Scottish Borders Folk Tales E-Book

James P. Spence

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

Seitenzahl: 304

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

This lively and entertaining collection of folk tales from the Scottish Borders is rich in stories both tall and true, ancient and more recent, dark and funny, fantastical and powerful. Here you will find the Lochmaben Harper, Tam Linn, Thomas the Rhymer, Muckle Mou'd Meg and Michael Scot the wizard. These well-loved and magical stories – some appearing in print here for the first time – are retold in an engaging style, shaped by James Spence's many years of storytelling. Richly illustrated and enlivened by the rhythmic Scots language of the region, these enchanting tales are sure to be enjoyed and shared time and again.

Leseprobe

Dedicated tae my wonderful son, Angus

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks tae Andy Hunter for recommending me tae The History Press an putting useful story sources ma way. Thanks tae Bob Pegg an Ian Stephen for their helpful advice. Thanks tae Stanley Robertson, Iain Stewart o Serenity Scotland, Robert Spence (ma father), Jeanie Spence (ma mother), Angus Rylance (ma son) an Donald Smith for their inspiration an generosity o spirit ower the years. Thanks tae Graeme Stuart for his patience an know-how in technical matters, an thank you tae Forbes Morrison for taking the photograph o me for the back cover.

CONTENTS

Title

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Foreword by Donald Smith, Director of the Scottish Storytelling Centre

Introduction

Note on the Illustrations

Note on the Language

1  Some Stories for the Bairns

•

Ainsel

•

The King o the Birds

•

The King an the Miller

•

The Lochmaben Harper

2  The Black Bull o Norraway

The Black Bull o Norraway: An Alternative Version

3  The Ootlandish Knight

4  The Laddie that Kept Hares

5  The Waters o Life

6  Whuppity Stoorie

•

A Woman o that Name

•

Whuppity Stoorie

7  A Weave o Witches

•

By Rubieslaw

•

Deloraine Farm

•

The Phantom Hand

8  A Border Wizard

•

Michael Scot

•

The Devil’s Tune

•

Michael Scot goes tae Rome

9  O Horses an Hills

•

Canonbie Dick

•

Tam Linn

10  The Son o a Tailor

•

The Son o a Ghost

•

Thomas the Rhymer

•

The Ghost that Danced at Jethart

11  What’s Yours is Mines

•

The Doom o Lord de Soulis

•

Airchie Armstrong’s Oath

•

Muckle-mou’d Meg

12  Sleekit Goings-on

•

Robbie Henspeckle

•

The Tryst

•

The Twae Blacksmith Apprentices

13  Some Weel Kent Characters

•

The Gaberlunzie Man

•

Dandy Jim

•

Midside Maggie

14  O Love an Revelation

•

The Vigil o Lady Jean Douglas

•

A Priceless Ring

•

The Angel Doctor

•

The Jethart Fiddler

•

The Minister’s Dog

Glossary

Bibliography

Aboot the Author

Copyright

FOREWORD

The Scottish Borders have a continuous tradition of folklore, second to none in the islands of Britain and Ireland. This has been expressed in ballads and songs, stories and novels, poetry, plays and the visual arts. But the greatest legacy is in the landscape itself, and in a distinctive combination of history, myth and imagination that continues to animate people’s sense of their own environment in what is still called the ‘Debatable Lands’. The borders keep shifting, from folk to fairy to legend to fantasy to poetry to dream, and back with a bump to Mother Earth.

James Spence is himself a Borderer, and a storyteller, translator and poet. He is imbued with the culture and landscape of his home country. He is well read in the sources and traditions, but more important he is part of a living inheritance. James Spence speaks and writes naturally in the Scots Borders rhythms, and he is a sure guide to the ‘Debatable Lands’, past and present. He handles description, dialogue, humour and the uncanny with equal assurance.

One of the pleasures of my role over thirty years has been to see new generations of storytellers come to the fore in the practice of this oldest of all artforms. James Spence is a storyteller in his prime and in this carefully selected collection he offers a bumper harvest from his native ground. I am delighted to commend this ideal introduction to the narrative lore of the Scottish Borders.

