To my darling Oliver Duncan

Acknowledgements

Research and writing of The Flight of the Golden Bird has been supported by an investment from Creative Scotland for professional development. Margaret Hubbard of Craigroyston Community High School first published the introductory text by Duncan Williamson in “Listen and Learn”, The Media Education Journal, Winter (XIII, 1992). Maurice Fleming’s article “Christmas with the Travellers”, in The Scots Magazine (December 1983), inspired this collection of seasonal tales. Flight

Contents

1. Title Page

2. Dedication

3. Acknowledgements

4. Introduction

5. The Twelve Seasons

6. Rabbit’s Tail

7. The Hedgehog’s Race

8. Hugh and the Angel

9. The Flight of the Golden Bird

10. The Nightingale

11. The Boy and the Snake

12. Spider and the Fly

13. Lion and the Four Bulls

14. The Twelve White Swans

15. Freddy Far-off

16. Princess and the Glass Hill

17. The Steed and the Bell

18. Cripple John

19. Dog and the Manger

20. The Hare and the Scarecrow

21. The Henwife and Old Father Time

22. Death in a Nut

23. Glossary of Scottish Words

24. Copyright

Introduction

Duncan Williamson (1928–2007) was one of Scotland’s Travelling People, born on the shores of Loch Fyne. He has been celebrated as the bearer of Scotland’s greatest national treasure, the richest trove of story and song in Europe. How Duncan came to be the custodian of such a valuable oral tradition is in itself a fascinating story. He explained:

As Travelling People we were very poor. We didn’t have radio or television. Mother and Father could not read. They had no need to read, because our education came through stories and songs. You gathered round the campfire in the late evening and you were told stories that would last you through your life. They were never written down in any books. Some were very old, having been passed down by word of mouth through hundreds of generations.

Stories were told to you as a matter of teaching. Because every particular story had its own lesson. Oh, there were many wonderful tales. There were tales for the small ones about animals, there were ghost tales, tales of witches, spirits, bogles, giants, ogres. Tales of farmers. Tales of everything that would teach you to grow up naturally in your own environment in life.

Now my father would say, “Sit down there and listen carefully. Because by listening to this story you’re going to learn something that will teach you in life. And remember, carry the story with you all of your days. Because this story was told to me by my father.” And that’s why stories were so important to the Travelling People, even around Christmas time.

Father would say, “Well, thank God this is Christmas Eve. Come doon beside me and I’ll tell you a story. Now remember, children, any toy I could buy – what’s the sense of buying you a toy when you’ll only break it! It’ll be destroyed in a couple of days. Even if I had the money to afford it. But this story will last you the entire time of your life.”

My father told me a story when I was only five years old. Now that’s almost exactly sixty years ago. And I can remember that tale the way he told it to me, just the very way. I can visualise him sitting there by the fireside, a young man putting coals in his pipe, you know, smoking his pipe. And all the little kids gathered round the fire, he sitting there telling them a beautiful Christmas tale – which was far better to us now when I look back than anything he could have bought for us.

And the old Travellers knew in their own minds that they were leaving something behind, a treasure that we could treasure their memory by. I mean, Travelling People didn’t need to go, when their old people died, buy a great granite tombstone and put it in a graveyard to remember them by. They didn’t need that. They had things that were more important: the beautiful stories told to them. And the moment they told that story over again, they could picture in their mind their father, their mother, their granny, their uncle who had told them the great story. The photo, the picture in their mind, would never die as long as the stories remained with them. And that’s what the old people left with us. Because they knew the same thing had happened to them when they were young. And that’s what made storytelling so wonderful.

When we walked on the roads on a cold winter’s day and we were wet and tired and hungry, you know, travelling on, each carrying a part of our little bundle on our way, to help us when we got to a camping place at night – we were miserable and tired. But once the tents were up, the fires were kindling, we had a little to eat, got ourselves dried, then it was story time. The thought of everything else, the day’s torture, was gone till the next time again. After a good storytelling session everybody was happy. You know, it was great, magical! I’ve got many wonderful memories of my childhood. Life was really hard. Life was rough and we were very poor. But we were very happy, really happy as children.

I think the happiness comes from the love and respect from parents to children and children to parents. That’s the most important thing of all, what really makes life happy for anyone, I would say. And that’s what our stories were told us for in the first beginning.

The stories chosen for the present collection follow the solar year and mark the progress of its seasons according to Traveller tradition. Ancestral storytellers of the Travelling People knew the foundation for behaviour, their work and their love for family was a natural order. Again, Duncan explains:

The Travelling children learned the crafts of their people, basketry and metal work, from the very earliest age, when they were able to sit next to their fathers and mothers. And as a child you grew up to revere Mother Nature, because Mother Nature was your primary teacher. She taught you how to collect berries, how to collect food. She grew animals and plants which supplied the materials for your making things. And Mother Nature gave you cures from herbs. The Travelling People were known for their cures and their healing powers, and it was because they preferred to stick to their own beliefs and ways of thinking that the settled community came to distrust them. They were different. For example, schools were not valued by the Travelling community. Instead, stories were told and retold and passed on. Stories were the education which gave you the lessons you needed to grow up to be a good person.

The stories in this collection show a world that is drawn from the natural order of the seasons. But more than a simple alignment of subjects and events to periods of the year, the natural order in traditional story is seen to endorse and uphold the ethical foundation of human life; what it is to be a good person.

“The Twelve Seasons” begins in winter darkness, the forest bereft of fruit and nuts and food. Survival is only possible by a moral imperative which will not tolerate greed or wickedness. The woodland elves control the twelve seasons, but they do more than that; they sustain virtue. Sweet and helpful Mary triumphs over unnatural adversity and lives happily ever after.

In the stories that follow, light lengthens as bright mornings and a full moon herald spring, wakening wild animals to new life; rabbits, hares and hedgehogs become naturally active, finding a balance of wholesome diversity. Wit is rewarded while the proud fall.

Then summer brings its fullness. Swallows arrive with their messages, the first nightingale sings, our dispirited golden bird is freed to join his mate. Strawberries, spiders and flies take over the gardens. Still, with the height of summer comes frightening reality; old age and cunning demand the death of weaker creatures in “Lion and the Four Bulls”. At the sun’s zenith man makes his gravest mistake: a child is sacrificed. “The Boy and the Snake” is a story with roots that stretch as far back as anything we can imagine in writing, to the Sanskrit Panchatantra. As part of this warm season’s ripening, humans acquire knowledge; young ones learn to add, collect and sift information through experience. Here are the well-loved stories of Jack, bringing the maturity of true love and nature home to the listener like no other. “Princess and the Glass Hill” is an excellent example of Mother’s youngest son, who may be lazy, a misfit, unruly and untidy, but always – by stamina and proper values – Jack comes out on top. Only a young man of moral worth can solve the problems and settle the disputes. Even Death must take a blow from the young son in “Death in a Nut”, when Jack decides to intervene, and save his mother from the old man with the scythe on his back.

The back-end of the year, autumn, is represented by a story of major change in society. “The Steed and the Bell” describes clearly how law and order get established, how unforgivable wrong is punished. Following the humbled knight and his faithful steed, finally stabled, we face the winter again.

Days cold and short, nights long and frigid put an end to life’s fullness, with the old and infirm at risk of dying. It is time for the coming of Spirit, and the Travelling People know well the meaning of this season. While the wealth of stories told by the Travelling People of Scotland are undoubtedly pagan and pre-Christian in form and content, a good many tales owe their depth and breadth of understanding to ancient Christian beliefs. Three stories in this collection pertain to Christmas: the deeply compassionate “Cripple John”; the birth of Christ through the eyes of the old collie in “Dog and the Manger”; and the joyous “The Hare and the Scarecrow”, a tribute to the poor, inanimate scarecrow, who makes all productive life possible on the farm. Leading us into the most important of all celebrations for the Travelling People of Scotland, the New Year, is “The Henwife and Old Father Time”. This story gives the assurance of life eternal, for Time – which makes you older – itself never dies. And as Duncan says, “Everyone looks forward to the New Year coming in. It is a new beginning.” Finally, “Death in a Nut” brings us back to the first month of the year, and affirms the cycle of seasonal life, in this very popular and most meaningful of all Traveller tales.

Seven of the eighteen stories are published for the first time in this collection. Eleven others have been previously published: “The Twelve Seasons”, “The Boy and the Snake” and “Lion and the Four Bulls” from The Genie and the Fisherman (Cambridge University Press Schoolbooks, 1991); “Rabbit’s Tail” was a reading level two schoolbook from Cambridge University Press (1996); “The Hedgehog’s Race” first appeared in Mary Medlicott’s anthology Time for Telling (Kingfisher, 1991); “Dog and the Manger” and “The Hare and the Scarecrow” were published by Canongate in Tell Me a Story for Christmas (1987); Penguin published “Death in a Nut”, “The Twelve White Swans” and “The Henwife and Old Father Time” in A Thorn in the King’s Foot (1987); “The Steed and the Bell” is from Central Regional Council’s reading project for local Traveller children (1984).

Linda Williamson

The Twelve Seasons

My father told me this story years and years ago when I was wee. I never saw it in a book or heard anyone before him telling it. Where he’d heard it, I don’t know.

Many, many years ago, there was a woodcutter and his wife. They lived in the forest and they had one little girl. But by sheer bad luck the woodcutter’s wife took ill and she died, left the woodcutter to look after the small girl himself. He tried his best, took her with him everywhere he went, taught her whatever he knew and reared her up the best way he could till she was about eight or nine years old. Then he went and married again. And the woman he married had a daughter o’ her own. And he’d fetched her back with him to stay in the house.

But the wee girl’s stepmother hated her, ye know, hated her terribly, and so did her stepsister. They made her, Mary was her name, do everything – all the work, everything. They really despised her. If there were a bad or a dirty chore to be done, miles to go for a message or milk or anything, Mary got the job o’ doing it. And she was a lovely little girl. And her stepsister was jealous o’ her.

But the older Mary began to get the more beautiful she got, and her father really adored her. Her stepmother was jealous of this, thought that her father wasn’t paying enough attention to his stepdaughter. So, both o’ them, the stepmother and the stepsister, made a plan that the sooner they got rid of Mary the better.

So one night her father had been away in the forest. And the next morning he told them, “I’ll not be home tonight because I’ve too far to walk to cut wood. I’ll stay in the forest for the night and I’ll be home tomorrow.”

It was in the month of January, the wintertime, and he says, “The dark, it’s too dark for me coming home from the forest. So there’s a little hut and I’ll stay there tonight. But look after Mary and see that she disna wander too far away.”

“We’ll do that,” says his wife.

But about four o’clock on that winter’s evening the stepmother and stepdaughter made a plan to send Mary out into the forest, to see would she get lost.

Stepmother took a basket and she said, “Here, Mary, I’ve a job for ye. Get yer coat and go out in the forest. Get me some strawberries because I want to make a strawberry pie. And don’t come back till ye get them!”

So Mary, being so kind and so tender, so nice-hearted and such a gentle little girl, she just naturally takes the basket, puts on her cape and walks out into the forest. Away she goes wandering through the forest. Anything to please her stepmother. So she walks on and walks on; it’s getting darker and darker. She wanders here and wanders there. She sits down on a log and she starts to cry. She knows within herself that it is a hopeless case looking for strawberries in the middle o’ winter.

But she looks up and sees a fire, a great big fire, a bonfire blazing in the middle o’ the forest. And, feeling cold, she says to herself, “It disna matter who it is... it might be some nice kind person. And at least they would give me a heat at their fire. I’m awfae cold.”

So she walks up, she gets near the fire. She looks... and there are twelve little men sitting round, twelve woodland elves all sitting round the fire, this great big fire.

And this one jumps up to his feet, he looks round. “Come on, Mary,” he says, “ye’re welcome here! We’ve been expecting ye.”

They took her in, put her sitting down beside the fire, tellt her to heat herself. They dried her cape, put it back on her.

So this one he introduces all the rest: “Mary,” he says, “we are the twelve months of the year, and we are woodland elves. We stay in the forest and we’ve been watching ye since you were very, very small. But we never came near ye or never interfered. But now we see what yer stepmother’s trying to do on ye, it’s time we took a hand.”

“Well,” said Mary, “my stepmother sent me into the forest to find strawberries, and I know it’s hopeless searching for strawberries in the middle o’ winter.”

And this one standing up, he says, “July, this is something for you to do!”

So this wee one by the fire – he stands up, says, “I’m July!”

So January says, “Here, take Mary’s basket and get her some strawberries. You’re July; you can get strawberries.”

“Sure,” says July, “I can get strawberries!” Away goes July. Within seconds he’s back with a lovely basket of strawberries.

“Now,” says January, “take a coal from the fire and guide Mary back through the forest.”

And all the twelve seasons, the twelve months o’ the year, bade her goodnight. July led her through the forest safely back to near her house, shaking this coal, making a light on the path the whole way. He bade goodnight to Mary and told her if she ever needed anything always come back again.

So Mary goes, back she goes to the door. In she comes, shakes the snow off her cape. Her stepmother and her stepsister are surprised to see her. They thought she was lost and etten in the forest wi’ wild animals. So the stepmother walks and looks in the basket. She sees the lovely basket of strawberries.

She snaps them out of Mary’s hand, says, “Ye got the strawberries?”

“Yes,” says Mary, “I got the strawberries.”

So she took the strawberries and said nothing, see!

That fared very well... Home came Mary’s daddy the next night. Mary never said anything about it.

So the next night he said, “Look, I’ve a lot o’ work to do in the forest, and I’m going to stay away for three nights. It’ll be three nights before I come back the next time.” So early in the morning he kissed wee Mary goodbye. “Now,” he said, “be a good girl till I come home.”

“I’ll be a good girl, Daddy,” she said.

“And do everything,” he said, “yer mummy tells ye to do.”

Away he went to his work. But Mary didna like her stepmother, because her stepmother and her stepsister didna like her.

That night, just about as it was getting dark, the stepmother calls for Mary again. “Mary, I want you!”

“What is it now, Mummy?” she said.

“I want a basket of brambles, and you shall go and get them. And don’t come back till ye get them!”

“Well,” says Mary, “I’ll go and try.”

So away goes Mary with the basket through the forest. Now this time she knows where she’s going. So she wanders on and on and on, keeps to the same path and remembers the way that July took her, right down through the forest to this hollow. She sees the fire again. Up she goes. And like the first time, there sitting round the fire are the twelve months, the seasons.

So up jumps January again. “Welcome to the fire, Mary!” he says. “We knew you were coming. What is it this time?”

“Well,” says Mary, “it’s my stepmother again.”

“And what does she want?”

“She wants a basket of brambles.”

“Ha-ha, brambles!” says January. He says, “October, this is a job for you.”

So this wee elf that was sitting round the fire with a long white beard jumps up to his feet. “Yes, January,” he says, “what is it?”

He says, “Take Mary’s basket and find her a basket o’ brambles!”

October comes round, catches the basket. Within seconds he’s back with it full of beautiful brambles, gives them to Mary.

“Now,” January says, “take a coal from the fire and guide Mary back. Guide Mary back the way she came.”

But before she left, all the seasons bade her goodbye and told her, “Mary, we won’t be seeing you again, ever. But don’t be afraid or don’t worry because from ever after this night you will be very happy.”

And Mary bade the wee seasons, the months, goodbye.

So October takes a blazing coal from the fire as a light and guides Mary back the same way as she came, back to near her house, and bids her goodbye.

So she goes into her house, walks in the door, and the first thing she meets is her stepmother.

Stepmother looks at her, wonders why she has come back. “Did ye get yer brambles?” she says.

“Yes, Mummy,” she says, “I got the brambles.”

Stepmother looks in the basket – oh, beautiful brambles! But she begins to get suspicious. Where could Mary get brambles and strawberries in the middle o’ winter?

“Mary,” she says (now she begins to talk nice to her), “where did ye get the beautiful brambles? Tell yer mother. And where did ye get the beautiful strawberries the last night?”

“Well,” Mary thought a wee while. “Mother,” she said, “when I went into the forest I wandered searching for brambles. And I saw twelve little men, woodland elves with a fire. And they were the twelve months of the year. July asked me what I would like and I told him I would like strawberries. Then this night October asked me what I would like and I asked for brambles. I got brambles.”

“Oh, ye foolish, foolish, foolish girl!” says the stepmother. “I’ve heard of these many, many years ago but never been lucky to see them. Only once in a lifetime that ever a person ever sees the twelve woodland elves! Ye should have asked for gold and diamonds; ye would have got them!” She says, “Daughter, get yer coat! We might be in time. Get yer coat, daughter! Now,” she says, “Mary, you stay in the house and yer sister and I will go. We’ll no get berries; we’ll get something better than brambles. And don’t leave the house till we come back!”

So away goes the stepmother and the stepsister. They put on their capes and they’re away through the forest. They go back the path that Mary tellt them to take, and they see the fire. They go straight to the fire. There sitting round are the twelve woodland elves.

Up steps January. “Welcome to the fire!” he says to the wicked mother and sister. “What can we do for ye?”

She says, “I want ye to give me anything I want!”

“Oh,” he says, “we’ll give ye anything ye want... What would ye like?”

She says, “We want diamonds and pearls and gold.”

“Well,” he says, “ye shall have it!” He says, “March, that’s something in your line, that’s your job. There are diamonds and pearls and gold – you take them where they find them!”

And March got up. Then the wind rose: a real March hurricane, whistling wind. And a whirlwind, round and round and round both o’ them, whirled them right up in the sky! Where the diamonds are the stars, and the pearls and gold of evening are, they disappeared in the distance and were never heard of again – in a whirlwind!

And Mary lived on with her daddy in the wee house happy ever after. And that’s the last o’ the story.

Rabbit’s Tail

Once upon a time Mr Rabbit had two little ears and a beautiful big tail. He didn’t look like rabbits do today! When he walked through the forest and met his little friends, he would say to them, “Wouldn’t you like to have a nice tail like mine?” Oh, Mr Rabbit was so proud!

Well, one winter morning all the little creatures got together. They said, “We can’t go on like this. Something must be done about Rabbit’s boasting.”

Mrs Hedgehog said, “What shall we do? He’s bigger than us.” Then she said, “I’ve got an idea. Let’s go and see our friend Mr Fox. He’s very clever.”

So, off they went together to the hillside. And they found Mr Fox asleep in his den with his head on his paws.

They shouted, “Wake up, Mr Fox, we’ve come to see you! Mr Fox, you’re the wisest creature of all. We need your help. It’s Rabbit,” said the animals.

Mr Fox said, “Oh, dear! There are many things I’d like to do with Rabbit if I could catch him! What kind of help do you want from me?”

Mrs Hedgehog said, “Rabbit keeps boasting about his tail all day long. We’re just fed up listening to him.”

Fox said, “Well, just give me a day or two to think about it.”

So, off they went back to the forest. They knew their friend Mr Fox would help them.

Two days later Mr Fox was walking along the riverside when he found a big fish. A fisherman had dropped it from his bag. And, of course, Fox picked it up in his mouth. At that moment who should come poppety-poppety-poppety down the hillside? Rabbit with his great big, bushy tail held up in the air! When he saw Mr Fox he stopped.

He said, “Hey, Foxy! Is that a fish you’ve got there?”

Then Mr Fox had an idea. He placed the fish very carefully between his paws.

He said, “Of course it’s a fish, Mr Rabbit! I’ve caught this for my breakfast.”

Rabbit said, “Oh, Foxy, can you spare a little bit for me? I love fish, too, you know!”

“Indeed not!” said Mr Fox. “Do you think that I’m going to spend all night long out here, sitting in the cold, to catch a fish and share it with you? If you want a fish, catch one for yourself!”

And Rabbit said, “How do you catch a fish, Mr Fox?”

Mr Fox said, “No problem, Mr Rabbit. Tonight, when the moon comes up and it gets very cold, you come down to the river. Find a nice little pool, put in your tail and wait till a little fish comes along and nibbles on it. Pull out your tail and you’ll have a fish just like mine!” And Mr Fox, laughing to himself, went off to his den.

Rabbit watched him for a while and said, “Fox thinks he’s smart, doesn’t he? I’m just as clever as he is! Tonight I’ll catch a fish and I’ll have it all to myself.”

That night when the moon came up it was very cold. Mr Rabbit had a lovely fur coat to keep him warm. He came down to the riverside, found a little, deep pool, turned around and put his long, busy tail in the water. There he sat and waited. Soon, he would have a fish for himself! The moon rose high in the sky and it got colder and colder.

At that moment who should come walking up the riverside but Jack Frost with his long, spiky nose and his spiky fingers. He was turning all the water into ice, freezing all the pools, making all the icicles! He walked past the pool where Mr Rabbit sat with his tail in the water, and he laughed to himself. But Rabbit knew nothing of this, for no one sees Jack Frost.

Mr Rabbit sat all night long until the moon went down and the sun came up. He rubbed his eyes.

“Aha, there must be a fish on my tail by this time!” said Mr Rabbit. He tried to pull his tail from the river, but... aargh! Jack Frost had frozen the pool solid!

“Help me, someone, help me!” cried Rabbit as he pulled and tugged.

Then, at that moment, who should come walking up but Mrs Stork, with her long legs and her long beak. When she saw Mr Rabbit she said, “Hey, Mr Rabbit, why are you crying? What’s all the noise about?”

“Oh, Mrs Stork, you must help me!” begged Mr Rabbit. “My beautiful tail is caught in the ice and I cannot get free!”

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs Stork. Now, a stork is a very kindly bird. “I will help you,” she said.

And with her big, long beak she caught Rabbit by his tiny little ears and she pulled. But Rabbit’s tail was still trapped in the ice. Stork tugged and tugged. Mr Rabbit’s ears began to stretch; they got longer and longer. Then, snap! Mr Rabbit’s tail broke and left just a tiny little stump. Rabbit was free, but his beautiful tail had gone.

“Oh! I can’t go back to the forest again and see all my little friends,” said Rabbit. “They’ll laugh at me.”

So, he ran to the hillside and dug-dug-dug himself a burrow. There he hid.

