East Lothian Folk Tales E-Book

Tim Porteus

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 249

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Storyteller Tim Porteus brings together stories from the rugged coastlines, golden beaches, rolling countryside and dramatic Lammermuir Hills of the ancient county of East Lothian. In this treasure trove of tales you will meet Scottish kings and queens, saints and sinners, witches and wizards, ghosts and giants, fools and tricksters – all as fantastical and powerful as the landscape they inhabit. Retold in an engaging style, and richly illustrated with unique line drawings, these humorous, clever and enchanting folk tales are sure to be enjoyed and shared time and again.

Leseprobe

First published 2017

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

Text © Tim Porteus, 2017

Illustrations © Mags Macfarlane, 2017

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 8639 7

Typesetting and origination by The History Press

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR04 YY

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

CONTENTS

About the Author

About the Illustrator

Acknowledgements

Foreword by Donald Smith

Introduction

  1.  The Legend of the Saltire

  2.  St Baldred’s Boat

  3.  St Baldred’s Last Miracle

  4.  The Holy Princess of East Lothian

  5.  The Wizard of Yester

  6.  The Magic Pear

  7.  The Gyre Carling

  8.  The Fairy Tournament

  9.  Thomas the Rhymer Makes His Mark in Dunbar

10.  The Brownie of Butterdean Wood

11.  The Weaver’s Wife

12.  The Fairy Glen

13.  A Tale of Two Legends

14.  The Crusoe of Cockenzie

15.  A Salty Tale from Cockenzie

16.  Bleezing Fou at Canty Bay

17.  Cockles Brae

18.  The Red Skipper of Dunbar

19.  The Old Sailor of Tantallon

20.  Clack, Clack, Clack

21.  Wee Short-Hoggers of Whittinghame

22.  The Haunted House

23.  The Ghost of Innerwick

24.  Tally Sinclair

25.  The Haunted Well of Amisfield

26.  Isabel Heriot of Peaston

27.  The Green Lady of Market Street

28.  The Holy Rood Well

29.  The Holy Well and the Mystery of Dunbar’s Lost Heroine

30.  The Warrior Nun

31.  A Legend of Fearful Character

32.  The Legend of the Lady of Gamelsheil

33.  The Lovesick Cow

34.  The Wild Boar of Saltcoats

35.  The Maukin of Dingleton

36.  The Last Vicar of Golyn

37.  The Minister’s Tattie Bogle

38.  Wullie’s Tooth

39.  The Nobleman’s Daughter and the Wraggle Taggle Gypsy

40.  The Lonely Graves of Gilchriston

41.  ‘To Herdmanston!’

42.  Musselburgh’s Famous Fishwife

Glossary

A Note on the Sources

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TIM PORTEUS is a professional storyteller who uses traditional folklore and local historical tales to connect people, and enhance a sense of place and identity. He has an MA (Honours) in History from the University of Glasgow, and has told stories in schools, libraries, festivals, sheltered housing and at private functions and gigs for many years. He is an experienced tour guide and storytelling is a central part of this work. As well as writing a weekly column called ‘Tim’s Tales’ for the East Lothian Courier, he has also been involved in storytelling abroad as part of cultural programmes at universities in the Czech Republic and Portugal, and at schools and cultural events in Spain, Germany, Sweden and Slovakia. He lives in East Lothian.

www.facebook.com/Tim-Porteus-Storyteller

ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

MAGS MACFARLANE was born and raised in East Lothian, and her deep knowledge of the landscape and traditions of the region has inspired her image-making since childhood. The drawings in this book reflect her passion for and connection with the area and its people. She is a graduate in Drawing and Painting from Edinburgh College of Art. A long career in art and design education gave her opportunities to work both within the classroom and in developing national learning materials for both teachers and students. She enjoys working in a variety of traditional materials, and in recent years has imaginatively embraced digital technology and the exciting multimedia possibilities it brings.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book would have been impossible without the understanding and support of my wife, Katharina, to whom I give my heartfelt thanks. She has been a rock and support beyond the call of duty for any partner in a marriage. I am a very lucky man.

