I’ve already written about the strangeness of the spaces at crossroads and under bridges (see Witches cottages– Fri 14th Nov). Today I was back in that part of Brighton where three viaducts almost converge, a very singular place indeed and, well, since the other thing everyone knows about bridges is that trolls live under them, I thought I’d go a-hunting for one.

Sure enough I soon found evidence in the form of a sheep’s skeleton and a haul of treasure, both hidden in plain sight in window displays, some pigeon feathers too, lying in the road, and then the gnawed remains of a headless human torso (ok it was made of plaster, but trolls are really only interested in bones so the plaster would have tasted similar enough to fool one of them, at least for a bit). So, I tried softly humming one of their songs as I know they can’t resist a tune they know the words of. It goes like this (as faithfully translated from the Norwegian by Frank Luther in 1947):

“I’m a troll, fol-dee-rol, I’m a troll, fol-dee-rol
I’m a troll, fol-dee-rol, fol-dee-rol-dee-rullee
I have three heads and I have three hats
I have three chins and I have three cats
I have six eyes and I have six ears
When I cry, I cry six tears”

Anyway, I’d only just finished singing the verse when this really low rumbling started, and as it grew louder I’m afraid my courage failed me and I fled, running all the way up the hill till I got to the other side of the bridge across New England Hill.

I did wonder afterwards if it could have been the sound of a train crossing the bridge, but I know the difference between the sounds a train and a troll makes, and I wasn’t going to hang around for the next line of the song was I?

“I’m a troll, fol-dee-rol, I’m a troll, fol-dee-rol
I’m a troll, fol-dee-rol and I’ll eat you for supper”

No sir-ee, I’m not stupid.