Scotland’s rich heritage of storytelling is celebrated in the recently published Anthology Of Scottish Folk Tales. Here is one of our favourites, as told by Bob Pegg...
DUNCANSBY Head is a little to the north of John O’Groats. Some years ago, I walked from the lighthouse there, down towards the stacks that protrude from the seabed like giant prehistoric arrowheads.
In the bay, the black heads of a dozen or so seals rose and turned to look up at me, reminding me of the many stories which tell of the people of the sea.
In a cottage on Duncansby Head, there was once a man who made his living from killing seals. When he had killed them he would strip off the skins to make trousers and waistcoats, boots that were called rivlins, and small purses for ladies to keep their money in.
Six days a week, he would climb down the steep path to the beach, push out his boat, row into the middle of the bay, and wait for the seals to come to him.
READ MORE: Scotland's supernatural stories: The Witch of Fife
With him he took a little silver whistle which he had from his father, who had it from his father before him; and so on, back through the generations. With the whistle came a tune, a seal-calling tune. When he played, the seals would gather round the boat to listen.
One day the seal killer was out in the bay, playing his silver whistle, when a huge seal broke the surface of the sea, just by the boat. The seal killer put down the whistle and picked up his bone-handled knife. He plunged it deep into the back of the seal, just behind the head, but the seal was so large and powerful that it dived down beneath the waves, taking the knife with it.
The seal killer was astonished and dismayed. The knife had been passed down to him with the whistle. It was old, and knew how to do its job. He used it to kill the seals, and to skin them, and without it he couldn’t carry on with his trade.
He rowed back to the shore, climbed up the path, and entered his cottage. He sat down at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, and wondered how he could ever get another knife.
All day the seal killer sat. Evening brought a storm, thunder and lightning. The seal killer drifted in and out of sleep; then, after midnight, someone knocked. He went to the door and opened it. A tall man stood at the threshold, a stranger, with a black cloak wrapped round him, and a wide-brimmed black hat pulled down over his eyes.
“Are you the seal killer?”
“Yes I am. What do you want with me?”
“I’ve a job for you. You must come with me now.”
There was a flash of lightning, and the seal killer caught a glimpse of a black stallion standing patiently at the cliff edge. The tall stranger climbed into the saddle and pulled the seal killer up behind him, and they rode off into the mouth of the night. They rode through the deepest, darkest valleys, across raging torrents, over the highest mountain peaks, through rain and hail and sleet and snow, until they came to a high cliff top. The stranger dismounted. So did the seal killer. The stranger wrapped his arms around the seal killer, and took a deep breath. He put his lips to the seal killer’s lips, then he blew the air out into the seal killer’s lungs, and threw himself off the cliff with the seal killer still in his arms.
The two of them fell like stooping hawks until they hit the surface of the sea, and sank down to the ocean’s bed.
When they reached the sea floor there was a door. They went through the door and they were in a hall full of brown-eyed, pale-faced, weeping people.
The stranger took the seal killer into a smaller room. In the room, on a bed, lay a beautiful woman. She was so pale and still that it was impossible to tell whether she was alive or whether she was dead.
The seal killer saw that the handle of his knife was sticking out of her shoulder. Then the stranger spoke.
‘‘This is our queen – the Queen of the Selkie people. Yesterday morning you stabbed her in the back, and now you are the only one who can save her. You must pull out the knife and kiss the wound.’’
What could the seal killer do but obey? He leaned forward, pulled out the knife and kissed the wound, and the wound closed over as if by magic.
The woman opened her eyes and looked into the eyes of the seal killer, but before either of them had time to speak the stranger said, “Right, that’s your job finished. Come with me.” He took the seal killer by the arm and led him back through the room full of brown-eyed, weeping people, ’til they came to the sea door.
“Now,” said the stranger, “before I let you go, promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You will never, ever kill another seal.”
“No, I never will kill another seal.”
“Right,” said the stranger, “take this, and whatever you do, don’t open it until you get home.”
The stranger reached under his cloak and pulled out a bundle. He pressed the bundle into the seal killer’s hands, opened the sea door, and pushed him out into the darkness. The seal killer rose and rose through the dark waters until he thought the lungs would burst out of his body.
Then his head broke the surface of the sea. It was dawn, and he was in the bay below the cliff where his cottage stood. He swam to the shore and dragged himself dripping up the cliff path. He opened the door of the cottage and threw the bundle down on to the kitchen table. The bundle split open, and the kitchen was filled with gold coins.
The seal killer never did kill another seal. He lived out his life in the little cottage above the bay. He never married and he never had children. But the people who live in that part of the world say that whenever the moon was full, he went down to the beach and stood at the edge of the sea.
Then he took out a silver whistle, and played a tune. After a while, a great seal pulled itself up out of the sea, on to the shingle. Then the seal took off its skin, and out stepped a beautiful woman. All night long, she and the seal killer danced together on the beach. Then, when the sun rose, the Queen of the Selkies slipped back into her skin, and flopped away into the waves.
In a career lasting over half a century, musician, songwriter and storyteller Bob Pegg has performed in venues ranging from a Viking longhouse in the wilds of Iceland, to the Royal Festival Hall in London. He organised the Tales at Martinmas festival in Ross-shire, and was the director of the Merry Dancers Project, which brought storytelling to schools and communities the length and breadth of the country, from Cromarty to Applecross. He lives in Strathpeffer.
This story is taken from The Anthology Of Scottish Folk Tales, published by The History Press. Sunday National readers can buy the book at the special price of £10 with free P&P to all UK addresses. Order via Macmillan by calling 01256302699 and quoting the discount code “RZ6”. Offer valid September 22-29
Why are you making commenting on The National only available to subscribers?
We know there are thousands of National readers who want to debate, argue and go back and forth in the comments section of our stories. We’ve got the most informed readers in Scotland, asking each other the big questions about the future of our country.
Unfortunately, though, these important debates are being spoiled by a vocal minority of trolls who aren’t really interested in the issues, try to derail the conversations, register under fake names, and post vile abuse.
So that’s why we’ve decided to make the ability to comment only available to our paying subscribers. That way, all the trolls who post abuse on our website will have to pay if they want to join the debate – and risk a permanent ban from the account that they subscribe with.
The conversation will go back to what it should be about – people who care passionately about the issues, but disagree constructively on what we should do about them. Let’s get that debate started!
Callum Baird, Editor of The National
Comments: Our rules
We want our comments to be a lively and valuable part of our community - a place where readers can debate and engage with the most important local issues. The ability to comment on our stories is a privilege, not a right, however, and that privilege may be withdrawn if it is abused or misused.
Please report any comments that break our rules.
Read the rules here