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A Scholarly Report on the Fairy Peasblossom
The doctors at Cottingley Mental Hospital called it Peasblossom Delusion, after the first known sufferer “Peasblossom”. The most prominent symptom is unshakeable belief that one is a fairy.
During the Great War, 1917, two girls playing in the countryside beyond Cottingley Dell stumbled across a strangely dressed young woman. Doctors now believe her to be one of the “feral children” often reported on the European mainland—children abandoned in the wilderness—and speculate that this, along with the possible loss of her nearest relatives to the war, contributed to her diminished sanity.
At the time, both girls—Elsie and Frances—claimed the woman had worn an iridescent dress and boasted two large, colorful wings akin to those of the order Lepidoptera, complete with scales and ornate patterns. None of these were confirmed by any medical staff. The only clothing the woman possessed was a handmade gown constructed from leaves, twigs, hemp twine, and other assorted leaf litter.
Initially, she was rushed to the nearby Dell Hospital, for the villagers were concerned about her mental state. In truth, she had a most extraordinary psychological profile evident even before psychometric and psychoanalytic tests began.
She gave her name as “Peasblossom”, and when a literarily inclined staff member noted the allusion, she insisted she’d met William Shakespeare himself and had served as his muse.
She had informed the two girls that she had come from a place called Avalon, and that she possessed fantastic magical abilities that could make flowers bloom before their time and remove sadness and grief. No evidence of these abilities appeared, though not for lack of trying; when she was moved to the Cottingley Mental Hospital, many scientists and paranormal investigators eagerly tested her skills. The woman’s abilities were championed by none other than world-respected author and keen spiritualist Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Unfortunately, she refused to cooperate. Not even cameras or hidden observers could capture positive evidence for her abilities.
Except for her reticence around cameras and experimenters, she was remarkably sanguine, highly talkative, encouraging, and even affectionate, to the point that many junior staff expressed remorse over her confinement. Most of the senior staff regarded her—fondly—as an overgrown child. Indeed she played games—alone or with company, it made no difference—and asked questions with childlike abandon.
However, she was likewise reluctant to learn the necessary adult skills for life, lacking the patience and self-control to sit down and engage with financial and political documentation. Disputes, even mild and amicable ones, provoked strong withdrawal symptoms and occasional panic attacks, suggesting some acute trauma in her childhood which rendered her incapable of operating without constant approval and cooperation. She herself claimed it was the natural temperament of fairykind.
After the war, enquiries were made at the local council offices and the civil services of London; they found no evidence for her origin or genealogy. Some speculated that she was descended from the Roma peoples, which would at least explain her lack of documented history. All such suggestions she denied, repeatedly claiming that fairies had no ancestors and simply appeared in a local area, borne from the collective beliefs and fantasies of the native people, and continued thereafter as a guardian of children.
Her own personal tale is illustrative of the depth of her delusion.
According to her own account—once suitably coaxed out of her by many patient nurses—she was a former servant of Queen Titania, a noble fairy of Avalon. Their appearance before William Shakespeare—the details of this meeting were never vouchsafed to the nurses—inspired him to write A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Initially, Titania and “Peasblossom” regarded the play as a successful confirmation of the belief that sustained them. Over the centuries, however, these fey-inspired stories moved from native belief to pure fiction, weakening and destroying what both fairies relied upon. At this point in the telling, “Peasblossom” would refuse to continue, showing strong signs of depression and grief, but the nurses have inferred from this that Titania did not survive the loss of belief.
When enquired about the nature of belief here, usually “Peasblossom” would claim that she survived by refashioning herself as a native spirit of Cottingley, the local inhabitants being a relic population of superstitious farmhands willing to keep traditions alive. Thus she was reborn as a guardian of the children at play. According to her, this manifestation was a result of the Great War, for many children were grieving after the loss of their fathers and brothers at the Battle of the Somme in 1916.
