Orkney Folk Tales Read online

  THE TROWS OF TROWIEGLEN

  Rackwick in Hoy is one of those special places in the world, not only very beautiful but with a certain atmosphere that you just can’t describe in words. It is a valley that lies between two high hills and faces south across the Pentland Firth; the home of crofter fishermen who tilled the soil and risked their lives at sea to put food on the table. A sandy beach lies beneath a ridge of round boulders, each stone striped with different colours as if a giant had spilled a bag of boiled sweets there long ago, in the time of legends. At either side of the bay rise high, straight-sided cliffs of red sandstone, stained blood-like by the rays of the setting sun. It is truly a magical place, steeped in mystery and an inspiration for musicians, poets and painters over the years.

  Mansie Ritch was a young man who lived in Rackwick. One day he set off to walk over the hills to Longhope, where he had some business to attend to, only beginning the return journey as the day was wearing on. In the summertime it never really gets dark, but Mansie was still keen to get to the safety of his home before the end of the day. This journey took him past the Trowieglen, a place that Mansie was keen to avoid at the best of times. As he approached it he suddenly started to feel strange; he was still walking but his legs seemed to be striding along by themselves, against his will. He felt drawn towards the Trowieglen, an irresistible urge to venture into that magical realm of the trows. He couldn’t fight it, so he gave in to it and let himself be drawn towards the head of the glen. Then he saw that he was not alone, for a crowd of peedie4 folk, no bigger than a foot tall, were walking alongside him in a procession, all going in the same direction.

  As they went deeper into the Trowieglen Mansie saw a light in front of them, about halfway down the glen. It seemed to be coming from the opening of a cave in its rocky walls. When he reached the cave entrance the procession stopped and the trow who was leading it told him that he could not enter their realm without a written pass, signed by ‘Himself’. He told him to wait there until he saw if Himself would see him. Mansie was feeling scared by this time, but his curiosity had got the better of him and he wanted to see what lay inside and who this person was that they called ‘Himself’. After about five minutes a trow came to the door and beckoned to Mansie to come inside. Mansie was shaking with fear by this time, but he didn’t want the trows to see that he was scared so he drew himself up to his full height and went inside the cave. To his amazement Mansie found himself not in a cave but in a beautifully decorated hall. Brilliantly coloured tapestries were hung on the walls and a soft carpet was under his feet. Expertly carved furniture was everywhere and in the distance Mansie could see that a dance was in full swing.

  Mansie was led into a small side chamber and was told to wait. Then in came Himself; he was a bit bigger than the other trows, being about 18in tall, with a long, pointed white beard and dressed in a suit of pale blue velvet clothes with a blue turban on his head. Two trows came in carrying a throne for Himself to sit down on.

  ‘So,’ said Himself, ‘do you know who I am?’

  ‘No,’ said Mansie, trying to sound brave, ‘I don’t know who you are, but I’m not scared of you either.’

  The peedie man rocked backwards in his chair, roaring with laughter.

  ‘Well said, Mansie my boy, well said! I am Himself, and I’m the head child here in the Trowieglen. You cannot come into my realm unless you have a piece of paper with my name upon it. But I will sort that out for you, easy enough. Tell me, Mansie, would you care to join me in a drop of heather ale?’

  Mansie started to feel more at home now, especially at the offer of the trow’s magical ale.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ he said, ‘I would like that very much.’

  Himself ordered the ale and trow servants brought them both a cog5 of foaming heather ale. Mansie drank down the ale and declared that he had never tasted such a good brew in his life before. As he drank he could feel himself getting as light as air. Then Himself invited him to join in the dance.

  Mansie went into the main hall where the dance was taking place. All the peedie trow women were dressed in white and Mansie thought that it was the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen. He didn’t know the dances, but he tried to join in anyway, much to the delight of the trows who clapped and cheered as he skipped around. They danced and laughed with not a care in the world and Mansie thought that he had never been happier in his life than at that time. As the dancing continued Mansie felt more at home than ever, until he began to think that he could do with a smoke.