When Mags Nisbet-Macfarlane agreed to provide the illustrations for the stories, I quickly realised, as her beautiful drawings were revealed, that this was not going to be my book, but our book. A huge thanks to Mags for her dedication and passion in working with me on this, as her drawings have entwined with my words to greatly enhance the imagery of the stories.

So many people have provided kind words and support, and they include Donald Smith, Ros Parkyn, Alan and Claire Hunter, Gareth Jones, Lea Taylor, Carol Stobie, Brian and Caroline Tait, Ross Hamilton, Robert Scott and Suu Caledonia. There are many more who should be included and I thank them wholeheartedly.

In addition, I would like to thank my children, Mairi, Morvern, Manja, Skye and Lewis for constantly providing me with insights and motivation to explore stories. I want them to know just how important their contribution has been. Also my much loved departed mother, ‘Granny Liz’ to her grandchildren, who always gave support in her special way.

And finally, I would like to dedicate this book to the memory of Angie Townsend, who was an inspirational storyteller and singer. I owe her a huge debt, and more than one story in this collection has been influenced by her telling of the tale.

Angie is sadly missed by her family and friends, but the legacy of her storytelling, as well as her singing, is a cherished gift for us all.

FOREWORD

East Lothian is a unique part of Scotland. Due east and south-east of Edinburgh, it stretches between the Firth of Forth and the Lammermuir Hills, looking north to Fife and out to the open sea. There are harbours and islands, rich agricultural plains, steepled villages and ancient towns, and beyond, the further horizons of gently sloping hills. Between hill and sea, the people of East Lothian have laboured as fisher folk, agricultural workers, miners and craftsmen.

History has happened in East Lothian, as armies by sea and land have used this route in and out of Scotland. But there is also a rich local culture of myth, folk tale and song. This is a territory of Arthurian lore, of pioneering saints, vibrant old Scots, and early English influences. It is a layered, multi-storied region and in Tim Porteus, East Lothian has found its perfect storyteller.

Tim was brought up in Edinburgh’s Old Town and on the East Lothian coast in the town of Prestonpans, to which he has returned to live with his family. He is a storyteller with endless curiosity and a bottomless capacity for engaging people of every age and culture. Naturally, Tim Porteus has become a touchstone of Lothian life, a regular columnist in the East Lothian Courier, and, as they say in Scotland, a ‘kenspeckled figure’.

Yet, despite his fund of stories and writing, this is Tim Porteus’s first published book. East Lothian Folk Tales is a delight and a must for all those living in or visiting East Lothian. Through these pages, landscape and community both come to life. But above all, it is Tim’s humanity that shines through – his humour, compassion and endless curiosity. Tim has done his home turf proud with an excellent addition to the Folk Tales series. And along the way he demonstrates all the virtues of Scottish storytelling – entertainment, delight and profound attachment to your own place. All of these you are now invited to share in the traditional manner: ‘yin day … once upon a time … wait till you hear this …’

Please enjoy.

Donald Smith, 2017Director, TRACS (Traditional Arts and Culture Scotland)

INTRODUCTION

A wee while back, I was shopping in a local supermarket in Prestonpans. As I waited in the queue, the sight of freshly cooked sausage rolls made me feel hungry. Of course, this is deliberate, for they place the hot food by the queue for the checkout, knowing that hungry customers will be tempted to ask for a snack.

‘Anything else?’ asked the assistant.

‘Er, yes, a sausage roll please,’ my mouth said.

And so I left the shop with the greasy sausage roll clasped in my guilty hands. The problem with sausage rolls is their flaky pastry disintegrates and makes a terrible mess when eaten. So I realised I must consume it before getting into the car. Anyway, I had bought it because I needed a quick snack, and so I turned the corner, faced a wall to ensure there were no witnesses, and began to heartily scoff.

