East Lothian Folk Tales for Children E-Book

Tim Porteus

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 134

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

East Lothian's landscape has mysterious and intriguing stories sewn into it. This collection of tales has witches and wizards, magical creatures and eerie happenings. There are dragons, faeries, ghosts and selkies. You will be whispered secrets by an ancient tree, discover why the Skeleton Boy made his home in Hanging Rock Cave, and how a rat became more than just a rat. With specially selected stories for the enjoyment of 7- to 11-year-old readers, there is something to delight and amuse in every tale.

Leseprobe

First published 2018

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

Text © Tim Porteus, 2018

Illustrations © Morvern Graham

The right of Tim Porteus to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 0 7509 9028 8

Typesetting and origination by The History Press

Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Foreword by Mairi Livsey

Introduction

1   Bogle Hill and the Promise to the Faeries

2   Black Agnes of Dunbar

3   The Mittenfu Stanes

4   The Skeleton Boy of Hanging Rock Cave

5   The Legend of how Scotland got its Flag

6   The Rain Dragon and the Maiden Stone

7   The Old Black Pot

8   Faeries’ Oven Rock

9   The Tale of the Whittingehame Yew Tree

10 The Ghost of Innerwick

11 Johnny’s Football

12 The Farting Ogress who made North Berwick Law

13 The Rat who became more than Just a Rat

14 The Shepherd Boy and the Flying Foxglove

15 The Shapeshifting Witch of Dingleton

16 The Coal-Bearer who ate her Shoes

17 The Wizard of Yester and the Elfin Knight

18 The Wolf’s Tale

Glossary of Scots Words

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There have been many sources of motivation and inspiration for this book. One is my family, in particular my wife Katharina and my children Mairi, Morvern, Manja, Skye and Lewis. Their support, ideas and creativity are the rock on which this book was made possible.

My two older children, Mairi and Morvern, are now grown up. When they were younger, I tried to make stories and discovery a big part of their childhood. I’m so honoured that Mairi has written a foreword to this book, and Morvern has illustrated it. My younger children have contributed in various ways to the stories in this book as well, with ideas and their enthusiasm.

Another source of inspiration and motivation has been children in East Lothian who I have had the pleasure to meet in various storytelling sessions and in schools. Their enthusiasm and engagement have been one of the joys of storytelling, and some have actively helped me with this book by giving me useful and constructive feedback on the stories.

In particular I would like to acknowledge the help and contribution of Mr Andrew’s P6 class of 2017/18 at St Gabriel’s Primary School in Prestonpans, and the help of pupils from Prestonpans Primary School. I sadly cannot name them all because of new data protection laws, but they know who they are and I am immensely grateful.

Friends and members of the local community have also played a big part in the compilation of this book. I know how limited this collection is, and there is an ocean of tales and stories not represented. But I hope this will be a useful drop in that ocean.

I would also like to acknowledge the contribution of other storytellers: Archie Johnston and Bob Mitchell kindly allowed me to use their stories in this book; Lea Taylor has been an inspiration in her work with young people and schools.

Angie Townsend is sadly no longer with us in body but she most certainly remains with us in spirit. She was a motivational and passionate storyteller, weaving history and storytelling together in ways which engaged and enthused. Many children and adults will remember her stories, and the tales of Black Agnes and the legend of how Scotland got its flag in this book have her voice running through them.

Finally, I must express my gratitude to Donald Smith. His encouragement has been a hugely positive influence on me – just as his infectious laughter transforms any storytelling session.

FOREWORD

FROM A DAUGHTER TO A FATHER

As Tim’s eldest child, I may be biased in my representation of him as a person and also as a writer. However, all you have to do is ask people around East Lothian, Edinburgh, and throughout various parts of the world, to get a sense of who my dad is. He has touched, contributed to and changed the lives of so many in his lifetime.

Anyone who knows my father knows that everything he is and everything he encompasses comes from a place of utter selflessness. From a young age, he participated in politics and worked for charities; always attempting to make the world a better place. Since my birth and the births of my four siblings in the last twenty years, not much has changed. He has continued to work for charities while making his whole life about his children.

