It was the summer of 1757, a day that began with the bright promise of an ordinary, sun-filled afternoon. Four children, their laughter bubbling over as they played, knew nothing of the strange encounter that awaited them at Cae Caled, a field not far from Lanelwyd House to the south of Bodfari, Wales. It was midday, and the adults were inside, preparing lunch, while the children – Barbara Jones (15), her sister Ann (11), Edward Williams (7), and his sister Jane (10) – ventured out into the nearby fields, unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond the stile.
The air was still, the sky a gentle expanse of blue, and the world around them seemed utterly ordinary. As children do, they set to their games, laughter and conversation carrying on the breeze. But what happened next would forever change the way they viewed the world, their childhood innocence shattered by an encounter with the unknown. It started innocuously enough, with one of the children noticing movement in the distance. At first, it was little more than a flicker, something easily overlooked – but then the figures came into focus.
Just seventy yards away, small human-like figures, no bigger than the children themselves, moved in a strange, hypnotic dance. There were about sixteen of them, clad in vibrant red, with red headscarves dotted with yellow, swirling handkerchiefs in their hands as they danced in frantic, jerky motions. There was something unnatural about their speed, something ‘uncommonly wild’ in the way they moved. The sight struck the children dumb with a mixture of fascination and creeping dread. There was no music to accompany the dancing, no sound at all beyond the rustling of the grass and the soft sigh of the wind. The stillness of the day only heightened the eeriness of the spectacle unfolding before them.
Edward, the youngest of the group, would later compare their frenetic movement to Morris or May Dancing, but at that moment, there was no real sense of joy in what they were seeing – only a growing sense of unease. The little dancers spun and twirled, their movements too fast for the children to properly count them, their forms flickering like candlelight in the breeze. As they watched, one of the dancers broke away from the group and began to approach.
It was a small figure, barely larger than the children themselves, yet it moved with a deliberate, unsettling grace. ‘He came towards us in a slow-running pace, but with long steps for a little one,’ Edward would later recall. The approach was enough to shatter the children's paralysis, and in a heartbeat, they bolted for the stile, scrambling to escape. Terror propelled them forward, their youthful legs carrying them as fast as they could towards safety. Edward, lagging behind, screamed as he ran, his small voice piercing the quiet air like a knife.
In the midst of their panic, the children’s flight became disjointed, their fear mixing with confusion. Barbara, the oldest, was the first to reach the stile, her feet moving faster than her thoughts as she clambered over it, desperate to put the field behind her. Ann was close behind, her breath coming in ragged gasps, followed by Jane. Edward, the smallest and the slowest, was left at the rear, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt the fairy’s presence drawing nearer.
Just as the strange figure reached the stile, Jane grabbed Edward and hauled him over, saving him from whatever fate awaited at the hands of the silent pursuer. Edward caught a glimpse of the fairy up close, a memory that would stay with him for the rest of his life. The being was not what one might expect from tales of charming, playful fairies. Instead, it was something darker, something sinister. The figure’s skin was copper-coloured, its complexion swarthy and grim, with an expression that seemed both ancient and malevolent. It had the appearance of an old man, though it moved with the agility of youth, its hand outstretched as if to grasp Edward before he could escape.
The figure said nothing, not a word passed its lips, but its silence was more terrifying than any shout or scream could have been. It leaned over the stile, its dark eyes gleaming with something that sent chills down Edward’s spine. He later described it as a ‘warlike Lilliputian,’ small in stature but filled with a primal, violent energy that left no doubt as to its intent. The otherworldly nature of the creature was unmistakable, and the children, their hearts pounding in their chests, fled towards Lanelwyd House, screaming for help.
Their cries shattered the midday calm, echoing across the fields, and within moments, the men inside the house – already seated for dinner – rushed out to investigate the commotion. The children, pale and trembling, breathlessly recounted their tale, pointing back towards the field where the strange dancers had been only moments before. But when the adults looked, there was nothing. The field, just 150 yards from the house, was empty, the dancers gone as though they had never been there at all.
No trace of the red-clad figures remained, no sign of their eerie dance, and the field, which had moments ago been the stage for something otherworldly, now seemed as ordinary as ever. The men searched, but it was as if the fairies had vanished into thin air, leaving no evidence of their presence beyond the children’s terrified accounts.
For the children, however, the experience was far from over. The image of the dancers, their wild movements, and the grim, copper-skinned figure that had pursued them lingered in their minds for years to come. Edward, in particular, would never forget the sight of the strange creature’s outstretched hand, reaching for him as he scrambled over the stile. He would later reflect on the encounter with a mixture of awe and terror, understanding that what they had seen was no mere trick of the light, no figment of their youthful imagination. The fairies were real, and they had come dangerously close to falling into their grasp.
The event at Cae Caled became something of a legend in the small community, whispered about in hushed tones as people tried to make sense of the encounter. Some dismissed it as childish fancy, the product of overactive imaginations on a sunny summer’s day. Others, particularly those steeped in the old beliefs, knew better. They recognized the signs, the silence, the strange, frenetic dancing, and the copper-skinned creature as hallmarks of an encounter with the Fair Folk – beings who lived just beyond the veil of the human world, capable of slipping in and out of sight at will.
But while the adults might have speculated, for the children, the experience was all too real. They had seen the fairies with their own eyes, felt the terror of their approach, and barely escaped with their lives. It was a reminder that the world was far stranger and more dangerous than they had ever imagined, a place where the boundaries between the human and the otherworldly were not always as solid as they seemed.
In the years that followed, the story of the fairy dancers at Cae Caled was passed down, a haunting tale of an ordinary summer’s day transformed by a brush with the unknown. The children grew up, but they never forgot that fleeting, terrifying glimpse into a world that most people never see. And though they went on with their lives, the memory of the fairies – their wild dance, their silence, and the copper-skinned figure that had chased them – remained, a reminder that some doors, once opened, can never truly be closed.
You can hear about other encounters by children with guest Kate Ray here:
