General MacDonald: A Fairy Tune

In Gaelic cosmological tradition music and fairies have had a very long association. There a hundreds of anecdotes and stories of how fairies are said to have bestowed musical gifts and/or taken them away. Calum Maclean himself took an interest in fairy tradition and wrote an article upon the subject about fairy traditions that he collected from the redoubtable John MacDonald of Highbridge, Brae Lochaber. Fairy lore and traditions were once a common feature among storytellers and Calum Maclean found a great deal when collecting in the Southern Hebrides. Here, for instance, is one such tradition about a fairy tune and its origin recorded from Peter MacCormick (1891–c. 1966), styled Pàdruig mac Alasdair or Pàdruig Beag, who belonged to Hacklett, Benbecula. During the First World War he served as a piper and after demobilisation returned to Benbecula to become a crofter/postman. In addition to his musical skills, MacCormick was also a very talented storyteller and raconteur. He was married to Kate MacCormick née MacPhee styled Catrìona styled Catriona nighean ’illeasbuig Ghriomasaigh who had an extensive repertoire of Gaelic song. The following entitled Port Sìdhe (‘A Fairy Tune’) was recorded on the 4th of April 1950:

 

Bha dithis thall às an Àird Fhada agus bha iad a’ falbh a Mhuileann na Buaile Glaiseadh thall faisg air an eaglais sin ann an Cnoc Fraochaig. Agus bha iad a’ falbh e bleith air oidhche. Agus thall air a’ mhuileann ann a shineach, bha e air a chantail gun robh sìdhean ann, Sìthean na Buaile Glaise. Dh’fhalbh iad co-dhiù dhan mhuileann agus nuair a bha iad a’ tilleadh, chuala iad an Sìdhean ag obair agus fear a’ gabhail phort ann. Agus ’s e am port a bha e a’ gabhail, tha e coltach – ’s ann mar seo a bha e a’ dol:

 

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Ithinn deila is gorra-ghrithich,

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Mac a’ bhodachain marbh.

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Ithinn deila is gorra-ghrithich,

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Mac a’ bhodachain marbh.

Ithinn deila, othinn deila,

Ithinn deila is gorra-ghrithich,

Ithinn deila, othinn deila,

Mac a’ bhodachain marbh.

Iod

Iod

Id odaran o ro,

Iu bhil sodaran,

Id odaran o ro,

Is dithis a chur leis air falbh

Mac a’ bhodachain marbh.

Id odaran o ro,

Iu bhil sodaran,

Id odaran o ro,

Is dithis a chur leis air falbh.

 

Nuair a chuala à-san seo tharrainn iad cho luath is a rinn iad riamh is chuir iad a-staigh na dorsan rompa agus chan fhacas duine a’ tighinn as an deaghaidh. Agus sin mar a bh’ air fhàgail a chuala iad am port a bha as an t-sìdhean. Is dhealaich mise rithe sin.

 

[Tha am port seo air a sheinn aig Lachlann Bàn MacCarmaig agus e air a chur sìos air fhitean Eidifiòn. General Macdonald an t-ainm a th’ air’ phort. Calum MacGilleathain.]  

 

There were two men over in Àird Fhada and they were leaving to go over to Muileann na Buaile Glaiseadh near the church in Cnoc Fraochaig. They were leaving to get grain at night. And over by the mill they say there is a fairy mound, Sìthean na Buaile Glaise (‘The Fairy Mound of the Green Cattle Fold’). They set off in any event to the mill and when returning they heard something from the Fairy Mound and one of them was singing a tune. And the tune that he was singing, it appears, went like this:

 

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Ithinn deila and a heron,

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Son of the little old man is dead.

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Ithinn deila and a heron,

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Son of the little old man is dead.

Ithinn deila, othinn deila,

Ithinn deila and a heron,

Ithinn deila, othinn deila,

Son of the little old man is dead.

Iod

Iod

Id odaran o ro,

Iu bhil sodaran,

Id odaran o ro,

And two men have put him away,

Son of the little old man is dead.

Id odaran o ro,

Iu bhil sodaran,

Id odaran o ro,

And two men have put him away.

 

When they heard this they fled as quickly was they had ever done and they shut the doors behind him and they didn’t see anybody coming after them. And that his how they learned the tune they heard in the fairy mound. And I parted from it.

