‘Well,’ said he, ‘you’re pretty expensive.’ But anyway, ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you that then.’
But anyway, just at that moment what should come but a knock at the door, and when the knock at the door came she didn’t know where to put him. She shoved him in the cupboard, and who came in then but the minister himself. In came the minister, and what the minister asked for was just the same thing.
‘Oh,’ said she, ‘all right,’ said she, ‘if you give me five pounds.’
‘You’re pretty expensive,’ said he, ‘but, come, come,’ said he, ‘we won’t quarrel [over it].’
The minister was just getting into bed with her when there came another knock at the door. She shoved him into the cupboard on the bottom shelf. Now the pair of them were in there. Who came in then but the doctor.
The doctor came in, and the doctor asked for the very same thing. And she . . . told the doctor just the same story – that he’d get it if he gave her five pounds.
‘Oh, you’re pretty expensive,’ said he, ‘but we won’t quarrel [over it].’
The doctor went and got in. There came a ‘knock, knock’ at the door.
‘Oh, here’s the tailor coming!’ said she. ‘He’s come home.’
She shoved him on to the top shelf. And in came . . . who was it but the tailor. By now she had fifteen pounds. In came the tailor.
‘Have you made anything while you’ve been away?’ said she. ‘You’ve been a long time away.’
‘Yes, said he, ‘I’ve made ten pounds.’
‘Huh, well,’ said she, ‘I’ve made more than that myself,’ said she. ‘I’ve made fifteen pounds,’ said she.
‘And what were you doing?’ said he.
‘Taking pictures,’ said she.
‘And what pictures did you take?’
‘I took the teacher,’ said she, ‘and I took the minister, and I took the doctor. Come over and see them.’ She opened the cupboard.
‘Ah well, well, well,’ said he, ‘aren’t these good likenesses. I’d take my Bible oath,’ said he, ‘that that’s the teacher . . . and the minister . . . and the doctor, except for one thing you’ve done to the doctor,’ said he, ‘you’ve made that bit of him just slightly . . . a little too long, and I think I’ll just snip a bit off it with my scissors.’
When they heard that they made a dash for the door – all three of them.
I don’t know what happened to them – they went away then.
29 Alasdair Stewart (‘Aili Dall’)
THE WREN
WELL, THERE WAS A night of falling and drifting snow and the wren, he didn’t know where he could go. He could find no place to go, and such a night of falling and drifting snow that you couldn’t see a thing for the drifting. But he came to a sheep there in the field.
‘Oh,’ said he to the sheep, ‘Won’t you let me into your wool till morning?’
‘Oh no,’ said the sheep, ‘you can’t come here.’
But he came to one little speckled sheep.
‘Oh,’ said he, ‘I wish you would let me into your wool till morning.’
‘Oh, come on, you poor thing,’ said she. ‘You won’t do me any harm by being in my wool.’
So he got into the wool and he was sweating, he was so warm. In the morning he got up and when he came out in the morning, the sheep’s throat was cut and the sheep was dead.
Oh, he didn’t know what he should do. But when he got up in the morning,
‘Oh well,’ said he, ‘I must find the cur who killed my hostess,’ said he, ‘before I leave here.’
And he rose and went to the farmer – he went to the farmer and said to the farmer – he told him word for word how the sheep had been killed, his hostess, and if he would be good enough to find him the cur who had done that, he would pay for it. And this was refused to him. And he said to the farmer,
‘If you do that for me,’ said he, ‘I’ll give you a cask of wine that was washed ashore.’
‘Oh, where is it?’ said the farmer.
‘It’s down here on the shore,’ said he. ‘It was washed in by the sea, but,’ said he, ‘you can’t carry it away. You’ll have to take the horse and sledge down to the shore.’
The old fellow came and harnessed the horse to the sledge and he and the wren went down to the shore.
‘There now,’ said the wren. ‘There is the cask of wine for you and I hope,’ said he, ‘that you’ll find the cur who did that to my hostess.’
‘Och yes,’ said the old fellow.
