The Fynoderee had worked for a farmer near St Trinian's for years, mowing his meadow at night. One season the farmer made the mistake of finding fault. He said the grass had not been cut close enough to the ground.
The Fynoderee took it badly. The next year, when the farmer began mowing himself, the spirit followed behind him, stubbing up the roots of the grass so fiercely and so close on his heels that the farmer was lucky to get away with his legs. After that nobody would mow the field.
In the end a soldier from the garrison, who was afraid of nothing, took it on. He kept a wary eye on the Fynoderee the whole time and cut the grass in a circle rather than in straight swathes, so that he always had the creature in view. It worked, and from then on the field was known as the round meadow.
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