Jack and the Devil's Purse (23 page)

Jack said, ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

‘No, no, young man, I’m no calling you a liar!’ he said. ‘Carry on with your story.’

And Jack said, ‘It began to gnaw at the grain. So I said, “This is no going to happen what happened before!” I took my axe and I swung my axe at the hare. And my axe stuck in the hare’s backside. And that hare got such a fright, it went round that field, round and round the grain and the stalks of grain were falling like pine trees before a storm! Then the whole thing was flat. And my uncle stood in amazement. But that wasn’t the end of the story!’

The king said, ‘That’s hard to believe.’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ said Jack.

‘No, no!’ he said, ‘I’m no calling you a liar.’

But Jack said, ‘Then the hare stopped and it began to nibble the grain. And I said, “Well if you cut it down you’re no going to nibble it!” So I rushed over, pulled the axe from its backside and I kicked that hare round that field! Round and round the grain I kicked that hare. And every time I hit it a kick I kicked out a
king
from its backside! I kicked out
seven kings
out of that hare’s backside. Big, strong, handsome, good-looking kings. And they stood in a row. And I’ll tell you something, Your Majesty,
every one was a better king than you
!’

The king said, ‘You’re telling a lie – there’s no one better than me!’

And Jack said, ‘You give me the reward!’

So Jack got the reward from the king and he made his way home to his uncle.

And Jack’s fame became far and widespread, how he had told the biggest lie to the king. Jack told all those wonderful stories to the people. The people told them to more people. And those people told them to me. I tell them to you! And that’s why today they are known as ‘Jack tales’.

This was told to me once by an old man away up in Aberdeenshire called Willie Lindsay. It came from the
North-East. I never heard this story in Argyll. I can give you the basic facts the way the story was told, to keep the whole story true. But they had the Doric way of telling it, using the dialect of the people.

Jack stayed with his mother in this wee croft away in the west corner of Skye. And he worked around the croft here and there. So on his visits to the village he used to see this old lady at the shop, when he went to the wee shop in the store. She was always in selling eggs and things, and he fell into talk wi her one day. She asked him his name.

He said, ‘Jack, they call me.’

She said, ‘Where do you stay?’

‘I stay away down at the end of the island wi my mother.’

She said, ‘What does your mother do?’

‘My mother,’ he says, ‘has a wee croft down there.’

‘Oh aye,’ she says, ‘I ken your mother. I’ll tell you, are ye busy?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘my mother’s wee puckle hay is cut and she’s no doing very much just now.’

‘Well, look,’ she says, ‘my old sister and me stay away down at the end o’ the island, about ten miles from here. When ye go home would ye ask yer mother if she could let ye off for a couple o’ days to come down and give us a wee hand wi the hay? Because we’ve an awful crop o’ hay this year and we canna work it wirsels, seein my old sister’s gettin kind o’ bad in her legs.’

‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I’ll see my mother.’

She says, ‘I ken yer mother fine but it’s years and years since I’ve seen her.’

Very well, Jack goes away home wi his mother’s bits o’ messages. Back he goes to the wee croft, into his house and his mother says:

‘Well, laddie, ye’re home.’

‘Aye,’ Jack says, ‘I’m home, Mother. But Mother, a funny thing happened to me today down at the wee store where I was down at the shop. I met an old friend of yours, she’s an old woman.’

‘Oh,’ she says, ‘I ken who ye met up wi – old Maggie. And she has an old sister Jeannie. I’ve never seen them for years. Jack, what was she saying to ye? Ye ken, there are a lot’ o stories goes about the island about them pair.’

‘Ah, Mother,’ he said, ‘she’s a nice old woman, the nicest old woman! In fact, she wants me to come and work wi her.’

‘What!’ says the mother, ‘gang an work wi her? Well, Jack laddie, but ye can please yersel if you want to go and work with her or no. But wi the cracks and tales that I’ve heard about them – they’re supposed to be witches – the two o’ them. And if ye’re going—’

‘Mother, it’s for nae harm,’ he says. ‘The old woman only wants me to gang an’ work for a couple of days wi them at the hay. Ye ken I’m no doin much here.’

‘Oh well, it’s up to yersel. But,’ she says, ‘I’m telling you, you’d better just be careful and watch what they give ye to eat, and watch what they tell ye to do. And pay attention, because they’re definitely witches!’

‘Ach, Mother, witches! There’s nae such a thing as witches nowadays.’

