‘Willie, a’m gaain t’ the wall; dinna ley the hoose till I cum back.’ ‘Foo that, mither,’ said Willie. ‘Oh, it wid be better gehn ye bed in; ye dinna ken faht may tack place.’ ‘Faht cud tack place, mither?’ Ye widna ken: onywye gehn ye gan oot, pit the Bible in aneth yir wife’s head.’ ‘Oh aye, a’ll dee that.’ Willie’s wife had been brought to bed a short time before, and her child, as well as herself, was in danger of being carried off by the fairies. When Willie’s mother returned, she found he had left the house. Going up to the bed side, she anxiously asked if Willie had put anything below the pillow. ‘A dinna ken. A fan him workin aboot ma head, bit a didna sae faht he wiz aboot.’ The grandmother put her hand under the pillow, and drew out a peat, for ‘Willie was a wanton wag,’ and had placed a peat instead of the Bible under his wife’s pillow. His mother remonstrated most solemnly with him on his entering the house again. The remonstrance only called forth a laugh. ‘It’s nae lauchin maitter, an gehn ye dinna tack care, ye may seen get something ye’re nae seekin.’ Told by W. Clark, Peathill. Gregor, Walter ‘Stories of Fairies from Scotland’ The Folk-Lore Journal 1 (1883), 55-58 at 56-57

A man, Arthur, was walking along the road one evening when he heard behind him a voice saying, ‘Tack Arthur, tack Arthur.’ ‘No,’ said another voice, ‘No, he hiz a red caip, tack it.’ Arthur knew his danger, and took to his heels at once. Gregor, Walter ‘Stories of Fairies from Scotland’, The Folk-Lore Journal 1 (1883), 55-58 at 57

When a child was to be taken away by the fairies, a ‘stock’ was some times substituted. It was an image of the child, and was made of wood. A man’s child was carried off, and a ‘stock’ left. On discovering what had been done, the father hung it in the ‘crook’ over the fire. In a moment it flew out by the ‘lum.’ He rushed out to look after it, and found his own child lying under the gable of the house. Gregor, Walter ‘Stories of Fairies from Scotland’ The Folk-Lore Journal 1 (1883), 55-58 at 56

John Chalmers was a thresher at Peathill, Pitsligo. There was always a good deal more straw threshed than his labour would have led one to look for. Often and again have the flails been heard in the barn after he had finished his threshing, and left the barn. It was the fairies giving their kind offices. Told by W. Clark, aged 77, Peathill. Gregor, Walter ‘Stories of Fairies from Scotland’ The Folk-Lore Journal 1 (1883), 55-58 at 56

The fairies were in the habit of giving a helping hand to their favourites. A farmer had a noted thresher of his grain crop. Before the invention of threshing mills, and for long after, even till thirty years ago, it was the usual way for the men of the farm to get out of bed by three or four o’clock in the morning, thresh with the flail enough to serve for the day, and be ready by the stated hour to begin the day’s labour. This noted thresher had got into the favour of the fairies, and he hlad but to call and they were at his service when he went to the barn to do his threshing in the morning. His master began to suspect there was something more than mortal power at the bottom of his servant’s success as a thresher. He resolved to find out; and one morning he secreted himself in the barn before the hour of threshing came, so as to have a full view of what would go on at the threshing floor. The thresher appeared at the usual time, trimmed his lamp, placed the sheaves on the floor (usually two), and laid hold on the flail. Before beginning, he looked round, and said: ‘Come awa, ma reed-caippies.’ In an instant the sheaves began to tumble from ‘the moo’ into the threshing-floor, and the fairiesw ere hard at work, and soon finished the day’s threshing. The master waited till the whole was quiet, and the thresher had left the barn. He said nothing to him of what he had seen, but he parted with him on the first favourable opportunity Gregor, Walter ‘Stories of Fairies from Scotland’ The Folk-Lore Journal 1 (1883), 25-27 at 27

