And he felt so sad, ‘What could happen to Mary, my poor wee Mary, what happened to her?’
Then at the very last he came back once again to the rock where he had shot the seal – and he looked out to sea, the tide was on the ebb. And he stood, looked for a long long while. And he looked at the rock, saw the blood was drying in the sun. And he looked again, then – all in a moment up come two seals, two grey seals, and they come right out of the water – barely more than twenty-five yards from where he stood! And they look at him. They look directly at him – then disappear back down in the water. And he had this queer feeling that he was never going to see Mary any more.
So he took his boat and he rowed home, tied up his boat. Just the one boat, took his own boat, left Lachy’s boat on the island. He sat down beside the fire. His wife Margaret came to him.
She said, ‘Did you see Mary?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘I never saw Mary. I never saw Mary, I searched the entire island for Mary and Mary is gone. And look, between you and me, she’s gone for ever. We’ll never see Mary again.’
And they waited and they waited, and they waited for the entire days of their lives, but Mary never returned. And that is the end of my tale.
The Tramp and the Boots
I heard this story a long time ago in Furnace when I was about twelve years old. I think I first heard it from a cousin of my father’s, an old man called Willie Williamson whose brother stayed in Carradale.
THE old tramp was weary and tired, for he had walked all morning along the dusty highway, which in these days was just a track across the country. He had travelled for many days and come across very few places where he could find any food. All he’d had for the last two days was a rabbit he’d found by the roadside roasted over a fire.
He said to himself, ‘If I don’t find some habitation, a farm or a croft or somethin along the highway before nightfall, I’m sure I’m gaunnae be very hungry.’ Because these old tramps begged whatever they could, whatever they needed to eat. It was only by the kindliness of the local people along the way that these tramps managed to survive. And he’d travelled for so many miles his feet were sore … the day was hot and the sun was shining. It was a beautiful summer day. Even suppose he was so hungry, tiredness began to overcome the hunger.
And then he came down by this little hill. Beside the roadside he looked across the moor and there was the most beautiful little hill he’d ever seen, covered in daisies and flowers! He said to himself, ‘Wouldn’t that be a nice place fir tae have a rest if I could afford tae rest.’ The hunger pains in his stomach were bothering him, but the soreness of his feet overcame them. He walked over to the little hill and he sat down. He stretched himself out to rest and thought, ‘In such a lovely place, if a person wasna so hungry ….’
He’d rested for a long while, three-quarters of an hour or so, when all in a moment he heard a little voice saying, ‘Auld man, you’ll hev to be gone from this place.’
And the tramp looked around, saying to himself, ‘Am I hearin right? Is there someone talkin?’ He looked all around, he could see nothing because the grass was high and the flowers were beautiful.
Then the voice spoke again, ‘Old man, you’ll hev tae leave here.’
And the tramp looked again … sure enough, there stood aside him a little man – not very big, maybe, say, twelve inches high, with a long white beard and a peakit cap and peakit shoes. The tramp was amazed because he had never seen anybody … he’d heard of people so small as that many many years before, but he’d never experienced meeting one. He couldn’t hardly speak for a moment or two, he was so amazed. Then he found his voice. ‘Little man,’ he said, ‘I am tired!’
And the little man said, ‘Old man, look, you must move from this place immediately!’
And the old tramp man said, ‘But who are you, little man? I have never seen anyone like you before.’
The little man said, ‘Never mind who I am,’ and he came up closer to the old tramp man.
When he came a little closer, the old tramp man had to bend over and look down. The old tramp had pulled up his knees to himself and the little man hardly came as high as his knee … there he stood with his long white beard and his wee cap and curled shoes. And the tramp thought in his mind, ‘This is queer, this is very funny.’ He was so tired and weary, but with the excitement of seeing this little creature the hunger in his belly was forgotten about.
And the little man said, ‘Old man, you’ll hev tae move.’
The old tramp said, ‘Look, I am an auld tramp. I am weary. I have come a long long way and I am hungry. I have come here to rest.’ Now in these days a long time ago there were no fences along the way, no hedges; there were no roads. A person could walk off the track and sit down, rest theirself anywhere. So this is what the old tramp had done. He said to the little man, ‘Look, there’s no reason why – that I can’t rest here because this is a free place. I’m enjoyin myself on this little hill restin myself!’
And the little man said, ‘You must go!’
The tramp said, ‘Not tonight, I can’t go another step!’
Then the little man saw he couldn’t persuade him in any way. He said to the tramp, ‘What would you take to move on? Is it food you want?’
And the tramp said, ‘Not exactly food. My feet are sore, and food wouldn’t make my feet any better.’
The wee man looked down and saw the poor old tramp’s boots were worn right through to the soles, with his toes sticking out. And the little man said, ‘I see yir feet really is in a sorry state.’
‘Yes,’ said the old tramp, ‘my feet are in a sorry state and they’re really sore.’
So the little man felt sorry for the tramp; he didn’t argue or command him anymore. He asked, ‘Auld man, what would you really take to move from here?
And the old tramp said, ‘Why is it so important I should move from here at this very moment?’