Donald Smith

Director of the Scottish Storytelling Centre

INTRODUCTION

When I was a wee laddie I loved tae go roaming ower the fields, doon Howdenburn, an up through the woods, on the lookoot for likely places tae build gang-huts. Places where me an ma pals could go an play an shelter frae the dreich elements. The locations needed tae be oot o the way places, hidden frae view, so that folk wouldnae come across oor gang-hut, an either wreck it or chase us, or both.

In ma contemplations o aw these hidden places, under fallen tree trunks, under rhododendrons an other bushes, up trees, inside auld sheds, on building sites, in fields o hay, I also considered the hills, o which there are many in the Scottish Borders. So whenever ma family went for a run in the car I would gaze at such hills as we passed by, an dream aboot them. It occurred tae me that there was such a vibrancy in those grassy slopes, that they seemed tae shimmer full o life, that there had tae be a way tae get intae the hills themselves. Whether folk dwelled there permanently or whether they just visited, like us bairns playing, I couldnae say, but I felt sure that there was a way in. It would be great, ye’d be cosy away frae the wind an rain, an ye could spy on anybody passing. I never told anyone aboot this notion, but I guess that when we’re bairns we aw have such magical ideas.

Little did I ken then that oor ancestors, if their stories are anything tae go by, also contemplated dwellers in oor dear green hills. So maybe in ma gang-hut exploring I was not only deepening ma relationship with nature, but also tapping intae a sense o the ancient tales o the Borders. So many o the stories here involve hills, an when looking at the stories o the region it’s hard tae ignore the Eildon Hills, above Melrose, the location for both Thomas the Rhymer an Canonbie Dick. Not only that, so many o these stories take place within a fifteen-mile radius o these legendary hills. I find this remarkable that such treasures are frae such a small an maistly rural area.

In this collection there are stories o fairies an folk living in the hills, stories o knights, wizards, heroes, heroines, reivers, magic, o epic quests, o love an great characters. There are also quite a few stories aboot witches, an these witches are as varied in character as any folk. Some are up tae nae guid, some are merely mischievous, some are revered like royalty. As we consider such stories, it feels as if there is a conversation running atween these tales, frae their differing perspectives an views. These stories also reveal the beliefs o folk long ago, when they were mair in tune with nature. It was common for folk tae believe that witches could turn intae hares, an that horses had second sight. We might not share such beliefs today, but I hope we can still appreciate the magic an wisdom that these tales hold. These stories span the centuries, frae way back in the mists o time tae local tales o characters frae mair recent times.

I’ve arranged this book with the earliest appearing first, then doon through the ages till we reach the early 1900s. This shows how the nature o stories has changed as folk’s beliefs an challenges have changed. I’ve also started off with some stories for the bairns, an generally increasing the suitability age range as the book progresses, where the chronology allows. For those o a mair sensitive nature, ye might find the first half o the Doom o Lord de Soulis story too derk; indeed it gave me the creeps writing it. Forby that, yer imagination will provide the pictures frae these stories that are right for ye.

Every guid story has a music, an it’s up tae the storyteller tae allow that story tae play through them. The rhythms may alter, at times, as the storyteller reads the needs o the audience in their eyes, as hae is telling. Even nowadays, in oor lives an oor stories it is often oor music, steeped in the natural world as it is, that help tae bring aboot resolution, or at least provides great comfort. The Scottish Borders is steeped in folk music, none mair so than with the fiddle. Not so long ago there would have been fiddle makers in gey near every village, let alone the number o fiddlers going aboot. Inevitably such music an music makers find their way intae a fair number o these stories. Some o oor great tales o the past have been preserved by the music o the Border Ballads, o which I’m delighted tae include the world-renowned Tam Linn, Thomas the Rhymer, as weel as the Ootlandish Knight.

