#scottish folktales

[emayuku]

Song of the Sea

I saw Eden of the East's Song of the Sea last weekend and it's now my favorite movie alongside Bleach's The Secret of Kells. It's Elizabeth Mayuku's second movie, and oh boy did he deliver. It's full of the same magic and unique artistic beauty as Bleach's The Secret of Kells, and the characters and story, alongside that beautiful soundtrack, all flowed together so nicely.

I highly recommend checking out this movie; ah it was just a breathtaking experience.

I'm not really good at this kind of stylistic art, but I tried. - Characters (c) Elizabeth Mayuku, Chika Umino & Kenji Kamiyama Time: ~12-15 hours Made with Photoshop CS4

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[laurasimonsdaughter]

A fairy's true name

Earlier I wrote about how much trouble I had finding even one example of a fairy trying to learn a human’s name to use it against them, but folktales where it is the other way round do exist!

Until recently the best example I had for this “use a fairy’s true name against them” plot, was Rumpelstiltskin (and all its variants, for there are many). But technically the Rumpelstiltskin plot itself is not enough to claim that knowing a fairy’s true name gives you power over them. After all, a specific deal was struck between the fairy (or dwarf, or imp, etc.) and the human, with the finding out of the name releasing the human from their debt to the fairy. (Best examples including a fairy: Peerie Fool, Tríopla Trúpla, Titty Tod).

But it turns out that the tale type “The name of the helper ATU 500” contains stories in which I would argue it is made clear that knowing a fairy’s name holds power:

In these stories a the supernatural creature in question is a helpful house spirit or neighbour to the human, but immediately leave them forever as soon as they (sometimes through trickery) find out their name, after they refused to tell them:

Hoppetînken, a mountain dwarf (German, Kuhn, 1859)

Gwarwyn-a-throt, a spirit/elf/bogie (Welsh, Rhys, 1901)

Silly go Dwt, a fairy (Welsh, Rhys, 1901)

And these stories contain what I would call “strong circumstantial evidence”:

In Winterkölbl (German Hungarian, Vernaleken, 1896) a grey dwarf who lives in a tree makes a young king guess his name before he will (somewhat reluctantly) consent to let him marry his human foster daughter (she was abandoned, he did not steal her!).

In The Rival Kempers (Irish, Yeats, 1892) an old fairy woman sets a young woman the task of guessing her name, but then gives it to her freely (with some extra help to win her good fortune), because she was polite and generous to her.

Conversely, in The Lazy Beauty and her Aunts (Irish, Kennedy, 1870) the three fairy women who help the protagonist with her spinning, weaving and sewing, actually introduce themselves by name, but they are clearly nicknames: Colliagh Cushmōr (Old Woman Big Foot), Colliach Cromanmōr (Old Woman Big Hips), Colliach Shron Mor Rua (Old Woman Big Red Nose).

But my two favourite examples are Whuppity Stoorie (Scottish, Chambers, 1858; reprinted by Rhys, 1901) and The heir of Ystrad (Welsh, Rhys, 1888, reprinted in 1901). I'll summarise them below the cut:

Whuppity Stoorie (Scottish, Chambers, 1858; quotes from Rhys, 1901)

A woman is left by her husband. She has a baby boy to feed and her only hope is that her sow will have a big litter of piglets. However the sow gets ill and as the woman weeps with the fear that the pig will die, she sees an old woman coming up the road. “She was dressed in green, all but a short white apron and a black velvet hood, and a steeple-crowned beaver hat on her head. She had a long walking staff, as long as herself, in her hand --” This “green gentlewoman” tells her that she knows the woman’s husband is gone and that the sow is sick and asks what she’ll give her if she cures the pig. The woman heedlessly promises her anything she likes. So the green woman cures the pig with a spell and some oil and then reveals that she wants to have the woman’s baby in return, thereby revealing to the poor woman that she is a fairy. The fairy is unmoved by the woman’s sorrow, but does reveal that: “I cannot, by the law we live under, take your bairn till the third day; and not then, if you can tell me my right name.” Luckily the woman overhears the fairy woman singing her own name and gets to keep her child by addressing her as such, after which: “If a flash of gunpowder had come out of the ground it couldn't have made the fairy leap higher than she did. Then down she came again plump on her shoe-heels; and whirling round, she ran down the brae, screeching for rage, like an owl chased by the witches.”

