The King and the Lamp

by Duncan Williamson

  Now Alistair had cut his corn, a wee puckle oats he had and he’d built a corn stack out in front of the farm. After cutting the hay three months had passed by, now it was August. And Alistair always grew a wee field of corn to feed his beasts. He’d gathered it up and built a wee stack right in front of the farm on his stackyard, the hay and the corn were up. Now they had suffered the swingein and greetin for nearly four months but still they’d managed to get on with their work.

  ‘Now I want youse two young people,’ said the old postman, ‘tae forget about young Alistair, forget about the farm, forget about me – I’ll take care o’ him.’

  Mary says, ‘You’re sure ye’ll be all right?’

  Alistair says, ‘I’m terrified tae go and leave ye.’

  He says, ‘Luik, get your pony and trap and get to the village!’

  They were kind o’ sweerin to go, but the old postman, old John, finally coaxed them to go to the market. Anyway, they were a wee bit relieved to get away for a wee while. Alistair yoked the pony, the garron horse, into the trap and he and Mary got in, bade ‘good-bye’ to old John. As he shook the horse on, Alistair shouted, ‘Mind and take care o’ the bairn!’

  He said, ‘Dinna worry – I’ll be here aa day! So they had a big fire, it was all peats they burned. Old John pulled the cradle up beside the fire and he lay back. He stretched out his foot and began to rock the cradle. But the swingein and greetin is still going on in the cradle. Old John is sitting rocking the cradle, ‘I wonder upon my sowl, what’s makkin ye greet so much – there must be something wrong with you – you’re in pain.’

  But then all in a minute a head popped up! And the baby sat up, pulled the white shawl off its head – beautiful silver hair it had, blue eyes – but the skin was old and sallow-looking on its face. It said, ‘John!’

  ‘What, what—’ John said, ‘what, whit-whit – are ye talkin?’

  ‘John,’ he said, ‘are they gone?’ And the postman was amazed at this. He said, ‘Are they gone, John?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘are ye talkin aboot yir father and mother?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘How long have they been gone?’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘they’ll be well doon the glen by noo.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve got time noo, I can get oot o’ this.’

  And he got up out of the cradle! Nappy round his middle and the bare legs – he pulled the nappy back so he could walk – and the long silver hair hanging down his back: up out of the cradle, he walked across the floor. He was only about three feet high.

  And old John stood up. He was shocked. ‘Wh-wh-what am I gaunnae dae? What—’

  ‘You dae nothing,’ he said, ‘listen, wheesht! Wheesht, you dinna ken nothing! You dinna ken a thing – you cam up here today tae take care o’ me, luik – I’m gaunna take care o’ you! But mak me one promise, ye never breathe a word o’ what happens in this hoose!’ Up he goes, with his baby-bowed legs, travels to the cupboard; out with the bottle of whisky, out with two glasses. Guggle, guggle, gugug, fills the glass. ‘Noo, John,’ he said, ‘drink that up!’ Guggle, guggle, guggle, fills a glass to himself, flings it back. ‘Aye, they think,’ he says, ‘they’re away tae the market today tae enjoy theirsel.’

  The old postie’s sitting, he’s mesmerised, amazed, he doesn’t know what to do! He doesn’t know what to say – dumbfounded! But after he gets a glass of whisky down, the wee baby puts the bottle down on the floor and says, ‘Look, this is for me and you, we’re gaunnae finish this – me and you.’

  ‘But,’ John says, ‘look, you’re a baby?’

  ‘Aye, they think I’m a baby! But,’ he says, ‘I’m no a baby ataa.’

  ‘Ah,’ old John says, ‘no. You’re no a baby, no, no way. You’re no a baby, no way in this world!’

  He says, ‘Are ye fir another drink?’

  ‘Aye,’ says the old postie. Now the postie began to get a wee bit het up by this time.

  Another glass to the old postie, one to himself. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘I bet ye they’re enjoyin theirsel in the market noo. Oh, prob’ly he’ll be buyin cattle and buyin sheep and aa these things, and she’ll be spendin her money in the market. But, humph – they better enjoy theirsel because they’re no gaunna enjoy theirsel tonight when they come hame!’

  ‘But whit is it,’ John said, ‘what’s the problem?’

