She says, ‘Why, laddie, why no?’
He says, ‘Luik, the butcher cannae kill nae beef, because it’ll no dee.’
‘But, Jack,’ she says, ‘why no – it’ll no dee? What’s wrang with the country, what’s wrang with the world?’
He says, ‘Mother, it’s all my fault!’
‘Your fault,’ she says, ‘Jack?’
‘Aye, Mither, it’s my fault,’ he says. ‘Listen, Mother: this morning when you were no feeling very well, I walkit along the shore tae gather some sticks fir the fire an I met Death comin tae tak ye awa. An I took his scythe fae him an I broke his scythe, I gi’n him a beatin, Mither, an I put him in a nut! An I flung him in the tide an I plugged the nut so’s he canna get oot, Mither. An God knows where he is noo. He’s floatin in the sea, Mother, firever an ever an ever, an nothing’ll dee – the worl is overrun with caterpillars an worms an everything – Mither, the’re nothing can dee! But Mither, I wad rather die with starvation than lose you.’
‘Jack, Jack, Jack, laddie,’ she says, ‘dae ye no ken what ye’ve done? Ye’ve destroyed the only thing that keeps the world alive.’
‘What do you mean, Mother, “keeps the world alive”? Luik, if I hedna killed him, I hedna hae beat im, Mother, an pit him in that nut – you’d be dead bi this time!’
‘I wad be dead, Jack,’ she says, ‘probably, but the other people would be gettin food, an the worl’d be gaun on – the way it shuid be – only fir you, laddie!’
‘But, Mother,’ he says, ‘what am I gaunna dae?’
She says, ‘Jack, there’s only thing ye can dae … ye’re a beach-comber like yir faither afore ye—’
‘Aye, Mother,’ he says, ‘I’m a beach-comber.’
‘Well, Jack,’ she says, ‘there’s only thing I can say: ye better gae an get im back an set him free! Because if ye dinnae, ye’re gaunna put the whole worl tae a standstill. Without Death there is no life … fir nobody.’
‘But, Mother,’ he says, ‘if I set him free, he’s gaunna come fir you.’
‘Well, Jack, if he comes fir me,’ she said, ‘I’ll be happy, and go inta another world an be peaceful! But you’ll be alive an so will the rest o’ the world.’
‘But Mother,’ he says, ‘I cuidna live withoot ye.’
‘But,’ she says, ‘Jack, if ye dinnae set him free, both o’ us’ll suffer, an I cannae stand tae see you suffer fir the want o’ something to eat: because there’s nothing in the world will die unless you set him free, because you cannae eat nothing until it’s dead.’
Jack thought in his mind for a wee while. ‘Aa right, Mother,’ he says, ‘if that’s the way it shuid be, that’s the way it shuid be. Prob’ly I wis wrong.’
‘Of course, Jack,’ she says, ‘you were wrong.’
‘But,’ he says, ‘Mother, I only done it fir yir sake.’
‘Well,’ she says, ‘Jack, fir my sake, wad ye search fir that hazelnut an set him free?’
So the next morning true to his word, Jack walks the tide and walks the tide for miles and miles and miles, day out and day in for three days and for three days more. He had nothing to eat, he only had a drink o’ water. They couldna cook anything, they couldna eat any eggs, they couldna fry anything in the pan if they had it, they couldna make any soup, they couldna get nothing. The caterpillars and the worms crawled out of the garden in thousands, and they ate every single vegetable that Jack had. And there’s nothing in the world – Jack went out and tried to teem hot water on them but it was no good. When he teemed hot water on them it just was the same as he never poured nothing – no way. At last Jack said, ‘I must go an find that nut!’ So he walked and he walked, and he walked day and he walked night more miles than he ever walked before, but no way could Jack find this nut! Till Jack was completely exhusted and fed up and completely sick, and he couldna walk another mile. He sat down by the shoreside right in front o’ his mother’s house to rest, and wondered, he put his hand on his jaw and he said to his ownself, ‘What have I done! I’ve ruint the world, I’ve destroyed the world. People disna know,’ he said, ‘what Death has so good, that Death is such a guid person. I wis wrong tae beat him an put him in a nut.’
