Author Topic: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends  (Read 134648 times)

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #60 on: February 03, 2009, 12:55:28 PM »
Although we've talked about the Selkies before... it seems there may be more to the story...

The children of the selkie-folk

The following account was documented by the Orkney antiquarian and folklorist Walter Traill Dennison towards the end of the 19th century.

In a paper, published in 1893 in the pages of the Scottish Antiquary, he recounts the semi-mythical tale of an Orcadian woman, who, after lying with a selkie man, falls pregnant and produces offspring with distinct traits.

Dennison changed the name of the woman, so as not to "bring shame on the family and embarrass her descendents"...

Ursilla was the daughter of a laird belonging to one of the oldest families in Orkney. She was handsome and pretty, but had a sternness of manner, and that firmness of features which often presents a masculine exterior in families of Norse blood, and often hides, as with a film of ice, a loving heart within.

Ursilla was not one to wait patiently till some one turned up to offer himself as her husband. Indeed, had any one presumed to approach her as a lover, she would have treated him with haughty disdain, regarding his bold presumption as sufficient ground for his rejection.

She determined not to be chosen, but to choose for herself. Her choice fell on a young handsome fellow, who acted as her father's barn-man. But she knew that any disclosure of her passion would mortally offend her old father and bitterly mortify his family pride and might lead him to disinherit her. So she locked up her love in her own breast; kept watchful eye on the object of her love, and treated him to a full share of the scoldings she daily bestowed on the servants.

When, however, her father died, and her tocher was safe, she disclosed her passion to the young man, and commanded him to marry her - a command which he was too gallant to disobey.

Her marriage excited among the gentry great indignation; to think that one of their class should marry a farm-servant. Ursilla treated their contempt with indifference; she made a good housewife, managed her house well, and also, it was said, managed her husband and the farm.

At this point, Dennison went to great pains to remind his readers that the information he had provided so far was valid but that which followed was merely "an imaginary tale, invented by gossips, in order to account for a strange phenomenon visibly seen on her descendants."

The tale, he states, "is only given to illustrate one of the popular beliefs":

Yes, Ursilla was married, and all went well and happily, so far as outward appearances showed; Yet Ursilla was not happy. If disappointed in her husband, she was far too proud to acknowledge it, knowing that the gentry would only say in derision, "She shaped her own cloth, let her wear her ill-fitting dress."

Whatever the cause might be, there was a terrible want - a want that Ursilla felt bitterly. And she was not the woman to sit down and cry over her sorrow; she determined to console herself by having intercourse with one of the selkie-folk.

She went at early morning and sat on a rock at high-tide mark, and when it was high tide she shed seven tears in the sea. People said they were the only tears she ever shed. But you know this is what one must do if she wants speech with the selkie-folk. Well, as the first glimpse of dawn made the waters grey, she saw a big selkie swimming for the rock.

He raised his head, and says he to her, "What's your will with me, fair lady?"

She likely told him what was in her mind; and he told her he would visit her at the seventh stream (spring tide), for that was the time he could come in human form.

So, when the time was come, he came; and they met over and over again. And, doubtless, it was not for good that they met so often. Anyway, when Ursilla's bairns were born every one of them had web hands and webbed feet, like the paws of a selkie.

And did not that tell a tale?

The midwife clipped the webs between every finger, and between every toe of each bairn.

"She showed the shears that she used to my grandmother." So said the narrator. And many a clipping Ursilla clipped, to keep the fins from growing together again; and the fins not being allowed to grow in their natural way, grew into a horny crust on the palms of the hands and soles of the feet. And this horny substance is seen in many of Ursilla's descendants to this day.

Whatever may be thought of this tale, its last sentence is quite true. The horn still appears on feet and hands of some of the lady's descendants. One, two, or three in a family may show the abnormal horny substance; while brothers and sisters are entirely free from the troublesome horn.

Although Dennison put no real faith in the folklore origin of this horny crust found on the hands and feet of some of Ursilla's descendants, the condition at least was verified.

Some ten years ago, while engaging a harvest hand, I said to one of these men, "Of course, you can do all kinds of harvest work?"

"Oh na, sir," said he, "hid's nae use tae tell a lee aboot hid; but I cinno' bind a sheaf wi' this plaguid horn in me livs."

Another of the same family told me that when, through the growth of the horn, he was unable to walk or work, he would, with hammer and chisel, cut off large slices of horn from the soles of his feet. This growth is by no means confined to those engaged in manual labour. I have felt it on the hands of one of the same race who followed a profession where manual labour was not required.

This curious phenomenon seems well worthy of careful investigation by the physiologist. Pity it could not be traced to the seal; we might then be in sight of the missing link.

