STEVE EVANS poetically speaking

 

 

Harry the haggis was born left footed. Which meant he walked anticlockwise around the hills.

As everyone should know Haggis always have one leg shorter than the other one, this lets them run around on sloping ground without ever falling over, well hardly ever. The main issue however, for Haggis having one leg shorter than the other is that it means that they can only really travel in one direction which is clockwise. But since they very rarely leave the hills where they live it is a very handy thing for them. In fact they never think much about it and life is just organised that way.

Haggis are all right footed, their right foot was the short one and as I said, none of them ever gave it that much thought, it’s just how things were - all except for Harry.

Because Harry was born left footed he walked in the opposite direction from everyone else. It was a complete pain and Harry hated being different but what could he do?

It did have some benefits like if his mum forgot her purse, he could meet her half way but mainly he was on his own wherever he went, apart from brief chats while walking backwards with his wee pals. It took him twice as long to get to school, that was really annoying. Although, as he later found out, it did make kissing much less complicated and he got home quicker.

 

Harry first met Hilda on a field trip to the Paps of Jura. He was standing on the biggest Pap, the Mountain of Gold when Hilda came rolling towards him. He managed to grab her wee arm with one hand while clinging on to a clump of heather with the other and suddenly they were both standing face to face. Like a pair of matching furry candlesticks.

A bit breathless, haggis were breathless at the best of times, Hilda thanked him and then they both set off in opposite directions, as they had to. That was the story of Harry’s life.

Later in the day he was half way round one of the other Paps, The Mountain Of Sound, when he saw her again, walking quite gingerly this time and a little below him. He altered course slightly so as to bump into her.

“How ye daein’?” said Harry

“Nae bad, yersel’?” smiled Hilda

“Och am fed up” said Harry “always oan ma’ ain”

“Ye aren’t oan yer ain noo” said Hilda warmly

“No am no” said Harry sidling closer and that’s when they both kissed. It was like they were made for each other and it was the first time ever Harry was glad of his left footedness because they were both able to stand face to face and straight up. He would have jumped for joy except of course, he didn’t have any knees.

 

Haggis don’t have knees. So even though they have sharp little teeth, as long as you wear wellies they can’t bite you, even if you were to surprise one in the gloaming while out roaming one evening. That is very good advice worth remembering because a haggis bite can be quite nippy.

 

Two bumble bees began to sing as Harry and Hilda stood there face to face still holding hands and staring into each other’s smiling eyes. It was a very special moment and the bees knew that it was. Which was why they marked it with song. In fact the sweetest song you could imagine. Not many people know that the bees sing, that’s another little secret that I’m telling you, but they can and much sweeter than any Nightingale and they understand more about our relationships than all the birds up high flying in the sky. Special little creatures are the bees, you should remember that.

Harry and Hilda knew about the bees of course, being haggis, but generally people don’t know. People miss out on a lot of the good stuff in this world because, well I don’t want to be rude... so let’s just say; people still have a little way to go.

 

There was a dance that night at the haggis camp. Harry asked Hilda if she would go with him, he surprised himself with his forwardness but there was something about Hilda, he sort of felt it - Haggis are very intuitive. She said yes, of course, but later Harry got worried about the whole idea. He’d never been to a dance before mainly because of the dancin’.

 

Haggis danced side by side with their arms crossed behind them which was very difficult for Harry because he leaned the wrong way, because his stupid legs were the wrong way round. “Och weel” he thought “jist git oan wi’ it ah suppose” and he went back to get himself ready. ‘Best foot forward’ he thought, laughing to himself.

 

Hilda was dancing with Gus when Harry arrived at the dance. Gus was a big brave haggis who often went off adventuring and exploring, usually with his brother Wil. Wil and Gus looked after everyone and everyone in the camp looked up to them. Harry was already annoyed, Hilda hadn’t even looked over when he arrived. ‘Dancin’ wi’ Gus’ he muttered to himself, ‘big brave Gus’

Gus was actually a great guy, Harry had no idea where these thoughts came from. They still told tales of Gus’s adventures. There was even a little limerick about him getting drunk on a trip to Luss, hidden as he was, in the back of a bus:

 

A brave richt haggis called Gus

Set off on a trip tae Luss

But he wound up in Troon

Upside doon

‘Cos he fell asleep oan the bus.

(drunk as a skunk)

 

Harry watched them dance, Gus knew all the steps and Hilda looked like she was having the time of her life. Quite irked, Harry turned to look at the band instead.

The band were called Freddie and the Moondogs, there were four of them, Freddie the fiddler, Angus the piper, Ritchie the drummer and Stuart the guitarist and they were very popular.

Freddie the flame haired fiddle player was bashing out a stomping rhythm and standing on his short leg while tapping with his other foot, which is much harder than it looks without any knees, especially if you are playing the fiddle at the same time. Freddie made it look easy. His kilt began to flap up and down and quite a few of the young female haggis were taking up strategic positions in front of the playing area hoping to catch his eye, as Freddie had quite a reputation at the dancin’.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Gus and Hilda with arms crossed behind their backs. They performed a turn then they skipped backwards to the rhythm of the beat, laughing all the time. Harry was bealing.

Harry wished he hadn’t come. He walked over to the drinks table and took a wee nip. Haggis started drinking at a very early age and whisky was their favourite tipple. It was actually served up at school lunches for even the youngest little haggis. Haggis as you might expect stumbled and fell over all the time, despite what they might tell you! And it was thought that whisky helped to numb the pain when it happened. They never considered the idea that it was the whisky causing the issue in the first place, because it always seemed more likely that the knobbly ground and their unusual mismatched lower limbs were the root of the problem, plus they really liked a good smoky malt.

Harry had another nip, in fact he knocked back more than a few and few more than he should have. He was still leaning on the bar, blurry eyed and in a bit of a sorry state when a tap on his shoulder snapped him out of it. He turned unsteadily to see Hilda red faced in front of him, fumin’.

 

“Wid ye look at th’ state o’ ye” she hissed “yer steamin’”

“If ye think a’m dancin’ wi’ you ye can think again” and she stomped off over to the table where all her friends were gathered.

Harry tried to follow after her but he was facing the wrong away and he stumbled and fell and rolled into a pair of sturdy, hairy wee haggis legs. He looked up and got an eyeful of Gus and Wil in their little red tartan kilts standing above him. They were both laughing and shaking their heads.

“Harry ma boy you’ll no impress the lassies like that” Gus offered a hand but Harry snarled and rolled the other way and with great effort managed to struggle to his feet himself. He looked over his shoulder and saw Hilda with her pals, from his hazy perspective they all seemed to be laughing too.

He shot Gus and Wil what he judged to be his nastiest glance then he doddered off out of the camp and he was soon quite alone on the dark side of the Pap he wandered along like that stumbling and muttering to himself for quite some time. Presently he found a sheltered little nook beside a big rock and sat down. He was still angry with Hilda but he was even angrier with himself and then he thought of them all laughing and he closed his eyes in shame and fell into a drunken sleep. It was a deep sleep that was only broken in the darkest part of the night by a clap of thunder.

He roused slowly, it had rained and he was soaked through and cold and to make matters worse he had a sore head. He reluctantly opened his eyes. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why he was there and when he did he let out a little inward groan but immediately some instinct within him told him to be still. He lay there not moving a whisker and in complete silence but absolutely focused and alert. Something was wrong, he sensed it.

Haggis have a tremendous inbuilt safety mechanism, which is why in all these years no one has ever managed to catch one in fact no one has hardly even managed to catch sight of one. Some people don’t even think they are real and wouldn’t believe there was any such thing as a haggis unless they were bit on the bum by one of them. But real they are. How else could I tell this tale if they weren’t?

Anyway Harry had his heckles on high alert. He didn’t know what but he knew something was not right in the night. After some minutes with all his senses tuned into the darkness he heard a twig snap somewhere on the path behind him. Then a low groan and a distinctive hiss. He recognised the sound right away - it was Trow!

This was something they were taught in school and even before school by their parents. All sorts of creatures sought out the Haggis, they were meant to be delicious tasting. So even though Trow were almost mythical Harry knew the sound from his lessons and of course from the warning every parent gave their kids to bring them in from play after dark;

 

 

 

Wheesht laddie and come in now

Else you’ll be eaten by the Trow

 

It worked for Lassies too.

