She said, ‘It’s a beautiful coat. But I’ll tell ye, it must hae fell off some o’ the coaches goin to the town. It must be some high-up body’s coat that, because that’s nae poor man’s coat.’
‘Well, I’ve been lookin for a coat like this all my days,’ he said.
She says, ‘Ye’re no goin to keep it are ye?’
‘Oh aye, I’m goin to keep it. I’m goin to keep it all right,’ he said. ‘I’ve always wanted a coat like this. And naebody’ll ever ken I’ve got it. I’m keepin it!’
‘Well,’ she says, ‘ye might be keeping it, John, but what if somebody comes lookin for it?’
‘I’ll say I never seen nae coat on the road,’ he said. ‘I want it and I’m goin to keep it!’
‘Oh well,’ she says, ‘please yersel!’
So the old man had his tea. He sat cracking to his old wife a wee while and sat telling her about the folk he met in the pub and that. He went to bed. It was a cold night, a cold frosty night.
‘Maggie,’ he said, ‘I’m goin to fling that coat ower the top of the bed to keep us warm.’
‘Ah well,’ she says, ‘it’ll ay help, it’s a cold night.’
So after the old man and the old woman had made their bed the old man flung the coat over the top of them. But he was lying smoking for a wee while his pipe and the old man rose to go outside. He was a good wee while out, and all in a minute he heard a scream. He ran back. And there was the old woman, she’s sitting and shaking with fright!
‘God bless us, woman,’ he said, ‘what’s wrong wi ye?’
‘Dinna speak to me . . . it’s that coat!’ she said.
‘Aye, coat! There nothing wrong wi the coat!’
‘No,’ she said, ‘maybe you dinna ken there nothin wrong with it – these four buttons that’s on that coat – when you were out they turned into four eyes and they were shinin at me and winkin at me!’
‘Ah, ye must hae fell asleep while I was outside doin a wee job to myself,’ he said.
‘No, Johnnie, no, I never fell asleep. I’m tellin you, that coat’s haunted – that’s the Devil’s coat frae the haunted brig!’
‘Na, woman, you ought to have more sense than that.’
But the old man lay down again. He happed the coat back over him. But during the night he turned to the old woman:
‘Maggie, do you no feel it’s awfa warm?’
‘Aye,’ she said, ‘it’s awfa warm.’
‘God bless us,’ he said, ‘the sweat’s breakin off me and it’s a cold night like this!’
‘I tellt ye,’ she said, ‘it’s that coat.’
‘Aye, the coat! Lie down and hap yourself and pull the coat up!’
But the old man tossed and turned and he moaned all night. And he wakened up. The sweat was lashing off him and so was his old woman.
‘Maggie,’ he said, ‘it’s an awfa warm night!’
She said, ‘It’s no warm – it’s a frosty winter’s night!’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘lie back down.’
Now the old man began to get kind o’ umperant and cheeky to the old woman. Every word the woman said he began to lose his temper. Now he never was like this to the old woman before. But during the night he said, ‘Woman, would ye get off the top o’ me?’
She says, ‘I’m no near ye.’
He said, ‘You were lying on top o’ me a minute ago. I felt the weight o’ you on top o’ me!’
She says, ‘No!’ And the old woman rose up. She was wet with sweat and so was he. She said, ‘It’s that coat!’
‘God curse you and the coat,’ he said.
And he catcht the coat and flung it at the foot o’ the bed. And it lay down at the foot o’ the bed. The old man fell asleep and so did his old wife. And he wakened up. He was frozen, cold as could be.
‘God bless us,’ he said, ‘it’s awfa cold. I’m frozen.’
She said, ‘You were sweatin a minute ago an’ complainin about somebody lyin a-top o’ you.
And he started to the old woman, gave the woman the most cheek and umperance in the world. And he was going to hit her. ‘Only for you,’ he said, ‘I could hae my coat ower the top o’ me! You and this silly mental carry on o’ ye – you and your mad beliefs!’
‘Well, you’ll no believe me – it’s that coat! The best thing ye can do is get rid o’ it, or I’m no goin to bide in the camp wi ye wi it nae mair.’
