Hello,
My name is Rachel.
My country is Scotland,
A country steeped in fairy faith,
A place of mythical valleys,
Fairy glens and fairy pools and logs,
And ancient Caledonian pine forests where fairies or wee folk can be found in the tree hollows and abandoned birds' nests.
In the rivers and barns which flow through the mountainous valleys,
There are river sprites with webbed feet who ride on the back of the leaping Scottish salmon,
Tucked away inside unused teapots and empty shortbread tins.
Wee folk,
Called brownies,
A sort of house fairy,
Live amongst the Scottish people,
Inside their very homes,
Although most people never look close enough in the nooks and crannies to ever spot them.
Now I'm guessing you might like to join me on an adventure here in Scotland and hear more about these mystical wee folk,
Guardians of our hills,
Forests and homes.
So get comfortable,
Maybe have a little wiggle of fingers and toes.
Take a deep breath in to fill your chest full of air and a deep breath out again to relax your body down into whichever comfy spot you might be sitting or lying in.
Gently close your eyes and come with me to Scotland.
Now this is the story of the Fairies and the Sporran Maker.
It's a Scottish take on the old tale of the Elves and the Shoemaker.
There was once a poor old Sporran Maker who lived in a cottage called Corynnwch in the Rothiemarcus forest.
A Sporran is the Gaelic word for purse and these useful little bags are made of fabric,
Leather or fur and they're worn over the Scottish kilt,
A type of tartan skirt.
The early kilts didn't have any pockets so the Sporran was designed to carry coins or more often something to eat like oats for a long journey.
One evening the Sporran Maker told his wife after a tasty supper of turnips and potatoes,
Called neeps and tatties in Scotland,
That he was very unhappy and worried.
My allowed fingers,
They can't work like they used to.
I'm worried that if I can't keep making Sporrans then we won't have any money to feed and clothe ourselves.
I only have the leather and metal to make one more Sporran.
I really don't know what will become of us after that.
Before going to bed the old Sporran Maker went out to the Bothy store that he used as his workshop and he took his Sporran pattern to mark out the leather 10 inches long,
8 inches across and the bottom drawn like a U.
Then he cut out the pieces for front and back and he lay them on his workbench ready for punching and lashing together the next day.
The old Sporran Maker was so weary that he slipped into bed beside his wife and he fell fast asleep.
However,
It was a restless and fitful sleep.
He tossed and turned and worried about their future.
He also kept imagining that he was hearing tapping sounds coming from the Bothy outside.
He woke up at the crack of dawn as usual.
His wife was already in the kitchen,
Stirring a pan of porridge with her flat wooden utensil known as a spurtle.
After eating his porridge by the fire he once again made his way to the Bothy store outside to begin constructing his last Sporran.
When he opened the old wooden door of the Bothy,
He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw what was sitting on his workbench.
Instead of the cut out pieces of leather he had left there the night before,
He found a completely finished Sporran.
And this was no ordinary Sporran either.
Its pewter chain and fitted metal clasps were polished to a mirror sheen.
And the elaborate metal workings of the clasps that fastened the Sporran shut were like a miniature work of art.
The body of the Sporran itself was covered in the shiniest horse hair and the tassels which dangled on the front of the Sporran were made from exquisite coloured pheasant feathers.
In amazement,
He took the Sporran through to the cottage to show his wife.
Oh my!
That metal work is like nothing I've ever seen before,
She said.
And look at the colours of these feathers.
How on earth did you make that?
I didn't,
Said the Sporran maker.
Someone else did.
They left it for me.
His wife suggested that he take the beautiful Sporran to the Rothy Marcus estate rather than to the market stall where he usually sold his Sporrans.
Surely a Sporran like this would be bought by somebody grand who would pay a handsome price for it.
And sure enough,
The clan chief of the Grand Clan wanted to buy the Sporran for himself.
He gave the Sporran maker enough money for it.
But then he was able to go to the market and buy a load of veg and a chicken.
And his wife was able to make a fine supper of coccolini soup.
He was also able to buy plenty more leather and metal to make more Sporrans.
After enjoying his delicious supper,
He once again returned to the Rothy to cut out leather pieces to turn into Sporrans the next day.
Due to his good fortune that day,
He had a bit more energy and a good deal more leather.
So he marked and cut out pieces to make three more Sporrans.
That night,
He slept more soundly than he had in a long time.
And he dreamt of music and dancing and strange wee folk with wings.
In the morning,
He once again ate his porridge oats by the fire before heading to the Rothy.
And would you believe what was waiting for him when he arrived?
Three totally unique,
Exquisitely crafted Sporrans.
This time,
There was one that was the colour of a white rabbit.
Another,
The colour of an amber fox.
And the third,
Like a black and white striped badger.
The metalwork on the clasps of each were engraved with pictures of animals dancing in the leaves and tree branches.
They were unlike any other Sporran the Sporran maker had ever made or ever seen anyone else make.
Before he could even go and show his wife,
There was a knock at the Rothy door.
Outside was the Grand Earl of Athol himself.
He had already heard about the Sporran maker's work and was eager to buy up any more of his Sporrans before anyone else could.
He took all three and commissioned the Sporran maker to make three more.
The Sporran maker and his wife were now nearly rich enough that he could retire once he made these three final Sporrans that he had promised.
He once again was back in his bothy,
Cutting out the pieces for three more Sporrans.
But when he went to bed this time,
He didn't fall asleep.
Instead,
He gently woke his wife and suggested that they sneak out to the bothy and peek in the window to see who had been making the mystery Sporrans.
They crept out into the cold night and peeked through the old bothy window.
To their amazement,
They saw a family of little brownies,
A type of fairy that live inside,
Wear little clothes and have little wings,
No bigger than your hand,
Working away on the Sporrans.
There were what looked like a mother and father and three little children.
And they smiled and chatted as they pulled and stretched the leather,
Stitching it and tapping it,
Their little fingers racing at lightning speed.
Then hopping and fluttering through the bothy door came a menagerie of wild animals,
Donating tufts of fur.
And feathers for the little brownies to stitch onto the leather.
The Sporran maker and his wife blinked and rubbed their eyes in disbelief at what they were witnessing before creeping back to the cottage without being seen.
The next morning,
They chatted over their porridge at what had taken place the night before.
Those dear little brownies,
Said the Sporran maker's wife.
They have saved us with their kindness.
Oh,
And the animals too,
Said the Sporran maker.
How can we repay them?
He wondered.
Let's make them some smart clothes and a little feast for them and the animals,
Suggested his wife.
Great idea,
Said the Sporran maker.
I've also got an idea.
What if we bought some fabric for the Sporrans instead of using leather and fur?
Wouldn't it be far kinder?
Oh,
Yes,
Exclaimed his wife.
So that day,
Just after the earl had been to pick up his latest Sporrans,
The Sporran maker went out and bought the finest yarns and tartans he could find.
He and his wife worked all day together,
Not just cutting out Sporran pieces,
But also making the most gorgeous tiny clothes you have ever seen.
They set them out on the workbench,
Along with a feast of food for the brownies and the beasties alike.
That night,
The brownies went straight to the workbench to begin work,
And they found the little clothes and banquet of food.
They put them on,
And oh,
Didn't they feel grand?
So grand,
In fact,
That they had a little jig and twirled each other around.
They had a wonderful party with their animal friends before making the most fabulous fabric Sporrans to leave for the Sporran maker.
These new fabric Sporrans became the envy of all the Scotsmen,
And soon the animals of Scotland were saved from having their fur stolen to make any more Sporrans.
The Sporran maker and his wife continued to make little clothes for the little brownies,
And make them up parcels of food,
And when the Sporran maker finally retired,
He made the brownies a beautifully carved wooden house to live in,
With tiny little beds,
With tartan bread spreads.
And windows with tartan curtains to open and close.
Now I hope you've enjoyed this story,
And can imagine what it would be like to peek in the window and see some brownies having a party with the forest animals.
Sweet dreams from Scotland.
