Scottish Traditional Tales

by A. J. Bruford

  That’s how they found out that the pearlwort has healing powers.

  73a Kate Dix

  THE FAIRY SUITOR FOILED

  THERE WAS A HOUSE at Bornish in South Uist, and it was just a little thatched house, but many a one called there. Every house at that time had a partition in it. And they killed their cow when it grew old. And they used to dry the hide to make garments and boots and all sorts of things out of it, even laces: they made laces for their shoes. And the cow’s hide was hung over the partition.

  And there was one girl in the house with her father and mother. And the girl was very beautiful, and she used to go to the hill with the cattle every day and come back in, and go out again in the evening and bring them home. And there was a man who used to meet her in the hill, a bonny lad – she had never seen anyone so handsome as him. And he would walk with her till she was nearly home, and he left, and came back, and it went on like that for six months. She used to wonder – for she was deeply in love with the lad – why he never said a word to her, and how nobody had ever seen him before. She asked everyone, but they had never seen or heard of such a man at all.

  She went to a kind old tinker woman who lived down there, and she told her the whole story.

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ said she, ‘when you go home, take a strand from the tail of the cowhide hanging on the partition, and wash and clean it and make it up into a bonny plait, and lay it aside. And before long that lad will ask for a lock of your hair. And when he asks for a lock of your hair you must go and give him the plait you got from the cow’s tail.’

  As the poor old woman said, that’s how it happened. It wasn’t long before the lad asked her for a lock of her hair, and she said, ‘I’ll bring it for you tonight when I go for the cattle.’ And she did that.

  And when they were holding family worship at midnight, the hide over the partition began to hop. It began to hop, and jump, and hop like mad. They leapt to open the door, and out went the skin. They went after it, everyone who was around, with dogs and men and horses. They couldn’t catch it or keep up with it until it reached the knoll they called Cnoc an t-Sìdhein [the Fairy Knoll]. It stopped there and it went and vanished from sight, and they never found the hide again.

  And they said that if the girl had given him her own hair, she would have gone and she would never have come back again. That’s what I heard.

  73b James Henderson

  KEEPING OUT THE SEA MAN

  WELL, THIS HAPPENED in a hoose – it was supposed to be somewhere in the Sooth Parish o Sooth Ronaldsay. It was a man, a widower man and his daughter, they lived together on a wee croft. And there was one night, the man – he was awey, he was in bed before the girl. An the next mornin she tell’d him she’d haen an aafu experience. She’d barred the door an was sittin at the fire when the door opened an a man came in. An he sat aal night beside her. An she said there was somethin funny aboot him, she said, an she didna like to ask him who he wis or what he was doin – there was somethin queer aboot him.

  Saa he says: ‘Ye’re no barred the door right,’ he said. ‘I’ll bar the door mesel the night.’ So when that night cam he barred the door an made sure it was fixed an geed awey tae his bed. In the mornin she said the sam thing happened – the door just opened an the man came in.

  ‘Ah weel,’ he says, ‘I think he must be a sea man.’ So he says: ‘But I’ll sit op the night an wait tae he comes in.’ So they barred the door as usual, an sittin one at each side o the fire, an the door just opened and the man waaked in. Oh, the old fellow said, ‘Oh, com in, com in,’ an made him very welcome. ‘Sit doon!’ an start to taak awey aboot different things tae him, an he says: ‘Mön,’ he says, ‘I’m hevin an aaful bit o bother.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Weel,’ he says, ‘there a sea bull teen to comin an haantin a quey [heifer] I hev in the byre, an no matter hoo I fasten the door, or hoo I tie her, he gets in an he’s in there all night, an he’s just ruinin my quey. I donno what I’m gaan to do wi her.’

  ‘Ah,’ he says, ‘that’s aesy pitten right, mön. Aal ye need to do is cut some hair aff o her tail, an pare her hoofs, an pit the hair an the parins abov the byre door, an he’ll no be able to com in.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘thanks very much’ – he was terribly grand, he would try that. So he geed awey to bed an left them: sam thing, he sat to mornin an awey he gaed.