 

If it was possible to freeze any more than he had already frozen he did in that instant. He knew his life was in imminent danger and he knew too that so were the lives of his friends further around the Pap. They would now all be sleeping and quite deeply sleeping too, following the festivities earlier. He knew he needed to act quickly if he was to save his friends but what could he possibly do? A Trow would devour him and spit out the buckle on his kilt in a second.

What could he do? He thought of Hilda and he knew that he had to act and he had to act fast. A little limerick popped into his head, it was one they all learnt off pat it was part of the survival training they all had instilled into them almost from birth;

 

Haggis on the hill

Keep ye very still

Hunters out there roaming

Stalking in the gloaming

A haggis for to kill!

 

Very quietly he raised himself from where he lay and as stealthily as he knew how, he made his way onto the path that circled the Pap. It occurred to him that it was probably being rain soaked that had already saved him from being sensed by the Trow who were seasoned hunters.

He moved with extreme caution at first until he was sure nothing would hear him running then he set off around the Pap in the opposite direction that the Trow were now heading in. He set off anticlockwise, the only way he could run. He knew he had to break all records and race around the Pap to the camp and get there before the Trow did. That was the only plan he had in that moment. He thought again of Hilda and the others sleeping and moved even faster. He must not stumble, he must not falter. “Faster, faster”, Harry ordered himself. “Faster!” he admonished “Faster!!” “Don’t mess this up” he thought. His eyes quickly attuned to the night and he measured out the ground in front of himself. How far had he wandered the previous evening? How long would it take the Trow to find the camp? Could he get there first? What if he was too late? On and on he raced, thinking all the time of a plan, he needed a plan. What could he do?

Bizarrely a little rhyme came into his head, he kept repeating it to himself and it helped take his mind off the exertion of the journey;

 

Harry is the man

Around the Pap he ran

Life or death the race

Destiny the chase

Cannae, yes he can!

 

 

 

He liked his little joke at the end and the rhyme lessened the pounding in his chest. Way beyond his personal pain barriers Harry now felt like he was outside of himself as he ran and drew air into his tortured little lungs and focused on his next step. Then the next step and the next and the next, reciting his little rhyme each time.

 

Presently things around him began to get familiar. A tall knobbly old tree stood out in silhouette against the sky and he recognised it as being close to their camp. It was the one they had been asked to write a poem about when they first arrived. A lot of their story telling was done in poetry form as you have probably already realised and Harry had won the prize for best poem that day. This is what he wrote, what do you think, were they wise to give him the prize?

 

 

 

A Proud Old Tree by Harry

 

I’m a twisted knobbly old tree
At least that’s what people are calling me
But I’ve stood through storms
And driving rain
Lightning strikes with limbs aflame
The witness of war or a lovers tryst
Bloody duels – oh how tender she kissed
Now here I stand as you see
Bowed but not broken
And little left to worry me
Wise but old
Twisted not cold
Knobbly I may be
But I am a proud old tree.

 

“The wisdom of children”, his teacher had said when she gave him the prize.

 

Harry slowed himself down and focused now all around him. Staring into the darkness looking for anything and everything that might be a sign of danger. All seemed to be normal. The night was quiet. He approached the camp gingerly. Only another haggis would even recognise that this was a camp, they were extraordinarily good at concealing themselves but he also knew Trow had a taste for them. They would discover them by that sense of taste alone and he imagined their drooling tongues and their snotty nostrils sensing the night air at that very moment as they crept in deadly ambush ever closer to the camp. He had to be quick but most of all he had to be ever so careful.

