“One day when the water of Lugton, which separates the parishes of Beith and Dunlop, was rolling “from bank to brae,” and the holms were in a flooded state, Tam was observed on the opposite bank by some people. Happening to lose sight of him for a few minutes, what was their astonishment to find Tam standing beside them, high and dry! The water, which was full and over-flowing, was more than thirty feet in width, and no bridge nearer than two miles. To the hurried question, how he got across, he quickly replied—”Hoo, I didna come across ata, I was in a hurry, and just came through below it.”
At another time, a remarkably pious man, in the parish of Dunlop, during a high gale of wind, ascended to the roof of his house, which, according to the custom of the time, was of thatch; laid a number of stones and sticks on the roof, to prevent the wind from blowing the thatch away; and while on the roof, according to his own account, a tremendous whirlwind swept round and nearly overthrew him. He mentally ejaculated, “God save me,” and held on by the rigging. His bonnet and wig were blown away—where, he could not tell. Next day, after the storm was abated, he went again on the roof of the house, to mend the damage which had been done. Looking down, he perceived “Tam” standing at the foot of the ladder, and surveying him with a most sinister gaze. “Ye held on weel yesterday,” exclaimed Tam; “gin ye hadna whispered ‘God save me’, we wud ha blawn ye doun, but we took awa your wig and bonnet: gae awa doun tae the well in the meadow, and ye’ll get them lying there, aside the sauch bush.” The man accordingly went, and, in the exact spot, found his wig and bonnet.
An honest blacksmith, one evening, going to weld two pieces of iron together, called on his apprentice, who was reported to be a heedless youth, to come and assist him in beating the iron. After calling once or twice, and receiving no answer, he angrily exclaimed, “I may just as weel cry on Tam Giffen.” “What do ye want,” whispered a voice behind him, which was no other than Tam’s: “I was just fleeing through the air wi’ a wheen o’ them that’s gaun awa to dance in Kilbride kirk-yard the nicht, and I thocht I wad come in an’ see what ye wanted wi’ me.” “Did ye come in at the door,” exclaimed the astonished blacksmith. “No, I just drapped doun the lum—but I maun awa’, or they’ll miss me:” so saying, he instantly disappeared.
At last “Tam” was discovered lying dead on the banks of the Garnock water, near Garrit Linn, in a wild and solitary glen, in the parish of Kilbirnie. According to tradition, he was murdered by the fairies for disclosing some of their secrets. He was buried in Kilbirnie churchyard; and his grave is still pointed out to the curious.
TAM GIFFEN.
Aul’ grannie sat carding her woo by the fire
On a caul winter eve; and, as midnicht drew nigher,
The bairns gathered roun’ her and quitted their glee
To list to a tale: mony aul’ tales had she
O’ brownies, an’ spunkies, and wee merry men,