Many wild tales were told of the offspring of such strange parentage who had webbed hands and feet; but the foregoing will serve to illustrate a once popular belief.
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Mary

  • Administrator
  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 997
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #61 on: February 04, 2009, 07:51:14 AM »
Thanks, Stu!   I never knew that.......I'd heard about the Selkies, but never seemed to find the time to discover more.  Growing up, it seemed like we heard a lot more of the Irish folklore than Scottish and I STILL don't seem to find the time to sit and look it up......So, please, continue to spoon feed me!  ;D

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #62 on: February 05, 2009, 10:03:07 AM »
Mary, this is for you. From the Visit Dunkeld website...

Scottish Spinning and Weaving

A field of flax in flower made a bonny crop,a lake of blue
flowers lapping against the woods and hedgerows.
A useful crop, indeed, for the seeds produced linseed oil, while the straw was “retted,” then processed in some local mill, then sent as tow to the “hecklers,” spinners, weavers, lappers and seamstresses of the factories.

It was useful, too, in this respect, that it brought folk together, both young and old. Even a youngster could help to spread the lint, and an old woman could still sit filling the pirns, and no doubt spin many an old tale besides.

The cultivation of flax and making of linen is a very old craft. Blairgowrie had one of the earliest scutching mills in Scotland, and until recent times the fields along by the lochs of Marlee and Fingask could still show a few acres of flax under cultivation.

The flower of the flax not only created a staple industry, it wove itself into our song and folklore. Even in the 14th century we have Robert Henryson, a Dunfermline schoolmaster, describing the processing of flax in verse:

“The lynt ryipit, the carll pullit the lyne,
Rippillit the bolles, and in beitis set,
It steipit in the borne, and dryit syne,
And with ane betill knokkit it, and bett,
Syne swingillit it weill, and hekellit in the flat,
His wyfe it span, and twynit it in to threid.”

In remote days the spinner made use of the distaff and spindle. Robert Burns, in his poem “Bessie and Her Spinning Wheel,” writes:

I bought my wife a stane o’ lint,
As guid as e’er did grow,
And a’ that she has made o’ that
Is a’e weary pund o’ tow.
The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o’ tow.
I think my wife will end her life
Before she spins her tow.”

In the old days, a servant lass taking a job was not asked if she could sew or clean or bake or brew.
She was asked, ” Can you spin ?“ For a wage she would get perhaps £1 per year, along with a lippie of lint-seed. This she sowed in a piece of ground in one of her master’s fields, and the crop that resulted became her property, later to be woven into sheets and towels for her “providing” on marriage.

In one old song, “Janet and Me,” the crofter boasts about his possessions, and mentions:

Twa wabs o’ linen
0’ Janet’s am spinnin’
As thick as dogs’ logs
An’ as white as snaw.

But it was a long way from the sown seed to the snowy linen of the dower chest. There was hard work in the fields, weeding and more weeding. When the plant had ripened there was the pulling, and laying in lint-holes. There the lint was steeped till fermentation set in, then soread out to dry.

When dry, it was bundled and carried to the lint-mill. If you look at an old map of Tayside, you will ‘see these lint-mills dotted here and there along the valleys of the streams. The Dighty, flowing past Dundee, was a very hard-worked stream in this respect.

At the mill the wood was removed from the fibre by means of fluting and scutching. Then the heckler took over. His job was a very dusty one. The heckle was a rough stand about three feet high with a heavily spiked board set on top. Over these spikes the flax was thrown, and combed to get rid of the tow, a heavy job as well as a dusty one, and it needed a certain dexterity.

The flax was then put into “heads,” passed on to the rock and spindle, and transformed into yarn. Women took over the job here, winding the spun flax on to large bobbins, from which it was reeled into hanks. Then came boiling and cleaning. On drying it was filled on to warp pirns and beamed, and so was formed the foundation of the future web. Then the weaver came into the picture, and the web was woven.

But it was not all work and no play. There were many social interludes like spinning-bees, at which the lasses demonstrated their skill, to the accompaniment of song and story. Some of these songs are quite charming in their words and melody. Some are comic, such as “The Weaver o’ the North”

There was a weaver o’ the north
And oh but he was cruel,
The very nicht that he got wed
He sat an’ grat for gruel.”

But alas, the day of the blue fields of flax and of the lint-mills have passed. As the great spinning-mills of Dundee, Arbroath and so on came into being, the patches of lint around villages and farms began to dwindle, for now huge supplies of flax were being imported from the Baltic, dwarfing the local crops into insignificance.

