‘O gie me my bannocks, my honey, my hert,
O gie me my bannocks, my ain kind dearie;
For don’t you mind upon the time
We met in the wood at the Well so wearie?’
She baked him some fresh bannocks, not forgetting the three drops from the wee green bottle. He had just finished eating the bannocks when he vanished, and there in his place was the woodcock that had fired the mill, singing:
‘O gie me my butter, my honey, my hert,
O gie me my butter, my ain kind dearie;
For don’t you mind upon the time
We met in the wood by the Well so wearie?’
She gave him butter as fast as she could, not forgetting the three drops of water from the green bottle. He had only eaten a bite, when he flapped his wings and vanished, and there was the ugly wee bogle that had gripped her at the Black Well the night before, and he was singing:
‘O gie me my water, my honey, my hert,
O gie me my water, my ain kind dearie;
For don’t you mind upon the time
We met in the wood by the Well so wearie?’
She knew there were only three other drops of water left in the green bottle and she was afraid. She ran fast as she could to the Black Well, but who should be there before her but the wee ugly bogle himself, singing:
‘O gie me my water, my honey, my hert,
O gie me my water, my ain kind dearie;
For don’t you mind upon the time
We met in the wood by the Well so wearie?’
She gave him the water, not forgetting the three drops from the green bottle. But he had scarcely drunk the witched water when he vanished, and there was a fine young Prince, who spoke to her as if he had known her all her days.
They sat down beside the Black Well.
‘I was born the same night as you,’ he said, ‘and I was carried away by the fairies the same night as you were found on the lip of the Well. I was a bogle for so many years because the fairies were scared away. They made me play many tricks before they would let me go and return to my father, the King of France, and make the bonniest lass in all the world my bride.’
‘Who is she?’ asked the maiden.
‘The Miller of Cuthilldorie’s daughter,’ said the young Prince.
Then they went home and told their stories over again, and that very night they were married. A coach-and-four came for them, and the miller and his wife, and the Prince and the Princess, drove away singing:
‘O but we’re happy, my honey, my hert,
O but we’re happy, my ain kind dearie;
For don’t you mind upon the time
We met in the wood at the Well so wearie?’
THE TALE OF THE SOLDIER
NCE there was an old soldier who had deserted from the army. He climbed a hill at the top end of the town, and said:
‘May the Mischief carry me away on his back the next time I come within sight of this town!’
He walked and walked till he came to a gentleman’s house.
‘May I stay in your house tonight?’ he asked.
‘You’re an old soldier with the look of a brave man,’ said the gentleman. ‘You can’t stay here, but you may stay in the castle beside that wood yonder till morning. You’ll get a pipe and tobacco, a cogie of whisky, and a Bible.’
After supper, the soldier, whose name was John, went to the castle and lit a big fire. When part of the night had gone, two strange brown women came in carrying a chest. They put it by the fireside and went out. With the heel of his boot John stove in the end of it, as he couldn’t open the lid, and he pulled out an old grey man. He sat the man in the big chair, gave him a pipe and tobacco, a cogie of whisky and a Bible, but the old grey man let them fall on the floor.
‘Poor man,’ said John, ‘you’re cold!’
John stretched himself on the bed, and left the old grey man to warm himself at the fire, and there the grey man stayed till the cock crew, then he took himself off.
The gentleman came in the morning early.
‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked.
‘I did,’ said John. ‘Your father wasn’t the kind of man to frighten me!’
‘I’ll give you two hundred pounds if you stay in the castle tonight.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said John.
Well, the same thing happened again that night. Three brown women came in carrying a chest. They put it by the fireside and went out. John could not open it, so with the heel of his boot he stove in the end of it, and pulled out the old grey man. As he had done the night before, he sat the old grey man in the big chair and gave him a pipe and tobacco. But the old grey man let them fall.
‘Poor man,’ said John, ‘you’re cold!’
So he gave him a cogie of whisky, but the old man let it fall. John slept soundly all night, while the old man stayed awake by the fire till cock crow. Then he went away, as he had the night before.
‘If I stay here tonight, and you come,’ said John, ‘you’ll pay for my pipe and tobacco, and my cogie of whisky!’
The gentleman came in the morning early.
‘Did you sleep well last night, John?’ said he.
‘I did,’ said John. ‘Your old father wasn’t the kind of man to frighten me.’
‘If you stay in the castle tonight, you shall have three hundred pounds.’
‘That’s a bargain,’ said the soldier.
Well, when part of the night had gone, four strange brown women came carrying a chest, and put it down beside John. He stove in the end of the chest with his boot, pulled out the old grey man, and sat him in the big chair. He gave him the pipe and tobacco, the cogie and the whisky, but the old grey man dropped them, and broke the pipe and the cogie,
‘Before you go tonight, you’ll pay me for all you’ve broken,’ said John.
The old grey man said nothing. John took the strap of his haversack, tied the old grey man to his side, and took him to bed with him. When the cock crew, the old man begged him to let him go.
‘Pay for what you’ve broken first,’ said John.
