Jack and the Devil's Purse

by Duncan Williamson

  Jack said, ‘There must be a big party going on!’

  The wee hen below his oxter, he walks into the great big sitting room of the farm. There was his father sitting by the fire, and his mother. Oh, his mother was in tears to see him back. He still kept his wee hen below his oxter. He put his one arm around his mother and he shook hands with his father. There sitting at the table were his two brothers with two beautiful young women.

  Sandy had worked away with the farmer, fallen in love with the farmer’s daughter. And the farmer had given Sandy his daughter to be married. Willie had worked away with the old cobbler, and the cobbler thought the world of Willie. Willie fell in love with the cobbler’s daughter. And the cobbler gave Willie his daughter. Willie promised he would marry her and come back to the cobbler’s shop. He’d have it to himself, because Willie had turned out to become a great cobbler, with him used to working in leather. Now they had everything they needed. All they needed was Jack. And they were waiting and this was when Jack walked into the farm house.

  So after they all sat for a while the old farmer got out a bottle of whisky and passed it round. He was toasting them all.

  He says, ‘Jack, where’s your bride? Your young lady?’

  Jack said, ‘Here – this is her!’

  And Willie’s future wife looked and she grunted her nose. And Sandy looked.

  He said, ‘But Jack, that’s a hen!’

  Aye,’ he said, ‘it’s a hen and it’s my hen. And tomorrow’s the day, Father. Have you made arrangements?’

  ‘Oh, of course we’ve got the arrangements. Everything’s laid on for tomorrow. The carriage is coming for youse all. But where’s your wife?’

  He said, ‘I tellt you, Father, this is my wife.’ His mother thought Jack had went kind of droll.

  But he said, ‘Jack, that’s only a hen, a wee black hen! A bonnie wee hen.’

  Jack said, ‘I’m marrying her tomorrow!’

  Willie stood up. No,’ he said, ‘you’re not going to church with me to marry a hen! No brother o’ mine’s going to marry a hen, not in the same church as me!’

  Sandy said, ‘No, no, I couldn’t have it! My young brother marrying a hen in church – to get a name about us and shame us to death. I’m going back with my wife to her father when I’m married. We’ve got a good going farm o’ wir own.’

  Willie said, ‘I’ve got a good going cobbler shop o’ my own. And when we get married we want no disturbance. We want a good wedding. We want everybody happy. But you’re not coming, Jack, not with that hen to the church!’

  Jack said, ‘It’s my hen and I’m marrying her. Now I’m going to the church with youse.’ But they argued and bargued.

  But to keep peace the old woman said, ‘It’s your wee brother, you know, maybe he’s kind o’ droll – something wrong has happened to him.’ The old woman was sad for her laddie Jack.

  But anyway, Jack took good care of his wee hen that night and put it in the bed beside him. And the next morning, true to his father’s word, the big carriage came to the farm door. And the whole village turned out. Because everybody in the village knew the farmer. He’d spent a lot of money in the village. He was a rich farmer. And they knew the three laddies because they had all gone to the village school. The old school master came and the minister, and oh, everybody came! You know, the old trade farmers and the whole village! Everybody came to the wedding. And Sandy’s bride’s father was there, and Willie’s bride’s father was there.

  They marched the lassies down the aisle and gave them away to the young men. And the minister said the sermon. They were married.

  Jack’s father went up. He said: ‘We’ve another marriage coming up, Reverend!’

  ‘Another marriage?’ he said. ‘Where’s the young couple?’

  ‘Jack, my young son Jack’s getting married.’

  Now everyone took their seats. And there Jack walked up in front of the minister in the pulpit with the black hen. Wee black hen below his oxter.

  ‘Where’s your bride?’ said the minister.

  Jack said, ‘This is my bride.’

  He said, ‘I can’t marry you to a hen!’

  Jack said, ‘You’ll marry me to a hen! You’re a minister, aren’t you? And you can perform marriage services, can’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘but not to a hen.’

  Jack said, ‘It’s my hen and I want you to marry me to this hen! I’ve got the ring in my pocket.’