  ‘Would you mind, sir, if I have a smoke?’ Mansie asked Himself.

  ‘A smoke?’ said Himself, obviously puzzled by the request. ‘What do you mean “a smoke”?’

  Mansie took out his clay pipe and a twist of strong tobacco. He took a piece, rubbed it until it was loose and then filled his pipe. Himself and all the other trows gathered around in amazement, for they had never seen the like of this before. Then he struck a light and lit the tobacco, throwing his head back and blowing out a large cloud of smoke into the air. All of a sudden the trows began to cough and splutter and to fall on the floor. Mansie was powerless to prevent the disaster that was unfolding around him as one by one the trows fell to the ground in a dead faint. The last one to succumb to the smoke was Himself and as he fell over everything went dark. The next thing that Mansie knew was when he woke up in front of a rabbit hole in Trowieglen with not a trow in sight.

  MANSIE O’ FEA

  Mansie o’ Fea lived in Sandwick a long, long time ago. He had a reputation of being a strange man who was in league with the fairies. Not only was he said to be in league with the fairies he was actually supposed to be married to one, having two wives at once; a mortal one and a fairy one. Whenever his fairy wife called to spend the night with him her mortal rival would fall into a deep sleep from which she could not be roused until her fairy rival was gone. Mansie had three daughters with his fairy wife and she taught him many things that he found useful in later life. When one farmer came to see him, saying that his horse was ill and seemed to be wasting away, it only took him one look to know that the fairies were taking it at night and riding it so hard that it was dying of exhaustion. He advised that the farmer bar the stable door with a strong piece of wood which had a Bible fastened to it and that would prevent the fairies from interfering with his horse, and so it did.

  Mansie suffered a double tragedy as both his mortal and his fairy wife died. He married a second mortal wife which proved to be a disaster. She spent what money he had and made his life a misery with her constant nagging. Mansie took to the booze as an escape, which did not improve domestic harmony. One day he went off to a ‘change house’, an establishment with a licence to sell beer (and with a drop of home-made whisky and some smuggled Dutch gin under the counter, away from prying eyes). Mansie was gone for a long time and his wife was getting anxious so she sent a servant boy to look for him. A search of the Sandwick pubs eventually bore fruit in the shape of a rather plastered Mansie. The boy managed to persuade him to go home and led him outside to where his horse was tied. Mansie climbed up into the saddle and the boy jumped up behind him. They set off at good speed on the road home. Mansie asked the boy if he had ever seen the fairies before, to which the boy replied that he had not. Mansie then asked him if he would like to see the fairies, to which the boy said yes, he would like to see them. So Mansie set his foot on top of the boy’s foot and as soon as he had done that the boy saw that they were surrounded by fairies on horseback who were driving a cow before them in the direction of the Bay of Skaill. Mansie explained that the cow had come from the farm of Bain and that the fairies had left one of their own dead cows in the byre in place of it. In the morning George Marwick would find one of his cows lying dead without realising that it had been changed by the fairies. And so it came to pass, just as Mansie o’ Fea had said.

  THE FIDDLER AND THE TROW

  The parish of Deerness is attached to the rest of the East Mainland of Orkney by a thin strip of
sand. At the west end of that sandy thread lies the great mound of Dingieshowe6, used by the Vikings to hold their ‘thing’ assemblies where laws were made and disputes settled.

  Tam Bichan was the finest fiddle player in all of Deerness, some said that he was the best in all of the broken isles of Orkney. Whenever there was a wedding or a party Tam was the first to be invited. One day Tam took a walk down to the sand at Dingieshowe and started to play the fiddle. He did it just for the sheer love of playing and for no other reason, but it proved to be a very dangerous thing to do, for two reasons. First, it was Midsummer’s Day, and the trows have their greatest powers at Midsummer and Midwinter. Secondly, he was standing on the shoreline between high and low water. This was a place where the Devil and all supernatural creatures had great power because it is neither a part of the land nor a part of the sea, for sometimes it is covered with water and sometimes it is dry. There Tam stood, below the tide mark on Midsummer’s Day and playing his finest set of reels and jigs.

