Jack and the Devil's Purse (7 page)

‘Cluck-cluck, cluck-cluck, cluck-cluck,’ in came the wee black hen again. Popped up on the bed beside him.

Jack said to himself, ‘I wasn’t dreaming. I couldn’t have been dreaming! This must be happening really.’

But anyway he stretched out. He kind of dovered away. The wee hen’s lying, he petted the hen lying asleep beside him. And then pong-pong-pong-pong, twelve o’clock went the clock. Wonst again he felt the bonnie hand, soft hand.

And Jack said, ‘Oh, I must have fallen asleep.’

There was the young
bene mort
sitting aside him again. Same long black dress, same long black hair.

Jack said, ‘It wasn’t a dream!’

She says, ‘What do you mean, Jack?’

He said, ‘I thought I had a dream last night.’

She said, ‘Jack, it’s not a dream. It’s all the truth. What are you going to do about it?’

Now the days had passed, the weeks had passed. Jack stayed in that house for three months and worked with the old folk. By this time ten months had passed since Jack had left his father and mother. And every night to Jack’s enjoyment he couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait to get back! He wasn’t doing half the work he should have done with thinking about the bonnie young woman. He finally made up his mind, if it was the last thing he ever did. He had to go back to his father in two months. Because the time would soon be up.

He said, ‘Hen or no hen, I’m going to take the chance for it anyway. But I’ll work away for a wee while yet.’

And the reason he worked was the enjoyment he had for an hour to spend with the young woman. He talked about many things. He tellt her about his brothers, and about his father. And she told him about the big house and how she owned it and all the money she had. And her uncle was gone for ever. He would never come back. He had mysteriously vanished. She tellt him all these stories.

At last one evening as he sat beside her when the clock struck twelve o’clock, she said, ‘Jack, it’ll soon be time.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Jack.

She said, ‘In another month I’ll have to be going back again to the East.’

‘Ah,’ says Jack, ‘you’re no going back; you’re going with me!’

So the next morning he went up and tellt the old man and woman: he said, ‘I have to go back to my father and mother.’

The old man and the old woman didn’t want to see him go. They loved him like their own son.

She says, ‘Look, when you go back, if you ever get a woman come back! Come back, Jack, laddie, come back!’
They loved him so much. By this time the old man’s leg was a bit better. He could go about with a staff.

‘Laddie,’ he said, ‘you saved my life. The wonderful things you’ve done for me. Please, please, Jack, come back!’

‘Well,’ Jack said, ‘we’ll have to wait and see.’

So that night he lay on the top of the bed as usual till the clock struck twelve o’clock. The wee hen had come in at ten. And at twelve o’clock the same thing happened – there was the young woman.

He tellt her straight: ‘Look, tomorrow I must go.’

She said, ‘Will you take me with you?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing else for it.’

She says, ‘Look, if you take me with you, you’d better watch me and be very careful with me, Jack. Because if a dog or cat or anything kills me, Jack, that’ll be it finished. And I can’t take back my form again till you marry me in church. And look on my foot. You’ll see a ring.’

Jack looked. And there was a big silver ring on the wee hen’s foot.

‘Now,’ she says, ‘take it off, Jack, and keep it in your pocket and don’t lose it!’

So then the candle went out once again. It got black dark and Jack fell sound asleep. He wakened in the morning and there was the wee hen coorying beside him.

So he packed all his wee bits o’ belongings, went to the house and filled his pockets full of grain from the old farmer’s shed. Bade the old man and the old woman goodbye, promised he would come back. Took the wee hen below his oxter and off he set.

He travelled on, sleeping in places here and sleeping in places there, giving the hen a wee taste of grain, feeding it and giving it a wee drink of water and taking good care of it. By the time he landed back at his father’s farm one late
evening the farm was in lunaries, lighted up! There were lights in every window, music playing, the old-fashioned gramophone was going.

Jack said, ‘There must be a big party going on!’

The wee hen below his oxter, he walks into the great big sitting room of the farm. There was his father sitting by the fire, and his mother. Oh, his mother was in tears to see him back. He still kept his wee hen below his oxter. He put his one arm around his mother and he shook hands with his father. There sitting at the table were his two brothers with two beautiful young women.

