Scottish Folk Tales for Children Page 3

  Janet smiled, ‘I will have you Tam Lin just so long as I never have to hug another snake, another bear, or another lion!’

  And she never did.

  The Changeling of Kintalen

  ARGYLLSHIRE

  In Kintalen, a long time ago, there was a mother who had a new baby son. At first all was well but after a couple of weeks the baby started crying. He cried all day and most of the night and no matter how much she fed the baby, kept him dry and rocked the cradle the baby cried.

  The poor mother was so tired but she was also worried for, in spite of all the feeding, the baby did not grow as strong and healthy as other babies in the village. There was no one to help because no one wanted to spend time with a baby that screamed and cried for no good reason at all. It seemed this baby would not let its poor mother out of sight. When it came to harvest time she could not take her sickle and join the others in the fields.

  Now all that long time ago people spun wool and wove their own cloth but travelling tailors would come to the villages to sew clothes. And so one day a tailor came to the mother’s house to do some sewing for her. Of course the baby was crying but that did not worry the tailor, in fact he was quite suspicious about this baby for he had heard it wailing ever since he’d arrived in the village.

  ‘You go and join the harvesting,’ he said to the mother, ‘I’ll look after the baby.’

  No sooner was the poor mother out of the door than the baby started to scream. The tailor went to the cradle and there he saw a strange sight for the baby was quite wizened and wrinkled. The wise tailor felt sure this must be a changeling, a fairy child, left behind when the fairies had stolen the mother’s own baby. The baby looked at him and wailed even louder.

  ‘Oh stop that music lad or I shall sit you on the fire,’ said the tailor, knowing full well that a real baby would not understand those words at all.

  The changeling stopped crying for a while and the tailor got on with his sewing. But when the screeching started again the tailor called out, ‘You only sing one tune my lad and I do not like it. If you will not stop I will kill you with my dirk!’ The changeling was quiet for some time.

  The tailor began to hum a tune as he stitched and suddenly the changeling set up such a howl that the tailor jumped up and went over to the cradle.

  ‘We have all had enough of this music of yours!’ he said crossly. ‘Now here is my dirk and I shall cut your throat unless you find your bagpipes and play me a real tune.’

  The changeling sat up in the cradle, took the pipes that he had kept hidden, and struck up the sweetest music the tailor had ever heard.

  The people harvesting in the field heard the music, dropped their sickles and stood listening. Some even ran back to the village to see this wonderful piper, but before they got there the tune had stopped and so they returned to the harvesting.

  In the evening the tailor watched for the villagers coming home and he went out to meet the baby’s mother. There was no screeching and wailing coming from the house and she was astonished. The tailor told her all that had happened and she could hardly believe her ears.

  ‘But what should I do and how will I get my own baby back?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Take the changeling to the loch and throw him in,’ said the tailor, ‘and remember it is not a real baby, just a changeling. I will come with you.’

  As soon as the mother entered the house the changeling began crying and screaming hoping to be fed some dinner. But the mother picked it up and went down to the loch with the tailor and threw it into the water.

  Instantly the changeling became a grey-haired old man and swam to the other side of Loch Sween. When he got to dry land, he shouted and waved his fists at her but she and the tailor were too far away to hear what he said.

  She returned home and heard a little whimper from the cradle. There she found her own baby safe and sound and with the happiest of hearts she sat the baby on her hip and prepared a fine supper, the finest the tailor had ever eaten.

  Old Croovie

  ABERDEENSHIRE

  Jack was a kind and honest lad but his master, the Laird of the Black Arts, was as cruel as he was mean. Jack looked after the laird’s sheep from dawn to dusk and all for two pennies a week. In spite of the poor pay, Jack was happy with his job for he liked nothing better than to be outside in the fields and the woods all day. He knew every tree and bush and all the ferns and wildflowers that grew on the laird’s estate.

  Jack lived with his mother in a wee tumbledown cottage and every day she would bring Jack his lunch and if it was not raining she would sit with him, spinning the clumps of wool she found on bushes and fences.

  One Midsummer’s Eve, Jack was on the hill watching the sheep in a field above the Old Lumphinan Road. That part of the road was lined with oak trees and the greatest and oldest of these was known as Old Croovie. On the other side of the road were birch trees and the land fell away to a stream. It was a lovely day: the sheep were bleating, the birds were singing and the bees were buzzing. But suddenly all the birds gathered on the branches of Old Croovie took flight, screeching and crying, and Jack heard them calling, ‘We’re off, we’re off! Tonight’s the night! We’re off!’

  Well, Jack wondered what that meant and so when his mother arrived with his piece he told her what he’d seen and heard.

  ‘Folk in these parts say that once in each hundred years, Old Croovie and his pals lift themselves out of the earth to dance with the birch trees,’ said his mother. ‘I guess the birds know tonight must be the night.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jack, ‘That would be a rare thing to see. I will stay and watch.’

  His mother was worried, ‘Do be careful Jack, for I fear there is great danger around on nights like tonight.’ She took a ball of blue wool she’d been spinning and thrust it into Jack’s hands. “Take this, Jack, you might need it, and do remember: no good ever comes to the greedy!’

  And off she went back home while Jack sat wondering what possible use he might have for a ball of his mother’s homespun wool. Soon after, Jack’s sweetheart, Jeannie, came running up the hill. She worked as a maid in the big house and arrived all out of breath.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jack

  ‘Tis the Laird of the Black Arts!’ she said. ‘He’s in such a peculiar state. He’s got some wild notion about Old Croovie and has forbidden any of the servants to leave the house after dusk.’

  That made Jack even more determined to stay to see what would happen. Jeannie warned him to take care and then she ran back to the house.

  Of course it hardly gets dark at all in Aberdeenshire at midsummer but in those twilight hours around midnight after the moon had appeared above the horizon, Jack woke suddenly from a doze. He heard soft music, a sweet harp-like tune all around him.

  ‘The music got louder and the birch trees on the other side of the road began to sway and then to Jack’s amazement they lifted themselves right out of the ground and waltzed down the slope towards the stream.

  Meanwhile, Old Croovie and the other oaks were stretching their branches and then with a great tearing sound they heaved their massive bodies out of the ground leaving great gaping root holes behind.

  Old Croovie led the oaks to join the dance. Jack watched entranced as each oak tree grasped a birch tree and they birled around faster and faster as the music got louder and wilder.

  Then he saw the Laird of the Black Arts come striding down from the big house.

  ‘Be gone with you lad!’ said the laird as soon as he saw Jack. ‘You have no business here tonight. Go home or I’ll have you arrested for poaching.’

  Jack had no intention of leaving and instead he hid behind a bush and watched as the laird went down into the biggest root hole, the very place where Old Croovie had stood for hundreds of years.

  Jack crept over to a smaller hole nearest to him and peered inside. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness he was astounded to see gold goblets, silver rings, jewel-encrusted bracelets and many ot
her treasures lying at the bottom of the hole.

  He climbed down into the hole and looked all around. Remembering his mother’s words, he did not stuff his pockets full but he couldn’t resist taking a pretty little silver cup for his mother and a beautiful gold ring for Jeannie. He took a small handful of jewels for himself and then began to climb out of the hole, but every time he tried to get a grip the sides crumbled away. He was trapped.

  You can imagine how relieved he was to see Jeannie’s head pop over the edge of the hole.

  ‘Jack, Jack you must hurry,’ she cried, ‘the music is slowing down and I think the dance will soon end.’

  Jack took the ball of his mother’s spun wool, held one end fast and threw the ball up to Jeannie. She held on tightly, the wool was strong – spun with his mother’s love – and Jack was nimble and soon he was out of that hole.

  Jack and Jeannie ran as fast as they could to Old Croovie’s root hole where the greedy laird was stuffing a huge sack full of gold and many treasures.

  ‘Come out quickly,’ called Jack to his master, ‘the dance is over and Old Croovie is coming back.’

  ‘Be off!’ said the laird without looking up, ‘you’ll take a drop in wages for your disob …!’

  It was too late, Old Croovie was already standing over the spot and with a great sigh of exhaustion he settled back down into his root hole, burying both treasure and the Laird of the Black Arts, who was of course never seen again.

  Jack gave his mother the silver cup, and Jeannie the gold ring. By and by Jack and Jeannie were married and with his handful of jewels he was able to build a bigger and better cottage, which they shared with Jack’s mother.

  The laird’s son inherited the estate and he was a kindly master, and not quite as mean as his father, increasing his faithful shepherd’s wage to two and a half pennies a week.

  I heard this story from the great storyteller Stanley Robertson as we stood on the Old Lumphinan Road, under the branches of Old Croovie. Maybe you too will see this magical tree one day, if you happen to pass that way.

  The Midwife’s Tale

  LOTHIAN

  Once upon a time in Edinburgh there lived a woman who was a midwife and she was well loved, for it was she who helped all the babies to be born. At this time the city was bounded by a great wall and each night the gates were locked to keep the citizens safely enclosed. The midwife and her husband lived in a few small rooms in one of the tall buildings down a narrow wynd.

  One dark night when all were sound asleep there was a loud knocking at the door. She jumped up and peered through the window, but all she could see was the dark figure of a man holding a lantern.

  ‘Would you come with me please? We have a baby on the way and the mother needs your help,’ the man called out.

  The midwife got dressed as fast as she could, rushed down the stairs and followed the light of the lantern, although she could not see the person who was carrying it. They went up the wynd and out on to the High Street and finally arrived at the Netherbow Gates. The midwife was amazed to see the gates open as if by magic and, although she was worried, she quickly followed the lantern bearer out of the city. They went down the Canongate and into the dark woods that in those days surrounded Holyrood Abbey.

  Finally the light stopped moving. Between the roots of a large tree a hidden trapdoor opened and she saw steep steps leading underground. With trembling knees the midwife followed her mysterious guide, and before long she found herself in a roomy chamber surrounded by wee folk.

  ‘Welcome, midwife,’ they said, ‘we need your help tonight.’

  One of the wee ladies showed her into a room and there she saw a little woman who took her by the hand.

  ‘Stay with me and make sure my baby is born healthy and strong. As soon as it is born you must rub some of this ointment on to each eyelid,’ she said, giving the midwife a tiny jar of ointment.

  The midwife sat with the woman and before morning a tiny baby was born, healthy and strong. The midwife did as she was told and put some ointment on the baby’s eyelids. She was just about to put the lid back on the jar when she had a thought. If this was good for the wee folk then it might be good for her. So she rubbed some ointment onto her right eyelid. Nothing happened. She almost put some ointment on to her left eyelid but at the last moment she changed her mind.

  Since mother and child were both doing well, the midwife asked to be taken home. But the wee folk did not want to let her go.

  ‘Stay with us for a while and let us reward you,’ they said.

  The wee folk often went out, returning with all kinds of pretty things – lace, ribbons, trinkets and jewels. Each day they treated her better than the day before, giving her many little presents and fine food. But the only thing she wanted was to go home.

  Finally after eight days the wee folk agreed to let her go home, but only after she had swept the floor. It was an odd request but she did as she was asked and just as she piled up the dust they told her, ‘For your reward you may take those sweepings!’

  The midwife was smart enough to not despise the unusual gift and so she brushed the sweepings into her apron. Then, as it was dark, she followed the man with his lantern as she had done before and soon she arrived safely at home, much to the amazement of her husband, who had been terribly worried. She told him everything that had happened and when he asked about her payment the midwife shook the sweepings out of her apron on to the table before him. What a surprise! There on the table was a pile of shining gold pieces!

