Orkney Folk Tales Read online

  She tore at the pages, but they would not rip out; it was as if they were made of iron. She took it to the fireplace and tossed it into the fire, but it just lay there among the flames, mocking her. After a while, when it became obvious that the book wouldn’t burn, Jessie picked it up with the fire tongs, placing it on the hearth. To her amazement it was stone cold and not so much as singed by the fire. She slipped the cursed book into a sack and went to the cliffs on the south end of the island. Putting stones in the bottom of the sack she tied its mouth and threw it into the sea. It made a loud splash as it entered the water. But when Jessie returned home she found the book was back before her, lying on her bed, waiting to be used. She took a spade and went away where it was quiet and she wouldn’t be seen and she dug a hole and put the book into it and covered it over. She saw it’s black leather cover disappear beneath the soil and sand of the island. But on her return there was the book, lying on her bed, waiting to be used.

  There was nothing that Jessie could do to be rid of that book and she started to become ill at the thought of it. Eventually she went to see the minister, the Reverend Mathew Armour.40 When he heard about the book he grew angry that such an abomination should exist in his parish, but when Jessie explained how she had come by it he softened.

  ‘I have to buy this from you, as I believe that is how it’s done, for a silver coin of lesser value that the one that you bought it for.’

  Jessie burst into tears, saying, ‘But I paid a silver threepenny bit for it. There is no silver coin of a lesser value than that.’

  ‘Come now,’ said the minister, ‘there is always a way.’

  He pulled open a drawer and rummaged around inside it until he found an old coin.

  ‘Here,’ he said, triumphantly, ‘this is an antique silver coin of lesser value that your one. Take it and bring that abominable book to me.’

  Jessie ran home to fetch the book and brought it to the manse, where the minister lived. What he did, no one knows, but he must have weakened its power with prayer for he built a big bonfire and burnt it to ashes. It was said that the thick, black, acrid smoke blackened the sky around it as it burned, but that was the end of the Book of the Black Arts in Sanday.

  It is interesting to note that another copy of the Book of the Black Arts was taken out of circulation by the Reverend Charles Clouston, Church of Scotland minister for Sandwick from 1832–84. He bought the book for a silver coin but never opened it, as he knew that it couldn’t exert its full power over you if you didn’t open its pages. He buried it in the garden of his manse at Flotterston in Sandwick with a Bible on top of it to fix it. It is said that it is still there.

  THE DEVIL’S FINGERMARKS

  The Lady kirk stands by the shore in the parish of Lady in the island of Sanday. The ruin of the old kirk stands roofless and windowless, the door blocked up to prevent people from being injured by a possible collapse of its walls. Outside there is a flight of stone stairs leading to the upper gallery or ‘loft’, which forms the only access to this level. The stairs have a low wall built around them as a protection for the user, but once you reach the top you are greeted with a very unusual sight indeed for there on the balustrade are the marks of the Devil’s claws cut deep into the stone. There are two very different stories told about how they got there, which I will share with you here.

  The first version that I heard was that there was a new minister in the parish whose sermons were regarded as a wonder to hear. His popularity saw the numbers of worshipers swell until the kirk could hardly contain their numbers. One day the Devil decided to go there to listen to the sermon, to hear for himself whether the minister was as good as they said he was. He climbed the stairs to the loft and listened to the sermon of this gifted preacher. He soon found out that everything that he had heard was indeed true and the rage built up inside of him until he started to scratch his claws along the flagstone capping of the wall, leaving the deep scratches that we can still see to this day.