Sandy had worked away with the farmer, fallen in love with the farmer’s daughter. And the farmer had given Sandy his daughter to be married. Willie had worked away with the old cobbler, and the cobbler thought the world of Willie. Willie fell in love with the cobbler’s daughter. And the cobbler gave Willie his daughter. Willie promised he would marry her and come back to the cobbler’s shop. He’d have it to himself, because Willie had turned out to become a great cobbler, with him used to working in leather. Now they had everything they needed. All they needed was Jack. And they were waiting and this was when Jack walked into the farm house.

So after they all sat for a while the old farmer got out a bottle of whisky and passed it round. He was toasting them all.

He says, ‘Jack, where’s your bride? Your young lady?’

Jack said, ‘Here – this is her!’

And Willie’s future wife looked and she grunted her nose. And Sandy looked.

He said, ‘But Jack, that’s a hen!’

Aye,’ he said, ‘it’s a hen and it’s my hen. And tomorrow’s the day, Father. Have you made arrangements?’

‘Oh, of course we’ve got the arrangements. Everything’s laid on for tomorrow. The carriage is coming for youse all. But where’s your wife?’

He said, ‘I tellt you, Father, this is my wife.’ His mother thought Jack had went kind of droll.

But he said, ‘Jack, that’s only a hen, a wee black hen! A bonnie wee hen.’

Jack said, ‘I’m marrying her tomorrow!’

Willie stood up. No,’ he said, ‘you’re not going to church with me to marry a hen! No brother o’ mine’s going to marry a hen, not in the same church as me!’

Sandy said, ‘No, no, I couldn’t have it! My young brother marrying a hen in church – to get a name about us and shame us to death. I’m going back with my wife to her father when I’m married. We’ve got a good going farm o’ wir own.’

Willie said, ‘I’ve got a good going cobbler shop o’ my own. And when we get married we want no disturbance. We want a good wedding. We want everybody happy. But you’re not coming, Jack, not with that hen to the church!’

Jack said, ‘It’s my hen and I’m marrying her. Now I’m going to the church with youse.’ But they argued and bargued.

But to keep peace the old woman said, ‘It’s your wee brother, you know, maybe he’s kind o’ droll – something wrong has happened to him.’ The old woman was sad for her laddie Jack.

But anyway, Jack took good care of his wee hen that night and put it in the bed beside him. And the next morning, true to his father’s word, the big carriage came to the farm door. And the whole village turned out. Because everybody in the village knew the farmer. He’d spent a lot of money in the village. He was a rich farmer. And they
knew the three laddies because they had all gone to the village school. The old school master came and the minister, and oh, everybody came! You know, the old trade farmers and the whole village! Everybody came to the wedding. And Sandy’s bride’s father was there, and Willie’s bride’s father was there.

They marched the lassies down the aisle and gave them away to the young men. And the minister said the sermon. They were married.

Jack’s father went up. He said: ‘We’ve another marriage coming up, Reverend!’

‘Another marriage?’ he said. ‘Where’s the young couple?’

‘Jack, my young son Jack’s getting married.’

Now everyone took their seats. And there Jack walked up in front of the minister in the pulpit with the black hen. Wee black hen below his oxter.

‘Where’s your bride?’ said the minister.

Jack said, ‘This is my bride.’

He said, ‘I can’t marry you to a hen!’

Jack said, ‘You’ll marry me to a hen! You’re a minister, aren’t you? And you can perform marriage services, can’t you?’

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘but not to a hen.’

Jack said, ‘It’s my hen and I want you to marry me to this hen! I’ve got the ring in my pocket.’

And the father whispered in the minister’s ear, ‘Carry on! Just to please him. Don’t raise him up! He’s my youngest son and he’s a wee bit queer in the head.’

‘Anyhow,’ said the minister, ‘ladies and gentlemen, we have another marriage to perform. And it’s the queerest marriage I’ve ever done in all my life.’ Everybody was quiet in the church. You could have heard a pin drop. ‘This young man is going to marry a hen.’

Willie’s wife began to giggle on to her sleeve. And Sandy’s wife began to giggle. Sandy gave her a dig with the elbow:

‘Quiet,’ he says, ‘wait till you see this!’

So the minister says, ‘Well, if we must perform the marriage, we must! Now, young man, name?’

