Folklore of Scottish Lochs and Springs

by James M. Mackinlay

When we examine the motives prompting to the practice under review, we can discover the working of a principle, vaguely grasped perhaps, but sufficiently understood to serve as a guide to action. This crude philosophy was two-fold. On the one hand, the gift left at a loch or spring was what has been facetiously styled a “retaining fee.” It secured the goodwill of the genius loci, and thereby guaranteed to a certain extent the fulfilment of the suppliant’s desire. This desire, as we have seen, was commonly the removal of a definite disease. On the other hand, the disease to be removed was in some mysterious way identified with the offering. The latter was the symbol, or rather the embodiment of the former, and, accordingly, to leave the gift was to leave the ailment—the patient being thus freed from both. The corollary to this was, that whoever removed the offering took away also the disease represented by it. According to a well-established law of medical science, infection is transferred from one person to another by clothing, or indeed by whatever comes into contact with the morbid particles from the patient’s body. But infection in folklore is something different from this. Disease of any kind, whether usually reckoned infectious or not, passed via the offering to the person lifting it. Hence such gifts had a charmed existence, and were as safe as if under the sweep of the “Ancient Monuments Protection Act.” The Rev. Dr. Gregor thus expresses the feeling on this point, as it prevailed till lately in the north-east of Scotland:—“No one would have been foolhardy enough to have even touched what had been left, far less to have carried it off. A child, or one who did not know, was most carefully instructed why such things were left in and around the well, and strict charge was laid not to touch or carry any of them off. Whoever carried off one of such relics contracted the disease of the one who left it.”

The notion that disease can be transferred lies at the root of various folk-cures. Dalyell, in his “Darker Superstitions,” remarks, “It is said that, in the Highlands, a cat is washed in the water which has served for the ablution of an invalid, as if the disease absorbed from one living creature could be received by another, instead of being let free.” In some parts of the Highlands, a common cure for an ailing cow was to make the animal swallow a live trout, so that the disease might pass from the one creature to the other. This was done not long ago, at a farm near Golspie, in Sutherland. In Norfolk, as a remedy for whooping-cough, a spider was caught, tied up in a piece of muslin, and pinned over the mantelpiece. The cough disappeared when the spider died. In Gloucestershire, ague was cured in the following way:—A living snail was worn in a bag round the neck for nine days. The snail was then thrown upon the fire when it was believed to shake as if with ague, and the patient recovered. Many more illustrations of this principle might be given, but the above are sufficient to show how it was applied.

Symson records an instance in Galloway of swift vengeance following the theft of certain votive offerings. He says, “Hereabout, i.e., near Larg, in Minnigaff parish, is a well called the Gout Well of Larg, of which they tell this story—how that a piper stole away the offering left at this well, but when he was drinking of ale, which he intended to pay with the money he had taken away, the gout, as they say, seized on him, of which he could not be cured, but at that well, having first restored to it the money he had formerly taken away.” Accident, rather than disease, sometimes resulted from such sacrilegious acts. The offerings were the property of the guardian spirit who was quick to resent their removal and to punish the doer of the deed. In the district of Ardnamurchan is a cave, associated with Columba, who there baptised some freebooters. The water used for the purpose lay in a hollow of the rock, and, in after times, votive gifts were left beside it. On one occasion, a young man stole some of these, but he did not remain long unpunished, for before reaching home he fell and broke his leg. Tobar-fuar-Mòrie, i.e., The big cold Well, situated at the foot of a steep hill in the parish of Corgarff, Aberdeenshire, consists of three springs about a yard distant from each other. Each spring formerly cured a separate disease—one, blindness; the other, deafness; and the third, lameness. The guardian spirit of the springs lived under a large stone called the kettle stone, because below it was a kettle where she stored her votive offerings. She was somewhat exacting in her demands, for no cure could be expected unless gold was presented. These particulars were obtained in the district by the Rev. Dr. Gregor, who records them in “Folklore” for March, 1892, and adds, “If one tried to rob the spirit, death by some terrible accident soon followed. My informant, more than fifty years ago, when a lad, resolved to remove the kettle stone from its position, and so become possessor of the spirit’s gold. He accordingly set out with a few companions all provided with picks and spades, to displace the stone. After a good deal of hard labour the stone was moved from its site, but no kettle full of gold was found. An old woman met the lads on their way to their homes, and when she learnt what they had been doing, she assured them they would all die within a few weeks, and that a terrible death would befall the ring-leader.”

