Folk Tales of Scotland

by William Montgomerie

  Axe won’t fell ox,

  Ox won’t drink water,

  Water won’t quench fire,

  Fire won’t burn stick,

  Stick won’t beat dog,

  Dog won’t bite kid,

  Kid won’t look after my house,

  Till I pull my bonny, bonny bush of berries.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the cat, ‘I’ll not kill the mouse, for the mouse never did me any harm.’

  ‘Do it,’ said the wife, ‘and I’ll give you a dish of cream.’

  With that,

  The cat began to kill the mouse,

  The mouse began to nibble the rope,

  The rope began to hang the smith,

  The smith began to blunt the axe,

  The axe began to fell the ox,

  The ox began to drink the water,

  The water began to quench the fire,

  The fire began to burn the stick,

  The stick began to beat the dog,

  The dog began to bite the kid,

  And the kid looked after the house,

  Till the wife pulled her bonny, bonny bush of berries.

  BROWNIE THE COW

  CROFTER and his wife lived in a lonely croft in the north-west Highlands of Scotland. They had a son called Tam and a cow called Brownie.

  One day the goodwife went to the byre and found the cow was not there. She told her husband and son and together they searched far and wide, but they could not find the cow anywhere.

  ‘What shall we do without Brownie—no milk, no butter and no cheese—we’ll get thin.’

  ‘I’ll go and look for her,’ said Tam.

  Off he went with a stout stick and a knapsack of food, for his mother said:

  ‘You’ll be away long enough if it’s a giant that has taken our Brownie!’

  Tam walked on and on till he was tired and hungry. As he sat and ate, he called:

  ‘Brownie! Brownie! Moo so that I can hear you!’

  Far, far away there was a faint mooing, so Tam went in that direction. Again he called:

  ‘Brownie! Brownie! Moo so that I can hear you!’

  This time the mooing was louder, and again Tam went in that direction. When he felt tired he sat down and called:

  ‘Brownie! Brownie! Moo so that I can hear you!’

  This time the mooing was so loud it seemed right underneath him. Tam listened carefully, then he climbed down the hillside to a cave. Inside he found Brownie tied fast by a rope. The rope was too thick and tough to cut with his pocket knife, so he had to undo the complicated knot. When she was freed, he led her out of the cave and they set off for home together.

  They had not gone far when Tam saw two giants, one even bigger than the other.

  ‘I don’t like the look of those giants,’ said Tam. ‘With those great strides, they’ll catch us up in no time. Brownie, whatever shall we do?’

  ‘Take a hair from my tail and lay it across the road.’

  Tam did this, then the cow said:

  ‘Hair of my tail, turn into a river so wide that none can cross but a bird on the wing.’

  At once the hair changed into a vast river, so wide Tam could barely see the giants on the other side. All the same, the bigger giant of the two shouted across:

  ‘That’s not going to stop me from catching you, my lad!’ And he said to the smaller giant: ‘Go, fetch our biggest bull.’

  Soon he was back with the biggest bull Tam had ever seen. The bull drank up the river, every drop.

  ‘Whatever shall we do now, Brownie?’ asked Tam.

  ‘Take a hair from my ear and lay it across the road.’

  Tam did this and the cow said to the hair:

  ‘Hair of my ear, turn into a fire that nothing can quench, except a wide river that none can cross but a bird on the wing.’

  Instantly the hair turned into a fire that blazed as far as the eye could see.

  ‘That’ll not help you, my lad,’ said the giants and called their bull. The bull spewed up all the river water it had drunk, and put the fire out.

  ‘What shall we do now, Brownie?’ asked Tam.

  ‘Take a hair from my back and lay it on the ground.’

  Tam did this and the cow said:

  ‘Hair of my back, turn into a mountain range so high that none can cross but a bird on the wing.’

  At once the hair turned into a mountain range so high the top of it was out of sight.

  ‘That’ll not help you, my lad,’ shouted the bigger giant, and he sent the smaller one to fetch their giant drill.