 

[This tune was played by Lachlan Ban MacCormick and he recorded it on an Ediphone wax cylinder. General Macdonald is the name of the tune. Calum Maclean.]

 

Another version of this anecdote was recorded in 1953 by Calum’s brother, Dr Alasdair Maclean, from the same reciter. It’s not quite as detailed as the earlier version but it does show how important it is to record variations of the same material from the same reciter over a period of time, even years as in this case. Here’s the transcription and translation of this interesting anecdote:

 

Uill, bha e air a ràdh gun deachaidh triùir o chionn fada am Beinne na Faoghla gu muilleach, bha iad a’ dèanamh bleith. Agus bha iad air a ràdh seo gun robh sìthean ann aig a…am muillean ghlas. Agus air a bha dithist a bha sin a’ dol seachad chuala iad port às an t-sìthein. Agus ’s e am port a bha iad a’ gabhail…tha e air a ràdh gur h-ann mar sin a bha e a’ dol:

 

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Ithinn deila is gorra-ghrithich,

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Mac a’ bhodachain marbh.

Id odaran o ro,

Iu bhil sodaran,

Id odaran o ro,

Is dithist a chur leis air falbh.

 

Agus bha an dithist às a sineach agus thill iad cho luath is bha iad riamh dhachaigh agus iad air an clisgeadh agus smaoinich iad gur h-e iad fhèin a bha a’ cur air falbh leis a’ bhodachain agus sin mar a chuala mise an stòraidh agus chan eil ann ach stòraidh bhig.

 

Well, it is said that three men a long time ago in Benbecula went to a mill, they were getting the grain ground. And they say here that there is a fairy-hill at Muilean Glas. And when two of them were going by they heard a tune from the fairy-hill. And the tune that they were playing…it’s said that it went something like this:

 

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Ithinn deila and a heron,

Ithinn deila othinn deila,

Son of the little old man is dead,

Id odaran o ro,

Iu bhil sodaran,

Id odaran o ro,

And two men have put him away.

 

And the two men got out of there and they returned home as quickly as they could as they were shaken with fright for they thought it was they who were going to be put away by the little old man and that is how I heard the story but it’s just a wee story.

 

It’s intriguing to note that the tune was recorded by Lachlan Bàn MacCormick and it’s very much hoped that the wax cylinder recording made by Calum Maclean remains extant and will be discovered at some future point. Why the reel became known as General MacDonald appears not to be known but Peter MacCormick gave a good version of it in canntaireachd which is available to hear on the Tobar an Dualchais / Kist o Riches website. Some sources attribute the reel’s composition to Neil Gow (1727–1807), the famous Perthshire fiddler and composer.

 

References:

Anecdote:  http://www.tobarandualchais.co.uk/fullrecord/13383/1

Canntaireachd: http://www.tobarandualchais.co.uk/fullrecord/32007/1

NFC 1181: 114–115. Courtesy of Cnuasach Bhéaloideas Éireann, Coláiste Ollscoile Baile Átha Cliath / National Folklore Collection, University College Dublin

 

Image:

Peter MacCormick, 1960s. Courtesy of the School of Scottish Studies Archives

Clach na h-Aidhrinn / The Mass Stone

During the winter of 1951 Calum Maclean visited Bohuntine, Glenroy, to collect material from Donald MacDonald, then a retired soldier aged around seventy. In his diary of the 30th of March 1951, Maclean gives the following description of MacDonald in Scottish Gaelic but here given in translation:

From there I began to walk out to Glenroy. It was a beautifully dry, spring afternoon with a sprinkling of snow on the high mountains. The glen was beautiful with the trees blooming on each side of the river. I walked two miles before I reached the first house. Then I went past the bridge before I reached Bohuntine. There were about five or six homesteads cheek by jowl. I walked past them a little and then I went back. I climbed up towards the first house. A woman answered the door and she appeared to be kindly. I asked where Donald MacDonald’s house was. She told me and I climbed up to that house. These kindly folk made me welcome. They had expected me for a long while. The goodman of the house was sitting by the fire. He was unable to walk for he suffered from a bad type of rheumatism. He was a grey-haired, handsome fellow. Black-haired Donald they called him. His wife, two daughters and his son were at home with him. This man has stories without a shadow of doubt. He has a good style of telling stories. He was born in England at Carlisle and he came back to Bohuntine when he was eleven years of age. He learned to speak Gaelic. He told me a good few stories and I took a note of these. I’m going to return again with the Ediphone. These kindly folk gave me food and his son Duncan accompanied me all the way to Roybridge.