  He said, ‘It’s no my problem, it’s their problem! They took me oot and left me in the hill, lying by my lane1 while they cut the hay. I lay by mysel and they never gied me a thocht, and that’s why they’re gettin punished the day.’

  But old John had his own ideas. He said to himself, ‘That’s nae, that’s nae wean – they’ve nae idea.’

  ‘But,’ he said, ‘that’s no the start o’ it … He’s got a stack o’ corn oot there. Go on and get me a corn strae!’

  ‘Wean,’ John said, ‘Wean, what are ye gaun tae do?’

  He said, ‘Luik, are ye wantin something tae drink or are ye no wantin it?’ And the old postie was well on now, the old postie would do anything. He said, ‘Go oot and pick a big corn strae oot o’ the stack. Pull a big ane!’

  ‘But, Wean,’ he said, ‘what are ye gaun tae dae wi a corn straw?’

  He said, ‘You go and get me a corn strae oot o’ the stack. it’s only oot the door there, my faither’s stack across the door – noo get a big corn strae!’

  Poor old postie he was upset, he didn’t know what to do. But to please this wean – he didn’t know, was it a wean or what it was – and him being well on with drink, the best thing he could do was do what the wean told him. So he walked out and he walked round, all round the wee sheafs of corn on the stack till he saw a wide straw and he pulled the big straw out. It was half an inch wide, he pulled it in with the heads of corn on it. He came back in. It’s sitting with its legs crossed at the fire and the bottle between its legs, the nappy round its bottom, the long silver hair hanging down its back, and the blue eyes and the old-fashioned skin on its face. Poor old John, he was so mesmerised he didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Did ye get it?’ said the wean.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘I got it.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘gie it tae me!’ He took a poker, rammed it in the fire, and made the poker red hot. He took the corn straw, measured about eight inches – the best bit of the straw – and he broke it off, flung the rest in the fire. He squeezed the top of it flat to make a reed. When the poker was hot, he took it out of the fire and bored six holes down the straw, turned it around and he bored a hole at the back. And old John’s sitting watching him, the old poastman never saw anything in his life like this.

  ‘Upon my sowl,’ he said, ‘and upon my God, this is nae wean! This is a fairy, this is a fairy,’ the old postman said to himself. He never said it out loud! ‘This is a taen-awa! Upon my sowl, a taen-awa!’ (A ‘taen-awa’ means ‘a baby that was taken away with the fairies’.)

  Now he’s sitting cross-legged with a bottle between his legs and he said to the old postie, ‘How’re ye feelin?’

  The postie said, ‘I’m feelin all right.’

  ‘Well, come on,’ he said, ‘we’ll finish the bottle, the’re plenty mair in the cupboard,’ and he gied the postie another glass. ‘Drink that up, John! But we dinna hae much time tae waste because it’ll no be long till they’re back. But,’ he said, ‘afore they come back, I’m gaunna play ye a wee tune. Brother, I love music! I love music frae my hert!’

  He got the corn straw in his hands with the seven holes bored into it, and he started to play – the jigs and reels and jigs and reels that you never heard in your life before. And the old postie was lost, he didn’t know where he was, was he coming or going! Now the postie’s half drunk. And the postie said, ‘Go on, wean, go on, wean, go on, wean – play on!’ The postie’s drunk now. And the wean’s playing the corn straw, the jigs and reels. The postie liked music himself. And he’s playing all this music from the corn straw that you never heard before in your life. No way in the
world did the postie ever hear music like this from a corn straw! And the time passed by. When all in a minute the music stopped.

  He caught the corn straw and flung it in the fire, jumped back in the cradle, ‘They’re hame!’ He lay back, pulled the blanket over him, put the cool1 back on his head – ‘Eh-hee, oo-hoo, u-hung.’

  And then the door opened, in came Mary. She was carrying bundles and parcels and things in her oxter. ‘Oh, John, I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘John.’

  ‘Hay-heng,’ it’s lying greetin in the cradle.

  She says, ‘I’m sorry, John, to put wir troubles upon ye. I ken ye didnae hae much enjoyment.’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘I didnae hae nae enjoyment!’

  But by this time Alistair had loosened the pony out, taken off the harness, put the pony in its stable, and come in. He had a bottle of whisky in his hand. ‘For bein so kind, John, I brought you a wee dram.’ And there was the postie sitting well on with drink. ‘Would you like a wee drink, John?’ he said.