I was halfway through when I heard a voice behind me.

‘You’re the storyteller aren’t you?’

I turned round to see a young girl, perhaps around 14 or 15 years of age. Unfortunately, the half-consumed sausage roll meant I had bits of pastry all over me, and I felt very embarrassed!

‘Em, aye, I am,’ I said, trying to wipe away the mess from my mouth.

‘I kent it,’ she said, ‘you telt me a story when I was in P2.’

I have told stories to local children many times and so couldn’t remember her specifically, or the story. But she did. It had been over nine years since I’d told her the tale but she recounted it, and then told me how she’d told it at the time to her oldest sister, and that now her sister is a mother and that she has told it to her son.

‘Just wanted tae, well, let ye ken, and say thanks,’ she said.

At that moment her friends came out of the supermarket, looking for her. ‘There you are, what you doing?’ one asked.

‘Oh nothing,’ she said and suddenly walked away without acknowledging me or saying goodbye. I understood of course; talking to an old storyteller with sausage roll all over him isn’t cool when you’re a teenager.

It made my day, but this simple encounter revealed a deep truth about stories and storytelling: a story told to you can stay with you, and become an inheritance to pass on.

The stories in this book, I believe, are part of the inheritance of anyone who has an interest in East Lothian. They link to the county’s landscape and the folk who have lived in and shaped it. They are a small selection of what is possible, but give a flavour of East Lothian life, its traditions and beliefs.

While there are some longer stories in this collection, I have written them all at a pace and length I hope will encourage readers to take them off the page and tell them. I personally never truly remember a story until I’ve told it. It’s the engagement during the storytelling process, of eye to eye, mind to mind and heart to heart, which sparks the creative imagery which sears the tale in memory.

And so I have told these tales at events all over the county. Some are amusing, some eerie, some sad or tragic. History decorates some of them, yet the folk tradition speaks of the human condition, and for me some universal truths emerge in these stories.

East Lothian is such a fascinating and beautiful county, and I have tried to use stories that are located in different parts of it; from the wild heather-clad Lammermuirs, to the spectacular and varied coastline, and the lush farm and woodlands in between.

There are the voices of others in these tales, also. Angie Townsend was a fellow storyteller whose passion and skill in telling stories transfixed so many people, including myself. Her help with some of these tales cannot go unacknowledged, in particular the great legend of the birth of the Scottish flag.

My wife Katharina and my children have explored with me as I have sought to find the locations of the tales, and feel the atmosphere of the location. All my five children have in different ways become part of the stories, and I think that is as it should be, for we should all make stories part of who we are.

This book emerged from the stories I wrote for the East Lothian Courier, and the response from many of the readers of those tales. Often people would tell me what their favourite story was, usually one which resonated with them or kindled memory. In the writing of the tales I have sewn my own emotional connections to the characters and places which feature in them.

I cannot travel through the county without being conscious of the invisible tapestry of tales which covers it. When I walk in the footsteps of my early childhood by the shore of my home town, the pirate who founded it, and the legendary stone which is said to protect it, is never far from mind. The fairy stories and the magic creatures in the woods all jump at me when I travel into what, for me, is a land of mystery and wonder.

The looming volcanic hill of Traprain Law is a raised theatre for the performance of an ancient Celtic legend. And the corners of the county, with their ghosts, castles and strange goings on, echo the beliefs and lives of folk whose imagination we share when we enter the world of the stories they told. A field is never just a field once a story has seeped into its soil.

How much more interesting is a visit to the ancient Loth Stone, once you have heard the tale of King Loth’s death, and the story of fairies dancing in its shadow? How much more can we get from a visit to the picturesque Canty Bay when we can see in our mind’s eye the smuggled kegs that once littered its tidal foreshore? Can we ever visit North Berwick without a chuckling smile on our face once we have heard of the Gyre Carling’s creation of it?