He says, ‘Jack.’

‘Jack,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to say these words after me. But what about your bride, your hen? It can’t talk.’

Jack said, ‘I’ll talk for it. Don’t worry about it, minister. Marry me to my hen! And I’ve got the ring.’

So the minister said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here today to bind these two, these two – hen and man – together.’ He couldn’t say ‘people’. ‘Here to bind this hen and man for good or bad, in health, in sickness and in poorness.’ Whatever they say, you know!

The minister says, ‘Do you take this hen to be your lawfully married wife?’

And Jack said, ‘Yes!’

‘Well,’ the minister said, ‘have you got the ring?’

And Jack says, ‘Yes!’ And he put the ring over the wee hen’s foot.

‘To love and keep and hold and cherish for ever and ever and ever till death do you part?’ said the minister.

Jack said, ‘To love and hold and cherish and to keep till death do us part.’

He said, ‘
Now I pronounce you hen and husband.’

And like
that
. . . a grey smoke arose where the wee hen was. And it got dark inside the church. People stood up and started to cry. But then as fast as the smoke came the smoke vanished. There beside Jack, standing with her arm linked to his, was the most beautiful young woman anyone had ever seen in all their life! Beautiful dark hair, long dark dress.

And Jack put his arms around her and he kissed her. The old farmer and the old wife didn’t know what to do!

So that night they all met in the farmhouse and they had a great-going party. And usually when there are parties in the house and everyone’s happy, someone has to tell a story. So Willie told his story and everybody listened about going to the cobbler. And Sandy told his story. But the most interesting story told that night was Jack’s story, how he had met his wife, the wee black hen!

So the next morning after everything was squared up, Sandy said goodbye to his mother and father. He had a farm of his own; he didn’t want his father’s.

Willie said to his father, ‘Father, it’s no good to me. I’m going back to my cobbler shop. I’d rather have my shop.’ He loved his cobbling shop.

‘Well, Jack,’ he says, ‘you not only got the bonniest wife, you’re entitled to the farm!’

Jack said, ‘No, Father, it’s no use to me. You keep it, Father! And when you retire, Father, sell it and give the money to the church to share among the poor folk. Because I’m not needing it!’

So the next day Jack and his young wife bade farewell to their mother and father. With a faithful promise the mother and father said they would come and visit, come and stay with Jack and his wife when they sold the farm. Because there was plenty of room in the big house.

And Jack went back to the big house with his young wife and there he stayed. He never needed to work because he had plenty, plenty money. But now and again he would always go with his friend the old farmer and give him a wee help. Because after all, he was suffering from a broken leg that was only newly mended!

That’s old Willie Williamson’s story. He was a cousin of my father’s who stayed around Dunbartonshire, but always came to Argyllshire in the summertime. Across the burn from my father’s barricade he would build his bow tents and fire. In the evenings we would sit and listen to his piping and singing and his great storytelling.

Jack lived with his mother a long, long time ago. And his mother used to tell him all these wonderful stories at nighttime. Jack worked hard. He was a butcher by trade. He brought home plenty of meat to his mother, and they were well off. But one night he came home and brought plenty of food to his mother. And she was sitting. She seemed very downhearted.

He says, ‘Mother, what’s the trouble, what’s wrong with you?’

‘Well, son, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking about my old sister.’

‘Mother, your what?’

‘My old sister, Jack – your auntie.’

‘My auntie, Mother? I never knew I had an auntie.’

‘Oh Jack, aye, my son, you’ve an auntie. And she’s a long, long way frae here. I think she’s no keeping very well. She’s in trouble somehow.’

‘Mother, how could you think that?’

‘Well, Jack, you dinnae ken, it’s a long story. Me and your auntie are twins, twin sisters. And she was forced to flee awa frae this country when she was young because people thocht she was working with the devil,
black art
.’

‘Ah, Mother, there’s nae such a thing as black art.’

‘Ah well,’ she said, ‘she got the blame o’ it. And folk was gaunnae burn her as a witch. She had to flee awa for her life!
And now I’m getting kind of worried about this. She must be coming up in years. And that’s what I was gaunnae ask you, laddie. I ken you like your job with the butcher. But I would like . . . would ye do me a wee favour?’