He looked around when he had got the cask up on to the sledge:
‘Get out of here,’ he said to the wren, ‘or I’ll knock your head off with my finger.’
‘I believe you would do that,’ said he, ‘but before you move from there,’ said he, ‘I’ll kill your horse.’
No! I have gone ahead of my story.
‘I’ll do this to you – I’ll spill your cask of wine,’ said he.
‘What would you do that with?’ said the farmer.
He started and he was pecking and pecking and pecking away at it:
‘Oh my goodness,’ said the farmer, ‘you’ll do just that.’
And what was in the sledge but a big axe. He picked up the axe and the first swipe he took at the wine cask, the wine cask smashed like that! The farmer was left with nothing of it.
‘I’ll do worse than that to you,’ said the wren. ‘I’ll kill your horse.’
‘Ach!’ said the farmer, ‘what would you do that with?’
‘Oh, just you let me be,’ said he.
He went over to the horse’s face and started to peck away under his forelock. The old fellow raised the big axe: the first swipe he took at the horse, he knocked its brains out with the axe. The horse was dead!
‘I’ll do worse than that to you,’ said he, ‘I’ll break your sledge.’
Oh my goodness, the wren was pecking away at the sledge and everything. The old fellow smashed the sledge to smithereens with the axe. Every time the wren sat down he thought he would get a crack at him but by the time he was through he had smashed the whole sledge.
‘Huh!’ said the wren. ‘I’ll do worse than that to you. I’ll break your shank.’
Now he was working away at his shank and the old fellow raised the big axe and the first swipe he took at himself in the shank, he broke his leg. The old fellow could not get up from there. But they came down – the boys – and they did not know what the old fellow was up to – why he had not come home. But at long last they came down and took the old fellow up on a bedspread to the house. He came up on the bedspread and they got him into bed: the old fellow was lying in bed now and the bed was beside the window.
The wren came up from the shore. The cows and the bull were there grazing in the field. Oh, he came up to the bull – the wren:
‘You haven’t got much there, my poor fellow.’
‘No,’ said the bull, ‘I haven’t got much here.’
‘Oh but hasn’t your master got plenty,’ said he, ‘in the barn?’
‘Ach yes,’ said the bull, ‘but I can’t get in to it.’
‘Hoch, haven’t you got a pair of big horns?’ said he. ‘Put your two horns in under the door,’ said he, ‘and you can lift the door off the hinges and you can go in then and eat as much as you like.’
‘My goodness,’ said the bull, ‘I think that’s just what I’ll do.’
The bull went up to the door of the barn and, as he had told him, he put his horn in under the door and the door came off the hinges, and the door fell down. The bull went in, himself and the cows and there they ate turnips, oats, hay, everything they could find, till they burst and died. There they were, dead.
And after all this he [the wren] came into the barn – or wherever it may have been – and there was a big bitch there with puppies.
‘Oh you poor thing,’ said he to the bitch, ‘you are hungry.’
‘Oh yes,’ said the bitch, ‘I am hungry.’
‘We
ll,’ said he, ‘if you do one thing for me,’ said he, ‘I’ll give you plenty of food.’
‘Will you?’ said the bitch.
‘Yes, plenty of meat.’
‘Well, and what,’ said the bitch, ‘am I going to do for you?’
‘If you will kill the cur,’ said he, ‘who killed my hostess, I’ll give you plenty of meat.’
‘Oh I will,’ said the bitch.
And it was a fox.
‘He is in,’ said he, ‘in his hole – in his den, and I’ll go into the den,’ said the wren, ‘and I’ll send him out by a trick to the door and you’ll get a grip on him at the door of the den, and I’ll give you plenty of food,’ said he.
Well, this is how it was. The wren came in and he said to the fox,
‘Och, och,’ said he, ‘what a state you’re in lying there,’ said he, ‘when there’s plenty of food down there,’ said he.
‘Indeed,’ said the fox, ‘I dare say there is.’
‘I know,’ said he, ‘that there is.’
‘Well,’ said the fox, ‘I’ll go out and get some of it.’
The fox came out and, when the fox came out, the bitch caught him and killed him.
