker was left to make his way home as best he could. He did not want to tell the neighbours how he got his stiff knee, but pretended he had had a fall; the neighbours, though, soon found out, and pretty well he was laughed at for a long time wherever he went.

Never again did Barker doubt the existence of the Buccas, never again did he speak disrespectfully of them, nor could he forget the lesson he 117 had been taught, for to his dying day he had a stiff knee, and nothing would cure it.

Now, if ever you hear of anyone having “Barker’s knee” you will know that he has spoken rudely of the Buccas, and that the Buccas have paid him out.




Black and white engraving of a stylized pattern of flowers and leaves as the end-piece for this chapter.




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