  ‘Well, Alistair, tae tell ye the God’s truth, no.’ He said, ‘Luik, I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Oh, he said, ‘you’ve been helpin yoursel.’

  ‘No, I’ve no been helpin mysel, but,’ he said, ‘wait a minute … Can I talk tae ye a minute, you and your wife?’

  And this thing’s lying in the cradle and it’s girnin, it’s greetin and it’s woein, greetin and girnin. And when it heard these voices it roared harder and harder and harder!

  The postman said, ‘Stop!’

  She said, ‘How did ye get on wi young Alistair?’

  ‘Luik,’ he said, ‘let it greet. Come here, I want tae speak tae ye, let it greet – let it go on greetin for evermore. Come into the other room!’

  But Alistair said, ‘What’s the trouble, what’s the bother? Did it give ye so much trouble?’

  ‘It gied me nae trouble,’ he said, ‘Alistair, it gied me nae trouble:1 it gied me a drink and it gied me the best music I ever heard in my life, frae a corn strae!’

  Alistair said, ‘John, you must be drunk.’

  ‘No, I’m no drunk. Come intae the other room.’ So the postie took them into the other room and he told them, ‘Luik, Mary and Alistair, I want tae tell you something: I’m no drunk, but I’ve had a few drinks … that in your cradle is a taen-awa.’

  And Alistair said, ‘What’s a “taen-awa”?’

  And Mary said, ‘What’s a “taen-awa”?’

  He said, ‘When you took your baby oot to the hill tae cut the hay and put it on a knowe, the fairies took your wean and put that thing in his cradle. That played tae me like I never heard music before in my life, that sat and shared a bottle o’ whisky wi me!’

  And Alistair said, ‘Ye’re crazy, man!’

  ‘I’m no crazy, Alistair, listen,’ he said. ‘That is no your wean, that is a taen-awa in yir cradle!’ He finally convinced him that it was a taen-awa.

  ‘But what’re we gaunna do?’ Alistair said. ‘What are we gaunna do then?’

  He said, ‘I’ll tell ye what ye’re gaunna do: there’s only one way that you’re gaunna get rid o’ that and get yir ain wean back. Kid on you don’t know what I tell ye! Have you got a new shawl, Mary?’

  ‘Aye,’ she says, ‘I bocht one today for to wrap it in.’

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘wrap it in the new shawl and pit its hands doon between its legs, wrap it up as ticht as ever ye can get it. But don’t let its hands oot, no way in this world! And I’ll come wi ye, and,’ he said, ‘Alistair, you come tae!’

  ‘But,’ Alistair says, ‘what are ye gaun tae dae wi it?’

  He says, ‘A water clift! The clift – the waterfall is the only answer.’ (There was a river running by the farm that was close by. A wee burn dropped about fifty feet over to a pool. The fish couldn’t jump it because it was too steep. Alistair used to fish the pool in his own time for trout.) He says, ‘Look, Mary, there’s only one cure for it, if ye want tae get rid o’ that thing that’s in the cradle – that’s nae wean, that’s a fairy – a fairy took your wean’s place! I’ll stay wi ye the night and we’ll take it to the clift. Wrap its hands ower very carefully because when you tak it there,’ he says, ‘if it gets a grip o’ you and takes ye wi it, you’ll never be seen again in a million years. If its hands even touches ye, you’ll go wi it ower the clift – and you’re the only one that can fling it ower the clift!’

  ‘But God bless my sowl and body,’ says Alistair, ‘why should such thing happen tae the likes o’ us?’

  ‘Well,’ says the old postman, ‘this is no something new, this has happened tae many people, long ago.’

  ‘But hoo,’ says Alistair, ‘in the world did you ken aboot this?’

  He says, ‘My granny tellt me: there’s only one way tae get rid o’ a taen-awa – fling it ower a clift wi its hands tied between its legs.’

  ‘But,’ Mary says, ‘it’s my baby, I dinna want tae fling it!’

  He says, ‘That’s no yir baby, that’s a greetin swinge that’s in there. It played the pipes tae me and gied me whisky. Dinna ye believe me? It sat and drank a bottle o’ whisky wi me, it played a corn strae tae me– that’s nae wean! That’s a fairy! So the old postman finally convinced them that it was a fairy. ‘Noo,’ he said, ‘the night when the clock strikes twelve, we’ll wrap it up in a new shawl and fling it over the clift.’ He finally convinced Alistair and Mary it was really true.