Back in the forest the little creatures said, “I wonder what’s happened to Mr Rabbit? He hasn’t come back to boast about his tail.”

But Mr Rabbit’s beautiful tail had gone for ever. Instead, he had two big, long ears. He felt so ashamed of himself that he stayed in his burrow. And the years passed. Hundreds of years passed by. And still to this day, all the little rabbits you see have two big ears and a little short tail!

The Hedgehog’s Race

If you were to travel the hills of Scotland today you would find that hedgehogs and hares live together. They’re great friends. It wasn’t always so...

Every morning early, old Mr Brown Hare came down from his bed in the hillside. He was bound for the farmer’s field because his breakfast was turnips. He loved the young turnips coming up, the leaves. But this one morning, bright and early as old Mr Hare came popping down the hillside, a beautiful sunny morning, the first person he met was old Mr Hedgehog. And he was crawling around the hedgerows hunting for his breakfast. Snails and slugs and worms, which hedgehogs love to eat. Because Mr Hare was feeling very frisky this morning, he rubbed his paws together and said to himself, “O-ho, old Mr Hedgehog! I’m going to have some fun to myself this morning!” He liked to tease old Mr Hedgehog, you know.

So when he came down to the gate leading to the farmer’s field, old Mr Hedgehog of course sat up with his wee pointed nose and his little, short legs.

And old Mr Hare said, “Good morning, Short Legs!”

Now hedgehogs are very sensitive about their short legs. And they don’t like it very much when somebody talks about them, because their legs really are very short.

He said, “You know, my friend Mr Hare, you are not a very nice person.”

“And why,” said old Mr Hare, “am I not a nice person?”

“Well,” he said, “every time we meet you’re always talking about my legs. I can’t help it that I’ve got short legs, because I was born like this.”

Mr Hare said, “Wouldn’t you like to have long legs like me? You know I’ve got beautiful legs. I can run faster than anyone! Dogs can’t even catch me. Wouldn’t it be nice if your legs were like mine and you could run fast as the wind across the fields?”

And old Mr Hedgehog said, “Well, of course it would be nice to have long legs like you. But you see, Mr Hare, you don’t need long legs to run fast, you know.”

“You don’t need long legs to run fast?” said old Mr Hare. “Nonsense! How in the world could you run fast with those short little legs you’ve got? No way could you run out of the way of a dog or a fox like me. As for me, I can run swifter than the wind!”

“Well,” said old Mr Hedgehog, “you see, my friend, I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you. I’ll make a bargain with you: I’ll challenge you to a race!”

And old Mr Hare cocked up his ears and said, “Am I hearing right? You mean, you’re challenging me to a race?”

“Of course!” said old Mr Hedgehog. “Are you getting deaf in your old age? I said a race!”

He said, “You mean you want to race me?”

“Of course,” said old Mr Hedgehog, “I want to race you! I want to prove to you for once and for all that even though I’ve got short legs, I can run faster than you.”

“Never!” said old Mr Hare. “No way could you run faster than me.”

“Well,” said old Mr Hedgehog, “would you like to prove it?”

“Of course,” said old Mr Hare, rubbing his paws in glee. “This is going to be fun. I’d love to prove it!”

“Well,” said old Mr Hedgehog, “tomorrow morning at this gate I will meet you, and I will race you to the foot of the five-acre field. And I’ll race you back again. And I will beat you. Will you promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” said old Mr Hare, “I’ll promise you.”

“That you’ll never call me Short Legs again as long as you live!”

Old Mr Hare said, “Look, if you want to race me, I’ll race you. And then I’ll beat you like you’ve never been beat in all your life. And I’ll go so fast you will never even see me pass you by. And after I beat you I will go on calling you Short Legs all the days of your life!”

“Well,” said old Mr Hedgehog, “we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Done!” said old Mr Hare. “Tomorrow morning at daybreak I’m going to teach you a lesson you will never forget!”

“Well,” said old Mr Hedgehog, “we’ll just have to wait and see. But remember now, Mr Hare, I’ll be here!”

“Oh,” said old Mr Hare, “I’ll be here!” And like that off went Mr Hare for his breakfast in the farmer’s turnip field.

But what do you think old Mr Hedgehog did? He toddled away back to his little nest where his old wife lived, old Mrs Hedgehog. And he said, “My dear, would you do something for me?”

Of course, old Mrs Hedgehog she loved her old husband Mr Hedgehog very much. She said, “Of course, husband, I’ll do anything for you.”

He said, “You see, my dear, I’ve challenged Mr Hare to a race.”

She said, “Husband, have you gone out of your mind? Have you gone crazy?”

“No, my dear, I’ve not gone crazy. But,” he said, “if you will agree to help me, with your help I will teach old Mr Hare a lesson he will never forget.”

She said, “What do you want me to do, husband?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s so simple. You know, old Mr Hare thinks he’s very clever, but he’s not as clever as he thinks he is; because like everyone else, he doesn’t know you from me!” (Neither do I! If you met two hedgehogs, you wouldn’t know a Mr from a Mrs, would you?)

“Well,” she said, “husband, what do you want me to do?”

He said, “My dear, all I want you to do is... I want you to wait till daybreak. I will wait up at the top of the gate till Mr Hare comes down from the hillside, from his bush. And I will challenge him to a race. But I’m not going to run any, and neither are you! I want you to wait at the foot of the field. And when old Mr Hare comes down to the foot of the field all you have to do is just stand up and say, “I’m here before you!” And I will wait up at the top of the gate and I won’t move. Silly old Mr Hare will never know you from me!”

So the plan was made. That night, after giving his old wife Mrs Hedgehog a little cuddle, off she went. And she wandered away down to the foot of the field. There she waited. It was summertime; the nights were not very long. And of course old Mr Hare was very bright in the morning. He liked to be up early, half past four when the sun came up. So old Mr Hedgehog he crawled away to the gate and there he waited. He never looked for a worm, he never looked for a snail; he waited for Mr Hare!

But soon as the sun began to rise, down came old Mr Hare so proud of himself. He was going to show old Mr Hedgehog this morning how to run! Like he’d never run before in all his life. And then he was going to go on calling him Short Legs every time they met. See? And many other things forbyes. Slow Coach and things like that. So when Mr Hare came to the gate, there sat old Mr Hedgehog.

He said, “Good morning, Short Legs, are you ready?”

Of course, Mr Hedgehog, who was very sensitive about his short legs, said, “You promised you wouldn’t call me Short Legs any more!”

He said, “Of course I promised you – but after the race! You’ve not beat me yet. And you don’t have one single chance in this world. I’m going to beat you, and this morning because I feel so frisky I’m going to show you what it’s like to run! After I beat you I’m going to go on calling you Short Legs all your life and many other things forbyes!”

“Well,” said old Mr Hedgehog, thinking to himself, “she’ll be at the bottom of the field by this time.” He was happy. He said, “Okay, Mr Hare, are you ready?”

And Mr Hare said, “As ready as I’ll ever be!” He rubbed his paws together and said, “One, two three – off we go!”

And old Mr Hare off he flew down that field faster than he’d ever run. Old Mr Hedgehog sat there and watched him running like he’d never run before in his life. But he was in for a big surprise: when he came to the foot of the field there in front of him was old Mrs Hedgehog.

She said, “I’m here before you!”

And quick as a light old Mr Hare he turned and he ran back up the field as fast as he could. But on the way up he ran faster! When he came to the top of the field, there was old Mr Hedgehog.

And old Mr Hedgehog said, “I’m here before you!”

Quick as a light old Mr Hare he turned again and down that field he ran, faster than he ever ran before! But when he came to the foot of the field there was old Mrs Hedgehog!

She said, “I’m here before you!” And of course poor old Mr Hare, not knowing Mrs Hedgehog from Mr Hedgehog, he turned again! Up that field he flew as fast as he could run.

But then old Mr Hedgehog said, “I’m still here before you!”

So up and down and up and down ran old Mr Hare. Till at last he was completely exhausted. He could not run another step. He came up to the top of the field and he was lying there, his tongue hanging out. And he was panting.

He said, “Tell me, Mr Hedgehog, tell me, please! How in the world did you ever do it? You ran so fast I never even saw you pass me by!”

“Of course,” said old Mr Hedgehog, “I told you; you wouldn’t believe me that you don’t need long legs to run fast, you know!”

“Well,” said old Mr Hare, “you really beat me there and I’m still not sure how you did it, but I promise you, my friend, I will never call you Short Legs again as long as I live!”

And that’s why today, if you’re up in the gorse hills, in the woods, you will find hedgehogs and hares asleep in the same bush – because they are very good friends! And as for old Mr Hare, he never called Mr Hedgehog Short Legs again. But, of course, you and I know that he beat him by a trick, didn’t he? But we ain’t going to tell Mr Hare, are we?

Hugh and the Angel

The school was closing for the summer session once more. And the schoolmaster called in all the children together.

He said, “Children, tomorrow is the start of your summer holidays and you will be gone now from school for many weeks. Whilst you are gone I don’t want you to write any essays for me, which you usually do. I just want you to have a good time and enjoy yourselves and keep out of trouble.”

So, putting his hand under his desk he took out a silver angel, about six inches high, solid silver. And he placed it on his desk.

He said, “Do you see this, children? What is it?”

And the children gathered round. They said, “Yes, Master, we see it. It is a beautiful angel.”

“Yes,” he said, “it’s a beautiful silver angel. Now, I am going to give this angel to one of you when you come back after your holidays. But, I am only giving it to the child who brings me the brightest thing that he can find. The brightest thing you can find – anything you want to bring as long as it is bright and clear.” He put the angel back under his desk.

So, time for school was up and the children all went away – all went home.

And all the time of the holidays they searched for bright, clear things. Some collected pieces of glass and pieces of shiny stone; all pieces of clear metal that they could find, saved them up, as much as they could find.

But naturally days have got a way of slipping in, and soon it was time to start off for school once more. The summer holidays finished and all the children gathered next morning, a Monday morning.

One by one they trooped into school and they sat down in their seats. The master called out all their names one by one. They answered their names.

“Now, children,” he said, “as I promised you when you went on holiday...” He put his hand under his desk. He got the silver angel and put it on top of his desk.

The children all came one by one and placed the shiny bright things that they had fetched with them on the table. The schoolmaster looked them over: there were pieces of glass, shiny pieces of tin, old coins polished bright. Everything they had found was placed on the table until they had a nice wee heap.

“But – wait a minute –” he said, “there is somebody missing. I forgot… Children, where is little Hugh?”

“Oh,” they said, “Sir, little Hugh has not come today.”

“Well, if he doesn’t come,” said the schoolmaster, “that is something new, because Hugh never misses school.” He was the youngest pupil, but he had never missed school since he started. So the master said, “We will just have to carry on without him.”

Then, as the master made up his mind to pick out the shiniest thing, who should trudge into school but little Hugh! He walked up to the schoolmaster’s desk.

“Well, Hugh,” he said, “you are late for school.”

“Yes, Master,” he said, “I am late for school.”

And the schoolmaster said, “Have you brought something shiny, clear and bright with you as I asked you to?”

“Yes, Master,” he said. “I tried hard all during my holidays to find something shiny and bright, but I couldn’t find anything.” And he had his hand under the front of his jacket.

The schoolmaster said, “What is that you’ve got, Hugh, in there?”

And he said, “Sir, it is a pigeon. I found it on the road, Sir, and I think it is sick and I think, Sir – it is dying. It is very sick.” He took the pigeon out and held it in front of him.

The schoolmaster looked and he saw that the pigeon really was sick, nearly dead. And just like that – as Hugh held it in his arms – the pigeon dropped its head and died, right in Hugh’s arms.

A big tear rolled down his cheek and fell right on top of the schoolmaster’s desk. The schoolmaster looked at the tear and he looked at wee Hugh who was nearly crying.

“I know you have all brought beautiful, shiny things with youse today,” said the schoolmaster to the children. “Some of youse have brought coins, some of you have brought shiny pieces of glass and stone. But – I am going to give little Hugh the angel.”

The children were all quiet.

“Because, children,” he said, “Hugh has brought something more clear and more precious than anything to the school today. He has brought a pigeon – but he has also put on my desk the brightest and shiniest thing of all.”

And the children wondered what it was – because they never saw anything.

“Children,” he said, “little Hugh has put on my desk a tear of pity. And there is nothing as bright, children, as a tear of pity for someone else’s woes – even although it is only a pigeon. I’m going to give little Hugh the angel.”

And all the children said, “Yes, Sir, give Hugh the angel,” and Hugh was nearly crying, “because we know what you mean.”

Hugh got the angel for his tear of pity, and that is the end of my story.

The Flight of the Golden Bird

A long time ago in a faraway country there once lived a merchant. And this merchant was very rich. He had all the riches his heart desired. He had a large mansion house, and on his land he had a small village. To all the people who lived there he gave work, and this merchant loved his people. He was a trader. Twice a year he would travel into the East with a cavalcade of donkeys and camels laden with all the things he wanted to sell. There were silks, there were carpets, herbs and spices and wines. And he would be gone for many weeks into the East trading. But this merchant had something more special than all his wealth. For in a little room in his great mansion-house he had a large golden cage. In this golden cage he kept a little golden bird.

Now the merchant loved this golden bird like nothing on earth. He loved it more than all his wealth and all his riches. And the reason was this little golden bird could talk to the merchant. You see, every evening after the meal was over he would pull up a little stool before the cage, and he would talk to the golden bird. The golden bird would tell him many wonderful stories, many places it had been before it was captured and put in the cage.

So one evening the merchant came in again, pulled up his stool before the cage and said, “Well, my little friend, the time has come. Tomorrow I must leave you again, because I must go on another journey.”

The little bird swinging on the golden perch said, “But, Master, why must you always go off on these journeys? You see, I get so lonely when you leave me – all alone with no one to talk to.”

And the merchant said, “Don’t I leave someone with you to feed and water you while I’m gone, my little friend?”

“Yes, Master, you do. But it’s not the same. You see, I can’t talk to anyone else. And I miss you so much when you’re gone. Why must you always go on these trips? You don’t need any more wealth; you are wealthy enough.”

And the merchant said, “You see, my little friend, it is not for me. It is for the children of the village. Would you deny the children their food?”

“No, Master, of course not.”

“Well, you see, my little friend, that’s why I must make another journey. Because I take their daddies with me on my trip, I pay them money and they buy food for their children. So that’s why I must go.”

“But, Master, you have never taken me with you on any of your trips!”

“Oh, my little friend, I could never take you with me on any of my trips.”

“Why not, Master? Why can’t you take me?”

“Well, you see, I might be waylaid by robbers or bandits. And then they would steal you from me. I’d never see you again. And you’re the only golden bird in this world.”

“No, Master, that is not true. You see, there is another like me.”

“Another like you?” said the merchant. “No, my friend, there is no one like you. You are the only golden bird in this world. And I love you more than all my wealth; I will never, never set you free.”

“Then, Master, if you won’t take me with you and you won’t set me free, will you take a little message for me?”

“A message?” said the merchant. “What kind of a message?”

“Just a little message to another friend of mine far from here.”

“Another friend of yours?” said the merchant. “But there’s no one like you – you are the only one in this world.”

“No, Master, there is another like me. And if you can’t take me with you, then you must take a message from me!”

“But where shall I find this friend of yours?”

“Master, after you’ve travelled into the East and sold all your wares and sent all your bearers home to the village, then you must continue to the end of the land… where there’s no more land, only the raging sea before you. And there you will find a small forest. You must seek the highest tree you can find. And there on the lowest branch, Master, sits another like me – a dear friend of mine. And you must tell her that I’m locked in a golden cage. And I can never be freed. Will you do that for me, Master?”

“I promise you, my little friend, should I never return, I will deliver your message!”

So the next morning the merchant was gone into the East very early with all his camels and donkeys laden with all the wares he was going to sell. Taking all the men from the village he travelled on his journey. And the merchant was very lucky, for soon he had sold all his wares and paid off his bearers one by one, and sent them home with their stock to the village once again. He was left with one single donkey. And he thought to himself, “I cannot go home. I cannot return and face my little golden friend without delivering his message. So I must continue as my little friend told me.”

So he travelled on. And as you know, if you travel any part in the world long enough soon you will come to the end of the land. So the merchant travelled on for many days, for many weeks. And sure as the little bird had said there was no more land; only the raging sea lay before him. And there was a small forest.

The merchant tied up his donkey and he walked through the forest seeking the highest and thickest tree he could find. Soon he found it. And there sitting on the lowest branch was another golden bird identical to the one he owned! The merchant stared in amazement. The little bird had told the truth – there was another golden bird. And as he stood under the branch looking at the golden bird, the golden bird looked down with beady bright eyes but said nothing.

And then the merchant said, “I have come a long way to be with you, my friend. You see, I have another like you locked up in a golden cage. And I have come to deliver a message for him, to tell you that he is locked in a golden cage. And I love him more than all my wealth and I will never set him free.”

Just as the merchant uttered these words the little golden bird fell from the branch right at his feet. He picked it up. It was dead.

“Why?” thought the merchant. “Why had you to die? Why was that message so important to you?” The merchant felt very sad.

So, as there was no grass under the tree he dug a shallow little grave with his hands. And he buried the little golden bird in the sand, covered it over with sand and said a little prayer. With sadness in his heart he took his donkey and he quietly walked away. What kind of story would he have to tell his little friend when he returned to his own home?

But as he travelled on with sadness in his heart, unknown to the merchant there was a flutter in the sand! The little bird had got up, shook the sand from its feathers and flew again back up on the branch of the tree. The merchant knew nothing of this!

He travelled on with sadness in his heart. And after many’s a weary week had passed he was home once again in his own village at his own mansion-house. And, giving his donkey to one of the bearers, he rushed into the little room, drew the curtains, pulled up the stool where sat the golden cage. And his little golden friend was swinging on the perch in the cage.

As he sat up there the little golden bird said, “Master, you have returned. I am so pleased to see you. You have been gone a long, long while. But why do you look so sad, Master?”

“It is with sadness I have returned, with sadness in my heart, my little friend, you see!”

“Did you find my friend?”

“Of course I found your friend. And that’s why my heart is so sad. You see, after I delivered your message she fell from the tree. And she is dead! And I buried her in the sand.”

Just as soon as the merchant uttered these words the little golden bird fell from the perch to the floor of the cage. And quickly the merchant took a golden key from his pocket. He opened the cage, reached in and caught the little golden bird... it was dead!

“Why, why?” thought the merchant. “Now both of you are gone! Why was that message so important?” And he rushed to the window ledge. He pulled up the window and he placed the little golden bird on the ledge. He sat there with his head in his hands. “My little friend is gone! Why?”

And then he looked at the window, for the little golden bird had got up on the ledge. It circled round three times and the merchant stared in amazement. Then it came back to the window, well out of reach of the merchant, and landed on the ledge.

It said to the merchant, “Thank you, my Master, for delivering my message. Now I must be gone to find my friend!”

And like that the golden bird took off into the East, and the merchant watched it until it disappeared in the distance. The little golden bird was gone.

He sat there with sorrow in his heart. He knew he would never see his little golden friend again. But he knew something else. He knew that wherever his golden friend would be it would be happy, because it would be free.

The Nightingale

According to the Bible, God created all this wonderful world that you live in today. And they said it took him six long days; on the seventh day he rested. But the truth is, on the seventh day he did not rest. Because, you see, God had made a great mistake! Now, can you imagine God making a mistake? Well, he had!

Because he had created all the great rivers, the mountains, the lakes, the valleys, the animals, the trees, the forests, and of course, all the birds; he had sent many birds to different parts of the world, some to the sea, some to the mountains, some to the cliffs, some to the forests. And then God on the seventh day leaned back and relaxed. He was going to rest. He looked at his beautiful world and saw the valleys, the rivers and the lakes; he saw the mountains, he saw the animals and then... he saw the birds. There he had made his great mistake! Because he had been in so much of a hurry to create this world, he had given some of the birds the wrong kind of beaks! He had given some of them the wrong kind of legs, and he had forgotten to give them any colour! Every single bird looked the same.

So, you see, on the seventh day God said, “I must right this before I rest.”

So then he created a large basket of beaks of all sizes. He created a large basket of legs of all kinds. And then he created many vats of all the different colours. Then he recalled his birds to come before him.

So the birds heard the call from God. And the first to arrive was a dull, old, grey dusty peacock. And he strutted before God.

He said, “Master, you have recalled me?”

And God said, “Yes, my little friend, I have. You see, when I created you in such a hurry I forgot to give you any colour. Now look around you: you will see all these beautiful vats of any colour you want; there’s a basket of legs; there’s a basket of beaks.”

The peacock said, “Master, I am quite content with my legs and my beak.”

“Well,” said God, “could you have a little colour? Choose anything you like!”

So, the peacock strutted around and he said, “Master, I’ll just have a little touch of each colour.”

And God, true to his word, he went to his vats with his brushes. He took all the different colours and painted the peacock all those beautiful colours from every vat that he had! And the peacock looked beautiful.

He said, “Thank you, Master!” And he flew off.

Then the birds came in their dozens. They came in their hundreds. The next bird to arrive was a little brown bird. He walked up to God.

And he said, “Master, you’ve called on me?”

God said, “What would you like, my little friend, what colour would you like?”

And the bird said, “Well, Master, just a little red on my breast.” What kind of bird would that be? A robin, of course! “A little red on my breast would suit me fine.” And he flew off.

Then another bird came in and he said, “Master, you have sent me to fly across the sea, and I love to be close to the waves and look like the sea; could I have the colour I want?”

What kind of bird would that be? A seagull, of course! And he was made white. “Maybe a little touch of orange on my beak,” he said, “to give me a little colour.”

And then another bird arrived. He landed in front of God and he said, “Master, you have recalled me?”

God said, “I have, my friend.”

“Well,” he said, “I love to live deep dark in the forest. And there I want to be, where no one can see me. Could I be black as the dark night?” What kind of bird would that be? A raven or a crow, of course! And God gave him all those colours.

So, they came in their dozens. And then another bird landed beside him.

And he said, “Master, you have sent me to a land of nuts. But my beak is too small. I cannot crack the nuts.