So the housewife stowed away her spindle and wheel, and the wobster set aside the handloom that had served for several generations of his family. Gone were the cheerful gatherings, when neighbours came to beam the web, and all that fun and frolic on the village-green at bleaching-time, it now belonged to the past.

But the flax industry, one of the very earliest of human enterprises, still thrives, though in a different way and in a different setting.

And we can still sing the weaving songs:

If it wisna for the weavers, what would we do?
We wadna hae claith made o’ oor woo’,
We wadna hae a coat, neither black nor blue
Gin it wisny for the wark o’ the weavers.

Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Barbara

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 543
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #63 on: February 06, 2009, 10:44:49 PM »
Thank you Stu for posting all the myths and legends.  The Selkie-folk was interesting.  Wonder if there was really a congenital birth defect in that certain family that carried down through the generations.  ???

Barbara
"Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind can see." - Mark Twain

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #64 on: February 09, 2009, 06:30:15 AM »
The Burning of the Clavie, Burghead, Elgin

Before the calendar change in the year 1660, Hogmanay was celebrated on the 11th of January. It is known as Old Yule Night. However in 1752 the old style calendar was dropped in favour of the Continental calendar by the then British Government. People were forced to loose 11 days in September of that year to bring Britain into line with Europe. This then made New Years Day the 1st of January. People of Britain were most annoyed at loosing eleven days and many still followed the old calendar and continued to celebrate New Year on the 11th.

The North East of Scotland has always been a fishing region and fishermen and fisher folk are a superstitious lot and this ceremony is one of their fishing superstitions. They do this burning of the Clavie ceremony to ensure a successful fishing for the new year.

Each year the villagers of Burghead, just outside Elgin, celebrate the traditional Hogmanay date by burning the clavie.

From 6pm - 7.30pm eleven people (The Clavie King and his 10 men) take turns to carry the clavie through the streets, stopping at houses to present a smouldering ember.

The procession continues to Doorie Hill on the ramparts of the ancient Pictish Fort where it is put down onto a stone altar and the hillside set alight so that people from the crowd can come and get a flaming ember to kindle a new fire at home to bring good luck for the New Year.

The eleven men are traditionally fishermen from the village. Each of the Clavie men are descendants of village folk who have taken part in the ceremony over the years.

The clavie would traditionally have been a herring barrel but these days it is an iron hooped whisky barrel daubed with creosote. This is filled with wood shavings and tar and then nailed to a carrying post. The same nail is used each year.

It is considered a bad omen for the village and the fishing industry if the Clavie is dropped. In the olden days one man, the strongest in the village, would carry the burning Clavie. It was quite dangerous because of the burning tar that could trickle down onto the back of the carrier.

The Clavie would also be carried around the boats in the harbour for good luck, but this tradition is no longer performed.


Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #65 on: February 12, 2009, 10:46:34 AM »
HOW THE CORRIEVRECHAN GOT ITS NAME...

This whirlpool is VERY, VERY dangerous at the wrong times... Corrievrechan is the third-biggest whirlpool in the world; it lies between the Inner Hebridean isles of Jura and Scarba and, in certain conditions of wind and tide, is extremely dangerous.

How was it named? there are a few theories and variations, but here are two:-

**Long ago, the people of the area believed that the Gulf of Corrievrechan was where the Hag of Winter (The Cailleach Bheur) washed her plaid. The Cailleach was believed to be an old-woman goddess, responsible for spreading the harshness and whiteness of winter.

As winter approached, she would would use the gulf as her washtub, to wash her plaid; and the tempest resulting could be heard twenty miles away. This could last for up to three days and, when she was finished, the cloth was pure white, becoming the blanket of snow covering the land.

and...

** Once upon a time, there was a Scandinavian Prince called Breachan, or Breakan. He fell in love with a Hebridean Princess but, unwilling to part with his beautiful daughter, her father made a condition: Breachan had to anchor his boat - with him in it, of course - over the whirlpool for three consecutive nights.

Breachan took advice as to how he might defeat the awesome might of this giant whirlpool; wise men gave him the solution. So he had three anchor-ropes made- one of hemp; one of wool; and one of Scandinavian Maidens' hair. (it was believed that if the others failed, the purity and innocence of the Maidens would ensure the hair rope was strong enough).

On the first night, the hempen rope failed - but the other two held.

On the second night, the woolen rope failed - but the maiden-hair rope held.

On the third night ............. the third rope broke - and Breachan's boat was swallowed up by the whirlpool, drowning himself and most of his crew. The sole-surviving crewman and Breachan's dog dragged the body of Breachan ashore - he was buried in the King's Cave.

