by Joseph Jacobs

English Fairy Tales is a collection of 43 traditional stories gathered from oral tradition, chapbooks, and earlier printed sources by the Australian-born folklorist Joseph Jacobs (1854–1916). First published in 1890, with illustrations by John D. Batten, the collection includes such beloved tales as Jack and the Beanstalk, The Three Little Pigs, Jack the Giant-Killer, and Tom Thumb. Jacobs selected and retold the stories for a young audience, aiming to do for English children what the Brothers Grimm had done for German ones.

This edition reproduces the text of the first edition (London: David Nutt, 1890). Jacobs's scholarly notes on the sources and analogues of each tale are preserved at the end of the volume.

WHO says that English folk have no fairy tales of their own? The present volume contains only a selection out of some 140, of which I have found traces in this country. It is probable that many more exist.

A quarter of the tales in this volume have been collected during the last ten years or so, and some of them have not been hitherto published. Up to 1870, it was said equally of France and of Italy, that they possessed no folk-tales. Yet, within fifteen years from that date, over 1000 tales had been collected in each country. I am hoping that the present volume may lead to equal activity in this country, and would earnestly beg any reader of this book who knows of similar tales, to communicate them, written down as they are told, to me, care of the Publishers. The only reason, I imagine, why such tales have not hitherto been brought to light, is the lamentable gap between the governing and recording classes and the dumb working classes of this country—dumb to others but eloquent among themselves. It would be no unpatriotic task to help to bridge over this gulf, by giving a common fund of nursery literature to all classes of the English people, and, in any case, it can do no harm to add to the innocent gaiety of the nation.

A word or two as to our title seems necessary. We have called our stories Fairy Tales though few of them speak of fairies. The same remark applies to the collection of the Brothers Grimm and to all the other European collections, which contain exactly the same classes of tales as ours. Yet our stories are what the little ones mean when they clamour for “Fairy Tales,” and this is the only name which they give to them. One cannot imagine a child saying, “Tell us a folk-tale, nurse,” or “Another nursery tale, please, grandma.” As our book is intended for the little ones, we have indicated its contents by the name they use. The words “Fairy Tales” must accordingly be taken to include tales in which occurs something “fairy,” something extraordinary—fairies, giants, dwarfs, speaking animals. It must be taken also to cover tales in which what is extraordinary is the stupidity of some of the actors. Many of the tales in this volume, as in similar collections for other European countries, are what the folklorists call Drolls. They serve to justify the title of Merrie England, which used to be given to this country of ours, and indicate unsuspected capacity for fun and humour among the unlettered classes. The story of Tom Tit Tot, which opens our collection, is unequalled among all other folk-tales I am acquainted with, for its combined sense of humour and dramatic power.

1. Tom Tit Tot

Once upon a time there was a woman, and she baked five pies. And when they came out of the oven, they were that overbaked the crusts were too hard to eat. So she says to her daughter:

"Darter," says she, "put you them there pies on the shelf, and leave 'em there a little, and they'll come again." She meant, of course, that the crust would get soft again. But the girl, she says to herself: "Well, if they'll come again, I'll eat 'em now." And she set to work and ate 'em all, first and last.

Well, come supper-time the woman said: "Go you, and get one o' them there pies. I dare say they've come again now."

The girl went and she looked, and there was nothing but the dishes. So back she came and says she: "Noo, they ain't come again."

"Not one of 'em?" says the mother.

"Not one of 'em," says she.

"Well, come again, or not come again," said the woman, "I'll have one for supper."

"But you can't, if they ain't come," said the girl.

"But I can," says she. "Go you, and bring the best of 'em."

"Best or worst," says the girl, "I've ate 'em all, and you can't have one till they've come again."

Well, the woman she was done, and she took her spinning to the door to spin, and as she span she sang:

"My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day.
My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day."

The king he was coming down the road, and heard her sing; but what she sang he couldn't hear, so he stopped and asked: "What was that you were singing, my good woman?"

The woman was ashamed to let him hear what her daughter had done, so she sang, instead of that:

"My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day.
My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day."

"Stars o' mine!" said the king, "I never heard tell of any one that could do that."

Then he said: "Look you here, I want a wife, and I'll marry your daughter. But look you here," says he, "for eleven months out of the year she shall have all she likes to eat, and all the gowns she likes to get, and all the company she likes to keep; but the last month of the year she'll have to spin five skeins every day, and if she don't, I shall kill her."

"All right," says the woman; for she thought what a grand marriage that was. And as for the five skeins, when the time came, there'd be plenty of ways of getting out of it, and likeliest, he'd have forgotten all about it.

Well, so they were married, and for eleven months the girl had all she liked to eat, and all the gowns she liked to get, and all the company she liked to keep.

But when the time was getting over, she began to think about the skeins and to wonder if he had 'em in his mind. But not one word did he say about 'em, and she thought he'd wholly forgotten 'em.