‘I’m keeping the coat and you shut up!’ He’d never said that to his old wife before in his life.
But the next morning the old woman got up, kindled the fire and made a wee cup o’ tea. She offered the old man a cup o’ tea.
‘Leave it down there. I’ll get it when I’m ready,’ he said.
The woman looked at him. He never was like that with her before. But the more the week passed . . . the old woman went away and done a bit hawking, came back. But no: the fire was out, the old man was sitting at the fire. He’d hardly speak to her and snapped at every word she said to him.
‘John,’ she said, ‘what’s comin over you?’
He said, ‘There nothing coming over me, nothing at all.’
She said, ‘Ye’re demented some way.’
He said, ‘I’m no demented.’
She said, ‘Did ye look . . . were there anything in the pockets o’ that coat you found in the road?’
‘Aye, there were something in one pocket. But you’re no gettin it. I’m keepin it!’
She says, ‘What was it?’
He says, ‘A sixpence, a silver sixpence, and I’m keepin it, you’re no gettin it. Dinna ask it!’
He said, ‘Ah well,’ says the old woman, ‘I canna dae nothin with you. The best thing ye can dae is go back and put that coat where you got it.’
‘No,’ he says, ‘I’m no puttin the coat where I got it. I’m goin to keep it, suppose it is the Devil’s coat, I’m keepin it!’
‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘it’s up to yourself.’
But the days passed by and the old man got worse every day. He got so that the old woman couldn’t put up with him. Her life was greetin terrible with him for nearly a week. The old man was demented and the old woman couldn’t get a minute’s peace with him. Every night . . . the coat over him, the coat off him, the coat over him, the coat off him. And the old woman wouldna bide in the tent with the coat for God!
But one day she says to herself, ‘I canna take this nae longer. Either he goes or I go. If the coat disna go, I’ll go!’ she tellt the old man.
‘You can go if you want,’ he said, ‘but I’m keepin the coat.’
‘Oh well . . .’ she said.
The woman lifted her wee basket and away she went. She wandered away down to an old woman she knew, an old henwife who kept hens on a wee croft.
Out comes the woman: ‘Oh it’s yourself, Maggie,’ she says.
‘Aye.’
‘Ye back for the winter?’
‘Aye, I’m back for the winter.’
‘Well, ye’re just in time. I was cleaning up and haein a wee cup o’ tea. Come on in and hae a wee cup o’ tea wi me,’ she said. So this old hen woman liked old Maggie awful much. She said, ‘I’ll hae a look for some stuff to ye afterward.’ The old woman made her a cup o’ tea and gave her scones and cheese.
‘Oh, by the way, how is old John getting on?’ she says. ‘Is he keepin all right?’
‘No,’ says Maggie, ‘he’s no keepin all right, to tell ye the truth. There’s something far wrong with him.’
Oh, God bless me,’ says the old henwife, ‘he’s no ill is he?’
No,’ says the old woman, ‘he’s no ill. No ill nae way . . . he’s worse than ill – he’s demented. And bad and wicked.’
‘Well,’ says the old henwife, ‘it’s a droll thing. I’ve kent old John for many’s a year. He used to come here and dig my garden and cut sticks for me, do a wee bit job for me. And there’s no a nicer old man that ever walked the country. Everybody in the district has got a great name about him.’
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bsp; ‘Well,’ Maggie says, ‘he’s a changed man today. Ever since he found that coat.’
‘What coat?’ says the old henwife.
So the old woman up and tellt her the story.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘did he look the pockets out?’
‘Aye, he looked the pockets out.’
She said, ‘What was in the pocket o’ the coat?’
‘A sixpence.’
‘Ah,’ the old henwife said, ‘a sixpence, aye . . . What kind o’ coat was it?’
She tellt her: ‘Long and black, velvet neck, velvet pockets and four black-horned shiny buttons. And to mak it worse, the night he brung it back old John went outside for a wee walk to hisself, an’ I looked. As low as my mother,’ she says to the old woman, ‘I’ll no tell you a lie, but I could swear on the Bible these four buttons turned into four eyes and they were winkin and blazin at me!’
