The Wild-Calf/An Laogh-Alla

 

This story is from Folk Tales and

Fairy Lore in Gaelic and English:

Collected from Oral Tradition by

Rev. James MacDougall, and edited

by Rev. George Calder, 1910. It is

in the second section of Fairy Stories

called: “Solitaries”, referring to

solitary fairies, pages 290-293. The

English translation in the book is

old-fashioned and in Scots English,

so I have provided below my version

in modern English based on the Gaelic

text. I have added words where I saw

fit to make the story flow easier and

make more sense. I have also eliminated

superfluous apostrophes.

My English Translation:

The Wild Calf haunted the oldest 

barnyards of the Highlands. According

to reports, it was never seen, and for this

reason it is impossible to say what it

looked like. Though it was usually

invisible, it made itself known in other

ways. Sometimes it was heard around

midnight mooing in the barn-yards.

It was always at the far end of the

buildings.

The farmer that heard the voice would

know it was his lucky day and he had

better seize that opportunity. So he would

then get out of bed, and would go with-

out lantern or candle to the barn and

seek out the fairy creature in the dark. If

he was lucky enough to come in contact

with it, he would have to grab it by

wrapping his two arms around its body,

and from then on he would be lucky

with cattle. That is, he would be success-

ful as someone raising and keeping

cattle; and as the wealth of a Highlander

in those days depended mostly on

cattle, this meant that he would be a

rich and prosperous man too.

    The Wild Calf was last heard at 

around thirty years ago in Achanduin

in Lismore, in the third oldest barn 

on the island, and the time it was

heard, as one would expect, was

midnight sharp. When the farmer

was awakened by the mooing, he

jumped out of bed. But since he was

too scared to approach it in the dark,

he lit a candle, and with it in hand,

only then had the courage to  go to

the barn by himself.

    But he sought the calf in vain, 

because he had violated one of the 

conditions on which it would make

itself known. So he lost his chance

and all he gained for his trouble was

his wife's nagging.

    

My Edited Version of the Gaelic

Text:

Bha an Laogh-alla a’leantainn nam

bàthaichean bu shine ’s a’

Ghaidhealtachd. A réir fear-mo-

sgeòil, chan fhacas riamh e; agus

air an aobhar sin cha b’urrainn e

a ràdh cò ris a bha e coltach. Ach

ged a bha e a ghnàth a’fuireachd as

an t-sealladh, rinn se e féin

aithnichte ann an rathaidibh eile.

Air uairibh bha e air a chluinntinn

mu mharbh mheadhon-oidhche ag

geumnaich anns a’ bhàthaich; a bha

daonnan togta aig aon tuathanach

a chuala an sin a ghuth gu’n 

d’thainig cothrom ’na charaibh,

agus gum bu chòir dha fàth a 

gabhail air. Le sin dh’éireadh e as

a leabhadh, rachadh e gun lòchran,

gun choinneil, don bhàthaich, 

agus dh’iarradh e an creutair sìthe

anns an dorchadas. Nan robh de

shealbh air gum beanadh e dha,

ghlacadh e le a ghàirdeanaibh e 

mun cuairt a chuirp, agus o’n

uair sin dh’fhàsadh e na dhuine

sona mu thimchioll feudalach. Is

e sin ri ràdh gun soirbhicheadh

leis mar fhear togail agus 

glèidhidh spréidhe; agus a thaobh

gun robh saoibhreas a’ Ghàidheil

sna lathibh a chaidh seachad ag 

comh-sheasamh am mòr-chuid

ann an spréidh, tha e ag 

ciallachadh mar an ceudna gun

cinneadh e na dhuine beartach

agus soirbheach.

    Chualadh an Laogh-alla an uair

mu dheireadh mu thuaiream deich

agus tri fichead bliadhna roimhe

so ann an Achadh an Dùin an 

Liosmór. B’e am bàthaich anns an

cualadh e an treas bàthaich a bu 

shine san Eilean, agus b’e an t-àm

san cualadh e, mar dh’fhaodadh

dùil a bhi againn, marbh mheadhon-

oidhche. Air don tuathanach a bhi

air a dhùsgadh le a gheumnaich,

dh’éirich e a chlisge as a leabadh. 

ach air dha bhi fo eagal dol ’na

dhàil anns an dorchadas, las e

coinneil, rug e air a’ choinneil na

làimh, agus an sin ghlac e de

mhisnich gun deachaidh e don

bhàthaich leis féin. Ach dh'iarr

e an laogh an dìomhain, a chionn

gun do bhrist e aon de na

cumhnantan air an do rinn se e

fèin aithnichte. Le sin chaill e a

chothrom, agus cha d’fhuair e

airson a shaothrach ach cur-

iomchoire a mhnà.

