Anthology Scottish Folk Tales Read online

  Dedicated by Scotland’s Storytellers

  TO

  LAWRENCE TULLOCH

  1943-2017

  We’ll tak a cup of kindness yet

  For auld lang syne

  First published 2019

  The History Press

  97 St George’s Place, Cheltenham,

  Gloucestershire, GL50 3QB

  www.thehistorypress.co.uk

  © The Authors, 2019

  The right of The Authors to be identified as the Authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 0 7509 9287 9

  Typesetting and origination by The History Press

  Printed in Europe

  eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

  FOREWORD

  Why is Scotland such fertile folk tale territory?

  First of all, Scotland is a very diverse country, geographically and culturally. It is big and wee at the same time. It is part of Great Britain yet proudly independent in identity and imagination. From Shetland and Orkney in the north, to the Borders and Dumfries and Galloway in the south; from the Western Isles to Aberdeenshire and Fife in the east, landscapes and language vary, sometimes dramatically. In the Highlands, sea and mountain predominate, while in Perthshire it is river and glen.

  Secondly, this is a living tradition. These tales have not been excavated from dusty tomes. All the contributors are current storytellers as we go to press, with the sad exception of Lawrence Tulloch who died in 2017. We are all honoured to be dedicating this book to that most generous host and inspirer of Scotland’s contemporary storytelling renaissance.

  But lastly, these stories matter because they bring us all closer to the natural world, to our shared centuries of human endeavour, and to sustaining values. Never has the world had so much need of such stories, and Scotland is proud to make its contribution. Here is a perfect introduction to Scotland, the storytelling nation – explore and enjoy.

  Donald Smith

  Director, Scottish International Storytelling Festival

  CONTENTS

  Shetland

  DA Hallamas Mareel

  Mallie and the Trow

  Orkney

  Assipattle and the Stoor Worm

  Kate Crackernuts

  Western Isles

  South Uist: Asking for the Wind

  Lewis and Outlying Islands: Who Was Chasing Who?

  The Highlands

  The Seal Killer

  A Highland Origin Myth

  Aberdeenshire

  The Giant with the Three Golden Hairs, or, The Seely Cap

  French Kate

  Perthshire

  The Golden Cradle of the Picts

  The Urisk of Moness Burn

  Argyll

  The Song of the Wind

  The Harper of Lochbuie

  Fife

  Buff Barefoot

  The Witch of Fife

  Midlothian

  An Unlikely Auction

  The Fairy Boy of Leith

  East Lothian

  Wee Short-Hoggers of Whittinghame

  The Holy Princess of East Lothian

  Scottish Borders

  Thomas the Rhymer

  The Laddie that Kept Hares

  Dumfries and Galloway

  The Milk White Doo

  The Puddock

  SHETLAND

  LAWRENCE TULLOCH

  LAWRENCE TULLOCH was born in North Yell in 1942 and was introduced to storytelling by his aunt and his father. His interest in folklore led to him making several radio broadcasts, and he wrote for magazines and local papers. He had four books published and left two written but not published when he sadly passed away in February 2017.

  As a storyteller he travelled extensively: to Washington USA, the Faroe Islands, Sweden, Norway, Slovenia, Ireland and Orkney, and he participated in several Scottish festivals including the International Storytelling Festival in Edinburgh and Celtic Connections in Glasgow. He recorded two tapes of stories and had them remastered to CDs.

  He enjoyed telling stories and loved the audience reaction, which always left a twinkle in his eye.

  DA HALLAMAS MAREEL

  At the Burgi Geo in northwest Yell there lies the remains of an Iron Age fort. It is on a headland joined to the rest of the island by a narrow neck of land. There are rows of standing stones that lead, on one side, into the fort, but on the other side the standing stones lead the unwary over the high cliff and to their doom.

  Long after the original inhabitants left, the fort was taken over by a ruthless and cruel band of Vikings who preyed on the honest and hardworking udallers: West-A-Firth, in those days, was a wild and lawless place.

  It was late autumn and the children of West-A-Firth were preparing for Hallamas. Wearing the traditional straw hats, they had been to every house in the area collecting money the taditional party that took place every year. All the houses that is, save one. It was a miserable hovel deep in the hills, where the Spaeman, the hermit Isaac Omand, lived. He welcomed no one and no one knew how he made a living. If he was ever heard speaking it was always in riddles that no one could understand.

  All the money collected for Hallamas was given to Mary. She was a spinster who lived alone but she loved children and she was always to the fore at Hallamas time. Along with Martha Rassusson and Jenny Ninian she went to the shop at Glippapund to buy the food for the party.

  For the rest of the week they baked fatty bannocks, currney buns, oven sliddericks and dumplings. They made tattie soup they kirned for fresh butter, kirn milk and blaand. A lamb had been butchered and meat and mealy puddings were cooked.

  When Mary returned home after visiting a neighbour she was distraught to find that the robbers from the Burgi Geo had raided the house and taken everything. On being told, the Oldest Udaller called a meeting and the folk came from Setter, the Neap, Graven and Vigon to discuss what they could do.