  And the father whispered in the minister’s ear, ‘Carry on! Just to please him. Don’t raise him up! He’s my youngest son and he’s a wee bit queer in the head.’

  ‘Anyhow,’ said the minister, ‘ladies and gentlemen, we have another marriage to perform. And it’s the queerest marriage I’ve ever done in all my life.’ Everybody was quiet in the church. You could have heard a pin drop. ‘This young man is going to marry a hen.’

  Willie’s wife began to giggle on to her sleeve. And Sandy’s wife began to giggle. Sandy gave her a dig with the elbow:

  ‘Quiet,’ he says, ‘wait till you see this!’

  So the minister says, ‘Well, if we must perform the marriage, we must! Now, young man, name?’

  He says, ‘Jack.’

  ‘Jack,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to say these words after me. But what about your bride, your hen? It can’t talk.’

  Jack said, ‘I’ll talk for it. Don’t worry about it, minister. Marry me to my hen! And I’ve got the ring.’

  So the minister said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here today to bind these two, these two – hen and man – together.’ He couldn’t say ‘people’. ‘Here to bind this hen and man for good or bad, in health, in sickness and in poorness.’ Whatever they say, you know!

  The minister says, ‘Do you take this hen to be your lawfully married wife?’

  And Jack said, ‘Yes!’

  ‘Well,’ the minister said, ‘have you got the ring?’

  And Jack says, ‘Yes!’ And he put the ring over the wee hen’s foot.

  ‘To love and keep and hold and cherish for ever and ever and ever till death do you part?’ said the minister.

  Jack said, ‘To love and hold and cherish and to keep till death do us part.’

  He said, ‘Now I pronounce you hen and husband.’

  And like that . . . a grey smoke arose where the wee hen was. And it got dark inside the church. People stood up and started to cry. But then as fast as the smoke came the smoke vanished. There beside Jack, standing with her arm linked to his, was the most beautiful young woman anyone had ever seen in all their life! Beautiful dark hair, long dark dress.

  And Jack put his arms around her and he kissed her. The old farmer and the old wife didn’t know what to do!

  So that night they all met in the farmhouse and they had a great-going party. And usually when there are parties in the house and everyone’s happy, someone has to tell a story. So Willie told his story and everybody listened about going to the cobbler. And Sandy told his story. But the most interesting story told that night was Jack’s story, how he had met his wife, the wee black hen!

  So the next morning after everything was squared up, Sandy said goodbye to his mother and father. He had a farm of his own; he didn’t want his father’s.

  Willie said to his father, ‘Father, it’s no good to me. I’m going back to my cobbler shop. I’d rather have my shop.’ He loved his cobbling shop.

  ‘Well, Jack,’ he says, ‘you not only got the bonniest wife, you’re entitled to the farm!’

  Jack said, ‘No, Father, it’s no use to me. You keep it, Father! And when you retire, Father, sell it and give the money to the church to share among the poor folk. Because I’m not needing it!’

  So the next day Jack and his young wife bade farewell to their mother and father. With a faithful promise the mother and father said they would come and visit, come and stay with Jack and his wife when they sold the farm. Because there was plenty of room in the big house.

  And Jack went ba
ck to the big house with his young wife and there he stayed. He never needed to work because he had plenty, plenty money. But now and again he would always go with his friend the old farmer and give him a wee help. Because after all, he was suffering from a broken leg that was only newly mended!

  That’s old Willie Williamson’s story. He was a cousin of my father’s who stayed around Dunbartonshire, but always came to Argyllshire in the summertime. Across the burn from my father’s barricade he would build his bow tents and fire. In the evenings we would sit and listen to his piping and singing and his great storytelling.

  The Beatin’ Stick

  Jack lived with his mother a long, long time ago. And his mother used to tell him all these wonderful stories at nighttime. Jack worked hard. He was a butcher by trade. He brought home plenty of meat to his mother, and they were well off. But one night he came home and brought plenty of food to his mother. And she was sitting. She seemed very downhearted.

