THE DEVIL’S TUNE
When Michael Scot the wizard was biding at Aikwood Tower hae heard a lot o stories aboot the witch o Falsehope. Eventually hae decided tae go an find oot the truth o this for himself. Hae set off with his servant across tae the other side o the River Ettrick an up intae the hills above Falsehope Farm. The wizard an his servant then made their way doon tae the farmhoose. The servant stayed ootside whilst Michael Scot went intae see the wifie. But when Michael asked the wifie if she dealt in magic she immediately denied any knowledge o such a thing. Anything hae put tae her aboot witches an the like she flatly denied. At the hinderend, just tae see what would happen, the wizard planked doon his wand on the table. Quick as a flash she picked it up an skelped his lug wi it, stunning him. As hae tried tae come tae his senses hae could feel its power take a grip o him. It started pulling him this way an that. Then it lifted him up an wheeched him right oot the hoose. His servant ootside took yin look at his master an immediately set the greyhoonds on him. Michael Scot realised by the shape that hae occupied an his slender but hairy front paws that hae’d been turned intae a hare. Hae immediately sped off in sheer panic wi the pack o greyhoonds at his tail. Whilst scurrying away hae didnae have the breath tae reverse the spell. Aw hae could dae was zigzag as fast as hae could go tae keep the greyhoonds away frae his tail. It took him aboot twae hours tae gie the hoonds the slip by hiding in his ain sewer back at Aikwood. Only then was hae able tae unravel the witch’s spell.
Such a thing hae wasnae going tae let lie, an hae put in a fair bit o thought as tae how hae would get his revenge on that scunnersome witch o Falsehope. With this in mind hae sent his servant doon tae the farmhoose tae ask the wifie for a bit o bread for his empty belly.
Just as the wizard anticipated, the wifie had nae sympathy with his servant, wouldnae even gie him the time o day, let alone an auld dried bread-end, an chased him oot the hoose forthwith. However, unbekent by the wifie, the servant had slipped a bit o paper on top o the lintel just inside the door. On the paper was written aw sorts o cabalistical words, hidden marks, an this particular rhyme:
Master Michael Scot’s man
sought meat, an gat none.
As the day went on an the men in the fields were cutting away at the corn, the auld farmer was wondering what on earth had happened tae his wife, as she was supposed tae be bringing doon the bread for the men an himself. So hae sent yin o his men up tae the farmhoose tae find oot what had happened tae her. A wee while after, when the fella hadnae come back, hae sent up another man tae find oot what the story was. A wee while after that, when neither fella had come back, hae sent another man up tae the hoose. Then after another bit time had passed an still none o his men had come back, the auld farmer decided tae go up tae the hoose himself tae find oot what had happened.
Given that three o his men hadnae come back tae the field the auld fella was gey cautious, an instead o just going up an lifting the sneck an marching straight intae the hoose hae decided tae have a quick keek through the window. What a stramash was going on inside that hoose. The stamping an dunting an the vibrations o which threatened tae shoogle an crumble the very foundations o the hoose. The farmer’s mooth fell open an his eyes poked oot frae his heid.
There was his wife an aw his men dancing aroond the fire (which was situated in the middle o the floor, as was the way o it in those days) as if they couldnae help it. They danced like demented zombies, sometimes through the fire itself, never missing a beat, although the music that they danced tae couldnae be heard by any ordinary lug. The pain o what aw the dancers suffered frae their ceaseless jigging was writ large on their sweating faces, an none mair so than his poor wife. Her muckle face was as red as a skelpit bahookie, an the tears were streaming doon her cheeks, an she was puffing away like an auld set o wheezy bellows.
The auld farmer immediately saddled his horse an set off up the hill as fast as hae could go. There hae met in with the warlock Michael Scot. Hae got doon on his knees an pleaded wi the wizard tae put a finish tae the spell that afflicted his wife an men. Being a guid-natured fella at heart, Michael Scot relented an told the poor farmer how tae put a stop tae the spell an thus stop his wife an men’s terrible suffering. The farmer was told that hae had tae enter the hoose backwards. Then hae was tae lift the bit o paper off the top o the lintel wi his left hand, an aw would be restored tae how things were.