But the little man did not answer. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what would you really take tae move from this hill?’
And the tramp said, ‘Well, I am hungry, the pains are botherin my stomach at this moment, and I wad like to go on to the next village or the next house or farm where I could find something to eat. But my feet are so sore and my boots are so worn … the pain overcomes my hunger.’
So the little man said, ‘If you had a nice pair o’ boots that made your feet comfortable, would you move on?’
The tramp said, ‘If I had some nice comfortable boots for my feet, I would surely be gone!’
The little man said, ‘Just wait a minute – I will find you some boots!’
Now the old tramp in his hunger thought he was dreaming. He thought he had fallen asleep. He looked around and the little man was gone, completely disappeared. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and thought, ‘I must have dozed over, I must hae been dreamin.’ And he looked around the little hill: all the flowers were blooming so beautifully. He thought to himself, ‘I’ll jist spend the night here, relax and have a sleep.’ Because these old tramps always slept out in the open. They had no home or no place to go.
But he hadn’t waited more than three to four minutes, when back comes the little man. And over his back he had a pair of boots. The tramp looked, saw the little man with the boots, and said, ‘I am not dreamin, I have not been asleep!’
And lo and behold, the little man came up beside his knee. But the boots were just small things. The little man said to the tramp, ‘I have brought you some boots and I hope you will keep to your promise.’
But the tramp said, ‘Little man, I don’t know where you came from, but do you realise that these boots would never fit my feet in any way – they wouldn’t even fit my little toe!’
And the little man said, ‘Wait, jist wait and watch!’ The little man looked at the tramp’s feet, saw his old boots with holes in them and his toes sticking through. He measured the size that the old tramp’s feet really were, and he placed the boots down on the ground. He waited.
And the tramp watched. The boots got bigger and bigger and bigger, till they came about the size that the tramp really needed, and then they stopped. The tramp looked – there before him were the most beautiful boots he had ever seen in his life. Many’s the time the tramp had seen gentlemen and lairds and people of high degree with beautiful boots which he admired, but he had never owned a pair in his life. His one ambition in life was to own a beautiful pair of boots, because these tramps walked many many miles.
Then the tramp said, ‘I just can’t believe it! Are these fir me?’
And the little man said, ‘Yes, they’re for you! Old man, they’re fir you! You can have them with good heart and good will,’ he said, ‘providin that you try them on yir feet and move on from this little hill immediately!’
The tramp bent down and took off his old boots, which were worn and dusty, no laces – a piece of lace tied across the centre – and his toes sticking out at the front, holes in the soles. He put them down. Then he stretched out his feet and picked up one boot that the little man had brought. He put it on his foot and it just fit perfectly! Then he picked up the other one, put it on, and it fit perfectly.
And the tramp stood up. When he stood up, the pain of his feet was gone. He wanted to be on his way, he felt so free! His hunger pains were gone, he just wanted to walk on. But he could not walk away – he bent down, as close as he could above the little man – and said, ‘Little man, I am thankful fir what you’ve done for me.’
And the little man said, ‘Does yir feet feel good now?’
He said, ‘They feel wonderful. They feel wonderful!’
And the little man said, ‘Cuid you walk now, auld man?’
He said, ‘Walk? I cuid walk for miles! I’ll be on my way and leave ye in peace.’
But the little man said, ‘Stop!’
And the tramp said, ‘Why?’
‘Oh, don’t go away right now,’ said the little man. The tramp was a wee bit worried because he thought the little man was going to take the boots back from him. And the little man said, ‘Before ye go, I want ye tae make me a promise!’
The tramp thought, ‘Make ye a promise? I’ll make ye a promise,’ said the tramp, ‘what is yir promise?’
The little man said, ‘Listen very carefully because I’m gaunna tell you something.’ And the tramp listened. The little man said, ‘Now, you have got some boots!’
The tramp said, ‘Yes, I have got some boots, some beautiful boots like I never had before in my life. I’ve seen people with boots but not nothing like this! And I’ve admired people’s beautiful boots along the way but I never saw boots like this before in my life. And are they really mine?’
And the little man said, ‘Yes, they’re yours. But make me one promise! These boots will carry you on yir journey for evermore, till the end of yir life. They’ll never need to be cleaned, they’ll never wear, they’ll never be worn out. You’ll never have sore feet anymore – providin on one thing …’
‘And what is that?’ said the old tramp.
‘That ye never tell a soul where you got them! Will you promise me that?’
The old tramp turned round to the little man and he said, ‘I make ye my promise ….’
And the little man held out his hand. The tramp took the little man’s hand – just a wee wee hand in his – and he shook hands with the little man.
‘Now,’ said the tramp, ‘I’ll be on my way. Can I go?’
‘Well,’ said the little man, ‘you can go.’
And the old tramp walked on the road, never even looked back, left the little man on the little hill by himself. The tramp went on his way. He felt no pain in his feet and no hunger pains. He just wanted to walk on and on, for ever! He travelled on for miles and miles and he travelled for a year, he travelled for two years … And wherever the old tramp went, every night he took off his boots, and placed them beside his head when he went to sleep. And when he woke up in the morning his beautiful boots were there beside him as clean and polished like they had never ever walked a single step! And the tramp loved these boots like he had never loved anything in his life. Although he had walked many many miles, the tramp never felt tired. So one day the summer came again.