  The second version may be more original and it seems that people are reluctant to repeat it. It was said that there was a minister in Lady Parish who preached on a Sunday against all the things that he himself enjoyed doing during the week; especially adultery. It was known that the minister was having an affair with a married woman in the parish and soon news of this reached the Devil’s ears. One night the minister slipped out of the married woman’s house and proceeded to head for home. On the way the Devil appeared in front of him and tried to carry him off to hell, but the minister turned and fled for his life. The Devil was in hot pursuit, but the terrified minister, having more to lose than the Devil, ran like a rabbit chased by a dog until he reached the sanctuary of the kirk. Once through the door the minister was safe, as the Devil could not cross the threshold of the kirk. In his rage the Devil looked all around the kirk for a way to grab the wayward minister, but there was nothing. In his rage he tore at the top of the stairs with his claws, leaving his marks behind as testimony of that night’s chase.

  THE DEVIL ON THE RAFTERS

  The Reverend Yule was preaching in St Magnus Cathedral one Sunday when he saw, to his annoyance, a girl who was sitting smiling while he spoke. As his sermon was anything but amusing he felt highly offended by her behaviour. To make matters worse she continued to smile throughout and then at the end she had the audacity to laugh. This was more than he could stand and the offender was ordered to stay back and explain herself. The girl apologised for laughing but explained that she could not help it. She said that while he was preaching she noticed that the Devil was sitting on one of the rafters and he was taking a note of the names of the people who were asleep during the sermon and that had made her smile. The Devil only had one piece of paper and soon he had filled both sides of it. As he still had more names to add to his list he tore the tail off his shirt and started to write on that. Soon he had also filled up both sides of the linen so he held it in his teeth and pulled it in order to stretch it so that he could squeeze on some more names. Once that was also full he tried to stretch it again in the same manner, but the linen couldn’t withstand more punishment and it tore, causing the Devil to jerk his head backwards and bang it on the rafter. The old minister now smiled himself and said, ‘A wonderful vision; a marvellous vision!’

  DRINKING WITH THE DEVIL

  Drinking was almost an art form among the Orkney lairds in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and smuggled gin from Holland and brandy from France was a feature at these occasions. Punch was served in large bowls; a heady mixture of spirits, hot water and sugar. This story was told by Walter Traill Dennison in his 1880 masterpiece The Orcadian Sketch Book. It was contained within another story about the excesses of the landed classes in mid-eighteenth-century Orkney.

  Velzian, Scarth, Craigie and Inkster gathered at a large house in Rousay for a drinking session one night. Velzian was famous for his prowess as a heavy drinker and was much admired for it among his friends. They started to pass around the punch bowl, but decided that they would abandon the glasses and just drink straight from the bowl. As the first lot disappeared down their willing throats Velzian decided to up the stakes by dispensing with the hot water and sugar and taking the spirits as God intended them. The bowl was filled and passed around, with the course of the sun, until the men were witless with drink. They made toast after toast, each one saucier than the last, until the drinking reached its crescendo. One by one Scarth, Craigie and Inkster slipped underneath the table as the drink took a hold of them, until only Velzian remained upright. He smiled a big stupid grin, as he cherished his victory at the drinking, but he was sorry that he was now alone and had no one to drink with. Just as he lifted the punch bowl to his head once more he heard a strange sound, like a horse snorting, coming from under the table. He thought that it was one of his friends snoring, but the sound grew louder and louder until it occurred to him that maybe one of them was choking, so he looked under the table to see what was going on. To Velzian’s surprise he saw a figure cro
uched over Craigie with its hands around his throat.

  ‘Here, you ill-mannered bitch41,’ shouted Velzian, ‘that’s no way to behave in the company of gentlemen. Get up and show yourself, or by the head of St Mans42 I’ll give you a skin full of sore bones!’

  There was a flash of light that seemed to come from the stranger’s eyes and he slowly rose up to his full height and gave a loud, menacing laugh. The sight of the creature that stood before Velzian would have driven a sober man mad, but luckily Velzian was far from being sober. The man had skin as black as soot, crooked horns grew from his head and white flames darted from his eyes. Velzian knew that he was in the company of the Devil, and that was bad company to find yourself in.