  There was no question of confronting the Vikings; they were far too powerful and to try and fight them meant the certain loss of life. Sadly there were no suggestions and most were resigned to their fate.

  ‘Der only da wan thing we kan dü,’ declared the Oldest Udaller, ‘we maun geng an ax the Spaeman.’

  ‘Der nae öse o dat,’ said Sigurd Ollason, ‘he’ll never spik tae wis an even if he dus we’ll nivver keen whit he means.’

  In the absence of any other ideas, Sigurd and Tirval Ertirson were sent to consult the Spaeman. When they arrived at his house they got the impression that Isaac Omand was expecting them.

  He was outside, a tiny man dressed in rags; he had a long grey beard and he had not washed for a very long time. He never gave them a chance to speak but said in a shrill wavering voice:

  Da Burgi Geo men ir fat an greedy

  While wis puir fok ir tin an needy

  Bit ta mak things rite an weel

  Ye maun öse da Hallamas mareel.

  So saying, he went inside and shut the door leaving Sigurd and Tirval speechless. Feeling that their journey had been wasted, they made their way back to the house of the Oldest Udaller. They told him the Spaeman’s rhyme and waited for his response, which took some time in coming.

  ‘Da only plis it we kan get mareel fae is d
a sea so sum o you il haeta geng ta da kraigs.’

  They saw it as futile but they did as they were told. They took their homemade rods and began fishing from the rocks. When the light began to fade they were astonished at the mareel in the water. They had never seen anything like it: the sea, the fish and the fishing line flashed with ribbons of fire.

  On the way home Sigurd suddenly had an idea of how they could use the mareel. He was confident that the robbers would come to steal the fish so he got Tirval and others to skin the piltocks and sillocks. From the womenfolk he got old blankets and pieces of linen and they began to sew the fish skins onto the cloth.

  Six men donned the mareel-covered cloth and they set off westwards towards the Burgi Geo but hid below the banks of the burn to keep watch for the robbers. The mareel flashed like green fire in the moonlight.

  They did not have to wait long and all the men kept low until Sigurd gave the shout and they all leaped up shouting, jumping and waving their arms. The effect on the robbers was amazing, they were terrified and turned tail and ran back towards the Burgi Geo as fast as they could go.

  The West-A-Firth men followed, screaming and shouting. The robbers, in their panic, followed the wrong set of standing stones and every last one of them disappeared over the cliff to their death.

  In the days that followed, the West-A-Firth men ventured into the fort and found it empty of people, but they were able to recover many of the things that the robbers had stolen from them over the years. And so the community enjoyed the best ever Hallamas and they were able to live in peace and with plenty ever after.

  MALLIE AND THE TROW

  Mallie was a widow who lived with her three sons. They were all big healthy young men, and their mother found it very hard to feed them. They were very poor; money was in short supply since the man of the house had been lost at sea.

  At the start of every winter they had a few potatoes, a small barrel of salted herrings and a boll (140lbs) of oatmeal. As the boys got bigger, Mallie found it harder and harder to make this scanty supply of food last all winter.

  There came the time, the winter still had a distance to go, when the last of the herring was taken from the barrel and the last of the meal was taken from the girner. As they ate this frugal meal Mallie explained that they had no more food left and hungry days lay ahead.

  The following day the boys were all as hungry as ever and there was no food.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked the oldest son.

  ‘We shall have to become beggars, there is nothing else for it,’ he was told.

  The old woman who lived close by always seemed to have plenty of food, so the same boy volunteered to go and ask her. He knocked on her door and she came and answered it.

  ‘All our food has been eaten, we are all going hungry, please can you give us something to eat?’

  He could see into the kitchen of the house, he could see that the cupboard door was open and the shelves were laden with food. There was bread, cheese, cooked meat, oatmeal, flour, tea, coffee and jar after jar of jam and preserves; the cupboard was filled to overflowing.

  The old woman gave the boy a withering look.

  ‘Go away, how dare to come to my door begging, I have nothing to give you and do not come back or it will be worse for you.’

  He came back home to his mother and his brothers, crying. He was a big boy and crying was for babies but he was so hungry and he could not understand how that woman could be so hard and unkind.

  ‘Some folk are like that, son,’ his mother said. ‘Be pleased that we are different.’

  Late in the afternoon a knock came to the door and standing on the doorstep was a little old man with grey hair and twinkling blue eyes but dressed in rags.

  ‘Can you give me something to eat?’ he asked. ‘I have been on the road for two days without any food at all.’

  Mallie explained to him that they had no food either but he was welcome to come in and warm himself by the fire. The old man thanked her and came into the kitchen. After he had settled down and was speaking to the boys, Mallie went to the herring barrel.

  There were no herring in it, she knew that, but there was some brine. She went to the meal girner and, using a small brush made from the grass that grew near the shore, she swept the corners of the box, the lid and the bottom.