The following short anecdote would appear to been recorded sometime after Maclean’s first visit and then transcribed as follows on the 20th of April 1951:

Tha clach taobh an rathaid ris an abair iad Clach na h-Aidhrinn. Tha e shuas mu choinneamh àite ris an abair iad Creithneachan ann an Gleann Ruaidh. Bha uaireigin a siod agus bha fear a dol dhachaigh ris an abradh iad Aonghas Mór. ’N uair a bha e mu choinneamh Creithneachan a bha seo, thàinig na sìdhchean a chur stad air (F235.3.). Bha leth dhiubh a’ glaodhaich:

“Cha leig sinn seachad Aonghas Mór.”

Bha leth eile air an taobh thall ag ràdha:

“Leigidh sinn seachad Aonghas Mór.”

Ach chunnaic Aonghas Mór gun robh an t-aon chunntas air gach taobh. Agus mu dheireadh thuir^st e:

“Tha mise fear a chòrr agus leigidh sibh seachad mi.”

Agus fhuair e seachad. Chaidh sagar^st (P426.) an ùine ghoirid an deaghaidh sin agus chaidh e suas a dhèanadh Aidhrinn.

Agus rinn e Aidhrinn air a’ chlach a tha seo. Agus gus an latha an-diugh ’s e Clach na h-Aidhrinn a their iad rithe.

And the translation goes something like this:

There is a stone besides the road called Clach na h-Aidhrinn (‘The Mass Stone). It’s up opposite a place called Cranachan in Glenroy. There was once a man going home called Big Angus. When he was opposite Cranachan, the fairies stopped him (F235.3). One half of them were shouting:

“We won’t let Big Angus go by.”

The other half on the other side were saying:

“We’ll let Big Angus go by.”

But Big Angus saw that there was the same number [of fairies] on each side. And at last he said:

“I am the extra man and you’ll let me go by.”

And he got past. A short time afterwards, a priest (P246.) went there to celebrate Mass.

He celebrated Mass at this stone and to this day they call it Clach na h-Aidhrinn (‘The Mass Stone’).

A version of the above tale which would appear to be a folk etymology at the time of the suppression of the Roman Catholic faith in Brae Lochaber and elsewhere. The following is another published version of the story:

Two of the oldest residents in the neighbourhood give two versions of the association of this stone with the celebration of mass. Eighty-year old Mr. Alexander Mackintosh of Bohuntin (who as a young man had helped to transfer the stone to a safer position on the other side of the road), states that he had heard it said that only one mass was celebrated at the Cranachan Road Mass Stone and that was done to lay a ghost that had been heard in the burn. The ghost story is a tradition of a type not uncommon in the West Highlands: it tells of a certain Aonghas Mór MacDonald (a well-known local personality, born in the early years of the nineteenth century), who happened on one occasion to pass this spot on his way home to Cranachan. Passing near the stone, he heard voices saying: We won’t let Aonghas Mór pass”; and there were other voices crying:  “We will let Aonghas Mór pass.” Aonghas Mór, coming to the shrewd conclusion that the parties were equally divided and that he presumably had the casting vote, shouted: “If there are as many with me as are against me, Aonghas Mór will go past.” Thereupon he made his way past the stone with great difficulty and reached home in a state of extreme exhaustion.