And who can sit in the woods by the kirk at Whittinghame, and not feel moved by the plight of the mother and her ghostly nameless son, or understand that a Tattie Bogle can be about more than scaring crows. Or journey up into the wilds of the Lammermuirs, and be chilled by the tales of past dark deeds committed in the mist? Who would not want to visit the lonely graves of Gilchriston once the love story had been told?

This collection of tales is necessarily limited, and so I am aware of how inadequate it is. It barely scratches the surface of what lies beneath East Lothian’s landscape and experience. Yet I hope it can open the door to exploration, not just of the stories, but of the places that framed them. East Lothian remains a truly fascinating and beautiful place to live and visit, and never a day goes by that I don’t appreciate the privilege of living here.

Tim Porteus

1

THE LEGEND OF THE SALTIRE

I understand that you good people of East Lothian have a particular reason to celebrate St Andrew’s Day, but I thought I would take this opportunity to remind you that you do, in fact, also have your own saint, who actually lived and died in East Lothian. That saint is me, St Baldred. I know there are stories about me in this book, but I would like to take this opportunity to explain the background to the legend of the Saltire and my role in it.

The moment you drive into East Lothian, you are reminded of the fact that it is the birthplace of the Scottish flag. The legend has been told down the ages, of how St Andrew painted his cross in the sky and inspired the Scots and Picts to victory over Athelstan, King of the Angles.

I’m fine with all this of course, but I’m also going to be honest, St Columba would never say it out loud, but I know he was really hurt that he was overlooked for the role. He’d devoted the later part of his life to Scotland and died here. He travelled all over, getting blisters on his feet while converting people to Christianity. He even subdued the creature of Loch Ness, which is now a crucial part of the Scottish economy.

St Kentigern was a bit miffed too. As you know, his mother was from the area and he had been conceived in East Lothian, born in Fife and worked and buried in Glasgow. And I spent almost all my working life in East Lothian. I founded many churches here and there are holy wells with my name all over the county, which I personally blessed. But I do understand that I had mixed loyalties, so I wasn’t expecting to receive a prayer. But poor St Columba, well, he was.

Don’t get me wrong, we are all devoted to St Andrew and think he’s done a great job, but the truth is he never set foot on Scottish soil. It was only a tooth, an arm bone, a kneecap and a finger that were brought to Scotland by a monk called St Rule. I know these relics were kept at a place which became known as St Andrews, but the man himself never came here, did he? He did all his work in Greece and the area about.

The truth is, he actually doesn’t know that much about Scotland, except what we have told him. However, having said that, I do understand that St Andrew was one of the Apostles, and St Columba could never claim that.

But I’d like to let you into what happened that day. You see, St Andrew didn’t actually see most of it, he was so busy. He asked us to keep an eye on the situation, as I knew the area and St Columba was so concerned. So in a sense we were coordinating things and saw it first-hand. Here is what happened.

The whole thing began with a cattle raid by the Scots and Picts in AD 832. You see, at this time East Lothian wasn’t part of early Scotland, it was in fact part of Northumbria, as it had been when I lived there (hence my mixed loyalties). But to the north of the Forth it was the land of the Picts. Their king was Angus (Oengus) who ruled most of the north-east of what is now Scotland, from Fife to the Orkneys.

It was Angus who came up with the plan for a great cattle raid. At the time, I thought it was a bad idea, but of course he didn’t listen. He managed to get the support of Eochaidh, who was king of the Scots of Dalriada in the west.

I have to say, it was interesting to see Picts and Scots come together like this. I think it was because the Northumbrians were seen as a common enemy, and this show of military strength and unity would make the Northumbrians think twice before advancing northwards.

The cattle raid was a great success, but that was part of the trouble. I looked down on all this and could see that the Northumbrian leader Athelstan was raging. It was obvious he was going to try and punish the invading Celts!

There were so many cattle it took ages to herd them back into safe territory, and so Angus found himself way behind schedule. It was nail-biting to watch as the Northumbrians caught up with his force at the mouth of the River Tyne.

