The giant Mester Stoor Worm lifted his head and shot out his forked tongue until it reached up into the sky where it took a slice out of the moon. As the great forked tongue slammed back into the earth it made an enormous rift that divided the lands of Sweden and Finland. The rift filled with seawater and became known as the Baltic Sea.
The Stoor Worm rose up again, twisting and turning and dashing his head back down to the earth so hard that the whole world shook and groaned. Teeth fell from its jaws and these became the Orkney Islands. Again the beast reared and again he fell back and the teeth that fell this time became the Shetland Islands. For a third and last time the Stoor Worm raised his head, groaned and smashed it back down and the teeth that fell became the Faroe Islands. Finally the Stoor Worm sank below the sea.
When the world was quiet again and the smoke had cleared from the sky the king took Assipattle into his arms and called him his son. He gave him his own cloak and the hand of Gem-de-Lovely and about his waist he girded the great sword of Odin, Sikkersnapper.
‘As far as my kingdom stretches, north, south, east and west, everything belongs to this hero who has saved our land and our people,’ he proclaimed.
And so Assipattle and Gem-de-Lovely were married. Never was there such a wedding in the lands of the north for everyone in the kingdom was happy. There was singing and dancing all over the country and King Assipattle and Queen Gem-de-Lovely were happy too for they were both brave and loved each other.
They had ever so many fine children and their children had children and so on down through the years until one of those great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great … grandchildren told me the story I have just told you.
BUT,
If you are ever standing on a beach and watching the seawater rushing down and then, hours later, see it rushing back up the beach you will know that the giant Mester Stoor Worm is not dead. The old folk say that he sleeps beneath a country in the cold North Sea and there, beneath the snow-covered mountains, the Stoor Worm’s liver still burns, which is why, even in the coldest winters there are hot springs in Iceland.
The Shepherd of Kintail
HIGHLANDS
Once there was a shepherd who lived in Kintail. It is a wild and rugged region in the West Highlands and to make a living there was very difficult. So every summer the shepherd would take his sheep away up the glen where there was plenty of sweet grass for them to eat.
There he lived in a bothy, a little stone hut, all by himself with just his dog to keep him company. His bed was made with heather and he had a chair beside the fire where he cooked his simple meals. He wore a plaid, a great length of tartan woven wool that he could gather around his waist into a kilt, held there by a leather belt. If it was chilly he could use one end of the cloth to make a cloak over his white linen shirt. At night he could use it as a blanket. He had everything he needed for this simple life.
One evening towards the end of summer the weather became quite cool. The shepherd knew the sheep were safe with his dog and so he lit a fire and lay down on his bed for a few hours’ sleep.
Sometime later he awoke to the strangest sight. There, sat by his fire, was a row of cats warming their paws. Each one had a black cap.
One of the cats got up and went to the little window, put on its cap and said, ‘Hurrah for London!’ It disappeared! One by one the other cats went to the little window and did the same thing, but the cap of the last cat fell off just as the cat vanished. The curious shepherd left his bed, picked up the cap and went to the little window. He put on the cap and said, ‘Hurrah for London!’
And suddenly there he was in London following the cats down into a cellar where they began to drink wine. So the shepherd drank wine with the cats but he had too much, got drunk and fell asleep. The astonished owner of the cellar found him in the morning.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’ he asked the strange-looking person. No one in London dressed in this odd fashion!
Well the poor shepherd was speaking Gaelic of course and he tried to explain but the cellar man could not understand a word so he called the police. They arrested the shepherd and took him to a judge who realised the shepherd was a Highlander. He sent for a man who could understand the language.
‘Now tell us how you came to be in a locked cellar and how will you pay the owner for the wine you have drunk?’ asked the judge. ‘It was a mighty lot of wine!’ he commented.
Again the shepherd tried to explain what had happened and when he said the cats had been drinking wine everyone in the court laughed. Of course no one believed him so the judge shook his head, ‘Not only are you a thief but I think you are also quite mad. Since you cannot pay the cellar man you will have to go to gaol.’
The police took the poor shepherd to the gaol and the gaoler locked him in a dark, damp cell. He looked around and then before the gaoler and the policeman left he called out, ‘I would like my black cap please,’ he said and, hoping they would feel sorry for him, he added, ‘my mother gave it to me.’
He looked so sad that the policeman went to fetch the cap and poked it through the bars. The shepherd quickly went to the little barred window, put the cap on his head and shouted, ‘Hurrah for Kintail!’
And just as suddenly as before there he was, back in his bothy in Kintail. He opened the door and there stood some of his very surprised friends, since his dog had raised the alarm after his master went missing. They asked him what had happened but this time the shepherd decided he would not try to explain. For no one would believe him, would they?
Thomas the Rhymer
BORDERS
In the Borders of Scotland, a long time ago, there lived a young man called Thomas Learmont of Ercildoune. He lived in a strong Tower House and was Laird of all the beautiful lands close by. All those years ago few people could read or write but Thomas liked to make rhymes, to sing and play the harp.