  He says, ‘Mother, what’s the trouble, what’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Well, son, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking about my old sister.’

  ‘Mother, your what?’

  ‘My old sister, Jack – your auntie.’

  ‘My auntie, Mother? I never knew I had an auntie.’

  ‘Oh Jack, aye, my son, you’ve an auntie. And she’s a long, long way frae here. I think she’s no keeping very well. She’s in trouble somehow.’

  ‘Mother, how could you think that?’

  ‘Well, Jack, you dinnae ken, it’s a long story. Me and your auntie are twins, twin sisters. And she was forced to flee awa frae this country when she was young because people thocht she was working with the devil, black art.’

  ‘Ah, Mother, there’s nae such a thing as black art.’

  ‘Ah well,’ she said, ‘she got the blame o’ it. And folk was gaunnae burn her as a witch. She had to flee awa for her life! And now I’m getting kind of worried about this. She must be coming up in years. And that’s what I was gaunnae ask you, laddie. I ken you like your job with the butcher. But I would like . . . would ye do me a wee favour?’

  ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘you know I’ll do anything for you.’

  She said, ‘Ye ken I’m no bad off for money. You pay me well and I can manage myself. Would ye do your poor old mother a favour? Will ye gang and see your old auntie for me? And see how she’s getting on.’

  But Jack said, ‘Mother, how can I go and see somebody I’ve never met, someone I didna even ken existed till this day?’

  ‘Well, Jack, I didna want to tell you. I wanted to keep it secret from you because there’s many bad names about your old auntie. And I didna want you to grow up with the thought that there was any trouble in the family.’

  ‘Ah, but Mother, it’s my auntie, isn’t it? Your sister!’

  ‘Aye, Jack, it’s my sister. And she’s the same age as me, Jack. She’ll be seventy on her birthday and I’ve never seen her for forty years! And laddie, if you would gang and pay her a wee visit and tell her I’m all right, spend a wee time with her, come back and tell me how she’s getting on – it would make me awful happy.’

  ‘But, Mother, where does she stay?’

  ‘Oh, Jack, she stays a long way frae here, a long, long way frae here! Away to the end of the land. The farthest point of Ireland, Jack, that’s where she stays!’

  ‘Oh well, Mother,’ he said, ‘you ken it’s going to take me a long, long while and I cannae leave ye for as long as that.’

  ‘Laddie, I’ll be all right, Jack, when you’re on your way. I ken naething’ll happen to you. You go and see your old auntie and bring me back good news frae her. And if ever I die I’ll die happy.’

  So they sat and talked that night for a wee while. And Jack promised his mother he would go and see his old auntie. And this is where my story starts.

  The very next morning Jack and his mother were up early. She made him a little breakfast and she fried him a wee bit collop. She made him a wee bannock to carry him on his way.

  She says, ‘Be careful, laddie, on your way! It’ll maybe tak ye months, I dinnae ken. But it’ll maybe tak ye weeks. But remember, I’ll be always thinking about you. And may the best of luck gang with ye!’

  Jack bade goodbye to his mother and off he set. Oh, Jack travelled on, and on and on asking people questions along his way, doing a wee bit job for these people here, doing a wee bit job for people there. He was in nae hurry. And he travelled on and on till he came to a long weary road. There were not a house in sight. And then he came down this steep brae.

  There was a wee bridge crossing. He crossed the bridge and the first thing he saw was an old woman with a big bundle of sticks on her back. Oh, in the name of God, it was the biggest bundle Jack had ever seen an old woman carrying!

  And he said to himself, ‘How in the world can an old woman like that carry so many sticks on her back?’ And he put on the speed and stepped quicker. He overtook the old woman.

  He said, ‘Old woman, how could you carry such a big bundle as that?’

  ‘Ah,’ she says, ‘laddie, I’m carrying them but I’m getting really tired.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let me take a wee shot frae you. I’m going on your way. Have you far to gang?’

  ‘Aye,’ she says, ‘laddie, a wee bit yet.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘let me carry your sticks for you!’

