| |
Fairy Tales
Mind the Crooked Finger
|
BILL ROBERTSON, aet. 71, residing in
Lerwick, soberly narrated this trowy story :—
"My midder, God rest her soul, tauld me this, and
she nedder could nor wid ha’ tauld me a lee. Shü wis staying wi’ freends
at Kirgood-a-Weisdale; an’ ee nicht about da hüming (twilight) da guidman
was sair fashed, for da honest wife haed just haed a pirie baby. An’ noo,
my lamb ‘at ye ir (are), what sud he hear juist as he was gaein’ ta leave
the lamb-house, but three most unearthly knocks, da sam as it haed a been
frae onder da grund. Noo, he kent na what dis could be, but he made a’
fast, an’ gangs up intil de corn yard, and as he comes in sight of the
screws he hears a voice ‘at said tree times, ‘Mind da crooked finger.’ Noo,
his wife haed a crooked finger and he kent ower weel ‘at something wis
gaen ta happen, for his grey
neebors wis apon
da watch for da helpless infant, or midder, or baith. So he comes into da
hoose, an’ lichts a candle, taks doon da Bible, an’ a steel knife. He
opens da buik an’ da knife, when such a roaring and trilling, an’
onerthly stamping an’ rattling, an’ confusion comes frae da byre as made
da whole hoose shak. An’ a’ body fell a-whaaking (quaking). Noo, he taks
da open Bible, and maks for da byre, an’ dem ‘at wis i’ da hoos follows
him trimbling an’ whaaking, only da wise-woman bein’ left with da poor
wife an’ infant. Noo, whin he gets ta da door, he heaves in da Bible afore
him, sticks da open knife in his mouth, edge ootwards, and da lowin’
candle in een o’ his hands. Da instant yon was dune da triilin’ an’ noise
an’ din ceased all of a sudden, and da image ‘at haed been prepared for ta
pit i’ da place i’ da poor wife an’ innocent pine lamb was a’ ‘at was left
i’ da byre. ‘Weel,’ says da guidman, as he gripped in his airms da very
likeness o’ his wife ‘at da trows had left i’ da byre, ‘I’ve then dee, and
I’ll use dee.’ Weel, he tuk in ta da hoose da image left by da trows, an’
it haed every joint an’ pairt of a woman. An’ my midder tauld me shu saw
it, an’ da honest folk for mony a year, an’ der children after dem, sat
upon da stock, or image, or likness; an’ things was set on it, and wood
was sawn on it. An’ dat’s as true as I’m spekin’ to you, and no a borrowed
or handed story; for my midder tauld me it wi’ her am lips, an’ she wid no
a tauld me a lee." |
Return to
our Stories page
|