But according to some, Wayland has far more onerous
responsibilities than shoeing the horses of passing way farers…
A group of local lads were enjoying a drink
one evening at the White Horse Inn, Woolstone,
when an unknown man wearing old fashioned garb
entered and ordered a pint of the local beverage.
He wore a leather apron, a tall hat,
and he took his drink and sat
to one side of the ale-house by himself…
After awhile the sound of a horn rang out
and could be heard
echoing eerily through the vale…
Startled from his reverie by the horn,
the stranger leapt to his feet and hobbled
out into the night, his pint unfinished.
As the uncanny sound faded over the downs
the locals looked out and up to the hillside
to find that the White Horse was gone!
When dawn broke the following day
more than a few of the previous night’s imbibers
looked out of their windows
and up at the hill with some trepidation…
Only to see the White Horse
back where it should be on the green hillside
but with feet-tips
that seemed to shine in the morning sun light.