‘I’ll tell you then,’ said the old grey man. ‘There’s a wine cellar down there, and in it there’s plenty of drink, tobacco and pipes. There’s another little room beside the cellar, and in it there’s a pot full of gold. Under the threshold of the big door there’s a crock full of silver. Did you see the women that brought me last night?’
‘I did,’ said John.
‘They’re the four poor women from whom I stole some cows. They carry me every night this way to punish me. Go and tell my son how I am being tired out. Let him pay for the cows, and not be hard on the poor. You and he can divide my gold and silver between you, and you can marry my old widow. But remember, give plenty of what’s left to the poor, I was too hard on them. Then I may rest in peace.’
The gentleman came in the morning and John told him all that had happened. But John refused to marry the widow of the old grey man.
After a day or two, John would stay no longer. He filled his pockets with gold, and asked the gentleman to give what was left of his share to the poor.
He went home, but he soon wearied there, and would rather have been back with the regiment. One day he left home and marched on and on till he came to the hill that he had climbed before. He climbed to the top and who should he meet there but the Mischief!
‘You’ve come back, John?’
‘I’ve come back right enough, but who are you?’
‘I’m the Mischief. You gave yourself to me when you were last here, remember?’
‘I’ve heard tell of you,’ said John, ‘but I’ve never seen you before. My eyes are deceiving me. I don’t believe it’s you at all, but make yourself into a snake and I’ll believe you.’
The Mischief did so.
‘Now make yourself into a roaring lion.’
The Mischief did so.
‘Well,’ said John, ‘if I’m to be your servant, go into my haversack and I’ll carry you.
But you mustn’t come out till I tell you, or the bargain’s broken.’
The Mischief promised, and did as he was told.
‘I’m going to see my brother in the regiment,’ said John to the Mischief in his haversack, ‘but you must keep quiet.’
John went into the town, and one man here and another man there cried out: ‘There’s John, the deserter!’
John was arrested and tried in court. He was sentenced to be hanged next day, at noon. John said he’d rather be shot.
‘Since you’re an old soldier, and have been a long time in the army, you shall have your wish,’ said the Colonel.
Next day, John was about to be shot, and the soldiers were all round him, and the firing squad was getting into line, when the Mischief called from inside the haversack:
‘What’s going on? What’s that they’re saying? Let me out of here, and I’ll not be long in scattering them!’
‘Hush, hush,’ said John to the Mischief.
‘Who’s that speaking to you?’ said the Colonel.
‘Oh, it’s only a white mouse,’ said John.
‘Black or white,’ said the Colonel, ‘don’t let it out of the haversack, and you shall have your discharge from the army. And let us see no more of you!’
John was glad to go and off he went. At dusk he went into a barn where twelve men were threshing.
‘Here’s my old haversack for you, lads. Thresh it for a while. It’s so hard, it’s taking the skin off my back.’
For two hours they threshed the haversack with twelve flails. At last every blow they gave it made it jump to the roof of the barn. Now and then it would throw a thresher on his back, so they told John to be out of that, he and his haversack. They said the Mischief was in it.
So John went on his way till he came to a smiddy, where twelve blacksmiths were using their big hammers.
‘Here’s an old haversack for you, lads. I’ll give you half a crown to hammer it for a while with your twelve big hammers. It’s so hard, it’s taking the skin off my back.’
The soldier’s haversack seemed good sport for the blacksmiths, but every blow it got, it jumped to the roof of the smiddy.
‘Get out of here, yourself and your haversack,’ they said to John. ‘You’ve got the Mischief in it!’
So John went on, and the Mischief on his back, till he reached a great furnace.
‘What are you going to do now, John?’ said the Mischief.
‘A little patience, and you’ll see,’ said John.
‘Let me out,’ said the Mischief, ‘and I’ll never trouble you again in this world.’
‘Nor in the next?’ said John.
‘I agree,’ said the Mischief.
John threw the haversack and the Mischief into the furnace, and the Mischief and the furnace went up in a green flame to the sky.
THE FECKLESS ONES
HERE was once a young farmer who married his neighbour’s only daughter.
One day he and his young wife, her father and her mother, all went to the peat-hag to cut peat for the winter. When they were hungry, the young wife went to fetch the dinner.
When she got home, she saw the speckled filly’s pack-saddle hanging above her head. She looked at the filly, then she sat on the ground and wept.
‘If the pack-saddle should fall on to my head, whatever would I do?’ she wailed. ‘It might kill me!’ And she sat there, rocking to and fro, weeping bitterly.
The family at the peat-hag wondered why the young wife was so long fetching the dinner.
‘I’ll go and see what’s happened,’ said her mother.
She found the young wife sitting on the ground, rocking to and fro, weeping bitterly.
‘Oh, if it happened to me!’ she cried.
‘What has happened?’ asked her mother.
‘Well, when I came in, I saw the speckled filly’s pack-saddle overhead,’ she wailed. ‘What should I do if it had fallen and killed me?’
‘Good gracious me!’ cried her mother, ‘if that should happen, what should I do without you, my only child, to help me?’ And she too sat on the ground and wept.