When the crewman finally made it home again and told of Breachan's fate, one of the young Scandinavian ladies was overcome by guilt, as she was not as pure as she had made out; it had been her hair which weakened the rope.

Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #66 on: February 24, 2009, 10:59:49 AM »
Scottish Doocots

A Doocot, doucat or dove-cote is a pigeon-house. They vary greatly in appearance. In Scotland the usual type is gabled and crow-stepped, but occasionally you come upon one of quite different style.

Doocots are few and far between these days, and there is still a tendency to demolish those that still stand. This is a pity, for in itself the doocot not only forms a link with mediaeval times, it often marks the site of ancient buildings of which nothing now remains. For example, a doocot stands in the open fields at Bonnyton, near Bridge of Dun, and is the only remaining sign of the castle that once was there.

Others that come readily to mind are. those excellent examples at Tealing and Kilspindie. Decorative though they were, these pigeon-houses were primarily for the purpose of having a supply of pigeon-meat on hand. By an Act of James IV. in 1503, every laird was to have a park with deer, fish ponds, rabbit warrens and “dowcatis.” And no doubt this “grow your own food” drive resulted in many doocots being built about that time. It should be remembered that cattle were then largely slaughtered and salted down at the approach of winter as there was a lack of winter-feed. No doubt the fresh pigeon-meat was welcome, as a change from the salted fare. 500 breeding pairs of pigeons was about the average for each doocot.

  Image of Doocot

Inside
« Last Edit: February 24, 2009, 03:38:40 PM by Forum_mgr »
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #67 on: February 27, 2009, 12:18:46 PM »
Hellish Nell from the Firstfoot.com website

HELEN DUNCAN
"Hellish Nell" (1897 - 1956)
 

There was a lot of Helen Duncan. Tipping the scales at over 22 stones, this Callendar born lass would have made an ideal Weight Watchers customer.

But it isn't for her weight that Hellish Nell will be remembered but as the last person to be tried under the 1735 Witchcraft Act.

Helen Duncan was a throwback to vaudeville. She was a "medium" who put on a great show at seances which were popular the length and breadth of Britain.

Usually, if they got on the wrong side of the law, folk like Helen were tried under fraud legislation. So, why was Hellish Nell so special ?

It's all down to World War Two and the misnomer that was the "Intelligence Service".

In December 1941 the British battleship HMS Barnham was sunk. This fact was kept secret until January 1942.

At a seance shortly after the sinking but before it was publicly announced, Hellish Nell materialised a vision of a drowned sailor, with the HMS Barnham ribbon on his hat.

The woman was obviously a danger to national security.

In 1944 in of the most sensational episodes in wartime Britain, Hellish Nell was tried and convicted at the Old Bailey for summoning spirits. She was sentenced to nine months imprisonment.

Why was there a three year gap between the offence and the trial ?

Enter the "Intelligence Services".

In 1944 preparations for D-Day were far advanced. Anything that compromised security and secrecy was dangerous. And so were charlatans like Helen Duncan. So, into chokey she went.

It was a notorious trial and caught the attention of Winston Churchill who thought it a bloody nonsense but was overruled by the Secret Service.

The harassment of Helen Duncan continued right up to her death in Nottingham in 1956. Something to do with the British spirit of fair play ?

 
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #68 on: March 03, 2009, 08:46:18 AM »
The Big Grey Man of Ben MacDhui from the Firstfoot website.

Scotland's answer to the Himalayan Yeti or the North American "Big Foot", the Big Grey Man is one of Scotland's more recent mysteries.

The first "official" report of a malevolent presence on the mountain was given in 1925 by Norman Collie, an experienced climber with all the credentials of a credible witness in the situation. As a professor of chemistry at the University of London, this was not a man for whom hysteria or fanciful imagination was usual.

Mr Collie claimed that whilst climbing Ben MacDhui unaccompanied in 1891, he had become aware of another presence following him, although he knew there were no other climbers around. He estimated from the sound that his pursuer was taking steps three or four times the length of his own.

Although unable to catch any real sight of it, a sinister impression of being stalked by a huge and menacing creature grew upon Norman, so he did what any sensible person would do in the circumstances and ran like buggery without stopping to look back, careering and tumbling down the slope until he reached safety at the mountain foot. He never went on the mountain alone again.

Since then there have been many further reports of climbers experiencing the presence of a shadowy figure that filled them with terror and pursued them as they fled. Some have reported being drawn as if hypnotically to the edge of dangerous ledges and precipices while others are believed to have been chased to their deaths, in their desperation to excape, over the edge of the cliff known as Lurcher's Crag.