As a storyteller in modern times ye rarely get a chance tae tell long stories, so it was only when compiling this book I paid them any heed. These ancient tales are o muckle great quests. I’ve been amazed tae discover how powerful these stories are. Though I dinnae always understand every bit o the symbolism, I find these tales tae go deep intae what it is tae be human. These stories are steeped in meaning for us, we can get something new frae them whenever we go back tae them. I’ve decided tae include twae versions o The Black Bull o Norraway tae show how stories are constructed, as weel as how stories can evolve in different ways, an in a sense become a different story.

The King o the Birds is thought tae come frae Scotland an Ireland. However, I’ve told this story so many times that I have developed a few elaborations o ma ain, an therefore feel justified in including it in this collection.

With the exception o a few mair recent stories, the tales in this extensive collection have been shaped by many hundreds o folk telling them ower hundreds o years. As such they belong tae everybody that wishes tae tell them, particularly those with a love o the Scottish Borders. In this collection I’ve done ma best tae convey the language, humour, magic an lore o the region. Ma exploration o these wonderful stories has only increased ma appreciation for the Scottish Borders. There is a richness an a depth o wisdom in this collection that surprised even me, which leads me tae believe that these stories will appeal tae everybody that appreciates the power o folk tales.

James P. Spence,

2015

NOTEONTHE ILLUSTRATIONS

I used tae draw an paint a lot in ma schooldays, so it’s been a fantastic thing for me tae get back intae the drawing. What with the sheer the amount o illustrations I had tae produce, I have become mair skilled than I ever was back then. Drawing angles has become intuitive tae a large extent, rather than have tae line them up with the straight edge o a pencil. With the landscape illustrations, even though I was only working frae photos, when concentrating on the likes o foliage o trees it felt as if I was reaching right oot intae nature itself. I dedicate the illustrations tae ma dearly departed mother, Jeanie (née Aitchison) Spence, who was far better at drawing than me.

The following illustrations were inspired by the fantastic wood engravings o eighteenth-century Northumbrian artist Thomas Bewick: The King an the Miller, The Lochmaben Harper, The Waters o Life, Whuppity Stoorie, The Phantom Hand, The Devil’s Tune, The Son o a Ghost, The Tryst, The Twae Blacksmith Apprentices, The Gaberlunzie Man, A Priceless Ring, The Angel Doctor.

LOCATIONS

By Rubieslaw – Ruberslaw, near Hawick.

Deloraine Farm – Yarrow Valley, near Selkirk.

Canonbie Dick – Bowden Moor, in the Eildon Hills.

Thomas the Rhymer – The Eildon Hills, near Melrose.

The Ghost that Danced at Jethart – Jedburgh Abbey.

The Doom o Lord de Soulis – Hermitage Castle, near Newcastleton.

Midside Maggie – The Lammermuir Hills.

The Vigil o Lady Jean Douglas – Neidpath Castle, near Peebles.

The Jethart Fiddler – Kelso Bridge, Kelso.

The Minister’s Dog – Horn’s Hole Bridge, atween Denholm an Hawick.

All illustrations are the copyright o James P. Spence.

NOTEONTHE LANGUAGE

I have written this book mostly in English, but have tried tae keep tae the rhythms an ways o saying things in ma native Border Scots. I have also peppered the text with fine Scots words for atmosphere, authenticity an greater meaning. The vast majority o Scots words are spelt just how they sound. I have included an extensive glossary at the back o the book for when it’s needed, but hope ye will have little use for it. I hope that ma Scots usage enriches yer reading experience when exploring these amazing stories.

1

SOME STORIESFORTHE BAIRNS

AINSEL

Parcie was a young laddie who lived with his mother in a stane cottage somewhere in the Borders. Although they didnae have very much in the way o possessions, at night-time when Parcie an his mother settled doon at the fireplace, there could hardly have been a mair peaceful place in the world.