A curious coda to this account: in 1927, exactly ten years after her appearance to the children, “Peasblossom” mysteriously vanished from her room in the Cottingley Mental Hospital. All the windows were barred after a previous escape attempt, and only three senior staff had access to the door key; all denied aiding her escape. The villagers threw a festival to honor her, seemingly under the impression that she’d magically caused the remarkable crop productivity and lack of illness and death during those ten years.
Having reviewed the facts, and as a man of science and reason, I must weigh skeptical of these fantastic claims. Yet if I may be allowed a moment of indulgent humanity, part of me rather wonders if there is something hidden here, in plain sight.
During the Great War, 1917, two girls playing in the countryside beyond Cottingley Dell stumbled across a strangely dressed young woman. Doctors now believe her to be one of the “feral children” often reported on the European mainland—children abandoned in the wilderness—and speculate that this, along with the possible loss of her nearest relatives to the war, contributed to her diminished sanity.
At the time, both girls—Elsie and Frances—claimed the woman had worn an iridescent dress and boasted two large, colorful wings akin to those of the order Lepidoptera, complete with scales and ornate patterns. None of these were confirmed by any medical staff. The only clothing the woman possessed was a handmade gown constructed from leaves, twigs, hemp twine, and other assorted leaf litter.
Initially, she was rushed to the nearby Dell Hospital, for the villagers were concerned about her mental state. In truth, she had a most extraordinary psychological profile evident even before psychometric and psychoanalytic tests began.
She gave her name as “Peasblossom”, and when a literarily inclined staff member noted the allusion, she insisted she’d met William Shakespeare himself and had served as his muse.
She had informed the two girls that she had come from a place called Avalon, and that she possessed fantastic magical abilities that could make flowers bloom before their time and remove sadness and grief. No evidence of these abilities appeared, though not for lack of trying; when she was moved to the Cottingley Mental Hospital, many scientists and paranormal investigators eagerly tested her skills. The woman’s abilities were championed by none other than world-respected author and keen spiritualist Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Unfortunately, she refused to cooperate. Not even cameras or hidden observers could capture positive evidence for her abilities.
Except for her reticence around cameras and experimenters, she was remarkably sanguine, highly talkative, encouraging, and even affectionate, to the point that many junior staff expressed remorse over her confinement. Most of the senior staff regarded her—fondly—as an overgrown child. Indeed she played games—alone or with company, it made no difference—and asked questions with childlike abandon.
However, she was likewise reluctant to learn the necessary adult skills for life, lacking the patience and self-control to sit down and engage with financial and political documentation. Disputes, even mild and amicable ones, provoked strong withdrawal symptoms and occasional panic attacks, suggesting some acute trauma in her childhood which rendered her incapable of operating without constant approval and cooperation. She herself claimed it was the natural temperament of fairykind.
After the war, enquiries were made at the local council offices and the civil services of London; they found no evidence for her origin or genealogy. Some speculated that she was descended from the Roma peoples, which would at least explain her lack of documented history. All such suggestions she denied, repeatedly claiming that fairies had no ancestors and simply appeared in a local area, borne from the collective beliefs and fantasies of the native people, and continued thereafter as a guardian of children.
Her own personal tale is illustrative of the depth of her delusion.
According to her own account—once suitably coaxed out of her by many patient nurses—she was a former servant of Queen Titania, a noble fairy of Avalon. Their appearance before William Shakespeare—the details of this meeting were never vouchsafed to the nurses—inspired him to write A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Initially, Titania and “Peasblossom” regarded the play as a successful confirmation of the belief that sustained them. Over the centuries, however, these fey-inspired stories moved from native belief to pure fiction, weakening and destroying what both fairies relied upon. At this point in the telling, “Peasblossom” would refuse to continue, showing strong signs of depression and grief, but the nurses have inferred from this that Titania did not survive the loss of belief.
When enquired about the nature of belief here, usually “Peasblossom” would claim that she survived by refashioning herself as a native spirit of Cottingley, the local inhabitants being a relic population of superstitious farmhands willing to keep traditions alive. Thus she was reborn as a guardian of the children at play. According to her, this manifestation was a result of the Great War, for many children were grieving after the loss of their fathers and brothers at the Battle of the Somme in 1916.