“Then, go to the basket,” said God, “and pick the largest beak you can find.” And the bird went up to the basket and picked the largest beak he could find, the largest of all! What kind of bird would that be? A toucan, of course, with the largest beak in the world!

And then the birds came in their dozens, they came in their hundreds. And God went from vat to vat and gave them the colours they wanted. He gave them the beaks they wanted and he gave them the legs they wanted. Then a large bird landed and strutted up before him.

He said, “Master, you have recalled me?”

“Of course, my little friend,” said God, “I have recalled you.”

“Master,” he said, “you have sent me to the lakes, to the rivers. I love to wade, but my bottom is always getting wet! My legs are too short.”

“Then go to the basket,” said God. “And pick the legs that suit you.” And the bird went to the basket and picked the longest legs he could find. What kind of bird would that be? A crane, of course! And God gave him a little grey colour. Off he flew. He was happy.

So, bird after bird they came in their hundreds. And soon the basket of beaks was empty. Every bird had got what they required. The basket of legs was empty. And all the vats of colours were gone. And God looked out on his beautiful world. And he saw all these beautiful valleys. He saw the rivers, he saw the lakes, he saw the trees, the forests, the mountains and he saw the animals. He saw every bird with all their beautiful colours. And he was happy!

“Now,” he thought, “it is time to rest.” But he was just about to rest when a little grey bird landed on his knee, a tiny grey bird.

And the little bird spoke and said, “Master, I am so sorry – I came a long way when I heard you call – and I am sorry I am late!”

And God said, “My little friend, you see, you really are late.”

“Could I have a little colour, Master, like the rest of the birds?”

God said, “My little friend, I am really sorry. You see, there is nothing left. All my vats are empty. My colours are all gone. My baskets are empty. There are no beaks for you, there are no legs for you.”

And the little bird said, “Master, I am quite pleased with what I have, my legs and my beak. It’s just a little colour I need.”

And God said, “My little friend, there is no colour left. My vats are empty.”

Then the little bird said, “Master, check your brushes! Maybe there’s a teeny-weeny piece of colour left on your brushes.”

And God went from brush to brush which he had used on the birds. But all the brushes were dry! Until he came to the last teeny little brush; he picked it up and looked at it. There on the point of the last little brush was a teeny-weeny piece of golden paint. And he looked at the little brush and he looked at the tiny piece of golden paint. He looked at the little bird on his knee.

He said, “My little friend, I am really sorry. You see, you will have to remain a little grey bird till the end of time, because I have no more colours to give you. But just you open your beak, my little friend, and I will give you something more special than all the colours on all the birds of my world!”

And the little grey bird sat on God’s knee and opened its little beak. God very carefully took the tiny piece of golden paint, and he painted the throat of the little grey bird. He said, “Now, my little friend, you go on your way and be happy. You will never have any colour. But from this moment on you will have something more special than all the colours of the birds in my world; from this moment on you will sing with a golden throat! So, go on your way, my little nightingale, and be happy!”

That nightingale flew off; it will remain a little grey bird till the end of time. But it has something more special than all the colours of all the birds in the world, because it has the most beautiful singing voice of all. The voice of the nightingale, given to it by God’s last little piece of golden paint from his last teeny little brush, after he had painted all the birds in the world.

The Boy and the Snake

There are many beautiful stories on the West Coast of Scotland, but the most beautiful, the most wonderful story of all, I think, is kind of sad. This story was told to me by an old crofting man who had it told to him by his grandfather when he was a child. I hope you will like it. It tells you that parents think they know what is best for their children, but sometimes the children know better, so listen to this little story.

Away back on the West Coast where I come from there’s an old derelict farm building, and it’s out on the hillside. It is ruins now and has been for many years, for over a hundred and fifty years. It all started with a shepherd and his family, his wife and his little boy.

This shepherd had a little sheep farm on the hillside and he had many sheep. And he had a little boy called Iain. Because Iain was so young, just about five years old, and because it was so far to the village, Iain couldn’t go to school.

His daddy said, “When you get a little older I will buy you a pony. Then you can ride the five miles to school. But in the meantime you must stay with your mother, help your mother around the house with her work while I tend my sheep.”

Iain was a very happy little boy. There was no one more beautiful and happier than him. And he played around the farm all day. He had plenty pets – dogs, cats, geese, hens – but he paid no attention to them.

But one summer’s morning his father was out hunting the sheep as usual, when he fell over a rock and he hurt his leg. He barely managed to walk home. Now he could not tend his sheep.

So Iain would always come downstairs in the morning to the kitchen table, and his mother would give him a plate of porridge and milk for breakfast. Then he would take the plate and walk out the door, walk away up the hillside among the heather... there Iain came to a large rock on the hillside.

He took the spoon and he halved the porridge down the centre, put one half to that side o’ the plate and the other half to the other side of the plate. Then he tap-tap-tapped on the rock with his spoon. And from out behind the rock came a large adder, a poisonous snake – there are many on the hills in the West Coast. The snake came to his plate. It started to eat the porridge off the one side of the plate, and Iain ate from the other side. If the snake dared cross to his side of the plate he tapped it with his spoon; it pulled its head back.

“Stay on your own side!” Iain would say. Every morning he would go out and do this.

But this one morning the father said to his wife, “Why does Iain go outside with his porridge? Why doesn’t he take it at the table?”

She said, “Husband, he’s not doing any harm. He’s a bright little boy and he just goes out... he likes to eat it by himself.”

So his daddy having a sore leg said, “Well, why doesn’t he stay here with us? I like my son to have his breakfast with me. Where does he go anyhow with his porridge?”

And his wife said, “He just goes out and eats it out on the hillside; he loves doing it outside.”

“Well, why doesn’t he stay and have it at the table? I want my boy to stay and eat porridge with me at the table!”

But the next morning as usual Iain comes downstairs, gets his plate of porridge and walks outside with it. And his daddy’s leg is beginning to get a little better by this time. He takes a walking stick from behind the door and he hobbles after Iain, keeping a little distance behind him among the heather.

He watches Iain going to the rock. He watches Iain taking the spoon and halving the porridge in two; and he watches him tap-tap-tapping on the rock with his spoon. He watches the snake coming out… he is terrified. He has seen so many snakes on the hill in his time hunting sheep, but he has never seen one as large as this! This one is over four feet long. Iain’s father is terrified. It comes up to the plate, it starts to eat the porridge. And when it finishes its side it tries to cross the plate, and Iain hits it with the spoon – it pulls its head back.

He quickly hobbled back home to his wife and he said, “Do you know what your son is doing? He’s out there, in the hillside, and he’s eating with a snake, a poisonous adder! And to make matters worse he hits it with his spoon. If that snake bites him he shall die!”

“Well,” she said, “husband, he’s been doing that all summer long, and if that snake was going to bite him it would have done so a long time ago. I think ye should leave him alone.”

“I’m not having my son eating with a snake; I’m not having my son eating with a snake! That terrible adder,” he said, “that’s a poisonous adder. Tomorrow morning when he comes downstairs for his breakfast you send him up to tidy up his bedroom, and I’ll take the porridge to the snake.”

So sure enough, next morning Iain comes downstairs and he says, “Could I have my breakfast, Mummy?”

She says, “After you tidy up your room. It’s in a terrible mess your bedroom. Collect your toys and tidy up for your mummy!”

“Yes, Mummy!” and he ran up the stairs, he went to his room.

While he was gone his daddy took the empty plate and spoon, and he hobbled out of the kitchen. He took his gun from behind the door and he walked… to the stone. He tap-tap-tapped on the rock with his spoon. Out came the snake, and he shot the snake. He carried it back to the house. He buried it in the garden. Iain knew nothing of this. He was busy working in his room. His father came in and sat down at the table.

Sure enough, soon Iain comes downstairs once more.

He says, “Mummy, can I have my breakfast, please?”

And his mother gives him a plate of porridge and milk and his spoon. He hurriedly, happy little boy, walks away through his little path through the heather.

His father turns round to his wife and says, “He’s in for a big surprise when he goes back. I shot the snake.”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t think you should have done that.”

Iain goes to the rock once more with his spoon, and he halves the porridge in two as usual – one side to that side, one side to the other side o’ the plate – then tap-tap-tap on the rock. And he waits.

No answer.

He taps again with his spoon.

No answer.

Three times he taps. No snake.

He says, “Well, my pet, you seem to not be hungry this morning.”

And he lifts the plate, porridge and all, he walks back with it. He puts it on the table.

His mummy says, “What’s the trouble, Iain? Are ye not having yer breakfast this morning?”

He says, “I don’t feel very hungry.” He walks up to his bedroom.

The next morning he went with his porridge to the stone. The same thing happened. He went with it three times. Nothing happened. On the fourth day Iain did not come downstairs.

By this time his daddy’s leg is better. He says, “What’s the trouble? Where is Iain this morning?” He goes up to get Iain.

Iain was just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. He would not talk to his father in any way, nor he would not talk to his mother in any way. He just lay there. He had completely lost the will to live, in any way. He lay there for nearly a week without food or drink.

His father said, “This cannot go on.” So he took his pony, he rode down to the little village and brought back the doctor.

The doctor came in, asked the trouble. They told him, but they never mentioned the snake. The doctor went up to Iain’s bedroom. He examined him in every way. He could find nothing wrong with him. But Iain wouldn’t even talk to the doctor; he just lay staring into space.

Then the doctor came down and he said to Iain’s mother and father, “I can’t seem to see anything wrong with yer son. He just seems to have lost the will to live. Has anything happened to upset him in any way?”

And it was Iain’s mother who said, “Probably it was the snake.”

The doctor said, “Snake? What snake? Tell me about it.”

Iain’s father told the doctor about the snake he had shot.

The doctor was very upset. He said, “Ye know, children are very queer sometimes, and they love to choose their own pets in their own time.” And he said, “I’m sorry, ye should not have touched the snake. I don’t think it would ever have touched him in any way. How long had he been feeding this snake?”

She said, “He’d been doing this since the beginning of summer, and the summer before that when he was only four. I never knew anything about the snake. But he was a quite happy child, and I just let him take his breakfast outside every morning,” said his mother.

“Well,” the doctor said, “I think ye’ve made a grave mistake. I’ll come back and see him again, but I don’t think there’s very much I can do for yer son. He’ll have to come out of it himself.”

But Iain lay in bed and he just pined away. He finally died.

And his mother and father were so upset they sold the farm and moved off to another part of the country. The funny thing was, no one seemed to want the farm after the story spread from the doctor. The farm stood there till it became a ruins. But Iain’s daddy never forgave himself for shooting the queerest pet that any child could have – a poisonous snake.

And that, children, is a true story that happened a long time ago on the West Coast of Scotland. If you were there with me today I could lead you to the same place, to the ruins of the farmhouse; I’ve passed it many times on my travels through the West Coast.

Spider and the Fly

It was a beautiful sunny morning a long time ago. Old Grandfather Spider with his eight big hairy legs crawled up the wall of someone’s house till he came to the window ledge. Oh, the sun was shining, the birds were whistling. It was a beautiful day! And then he took a long silver thread and very carefully he stretched it along the ledge, from end to end of the window. Then he curled up and went off to sleep in the sunshine. It was the most beautiful thread you ever saw in all your life.

Of course, high up on the window ledge was old Daddy Long-legs. He was buzzing around the window up there with his long legs, buzzing around. And he watched old Mr Spider put that long silver thread along the ledge. But Daddy Long-legs knew better – he would not touch that thread! He would not come near it. Because he knew there was danger around.

Of course, out in the garden Mr Bumblebee was buzzing around from flower to flower gathering pollen to make his honey. And you know bees have many eyes! Out of the corner of one he watched old Mr Spider put that silver thread along the window ledge. But Mr Bumblebee, he would not touch that thread! He knew better.

Then who should come flying along but nosy little Mrs Fly herself! And you know how nosy flies are; if you have one in your home, one in your house or one in your school, they like to fly around, alight on your light bulbs and go on your food and in your dishes. They like to investigate. Flies are very nosy little creatures!

She came flying along and landed on the window ledge. With her six little legs she crawled up very carefully across the ledge. Then she saw the thread.

She said, “Oh, oh! What a beautiful thread! I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. It’s glittering in the sunlight!” And then very carefully she reached out leg number one... she touched the thread. But to her surprise, leg number one stuck to the thread. Oh, she tugged and she cried, “Help me, someone, please help me!” But no one heard her cry. And then very carefully she took leg number two. She reached over to try and release leg number one, and leg number two got stuck to the thread! Oh, she tugged and she cried, “Help me, someone, please help me! My legs are stuck to this thread.” But she could not get free.

Then she took leg number three to try and release leg number two. And leg number three got stuck to the thread! The same with number four, number five and number six. Soon her six little legs were stuck to the silver thread. Meanwhile old Grandfather Spider was still asleep. He knew nothing of this. She cried and she tugged and she pulled, but she could not get free.

And then down from the window comes old Daddy Long-legs with his big long legs.

“Oh, Daddy Long-legs,” she said, “I’m so pleased to see you. You must help me!” said Mrs Fly. “My legs are stuck to this thread.”

And Daddy Long-legs said, “Well, Mrs Fly, don’t you know better to leave well alone? Now you’re in trouble, and I have no time to help you.” And away flew Daddy Long-legs.

Oh, she tugged and she cried and she pulled. But she could not get free. Then in from the garden came Mr Bumblebee. And he buzzed around the window ledge.

“Oh, Mr Bumblebee, I am so pleased to see you. You see, you must help me!”

“What’s your trouble?” said old Mr Bumblebee.

“It’s my legs are stuck to this thread and I cannot get free.”

“Then, Mrs Fly,” said old Mr Bumblebee, “it’s your own fault. You see, you are too nosy. You won’t leave well alone! Now you’re in big trouble. And I am a busy bee; I have no time to help you.” And away flew Mr Bumblebee.

Poor little Mrs Fly she’s still stuck to this thread. Oh, she tugged and she cried and she pulled. But she could not get free. “Help me, someone, please help me!” she cried. But no one heard her cries.

And then, old Grandfather Spider wakened up. He took two of his eight hairy legs and he rubbed them to his eyes.

And he said, “Someone has been at my thread while I was asleep and tangled it all up.” He wanted to retract his thread. So, he began very carefully to pull – left and right – but with the thread he naturally pulled in little Mrs Fly.

“Oh, Mr Spider, I’m so sorry. You see, I’m so sorry. You must set me free!” cried Mrs Fly.

“Set you free, my dear, after what you’ve done to my thread? I cannot set you free!”

“But you must set me free! You must; I must go home to my children. It was all a mistake. I promise you I will never touch your thread again,” cried Mrs Fly.

“It is too late, my dear, the damage has been done. You see,” said Mr Spider, “no one told you to touch my thread. And I was asleep. You are too nosy; you won’t leave well alone. But now you’re in big trouble!” And again he began very carefully to pull in this thread – piece after piece, he wound it. As he pulled in this thread, closer and closer came little Mrs Fly.

“But you must set me free! I cannot stay here; I must go home to my children, to my family!”

“I cannot set you free, my dear.” said old Mr Spider.

“But you must! I promise you I will never touch your thread again… I’ll do anything for you if you’ll only set me free!”

“Anything?” said old Mr Spider. “You’ll do anything for me?”

“Oh, yes, I promise you! I’ll do anything for you.”

“Then, my dear, you must marry me!”

“Marry you, Mr Spider? I could never marry you; you see, you’re a big ugly spider. I’m just a poor little fly.”

“Well, my dear, I cannot set you free!” Very carefully he pulled the thread in – closer and closer came little Mrs Fly.

“But you must, you must set me free!”

“Then you must marry me!”

“But why, Mr Spider? I mean, you’re a big ugly spider and I’m just a tiny little fly. Why should you want to marry me?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, my dear, why I want to marry you. You see, you have been very naughty: you have been at my thread while I was asleep and no one told you to touch my thread. Now I have you trapped in my thread. But, if you were to promise to marry me, then I could set you free. And then, of course, you could come and live with me. And every morning when I waken up – and should I feel hungry – I would always have you beside me for my breakfast!”

So remember, boys and girls, if you’re walking around your home or your school or your play park, or visiting friends, and you should see a piece of cable or a piece of wire stretched out or hanging down – please, do not touch it! Because, just like old Mrs Fly, it could get you into a lot of trouble.

That’s the end of my story.

Lion and the Four Bulls

Now the next story I’m going to tell you is a very old story. There’s a lot o’ folk tell it in different ways, you know. But I heard this one from my father, who told it to me a long time ago.

There was this lion. And he was out hunting in the forest when he spied four bulls grazing peacefully together in a corner of this little field in the middle of the wood. So him being an old lion, he knew fine that he wouldn’t be able to tackle the four bulls by himself. He just sat down and said to himself, “Well, I’ll have to be cunning here. I’ll have to plan…”

And like any other animal, lions can be cunning if they really try. So he raiked his brains. “There’s only one thing for it,” he said. “I’ll just have to wait till I get one bull away from the others a wee bit, get a wee talk to him, and see what I can do. If I can get them separated from each other I can manage them one by one. But I’ll never manage them all together.

So, he kept guard on the four bulls and they kept grazing beside each other. They were the best of pals these four bulls, kept good company, slept beside each other at night and grazed beside each other every day. They were good friends these four bulls.

But anyway, the lion comes down this one morning as usual and he spies three bulls, just the three. He says to himself, “Now’s my chance. I wonder where the other one is?”

So, by sheer good luck for the lion, bad luck for the bull, it had wandered a wee bit away from the rest. Up went the lion to the bull. And the bull saw the lion coming, he just stood. He didn’t worry, he wasn’t afraid of him.

“Good morning!” says the lion to the bull.

“Good morning!” says the bull. “Ye’re far off yer hunting grounds this morning.”

“I am,” he said. “In fact, I wouldna hae been here if I hadna come to see you!”

“See me?” says the bull. “Why should ye come and see me? Ye know lions and bulls have always been enemies down through the centuries.”

“Maybe so,” says the lion, “maybe so. But anyway, I hate what’s going on around here.”

“And what may that be?” says the bull.

“Well, the likes o’ me,” he says, “a lion being king o’ the forest and all these things... I hear many things.”

“Ah, I believe that,” says the bull, “ye hear many things!”

“But,” he says, “things I don’t like are when folk speak at other folk’s back.” (As you naturally know, in these days the beasts, animals, could all speak to each other.)

“Like what?” says the bull.

“Like you and yer pals there,” he says.

“Oh,” he says, “ye mean my mates, the other three bulls?”

“Aye.”

“Oh,” says the bull, “we get on fine, we, we’re the best o’ pals!”

“Maybe,” says the lion, “to you; but no to other folk and the other beasts o’ the jungle.”

The bull begins to think, ye see! “Like what, Lion?” he says.

“Och well,” he says, “a lion like me who wanders about hears a few stories here and there, and... there may be nae truth into them or bits and that.”

“Well,” says the bull, “what did ye hear like?”

“Well, I heard,” he said, “the other three there. I overheard the other three the other night, and they were discussing you!”

“Me?” says the bull.

“Aye.” He said, “You’re the oldest o’ the four.”

“Oh,” he says, “I am.”

“Well,” says the lion, “they were just saying a lot o’ things about ye I didna like, so I thought ye would hear them.”

“Oh?” Now the bull begins to pay attention, ye see. “What were they saying about me?” he says.

“Well, they said they were just planning, the other three,” he says. “It will soon be coming near the summertime and it’s time youse is all splitting up. And they were thinking that you were getting too old. You couldna keep up wi’ the herd and they were thinking about turning ye out they said. And the three o’ them was planning to do ye in; they said you were no more use and ye would never manage to go out to the spring pastures and keep up wi’ the rest and everything. In fact, for making calves they said you were past yer prime!”

And this made the bull very, very angry. “Well,” he said, “I’m no very fond o’ hearing the likes o’ that said about me! It’s no so bad if it’s tellt to my face, but when it’s tellt at my back... it’s just like the three o’ them, them being a wee bit younger than me. But we’ll soon see about that when I go back!”

“Well,” said the lion, “I’ll be on my way. But, eh, I just thought ye ought to know.”

“Well, thanks,” said the bull, “for telling me. And, eh, you being the king o’ the animals, I know you wouldna tell me a lie!”

“No,” says the lion. “Well, I’ll be bidding you good day!”

The lion waited till the bull walked away and he gave a wee laugh to himself. “Now,” he says, “the fun will start and I’ll get what I want.”

Very well, back goes the bull. The other bulls are pleased to see him; they talk to him. But he’s not very friendly to them. So, he starts to the three o’ them right away, and he gets on to them.

“Us?” say the three bulls. “We never said a word about ye! In fact, we were just thinking how, even how old ye are, how good a fighter ye are and what battles ye’ve took us through and everything ye led. Ye led us through many’s a battle against wolves and everything. We thought ye’re the finest bull; ye ought to still be wir leader!”

“I don’t believe ye,” says the bull, “not one single word yese are saying! The lion wouldna tell me a lie.” And in a huff he walks away. He says, “It’ll be a while before I bother youse any more. I’ll keep to myself after this, and nobody needs to speak about me!”

So, he wanders away to the faraway corner o’ the forest and stays by himself. The next morning early, when the other three bulls are grazing by themselves, down comes Mr Lion. When the bull’s back is turned to him, he jumps on the bull and kills it. He has a good feast and leaves the rest to the jackals.

So, anyway, the day passes by... the lion keeps his eye on the other three till he gets one o’ them away from the herd. And the lion tells this one the same, the same story. Back goes the bull to the other two and he gets on to the two. And the same thing happens: the bull splits up, he goes away, and naturally the lion kills him just the same. Now there are only two bulls left.

Now these two bulls are grazing by themselves in the field. One says to the other, “What do ye think happened to the other two?”

“Well,” he says, “it’s up to them. They ought to know better; that we, you and I werena talking about them or nothing.”

“Oh well,” he says, “maybe they’re better off by theirsel. But I’ll tell ye one thing: we were a great team the four o’ us. And I miss them.”

“Well,” says the other ane, “I dinna ken. But, eh, I’m feeling dry and I think I’ll go for a drink.”