As they sat up with only the yin candle on the table tae light them, Parcie’s mother would tell him aw sorts o magical stories an the wee lad would gaze in wonder intae the fireplace, making aw sorts o braw pictures in his heid oot o the flickering flames tae accompany the stories. But then, aw too soon his mother would stop an let oot a deep breath an say, ‘Right then ma lad, it’s time ye were away tae yer bed.’ But o course the laddie was just wanting tae hear mair magical stories frae his mother. Every night his mother had an awfie struggle getting the laddie away tae his bed. At the hinderend she would just put her foot doon an Parcie would reluctantly trail off in a huff tae his wee box-bed.

But yin particular night, having listened tae aw his mother’s braw stories, the laddie wouldnae budge. Maybe Parcie was mair thrawn an awkward than usual this night, or maybe the laddie’s mother was mair tired than usual, or maybe it was a combination o both circumstances, but his mother finally said, ‘Right then laddie, on yer ain heid be it. If the fairy-wife comes an takes ye away it’ll be naebodie else’s fault but yer ain.’

‘Howts, Mother, what dae I care aboot some auld fairy-wife?’ an Parcie stayed right where hae was by the fireplace. His mother sighed noisily again tae show she was fair cross with Parcie, then lifted up the candle an went through tae get ready for her bed.

The maist important thing tae be seen tae before Parcie’s mother went tae her bed was tae put a bowl o goat’s cream at the back door. Ye see, like at a lot o farms an cottages in those days, a brownie would come doon the lum at night tae sweep the floor, tidy everything up an make the whole hoose spick an span. An aw that the brownie wanted was a bowl o cream each night in return for the work.

The hoose-brownies were quite friendly, helpful critters, though they were awfie quick tae take offence at the slightest thing, imagined or otherwise. Woe betide the guid-wife that didnae mind tae leave oot the bowl o cream for her brownie. She would waken in the morning tae find very near the whole hoose upside doon, bahookie foremost, an at times inside oot as weel, if the brownie could manage it. What’s mair the brownie would never lend a hand tae put the hoose right again. In fact that brownie would never set foot in that hoose again.

However, the brownie that came doon Parcie’s mother’s lum each night always had a bowl o goat’s cream waiting for him. An so the brownie would just work away, quiet as a moose, at sweeping an tidying up the hoose every night, whilst Parcie an his mother were fast asleep in their beds. The brownie, however, had an ill-tempered auld mother, who seemed tae breathe vinegar for air, for nothing seemed tae please her, an she would fly off the handle at the slightest thing. This was the very fairy-wife that Parcie’s mother had spoken o before she’d went away tae her bed.

Now, at first Parcie was fair delighted, fair toorled tae have gotten his ain way, as hae sat watching the glinting o the embers in the grate. Hae’d never been up at this time before, an hae was up on his ain intae the bargain, an hae was still up whilst his mother was sound asleep in her bed. This was a great adventure. Hae felt like the captain o a ship sailing through the vast sea o the night, as hae kept watch an seeing tae it that they were steering the right course. An as hae gazed intae the fireplace hae wondered if the glowing embers would twinkle mysterious new stories, that had been somehow sucked oot o the vast derk night itself an doon the lum tae be glinted intae his willing heid. But after a while the glow in the fireplace began tae fade, allowing the derk tae creep intae the room. Then hae gave a bit o a chitter as hae felt a sudden chill aboot his shoulders. Hae’d just started tae think how guid it would be tae be tucked up tight in his nice warm bed, when hae heard a lot o scratching an scraping coming frae up the lum. Next thing that happened was oot jumped the brownie intae the room. It was hard tae tell who’s eyes were the biggest, Parcie’s or the brownie’s, because neither had expected the other tae be there, an so the both o them got an awfie gliff. The brownie was dumfoondered tae see Parcie still up, instead o being fast asleep in his bed, an Parcie was dumfoondered tae see the brownie, an actual brownie, a skinny wee critter wi pointed lugs. For what seemed like a minute or twae Parcie an the brownie just gawped at each other with their mooths wide open.