A curious coda to this account: in 1927, exactly ten years after her appearance to the children, “Peasblossom” mysteriously vanished from her room in the Cottingley Mental Hospital. All the windows were barred after a previous escape attempt, and only three senior staff had access to the door key; all denied aiding her escape. The villagers threw a festival to honor her, seemingly under the impression that she’d magically caused the remarkable crop productivity and lack of illness and death during those ten years.
Having reviewed the facts, and as a man of science and reason, I must weigh skeptical of these fantastic claims. Yet if I may be allowed a moment of indulgent humanity, part of me rather wonders if there is something hidden here, in plain sight.
Good Stuff: You're trying to be clever here and there, and it works! The Shakespeare connection and particularly the Cottingley stuff is very interesting when you know the real-life context. You even got the girls' names and the Arthur Conan Doyle connection right. Kudos for that! I also like the colorful personality of "Peasblossom" and how it contrasts with the scholarly tone of the report, and the fairy lore in a psychiatric setting was cool. You get credit for the idea, especially how it's left ambiguous even to the narrator whether she really is a fairy or not.
Bad Stuff: You're trying to be clever here and there, but you should focus more on other stuff too. There's no real character arc, and the narrator isn't really there until the last paragraph, so it feels too impersonal despite the message at the end trying to imply something about his attitude. I also wonder if a village would really have two hospitals. Maybe they should've been in a nearby city instead, like Bradford or Leeds.
Verdict: Solid Entry. The dryness works against it, and it's more a clever sci-fi fantasy idea developed as a report than an actual engaging story. But within that cleverness, it works so well that I can forgive it. You've at least put some thought into an emotional aspect, even if it's weaker than the (admittedly cool) ideas.
Bad Stuff: You're trying to be clever here and there, but you should focus more on other stuff too. There's no real character arc, and the narrator isn't really there until the last paragraph, so it feels too impersonal despite the message at the end trying to imply something about his attitude. I also wonder if a village would really have two hospitals. Maybe they should've been in a nearby city instead, like Bradford or Leeds.
Verdict: Solid Entry. The dryness works against it, and it's more a clever sci-fi fantasy idea developed as a report than an actual engaging story. But within that cleverness, it works so well that I can forgive it. You've at least put some thought into an emotional aspect, even if it's weaker than the (admittedly cool) ideas.
My review:
Characters and Dialogue: This story is foremost, to me, a good example of indirectly painting a picture of a character (Peasblossom) through the biased lens of another (the scientific narrator). By the end, we're really cheering for Peasblossom to get some sort of closure, and for the narrator to be affected by it, and the ending provides this nicely.
Style, Form, and Grammar: No grammar mistakes, and the flow of sentences is very natural. Moreover, the vocabulary, sentence-structure, and overall flourish of the writing fits the narrator's old-timey British scientific background very well.
Plot and Pacing: There are some inconsistencies, or just vague points that I find diminished from my reading experience, however. In the second paragraph, we're told that she was discovered in 1917, and the scientist hypothesizes that she was a feral child, and that perhaps her family was lost to the war, causing a mental break. Naturally, feral children don't know their family; does he mean that she was a former feral child, got adopted, and then lost her parents just a year or two in the war?
It's also unclear to me if she really is a fairy or not. The fact that Elsie and Frances saw her in resplendent dress, but the medical staff did not, would make me say "yes." But then the line "Not even cameras or hidden observers could capture positive evidence for her abilities" made me think "no," since there's no indication that such a method could fail. And then her mysterious vanishing and concluding remarks made me think "yes" again.
Finally, all the remarks about Shakespeare and Arthur Conan Doyle and Queen Titania were interesting, but seemed irrelevent to the rest of the story. Unless something is flying over my literarily uneducated head.
Final: All in all, this well-written, charming little piece will wind up somewhere in the upper end of my ballot.
