The Flight of the Golden Bird

  She says, “What do you mean, laddie?”

  “You may care,” he says, “I can’t kill it.”

  “Ah, Jack,” she says, “ye can’t kill a cockerel? I ken ye killed dozens to me before, the hens and ducks and all.”

  “Mother,” he says, “I can’t kill this one – it’ll no die!”

  She says, “Give me it, give me it over here!” And the old woman had a wee hatchet for splitting sticks. She kept it by the fire. She says, “Give it to me, Jack. I’ll show you the way to kill it right!” She put it down the top o’ the block and she hit it with the hatchet – chop its head off. She hit it with the hatchet seventeen times, but na! Every time the head jumped off – head jumped back on!

  “Na, Jack,” she says, “it’s no good. There’s something wrong here, something terrible going a-wrong. Nothing seems to be right about the place. Here, go out with my purse, laddie... run up to the village to the butcher! I’m saving this for a rainy day.” And she took a half-crown out o’ her purse. “Jack, go up to the butcher and get a wee bit o’ meat from the butcher. I’ll make ye a wee bite when you come back.”

  Now, it wasn’t far from the wee house to the village, about a quarter o’ mile Jack had to walk. When Jack walked up the village, all the people were gathered in the middle of the town square. They’re all blethering and they’re chatting and blethering, speaking to each other. One was saying, “I’ve sprayed my garden and it’s overrun with caterpillars. And I’ve tried to spray it; it’s no good.”

  The butcher was out with his apron. He said, “Three times I tried to kill a bullock this morning and three times I killed it; three times it jumped back on its feet. I don’t know what’s wrong. The villagers have run out o’ meat. I got a quota o’ ducks in this morning, and every time I pull their necks their heads jump back on. There’s something terrible happening!”

  Jack went up to the butchers. He says, “Give me a wee bit o’ meat for my mother.”

  He says, “Laddie, there’s no a bit o’ meat in the shop. Do ye no ken what I’m trying to tell the people in the village? I’ve tried my best this morning to kill a young bullock to supply the village and I can’t kill it.”

  “Well,” Jack said, “the same thing happened to me: I tried to boil an egg and I can’t boil an egg; I tried to kill a cockerel—”

  “I tried to kill ten cockerels,” says the butcher, “but they’ll no die.”

  “Oh dear-dear,” says Jack, “we must be in some kind o’ trouble. Is it happening to other places forbyes this?”

  “Well, I just had word,” says the butcher, “the next village up two miles away, and the same thing’s happened to them. Folk can’t even eat an apple – when they sink their teeth into it, it’ll not even bite. They can’t cook a vegetable, they can’t boil water, they can’t do anything! The whole world’s going to come to a standstill. There’s something going terrible wrong – nothing seems to die any more.”

  And then Jack thought in his head: “It’s my fault. I’m the cause o’ it.” He walked back and he told his mother the same story I’m telling you.

  He says, “Mother, there’s no butcher meat for ye.”

  She says, “Why, laddie, why no?”

  He says, “Look, the butcher can’t kill any beef, because it’ll no die.”

  “But, Jack,” she says, “why not – it’ll not die? What’s wrong with the country? What’s wrong with the world?”

  He says, “Mother, it’s all my fault!”

  “Your fault,” she says, “Jack?”

  “Aye, Mother,” it’s my fault,” he says. “Listen, Mother: this morning when you were not feeling very well, I walked along the shore to gather some sticks for the fire and I met Death coming to take you away. I took his scythe from him and I broke his scythe. I gave him a beating, Mother, and I put him in a nut! And I flung him in the tide and I plugged the nut so’s he can’t get out, Mother. And God knows where he is now. He’s floating in the sea, Mother, for ever and ever and ever. And nothing’ll die – the world is overrun with caterpillars and worms and everything – there’s nothing can die! But, Mother, I would rather die with starvation than lose you.”

  “Jack, Jack, Jack, laddie,” she says, “do 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? Look, if I hadn’t killed him, I hadn’t beat him and put him in that nut – you’d be dead by this time!”

  “I would be dead, Jack,” she says, “probably, but the other people would be getting food, and the world would be going on – the way it should be – only for you, laddie!”

  “But, Mother,” he says, “what am I going to do?”

  She says, “Jack, there’s only one thing ye can do… ye’re a beachcomber like your father afore ye…”

  “Aye, Mother, “he says, “I’m a beachcomber.”

  “Well, Jack,” she says, “there’s only one thing I can say: ye better go and get him back and set him free! Because if ye dinnae, ye’re going to put the whole world to a standstill. Without Death there is no life… for anybody.”

  “But, Mother,” he says, “if I set him free, he’s going to come for you.”

  “Well, Jack, if he comes for me,” she said, “I’ll be happy and go into another world and be peaceful. But you’ll be alive and so will the rest o’ the world.”

  “But, Mother,” he says, “I couldn’t live without ye.”

  “But,” she says, “Jack, if ye dinnae set him free, both o’ us will suffer, and I cannae stand to see you suffer for the want o’ something to eat. Because there’s nothing in the world will die unless you set him free, because you can’t eat anything till it’s dead.”

  Jack thought in his mind for a wee while. “All right, Mother,” he says, “if that’s the way it should be, that’s it. Probably I was wrong.”

  “Of course, Jack,” she says, “you were wrong.”

  “But,” he says, “Mother, I only did it for your sake.”

  “Well,” she says, “Jack, for my sake, would ye search for that hazelnut and set him free?”