The farmer’s wife lived quietly after that, an Michael Scot had nae mair trouble frae her.
MICHAEL SCOT GOES TAE ROME
In the auld days the Pope ruled Scotland. Way back then every year somebody had tae be sent frae Scotland tae Rome tae find oot what date Shrovetide would faw. This responsibility was always given tae somebody fairly important, someone who was intelligent an who could be relied upon. It was an important piece o information because the feast o Shrovetide regulated aw the other feasts o the kirk for the following twelve months. On Shrovetide, Lent began, an six weeks after that it was East, an so on an so forth until the end o the year.
This particular year Michael Scot, the famous wizard o Selkirk, had been picked for the task. Michael Scot was renowned for splitting the Eildon hills in three with his muckle sword. Michael Scot was an important man, so it was natural that a man like him would be chosen for such an important task. Unfortunately, due tae some other very important matters hae had tae deal with hae clean forgot aboot going tae Rome till the feast was already past at Candlemass. There was not a moment tae lose. Hae set off for the paddock withoot further delay. On reaching it hae could see the magic fillies, each with a white star on their foreheids grazing peaceably away. As they sensed his presence they each raised up their heids. They aw had the fairy look aboot them; it fizzed away in their golden eyes.
Michael Scot addressed the first horse, ‘How fast can ye run?’
‘I am as fast as the wind on any day,’ she replied.
‘Nae, that’s nae fast enough for me,’ said Michael, shaking his heid.
Hae went up tae the second filly an asked her the same question. ‘How fast can ye run?’
‘I am that quick that I can oot sprint the wind that comes behind an overtake the wind that goes afore me.’
‘Naw, naw, that’s still not fast enough for me.’ Michael then made for the third filly. ‘How fast can ye go?’
‘I am faster than the black blast o March.’
Michael just shook his heid an then addressed the fourth horse, ‘An how fast can ye go?’
‘I am as swift as the thought atween a young maiden an her twae lovers.’
‘Right then, ye’ll dae for me.’ An withoot further ado Michael lowped on tae her back an they were off tae Rome. The horse went that fast that sea an land were aw alike tae her shiny hooves, as they whirled through the white sea surf an the powdery snow o the mountains. Soon they had left the misty lands an grey seas far in their wake. They arrived right in front o the Pope’s hoose on a golden morning, which befitted Michael’s noble task.
Word was immediately sent tae the Pope that an important Scotsman had come tae see him. The Pope came at yince tae where Michael awaited him.
‘I come frae yer faithful flock in Scotland seeking the knowledge o when Shrovetide will land this year afore Lent is by for another year,’ said Michael.
‘Oh, but I’m afraid you’re too late in getting here,’ said the Pope. ‘By the time you get back to Scotland with the knowledge Lent will be long past.’
‘Naw, naw, there is plenty o time. It’s only a few moments ago that I left Scotland, an it need only be a few moments afore ma return.’
‘But such a thing is impossible. What proof can you offer me as to the truth of what you say?’
Michael then held oot tae the Pope the bonnet that hae’d so recently removed frae his heid in respect tae his Holiness.
‘Dae ye nae see the snow on ma bonnet. Ye see in Scotland the hills an mountains are still covered in snow at this time o year.’
‘Well, well, is that just not the most
incredible thing?’ said the Pope, shaking his heid. ‘None the less I’d better give you the information you require without further ado. The first Tuesday of the first moon of spring is Shrovetide.’
When Michael heard the news hae was absolutely delighted, because whether the Pope had meant tae o nae, hae’d passed on tae Michael not only when Shrovetide would faw that year, but also the means o working it oot. Which meant that there would be nae need for anyone tae travel frae Scotland tae Rome tae learn when Shrovetide would faw each year, ever again. Michael had learned the secret o how the Pope worked oot when Shrovetide fell. ‘I am greatly obliged tae yer Holiness,’ hae said, an took his leave immediately. Hae mounted his magic filly an made the return journey back tae Scotland every bit as quick as hae’d come. Nae sooner was hae back than hae shared the happy news.
9
O HORSES AN HILLS
CANONBIE DICK
Back in the eighteenth century there was a horse dealer frae Hawick cawed Canonbie Dick. Hae was weel kent for his fearless, gallus nature. Folk said that hae could sell horses tae the Devil an come oot on top.