  The giants drilled a hole right through the mountain. The bigger giant was very excited when he looked through the hole and saw the boy and his cow. He immediately tried to squeeze through to catch them. This was a great mistake. The giant was much too big. The more he struggled to get through the hole, the faster he stuck. Try as he may, his companion could neither push him forward nor pull him back. Nor could he drill another hole by himself, so he had to stay where he was. As for the bigger giant, he was stuck fast and there he stayed till he turned into stone.

  Tam led Brownie safely back to his mother and father. And there she stayed and gave them milk for the rest of her days.

  HOW THE COCK GOT THE BETTER OF THE FOX

  Fox came to a farm and caught hold of a cock. Away he went with the Cock in his mouth, and all the farm-hands after him.

  ‘Aren’t they silly, running after you,’ said the Cock. ‘They’ll never catch you!’

  The Fox nodded with pleasure. He was glad the Cock was so willing to go along with him, but he didn’t say a word.

  ‘Oh, clever Fox, won’t you say to those farm-hands, “This is my good friend, the Cock”? Then they’ll turn back.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks! You stupid fellow!’ said the Fox, determined not to be taken in by the Cock’s flattery.

  But as soon as he opened his mouth, the Cock flew away. It was a long, long time before the Fox had the face to go back to that farm, where everyone was waiting to laugh at him.

  THE SMITH AND THE FAIRIES

  EARS ago there lived in Crossbrig a smith called MacEachern. His only child was a strong healthy lad about fourteen years old. Suddenly he fell ill, and nobody knew what was wrong with him. He became thin, old and yellow. His father was afraid he would die, although he had an enormous appetite.

  One day an old man, well known for his knowledge of the out-of-the-way things, walked into the smiddy, and MacEachern told him about the lad. The old man looked very grave, and said:

  ‘That is not your son. Your lad has been carried away by the fairies, and they have left a changeling in his place.’

  ‘What am I to do?’ asked the smith. ‘How am I ever going to see my lad again?’

  ‘I will tell you how,’ said the old man. ‘But first, make sure it is not your own son. Take as many egg-shells as you can find. Take them into his room, and spread them out carefully where he can see them. Then fetch water in them, carrying them two by two in your hands as if they were very heavy. When they are full, arrange them round the fire as if it were very important.’

  The smith did this.

  He had not been long at work when there came a shout of crazy laughter from the bed, and a voice said:

  ‘I’m now eight hundred years old, and I’ve never seen anything like that before!’

  The smith told this to the old man, who said:

  ‘Get rid of this changeling as soon as possible, and I think I can promise you your son. First of all, you must light a very big fire by the changeling’s bed. Then you must seize him and throw him into the middle of it. Then he’ll fly through the roof.’

  The smith took the old man’s advice. He kindled a big fire, and seizing the changeling, flung him into the fire without hesitation. The changeling gave a terrible yell, and sprang up through the roof, leaving a hole that let out the smoke.

  Then the old man told the smith that his son was inside the green hill of the fairies.

  ‘Go there tonight when it
is dark,’ said the old man, ‘and take a sleeping cock with you. You’ll find your son.’

  So that night the smith, with a sleeping cock in his arms, went out into the darkness. When he got to the hill of the fairies, he saw a light and heard sounds of piping, dancing and other merriment. Boldly he approached the entrance to the fairies’ cave and went in. There he saw his son working at a forge. The fairies saw him and asked him what he wanted.

  ‘I want my son,’ said he, ‘and I’ll not go away without him!’

  The fairies roared with laughter. This wakened the cock. It leapt up on the smith’s shoulder, clapped its wings and crowed loud and long.

  Now fairies cannot bear the crowing of a cock, for when they hear it the power of magic leaves them. Mad with anger, these fairies seized the smith and his son and threw them out of the green hill, into the darkness.

  For a year and a day the lad did no work and seldom spoke. One day he was sitting by the fire watching the smith finish a sword he was making for a chief. It was to be a very special sword.

  ‘That’s not the way to make it,’ said the lad.

  Taking the tools from his father, he set to work and made a sword, the like of which had never been seen before in the country.