Actual sightings of the Big Grey Man have been rare, but "eye-witness" descriptions of his appearance describe him as being around ten feet tall, covered in hair, with very long arms and legs. A couple of reports claimed that the beast was also wearing a top hat!

Huge footprints in the snow, not made by any human or known animal have been found and photographed. In 1965, prints were discovered measuring 14 inches and with a massive stride that covered around 5 feet, just as Norman Collie had estimated prior to his panic-filled descent down the mountainside in 1891.

Hallucinations? Tricks of the light? Hoax? Who knows. But you sure won't catch me climbing Ben MacDhui.

Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Barbara

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 543
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #69 on: March 03, 2009, 09:46:34 PM »
The Loch Ness monster, selkies, banshees and the Big Grey Man......Scotland is soooooo interesting!!!  :o

Barbara
"Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind can see." - Mark Twain

Donna

  • Sr. Member
  • ****
  • Posts: 409
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #70 on: March 04, 2009, 12:01:31 AM »
but...was he wearing a KILT   :o

Donna
ANY DAY ABOVE GROUND IS A GOOD DAY !

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #71 on: March 04, 2009, 05:32:04 AM »
Not in the picture on Firstfoot.com although he was sporting a fine Glengarry!
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #72 on: March 08, 2009, 09:53:32 AM »
Prince Iain

Once upon a time there was a King and a Queen, and they had one son. But the Queen died, and the King married another wife. The name of the first Queen's son was Iain. He was handsome and a good hunter. No bird could escape his arrow, and he could bring venison home any day he went out hunting.
But one day he was unlucky for the first time. He saw no deer, and when he shot an arrow at a Blue Falcon, he knocked a feather out of her wing. Putting the feather into his bag, he went home.
"What did you kill today?" said his stepmother.
Iain took the Blue Falcon's feather from his bag and gave it to her.
"I'm putting a spell on you," said his stepmother. "The water will run into your shoes and out again, and your feet will be cold and wet with brown bog water, till you bring me the bird this feather is from."
"I'm putting a spell on you," said Prince Iain to the Queen, his stepmother. "Till I come back, you will stand with one foot on that house, and your other foot on that castle and suffer every tempest and every wind that blows."
Prince Iain went off as fast as he could, leaving his step mother with one foot on the house and her other foot on the castle. (She was much colder than he was with his wet feet.) Prince Iain walked all day over waste land, looking for the Blue Falcon. As night fell, the little birds flew off to roost in the trees and bushes. When it was dark, Iain sheltered under a briar bush, when who should pass but Gillie Martin the Fox.
"No wonder you're down in the mouth, Prince Iain," said he. "You've come on a bad night. All I've got to eat is a sheep's leg and cheek. We'll have to do with that."
So they lit a fire and roasted the scraps of mutton. After their scanty supper, they slept side by side under the briar bush till morning.
"Prince Iain," said the Fox, "the Blue Falcon you're looking for belongs to the Big Giant with Five Heads. I'll show you where his house is, and my advice to you is this, become his servant. Tell him you can feed birds and swine, or look after cows, goats and sheep. Be quick to do everything he asks you, and be very good to his birds. In time he may trust you to feed his Blue Falcon. When this happens, be very kind to the bird and when the Giant is not at home, carry her off. But, take care that not one feather touches anything in the Giant's house. If this happens, you'll be in trouble."
"I'll be careful," said Prince Iain.
He went to the Giant's house and knocked on the door.
"Who's there?" shouted the Giant.
"It's me," said Iain. "I've come to see if you need a servant."
"What are you good at?" asked the Giant.
"I can feed birds and swine. I can feed and milk a cow, or goats or sheep."
"It's a lad like you I want," said the Giant, coming out of his house.
They came to an agreement about Iain's wages, and the lad began to feed the Giant's birds and animals. He was kind to the hens and the ducks. The Giant saw how well Iain was doing, and compared his food now with what it had been before Iain came. The hens and the ducks tasted better, and the Giant said he would rather have one now than two he had had before.
"This lad's so good, I think I can trust him to feed my Blue Falcon," said the Giant. So he gave Iain the Blue Falcon to look after, and the lad took great care of the bird, such care that the Giant thought Iain could be trusted to look after the Blue Falcon when its master was away from home.
So the Giant left his house one day in Iain's care. "Now's my chance," said Iain. He seized the Falcon and opened the door, but when the Falcon saw the daylight she spread her wings to fly, and one feather of one wing touched the doorpost. The doorpost screamed, and the Giant came running home. He took the Blue Falcon from Iain.
"I'll not give you my Falcon," said the Giant, "unless you bring me the White Sword of Light from the Big Women of Jura."
Prince Iain had to leave the Giant's house at once, and he wandered through the waste land. As it was growing dark, Gillie Martin the Fox met him.
"You're down in the mouth," said the Fox, "because you'll not do as I tell you. This is another bad night like the last. All I've got to eat is a sheep's leg and cheek. We'll have to do with that."
They lit a fire and cooked the mutton in the white flame of the dripping fat. After supper they went to sleep on the ground until morning.
"We'll go to the edge of the ocean," said Gillie Martin. So Iain went with the Fox to the shore.
"I'll shape-shift myself into a boat," said the Fox. "Go on board and I'll take you over to Jura. Go to the Seven Big Women of Jura and be their servant. When they ask you what you can do, say you're good at polishing steel and iron, gold and silver. Take care you do everything well, till they trust you with the White Sword of Light. When you have a chance, run off with it, but take care the sheath does not touch anything in the house, or you'll be in trouble."

