Scottish Traditional Tales

by A. J. Bruford

  And then they were wän winter ’at he never saw anything tö the trows, and they never met him or ever invited him. And Rabbie wis gettin a bit alairmed aboot this, fir he was wonderin whit wey ’at it wis . . . [would] eyffect his prosperity fir the comin year. So they were ae night comin brawly weel on fir Yül ’at he made upon him an summed up his courage, and he güd in to the trowie hadd. An when he came in there, they werena a sowl in sight aless wän owld wife, an shö wis sittin on a doil-hoit at the fier, and he axed her whät on aerth wis come o all the rest o the fokk ’at was here the last time he wis? And shö said that he might ax; shö said they were a minister come to Collyifö, an he had thatten a volabeelity o preachin an prayin ’at the trows could not suffer it at all – they got no paece, and they were all hed to clear oot to Faera. The last wan o them wis gone, but shö t’owt ’at shö wis ower owld tö . . . start life in a new place ipö the face o the aerth, an shö t’owt ’at shö would just end her days whar shö wis. And that was the hidmast o the trows that ever was telled aboot in . . . North Yell!

  . . . That was supposed to be James Ingram: he was minister o the parish o North Yell an Fetlar fae yghteen-t’ree to eighteen-twenty-wan . . .

  . . . As it was telled i my boyhood days aboot faeries ’at they were supposed to be a more kind o a gentle, gossamer bein as what the trows wis: . . . the faeries wis more or less a hairmless race, and . . . they were more up fir gai’ty and all that kind o – The trows wis . . . same as if it wis more cloasely assoaciated til a aert’ly bein, ’at they could aither be good or bäd, accoardin to whit wey you dealt wi them . . . Yondroo at the Burn o Skoildigil on your wey to Gloup . . . that wis supposed to be a graet trowie hadd, an they were different fokk ’at said that when they were aroont that burn ’at they could hear the trows wäshin their leem!

  LEGENDS OF WITCHCRAFT

  79 Betsy Whyte

  THE BROONIE

  DAE YE KEN WHAT a Broonie is? No? Well, in Scotland we have a Broonie, a spirit creature – not only fairies an witches an waarlocks an aa that kind o things but we also have the Broonie. But the Broonie wis a very helpful spirit, an it couldn’t take on a very nice form. It used tae look terrible, an everybody was frightened o it, and it kept away oot o the sight o people if it could. It was mostly covered in brown hair like a coconut; it had iron teeth, and its eyes were the same as they’d been half plucked out and tried to be . . . pushed back in again! An its feet were at least a yard in length – so that everybody was terrified o the Broonie. But they’d nae reason to be, it never – a Broonie wis never haerd tae dae any harm tae anybody.

  But, all they done, was they attached themsel tae a family, and they would work for this family. Mostly, they liked to work in a mill, an they nearly always went fir mills, but nut always, they would work at other things as well, but mostly inside things. Now, near this place there lived a young miller, an he lived wi’s mother. An his mother dabbled aboot in the Black Art an witchcraft an charms an aa that kind o thing, an this young fella, he was her only son. An there wis a fairmer’s daughter, an she would have gave anything for him, she really cared aboot him. But he wis courtin a servant lassie on another fairm. Now his mother wisnae very pleased at that, she thought he should ha’ took this fairmer’s daughter, an she said, ‘Look,’ she says, ‘a big fairm an everything, an it would be yours, because her father’s gettin on a bit now.’

  He says, ‘I cannae help it, mother,’ he said. He says, ‘I love Katie,’ he said, ‘an A’m gaunnae marry Katie.’

  She says, ‘Ye’re naw gaunnae marry Katie,’ she says, ‘because Katie’s gaunnae dee, an you’re gaunnae marry the fairmer’s daughter!’

  He says, ‘Never, mother!’ He said, ‘A’m gaunnae marry Katie, the servant lassie.’

  So his mother wisnae very pleased at aa. But in spite o his mother, he did marry Katie, and he went an lived at the mill: there wis a wee empty hoose there. An his mother wis aboot a mile away from them. So they were very happy an worked away, an of course the ineviteable happened, Katie wis wi child. And they were pleased an happy aboot it. The mother she never came near them, ye see, she jist stayed in her ain wee place.

