Isle of Skye: Latest Posts — Folklore

An old man in Borve was very much later than his neighbours in cutting his corn. One day he was standing looking at it, and he said aloud, "This corn is ready to be cut." Waking next morning this easy-going old gentleman saw, to his amazement, his corn cut and put up in stooks.

The next morning he was met by a man about four feet high and dressed in blue clothes. (This probably meant for green, as my informant, Donald Murchison, while working in the garden always called grass "that blue sing.") The old man asked the stranger where he had come from. "From Dun Borve," answered the little man, "and want pay for cutting the corn."
"What pay?" queried the old crofter.
"A few potatoes and a little pot," was the reply.
This seems a floating reminiscence of the demands of the much-dreaded tinkers, for, of course, potatoes were entirely unknown in the days when this story was first told. However that may be, the demands in this case were acceded to, and now hardly a day passed without the little man or his still less wife appearing with new requests.

The nuisance became quite intolerable, and the old man beat his brains for a means whereby he might put a stop to it. He at last hit on a plan. One day, when his troublesome visitors were as usual asking for something, he suddenly called out, "Dun Borve is on fire with all in it, dog or man." Instantly the fairy disappeared and from that time troubled the ingenious old man no more.

But at Portree Market he once more saw the little man. Unwisely, he spoke to him, and the fairy said, "How will you be seeing me?"
"With this eye," said the old man.
Instantly the fairy put spittle in the eye indicated, and, though the old man retained the normal use of it, the supernormal power disappeared.

A well-to-do couple in the neighbourhood of Edinbane had but one lack in their prosperity - they had no child. But, at length, to their pride and joy, the wished-for child arrived. A bountiful harvest demanded all hands at work, and the mother carried her infant out, and left it comfortable and apparently safe inthe charge of a young girl. But the latter was heedless and false to her trust, and she left the sleeping infant to the many dangers which menace infant life.

During her absence the fairies, attracted by the beauty of the human child, stole it, leaving in its place a peculiarly unattractive infant of their own species. From that time the healthy child "dwined," always wailing and refusing to eat. After all ordinary means had been tried and had failed the mother consulted a "wise man." This person bade the mother listen if she could hear the crying of her own child, which she soon perceived to be coming from a little hill.

By the advice of the wise man the mother took the fairy child near this hill and slapped it hard. Immediately a voice was heard exclaiming in anger, "Throw her out her own ugly brat," and the fairy child disappeared, leaving, at her feet, her own comely infant.

Two hunchbacks lived at Edinbane, about fourteen miles from Portree. One of these fell ill, and asked his comrade in misfortune to go and feed his herd of cattle, the beautiful shaggy creatures one still sees in the Highlands. As the neighbour, a kindly, merry man, proceeded on his mission, he heard sounds coming from a small hill, and, listening, he heard a voice chanting continuously, "Monday, Tuesday."
With a sudden impulse he joined in, "Wednesday, Thursday."
A voice inquired, "Who will be adding nice verses to my song?"
"A hunchback bodach," the man replied.
"Come in to my house," said the voice, and the hunchback obeyed.
An old fairy man greeted him, and in gratitude for the addition to his song he took off the disfiguring hump.

We can picture the neighbour's astonishment when the transformed hunchback returned home. Jealousy consumed him, and the next day he hurried to the same place and heard the same song, which now included the nice new verses. Jealous of his neighbour's good fortune, for he was a sullen, discontented man, he joined in, "Friday, Saturday."

But this did not have the desired effect, for a wrathful voice demanded, "Who will be spoiling my nice song?" and the fairy man emerged and dragged him inside. With somewhat arbitrary cruelty he added the neighbours hump to that already on his back and drove him out.

A relative of Donald Murchison, who was employed as a herd boy on the farm of Scorybreck, fell asleep on a hill known as Dun Torvaig. Awaking from a heavy sleep, he found himself surrounded by fairies, and was a delighted spectator of their feasting and dancing. Meanwhile, in his home, he was mourned for as dead, and sad funeral feasts and loud wailing (and the latter is most heartrending) filled the house. What was the astonishment of the mourners when he arrived home, safe and well. Three weeks had elapsed, but he refused to believe it, and said, "It was the fine long sleep I had, but who would be sleeping the three weeks? It was but half a day I was after sleeping." He was safe and well certainly but never again the same lad, for he was ever distraught in manner, and ever sighing for the joys of the fairy-haunted Dun.