Gillie Martin the Fox changed into a boat, and Iain went on board. When the boat reached land to the north of Jura, Iain jumped ashore and went off to take service with the Seven Big Women of Jura. He reached their house and knocked on the door.

"What are you looking for?" they asked him.
"I'm looking for work," said Iain. "I can polish gold and silver, steel and iron."
"We need a lad like you," they said.
They agreed about his wages, and for six weeks Iain worked very hard. The Big Women were watching him.
"This is the best lad we've had," they said. "Now we may trust him with the White Sword of Light."
They gave him the White Sword of Light to look after, and he took great care of it, till one day the Big Women were out of the house. Iain thought this was his chance. He put the White Sword of Light into its sheath and put it over his shoulder, but going out of the door the sheath touched the lintel of the door, and the lintel screamed. The Seven Big Women came running home and took the Sword from him.
"We'll not give you our White Sword of Light, unless you give us in return the Yellow Filly of the King of Erin."
Iain went to the shore of the ocean, where Gillie Martin met him.
"You're down in the mouth, Iain," said the Pox, "because you'll not do as I tell you. This is another bad night like the last. All I've got to eat is a sheep's leg and cheek. We'll have to do with that."
They lit a fire, cooked the mutton and satisfied their hunger.
"I'll shape shift myself and become a barque," said Gillie Martin the Fox. "Go aboard and I'll take you to Erin. When we reach Erin, go to the house of the King and ask service as a stable lad. When he asks what you can do, tell him you can groom and feed horses, polish the silverwork and the steel work on their harness. Be willing to do everything necessary and keep the horses and their harness in good order, till the King trusts you with the Yellow Filly. This will give you a chance to run away with her. But take care when you're leading her out that no bit of her, except her shoes, touches anything within the stable gate, or there'll be trouble."
Everything happened as the Fox said, till they reached the King's house.
"Where are you going?" asked the gate keeper.
"To see if the King has need of a stable lad," said Iain.
So he was taken to the King, who said: "What are you looking for here?"
"I came to see if you needed a stable lad."
"What can you do?"
"I can groom and feed the horses, polish the silver-work and the steel work on their harness."
So the King gave him the job at good wages. Soon the King noticed that his horses had never looked so well, so he gave Iain the Yellow Filly to care for. The Yellow Filly improved so much in appearance and speed that she could leave the wind behind her and overtake the wind ahead.
One day the King went out hunting, leaving the Yellow Filly in her stable. Iain saw that this was his chance, so he saddled and bridled her and took her out of the stable. But at the gate the Yellow Filly flicked her tail and touched the gate post. The gate post screamed, and the King came galloping back from the hunt.
"I'll not give you the Yellow Filly, unless you fetch me the daughter of the King of France," he said. So Iain went down to the seashore, where he met Gillie Martin.
"You're down in the mouth," said the Pox, "because you'll not do as I tell you. But I'll turn myself into a ship and take you to Prance in no time."
The Fox changed himself into a ship, and Iain went on board. Soon they came to France, where the ship ran herself aground on a rock. Then Iain climbed down on to the shore and walked up to the King's house.
"Where have you come from, and what are you doing here?" asked the King of France.
"A great storm came on, and we lost our captain at sea. Our ship is aground on a rock, and I don't know if we'll get her off again," said Iain.
The King and Queen and their family went down to the shore to see the ship. As they were looking at it, wonderful music sounded on board, and the King of France's daughter went with Iain on board to find out where the music came from. But the music was always in another part of the ship, till at last it came from the upper deck. The Princess and Iain climbed to the upper deck to find that the ship was, by that time, far out at sea, out of sight of land.
"That's a bad trick you played on me," said the Princess. "Where are you taking me?"
"To Erin," said Iain, "to give you to the King of Erin in return for the Yellow Filly, which I'll give to the Seven Big Women of Jura in return for their Sword of Light, which I'll give to the Giant with the Five Heads in return for his Blue Falcon, which I'll take home to my stepmother so that she'll free me from her spells. But you'll be safe with the King of Erin, who wishes to make you his wife."
"I'd rather be your wife," said the King of France's daughter.
When the ship came to the shores of Erin, Gillie Martin changed himself into a woman as beautiful as the King of France's daughter.