“But anyway,” he says, “me and you hae been good pals for a long while and I don’t think anyone will ever split us up.”

“I hope so,” says the other bull, and away he goes for a drink.

So, he wanders down to the shallows for a drink and the first thing – out pops from the bushes – the lion.

“Well,” says the lion, “it’s a fine morning!”

“Aye,” says the bull, “it’s no a bad morning at all.”

“I see ye’re down for a drink.”

“Aye.”

Lion says, “Eh, what happened to the rest o’ yer pals that used to be up wi’ ye? I see there’s only twa o’ youse there now.”

“Oh, aye,” he says. “Och, stories and tales wandering through the forest. Somebody’s been telling clypes and tales. And the other two thought they’d be better if they went on their own.”

“Oh, I believe that,” says the lion. “But, ye ken, stories and tales have a way o’ spreading – they can be true sometimes.”

“Ah, I believe that!” says the bull.

“Anyway,” he says, “you were just the one I was wanting to see.”

“Me?” says the bull.

“Aye,” says the lion, “it’s you I was wanting to see. Eh, I was just wanting to tell ye something I think ye ought to hear.”

“Like what?” says the bull.

“Well, I just overheard yer mate,” he says, “the other day, saying awfae things about ye.”

“Me?” says the bull.

“Aye,” he says, “you – just saying how...”

“Like what?” says the bull.

“Well, he said you were too young; you werena able to keep up wi’ them and you were a poor fighter. And when any fights took place against wolves or animals ye always made sure that ye were away behind the rest and ye were never touched. And ye havenae got a scratch nor nothing to show for it – in all yer years!”

This made the bull very, very angry and he said, “He did say that about me?”

“That’s what he said,” the lion said, “and me being the king o’ the forest, I dinna like to hear naebody spoken about! So, I thought ye ought to ken.”

“Well,” says the bull, “we’ll see about that if I’m feart or no!”

So, back he goes. And he challenges the other bull to a fight.

The other bull said, “I never said a word about ye; I never spoke about ye! Somebody’s been telling ye clypes and tales.”

But he’s so angry that he says, “Look, I think it’s the best thing that me and you should part company. I still believe the lion – the lion wouldna tell me any tales!”

“Well,” says the bull, “if that’s what ye think ye can be on yer way! I’ve nae more need for yer company!”

So, away he goes. And the next day the lion kills him. Till there’s only one bull left. And he’s wandering around grazing by himself when out pops the lion and kills him.

So, after this was finished the lion says, “Well, that’s my job done! I got the four o’ them and I enjoyed myself wi’ these four. They listened to me. But one thing they should have known: there’s always safety in numbers.”

And that’s the last o’ the story!

The Twelve White Swans

Many years ago, long before your time and mine, in a faraway country there lived a king and a queen. The king had married very young, because his father had died and left him the kingdom when he was only a teenager. And they wished for a family; sure enough a family they did have.

But every time the king would go to see his queen in her chambers when a baby was born, he would say, “What is it this time?”

She would say, “Another son.” The next time another baby was born he would go in… “Another son.”

Not that the king didn’t like his sons, but he wished from his heart that some day one of them could be a little girl. And this worried him terribly.

He said, “Am I not capable of having a daughter? I must have a daughter some way!”

And lo and behold time was not good to him. Years passed by, the king grew old. He had twelve sons and there was only a year, maybe two years between them – twelve beautiful sons. All the sons ran about the palace, hunting, shooting and fishing, and the king loved his sons a lot. But he always had one longing in his heart – if he could only have a little daughter that he could take on his knee and love and tell stories to. Because once the sons grew up they didn’t have much time for him. He was only “their old father”.

Then lo and behold his wife was going to have another baby, and the king said, “It must be a daughter this time! And if it is a daughter, she will be the greatest thing that has ever come into my life. I’ll do everything within my power to see that she has the most wonderful things in her life. And I’ll tell you one thing: if it’s a girl, I’m not having these boys running about her, these sons o’ mine – they’ll have to go and find their own way in the world!”

And lo and behold it did happen. The king walked into the room the next morning – there was the queen and there in the queen’s bosom, presented to her by the nurses and women who took care of her, was the most beautiful little girl the king had ever seen in his life, long golden ringlets hanging down her neck. And the king just went crazy!

The queen said, “At last, my dearest husband, my king, we have—”

“What I longed for and what I want,” he said. The king just loved her, just couldn’t take his eyes off her after having so many, many boys.

But naturally time has a way of passing, and when she was about three years old the king wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Sons meant nothing to him any more. Till one day when she was about five years old.

The king said to the queen, “Look, these boys running about are a trouble to my little girl. We have to get rid of them. I know they’re my sons... Get rid o’ them, put them away and let them go and be knights, send them off to somewhere else, get them out o’ my sight! Because I’m needing my little girl, and I just love this girl like nothing under the earth.”

Now the queen was very sad because she was the mother of all the sons plus the girl. She said, “Please, don’t send—”

He said, “They must go! I’m not having boys, young men running about when my little daughter is here.” And he took her everywhere he went.

Then one day the queen thought, she hated to see her sons going away, because the queen loved all her family. She made up her mind; she’d go and see her old friend, her fairy godmother, who had brought her to the world, the old hen-woman who lived in a little cottage on the castle grounds. So she walked down to the old henwife.

The old wife met her and took her in, and they had a sit and a talk. She told her the story I’m telling you, said, “Look, the king wants me to get rid o’ my sons; not kill them or anything, but banish them away from the land, send them on. They’ll go somewhere, probably get killed and I’ll never see them again. Not that I don’t love my little girl too, but I want them all to grow up together.”

The henwife said, “I know what kind o’ man your husband is. What would ye like tae do?”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t want him tae send them out in the world, probably some o’ them’ll never come back. And if some come back and tell me some o’ their brothers have been killed in battle or been killed doing something, it’ll just break my heart.”

And the old henwife said, “What would ye like tae do with them?”

She says, “I want them all with me, but the king won’t allow it.”

“Well,” says the old henwife, “it’s a sad position ye’re in, but what can I do fir ye?”

She says, “You can work magic, I know you can work magic.”

The old henwife says, “I only work good magic.”

“Well,” she says, “this is the kind o’ magic I want – good magic. You know that I have a large garden in the palace.”

The old henwife says, “Yes, I’ve visited it very often. You’ve taken me flowers from it and I walked with you in it when you were just a wee baby.”

She says, “And you know in my garden is a large pool where I visit every day. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if my sons could be turned into swans – white snow driven swans that could float around the garden – unknown to the king? And I could feed them every day; I’d know they were safe and nobody could touch them.”

“Oh,” the old henwife says, “yes, it’s a wonderful thought.”

“Please,” said the queen, “that’s all I desire; just give me a potion o’ some kind that I can turn these boys into swans and put them in my pond in the garden. And I can visit them, feed them. I can be with them all my life till I die. And the king can have his daughter. I can have my sons, and I never want him to know.”

“Well,” says the old henwife, “if that’s what you want… I’ll give ye a potion, but you must never touch it yourself, the king or the princess. Your daughter princess must never touch it! You’ll take yir twelve boys to the pool… I’ll give ye a potion, you’ll bake a special cake and yir daughter the princess or yir husband must not know about this. You must talk to your sons secretly, take them down to the pool. I’ll give ye a potion in a special little flagon. (It was all wee stone flagons in these days.)

And the old queen said, “That would just be lovely if you could do that for me.”

So, the old henwife went away ben her little place behind her bedroom. She was gone for about fifteen minutes. She came back and the queen was still sitting there.

“Now,” she said to the queen, “look, ye see that little stone flagon: you’ll take this. You’ll bake a special cake yourself in the castle kitchen and you’ll empty the contents in the cake. You’ll take yir twelve boys down to the little pond in the castle gardens and ye’ll tell them tae taste this; give them a piece o’ the cake each and tell them they must eat it all at wonst and enjoy it because their mother made it special for them. And keep this between yourself and your sons.”

“Fair enough!” says the queen.

Now the boys were all away hunting, shooting, fishing, doing everything. They came home. And they loved their mother very well. They were young: one nineteen, one twenty, one fifteen, one seventeen, thirteen, twelve… you know, all these young men! So, these boys were always fed by themselves, and the queen gave orders to the cook and the maids that she was going to serve them herself that night in the kitchen. The king went into his chambers and he had his little daughter on his knee. Ye know, he was crooning tae her, telling her stories and singing songs tae her. The queen walked in and all the boys were gathered round this great big long wooden table. They’re all talking about what they’d been doing and hunting and fishing and other things.

She says, “You know, my sons, Mummy has got a special treat fir you tomorrow!”

And the boys all said, “Yes, Mother?”

She said, “I have baked a special cake to celebrate something that you don’t know about – it’s my birthday and I am a certain age tomorrow, and I want you to come with me. Because I had my first birthday by the pond, I want you to celebrate my birthday once more by the pond.”

“Oh, Mother, yes certainly!”

“Now,” she says, “don’t tell yir father, or don’t tell anybody!” They swore to secrecy they wouldn’t tell their father the king, although they never spoke to him very much anyway.

So, the next morning was a beautiful May morning. All the boys gathered at the pond in the castle garden. They waited round the pond and sure enough down comes their mother, carrying a small cake.

“Now,” she says, “boys, I want you to all have a piece o’ this to celebrate my birthday! She gave them each a piece in turn. Now,” she says, “I want you all tae eat it together.” And lo and behold when she divided it, there was only enough for the twelve o’ them and they all ate it together.

And they said, “Mother, that was lovely! Did ye bake it yourself?” Then a wonderful thing happened: they all fell to the ground… lo and behold… one after the other became swans, and they popped into the pond, one after the other, and they swam round and round.

And the queen sat down. She felt happy. There they swam round this lovely pond inside the garden. She went back home to the king for her evening meal. She sat at the table.

And he said, “Ye seem very quiet tonight, my dear. Where are the boys? Where are the young men, these sons of yours? Are they not going to have any meal tonight?”

She said, “Your Majesty, King, you gave orders... your sons have gone.”

“Oh well,” he said, “good riddance, good riddance! And where have they gone?”

“They took off in all directions,” she said. “They’re off tae seek their fortune in the world.”

“Good – good, good riddance,” he said. “Probably they’ll return wiser when my little girl has grown up.” And he took his little girl on his knee. He’s picking all the best bits for her and he’s feeding her with it in his lap.

But to make a long story short, years passed by and the swans were still in the pond. And the queen fed them every day.

The king got kind o’ worried and he said, “How in the world – where did the beautiful swans come from?”

She says, “Well, they were a gift from a great friend of mine.”

“Oh, they’re quite tame,” he said to the queen.

“Oh, yes, they’re quite tame. And I love to feed them.”

The king paid no attention to swans. But his daughter had grown up till she was about sixteen years old, and she used to go with her mother every day to feed the swans.

“Mummy,” she says, “they are lovely.”

“Yes, daughter, they are lovely swans; they’re the most beautiful birds I’ve ever seen.”

Then one particular evening, when the daughter was about seventeen years old, and the king, who was much older than the queen, had retired and gone to sleep; the queen was sitting combing her hair, beautiful hair right down her back. The princess turned round and said, “Mummy, it’s a funny thing…”

“What’s so funny, dear?”

“That I didn’t have any brothers or any sisters.”

Then the queen said, “You know, it’s not very funny, but I’m going to let you into a secret – you must never tell a soul, not even your father. You’re old enough now to understand.” So, she told her the story I’m telling you: she said, “Your brothers... you have twelve brothers.”

“Twelve brothers, Mother,” she said, “would I love my twelve brothers! And where have they been all these years? Why haven’t I been told this before?”

“Your daddy the king ordered them off the land.”

“If I knew my daddy had ordered my brothers away off the land into another world… When are they coming home, Mother?”

“Well,” she says, “they’re not coming home.”

“You mean to tell me, my brothers are not coming home – I’ll never see my brothers?”

“I’m going to let you into a big secret, not to even tell your father: your brothers are the twelve white swans in the garden pond!”

The princess was flabbergasted. “Mother,” she said, “how could I have twelve white swans for brothers?”

“Well,” she said, “your father wanted to send them into the world to disappear and get killed in battle, and wander into other countries. We’d never see them again! So, I got a magic spell from an old friend of mine and had them made into swans, so’s they would always be there for you to see and me to enjoy.”

“Mother,” she says, “I want my brothers – I must have my brothers back!”

She says, “Your father will be outrag—”

“I don’t care!” she said. “I’ll never talk to my father again unless I get to see my brothers.”

The very next morning, true to her word, the princess goes to her father, says, “Father, Mummy told me I have brothers!”

“Ho-ha-ha, my dear,” said the king, “yes, ye have brothers.”

“Well, Father, why aren’t they here with me?”

“Dearie,” he said, “you don’t need brothers. You’ve got me!”

She says, “Father, I know I have you – you’re my father. But I need my brothers. I want to grow up… I want to see my brothers!”

So the king felt very sad about this, because there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for the princess.

And she says, “I’m very sad.”

“Well, you can’t be sad!” he said. “Look, I’ll tell ye what I’ll do: tomorrow I’ll send couriers all over the world and bring every brother you’ve got back to you, if that’s what you want.”

So, next morning, true to his word, the king goes down to the courtroom. He calls the queen and all the couriers to him, tells them, “Look, I want you to travel far and wide and bring back the princess’s brothers wherever they be. You shall search for ever till you find them, because if she is unhappy then I am unhappy!”

The couriers said they didn’t know where to start. But the queen never said a word; she kept it quiet. She knew they were never going to find them. But the princess was happy; she knew now something was being done about her brothers.

So, he sent couriers on horseback to go off in all directions. They were gone for days, but they straggly returned one after the other – no news of the young men, no news of the princes of any kind. The princess got sadder and sadder every time a courier returned with no news of her brothers, till the king was so upset he just couldn’t stand it any more.

He went to the queen, said, “There must be something ye can do; there must be something ye can do to find these lost brothers of hers! Because she’s fading away; I can see her fading away – she can’t go on like this!”

So the queen said, “Husband, Your Majesty, I’ve got a guilty secret I’ve kept from you for many years.”

“Tell me, woman,” he said, “tell me!”

She says, “Your sons the princes have never left the palace.”

“Well, woman, go find them! Why do ye keep me in such suspense? Go find them, bring them back – so that my little girl can see them!”

She says, “Husband, it’s not within my power tae bring them back.”

“Well, where are they, where are they? If you know so much – tell me!”

She says, “They’re in the pond in the palace garden – twelve white swans.”

The king said, “Twelve white swans in the garden are my sons – that my little girl wants?”

“Yes, that’s where they are,” she said. I went to my old friend the henwife, who works in her magical powers, and I got a potion to turn them into swans because I didn’t want to… all these years I’ve enjoyed their company… they are swans but they’re still my sons!”

He says, “Woman, you have deceived me!”

She says, “I haven’t deceived ye; wouldn’t it be worse if you’d sent them all into the world to be killed, off into battle, fighting somewhere? I knew where they were all the time.”

“Well,” he said, “tomorrow you must bring them back!”

Oh, the queen and the princess the next morning, true to their word, they made their way to the old henwife once more. The old henwife by this time was getting very old and frail because many years had passed, and when the queen came in she barely recognised the old woman. But they came in and they sat down.

The old henwife says, “What brings you now, my queen? What is it you really need this time?”

She says, “I want my sons back.”

And the old henwife said, “It’s a hard task ye’re giving me... there’s nothing I can do.”

“There must be something,” she said, “ye can do. There must be something you can do!”

“There’s nothing I can do,” the old woman said; there’s nothing you can do, but there’s something that the princess can do if she wants tae do it.”

“And what would that be?” says the queen.

“Well,” says the old woman, there’s only one thing she can do, but it’s a hard task she’s got to perform: she must go into the churchyard at the hour of ten o’clock, and within two hours she must make twelve shirts from the stingy nettles that grow in the churchyard; and she’s only got two hours to do it. She’s tae use the stingy nettles, spin them with a spinning wheel and make them into twelve shirts before the clock strikes twelve, and throw them over the twelve white swans.”

“I’ll do it, Mummy,” says the princess. “I’ll do anything in the world!”

So the queen said, “To help you out, I’ll get some o’ the men to gather the nettles for ye.”

“Now,” says the old henwife before they leave, “she’ll be disturbed during her work making these shirts, because this particular night that I give her the power to bring her brothers back… is also the night of the Harpies!”

And the queen says,

“What are Harpies?”

“Well, Harpies,” says the old henwife, “are birds with human faces. And they’ll come, they’ll start digging in the graveyard for bodies. They won’t come near the princess because she’s alive. They only go after the dead... but if the princess gets one fright, the spell’ll be broken for ever and she’ll never see her brothers again!”

Fair enough. So, back they went to the palace. The queen sent some workers to gather all the nettles. It had to be the churchyard nettles, no other would do; the nettles that grew in the old churchyard where they buried everybody.

All the nettles are gathered and heaped in the corner of the yard. Ten o’clock the princess walks down with a spinning wheel and she starts. She spins the nettles and starts making shirts. She works hard, she never stops. But all of a sudden she hears a flap o’ wings coming, women’s faces, long hair – they’re scratching the earth with their nails for people that are new-buried. And they’re throwing bags o’ earth, they’re hunting for bodies and they’re digging and they’re digging and digging. They’re squawking and they’re screeching, they’re skreeking at her, looking at her, and she’s carrying on, spinning away. She never pays any attention to them for nearly one hour and a half. And she’s working hard, working hard, and they’re hopping around with their evil faces, their evil grins; they’re tearing up the bodies from the graves. They’re eating them, they’re squawking and fighting like a lot o’ vultures over the bodies, and they’re sharing bones and tearing hair and everything.

And the princess just stood there and spun away, paid no attention. And she worked hard and worked hard! Then all in a moment – twelve o’clock – she had twelve shirts, but one sleeve wasn’t finished when the clock struck twelve. The Harpies disappeared as fast as they came.

She gathered up the shirts, she ran down to the palace into the garden round to the little lake, she waded into the pond to her waist. And one by one she put a shirt over every swan’s head till she came to the last one. And as she put a shirt over each head, a young man walked out, a tall, handsome young man walked out of the water and stood in the bankway: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven – till she came to the last one. But the last shirt had only one sleeve. When she placed it over, he walked out of the pond, off the little lake into the garden. Lo and behold, there stood the twelve young princes and one of them had a wing. One had a swan’s wing, a white wing.

The princess was delighted. She cuddled them, kissed them, took them all up to the palace. And the king who had forgiven the queen now saw that his daughter was happy, was overjoyed. He turned to the queen, said, “Woman, it’s a wonderful thing you’ve done.” The boys were no older; they never got old, the swans. They were just young – the way they were from the minute they were put in there. “It’s a wonderful thing you’ve done,” he said to the queen, “but what’s gaunna happen to him?” The youngest was left with a wing instead of an arm.

The princess loved him more than the rest; she loved him best because he was next to her, he was the youngest. They sat down and she told the story. And the boys felt very bad about their father, but they loved their mother. They all came and kissed their mother, they forgave her for what she did. But they never forgave their father.

And the princess said, “We shall have tae find a way to get my brother’s wing away and bring back his arm.”

After many days of feasting and rejoicing at the palace the princess began to enjoy the company of her brothers. They hunted and shot and fished and did everything together, and she really loved to be with them. The king, who saw that the princess was happy, was overjoyed. Now he had his sons back and he had his daughter, who was happy for ever and just the radiant beautiful little girl she ever was.

But the queen felt sad and the king felt kind of guilty when he saw the youngest brother, who very rarely spoke and never did much because he had a wing, and he always kept it hidden under a cloak. And if the princess ever had any time to spare she spent it with him.

But one day she said to her mother, “Mother, this just can’t go on. We’ll have to find a way tae get my brother’s arm back.”

“Well, says the queen, we’ve asked so many favours off the old henwife, and she’s getting an auld woman now; I just hate going back tae her so many times.”

“Well, Mother,” she says, “there’s only one thing we can do – we must, for wir brother’s sake!”

So the princess and the queen visited the old henwife once more. They landed back, and lo and behold, the old henwife was happy to see them. They sat down and talked for a wee while and she said, “What’s yir trouble this time? I hear you’ve got yir sons back once more.”

“Yes,” she said, “I have my sons back and nobody’s happier than me, tae have my sons around me once more – but there’s one thing missing.”

“I know,” says the henwife, “it’s a sad ending. But there’s very little we can do about it.”

“There must be something we can do!”

She says, “I know one o’ yir sons has got a wing, a swan’s wing.”

And the princess says, “That’s what we came to see you about. I’ll give ye everything you need in this world…”

And the old henwife says, “Look, I don’t need nothing, my dearie.”

The princess says, “I want you to help me, I want you to help me get rid of my brother’s wing!”

“Well,” she says, “it’s a terrible thing that he has, but it’s not within my power tae help him in any way; you are the only one that can help him.”

“Me?” says the princess. “I’ll do anything, I’ll go anywhere, I’ll do anything under the sun tae help my brother get rid of this wing and have his arm wonst more. Because he feels so sad tae see the rest o’ his brothers – he canna ride, he cannae fire a bow, he canna do nothing because he has to keep it under a cloak.”

The old henwife says, “Look, you don’t know, but many, many, many leagues from here there is another land, another country. And in that country lives a queen who doesn’t have a king, has only had one son. This queen is the Queen of Knowledge, that knows everything. And I know where the queen is; I know that she has the knowledge to cure yir brother, but that’s all I can tell ye – the rest is left tae yirself.”

“But how,” said the princess, “how am I gaunna go there and—”

“If you go there,” she said, “ye’ll never even get near her – not as a princess.”

“What must I do?” said the princess.

“Ye’ll have tae go as a beggar girl, find employment in the palace an’ seek the knowledge from the queen herself. But I have a better idea: why don’t you be a goose girl?” (In these bygone days, girls did walk with geese. They swapped them and traded them around.) “And,” the old woman said, “for yir safety’s sake, get yir father tae send some huntsmen along with ye fir half o’ the journey. Then go the other half by yirself. Take some geese and a ragged dress, dress yirsel as a goose girl and make yir way to the palace. Then it’s up to yirself what you do from there, because that’s all the help I can tell ye; that’s the only way you’re gaunna cure the problem of your brother’s wing.”