When I was born, Dad lived in Edinburgh and I have many fond memories of that time. I remember spending weekends exploring the cobbled streets of Edinburgh’s Old Town with my sister Morvern while Dad told us tales of bodysnatchers, fishwives and witches. Then I remember moving back to Prestonpans where Dad had been as a child, and as a result spending our time exploring all the ‘secret magical places’ in East Lothian – places that he has written about in his weekly column in the East Lothian Courier.

I remember exploring places like Butterdean Wood, leaving presents for the Faeries or Brownies and swimming in freezing cold rivers. We used to dress up as Pictish warriors in the woods and make up our own Pictish language. I cannot remember what I got for my ninth birthday; however, I can vividly remember the treasure hunt that year which Dad created. It lasted weeks, and I especially remember the sheer excitement (we actually cried we were so excited) when we eventually found ‘Blackbeard’s treasure.’ (Dad had bought an old treasure chest, filled it with charity shop jewellery and buried it in the moss in Arthur’s Seat.)

Memories are what stay with us from our childhood, not material things. I have been lucky enough to gain enough memories from mine to last a lifetime. To say that the tales, the nature, the exploring and the creativity enriched my childhood is an understatement. I genuinely believe that my dad and his stories have helped shape and make me into the person I am today.

This book is an attempt to share what I was lucky enough to experience as a child, through the use of tales and stories. What makes this book so special is that these tales have been created through my dad’s work in schools directly with children. This is combined with his love and knowledge of the history of East Lothian. It has, at its core, ideas created by children, and for many this was their first chance to fully embrace the creativity and joy of storytelling. It is through Dad’s enthusiasm, encouragement and knowledge of East Lothian’s history and folklore that East Lothian Folk Tales for Children has been created. It is an encompassment of the childhood imagination, the raw and beautiful aspect of creativity that children contain within them, eager to be set free and made into something special.

The tales that you are about to read include stories about (spoiler alert) faeries, dragons, selkies and so much more. They are scary, thrilling and historic. Read this book, enjoy it, treasure it, but also USE it! Use it to open up your mind, to create your own stories and to pass them on. Put the phone down, read a story and immerse yourself in the beautiful and amazing world that your imagination can create for you.

Start reading and you will see …

Love, Mairi

INTRODUCTION

When I was young I used to read stories of the great adventurers who had ‘discovered’ Africa, Australia and America. I read all about the pioneers of the American West, the great merchants who travelled to Asia, and the explorers of the North and South Poles. I was fascinated by these stories, but they also made me feel disappointed. You see, it seemed to me that by the time I grew up, there would be no place left for me to discover, no adventure left.

But, of course, I was wrong. For a start, almost every discovery of a place we have read about was actually already discovered. People already lived in Africa, Australia and America, before it was ‘discovered’ by explorers. OK, maybe not the North and South Poles, but even then we cannot be sure!

I began to realise that discovery is actually a very personal thing. When I went on camping holidays with my family in the Highlands, I made lots of discoveries: ruined castles, secret caves, hideouts in the woods and even the ghost tracks of an old railway.

And as an adult I have been making discoveries in the beautiful county of East Lothian, where I live, and where I spent part of my childhood. There are caves, ruined castles, rocks by the sea, ancient woods, magical hills and hidden waterfalls. Many of these places have a story connected to them which adds to the adventure of discovering them.

That’s why many of the tales in this book are also about a place you can discover. Unfortunately, some are more difficult to get to if your family doesn’t have a car, but many can be reached without one.

I really hope you enjoy these stories. Just so you know, a couple are a wee bit scary, and a couple have some gory bits. And I have also included some Scots words. There are not many, but if you can’t understand them then there is a glossary at the back that translates them into English.

Happy reading, and happy exploring!

Tim the Storyteller

1

BOGLE HILL AND THE PROMISE TO THE FAERIES

This story was told to me by Archie Johnston, a fisherman from Cockenzie. He has been a fisherman all his adult life. He is also a great storyteller and has kindly agreed to allow me to share this version of his story with you.

The tale takes us back to the time when the Wee Folk used to dance and gather in Bogle Hill Wood. The Wee Folk was the name people used for the faeries. Most of the wood was cut down to make Longniddry Golf Course, but some say the faeries still meet there after the golfers have finished playing.