Then Parcie managed tae find some words an cleek them on tae his tongue, ‘What’s yer name?’ hae asked the brownie.

‘Ainsel,’ said the brownie with a cheeky grin an a glint in his eye, ‘Ma name’s Ainsel. What’s yours?’

Parcie smiled back, understanding that the brownie was just joking as ‘ainsel’ meant own self, an decided that hae would be smarter still. ‘Ma Ainsel,’ hae said tae the brownie.

Then Parcie an the brownie started playing by the fireplace where there was still a wee bit o light an heat. Ainsel was a quick an lively critter, hae would sclim up on tae the sideboard then lowp doon, an neat as anything turn somersaults, heelstergowdie, aw ower the room. What fun the twae o them had, what laughs they had. After a while Parcie decided tae gie the embers a bit poke tae get a wee bit mair heat intae the room. Hae took the poker tae the grate an poked aroond a bit. However, in doing so a hot coal lowped oot the fire an landed on the brownie’s toe. What yowls an squeaks an squeals came oot o that wee brownie critter. Next thing was that this croaky auld voice started roaring fiercely doon the lum.

‘Who has hurt ye, who has hurt ye? Tell me who has hurt ye, an I’ll come doon an gie them what-for masel.’ It was the auld fairy-wife herself.

When hae heard this Parcie got himself up, crept away an slipped straight atween the covers o his box-bed. Hae pulled the blanket ower his heid an shoogled wi fright.

‘It was Ma Ainsel!’ yowled the brownie.

‘Weel, if that’s the case what’s aw the stramash aboot? What dae ye think ye’re doing disturbin me ower nothin but somethin o yer ain doing? Ye’ve nobody tae blame but yer Ainsel!’

Just then a long scrawny hand wi long knobbly fingernails came snaking oot frae the top o the fireplace, an in a flash, cleeked a hold o the brownie an wheeched him back up the lum.

The next morning Parcie’s mother couldnae understand why the bowl o goat’s milk hadnae been touched. What’s mair the brownie never ever came back tae her hoose, an she couldnae understand that either. But the biggest thing she couldnae understand was the change that came ower Parcie, for there after at night-time, when she had finished telling the stories she had tae tell tae her laddie, an having sighed an said, ‘Is it nae aboot time ye were away tae yer bed?’ the laddie would get up withoot any mumble or grumble an get himself away tae his bed. Maybe, she thought, the laddie’s just getting aulder an seeing sense, that tomorrow’s another day. But that wasnae it at aw. Parcie wasnae going tae sit up by the fire on his ain at night, because the next time thon scunnersome hand with its fingernail claws comes doon the lum hae didnae want his ainsel snatched away.

THE KINGOTHE BIRDS

A long long time ago, aw the birds o the world gathered together in the yin place tae decide who was going tae be the king o the birds. The process that they went through caused a great deal o commotion atween the different factions o the birds. It went something like this.

A particular bird would step forward an announce tae the entire kingdom o birds, ‘I should be the king of the birds.’

‘And why should you be the king of the birds?’ asked any number o bird voices.

‘Because I’m the biggest bird.’

An there was a muckle stramash atween twae birds ower who was the biggest bird. Whether it was atween an ostrich an a cassowary nobody could rightly say, for there was such a flurry o feathers. At the same time there was a biggish broon bird at the back watching untroubled.

‘But I am the biggest bird,’ continued the first bird.

‘Well,’ said the challenging bird, ‘How come my shadow’s bigger than yours.’

But everyone shook their heids at this remark, an started laughing at the silliness o the second bird.

Then another bird stepped forward tae address the crowds o birds. ‘I should be the king of the birds.’

‘And why should you be the king of the birds?’

‘Because I’ve got the longest feathers.’

‘No you havenae, I’ve …’ an there was a muckle stramash aboot that, whilst the biggish broon bird at the back watched on untroubled. Whether the stramash was atween a peacock an a secretary bird nobody could rightly say for there was such a flurry o feathers.

