Should you ever need protection from mer-folk or freshwater sirens, just look to the ferns on the riverbank, advises Pip Squire.
Be it on isolated moorland, suburban roadsides, or in crevices high on inner-city walls, ferns proliferate in a wide range of environments. On Dartmoor, it’s not unusual to find all kinds of fern in close proximity to rivers and moorland pools; their fluid forms mirroring the wild green water where we swim on hot days.
The abundance of ferns on the riverbank means it’s easy to pluck a frond before you slip into the water, if, in line with folk custom, you’d like to weave it into your hair prior to swimming, in the interests of protection against freshwater sirens.
There is a story by the 19th century Devonian priest, folk-song-collector and novelist Sabine Baring-Gould in which a titled lady, out in a boat on a lake with her ladies’ maids, knitting, repeatedly sticks a knitting needle in the water to test the depth. The third time she does this, a merman comes to the surface, telling the lady she’s blinded his three mer-children, and that he is going to place a curse on her son as an act of revenge.
What should prove invaluable yet again, but the all-powerful fern seed (the purported existence and applications of which we have explored in previous Unfurling columns). Said to restore sight, amongst many other magical properties, the fern seed is collected by the lady and her maids, who, upon sprinkling it into the lake, restore the sight of the mer-folk, and undo the curse.
The mystical powers of the fern, it would seem, are just as potent in the water as they are on dry land.
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As told to the editor.
An artist based in Devon and Cornwall, Pip Squire is a colour enthusiast, and a lover of the stories contained in plants, people and animals.