One day, while Thomas was walking in the woods he heard the tinkling of little bells. Through the trees he saw a beautiful lady riding a dapple-grey horse. She was dressed in the greens of the forest and her long hair was the colour of ripened corn. She wore a crown of gold sparkling with emeralds and rubies. There were more jewels on her fingers and her horse had silver reins and an ivory-white saddle. The jingling bells were threaded in its long flowing mane. Thomas took off his hat and bowed very low.
‘Welcome to my lands, fair lady,’ said Thomas. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am the queen of a faraway land,’ laughed the beautiful lady. ‘I have come for you Thomas, to hear your rhymes and to hear you play your harp.’
Thomas could not help falling under her spell. They sat under the Eildon Tree and he sang the old ballads of the Borders and played his harp until at last the lady asked, ‘Have you a kiss for the Queen of Elfland?’
Thomas did not think twice and gave her the kiss she wanted but she laughed gently, ‘Your kiss has cost you seven years, Thomas. For seven years you shall be my servant.’
Thomas shook his head. He had been tricked. ‘Please forgive me,’ he begged. ‘I have my family and my lands to look after.’
But the lady said, ‘Come Thomas, ride with me to Elfland. You cannot refuse this queen and I have chosen you because we fairies love the music of the Borders. You shall play for us.’
Thomas was very frightened but he climbed onto the back of the strong horse. For a long time Thomas rode behind the Queen of Elfland but eventually they came to a halt on the edge of a bleak moor and the queen spoke softly.
‘There are only three roads in life Thomas, but few mortals see them. Look carefully now,’ she said.
As the moorland melted before his eyes sure enough he could see three roads and the queen pointed to a broad, level road.
‘That is an easy road, often taken by lazy people, and if you chose that road through life you might come to a bad end.’ Next she pointed towards a hidden, twisted and steep pathway through briars and brambles. ‘Very few men
take that path. It needs a strong heart and hard work to travel that long and weary way. It leads to peace and happiness.’
‘And the third road?’ Thomas asked. He looked at the gentle pathway leading between the bracken and the yellow of the broom.
The queen sighed happily, ‘That, my dear Thomas, is a road few mortals can walk for it leads to Elfland. That is our road, the road to my homeland.’
Thomas looked behind him sadly but his home was far, far away.
‘Thomas,’ said the queen kindly, ‘listen carefully if you want to see your home and family again. For seven years you will serve me in Elfland and for seven years you must not speak. Remember, one word from your lips will make you my servant forever.’
Thomas shut his lips tight as they set off down the road to Elfland.
It was a long journey and the road became narrower and narrower as they went deeper and deeper into a ravine. Soon it was so dark Thomas could not see. He could smell the damp and woody earth, and he could hear the running of water in little burns. He felt the branches of the trees catching at his clothes as they passed.
At last, after many hours, the sun appeared. All around were beautiful fruit trees and Thomas smelt the warm, ripe pears, apples and cherries. The grass was wet with dew and he saw bright red strawberries. He longed for something to eat.
The queen spoke to him, ‘While you are in Elfland, Thomas, you must eat nothing except the apple I will give to you. If you eat anything else you will be poisoned and you will remain in Elfland forever.’
She reached into the branches of a small tree bursting with glossy red apples and picked just one. ‘These are the Apples of Truth. Once you have eaten this, Thomas, no lie will pass from your lips.’
The queen pointed to a hillside where a dazzling castle gleamed in the sunlight. Its tall towers reached up into the blue sky. ‘There is my home,’ she said. She pulled out her hunting horn and blew so loud and strong that Thomas wondered how anyone could have so much breath! He got off the horse and was about to speak but he remembered what she had said and put his hand over his mouth instead.
She smiled at him, ‘You do well to remember Thomas, and now you are my pageboy. Here come the folk of Elfland to welcome us.’
The wee folk skipped and hopped and cheered as Thomas led the queen along the road up to the castle.
They all trooped into the main hall where the king sat on his tall throne. Before she sat down on her own throne, the queen gave Thomas a harp.
‘I will call you to play for my Lord the King,’ she said. ‘We love the music from your world.’
Thomas found himself a seat where he was out of the way and as he tuned the harp he watched. There was a great deal of noise and people were running to and fro. Servants set up long tables for a great feast. Cooks brought in roasted meats and enormous pies. Kitchen maids carried jugs of wine and towering baskets of fruits. All the time Thomas watched and kept his lips firmly closed. He took none of the fine food and nothing to drink.
The feasting went on through the night. There was singing and dancing and Thomas clapped his hands and tapped his feet. It seemed as if no one wanted to sleep. Thomas smiled at them but he remembered to eat no food and to say not one word.
At last the queen called to Thomas. He passed through the crowd with his harp and sat at the feet of the queen. He played the soft haunting songs of his homeland. The great hall grew quiet.
Thomas played until the first rays of the sun crept over the edge of the earth. Now almost everyone had fallen asleep.
‘Come Thomas!’ said the queen, ‘You have done well and now you can return to your Tower House.’
Thomas was amazed and almost spoke but he remembered the warning just in time and shut his lips tight. ‘This must be a trick!’ he thought. ‘I have not been here for seven years.’
