The Jaa Banes (Jaw Bones): An Ulster Scots Ghaist Story

I hae heard that in ither places the folk dinnae believe in ghaists onymore, but that's no the way o it in Ballygellick. Here, you can hairdly set futt ootside wi oot skelpin intae a ghaist o some sort. But put your lug doon tae my neb an I'll tell ye a wee story that haippened nae lang syne.

Yin dailygaun, a pair o the eejits fae the clachan were reddin oot an aul sheuch that was aa culfed up. It was the end o the day an they stairted tae cairryin on an maggin aboot; weel, the shoon o yin o them, he was caaed Rab M'Blain, skited on the glaur an he fell doon on his erse. Noo, as Rab was spraughlin aboot tryin tae get up he saa somethin keekin oot o the face o the sheuch. He put his haun doon an it was haird, sae he hoked it oot.

Sae there he was, clocked in the glaur, glowerin doon at the thing: he jaloused it was maybe a stane at the furst. Belyve, the ither eejit, caaed Davie Harkness, came owre tae hae a wee keek an gied a quare gulder whan he saa it: "thon's a bane, a jaa bane, an it's no fae a baist!"

Weel, they swuthered aboot what tae dae, but decided that it micht be the body o some poor cratur sae they maun see if there were ony ither banes in the sheuch. They got doon on their hunkers an felt aboot in the dubs an soon they foond anither bane. Weel, they hoked it oot ana, but whan they looked they saa it was anither jaa bane. They kept hokin an foond anither, an anither, an anither forbye, but naethin ava but jaa banes - some wi aul yella teeth still in. Noo they were a wee feared, an jaloused there were ghaists ahint it.

They had gaithered up a hail puckle o banes afore lang - aboot a hunnerd I jalouse. Weel, they scratched their heids an wunnered should they caa The Peelers, but they decided no tae bother. Rab thoucht tae tak them hame tae think aboot it: it didnae feel richt tae lay them lyin aboot. Sae Rab won hame an broucht a muckle kist back wi him, an they put aa the jaa banes intae it an took it hame. He put it unner a spare bed in an ootby room an didnae think ony mair aboot it.

Hooaniver, Davie was fou yin nicht sae thoucht tae bide wi Rab for the nicht. He slept in thon bed wi the kist unner, though he didnae ken it was there. Aboot midnicht, Rab heard a quare gulder an ran doon the haa. Davie was clocked on the bed gurnin his een oot wi his hauns owre his lugs. Rab took him doonstairs whaur he calmed a wee an said he couldnae sleep wi aa the eldrich whusperin an clakkin in thonder room: it went on aa nicht, he said, though he couldnae unnerstaun a wurd o it.

Noo Rab had mind o the jaa banes an jaloused richt awa that it maun be them clakkin an yarnin awa tae yin anither. Sae he thoucht tae himsel that he maun be redd o them wi oot ony delay. He took them, kist ana, oot intae the Ballygellick Woods, oot thonder, an buried them deep in the yird. As he cairried the kist, he thoucht he could hear abin the wund, the faintest o whuspers.

An sae naebody warked oot whase jaa banes they were, nor why they wouldnae gie owre wi clakkin an whusperin, deid banes though they seemed tae be. But whan you're oot for a dander o a dailygaun, in Ballygellick woods, an you wheest, an prick up your lugs, you can hear them yet, on the wund, aye whusperin an clakkin, oot there amang the foonderin trees.

Ballygellick Twelfth

A wheen o days syne there was a hail cairry oan roon the aul Toonland o Ballygellick. The folk caa this "The Twelfth" an the maist o them hae good crack wi batin drums an gaitherin in the streets an danderin aboot wi bonnie banners. Then some o the hallions amang them tak aff tae get gulderin fou an sing aul sangs, whilst a wheen o ithers prick up their lugs in a clabbery field tae listen tae some crabbed auld gett tell them aboot The Deil an releegion an sic like things.

Noo, us gellicks, dinnae pay much mind tae the doins an bullbates o the folk, since we hae mair tae dae wi the leid that comes oot their bakes. Hooinever, it just sae happens that The Gellick was hokin aboot in the rafters o an aul sheilin the ither day whan I foond a puckle o aul papers in an ootby gap in a waa. The papers looked aul, an they haud scrievins on them, but maist o them you couldnae read ava, an yin or twa o the sheets turned tae smoor afore my een. Onyway, the follaein bit o an aul poem was aa I could mak oot. I jalouse it's aboot "The Twelfth", an talks aboot the bands an banners o the mairchers, but mair nor the lave, it has a wheen o bonnie wurds in amang it for aa the clishnaclaver. I'm fair scunnered that nae mair nor this wheen o verses could thole the passage o time:

A kiltie band noo passes by
Wi eldrich skirls an wails.
They blaw an squeeze wi aa their puff
Their beetroot chops like sails.
Their mixtur-maxtur patterned kilts
Wi colours aa throuither,
Like the folk aroon these isles
Champed up wi yin anither
Tae this day.