The princess was overjoyed. She said, “Yes, I’ll do it, I’ll go!”

The queen was very upset about this; she didn’t want to lose her wee daughter. When she told the king, he went out of his mind – “No way!” – he wouldn’t have it. No way. But the queen got him finally talked around to it.

So the next day the king said, “Well, if that’s to be, what’s to be shall be. But she’s gaunna be well protected if I can help it.” So he ordered for ten soldiers, his best soldiers, and ten horses. He even got panniers on the horses’ backs to carry the geese, so’s their feet wouldn’t be sore travelling too far. He ordered that the geese should be in baskets, and travel for many leagues till they came to the Land of the Queen of Knowledge, and suppose they had to wait for a lifetime, not to return without her! So everything was planned and arranged for the next day; ten soldiers were to look after the princess, guide her on her way till they came to the Land of the Queen of Knowledge, and then they were to let her out and stay in one particular place till she came back. If she didn’t come back, they were never to return, said the king, fir the peril o’ their life: “Return without my daughter and yese’ll be dead when youse come back!”

So the next day, true to their word, the king and queen bade the princess goodbye; a ragged dress, bare feet and ten soldiers, the horses and five geese, they set on their journey. They travelled far and they travelled wide, and they’re asking along the way how far it is to the next kingdom. They travelled for many, many miles and many, many days. At last they came into a green valley in a land that was so flat there weren’t a hill for miles, with beautiful forests and running streams. The soldiers were amazed.

And the princess said, “Look, I think this is far enough. I can make my way from here.” So she donned her ragged dress, took her geese, and the soldiers said they would stay in the one spot till she returned. True enough, we’ll leave the soldiers there camped in the one spot and go with the princess, the goose girl.

So, the goose girl travelled on for many days, traded the geese along the way, sold some, got some strange ones and travelled on till she came to a town. When she landed in the town she made inquiries: “Where is the palace of the queen?”

And they pointed to a large castle on the hill: “That’s the palace of the queen, but nobody goes there.” They were warned not to go there. The queen had one son who would ride through the forest many, many times but never come near the town. And they asked the goose girl what she wanted.

She said she just wanted to see the queen. The goose girl made up her mind that she would go to the palace. So the next morning she left the village and took her geese, drove them on her way. She had travelled many miles, and the palace looked as far away as ever when she came to a forest. She walked through, she came to a clearing, full of grass, beautiful high. The geese were hungry, began to pick the grass. She sat down to rest. When all in a minute who should come riding through the forest but this young man, most beautiful young man she ever saw in her life! When he saw the young goose girl in the forest he stopped. And he sat there; he watched this beautiful young girl dressed in rags, long golden plaits down her back and her bare feet, and the geese. He jumped off his horse, he walked over.

And he said, “Hello, goose girl.”

She said, “Hello, Sir.”

He said, “Where have you come from?”

She says, “I came from the village.”

“Where are you journeying to?”

She says, “I’m journeying to seek the Queen of Knowledge.”

“Ha-ha,” he said, “you’re journeying to seek the Queen of Knowledge, are ye?”

“Yes,” she said, “I am.”

“Well, why should you seek the Queen of Knowledge,” he said – “just a goose girl?”

“Well,” she said, “I may be a goose girl, but I have a problem.”

“Look,” he said, “ye’re no getting near my mother. My mother knows all the problems of everything that goes on over the world, but it’s getting her tae tell ye them is another thing.”

She said, “Is the queen yir mother?”

“Yes,” he said, “the queen’s my mother. I’m the prince and the queen’s my mother.” But he took a liking to the goose girl and he felt sorry for her. He said, “Look, I couldn’t take ye to the palace in any way, but me and my mother gets on very well together. If ye tell me yir problem I’ll try and find it out fir ye.”

So the princess sat down and she told him the story I’m telling you. And when he realised that she was a king’s daughter he fell in love with her right away. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

“Now,” he says, “I can’t take ye, I can’t take ye back to the palace with me because ye never know what my mother may do or may think. But you wait here – nobody’ll touch ye in this place because nobody’s allowed here. Ye’ll be quite safe. You stay here and I’ll be back!”

Away rides the prince back to the palace. Jumps off his horse, and his mother meets him at the door. He walks up.

She said, “Where have you been, my son?”

“Oh, Mother,” he said, “I’ve been riding all over and the day was so warm.”

“Come and have something tae eat.”

So he sat with his mother and they talked for a long while.

“You know, Mother,” he said… She loved this boy so much. He always used to come by her side when she sat in the chair and place his head on her knee. She would run her hands through his hair, that’s all she loved to do. He was her only son… He said, “Mother, when I was out riding…”

She said, “Tell me what ye’ve been doing all day!”

“When I was out riding today, Mother,” he said, “I fell asleep and I had a wonderful dream.”

“Oh, please tell me,” she said. “What was it about?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s a funny dream, Mother; I dreamt that in a faraway land in a faraway place, a land I’ve never seen, a land of hills and mountains and seas, there lived a king and queen and they had twelve sons.”

“Oh,” says the queen, “they had twelve sons.”

“And the king hated the sons so much, and the queen loved the sons…” He told her the story I’m telling you.

“Oh,” says the queen, “that’s a wonderful dream!”

“And,” he said, “one o’ the sons – after they all came back – was left with a wing on his arm, and there I wakened up. But, Mother, I’m worried, I’m worried about my dream, Mother…” and she’s still groping his hair, ye see… He said, “Mother, I wonder why I should have wakent up? I wanted my dream to finish!”

She said, “I’ll finish yir dream for ye, I’ll finish yir dream for ye, son, if it’ll make ye happy.”

He said, “I wonder why the prince in my dream had never got his arm back.”

“Oh dear,” she said, “he could get his arm back in your dream; if you’d hae dreamt a little more, you’d have seen the end o’ yir dream. If he’d only went and found a swan’s nest, where he’d find an unhatched egg, and get someone to get the unhatched egg that had never come to be a young swan, and break it over his wing – the wing would disappear and he’d have his arm back wonst more. That’s the bit o’ yir dream that ye missed.”

“Oh, Mother,” he said, “thank you very much. Now I’m happy!” He couldn’t hardly wait till the next day, now he had the secret that he wanted. So, he’s up and, early as possible, rode down the valley. And sure enough he came to the clearing, there was the princess with her geese. He rode over.

He spoke to her, said, “I talked to my mother.”

She says, “Did you find the solution to my brother’s problem?”

“Yes, I found the solution to your brother’s problem.”

She says, “Tell me, tell me, please!”

“I’ll tell ye on one condition.”

“Well, what is the condition?”

He said, “On one condition I’ll tell ye: if you marry me! And be my wife!”

And she really liked him, ye know, and he liked her. So she promised to marry him. He took her on the horse. He rode up to the palace. Nobody could stop him, rode right into the palace, jumped off, took the ragged goose girl into the queen’s chamber where she was sitting.

He says, “Mother, I’ve brought you back the rest o’ my dream.”

And the queen said, “What, you have deceived me?” she said to her son.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, “I knew that you would never have told me, only in a dream. This is a princess, and it’s her brother who has the wing. And I’m going to marry her, I’m going to take her to be my wife.”

“Well,” says the queen, “it’s about time that ye’re having a wife!” and the queen liked this young woman right away. She ordered the rags to be taken off her, sent for a beautiful dress. They had a great banquet and they had a great party that went on for days, and the prince married the princess.

Now the soldiers are still waiting and waiting and waiting to see would she return; for the peril of their death they couldn’t go back. When they had waited for over a month, one day who should they see coming but a coach and five white horses. And the head man with the soldiers went out, he stopped the coach and asked if they’d seen a goose girl.

And a young man leans out of the coach, says, “No, I’ve never seen a goose girl, but I saw a princess – and she’s here!”

They told the soldiers all about it. The soldiers joined behind them, came behind the coach, and they all rode back the way they came, back to their own country to their own palace. And the king and queen were happy to see the return of them. And all the sons gathered there together.

But still no egg.

Now the princess had the secret, she was married, she had the secret but she still had no egg. She was still worried about her brother, so the next day she goes back to the old henwife wonst more.

She said, “I’ve been there.”

And the old henwife said, “I know you’ve been, and now ye have a husband. And now ye have the secret, but ye don’t know where tae find an egg, a swan’s egg.” (It had to be a swan’s egg, no other was any good, a buff.) “But,” she says, “ye’re a lucky young woman tae have a beautiful husband and twelve beautiful brothers.”

“But,” she says to the old henwife, “I don’t have an egg!”

“But,” says the old henwife, “ye’re luckier than ye thought, because yesterday jist below my house a swan walked away with five young ones and left a buff egg in the nest.”

And the princess walked down – sure enough – there was the egg in the nest. She picked it up; she walked back. And when she walked back there was a great banquet in the palace, everybody was dancing and singing and having great fun – welcome back the princess! Except for the young brother who was sitting sad at the corner with a cloak held round him with one hand.

The princess walks up, she whispers to him and both of them walk out the door.

And she said, “Take back yir cloak!” He pulled back his cloak and she broke the rotten swan’s egg on his wing. And lo and behold, she no sooner broke it... the rotten, smelly stuff ran down over his wing and dropped on the ground... than an amazing thing happened – his fingers began to appear, the feathers began to disappear, and the wing was gone for ever!

And when he saw this he was so happy, he threw his arms round his sister’s neck and kissed her, walked back into the banquet hall, held up his arms and said, “Look at me, look at me!”

All his brothers walked round, said, “What’s so funny about ye, why ye waving yir arms in the air?”

He said, “I’m not waving my arms in the air; I’m showing ye I don’t have a wing any more!” And they were all so happy, they all gathered round him. And he came to his little sister the princess, said, “Thank you, my little sister, fir what you’ve done fir me!”

She says, “Don’t thank me, thank your brother-in-law; he’s the one that did it for ye, not me!” And everybody lived happy ever after, and that’s the end of my story.

Freddy Far-off

A long time ago there lived a poor widow lady who had one little son, and she had a small house away out in the forest. She was very poor and her one little son she loved very dearly. His daddy had been killed in the forest a long time before and the boy never had any memory of his daddy. This little boy’s name was Freddy. And, of course, Freddy was very fond of his mother, and he always, always did everything his mother told him to do – inside the house. But when Freddy went out of doors he would not look anywhere but high up in the sky. He spent all his time staring at the white fleecy clouds. At night–time he’d lie and watch the stars in the sky. He spent all his time – up there. Freddy never looked around his feet. He would walk in his mummy’s garden, crush all the strawberries and stand on all the little creatures; he never paid attention to them. He didn’t want anything around his feet, he wanted up there in the white fleecy clouds. Till one morning things were about to change for Freddy.

Freddy was out walking in his mummy’s garden watching the white fleecy clouds passing by, when a little voice at his feet said, “Be careful, you nearly walked on me!” For the first time Freddy looked down at his feet. And there to his amazement was a tiny little man dressed in green, and he was very angry. He had a little beard and said, “You nearly walked on me with your big feet!”

“Well,” Freddy said, “it’s your own fault – you should not be under my feet.”

And the little man said, “It’s not my fault. You watch where you’re going in future; you nearly trod on me. And you tread on the little creatures. Why are you staring at the sky all of the time?”

“Oh,” Freddy said, “I’d love to be up in the sky among those white fleecy clouds. Everything is up there!”

And the little man said, “There’s nothing up there but clouds.”

“Oh,” Freddy said, “if I could only be up there...”

And the little man said, “Would you like to be up there?”

“Oh,” Freddy said, “I would love to be up there. I’d do anything just to be up among those white fleecy clouds.”

Then the little man said, “Very well then, Freddy, up there you shall be.” And he pointed his finger at Freddy, and Freddy got smaller and smaller and smaller, and soon he was the size of the little man. The little man pulled a leaf from the garden and bent it over with his fingers, made a little boat.

“Now,” he said, “Freddy, climb into the boat!” And Freddy was small. He climbed into the little boat made of the leaf. Now the little man came up and said, “Freddy, you want to go to the sky, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Freddy said, “I’d love to go up there among the white clouds, everything’s up there.”

“Well, I’m warning you,” said the little man, “there’s nothing up there. But I will send you up there on one condition, if you’ll do something for me.”

“Oh,” Freddy said, “I’ll do anything for you, I’ll do anything if you will send me up there in the sky.”

“Very well,” said the little man, “listen carefully! I want you to find something for me.”

“I’ll find anything for you,” said Freddy, “anything!”

“Well,” he said, “listen: it’s red without, it’s white within, got golden dots upon its skin, it’s sharp sometimes but often sweet – you must travel till you meet! Will you find it for me, Freddy? Say it after me,” said the little man.

And Freddy said, “It’s red without, it’s white within, got golden dots upon its skin, it’s sharp sometimes but often sweet – we must travel till we meet.”

And the little man said, “Now, Freddy, anywhere you want to go, just ask the little boat and it will take you. But remember, you must find that thing for me before you return.”

So Freddy said, “Little boat, fly me high, take me far into the sky!” And there the little leaf took off. Up and up and up it went, and it flew around the white fleecy clouds floating around the Milky Way, all round the sky among the stars.

And Freddy’s leaning over his little boat and he says, “It’s red without, it’s white within, got golden dots upon its skin, it’s sharp sometimes but often sweet – we must travel till we meet.”

And he travelled the whole sky round and round searching and searching and searching. But he couldn’t find anything, there was nothing up there, till Freddy was so tired, he said, “Little leaf, I don’t want to roam. Please, little leaf, take me home.” And then the little leaf dipped and back it came, down, down, down, right down back into Freddy’s mummy’s garden. And there it landed and there stood the little man.

He came up to the leafy boat and he said, “Well, Freddy, are you happy?”

“Oh,” Freddy said, “I’m very, very happy but I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything for you, I couldn’t find the thing you wanted.”

“Didn’t you,” said the little man, “didn’t you promise you would find it for me?”

“But I searched,” said Freddy, “I could not find it; there’s nothing up there.”

“Didn’t I tell you,” said the little man, “there’s nothing up there?” And he pointed his finger at Freddy once again and Freddy began to grow. Soon he was back to his normal size again. And the little man said, “Freddy, lean over!” And when Freddy leaned over, the little man looked up and said, “Freddy, do you know why you could not find what you were looking for up there?”

And Freddy said, “No.”

“Because,” he said, “you never look at your feet – just look at your feet.” And Freddy looked at his feet. There in his mummy’s garden, to his amazement, what do you think he saw? A big juicy strawberry. And the little man said, “Pick it up!”

When Freddy picked it up the little man said, “It’s red without, it’s white within, got golden dots upon its skin, it’s sharp sometimes but often sweet – now we must travel till we meet. And remember, Freddy, there’s nothing up there; what’s around your feet is more important.” And then the little man was gone. Freddy sat there and ate his beautiful strawberry.

He looked at all the beautiful strawberries in his mummy’s garden and thought to himself, “It’s more important to look where you’re going in this world.”

And that’s the last of my wee story.

Princess and the Glass Hill

Once upon a time in the middle of this forest there lived a widow who had three sons, Willie, Tom and Jack. Jack was the youngest. And Jack was as lazy as could be. But the other two sons were awful good workers and they helped their mummy every way they could, cutting sticks and doing everything for her. But Jack would do nothing! Just lie about the house, laze and lie in the sunshine, lazy as could be, wouldn’t wash his face or comb his hair or do anything. His mother and his brothers were fed up with him.

So she says to him one day, “Jack, you might rise and go oot, plough that wee bit field! See if we get a wee puckle corn for to keep the animals alive in the wintertime.”

“No me, Mother,” he says, “I’m no gaunna dae that! My brothers will dae it.” Everything that the mother asked him to do... “My brothers’ll dae it!” But he would do nothing. All he would do is walk out in the wood, lie on his back in the sun and gaze into the stars at night.

Anyway, it wore round near the wintertime. And they had a wee puckle corn, a wee field of corn getting ready for cutting. The harvest was nearly ready. So, in case deer would come down and eat it, the two brothers would go out at night and watch it. There was no fence in these days. But the brothers were too tired after working hard all day and the mother coaxed Jack.

She says, “Look, Jack, your brothers are working hard and you’re lying about the hoose doing nothing. Would you go out to that wee corn field and watch it? You know what happened last year. Naebody watched it and the deer came from the forest and the corn was all gone! Every year we sow that wee field of corn it’s gone in the morning whenever it’s ready – gone!” But Jack hemmed and hawed and carried on.

At last he said, “Okay, Mother, I’ll go tae the field. I’ll watch it!”

And beside the field was a big tree. Just about seven or eight o’clock as it began to get dark Jack laid his back against the tree and fell sound asleep! Then he heard crump, crump, crump – as if it was a beast eating corn – crump, crump, crump. He looked and it was a horse, a great big black horse.

“Oh,” he said, “that’s no gaunna eat my mother’s corn!” He went up and caught this big black horse. There was a bridle on it, saddle on it and a suit of armour. Common iron armour tied on to the back of the saddle. He looked at it.

“Aye, that’s a guid horse,” he said, “but if I tak that back my two brothers will take it fae me. I’ll take it into the forest and hide it.” He took it and hid it in the forest. “I’ll come back every day,” he says, “and watch it so that naebody can steal it fae me.”

He went back to his tree, laid against it and watched the corn till morning.

Here he comes early in the morning. Mother asks him how he got on.

“Okay, Mother,” he says, “I watched your corn all nicht. Nobody touched it. But I’m no cutting it for you! Your sons Willie and Tom can cut it.”

But she says, “They’ll no be able to cut it because it’ll no be right ready for another two-three days. You’ll have to watch it for another two nights.”

Ah, he hemmed and he hawed but she got him coaxed anyway. Second night came.

“I’ll go, Mother,” he said, “and watch it; for your sake, no for theirs!”

He was lazy, would do nothing!

Away he goes. Gets his back against the tree again. Just as it’s getting dark he hears the same thing again: crump-crunch, crump-crunch, crump-crunch. He looks. Here’s another horse, but this time it’s a white one. Snow white, saddle, bridle, and on its back a silver suit of armour! Pure solid silver suit of armour tied to the saddle.

Well, he scratched his head.

He said, “I don’t know what I’m gaun do with all these horses. Where they’re coming from I don’t know. But anyway, I’m no taking it hame. My brothers’ll steal it fae me, and I’ll never get it. But it’s mine! I got it. It was eating our corn. It’s mine and I’m keeping it!”

He takes it into the forest, hides it. He checks on the first one; it’s still there. Takes all his armour, hides it, hides all the harness and tethers the horse in the forest. He has two horses now. So, he goes back to the field of corn again, lies back against his tree, sleeps till morning. Home he comes to his mother, gets his breakfast.

“Well, Jack,” she says, “son, how did you get on?”

“Oh, Mother,” he said, “I got on fine. I had a good night. The stars were up and nobody bothered me. I was lying against the tree. I had a good sleep. But your corn’s safe enough. No touched.”

Anyway, he goes back to his bed and has a sleep all day. It comes near night again. His two brothers are busy working cutting timber and trees, firewood and everything. They are too tired.

Mother says, “Jack, the corn’ll be ready soon for cutting and you’ll have to watch it tonight again.”

“Oh, well, Mother,” he says, “I’ll watch it for another night.” So he’s thinking to his ownself, “Maybe I’ll get another horse!”

Now he’s keen to get back to watch this field. But just about four or five o’clock away he goes, gets his back against the tree again. Lies down sleeping. But he must have slept for about half an hour when he wakens up. It’s dark. And he hears crunch-crump, crunch-crump. He looks. Here’s a big horse, a big brown horse, a bigger one this time! Oh, about sixteen hands, highest you could get. Great big lovely brown horse. He walks up to it. It’s quite quiet and he pets it. There’s a saddle on it, bridle on it and hanging to the saddle is a golden set of harness. Pure gold – it’s dazzling! He can hardly look at it, made of pure beaten gold.

“Man,” he says, “I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life!” He scratches his head. “Where could that come from? Somebody’s doing this on me. I don’t know what to do. But I’ll tell you one thing, I’m no taking it home to my mother and my brothers; I’m gaunna take it to the forest!” He takes it to the forest, hides his saddle, hides his golden armour. He says, “I’ll come back through the day today when naebody’s aboot and I’ll polish it all up.”

Back to his tree, sits there and watches his mother’s corn till morning again. She has his breakfast for him.

She said, “How did you get on, Jack?”

“Oh,” he said, “I got on fine, Mother.”

“Did you see anything in the field?” she said, “disturbing the wee puckle corn?”

“No,” he said, “nothing, Mother. It’s safe enough. Nobody ever touched it.”

“Well, it’ll be ready for cutting in the morning,” she said. “And I’ll get your two brothers to go oot and cut it. You’ll no need to go back nae mair. But will ye do me one favour?”

“What’s that, Mother?”

“Would ye go and wash yourself?” she says. “You’re getting dirtier and uglier looking every day. Your hair’s needing combed. Your face is needing washed. You’re a disgrace. And tomorrow’s the market day in the village. They’re holding a big parade in the market tomorrow. And your brothers are going. You might go with them!”

“No,” he said, “I’m no gaun to nae market. I’ve got something else. I’m gaun away for a walk to the forest.”

Away he goes to the forest and he feeds his horses. Tethers them, shifts them and polishes up his three suits of armour. And he hides them in a big rocky cave.

“They’ll come in handy to me some day,” he said. “But I’ll no sell them!” Oh, and he groomed his horses. They were shining, you know! A black one, a white one and a big brown one.

The next day his brothers came back from the market. Willie and Tom said to him, “You missed yersel today. It was great! You want to see the carnival and the fair we were at in the market, they’re great! And I’ll tell ye another thing: the king’s coming tomorrow. He’s coming to the carnival, the king! There was a messenger gaun round today reporting right round the village. The king’s got an important message for anybody that wants to hear.”

“Oh, well,” Jack said, “if it’s going to be as good as that, I might take a wander wi’ yese and see what’s gaun on.”

“But you cannae go like that,” Tom says, “in the state you’re in! Look at you – you’re in rags! Your hair’s no combed and your face is no washed. You’re an awful mess.”

