Scottish Borders Folk Tales

by James P. Spence

  Tae which she would throw back her heid, fair black affronted, an respond, ‘Certainly not, what dae ye take me for?’

  ‘Maybe hae’s nae got feet like normal folk. Maybe it wasnae yer jewels hae was after at aw.’

  It took her a time tae realise why folk asked such a question, that it was little tae do with dooting her reputation, an mair tae do with finding oot the true identity o the stranger. The thinking frae some was that Geordie had cloven feet, that hae’d been the Devil himself, an that what hae’d been after frae her had been her very soul.

  As for Mae, weel there were many that said she never looked as bonnie again after Geordie left. Certainly she wasnae as showy. But there were others less quick tae gie their opinions, but when pressed in the right manner, said that there might be the odd line that whiskered oot frae the side o her eyes, but there was also a certain spark o wisdom that came intae them when she smiled, that burned deeper an mair bonnie than any diamond or in any young lass come tae that.

  THE TWAE BLACKSMITH APPRENTICES

  At yin time the blacksmith at Yarrowfoot (now referred tae as Yarrowford on modern maps) took on twae apprentices. Brothers they were, an both sturdy healthy laddies. After only a matter o months the elder brother started tae get awfie worried aboot his younger brother, as hae seemed tae be tired aw the time, looking very peelie-wallie, an had nae appetite tae speak o. With each passing day the laddie was worse, hae seemed tae be dwining away tae a rickle o bones. O course the aulder brother was always asking the younger yin what was the matter with him, but the younger brother didnae ken why hae was that oot o sorts, an couldnae gie any clue as tae what was happening tae him. Finally the exhausted brother got that peelie-wallie that hae didnae ken where tae put himself an hae just broke doon greeting. The aulder yin, fair desperate tae help the younger yin, asked him if hae’d had any dreams o late. Tae which the nae-weel brother said, ‘As a matter o fact I have, now ye come tae mention o it. I’ve dreamt yince or twice that I was a horse, an that I was been rode hard through the countryside on derk nights. An then when I waken I have these marks on ma neck. See!’

  An right enough there were red marks on the laddie’s neck, as if there had been a bridle roond his neck. The aulder brother kent what it was right away, for hae’d heard o such things. It was kent at that time that now an again witches would sometimes throw a bridle ower somebody’s neck when they were sleeping, turning the unsuspecting sleeper intae a horse, so that a witch could lowp on tae their back an ride away tae their covens after derk. So hae told his brother o his suspicion, an said that hae’d sort it oot. The only thing hae need dae was tae swap places with him in their bed that night. Instead o sleeping on the ooter edge o the bed the younger brother must sleep on the side next tae the wall. An so it was that night that the aulder brother settled doon in his brother’s place on the side o the bed that faced intae the room. Whilst his brother quickly fell intae a sound sleep the elder yin shut his eyes an just pretended tae sleep.

  Hae didnae have tae wait very long afore the bedroom door creaked open. Quick as a flash a bridle was thrown ower his heid. Nae sooner was that done than the laddie rose up an turned intae a muckle big horse. In this form the laddie could make oot that the witch was none other than the blacksmith’s wife. She lowped on tae his back an off they went oot intae the derk, an soon they were tearing ower fields, ditches, hedges an ower wild moors. However, they didnae travel very far, for the trysting place for the witches this particular night was at a neighbouring laird’s cellar. The witch put her horse intae an empty stall o the stable, afore she heided for the cellar. Whilst she an her cohorts tore intae the laird’s claret, the laddie rubbed an rubbed his heid against the wall till the bridle came off. Nae sooner than it fell tae the ground than hae turned back intae the sturdy laddie that hae was. Whilst the witches got mair an mair drunk with the drink, the laddie waited in the stall with the magic bridle in his hand.

  Eventually the drunken coven broke up an the witches aw went their separate ways intae the night. When the blacksmith’s wife came back intae the stable the laddie lowped oot o the stall an wheeched the bridle ower her heid. Nae sooner had hae done so than the witch rose up intae a fine grey mare. The laddie lowped on the mare’s back an skelped it oot intae the night. Hae dug his heels intae its flanks an rode that horse as hard as hard could be, for what the witch had done tae his brother. Hae rode it up an doon the moors until, on the rougher ground, it cast a horseshoe frae yin o its forefeet. Still hae rode that horse up an doon an roond aboot till hae could find a smiddy that was open. Hae asked the blacksmith tae fit new horseshoes tae both forefeet. Then off hae set again on that horse, an hae rode that horse up an doon a ploughed field tae get the witch as tired as tired can be.