Blood an thunner! Nae Surrender!
Here’s a quare stramash!
A raucle flute band batterin by,
An beltin oot “The Sash”!
The loupin leader chucks his stick,
An birls it roun his wrist
An the big drum’s skin is japped wi red
Fae the drummer’s tattered fists,
As he bates that day.

We ken thon soun that thunners roun
An sets the yird tae quakin;
A feardy ba culfs up his lugs,
Ahint his Ma he’s shakin.
Leanin back, Lambeg on wame,
The drummer hauls his canes
An maks his auncient rhythm dirl
Intil oor hairts, oor guts, oor brains
Fu strang that day.

The flutes they trilled, an through us thrilled,
The drums they battered rowdy
An ower the heids o aa the folk,
The banners billowed gaudy:
They tell the tale o aa oor fechts,
 Oor folk, oor toon, oor cause,
An them wha suffered for oor land,
Oor Faith, oor God oor laws,
In bygane days.

The apprentice boys, o Derry toon,
Aye we’re in their debt,
In rebel James’ treacherous neb
Shut the Bishop’s yett.
An William o immortal fame
Wha on Boyne’s grassy banks
Maks traitors flee, and bears the gree
Ulstermen i his ranks
Fu strang that day.

Noo Moses bauld, hauds tae the lift,
The covenant o stane
An Jesus preaches on the Mount
For oor eternal gain.
An Abraham the gully grips,
Wi nieve that niver shakes
Whilst Daniel strides amang the baists,
Sin God cleeked shut their bakes,
Fu tight that day.

The Gellicks an the Aul Ulster Scots Leid

Did ye ever wunner whaur the aul Ulster Scots leid comes fae? Nae doobt the cliver coofs fae the schools will blether on aboot emeegration fae across the sheuch, an "cognate dialects" an aa sorts o sic like clishnaclaver. But haul your lug doon tae my neb an I'll tell you a gellick saicret.

As you ken, The Gellick bides in the Toonland o Ballygellick, an ootby an aul- farrant kin o a place whaur, langsyne, aabody taaked the aul Ulster Scots leid. Noo, for mony years gellicks an folk bided side by side in Ballygellick, an maist o the time they were freenly eneuch wi yin anither, especially yince the folk, thraveless craturs that they are, stairted tae jalouse (wrangly) that we dinnae gae garravashin doon their lugs at nicht!

Onyway, there has been a sair change in Ballygellick the last wheen o years. Mair an mair folk bide in new biggins an are aye reddin up the smoor an clart that we gellicks big oor hames in. It seems that they cannae thole us gellicks ava ony mair:

Ye dinnae like tae think I'm here,
Amang your fauncy, sonsy gear,
An whan you see me sprattlin near,
It's stampin shoon,
Or skelpin broom, I dread an fear,
Will seal my doom!

Even the fairmers themsels are aye drainin the sheuchs an laein us nae clabber tae mak oor hooses an rear oor wee weans in. The hail thing would scunner the life oot o ye aa thegither.

Sae, what does aa this hae tae dae wi the aul Ulster Scots leid? Weel, this is the saicret: naebody can spake the aul Ulster Scots wi oot a wee sleekit gellick jooks doon their lug an curls up an bides in their heid. It's this that gies them the pooer for tae spake it richt. In bygane times it was aisy for a gellick tae get doon onybody's lug, an gar them blether an crack an yarn awa wi the best o them. But noo, wi aa the reddin up an clearin oot, the gellicks hae tae hirple aff tae the ootby loanens an ither lanely neuks. You see, we cannae get near eneuch tae the folk tae get doon their lugs at nicht. Sae noo nae sae mony o them spake the aul leid - only a throuither wheen o carnaptious hallions that magg  on in the aul-farrant way. An sae noo we gellicks can hairdly unnerstaun a wurd the maist o the modern gomerals say an we dinnae ken what tae dae aboot it ava.

Noo, haul your lug doon tae my neb again, quare an close my freend, quare an close....

Aboot The Gellick

The Gellick bides in the toonlan o Ballygellick, an ootby an auld farrant kin o place, whaur til noo, he has bided his time spraughlin in clart an maggin in glaur. Hooinever, The Gellick is fair scunnered wi a wheen o things aboot the modren warld, an being a thrawn an crabbit body, he decided tae speak oot. The yin thing abin aa others that The Gellick cannae thole is this: for aa the blethers in the warld, there are unco few in the auld hauf deid leid o Ulster Scotch. This maks The Gellick want tae baith gurn an gulder oot!

Sae bewaur The Gellick, an aye hae mind that he is a gellick. Caa him an "earwig" an you micht wauken yin micht tae fin him wi his neb in your lug:

Doon your lug hole I'll come dashin,
Borin, burrowing, batterin, bashin,
Hokin, wigglin, garravashin,
Until your heid,
An lae you sneezin, pechin, fashion,
Wi oot remead.

Like an ammonite concealed in stane,
I'll curl richt up an bide my lane,
Atween your gullet an your brain,
An hibernate,
An there I'll bide until your pain,
Micht dissipate.

Like an arraheid ablow the glaur,
Or a peat-choked body buried far
Ablow the yird, I've unco pooer,
Like artefact or relic,
An whan I twitch sic wurds I'll gar,
Boke fae your bake as "Gellick"!