THE FAIRIES AND LEGENDS OF THE SCOTTISH DALES

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23263, 4 February 1939, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE FAIRIES AND LEGENDS OF THE SCOTTISH DALES

By J.D.

"VTO nation in the world, surely, peoples its country with fairies and covers it with legends as the Scots do, with the possible exception of the Irish, and theirs do not seem to be kindly and whimsical as those in Scotland, but rather of the bogey-will-get-you variety. In Scotland fairies inhabit the banks and braes and burns, and the Gael in the Highlander delights to tell you "le-e-gends," as you walk among the heather.

I suppose I was fortunate that the warden of the Youth Hostel was away at a dance the night I stayed by the shores of Loch Lomond, and the local postman was talcing liis place. be was a Highlander, with all the Highlander's contempt for Lowlander and Sassenach alike. 13ut I was a colonial, and his wife's cousin probably went out to New Zealand in the '9o's, so I presented an opportunity, one might almost say virgin soil, for■ implanting the Seed of Respect for Scotland. White Heather

"Ye ken tho white haither-r," said tho postman to me, pointing to some growing by the roadside, and went on to tell me how lucky it was said to be. More than that—if a maiden gave a pieco to a man, it was tantamount to a proposal, and that was the way of it with Queen Victoria and Prince

"It's Over the Hills and Far Away"

Albert. Which was a new version of the story as far as; I was concerned, afnd something historians might take note of, for if ever anyone knows anything of history, the Scots do. We walked through Glen Douglas, gently as befitted the day, for it was a lovely, sparkling morning, with the sun making the heather bright and the little burns all shades of red and green and brown. And my guide told me about the colours in the burns, too, that I might be under no misapprehension about it, for, he said, geologists and other wise men had come up to Scotland and looked at the soil ana the rocks, and said it had to do with minerals and oxides, and one thing and another. Colours of the Burns But such was not the case, for, according to the legend current in the district, there had once been a beautiful little princess in the land, of whom the fairies were very fond, and she was going to be married. So the fairies decided to give her silks and velvets dyed in beautiful colours—the blue of the sky, the gorgeous purple of the heather, the rich green of . the fir trees, the warm red-brown of the earth —so that she would always have fine clothes. Now, when subjects of the little princess saw these lovely colours ? some of them, with' man's lesser instincts, thought it would be a good thing to get hold of the fairies' dye-baths. However, the fairies came to hear of this, and during the night they mixed all the colours together, and poured them down the hillsides. So that is the reason for the gay, wee burns, glinting with all the colours of the rainbow.

On we walked, coming upon a farmhouse now and then, sometimes a sheep dog barking at us lazily in the sun, or a lamb gambolling away, bleating for its «mother. Until we came in sight of Loch Long, so still that tho clouds were reflected in it quite perfectly. It seemed hard to believe that on account of tho. loch's great depth, it was used by tho British Navy for testing torpedoes during and since the Great War; but as we walked up to the head of the loch, we heard several times the warning scream of the syren, followed by tho swish of a torpedo rushing through the water. Above the loch' are rugged hills and among them is the Cobbler. The postman pointed him out to me the hooked nose and nut-cracker jaw—and near by, the Sour Milk Burn. "Some would tell you that the whiteness of tho Sour Milk Burn was caused by silica or some such mineral," said our Highlander, " but I'll ,tell you the real legend." And this is what I heard: — The Burnt "Parrich"

The cobbler and his wife lived away lip there on top of the mountains, and one morning the cobbler complained that his porridge was burnt. His wife, of course, being a good housewife, said it was not. A quarrel ensued, during which the milk was upset and rolled in a stream down the side of the mountain. And in the course of time, the milk turned sour, as milk is wont to do, and it has continued to run white down the hillside in the way of fairy streams ever since. There at the end. of the glen, with Loch Long at my feet. I parted with the postman, not a little sadly, for the Celtic imagination and sensibility of the powers of the little people had made short and pleasant a long day s walk, and I should have very much liked to have him go on telling me legends—and juore legends.