Voices from the sea: a storyteller's journey around the coastal villages of Fife

Fife in those days was noted not just for its palaces, its churchmen and its scholars. It was equally famed for its rich merchants and its thriving trade with the European Continent.

All along the East Neuk coast, crowded hard against each other were the Royal Burghs that specialised in this overseas trade. In addition to the merchants and seamen on their peaceful missions, Fife produced a special breed of sea dogs who fought the pirates of England for their Scottish shipmasters.

Those East Neuk ports were prosperous, with sturdy little houses beside the sea-wall or up narrow wynds that led so often from the shore to the High Street far above it. It was the fisherfolk who lived in the wynds, the sea captains and the merchants had more spacious mansions, while the lairds loved the safety of castles.

It was also in Fife that Alexander III plunged to his death; Macduff fled from Macbeth; Robert the Bruce’s parents courted; King Malcolm met his beloved Margaret; Mary of Lorraine landed at Balcomie; Sir Henry Wood trounced Henry VIII’s navy between Crail and the May Island; Andrew Selkirk, alias Robinson Crusoe, sailed from Largo; the Spanish survivors of the Armada put into Anstruther; Cardinal Beaton was slung into an unknown grave near Kilrenny; and James V crossed the wee Dreel Burn in Anstruther on the back of a Fife fishwife.

From Pictish relics, to cathedrals and royal palaces, picturesque villages and great castles, history is but a step away in the Kingdom of Fife. For many a century no other place in Scotland was quite as exciting to live in and it still has a heritage that is unique, though over 400 years have passed since the height of its fame.

And this history and heritage, along with Fife’s varied landscape, is where the folk tales come from. Here are tales of haunted castles, mansions, caves and hillsides. Tales of kings and lairds, magic and superstition, shipwrecks and smugglers,

saints, sinners and rogues, strange folk and wise fools all told round the fire of cottar, house and mansion alike. Here too are tales which probably travelled across the sea with the invaders and traders and became embedded in Fife culture.

I was born, grew up and still live in North East Fife and remember hearing many of the stories from this part of the region when I was a child. My mother and grandparents, as their parents and grandparents before them, liked to share stories and music round the fire of an evening and at family

gatherings. My grandfather was one of a family of nine so my mother had lots of cousins, many of whom seemed to play instruments, sing songs, write and recite poetry and tell stories.

These weren’t well read, literate folk but ordinary farm workers carrying on the oral traditions. With this background it's no wonder I became a storyteller myself, and my new book, Fife Folk Tales, brings together stories from the coastal fishing villages, rushing rivers, magical green farmland and rolling hills of Fife.

Here are two tales, one from the East Neuk and one from St Andrews.

The Crail Skate

Skate can grow to immense sizes, sometimes weighing more than the average man, but none was more remarkable than the one landed by a local Crail fisherman. When first landed the fish just lay on the ground quietly, but when the fishmonger began to prepare it for market it leapt from the table, bit and wounded several bystanders, and the pieces they had already cut off began to leap about and escape into the street. Everyone was not only amazed but terrified too, so they ran away. One Kirk elder though was a bit braver and he dared to return, followed cautiously by the others. Eventually they collected all the bits but when they were all gathered together the fish seemed to come to life again and begin leaping about. So a coffin was made, a good decent coffin, and the creature was buried, not in the churchyard but as near the churchyard wall as possible.

Its enormous size was the subject of much speculation and the common belief was that the fish must have fed on some human remains at the bottom of the sea and with the flesh had taken on some human characteristics. The loss of the creature caused much disappointment though because skate was highly sought after as an aphrodisiac. The fertility of fishermen was attributed to the eating of dried skate or "the merry meat", while the liquid it was cooked in, skate broth or Bree, was supposed to awaken sexual urges. Childless women were often told, "Awa and sup skate bree", and dried skate was given as a wedding present to ensure a large family.

The Smothered Piper Of The West Cliffs

In days gone by there were no houses on the cliffs between the castle and the St Andrews Aquarium, just grassland used for grazing sheep and cattle and much used by local children as a playground. Slightly to the west of Butts Wynd, on the face of the cliffs, was the entrance to a cold dark cave, a cave much feared by locals. It had many names over the years including the Jingling Cave, John’s Coal Hole and The Piper’s Cave.

The opening was said to be very small but once inside a grown man would be able to pass down a passageway into a chamber with further passages branching off. Though many locals knew of the cave, few ventured inside and none ever ventured

beyond the dark, creepy chamber with its Latin Cross carved into the wall.

In a small two-roomed cottage in Argyle Street lived an old woman, Auld Maggie Laing. She lived in one room and her son, Wullie, his wife and new bairn lived in the other. He was a bit of a daredevil and well known as a good piper; in fact it’s said he was the best in Fife, a piper who would have pleased even Maggie Lauder. He was often to be seen, and heard, in the pubs and alehouses of the town making the rafters ring with his music. He was also very interested in the story of the West Cliff Cave. One night, they say it was the night of the Lammas Fair, he found himself in the Castle Tavern with some friends. Maybe he’d had one too many drams, but he found himself taking a bet that on the next New Year’s night he would investigate the cave and play the pipes up as far as he could go. In the next few months his mother, his wife and many of his friends tried to dissuade him from doing such a stupid thing. He was determined

though, after all, a bet was a bet.

So, on a dark New Year’s Eve he entered the cave, pipes playing merrily and loudly, watched by a group of friends. They were able to follow the sound of the pipes until the sound passed beneath Market Street, when it stopped, suddenly. Wullie and his pipes were never seen again.

Somewhere, beneath the town, lies the whitened bones of the piper lad, his famous pipes still beside him.

Many attempts were made to find him, but no-one ever did. Not even the bravest of his friends would dare go beyond the entrance of that foul, dark passage. His mother and his wife were overcome with grief, and the young wife used to spend hours sitting at the mouth of the cave, waiting for her Wullie to return. Finally, her mind gave way and she began wandering down to the cave at all hours of the day and night and in all weathers. The following New Year’s Eve she left the little cottage in Argyle Street and, wrapping herself in her shawl, she turned to the old woman and said: "Tak care o’ the bairn. I’m awa tae my Wullie." Morning came but she never returned home.

She had indeed gone to her lost Wullie. For years afterwards the small crouching figure of a woman, dim and shadowy, could be seen on moonlit nights perched on a rock by the cave. Wild shrieks and sounds of pipe music were constantly heard coming from the same entrance. And, much later, when the houses were built and the entrance covered over, Piper Wullie could still be seen, walking "where no mortal should be able to walk"

where the edge of the old cliffs used to be, his presence heralded by an icy blast.

Extracted from Fife Folk Tales by Sheila Kinninmonth, published by The History Press, £9.99