  But one mornin the young man came in an he said, ‘Katie, I dinnae want tae alarm ye,’ he said, ‘but I think there’s a Broonie on the place.’

  And she paled and said, ‘What?’

  He says, ‘Now, dinnae get alarmed,’ he says, ‘but A’m near sure there’s a Broonie on the place. Aa last week,’ he said, ‘an aa this week, every mornin when A went doon tae the mill,’ he said, ‘the bags are [?stashed] up right at the side o the waa,’ he says, ‘all milled. So naeb’dy else would dae it but a Broonie.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she says, ‘we’ll hae to clear oot o the place.’

  ‘No, no,’ he says, ‘dinnae get alarmed.’ So one day he caught a glimpse o the Broonie, and he said tae Katie, ‘If ye come doon caanie wi me,’ he said,‘ye’ll see him. Now A’m waarnin ye, he’s no a bonnie sight, but,’ he said, ‘he’ll dae ye no harm.’

  So he took her and they would sit and watch, you see, and she did get a glimpse o the Broonie. And she recoiled a bit, ye ken, but och, she wis a fine lassie, and she said, ‘Well, folk cannae help what they look like,’ she said, ‘I don’t suppose. If you tell me that he’ll no hairm us that’s the main thing.’ So gradually she went doon and she made a bed intae a wee bothy place for the Broonie, and he gradually let. . . her see him. And she got that she didnae mind his appearance, an she got quite used to seein him now and then. So he went there and he worked, and she brought him maybe a – milk or something like that an left it fir him anyway, an oatmeal an that, but she lost all her fear o him.

  Now she wis gettin near her time. And she wis wonderin, an her man wis wonderin what they were gaunnae dae. He says, ‘A dinnae ken whether tae ask ma mother or no.’

  She says, ‘No, dinnae ask yir mother.’ But she didnae huv tae ask the mother, because the mother came up, when she knew the lassie wes near her time, and oh, she couldnae have been friendlier! She started tryin tae help her the every way: she says, ‘Look, A’ve brought ye a bonnie wee black cat kitten,’ she says, ‘a wee black cat, look, tae keep ye in comp’ny when ye’re confined,’ she said. ‘And it could be any day now, so A’ll do up your hair’ – you know how women always wear long, long hair at that time – ‘A’ll do up your hair,’ she says, ‘an you’ll no have to comb it while you’re in bed,’ she said. ‘And A’m gaunna make ye two lovely soft feather pillows.’ So she went away and she filled two pillas wi ravens’ feathers; she turn’t the foot o the lassie’s bed towards the door, and she tied up her hair, an every here an there she was puttin witches’ knots in it. ’Course the lassie didnae ken this. And this wee cat wis always comin up an sittin beside the lassie.

  So, sure enough, the lassie went into labour, and the young man says, ‘A’ll get somebody.’ He says, ‘A’ll go fir the howdie woman.’ (This was a sort o midwife that jist – no trained or anything, but they were good at that, it wis a gift – and everybody in that district went for this woman.)

  And she says, ‘I don’t know if she’ll come’ – because everybody in the district had haerd that there was a Broonie on the place, an a lot o folk wouldnae even pass there at night in the dark, fir fear o the Broonie. And she says, ‘Dinnae leave me here,’ she said, ‘dinnae leave me’ – because this was her secont day in labour. She said, ‘I do need somebody, but I dinnae want ye to leave me.’

  He says, ‘Well, A’ll get the Broonie to go!’ So when it got dark, he got a big lang coat and a hat wi a big wide brim, an he said, ‘Look, A want ye to go an get the midwife fir Katie.’

  He says, ‘All right.’ So he pulled up the collar o this coat . . . hat doon – it was dark anyway – and took a horse, and away he went along this bridle path to where the midwife stayed. And he came to the door, and he said, ‘It’s Katie that’s no weel,’ he said, ‘and I’m sent fir ye.’

  She says, ‘Oh well, A’ll jist come alang wi ye.’ So
her man helped her up on the horse’s back beside the Broonie, and they’re away on the road. But it bein dark, and just a bridle path, they couldnae go very fast. And she says, ye ken, ‘I hope I dinnae see that Broonie!’ She says, ‘I’m terrified o the Broonie.’

  And the Broonie says, ‘Na, dinnae worry.’ He says, ‘I can assure ye, fir certain, that ye’ll no see anything worse than whit ye’re cuddled intae the noo’ – because she had her airms roond aboot the Broonie, ye see?