Local historians Ann MacDonell and D. R. Roberts had the following to say about the Cranachan stone:

Just over three miles north of Roy Bridge Post Office, where the Cranachan Road meets the road through Glen Roy, there stands the second Mass Stone of the Lochaber district. This stone is not in its original position and it is only a fragment of a much larger boulder. The stone stood originally on the right hand side of the Cranachan Road on a steep bank, overhanging the burn. By the erosion of the burn, the stone was undermined, fell into the burn and was broken. The present large fragment of the stone was lifted out of the burn and replaced on the original site, whence it had fallen. Towards the end of last century, the burn again threatened to undermine the stone and some strong men of the neighbourhood (one of whom was Alexander Mackintosh who, at 81 years of age, still resides at Bohuntin) lifted the stone and placed it in a safer position on the other side of the Cranachan Road, where it now stands. About 1870, Donald Campbell Macpherson (1842–80), a native of nearby Bohenie, a librarian at the Advocates’ Library and a noted Gaelic scholar, carved a chalice and host on the front of this stone to perpetuate the local tradition of its use for the celebration of mass during the Penal Days. Old people in the glen can remember that the stone used to be protected by a wooden fence and, as children, they were not allowed to touch this “Clach na h-aifrinn” or play near it.

The authors end their interesting article by making the valid point that further research on the topic would increase our understanding of Roman Catholicism in the Highlands during the times in which it was undergoing a widespread and systemic attack from the establishment:

There is need for much further research into the conditions in which the practice of the Catholic Faith was maintained in the north and west of Scotland throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In the history of the Catholic Church in Scotland the early seventeenth century is especially a twilight period and needs much more investigation. Some facts do stand out against the prevailing obscurity, like the great cross marked boulder, looming up against the mists on the summit of Maol Doire. The Maol Doire “Clach na h-aifrinn,” weathered by the sunshine and storms of the passing years, is surely the perfect memorial of the harsh laws and the steadfast people of those difficult centuries.
 

References:

Ann MacDonell, & D. R. McRoberts, ‘The Mass Stones of Lochaber’, The Innes Review, vol. 17 (1968), pp. 71–81 
NLS MS.29795, 1^r–162^v

SSS MS 7, p. 654

Image:
Clach na h-Aidhrinn or Clach na h-Aifrinn, Cranachan, Glenroy

Fairy Lore: Work, Work Farquhar!

Another piece of fairy lore recorded by Calum Maclean came by way of John MacDonald of Highbridge, Brae Lochaber. The following was recorded a few days before being transcribed on 18th of February, 1951: 

Bha fear ann ris an abradh iad Fearchar agus gu math tric bha bruaillean glè mh
òr air a chur air agus dragh le sìdhichean a bhiodh a’ tighinn thar na robh e agus iad ag iarraidh obair, obair, “Thoir dhuinn obair.”

“Falbh,” thuirt e riutha an latha a bha seo, “agus tiormaichibh an loch a tha gu h-àrd an sin.”

“Nì sinn sin.”

Dh’fhalbh iad. Agus an ath-latha, dar a chaidh e an àirde, bha an loch tioram. Thàinig iad a-rithist thar an robh e feasgar. Thug e dhaibh obair air choreigin eile agus rinn iad sin. Agus ghabh e iongantas cho allamh agus a chuir iad crìoch air an obair a bh’ ann. Cha chreid mise nach ann a’ spìonadh fraoich a bha iad bharr a’ mhonaidh. Agus tha am monadh gorm gus an latha an-diugh. Cha d’ fhàs fraoch riamh air. Agus an sin:

“Tha iad a’ cur dragh glè mhòr orm,” thuirt e ris a’ bhean. “Agus bidh iad a-màireach cho dona is a bha iad riamh, a’ cur dragh orm ag iarraidh obair.” “Had!” thuirt a’ bhean, “nach toir thu orra sìoman a dhèanadh den ghaineamhaich a tha a sìos air a’ chladach. Dh’fhairtlich e air an Donas fhèin sìoman a dhèanadh don ghaineamhaich, ach dh’iarr e moll agus gun dèanadh e e. Chan fhaigheadh e moll agus mar sin dh’fhairtlich air. Abair sin riutha.”

Thàinig iad an ath-fheasgar a dh’iarraidh obair.

“Falbh a sìos agus dèanaibh sìoman den ghaineamhaich a tha sìos air a’ chladach.”

Dh’fhalbh iad. Thug iad treis ag obair sin ach cha robh a’ chùis a’ dol leotha. Thill iad air ais. Thuirt iad gun a dh’fhairtlich sin orra a dhèanadh ach nam faigheadh iad innear eich, mar a their iad ann am facal ciùin, laghach, sgàinteach each. Agus mar sin cha d’fhuair.