  Then hae rode that tired horse back hame, just in time for the witch tae crawl back intae her man’s bed, afore hae was due tae waken tae get ready for his work. At first the blacksmith couldnae rouse his wife, but when hae did manage tae shoogle her awake she complained that she was nae weel, an just tae leave her lying. The blacksmith though was that worried aboot his wife, for it wasnae like her, that hae came through tae the twae apprentices an roused the auldest brother an sent him tae fetch the doctor for his poor wife.

  When the doctor arrived at the bedside o the blacksmith’s wife, hae was aw for taking the woman’s pulse, tae which she flatly refused. The doctor tried an tried tae persuade the wife, but she was having none o it. Finally the blacksmith lost his rag an pulled the bed-claes off his wife. Tae his absolute horror, there was his wife with horseshoes nailed tae both her hands. Whit’s mair her sides were badly scratched an battered black an blue as weel where the aulder brother had dug his heels intae the horse.

  It was at this point that the twae brothers told the blacksmith what had been going on with his wife ower the months that they’d been there. As they were explaining the story tae the blacksmith it came oot that the younger brother did have some inclination aboot what had been going on, but hadnae kent what tae say aboot it given that it was their boss’s wife that was ill-using him, for fear o losing his job.

  The very next day the blacksmith’s wife was tried as a witch in Selkirk by the magistrates, an was condemned tae be burned tae death. As for the younger brother, hae soon made a full recovery through being fed butter made frae milk frae the coos that grazed in the kirkyaird. This was a weel-kent remedy in those days for consumption caused by being witch-ridden.

  13

  SOME WEEL KENT CHARACTERS

  THE GABERLUNZIE MAN

  Celebrations for the Harvest Kirn were in full swing on Cairnkebbie Farm, which was on the Foulden Estate near Duns. In the field there was great excitement because aw the men were taking turns at throwing their sythes, or sickles, at the last sheaf left standing. The man that was able tae cut it doon with the whirling blade o his scythe would present the sheaf tae his favourite lass, who would dress it aw up in ribbons an caw it The Maiden. She would then put it up in a prominent place in the byre an it would be left on display there till the New Year, whereby it would be fed tae the auldest horse on the farm. The tenant farmer William Hume had put on plenty o food an drink tae see them through aw the dancing an fun that would be going on in the barn this night. It should have been a happy time for him; what with the harvest successfully brought in, there was a lot tae be thankful for. However, for aw o this hae couldnae help glowering at yin o his men. Bill Kerr was a cheery fella an decent in every way, but for aw that hae was only a farm labourer with little mair than fresh air in his pockets. The farmer an his wife wanted better than such a lad for their beloved daughter Lily. But the sparkling looks atween Bill an his daughter were in marked contrast tae his ain barely suppressed derk glowers.

  Everybody was dressed in their Sunday best. Bill Kerr himself had added a wee rosebud tae every yin o the buttonholes on his waistcoat. The lovely Lily had hitched up the folds o her kirtle an shoved them through the pocket holes, so that she could dance aw the dances that she wanted tae d
ance withoot her skirts getting in the road. The blind piper Tam Luter had kept everybody up on their feet for a guid hour afore there was a stramash at the barn door. A gaberlunzie had showed up. Jock Hedderick was aw for keeping him oot in the cauld, but Will Aitken was on the side o the beggar. The gaberlunzie claimed the right o every licensed beggar in the land, tae be allowed tae join any festival feast. His claes were in rags, but his bags were filled with bread, meal, spindles an whorles (the like o which spinners might want), an hae had his pipes tucked below his armpit. Jock an Will were just aboot tae come tae blows ower the raggedy fella, when the gaberlunzie himself put an end tae the kerfuffle by dodging roond the pair o them an intae the thick o the company wi a muckle daft smile on his face. Lily herself relieved the gaberlunzie man o his bags. She set them on the windowsill for safe keeping. She then fetched him a mug o ale. Hae immediately emptied the contents o it ower his neck, an then hae was away intae the thick o the dance. Hae was lowping like a salmon, chucking his hat, with the pheasant’s feather in it, high intae the air. Every now an again hae shouted ‘Hooch’ that loud that it shoogled the very rafters. A lot o folk thought that hae was carrying on like a man with a serious dose o fleas. Not only that but hae was laughing aw the time, an kissing the lassies intae the bargain.