Characters and Dialogue: This story is foremost, to me, a good example of indirectly painting a picture of a character (Peasblossom) through the biased lens of another (the scientific narrator). By the end, we're really cheering for Peasblossom to get some sort of closure, and for the narrator to be affected by it, and the ending provides this nicely.
Style, Form, and Grammar: No grammar mistakes, and the flow of sentences is very natural. Moreover, the vocabulary, sentence-structure, and overall flourish of the writing fits the narrator's old-timey British scientific background very well.
Plot and Pacing: There are some inconsistencies, or just vague points that I find diminished from my reading experience, however. In the second paragraph, we're told that she was discovered in 1917, and the scientist hypothesizes that she was a feral child, and that perhaps her family was lost to the war, causing a mental break. Naturally, feral children don't know their family; does he mean that she was a former feral child, got adopted, and then lost her parents just a year or two in the war?
It's also unclear to me if she really is a fairy or not. The fact that Elsie and Frances saw her in resplendent dress, but the medical staff did not, would make me say "yes." But then the line "Not even cameras or hidden observers could capture positive evidence for her abilities" made me think "no," since there's no indication that such a method could fail. And then her mysterious vanishing and concluding remarks made me think "yes" again.
Finally, all the remarks about Shakespeare and Arthur Conan Doyle and Queen Titania were interesting, but seemed irrelevent to the rest of the story. Unless something is flying over my literarily uneducated head.
Final: All in all, this well-written, charming little piece will wind up somewhere in the upper end of my ballot.
A lotta fun:
But I've got a little problem with the set-up. It's just that we're told both that the young woman is suspected of being a feral child abandoned in the wilderness and that she may have suffered the loss of her nearest relatives to the war. But if her relatives abandoned her, how would she even know that they'd died? Also, the difference between a child and a young woman is fairly great in my mind: I need a better idea of how old Peasblossom seems to be, especially since she apparently speaks perfect English when she's brought to the hospital. I'd recommend just going with the idea that she's a trauma victim--maybe mention the "feral child" thing just to have the authorities dismiss it as not likely since she speaks so well.
I'd also like the villagers to threw her the festival while she's still in the hospital, and then she vanishes. This would answer the question "Why didn't she leave before?" by implying that it was the locals' belief that gave her the power she needed to finally hie herself outta there.
Mike
But I've got a little problem with the set-up. It's just that we're told both that the young woman is suspected of being a feral child abandoned in the wilderness and that she may have suffered the loss of her nearest relatives to the war. But if her relatives abandoned her, how would she even know that they'd died? Also, the difference between a child and a young woman is fairly great in my mind: I need a better idea of how old Peasblossom seems to be, especially since she apparently speaks perfect English when she's brought to the hospital. I'd recommend just going with the idea that she's a trauma victim--maybe mention the "feral child" thing just to have the authorities dismiss it as not likely since she speaks so well.
I'd also like the villagers to threw her the festival while she's still in the hospital, and then she vanishes. This would answer the question "Why didn't she leave before?" by implying that it was the locals' belief that gave her the power she needed to finally hie herself outta there.
Mike
Loved this story, wish it had been in the top 3, but 4th place is close enough. The ending paragraph is abrupt and rather awkwardly worded compared to the rest of the story, making me feel like you should have just left it out. The story itself kind of reminds me of the style SCPs are written in -- minus the quirky [REDACTED] and other elements that have since been done to death -- which added an eerie, almost creepy atmosphere to the whole thing, especially since the setting is in the middle of the Great War (so perhaps the immense destruction and suffering can create supernatural things?) At the same time, the setting also has very sad undertone, with a clear implication that we are just dealing with a broken spirit rather than a real "fairy", to say nothing of the children.
This story is a shining example of how one can squeeze a ton of detail into just a few words. Could have used a bit more polish, but these are mere surface blemishes, while the foundations are rock solid. Well done!
This story is a shining example of how one can squeeze a ton of detail into just a few words. Could have used a bit more polish, but these are mere surface blemishes, while the foundations are rock solid. Well done!