“Cha fhaigh sibh sin. Agus dèanaibh sìoman dheth a rèir an ordugh a fhuair sibh. Agus mura dèan, na faiceam tuillidh an rathad seo sibh.”

Agus dh’fhairtlich sin orra agus fhuair am bodach caoidhte ’s an sìdhichean. Agus bha Fearchar glè thoilichte. Mar a thuirt mi ruibh, cha d’ fhàs fraoch riamh air a’ bheinn an deaghaidh na sìdhichean a tarrainn. Agus dh’fhairtlich sin orra agus fhuair am bodach cuidhte ’s an sìdhichean. Agus bha Fearchar glè thoilichte. Mar a thuirt mi ruibh, cha d’fhàs fraoch riamh air a’ bheinn an deaghaidh na sìdhichean a tarrainn. Agus ’s e tè dhiubh sin Beinn Dòbhrain. Tha i gorm gus an latha an-diugh. Agus ’s iomadh facal a thuirt Donnchadh Bàn Mac an t-Saoir ma dèidhinn, ma dhèidhinn Beinn Dòbhrain:

“’S i bu bhòidhche leam—

Monadh fada rèidh,

Coille a faighte fèidh,

’S soileireach an treud

Bhios an còmhnaidh ann.” 

There was a man they called Farquhar and very often he was sorely troubled and vexed by fairies who came to him asking for work, work, “Give us work.” “Go,” he said to them this day, “and empty the loch (H1097.1) that is up yonder.”

“We’ll do that.”

Away they went and the following day, when he went up, the loch was dry. They came to him again in the evening. He gave them some other work and they did that. And he was amazed how quickly they performed that task (H1090). I rather think that they were put to pluck the heather from the moor. And the moor is green to this day. No heather grew on it ever since. And then—“They are troubling me very much,” he said to his wife. “And tomorrow they’ll be as bad as ever, troubling me by asking for work.”

“Tut!” said the wife (J155.4), “why do you not ask them to make a rope out of sand (H1021.1) that is down on the shore? The Devil himself failed (K211) to make a rope out of sand, but he asked for chaff (H1021.2) in order to make it. He could not get chaff and so failed. Tell them that.”

The following evening they came to ask for work.

“Go down and make a rope of the sand that is down on the shore.”

Away they went. They were engaged in that work for some time but they did not succeed. They came back. They said they had failed but if only they could get horse-dung, as they say—to use a gentle, polite word—sgàinteach of horses. But they did not get that.

“You’ll not get that. And make a rope of it according to the directions you have been given. And if you do not, do not let me see you around here anymore.”

And they failed to perform that task and the old man got rid of the fairies (F381.11). And Farquhar was very pleased. As I’ve told you, no heather ever grew on the mountain when the fairies had cut it. And one of the mountains is Ben Dorain. It is green to this day. And many words had Duncan Bàn MacIntyre said about it, about Ben Dorain:

“To me it is most beautiful:

The wide, smooth hill,

A forest wherein deer are found.

Bright is the throng

That is wont to be there.” 

In essence, the premise of the tale is about getting rid of the fairies and given the once widespread popularity of this fairy narrative throughout the Highlands and Islands strongly suggests that a migratory legend is at play here. In fact, the story is an international one and is classified as ATU 1174; typically in such stories an impossible task is demanded of the fairies to perform – a good example is the one given: a request to make a rope of sand – and so the protagonist by using such a ploy manages to see the back of them.

References:

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhir Nis: Club Leabhar, 1975)

────, ‘Fairy Stories from Lochaber’, Scottish Studies, vol. 4 (1960), pp. 84–95

SSS NB 4, pp. 311–13

Image:

A Rope of Sand

Tom nam Fead: The Knoll of the Whistles

The following story was collected on 22 January 1951 by Calum Maclean from the recitation of Allan MacDonell or MacDonald, then aged around eighty years of age, originally from Bunroy, Brae Lochaber, but latterly staying in Inverlochy, near Fort William. The hill mentioned in this short anecdote may be located near the modern-day British Aluminium factory which is referred to on the modern Ordnance Survey map as An Sìdhean. The story itself is a migratory one and was once fairly common throughout the Highlands and Islands and doubtless elsewhere. This anecdote is based upon a folk etymology for the place-name as it aptly describes that the fairy folk were once believed to have haunted this particular hillock. A more pragmatic explanation for the hillock could be explained by runnels, or underground streams, that when the conditions were right could make whistling or hissing noises just as a babbling brook would do. The alphanumeric code added to the original transcription as well as the translation refers to the Motif Index of Folklore developed initially by an American folklorist, Stith Thompson and a Finnish folklorist, Antti Aarne and improved even further by a German scholar Hans-Jörg Uther. This particular anecdote was transcribed by Calum Maclean as follows:

