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Track 4 THE
HUMPH AT THE FIT O THE GLEN AND THE HUMPH AT THE HEAD O THE GLEN Bella
Higgins, Blairgowrie
Bella Higgins, the elder
sister of Andrew Stewart, here gives a cheerful version of an
international folktale in her own rather more studied style of
narration. Though this story has some similarity to localised fairy
legends like "The Fiddler o Gord" (track 9), its basic
elements are known the world over, from Japan to Chile, and it is
classified as AT 503, "The Gifts of the Little People". The
fairies' gratitude is won in various ways - perhaps only by readiness to
accept their teasing or to dance with them, as in a Grimm version - but
the song naming the days of the week is a regular feature in Scottish
and Irish Gaelic and appears at least as far afield as Turkey. In Gaelic
the original song is usually "Di-luain, Di-màirt",
"Monday, Tuesday", and "Saturday, Sunday" may have
been chosen as the best English names to fit the original tune. We
cannot be sure of this, since among a score of Gaelic versions recorded
for the School of Scottish Studies not one has a clear sung tune for the
words as Mrs Higgins has; but the rhythm would fit. It seems unlikely
that these would be the original words, since fairies are generally
represented as being afraid of the name of God or any other sacred
thing, and in at least one Gaelic version (Tocher 4:106-9) the
second hunchback's mistake is precisely to mention Sunday. Mrs Higgins'
much younger brother, John Stewart, tells the story with the same tune
in it, though with considerable differences in detail: the two
hunchbacks, far from being friends, have never met, which indeed seems
more probable. This recording was made during a céilidh (in the
original sense of an evening with friends entertaining one another) at
Bella Higgins' house, and the appreciative audience must have helped to
bring out her best performance. -AJB
WELL, THIS IS THE
STORY o the Humph at the fit o the glen, an the Humph at the head o
the glen, this wis two men, an they were very good friends. But the wan
at the fit o the glen, he wis very humphy, he wis near doublet in two wi
the humph that was on his back. The other one at the top o the glen, he
wisnae jist quite so big in the humph, but he wis pretty bad too.
Well, Sunday about they
cam to visit one another, wan would travel up aboot three mile up tae
the top o the glen, tae spend the day wi his friend, the Humph at the
heid o the glen. An then the Humph at the head o the glen next Sunday
would come down to the Humph at the fit o the glen an spend the day.
So anyway, it wis the wan
at the fit o the glen, he had tae go tae see the Humph at the head o the
glen, it wis he's Sunday tae walk up tae the heid o the glen tae see his
friend. Well, he had a wee bit ae a plantin to pass, an when he wis
comin past this plantin, he hears a lot o singin goin on. He says: 'Wheesht!'
- an a' the song they hed wis:
[music ex1]
'Saturday, Sunday,
Saturday, Sunday,
Saturday, Sunday.'
an that's the length they
could get.
'Gosh!' he says, 'I could
pit a bit tae that song.' An he goes:
[music ex2]
'Saturday, Sunday,
Monday, Tyoooosday!'
O, an he heard the lauchs
an the clappin o the hands.
'Goad bliss me,' he says,
'what can that be?'
But this wis three kind
of fairies that was in the wood. And the wan says to the other: 'Brither,
what dae ye wish that man,' he says, 'for that nice part he put tae wir
song?'
'Well,' he says, 'I wish
him that the humph 'll drop an melt off his back,' he says, ''at he'll
be as straight as a rush. An what dae you wish him?'
'Well,' he says, 'I wish
him tae have the best of health,' he says, 'an happiness. An what dae
you wish him, brither?'
'Well,' he says, 'I wish
him,' he says, 'full an plenty, 'at he'll always have plenty, tae he
goes tae his grave.'
'Very good!'
Och, this man wis walkin
up the glen, an he feels hissel gettin lighter and lighter, an he
straightened hissel up, an he's wonderin what's come ower him. He didnae
think it was hissilf at all, 'at he could jist march up, like a soldier,
up this glen.
So he raps at the door
when he came tae his friend, the Humph at the head o the glen, and when
they cam out, they ask't him whit he want', they didnae know him.
'Oh,' he says, 'I want
tae see So-an-So, ma friend.'
'But who are you?'
'Och,' he says, 'ye
know,' he says, 'the humphy man 'at's lived at the fito the glen,' he
says. 'A'm his friend, ye know me.' An he . . . told his name.
'Oh my!' he says, 'whit .
. . whit . . . whit happen't tae ye? Whit come owre tae ye?'
'Oh wheesht,' he says,
'if you come down,' he says, 'wi me, or when ye're comin down next
Sunday,' he says, 'listen,' he says, 'at the wee plantin as ye're gan
doon the road, an,' he says, 'you'll hear singin.' An he says . . . he
told him 'at they only had 'Saturday, Sunday, Saturday, Sunday,' but he
says, 'I pita bit tae their song,' he says. 'I says "Saturday,
Sunday, Monday, Tyoooosday", an,' he says, 'I felt masel,' he says
- 'everything disappearin from me.' An he says, 'If you come down,' he
says, 'you'll be made as straight as whit I am.'
Anyway, this man's aye
wishin it wis next Sunday, an he's comin - when Sunday cam - he's comin
marchin down the road, an jist at the wee plantin he hears them aa
singin, the song, the bit 'at the ither humph pit oot tae it, ye know.
They're goin:
'Saturday, Sunday,
Monday, Tyoooosday!'
'Wheesht,' he says, 'I'll
pit a bit tae that.' He goes:
'Saturday, Sunday,
Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday, Thursday,
Friday, Saturday'
mair ' n what he put.
And, he got no clap.
He says, 'Whit dae ye
wish him, brither?' he says, 'that man, for destroyin our lovely song?'
He says, 'I wish him,' he
says, 'if his humph wis big, that it'll be a thousand times bigger: an
whit dae you wish him?'
He says, 'I wish him,' he
says, 'to be the ugliest man,' he says, 'that ever wis on the face of
the earth, 'at nobody can look at him: an whit do you wish him?'
He says, 'I wish him to
be in torture,' he says, 'an punishment tae he goes tae his grave.'
Well, he grew an he grew,
tae he wis the size o Bennachie - a mountain. An he could hardly walk
up. Well, when he come tae his house, he couldnae get in no way or yet
another. Well, he had tae lie outside, an it'd took . . . ta'en aboot
seventeen pair of blankets tae cover him, tae cover him up. An he's lyin
out winter an summer till he died an it ta'en twenty-four coffins to
hold him. So he's buriet at the top o the glen. |