  So they got tae the hoose, and the young man cam oot and lifted her aff the horse, and she came in to where Katie was. And the Broonie went back to the wee bothy.

  But another couple o days went past and there was still nothing doin. Six, seven, eight days went past. No, nothing happenin. An the young lassie was in absolute torture, agony all the time. She wis absolutely done. An this young man says, ‘I know, A’ll bet ye a shillin,’ he says, ‘this is the work o my mother.’

  So doon he went tae his mother’s hoose, and he says, ‘Mother,’ he says, ‘will ye tak that spell aff o Katie?’ He says, ‘I ken ye’ve did something.’

  She says, ‘I will not.’ She said, ‘I told ye that she was gaunnae die, an you were gaunna mairry the fairmer’s dochter!’

  He said, ‘No. No, mother, fir God’s sake!’ He says, ‘Ye’ve nae idea o the torture that lassie’s gaun through.’

  ‘Nae mair than she deserves,’ she said.

  So the young man, he knew that this would happen, his wife would die in agony, and he ran away wi his heid in his hands. An he had naebody to go tae: he ran tae the Broonie, and he told the Broonie: he was greetin on the Broonie’s shoother. He says, ‘O dear, dear, what am I gaunnae dae? – an it’s aa the fault o my mother!’

  ‘Well,’ the Broonie said, ‘A’ll tell ye whit ye can dae.’ He said, ‘Take me doon tae yir mother.’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ he said, ‘that wouldnae help at aa,’ he says. ‘Supposin I took God himsel doon tae my mother,’ he says, ‘I ken her too well.’

  ‘Ah, but,’ he said, ‘you jist take me doon, becuz,’ he said, ‘I can become invisible. But before ye go doon,’ he said, ‘A’ll tell ye what tae say. Just try an put a smile on yir face, an run in an say, “Oh, mother, mother, you’ve got a beautiful young grandson!” and see whit happens,’ he says, ‘an A’ll be invisible.’

  So the laddie wis a bit perplexed wi this . . . but anyhow he done it. He went down wi the Broonie, an he ran in an he says, ‘Mother, ye’ve got a beautiful young grandson.’

  And she says, ‘What?’

  He says, ‘Oh yes, mother, a beautiful boy. It’s lovely!’ An he says, ‘A cannae wait, A’ve got to go back to Katie.’ So he’s out the door, but the Broonie was still standin there, invisible, ye see.

  An when he went oot the door, this auld woman started stampin her feet an cursin, ‘Who told him aboot the witch’s knots in her hair? Who told him aboot that black cat? An who told them aboot the raven’s feathers? And who told them that I’d turned her feet tae the door?’ she says. ‘I wonder who could have told them that.’

  And then the Broonie of course, he’s whipped away after the young man, caught up wi him an he says, ‘I ken whit’s wrong now.’

  And when they went intae the hoose, they heard the lassie screamin, an this young fella says, ‘No, no, I cannae go near her! I cannae look at her like that.’

  ‘Well,’ the Broonie said, ‘I must dae it.’ An the Broonie ran up, opened the door – and when the midwife saw him she’s out the door, and the sparks were fleein fae her heels as she ran away up through the fields and things! And the Broonie went, an the lassie was in such a state she couldnae care who it was. He says, ‘I’ve came,’ he says, ‘tae try an help ye.’ And, ‘Come on, Katie,’ he said, ‘let me loosen oot yir hair, ye’re sweatin there,’ an he loosed oot her hair an took oot aa the witch’s knots. And he turned her bed wi her feet tae the south, and he said, ‘Gie me that pillas.’ He took the pillas, and he shouted tae her man, he said, ‘Are ye doon there?’

  He says, ‘Aye.’

  He says, ‘Well, here’ – and first of all it wis the cat that landed on his chest: he throwed the cat doon, an he says, ‘Take that an strangle it some place.’ And he said, ‘An that pillas, take an burn them.’

  ‘Oh,’ the man says, ‘A cannae touch ma wife’s wee cat,’ he says: ‘Katie’ll kill me fir her kitten.’

