The Mermaid of Galloway (oil on canvas), William Hilton II (1786-1839). (© Tabley House Collection, University of Manchester, UK/Bridgeman Images)
We are today familiar with tales of mermaids singing at sea, combing their golden hair and trying to attract sailors to be their lovers down below the waves. But fresh water has its mermaids too.
In one such folklore tale, the mermaid of Galloway lived in a beautiful burn, or watercourse, and every evening she would perch on a seat-shaped rock and give medical advice to the people who gathered to ask for her help. But a highly religious woman thought that this was the devil’s work, and, clutching her bible for protection, pushed the mermaid’s seat into the pond. The next evening when the mermaid appeared, she was distressed by the loss of her seat, and cried out, “You may look to your toom (empty) cradle/And I’ll look to my stane. And meikle [a lot] we’ll think, and meikle we’ll look/But words we’ll ne’er hae nane!” The next morning the religious woman’s baby was found dead in its cradle. In retaliation the local folk filled in the Dalbeattie Burn with stones and dirt, and the mermaid was never seen again.
Fresh water is perceived to be life-giving and healing; the many sacred wells associated with saints speak to older traditions of kindly female spirits dwelling in watery places.
The history: This story was first told in 1810; later in the 19th century it was shared in Knockdolian in Ayrshire to explain why no male heirs to the Knockdolian estate ever survived.
The story was still being retold in 1962; the teller reported he’d heard it as a child, around 45 years previously, from the skipper of a ship who was then aged more than 80. “And in his lifetime, and mine,” said the teller, “there was never a male heir. Never”.
Sophia Kingshill and the late Jennifer Westwood trace the history of this tale in The Fabled Coast (2014), which recounts legends from Britain’s seas and shores.
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