Yin night hae was coming up Bowden Moor on the west side o the Eildon Hills with a pair o horses that, unusually for him, hae hadnae managed tae sell at the market. Bowden Moor could be an eerie place at times as witches often met there, but Canonbie Dick didnae turn a hair. Just then hae made oot a figure in the murky gloaming. As the figure drew closer hae could see that it was a man with a long white beard dressed up in the like o claes that hadnae been seen for several centuries. The man asked Dick if hae would sell his twae horses tae him.
Weel, nae matter the lateness o the hour, Dick was always up for a bit o business, as long as it was tae his advantage. So after a bit o hard bargaining, the queer auld-fashioned fella payed Dick for the horses with some ancient gold coins with unicorns or bonnet emblems on them, which had never been in currency since the 1500s. Dick had never seen the like, but when aw’s said an done gold’s gold, an hae was coming away with a fair pickle o it compared with the worth o the horses. ‘An if ye get any mair horses I’d be glad tae tak them off yer hands.’
‘Aye, aye, for sure.’
‘I’ll be here any night ye care tae chance along this way, but ye must always come alone.’
‘Suits me, fella.’
Nae sooner had the man poured the coins intae Dick’s oot-stretched hand than hae was off intae the night with the pair o horses.
An so it was, whenever Dick had horses tae sell hae would find himself making his way up Bowden Moor after the faw o the gloaming on the off chance o running intae thon queerly dressed stranger. An hae would always meet in with thon auld fella, who was always willing tae buy the horses that Dick had with him.
However, as time drew on Dick’s curiosity grew. Who was this strange fella, an where did hae bide, an what was hae aboot? So the next time they met with each other up Bowden Moor, Dick said tae him, ‘Take me tae yer hoose tae seal the deal, for a dry bargain’s an unlucky yin, I’m thinkin.’
Now, the fella wasnae awfie keen, but Dick, being a gallus fella, kept on at him till the stranger agreed at the hinderend. ‘Suit yerself then. Come hame wi me if ye like, but mind, if ye lose yer nerve at what ye see there, ye’ll rue it aw yer life.’
This warning didnae greatly fash Dick, as the stranger had done nothing yet tae trauchle him. Indeed what hae’d said only served tae intrigue Dick aw the mair, an so hae urged the stranger not tae tarry. Hae led Dick up a path that trailed up intae the hills atween the southern an middle peaks. Then they came tae a hummock in the braeside o the Eildons, that is kent tae this very day as the Lucken Hare, because the shape o it resembles a hare. Indeed Dick had often come this way an kent the Lucken Hare very weel. Dick was fair taken aback, because for aw the times hae’d passed by hae’d never come across the great entrance in the side o the hill that hae was seeing now.
Just as they were aboot tae step inside the stranger stopped Dick, ‘Mind, ye can still back oot withoot any harm tae yer character.’
‘Lead the way ma friend, we’ve come this far. Besides the walk’s given me a right drooth.’
An so it was that the stranger led Dick through the entrance intae a cavern. Yince his eyes had accustomed tae the light, Dick made oot rows o stalls. In each stall was a jet-black horse, an on each horse sat a sleeping knight in jet-black armour, an in the hand o each knight was a raised sword. But neither horses nor warriors moved, as if both horse an rider had been carved oot o solid coal.
The twae men passed by this queer stable intae a great hall that was lit by many torches aroond the walls, which somehow served tae make the place mair dreich an gloomy. They came tae a solid oak table with strange symbols carved intae it, an on that table lay a muckle sheathed sword an a mighty horn. The stranger told Dick that hae was in fact Thomas o Ercildoune, the great prophet, who had disappeared centuries before, an hae went on tae utter these fateful words, ‘It is foretelt that hae that soonds the horn, will, if his heart disnae fail him, become the king o aw broad Britain. But aw depends on courage, an whether the sword or horn is taken first. So speaks the tongue that cannie lie.’