However, the last month he took her to a room she'd never set eyes on before. There wasn't a thing in it but a spinning-wheel and a stool. And says he: "Now, my dear, here you'll be shut in to-morrow with some victuals and some flax, and if you haven't spun five skeins by the night, your head'll go off."

And away he went about his business.

Well, she was that frightened, she'd always been such a gatless girl, that she didn't so much as know how to spin, and what was she to do to-morrow with no one to come nigh her to help her? She sat down on a stool, and looked out of the window, and she saw a little black thing with a long tail coming towards her. It looked up at her right curious, and it said:

"What are you crying for?"

"What's that to you?" says she.

"Never you mind," it said, "but tell me what you're crying for."

"My husband says I've got to spin five skeins to-morrow, and I don't even know how to spin," says she.

"I'll tell you what," says the little black thing, "I'll come to your window every morning and take the flax and bring it back spun at night."

"What's your pay?" says she.

The little black thing looked out of the corner of its eyes, and it said: "I'll give you three guesses every night to guess my name, and if you haven't guessed it before the month's up, you'll be mine."

Well, she thought she'd be sure to guess its name before the month was up. "All right," says she, "I agree."

"All right," says the little black thing, and away it flew.

Well, the next day, the king took her to the room, and there was the flax and the day's food.

"Now, there's the flax," says he, "and if that ain't spun up this night, off goes your head." And then he went out and locked the door.

He'd hardly gone, when there was a knocking against the window.

She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little black thing sitting on the ledge.

"Where's the flax?" says it.

"Here it be," says she. And she gave it to it.

Well, come the evening a knocking came again to the window. She upped and she oped it, and there was the little black thing with five skeins of flax on its arm.

"Here it be," says it, and it gave it to her.

"Now, what's my name?" says it.

"What, is it Bill?" says she.

"Noo, that ain't," says it, and away it flew.

Well, when the king came in, there were the five skeins ready for him. "I see I shan't have to kill you to-night, my dear," says he; "you'll have your food and your flax in the morning," says he, and away he went.

Well, every day the flax and the food were brought, and every day the little black thing fetched the flax and brought back the five skeins. And every night that little black thing asked for its name, and she gave it a guess, but she never got it right, and the little black thing always said: "Noo, that ain't it."

And so it went on till the last day of the month but one. And that night, when the little black thing came, she was that desperate she didn't know what to do, and she gave it a guess: "Is it Nicodemus?"

"Noo, 'tain't," it said.

"Is it Samuel?"

"Noo, 'tain't," it said.

"Is it Methuselah?"

"Noo, 'tain't," it said.

Then it laughed and it said: "Woman, there's only to-morrow night, and then you'll be mine." And away it flew.

Well, she felt horrid. But just then she heard the king a-coming along the passage. In he came, and when he saw the five skeins, he says: "Well, my dear," says he, "I don't see but what you'll have your skeins ready to-morrow night as well, and as I reckon I shan't have to kill you, I'll have supper in here with you to-night." So the servants brought supper, and another stool for him, and down the two sat.

Well, he hadn't eaten but a mouthful or so, when he stops and begins to laugh.

"What is it?" says she.

"A funny thing happened this afternoon," says he. "I was out a-hunting, and I rode past a chalk-pit, and I heard a sort of a humming. So I got off my horse, and I went right quiet to the pit, and I looked down. Well, what should there be but the funniest little black thing you ever set eyes on. And what was it doing, but it had a little spinning-wheel, and it was spinning wonderful fast, and twirling its tail round and saying:

"Nimmy nimmy not
My name's Tom Tit Tot."

Well, when she heard that, she could have jumped out of her skin for joy, but she didn't say a word.

Next day the little black thing came and took the flax, and at night it came back with the skeins.

"What's my name?" it says, as it gave them to her.

"Is that Solomon?" she says, pretending to guess.

"Noo, 'tain't," it says, and it came nearer to her.

"Well, is that Zebedee?" says she again.

"Noo, 'tain't," says the little black thing, and then it laughed and twirled its tail, and it came closer still.

"Take time, woman," it says; "next guess, and you're mine." And it stretched out its black hands at her.

Well, she laughed and she says: "Nimmy nimmy not Your name's TOM TIT TOT."

Well, when it heard her, it gave an awful shriek and away it flew into the darkness, and she never saw it any more.

Colophon

This edition of English Fairy Tales reproduces the text compiled by Joseph Jacobs, first published by David Nutt (London, 1890), with illustrations by John D. Batten. The text entered the public domain and was digitised through Project Gutenberg.

Joseph Jacobs (1854–1916) was a folklorist, literary critic, and historian who compiled five landmark collections of folk and fairy tales — two English, two Celtic, and one Indian — establishing the canon of English-language fairy stories still told today.

Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

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