‘Well, well now,’ said the wren. ‘You can go down to the shore,’ said he to the bitch then, ‘and there’s a horse there that was killed today,’ said he. ‘Sit down there,’ said he, ‘and you’ll get as much food as you can eat.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will,’ said the bitch.
The bitch went down and she got plenty of food from the horse, plenty of meat.
And now there he was, the wren, and when he was there, there was a night of falling and drifting snow that night, and didn’t it happen that the old fellow’s window was open. The wind blew the wren in and he landed on the old fellow’s bed and the old fellow put out his hand:
‘Ah!’ said he, ‘I think I’ve got you now. I’ve got you now,’ said he, ‘the fellow who did the damage to me. I’ll give you what for!’
‘Oh, let me go,’ said the wren, ‘let me go, and I’ve got a little lump of gold under my wing for you. Well, open your hand,’ said he, ‘and you’ll get it.’
The old fellow opened his hand and the wren made a ‘Yoop!’ of his droppings on him – in his hand.
‘There!’ said he. ‘I’m not much of a lump of gold, the whole lot of me.’
And he sprang across on to the dresser. But the old fellow got up and he got a stick, a shepherd’s crook. He sprang on to the dresser, he sprang on to the shelf, he sprang on to the mantelpiece – the wren. The old fellow was smashing everything, till he had smashed, he had made . . . he had smashed every single thing that was in the house, and he hasn’t got the wren yet. I don’t know that they aren’t still at it.
That’s the Story of the Wren for you.
OTHER CLEVERNESS, STUPIDITY AND NONSENSE
30a Angus Henderson
THE KING’S THREE QUESTIONS
THERE WAS A PRIEST in Scotland and he did something wrong, and gave great offence to the king – it was one of the Jameses. And he was to be executed. But the king allowed him a chance: if he came to see him in his palace at Scone, and answered three questions the king would put to him, he would go free. And he knew well enough that there were some questions he couldn’t answer because of the way someone had framed them – that there are questions that nobody at all can answer if they are put in a certain way – no-one else. Well, this was worrying him a lot, and he was just pacing up and down the house day and night, and his brother, who lived with him and was a simpleton – everybody just called him ‘the fool’ – he said to him:
‘What’s bothering you now?’
‘Och, what use is it for me to tell a fool like you?’
‘Oh, but I might be able to do something, give you advice, or something or other like that.’
Well, he told him how it was, that he was condemned to death, but he had one chance: if he could answer the three questions the king put to him in his own palace, then he would get off.
‘Well, there are questions,’ said his brother to him, ‘that you couldn’t . . . that you can’t answer.’
‘And what am I going to do?’ said the priest.
‘Well, I’ll go in your place.’
‘Oh no. What’s a fool like you going to do?’
‘Well, look here. What will happen to me if you are executed? I’m just going to be a fearful idiot wandering through this world, making sport for everyone. Won’t you let me go there: if I’m executed, it won’t make any difference at all.’
Well, the priest agreed that his brother should go, and he put on the priest’s habit, took the priest’s staff and set off. He came to the king’s palace in Scone; he knocked on the door; a big man came to it beautifully dressed in a fine blue and red uniform and asked him who he was; he told him that he was the priest, and all that, and:
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to see the king.’
‘Come in, he’s expecting you.’
He was taken to the king’s room, and the king was sitting there on a big throne, with gold chains round his neck and wearing lots of beautiful things.
‘Come in.’
He went over to him and took off his hat. The king said to him: ‘You know the reason why you are here.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Well, well, then, we might as well just begin now. First question, then – where is the centre of the world?’
‘It is right here,’ said he; he knocked with his staff on the middle of the floor.
‘Oh well, I must let you have that. You know, yes, I believe that the world is round like a ball, and anywhere will do for its centre. Heh, I’ll give you that one. Next question, then – what am I worth sitting on the throne here? Just what am I worth in money?’
‘Well,’ said the man to him, ‘you’re not worth any more than thirty pieces of silver, anyway.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘The best man who was ever born in the world was sold for thirty pieces of silver.’
‘You’ve got it. I must give you that one too. The third one – if you can answer this, you’re really damned good,’ said he. ‘Do you know of anything I’m thinking . . . the king is thinking at the moment, and he’s entirely wrong?’
‘Yes,’ said he.
‘What’s that, then?’
‘You’re talking . . . you think you’re talking to the priest, and you’re talking to the fool, his brother.’
‘Well,’ said the king, ‘anyone who has a brother like that, and that brother a fool, deserves to get off. Away you go!’
30b John Stewart
THE KING AND THE MILLER
A’M TELLIN YE A LITTLE STORY aboot a miller an his daughter: he hed one o the nicest daughters could be seen in the country, an everybody hed a fancy of her. And the keeng – the young king was livin not very far from her an he hed a notion of her, an he didnae know what way for tae gain this girl. An he went doon tae the mill one day, and he said, ‘A’m goin to gie ye three questions,’ he says, ‘miller, an ye know,’ he says, ‘the keeng’s word’s never broke. And if ye don’t answer me that three questions,’ he says, ‘your head will go on my gate.’
‘Well,’ says the miller, ‘if A can answer them A’ll try ma best.’
He says, ‘Ye know,’ he says, ‘that I can do what I like,’ he says, ‘I’m keeng o this country, an my word’ll stand.’
‘Very well,’ says the miller, he says, ‘what is it?’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘you must tell me,’ he says, ‘the weight o the moon. That’s wan. You must tell me,’ he says, ‘hoo many stars is in the heavens. That’s two. An you must – third one,’ he says, ‘you must tell me what A’m thinkin on.’
‘Oh well,’ says the miller, he says, ‘A doot my heid’ll go on yir gates.’
An he says, ‘Gin this time a year an a day,’ he says, ‘A’ll be doon,’ he says, ‘an ask ye the questions. An if ye’re not right,’ he says,
‘yir head comes off.’
So this poor miller now, he’s gaun up an doon, thinkin tae himsel what could he say or what could he do. An there’s a young shepherd lad not very far away, an he was helpin him at the hairvest, takin in the hairvest. An . . . the shepherd chap says tae him, ‘Gosh bless me, miller,’ he says, ‘what’s ado wi ye? Ye’re [? aa] awfae dour be when I cam here first.’
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘laddie, A’m dour. An if you kent,’ he says, ‘what I ken,’ he said, ‘you would be dour too.’
He says, ‘What is it?’
So he told the shepherd what he wis told be the keeng. An he says, ‘You know the keeng’s word,’ he says, ‘goes far.’
‘Oh well,’ he says, ‘A’ll tell you one thing,’ he says, ‘miller,’ he says: ‘if you promise me tae get your daughter,’ he says, ‘as a wife,’ he says, ‘A’ll clear ye o that.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘A can’t give her,’ he says, ‘unless she’s willin.’ An he goes in tae his daughter an he asks her a question; he says, ‘My daughter,’ he says, ‘ye know,’ he says, ‘what I’ve tae suffer.’
She said, ‘Yes.’
He says, ‘Would you get my life saved,’ he says, ‘fir tae mairry a man?’
She says, ‘A wid mairry,’ she says, ‘the day, if it wid save yir life.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘there a man’ll save my life if ye marry him.’
‘Who is he?’ she says.
He says, ‘So an so’s shepherd.’
‘Well,’ she says, ‘he’s as good as what I am. A’ll marry him if he’ll save yir life, but not, faither, till yir life’s saved.’
‘A’ll bet yez [?] he’ll save my life – I think.’
So the shepherd an them agreed that he would save his life. So that day year – it’s a Hogmanay night – he was up the side o the dam an who did he meet but this young keeng.
‘Good evenin, shepherd’ – A’m goin wrong wi ma story now . . . Just a minute . . . A should have said that the shepherd dressed himsel up with a white baerd an put on the miller’s suit o clothes on him, and he’s away up beside the dam fir tae meet the keeng: this was the night he wis tae meet him an answer his questions. So –
Scottish Traditional Tales Page 23