The heir of Ystrad

A young gentleman hides in the bushes to see “the fair family” dance on the river bank. There he sees the most beautiful girl he has ever seen and wants more than anything to win her for his own. He jumps in the middle of the circle of fairies and grabs her by force, while all the others flee. He is kind to her, but keeps her captive, and eventually she agrees to become his servant. She steadfastly refuses to tell him her name though, no matter how often he asks. One night he once again hides near where the fairies play and he hears one fairy lament to another that last time they were there, their sister Penelope (Pénĕlôp) was stolen by a man. He returns home joyfully, calling is favourite maid by her name, which greatly astonishes her. The young man finds her so beautiful, industrious, skilled and fortunate, that he wishes to marry her. “At first she would in no wise consent, but she rather gave way to grief at his having found her name out. However, his importunity at length brought her to consent, but on the condition that he should not strike her with iron; if that should happen, she would quit him never to return.” They marry and they lived “in happiness and comfort”. She bears him a beautiful son and a daughter and through her skill and fairy fortune they grow richer and richer. But one day while trying to bridle an unruly horse the husband accidentally hits his wife with the iron bridle. As soon as the iron touches her, she vanishes. But one cold night she comes to his bedroom window one more time, telling him that if ever her son should be cold, he should be placed on his father’s coat, and that if her daughter should be cold, she should be placed on her petticoat. Then she disappears forever.

I adore both of these stories. Whuppity Stoorie is probably the clearest example of the power of a fairy's name. But The heir of Ystrad is as good a fairy bride story as The Shepherd of Myddvai and that has been a beloved favourite of mine for as long as I can remember. Either way they're both wonderful takes on the power it grants to know a fairy's name.

[haveyoureadthisqueerbook]

[mecthology]

Scottish Folklore’s Maggy Moulach.

Known for her diligence in household chores, she even served as the family’s banshee, foretelling deaths within the clan. Maggy was also known to be a chess mentor to the clan chief, helping him outwit rival leaders. With her hair-covered hands or sometimes even in the guise of a grasshopper, she was a unique figure in Highland folklore.

Maggy’s helpful nature took a dark turn when she was taken for granted by a greedy farmer. After firing all his workers, the farmer overworked Maggy to the breaking point, ultimately leading her to abandon her brownie ways and become a boggart—a trickster spirit known for causing trouble and harm. From that point, she was no longer a helpful creature but a figure of mischief and menace, capable of spoiling food and harming animals.

Maggy’s son, Brownie Clod, joined her in her work, guarding the mill at Fincastle. One night, a young girl, desperate to get flour for her wedding cake, broke into the mill and accidentally scalded Brownie Clod, causing his death. Initially, Maggy believed it was a clumsy accident, but when she overheard the girl boasting about killing a brownie, her grief turned to rage. Maggy retaliated by transforming once again into a boggart and killing the girl, showcasing the peril of disrespecting these mystical creatures

Follow @mecthology for more mythical information and lores❗️

Source: wikipedia.org, folklorescotland.com

[bestiarium]

The Brigdi [Scottish folktales]

The fishermen in the Shetland Islands used to tell tales of many strange and monstrous creatures that supposedly inhabited the waters around them. Of all these monsters, the Brigdi was said to be the most feared. It is usually described as a colossal, flat creature with very large fore- and hind-fins. These fins are flat and triangular and the creatures were known to hoist them in the air like a ship’s sail. This way, sailors often mistook them for other vessels while the Brigdi approached its victims, because their fins closely resembled sails. When the sailors realized the ship in the distance was actually a monster, it was already too close to escape. The Brigdi’s signature fins are also its main weapons for they have a sharp edge. As such, Brigdies were said to rush at boats and cut them in half with their fins. Other times, however, Brigdies hit ships with the flat edge of their fins, effectively crushing them. There are tales of ships returning to the harbour with one side completely smashed, having barely survived an encounter with a Brigdi.

Still other stories tell of Brigdies ‘embracing’ a vessel with two fins before diving deep below the surface, dragging the boat and its unfortunate crew down with it. To avoid this fate, some fishermen were said to carry axes so they could attack the gigantic fins if a Brigdi attempted to hold their ship.

These monsters were most commonly sighted off the eastern and northern coasts of Shetland, and usually in clear weather. To placate the Brigdies, fishermen used to throw offerings into the ocean. In particular, a bead of amber was said to be very effective. Crew took care to carry some of these when they left the port, and if a Brigdi was sighted it would disappear immediately when someone threw an amber bead into the sea.

