Yesterday my brother and I went to a story telling event at Corrigall farm museum we heard some grand tales but as is always the way with me while my ears were on the story my mind was weaving the things I saw and heard into my own tale.


There was a nip in the air as they sat together in the old grain barn. The peat fire under the grain kiln reeked like the lums o' hell but gave of little heat having been to newly lit to be profitable.

One lass drew the auld knitted blanket across her knees silently thanking her grandmother who had spent the hours knitting it while waiting for her to be born. She looked at the squares for a moment lost in the colours, shades of purple and green for the moors, blues and greys for the sea.   There were the yellow of the lichens, the dark brown of the peat and stone and a stony red that granny had said was to reminder of the Red Heads of Eday where the family had come from.

She remembered as a child how her granny would point to one of the squares and tell her tales o trows and hogboons, selkies and the Finn folk. These would be woven with tales of the peoples, from the laird to the old Skatehorn a tramp weel kent around the mainland in days gone by. But the tales she liked the best were those of how the normally quiet island folk would outwit the press gang.

Now she snuggled in the weel loved blanket as Tam o Biggin rose like the great oak doors on the cathedral solid and strong.

"Weel fowks ah'll tell thee the tale oh how I came tae the storytellin."

The tale he told set well the scene for their gathering for it set folk to laughing at the misadventures oh a young man who had come to the hairst hame wie neither a tune a rhyme or a tale tae tell. As his stentorious voice eased to a halt like Raymie Manson's Clydesdales at the end o a furrow a softer voice moved the evening forward wie the tale oh grannies muckle bed or how the farmyard came in the hoose wie peedie Mary.

The supper wis a grand affair wie home brew, bannocks both floory and bere served wie cheese still squeaky frae the still room topped aff wie pancakes and scones served wie rhubarb jam.

Tales flew aboot the room like Whaps in the fog till een wur droopin and hieds sinkin ontae breests till at last meg o' Aglath spoke.

"Tis a fine night we have had and here is one last peedie tale see ye on yer road."

Ye aw ken the auld ruined kirk doon by the shore weel there wis a lad used tae attend that kirk cried Jimmo Bews. Jimmo wis a fine lad wie a fiddle and wis aft times cried oan tae play fur neighbour fowk. A nicht he wis headin home frae playin at the weddin o Jock Burgess he walked along briskly whistlin some oh the tunes that were runnin through his head. As he approached the kirk he saw lights in the building, "strange" thought he "I wonder who can be in the kirk at this hour fur theres nae need tae be in the kirk sae early in the morning."

So though it wid hae bin wiser tae hurry on hame the courage o ale hid him change course till he loupit ower the dyke and headed up tae the door fur a look. He fair goggled in surprise for where there should be an empty room (For in those days maist folk stood during the service) was a brightly lit hall filled wie fowk . now Jimmo hid heard o the fair fowk but hid believed them tae be awfy peedie but these lads and lassies were near his ain five fit but o far slighter build.

Someone spotted him and the hall quietened till a bonny lass approached him.

"Sir that is a fine fiddle I see you carrying and as you can see we could not find a fiddler willing to play for my sisters wedding would you be kind to us and play us a few tunes."

Weel although he had been brought up to be afraid o the fair fowk Jimmo wis a kind hearted lad and the thought of a wedding without a tune to dance to filled him with sadness so he stepped into the room and lifted his fiddle and began to play. My how they danced through reels and strathspeys they stepped lightly and always the lass who first spotted him stayed by his side and praised his fine playing.
They danced till the sun was peeping ower the breest o the brae and a distant cock crow was heard. The bonnie lass who had invited him in thanked him for his kindness to them she gave him a bag o siller for his pay and a blessing that his music would always gladden the heart of all who heard it. She asked if he would consent to come back each year to play for them and to tell the truth since he was half in love wie the lass already he quickly agreed.

And so my friends Jimmo did what we must now and wended he weary way home. But he never told anyone about the fair folks use o the kirk and each year on the longest night he would quietly leave the town to go play for his lady and her friends. He grew older but still he kept his tryst with the lady till one dance night he sighed to the still young girl who stood beside him that this might be his last dance for them. He was now an old man and not so able to walk the mile to the auld kirk a new one having been built in the town.

The lass smiled and asked him if he loved her Jimmo held her hand having laid his fiddle by to talk with his friends for a moment.
"Lass I have loved you so weel all these years that I never took to me a bride from the town."
She kissed him soundly to the cheers of her friends "Then my bonny lad come marry me this night and stay with me forever."
No sooner had he agreed than he felt the aches leave his old bones, his back straightened and he felt a bit light in the head so he closed his een.
Warm arms wrapped round him whispering to open his eyes and look at the man she had married. But when he did so he near swooned with shock for the reflection in the mirror she held showed him as he had been the first night he had ever played for the fair fowks dance.

Back in the town folks said that the old man must have wandered of in the night and fallen over the cliff for he was never seen again. Should you wander past the ruins of the auld kirk tonight on your way home listen you quietly and you might just hear the sweet sound of the fiddle and the dancers laughing.

I bid you all goodnight.