Now underneath all this dirt Jack was a good-looking young man. Beautiful young man! He had blue eyes, fair hair. But he wouldn’t keep himself tidy. Had not time, never bothered.

“Anyway,” he said, “I’ll go wi’ yese.”

So the next day Willie and Tom spruced themselves up and dressed themselves the best way they could. Away they went. Bade their mother good morning and away they walked to the market. Jack trudged away behind them, oh, trailing his feet wandering after them.

“Fairs,” he said, “and markets! What am I wanting wi’ fairs and markets? They’re no use to me. But to please them and keep them civil I’ll go wi’ them.”

On he goes. Trudges into the village.

And you want to see this market, great big market and a great big fair! Everybody was dressed in their best clothes. And there were children playing with balloons and all these kinds of stalls. You could get anything to eat. Drinks and wine and places where you get plenty fruit. Everybody had brought eggs and there were animals for sale. Everybody was enjoying themselves. Once a year this market came in the village square.

The first thing they heard was the bugle and the hunting horn coming sounding through the village. And everybody became quiet.

First came a line of soldiers. And after the soldiers came this carriage, two white horses. And the king was sitting in it, the king of the country. He stopped right in the market square! And he sat in his carriage. This soldier stood up... The king wants to speak to his villagers. This is the fourth village he’s been in and he’s telling everybody:

“Tomorrow, and for the next three days to come, he’s got a task for any young man who is able to do it. His daughter the princess has got her daddy to build her a glass hill and she’s got to sit on this hill, right on the top. Any man that can go up on horseback and catch a golden apple as she throws it will marry the princess! One, and one only, has got to climb the glass hill. Everybody is welcome to try, to come round from all the country over, far and wide in the kingdom, to come and try their luck.”

Well, everybody was keen to do this, marry the princess. That was her request. That’s what she wanted, nothing else; any man that could climb to the top of the glass hill on horseback would marry the princess and have half of the king’s kingdom. So, the three brothers dandered home and they told their mother about this.

Willie and Tom say, “We’ll go. We’ve a couple o’ good horses. We’ll have a shot.” Willie says to Jack the youngest, “You gaun? You cannae go in that state! You’ll be killed. The king’ll shoot you if you go in that state of filth you’re in! You’ll shame us. We’re gaun to try this. Everybody’s entitled to go.”

So, Willie and Tom picked the two best horses they had. Dressed themselves in their finery and away they went. They had a long road to go. And when they landed at the king’s palace there was a bigger market still! There were knights and warriors from all over the kingdom all lined up. Right in the front of the palace was a big hill made of solid glass. And on the top was a chair. Sitting in the chair was a lovely young princess. She had three golden apples in her hand. Now this hill was steep. It was about half a mile up made of solid glass. And there was no way whichever to get up the face of it!

So, at twelve o’clock in the day everybody started. This was going on for three days. And if nobody could climb the glass hill in three days the princess would never marry. So, everybody’s trying! There were knights on black horses and piebald horses and brown horses. They’re riding up! A wee bit up and the horse’s feet were slipping on the glass and falling back down. Slipping again, falling down. The two brothers Willie and Tom tried it; nah, hopeless, never got anywhere. Horses couldn’t face it. But wait! Everybody was gathered round; the king came down.

He said, “Is there not a man among youse can climb that hill and satisfy my daughter?”

They look. And they see this knight coming on this black horse and a suit of armour on him. He’s coming like the wind! And he rides right to the foot of the glass hill. He goes fweezht, a wee bit up! The princess is so excited she throws an apple. He catches it and rides back down and away, disappears!

So everybody went daft clapping their hands, shouting and carrying on to see this knight climbing a wee bit o’ this glass hill. He was the only one that went up a wee bit and got the first apple. But this was Jack with his black horse!

When his two brothers had left he had walked into the wood, got his black horse, dressed himself up, put on his suit of armour and followed them to the market. He tried with his big black horse. Now this horse that he’d got could go up the hill. Because this was a fairy horse, you see! And Jack got the apple, put it in his pocket, went back to the forest and hid it along with his black horse. Put on his rags again and walked home to his mother’s house. And he was sitting there when his two brothers came back.

His mother said to them, “How’d you get on, sons? What was it like?

“Oh, Mother,” they said. “You should have been there! You want to have seen it! There were thousands of people from all over the world. Horses in the millions. And everybody tried. The beautiful princess sitting up on the top of that glass hill and not a soul could get near her. But one knight, one knight with the most beautiful horse I ever saw, he went up a quarter of the way and catcht a golden apple. The king’s going raving mad wondering where he went. He disappeared! Nobody knows where he is. And the same thing’s on tomorrow again. We’re going back to have another try.”

And Jack, he’s lying in the corner of his mother’s house beside the fire. He says, “Was it as good as that?”

“Oh,” Willie and Tom said, “you missed yersel, man, you should have come! You want to see this knight! You want to see the horse he had. It was the greatest horse ever I saw. I’ve seen many’s a horse. But that was the greatest ever I saw in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever see another one. And nobody knows where he comes fae.”

“Ach well,” he said, “I’m no worried. It’ll no bother me. I’m no interested in these kinds of things.”

“No, you wouldna be interested!” his brothers said to him. “You’d rather lie in the fire among the coals like Cinderella. But we’re going tomorrow again. Everybody can try. Somebody’s got to get an apple!”

Away his two brothers go the next day again. Land back at the front of the king’s palace again. And the same thing starts. Everybody tries. Nah! Not a hope. If there were horses the first day there are twice as many the second day. Knights in armour, riders of all description, old men, young men, boys with horses trying their best. No use. But they look! Coming in the distance, just as the other riders are finishing. Here it comes again! A white horse this time, a silver suit of armour. The sun is shining on it and a great big white feather on the top of his helmet. He’s coming! Right to the glass hill – half roads up, he stops. The princess is so excited she throws a golden apple and he catches it. He turns his horse, right down the hill and away again. The king’s up!

He’s shouting, “Get that man! Bring that man back. Catch him!”

And they sent about a dozen soldiers after him. But the soldiers’ horses couldn’t catch him. He disappeared in the forest. He was gone! So they carried on till evening till it was finished. And the two brothers came trudging home again wearied and fed up. Jack by this time was back home, had changed back into his rags and was lying back beside the fire after getting his tea from his mother. Brothers came in. They were mystified. They didn’t know what to say.

They said, “Brother, you should hae been there. You should hae been there today! Another knight came. If the first knight had a horse, this one had a better ane. A silver stallion about sixteen hands, high as you could get! And a silver suit of armour. Solid silver. It was dazzling everybody that was there. But he rode half-roads up the hill and now he’s away! And he got a golden apple. Now there’s only one apple left. The king’s going raving mad and so is his daughter. Well, tomorrow’s the last day. We’re gaun back tomorrow again. We have to; we must go back. But, if there were horses there the first day, there were twice as many the day. Jack, you missed yersel!”

Jack said, “Missed myself; what have I missed myself for? I’m no wanting to see folk climbing glass hills with horses! I would rather lie here at the fire. I’m no interested in these kinds of things.”

Anyway, he had his supper, went to bed and so did the brothers. But when he got them to bed he went away back to the forest. Polished up his golden armour, fed his horses, came back home, went to his bed.

Next morning away they go again to the carnival, the two brothers with their horses. The same thing happens again. Everybody’s trying, trying all day. Up a wee bit, sliding back, trying a wee bit, sliding down. Horses, men, knights, boys, everybody trying to get up the glass hill. Nah. It’s a waste of time. But just as it’s finishing, as the evening is coming in, they look in the distance. They see it coming! This brown horse. If the first two horses were bonnie and the armour was bonnie, this one is bonnier still: pure beaten solid gold! Just shining in the sun. And it comes right to the glass hill. It goes right up to the top and stops right beside the princess’s chair! And this knight jumps off the horse, bends down, kisses the princess, catches the other apple, jumps on the horse. Down the hill and off! Disappears in the distance. The folk’s going mad! People are shouting!

The king said, “Catch that man! Bring that man back here. I want to find out who he is!” Nobody could find out who he was. He’s gone.

So anyway, home Jack comes. Into the forest, ties up his horse, puts on his rags. Back he goes, lies down at the fire. The two brothers come back again. And then they start telling their mother what happened.

“Mother, you want to see this!” they said. “This was the last day. It’s finished. The three golden apples are gone with three knights. And one of them rode right to the top of the hill and kissed the princess! Jumped off and kissed her, got a golden apple and disappeared in the distance. The king’s going raving mad! He’s sending soldiers all over every house and every farm and every hamlet in the district. There’s going to be a search in the kingdom till he gets these three knights and the three horses. The king wants them immediately. Princess is breaking her heart for this knight with the golden armour!”

Now Jack by this time is lying beside the fire no saying a word. Then he says, “I think myself I’ll go into the town tomorrow.”

Brothers said, “Where are you going?”

He said, “I’m going to the king’s palace the morn.”

“Look,” said the brothers, “if you go to the king’s palace you’ll get us all shot! You’ll get us murdered. We’ll be hung! With the filth and dirt that’s on you if you’re gaun to the king’s palace, you’ll get us hung.”

“Ah, but I’m going!” he says.

“What are you going there for?” they say. “You cannae go there; it’s impossible!”

He says, “I’m going to the palace tomorrow.”

His mother said, “Son, please don’t go to the palace! You’ll get your brothers hung and me forbyes, if the folk find out. And you go in that state of rags up to the king... what’ll happen? Look at the state you’re in! You’re fit to talk to naebody; you cannae go naewhere!”

He says, “I’m going tomorrow. Nobody’s going to stop me! I’m going to see the king.”

By this time the king had sent up soldiers all through the country searching here and far and wide, everywhere they could get. No. Nobody could find the three knights. Nobody. Not a soul. The princess was asking everybody, “Find the knight with the golden armour for me. Bring him back at once!” The king offered a large reward for anybody that would find even names, who the knights were. No, nobody could find out.

But Jack, he wanders away into the wood, gets his three golden apples and puts them in his pocket. In his old ragged jacket, you know, shoves them down, well down into his pocket! Says cheerio to his mother.

“Look,” his mother said, “woe be to ye! Ye’ll bring us trouble. Ye’ll definitely bring us trouble. And your brothers forbyes. The king’ll turn us out and take wir lands fae us. God knows what’ll happen to us if you go! Please don’t go near the king’s palace!”

He says, “I’m going to the king’s palace, Mother! There’s nothing you or your other two sons can do about it.”

Away he goes dressed in his rags, the three golden apples in his pocket. He walks on and on and on. First thing he meets is a group of soldiers.

Soldiers said, “Halt, tramp! Where are you going?”

He said, “I’m going to the king’s palace.”

“You can’t go to the king’s palace!” they said.

“I’m going,” he said. “There nothing states that I can’t go although I be a tramp. I can still go to the palace.”

“Be it on your head!” said the guard. “It’s yourself to blame if anything happens to you.”

On he goes. Walks through the village right up this great big lovely avenue, up to the king’s castle. Another guard.

“Stop! Where are you going, tramp?” he said.

He said, “I’m going to see the king.”

“You go and see the king?” he said. “The king cannae see you!”

“Why not?” Jack said. “I’m one of his people. I’m a human being like anybody else.”

“But,” he says, “you’re a tramp. You’re in rags. You’re in filth.”

“It makes no difference,” he said. “I’ve got to see the king.”

He said, “Why? Have you news for the king?”

“Yes,” Jack said, “I’ve news for the king and news for the princess.”

So the guard goes in and tells the king, “There’s a tramp at the door who’s got news for you.”

“Oh,” he says, “bring him in; bring him right in!”

He takes him in. There’s the king sitting on his throne. There’s the queen sitting and the princess sitting. And Jack walks up all in rags. His hair all tangled. King took one look at him.

“Well, tramp,” he says, “what news have you brought? Did you see any knights in shining armour in the district round about? My soldiers and couriers have failed. Maybe you’ve come from the forests. Have you seen any knights in shining armour?”

“No,” he says, “Your Majesty, I have not.”

“Well, what are you doing here, man, if you’ve no news for me?” said the king.

“I’ve no news for you,” he says, “no news at all. But I’ve brought a present for the princess.”

“What kind of present?” says the king.

“Well,” Jack said, “if Your Majesty will permit me, may I give my present to the princess?”

King thought a little minute. “Well,” he says, “you may. Seeing you’ve come all this distance, you give the princess your present!”

Jack puts his hand in his pocket and takes out three golden apples. “That is my present for the princess,” he said. And he walks over and puts the three golden apples in the princess’s lap.

Princess jumps up. She says, “Where did you get these? Where did you get them? Did you steal them from some knight?”

“No, my princess,” he said, “I never stole them from a knight. But I got them from your own hand when I came up the glass hill. I am the three knights.”

“You’re the three knights?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m the three knights.” So he stood and told her the story.

And the king was delighted. Delighted! “Take that man upstairs and get him into a bath – get him washed and cleaned!” said the king.

Right, up they go. And when they scrubbed him, cleaned and bathed him and gave him a new suit of clothes, you want to see him! He was just the nicest looking man you ever saw! And the princess fell in love with him right away. They held a great big wedding. And he got married to the princess. The king was fond of him and so was the queen.

But now the brothers were sitting at home. And the poor old mother was sitting wondering what happened to Jack. He had been away for a fortnight. Never came back. The wedding lasted for a week.

But one day the mother says to her two sons, “I tellt you that silly laddie o’ mine, what happened to him. He must hae got into some kind of trouble, because he never came back. You might go and see if you can see him.”

“No me! I’m no going to the king’s palace,” says Willie or Tom. “We’re no going to look for him. If he never comes back, we’re no going to search for him. He can come back the same way he went! He never was nae help. He was nae good to us anyway. The lazy soul. He was wir brother right enough but he never helped us. He did nothing!”

But she says, “He’s my youngest son and I want him back here.”

“Well, Mother,” they said, “if you want him back here you’ll have to go and look for him yourself! Because we’re no going.”

They were busy arguing and discussing it when they looked up the road and here they see this carriage coming. Fifteen soldiers on the front and in a carriage coming up the drive. The old woman looks.

“That’s the royal carriage coming up here,” she said. “I told youse! I told youse what would happen. That’s that brother o’ yers got us into trouble! That’s the king’s carriage and his soldiers coming to evict us. God knows what they’ll do to us! They’ll maybe hang us ower the heid o’ that silly brother o’ yours. You should hae took better care o’ him!”

Up come the soldiers. Drive up to the front o’ the old wifie’s house. The two brothers are standing. The carriage door opens and out steps this young gentleman and his young princess on his arm. The old lady goes down on her knees. So do the two brothers, go down on their knees when they see the young princess.

“Her Highness,” says the mother, “why have you come to us? We have done you no trouble. I beg you, Princess, please, don’t kill my son! I know what you’re here for; that silly son of mine, causing trouble. I’m sorry. Please let him go!”

So young Jack walks over, he says to his mother, “Rise up, Mummy! It’s me; I’m your son Jack. Me and my princess have come to pay you a visit. And I’m taking you back to the castle with me to stay the rest of your days.”

So he sent the soldiers to the wood for his three horses and his armour and brought them back to the castle. He brought his own mother back home with him. And the two brothers stayed in the wee woodcutter’s hut. The old mother stayed with Jack and they lived happy ever after.

And that’s the last o’ the story.

Well, when I was a wee wean like youse I used to sit round the fire and listen to my daddy telling his stories. And I paid attention, never said a word and listened! Listened to every word. So’s when I got old I could tell the story to my wee granddaughter, as you’ve just heard it from me. Now you come back down tomorrow night and I’ll tell you another story.

The Steed and the Bell

Many, many hundreds of years ago, long, long before your day and mine… in villages on the West Coast, all the arguments and disputes were settled by the headman when he called everybody together beside him. The houses in a village were not built as close together as they are today. Every little house was separate, by its own. So, for calling the people together, they built in the centre of the village a steeple. On the steeple they placed a bell. And when the headman of the village wanted to hold a court, to hold a meeting, he would go out and ring the bell. Whether somebody had stolen something or done ill-will on someone, when the bell was pulled everybody knew that somebody had done a wrong. And the people gathered together outside beside the bell to see that justice would be done.

But about two or three miles away from the village there was a castle. In this castle lived a great knight. He had fought in every battle for the king and won many. He had travelled to the Holy Lands and all over. Years passed by and this knight had got kind of old. And he had this famous steed that had carried him through all his battles. When he’d thought himself too old to fight any more, the knight had settled down to live the rest of his life out in his castle – he and his old steed.

But years passed by and things did change with time. Law and order began to get established a wee bit more in the village; the bell was gradually forgotten about. No more was it used – just as no more did the old knight ride on his steed. The knight had turned his old steed out into the wilderness round his castle to fend for himself. The old steed wandered here and there, and the knight had practically forgotten about him, as the people had the bell. The trees and vines began to gather round the steeple. The bell rope got covered in ivy.

Now the old steed wandered round and wandered round, trying his best to pick as much as he could eat here and there. And it came a hard, hard winter. In his search for food the old horse wandered into the village, but could not find anything. So, naturally, when he came into the centre of the village he came to the old steeple.

The old bell rope was covered in ivy. But there still remained in the village some people who remembered the old bell and who remembered the old knight. The old folk in the village remembered, but the young people had forgotten.

So, they were all sitting down one evening at their meal when the bell started to ring: ding-dong, ding-dong rang the bell through the village.

All the people sat up and they said, “The bell is ringing – someone has done a wrong! It’s been years since the bell was rung, so naturally we will have to go and see what has happened.”

So, all the old folk that could remember years past were so excited to hear the bell ringing once more after all these years, everyone rushed out. And when the old folk rushed out, the young ones, who had only heard about the bell, followed them. All gathered, maybe two or three hundred of them, gathered round the bell. And they looked.

What they saw at the bell was an old horse, and his bones were sticking through his skin. He was so thin that he could hardly walk. And he was pulling the wee bits of ivy off the rope, eating the bits of ivy. And every time he picked a bit ivy, the bell started to ring. When the people gathered round and saw this old horse, how thin he was, they felt so sad for him.

They said, “Who owns a horse, an animal, and keeps it in such a state as this?”

And it was an old man with a scarf and a long beard who said, “I know that animal.”

And somebody said, “Where does it come from? It must be as old as yerself.”

He said, “It nearly is as old as myself! That horse belongs to the old knight up in the castle. He has deserted it; he has neglected it. It’s starving! And that’s why it rang the bell – to tell us – so we will have to do something about it.”

So they all walked together. Every single one of them walked up to the old knight’s castle. They rang the doorbell and the old knight came out.

He said, “What is this? Why have all you people come up here to disturb my peace?”

And they said, “Did you hear the bell ringing in the village?”

“Yes,” said the old knight, “I heard the bell ringing. And it’s years and years and years since I heard it ringing. I thought that it was done away with, finished long ago, that we never had any more need for the bell. Wrongs that were done were punished in some other manner.”

And they said, “No, you have committed a crime and you have to be punished!”

The old knight said, “I’ve committed no crime.”

And they said, “Yes!” Somebody led up the old horse right to the knight and they said, “Is this your horse?”

He said, “Yes, it is my horse.”

“Then why is it you leave it in such a state as that – it’s starving – its bones are sticking through the skin!”

And the old headman of the village said, “This horse rang the bell to tell us that you had committed a crime and turned him adrift to fend for himself. So, ye either take him and take care of him or ye have to be punished.”

The old knight said, “I never gave him a thought.” He said, “I know he has carried me through many a battle… I never gave him a thought. I thought he was just fending for himself.”

And every one of the villagers said, “He came and rang the bell and told us you had neglected him.”

So the old knight said, “Well, he will never be neglected no more.” The old knight took him in, led him, put him into his old stable. He said, “I’ll see that he never wants for nothing for the rest of his days.”

And neither the steed did. The knight kept his promise.

And that’s the end of my story.

Cripple John

I would like to tell you a wonderful tale that has been told among the Travelling People of Scotland for many, many years. It is a very religious tale.

Many years ago in the West Highlands there lived a farmer and his wife. They had a large farm on a hill and they were very well off, had everything they desired. But most of all they loved their son John, who had been born to them crippled. He had a short leg and a long one. Sometimes John’s father felt sorry for him and sometimes his mother did, but they never let it show. They loved him dearly. And John loved his parents dearly. Then, lo and behold, the father died! John’s heart was broken. They came with a horse and cart and took him away. John watched his father disappearing over the hillside, a coffin in the cart. He was so upset.

Out to the mountains he crawled among the rocks. And he cried and cried and cried till he couldn’t cry any longer. His mother too was upset. But she came and found John in the rocks in the hills beside the farm.

She put her arm around him and said, “John, you know you are a big man now and you mustn’t cry. Your father’s gone from this place… he’s gone to a better place. He’s gone where someone who is different from us all will love and respect him just like you and I do.” So, she finally consoled him and brought him home. But John was very sad. She said, “Come on, young man, it’s up to you now! You must take care of the place.”

They lived well out in the mountains. The nearest village was four miles away. John used to go there. Sometimes he took his pony and trap and sometimes he walked – to prove that he could do it.

And when he landed in the village all the children came up and cried, “Cripple John, Cripple John!” But poor John never worried about this. With his short leg and his long leg he went to school. He grew up to be a young man. Years have a way of passing and John was now fourteen years of age.

He said to his mother, “I have finally finished the school.”

“Yes, son,” she said, “you have.” His daddy had been dead now for over five years. She said, “It’s all your place, John, all your home. And some day you won’t even have me to take care of you. I’ll go and join your father some day and this farm is going to be yours.” They had plenty of money and were not poor in any way.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, “I know.”

So, John worked hard around the farm even though he was a cripple. But this one particular time it was coming near Christmas. And they always celebrated Christmas in the farmhouse. He had done it with his daddy since he was a child. And even if his daddy had gone and passed on, he’d celebrated it for his mother. But John had been so busy working taking care of the sheep and the cattle and doing other things, he’d forgotten, and he’d never bought his mother a present.

He came in for his dinner one day and she said, “John, it will soon be Christmas.”