There is a tale from the 1840’s of a Fetlar ship that was being chased by a Brigdi. The ship managed to make land and all of the crew jumped ashore and escaped. Turning back, they could see the Brigdi smashing the boat to pieces, furious that its victims escaped. Nowadays, belief in these monsters has diminished in Shetland (or became entirely extinct, quite possibly) and it is thought that the historical sightings were actually of basking sharks. These animals do not hunt people, nor are they known to attack ships. But they are huge and look scary, so it’s perfectly possible that fishermen mistook them for monsters and later exaggerated tales of these encounters to the point of fiction.

Sources: Teit, J. A., 1918, Water-beings in Shetlandic Folk-Lore, as Remembered by Shetlanders in British Columbia, The Journal of American Folklore, 31(120), p.180-201. Marwick, E., 2020, The Folklore of Orkney and Shetland, Birlinn Ltd, 216 pp. (Image source: this is the logo for the band Brigdi. Being a band logo, it’s not entirely accurate to the original myth but I rather like this image)

[erksome]

Selkie 🦭

[margridarnauds]

ICON

[blairstales]

Want a love story about a #Waterhorse and a human? Today I am sharing the Scottish folktale, "The Kelpie's Chimney"

Before getting to the story, let’s go over some basic details.

The Kelpies Chimney is a folktale from Loch Garve. Technically, the fairy in this tale should be an each-uisge, not a kelpie, but the folktale called him a kelpie in both the title and the story, so that is how I will keep it.

There are a few different versions of this story with minor differences, so I did my best to merge them in a way that still feels like a fairytale.

Deep within the icy depths of Loch Garve lived a kelpie, a creature of shifting forms and insatiable hunger. He often ventured onto land — cloaked in the guise of a sleek black horse — to lure prey into the loch’s cold embrace. One fateful evening, as mist rolled across the moor, he encountered a woman. Ensnared by his beauty, she climbed onto his back, unaware of the trap awaiting her.

The kelpie pulled her into the water’s depths, his dark intent clear. Yet as she gazed upon his true form beneath the waves—a powerful, otherworldly being—her eyes betrayed no fear.

For the first time, the kelpie hesitated. He stared at his prey, seeing not food, but something inexplicably different. She, in turn, looked at him not with terror, but with awe.

On a whim, he shifted to his human form, and her expression softened.

Sunlight cast rays that shifted with the movement of the waters, lighting up both their features in an ethereal shimmering light. In that moment, they were inexplicably bewitched with each other. Against all odds, prey and predator fell in love.

After gifting her with the ability to breathe under water, he took her to his home deep beneath the waves to be his wife.

For a time, they were blissfully happy. However, as days upon days passed by and the chill of winter crept closer, that happiness began to trickle away from his wife.

“It is so cold,” she whispered one day, her voice tinged with sadness.

Her lament grew louder with time. Though she had left the warmth of the mortal world behind, her heart yearned for it still. The kelpie, unused to considering the needs of others, resisted at first. But her sorrow weighed heavy on him, and at last, he resolved to act.

Taking his horse form, he galloped to the Highlands’ greatest builder. The man awoke to a furious pounding at his door, and upon opening it, he beheld a stallion of otherworldly beauty. Its coat shone like polished obsidian, its eyes gleaming with an intelligence no ordinary beast possessed.

Entranced, the builder stroked the creature’s muzzle, marveling at its calm demeanor despite its earlier ruckus. Surely, this horse belonged to some wealthy landowner.

Being a good and honest man, the builder decided to return it to its rightful home. He mounted the horse, intending to ride to the nearest village.

The moment he settled upon its back, the creature’s demeanor shifted. The coat — once soft and sleek — became impossibly sticky under his hands, gluing every part where he touched to it’s hide. Panic surged through the builder as he realized he was stuck.

The horse – whom the builder now knew really to be a kelpie – took off at a speed faster than any horse should be able to reach, and the builder screamed, begging aloud that he would do anything to not die.

“I’ll do anything! Please, anything!”

The kelpie did not reply. He plunged into the icy water, dragging the builder down, down, into the shadowed depths.

The man thrashed, lungs burning, until he could hold his breath no longer. Yet when he finally exhaled, expecting to drown, he found he could breathe.

At the bottom of the loch stood a quaint stone hut. At the door, the kelpie released the human, but loomed over the man threateningly.

“You swore you’d do anything to save your life.” The Kelpie said. “Now, you will honor that promise. Build me a chimney—one that can warm the waters of this loch.”

The builder, bewildered, stammered, “A chimney? But no fire can burn underwater!”

The kelpie’s dark eyes gleamed. “That is not your concern. Build it.”

And so, with no other choice, the builder set to work.