 

 

Like a shadow he entered the camp, everything looked as it should. Harry was absolutely breathless but he kept the pain inside and only allowed himself to breath in small shallow breaths. After all his efforts he didn’t want to be the one to bring the Trow down on them now. He had managed to formulate a very sketchy and doubtful plan but it was the only plan he had. Harry was a good pupil at school and he remembered his lessons well. He headed for Freddie’s shelter in the deeper fern fronds. Haggis made their shelters in the fern, it gave them good cover and plenty of warning if anything did approach. Harry found Freddie he was lightly snoring to himself and blissfully unaware of the danger they all now faced. Harry gently covered Freddie’s mouth and shook him lightly, once, then twice and then ever so slightly he shook him harder. Freddie began to waken he grabbed at Harry’s hand but Harry quickly shushed him to silence with one frantically whispered word – “Trow”

Freddie was immediately wide awake. Harry removed his hand from Freddie’s mouth and said again for want of a better explanation, “Trow, outside the camp”. Freddie stared into Harry’s face, “we’re all doomed” he whispered. Harry shook his head and equally quietly whispered back to Freddie, “I have a plan Freddie I was told they are frozen by music Freddie and I thought you could play to them?” Freddie looked into Harry’s young, earnest little face and said simply “Are you aff yer heid Harry?” But Harry was being deadly serious.

“Freddie those things will kill us, we cannae fight them. They will kill every one of us and there’s not a thing we could do about it. But I heard they are entranced by music. Old Archie in school told me how he had once escaped them by playing music. It freezes them to the spot, they can’t move again until the music stops. You have to get out there in the clearing Freddie and start playing that fiddle as loud and as long as you can. It’s the only chance we’ve got.”

Freddie thought for a second then he said “Old Archie wis crazy no one believes they stories”

“That’s no true” Harry hissed back, “Archie was an adventurer when he was young, even Gus and Wil say so. We have to believe it’s true or we are all deed Freddie.”

Freddie was hardly convinced but he had no other answer. “Damned if I dae, damned if I dinnae” he muttered as he sat up and got to his little feet. “Now where did I leave ma’ fiddle?”

“Freddie, they haven’t found the camp yet or they would already be down upon us but as soon as the others start to stir they will be here in seconds. You have to be ready Freddie. I’m gonnae find Gus”

Harry very quietly headed deeper into the fern fronds, he knew Gus and Wil would be sleeping higher up where they could keep an eye on things and he was right. As soon as Harry approached Gus opened one eye, but before he could say a word Harry gestured for him to be silent. Haggis were very instinctual creatures and Gus realised instantly there was something wrong as Harry crouched down beside him. Instantly, Wil was also awake, aware and crouching there too.

“A heard Trow” said Harry “round the hill. A dinnae ken how many but there was more than one of them and they were looking for the camp, A’m certain”

Gus immediately felt for the dirk he had left by the side of his bed and he held it tightly in his hand. Wil simultaneously slipped his dirk from his sock and raised it in front of him. Harry had known the two brothers all his life, they were fearless adventurers but this was the first time he had seen such expressions on their faces, dark grim expressions. They looked about taking in the camp and beyond as much as they could see in that dark night. Nothing seemed to be out of place but they too instinctively knew something was far wrong and that they were all in deep deadly trouble.

Harry said “remember Archie’s tale, how he escaped with his troop by freezing them. He said they played music. A’ve spoken to Freddie he’s getting his fiddle.”

Neither Gus nor Wil could say anything at first. They both thought of something to say but it never came out, then they looked at each other and then back at Harry. “No one kens if that was true” said Wil

“A always believed Archie” said Gus “He was one of the great adventurers back in the day, A believed him.”

 

“Well for Freddie an’ all oor sakes let’s hope the stories were true” said Wil looking more than doubtful. The three haggis made their way out to the clearing as quietly as they possibly could. The two older ones brandished their dirks and stared into the black night that surrounded them. When they got there Freddie was standing holding his fiddle and Angus was with him. Angus was the piper in the dance band. “Ma pipes are in the case” he motioned to his feet “am feert to take them oot for the racket that’ll make” he said.

 Angus had famously written a song that had swept the human pop charts. He wrote it while staying with his cousins in the west. There was a human musician staying nearby who they used to sneak up to and listen while he played his guitar and sang at the campfire of an evening. Archie had a little crush on the musician’s wife and he was sure she had been touched by the rainbow. One night the musician fell asleep by the fire and Angus crept up and gently strummed his guitar. That’s when the song came into his head, he hummed it to himself and slowly put the words to the tune as the musician slept. Of course the musician was Paul McCartney and the song was The Mull of Kintyre.

Whatever you do don’t tell anyone else that story. Paul still thinks he wrote it. And for those of you asking ‘being touched by the rainbow’ means having the ability to see the magic in the world.