  ‘How dare you speak to me in such a tone,’ said the Devil, in a well-educated voice. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’

  ‘I neither know nor care who you are,’ said Velzian, ‘I only know that you are an ill-bred scoundrel, coming in here among decent folk in such a fashion. Sit down and drink with me and tell me who you are or I’ll give you such a threshing that I’ll crush every bone in your body.’

  ‘You’re a bold fellow;’ said the Devil, ‘we’ll try the drinking first.’

  Velzian drank a toast and then handed the punch bowl to the Devil, who took it and drank deep. When he handed it back to Velzian he noticed that there were sooty fingermarks on the sides of the bowl and a sooty mark where his mouth had been.

  ‘You ill-mannered brute,’ roared Velzian, ‘how dare you come to the table without washing your hands and face.’

  Flames darted from the Devil’s eyes and he said, ‘Take off your waistcoat and fight me!’

  Velzian was drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that his old mother had sewn a few pages from a psalm book into the lining of the waistcoat and as long as he had it on then the Devil had no power over him.

  ‘I’m damned if I will,’ said Velzian, ‘I think I’m man enough to fight you with my waistcoat on.’

  ‘If you don’t take off your waistcoat,’ said the Devil, ‘then you will soon be lying dead with your friends under the table.’

  ‘Them?’ laughed Velzian, ‘They’re not dead; only dead drunk!’

  ‘Oh, is that so?’ said the Devil. ‘Well, seeing is believing.’

  He picked up Inkster’s lifeless body from under the table and threw it over Velzian’s knee. He then clapped his hands together until the sparks flew from them. To Velzian’s horror he saw the ghosts of his three friends floating behind the Devil, their faces full of terror and they seemed to be pleading, ‘Help us, Velzian; help us!’

  Velzian was so shocked that fear gripped him for a moment. He tried to say a blessing, but he found that the Devil had such power in the room that he could not utter the word ‘God’. But he realised that there was no time for fear now and that he had to have his wits about him if he was to save his friends.

  ‘Well, you are a clever man all right,’ said Velzian, ‘but then again any fool can knock the soul out of a drunk man, but it would be another thing to put the soul back in the body again.’

  The Devil smiled and said, ‘Oh, I can do that too. In fact, I’ll do it right now if you swear to take off your waistcoat and fight me once I’ve completed it.’

  ‘It’s a deal!’ said Velzian.

  The Devil picked up Scarth’s body and, grabbing a quivering ghost from behind him, he thrust it back inside, just like putting a pig in a poke. As he was busy doing that Velzian was unpicking the seam of his waistcoat and drew out one of the pages from the psalm book. He pulled the bung out of the small keg of gin that stood next to him on the table and poked the page inside before sealing it again. He thought that he would never do it in time, but the Devil made the mistake of trying to put Craigie’s soul into Scarth’s body and he found that it wouldn’t fit. This delayed him for long enough for Velzian to finish his work. Once their souls were back in their bodies his three friends stood there alive again.

  ‘Now take off your waistcoat and fight me,’ said the Devil.

  ‘I never said when I’d take off my waistcoat,’ said Velzian, ‘now get out of this house, you ill-bred muckle black whalp, in God’s name!’43

  Velzian picked up the keg of gin and threw it with all its might at the Devil’s head. The keg burst to pieces against his horns and he let out a wild yell and flew up the chimney in a blue flame.

  ‘Velzian; if ever I get my hands on you you’ll burn in brimstone for all time!’ he cried out, but it was noticed that his fine English had left him and he now spoke in Orcadian dialect.44

  Velzian’s friends were shaken by their experience and had sobered up pretty fast as well. They thanked their friend for saving them, saying, ‘Velzian, you’ve baptised the Devil in gin, seasoned with a psalm book.’

  Velzian laughed and said, ‘Aye, but I don’t think he liked the seasoning.’