Anyway, the next morning his mother makes him up a bit piece and that and he had a good bit to go, about ten mile o’ a walk to the end o’ the island. Away he goes, travels on and
on and on; it was a lovely day, the sun was shining. He walks on, comes right down through a wee village and down to this wee croft at the side o’ the shore.

Up he goes an’ knocks at the door. The old woman comes out to him, ‘Oh, it’s you John,’ she says. (She cried him John at first.) ‘Come on in! I’m just getting my old sister up, old Jeannie, and giving her her breakfast.’ She sits him down to the table and gives him a good breakfast. She says, ‘Go round the shed there and ye’ll get a scythe.’ It was all the scythes they used in the olden days for cutting their hay. ‘And there’s a sharpening stone for sharpening it hangin in a leather case from the rafters. Ye’ll get rakes and forks an’ everything else ye need in the shed. I’ll give ye a wee shout at dinner time.’

‘All right,’ says Jack.

Jack got used to this farm working, kent all about it. It was just a wee two or three acres of hay. They kept yin cow and a puckle hens, these two old sisters; they sold eggs and things. He worked away all day, cut all this hay for them. He nearly finished it.

The old sister came out and gave him a shout, ‘Come on in, Jack! It’s about dinner time.’

In he comes, sits down. He looks. He’s never seen the other old sister before, but she’s sitting at the table. He looks at her.

‘Aye,’ Maggie says, ‘you’ve never met my sister, Jack. That’s my sister Jeannie there. She’s kind o’ deaf, she’ll no hear ye. She’s two-three years older than me. Her legs are kind o’ bad.’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘I didna get your hay finished. I dinna ken if it’s going to come on rain or no. And there’s a lot –’

‘Dinna worry, laddie! Dinna go home tonight!’ Maggie says. ‘There’s plenty of room for you – ye can stay here. I’ll
make you a nice bed at the kitchen fire. Your mother’ll ken where ye are. She’ll no worry about ye.’

‘All right,’ says Jack.

But anyway, Jack goes away out again, works another half day. But he thought to himself, ‘There’s something funny about that old sister o’ hers. Maggie says she’s older than her, but she looks younger than her. And the way I saw her moving her feet in alow the table, there’s no much wrong wi her legs! And she disna use a staff because there’s no a staff lying against the table. There’s something kind o’ droll – I canna figure it out. But anyway, I’ll mind what my mother tellt me,’ so he’s thinking.

But he works on again till five o’clock. The old woman gives him a shout, takes him in, gives him his supper.

Now it be coming on late in the year, the hay was late, it was about September month. The nights were coming in close. The two old women made a bed to Jack at the front o’ the fire, put a big fire o’ peats on. And they went away up the stairs to their bed. Jack fell asleep.

He’s lying and the fire’s burning down low, ken, when the peats burn down low it’s just a red
grìosach
, a red fire. And he hears the feet coming down, the two old sisters coming walking down the stairs. They come right to the fire.

And old Jeannie, the one who was supposed to be crippled, says, ‘He’s sleeping. He’ll no hear you, he’s sleeping.’

Jack was lying, and he lifted the blanket a wee bit. He keeked out. This is the two old sisters, and the other ane is walking as good as you and me! They go over to the side o’ the grate. And there’s an oven at the side of the grate. They open the door of the oven, and one takes out a red cowl. That’s a kind o’ woolly bonnet or ‘toorie’ with a long tassel on it.

One pulls one right down over her hair. The other one
takes another one out and she pulls it over
her
hair. And they say, ‘Hooch for London!’

They’re gone – both of them were gone!

Jack got up, wandered around the house, lighted a lamp, searched the house upside-down outside-in, but na! Round to the byre, the cow was standing eating at the back of the byre. Right round the hayfield, he searched round the place. The two old sisters were gone, there was not a bit to be seen o’ them! So he searched round and round every shed, every nook, into the henhouse, round the fields, down to the well – not a soul to be seen. The two old sisters had completely vanished. He couldn’t find them anywhere.

He goes back into the house, kindles up the fire and makes himself a cup of tea.

‘Man,’ he says to himself, ‘I doubt my mother was right. Where could those two old women go to this time o’ night?’ He looks at the clock. It was dead on twelve o’clock when they left, and now it was near one in the morning. Still no signs o’ them. ‘Ach,’ he says, ‘it’ll no matter. I canna explain it. Maybe my mother’ll tell me. But anyway, I’m going to see it through, I’m going to see what happens here. I’m no going home till I see what happens!’