It was Dick’s strong inclination tae draw the sword first, an hae was just aboot tae dae so, when hae was gripped by some unseen supernatural terror, the like hae had never felt before, which had him shoogling tae his core just as hae was reaching oot for the sheathed sword. Should hae complete such a daring act? Perhaps in doing so hae would bring doon on himself the full wrath o the spirits o the hill. The sword was almost within his grasp, but as hae reached oot it was the horn that hae closed his fingers aroond instead. His shoogling hand lifted the mighty horn up tae his lips. Hae blew for aw hae was worth, but aw that came oot was a feeble wavering note that petered oot only a moment or twae after it arose.
Thunder rumbled an the horses in the stalls started stamping their feet an the knights on their backs swung intae life with a terrible clash o armour. The horses snorted as they threw back their heids an tossed their manes. A scunnersome army rose up before Dick. A great big voice boomed oot tae reverberate aroond the walls an the high ceiling o that cavern, ‘Woe tae the coward that ever was born, who didnae draw the sword afore hae blew the horn.’
Then, just before the army o knights could reach him hae heard the roar o a mighty wind rise up an in a trice it lifted him up an tossed him clean oot o the cavern. Hae tumbled through the air, then clattered doon the rocky ridges until hae came tae a halt on the ground.
There hae lay until morning where hae was found by some local shepherds. Though hae knew that his breath was close tae its end, hae managed tae tell the story o what had happened tae him, before breathing his last. Hae died there an then in the early morning light in the arms o the herders.
As for the passage at the Lucken Hare intae the braeside, though many have searched for it ower the many years that have passed since, it has never been found.
Deep in that derk braeside that scunnersome army still sleeps. It sleeps the sleep o the centuries, waiting tae awaken yince mair, should anyone fearless enough tae lead such a powerful army find their way intae that enchanted cavern.
Some time later there appeared on that braeside a mark resembling the ootline o a horse an rider.
There have been many reported sightings o a solitary bearded man roaming the Eildon Hills. Ancient knights astride ghostly black horses have also been reported doon the years. An howling winds can suddenly whip up by the Lucken Hare on the calmest o gloamings.
Like many a weel kent story untethered by print, there are different versions o this tale. In yin it is said that when Thomas o Ercildoune has bought enough horses the warriors will go forth an bring right an justice tae the world. Another legend has it that it is King Arthur an his knights sleeping beneath the Lucken Hare, awaiting the caw tae come tae the aid o Britain. Perhaps the knights await the return o Arthur himself. Perhaps only hae has the courage needed tae draw the sword an blow the horn.
TAM LINN
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The young lassies frae aw roond aboot were weel warned in both word an song tae keep clear o Carterhaugh Woods. For it was weel kent that Tam Linn the elfin warrior dwelled in the woods by day. Any young lass that hae happened across would be expected tae gie something up tae him, be it a bracelet o gold, a ring o silver, a coin o worth or even something a sight mair personal belonging tae the lass.
Now, many lasses paid heed tae such warnings, an the accounts o the gallus lassies that didnae, served tae add tae the sore warnings for others. But there would always be some fearless uppetie lass that saw herself as above it aw. Fair Janet, the daughter o the earl, was tired o playing long drawn-oot games o chess in her chambers with the ladies back at her father’s castle, an so she decided tae take herself off tae the woods. It was Beltane, an spring was aboot tae reach summer.
The soft grass under foot, the coolness o the woods an the wonderful smell o the abundant wild roses soon put Fair Janet in a bit o a dream. She drifted through the woods drawn by the sight o bigger an bigger roses o red an white. By an by she came across a well, an there stood, fair docile an canny like, waiting for its master, a milk-white steed. An then she realised that this must be the steed o the notorious Tam Linn. ‘Nae matter,’ she thought, ‘I dinnae gie a whit for any man, whether hae be great or scunnersome it matters nothing tae me.’ She was then drawn tae a particular velvet-like rose o the purest white. She reached oot her hand an plucked it in a quick movement tae try tae avoid the surrounding thorns. Nae sooner had she done so than a young man shimmered oot frae the rose itself. ‘How dare ye saunter through these woods o Carterhaugh an pluck a wand that holds a rose withoot ma permission.’
She looked at the handsome young man that seemed tae appear as easy as a reflection on water, ‘I didnae mean any harm.’
Scottish Borders Folk Tales Page 10