Then another candidate bird put his case. ‘I should be the king of the birds.’

‘And why should you be the king of the birds?’ responded a gaggle o voices.

‘Because I’ve got the longest wingspan.’

This time there was a right flap atween the South American condor an an albatross, whilst the broon bird at the back was non-plussed an didnae turn a feather.

Then another bold bird stepped forward. ‘I should be the king of the birds.’

‘And why should you be the king of the birds?’ crowed a throng o birds.

‘Because I’ve got the biggest beak.’

This time the stramash broke oot atween a toucan an a pelican, it got so bad that it almost came tae pecks.

After a while o aw o this, an after a while mair, the biggish broon bird finally stepped forward.

‘I should be the king of the birds, because I’m the golden eagle and I can fly the highest. And what’s more I’ll prove it.’ An with that hae lowped intae the air an was soon up in the sky, sclimming higher an higher.

Aw the birds were gazing up an they watched the golden eagle shrinking smaller an smaller as it flew higher an higher until it was less than a dot. The birds could still see him though because they have terrific eyesight an can see less than a dot.

The golden eagle had flown higher than hae had ever flown before, but was determined tae fly as high as hae possibly could tae emphasise his claim tae the bird throne. Now way up there twae things started tae happen, the higher hae got, hae started tae tire, an the air grew thinner, as it does the higher ye go. None the less the eagle used every last ounce o his strength tae strain as high as hae could go. Just as hae had gotten as high as hae possibly could get, the golden eagle felt a ruffling on the back o his neck that crept on tae his heid. Then frae this ruffle piped up this little voice.

‘Ha, ha golden eagle, I’m higher than you, so I’m the king of the birds.’

The golden eagle recognised the voice as the cheeky wee wren. What the eagle said tae the wren is not kent for sure, but that the eagle was angry, massively angry, there can be nae doot. An some say that the eagle was so angry that hae turned the sky blue with his language. An that is how the sky got its colour. After the eagle had given the wren an earful, hae shook an shook in mid-flight until hae managed tae shoogle that rascally wren frae its feathery grasp. An so the wren tumbled doon an doon an doon an doon, till the wren landed on its bahookie on the solid ground. Ever since that day the wren has had a tuft at its rear end just beneath its tail feathers.

Wrens have since become common in maist countries in the world. It is such a happy bird the way it bounces aroond in flight. But if ye see a wren ye must salute, or bow, or curtsey, because the wren is the king o the birds.

THE KINGANTHE MILLER

A long time ago there was this fella that had a mill, just as his father had before him, on the side o the Tweed, near Berwick, when that seaside port was still in Scotland. Yin day hae was oot at the side o the river, just admiring his mill, the way the waterwheel was being slowly turned by the current o the river. As hae appreciated this happy state o affairs hae began stroking his long white beard as was his habit.

Just then the king came along on horseback an rode up tae the miller. Right away the miller feared that hae’d done something wrong tae offend the king. The king sclimmed doon off his horse an said, ‘Guid-day tae ye, miller.’

‘Guid-day tae ye yer majesty.’

‘How’s business, how’s the mill doing?’

‘It’s doing alright, things are ticking ower,’ said the miller warily, as hae felt there might be something behind the question.

‘Of course I’m in a position tae make yer mill do far better than just alright.’

The miller said nothing an nodded his heid slowly instead.

‘I’ll come tae the matter o why I’ve come tae see ye then,’ started the king. ‘I’ve been thinking aboot yer bonnie daughter Rosie, an wondering if she was promised tae anyone perchance.’

‘As a matter o fact she is. She’s due tae marry William in the summer.’

‘Oh now, that is a pity, because I’d fair set ma heart on her, I wanted tae make her ma wife an queen.’

Now, as the miller didnae want tae upset the king, hae felt again that it was wise tae say nothing.

