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.
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
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