  So that day they clippit a lock of the girl’s hair an pared her nails an pat it all together an stuck it up abov the door, barred the door as usual an sat waitin. Aboot the usual time he cam: they heard the sneck o the door liftin, an the door tried but shö wouldno open. An they hears him sayin: ‘Eh my,’ he says, ‘there mony a man done themsels ill wi their tongue, and I’m don the sam.’ An that’s the last they’re hard o him.

  I heard my mother tellin that one. It was her mother that had told it – she belonged to the Sooth Parish . . . She would have known where the hoose was an probably who the folk was, or was supposed to be.

  74 Donald MacDougall

  MACCODRUM’S SEAL WIFE

  YES, I HEARD A STORY long ago from the old people about that. They were known as the MacCodrums of the seals and I heard the story of how it came about too.

  In those days people used to go beach-combing much more than they do now. They used to go looking to see if seaweed had been washed ashore for manure . . . And bits of timber would get washed ashore, and there would be iron bolts attached to them and things of that kind, you know. And things were not so easily come by then as they are today – they were hard to get. And they always went beach-combing looking for such things.

  It was said that this man, one of the MacCodrums, was beach-combing one day. And, anyway, he was taking a rest beside a certain bay and he sat down in the shelter of a rock. And he looked out and what should he see but this group of seals making for the beach in the bay.

  He kept an eye on them and they came ashore and walked up above . . . No, they didn’t walk, but they made their way up beyond the tide-wrack and they dragged themselves up the bank. And then – they took off their skins and the moment they took off their skins, they changed into beautiful women.

  They turned back and out to sea they went. They were playing and swimming there. But anyway he noticed that one particular woman among them – that she was much more beautiful than the rest though they were all beautiful enough – that one of them was especially beautiful compared to the others. And the skin she had been wearing was especially beautiful too compared to the skins of the others.

  He said to himself: ‘Well, I’m just going to try and get that skin for myself and I’ll make one dive for it to see if I can get hold of it before they can get ashore.’ And at that he got up and made for this lovely skin. But they noticed him and up they rushed on to the land and every one of them made for her own skin but he made for this skin and he managed to get to it before the woman did. He seized the skin and thrust it under his arm. The others seized the other skins and out to sea they went – in the shape of seals as they had been before.

  The woman was weeping and begging him to give her the skin so that she could go with her companions but there was no moving him. ‘No,’ he said. He was going to keep the skin. At last he made for home with the skin under his arm and the woman following behind him weeping and begging for the skin – but he just kept going and paid no heed to her. He got home and when he got a chance he hid the skin behind the rafters in the barn . . .

  Anyway, as things turned out, he and this woman got married and apparently they lived happily together. But it seems it was the end of harvest-time when this happened and he was getting the corn in. And when he got the chance a day or two later when he was building a stack, he managed to get the skin from behind the rafters in the barn and he hid it in the corn-stack without being noticed. He kept on doing this every year – and that was always the last stack he put into the barn in the spring – and when he was getting the stack in he hid the skin behind
the rafters till he made the next stack next year, and he always left that stack out last after the others.

  Year after year went by and things were going very well for them, and she was an excellent wife and a good mother to the children – they had children by this time. Anyway, one particular year, in spring he was getting the last stack in as usual, and by this year the children were growing up and some of them were helping him to get the stack in. They got the stack in and he went and got the skin as usual and hid it behind the rafters in the barn.

  But this night the mother was getting the children to bed and one of the children – one of the girls – said to her mother: ‘Oh mother,’ said she, ‘what a beautiful thing father had in the stack today,’ said she, ‘in the corn-stack.’

  ‘What was it, darling?’ said she.

  ‘A fur coat,’ said she, ‘as beautiful as ever you saw.’

  ‘Could you tell me, darling,’ said she, ‘where he put it?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said she, ‘he put it behind the rafters in the barn.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said she, ‘I’m going away and leaving you, and I’ll be away for a while, but I’ll come back again,’ said she. ‘And you won’t be short of fish. You keep a look-out for me.’ And she kissed the children and went away.

  Anyway, the woman was never seen again – and there was no sign of the skin. And they reckoned she had got hold of the skin and that she had got back to the sea just as she had been before.