“Mother?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “in another two days it will be Christmas. And we’re going to have a lovely time both you and me.” (They were cut off far in the hills away from everybody else.)

“But, Mother,” he said, “I never got you a Christmas present! My father used to always get you one when he went to market. He made sure he had it in advance for you.”

“Och, never mind, John,” she said. “Never mind, son!”

“Mother,” he said, “look, it’s not Christmas without a present!”

So, this bothered his mind all night. When he woke up in the morning he had only one thing on his mind: he’d go to the village four miles away and get his mother something for Christmas. He had his breakfast, took care of the stock and got ready to go. She tried to tell him no to because it was a dull day and the sky was cast. The clouds were coming in low.

“John, please, forget about a present for me!” she said. “It’s going to be a terrible day. I think we’re going to get snow.”

“Mother,” he said, “I don’t care if it’s going to be snow or hail or rain! I am going – I must!” And he had plenty of money. He knew he could buy anything he wanted in the village for his mother.

John had a pony and trap, but this particular day he preferred to walk because the sun was shining even though the sky was cast. He walked on his way cheerfully. But he had gone barely a mile when it started to snow. And it snowed! It came down heavy, heavier and heavier. John cold barely see where he was going. But he struggled on his way towards the village. He knew the direction to go. But the snow came fast and deep. His mother had warned him but he still had this ambition in his mind: he must go and get a present for her. Now John was lame. But he struggled on. He had a few miles to go. And he knew if he reached the village he would manage somehow to make his way back. But the snow really did come down. Till John was completely exhausted; he couldn’t go another step.

He sat down and said, “I’ll never get to the village today. There’s no way I’m going to get a present to my mother.”

He felt very sad and wished from his heart he could walk on. But he couldn’t see his finger in front of him for snow. The flakes were as big as a two-and-six-penny piece, as the old Travelling folk would say. John knew in his own mind he would have to turn back. He was lucky if he would make his way home!

Then he said, “I’m going to die here, I’m going to perish!”

Lo and behold, he had sat for ten or fifteen minutes when he saw someone coming walking to meet him.

He said to himself, “Who can this be in this storm? Who can this be? It’s not someone from the village. There’s no one due up here. No one is coming to walk at this time in a snow storm from the village.”

Then a tall stranger leading a donkey walked right up. He stopped beside John, who was sitting among the snow, soaking wet, crippled and completely exhausted. And John was amazed. He had never seen anybody in the village that looked like this. He knew all the farmers; he knew all the crofters, all the shepherds. But he’d never known this stranger who came with a donkey through the storm.

When he came to John he said, “Hello, friend! What’s the trouble?”

And John said, “Sir, excuse me, I’m bound for the village.”

“And why,” said the stranger, “are you bound for the village in a storm of snow? Have you not some place to stay? Have you not a home?”

“I have a home,” says John. “I have a home. I have a lovely home with my mother. We live two miles from here on the hillside. But I am bound for the village to find a present for my mother.”

“A present?” says the stranger. “Why should you make your way in a storm to buy a present? I can see that you are a cripple.”

“Yes,” says John. “I was born with a short leg and a long one. And I have struggled for nearly half this day through the snow. I’m making my way to the village.”

The stranger says, “Well, my little friend, you won’t make your way this day. Because I came from the village and it just took me to get through!”

John looked closely at the stranger with the long beard and the long golden hair. And he said, “Please, help me to get to the village!”

“Not today,” he said. “But I’ll help you to get to your home.”

“But,” John said, “I cannot go home. It’s Christmas and for my mother – I’m wanting a present!”

“Well,” said the stranger, “everyone loves Christmas. But it’s better to go home to your mother than die in the snow. Come now, let me take you home and forget about Christmas. If it’s a present that’s troubling you, look, come with me. I’m sure I can find one for your mother.”

And John looked. The stranger had nothing on him but a cloak. He was a tall man with golden hair and a long beautiful golden beard, leading a donkey. And John saw that the donkey had nothing on it, not even a saddle. Just a bridle. He was leading it through the snow.

“But where are you bound for, Stranger?” John said.

“Oh,” he said, “I’m bound for any place! One place is as good as another. But please come with me. Let me take you home to your mother.”

So, the stranger picked up John as if he were just a leaf or a feather and he placed John on the donkey’s back. He led him as if he knew where he was going. The snow didn’t seem to bother him. He just walked on and on through the blizzard while Cripple John sat on the donkey’s back. The snow didn’t seem to have any effect on him. He walked as if he were walking on a marble causeway. At last, after a long time, they came to the door of his mother’s house. John’s mother heard the hoof beats of the donkey and thought it was John had come home. She opened the door.

When she saw the stranger with her son on the donkey she rushed out – said, “Stranger, is he, is he hurt? Is there something wrong with my son?” She was very upset.

“No, my dear,” said the stranger, “there’s nothing wrong with your son. I found him along the way. He was bound for the village.”

“I told him, I told him,” said John’s mother, “not to go in a storm! It’s lucky… thank you, thank you, Stranger, for bringing him home! Won’t you come into the house and I can give you something warm to drink?”

“No, my dear, I don’t want anything warm to drink,” he said. But he walked round and lifted Cripple John off the donkey’s back, put him down on the ground. “Now, my little friend, he said, you are home at last.”

“Please,” said the widow-woman, “please, come in, Stranger. You don’t know what you’ve done for me. You have brought my son back to me who’d probably have perished in the snow.”

“All right,” said the stranger, “just for a few moments.”

Cripple John walked into the kitchen, brushed the snow from himself. He was tired and exhausted. He sat down in a chair next to the warm kitchen fire. The stranger walked in and sat down too. Outside the donkey stood as if it were made of marble. Never moved. John’s mother hustled and bustled round the place. She couldn’t do enough for the stranger.

She said, “Stranger, I was worried about my son going to the village.”

And John seemed so upset. He said, “I never got there, Mother, I never reached the village. Mother, I never got you a present.”

And then the stranger walked up and put his hand on John’s head. “Don’t worry,” he says, “little one! Your mother will have a present.”

The widow-woman says, “Look, presents don’t mean very much to me. All I’m worried about... my son is home safe. He’s safe with me tonight thanks to you, Stranger.”

He says, “Don’t thank me! I’m only doing what I’m supposed to do. But, John,” he says, “if you’re so upset I’ll give your mother something for Christmas.”

And he took from round his neck under his cloak a chain and a cross. He held it up and it sparkled in the light.

The widow-woman rubbed her eyes and said, “Such a beautiful thing!”

And John said, “Such a wonderful thing!”

The Stranger walked over to the widow-woman and he placed it around her neck. “This is a present for you,” he said, “which’ll do you for Christmas. And don’t let John worry about another. I am not giving it from me; I’m giving it from John. He was a person who went in the snow and did the most daring thing that anyone could ever do, to prove that he really loved his mother – even though he never made it.”

Then he came and put his hand on John’s head. “Little one,” he said, “I must be on my way.”

The widow-woman loved this sparkling cross on a chain round her neck. She says, “This is the most wonderful present anyone could ever give me.”

“Please,” said John, “please stay, Stranger. Stay for a moment! Have something to eat and something to drink.”

“I need nothing to eat. I need nothing to drink,” said the stranger. “I cannot stay.” And the stranger walked out the door.

The woman came and put her arm around her little son. “John, isn’t it wonderful?” she said. “Even you couldn’t have bought this for me, something I’ve wanted all my life. Something like this.”

He says, “Mother, I’ve seen that stranger some place before.”

“Yes, John,” she says, “so have I.”

Now the stranger had walked out the door, closed it behind him, taken his donkey and disappeared in the snow.

“Mother,” John said, “I’ve seen that face somewhere. I’ve seen that hair and I’ve seen that beard, Mother. Not in a dream, Mother!”

And his mother looked at the crucifix hanging around her neck. It was sparkling and shining.

“Yes, John,” she says, “so have I.”

“But, where, Mother, where?” he says. “Where have we seen this?”

“Come with me, my little boy, my son, and I’ll show you.” She says, “You know this is Christmas Eve?”

“Mother,” he said, “yes, it is Christmas Eve... Have we lost a day?”

“No,” she said, “son, you left this morning. And the stranger brought you home. But come with me, come, John!” And she led him into his bedroom. “John, look, there’s your stranger!”

And John looked up – there was the picture his father had placed above his bed when he was just a baby. Smiling looking down was a picture of Jesus Christ.

“That’s the person, Mother,” he said, “who would come today!”

The widow wiped tears from her eyes. She put her hand on her young cripple son and said, “Look, son, we have been privileged to meet the one and only! I hope in the future that many people will again.”

And that is the end of my story.

Dog and the Manger

The old collie dog was tired as he lay beside his master on the hillside that lovely moonlit night. His master was a shepherd who watched the sheep all night through to take care of them, because in these days long, long ago there were many wolves and foxes. The shepherd had two young dogs he’d reared up and kept along with the old collie, but he loved and respected his old collie most because he’d had it for many, many years. So, they sat on the hillside and the moon rose higher; it was beautiful and the stars were shining.

The shepherd turned round and said to the collie, “Old fellow, you must be tired. You ran a lot this morning, more than you should have, and you know you’re getting old now. I’m sure there’s no use the four of us sitting here. Why don’t you go home and go in the byre, sleep among the hay for the night? It’ll make you fresh for tomorrow. Me and your young offspring here will take care of the sheep.”

The old collie dog sat up, his tongue hanging out, and he looked at his master. He understood the language all right. When the master said, “Go home, old friend,” he knew the meaning perfectly.

He thought to himself, “My master doesn’t need me this night so I’ll go home.” He really was tired.

So, the old dog trotted back to the small steadings and the farm where he lived. He curled up in the byre among the hay and straw that had been placed in the stalls. And his old friend the donkey came in from the cold; he was a free agent who wandered around the farm to his heart’s content. And the collie couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen the place without the donkey. The donkey walked into one of the stalls and started chewing on the hay or straw or whatever was left out. The collie curled up to go to sleep. He heard his friend the donkey chewing, chewing, chewing on and on and on.

Then a little later he heard voices coming through the doorway. He wondered, “Is that my master coming home?”

And he looked out. It was still dark but the moon was shining clear. He thought to himself, “It can’t be my master. It’s not his time yet. He always comes home by daylight when the sheep’ll be safe, because no predators or any kind of wild animals will disturb them during the day.”

So, he was wide awake and sitting in the stall, one down from the donkey, when lo and behold, who should walk to the stall beside him but a woman! A young beautiful woman and a man with a beard. The collie had never seen these people before and he wondered who they were. He said to himself, “They must be strangers seeking their lodgings for the night.”

So, the dog curled back; he never said a yelp, never said a bark. He watched them; the man took his wife by the hand and led her into the empty stall that had little straw in it. And there was a manger above them for holding the hay for feeding the cattle, but there were no cattle in the byre this night. The dog sat and he listened. He heard the man talking and he knew well what they were saying.

The man said, “This is where we’ll stay. We shall find shelter here for the night.” He looked around. “It’s only a dog and a donkey and I’m sure they won’t disturb us.” He said, “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Well,” she says, “I don’t feel very well.”

And the man rakes up the hay, he places it, makes a little bed. He says, “I’m sure… will it happen tonight?”

She says, “I think it will happen in moments.”

The collie dog he’s sitting there. The donkey stops chewing his hay and all is quiet.

And then lo and behold the man says, “Are you needing any help?”

“No,” she says, “I’ll manage myself. Just you stand there at the stall entrance and see that I have a little privacy for a few moments.”

And the man stands there… he walks back and forward. And the dog lies, he never says a word but he hears everything that is going on. Lo and behold the next thing the dog hears is the crying of a little baby… a little baby cried.

And the dog said to himself, “This woman, this human being, must be giving birth to a baby right here beside us in the stall! I have never seen this before.”

And he crawled slowly round a wee bit closer; he keeked round the stall. Lo and behold the woman was holding up the most beautiful little baby that you ever saw. It had long dark golden hair. It was wet. And the husband ran in. He pulled off his covering of cloth, his cloak; he told her, “Use this!” And his wife wrapped the baby in it.

She said, “He’s a wonderful child.”

Then the husband said, “We need some place to put him for a wee while.”

And she said, “Put some straw in the manger just above where I lie and put him there for a few moments.”

The husband shook the straw along the manger and he took this little baby wrapped in his own cloth. He stood naked to the waist and he put him up in the manger.

And the old collie dog he was keeking round the stall. He saw the most beautiful thing he ever saw in his life: he saw a star shining through the window. The star seemed to come closer and closer and closer – till it shone right above the window. The dog had never seen this before and he wondered why such a star had come so close… his thoughts were on his master in the hillside. He wondered if his master would be disturbed by this same shining star. But then his thoughts changed. He heard the man and the woman talking.

The man said, “Look, we must stay here for the night. But we must find better shelter for our child tomorrow. I’m sure he will be all right, though; nothing’s going to happen to him. He’s a lovely child!”

The old dog sat and listened to all they said. And the child never made a sound. Finally the talking stopped and the dog fell asleep. But he wakened early in the morning when he heard a disturbance next to the stall where he lay. This was the man and his wife getting up and taking the child from the manger.

And the man says, “I must go to the village to find some help for you. There must be someone there who’ll give you help.”

She says, “I feel well, husband, I feel fine, lovely.”

He says, “I know you feel lovely but I must find some help for you and the child.”

She says, “Husband, it’s a long way to the village. We passed it through and they wouldn’t give us any shelter and that’s why we ended up here.”

He says, “We’ll go back with the baby, and when they see the baby they’ll probably give us shelter.”

“But,” she says, “husband, I’m too weak. I can’t walk.”

“Oh,” he says, “don’t worry, my dear, don’t worry. You’ll no need to walk; there’s a little donkey here and I’m sure the farmer won’t mind if I borrow it for a few hours to take you to the village.”

So, the man walked in and took a rope, a halter from the wall. He put it on the donkey’s head – but no saddle or bridle or anything. He lifted his wife up and placed her on the donkey’s back. He went to the manger and picked out the wee child, put him in her arms.

And the old collie’s sitting watching this. He wonders and he wonders, wonders… if his master knew about this… what a story he could tell if only he could speak to him! Then daylight came and the man with the beard, with not a stitch on his body because his cloak was wrapped round the baby, walked out the doorway leading the donkey with the woman and the child. And he walked away. The collie had never seen anything like this before in his life. He wondered, would he ever see his old friend the donkey again? But he loved that little child and he wished he had seen him closer. He crawled up in the straw and fell asleep.

The next thing he heard was a whistle. His master was back from the hills with the two young dogs. The shepherd came before them with a large tray of food and he put the dogs in the byre. Then he walked to his little cottage beside the farmhouse to have his own breakfast. But the old dog didn’t feel like eating. He didn’t feel like anything. He just wanted one thing – to look at the baby – because he had never seen his face. After the young dogs had fed themselves, they curled up and went to sleep, and the old collie dog went to sleep.

How long he slept he doesn’t know, but the next thing he hears is hoof-hoof beats on the floor. In comes the old donkey just by himself. And instead of going to his own stall he walks into the stall where the old dog lies.

The old collie looks up, says, “Hello, old friend, you’re back!”

And the donkey speaks to the dog, “Yes, I’m back. I had such a wonderful experience. I walked to the village and I carried this beautiful young woman and her child. But,” he says, “I feel queer and funny now.”

“And did you see the baby?” says the collie dog.

“Yes,” says the donkey, “I saw the baby, the most beautiful baby in this world!”

And the old collie says, “I wish I had seen the baby.”

“You will,” says the donkey, “some day you will see him. He will come again. He will come again and everyone will understand. But not talking about him or talking about you,” says the donkey, “do you see something strange about me?”

“No,” says the collie, “I don’t see anything strange about you. You’re just a donkey to me and I’m just a dog to you.”

“Look again,” says the donkey. “Look once more. See if there’s something about me that you’ve never seen before!”

And the collie looks and says, “You’ve four legs like me and you’ve got a tail. You’ve got a head and ears like I’ve got. You’ve got a mane and hair – just like me.”

“No,” says the donkey, “there’s something else you must see. And I hope in the future many people will see it, for when they see it they’ll probably understand.”

“Understand what?” says the collie dog. “Tell me what you mean!”

“Look on my shoulders,” says the donkey, “and tell me what you see.”

The collie stood up. He put his front paws up against the wall and he looked. The donkey wasn’t very high. He looked on the donkey’s back, and lo and behold for the first time in his life – across the donkey’s shoulders – was the cross, in black.

“What is that?” said the collie, who had never seen this before.

“That,” said the donkey, “is the mark of the child who was born this night. It was given to me and will remain with me for eternity, until some day he comes and shows his face to everyone.”

“Then maybe I’ll see him,” said the dog. “Maybe I will see him again?”

“You’ll see him,” said the donkey. “You’ll see him again; maybe not in this world, but maybe in another one when we leave this place.”

And that is the end of my story.

The Hare and the Scarecrow

Once upon a time there was this scarecrow and he’d stood in the field all summer scaring off the birds. After all the harvest was cut and it came near Christmas time, the farmer forgot about the scarecrow and left him in the field. Poor little scarecrow was so sad! No one ever came along and said hello. He just stood there in the field, no one to speak to, just a lonely old scarecrow. Then one morning just before Christmas along came a large brown hare, and he stopped beside the scarecrow.

He said, “Good morning, Mr Scarecrow!”

And the scarecrow was so glad to have someone to talk to, he said, “Oh, good morning, Mr Hare!”

The hare said, “Why are you so sad and lonely standing all by yourself in the field when everyone around the world is so happy because it’s Christmas time?”

And the scarecrow said, “What can I do? I’m just an old scarecrow. All the birds are gone because it’s wintertime and no one seems to want to bother with me any more.”

The hare said, “Look, Mr Scarecrow, it’s not right that you should stand in the field in the cold winter months after spending all summer scaring off the birds for the farmer!”

And the scarecrow said, “There’s nothing really I can do about it. The farmer has forgotten me.”

The hare said, “I know why he’s forgotten about you – because he is busy up in his house decorating a nice Christmas tree for his children. He bought his children all these lovely presents for Christmas and tonight they’re going to have a great party. And you, poor scarecrow, are left in the field all alone by yourself after working so hard all summer; so that the farmer could have nice crops of grain to sell for money to buy all these presents for his children – and have a nice Christmas party! It is not fair.”

And the scarecrow said, “There’s nothing really I can do, because I’m just a scarecrow!”

Then along comes a woodland fairy. She hears what the scarecrow has said. She stops aside him, and she too is sorry for the scarecrow.

She says to him, “I too am not very happy about this.”

The scarecrow says, “Look, there’s nothing I can do… I cannot walk.”

And the fairy says, “Yes, you can. Because I am going to put a magic spell on you for two hours tonight and you can do anything you like. You can walk and go wherever you want to go! But remember, you must not talk – or the spell will be broken.”

And the scarecrow says, “I would love to go to the farmhouse and join the children’s Christmas party.”

The fairy says, “You have got two hours to yourself to do what you like.” And the scarecrow was happy.

The hare said, “It’s just right that he should have these things because he’s worked so hard.” The hare went on his journey and the woodland fairy flew off, left the scarecrow all by himself.

Now, the scarecrow, he stood in the field and rubbed his hands together, said, “I don’t want to go too early; I don’t want to go too late. I will just wait till the children begin their Christmas party. Then I’ll go and join them.”

Back in the farmhouse the farmer was busy putting up the Christmas tree, putting all the presents under and lighting it up for his three children. Then, the scarecrow thought it was time – now it was quite dark, about six o’clock – and the children had begun their party.

So, the scarecrow got down from the stake he was tied to. And when he started to walk he felt so light and free. “Oh, dear,” he said, “at last I’m free from this field!”

He walked and walked till he came to the farmer’s door. He looked through the window and saw the great big Christmas tree. All the children were happy. They had party hats on, they were singing and dancing and having great fun. But the poor scarecrow he didn’t know how to open the door! So, he just sat all alone and wished he could join the children.

But the farmer was so busy with his children, helping them, having party games and all the fun, he felt so warm in the house, he said, “I think I’ll go outside for a few minutes and get a breath of fresh air.”

The farmer walked to the door, opened it and walked out on the steps. And lo and behold who should be sitting there but the scarecrow! The farmer scratched his head and said to himself, “I wonder where in the world did you come from? The last time I saw you, you were down in my ten-acre field scaring the crows. But you’ve been a good scarecrow to me; you scared all the birds away all summer and you worked really hard. I think it’s about time you should come and join our Christmas party!” So, the farmer lifted up the scarecrow and carried it inside.

And the children said, “Daddy, Daddy! What have you brought?”

He said, “Children, gather round, because I have a little friend who comes to visit you!”

And the children said, “Daddy, it’s the scarecrow!”

“I know, children,” he said, “it’s the scarecrow. But you must remember… Come up here till I tell you a wee story. I built this scarecrow myself and I made him nice. I gave him a hat and I gave him a turnip for a head. I gave him hands and legs made of straw and I put him in my field to scare away the birds. If I didn’t do that then the birds would eat all the grain, and the grain would never grow up – I wouldn’t have any harvest. And if I didn’t have any harvest then I wouldn’t get any money, and if I didn’t get any money then I couldn’t buy you children all these wonderful presents and make this lovely Christmas tree. It’s all because of the scarecrow. So, I think it’s about time he should come and join the Christmas party!”

And the children said, “Yes, Daddy, we understand. Please, put him beside the Christmas tree!”

So, the farmer carried the scarecrow and put him beside the tree. And the scarecrow was happy to be there. Then the children started to dance and sing, carry on and have their party games. But lo and behold the scarecrow got so excited he couldn’t help himself; he got up and walked on the floor. He started to sing and he started to dance. And he danced and sang, danced and sang and clapped his hands. The farmer and his children were so taken away with this scarecrow they thought it was magic. They couldn’t believe a scarecrow would do this. Then, forgetting what the fairy had told him, the scarecrow was just going to tell stories about all the birds in the field that he’s seen… when the clock struck eight and the scarecrow fell on the floor.

The farmer was amazed. He picked him up and said, “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

The children said, “Daddy, please, put him beside the Christmas tree again… he must be a magic scarecrow!”