 

Tom nan Sìdhchean – an t-ainim cear^st a tha air Tom nam Fead. Bha an dithist seo a’ fal^abh dhachaidh as a' Ghearasdan. Bha pige uisge-bheatha
aig gach fear dhiubh anns a’ bhreac(hc)an air son na Nollaig. Is dar a bha iad a’ dol air adhar^st air a’ mhonadh:
“Stad,” thuir^st e, “dé ’n ceòl a tha siod (F262.)?”
Chunnaic iad gun robh an sìdhean fosgailte (F721.2). Bha ceòl is aighear is dannsa. An darna fear dhiubh chaidh e a staigh. A staigh a chaidh e (F302.3.1.) is chaill a’ fear eile e. Chum e air dhachaidh.
Choimhead e thall is a bhos air son an fhir eile is cha robh e ri fhaic(hc)inn. Chaidh e dhachaidh. Dh’ innis e mar a thachair. Bha iad na aghaidh aig an taigh gun d’ rinn e rud air choir eigin air an duine eile (K2116.). Thàinig a’ chailleach bhuidseachd, bana-choimhearsnach dhà far an robh e. Thuir^st i ris (FD1814.1.):
“Théid thu air tòir an uisge-bheatha am bliadhna a rithist.” Théid thu sìos do’n Allt Bhuidhe. Bheir thu gobhlan as a’ chraobh chaorainn (D1385.2.5.). Gheibh thu beagan gaoisid as earaball a’ stallain (F384.3.) a tha sin thall. Fighidh tu a’ ghaoisid air a’ ghobhlan. Dar a bhios sibh a' tilleachd leis an uisge-bheatha bidh an croc(hc) fosgailte, bidh an dorust fosgailte (F211.1.).
Cuiridh tu an gobhlan am bruach^{^bràigh} an doruist agas théid thu a staigh. Abair ris:
"Trobhad, trobhad, a Dhomhnaill." Bi a mach a sin.
Gheibh thu leat dhachaidh e.
’S ann mar seo a bha.
Rinn e na chaidh iarraidh air (F322.5.). Thuir^st Domhnall a bha a staigh ri Alasdair, ’n uair a fhuair e a mach:
“Cha robh mi móran mhineidean a staigh.”
“Bha thu bliadhna a staigh (Z72.1.),” thuir^st Alasdair.
“Cha d’ airich mi ach mar mhineid na dha e (F377),” thuir^st Domhnall.
Tha iad ag ràdha agas bha seann-daoine ag innseadh dhomh-sa gun robh e gu math cinnteach sin.

 

The correct name for Tom nan Sìdhchean (‘The Knoll of the Fairies’) is Tom nam Fead (‘The Knoll of the Whistles’). Two men were going home from Fort William and both were carrying kegs of whisky for a Christmas celebration in their plaids. And when they had gone some distance over the hill:
“Stop,” he said, “what’s that music (F262.)?”
They saw a fairy knoll open (F721.2.). There was music, heartiness and dancing. The second man entered. In he went and the other man lost sight of him (F302.3.1.). He went on his way home.
He searched high and low for the other man but there was no sign of him. He went home and told what had happened. Those at home suspected that he had done something or another to the other man (K2116.). An old wise woman, a neighbour of his came to him. She said to him (D1814.1.):
“You’ll go in search of the whisky this year again. You’ll go down to Allt Buidhe and you’ll take a forked twig from the mountain ash (D1385.2.5.). Then you’ll get a little hair from the stallion’s tail over there (F384.3.). You’ll then tie the hair to the forked twig. When you return with the whisky, the knoll will be open and the door ajar (F211.1). You’ll put the forked twig in the lintel of the door and you’ll enter. Say to him:
“Come on, come on Donald.” Get out of there and you’ll take him home with you.
And so it turned out.
He did as he was advised to do (F322.5). Donald, who had been in the fairy knoll, said to Alasdair when he got out:
“I was only a few minutes inside.”
“You were in a whole year (Z72.1),” said Alasdair.
“I only felt it as if a minute or two had passed (F337),” said Donald.
They say, and old people used to tell me, that it was actually true. The fairies used to whistle (F262.7) and that’s why it was called Tom nam Fead (‘The Knoll of the Whistles’).