That the guardians of springs look well after their possessions in the new world, as well as in the old, is proved by the following quotation from Sir J. Lubbock’s “Origin of Civilisation”:—“In North Mexico,” he says, “Lieutenant Whipple found a sacred spring which, from time immemorial ‘had been held sacred to the rain-god.’ No animal may drink of its waters. It must be annually cleansed with ancient vases, which, having been transmitted from generation to generation by the caciques, are then placed upon the walls, never to be removed. The frog, the tortoise, and the rattlesnake represented upon them, are sacred to Montezuma, the patron of the place, who would consume by lightning any sacrilegious hand that should dare to take the relics away.” With the growth of enlightenment men’s minds rose above such delusions. Had it not been so, the Holy Wells in our land would still have presented the appearance of rag fairs, or served as museums for old coins. Holy Loch, in Dunnet, Caithness, used to be much resorted to as a place of healing. The invalids walked or were carried round the lake and threw a penny into the water. Some of these pennies have been picked up from time to time by persons who have outgrown the old superstition. The hollow in the Clach-nan-Sul at Balquhidder, already referred to, contained small coins placed there by those who sought a cure for their sore eyes. Mr. J. Mackintosh Gow was told by some one in the district, that “people, when going to church, having forgotten their small change, used in passing to put their hands in the well and find a coin.” Mr. Gow’s informant mentioned that he had done so himself.

In the ceremony known as “well-dressing” or “well-flowering,” the offerings took the form of blossoms and green boughs. For different reasons Scotland has not been abreast of England in floral matters. Only in the latter country did the practice take root, and even there only within a somewhat limited area. We must seek for its home in Derbyshire and the adjacent counties. At some places it has died out, while at others it still survives, and forms the excuse for a pleasant holiday. At Bonchurch, Isle of Wight, indeed, St. Boniface’s Well was decorated with wreaths of flowers on the saint’s day; but this was an exceptional instance so far south. Within comparatively recent years well-flowering has, at one or two places, been either instituted, as at Belper, in Derbyshire, in 1838, or revived, as at St. Alkmund’s Well in Derby, in 1870. The clergy and choir of St. Alkmund’s Church celebrate the day by meeting at the church and walking in procession to the well. Writing in the seventeenth century, Aubrey says, “In Cheshire, when they went in perambulation, they did bless the springs, i.e., they did read the Gospel at them, and did believe the water was the better.” At Droitwich, in Worcestershire, a salt spring, dedicated to St. Richard, used to be annually adorned with flowers.

A correspondent of the “Gentleman’s Magazine” of 1794 remarks, “In the village of Tissington, in the county of Derby, a place remarkable for fine springs of water, it has been a custom, time immemorial, on every Holy Thursday, to decorate the wells with boughs of trees, garlands of tulips, and other flowers, placed in various fancied devices, and, after prayers for the day at the church, for the parson and singers to pray and sing psalms at the wells.” In Hone’s “Every Day Book,” under date 1826, are the following remarks by a correspondent:—“Tissington ‘well-dressing’ is a festivity which not only claims a high antiquity, but is one of the few country fêtes which are kept up with anything like the ancient spirit. It is one which is heartily loved and earnestly anticipated; one which draws the hearts of those who were brought up there, but whom fortune has cast into distant places, homewards with an irresistible charm. I have not had the pleasure of witnessing it, but I have had that of seeing the joy which sparkled in the eyes of the Tissingtonians as they talked of its approach and of their projected attendance.” The festival is still held in honour at Tissington, and elaborate preparations continue to be made for its celebration. Flowers are arranged in patterns to form mottoes and texts of Scripture, and also devices, such as crosses, crowns, and triangles, while green boughs are added to complete the picture. A correspondent of “Notes and Queries” thus describes the decorations on Ascension Day in 1887: “The name of ‘well-dressing’ scarcely gives a proper idea of these beautiful structures. They are rather fountains or cascades, the water descending from above, and not rising as in a well. Their height varies from ten to twelve feet, and the original stone frontage is on this day hidden by a wooden erection in the form of an arch or some other elegant design. Over these planks a layer of plaster of Paris is spread, and whilst it is wet, flowers without leaves are stuck in it, forming a most beautiful mosaic pattern. On one the large yellow field ranunculus was arranged in letters, and so a verse of Scripture or of a hymn was recalled to the spectator’s mind. On another a white dove was sculptured in the plaster and set in a ground-work of the humble violet. The daisy, which our poet Chaucer would gaze upon for hours together, formed a diaper-work of red and white; the pale yellow primrose was set off by the rich red of the ‘ribes.’ Nor were the coral berries of the holly, mountain ash, and yew forgotten; they are carefully gathered and stored in the winter to be ready for the May Day fête. It is scarcely possible to describe the vivid colouring and beautiful effect of these favourites of nature arranged in wreaths and garlands and devices of every hue. And then the pure sparkling water, which pours down from the midst of them on to the rustic moss-grown stones beneath, completes the enchantment, and makes this feast of the ‘well-flowering’ one of the most beautiful of all the old customs that are left in Merrie England.” Well-flowering also prevails at Buxton, and is a source of interest to the many visitors to that airy health resort.