And the farmer said, “No, he is not a magic scarecrow; he is just an old scarecrow. But he will never again stand in a cold field in the winter months. When all the harvest is off the field and all the birds have flown away for the winter, our scarecrow will join our Christmas party – every year!”

The children were so happy and excited they said, “Yes, Daddy, please, let’s have the scarecrow for next Christmas!”

“Right, children,” he said, “have your party!”

The farmer carried the scarecrow and put him in the shed, shut him up for the rest of the winter till the next summer came along. Then he placed him back in the field again. And the scarecrow was happy, for he’d heard the farmer saying that he would join the children at their Christmas party next year. The scarecrow looked forward to it.

And that is the end of my wee story.

The Henwife and Old Father Time

The old woman, she was tired as she struggled from the sea with her bundle of driftwood on her back. She had carried driftwood from the shoreside for many, many days, building up a large quantity to see her through the winter. She was an old hen woman and she lived very close to the sea. The days were very short. It was the middle of winter. But the old woman had lost track of time because she never got very many visitors. She was just an old woman who lived by herself. All she had to keep her alive was taking her eggs into the village day by day to sell. She had ducks and hens, and the ducks went on the shoreside, but always came home and laid within their little shed by the side of her little cottage. And she trusted they would lay nowhere else.

She had carried three bundles, built them up, put them up to dry. This was the only kind of fuel that she used during the winter. She had a large fire and depended on the driftwood. She went back for the fourth load, tied a rope round it, put it on her back and carried it up from the beach.

When lo and behold she landed up the door of the cottage – there, stood before her, was an old man with a long white beard and a long coat and sandals on his feet. Now the old woman had never got many visits in her life and she was surprised to see the stranger standing before her. He was an old man. And she could see by the way he stood stooped and bended, he was very, very old.

She placed the bundle of sticks from her back in a heap, then turned round and said, “Hello, Stranger!”

He said, “Hello!”

She says, “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” he said, “I have come a long, long way and I’m weary and tired. I wonder if you could give me a drink?”

“A drink,” she says, “I’ve got plenty of, if ye just hold on a moment till I lay down these sticks. I’ll give ye a drink.”

The old woman was very glad to see someone to talk to. She took off the rope that she had round her sticks, piled them up so they would dry, criss-crossed to let the wind in between them. And the old stranger stood watching her. He waited patiently by her side till she had finished her work.

And then she said, “Come with me, old man.”

He looked older than her – she was very old by herself – but he looked old with his long grey beard and his long coat. But the most amazing thing she ever saw in her life was that he had sandals on his feet… She had never seen an old man walking with sandals before. So, after she packed her sticks up to dry, she welcomed him into her little cottage. Took in a few sticks; the fire was very low but she soon kindled it up, put some more sticks on, the driest ones she could pick, and placed the old man by the chair.

She said, “What would ye like tae drink?”

“Anything, my dear,” he said, “would suit me.”

So, she walked in, and this old woman had made some wine during the summer months with her many elderberry bushes along the beachside. She always made wine when the elderberry was ripe. And she’d always had two-three bottles of wine. So she took a bottle with a glass and she gave the old man a drink. He sat by the fire and she sat down in a chair across from him. And he sat there with his old ragged coat and his long grey beard and his sandals on his feet. The old woman was amazed and wondered in her own mind where in the world did this old man come from? She thought, “Probably he’ll tell me a story and tell me something about his life.”

The old man sat and he drank the wine. He said, “That is very good. Did ye make it yerself?”

“Yes,” she said, “I made it myself.”

“Well,” he said, “it’s very good. Did ye make it from the berries of the elderberry?”

She said, “Yes, I made it from the elderberry. I pick the berries along the hedgerow and I make it.”

“Well,” he said, “it is very good.”

They sat there and talked for a few moments. But there was a clock on the wall that the old woman had got from her grandmother, which we call a wag-at-the-wall clock. It was tick-tick-tick-ticking past the minutes. And every moment the old man was looking up, watching the clock and watching the minutes passing by. The old woman was very curious why the old man was watching the time so much.

She said, “Stranger, are ye in a hurry to go somewhere? I see that ye keep watching the clock.”

“Well,” he says, “I must keep my eyes on the time because my time is very short. I soon have tae be on my way.”

“Well,” she said, “have you far to go?”

He said, “Far tae go I have, but it’ll take me a long time tae get there because I don’t travel very fast.”

And the old woman was very curious about this. She said, “Well, would you have something to eat?”

“Well,” he said, “I have never had much to eat for a long time. But if you’ve a little tae spare before I go on my way, it would be very kindly accepted.”

So the old woman went into the back of her little kitchen and she brought out a piece of cheese and a piece of bread and a hard-boiled egg that she had boiled that morning from her own hens. She placed it forward on the table and the old man sat there. He ate it very slowly. He turned round to the old woman. She watched him and he drank his wine. She watched him. And she could see… there was a queer thing happening by him. But he kept watching the clock…

Because his eyes began to change – gone was the old look from his face, and his eyes began to seem bluer! They were not watery like the eyes of an old man. They were straight and blue-looking like the eyes of a young man. And this upset the old woman. And as she sat there watching him having his little bite to eat she looked down to his feet. She could see his toes were sticking out from the sandals. But the nails of his toes were not old and yellow like the toes of an old man; the nails of his toes were fresh like the toes of a baby! She never saw his legs because they were covered up by his coat. And the old woman thought this was queer because she had never come in contact with a person like this before. The old woman never knew what time it was; she knew the time by the clock, but she never knew what time it was of the year.

So, they sat there and they talked. She put more sticks on the fire and asked him would he like more wine? But then, naturally, he would like more wine. She saw that on the side of his face the beard began to disappear. And he sat and talked for a few moments… His cheeks began to come clean and tidy round about where the hair was. And the old woman thought to herself, “What is happening? This man seems tae dissolve before me and become a new person! What kind o’ person can he be?” So she was curious and she wanted to understand.

She said, “Would you like something more to drink?”

“Well,” he said, “I really enjoyed that drink.”

And she walked in to get him another glass of the elderberry wine. It took her about five minutes to get the wine. But when she came back his beard had seemed to be gone and there was just a wee stubble on his chin! And his beautiful blue eyes were shining straight over. And his hair, which was grey and long, began to get short and began to change its colour! And the old woman said to herself, “What in the world… How can a person that has come tae visit me this time of night…” And the old woman did not have one idea what kind of person it was. The old man sat there. But now she could see it was an old man in one way, but it was a young man in another way. And she looked down at his feet once more. She saw his toes were like the toes of children.

“Oh, dear-o dear-o,” said the old woman, “what is happening? I want tae see this happening but I don’t believe it!”

But the old man was busy watching the clock and she was wondering why he was always watching the time passing by. After he had his meal they sat and talked about many things. He’d asked her about her hens and asked her about everything, asked her about her life, how she spent the life on the beach, how she enjoyed the last year and was the last year good to her.

He said, “Did last year treat you kindly?”

“Oh,” she said, “well, I’ve had a wonderful year. My hens were laying and there nothing was wrong wi’ me and I wasna feeling ill. But it only makes me older when another year comes!” And she was looking forward to next year coming and what would happen. They talked for many hours. Then the old woman could see that there was something strange about this person that sat before her.

So she turned round, said, “Stranger, would you tell me the truth?”

He said, “What is it you want tae know?”

“Well,” she said, look, you’ve been in my home now for over eight hours and we’ve talked many things. And I’ve seen a wonderful change come over you.”

And the young-old man smiled. He said, “Old woman, it’s the same thing happening all over the world at this present moment. Because everyone is welcoming the change going to happen with the next quarter-hour tae come. So, I don’t know why you should be worried about it.”

She says, “I’m really worried because I can see the change… When ye came in to me you had a beard and now yer beard is gone. You had the appearance of an old man and now you don’t look an old man tae me – you look like a young man! Did the wine I give ye made ye drop these years, or maybe the egg I gave ye made ye drop these years?”

And he stood up – as straight as straight could be. He looked at the clock and he said, “No, it’s not you; it’s not you, my old woman. I thank ye for yer kindness but I must be on my way. It is time that has caught up with me!”

She said, “Time? But there’s plenty time.”

He said, “There might be plenty time for you, but there’s not much time for me.” And he stood up and his beard was gone. His cheeks were as red and rosy as the face of a child. And his eyes were blue as the blue of a newborn baby. As he stood that straight, his feet in the sandals were like the feet of a newborn boy. He stood there before her and he held out his hand and his fingernails were like the fingernails of a child.

He said, “Look, old woman, I have come tae visit you because I respect your life and I respect the things that ye have done. But unknown to you… ye don’t even know what time it is, do you?”

She said, “No, I don’t know what time it is!” And she looked at the clock; it was quarter to twelve. He had been with her for eight hours talking and blethering.

He said, “I must be on my way.”

“But,” she says, “before ye go, please tell me something because I am so upset – tae see an old man coming into my house and a young man walking away!”

He said, “In fifteen minutes it’ll be twelve o’clock, and then my time really begins. I have a long way tae go and a long, long year to spend and many, many places tae travel.”

She says, “Who are you, Stranger?”

He says, “I am Father Time. And you be privileged, because it’s not many people I be visited!” And he turned round. He says to the old woman, “Do you know what time it is?”

She said, “It’s five minutes tae twelve.”

“But do you know what day it is?”

She said, “No, I don’t.”

He said, “It’s almost twelve o’clock – and it’s the beginning of a New Year.”

She says, “New Year! I thought it was weeks away. I prepared for it but I never knew it would come so soon. Would ye do me one favour?”

He says, “What could I do for you before I go?”

“Would you drink one glass of wine from me?”

He said, “I’m sorry… because the clock’ll soon be striking twelve,” and like that the young man was gone!

And that is the end o’ my story.

Death in a Nut

Jack lived with his mother in a little cottage by the shoreside, and his mother kept some ducks and some hens. Jack could barely remember his father who had died long before he was born. And they had a small kind o’ croft. Jack cut a little hay for his mother’s goats. When there was no hay to collect, he spent most of his time along the shoreside as a beachcomber, collecting everything that came in by the tide, whatever it would be – any old drums, any old cans, pieces of driftwood, something that was flung off a boat. Jack collected all these things and brought them in, put them beside his mother’s cottage and said, “Some day they might come in useful.” But the thing that Jack collected most for his mother was firewood.

And Jack was very happy. He was just a young man, his early teens, and he dearly loved his mother. He used to some days take duck eggs to the village (his mother was famed for her duck eggs) and hen eggs forbyes; they helped them survive. And his mother would take in a little sewing for the local people in the village. Jack and his mother lived quite happy. Till one particular day; it was around about the wintertime, about the month o’ January, this time o’ the year now.

Jack used to get up early in the morning and make a cup o’ tea; he always gave his mother a cup o’ tea in bed, every morning. And one particular morning he rose early because he wanted to catch the incoming tide to see what it would bring in for him. He brought a cup o’ tea in to his mother in her own little bed in a little room. It was only a two-room little cottage they had.

He says, “Mother, I’ve brought you a cup o’ tea.”

She says, “Son, I don’t want any tea.”

“Mother,” he says, “why? What’s wrong, are you not feeling…”

She says, “Son, I’m not feeling very well this morning. I don’t think I could even drink a cup o’ tea if you gave it to me.”

“Oh, Mother,” he says, “try and take a wee sip,” and he leaned over the bed, held the cup to his mother’s mouth and tried to get her…

She took two-three sips. “That’s enough, laddie,” she says, “I don’t feel very well.”

He says, “What’s wrong with you, Mother? Are you in pain or something?”

“Well, so and no so, Jack. I dinnae ken what’s wrong with me,” she says. “I’m an ill woman, Jack, and ye’re a young man and I cannae go on for ever.”

“But, Mother,” he says, “you can’t die and leave me by myself! What am I going to do? I’ve no friends, nobody in this world but you, Mother! You can’t die and leave me.”

“Well,” she says, “Jack, I think I’m no long for this world. In fact, I think he’ll be coming for me some o’ these days… soon.”

“Who, Mother, are you talking about – coming for me?”

She says, “Jack, ye ken who he is, Jack. Between me and you, we don’t share any secrets. I’m an old woman and I’m going to die – Death’s going to come for me, Jack, and I can see it in my mind.”

“Oh, Mother, no, Mother,” he said, and held her hand.

“But,” she says, “never mind, laddie. Ye’ll manage to take care o’ yourself. Yer mother has saved a few shillings for you and I’m sure some day you’ll meet a nice wee wife when I’m gone. Ye’ll probably get on in the world.”

“No, Mother,” he says, “I couldn’t get on without you.”

She says, “Laddie, leave me and I’ll try and get a wee sleep.”

By this time it was daylight as the sun began to get up, and Jack walked along the shoreway in the grey-dark of the morning, just getting clear. It must have been about half past eight – nine o’clock (in the wintertime it took a long while to get clear in the mornings) when the tide was coming in. Jack walked along and, lo and behold, the first thing he saw coming a-walking the shoreway was an old man with a long grey beard, skinny legs, a ragged coat and a scythe on his back. His two eyes were sunk into his head, sunk back into his skull, and he was the ugliest looking creature that Jack ever saw in his life. But he had on his back a brand new scythe and it was shining in the light from the morning.

Now, his mother had always told Jack what Death looked like, and Jack says to his ownself, “That’s Death come for my old mother! He’s come to take the only thing that I love away from me, but,” he said, “he’s no getting away with it!”

So, Jack steps out off the shoreside and up he comes and meets this old man – bare feet, long ragged coat, long ragged beard, high cheek bones and his eyes sunk back in his head, two front teeth sticking out like that – and a shining scythe on his back. The morning sun was glittering on the blade – ready to cut the people’s throats and take them away to the Land o’ Death.

Jack steps up, says, “Good morning, old man.”

“Oh,” he said, “good morning, young man! Tell me, is it far to the next cottage?”

Jack said, “My mother lives in the next cottage just along the shoreway a little bit.”

“Oh,” he says, “that’s her I want to visit.”

“Not this morning,” says Jack. “Ye’re not going to visit her! I know who you are – you’re Death – and you’ve come to take my old mother, kill her and take her away and leave me myself.”

“Well,” Death says, “it’s natural. Your mother, ye know, she’s an old woman and she’s reached a certain age. I’ll no be doing her any harm. I’ll be just doing her a good turn – she’s suffering in pain.”

“You’re no taking my old mother!” says Jack. And he ran forward, he snapped the scythe off the old man’s back, and he walked to a big stone. He smashed the scythe against a stone.

And the old man got angrier and angrier and angrier and more ugly looking. “My young man,” he says, “you’ve done that – but that’s not the end!”

“Well,” Jack says, “it’s the end for you!” And Jack dived on top o’ him. Jack got a hold o’ him and Jack picked a bit stick up the shoreside; he beat him and he welted him and he welted him, he beat him and he welted him. He fought with Death and Death was as strong as Jack was, but finally Jack conquered him! And Jack beat him with a bit stick. And lo and behold, a funny thing happened: the more Jack beat him, the wee-er Death got. And Jack beat him and Jack beat him – no blood came from him or anything – Jack beat him with the stick till he got barely the size o’ that.

And Jack caught him in his hand. “Now,” he said, “I got ye! Ye’ll no get my old mother!”

Now Jack thought to his ownself, “What in the world am I going to do with him? I have him here; I can’t let him go. I beat him, I broke his scythe and I conquered him. But what in the world am I going to do with him? I can’t hide him below a stone because he’ll creep out and he’ll come back to his normal size again.”

Jack walked along the shore and he looked – coming in by the tide was a big hazelnut, that size! But the funny thing about this hazelnut: a squirrel had dug a hole in the nut because squirrels always dig holes in nuts – they have sharp teeth – and he eats the kernel out inside and leaves the empty case. And Jack picked up the hazelnut. He looks, says, “The very thing!”

And Jack crushed Death in through the wee hole, into the nut. Squeezed him in head first, and his wee feet, put him in there, shoved him in. Then he walked about; he got a wee plug o’ stick and he plugged the hole from the outside.

“Now,” he says, “Death, you’ll never get my mother.” And he caught him in his hand – he threw him out into the tide! And the heavy waves were whoosh-an-whoosh-an-whoosh-an, whoosh-an-whoosh-an in and back and forward. And Jack watched the wee nut; it went a-sailing floating and back and forward away with the tide.

“That’s it!” says Jack. “That’s the end o’ Death. He’ll never bother my mother again, or anybody else forbyes.”

Jack got two-three sticks under his arm and he walked back. When he landed back he saw the reek was coming from the chimney.

He says, “My mother must be up. She must be feeling a wee bit better.” Lo and behold, he walks in the house. There’s his old mother up, her sleeves rolled up, her face full o’ flour, her apron on and she’s busy making scones.

He said, “How ye feeling, Mother?”

She says, “Jack, I’m feeling great. I never felt better in my life! Laddie, I dinna ken what happened to me, but I was lying there in pain and torture, and all in a minute I felt like someone had come and rumbled all the pains and took everything out o’ my body and made me… I feel like a lassie again, Jack. I made some scones for your breakfast.”

Jack never mentioned to his mother about Death, never said a word. His mother fasselt roon the table. She put up her hair… Jack never saw his mother in better health in her life! He sat down by the fire. His mother made some scones.

He had a wee bit scone. He says, “Mother, is that all you’ve got to eat?”

“Well,” she says, “Jack, there’s no much, just a wee puckle flour and I thought I’d mak ye a wee scone for your breakfast. Go on out to the hen house and get a couple eggs. I’ll mak ye a couple eggs along with your scone and that’ll fill ye up, laddie.”

Jack walks out to the hen house as usual, wee shed beside his mother’s house. Oh, every nest is full o’ eggs – hens’ eggs, duck eggs, the nests are all full. Jack picks up four o’ the big beautiful brown eggs out o’ the nest, goes back in and, “Here, Mother, there’s four,” he says, “two to you, two to me.”

The old woman says, “I’ll no be a minute, Jack.” It was an open fire they had. The woman pulled the sway out, put the frying pan on, put a wee bit fat in the pan. She waited and she waited and watched, but the wee bit fat wouldn’t melt. She poked the fire with the poker but the wee bit fat wouldn’t melt.

“Jack,” she says, “fire’s no kindling very good, laddie; it’ll no even melt that wee bit fat.”

“Well, put some more sticks on, Mother,” he said, “put some more wee bits o’ sticks on.” Jack put the best o’ sticks on, but na! The wee bit o’ fat sat in the middle o’ the pan, but it wouldn’t melt.

He says, “Mother, never mind, put the egg in and give it a rummle roon. It’ll do me the way it is. Just put it in the pan.”

Old mother tried – crack – na! She hit the egg again – na! And suppose she could have taken a fifty-pound hammer and hit the egg; that egg would not break! She says, “Jack, I can’t break these eggs.”

“Mother,” he said, “I thought ye said ye were feeling well and feeling good – and you can’t break an egg? Give me the egg, I’ll break it!” Jack took the egg, went in his big hand, ye ken. Jack, big young laddie, caught the egg with one hand – clank – on the side o’ the pan – na! Ye’re as well to hit a stone on the side o’ the pan; the egg would not break in no way in this world.

“Ah, Mother,” he says, “I dinna ken what’s wrong. I dinna ken what’s wrong, Mother, with these eggs. Probably they’re no right eggs. I better go and get another two.”

He walked out to the shed again. He brought in two duck eggs. But he tried the same – na, they wouldn’t break. The eggs just would not break in any way in the world.

“Mother,” he says, “put them in a taste o’ water and bring them a-boil.”

She says, “That’s right, Jack, I never thought about that.” The old woman got a wee pan and the fire was going well by this time of bonnie shore sticks. She put the pan on and within seconds the water was boiling. She popped the two eggs in. And it bubbled and bubbled and bubbled and bubbled. She said, “They’re ready now, Jack.” She took them out – crack – na! Suppose they had tried for months, they couldn’t crack those two eggs!

“Ah, Mother,” he says, “there’s something wrong. Mother, something’s wrong; there’s enchantment upon us – those eggs’ll no cook. We’re going to die with hunger.”

“Never mind, Jack,” she says, “eat your wee bit scone. I’ll mak ye a wee drop soup, a wee pot o’ soup. Go out to the garden, Jack, and get me a wee taste o’ vegetables, leeks and a few carrots.”

Now Jack has a good garden. He passes all his time making a good garden to his mother. Out he goes; he pulls two carrots, a leek, bit parsley and a neep, and he brings it to his mother. The old woman washes the pot, puts some water in, puts it on the fire. She goes to the table with the knife. But na – every time she touches the carrot, the knife just skates off it. She touches the leek – it skates off it and all. The old woman tries her best and Jack tries his best – there’s no way in the world…

Jack said, “That knife’s blunt, Mother. And Jack had a wee bit o’ sharpening stone he’d found in the shoreside. He took the stone and he sharpened the knife, but no way in the world would it ever look at the carrots or the neep or the wee bit parsley to make a wee pot o’ soup.

She says, “Jack, there’s something wrong with my vegetables; they must be frozen solid.”

“But,” he said, “Mother, there’s been no frost to freeze them! How in the world can this happen?”

“Well,” she says, “Jack, look, ye ken I’ve an awful cockerels this year; and we’ll no need them all, Jack. Would ye go out to the shed and pull a cockerel’s neck and I’ll put it in the pot, boil it for our supper?”

“Aye,” says Jack.

Now, the old woman kept a lot of hens. Jack went out and in the shed there were dozens of them sitting in a row, cockerels o’ all description. Jack looked till he seen a big fat one sitting on a perch. He put his hand up, caught it and he felt it – it was fat. “Oh,” he says, “Mother’ll be pleased with this yin.” Jack pulled the neck – na! Pulled again – no way. He pulled it, he shook it, he swung it round his head three-five times. He took a stick and he battered it in the head. There’s no way – he couldn’t touch the cockerel in any way! He put it below his oxter and he walked in to his mother.

She said, “Ye got a cockerel, Jack?”

“Oh, Mother,” he said, “I got a cockerel all right. I got one. But, Mother, you may care!”

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