I could see Angus was concerned, he hadn’t planned this. But now he had no time to run, so he started looking for a good defensive position. He found it in the Peffer Valley, near a place called Markle, close to East Linton. Here the river would be an obstacle for Athelstan’s forces, and the open space provided good ground for an attack. The surrounding raised ground also meant lookouts could be posted.

I remember St Columba being very concerned that the odds looked very bad, the Northumbrians had a force four times larger than Angus’s and Eochaidh’s combined force. Angus knew this from his scouts, and so he led his men in prayer.

This was the awkward moment. The saint they called on was not St Columba, who was watching and waiting for the call, but St Andrew. Angus promised to make him the patron saint if he would come to his aid. St Columba took it well, but I could tell he was deeply disappointed not to be given this opportunity.

The irony was when St Andrew got the message, he was so busy he delegated the task of watching over the Scots and Picts to St Columba anyway, and asked me to help out because of my local connections. He gave us instructions to inform him when action was needed. Of course, we gladly accepted this task.

That night, before the battle, we could feel the tension amongst the Scots and Picts. Angus and his men tried to get some sleep under the stars, but it was not easy. Everyone knew that in the morning Athelstan’s mighty force would arrive.

St Andrew asked us how it was going, and we explained the situation. ‘Hmm, what do you suggest?’ he asked.

‘Well, I think the Scots need something to boost their confidence,’ suggested St Columba, ‘perhaps you could assure Angus of your support since he prayed to you?’ St Andrew nodded and so that’s what he did.

He appeared to Angus in a dream, saying, ‘Fear not, you will have victory tomorrow be assured, and a heavenly sign will show the truth of this.’

St Andrew then left. I just assumed he’d arranged the heavenly sign, but I think it slipped his mind as he was so busy.

The morning arrived with the sound of thousands of men approaching. But thanks to his reassuring dream, Angus was now sure of victory. He cheered his men with the story of his night-time visit from St Andrew and they were uplifted by it.

I could hardly look as the battle raged, it was so bloody and brutal. At one point the Northumbrians tried to cross the Peffer at the ford by Prora, but they were blocked by barricades of hastily cut down hawthorn.

But eventually Athelstan’s main force encircled Angus and his men, and it seemed all would be lost as the Northumbrians had such overwhelming numbers. It was brutal, no wonder the field there became known as the bloody lands. St Columba went over to St Andrew and said to him, politely, ‘Ahem, I think that now would be a good moment for that heavenly sign you promised, St Andrew.’

‘Oh yes, of course, thank you for reminding me,’ said St Andrew. So he came over, had a quick think, then cleared the clouds and made his sign: a white inverted cross against a deep blue sky! I must admit, it was an impressive sight.

Well, when the Picts and Scots saw this they cheered, and their bodies were charged with a new spirit of confidence and belief. Their renewed fighting spirit sent the Northumbrians reeling and the tide of battle turned!

Athelstan himself refused to give up, and his head was sliced off by a Celtic sword at a place thereafter known as Athelstaneford. The head was kept as a trophy and later displayed on a pole in Fife! I didn’t approve of that of course, awful.

And so that’s how it happened. It’s great that St Andrew’s cross is the Scottish flag, and he is the patron saint. I’m not jealous or anything, we’re saints, we don’t do jealousy. I’m very happy my old stomping ground is now part of Scotland, and St Columba says he’s fine with it all. After all, he still has the Loch Ness legend to his name.

Now I know there is a big question mark over whether all this happened, because there is no written historical evidence for it, and some people have suggested my memory is faulty and influenced by the constant hearing of the story. I can’t comment on that. I do accept that there are other stories as to how Athelstaneford got its name, but just remember: a lot of things weren’t written down, but they still happened! And likewise, a lot of things were written down that didn’t happen! That’s the thing about legends, I suppose.

I just thought I’d take the opportunity to put a new perspective on one of East Lothian’s greatest legends, and remind people that there are places to visit associated with me too.