One winter evening the wife of a Highlander was sitting in her cottage, when a knock was heard at the door. On its being opened, in stepped a man, unknown to her, and begged her to accompany him to a female that was ill, without telling who the patient was, where she lived, or what her ailment was. She very naturally hesitated to grant the request. The stranger’s earnestness and the promise of a reward overcame her hesitation; and, with some misgivings, she put herself under his guidance. She was led by a way wholly unknown to her, and at last reached what looked, so far as the darkness permitted her to see, like a cave. She entered, but all at once she found herself in a brightly lighted hall. She was led through splendid passages into a still more splendid bedroom, in which lay a lady in travail. After the child was born, she was asked what her fee was to be. Divining from all the attending circum-stances that she was in fairy land, she refused to take any fee. She did not go, however, without a guerdon. No woman in the same case as the fairy lady should die under her hands, or under the hands of such of her descendants as followed the obstetric profession. To the present day the skill remains in the race, as told me by one who is sprung from it. Gregor, Walter ‘Stories of Fairies from Scotland’ The Folk-Lore Journal 1 (1883), 25-27 at 25

Occasionally the fairies, being Irish, display a certain sense of humour, as in the case of Johin Connors, a farmer who lived near Killarney, whose delight was so great on being presented by his wife, after seven daughters, with a son. that he broke his spade in the ditch for joy and started off to the next parish to find sponsors for the Christening, not considering anybody in his own parish worthy of the honour. He had however not gone very far before he met a stranger riding on a white horse, attired in red knee-breeches, a swallow-tailed coat, and a tall hat, who asked him where he was going. ‘I’m going,’ said Connors, ‘to Beaufort to find sponsors for my young son.’ ‘Oh, you foolish man,’ said the stranger, ‘you left the road a mile behind you. Turn back and take the left hand.’ John Connors, having done as directed, had not ridden very far along the new road, when he met the same gentleman again, who once more redirected him on his way. As a matter of fact, all that night he kept meeting the stranger, who finally invited him to his house, and insisted on his staying with him till the morning. Once Connors was asleep the stranger took his clothes, formed a corpse the exact imitation of the owner, put the clothes on it, tied the body to the horse, and leading it outside, turned its head towards home, keeping Connors himself in bed for three weeks. The horse in due course found its way home, and the people seeing the corpse on its back, took it for Connors, to whom they gave a great wake that night, ‘everybody mourning and lamenting over him, for wasn’t he a good man and the father of a large family.’ Three weeks later Connors was awakened by his host and told to go home. ‘But where are my clothes?’ asked Connors, sitting up in bed and looking round him. ‘I know nothing of your clothes,’ said the stranger, ‘and the sooner you get out of this the better.’ ‘But God help us,’ said Connors, ‘how am I to go home without my clothes? If I had a shirt itself it wouldn’t be so bad; but to go without a rag at all on me!’ ‘Don’t be talking,’ said the man; ‘take a sheet and be off with you. I have no time to lose on the like of you.’ John being afraid of the man, took the sheet and went out. Now it is the custom in Ireland when any-body dies to sprinkle Holy Water on the clothes of the deceased and to give them for God’s sake to the poor, thereby ensuring having them for their own use in another world; so that when John Connors appeared in his native town in a sheet the people who saw him, on recovering from the shock, rushed to his wife and accused her of not having given his clothes to the poor, since his ghost was roaming about in nakedness. ‘Indeed,’ said the wife. ‘I did give them away; it must be that the man I gave them to didn’t wear them to Mass, and that is why my poor husband is naked in the other world.’ Whereupon she went for the neighbour and proceeded to revile him. ‘Bad luck to you, you heathen,’ said she. ‘I did not think you the man to leave my poor John naked in the other world. You neither went to Mass in the clothes I gave you nor sprinkled Holy Water on them.’ The neighbour having however proved to her satisfaction that he had performed all the necessary rites over the garments, the widow returned home, only to receive that some night a visitation from the ghost. Overcome with terror, she hid herself and her children under the bed-clothes, leaving John tapping at the window while she offered prayers for the repose o his soul. Wherever Connors appeared it was always with the same result; even the doctor, having seen him through the window, refused to open the door for him. At last he betook himself to the priest, whose house-keeper, having opened the door, fell in a fit on the stairs on seeing the apparition. The priest hearing the noise, ran out, and finding himself face to face with the ghost of the corpse over whom he had said Mass, refused to believe that he was alive. ‘If you are,’ said he, ‘where are your clothes?’ ‘I don’t know where they are,’ said Connors, ‘or how they went from me, but I haven’t them sure enough.’ ‘Go into the kitchen,’ said the priest; ‘I’ll bring you clothes, and then you must tell me what happened to you.’ Connors having related his adventures ‘Tis Daniel O’Donoghue, the fairy chief, King of Loughlein (Killarney), that played the trick on you,’ said the priest. ‘Why didn’t you get sponsors at home in this parish for your son as you did for your daughters?’ And having duly admonished him for his pride andwilfulness, the priest accompanied him to his wife’s house, where in answer to their knocking they were only met with renewed prayers for the repose of Connors’ soul. After some time, however, the priest prevailed on her to open the door, and finally succeeded in convincing her that her husband was really then in the flesh. Once restored to the bosom of his family, it is not surprising to hear that after all his adventures in the sheet, “no matter how large his family was in after years, John Connors never went from home again to find sponsors.” Edith Gordon ‘Some Kerry Fairies’ Kerry Archaeological Magazine 6 (1911), 347-356 at 354-356