  Mallie was surprised at how much she got from the girner, she took it and mixed it with the brine. It was enough that everyone got a small amount in a cup but Mallie had hardly any for herself.

  The old man sat by the fire and asked if he could stay with them overnight.

  ‘We have no bed for you but you are welcome to stay by the fire. We have plenty of peats so at least you can be warm,’ Mallie replied.

  The following morning one of the boys went to the well for a bucket of water and each of them had a drink. The old man took his departure and he thanked the family for their hospitality.

  They all said goodbye and the old man walked away. The boys had gone back indoors and Mallie was about to turn in and shut the door when the man turned back and spoke again to Mallie.

  ‘That meal and brine that we had last night, was that really the very last of your food?’ he asked. Mallie told him that it was the last and she had no idea what they would have from now on. The old man considered for a time and then said, ‘It is a very special person who will share the very last that they have.’

  With that he turned and walked away. Inside there was a gloom settling over the house. Mallie hated to see the boys so hungry and they were trying very hard not to complain. The fire burned down low and one of the boys went to the stack for a basketful of peats. At least they could be warm, he thought. When he came back, Mallie stoked up the fire. The peats were quite big and Mallie broke one in two. Something fell from the peat and tinkled on the floor.

  When Mallie picked it up she saw that it was a gold coin. She broke another peat and out came another gold coin. Every peat proved to have a gold coin inside it and Mallie knew that the old man that visited was a trow and this was his way of saying thanks.

  There was no more hunger for Mallie and the boys; they could buy anything they wanted. This did not go unnoticed; the old woman who refused to help them was curious to know where Mallie’s money came from.

  She spied on the family and saw Mallie breaking peats and picking up the coins. The woman waited until after dark and stole peats from Mallie’s peat stack. She was not content with a basketful, so she took several and brought them into her kitchen.

  However, when she broke a peat no coin appeared. Instead a mouse dropped to the floor and scuttled away looking for a place to hide. She broke open another and another as she looked in vain for gold coins, but all she got was more and more mice.

  The mice multiplied like mad and soon the house was overrun with them. They got into her larder and they devoured every morsel of food that she had. In no time she had nothing to eat; the mice had consumed everything.

  She endured two days of hunger and misery before she was reduced to begging. She knew that Mallie now had plenty so she came to Mallie’s door and was greeted by the same boy that she had turned away from her own door.

  The old woman told him that mice had overrun her home, she had no food, she was very hungry and could they please give her something.

  ‘I will give you exactly the same as you gave me when we had nothing,’ he told her, and slammed the door in her face.

  Mallie asked him who he had been speaking to.

  ‘It was that old woman from next door,’ he said. ‘She has the cheek to ask us for food and I have not forgotten how she treated me when I asked her for food.’

  ‘Have you forgotten what I told you?’ Mallie asked him. ‘I told you that we were not like her.’

  She opened the door and called the old woman back.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Come in and sit by the fire and you can share the food that I am cooking. As long as we have any food you shall never go hungry.’


  ORKNEY

  TOM MUIR

  Tom Muir tells stories from his native Orkney Islands, and has travelled the world, from the Arctic’s North West Passage to the shores of the South China Seas and many countries in between. He has published books on Orkney folk tales, making these stories accessible to everyone so that they will continue to be retold. It has been his lifelong work to save Orkney’s stories for future generations.

  He and his his wife Rhonda have created the website Orkneyology.com, and teamed up with Robert Gordon University to create a free ‘Orkney Folklore Trail’ app, telling folk tales in the landscape. Tom works as Engagement/Exhibitions Officer at the Orkney Museum.

  ASSIPATTLE AND THE STOOR WORM

  There was once a farmer who lived on a fine farm called Leegarth, which lay in a valley by the side of a stream. The farmer had a wife and seven sons, and they all worked hard on the farm. Well, that’s not strictly true, you see, the parents and six elder sons worked hard, but the youngest son did nothing but lie beside the fire, raking through the ashes, so they called him Assipattle, which means ash raker. Assipattle regularly became covered with ashes and when he went out the ash would blow from him like smoke from a bonfire. The boy was also a great storyteller although in his stories he was always the hero who killed the dragon and married the princess. His brothers hated him and they would kick him on their way out the door, while his parents would just shake their heads sadly when they looked at him.

  Now, one day a terrible thing happened; the Stoor Worm arrived at the land where Assipattle lived. This was no ordinary stoor worm, but the Mester Stoor Worm, the oldest, biggest and baddest stoor worm in the sea. A sea monster so big that it was wrapped right around the world, and when it moved it caused earthquakes and tidal waves. It could crush the mightiest ship between the forks of its tongue, or sweep whole villages into its mouth, and if that wasn’t bad enough, its breath was poisonous and would kill any living thing it touched. What was worse, it was now lying off the coast of the land where Assipattle lived and it had started to yawn. This was a bad sign because it didn’t mean that the Stoor Worm was tired, it meant that it was hungry and it wanted to be fed.