We’re diving into a super intriguing tale today about a girl named Rashiecoats, who’s got not just one, but three incredible coats that are as magical as they sound. Picture this: a king’s daughter who’s bright and capable, but facing a not-so-cool marriage proposal from a stubborn dude who thinks he’s got it all figured out. Instead of just rolling over, she heads to the edge of the woods and meets a henwife who gives her the wild idea to ask for some impossible gifts to dodge the wedding – think golden coats and feathered showstoppers.

As she sneaks away from her troubles, she finds herself in a far-off castle, taking on kitchen duties while keeping her magical threads close. But don’t you worry, this isn’t just a story about a girl in a kitchen; it’s about her clever moves, the magic of her coats, and a shoe that leads to a twist of fate. So, grab your headphones, kick back, and let’s unravel this yarn about choices, courage, and a sprinkle of Scottish folklore!

Takeaways:

• In this episode, we dive deep into the enchanting tale of Rashiecoats, a girl with three magical coats that represent her journey and choices.
• Rashiecoats cleverly uses her unique garments to avoid a marriage she doesn't want, showing us the power of creativity and cunning.
• The story explores themes of identity and self-determination, highlighting how we can carve our own paths despite societal pressures.
• With a sprinkle of magic and a dash of fate, Rashiecoats teaches us that true happiness comes from being true to ourselves and our desires.
• The episode reminds us that sometimes the most unexpected helpers can come from the quietest corners of our lives, just like the mysterious presence that aids Rashiecoats.
• Rashiecoats is more than just a fairy tale; it's a reminder that our struggles can lead to unexpected blessings and beautiful transformations.

Welcome back to Bitesized Folklore, the show for curious tales, odd history and the stories that cling to the quiet corners of the world. Today we're in Scotland, not for a ghost this time, but for a girl with three remarkable coats and a name made from river grass. This is Rashiecoats.

Our story begins with a king's daughter, bright, capable and used to doing what's right rather than what's easy. A powerful man decides he'll marry her. He's older, stubborn and very sure of himself. The king does not refuse him.

So the girl goes walking past the gardens, past the last cottages, to the house at the edge of the wood where the hen wife lives. A neighbour who tells the truth plain. Ask for what can't be done, the henwife says.

Three coats, one of beaten gold, one made from every bird's feather and one woven from the green rushes by the river. Ask for rush slippers too. It sounds impossible, but money makes strange things ordinary. The gold is hammered until it lies like cloth.

Servants go to the hedges with sacks of grain and call a grain for a feather until the birds accept the bargain and leave a plume down by the water. Rushes are cut and braided into a coat that smells like rain. Slippers are stitched to match. The suitor smiles. We wed at dawn.

She doesn't wait for dawn that night. She wraps the three coats, slips the soft green shoes over her shoulder and she walks.

She walks through the hours when owls trade news, when the moon thins, when birds begin. She keeps walking until the road changes and the faces are strange. In the kitchens of a far off castle, there is always work for steady hands.

She peels, stirs, sweeps and sleeps by the warmesh bed because of the odd green cloak she keeps around her shoulders when the draughts creep in. The other servants gave her the name Rashiecoats. It's stuck. Sabbath comes. The castle empties for Kirk.

Everyone goes except the girl in the kitchen, who must keep the dinner. Right. When the room is quiet, help arrives. A small, bright presence at the hearth. You don't need its name. Not every helper uses one. Put on your coat.

Put on your gold coat, it says. Go. I'll mind the pots. She does. In the kirk, the light seems to gather around her. Heads turn.

The young prince looks up and forgets the hymn before the final amen. She slips away and hurries back. Nothing has burned. Nothing has boiled dry. The next Sabbath, the helper nods at the feathered gown.

Rashiecoats walks into church in a coat that shifts like wings. The prince Reaches the door a moment too late. She's gone. On the third Sabbath, she dresses in green. Rush coat, rush slippers.

She moves like a river under willow leaves. This time the prince is waiting by the door. One slipper slips free and taps the stone. Light as a leaf. She doesn't turn back.

You know the promise that follows. The prince says he'll marry the woman whose foot fits the shoe. Great ladies try, maids try. Someone tries to force the fit.

And learns the hard way that pain is naught, the path to happiness. Birds sing in the hedges. Kitchens are mentioned. So the prince goes where people forget to look. Down the stairs into the warm room.

Ash on her sleeves, spoon in her hand as Rashiecoats keep stirring. Because soup waits for no romance. He asks politely if he may try the shoe. It slides on as if it remembers her.

She brings out the matching slipper from her bundle. The room changes. Not brighter, just clearer. As if everyone suddenly expects to be surprised. They talk before they promise. Names, terms.

No doors, Forced space for the life she's built. Thanks for the hen wife who knew what to ask. A garden by the river. Because you don't forget what saved you.

There is a wedding in time, not at dawn at a sensible hour. With warm bread and a fiddler who knows when to be a hush and when to be a storm. The birds come without payment.

A few feathers are left in the hedge for luck. So who's Rashiecoats really? She's a princess in disguise, yes, but also a girl who steps sideways, out of danger and chooses her own road.

The coats aren't just pretty things. Gold like light, feathers like air. Rushes like water, earth, sky, river. Stitched around a stubborn heart.

Rashiecotes belongs to a family of stories where a young woman asks for impossible garments to stall a marriage that she doesn't want, hides her finery inside a humble disguise and is recognized by a lost shoe. At church in Scotland, there's a close cousin called Rushin Coatie. More like Cinderella. With a helper by the hearth. And three Sunday visits.

Different shapes, same steady center. A test, a choice and a life made on your own terms. That's it for this episode of Bitesized Folklore.

If this tale kept you good company, follow the show and leave a review. It helps these stories find curious ears. Until next time. Travel kindly and keep a little space for wonder.