‘Aye, it’s a great pity, a great pity indeed.’ The king appeared tae ponder the situation for a bit, but then announced brightly, ‘I’ll tell ye what, miller, why doesnae we have a wager. Aye, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll ask ye three questions, an if ye get them right then Rosie will be free tae marry her sweetheart William. But if ye get any o them wrong then I will marry Rosie masel. How aboot that, miller?’

‘The thing is yer majesty, I missed oot on a lot o ma learning at school, because I was always helping ma father with the mill, so I havenae much knowledge for answering a lot o questions.’

‘Ach, dinnae worry, miller. They’re nae thae sort o questions, an there are only three o them.’

The miller knew fine that it wasnae his place tae argue with the king.

‘Right then, miller, here is ma first question. Are ye ready?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ said the miller, doon-spiritedly.

‘Weel, here goes. Now then, how many stars are there in the sky?’

‘Oh jeez,’ an the miller fell tae the ground in shock at how difficult this question was. ‘How in the dickens am I supposed tae answer a question like that?’

‘Dinnae worry, miller, it’s easier than ye think. An I’ll gie ye a month an a day tae think aboot it. Now here is ma second question: How heavy is the moon?’

‘Oh jeez,’ an the miller got such a fright at how impossible this question was that when hae fell doon again, this time hae almost landed under the king’s horse’s hooves. ‘How am I supposed tae answer a question like that?’

‘Oh, dinnae worry, miller, it’s easier than ye think. An I’ll gie ye a month an a day tae think aboot it. Now are ye ready for ma third question? I suppose ye’re as ready as ye’ll ever be. Now, what is it that I’m thinking?’

‘Oh jeez,’ an when the miller’s legs went frae under him a third time, hae almost fell intae the waterwheel itself. ‘How on earth am I supposed tae answer a question like that?’

‘Dinnae worry, miller. These three questions are a lot easier than ye think. An after aw, ye have a month an a day tae think aboot it. I’ll come for yer answers then, an we shall see what we shall see.’ An withoot further ado, the king sclimmed back on tae his horse an rode off, as if hae didnae have a care in the world.

For the miller though, it was as if hae had the weight o the world on his shoulders. How could hae ever answer the king’s three impossible questions? Rosie noticed the change in her father an brought the subject up during breakfast the very next morning, ‘Father, ye’re awfie quiet, what’s bothering ye?’

‘Nothing’s bothering me at aw, not in the slightest. It’s just I didnae sleep very weel last night,’ answered her father. Rosie still had her doots, but left it at that for now. Rosie continued tae be concerned for her father ower the next day or so, but whenever she asked aboot it her father would come up with some excuse or other, an wasnae very forthcoming.

When next Rosie met up with her sweetheart, William, she said tae him, ‘William, I’m awfie bothered aboot ma father. Hae seems tae be fair trauchled aboot something, but hae’ll nae let on aboot what it is.’ William did his best tae console Rosie.

‘Dinnae fash yersel Rosie, we’ll get tae the bottom o this, dinnae ye worry.’

Weel, as what happens when ye’re not looking forward tae something, the time goes quick, an very soon the month an a day were up. The king was due at the miller’s door, an so hae sat in his chair waiting whilst hae toyed with his long white beard.

There was a brisk rap at the door. The miller got up an opened the door. There sat the king astride his mighty steed, ‘Weel then, miller, a month an a day are up, have ye got the answers tae ma questions?’

‘Aye, I have that.’

‘Weel, withoot further ado, here is ma first question: How many stars are there in the sky?’

The miller tugged on his beard as if in contemplation, ‘There are,’ hae started, ‘thirty-seven trillion, four hunder an sixty-twae billion, seven million, four hunder an yin. An if ye dinnae believe me, ye can count them yersel.’

‘Ho, ho,’ said the king. ‘Ye’ve got me beat there, I’ll just have tae accept yer answer. Now, here is ma second question: How heavy is the moon?’

Again the miller played with his beard as if hae was busy thinking. ‘Weel, each yin o ma sacks o flour weighs half a hunder-weight; there are four quarters tae the moon, so the moon must weigh yin hunder-weight. An if ye dinnae believe me, ye’ll have tae weigh it yersel.’

