A Scottish Storyteller

The autumn edition of the Grampian Association of Storytellers newsletter (GASlight) is now out! click here to see it.

The Rhynie Man is a pictish stone carving of a fierce man with sharp teeth and an axe which was ploughed up in 1978 at a farm at Barflat, Rhynie. (A good description can be found here http://www.aberdeenshire.gov.uk/archaeology/sites/pictish/rhynie.pdf ) Now I always wondered why The Rhynie Man was so angry looking, until I heard a couple of neighbours arguing one night and was inspired to write the following poem. THE RHYNIE WIFE - by Pauline Cordiner He bade up there on the Hill at Rhynie: A fearsome giant that wis far fae tiny! He wiz 12 ft tall, or mair, I’d say And he reeked of stale sweat and decay It could be said that his farts smelt like death But that wis nithin when compared tae his breath! For a’ hopes of dental hygiene were lost For the Rhynie man never, ever flossed. His stinkin feet were a sicht tae be seen The corns and the bunions were jist obscene And a terrible insult to anyone’s nose And he had puir squished sheepies between his toes! He’d stomp a’ roo...

I have heard this story told many times. Sometimes the story is attributed to "a stone circle in Auchterless," but in some versions the stone circle involved is the Hatton of Ardoyne recumbant stone circle on the road from Oyne to Old Rayne in Aberdeenshire. This is interesting as one of the circle stones has been used as a gate post - and has been returned to its original place! Nine stones of a possible original thirteen still stand. Only one flanker remains. The story is set in relatively modern times - in the last 100 years or so when farming methods were becoming more modern, yet animals were still used to pull things. And perhaps when attitudes towards the old traditions were becoming more modern, yet some superstitions held fast. There was once a farmer who lived a hundred years ago or so, at a farm not too far from here. The farm had been left to him by his father and he was becoming a wealthy man. He grew crops on his land and kept sheep, cows and had a couple o...

It was a cold spring morning when my friend and I stopped off in Inverurie on the way home from a party the night before. We got some snacks for breakfast and made our way to the old graveyard in the hope of finding some of the old pictish carvings that have been moved there for safekeeping. We found them and were just considering climbing up the old Motte which is situated within the graveyard when there was an eerie voice coming seemingly out of nowhere... "Mornin'!!! Huv ye ever heard the story o' twice buried Mary?" (When I tell this story, he sounds a lot like Private Fraser from Dad's Army. That might help you hear him in your mind). We looked around and first of all saw no-one, but eventually, just over the dyke of the kirkyard, we saw a wee grinning mannie, walking his dog by the burn. He then told us the story of Mary Elphinstone... Well, many years ago in the village of Inverurie, there lived a young lassie who had been happily married for a good...

Hi Folks! Long time no post, eh? I'm sure I'll get back to this at some point when things are not so hectic, but in the meantime, I'd like to direct you all to my new webpage - http://www.paulinecordiner.co.uk

A most interesting thing to discuss in the pub! The Burry Man of South Queensferry

This is a bit of a tragic tale of childhood loss. Try not to cry, there's a dear. So once I went to this place in northumberland with my parents on holiday when I was just a kid and there was a campsite with an adventure playground. Rope Swings! Bridges over muddy streams! And...a REAL HUMAN-SIZED hamster wheel! The sad thing was that I couldn't go on it because the big kids were all on it. You know... the kind of kid that had hair like a toilet brush and a neat line in scars. They would be on there day and night, night and day. I'd scamper over there after breakfast, excited to have a go! and they'd be there... Rocking back and forth, thundering the thing round and getting into fights in the thing and thus getting more scars. I'd run over as soon as we got back from each tour of a castle, each walk along a seashore, and they'd be there. After tea, I'd rush down with the jam still on my face, desperate to scamper round like a happy hamster... and the...