And he’s looking all over – and lo and behold he looked down – there at his feet he saw a wee nut, and a wee bit o’ stick sticking out o’ it. He lifted it up in his hand, and Jack was happy, happier than he’d ever been in his life before! And he pulled the plug and a wee head popped out. Jack held him in his two hands and Death spoke to him, ‘Now, Jack,’ he said, ‘are ye happy?’
‘No,’ Jack said, ‘I’m no happy.’
He said, ‘You thought if you beat me an conquered me an killed me – because I’m jist Death – that that wad be the end, everything be all right. Well, Jack, ma laddie, ye’ve got a lot to learn, Jack. Without me,’ he said, ‘there’s no life.’ And Jack took him out. ‘But,’ he says, ‘Jack, thank you fir settin me free,’ and just like that after Jack opened the nut, he came out and like that, he came full strength again and stood before Jack – the same old man with the long ragged coat and the sunken eyes and the two teeth in the front and the bare feet. He says, ‘Jack, ye broke my scythe.’
Jack said, ‘I’ll tell ye somethin, while I wis searchin fir you ma mother made me mend it. An I have it in the hoose fir ye, come wi me!’ And Jack led him up to the house. Lo and behold sure enough, sitting on the front of the porch was the scythe that Jack broke. Jack had taken it and he’d mended it, sorted it and made it as good as ever.
Death came to the door and he ran his hand down the face o’ the scythe, he sput on his thumb and he ran it up the face o’ the scythe, and he says to Jack, ‘I see you’ve sharpened it, Jack, and ye made a good job o’ it. Well, I hev some people to see in the village, Jack. But remember, I’ll come back fir yir mother someday, but seein you been guid to me I’ll make it a wee while!’ And Death walked away.
Jack and his mother lived happy till his mother was about a hundred years of age! And then one day Death came back to take his old mother away, but Jack never saw him. But Jack was happy for he knew there is no life without Death. And that is the end o’ my story.
1 look at – make any impression upon
1 an awfa – a great many
2 you may care – it’s hopeless
The Ugly Queen
My old granny came to live with us when she was very old, and she had a grip over us, because if she wanted something done we would do it for her; but she had to pay for it – no by money, money didn’t mean anything to us – she had to tell us a story. Saying, ‘C’mon, Granny, tell us a wee story an we’ll go fir anything for ye,’ go fir tobacco, get her a drink or sort her shoes … and old Granny. Macdonald would tell us a story …. If she had never told me a story, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you today, nearly forty-five years later, telling you the same thing that was told to me? So I hope in the future that you will be able to tell your daughter a story that prob’ly she will tell her daughter maybe fifty or sixty years later!
JACK stayed with his mother in a little cottage in the forest. His father was a woodcutter and had died when Jack was very young. Jack’s memory of his father was very faint, but the one thing Jack always remembered – because Jack’s father was a very good man – ‘Ye remember, Jack,’ he’d said, ‘there’s only one thing at’s gaunnae stead ye in life, son, when I’m gone: be honest an kind and truthful!’ Jack used to go with his father by his hand to the wood when he was about three years old, and this is what the father told him, ‘Be honest, be kind an be truthful!’ That was the only memory Jack had of his father.
Now in this land where Jack lived there was a king and queen who ruled the kingdom. And the king had an accident, he fell off his horse and was killed. The whole country mourned for months and months about the king, because he was only a young man and he left behind him a young daughter only one year old. And the queen adored this daughter.
The king had had only one ambition in his life. In hi
s kingdom in the sea was an island, and on this island was a giant fourteen feet high. He used to come across the mainland and take cattle, sheep, anything that he wanted, and there was nothing that the king could do. The king’s only ambition was to get rid of this giant, but he never had a chance – he fell off his horse and was killed. Now this giant still remained in the island. And there’s no one could touch him or no one could do anything to him, because he didn’t have any heart. The king had sent for men, magicians of all description, and asked them ‘how tae get rid o’ the giant’. And they told him, ‘There’s no way that ye can get rid o’ the giant.’ Because the giant didn’t have any heart, he was untouchable – no one knew where the giant’s heart was. The only way to get rid of the giant was to find out where the heart was, and no one knew. So there was the queen left to rule the kingdom with a young baby a year old and this indestructible giant in the island.
