The Green Woman of Kittlerumpit

by Stephen J. McKenzie

conclusion

Now, back to the Goodwife in Kittlerumpit, who sits on the knocking-stone in the sty on her boy’s birthday, holding her little fair-haired captive to her breast. In her heart she felt no remorse for the theft, nor joy in sparing her own boy, but a sense of wicked delight in her coming triumph over the fairy in green, which she wished to play out for as long as she might.

So she pulled her cap down over her ear as if in disarray from all her distress, and twisted her mouth around as though she were weeping. Certainly it was a sight to cause distress to any who might have seen it, for she was an ugly brute of a woman at the best of times.

She didn’t have to wait long. Into the sty climbs the green fairy, neither lame nor lazy, and screams out: “Goodwife of Kittlerumpit, you know well what I come for! Stand and deliver!”

Now the Goodwife pretended to cry harder than before, a sight which made my Lady wince with discomfort, and wringing her hands she cries, “Och, sweet madam mistress, spare my bairn, and take the wretched sow!”

“The sow is already mine,” said the Fairy Queen. “And I have not come here to claim it. Don’t be contramawcious, you huzzy, but give me the child at once!”

“Oh, my dear green lady, forgo the bairn! If you will not have the sow, take me instead!” The Goodwife was really enjoying her part well, as you can hear.

“Who in all the earthy world, having but half an eye to see, would meddle with thee, if she had the choice of a sow instead?” said the Queen.

Well, that rude remark got the Goodwife’s brisket, for she thought of herself as bonny as the prettiest girl in Dumfries, having believed the lies of her husband for so many years. So now the game was over and she gave out a wail of anger. “Take the bairn then,” she says. “I have two more, and that is plenty. You are welcome to it.” And she produces from her breast the little blue-eyed lad she took from the tailor’s wife a week before.

“Indeed I am,” said the Queen, taking the babe she had sought so long. “And now, know this: you have not fooled me for an instant. I know about the tailor and his wife, and the herbs you placed within the grain to ensure that they slept soundly while you crept among them. And I know also that getting back your own brat will not be as easy as you suppose.

“But that is no concern of mine. Such a huzzy as yourself was never fit to bear a child as fine as this. And moreover, the likes of you is not even fit to tie the worst shoe-strings of the Queen of the Fairies hereabouts, Whuppity Stourie. That is my name!”

And as she so generously provided the Goodwife with a name to call her by, there was a crack like gunpowder and she vanished from view with a triumphant laugh, leaving the poor Goodwife to ponder the retrieval of her own boy from the tailor’s cottage. That had never been the strongest part of her plan.

* * *

I see that you are still interested to see what happens to the Goodwife now, after my Queen has had her way. Perhaps, being the vengeful person that you are, you are hoping she will get her comeuppance. Or possibly your curiosity is getting the better of you and you are wondering what use the green fairy’s name will be, now that the baby has been taken. No matter. The story will run its allotted course, regardless of your wants and desires. I ask only that you read carefully to the close, so that I do not have to make plain things which by now should be obvious to you.

It was three nights later when the Goodwife made her way into Nithsdale and approached the tailor’s cottage. She had thought over her plan so many times that it now seemed there was no other possible course of action. “All I need do is behave just as the fairy behaved towards me,” she thought. “I’ll strike a bargain to return their boy once mine has been returned, unless they can be telling me my true name.” And then, as soon as she had the boy in hand, she would be off to Kittlerumpit and leave behind the whole sorry mess, never to show her face in the Dale again, and certainly never to strike another bargain with a woman in green.

As the door opened and she saw the innocent face of the tailor’s wife, it seemed that all would go according to her plan. “Come in from the cold, now” said the tailor’s wife with friendly smile. “Is it more grain you are wanting? We have some fresh from the miller.”

