More about the Billy Blin'

 

A book called ‘The Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song’ edited by R.H. Cromek and published 1810, contains this “Account of Billy Blin'" with some entertaining stories. 

"This is another name for the Scotch Brownies, a class of solitary beings, living in the hollows of trees, and recesses of old ruinous castles. They are described as being small of stature, covered with short curly hair, with brown matted locks, and a brown mantle which reached to the knee, with a hood of the same colour. They were particularly attached to families eminent for their ancestry and virtue; and have lived, according to tradition’s ‘undoubted mouth’, for several hundreds of years in the same family, doing the drudgery of a menial servant.

"But though very trustworthy servants, they were somewhat coy in their manner of doing their work:– when the threaves of corn [this is 25 sheaves gathered in ‘shocks’] were counted out they remained unthrashen [unthreshed]; at other times, however great the quantity, it was finished by the crowing of the first cock. Mellers of corn [grain ready to be sent to the mill] would be dried, ground and sifted, with such exquisite nicety, that the finest flour of the meal could not be found strewed or lost.

"The Brownie would then come into the farm-hall and stretch itself out by the chimney, sweaty, dusty and fatigued. It would take up the pluff – a piece of bored boar-tree [elder] for blowing up the fire and, stirring out the red embers, turn itself till it was rested and dried. A choice bowl of sweet cream, with combs of honey, was set in an accessible place:– this was given as its hire; and it was willing to be bribed, though none durst avow the intention of the gift. When offered meat or drink, the Brownie instantly departed, bewailing and lamenting itself, as  if unwilling to leave a place so long its habitation, from which nothing but the superior power of fate could sever it.

"A thrifty good wife, having made a web of linsey-woolsey, sewed a well-lined mantle and a comfortable hood for her trusty Brownie. She laid it down in one of his favourite haunts and cried to him to array himself. Being commissioned by the gods to relieve mankind under the drudgery of original sin, he was forbidden to accept of wages or bribes. He instantly departed, bemoaning himself in a rhyme, which tradition has faithfully preserved:

A new mantle and a new hood! –

Poor Brownie! ye’ll ne’er do mair gude.

"The prosperity of the family seemed to depend on them, and was at their disposal. A place called Liethin Hall, in Dumfies-shire, was the herefitary dwelling of a noted Brownie. He had lived there, as he once communicated in confidence to an old woman, for three hundred years. He appeared only once to each new master, and indeeed seldom shewed more than his hand to anyone. On the decease of a beloved master, he was heard to make moan, and would not partake of his wonted delicacies for many days. The heir of the land arrived from foreign parts and took possession of his father’s inheritance. The faithful Brownie shewed himself and proffered homage. The spruce Laird was offended to see such a famine-faced, wrinkled domestic, and ordered him meat and drink, with a new suit of clean livery. The Brownie departed, repeating loud and frequently these ruin-boding lines:

Ca’, cuttie, ca!

A’ the luck of Liethin Ha’

Gangs wi’ me to Bodsbeck Ha’.

"Liethin Ha’ was, in a few years, in ruins, and ‘bonnie Bodsbeck’ flourished under the luck-bringing patronage of the Brownie.

"They possessed all the adventurous and chivalrous gallantry of crusading knighthood, but in devotion to their ladies they left Errantry itself far behind. Their services were really useful. In the accidental encounters of their fair mistresses with noble outlaws in woods, and princes in disguise, – when the kind ladies had nothing to show for their courtsey but a comb of gold or a fillet of hair, – the faithful Brownie restored the noble wooer; laid the lovers on their bridal bed, declared their lineage, and reconciled all parties. He followed his dear mistress through life with the same kindly solicitude; for, when the ‘mother’s trying hour was nigh’, with the most laudable promptitude he environed her with the ‘cannie dames’ ere the wish for their assistance was half-formed in her mind.

"One of them, in the olden times, lived with Maxwell, Laird of Dalswinton, doing ten men’s work and keeping the servants awake at nights with the noisy dirling [clatter] of its elfin flail. The Laird’s daughter, says tradition, was the comeliest dame in all the holms of Nithsdale. To her the Brownie was much attached: he assisted her in love-intrigue, conveying her from her high tower-chamber to the trysting-thorn in the woods, and back again with such light-heeled celerity that neither bird, dog nor servant awoke.

"He undressed her for the matrimonial bed, and served her so handmaiden-like that her female attendant had nothing to do, not daring even to finger her mistress’s apparel, lest she should provoke the Brownie’s resentment. When the pangs of the mother seized his beloved lady, a servant was ordered to fetch the ‘cannie wife’ who lived across the Nith. The night was dark as a December night could be; and the wind was heavy among the groves of oak. The Brownie, enraged at the loitering serving-man, wrapped himself in his lady’s fur cloak and, though the Nith was foaming high-flood, his steed, impelled by supernatural spur and whip, passed it like an arrow. Seating the dame behind him, he took the deep water back again to  the amazement of the worthy woman, who beheld the red waves tumbling around her, yet the steed’s foot-locks were dry.  – ‘Ride nae by the auld pool,’ quo’ she, ‘lest we should meet wi’ Brownie.’ – He replied, ‘Fear nae, dame, ye’ve met a’ the Brownies ye will meet.’ – Placing her down at the hall gate, he hastened to the stable, where the servant lad was just pulling on his boots; he unbuckled the bridle from his steed and gave him a most afflicting drubbing.

"This was about the new-modelling times of the Reformation; and a priest, more zealous than wise, exhorted the Laird to have this Imp of Heathendom baptised; to which he, in an evil hour, consented, and the worthy reforming saint concealed himself in the barn, to surprise the Brownie at his work. He appeared like a little wrinkled, ancient man and began his nightly moil. The priest leapt from his ambush and dashed the baptismal water in his face, solemnly repeating the set form of the Christian rite. The poor Brownie set up a frightful and agonising yell and instantly vanished, never to return.

"The Brownie, though of a docile disposition, was not without its pranks and merriment. The Abbey-lands, in the parish of New Abbey, were the residence of a very sportive one. He loved to be, betimes, somewhat mischievous. – Two lassies, having made a fine bowlful of buttered brose [oatmeal gruel], had taken it into the byre to sup, while it was yet dark. In the haste of concealment they had brought but one spoon, so they placed the bowl between them and took a spoonful by turns. ‘I hae got but three sups,’ cried the one, ‘an’ it’s done!’ ‘It’s a’ done, indeed,’ cried the other. ‘Ha, ha!’ laughed a third voice, ‘Brownie has gotten the maist o’t.’ He had judiciously placed himself between them and got the spoon twice for their once.

"The Brownie does not seem to have loved the gay and gaudy attire in which his twin-brothers, the fairies, arrayed themselves: his chief delight was in the tender delicacies of food. Knuckled [kneaded] cakes made of meal, warm from the mill, haurned [roasted] on the decayed embers of the fire, and smeared with honey, were his favourite hire; and they were carefully laid so that he might accidentally find them.  – It is still a common phrase, when a child gets a little eatable present, ‘there’s a piece wad please a Brownie.’ "

[ Read my previous post on the Billy Blin':  https://steelthistles.blogspot.com/2024/08/the-billy-blin-scottish-brownie.html ]

Picture Credits

Lob Lie By the Fire, by Dorothy P Lathrop: illustration to 'Down-a-down-derry,' Fairy Poems by Walter de la Mare 1922

Nis or Tomten Laughing at a Cat, by Theodor Kittelsen 1892