Bogle Hill is the faerie hill where the Wee Folk are said to live. You will find it if you walk from the car park of Niddrie Bents 2 towards a small wooden bridge. Cross the bridge over the burn and follow the path as it curves round. Look inland here and notice a collection of tiny mounds. This is Bogle Hill.

There are bushes of Sea Buckthorn and Hawthorn covering the hill. In the spring bluebells decorate part of it, for everyone knows this is a faerie flower.

Walk carefully and stay on the path, in case you disturb the Wee Folk. They don’t like being woken or disturbed. But they are kind to those who show kindness. They also believe a promise is a promise, as this story shows.

One day, in the days of herring fishing, a young boy from Cockenzie was collecting wood by the beach at Longniddry. He had walked quite far from home and had collected a large bundle of sticks, so he decided to rest for a moment. As he did so, he saw an old woman walking on the beach.

She was carrying a creel on her back, which was full of driftwood and sticks. She looked very old, had a crooked back and the creel looked heavy. She tried to pick up a piece of wood lying on the sand but as she did so her creel slipped, and the sticks spilled out.

The old woman seemed very upset at this, so the young boy rushed over to help her pick up the scattered pieces of wood. He then put them carefully back into the creel.

‘Och, whit a guid lad ye are, tae help an auld woman like that,’ she said. ‘And whit a good job you have done,’ she added with a smile, admiring the way he’d carefully stacked the sticks in her basket.

‘I’m used tae filling a creel,’ he said. ‘My mother is a fishwife, and my faither is – er, was – a fisherman.’ His father had been lost at sea not so long ago, but he didn’t want to say. The sadness was too heavy to talk about.

But the old woman understood.

‘I must thank you for your kind help,’ she said. ‘Follow me.’

The boy had been taught to do good deeds without expecting a reward, but he wondered what he might get in return for his help, so he followed her. He noticed that her back didn’t seem as crooked and bent as before. She also carried the heavy creel as if it wasn’t heavy at all and walked so fast he could hardly keep up with her.

Soon they arrived at the edge of a small hill.

The old woman pointed to a small hole in the side of the slope. ‘Put your hands in there,’ she said, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

He really wasn’t sure.

‘Trust me,’ she told him, ‘you will get your reward. Put your hands in, palms upways.’

He decided to trust her and so he knelt down and carefully placed both hands into the small opening in the ground. Suddenly he felt something touch his palms and in a panic he clasped his hands and pulled them out.

He unfurled his fingers and saw that he now had two gold coins, one in each hand.

‘See,’ said the old woman, ‘that is tae repay your kindness. There are mair, but only when you truly need them.’ Then her face turned serious. ‘But you must not tell anyone where you got them from, do you promise me that?’

‘I promise,’ said the boy, looking at the coins. ‘I promise I won’t tell anyone.’ When he looked up, the old woman was gone. There was no sign of her. In that moment he realised the place was Bogle Hill, and everyone knew it was a faerie hill.

‘Thank you, faerie woman,’ he whispered under his breath.

The young lad ran home so fast his lungs nearly burst. His mother was preparing a simple dinner when he arrived.

‘Maw, Maw, wait till you see what I have,’ he said, almost unable to speak with excitement.

‘Did you not get wood for the fire, son?’

‘Never mind aboot that, Maw – look!’ He put the gold coins on the table.

It was a lot of money, but his mother did not look happy.

‘Oh ma lord, where did ye get them? Please, son, tell me you haven’t been stealing.’

‘No, Mother, of course not, they were given tae me,’ the boy replied, hurt at the suggestion that he’d steal.

But his mother couldn’t imagine who would give him so much money. She wanted to believe him, but she had to make sure.

‘Who gave you the coins then, son? Please, tell me the truth.’

He was now in a terrible dilemma; how could he tell the truth without breaking his promise? He hesitated to answer, and his mother took this to mean he was feeling guilty.

‘I ken that since your faither was lost at sea we have been in a desperate situation, my son. But stealing is ay wrong and will only make things worse,’ she said. ‘Please tell me where you got those coins.’

What was he to do? He bit his lip and thought hard. Then he realised what he must say.