Countryman's Diary; Pretty, but poisonous in autumn

In beautiful autumn conditions, we strolled among the mixture of maturing conifers and colourful deciduous trees, then came upon a grassy dell filled with fungi. All the mature specimens were topped with bright red flat caps while new domed ones were pushing their way through the layer of surface grass.

These were examples of the fly agaric fungus. They can grow considerably taller than field mushrooms, but their distinctive bright red caps dotted with white markings make them instantly identifiable. In the very early stage of growth, the cap is entirely creamv white and dome-shaped, but as it grows, that veil-like cover splits, the cap becomes more flattened and then it produces its famous bright red cover. The white markings are in fact remnants of that first all-embracing veil.

This particular pitch comprised dozens of fly agaric in various stages of maturity, some being fairlv small specimens while others were large and mature with caps about three inches in diameter.

In some specimens, these caps can grow up to six or seven inches in diameter, on a stem rising to nine or ten inches, but I found none of such size. Their underparts are white with gills like field mushrooms, and the flesh is also white.

These are the fungi that are so favoured by artists when depicting elves and fairies in woodland settings. Lots of us will recall seeing such pictures in our childhood story books - elves sitting on the red caps, especially the domed ones of the younger plants, but in spite of their attractive appearance, these fungi are poisonous and must not be eaten.

Though many species of fungi are edible, it is wise never to sample even a tiny portion until absolutely sure of its identity.

The name of the fly agaric comes from the fungi's former use as a source of fly poison, but in spite of its more sinister qualities, it is a most handsome and colourful asset to any woodland, even one basking in its rich, autumn colours.

Chicks a dabbling

That same walk took us to the shores of an inland lake which was alive with water fowl, and we spent a happy time with our binoculars, observing the antics of the birds and trying to identify those which persisted in maintaining their distance from us. Among them, however, was a group of tiny waterfowl which were distinctive among the larger ducks and geese if only because of their diminutive size.

At first, due to the shiny surface of the water, we thought they were black and that they might be waterhens or coot, but in fact, when we managed to view them away from the glare, we could see they were rather more of a dark reddish brown with a noticeable red patch below the eye and around the neck. They were little grebes, perhaps more popularly known as dabchicks.

They pottered about the surface of the lake, occasionally diving beneath and sometimes taking to flight, but they always maintained a respectful distance from us.

When dabchicks are frightened, they rush to hide themselves in the rushes but then sink into the water so that only their heads are showing and they will remain in this position until they feel it is safe to re-appear. They prefer inland waters such as lakes and large ponds, and are not particularly fond of flowing water of the kind one finds in a stream or river. The gentle, calm surface of a smooth lake is the dabchick's idea of heaven.

They love a sheltered spot too, such as a bay with lots of waterside vegetation and plenty of dense cover such as reeds but in our case, we could sit on the shore and observe them in the middle of the lake.

We were much too late in the year to see youngsters, but dabchicks build a nest of water plants and weeds which might even float in the shallower reaches, but which might be anchored to a low-lying branch or underwater root.

When the chicks hatch - usually four to six in number - they can swim very soon afterwards but do enjoy a ride on the backs of their parents, snuggling down among the wing feathers as mum and dad act as living boats.

These lovely birds are not much bigger than a blackbird or mistle thrush and on that day, they looked so cute among the much larger Canada geese, swans and mallard as they provided a very pleasant interlude during our leisurely outing.

Cave hob

Following last week's notes about hobs, I ought to refer to Hob Holes, near Runswick Bay, a delightful village north of Whitby. These were a series of cliff caves, where a hob was supposed to live. The cave which was his home was eventually destroyed by jet diggers.

In spite of this, the legend persisted for many years and, according to my records, was still being told around 1900. Instead of living on a farm and assisting with the labours, this coastal fellow's speciality was curing whooping cough in children. Though there is no physical description of this chap, he was thought to be a small, elf-like fellow with no clothes and a body covered with thick brown hair.

When a child was suffering from whooping cough, the mother would carry the patient down to the beach and walk along to the mouth of the hob's cave. There she would halt and call out these words: "Hob Hole Hob? My bairn's gitten t'kink cough. Tak it off, tak it off."

Kink cough was the local name for whooping cough. Another cure was to take the sufferer on to the moors and cut a hole in the turf. The child's mouth was held close to the newly-revealed earth and he or she was told to inhale. It was believed fumes from the soil would effect a cure, and this belief, along with powers of the hob, persisted into the early years of the last century.

So far as the Runswick Bay hob was concerned, it seems he expected no pay or reward, and I have no record of whether or not he was always successful in producing a cure. However, the people of Runswick believed in his powers and that alone might have produced an improvement.

He was not the only elf-like creature to live along this stretch of the Yorkshire coast. A bogie known as Jeannie lived near Sandsend in Mulgrave Woods, while Kettleness, overlooking Runswick Bay, has its own colony of bogies. A bogle is an elf-like creature, a type of mischievous hob-goblin, sprite or pixie.

Jeannie lived in Hob Cave deep in Mulgrave Woods and, though considered a good elf, she could display astonishing feats of anger if upset. She loved seclusion and hated inquisitive visitors, so it is not surprising she became extremely angry when a young man called John Roe decided he wanted to meet her. He found her but she objected - violently. Space will not allow a description of how she chased him out of the wood, save to say that he escaped by leaping across a stream. He'd remembered his mother's warning that fairies will not cross water.

The Kettleness bogles were known as the Claymore Well bogies and though no-one ever saw them, they were often heard washing and bleaching their clothes, beating them with an implement known as a wooden battledore, rather like the paddle of a canoe with a large, circular flat blade, used by washerwomen for smoothing linen.

Claymore Well was about a mile east of Kettleness, not far from the Hob Holes of Runswick Bay, and the people said the bogles spent one night each week beating their clothes with a curious rhythm. No-one ever saw them, and no reliable account exists. I suspect that if anyone had ventured to look, they might have seen only the waves lapping rhythmically into open sea caves