Notes on the Gaelic Text:

It is interesting that the mysterious

wild or fairy calf was originally

translated as "laogh-alla", the word

"alla" here meaning "fairy" or "wild".

"Al" is an old old word associated

with rocks and mountains as in the

"alps" or "Alba". Echos live in rocks,

and fairies live in hills (or a rock,

especially in the Gaelic sense of

"cnoc"). Living in a rock logically

means living in a cave, and who

lives in caves but a caveman, which

is pretty much what an Uruisg is, a

"wildman". The Irish Gaelic word

for that is "altan".

When we encounter the word

"fairy" in Scottish Gaelic folk-tales

we should think of something

strange, weird or disturbing, not

something beautiful with wings.

In Irish folktales fairy are hard

to distinguish from ordinary

people, but it is not like that at all

in Scottish stories. The description

of them is very vague, purposely

so it seems.

What is the meaning of this story?:

This is basically a story about a

creature luring a man towards it.

The result of this luring is thought

to be to the benefit of the victim,

but that seems unlikely considering

the creepy situation in which it

occurs. As we have seen, Urisks

like to listen and repeat people’s

names they hear called out. If they

can imitate the calls of humans, it

stands to reason that they can

imitate animals. So, the wild-calf

is actually an Urisk imitating a

calf in order to lure a human to it,

so he can eat him. The childish

idea that the people answering the

call will be rewarded is part of a

pattern of mocking and dismissing

old lore. One can imagine that

originally people had a pretty good

idea of what was going on, but this

was then denied, and later still

mocked with silly stories about

farmers getting unlikely rewards,

as if these were lucky and hoped-

for encounters. Yet still a sensible

trepidation remained about strange

luring voices in the night that can

be detected in the story.

© C.A. MacLennan 2025

Big Alastair and the Uruisg /Alastair Mor agus an t-Uruisg

This story is from Folk Tales and

Fairy Lore in Gaelic and English:

Collected from Oral Tradition by

Rev. James MacDougall, and edited

by Rev. George Calder, 1910. It is

in the third section of Fairy Stories

called: “Water Sprites," which deals

with Urisks and Water Horses, pages

302-307. The English translation in

the book is old-fashioned and in Scots

English, so I have provided below my

version in modern English based on

the Gaelic text. I have added words

where I saw fit to make the story flow

easier and make more sense. I have

almost eliminated apostrophes I

found annoying in the Gaelic text.

My English Translation:

Big Alastair was the best and luckiest 

fisherman in his community. As soon as

he would see what looked like a good 

shower coming on, he would sling his

rod over his shoulder and would trot

off to the river.

    One warm summer evening, in which 

there was a drizzling rain, he headed

off to the river as usual, and after he got

his rod in order and cast out the tackle.

As soon as the hook hit the water, the

trout started biting better than he had

ever seen. He was pulling the trout in

so fast one after another that he didn’t

have time to pause to one of them on a

withy or string. So he threw them on the

green grass of the riverbank with the

intention of returning to them when the

fishing was over. His mind was so much

on his work that night came unnoticed

upon him.

   He then took a look beside him, and

who did he see fishing beside him but

a big Urisk and he was hauling in trout

after trout with him and throwing them

together with his on the grass, but there

was nothing he could do or any point in

saying anything in that situation. So, he

and his companion kept on fishing until

most of the night was over.

     Then the Urisk said: “We better stop

Big Alasdair and divide up the fish.”

     “No way,” said Big Alastair, “We 

shouldn’t at all, the fish are biting too 

well.”

    Without another word, the Urisk

grudgingly went back to fishing.

    After a little while he called again:

“Okay, let’s stop now Big Alastair

and divide up the fish!”

   “Hang on a little longer”, said 

Alastair, “I’ve never seen fish biting

so good before!” 

   The Urisk did as requested, but he 

wasn’t happy about it, because day was

coming on and he had had enough.

    So, shortly afterwards, he called a

third time for Alastair to stop and Alatair

knew by the tone of the beast’s voice,

that there was no use asking for a

further delay. 

    So he turned to the Urisk and asked

him: “Do you want to gather up the fish

or divide them up?” The Urisk answered:

“I’ll gather them up and you divide them 

up.” “I don’t know how to divide them

up” said Alastair. “Poo, that isn’t hard,

just put them fish up and fish down,

a fish here and a fish there, …and the 

last big fish will be for me!”

    Big Alastair wasn’t too crazy about

this plan because he knew that he was

the big fish that the Urisk wanted as

part of his share before daybreak. But 

what could he do to disappoint the 

creature? Day was coming, and if he 

left the job still unfinished when it

came, he would be safe. 