She called all her wisemen together and all her hen-wives, says, ‘There’s only one thing I want in my ambition, as of my late husband, is tae get rid of this giant.’ And no way could she find a way to get rid of him because he was indestructible. Till one morning.
It wasa nice summer’s morning and the queen put her little baby daughter who was coming up now near two years of age out in the front of the castle to play. She went back into the kitchen to do something. (The queen was just awoman; it was just a matter o’ being the head of the clan or the head of the race, respected of course, but she had to do her part even in the kitchens.) She went back and left the child to play, and who came across from his island at that very moment – the giant – taking ten-league steps at a time! And the first thing he saw passing by the castle was the wee child, he picked it up in his oxters, in his bosom, and he set sail with the child through the sea back to the island. Because he wanted this child!
And the queen came back – the child was gone – and she cried, she asked everybody around the place what happened, ‘where was the baby’? Nobody knew where the baby was, till somebody said, ‘Oh, yes, Wir Majesty, the giant was here while you were gone. He took her an she’s gone, the giant walkit across the sea with her in his arms back tae his island!’
And the queen was so upset, frantic, she didn’t know what to do. She knew there was no way she was going to get the baby back. So she gathered all her courtiers and all her holy people around her, all these magicians and people, how was she to get the child back? Nobody could tell her. Till one day she was sitting in the front of the palace, when up comes an old woman with a basket on her arm, she’s selling eggs.
She knocks at the door and one of the maids goes to the door, ‘What do you want, auld wumman?’
She says, ‘I’m selling eggs.’
‘Eggs?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘ask the good lady, would she buy some eggs?’
So the maid being a good lassie just walked up, said to the queen, ‘Yir Majesty, there’s an old lady at the door selling eggs.’
‘Yes,’ says the queen, ‘bring the auld wumman in!’ When the maid mentioned ‘eggs’, the queen knew the old woman must be a hen-wife. ‘Bring the auld wumman in,’ says the queen.
So the maid says, ‘Would you come in?’
And the old granny with a basket laid full o’ eggs said, ‘Would you buy some eggs, good lady?’
‘Yes,’ says the queen, ‘I’ll buy some eggs. Who are you?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m jist an auld hen-wife who is selling eggs.’
She says, ‘Dae ye know who I am?’
‘No,’ says the old woman, ‘ye’re jist a natural wumman of a big castle I sell my eggs tae.’
She says, ‘I am the queen of the country.’
‘Oh!’ the old woman went down on her knees, ‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘Ir Majesty. I have dreamed all my life o’ meetin the queen, but never in a million years hev ever I been here before!’ And she went down on her knees and begged mercy from the queen.
So the queen says, ‘well, it’s all right, it’s all right. We’ll take yir eggs, we’ll take the lot. But, eh, I wonder, could you help me?’
‘Well,’ says the old lady, ‘A prob’ly cuid, if ye tell me what’s ailin ye – ye ill?’
‘No,’ says the queen, ‘I’m not ill; I’m ill in a way, an I’m vexed an broken-heartit.’
‘Oh,’ says the old woman, ‘why should you be broken-heartit if ye’re the queen?’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘prob’ly ye’ve heard – I jist newly lost Ir Majesty the King.’
‘I heard,’ says the old woman, ‘an I’m very grieved about it.’
‘An,’ she says, ‘I have lost my baby.’
‘Oh,’ says the old woman, ‘I’m very sorry that yir baby … is gone.’
‘But,’ the queen said, ‘she’s not dead.’
‘I know,’ says the old woman, ‘she’s not dead.’
‘Then,’ says the queen, ‘you know she’s not dead?’
‘Yes,’ says the old woman, ‘yir child is not dead.’
So the queen says to the old hen-wife, ‘Look, would ye tell me something if ye know that much – ye’re gaunna tell me a little more?’
‘Oh yes,’ says the old wife, ‘I can tell ye a little more … much more! Your child is in the hands of the Giant of the Island in the Sea.’
‘Yes,’ says the queen, ‘that’s true.’
‘An,’ she says, ‘you would like tae get her back.’