  He says, ‘Dae it!’ But he couldnae, so the Broonie took it an he jist twisted the head aff it, an he says, ‘Ye can dae it now,’ he says. ‘Go an bury it, or burn it! Best thing is tae burn them.’ So the fella’s away wi this pillas an this cat’s body to bum them. An the Broonie went ower tae – he says, ‘Katie, ye’re gaunnae sleep now,’ he said, ‘and when ye wake up ye’ll feel fine.’ And she did, an when she woke up, she did have a beautiful wee baby boy in her aimis.

  And that Broonie stayed on that place until the fella’s mother died, till the auld woman died. And then it jist disappeared, the same way as it had come, never wis seen again. But the young couple lived happily there ever efter that – an they were pretty well aff, wi aa the stuff that the Broonie had milled fir them. An that’s the end of ma story!

  80 Angus MacLellan

  LONDON AGAIN!

  THIS WAS A FISHERMAN. He lived down Wester Ross way, in Kintail. He and his sons used to go out fishing every day and one day when they were out, the weather turned bad on them. And he had to clear a headland – like the point of Aird Mhaoile down here – and he could see that he had no chance of clearing the headland. The only way of escape was to let her run aground. He let the boat run in to the shore and some people spotted him and they came together. And they got out of the boat safe and drew her up, but her keel was broken.

  They went home and when they had had a meal, [he thought] it would be just as necessary for them to go out the next day as it had been today. He decided to go to the wood to see if he could find a tree that would make a keel for the boat. He took an axe with him. He searched all through the wood but he couldn’t find a tree that suited him – when he found a straight one it was too thick and it would take [? too long] to trim it down to size and it would never be ready. And he still couldn’t find one . . . When he found one that wouldn’t need too much trimming, it had a twist in it and it was no use.

  At last night fell and caught him in the wood. He kept trying to find his way out and when he did get out of the wood he had no earthly idea which way he should turn. Then he saw a light in the distance and he made straight for it, and when he reached it there was a neat little house there, and he went in.

  When he went in there was no-one there but three old women and one of them was very old indeed. She was sitting by the fire. Another of them was quite active, moving about the house. And he asked if he could stay there till morning. They looked at each other and one of them said grudgingly that he could. They invited him to sit in by the fire.

  Then the one who was sitting by the fire got up and went over to join the other two. They began to talk among themselves but he paid no attention: he thought they were talking about him. But then one of them turned and said to him that he had better go through to the other room – that there was a bed there and he could sleep there till morning and he would be better there.

  ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘I’ll be fine here beside the fire till morning.’

  ‘Oh, you’d better go and lie down in bed. We won’t. . . no-one will bother you, and you can take the lamp and keep it lit if you like.’

  He went through to the room and when he got into the room there was nothing there but the bed itself and a table and a big chest over beneath the window. He undressed and went to bed and he just turned the lamp down. He didn’t put it out. He was lying there in bed but he couldn’t get to sleep. He was thinking of the folk at home – they would be looking for him and no trace of him to be found.

  But then he heard one of the old women coming to the door, but she just peeped round it with one eye. He pretended to be asleep and sno
ring. At last she came right into the room.

  She went straight over to the chest, and took a cap out of the chest and tied it on her head – and she turned round:

  ‘London Again!’ said she.

  Away went the old woman. He was left without a trace of her.

  Then he heard another of them coming to the door and this one did not hang around the door for so long. She came in and she too took a cap from the chest and put it on her head. It was just ‘London!’ and away after the first one.

  Then he heard the old one coming, tripping over her own feet for fear that she was late. She just made straight for the chest and took out a cap and on to her head with it, and it was just ‘London!’ and away after the others.

  Here he was, left all alone. By God, he thought he wouldn’t stay any longer there. He got up and got dressed and when he was ready to go he thought he would take a look in the chest to see what was there, since he had such a good chance. And he opened the chest and there was nothing in the chest but two or three of the same kind of caps he had seen the old women putting on. He examined them, and here he tried one of them on and it was a perfect fit for him.

  ‘London Again!’ said the old man. Away went the old man and in the twinkling of an eye he was standing in a whisky cellar in London – and the three old women were lying there dead drunk. The taps were left running where they hadn’t managed to turn them off, they were so drunk.

  He didn’t disturb the old women. He turned off the taps and went around trying a sip of every kind of drink that was there: he certainly needed it. And then he thought he would sit down and he sat down, and the place was very stuffy, and he took off the cap and put it in his pocket. And what should he do but fall asleep.