  And Jack being young and strong picked up the bundle and put it on his back. The old woman walked beside him and they travelled on for about a mile till they came to a wee thatched house by the roadside.

  She said, ‘Laddie, this is my house.’

  And Jack could see there were heaps of sticks. The old woman had been carrying sticks, must have been carrying them for years!

  But he said to her, ‘What are you doing with so many sticks, old woman? You’ve nae need to carry so many as that. You’ve as much there that would keep my mother’s fire burning for years!’

  She says, ‘I like to gather sticks. I love gathering sticks! And that’s the only enjoyment I get out of life.’

  He tellt her his name.

  She said, ‘Ye ken, Jack, sticks is a good thing. Let them be thorn sticks, jaggy sticks, hazel sticks, ash sticks, oak sticks. Any kind of sticks is good sticks!’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Jack, ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Would you like to come in for a wee bit before you gang on your way?’ she asked.

  And Jack put the big bundle of sticks down beside the rest and the old woman brought him into this wee house. She made him something to eat and he sat and cracked to her. He tellt her where he was going.

  She said, ‘Laddie, you’ve a long, long way to gang, miles. It will tak ye weeks where you’re gaun.’ So she says, ‘You’ve been good to me, laddie. Do you want to stay the night or do you want to gang on?’

  ‘Ah,’ Jack said, ‘it’s kind of early yet. I think I’ll push on.’

  So she gangs to the back of the door and pulls out a black-thorn stick. And there were more knots in thon stick than ever you’ve seen in your life! But it was polished like new mahogany.

  She says, ‘Jack, will ye tak this wi ye? Maybe you’ll get tired on your way and it’ll help you.’

  But he said, ‘I’m no an old man! I dinnae need a stick.’

  She says, ‘Jack, you might need this – because this is a different kind of stick from the stick you think it is. This might help you on your way. Jack, this is a magic stick!’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘old woman! There’s nae such a thing as a magic stick.’

  She said, ‘Jack, this is a magic stick! You tak this stick frae me and on your journey back you can aye give it to me back. Will you do that for me?’

  ‘Oh well,’ says Jack, ‘there’s nae harm in taking a stick. It’ll maybe help me along the road.’

  But she says, ‘If you’re ever in trouble, you’ll no need to worry about it. If onybody ever touches you or you’re ever in trouble, just say, “Stick, beat them!” And
then, Jack, you’ll see that the stick is worthwhile o’ keeping.’

  Jack thought the old mort was kind of droll. But he took the old stick because he liked it. He’d never seen a stick like it before in his life. And he bade farewell to the old woman.

  On he walked. And he travelled on and he travelled on. That night he slept under a hedge. And he had a perfectly good sleep with the stick in below his head! He had a wonderful dream.

  So the next morning he set on his way and he travelled on. He was travelling down this kind of a forest when he hears all these funny noises and gibbling, gabbling, arguing coming from the back of the wood. Jack thought it was maybe people gathering for a kind of session or something. He wondered what was going on. He wanted to ask some questions from the folk where he was going.

  And he came through a wee path in the wood through a clearing. In the clearing in the middle of this scrubby wood o’ hazel trees he looked. He saw this band o’ people. They were all gathered round in a circle.

  Jack said, ‘I wonder what’s going on here.’

  When he came in closer he could see there were three men on horseback, young men. Two o’ them was dressed like soldiers. But the other one was dressed in these bonnie fancy clothes. They were surrounded by what Jack thought were robbers. Oh, some had patches on their eyes, ragged clothes, bare feet, trousers cut above their knees. They were a sorry-looking crowd. And some had crommacks in their hands. Some had kinds o’ spears and some had knives. They were surrounding these three young men.

  Jack said, ‘They’re robbin’ some gentlemen!’

  And he walked closer. They were pointing their sticks and spears at these three men on horseback.

  Jack said, ‘There’s too many for me to start an argument. I wonder if that old woman is tellin the truth.’ And he came in as close as he could. He held up this stick: