Scottish Folk Tales for Children Read online

  The noise woke all within the castle and they rushed down the stairs to find the tailor, white as a sheet and panting hard. He gave the trews to the laird. MacDonald never noticed some of the stitches were somewhat long because he was so interested in the story the tailor had to tell and for this he more than doubled the reward!

  If you ever visit Saddell Castle, look closely at the stone doorjamb and there you will see the five finger marks left by the fearsome thing.

  The Poor Widow’s Son and the Stranger

  LOWLANDS

  Once there was a widow who had a number of children and they were so poor they barely had enough clothes to share, and even less food. One night when the children were crying with hunger the widow could think of no way to get them quietly to bed. Finally she had an idea and taking the cooking pot out to the well she filled it with water and into the water she added a large round stone.

  ‘Now here’s a fine lump of meat,’ she told them when she came back in, ‘so if you all go to sleep now I’ll make soup and it will be ready when you wake up.’ She hung the pot over the fire and began to stir and one by one the hungry children fell asleep, even her oldest, a son.

  A little later there was a knock at the door and when she opened it there stood a stranger.

  ‘I’ve travelled a long way and I have a long way yet to travel. May I stay the night?’ he said.

  ‘This is a poor house and I have no food to offer you,’ she replied, ashamed because she had nothing to share with the weary traveller, ‘but you are welcome to sleep here tonight.’

  ‘Tell me then, what are you cooking in the pot over the fire?’ he asked her.

  ‘It’s only a stone,’ she told him, ‘a trick to send the children to sleep.’

  The stranger walked over, peered into the pot and called her to come and look.

  ‘Why, this is an excellent piece of beef,’ he said, and to her great surprise that’s just what he pulled out of the pot.

  She rubbed her eyes and could not believe what she was seeing. The stranger spoke again, ‘Go to the chest and bring out plenty of bread, some butter and whatever else you think should go into the pot.’

  She did as he said even though she knew the chest was empty. However, when she opened it up there, to her amazement, she found bread, butter, milk and plenty of vegetables to add to the pot.

  When the soup was ready she woke the children. They had never seen so much food and after every one of them had eaten all they could the oldest son begged the stranger for a story. The stranger was happy to tell a story, for every traveller has a tale to tell.

  When it was ended he turned to the young lad, ‘Now you have the story what will you give me in return?’

  ‘I have nothing to give,’ replied the lad.

  The stranger took him outside and turned him into a snake, letting him loose in the long grass, ‘At the end of seven days you must tell me what you will give,’ he told the snake.

  After seven days the stranger returned and asked again, ‘What will you give in return for the story I gave you?’

  ‘I have nothing to give,’ replied the snake.

  So the stranger took the snake, turned it into a deer and said, ‘At the end of seven days you must tell me what you will give for my story.’

  For seven days the deer ran in the woods and when the stranger returned he asked again, ‘Have you thought what you will give for the story I gave you?’

  ‘I have nothing to give,’ replied the deer.

  The stranger turned the deer into an eagle and said, ‘At the end of seven days you must tell me what you will give and this will be your last chance.’

  The eagle flew off, over the forest and over the mountains.

  But at the end of these seven days he was waiting when the stranger asked for the last time, ‘What will you give me for my story?’

  This time he received a different answer.

  ‘I have nothing to give except for my thanks,’ said the eagle and instantly was turned back into the poor widow’s son.

  ‘If you had said this the first time,’ said the stranger, ‘you would have saved both of us a great deal of trouble. Now let me tell you how you might change your family’s fortune forever. Have you heard of an old castle that’s kept by a giant?’

  The poor widow’s son knew of the castle. ‘People say it is enchanted,’ he told the stranger.

  ‘Well if you truly want to seek your fortune that is where you must go,’ said the stranger. ‘When you arrive you will find the guards sleeping, for everyone there is under a spell. Go through all the rooms until you find the King of Scotland’s daughter asleep on a marble table. Above her head hangs a sword that you must touch but do not take it down for that will only bring you bad luck. The princess will wake for a short time and she will tell you what you must do to save her and all those under the sleeping spell.’

  The stranger left and the poor widow’s son set off. Because he had lived as a snake he travelled silently and because he had lived as a deer he ran swiftly. He knew just where to go because as an eagle he had flown over the castle. He travelled and he travelled until at last he reached the silent castle. The giant was nowhere to be seen and inside everything was just as he’d been told. The guards were asleep and sleeping on a marble table he found the king’s daughter. He touched the sword and she woke up amazed that anyone had been able to enter the giant’s castle without being seen.

  ‘I saw no giant,’ he told her.

  ‘Then beware,’ she said, ‘for he will return to the castle shortly to stand guard outside.’

  ‘If I am to save you and the others in this castle what must I do?’ he asked her.

  ‘You must slay the giant. But that cannot be done with an axe or a sword,’ replied the princess. ‘The life of the giant is in an egg and it is the egg you must crush to kill the giant.’

  ‘And where shall I find the egg?’ he asked.

  ‘It is kept by an old witch who lives in the woods nearby and you must destroy her before you can find the egg. Once found it will easily be broken and once broken we are all safe,’ replied the princess. She told him how to find the witch’s house and then immediately fell back asleep.

  So the young lad set off again and soon reached the house of the witch. He saw her sitting shivering and huddled in front of the fire. He opened the door and went inside.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I see you are not well, old wife. Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if you would carry me outside into the fresh air I would feel better.’

  The young lad took her up on his back but quick as a blink he tossed her on to the fire. Up the chimney she went with a noise like rumbling thunder. The poor widow’s son lost no time and began to look for the egg. He searched and he searched and eventually he found it in a dark, dusty cupboard. He put in on to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot. Splat!

  At that very moment, outside the castle, the giant let out an enormous roar and fell down dead with a tremendous crash right where he stood. People across that land heard the noise and wondered what had happened.

  Inside the castle, all those who’d been kept asleep as prisoners began to wake up and one by one they learned the story of the poor widow’s son from the king’s daughter. By the time he arrived back he was a hero.

  The young lad returned the princess to her father, King Malcolm, who gave him her hand in marriage.

  So the poor widow was poor no longer and the young couple lived a long and happy life. It is thought the Dukes of Buccleuch are descended from this marriage.

  And the stranger remained just that, a mysterious stranger.

  Mind the Crooked Finger

  SHETLAND

  Once a farmer and his wife lived at Kirgood-a-Weisdale in Shetland and they had just had a pretty baby and in the days that followed they had many visitors. So it was on this particular afternoon that the wise woman and some others had come to see the new baby and keep the young mo
ther company.

  The farmer set about his afternoon chores but just as he was leaving the lamb-house at twilight he heard three most unearthly knocks. It seemed as if they came from under the ground. He didn’t know what this could be, and although he was very frightened, he went up to the corn yard and as he came in sight of the barn he heard voices, muttering and arguing. He wondered what was going on when a voice said loudly, ‘Mind the crooked finger!’

  Remember the crooked finger? The farmer listened closely, since his wife had a crooked finger. Twice more he heard the voice, ‘Mind the crooked finger!’

  The young farmer trembled all the more for he knew that something bad was going to happen. He knew that trolls were often on the lookout for any helpless baby, or new mother, or both. He had to protect his family. If there were trolls in the barn he knew just what to do.

  He ran back into the house, lit a candle, and picked up the Bible and a knife.

  Suddenly, as he opened the book, there came a roaring and unearthly stamping and rattling from the barn. It was so loud that it made the whole house shake and everybody quaked with fear.

  The farmer asked the wise woman to stay with his wife and baby and he left for the barn. The rest of the visitors followed him, eyes wide with fear. He had the Bible in one hand, held the knife between his teeth, and the burning candle in his other hand. When he got to the barn door the noise was deafening but – throwing the Bible in before him – he stepped inside.

  Instantly all was silence.

  The others crowded in behind him and there they saw the strangest thing. It was an image, a model, an exact copy of his wife right down to her crooked finger!

  The trolls had gone.

  ‘Well,’ said the farmer, ‘the trolls meant to put you into my house and steal away my real wife, but I will make use of you in a different way.’

  He carried the trolls’ model into the house and they all saw it was indeed a very fine copy of his wife. He sat it on a stool and there it stayed for many a year. Why, little children used to climb up and sit happily in its lap!

  And that’s as true as I’m writing this for you, and not a borrowed or handed-down story; for Bill Robertson of Lerwick said his mother told the story with her own lips, and she would not have told him a lie for she was there, in that house, that very night.

  Habetrot

  BORDERS

  In the beautiful countryside of Selkirkshire, there lived a guidwife who had a pretty daughter, who loved to be outside in the fields and the woods all day. That was all well and good when she was young but as the girl grew older her mother tried to teach her to bake and to spin, for these were the skills she would need if she were to marry well.

  The girl did not mind baking but she did not like spinning. She didn’t have the patience to sit and concentrate and she would leave her spinning, run out of the cottage and across the fields as free as the larks in the sky. Her mother could do nothing to make the girl understand that she must learn to spin.

  Finally, one spring morning, the guidwife brought out seven bundles of flax and told the girl she must have them spun into yarn in three days.

  ‘If you cannot do this then you will be good for nothing but work in the pigsty!’

  The girl knew her mother meant what she said and so she sat and began to work, teasing out the fine threads, licking her fingers to make sure she had a smooth yarn. She worked all day until her fingers and her shoulders ached but at the end of the day she had only spun a very short length of yarn. She cried herself to sleep but on the second day she was up as early as the birds to begin work. Her mother encouraged her but by the end of the day the poor girl was in tears again. Her lips were sore and her fingers red and still she had only spun quite a short length of yarn.

  Early in the morning on the third day the young girl took one look at those seven bundles of flax and pushed them aside. She ran out of the house, through the fields sparkling with dew and down to the little burn in the woods. Here there were pretty flowers, birds singing and the water in the burn babbled over the stones. She sat down and hid her face in her hands. She did not know what to do.