  After that hae picked up his pipes an before anybody kent it hae had aw the dancers fair mesmerised with excitement with the tunes that hae blew oot. Tune after tune hae dirled oot with, hardly giving the dancers a chance tae draw breath, let alone himself. Yet, nonetheless, hae still noticed that Lily, the host’s daughter, seemed a bit distracted. She was the bonniest lassie there an had a very sweet nature, but something was vexing her. Hae made up his mind tae speak tae Lily when hae got the chance. A wee while after, the gaberlunzie man took pity on the dancers by taking a bit o a rest frae the pipes. As hae danced wi Lily while the blind piper took up his pipes again, she quickly let on that Bill an her were trysted, but that her father was set against the match because her man had very little siller. ‘Dinnae ye fash yerself, Lily. You stick by yer Bill an things will turn oot fine for ye both.’ The gaberlunzie man then took up the pipes yince mair with gusto. After each dance the dancers were left bent double, pechin away for the want o breath, an drookit wi sweat. After the gaberlunzie had the company on the very point o collapse, hae finally laid the pipes doon, an started roaring oot jokes an songs instead.

  It was whilst hae was in the midst o telling some ootlandish joke tae the company that a number o horses drew up ootside the barn. Soon after a King’s Messenger an seven o his men appeared at the barn door. ‘Quiet!’ the King’s Messenger roared. ‘A beggar man has stolen the royal silver mace this very day. An there is the very beggar man that took it. I have seven witnesses at ma back that seen this man grab the mace frae the mace-bearer’s hand in broad daylight on the streets o Duns an run away with it.’

  ‘An if hae ran as quick as hae could dance, even the king’s greyhoonds wouldnae have been able tae nip at his heels,’ put in yin o the company as a cheeky aside.

  The gaberlunzie immediately sought the protection o his new friends. Given that they were aw in such guid spirits, what with the ale an the fine entertainment, none o them were willing tae gie the gaberlunzie up, including the farmer himself.

  ‘Hae has shared in ma hospitality,’ said William Hume in a dignified fashion, ‘hae is ma guest an hae’s been the cheeriest yin we’ve ever had, an hae has the perfect right tae the feast cos his badge bears the royal arms.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right, that’s tellin him,’ shouted the guest, ‘an I am none other than Wat Watson, the king o the beggars.’

  ‘Right then, if that’s the way ye want it. Search his bags,’ ordered the King’s Messenger.’

  ‘Hold on, I’ll dae that ma self, if ye just hand me ma things.’ Nae sooner was this done than the gaberlunzie delved deep intae yin o his bags. A moment later, tae everyone’s amazement, hae pulled oot the silver mace itself. Then hae started tae swing the mace roond aboot his heid shouting, ‘Come on ye hounds o royalty!’

  The crowd, somewhat owerexcited by aw that had gone on, roared the gaberlunzie on. Even the farmer piped up, ‘We’ll watch yer back for as long as there’s a flail aboot this barn.’ An so every man grabbed himself a flail or a cudgel. The king’s men drew their swords in swift response but seemed very reluctant tae put them tae use on a crowd armed only with tools frae the barn. Somehow during the stramash that followed the wily Wat Watson managed tae scatter the guests oot o the barn, an then quick as a flash hae slammed the muckle door an drew the bolts across, snecking inside aw the king’s men. Then hae shouted through the keyhole, ‘Ye can tell yer king that I am none other than the king o the gaberlunzie men, an I hae ma loyal subjects here tae protect me. But I am a fair king, so when I pass through Duns in the morn I’ll let the king ken ye didnae dae so bad.’ Then, as if in celebration, hae put his pipes under yin arm an the mace under the other, an hae preceded tae march smartly roond the barn. The farmer decided tae gather some o the guests an make off tae the farmhoose. There hae had an impromptu meeting with them tae discuss the predicament they found themselves in an what they should do aboot it. In the midst o their deliberation they heard the sound o a horse galloping off. It was quickly realised that the gaberlunzie had helped himself tae yin o the knight’s horses as weel as the royal mace.