‘Whatever can be keeping those women,’ said the father. ‘I’d better go and see what has happened to our dinner.’
He found his wife and his daughter sitting on the ground at home, rocking to and fro, and crying their hearts out.
‘What’s come over you both?’ he cried.
‘When our daughter came home,’ sobbed his wife, ‘she saw the pack-saddle over her head. Whatever would I do if it fell and killed her, and I’d have no one to help me?’
‘If that should happen we’d all be in a bad way,’ said the old man, and he too sat down and wept.
The young farmer grew tired of waiting for his dinner. He went to see what had happened to his wife and her parents.
‘What’s wrong with you all?’ he said, when he saw them, sitting on the ground, crying their eyes out.
‘Our daughter came home, saw the speckled filly’s pack-saddle above her head and thought she’d be killed if it fell on her,’ said the old man. ‘If that should happen what would become of us? She’s our only child!’
‘But the pack-saddle didn’t fall,’ said the young man.
His young wife, her mother and her father didn’t reply, they just cried louder than before. So the young man sat at the table, helped himself to the dinner and ate it. He took no notice of them and they took no notice of him. Then he went to bed.
Next morning, the three were still weeping, so he pulled on his boots, shouldered his gun and left.
‘I’ll not stop,’ said he as he left, ‘till I see three others as silly as you!’
On and on he went till he came to a house where three women were spinning.
‘Are there any silly folk in these parts?’ said he.
‘There are,’ said the women. ‘The men here are so stupid, they’ll believe anything we tell them.’
‘Is that so?’ said the young man. ‘Well, I’ll give a gold coin to the woman whose husband believes her absolutely.’
When the first man came home, his wife said to him: ‘You are sick.’ ‘Am I?’ said he.
‘Indeed you are. Take off your clothes and go to bed.’ So he did as he was told and, as soon as he was under the bed-clothes, his wife said:
‘Good gracious me, you’re dead!’
‘Am I?’ said he.
‘Indeed you are. Now close your eyes and don’t move.’
So her husband closed his eyes and died.
Now, when the second man came home, his wife looked at him, and said: ‘You’re not you!’
‘Am I not?’ said he. ‘Then this can’t be my home.’ And he went away out of the house.
The third man came home, and his wife welcomed him. She gave him supper and they went to bed. But next morning, when he had to go to his neighbour’s funeral, he couldn’t find his clothes.
‘What are you looking for?’ said his wife.
‘My clothes.’
‘You’ve got them on, and you’d better hurry or you’ll miss the funeral. They’ve just passed, carrying the coffin. You’ll have to run if you want to catch them up!’
So the goodman ran out of his house and after the funeral party, stark naked. When they saw him, the mourners left the coffin on the ground, and fled. The naked man stood at the foot of the coffin and was wondering what to do, when along came the second husband.
‘You look lost, Thomas,’ said the naked one.
‘I’m not Thomas,’ said he, ‘if I was, my wife would know me, and she said I was not me. Why are you going about naked?’
‘I’m not, my wife told me I had my clothes on!’
‘My wife told me I am dead,’ said the corpse in the coffin.
When the other two heard the dead man speak, they ran off as fast as their legs could take them, and were not seen again.
‘Which of us has the silliest husband?’ the three wives asked the young farmer. ‘Which of us has won the gold coin?�
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The young man decided that the wife of the dead man deserved the gold coin, for her husband was certainly the silliest he had ever heard of. Along with the two other husbands, all three were even sillier than his wife, her father and her mother.
So he went back home and told them the story. Whether this cured their stupidity, we’ll never know.
PIPPETY PEW
HERE was once a man who worked in the fields, and he had a wife, a son and a daughter. One day he caught a hare, took it home to his wife and told her to make it ready for his dinner.
While it was on the fire cooking, the goodwife kept on tasting it till she had tasted it all away, and she didn’t know what to do for her husband’s dinner. So she called Johnnie, her son, to come and have his hair combed. When she was combing his head, she slew him, and put him into the pot.
The goodman came home for his dinner, and his wife set down Johnnie to him well boiled. When he was eating, he took up a foot.
‘Surely that’s my Johnnie’s foot,’ said he.
‘Nonsense. It is one of the hare’s,’ said she.
Then he took up a hand.
‘That’s surely my Johnnie’s hand,’ said he.
‘You’re talking nonsense, goodman,’ said she. ‘That’s another of the hare’s feet.’
When the goodman had eaten his dinner, his daughter Katy gathered all the bones and put them below a stone at the cheek of the door.
Where they grew, and they grew,
To a milk-white doo,
That took to its wings,
And away it flew.
The dove flew till it came to a burn where two women were washing clothes. It sat down on a stone, and cried:
‘Pippety pew!
My mammy me slew,
My daddy me ate,
My sister Kate
Gathered all my banes,
And laid them between
Two milk-white stanes.
So a bird I grew,
And away I flew,
Sing Pippety Pew!’
Folk Tales of Scotland Page 4