‘God bless me,’ says the old henwife, ‘where did he get it?’
Maggie says, ‘He found it on the bridge, the haunted bridge goin to the village.’
‘Oh aye,’ said the old woman, ‘hmmm. Well, I’ll tell ye, the morn’s Sunday and I’m goin to the church to the village. Would it be all right if I take a wee walk in and see you on the road past?’
‘I wish to God you would, and try and talk some sense into him,’ she says.
‘I’ll drop in and hae a wee crack to old John on the road past when I’m goin to the church.’
‘All right,’ says Maggie.
So the henwife gave the old Traveller woman eggs and butter and a can o’ milk and everything she needed. She bade her farewell and away went Maggie home to the camp.
When she came home the old man’s sitting cross-legged with the coat beside him. He wouldn’t hardly speak to her. No fire, his face no washed or nothing. And his two eyes were rolling in his head. The old woman kindled the fire and made him some tea. She offered . . .
‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m no wantin nothing fae ye. Don’t want nothing fae ye, not nothing at all!’
‘God bless me, John,’ she said, ‘that’s no a way to carry on. What’s wrong wi ye?’
‘There’s nothing wrong wi me. What’s wrong with you?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘there nothing wrong with me.’
But anyway, that night again the old woman wouldn’t let him put the coat over the bed. And they argued all night about it. The old man gave in at last. He flung it at the foot o’ the bed.
But next morning the old woman got up again, made a cup o’ tea. The old man took a cup o’ tea, nothing else, hardly speaking, just snapping at every word she spoke to him.
‘Well, John,’ she said, ‘there’s something far wrong with you, since ever you found that coat. As low as my father, that is the Devil’s coat!’
‘I’m no carin,’ he said, ‘s’pose it’s the Devil’s father’s coat. I’m keepin it!’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you keep it, you canna keep me.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘if it comes to the choice, you ken where your family is. You can go and stay with them – I’ll stay wi my coat.’
The old woman couldn’t see what to do with him. But they were still arguing away when up comes the old henwife with her wee hat and coat on and her handbag in one hand, her prayer book and Bible in below her oxter. It was only two steps off the road to the wood where the old man and woman were staying. The old henwife stepped in.
She said, ‘Hello, Maggie, how are ye?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello!’
She spoke to old John, ‘Hello, John, how are ye?’
‘Oh, I’m no so bad, I’m no any better wi you askin anyway! Ye’ll be up here for me to do some mair cheap work for ye – work for you for nothin.’
‘No, John,’ she says, ‘I’m no up tae gie ye mair work for nothing.’ The old woman was dubious right away. The old man was never like this before. ‘To tell ye the truth, John, I’m a bit worried. Maggie was down crackin to me yesterday and she tellt me about the coat you found at the bridge.
He said, ‘She had nae right tellin ye about the coat. I warned her not to tell naebody about it.’
‘Well, John,’ she said, ‘I want to see it.
He said, ‘Do you want to . . . do ye ken somebody belongin to it?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I dinna ken naebody belongin to it. But I want to see it.’
So the old man went out and he got the coat. He held it up.
The old henwife came up close to him: she said, ‘Hold that up by the neck!’
He held it up. She looked it up and down. She looked at it a long, long while. She could fair see it was just sleek and shining like sealskin.
She says, ‘John, what did you do with the sixpence you got in the pocket o’ it?’
‘Oh,’ he says, ‘did that old bitch o’ mine tell ye that too? Well, I’ve got it in my pocket and I’m keepin it.’
She says, ‘John, I want ye to do something for me.’
He says, ‘What is it?’
She says, ‘I want you to put that sixpence back in the pocket and hold up the coat!’
The old man looked at her for a long while. But something came over him when he looked at her . . . the way the old henwife looked at him. And he got kind o’ calm and quiet. He held up the coat by the neck. He dropped the sixpence in the coat pocket. The old man opened the other pocket and the old woman dropped in the Bible.
