Witchcraft and Superstitious Record in the South-Western District of Scotland

by J. Maxwell Wood

It is related of the same old woman that once she wanted some favour off the factor on Logan, and one day as he rode past her dwelling she hailed him. Not caring to be troubled with her he made the excuse that his horse would not stand as it was young and very restive; but she said she would soon make it stand, and by some spell so terrified the animal that it stood trembling while the sweat was running over its hooves.

“The farm of the Grennan, in the Rhinns, had been taken or was reported to have been taken over the sitting tenant’s head; and the new tenants, when they took possession, were regarded with general disfavour. The farm good-wife was a bustling, energetic woman, with some pretensions as to good looks, and was always extremely busy. One day an old-fashioned diminutive woman knocked at the door and asked for a wee pickle meal. The good-wife answered in an off-hand manner that she had no meal for her, and told her to ‘tak’ the gait.’ The old woman looked at her steadily for a short time, and then said, ‘My good woman, you are strong and healthy just now, but strong and weel as ye are, that can sune be altered, and big as ye are in yer way, the hearse is no’ bigget that will tak’ ye to the kirkyaird, and a dung-cairt will ha’e to ser’ ye.’ In less than a year the gude-wife died, and the hearse broke down at the road-end leading to the farm, and could come no further, and as a matter of fact a farm-cart had to be employed to carry the corpse to the churchyard.”[(8)]

The influence of the “evil eye” has been somewhat crudely recorded in verse under the heading of “Galloway Traditions: The Blink o’ an Ill E’e,” in the Galloway Register for 1832, an almost forgotten periodical published at Stranraer. It is here set forth, as it minutely expresses and brings out, though in homely fashion, how belief in witchcraft and its powers was intimately bound up with the every-day conditions of the life of the times:—

“He thrave for a while,
And a prettier bairn was’na seen in a mile;
Lang ere Beltane, however, he was sairly backgane
And shilped to naething but mere skin and bane.
The mither grieved sair—thought her Sandy wad die—
Folk a’ said he had got a blink o’ an ill e’e,
And the health o’ the baby wad bravely in time turn
If he had the blessing o’ auld Luckie Lymeburn.
Now the mither min’d weel, that on ae Friday morn
Auld Luckie gaed past, but nae word did she say,
And the bairn had soon after begun to decay.
Ane an’ a’ then agreed that the child wadna mend, or
Do one mair guid till auld Luckie they’d send for;
Luckie Lymeburn is sent for, and soon there appears
A haggart wee grannnum sair bent down in years,
Whase e’en, wild demeanour, every appearance was sic,
That you’d easily hae guess’d that she dealt wi’ Auld Nick.
Auld Luckie had lang kept the country in dread—
Nae bairn was unweil, nor beast suddenly dead,
Nae time had the horses stood up in the plough,
Nor when drying the malt had the kiln tain alow,
Nae roof o’ a byre fa’en down in the night,
Nor storm at the fishing, the boatmen affright,
But ’twas aye Luckie Lymeburn that bare a’ the blame o’t,
While Luckie took pride and rejoiced at the name o’t.
Thro’ dread that her glamour might harm o’ their gear,
O’ ought in the house they aye ga’e her a share,
And ilk dame through the land was in terror o’ Luckie,
From the point of Kirkcolm to her ain Carrick-mickie.
Ere Sandy is mentioned the mither takes care
To sooth the auld dame and to speak her right fair;
Anon, then, she tells how her boy’s lang been ill,
And a’ the folk say she’s a hantle o’ skill—
Begs she’ll look at the bairn and see what’s the matter,
And when neist at the mill she winna forget her.
Auld Granny saw well thro’ the mither’s contrivance,
So she looks on the bairn and wishes him thrivance—
Says he’ll soon come about and be healthy and gay,
If dipt at the Co’[1] the first Sunday o’ May.
The boy’s health came round, as auld Luckie had said,
But ere Sandy came round Luckie Lymeburn was dead.
The laws against witches were now very stric’,
And Luckie’s accused that she dealt wi’ Auld Nick—
That lately a storm she had raised on the coast,
In which many braw fishing boats had been lost;
Last winter that she and her conjuring ban’
Had smoor’d a’ the sheep on the fells o’ Dunman
But chief, that in concert wi’ Luckie Agnew,
She had sunk, off the Mull, a fine ship with her crew.
The ship had been bound for Hibernia’s main,
And smoothly was gliding o’er the watery plain
With the wind in her rear, when a furious blast,
While off the Mull head, sudden rose from the west,
And lays to the breeze the gallant ship’s side,
And round and round whirls her in th’ eddy o’ th’ tide.
Meantime the old hags, on the hill, are in view,
And boiling their caldron, or winding their clue,
New charms still they try, but they try them in vain:
The seamen still strove, nor their purpose could gain,
The waves are still threat’ning the ship to o’erwhelm;
The crew, one by one, have relinquished the helm.
Long, long the crew labour’d the vessel to stay,
Nor rudder nor sail would the vessel obey,
When forth steps a tar, a regardless old sinner,
And swore he’d her steer though the devil were in her;
When instant the weird-woman’s spells take effect,
She sinks ’mang the rocks, and soon’s floating a wreck—
For these, and some deeds of a similar kind
Were Luckies Agnew and Lymeburn arraigned.
Their trial comes on—full confession they make—
In the auld burgh o’ Wigton they’re burnt at the stake.”