  From that day, the lad worked constantly with his father. The fame of the special sword and the skill that had made it, spread far and wide. It kept the smith and his son busy and made them wealthy. They were never again troubled by the fairies.

  THE GAEL AND THE LONDON BAILLIE’S DAUGHTER

  NCE a young Gael fell in love with a lady he saw in a dream. He told his father about her.

  ‘I will marry no one else,’ said he, ‘though I have to search the whole world for her.’

  ‘Go, if you must,’ said his father, ‘and I’ll give you a hundred pounds to take with you. When it is spent, come home, and I’ll give you another hundred.’

  So the lad took the hundred pounds, and went to France, to Spain, and all over the world, but he could not find her anywhere. By the time he arrived in London, he had spent his money, his clothes were worn, and he did not know what he was going to do for a night’s lodging. As he wandered along the streets, he told his story to an old woman, who offered to help him.

  ‘I’m from the Highlands of Scotland, too,’ she said, ‘and I’d be pleased to give you hospitality.’

  She took him to her house, gave him some clean clothes, a good supper and a comfortable bed to lie on.

  ‘Go out into the city,’ she said next day, ‘and maybe you’ll meet the one you’re looking for.’

  The lad was walking along a city street when he saw a beautiful young woman at a window. He knew at once that she was the one he had seen in his dream, but he was too shabby to approach her. So he went back to the old woman and told her everything.

  ‘That was the London Baillie’s daughter. I was her nurse, so perhaps I can help you. I’ll give you fine Highland clothes. When you see her walking along the High Street, you must tread on her gown. When she turns round, speak to her.’

  The lad thanked her, and did this. He went out, saw the beautiful young woman, and stepped on the edge of her gown. At once she turned round.

  ‘I ask your pardon,’ he said, bowing.

  ‘It was not your fault,’ she said, ‘the gown is too long. You are a stranger here. Will you not come home and dine with us?’

  As they dined, he told her his story, and how he had seen her in a dream, and had searched for her ever since.

  ‘I saw you in a dream on the same night,’ she said.

  ‘Will you marry me?’ said he.

  ‘Come back here in a year and a day. In this city the Baillie, my father, must put my hand in yours before we can marry.’

  So the lad returned to Scotland, and told his father all that had happened. When the year was nearly spent, he set off for London. His father had given him another hundred pounds and some good oatmeal bannocks.

  On the road he met a Sassenach.

  ‘What’s your business in London?’ said the Saxon.

  ‘When I was there last I planted a lint-seed in a street, and I’m going back to see how it is growing,’ said the lad, ‘If it is ripe, I’ll take it back with me, if not I’ll leave it.’

  ‘Well,’ said the Saxon, ‘that’s a stupid thing to do. As for me, I’m going to marry the London Baillie’s only daughter.’

  They walked on together. At last the Saxon felt hungry. He had no food with him, and there was no house near. So he turned to the lad:

  ‘Will you give me some of your food?’

  ‘I’ve only some oatcakes,’ said the lad, ‘but you’re welcome to share them. If I was a gentleman like you, I’d never travel without my mother.’

  ‘What a foolish idea!’ said the Saxon, as he took a bannock and ate it. Then they went on their way.

  They had not gone far when it began to rain. The Gael had a rough plaid to protect him, but the Saxon had nothing.

  ‘Lend me your plaid!’ said he.

  ‘I’ll lend you part of it,’ said the lad, ‘but if I were a gentleman like you, I’d never travel without my house.’

  ‘You are a fool!’ laughed the Saxon. ‘My house is four storeys high, so how could I bring it with me?’

  Then he wrapped one end of the Highlander’s plaid about his shoulders, and on they went.

  They had not gone far when they came to a river. There was no bridge over it, and the Saxon would not wet his feet.

  ‘Will you carry me over?’ he said to the lad.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he said, ‘but if I were a gentleman like you, I’d never travel without my own bridge.’

  ‘You certainly are a silly fellow,’ laughed the Saxon. But he got on to the lad’s back for all that, and on they went. At last they came to London town.