Well, when she dropped the Bible into that coat pocket the coat jumped about ten feet in the air! And the arms started to flap, and it was up and down and running about same as it was demented. Till the old woman said to old John:
‘Run and catch it! Stand on it!’
The old man got a terrible fright and old Maggie got a terrible fright. The old man was shaking like the leaf o’ a tree and so was the old woman. The old man began to realise now there was something far wrong with this coat.
So the old man stood on it with his feet. And the old woman leaned down. She put her hand in the pocket and took the Bible out.
‘Now, John,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell ye; I’m goin to the church. You walk along with me to the bridge. Take that coat wi ye.’
Old Maggie said, ‘I’m no bidin here myself. I’ll walk wi yese.’ So, the three o’ them walked along to the bridge.
And the old woman said: ‘Where did ye find the coat?’
He says, ‘I found it just there – that bad bend, the dark corner at the bridge. It was lyin across the road.’
So the old woman says, ‘Roll it up in a knot!’
And the old man rolled it up like that.
‘Now,’ she says, ‘throw it over the bridge!’ And the old woman opened the Bible and she said:
‘God bless us all!’ while the old man flung the coat over the bridge. When it hit the water it went in a blaze o’ fire and disappeared.
The old man looked: ‘God bless me,’ he said to the old woman, ‘it definitely was the Devil’s coat.’
So the old henwife said, ‘Aye John, that was the Devil’s coat. That was lost when he came here on Hallowe’en night. But it never was lost. It was left ‘specially for you: if you’d hae spent that sixpence, you’d hae been with the Devil!’
‘Well,’ he said to the old woman, ‘thank God you saved me.’
And the old man put his arm round his old wife and the two o’ them walked home. The old man said to her, ‘Look, as long as I live, Maggie, never again will I cross that brig at night-time.’
And from that day on the old man never crossed that bridge again till whatever day he died. He was the nicest old man to his old wife in the world. And life went on as if nothing ever had happened.
And that’s the last o’ my wee story.
Boy and the Knight
In the West Coast of Scotland is Loch Awe. And in that loch is a castle, ruins now – just ruins – the walls are there but nothing else. The castle is called ‘Woe be tae ye’, what I was told, and no one as far as I know has ever known where it really began
. But during the rainy season in Argyll the castle is surrounded by water, but when it comes a dry summer the loch dries up and ye can walk to the castle across the beach – which is only a fresh-water loch – it sits on about half an acre of land. And there’s such beautiful grass round the island.
So, a long time ago there lived an old widow and her son, they had a little croft on the mainland on Loch Aweside. She’d only one son, her husband had died many years ago and left her the one son. But she had some goats and some sheep and some cattle, and they had a wonderful life together. But her son was just about ten years old, and he had so many goats they had no food for them.
So one day she said, ‘Son, take the goats out to find some food for them.’
‘Mummy,’ he says, ‘why don’t I take them down to the island?’
She said, ‘Son, you can’t get tae the island today; the water is not low enough tae get across to the island.’
He says, ‘Mummy, I think after a dry spell, I think we could get across.’
So the young boy takes about five or six goats and they all follow him because they knew him as a baby. And the water then was only about two inches deep because it had been a dry summer. He walks across onto the little island in the middle of Loch Awe. The castle is surrounded by all these beautiful grasses and daisies and things, he thought it would be a wonderful place to take his goats and give them a good feed. And his mother had decided that he could go.
So wonst he led the goats across they spread out and they were eating, eating as fast as possible this beautiful green grass, because on their little croft they had eaten all the grass down. So the young boy walks round the castle, he’s looking up at the walls and he’s wondering in his own mind what kind of people had lived in this a long time ago, long before his time? And he walks round the walls, there were stairs going up, the stairs were half broken, there was no roof on the castle and some stairs had fallen in, there were big boulders and rocks. And then there was a small chamber that led into another room.
While his goats were busy feeding he would walk around, and he walked in through this passage to a chamber of the castle – even though the roof was gone there was a big broad square – which might in the olden days have been a dining room for the castle. And lo and behold he walked in . . .
Jack and the Devil's Purse Page 3