I hope you enjoy the book.

St Baldred.

2

ST BALDRED’S BOAT

The Bass Rock looms out of the sea close to North Berwick, its cliffs turned white in the spring because of the thousands of nesting seabirds. It is an impressive, almost surreal sight, and legend tells us it was on this rocky island that St Baldred spent much of his time in prayer and quiet contemplation.

To leave the island he would take the short route by boat to Seacliff, where a cave and ancient dwelling still bear his name. Although it was usually a short journey, it could be perilous, especially in bad weather or fading light. There was a shelf of rock which lay below the surface at high tide, but was exposed at low tide. It lay between the Bass Rock and the shoreline; right in the middle of the route taken by local fishermen. Many boats had their hulls ripped by it at high tide, and at low tide strong winds could blow boats onto its jagged edge, wrecking them completely.

After witnessing a near fatal incident on this rock, St Baldred decided that he must try to do something about this danger to the lives of his flock. He prayed for guidance and soon afterwards he came ashore and spoke to the local fishermen.

‘I want you to take me to the rock at low tide,’ he said to them, ‘then leave me there.’

The fishermen were horrified. They had no idea why the holy man wanted to do this, but they knew how dangerous it would be; ‘when the tide rises you will be swept by the waves into the sea, please do not ask us to do this,’ they pleaded.

But St Baldred was insistent. ‘Have faith,’ he scolded them. ‘I know what I am doing. I have prayed and God has answered me.’

At low tide they reluctantly rowed him to the rock. The sea swirled and crashed against the edge and it was not easy to find a place to drop the saint off. More than once they tried to persuade the holy man to abandon the idea. But he was determined.

Eventually St Baldred managed to scramble onto the rock and the fishermen rowed away, leaving him there alone, as he’d asked. But they knew that the tide would soon rise, so they stayed nearby, ready to rescue him. But when St Baldred saw this he repeated his call to ‘Have faith!’. They rowed a little further away, but not too far, so they could still watch from a distance.

St Baldred stood on the rock’s highest point and raised his arms to the sky calling out to God. The fishermen watched with disbelieving eyes as the great rock slowly rose up, and seemed to float like a boat. Then, with the holy man balancing on it like a surfer on a giant surf board, the rock began to move towards the mainland.

St Baldred carefully navigated the rock towards the sandy beach at Seacliff. Then he lowered his arms and the rock slowed down and came to rest. It settled into the sand, and St Baldred was able to walk off it onto the beach. The holy man turned and smiled at a job well done, and fell to his knees to give thanks for the miracle.

Now the rock was in a safer position, close to the shore. It opened a rock-free channel between the Bass and the mainland. Local people flocked to him to give thanks. But the holy man told them, ‘Do not thank me, give thanks to the Lord your God, and have faith in Him’. They bowed their heads and nodded in reverence. St Baldred had shown the power of faith in God!

So much time has passed since these days, but the rock remains where St Baldred anchored it. It’s called St Baldred’s Boat and can be seen clearly from Seacliff Beach, and reached from there at low tide. These days a prominent beacon with a cross decorates the spot where the holy man navigated his ‘boat’.

There are many places associated with St Baldred in East Lothian, including his holy wells. But it is perhaps his ‘boat’, and the story of how he navigated it, which leaves the greatest impression on the imagination.

3

ST BALDRED’S LAST MIRACLE

St Baldred spent a lot of time on the Bass Rock in a small chapel he built. In truth, it wasn’t really a chapel, just a simple cell. It was a place where St Baldred went to rest and pray and be close to God. It was hard work being a missionary, and having me and God time was vital. The swelling sea and the birds gave constant noise, but it was the sound of creation, and he loved it.

On his last visit to the Bass Rock he felt very weary. His bones ached, and he felt his soul being called. Sure enough, soon afterwards he departed to meet his Lord and Saviour, his earthly work done. Or so he thought.