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The Goodman of Wastness
was a well-to-do young fellow. Handsome, strong, well-liked and with
a profitable farm, it was not at all surprising that many of the
unmarried local girls set their sights on him. However, despite
their ample attentions, the Goodman was quite simply not interested
in marriage.
Their advances spurned, the local girls soon began to treat the
Goodman with contempt, describing him as "an old, young man" and
"old before his time". As far as they were concerned he was
committing the unpardonable sin of celibacy. The Goodman however
paid these malicious creatures little heed and as is more often the
case, the gossips soon turned their attentions elsewhere.
When questioned by his friends as to the reason he would not take
a wife, the Goodman would smile and simply explain: "Weemin ir like
minny ither tings in dis weary wurld, only sent fur a trial tae man
an' I hae trials enough withoot bein' tried be a wife. If yin owld
fool Adam hiddno been bewitched be his wife, he might still be in the
Gerdeen o' Eden tae this day."
(Women are like many other things in this weary world, only sent
as a trial to men and I have enough trials without being tried by a
wife. If that old fool Adam had not been bewitched by his wife, he
might still be in the Garden of Eden to this day.)
One old woman who heard this oft-repeated speech, remarked; "Tak
thou heed thee sell, thou'll mibbe be yursel' bewitched wan day."
(Heed well what you say, you will maybe be bewitched yourself one
day.)
"Aye," replied the Goodman, laughing. "That'll be when thou waaks
dry-shod fae the Alters o' Seenie tae da Boar o' Papey."
(That will be when you walk from the Alters o' Seenie to the Boar
o' Papa [Orkney placenames] without wetting your feet.)
So it came to pass that one fine day, the Goodman was down on the
ebb when he saw, a short distance away, a number of selkie-folk lying
on a flat rock. Some were lying sunning themselves while others
jumped and played in the clear waters. All were naked with skins as
white as snow, their seal-skins strewn carelessly on the sand and
rocks around them.
The Goodman crept closer to their basking rock. When he neared
the place the selkie-folk played, he leapt to his feet and ran
towards them. The alarmed selkie-folk snatched up their seal skins
and ran to the safety of the sea. However, as quick as they were, the
Goodman was quicker for he managed to seize a skin belong to one
beautiful seal-maiden who in the hasty rush to safety had forgotten
to retrieve her skin.
By this time the selkie-folk had swum out a little distance and
now gazed mournfully at the Goodman. He stared back and realized
that all, save one, had resumed the shape of seals. Grinning, he put
the captured skin under his arm and whistling a merry tune set out for
home. No sooner had he left the ebb than he heard the most sorrowful
wailing and weeping coming from behind him. He turned and saw a fair
woman following him. She was a most pitiful sight. Sobbing and
howling in grief, she held her arms out in a plea to have her skin
returned. Huge tears ran from her large dark eyes and trickled down
her fair cheeks.
Falling to her knees, she cried: "O bonnie man! If thur's inny
mercy in thee human breest, gae me back me ain selkie skin! I cinno
live in da sea withoot it. I cinno bide amung me ain folk waythoot
me selkie-skin."
(Oh handsome man, if there is any mercy in your human breast give
me back my seal-skin. I can not live in the sea without it. I cannot
live among my own people without my seal-skin)
The Goodman was not a soft-hearted man but he could not help but
pity the poor creature. Pity, however, was not the only emotion he
felt for with the pity came the softer and sweeter passion of love.
The icy heart that had yet to love a mortal woman had been melted by
this seal-maiden's beauty.
Eventually the Goodman managed to wring from the Selkie-wife a
reluctant consent to remain with him as his wife. She had little
choice in the matter for as we have heard, she could not return to
the sea without her skin. So the sea-maiden went with the Goodman
and stayed with him for many days, turning out to be a thrifty,
frugal and kindly wife. Although she was a creature of the sea, the
Goodman had a happy life with her.
The selkie-wife bore the Goodman seven children - four boys and
three girls. It was said that there were no children as beautiful
as them in all the isles. And all the while the sea-wife, and her
human husband, seemed content and merry.
But all was not as it seemed - there was a weight in the
selkie-wife's heart. Many a time she was seen to gaze longingly
out to the sea. The sea that was her true home.
So to all the islanders and to the Goodman himself all seemed
well with his family. But as is always the case in these tales,
the bliss was not to last.
One fine day, the Goodman and his three sons were out fishing
in their boat. With the menfolk out of the house, the selkie-wife
sent three of the girls down to the ebb to gather limpets and whelks
for their tea. The youngest girl had to remain at home as she had
hurt her foot climbing on the sharp rocks by the shore. As usual,
as soon as the house emptied, the selkie-wife set to looking for her
long-lost seal-skin. She searched high and she searched low. She
searched "but" and she searched "ben". She searched out and she
searched in but to no avail. She could not find the skin.
Time passed. The sun swung to the west and the shadows grew.
The peedie lass seated in a straw-backed chair with her sore feet
on the creepie watched her mother carry out the frantic hunt.
"Mam, whit ir thoo luckin' fur?" she asked.
(Mam, what are you looking for?)
"O' bairn, dinna tell, bit I'm luckin' fur a bonnie skin tae mak
a rivlin that wid sort thee sore fit," replied the selkie-wife.
(Oh child, don't tell but I'm looking for a pretty skin to make a
shoe that would cure your sore feet.)
"Bit Mam, " said the bairn. "I ken fine whar hid is. Wan day
when ye war oot and me Fither thowt I wis sleepin' i' the bed, he
teen a bonnie skin doon, gloured at hid for cheust a peedie meenit,
then foldit hid an' laid hid up under dae aisins abeun da bed."
(But Mam, I know well where it is. One day when you were out and
my Father thought I was asleep in bed, he took a pretty skin down,
glowered at it for a short time, then folded it and put it away in
the aisins over the hill.)
When the selkie-wife heard this she clapped for joy and rushed to
the place where her long-concealed skin lay.
"Fare thee weel, peedie buddo," she said to her child and ran from
the house.
(Peedie Buddo - little friend. A term of endearment.)
Rushing to the shore she threw on her skin and with a wild cry of
joy, plunged into the sea. A male selkie was waiting for her there
and greeted her with delight.
All the while, the Goodman was rowing home and happened to see
these two selkies from his little boat. His wife uncovered her beautiful face and cried out to him.
"Fare thee weel. Goodman o' Wastness. Farewell tae thee. I liked
thee weel enough fur thoo war geud tae me bit I love better me man o'
the sea."
(Fare you well Goodman of Wastness. Farewell to thee. I liked you
well enough because you were good to me but I love my husband from
the sea better.)
And that was the last the Goodman ever saw of his sea-wife.
Often though, in the twilight of his years, he could be seen
wandering on the empty sea-shore, hoping once again to meet his lost
love.
But never again did he look upon her fair face.