  The Saxon went to the Baillie’s house, and told this story:

  ‘On the way, I met a Gael, a most stupid fellow! He was coming to London for lint he had planted a year ago. He told me I should never travel without my mother, my house and my bridge! However, he was a good-natured fool. He shared his food and his plaid, and carried me over a river.’

  ‘He would appear to be wiser than the man he spoke to,’ said the Baillie. ‘The lint was the maid he left in London. If her love had grown, he would take her with him. By your mother he meant the food you should have had with you, for she was your first nourishment. By your house he meant a coach, and the bridge was your saddle-horse. A gentleman should not travel without these things and then ask help from others. A smart lad indeed, and I’d like to meet him.’

  Next day the Highlander visited the Baillie, and was warmly welcomed.

  ‘I’d like to help a smart lad like you!’ said the Baillie.

  ‘I hear it is the custom in this city,’ said the lad, ‘that no man can marry unless the Baillie gives him the bride by the hand. Will you give me the hand of the lass I’ve come to marry?’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said the Baillie.

  Next day the Baillie’s daughter went disguised to her old nurse. The Baillie, when he came, did not recognise her.

  ‘It’s an honour for you to marry such a fine lad,’ said he. ‘Put your hand in his, lass!’ Then he placed his daughter’s hand into the lad’s and they were betrothed.

  The Baillie went home, feeling well pleased with himself. He remembered that he would be giving his daughter’s hand to the Saxon gentleman. But his daughter was nowhere to be found.

  ‘I’ll lay a wager that young Gael has got her after all!’ he said.

  Just then, in came the Gael with his daughter, and they told him all that had happened.

  ‘Well, I’ve given you my daughter’s hand,’ said he, ‘and I’m glad she has such a smart lad for a husband!’

  The London Baillie’s daughter and the young Gael were married and had a wedding that lasted a year and a day.

  THE WEE BANNOCK

  HERE lived an old man and his old wife at the side of a burn. They had
two cows, five hens and a cock, a cat and two kittens. The old man looked after the cows, and the old wife span on the distaff. The kittens often clawed at the old wife’s spindle as it danced over the hearth-stone.

  ‘Sho, sho,’ she said, ‘go away!’ And so it danced about.

  One day, after porridge time, she thought she would have a bannock. So she baked two oatmeal bannocks, and set them to the fire to toast. After a while, the old man came in, sat beside the fire, took up one of the bannocks and snapped it through the middle. When the other one saw this, it ran off as fast as it could, and the old wife after it, with the spindle in one hand and the distaff in the other.

  But the wee bannock went away, out of sight, and ran till it came to a fine large thatched house, and in it ran till it came to the fireside. There were three tailors sitting on a big table. When they saw the wee bannock come in, they jumped up and went behind the goodwife, who was carding flax beside the fire.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ said she. ‘It’s only a wee bannock. Catch it, and I’ll give you a mouthful of milk with it.’

  Up she got with the flax-cards, and the tailor with the smoothing-iron, and the two apprentices, the one with the big shears and the other with the lap-board. But it dodged them and ran about the fire. One of the apprentices, thinking to snap it with the shears, fell into the ash-pit. The tailor threw the smoothing-iron, and the goodwife the flax-cards, but it was no use. The bannock escaped, and ran till it came to a wee house at the roadside, and there was a weaver sitting at the loom, and the wife winding a hank of yarn.

  ‘Tibby,’ said he, ‘what’s that?’

  ‘Oh,’ said she, ‘it’s a wee bannock.’

  ‘It’s welcome,’ said he, ‘for our gruel was but thin today. Catch it, woman, catch it!’

  ‘Ay,’ said she, ‘if I can. That’s a clever bannock. Catch it, Willie! Catch, man!’

  ‘Cast the clew at it!’ said Willie.

  But the wee bannock ran round about, across the floor and over the hill, like a new-tarred sheep or a mad cow. On it ran to the next house, and in to the fireside, where the goodwife was churning.