"Leave the King of France's daughter here till we come back," said the Fox. "I'll go with you to the King of Erin, and give him enough of a wife!" So the Fox, in the form of a beautiful young woman, took Iain's arm. The King of Erin came to meet them, and gave Iain the Yellow Filly with a golden saddle on her back, and a silver bridle. Iain galloped back to the King of France's daughter who was still waiting by the seashore.

Meanwhile, the King of Erin and his new wife went to bed. But in the night, Gillie Martin changed back from a beautiful young woman and became the Fox again. He tore the flesh from the King, from his neck to his waist. Then the Fox ran down to the shore where Iain and the Princess of France were waiting.
"Leave the Princess and the Yellow Filly here," said the Fox. "I'll go with you to the Seven Big Women of Jura, and give them enough of fillies!"
Then the Fox changed himself into a yellow filly. Iain saddled him with a golden saddle, and bridled him with a silver bridle, and rode on the filly's back to the Seven Big Women of Jura, who gave him the White Sword of Light in exchange for the filly. Iain took the golden saddle and the silver bridle off the yellow filly, and carried them, with the White Sword of Light, back to the shore. Here the Princess of France was waiting with the real Yellow Filly.
Meanwhile the Seven Big Women of Jura, very eager to ride on the back of the Yellow Filly, put a saddle on the Fox's back. The first Big Woman climbed into the saddle. The second Big Woman climbed on to the back of the first Big Woman; and the third Big Woman climbed on to the back of the second Big Woman; and the fourth Big Woman climbed on to the back of the third Big Woman; and the fifth Big Woman climbed on to the back of the fourth Big Woman; and the sixth Big Woman climbed on to the back of the fifth Big Woman; and the seventh Big Woman climbed on to the back of the sixth Big Woman.
The first Big Woman hit the filly with a stick. The filly ran backward and forward with the Seven Big Women of Jura on her back. Then she ran across moors, and then she ran up a mountain to the very top. She stopped with her forefeet on the edge of a cliff, kicked up her hind legs, and threw the Seven Big Women of Jura over the cliff. Then the filly changed back into the Fox, and ran laughing down to the seashore where Iain and the Princess of France, and the real Yellow Filly, and the White Sword of Light, were all waiting for him.
Gillie Martin the Fox became a boat and Iain helped the Princess of France into the boat, with the Yellow Filly, and carried the Sword of Light on board. Then the boat took them across the water to the mainland, where it changed back into Gillie Martin the Fox.
"Leave the Princess here," said the Fox, "and the Yellow Filly, and the Sword of Light. I'll change into a white sword, which you will give to the Giant with Five Heads. In return he'll give you the Blue Falcon. I'll see that he has enough of swords!"
When the Giant with Five Heads saw Iain coming with the sword, he thought it was the White Sword of Light, and he put the Blue Falcon into a basket and gave it to Iain, who carried the Blue Falcon back to the seashore where he had left the Princess waiting with the Yellow Filly and the real Sword of Light.
Meanwhile, the Giant with the Five Heads began fencing with the white sword, and swinging it round his head. Suddenly the sword bent itself and, before the Giant realized what was happening, he cut off his own heads, all five of them. Then the sword changed back into Gillie Martin the Fox, who ran down to the seashore where he had left Iain and the Princess.
"Now, listen carefully," he said to Iain. "Put the gold saddle on the Yellow Filly, and the silver bridle. Let the Princess of France, with the Blue Falcon in its basket, sit behind you on the back of the Yellow Filly. You, Iain, will hold the White Sword of Light with the back of the blade against your nose, and the edge of the sword toward your stepmother, the Queen. If you make any mistake, your stepmother will change you into a stick of firewood. But do as I tell you, with the sword held exactly as I have said. When she tries to bewitch you she will fall down as a bundle of sticks."
Iain was specially careful this time, and did exactly as Gillie Martin the Fox told him. He held the Sword of Light with the back of its blade against his nose, and the edge of the sword towards his stepmother, the Queen, and when she fell down as a bundle of firewood, Prince Iain burned her to wood ash.
Now he had the best wife in Scotland; and the Yellow Filly, that could leave one wind behind her and catch the wind in front; and the Blue Falcon which kept him supplied with plenty of game; and the White Sword of Light to defend him from his enemies.
"You're welcome," said Prince Iain to Gillie Martin the Fox, "to hunt over my ground, and take any beast you want. I'll forbid my servants to fire a single arrow at you, no matter what you do, even if you take a lamb from my flocks."
"Keep your herd of sheep!" said the Fox. "There's plenty of sheep in Scotland without troubling you!"