    He started to divide the fish up, but

didn’t act in a way that it would go

quick. If a fish didn’t slip out of his 

hands, he would lose count, or some

other mishap would hold him up.

The Urisk was losing his mind, and 

every accident that Alastair made 

made him even more distressed. He

shook his head and shoulders, and 

would dance around, and in a half-

angry, half-begging voice, would

plead: “Be careful, Big Alasdair! Pay

attention to what you’re doing!”

   But Alastair just let his plea go in

one ear and out the other.

   Finally, a red rooster awoke, and 

delivered Alastair from the situation

he was in. When it crowed on the hill

above the river the Urisk immediately

vanished. Alastair took the fish and

returned home. But since that day to

the day of his death he wouldn’t fish

on that river after nightfall. 

My edited Version the

Original Gaelic Text:

  Bha Alastair Mor na iasgair-slaite

cho math agus cho tograch is a bha

anns an aite d’am buineadh e. Cho 

luath is a chitheadh e coltas deagh

fhroise a’ tighinn, ghrad-thilgeadh

e a shlat thar a ghualainn, agus air

falbh na throtan ghabhadh e

dh’ionnsaidh na h-aibhne.

    Air feasgar blàth samhraidh, agus 

ceòban math uisge ann, thug e an 

abhainn air, mar bu ghnàth leis; 

agus an déidh dha an t-slat a chur

an òrdugh, thilg e mach don uisge,

thòisich an aon ghabhail air an iasg

a b’fheàrr a chunnaic e riamh. Bha e

a’ slaodadh nam breac a stigh cho

tiugh an déidh a chéile is nach robh

ùine aige feitheamh ri’n cur aon chuid

air gad no air sreing. Ach thilg e iad air

an fheur ghlas air bruaich na h-aibhne

le rùn tilleadh air an son an uair a bhith-

eadh an t-iasgach seachad. Bha a aire

cho mór air an obair a bha aige is gu’n

d’thàinig an oidhche air gun fhios da.

Thug e an sin sùil na dhéidh, agus cò

a chunnaic e ag iasgach r’a thaobh

ach Uruisg mór is e a’ toirt a stigh

breac air a’ bhreac ris, agus gan

tilgeadh còmhla r’a chuid éisg-san

air an fheur. Cha robh comas air,

no feum aon diog a ràdh. Ach chum

e féin agus a chompanach air an

iasgach, gus an deachaidh a’chuid a  

b’fheàrr de’n oidhche thairis. 

     An sin ghlaodh an t-Uruisg: “Is

mithich stad, Alastair Mhóir, agus an

t-iasg a roinn.” “Ud! Ud!” ars

Alastair Mór, “cha mhithich idir, agus

an t-iasg ag gabhail cho math.” Gun

tuilleadh a ràdh thill an t-Uruisg gu

doicheallach ris an iasgach. An ceann

ùine maithe na dhéidh sin ghlaodh e

rithis: “Stad a nis, Alstair Mhóir, agus

roinneamaid an t-iasg.” “Dean

foidhidinn bheag fhatast,” ars Alastair,

“agus nach faca mi riamh roimhe, a

leithid de ghabhail air an iasg.” Rinn

an t-Uruisg mar dh’iarradh air, ach

cha b’ann gu toileach; oir bha an 

latha a’tighinn, agus iasgach eile

r’a dheanamh mun tigeadh e. Uime

sin, an ùine ghoirid, ghoadh e an treas

uair air Alastair stad. Thuig Alastair o

fhuaim guth na béiste nach robh feum

feum sam bith tuilleadh dàil iarraidh.

    Le sin thionndaidh e ris, agus

thubhairt e: “Co dhiubh a thrusas tusa

an t-iasg, no roinneas tu iad?” Fhreagair

an t-Uruisg: “Trusaidh mise iad, agus

roinneadh tusa iad.” “Chan eil fios

agamsa ciamar a roinneas mi iad,” ars

Alastair. “Hù! Chan eil sin duilich.

Sgiolam shìos, is sgiolam shuas;

sgiolam thall, is sgiolam a bhos, agus

an sgiolam mhór mu dheireadh dhomh

fhein.”

     Cha do chòrd an roinn so ach dona

ri Alastair Mór, oir thuig e gum b'esan

an sgiolam mhór a b’àill leis an Uruisg

fhaotainn air a earrainn mun tigeadh

an latha. Ach ciod a bha e r’a dheanamh

chum an trusdar a mhealladh? Bha an

a’tighinn, agus nan cumadh e an obair

neo-chrìochnaichte gus an tigeadh e,

bhitheadh e tèaruinte.

