The Nisse's Ale - a legend from Klodskov

There was once a woman in Klodskov who had a sister who was married and lived in another village. One day the sister came to visit, and the two of them sat talking of this and that. Then the woman from Klodskov could hold it in no longer: how was it that her sister's ale was better than any other ale? She would so dearly love to learn to brew as well.

The sister hesitated. It wasn't really something to talk about - but her own sister, surely she could confide in. One day a nisse - a household sprite - had come and borrowed a pot of ale from her. And ever since, the barrel had stayed full.

"Oh, won't you draw me just a little drop," said the woman from Klodskov, "for I've grown so thirsty from hearing about it."

The sister ran out with the ale pot. But she came back in with it empty in her hand. There wasn't a drop left in the barrel.

You see, it was only because she had talked about it.

The nisse and the secret

The legend builds on one of the oldest rules in Danish folk belief: the nisse's gifts last only as long as you keep quiet about them. The nisse lived on the farm, usually in the stable or the loft, and he could bring good fortune - full barrels, thriving animals, a loft that never ran empty of grain. But he had to be treated properly, given his porridge on Christmas Eve, and never boasted about. Break the rule, and the good fortune vanished as quietly as it had come.

Ale was not a luxury back then. Farms brewed their own, and good, strong "gammeløl" (old ale) was something to be proud of - including at Vægtergården, where ale was brewed well into the 1900s. Read about Hans Vægter and the tap that came out of the barrel.

Where does the legend come from?

Pastor Jacob Kristian Lindberg, parish priest in Tingsted from 1844 to 1857, collected a number of legends from the area and wrote them down. He was born in Ribe in 1797 and died in Copenhagen the same year he left Falster. His records are reprinted in Ketty Lykke Jensen's Ønslev og Eskilstrup Sogne (2009).

And then there's the moral, which we take very seriously at Vægtergården: we don't tell where we get the buns for Shrovetide.

Source: J.K. Lindberg's recorded legends, reprinted in Ketty Lykke Jensen, Ønslev og Eskilstrup Sogne (2009), pp. 186-187. Retold.