  Tam soon noticed that he wasn’t alone, for he saw someone about the size of a 5 year old coming towards him. But it was the funniest-looking 5 year old that Tam had ever seen. He looked ancient with long, grey hair and long grey whiskers, bushy eyebrows with dark, twinkling, mischievous eyes. Tam knew that his fiddle playing had attracted a trow.

  ‘Well Tam,’ said the trow, ‘that was very fine playing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Tam, for he knew that you had to be polite with the peedie folk.

  ‘Tell me Tam, would you be good enough to play for me and my friends tonight. We are having a party to celebrate the time of the year.’

  Tam was not the sort of man to refuse the offer of a party and he accepted. The trow led him up the beach and towards the great mound of Dingieshowe. To Tam’s amazement there was a door standing open in the side of the mound and he followed the trow inside. Down and down they went, deep into the heart of the mound. Inside was a large room all ready for the dancing; it had nothing in it except a large barrel standing at one end.

  ‘Jump up on the barrel Tam and take a seat,’ said the trow, so Tam did as he was told.

  ‘Would you care for a drop to drink Tam?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d love a drop of something,’ said Tam.

  The trow filled a cog with a golden-coloured drink from the barrel that Tam was sitting on and handed it to him.

  ‘Try that; it’s heather ale. You’ll never have tasted anything as good as that before.’

  Sure enough, the heather ale was delicious and Tam could feel its warm glow going down his throat and filling his whole body. His nose started to tingle, his fingers started to tingle, his toes started to tingle, and maybe a few other places tingled too, but it’s not that sort of story! Tam picked up his fiddle and he started to play. He had never played better in his whole life and the music that flowed from the fiddle was as intoxicating as fine wine. The trow started to dance and soon he was joined by other trows who danced, until the room was full of them, all dancing and laughing and drinking heather ale. The fun went on all night, but by its end Tam was starting to feel tired and he wanted to go home to his bed. He said goodbye to the trow, who thanked him, saying, ‘You are very welcome to come back anytime you want, Tam. But, remember to bring your fiddle with you.’

  Tam started to walk up the long passage that led to the outside world and out through the door. He yawned, stretched, then looked behind him to see that the door had gone; there was nothing there but grass blowing on the side of the mound. As he started to walk home Tam started to notice that things were somehow not quite right. There was a house over there that he didn’t recognise and a haystack where there hadn’t been one yesterday. Things were the same, but not quite right. Tam thought that it was just because he was tired and he had had rather a lot of heather ale, but when he turned down the road that led to his own house he got the shock of his life, for there stood his home in ruins. The thatch on the roof was gone and the windows stood empty of glass. He ran inside and shouted for his mother, but there was no reply. He didn’t know what had happened and he wandered around aimlessly until he saw a boy on the road. Tam shouted to him, ‘Hey, you there. What has happened to that house and what happened to the old woman who lived there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the boy, ‘you had best come home with me and talk to my father.’

  Tam followed the boy back to his house and went in where an elderly man was eating his breakfast. When Tam came in the man went as white as a sheet and said, ‘Tam Bichan; is that you boy?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Tam Bichan, but I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.’

  ‘Don’t you recognise me Tam? I’m Andrew Delday.’

  ‘You can’t be Andrew Delday, you’re far too old.’

  ‘I don’t know about me being too old, but Tam, I’m thinking that you are too young!’

  ‘Too young? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well Tam, you’ve been away for a long time.’

  ‘No I haven’t,’ said Tam, whose head was spinning, ‘I’ve only been away for a night.’