 

 

The haggis looked at each other, then fearfully they looked around the perimeter of the clearing. The night was at its darkest and the silence seemed to scream at them.

“What do we do next?” asked Freddie. But an unholy screech from the edge of the clearing stifled any answer there might have been.

“PLAY!!” shouted Gus and he ran forward to confront the Trow now hurtling towards them. It was a terrifying sight. No one had seen a Trow before in real life, they were the stuff of nightmares. It had long been thought that they had been destroyed by Gyan, the legendary giant of the North after one of their number attacked Gyan’s baby son. The baby giant had been injured horribly in the attack and Gyan, who had been a gentle soul to that point swore to destroy them all and spent the rest of his life hunting them down. The Trow had retreated and it was thought they had all been slaughtered by Gyan or that they had left the mainland for good.

Now here they were on The Mountain of Gold as horribly terrifying as the legends described. Harry could see three of them running towards them but he heard other noises each side of the clearing. They were surrounded.

Gus in an amazing act of bravery confronted the leading Trow but it was a terrible mismatch of a fight. The Trow took Gus’s dirk in its belly and swiped him aside like he was a toy. The screeching from the others grew greater and more of them appeared from the surrounding clearing. Although Gus had hardly stopped the leading Trow it was enough for Freddie to have put the fiddle to his chin and draw back the bow. The first scratchy notes had an immediate effect. The Trow squealed louder but it slowed its approach and Freddie got started with the most rousing reel he knew. The sounds emitted by the Trow became horrendous, almost drowning out Freddie’s playing. Angus had by now dragged his pipes from their case and he blew into the blowstick inflating the bag and the first grating notes were produced by his pipes. Pretty soon Angus joined Freddie in the refrain and both of them were stomping the ground in time with their little long legs.

The scene around them was of absolute bedlam. By now the rest of the Haggis troop had roused and they were huddled together at the edge of the ferns looking on in terror. Gus was laying on the ground senseless, blood from a gaping wound on his head oozed across his face and one of the other Trow was standing above him about to pounce. The leading Trow had stopped in his tracks only feet from Freddie and Angus it was in obvious and terrible distress. It was forcing itself onward spitting and hissing and snarling, flailing its claws at the musicians but the music was clearly having its effect and the Trow was finding it hard to make any progress. Wil took the opportunity to hurl himself at the other Trow hovering over his brother and he plunged his dirk deep into its neck but he needn’t have bothered. The Trow was frozen to the spot as were all the others. Soon the only noise to be heard was from the two musicians belting out the loudest and liveliest reel you had ever heard.

“Don’t stop whatever you do” shouted Harry and he ran over to Wil and Gus.

Wil was holding his brothers head. “Is he OK?” asked Harry in a voice he hardly recognised as his own. “Is he OK?” he repeated. It was Gus who answered “I’ll be fine laddie and no small thanks to your good sel’”

Harry turned and surveyed the scene. There were three Trow in the centre of the clearing. They were frozen where they stood and resembled the knobbliest putrefied old tree stumps you could imagine. It was like the tree and its branches had been roasted in a blazing fire, shrunk, shrivelled and blackened. Towards the edge of the clearing there were another twelve Trow in three groups of four who were also rooted to the spot. The rest of the Haggis troop were slowly edging out into the clearing. Everyone was shocked and frozen into silence except for Freddie and Angus who were still belting it out like their lives depended on it and of course they did.

“They cannae keep that up for ever” Wil said to no one in particular. “They’ll haftae” said Harry in more deadly seriousness. Freddie was already sweating like a troll but he was beginning to enjoy himself. “Dinnae worry about auld Freddie” he shouted over his playing “am jist warmin’ up” By now little Ritchie had strapped on his drum and he and Stuart, brandishing his guitar had joined them. Amazingly there was laughter all around. Gus got to his feet and said to Wil, “we’ll need to get the others doon the hill and quickly. C’mon”.

Harry walked up to the frozen Trow and stared into its eye. It only had one eye, high up near the top of its head. It was a red veinny thing. There was drool dripping from its mouth and nostrils and it stunk to high heaven. Then a thought struck him. “Gus” he shouted “Gus, didn’t Archie say they were nightwalkers and they had to hide from the day? I’m sure that was the story, so it was. Freddie and the boys just need to keep playing till the dawn comes up and that’ll be that. Is that no the case?”