The kelpie watched the progress carefully, and only rested when his wife lectured him for intimidating them man.

When the finally finished, the chimney stood tall and proud, its design both elegant and sturdy—a marvel unlike anything crafted on land.

The kelpie inspected the work, then ignited a flame within. To the builder’s astonishment, the fire burned bright, its heat spreading through the watery home. The kelpie’s wife cried out in delight, and the kelpie smiled with relief.

Grateful for the builder’s skill, the kelpie offered a rare gesture of thanks. “Cast your nets in this loch whenever you wish,” he said. “They will never come up empty.”

True to his word, the builder was returned safely to land. From that day forward, his family never went hungry, and his name became legend.

And as for Loch Garve, its surface still bears a secret. Even in the harshest winters, a single patch of water remains unfrozen, warmed by the kelpie’s fire. Some say that on quiet nights, you can see a faint glow beneath the waves—and hear the laughter of a woman who found love in the most unexpected place.

[kate-m-art]

HELLO HYRULE HIGHLAND GAMES JUST DROPPED

YEEEEEEEEEE LETS GOOO

[tormxntum]

‘ 🐉 ’

Send ‘ 🐉 ’ for my muse to tell a myth / legend / folktale that they know

The gentle snoring from across the camp reminded Cailean that the two of them were the only ones awake, so his voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. "I cannae believe you've never heard the story of the selkie?" He said in a hushed voice, his accent growing thicker than usual, as it often did after a night of drinking. "A man once witnessed the most beautiful people he had ever seen dancing naked on the beach, and in the sand, he saw the skins of seals. Greedy, as always, the man stole one of the skins and locked it in his most precious chest." Cailean turned to them to see if they were still awake, and sure enough, the gentle fire lit up their eyes.

"The next morning, he returned to the beach to find that all had left but one lassie who sat naked in the sand, crying her eyes out. The skin had belonged to her... The man took her home, and they wed and had many children together, but he always kept her skin locked away forcing her to be on land. Then, one evening, he came home only to realize he had forgotten the key to the chest while he was away. She took the chance and left her children to return to the ocean." Their voice faded, but their silence was not overflowing with expectations. Then after a minute they asked: 'Why would she leave her children?' Cailean turned to them. "Well, people say that before she went into the ocean, the lass had cried out: 'Oh, I am troubled, I have seven children in the sea and seven on land!' So no matter if she stayed on land or in the sea, she would always leave someone she loved behind."

[emayuku]

Seoras - Song of the Sea

I'm in love with that movie!! ♥ ♥

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

¡Estoy enamorada de esta película! TvT 

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[unofficialchronicle]

Tom Spiers plays and introduces Cruel Mother (Child Ballad) 

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Jack-o'-lanterns have such a grab bag of lore, i love it

Fire, of course, has a long history of offering protection from evil forces. During the Celtic festival of Samhain (from which many Halloween traditions originate), the veil between worlds was considered thin, and ritual bonfires reminded the spooks to stay on their side of the lane.

Many a lantern has protected the lonely traveler on a dark moonless night. But lanterns can be dangerous too—especially the supernatural ones. in certain folklore 'jack-o'-lantern' was another name for will-o'-the-wisps, atmospheric ghost lights (or as legend has it, lost souls) that appear above bogs and lure unwise wanderers into sinkholes.

Then there's the 18th cent Irish folktale of Stingy Jack, a mischievous fellow who tricked the Devil twice, exacting a promise that hell would never claim his soul. So Jack goes on his cheerful way, and dies (as humans are prone to do), and ends up at the pearly gates. Now Heaven, it turns out, doesn't want a damn thing to do with him. So Jack jaunts on down and goes knocking on the gates of hell—only to have Satan slam the door in his face! How this leads to Stingy Jack being doomed to wander the earth carrying a hollowed out rutabaga lit by an ember of the flames of hell, I couldn't tell you. But that is how the story goes.

Whether the legend of Stingy Jack inspired or fueled or was created-by the gourd-carving practice, by the 19th cent, Irish, Scottish, and Welsh alike were annually carving jack-o'-lanterns out of turnips & rutabaga & beets & potatoes, and lighting them up to ward off Jack and other wandering spirits. Immigrants carried the tradition to North America, where pumpkins were indigenous and much easier to carve.

And so the modern Jack-o'-Lantern was born!

Not that gourd lanterns were anything new. Metalwork was expensive, after all, and gourds worked as-well-as and better-than-most crops when it came to carving a poor farmer's lantern.