  Anyway, at a certain time of the evening, sometimes, there was a big reef down there facing the house and a seal used to land on the reef, and it would be crying, with a fish in its mouth. And they reckoned that this was her coming back to look for the children and waiting there for them on the reef with the fish.

  That’s how I heard the story.

  75 Mrs Anderson

  RESCUED BY A SEAL

  THIS IS A STORY ’at was told by my father, and it was a handed-down story to him. And hit was about a crew . . . of men that went to some skerries . . . to shoot seals. And when they were shootin the seals, the wind and the sea got that rough ’at the men got back to the boat – except one, he was so busy clubbin the seals that . . . by the time that he was ready they couldn’t get him off the rock, and they had to leave him. And so, he was sittin waetin, just didna know what to do, when a seal popped up an spoke to him, an said: ‘I’ll put you to your shore if you’ll do wan thing for me.’

  And he says, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘To bring my son’s skin back ’at that men took.’

  And . . . ‘Oh yes,’ he said, he would do that.

  ‘Well,’ he [sic] says, ‘come on my back, then. Maek a slit on each side where you can taek a grip, so ’at you don’t tumble off, and I’ll land you.’

  So she [sic] did this, an the seal landed him at the shore. Then he went along to the store where they had the seal-skins, and the seal was followin him at the sea. And . . . he came out with a skin and he said, ‘Is that it?’ and she said, ‘Yes.’

  And he gave her the skin and the seal disappeared and the man came home. And they aal thought that he was dead, an when he came in, they were bakin the scones for Christmas, and he oapent the door an waaked in on them, and they got the shock o their life when they saa him. So he told them this story . . .

  I think it was either Sule Skerry or Ve Skerries, I don’t remember.

  76 Andrew Hunter

  THE LIMPET PICK

  NOO HAVE YE HEARD THE STORY about the man ’at wis down i the ebb gettin lempits? Well, ye know, what they caal’t the lempit pick, he wis like a piece of . . . a bit of a broken knife, you see, an a wooden handle on it. An when he was down i the ebb gettin this lempits, he saa a big seal lyin . . . not very far away. Now he craaled along, an he had noathin but juist the pick, you see, wi this olt broken portion of a knife on the end, ’at he was pickin off the lempits with. Well, he got cloase enoff ’at he thocht he would maybe get this sael, so he lifted this pick an he cam down on him: he cut the skin, but the sael made a bassel an away he went. He didnae get him. But he [the seal] took his lempit pick with him!

  Now years after that he went – him an some more went tae get a böat. And they cam into this house and then they were a poor, they said, a poor old body sittin up in a coarner. And they tälked fir a time, and then this old body took a good look at this man, an then out o the holl i the wall shö pulled out something, an she held it up, an she said, ‘Do you know that skjön?’ (Now skjön was the name . . . fir their knife, in fac’ . . . i the haaf days . . . the skjön wis the name fir the knife ’at they cuttit their bait an all that with, it hed to be the skjön.) An then this wis the saem old lempit pick ’at he wis stucken i the sael, and this was supposed to be the olt lady, you see, this was supposed to be the saem seal ’at he stack the knife in . . .

  (I heard aa this olt stories, ye know, when A wis a boy, an I sät listenin . . . what you learned then, you see, you’ll never forget. An yet somethin, you know, fae not very many years ago, you will forget it – may come to your mind some time. But fir my age, you see, you live in the past . . . Everyone comin to my age an before that, you see, they’re livin in the past. Aal . . . that happen’t an aal that they heard . . . i their youth, you see, he’s there.)

  77 James Henderson

  THE MAGIC ISLAND

  I DON’T KNOW EXACTLY where, but it was supposed to be aff o some o the North Isles or the West o the Mainland, but there was a faimily, father an mother an two sons an a daughter. Well one mornin the daughter went away to take lempit for bait at the shore, an she didna come back when she should ha’ come. So they gaed aff to look for her, but there was no trace o her ever fund: they thought, weel, the only thing was she had slippit ower the face o a rock and wis drooned.

  Oh, some while efter that, maybe years efter that, the faither and the two sons gaed aff to the sea, fishin, wan day. Came a very thick fog, and they thought – they’d no compass in the boat, an there was very little wind, but they got oot the oars an tried to pull as near as they could for whar they thoyt the shore wis. Efter a whilie they did mak oot some land, an they cam in on a beach, but it was a strange place to them, they’d never seen it afore, but there wis a boat landin place there, so they brang the boat up an hed a bit o look aroond. They saa a path, so they folla’d the path, an it led up tae a good big hoose. They thoyt the best they could do wis knock at the door an see if they could get some informaetion as to whar they wis. So they knockit on the door, a man cam to the door an they tell’d him what had happened them.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘com in, com in,’ jist com in an wait tae the fog cleared an they would soon see whar they wis then. So they cam in: a grand weel-furnished hoose, an wha wis the mistress o it but the lass that was supposed tae have been drooned years ago. So when they saa that they thought there wis somethin kind o queer aboot it, an they didna like to ask ony questions.

  But. . . she asked hoo they wis, an oh, they wis aal fine, an she said, oh, they would hev somthin tae aet, set doon a grand diet to them tae aet. An they wis taakin awey aboot different things, an the man said, did they hev ony baests that they would sell?

  ‘Oh yes,’ the old fella says, ‘we hev a coo, a grand coo ’at A wis thinkin on sellin indeed.’

  ‘Weel,’ he says, ‘A’ll buy her. What dae ye want for her?’

  Oh, he named a good price for her, he would want that onywey –

  ‘Oh,’ he says, ‘A’ll give ye that,’ an he paid him in gold sovereigns.

  So he thought, ‘Noo . . . A’ll fin oot whar this place is,’ so he says, ‘Weel, ye’ll hev to tell me noo what wey to com here, or A’ll no be able to tak the coo tee ye.’

  ‘Och,’ he says, ‘don’t you worry aboot that. A’ll com for the coo masel.’

  So . . . wan o them said, ‘I think ’at the fog’s offerin to lift a little.’

  So the . . . lass says tae them, ‘Weel, afore ye go, are they onything here in the . . . in the hoose ’at ye would fancy to tak wi ye?’
>
  An the man said, ‘Oh, ye’re welcome to onything ’at’s here, jist pick onything ye would like an tak it wi ye!’

  So the lass, she gied them a kind o look, I suppose thinkin ’at they would say, ‘Well A’ll take – A’ll tak you wi us!’ Hooever, they lookit aroond an they saa a grand big gold dish, an they said, oh, they would like tae hev that. So she handed it to them: ‘Well,’ she says, ‘tak it an go!’

  So they gaed doon to the boat, and the man gied them a hand to laanch, an he said, ‘Jist pull ower that way a bit.’ So they pulled oot an the island disappeared in the fog, an the fog lifted an they were no distance aff o their own land. So they pulled for home, an soon as they cam in, the wife was meetin them at the shore very agitated. She says, ‘An aafu thing’s happened.’ She says, ‘Wir best coo’s lyin in the byre deid!’

  ‘Ach,’ the man says, ‘let her be gaan, she’s ower weel paid for!’

  So that wis the end o that.

  78 Tom Tulloch

  THE LAST TROW IN YELL

  THIS WIS WAN O THE HIDMAST, if not the hidmast trowie hadd ’at wis in Yell: it wis in a knowe at Burnside in Collyifa. An aboot yon time they were a fiddler o graet repute in Collyifa be the neem o Rabbie Anderson, and the trows would aye meet him efery year an invite him to play tö them ipö owld Yül E’ën; an he wis graetly delighted wi this, fir although he would naither aet or drink in asaed them, everything ’at he laid his haund til through the coorse o the year prospered til him, and he thowt ’at this wis a very good bargeen, an he aye lookit forward to goin. But he never telled anybody whaur he wis been the Christmas Eve, an the fokk all kind o winder’t whar Rabbie wis been, but he . . . never telt them at all. An they envyed him of coorse upon his graet prosperity durin the coorse o the year, but he held his tongue, he telt no body.