References:
SSS NB 5, pp. 385-87
For more on motifs, see wiki entry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motif_(folkloristics)

Image:

Fairy piper

Taxonomy:

F22, Man Goes into Fairy Dwelling and Spends Year or more there Dancing with Cask or Basket on Back

Motifs:

F262. Fairies make music.
F721.2. Habitable hill.
F211.1. Entrance to fairyland through door in knoll.
F302.3.1. Fairy entices man into Fairyland.
D1385.2.2. Ash (quicken, rowan) proof against spells and enchantments.
D1814.1. Advice from magician (fortune-teller, etc.).
D1385.2.5. Ash (quicken, rowan) protects against spells and enchantment.
K2116. Innocent person accused of murder.
F322.5. Rescue from fairyland.
F377. Supernatural lapse of time in fairyland. Years seem days.
F384.3. Iron powerful against fairies.
F262.7. Fairies whistle.
Z72.1. A year and a day.

Counting the Fairies

John MacDonald of Highbridge, Brae Lochaber.
Courtesy of the School of Scottish Studies Archives.

The following story was collected from John MacDonald (1876–1964), known locally as Iain am Bàrd or Iain Beag from Highbridge, Brae Lochaber, and was transcribed on 18 February 1951, shortly after being recorded. From his diary entry of that day, it may be assumed that after Maclean had earlier met John MacDonald, he probably went back to his lodgings and continued with transcribing until he travelled the short distance from Spean Bridge to Highbridge to fetch his informant:

Chaidh mi dha’n Aifreann tràth anns a’ mhaduinn an diugh. An déidh dhomh tighinn dachaidh thug mi greis a’ sgrìobhadh gus an robh am dinnearach ann. An uair sin chaidh mi a mach agas thachair Iain Mac Dhomhnaill, am Bàrd, rium. Chan fhaca mi e an diugh idir agas bha mi air son gun tigeadh e a nall e dh’ innseadh sgeulachdan domh. Thuirt e gun tigeadh e aig ceithir uairean feasgar. Chaidh mi a null g’a iarraidh agas thug mi liom a nall e a dh’ ionnsaigh an taighe. Bha latha mór againn an diugh cuideachd le naidheachdan agas thug e grunn mór dhiubh dhomh. Bha e comhla rium gus an robh e mu naoi uairean a’s t-oidhche.

I went to Mass early this morning. After I came home I spent a while writing until dinner time. I then went out and happened to meet John MacDonald, the Bard. I hadn’t seen him at all today and I wanted him to come over to tell me stories. He said that he would come at four o’clock this afternoon. I went over to fetch him then and I took him over to the house. We had another great day today with regard to [recording] anecdotes and he gave me a great many of them. He was in my company until around nine o’clock at night.

Indeed, the very first recordings that Maclean made in 1951 for the School of Scottish Studies included no less than five hundred and twenty-four Gaelic tales (mainly short, pithy items that were part of the local seanchas or historical lore) from this roadman, encountered as Maclean wrote, “in the dead of winter, and Lochaber lay white and deep in snow.” The title of this particular narrative item is Fear a chunntais na sìdhchean – ‘The man who counted the fairies’:

Bha an sluagh anns an dùthaich seo air an cuideachadh gu math tri(ch)c leis na sìdhchean (F346). Tha àite anns an dùthaich seo ris an abair iad an Ràth, thall am Bracleitir. Agas bha duine a’ fuireach ann ris an abradh iad Ailean Mór an Ràth agas iomadh duine air thoiseach air an ãm aig Ailean Mór an Ràth. Agas bha fear a’ dol seachad aig Geàrrlochaidh, dìreach mu choinneamh an Ràth: tha iad glé theann air a chéile, ach gu bheil an abhainn a’ ruith sìos eatorra, Abhainn Spèan. Bha oidhche bhriagha ghealach ann. Agas gu dé b’ iongnadh leis ach an t-àite làn sìdhchean a’ ruith air ais ’s air adharst ag obair air an ar^a(bh)ar. Agas ’s ann dar a rachadh càch mu thàmh air an oidhche, ’s ann a bha à-san a’ tighinn a mach a dh’ obair (F455.6.8.1). Agas thuirst e ris fhéi’:
 