“It isn’t grain I’m after, but the bairn which I left in your care,” said the Goodwife. “In return you may have back your own child and a gift from the underworld to make up for your troubles.” And as she said this she pulled from beneath her green robe a silver flask, which contained nothing more than some rotgut liquor, to which no distiller worth the name would admit. While she spoke these words, the tailor’s wife ushered her to sit at the table with them, and she most thoughtlessly obeyed, something my Lady would never have done.

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” said the tailor. “Our boy is safe in his cradle.” And he pointed to where a fair-haired innocent lay by the warmth of the fire. “We know nothing of the other child.”

The Goodwife, commonly a pasty shade of white, now became a pale green colour, which in fact improved her appearance to a small degree. “The red-headed boy!” she stammered foolishly. “What became of him?”

“Lord only knows what you are talking about,” said the tailor. “Perhaps the good people took him from you and you have lots your wits in grief. We were about to eat our supper. Would you care for some cake?”

If you had been in the room just then you might have seen what the Goodwife could not. The tailor’s wife, a very different smile upon her face now, had made her way behind the false fairy queen and was now creeping upon her all unbeknown, armed with a heavy iron skillet. But you were not there, and so what happened next will come as a complete surprise to you.

“Thank you, but I do not think I’ll partake,” said the Goodwife. “Soon I must be gone. Good day.” She made to rise from her seat, for she had thought out her single plan so well that now it had gone amiss, she had nothing else in mind. And soon she had no thoughts in her head whatsoever, when the tailor’s wife, full of the rage of the newly bereaved, dealt her such a blow over her head that it took her more than a day to awaken.

* * *

The Goodwife awoke to a familiar scene; she was still within the cottage of the tailor in the Dale of Nith — but her circumstance was considerably changed. Whereas before she had been a fine green lady seated at the table, now she was a poor dirty widow, tied to it. The ropes went about each arm and leg so that there was no possibility of escape, and besides, her head throbbed far worse than she had ever known it to do, so much so that it was difficult to see straight.

Soon the tailor noticed that his captive had awoken, and comes over holding an iron hook, which he has recently removed from the fire. “A good morning to the Green Woman of Kittlerumpit!” says he, brandishing the hook “Now, missy, I think that you’ll see what good comes of meddling with fairies and with tailors!”

“What do you want of me?” said the Goodwife, terrified.

“We want to know the nature of the bargain you struck with the Good People,” said the tailor. And so the Goodwife, having no choice in the matter, gave an account of the tale quite different from the one set down here, including every particular that showed my people to be treacherous, while omitting all of her own contributions to the affair.

“She put nothing in your mind about stealing our child?” said the tailor.

“Oh yes,” lied the Goodwife, “it must have been her that gave me the idea, for I was an ordinary body before we met, and could never have dreamed up such a foul deed.”

“She has used and deceived us all,” said the tailor, more ready to believe ill of my Queen that of the slovenly Goodwife. “We must seek out our boy in the grasp of the Good People.”

“But what about my own boy?” said the Goodwife.

“We gave him to the poor-house. And the boy in the cradle there belongs to my brother. But enough of that. What are we to do with you? You’d better be giving us a good reason why we shouldn’t kill you for your treachery, even if it was placed within your mind by the green lady, as you say.”

The Goodwife soon relented and told them all, even including the name of Whuppity Stourie, for she was of a mind to please her captives in any way that she was able. And that is how that false and foolish name came to be known as belonging to the Queen of the Fairies, because the tailor and his wife soon spread it all over the land, and much good it did them.

So, in return for the name, the Goodwife was freed, and made her way back to Kittlerumpit, never again to see her baby boy, or to make another deal with any of our kind. The tailor and his wife sought out their own boy, in the dark places of the forests and on the windy hilltops, within lochs and streams and the caves in the earth, never losing hope that they would one day come across my Queen and use against her that fanciful name, Whuppity Stourie. As far as I know they are looking still.

As for the boy, the little blue-eyed angel is down here with us still. He’s become a favourite of my Queen and is not likely to see the earthly sun for many a long year.