Gus and Wil stopped and turned in their tracks. “Laddie you’re only right again. That wis what Archie said, right enough, they burn in the daylight, they have to hide themselves or they burn.”

Everyone looked over to the east, especially Freddie, Angus Stuart and Ritchie. Already the first dull glow of the dawn could be seen on the horizon. The silhouette of the distant hills were beginning to come into focus.

“It won’t be long” said Wil “Yeah” said Harry, “Yeah” said Gus and immediately Freddie changed the tune. Freddie was an old Beatles fan himself and he didn’t need any prompting to blast out a bit of Lennon and McCartney when the mood was right. Angus and Ritchie followed along as best as they could on the pipes and drum and pretty soon everyone was singing too…..

“It won’t be long, yeah, yeah. It won’t be long, yeah, yeah. It won’t be long, yeah, till I belong to you…”

Harry turned as he felt a familiar little tap on his shoulder. Hilda was standing there beaming. “A’m sorry fer shouting at ye last night” she said

“ach” said Harry tongue tied.

Hilda leaned forward and kissed him. This was the second time they’d kissed but this one had Harry’s little sporran curling up at the edges. “Ma hero” she said and kissed him again. There was a loud whooping from all around the clearing and the mood became brighter as did the sky. Someone found a bottle of Whisky and before long everyone was dancing again. Harry and Hilda danced face to face. Some of the other haggis tried it too but they fell over when they did, maybe it was the whisky but it just seemed to add to the hilarity.

Soon the first rays of the sun began to stretch across the clearing and one by one the Trow burst into blue and yellow flames and showers of sparks spilled out over the hill. A loud cheer rang out as each Trow combusted and the whisky flowed.

 

Eventually Harry’s deeds that night would enter into Haggis folklore and many tales and rhymes would be told to keep Harry warm in his bed when he was old and grey. I shouldn’t really be telling you the future but for being such a lovely audience this is one of my favourites;

 

 

 

 

Harry saved that day

That haggis were the prey

The Trow had lain their trap

Their jaws were set to snap

But Harry led the way

A hero bred and born

How he was cheered that morn

Pipes were heard to wail

Young Harry did not fail

A legend of the dawn

 

 

Harry held Hilda tightly “If it hadn’t been for my left leg I could never have ran the wrong way round the Pap” He told her. “I’ll never complain aboot it again”

“And no one will ever make fun of it again” said Hilda “It was your left leg that saved the day. They’re gonnae tell stories aboot this night Harry a’m sure. Your gonnae be famous laddie. Ma Harry’s gonnae be famous, imagine tha’.” And they both laughed loudly. “Aye, imagine” said Harry imagining.

 

 

“And who am I?” I hear some of you ask. “Well would it surprise you to learn that you have been told this tale by an actual unicorn? Oh yes, we are real too and we are the prima facie guardians of the magical lands of Alba. In fact don’t tell Harry, if you ever meet him, but he and his friends were never in any danger at all that night because we were watching as we watch you and all of Scotland. Our breath is the breeze and so long as there are unicorns in this world Scotland will always be safe. But please don’t tell anyone I told you that will you? Let it be our little secret.

 

 

OK then, seeing as you asked! One more wee rhyme from their future, I think it’s a stoater, in fact this is probably my favourite;

 

 

Young Harry was a haggis

Who liked a little dram

His mammie let him drink it

While he was in the pram

His legs were in reverse

He thought it was a curse

Until that night around the Pap

Little Harry ran

The night that Harry saved the day

When Freddie and the Moondogs

Blew the Trow away

Harry was a hero

A hero through and through

Everyone had laughed before

But little Hilda knew

Yes, little Hilda knew.

 

Walk softly now and take this tale away and if anyone should ask you this is what to say; heroes come in every shape or form and heroes tales comfort us and keep the nights guy warm. Old Scotland from her mountain tops to the bottom of her deepest lochs, across the heather moors in peacetime and in wars she was for legends born and for steely oaths to be sworn, she is protected and perfected on the horns of unicorns.

 

Alba gu bràth”