Such floral devices do not now rank as votive gifts. They are merely decorations. The custom may have originated in the Roman Fontinalia. At any rate it had at one time a corresponding object. The Fontinalia formed an annual flower-festival in honour of the nymphs inhabiting springs. Joyous bands visited the fountains, crowned them with boughs, and threw nosegays into their sparkling water. The parallelism between the Roman and the English Fontinalia is too well marked to be overlooked. In Derbyshire and Staffordshire the ceremony of well-dressing is usually observed on Ascension Day. In more than one instance the festival has attracted to itself various old English sports commonly associated with May Day. Among these may be mentioned May-pole and Morris-dancing and crowning the May-queen.

At Endon, in Staffordshire, the festival is celebrated on Royal Oak Day (May 29th), or on the following day if the 29th is a Sunday. The following account—somewhat abbreviated—is from the “Staffordshire Evening Post” of 31st May, 1892, and gives some interesting particulars about the festival: “The secluded village of Endon yesterday celebrated the well-dressing feast. This institution, dear to the heart of every loyal inhabitant, holds foremost rank in the local calends, for it is not a holiday of ordinary frivolous significance, but a thanksgiving festival. The proceeds, which generally amount to some hundreds of pounds, are divided between the poor of the parish and the parochial schools. There are two wells at Endon. One is very old and almost dry, and has long since fallen into disuse. The other alone supplies the village with water. From a very early hour in the morning the whole village was astir, and those people who were gifted with taste and a delicate touch busied themselves in bedecking the wells for the coming ceremony. As the day advanced, crowds of visitors poured in from all parts of the potteries; and towards evening the village green probably held no fewer than two thousand people. The proceedings, which were under the personal guidance of the vicar, commenced a little before two o’clock. A procession of about a hundred and twenty Sunday-school children was formed at the new well, with the Brownedge village brass band at its head. The children carried little flags, which they vigorously waved in excess of glee. The band struck up bravely, and the procession marched in good order up the hill to the old parish church, where a solemn service was conducted. The villagers attended in overwhelming numbers, and completely thronged the building. There was a fully surpliced choir, whose singing, coupled with the music of the organ, greatly added to the impressiveness of the service. Hymns and psalms, selected by the vicar as applicable to a thanksgiving service for water, were sung by the congregation in spirited style. At the conclusion of the service the procession was reformed, the band leading the way back to the new well. Upon arrival, the clergy and choir, who had retained their surplices, walked slowly round the well, singing ‘Rock of Ages’ and ‘A living stream as crystal clear.’ Both wells were very beautifully decorated; but the new well was a masterpiece of elaborated art. A large wooden framework had been erected in front of the well, and upon this a smooth surface of soft clay had been laid. The clay was thickly studded with many thousands of flower heads in great variety of kind and hue, and in pictorial as well as geometrical arrangement. There were two very pretty figures of peacocks in daisies, bluebells, and dahlias, and a resplendent motto, ‘O, ye wells! bless ye the Lord!’ (from the Benedicite) garnished the summit. The old well was almost deserted, although its decorations were well worthy of inspection. Its motto, ‘Give me this water’ (from the fourth chapter of St. John) was very finely traced, and its centre figures—two white doves and a crown—were sufficiently striking. May-pole dances, including the crowning of the May-queen, occupied the greater part of the afternoon. In the evening the band played for dancing, and there was a repetition of the May-pole dances. After dusk there was a display of fireworks.”

Though, as already stated, well-dressing was unknown north of the Tweed, any account of votive offerings would be incomplete without a reference to the picturesque ceremony.