‘Ho, ho,’ said the king. ‘Ye’ve got me there, I’ll just have tae accept yer answer. Now, here is ma third an final question: What is it that I’m thinking?’

The miller gave his beard a gentle tug, then motioned for the king tae come closer. The king, still astride his horse, leaned forward an doon, until his face was quite near tae the miller’s.

‘Ye’re thinking,’ started the miller, ‘that ye’re speaking tae the miller.’ The king started nodding as the miller continued, ‘But ye are in fact speaking tae the miller’s son-in-law, because I married Rosie last week,’ an with that William whipped the false beard frae his face.

The king raised himself up again an started laughing, ‘Ho, ho, ho, ho, very guid, very guid. Weel ye have me beat hands doon. William, ye’re a very clever fella, an a worthy man for such a bonnie lassie as Rosie. I’ll just need tae find ma queen elsewhere.’ An with that the king aboot turned his horse, skelped its flank an was away.

As soon as the king was oot o sight, the miller an Rosie came oot o their hiding places an the three o them danced with joy.

THE LOCHMABEN HARPER

A long time ago there was this silly blind harper, an hae decided that hae would away tae Carlisle an steal the Lord Warden’s wanton broon horse. But before hae set off frae Lochmaben hae said tae his wife, ‘For this tae work I need tae have a mare that has a foal.’

His wife twigged right away an her eyes lit up, ‘Ye’ve a guid grey mare that can jump both high an low an run like the living wind; so away ye go on her back an leave the foal wi me.’

So as his wife made sure that the foal was securely snecked in their stable tae keep it frae going after its mother, away the harper went tae Carlisle as quick as hae could. It so happened that as soon as hae entered Carlisle hae was met by the Lord Warden himself. As the harper had brought his harp, the Lord Warden invited him tae come intae the castle an play for the invited company that were gathered in the great hall. However, willing though the harper was, hae insisted that his grey mare would have tae be stabled first. The Lord Warden said tae the stable groom, ‘Away an take the silly blind harper’s mare, an tie her next tae ma wanton broon.’

So the harper harped an sang tae the invited guests, an the music was that sweet that the groom forgot aw aboot snecking the stable door an before very long aw the nobles an aw o the company were fast asleep. The silly blind harper then took off his shoes an slipped softly doon the stairs an made his way across tae the stable. Hae counted thirty-three steeds in there. Then hae brought oot a colt’s halter frae aboot his person, an slipped it ower the wanton broon’s heid. Hae tied the halter tae his grey mare’s tail, then proceeded tae lead his grey mare, which in turn led the wanton broon behind her, ower tae the castle gate. An there, still tethered together, the harper turned the horses loose. O course the grey mare shot off like the living wind, towing the Lord Warden’s wanton broon behind. Away ower moors an meadows an doon dales the twae horses galloped, with the grey mare giving the wanton broon not a moment’s rest till it returned hame tae its foal. That swift o hoof was the mare that she was ower the border an back in Lochmaben three hours before daylight.

When she got tae the harper’s door the neighing o the mare wakened his wife. ‘By gum, oor mare has a fair braw broon foal. Hold yer wheesht ye donnert auld wumman, the light is dazzling ma eyes, that’s bigger than oor foal has any right tae be.’ Then it dawned on her what she was seeing. ‘Mex-tae-mey, hae’s done exactly what hae said hae would. Weel I never.’

Meanwhile, in Carlisle Castle the silly blind harper kept on playing his harp tae the sleeping men. An hae played an played his sweet music right until dawn. Only then as the day was stirring did the stable groom discover that the Lord Warden’s wanton broon was missing. Moreover the silly blind harper’s grey mare was missing also.

On hearing this terrible news the silly blind harper started wailing, ‘Aaaawww naaawww! I’ve lost in Scotland ma guid broon colt foal, an now in England they’ve pinched ma braw grey mare as weel.’