  When she finally looked up she was surprised to see an old lady on the other side of the burn, sitting in the sunshine on a self-bored stone. Such stones had holes bored through them by the running waters of rivers and were said to be doorways into the land of the wee folk. The girl looked more closely. The old lady was licking her fingers and drawing out flax and the girl noticed the lady’s lips were swollen and red.

  ‘Good morning Grannie,’ she called out as she got up. Being curious she added, ‘What has happed to your lips?’

  ‘Ah,’ said the old dame, pleased to meet such a friendly girl, ‘that comes from spinning thread, my hinnie.’

  The girl sighed, ‘I should be spinning too, but try as I might I cannot finish the task my mother set for me.’

  The old lady asked about the task and the young girl told her, ending in tears, ‘I have tried and tried and I want to please my mother but I cannot do it!’

  The little lady offered to spin the thread for her so the girl ran as fast as her legs would carry her to collect the bundles of flax. Back she raced through the fields and down to the burn. She paddled through the water and gave the flax to the old woman.

  ‘What is your name and when should I return to collect the spinning?’ the girl asked as she crossed back across the burn. There was no reply. The lady had vanished. The poor girl wandered up and down wondering what to do until worn out, she fell asleep against a tree.

  When she woke, Causleen, the evening star, was shining and the moon was rising. All was still and quiet but then she heard a voice coming across the burn. She waded over and sure enough she clearly heard a voice that seemed to come from the self-bored stone. She put her ear over the hole and she heard, ‘Little kens the lassie, my name is Habetrot.’

  Habetrot! The girl could not believe her ears so she peered through the hole. There in a deep cavern below she saw the kindly old lady walking up and down between a group of spinsters all busy with distaffs and spindles. In the Borderlands, Habetrot was known to be the fairy guardian of spinning wheels and friend of all spinners. The old lady encouraged the spinners and they seemed to be happy at their work but oh dear … every one of them had long, drooping, swollen lips just like Habetrot’s. One of them had bulging grey eyes and a great hooked nose and she was reeling the yarn.

  Habetot called to this odd lady, ‘Scantlie Mab have you nearly finished measuring and reeling up the yarn for the lassie? She must go home to her mother soon.’

  The girl slipped away back across the burn to wait and think about what she had seen. Shortly afterwards there was the old woman crossing the burn with the hanks of spun yarn.

  ‘Oh thank you,’ said the happy girl, ‘and what can I do for you in return?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ replied the old lady, ‘but do not tell your mother who spun the yarn.’

  The girl set off through the dark hardly able to believe her good fortune. When she got home she found her mother had already gone to bed. She laid out the seven hanks of yarn and realised she was hungry. There, hanging in the chimney to dry were seven puddings. Her mother had been busy all day she could see. The girl took one down and fried it over the fire and ate it up in no time at all. In fact she was so hungry she ate them one by one, all seven! Then she went to bed.

  In the morning the guidwife was up early as usual and came into the kitchen to find her puddings all gone. On the table she saw the seven hanks of smooth yarn. She was so surprised she went outside saying over and over again in delight:

  My daughter’s spun seven, seven, seven!

  My daughter’s eaten seven, seven, seven!

  And all before daylight!

  Suddenly she heard hoof beats and looking up she saw the young laird riding by and she bobbed a curtsy. He asked what was the matter and so she said it again:

  My daughter’s spun seven, seven, seven!

 
; My daughter’s eaten seven, seven, seven!

  And if you don’t believe me,

  Come in and see!

  The curious laird followed the woman into the cottage and there on the table he saw the seven hanks of finely spun yarn. He’d never seen such fine yarn and certainly none of the skilled, fine ladies he knew could spin like this! So he asked to meet the spinner. The proud woman fetched her daughter and the girl stood by the table blushing. She blushed because there stood the young laird and on the table was the yarn she had not spun.

  The laird immediately fell in love with her and explained how he had long been searching for a bride. She was both bonny and the finest spinner he had ever met and he asked her to be his wife.

  So they were engaged to be married but now the girl began to worry. She knew that of all the tasks she would have to perform as wife of the laird, spinning would be the most important. All women could spin for how else were clothes and sheets to be made? She would have other maidens in the castle to help of course but she would have to sit with them and encourage them just as Habetrot encouraged her spinsters. No more walks across the sunlit fields. No more visits to the little flower-filled glen by the burn. Then she had an idea.

  She set off across the fields and down to the little burn in the woods. She crossed to the self-bored stone and called down the hole, ‘Habetrot? Habetrot?’

  Suddenly old Habetrot was there beside her and the girl told her what had happened. While she was pleased by her good fortune she was also worried.

  ‘I cannot spin!’ she wept, ‘I want to be a good wife, but I cannot spin.’

  The old woman spoke kindly, ‘Once you are married bring your bonny bridegroom here. Once he sees what comes of spinning he’ll never ask you to spin at all!’

  So after the wedding the girl led her new husband across the fields and down to the burn. They crossed the burn together and she whispered through the hole in the self-bored stone, ‘Habetrot? Habetrot, I have brought my husband.’ The girl told him to look through the hole and to his great surprise he saw the spinsters sat upon their stones, hard at work with distaffs and spindles. He watched as they licked their fingers over their drooping, swollen lips to draw out the threads.