But he put some more peats on the fire, went back to his bed and happed himself up. But he must have fallen asleep. He was sleeping for about a couple o’ hours when he heard the door opening.

In came the first sister, and in came the second sister walking as good as me and you! Each had a bag in their hand, a leather bag. They placed the bags down on the table. And it was ‘clink’; with the way they clinked – it was money that was in the bags.

So one says to the other, ‘Jeannie, one for you, one for me. Put them back in the same place where we put the rest!’

‘Right!’ Away goes old Jeannie up the stairs with the two bags and puts them away.

Jack’s lying there. He never says a word. The other old sister comes over and she stands aside the fire, she listens to see if she could hear him.

She says to herself, ‘He’s sleeping, he’s never wakened. He disna ken the difference.’ She went away up the stairs, closed the door and all was silent.

But anyway, Jack fell asleep and he must have slept on. The first thing that wakened him was the old wife giving him a shout in the morning:

‘Jack, it’s time to get up, seven o’clock. Rise and get your breakfast!’

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll get up.’

Jack got up, put on his clothes, had a wash. The old wife came round, gave him a good breakfast, porridge an’ milk an’ eggs.

She said, ‘How are you this morning, Jack? Did ye sleep well last night? Anything disturb ye during the night?’

‘Not a thing disturbed me during the night,’ he said, ‘I slept like a lamb the whole night through.’

‘That’s good,’ she says, ‘you must have been working hard.’

But anyway, Jack goes out, sharpens his scythe. Out to the field, he starts again, cuts away an’ cuts away, finishes the hay. All the hay is lying out.

Old Maggie comes out, gives him a shout again, ‘Come on in, Jack, it’s about dinner time!’

He comes, gets his dinner, sits an’ cracks to them for a long, long while. They ask him about his mother and all these things, about his croft, one thing and another until the dinner hour is up.

‘Ah well,’ he said, ‘I’ll have to go away back out an’ get on with the work.’

So he went out and he started turning the hay. It was a lovely sunny day. He worked away till night-time again. He came in, had his supper. To make a long story short it came to bedtime again. The two old sisters bade him good-night.

Jack made his bed by the fire and he lay down. He looked at the clock. An old wag-at-the-wall clock was what they had on the wall: half past eleven . . . Jack’s sound in bed.

But just on the chap o’ twelve o’clock he hears the feet coming down the stairs again. Down they come. One says to the other, ‘Is he sleeping?’

She says, ‘He’s sound. He must have worked hard today, but we’ll make it worth his while. We’ll give him a good pay.’

He’s lying, Jack’s lying there. He hears every word.

Up they go again to the grate, open the door of the oven. Out come the two cowls, on to their heads, ‘Hooch for London!’ They’re off, off they go!

Same thing happened again. Jack got up, searched the house upside-down, went up the stairs. The door to their bedroom was locked.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘I cannae break the door down – they’ll ken I was up the stairs.’

He searched the house upside and down and he found this key. He tried it and the door opened. He went into their bedroom, and round the whole room. And in alow the bed he pulled out this big box, a leather-bound trunk. It was packed with wee bags, and every single bag was full o’ sovereigns, gold sovereigns!

‘Hmm,’ he said, ‘there’s as much money there as would do everybody in the Isle of Skye!’

And he shoved it back in below their bed, shut the door, locked it, put the key back where he had found it, he went
away back down, back to his bed, fell sound asleep. He never heard them coming back.

The next morning they came down and wakened him again. Maggie said, ‘Had you a good sleep last night, Jack?’

‘Oh, I slept, I was tired, dead tired. I’ll finish the hay today, and—’

‘Ah, but you’ll have to put it up in ricks for us,’ she says, ‘because it will be wet lying like that. And ye ken you’ll have to put it in stacks for us and do a bit o’ repairs before you go away home, fencing an’ that. I can employ you for a week. Your mother kens where you are so she’ll no worry about you.’

He’s thinking to himself now, ‘Where they go tonight, I’m going with them!’

‘Oh, but,’ she says, ‘I forgot to tell you, Jack. There’s a lot o’ clothes here about your size that belonged to my brother. He was just about your age when he was killed. And there’s a lot o’ stuff here that’s nae use to me and my old sister. We’ll look it out for ye and you’ll take it home wi ye, it’ll do for working wi‘. My brother was killed.’