  So they sat and they talked. While they talked the swingein still went on. John said, ‘Dinna shake it, dinna rock the cradle – forget about it, let it be, dinna even touch it, let it sit!’ So time passed by. They sat and talked and they cracked till half past eleven. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘Mary, go and get yir new shawl.’

  ‘Ne-yeh, yen-gay, ae-yengh,’ it’s greetin. She took it and she wrapped it in the way the old postman told her, put its hands between its legs, wrapped it up in the new shawl as best she could.

  ‘Noo,’ says the old postman, ‘you’ve got it done?’

  ‘Right,’ she said and packed it in the cradle.

  He said, ‘Come wi me!’ So the old postman, Mary, and Alistair walked. They didn’t have far to go to the wee burn.

  But the burn made a waterfall … ‘Noo,’ says the old postman, ‘you’re the one that’s got tae dae it. There’s naebody – we cannae help ye.’ He says to Mary, ‘You tak it, walk tae the top o’ the fall, and fling it doon the waterfall!’

  ‘But,’ she says, ‘I–I–I canna – I hate tae dae it, John, I might never see my wean again.’

  He says, ‘If ye want tae see yir wean again, ye dae what I’m tellin ye!’ But the old postman had convinced her.

  She took it to the waterfall and Alistair came with her and old John went with her right to the face of the cliff. She took it and she flung it over – it fell down the waterfall, and when it hit the pool it stopped, and the shawl opened. It came out, spun on the top of the water.

  It looked up and shook its fist, ‘Ye finally found the answer, but,’ it said, ‘many’s the night when I lay in yir bosom and cuddled ye! I cuid have done terrible things to you – curse upon you! And curse upon your old postman!’ Like that – he was gone. Gone, disappeared for evermore.

  ‘Come on,’ said the postman, ‘that’s it, that’s it finished.’ So they walked back to the cottage, opened the door, walked in.

  There was the cradle, and John looked in, he said, ‘Look, Mary, in your cradle!’ And there lying in the cradle was the bonniest wee baby … his blue eyes … lying smiling up at his mammy. He said, ‘There, Mary, there’s your true baby.’

  Alistair said, ‘How in the world, John, did you ken these things?’

  ‘Well, it’s only grannies’ cracks,’ he said, ‘and grannies’ stories1 … and if ye canna believe me and what I’m tellin you right noo, gang and get the bottle – let’s hae a drink!’ So Alistair and the old postman went and got the bottle. They sat and they drank, they finished the bottle. And that is the end of my wee story.

  1 gret and
swinged – cried and whined

  1 wag-at-the-wa clock – pendulum wall clock

  1 by my lane – without a companion

  1 cool – cowl, close fitting cap

  1 It gied me nae trouble – did it give me trouble!

  1 only grannies’ cracks … and stories – old wives’ tales, trivial stories, but inferring the opposite

  JACK TALES

  Jack and the Witch’s Bellows

  This was a story I heard from an old uncle of mine who used to come to Argyll … he’s dead now, God rest his soul … I was only four years old and I walked down to see him one summer’s evening. And he told me and my cousins so many stories that it was too late for me to go home, so I stayed the whole night with him till the morning and he told us stories all night. His name was Alexander Reid, he died a few years ago and he’s buried in Helensburgh.

  JACK and his old mother stayed in this wee house in the village. Jack had a job in a wee shop beside the house and he used to mend bellows for blowing up the fire. Oh, and he made some of the loveliest bellows you ever saw! He bought in his leather and he sorted1 the bellows: he put new brass points on them, and he carved things on the handles … oh, he had a lovely trade! He kept himself and his old mother the best way he could. So his fame for sorting bellows spread all over the country.

  But one day he was sitting in his wee shop, and was making two–three bellows when his mother shouted through to him, ‘Come on, Jack, come on! You’re working in there all day. Do you never think of stopping and coming through for a wee bit to eat?’

  ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Mother,’ he said. So, anyway, through he comes. And he and his old mother are sitting having a wee cup of tea when a knock comes to the door.

  She says, ‘Jack, that’ll be somebody for you again. I’m pestered sick with so many folk coming to the door – I wish you would stop making so many bellows!’