  The dunting o the horse’s hooves as they dwined away had something o a sobering effect on William Hume. The realisation o what hae’d done hit him like a pail o cauld water in the face. Hae’d sheltered a thief. Nae only that but hae’d defended him against the king’s men. What’s mair, hae’d allowed the gaberlunzie man tae keep the royal mace. As a result, things were likely tae go very badly for him. After a great deal o heated discussion with his men, it was decided that it would be best tae let the king’s men free, but only on the condition that they left the farmer an his men alone. Strangely, when this condition was put tae them, the immediate response frae the king’s men locked inside the barn was one o laughter. The captives readily agreed tae the terms o their release though, an were duly let go.

  William Hume hardly got a wink o sleep that night, an the very next morning the King’s Messenger showed up at the door with a document. It accused him o being in cahoots wi the gaberlunzie man, in helping with the stealing o the royal mace, the harbouring o that thief, o the abusing an imprisonment o the king’s knights, an the stealing o a fine horse. Hae was tae attend the court at Duns that very day. It was signed in the hand o the king himself. In his desperation the farmer appealed tae the King’s Messenger, ‘Ach I’m in an awfie lot o trouble. Is there anything that I can dae, dae ye think, that might help matters for me?’

  Despite the stramash o the previous night, the King’s Messenger looked at the farmer with a degree o sympathy. ‘The only thing that I can really advise, is that ye take yer daughter with ye tae the court, because the king fair likes tae see a bonnie face.’

  It was a sorry cavalcade that made its way tae Duns that day. There was William Hume an his wife an daughter in attendance, forby Bill Kerr who, for some reason, insisted in going along. Yince they reached Duns they were instructed tae go up tae the wee castle that was being used tae house the king’s soldiers. The party was led intae a muckle big hall where James V himself was sitting waiting for them. Hae was dressed up tae the nines in the maist shiny fantoosh robes, an was accompanied by a number o his knights.

  ‘William Hume o Cairnkebbie stand forward!’ boomed a severe voice. Shooglin like a leaf, William made his way through, an stood before the king while the charge was read oot in a grave voice.

  ‘Is this aw true?’ barked the king.

  William couldnae contradict a single word o it, for it was indeed the truth.

  ‘Ye realise that these are serious matters, an what the punishment could be?’

  ‘I fear it’ll cost me ma heid.’

  The king nodded soberly. ‘Then why did ye protect this beggar man?’


  ‘I would like tae say that the gaberlunzie wove a spell ower us aw, but I cannie say that that is exactly true. But hae did bring us such joy, such laughter, such verve in his music, as if hae were a very king in aw o his entertaining ways.’

  King James an his men laughed at such a description, not that William Hume noticed this reaction. Hae paused in his explanation before saying, ‘An so at the time, as hae’d treated us aw tae such a grand time, it just seemed entirely wrong tae hand him ower, an so we took it intae oor heids tae protect him as the guest that hae was, like it couldnae be helped.’ The poor farmer then hung his heid in sheer helplessness.

  King James turned tae his men, ‘Weel then, does that satisfy ye aw? I wagered the lot o ye that me as a beggar would so win the trust an hearts o ma subjects that they would use their might tae protect me against ye.’

  ‘Aye, nae doot aboot it, Yer Grace has won,’ an some o the knights were rubbing their limbs an other parts o their bodies that had taken the brunt o the flails o the night before, as if in reminder o the skirmish.

  ‘Very weel,’ said James, in order tae draw everybody’s attention back tae the matter in hand. William was in such fear o the announcement o his punishment that hae hadnae cottoned on tae the royal ploy, an couldnae prevent his knees frae shoogling when the king went on, ‘I will now put on ma cap tae pronounce yer fate.’ William waited for a few seconds but nothing was said, so hae eventually raised his heid tae see what was going on. It took him a moment or twae tae take in the heid-gear that the king had adorned. It so happened that his royal highness had on the feathered hat o the gaberlunzie, an in his hand was the silver mace.