With that, Gillie Martin the Fox blessed Prince Iain and his Princess, wished them well and went on his way.

Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

John ThomsonHollingsworth

  • Full Member
  • ***
  • Posts: 110
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #73 on: March 10, 2009, 06:05:11 AM »
It took a while to get through this one, but it was worth the time spent.
Thanks Stu

John

Stirling Thompson

  • Hero Member
  • *****
  • Posts: 978
Re: Customs and Traditions, Myths and Legends
« Reply #74 on: March 10, 2009, 07:25:54 AM »
From Firstfoot.com... King Arthur!

King Arthur in a section dedicated to Scottish myths? Surely some mistake. Arthur and his legendary Knights are the most quintessentially English of legends are they not?

Well, not necessarily.

One thing that is generally agreed on is that Arthur's legend was based on a real historical character who probably existed around the sixth century, and it has long been assumed that he was either English, or more probably, a Welsh Briton.

The problem is, no genuine character has ever been found who fits the profile and there is no real evidence at all to support the theory. Even the name Arthur appears nowhere in English records of the time, although supporters of the legend merely dismiss such detail by insisting that "Arthur" was simply based on someone of a different name. But why change the name of a legend? It just doesn't make sense to do so.

There is compelling evidence, however, to suggest that the story of King Arthur was actually based on a character called Arturius, also known as Artuir, the son of King Aiden of Dalriada, a Scottish territory now known as Argyll.

The Arthurian legend first took hold in the twelfth century thanks mainly to the writings of a certain Geoffrey of Monmouth. A great story-teller, Geoffrey wasn't about to let something as restrictive as the truth get in the way of a fantastic yarn, and it's fair to assume that more than a little "creative license" was put into play. With the passing of the centuries his fiction became ever more widely accepted by later chroniclers as fact.

Monmouth placed Camelot firmly in the south of England, Cornwall to be precise, and Tintagel Castle has built a thriving tourist industry on the back of it.

Unlike the tour buses and tacky souvenirs, however, the corroborating evidence simply isn't there.

The (real) story of Arturius on the other hand does reveal inescapable similarities with the legendary King Arthur that are unmatched by any other historical character.

Arturius was, like Arthur, the son of a powerful King and was, like Arthur, a Christian warrior in a mainly Pagan country.

Arturius was an ally of King Urien, a genuine historical figure also mentioned in legend as being an ally of King Arthur.

Arturius had a sister or half-sister called Morgan, as did King Arthur.

Arturius died in battle against the Picts. In the legend, King Arthur died fighting Mordred, whose mother was married to the King of the Picts.

The battle in which Arturius died took place in the Lothian region of southern Scotland. The ancient poem, the "Gododdin", concerning the Gododdin tribe who inhabited Wales, makes mention of Arthur as a great hero, and is often used as supporting evidence towards Arthur's Welsh origins. The Gododdin tribe, however, originally came from the Lothian region, and it is quite conceivable that Arturius died aiding Welsh Britons against the Picts, and may even have been the leader of a Celtic coalition between the Welsh and Scottish. This would easily explain "Arthur's" existence and standing in Welsh legend.

Arturius is also mentioned in a 7th century chronicle about "The Life of Columba". Columba was a contemporary of and is believed to have acted as an adviser to Arturius' father, King Aiden. Columba's famed powers of prophecy and "miracle" workings make him a perfect model for the role of Merlin.

So why would Monmouth so deliberately play down or ignore the true 6th century origins of his legendary creation?

The answer isn't that hard to understand. By the 12th century, the English considered Scotland to be an aggressive inferior with a corrupted culture. A bit rich, coming from a country only recently invaded and taken over by the Norman French, but there you go.

Such a background would have been totally at odds with the squeaky-clean paragon of virtue that was the hero-king of the legend. Scotland simply wasn't deemed to be capable of producing such a magnificent leader and was, in English eyes at least, entirely unworthy of laying claim to one.

For the story of bold, chivalrous King Arthur to be accredited to a bunch of primitive, dirty, hairy Scots would have been an affront to southern standards.

Simply not acceptable old chap, good heavens no.

Far better, like that other great Scots legend, the Stone of Destiny itself, to simply move it south and steal it in its entirety.


 

Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu