I quite like the Yorkhire dragon stories, mainly because of how different they are to the dragons in stories I heard growing up. They were completely different looking animals, even from the cute dragons from Ivor the Engine…
Dragons from stories I’d heard before were like armoured giant birds – they flew around breathing fire, and were killed with difficulty because of the impenetrable scales that covered them.
Yorkshire dragons were different. The were much more serpent, or wyrm like – killing people (or sinking ships) by wrapping themselves around them, rather than swooping down from the sky and breathing fire. They might drip poison from their heads, or have regenerative powers, but why would you need armoured scales when you’re simply enormous and heal quickly?
Some might breathe fire though, as I’ve always been told a dragon lived on Castle Hill near me. I assume that is said because it’s a rare example of a vitrified iron age hill fort, where a fire raged so fiercely (around 400BC?) that stones were fused together. Sounds like a good excuse for a dragon story to me… especially as there are said to be tunnels under the hill which would make a good home for a sneaky giant serpent.
Another Yorkshire Dragon! I tend to tweak these stories, making sure I keep the core of them the same of course, but whenever I come across unusual names I always make sure they stay the same. I like that the hero in this is called Scaw, as it is apparantly from an old Norse word (Skagi) for a “headland”. Fitting as this is near the coast, AND Yorkshire was settled by vikings for a significant length of time, giving many words to Yorkshire dialects.
A dragon.
Handale is a quiet spot these days, set in lovely countryside, with woods and open fields set around it, but also with the coast nearby.
In ancient times, however, Handale wasn’t so pleasant to live in, as these quiet woods were infested by a huge and powerful dragon, which had the power to control young women. For many years it would bring young maidens under its spell, bewitching them into leaving their homes and entering its lair, where it would feast on their youthful limbs.
A brave young man called Scaw was enraged by this waste of life, and after losing a friend to the vile worm, swore to destroy the dragon, or to perish in the attempt.
Amid the tears and prayers of his friends and family, he buckled on his armour, and made his way to the serpents cave.
He drew his sword, and struck a rock near the entrance to announce his presence. The dragon immediately came out, blasting fire from his nostrils, and rearing high his crested head to display the poisonous sting, which had destroyed many an angry young man before.
Scaw, however, was made of braver stuff, and he held his ground. After a long and exhausting fight, the young hero prevailed, killing the dragon in the entrance to its own cave.
Clambering over the body of the beast, he found an earl’s daughter still alive in the cave, whose family were so pleased with her timely rescue, they signed huge estates over to him.
The wood where he killed the dragon is called Scaw Wood to this day, and the stone coffin in which he was buried can still be found in the grounds of the old Benedictine priory nearby.
In the church of Nunnington, in North Yorkshire, is an ancient tomb. It is topped by the figure of a knight in armour, lying prone, the legs crossed, the feet resting against a dog, the hands apparently clasping a heart, but no inscription to determine to whom the monument belongs.
The locals tell that it is the tomb of Peter Loschy, a famous warrior, whose last exploit was killing a huge serpent, or dragon, which infested the country, and had its den on a wooded landmark now called Loschy Hill.
They say that having determined to free the area from the pest, Peter Loschy asked why no-one else had yet succeeded in destroying the serpent. Even the strongest and bravest warriors had failed, as it seemed able to recover from any wound inflicted upon it, shaking off a strike from a sword like we would a bite from a gnat.
Peter, therefore, made extra plans, getting a suit of armour prepared, with every part of it being covered with razor-blades set with the edges pointing outwards. Thus defended, armed with his sword, and accompanied by a faithful dog, he went forth to seek the dragon, which he quickly found in a thicket on the Hill.
The dragon, glad of another victim, pounced upon the armed man, ignoring a wound from Peter’s sword, and folded itself around his body, intending to squeeze Peter to death, and afterwards to devour him at leisure, but in this it was disappointed.
The razor-blades were sharp, and pierced it all over, so it quickly uncoiled itself again. To the surprise of the knight, as soon as it pulled away from him, and the razor blade coated armour, its wounds instantly healed, and it was strong and vigorous as ever.
A long and desperate fight ensued between the knight and the serpent, without either gaining much advantage over the other.
With Peter tiring, and fearing he could never inflict a fatal injury on the serpent, he swung his sword once more and chopped a segment from the end of the dragon’s tail.
His faithful dog saw his chance and quickly snatched up the beast’s flesh and ran across the valley with it for nearly a mile. He left it on a hill near Nunnington Church, and immediately returned to the scene of combat. Snatching up another fragment, he took it to the same place, and returned again and again for other fragments until they were all removed, the last portion taken being the poisonous head.
The knight, now rejoicing at his victory, stooped to pat and praise his faithful dog, who looked up and licked the knight’s face. Sadly, the poison of the serpent was still on the dog’s tongue, and both fell down dead within an hour of their victory.
The villagers buried the body of the knight in Nunnington Church, and placed a monument over the grave, on which were carved the figures of the knight and his faithful dog, to witness to the truth of the story.
This story crops up in a few places with slight variations, I stuck a couple of them together to make the short tale below. I thought it was appropriate to start with seeing as the first post had a pic of the Yorkshire coast on!
My daughter drowning a dragon in a sandpit (at Wentworth Castle).
A couple of hundred years ago, a huge dragon, nearly a mile long, lived in the waters near Filey. It had a habit of lying in the gulley, a tidal inlet, where it was partly hidden, and making itself a snack of any unsuspecting boats that ventured near.
Ralph Parkin, known as Billy Biter to his friends, for reasons too obscure to go into here, lived in Filey all his life, working as a tailor in the town. One day, he went down to the beach for a breath of fresh air and to eat some of the cake his wife had made him.
The dragon was getting restless, however, and its nostrils flared as the smell of the cake drifted over from Billy’s hand. It was the sticky gingerbread style cake made in Yorkshire from plenty of oatmeal and treacle, and it made the serpent’s stomach growl with hunger.
It heaved its huge bulk up from the water and scared poor Billy half to death. In a panic, he threw the whole cake at the dragon, who chomped down in satisfaction. It was too sticky and rich for the dragon, however, who was used to crunchier and meatier snacks, and its teeth got stuck together. It thrashed around in the water, trying to unstick its jaws, repeatedly dunking its head in the water to wash the cake away.
Billy saw his chance, and jumped onto the dragon’s head while it was just under the surface of the water. He called to his friends to do the same, and their combined weight drowned the dragon.
To this day, the sticky ginger cake is known as Parkin after the family who made the cake that killed the Filey dragon. The bones of the great serpent still lie where he died, jutting out to sea, and are now known as Filey Brigg.
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Yorkshire Folk Tales 
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