He came to this river. And the sun was shining, the day was so beautiful. The old tramp thought – he wasn’t tired and his feet weren’t sore – but he thought his boots were so beautiful, he was ashamed when he put his dirty feet in them. So he thought he’d walk down to the river and wash his feet – to fit his beautiful boots! He walked down to the river, took off his beautiful boots and placed them by his side.
He was washing his old feet in the river, cleaning his toenails so’s he could put them back into his beautiful boots and feel no shame … when who should come walking up the river but a fisherman, who was fishing the river from pool to pool. He came to the pool where the old tramp was sitting. And the fisherman was amazed when he came up and saw the old tramp washing his feet. But he stopped and said, ‘Hello, auld man!’
The old tramp looked round. There was the fisherman with his fishing bag on his back and his fishing rod. He said, ‘Hello!’
‘Ye’re washin yir feet?’ said the fisherman.
‘Yes,’ said the tramp, ‘I’m washin my feet. Because the day is hot.’
And then the fisherman looked: beside the old tramp sitting was a pair of boots, the most beautiful boots that the fisherman had ever seen in his life! Then he looked at the tramp in rags, torn coat, long beard, straggly hair – and beside him sat the most beautiful boots he’d ever seen. ‘Tell me,’ said the fisherman, ‘are you a tramp?’
‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘people call me that. I have walked many many miles – I am a tramp.’
‘I suppose,’ said the fisherman, ‘ye’ve been many places?’
‘Yes,’ said the old tramp, ‘I’ve seen many sights.’
‘But tell me truthfully,’ said the fisherman, ‘how in the world could an auld tramp like you own such beautiful boots?’
And the tramp turned round and smiled. ‘These boots,’ he said, ‘they be mine!’
‘But,’ the fisherman said, ‘you’ve after told me you’re a tramp!’
‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘I’m a tramp.’
‘But how,’ said the fisherman, ‘could a tramp own these boots, so beautiful like that – did you steal them?’
‘No’ said the tramp, ‘I never stole them. They’re mine!’
‘Did you buy them?’ said the fisherman.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I never bought them. These were given tae me as a present.’
The fisherman said, ‘Luik, I’ve never seen boots like that before. These boots are fit fir a king – never mind a tramp!’
Then the tramp said, ‘They were made for a king; they were made for a king a long time ago. They were made fir the King o’ the Fairies! And the fairies were so kind tae me because I landed on their little hill and they wanted me to move on, they gave me their boots.’ (The tramp had broken his promise to the fairies!)
The fisherman said, ‘The fairies, and the Fairy King! Ha-ha-ha!’ And he picked up his rod and he walked on.
The tramp watched him while he walked up the river. Then the tramp turned round and he looked – his boots were gone … mysteriously disappeared. And then it dawned on him, he had broken his promise to the little man. He was so sad! His boots, the most beautiful boots that had carried him so many many miles, were gone. He sat and he sat for a long long time and he knew in his heart there was no solution to his problem. The fairies had gifted him the boots to move from the little hill because they were going to have a fairy party there.
So he had to get up and walk on his way in his bare feet, till some poor crofter or some poor farmer took pity on him and gave him a pair of old boots. But to the end of his days the old tramp never saw his boots again, because he had broken his promise to the little man who had given him the boots of the Fairy King. And that is the end of my story.1
1 Ac
cording to legend and the travelling folk’s idea about the Other World, all the different beings have their own places: witches, for instance, are connected to old houses in forests, kelpies are in waterfalls, the broonie in old mills and old buildings, and fairies have their fairy hills. The travellers say, in their cracks and tales and stories, that the fairies are shut up under the hills all winter, for nine months of the year. When it comes to the first of May, the King of the Fairies lets them loose, sets them free for three months to do as they please. And they do plenty, you believe me! Nobody ever sees any fairies, but the proof is there. They work among flowers and work among plants, helping Mother Nature. And at the end of July the fairies are gone. But they are so excited when they are set free at the beginning of summer, they have their party, their ceilidh; and lucky is the person who is in this very place on the first of May!
The Taen-Awa
This is what you would call an ‘international tale’ among the travelling folk; every traveller I have met in my travels across Scotland has this story. Some call it ‘The Banshee’, some ‘Johnnie who Gret.’ And the thing is, within the same family a brother and sister-in-law or two cousins may each have their own different way of telling the story. But this was my Granny Bella Macdonald’s favourite. I hope you enjoy it. I’m going to tell ‘The Taen-Awa’ the way Granny told it to me way back in Furnace in 1935. That wasn’t the first time I’d heard it because my daddy told it to me too, when I was younger – I was seven when I heard Granny telling it. But even my daddy enjoyed old Bella’s version, it was different altogether from his. She was a good story-teller and came from a line of story-telling folk who went back many hundreds of years, because the Macdonalds were famed for their tales, they really were.
The King and the Lamp Page 15