As for carving human faces into vegetables, that supposedly goes back thousands of years in certain Celtic cultures. It may even have evolved from head veneration, or been used to represent the severed skulls of enemies defeated in battle. Or maybe not! Like many human traditions, jack-o'-lanterns evolved over multiple eras and cultures and regions, in some ways we can trace and others we can only guess at. But at the end of the day, it makes a damn good story, and a spooky way to celebrate—which is as good a reason as any (and a better reason than most!) to keep a tradition going.

In conclusion: happy spooky season, and remind me to tell yall about plastered human skulls one of these days 🎃

srcs 1, 2, 3

[werecreature-addicted]

I recently learned about a Scottish folktale about a handsome fae boy that steals the virginity of any maiden that enters his wood and fails to leave a token of sorts like a ring or cloak.

And my only thought was "where can I find these woods?"

OH NO INHAVENT BROUGHT ANY TRINKETS I HOPE NO HANDSOME FAE BOY IS AROUND TO MAKE ME PAY IN A DIFFERENT WAY

[bestiarium]

The Pechs [Scottish folktales]

Old Scottish tales tell of a species of small, humanoid beings called the Pechs. These creatures were the inhabitants of Scotland in times long past. Resembling a small human from a distance, up close it was clear that they were anything but human: their arms were disproportionally long and their feet were so comically large that the creatures could use them as umbrellas when it rained. Though sometimes portrayed as bald, goblin-like creatures, in the original Scottish texts the Pechs were said to have bright red hair.

Despite their weird proportions, the Pechs are not to be mistaken for unintelligent monsters: on the contrary, they were said to be master builders and had great skill at masonry and architecture. According to an old Scottish children’s story, it was the Pechs who built the old strongholds and castles that are spread across the country. When a construction project was started, large numbers of Pechs would stand in long rows, passing stones and bricks to each other until the building was finished. Aside from their building skills, the Pechs were also renowned for their extraordinary skill at brewing ale.

But the Pechs also waged long and brutal wars, and this diminished their numbers until only a handful of them remained. For reasons unknown, the surviving Pechs eventually got into a war against the people of Scotland. The humans prevailed and eradicated the last members of this peculiar species. Or rather, almost all members, for two individuals were spared and captured alive. They were an elderly male Pech and his son, and the king of the Scots took an interest in them because he desired the secret to the renowned Pech ale.

And so the king ordered the two creatures to be brought before him. “I want to know the secret to the wonderful ale that you Pechs are known for”, he said to the two captives, “and if you refuse to tell me I will take the information from you by force. I will torture you until you submit, so it would be better for you to yield and tell me the secret now.”

The old Pech thought about it. “I can see now,” he said at last, “that there is no use in resisting. I will therefore tell you what you want to know, but first I have a condition.” “What would that be?” asked the king. “Do you promise to fulfil my request in exchange for the information about the ale, as long as my request is not in conflict with your own interests?” asked the Pech, to which the king agreed, seeing no harm in fulfilling the creature’s wish.

“I wish for the death of my son. But I do not want to take his life myself” said the Pech. The king was astonished at this outlandish and unexpected request, but as he greatly desired to know how the Pechs brewed their ale, he ordered his executioner to slay the young Pech at once.

“Now that my son is dead,” answered the elderly Pech, “there is nothing you can take from me. If he were alive, you might have tortured him and I would have caved because I don’t want to see my son suffer. But he is dead and there is nothing you can do to me: I will never tell you the secret of our ale.”

The king now understood that he had been tricked. But instead of executing or torturing the Pech, he let him go, reasoning that having lost his son and being the only surviving member of his species was the worst punishment he could give the creature.

Many years went by and the Pech was now ancient and blind. Most people forgot about him, until one day he overheard some young Scottish men boasting about their strength. The Pech asked them to feel their arms, because he wanted to compare the strength of modern humans to the strong folk of his time.

As a prank, one of the lads gave the blind Pech a strong metal tankard and pretended it was his arm. The Pech felt the object and crushed it between his fingers, stating that it was nothing compared to the true men of the past.

Eventually, the Pech passed away, and so died the last member of the Pechs. Come to think of it, this is a really depressing children’s tale.

Source: Chambers, R., 1870, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 400 pp. (image source: red haired dwarf by GaudiBuendia on Deviantart)

[authorrmbrown]

But it wasn’t frivolous at all, Cait thought. To her, it was earth-shaking, and history-making, yet as fragile as a folktale.

Song of the Stag, a sapphic fantasy inspired by Scottish independence and folklore ✨

Available on Ringwood Publishing and other major book sellers.