“Chuala mi iom^aradh riamh air nan cunntadh tu na sìdhchean nach fhai(ch)ceadh tu tuillidh iad (F381). Nach fhiach mi sin a dhèanadh,” thuirst ris fhéi’.

Shuidh e agas bha e ’gan cunntas. Agas b’e sin an obair. Bha iad cho colta’ ri chéile a chuile h-aon dhiubh a’ ruith air ais ’s air adharst. Is thuirst e:
 

“Is iomadh cunntas a rinn mi riamh air meanbh-chruidh ’s air crodh, air spréidh agas an iomadh àite, ach bheat seo na thachair riamh or^am.”
 

Chum e air cunntas gus an dàinig e a dh’ ionnsaigh ciad gu leith.
 

“Ma ta, chan ’eil mi ro-chinnteach a bheil iad agam uile. Ach ’s e an t-aon rud a chuala mi: nam bitheadh iad air an cunntas cearst, nach bitheadh iad ri fhai(ch)cinn tuillidh.”
 

Agas chum e air a thuras. Dar a thàinig a’ sluagh a mach ’s a’ mhaduinn, b’ iongnadh leotha a chuile sguab de’n ar^a(bh)ar cho seasgair, tioram air a chur air dòigh agas air a thughadh. Agas thug iad taing seachad: na bu có a rinn e, gur h-iad an sgioba a bha tapaidh. Agas cha deach na sìdhchean fhai(ch)cinn tuillidh. Agas feumaidh a’ fear a chunnt iad, gun robh iad air an cunntas cearst. Mar a tha a’ fa(ch)cal ag ràdha: ‘Ma chunntas e a dh’ ionnsaigh a h-aon iad, chan fhai(ch)c thu a h-aon dhiubh tuillidh.’
  

Maclean also rendered a close translation of the above tale into English:

The folk in this country were often helped by the fairies. There is a place in this district which they call the Ràth, over in Brackletter. And there was a man living there whom they called Big Allan of the Ràth, and many other people lived there before the time of Big Allan of the Ràth. And a certain man was passing by Gearrlochy, over opposite the Ràth; the two places are very close to one another except that the river runs down between them, the Spean river. It was a fine, moonlit night, and to his amazement the place was full of fairies who ran hither and thither as they harvested the corn (F455.6.8.1). And it was when other people went to rest at night that they came out to work (F348.8). And he said to himself:

“I have always heard it said that, if you counted the fairies (F381), you would not see them again. Should I not try to do that,” said he to himself.

He sat down and counted them. And that was some job. They were all so alike running to and fro. And he said:

“I have made many reckonings of sheep and of cattle, of herds, and I did so in many places but this has surpassed anything that I have ever come across.”

He continued counting until he came to a hundred and fifty.

“Indeed, I am not sure that I have them all, but the one thing I did hear is that, if they are counted properly, they would not be seen again.”

And he continued on his journey. When the folk came out in the morning, they were amazed to find every sheaf safe and dry, stacked and thatched. And they expressed their thanks: whoever did it, it was done by an agile team. And the fairies were not seen again. And it must have been the person who counted them did count them properly. As the saying has it, “If he counts them to the exact figure, you will not see one of them again.”
 

This story would seem to be migratory and was probably quite a common tale to be heard throughout the Highlands and Islands and doubtless in other places where fairy lore was to be found. 

References:

Calum I. Maclean, ‘Fairy Stories from Lochaber’, Scottish Studies, vol. 4 (1960), pp. 84–95

────, ‘Hebridean Traditions’, Gwerin: Journal of Folk Life, vol. 1, no. 1 (1956), pp. 21–33

Image:

John MacDonald of Highbridge, 1950s. Courtesy of the School of Scottish Studies Archives