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Fable
 When
we visited the library in Chester-le-Street in 1990, we found tucked
away on a back shelf a tattered box labeled The Lampton Worm. Inside
this box were photostats from many old books, each with a slightly
different version of the worm legend. The author of one thought that the
basic story dated from pre-Roman times and that worm was just a local
word for dragon. We had a good time comparing the various versions and
speculating on whether the worm story might not have gotten started when
the fossilized bones of an ichthyosaurus were found near here in the far
distant past.
Since our worm adventure, I have become interested in the origins of
fairy tales and legends. With just a little searching, it has became
clear that the Disney versions of Snow White, and Rumpelstiltskin are
very much tamer than the original Brothers Grimm stories. The rhymes of
Mother Goose also have a very interesting history, much different than
you might expect. Now when we travel, we keep an eye out for places that
are linked to fairy tales and legends, and we visit these places in
hopes of gaining some interesting insight into the stories. So far we
have visited two such places in Germany, the Pied Piper town of Hamlin
and the Baron Munchhausen Museum in Bodenwerder. Both were curious and
educational, but neither compared with that hilltop in England, where we
discovered the Lampton Worm.
In 2006, I received an email from Jennifer Spence,
who lives in Chester-le-Street, and she tells me that the actual name of
the beast is the Lambton Worm, not Lampton Worm. She also relates that
the monument was erected in honor of the first earl of Durham John
George Lambton.
The Lambton Worm
Many
centuries ago there lived a nobleman named Lord Lambton. As a boy,
Lambton skipped church one Sunday and went fishing in the Wear River,
which ran near to his home. He caught no fish, and so he started
swearing at his bad luck. Suddenly there came an immense tug on his
line. Pulling with all his might, the boy was just able to drag his
catch out of the water. He gazed in horror at what he had landed. It was
just six inches long, and shaped like a worm, but this worm had four
spindly legs, two feathery wings, and nine holes in its head. Lambton
dragged the creature to a nearby well, where he threw it in, resolving
to lead a much better life henceforth, because Lambton suddenly believed
in hell.
Years passed and Lambton grew into a fine and honorable man. He went
away to the crusades and did not return home for many a year. Meanwhile,
the worm in the well grew and grew. Finally it was of such a size that
it could escape from its cold, wet, circular prison. It crawled through
the fields and chased the cows. The farmers tried to kill it, but could
not, so they began bringing milk to it just to keep it from wandering
about. The worm continued to grow and soon required the milk of ten cows
each day. If milk was not given to it, the beast would devour the cows
and any farmers that it could catch. The worm was now immense, and spent
most of its time on a large rock in the middle of the river Wear. In the
afternoons though, it would wrap itself nine times around the highest
hill in that area, to drink its milk and bask in the sun.
After many a long year away, Lambton returned home and was met joyously
by his aged father, who immediately told his son of the terrible worm
that had four legs, feathery wings, and nine holes in its head. When
Lambton heard this, he grabbed his sword and hurried to do battle with
the beast. He found the loathsome thing curled around its hill, and
immediately set about destroying it. As the worm tried to curl itself
around him, Lambton swung his sword, and struck the thing again and
again ---- trying to cut it into a thousand pieces. Then he saw, with
horror, that each time his blade cut the worm in two, the two parts
would wriggle to meet each other, and in an instant, the worm would be
whole once again. Lambton fought the worm all day, but nothing he could
do hurt the beast, and so he finally became discouraged and made his
weary way home.
The next day, Lambton sought out the oldest white witch in that country,
and that old woman told him how the worm might be destroyed. First,
Lambton must have his armor covered all over with very sharp blades of
steel, then he must wrestle the worm on its rock in the middle of the
river Wear. As Lambton was about to hurry away, the witch added one more
instruction. Once the worm was dead, Lambton must kill the first living
creature that he met, or the death of the worm would be avenged. Nodding
in agreement, Lambton went away to make his preparations.
All that night the blacksmiths were busy and the next morning Lambton
and his father made their way down to the river Wear. Along with them
came Bull, the oldest of their hunting dogs. If the worm was
slaughtered, Lambton's father would release Bull, and the son would
swiftly kill the old dog; thus fulfilling the last of the witch's
instructions. Donning his razor armor, Lambton waded out to the island,
and into the coils of the hissing worm. The body of the beast strained
as it tried to smash Lambton's armor. Instead, the sharp blades cut the
worm into pieces, and these fell into the fast flowing river, and were
washed away before they could rejoin. Thus the worm grew smaller and
smaller, until at last it was gone forever.
Lambton rejoiced that he had finally destroyed this evil remnant of his
youth. As he waded ashore, his father came running to him ---- forgetful
of the old dog, and the last of the witch's instructions. As they
hugged, it suddenly came to both men that now Lambton must slay his own
father. This he would not do, and so from that time forward, for seven
generations, no one who bore the name of Lambton ever died in bed. That
was the final curse of the terrible Lambton Worm.
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