  ‘Ah, it’s been longer than a night. Now let me think. Yes; it was fourteen years and a day since we last saw you. You were seen heading down to the beach at Dingieshowe with your fiddle, but you never came back. We thought that you must have fallen into the sea and been swept away. We did search for your body, but we never found you. Your mother was an old woman and when she passed away the croft was never let again and the storms blew off the roof and knocked in the windows.’

  Tam couldn’t believe it; he thought that he was only away for a night, but time passes at a different rate when you are with the trows. The news of Tam’s return spread like wildfire around Deerness. He was back and not looking a day older than when he left. They said that the very cap on his head was the same. He was asked to play the fiddle once again, but he never played in public any more. It was said that when folk went past the house where he then lived they could hear him playing strange tunes that they had never heard before. But Tam could not settle down and avoided company, until one day he was seen walking down towards Dingieshowe with his fiddle in his hand and he was never seen again. They do say that if you go to the great mound at Dingieshowe on Midsummer night and you listen closely at the side of the mound you can hear the sound of a fiddle playing and a party in full swing.

  THE TROW SERVANT

  There was once a farmer in the West Mainland who had a very strange servant, for he had a trow working for him. The trow had agreed to work for nothing more than a plate of porridge for his supper every night. The bowl of porridge was left on the kitchen table before the family went to bed and it was empty in the morning.

  The farmer had fallen for the charms of a young woman from the town of Kirkwall and the two were married. She was a kind-hearted young woman and she sometimes saw the trow going about his work and wearing the same old worn-out clothes, summer and winter. On a cold winter’s day she thought that the biting north wind must blow through the holes in his clothes and that he must be miserably cold. She decided that, as he was such a hard worker, then he deserved to be given some new clothes. She set about making him a little suit from home-spun cloth with a waistcoat, woollen stockings, a little hat with a buckle on the front and even a nice pair of children’s boots that she thought would fit him, which she polished until they shone like black diamonds. She left the clothes on the table next to his bowl of porridge and then went to bed.

  After she had been asleep for a short time she and her husband were woken by the most tremendous shouts coming from the kitchen, ‘Yahoo! Yeehee! Yippee!!’

  They both ran to the kitchen to see what was going on and they saw the trow standing there, dressed in his fine new clothes.

  ‘See me?’ he said. ‘I’m a gentleman now. I’m far too good to work for the likes of you!’

  And with that the trow walked out the door, left the farm and was never seen again. The deal had been broken, as the trow was given clothes as well as his
porridge. The farmer always cursed his wife’s good heart as she had cost him the finest and cheapest servant that he ever had.

  THE DEATH OF THE MAINLAND FAIRIES

  The fairies on the Orkney Mainland had had enough. A terrible plague had swept the island, bringing fear and misery in its wake. As far as they were concerned the awful plague was not a disease, it was much worse than that; it was ministers! In every church the ministers rang bells and sang hymns, they blessed the people and cursed the fairies. In the end the fairies couldn’t stand it anymore and they decided that something must be done. They had a meeting and decided that the Mainland was no longer a suitable place for them to live and that they needed a wilder, less populated place where they could live in peace. Their eyes turned towards the hills of Hoy and smiles crossed their faces. Yes; they would go and live in Hoy where there were still empty places away from prayers and psalms. They made their plans and then returned to their mounds.

  On the next night when the moon was full they all gathered at the Black Craig in Stromness, bringing with them a simman rope made of twisted straw. The most agile of the fairies took an end of the straw rope and leapt right over the Hoy Sound and landed on the other side. He secured the rope on Hoy while the others secured their end on the Black Craig. Using the rope like a bridge they all started to run surefootedly towards Hoy. However, when they were only halfway across disaster struck and the rope broke. All the Mainland fairies fell into the strong currents of the Hoy Sound and were swept out into the Atlantic Ocean and drowned. The solitary survivor, standing on Hoy, howled like a dog when he saw this. He threw himself into the cold, dark waters and was swept away with the rest of them. Soon he too sunk beneath the waves and that was the end of the Mainland fairies.