Hanifin, it appears, was a farmer living near Dingle, owning a large herd of cows which were driven up every morning to be milked in front of the house. It happened however that for several days the tub into which the milk was poured by the girls was mysteriously over-turned and the milk spilled. Hanifin’s wife was natu-rally excessively indignant, but in spite of every precaution the milk continued to be upset. One morning however, as Hanifin was walking along the road past a fairy fort, he heard a child crying inside it and a woman’s voice saying ‘Be quiet a while. Hanafin’s cows are going home; we’ll soon have milk in plenty.’ Now Hanafin being a wise man, said nothing, but went home and personally supervised the milking, with the result that on the usual overturning of the tub he stopped his wife in the middle of her scolding by telling her it was no fault of the girl, who on this occasion had been pushed by one of the cows against the tub. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll try and manage this business.’ The following morning, on hearing the child crying again in the fort, he ‘like the brave man that he was’ went inside. He saw no one, but he said: ‘A child is crying for milk. A cow of mine will calve to-morrow. I’ll let no one milk that cow; you can do what you like with her milk.’ The tub was never turned over again, and for two years Hanafin prospered in every way, taking good care of the cow, and never letting a girl or a woman milk her. Unfortunately however, Hanafin being a Kerryman, was also soft-hearted, and some of his neighbours getting into trouble, he went security for them, with the result that the creditors came down on him, and the bailiff arrived one day in order to drive off his cattle. Hanafin thereupon repaired to the fairy fort and said, ‘I’m going to lose all my cattle, but I’ll try to keep the cow I gave you, and feed her still, so that the child may have the milk.’ Three bailiffs came, and went down to the pasture across the field, but when they drove the cows up as far as the fairy fort each bailiff was caught and thrown hither and over by people he couldn’t see; one moment he was at one side of the ditch and the next minute on the other side. They were so roughly handled and bruised that they were hardly alive, and they not seeing who or what was doing it. The cattle raising their tails, bawled and ran off to the pasture. The following morning ten policemen and bailiffs went to take Hanafin’s cattle, with however identically the same result, ‘so that they barely left the place alive.’ Never again did police or bailiffs meddle with Hanafin’s cows, and above all, the creditors never collected the money. Edith Gordon ‘Some Kerry Fairies’ Kerry Archaeological Magazine 6 (1911), 347-356 at 352-353

A notion was prevalent among the people of Lewis, and of the Highlands and Islands generally, that it was imprudent to wish or rather to express a wish for anything at any time of the night without simultaneously invoking the protection of the Deity.

This If the invocation were forgotten or neglected they believed that their wish would be granted in some terrible manner.