  SATI

  Sati lived with his wife in a small house in the hills between Orphir and Stenness around 1700. His name was a nickname as he claimed to be a great wizard who had his knowledge from Satan himself. His speciality was finding stolen items, especially money. This reputation was what got him by and put food on the table and this reputation was all that he had to go on. Whenever there was a theft the victim would make the long journey up the hill to Sati’s house, up a trail that was observed by the residents. Sati would then hide in a specially concealed room, little bigger than a cupboard, which had a secret door leading outside. His wife would welcome the visitor, but tell them that Sati was not at home at that moment but was expected back soon. As they waited Sati’s wife would pump them for information as to what was lost, when it went missing and if anyone had been seen around the house at the time that it disappeared. Sati would be listening to all of this and when all the information was extracted he would slip out of the secret door and make a dramatic entrance, saying that he knew who was waiting to see him and the reason that brought them there. He would give such precise details of the loss that the listener was amazed to hear it. Sati would then tell them to go home and to let everyone know that he knew full well who had committed the crime and that if the missing goods were not returned by the following morning then he would expose the culprit in front of the whole neighbourhood. As soon as the guilty party heard this the goods were always returned and Sati would receive payment; his reputation intact!

  But Sati nearly lost everything one day when his usual scheme didn’t go to plan. In the district of Tenston in Sandwick is a large house called Doehouse. The owner found one day that a large sum of money, five pounds, had been stolen. He ordered a young servant to take his horse and to ride to Sati’s house and tell him to come tomorrow morning to solve the crime. As the farmer didn’t want his business being known he instructed the boy that on no account was he to get off his horse, just deliver the message and then leave as quickly as possible. He set off, riding hard, until he arrived at Sati’s house. The bare hillside provided no cover and so his approach was observed and Sati slipped into his hiding place. His wife went outside to greet the boy, but he refused to go inside, saying, ‘Tell Sati that his service is wanted at Doehouse tomorrow morning.’

  Sati’s wife tried to grab the reins, but the boy turned his horse and galloped off down the hillside. Sati was in a right fix; he had absolutely no information to work on. If he got it wrong then his reputation was lost, but if he didn’t go then his reputation was also ruined. He had a sleepless night, but set off at first light on the long walk to Doehouse. When he arrived the farmer instructed him to go to the kitchen for something to eat, which he gladly did. It was only then that the farmer muttered to him, ‘I’ve had some money stolen, but I don’t want people to know about it. The ranzelman45 has drawn a blank but I’m damned if I can afford to lose such a large sum of money. Five pounds was taken, so you can see why I’m keen to get it back.’

  ‘Why, yes indeed,’ said Sati, munching his way through a bere bannock and cheese.

  Sati’s eye fell on an iron co
oking pot and an idea started to form in his cunning mind. Once he had eaten his fill he said that he was ready to reveal the culprit.

  ‘Now then,’ he said to the farmer, ‘I want the biggest cooking pot that you have and a live black cock. Then I want everyone to gather in the hall and the thief shall be revealed.’

  The farmer did as he was told and everyone gathered together in the hall. Sati turned the cooking pot upside down and put the cock underneath it. Then he issued his orders.

  ‘Now everyone in this room, starting with the farmer and his wife, for no one is above suspicion, will do as you see me do now.’

  Sati walked three times around the pot, against the course of the sun, as all evil-doers conduct their business, then he laid his hands on the bottom of the cooking pot and, spreading his fingers wide, he raised them in front of himself.

  ‘I want you all to do exactly as I have done and when the guilty party touches the pot then the cock will crow.’

  First the farmer did it, then his wife and the rest of his family, but the cock remained silent. As each person raised their hands Sati checked them to see if they were sooty from the bottom of the cooking pot; so that he knew that they had indeed touched it. Then the servants did it, in order of their importance within the household, but still the cock remained quiet while all their hands were sooty. It was just the farm labourers left, and the sweat was starting to break out on Sati’s brow. His reputation was all he had and if that was lost then he would starve. At last a young man who hadn’t been at the farm for very long stepped forward. He looked shaken and nervous as he walked three times around the pot and then put his hands to the pot, but when he raised them there was no sign of any soot on them.