‘Yes,’ says the queen, that’s true, I would give my entire life to get her back!’
‘But,’ the old woman said, ‘it’s not as simple as that. I know of the giant – in fact he is a relation of mine. An he is indestructible, there’s no way in the world at you cuid do him any harm, or there’s no way in the worl ye’re gaunna get yir child back.’
The queen said, ‘There must be something I cuid do.’
‘Yes,’ said the old woman, ‘there’s something ye can do: you must go an find a man who is truthful an kind an gentle, who’ll tell ye the honest truth from his heart. But if you go as a queen, then you’ll never find the truth. Luik, I’m gaunna do something for you, Our Majesty …’
And the queen says, ‘You shall be repaid handsomely!’
And the old woman said, ‘I want no payment. I’m going to do something for you, I’m gaunnae tell ye something, an if you do what I tell you you will get yir child!’ She gropes in her basket and she takes out a little stone bottle, she says, ‘Ir Majesty the Queen, I’ll give you this: this is a potion an you must rub yirself wi this potion tonight at twelve o’clock. An by tomorrow morning you will be the ugliest person that ever walked on this earth. Now, to get your child, you must do this! If you think that yir child is not worth it, then don’t do it.’ And she takes another small bottle from the corner o’ her basket, she says, ‘After everything is gone, remember – and ye have done yir task an received yir child – the only way in the world tae get yirsel back tae normal is use the second one. But don’t use the second one first!’ So the old woman turned round to the queen and said, ‘Remember, Ir Majesty, this is gaunnae make ye ugly, the most ugliest person in the world that ever walked, but through ugliness you’re gaunna find truth! An you shall take with you a bag of gold, you shall give up yir entire reign as a queen an travel on through the country an find truth! You shall travel yirself as an ugly auld wumman with a bag of gold; sometimes along the way, for the greed, people will give you an tell ye this an tell ye that. But you must find truth before ye can find happiness. You’ll ask anyone and offer em yir bag o’ gold, tell them along the way that “you are beautiful,” an if they agree with you then they are wrong – there is no truth in it – because they are only doin it fir the greed of the gold. But remember, I’ll not be here with you when you return!’
And the queen turned round and she was happy, ‘But’ she says, ‘will that bring me my daughter?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it’ll bring ye yir daughter for evermore; an tae tell ye something else, it will end the entire life
of the giant who yir husband long bifore ye wanted to destroy. You do my biddin!’
‘Where can I get in touch with ye, auld wumman?’ says the queen.
She says, ‘You can never get in touch with me anymore. All I want of you is to buy my eggs.’
‘I’ll take yir eggs,’ says the queen, ‘but how in the world can I reward you?’
‘You can never reward me, Our Majesty,’ says the old woman. ‘You have rewarded me enough by buyin my eggs.’ And like that the old woman left, she was gone.
Now the queen is left with these two bottles. ‘Well,’ says the queen, ‘if I must get my daughter, I must!’ and she knew what she must do. She took the last bottle, put it up in her bedroom and hid it. She took the first bottle, she went into her bathroom and scattered it around herself. She looked at herself in the mirror – and lo and behold she was sick – what she saw. She saw the ugliest old crone, warts on her face, nose as long as anything, chin hanging down, she was the ugliest thing that ever walked on this earth. And the queen was happy, she knew, ‘I must do this for my daughter’s sake.’ She walked down the stairs, met her servants and her servants turned their heads. She walked into her bedroom, she packed a bag o’ gold an turned round, tellt her servants, ‘I’m on my way. I must find truth fir my daughter’s sake.’
And the servants didn’t know who the queen was, ‘Ugly auld wumman,’ they said, ‘what are ye doing here?’
She says, ‘The queen is gone on a visit an I must follow her, but she’ll be back.’ So she left the castle in charge of good hands. And then my story says the queen set off.
She travelled round the country with a bag o’ gold, the ugliest old woman you ever saw in your life, she walked among the common people and she walked among the down-and-outs. She walked among woodcutters, farmers, and everywhere she came along she had her bag o’ gold, everywhere she went she asked the same thing, ‘Amint I the beautifules person you ever saw?’ and she held the bag o’ gold, jingled the gold.
The King and the Lamp Page 22