But your sperrit has flane far awa.
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny,
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
They gave me your heid, Ronnie, wropped oop i’ sae, 6
And I buried it ’neath yonder saugh; 7
For ye’ve left me, my Ronnie, to gang a’ agley
And I niver shall see ye nae muir.
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny,
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
Ma mither she mad’ me ane parritch o’ kail,
And she gave me ane snood for ma heid;
But a’ I can do is to greet and to wail,
Ah, Mither, I wud I were deid.
The pibroch i’ the glen is bonny,
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
But e’er the sun rise, Mither, muir o’er the brae,
And e’er ane muir morrow shall dawn;
Ma heid on its pillow sae saftly I’ll lay,
But ma sperrit to him will ha’ flawn.
The pilbroch i’ the glen is bonny,
But waley, waley, wheer’s ma Ronnie?
There was a short silence, broken by Albert, who said:
‘How beautiful, and what a touching story! We must tell it to Walter; he will be so much interested and might, I feel, write one of his charming poems round it. I think the ballad quite the finest I have ever heard.’
‘I think so, too,’ said Mr Buggins, who had rarely known such an appreciative audience and was greatly enjoying himself. ‘To the student of medieval Scottish history it is, of course, extremely illuminating, being so full of allusions to old customs, many of which survived until quite recently.’
‘Were there many allusions of that sort?’ asked Albert. ‘They escaped me.’
‘Yes, of course, because you are not conversant with the history of those times. But take, for instance, the line: “And his philabeg cam’ to the knee.” This is very significant when you know, as I do, that only three clans in all Scotland wore their philabeg to the knee – that is, covering the knee: the McBanes, the Duffs of Ogle and the McFeas. Their reasons for doing so open up many aspects of clan history. The McBanes wore it to the knee in memory of Thane Angus McBane, who, when hiding from the English soldiery in some bracken was given away by the shine of his knees; his subsequent brutal treatment and shameful death will, of course, be well known to you.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Albert, not wishing to appear too ignorant. ‘This is all so fascinating,’ he added. ‘Why did the two other tribes wear it to the knee?’
‘The Duffs of Ogle because they used a very curious type of long bow which could only be drawn kneeling. (You will often have heard the expression: “To Duff down”, meaning “to kneel”.) This gave great numbers of them a sort of housemaid’s knee, so one of the Thanes gave an order that their philabegs must be made long enough for them to kneel on. The McFeas, of course, have always worn it very long on account of the old saw:
Should McFea show the knee,
The Devil’s curse upon him be.
Am I boring you?’
‘On the contrary,’ said Albert, ‘I am very deeply interested. I have so often wondered what the origin of “to Duff down” could be and now I know. Do tell us some more.’
‘You may remember,’ continued Mr Buggins, ‘that one verse of the Lady Muscatel’s ballad begins:
‘They gave me your heid, Ronnie, wropped oop i’ sae.
‘This, of course, sounds rather peculiar – sae, you know, is silk – until you remember that only a man who had killed with his own hand in fair battle over forty warriors was entitled to have “his heid wropped oop i’ sae” after his death. It was an honour that was very eagerly sought by all the clansmen and it must have consoled the Lady Muscatel in her great sorrow that she was able “to wrop her beloved’s heid oop i’ sae.” There is a very curious legend connected with this custom.
‘A young laird of Tomintoul died, they say of poison, in his bed, having only killed in his lifetime some thirty-nine warriors. His widow was distracted with grief and, although about to become a mother, she cut off his right hand, clasped it round a dirk and went herself into the thick of the fight. When she had slain one man with her husband’s hand, she was able to go home and “wrop his heid oop i’ sae”. The Tomintouls to this day have as their family crest a severed hand with a dirk in memory of Brave Meg, as she was called. Those were strangely savage days, I often think.’
‘Tell us some more,’ said Jane.
‘Let me see: what else can I remember? Oh, yes. The Lady Muscatel goes on to say: “I buried him ’neath yonder saugh.” Up to comparatively recent times any man who had been killed by his father-in-law’s clansmen was buried beneath a saugh (willow tree). There are some parts of Scotland where it would be impossible to find a saugh for miles that had not a grassy mound before it, telling a bloody tale. Tradition says that Ronnie’s body was later exhumed and laid beside those of his wife and child in the chapel. “I sat on a creepy.” A creepy was a wooden stool, often three-legged, on which women would sit to greet (or bewail) the loss of a loved one killed in the fight.’
‘But was the fight always going on?’ asked Albert.
‘Very, very constantly. The wild clansmen were generally engaged in deadly feuds, which were often continued over many generations and were treated almost as a religion.’
‘What,’ asked Jane, ‘is a “parritch o’ kail”?’
‘I am glad you mentioned that. A parritch o’ kail is a curious and very intoxicating drink made of cabbage and oatmeal. Perhaps her mother hoped that the Lady Muscatel would drown her sorrows in it. Dear me!’ he said, gathering up his painting materials, ‘how I must have bored you.’
‘My dear sir,’ cried Albert, ‘tout au contraire! I’m entranced. But tell us one thing before you go. Have you ever seen the Lady Muscatel’s ghost?’
‘Alas!