Probably this superstitious belief originated in the following and kindred stories. Three men were hunting in the hills of Kintail. Having had but little success, and being reluctant to return home empty-handed, they agreed to pass the night in one of the shielings or huts, of which there were many on the moors. (‘ Shielings,’ says my informant, ‘much larger than those to be met with in Lewis.’) Having lit a fire in the shieling they cooked some venison, of which they made a repast. After their meal they pulled some dry grass and moss and spread it on the floor to serve as a bed. Two of them sat on one side of the fire and the third at the other side began playing the trump (Jew’s-harp). One of the two began to talk of their unsuccessful day’s toil, but added that they would not grumble at their ill success were they now with their sweethearts. His comrade agreed with him heartily, and at the same time expressed a wish that their three sweethearts should be with them in the shieling. Immediately three tall, handsome young women made their appearance, two of whom crossed over to the two men, the third remained with the musician. The fire was ‘dimly burning,’ and the man could not see how things were going with his comrades and their two strange visitors, but he noticed to his consternation a stream of blood flowing towards the fire from the place where they were, and looking at the same time at the woman who sat by him he observed that her feet were not like human feet but like the hoofs of a deer. His fears were terribly aroused, and he wished heartily to make his escape. He made an excuse to the woman that he must go out for some water to drink, but she offered to go herself. He declined and rose to go out. He no sooner made a movement to the door than the woman got up, and endeavoured to lay hold of him before he reached the door, but he escaped and ran with all possible speed towards the nearest human dwelling. The woman pursued him with a speed equal to his own. At length he reached a glen which was inhabited, and there the woman gave up the chase, and exclaimed several times: ‘Dhith sibhs’ ur cuthaich fein ach dh’fhag mo chuthaich fein mise.’ (You ate your own victims (?), but my victim (?) escaped from me.) On the day following the people of the glen went to the shieling, where they found the mangled remains of the two men, their throats cut, their chests laid open, and their hearts torn away. I asked my informant who these women were. He wondered at my ignorance, and replied that they were ‘Baobhan Sith’ (Fairy Furies). He often related similar stories. Anon ‘Fairy Tales’, The Celtic Review 5 (1908), 155-171 at 163-164

In Borve, Harris, or, according to some, in Mealista Uig, there was a poor widow who had a large family of young boys. She was one night busily engaged teasing some wool, of which she intended to make some stuff for clothing her boys. As she was laying by her work for the night she exclaimed with a sigh, ‘ When shall this wool be spun ? I wish–goodness be between me and harm-that this were the night.’ She had no sooner ceased her speaking than a strange woman presented herself, followed by a host of others, and demanded work. The poor woman was bewildered, and did not know what to do or say until the principal visitor reminded her of the wish she had expressed a short time before. She immediately gave the wool, and the leader of the party ordered that they should commence work, saying, ‘Siudaibh mhnathan ciribh siudaibh mhnathan cardaibh siudaibh mhnathan sniomhaibh.’ Each of the train com-menced work busily. Cards and spinning-wheels were soon in requisition and as soon procured-where from nobody knew–and the wool was spun and ready for the loom in less than no time. No sooner was the loom required than it was provided, and the stuff was woven in less time still. In fine the cloth was waulked and ready for immediate use. Having accomplished what the woman wished for they demanded more work. The woman could think of none to give them, but fearing some mischief she made an excuse to go out for some work, and she went direct to her nearest neighbour’s and consulted him as to how to get rid of the Fairies, telling him the circumstances. He told her to take a vessel containing dirty water to the door, at the same time pretending that she was getting work for them. When she got to the door she was to cry out in a loud voice, ‘Tha’n Dun ri theine,’ and no sooner would they hear this than they would make a speedy retreat. When the foremost of them would pass her in the door-way the man recommended that the vessel containing the dirty water should be thrown across her back (i.e. the Fairy’s back), and that they would never return to demand more work. The woman did so and the Fairies never returned. Anon ‘Fairy Tales’, The Celtic Review 5 (1908), 155-171 at 165-166