‘You do well to remember your silence Thomas,’ laughed the queen, ‘but truly you have been here for seven years. However, if you would like to stay forever you only need to ask me.’
Thomas looked round the lovely hall and then at the beautiful queen and he shook his head. No matter how wonderful it was he could not stay. It was time to return to his homeland.
Once again Thomas rode on the dapple-grey horse behind the queen. They travelled the long journey until at last he was home on the edge of the woods.
When Thomas slipped down from the horse he cleared his throat. It was strange to hear his voice after such a long silence.
‘Thank you for the gift of truth My Lady, but may I have a small token to remember my visit to Elfland.’
‘I shall give you the gift of prophesy so you may foretell the future. You shall be known as True Thomas for your truth and as Thomas the Rhymer for your poems. For your prophecies you will be remembered for all time,’ she replied.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but will I ever see you again?’
She smiled and from her saddlebag she took a beautifully carved harp. It was decorated with gold and inset with mother of pearl and brightly coloured enamels.
‘Think of me when you play, Thomas. One day I shall send for you.’
When Thomas walked into his own great hall his poor family had such a shock, ‘Thomas! We have waited for seven long years! Where have you been?’
Thomas shook his head. He could not say he had been to Elfland but he could not tell a lie, ‘I have been travelling far away and I have learned many things,’ he said.
As time passed people forgot how Thomas had disappeared for seven years. They often admired the beautiful harp but Thomas never told them it had come from Elfland.
One night Thomas dreamt about a terrible storm. He saw the king riding through the wind and rain and he saw an accident. Thomas knew this was the queen’s gift of prophecy.
On the very next day, March 19th in 1286, King Alexander III rode from Edinburgh and crossed the Firth of Forth in a boat at Queensferry. The king rode through a storm but his horse stumbled and he fell to his death over the cliffs at Kinghorn in Fife.
People remembered that Thomas had foretold the king’s death. He became known as a wise man and folk came to him for advice when they had problems. Thomas always told them the truth.
The rhymes and prophesies of Thomas were often curious because they told about things that would happen in the future. Thomas was a very old man by this time, and though he never spoke of it, he had never forgotten his visit to the magical world of Elfland.
One moonlit night, the guards on the tower saw a strange sight. Two white deer, a hart and a hind were making their way through the trees in the parklands. They stood and waited close by the great gates.
‘I’ve never seen white deer before,’ muttered one of the men.
‘It must be an omen,’ said the other. ‘We must tell Thomas.’
Old Thomas smiled when he heard the news. ‘At last the messengers have come from Elfland. I must go.’
He picked up his harp and went into the moonlit garden.
The snow-white deer waited for him and led Thomas into the woods, through the trees and across the river. They were never seen again.
Thomas had returned to Elfland.
The ruins of Thomas’s old Tower House still stand between the river called Leader Water and the town, now known as Earlston. The Queen of Elfland was right of course because all these hundreds of years later we still remember Thomas the Rhymer.
Why the Sea is Salty
ORKNEY
Long, long ago seawater was just the same as rainwater and the water in rivers and in lakes.
At that time the King of Denmark was King Frodi and he owned an enormous quern, two huge round stones set one upon the other to make an enormous hand mill. The name of this mill was Grotti. The quern had been given to him by a giant and it was magic for it would grind out whatever it was commanded to. However, King Frodi could not use the quern because he could find no one strong enough to turn the stones.
One day he set sail to visit the King of Sweden, King Fjolni
r.
‘Have you come to seek a wife?’ asked King Fjolnir.
‘Oh no,’ replied King Frodi, ‘but I have come to find a pair of your strongest working girls, for though the girls in Denmark may be pretty, they are weak.’
King Fjolnir called for Fenia and Menia, both daughters of a giant, and so King Frodi returned to Denmark with the girls and set them to working the mill.
‘Grind me some gold,’ he ordered the girls and so they set to and ground out gold, day after day, night after night.
‘When may we rest?’ the girls asked the king.
‘When the cuckoo stops singing,’ said the king. ‘Now grind me some peace for the land.’
So they set to and ground out peace, day after day, night after night.
‘When may we rest?’ the girls asked the king.
‘When the cuckoo stops singing,’ said the king. ‘Now grind me some happiness for my people.’
So they set to and ground out happiness, day after day, night after night.
‘We cannot rest for the cuckoo never stops singing,’ the girls said to the king. ‘We are tired. When may we sleep?’
‘You may sleep only when you are singing,’ replied the greedy king.
The girls were very angry for they could not sleep and sing at the same time and so as they turned the great millstones they began to sing a strange song. They sang for an army with a million horses; they sang for myriads of men; they sang for a fleet of pirates to come and kill the king who had made them slaves.
In the dead of night Mysingr, a sea-king, came with a fleet of pirate ships and thousands of men. They killed King Frodi and peace was ended. They stole the gold, the magic quern and the two giant girls, Fenia and Menia.
Mysingr set sail again heading for Scotland and immediately ordered the girls to grind out salt.
‘Salt is more precious than gold,’ he said, ‘and I shall sell it to the kings of the world.’
Scottish Folk Tales for Children Page 6