The metamorphosis to brute-form on the part of the witch or warlock is one of the most persistent traditions concerning witchcraft. In the south-west country the favourite animal-form selected was that of the hare, very probably on account of its fleetness of foot. Of this the following are examples:—

“A young man from Kirkmaiden found work at a distance, and as means of travel were not so convenient as now, it was a number of years before he found opportunity to visit his native parish. At the end of some years he returned, however, about New-Year time, and taking down a gun that was in his mother’s house, remarked that he would go out to the Inshanks Moor and see if he could get a hare for the dinner on New-Year’s Day. His mother told him to be careful he was not caught poaching. He had not been long in the moor when a hare got up, at which he shot repeatedly, but apparently without effect. At last he came to the conclusion that the hare was one of the numerous Kirkmaiden witches, and thought he would try the effect of silver. The hare had observed him, and at once inquired if he would shoot his own mother? Much startled, he desisted and went home, took to his bed, and did not rise for five years, though he could take his food well enough, and apparently was in good enough health. He had no power to rise until his mother died, when his strength being most wonderfully restored, he left his bed, dressed himself and attended the funeral.”[(9)]

Another reputed witch lived near the Church of Kirkmaiden, and it is told by a woman of the neighbourhood how her grandmother lived beside her, and having occasion to go to the well in the gloaming one evening something gave a sound, not unlike the noise one makes when clapping mud with a spade, and immediately a hare hopped past her on the road, and went over the dyke into the garden. When she went round the end of the house her neighbour was climbing over the dyke, and the old woman firmly believed it was the witch she saw the moment before in the form of a hare, which had returned to human shape just before she saw her again.

In connection with the phenomenon of transformation to brute-form an interesting point must be accentuated, and that is that an animal bewitched or about to be sacrificed by witchcraft was believed by some subtle power to gain and absorb to itself some considerable part of the spirit or entity of the witch or warlock working the spell, which not uncommonly led to detection of the spell-worker. An example of this may also be quoted:—

“A farmer of Galloway, coming to a new farm with a fine and healthy stock, saw them die away one by one at stall and at stake. His last one was lying sprawling almost in death, when a fellow-farmer got him to consider his stock as bewitched and attempt its relief accordingly. He placed a pile of dried wood round his cow, setting it on fire. The flame began to catch hold of the victim, and its outer parts to consume, when a man, reputed to be a warlock, came flying over the fields, yelling horribly and loudly, conjuring the farmer to slake the fire. ‘Kep skaith wha brings’t,’ exclaimed the farmer, heaping on more fuel. He tore his clothes in distraction, for his body was beginning to fry with the burning of his spirit. The farmer, unwilling to drive even the devil to despair, made him swear peace to all that was or should be his, and then unloosed his imprisoned spirit by quenching the fire.”[(10)]

The counterpart of magical migration through the air has also its examples, for within the memory of people still living there was an old woman lived at Logan Mill, who whenever she had a mind to travel, got astride of the nearest dyke, and was at once conveyed to wherever she wished. At least it was said so.