  So, the next morning, true to his word, Jack walked the tide and walked the tide for miles and miles – day out and day in for three days and for three days more. He hadn’t anything to eat; he only had a drink of water. They couldn’t cook anything. They couldn’t eat any eggs, they couldn’t fry anything in the pan if they had it. They couldn’t make any soup, couldn’t get anything. The caterpillars and the worms crawled out of the garden in thousands, and they ate every single vegetable that Jack had. Jack went out and tried to teem hot water on them but it was no good; it just was the same as he never poured anything – no way.

  At last Jack said, “I must go and find that nut!”

  So, he walked and he walked – day and night more miles than he ever walked before, but no way could Jack find this nut! – till Jack was completely exhausted and fed up and completely sick. And he couldn’t walk another mile. He sat down by the shoreside right in front of 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 ruined the world. I’ve destroyed the world. People don’t know,” he said, “what Death has, that Death is such a good person. I was wrong to beat him and put him in a nut.”

  And he’s looking all over… and lo and behold he looks down… There at his feet he saw a wee nut, and a wee bit o’ stick sticking out of it. He lifted it up in his hand, and Jack was happy, happier than he’d ever been in his life before. 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 and conquered me and killed me – because I’m just Death – that that would be the end, everything would be all right. Well, Jack, my laddie, ye’ve got a lot to learn. Without me,” he said, “there�
��s no life.”

  And Jack took him out.

  “But,” he says, “Jack, thank you for setting me free.”

  And just like that, after Jack opened the nut, Death came out and 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 something: while I was searching for you my mother made me mend it. And I have it in the house for ye – come with me!” And Jack led him up to the house. Lo and behold, sure enough, sitting on the front o’ the porch was the scythe that Jack broke. Jack had taken it and he’d mended it. He’d 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 spat on his thumb, and 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 have some people to see in the village, Jack. But remember, I’ll come back for your mother someday, but seeing you been good 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. Jack was happy for he knew there is no life without Death.

  And that is the end o’ my story.

  Glossary of Scottish Words

  The Travelling People of Scotland have their own way of speaking. They use many Scottish forms of English words, such as o’ (of), canna or cannae (cannot), no (not) and tellt (told). In their speech the word of is often left out when they refer to quantity or amount: plenty (plenty of) and wee drop (small amount of). Sometimes the storyteller’s choice of words is influenced by the Gaelic language; for example, was just after bringing (had just brought) is found in the Western Highlands, where Duncan Williamson grew up. Readers will clearly understand most words and phrases in the context of the stories, but those terms more foreign to English are shown below:

  an awful: a great many

  ane: one

  awfae: awful, terrible lot

  bad fun: good fun!

  baffies: carpet slippers

  bankway: embankment

  barrow: handcart the old Travellers used for carrying their belongings with them from place to place

  ben: to the back of, towards the inner room

  bene: fine, good

  bene cane: castle, fine house

  bene gadgie: gentleman

  bene gurie: handsome young lady

  bene hantle: gentry, well-to-do people

  bings: a great amount

  bit: bit of a/the

  bleggering: having a good time boasting and

  pretending

  blethering: talking foolishly

  bogles: ugly ghost

  brung: brought

  buff: unhatched egg

  burkers: body snatchers

  but: and

  by: in comparison with/on

  byre: barn

  cane: house

  carry on: be unruly

  catcht: caught

  ceilidh: visit for storytelling and singing

  clypes: false tales, informing against someone

  cowl: gentleman

  crack(ing): talk, news, gossip

  cripple: walk lamely, hobble

  dae: do

  dandered: strolled leisurely

  dinna(e): do not

  disna: does not

  doubt: expect

  een: eyes

  etten: eaten

  ey: always

  fae: from

  fasselt roon: joyfully busied (herself)

  feart: afraid

  forbyes: as well, besides

  gadgie: man

  gaun(na): going (to)

  greet(ing): crying, weeping

  guid: good

  gurie: girl

  half-roads: halfway

  hame: home

  hasna: hasn’t

  heid: head

  henwife: old woman who stayed on her own and kept hens and ducks, said to have special powers

  heuk: sickle, hand reaper

  keek(ing): peep(ing)

  ken(t): know (knew)

  knowe: hillock

  landed: arrived

  loodnies: dishonest people

  mair: more

  mang: ask, speak, explain

  many’s a year: a long time

  moich: crazy

  mort: woman

  nae: no

  naebody: anybody

  naismort: mother

  nicht: night

  no, nothing: not, anything

  off: coming from

  ower: over

  oxter: armpit, underarm

  puckle: small amount

  raik(ed): search(ed) thoroughly through, pursue(d)

  rummle roon: stir vigorously, scramble (eggs)

  scuffins: riff-raff, shuffling

  set sail: started on a journey

  shan, shanness: shameful, bad, ashamed

  skreeking: uttering high shrill cries

  smoorich: piece of meat, or anything that would make a meal

  tackety boots: boots studded with small nails

  tak: take

  taste: small amount of

  thae: that

  theirsel(f/ves): him/herself, themselves

  twa: two

  two-three: a few

  wands: wild willows used for basket weaving

  waste (house): empty cottage on its own

  wean: young child

  wee can: container for milk

  wee taste: small amount

  wir: our

  wonst: once

  ye(se), ye’re: you, you’re

  yer: your

  yin: one

  yorks: pair of straps worn on trousers below the knees by farm workers

  Copyright

  Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books

  First published in 2013 by Floris Books

  © 2013 The Estate of Duncan Williamson

  Duncan Williamson has asserted his right under

  the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988 to be

  identified as the Author of this work

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, 15 Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh

  www.florisbooks.co.uk

  The publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards the publication of this volume

  British Library CIP data available

  ISBN 978-178250-027-8