  The next day the midwife, who was very pleased to have some money, went up the High Street to the Lawn Market to walk among the stalls filled with linen, lace and many fine goods. Suddenly she saw the wee folk scattered throughout the crowd. The midwife was shocked to see they were stealing from the stalls but that the stallholders clearly could not see them. Without thinking she called out, ‘Hey! What are you doing?’

  The wee folk recognised her but were surprised and angry.

  ‘You can see us? How?’ they demanded.

  She covered her right eye and she could not see them at all with just her left eye. She realised then that she could see them only with her right eye, the eye she had rubbed with the fairy’s ointment. She covered her left eye, ‘I see you with my right eye.’

  Without warning the wee folk blew into her right eye, and in that instant the eye was blinded. She never saw the wee folk again.

  However, she had thought quickly and had protected her left eye and so she was able to live long and happy with all her riches. And if she ever noticed a linen handkerchief or a piece of lace slipping off a market stall she was wise enough to say nothing.

  The Tailor of Saddell Castle

  ARGYLLSHIRE

  Long ago there lived the great Laird MacDonald who was so rich that he could employ a tailor to work year round at his castle at Saddell, on the east coast of Kintyre. One day he called for the tailor because he wanted a new pair of trews.

  ‘That’ll be soon enough done,’ said the tailor.

  But MacDonald also made a strange request. He wanted the trews to be made at night in the old ruined abbey.

  ‘For I hear the abbey is haunted by a fearsome thing seen only at dead of night. I will pay you for the trews but double the reward for the story you bring back.’

  So the tailor agreed and he cut the fabric and put together his needles and thread and when night came the tailor set off up the glen to the ruined abbey, about half a mile from the castle. Inside he found a gravestone to serve as a seat and he lit his candle, put on his thimble and set to work on the trews, stitching and sewing, his needle shining, and all the while thinking of the handsome reward he’d collect from MacDonald.

  He was doing quite well when all of a sudden he felt the ground tremble under his feet. Keeping his fingers at work he looked about him and spied a great head rising up through the stone floor of the abbey.

  ‘Do you see this great head of mine?’ the thing said.

  ‘I see that,
but I’ll sew this!’ replied the tailor, stitching and sewing.

  Then the head rose higher, higher, through the stone floor until its neck appeared.

  ‘Do you see this great neck of mine?’

  ‘I see that, but I’ll sew this!’ replied the tailor as he stitched and sewed, stitched and sewed.

  The thing rose even higher still until great shoulders and a chest appeared above the ground.

  ‘Do you see this great chest of mine?’

  Again the tailor replied, ‘I see that, but I’ll sew this!’

  Still it kept rising above the stone floor until it shook a great pair of arms in the tailor’s face, ‘Do you see these great arms of mine?’

  ‘I see that, but I’ll sew this!’ and he stitched faster and faster for he knew he had no time to lose. He began to sew with longer stitches as he watched it rising, rising until it lifted out a leg and stamped it on the floor.

  It roared, ‘Do you see this great leg of mine?’

  ‘Aye, aye, I see that, but I’ll sew this!’ cried the tailor. His fingers flew with the needle and the stitches got longer and longer. He had almost finished the trews when the thing began lifting its other leg. But before the thing could pull its other leg above the stone floor, the tailor finished the trews. He blew out the candle, bundled up the trews under his arm, jumped off the gravestone and ran out of the abbey.

  The fearsome thing gave a great howl, stamped with both its feet on the stone floor and out of the abbey it went after the tailor. Down the glen they ran, but the tailor had a head start, a nimble pair of legs and no wish to lose the laird’s reward. He ran and the thing ran, he ran and it ran, faster and faster.

  The thing howled again but the tailor held the trews tight and let no darkness grow under his feet until he reached Saddell Castle. No sooner was he inside and the door slammed shut than the thing was upon it grasping at the stone doorjamb with great fury.