     Thòisich e air an iasg a roinn ach

a réir coltais cha robh cabhag air an

obair sin a chrìochnachadh. Mur

sleamhnaicheadh an t-iasg as a 

làmhan, rachadh an cunntas am

mearachd air, no thachradh driod-

fhortan eigin eile a chuireadh bacadh

air. Bha an t-Uruisg ag call a

fhoidhidinn, agus cha robh tubaist a

thigeadh air Alastair nach rob ag cur

teine r’a chorruich.

     Chrathadh e a cheann is a 

ghuaillean, phostadh e an talamh le a

chasan, agus le guth leth-chrosda,

leth-ghearanach ghlaodhadh e: “Nach

toir thu an aire, Alastair Mhóir! Nach

toir thu an aire, Alastair Mhóir!” Ach

leigeadh Alastair le a earail dol a 

stigh air an aon chluais agus a mach

air a’chluais eile.

    Mu dheireadh dhùig an coileach 

ruadh, agus thug e fuasgladh dha as

a’ chàs anns an robh e. Ghoir e air

tom os ceann na h-aibhne, agus air

ball chaidh an t-Uruisg as an t-sealladh.

    Thog Alastair leis an t-iasg, agus thill

e dhachaidh. Ach o’n là sin gu là a’

bhàis cha deachaidh e dh’iasgach 

bhreac air an abhainn an déidh do’n

oidhche tuiteam.

Notes on the Gaelic text:

The story speaks of Big Alasdair

taking a look behide him (“Thug

e an sin sùil na dhèidh”) at the

Urusig, which doesn't make sense,

so I have changed it to a look be-

side him. I think it likely the

person recording the tale, noted it

or wrote it down incorrectly. The

word “Sgiolam” appears to refer

to a fish's endlessly opening and

closing mouth, it is a sort of

nickname. I have just translated as

“fish”. The Urisk appears to be

referring to putting fish alter-

natively head up or head down as

a way of equally dividing and

organizing the fish.

In this blog I will be respecting

what has become a tradition of

writing the word “Uruisg” in

English as “Urisk”, but a better re-

presentation of the word’s pronun-

ciation would be “Oorisk”, I think.

What is the meaning of this story?

This a story about an Urisk, a monster

that we should think of as basically

bigfoot: a hairy giant (to give you

something to picture as you read the

story). The fisherman and the Urisk

enter into a conflict over a fishing

spot. It is portrayed as a fishing com-

petition, but it was more likely a simple

territorial dispute. This is a fairly com-

mon Bigfoot story: a fisherman fishes

on a river at night and has big rocks

thrown at him from the bushes, and

hears strange voices, as the creature

attempts to drive the human off from

his favourite fishing spot. Similarly,

in this story the monster arrives at his

favourite fishing spot on the river to

find a fisherman has inconveniently

stayed past nightfall. The Urisk, like

Bigfoot, is mainly nocturnal creature

and this is when he would be most

active. The ending sentence is very

typical resolution of stories of hunters

and fishermen that have an encounter

with Bigfoot: hunters no longer hunt,

and fishermen no longer fish in areas

where they have felt threatened by the

monster.

The Urisk naturally disappears at

dawn, it has nothing to do with cock's

crowing, it just does not like to be seen

in the light of day. The Urisk is not

described in very much detail, and with-

out close attention, someone without

an understanding of folklore would likely

believe it to be something more human-

looking and acting than what he is, due to

it talking and reacting to Alasdair Mor

like a human in the story. Note that his

method of “fishing” is not actually des-

cribed, leaving the reader to assume that

he has a fishing rod too, when he is more

likely to be catching fish with his hands.

It is a a short story, but giving the Urisk

speech and human characteristcs makes

the storylonger and more amusing than

the horror story it was likely based on.

It seems to be just a story about two Gaels,

except for a couple of sinister notes (the

part about him being in danger of being

eaten himself, and the concluding

sentence). It has been made into a fairy

tale about a clever hero outsmarting a

monster that is portrayed like a dumb

and impatient person. That is typical in a

lot of Scottish folk tales of this era. These

sort of creatures appear to have been con-

sidered gods or god in the pagan past,

but once Gaels gained a grasp of Christ-

ianity but before they completely stopped

believing in them, Geals began to mock

such beings in folk tales. 

    The speech of the Urisk is very telling

and characteristic in that it is repetitive:

the word “fish” is repeated again and 

again. This has to do with them being

seen as "Echoes". In ancient times and

in other languages (such as French) there

was a concept of an echo being a being

like an Urisk that sits and listens to hu-

man speech and repeats it. The fact that

the Urisk knows Big Alasdair’s name

isn’t by magic, it is because it has been

listening and watching, and heard 

someone calling his name. This is not

explained in the story, because this 

would have been common knowledge

to the Highland audience. 

© C.A. MacLennan 2025

You will a videos of me reciting

this story eventually at:

Poetry & Folklore - YouTube