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Introduction: Christina Costie and Orkney
“Viking Literature”
Christina Mackay Costie (1902–1967), from
Kirkwall on the Orkney Mainland, was part of a
generation of Orkney writers that included the more
famous Edwin Muir (1887–1959) and Eric Linklater
(1899–1974), the locally very popular Robert Rendall
(1898–1967), and the somewhat younger George
Mackay Brown (1921–1996). To Costie, writing was
a hobby that she did in addition to her daytime job
in a lawyer’s office in Kirkwall. Her poems, short
stories, and articles enjoyed popularity in the local
Orkney newspapers in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s, and
her work was also published in two volumes: But-
End Ballans (1949) and Benjie’s Bodle (1956). Three
posthumous collections have since followed. Most of
her output is in the medium of Orkney dialect, which
might go some way to explain why Costie has not
received wider recognition, and which led George
Mackay Brown’s biographer Maggie Fergusson
(2006:94) to describe her as “a spinster lawyer who
wrote dialect verse in her spare time.”
Since the 19th century, Orkney literature has been
very much inspired by translated Old Norse literature
such as the Icelandic sagas and skaldic poetry,
which became increasingly available in English
translation during this period. Of particular interest
to the Orkney reading (and writing) audience were
Shetlander Gilbert Goudie et al.’s (1873) translation
of the Orkneyinga Saga and Orcadian Samuel Laing
and Snorri Sturluson’s (1844) translation of Heimskringla.
As people’s awareness of Orkney’s past as
a Norse Earldom rose, and the availability of saga
literature in English translation improved, Orkney
writers were inspired to utilize their islands’ history
and the newly available texts as background for their
own work. Sebastian Seibert (2008) has successfully
shown how the idea of Orkney’s Norse past
was discovered, constructed, and received from the
18th century to today, and Julian D’Arcy (1996) has
shown how Old Norse literature has inspired modern
Scottish literature, including that from Orkney. A
recently published history of Orkney literature by
Simon Hall (2010) goes further in identifying Old
Norse inspiration as a main theme running through
Orkney literature from the Victorian era until today.
He summarizes this inspiration as follows:
“The medieval skalds and sagamen—warrior poets
and Icelandic ecclesiastics—are the earliest literary
artists associated with Orkney whose work
has survived. The over-enthusiastic celebration
of these shadowy Norse figures has often “awakened”
false feelings of atavistic kinship. Such is
the power of their writing—and such is the geographical
rootedness of Orkneyinga Saga—that it
has inspired generations of imitation and adaption,
beginning in the age of [Sir Walter] Scott and continuing
into the present, sometimes oblivious to
the facts of vast historical and cultural distance”
(Hall 2010:1).
Examples of works directly inspired by Old
Norse literary texts and the Norse past in Orkney in
general are John Mooney’s Songs of the Norse and
Other Poems (1883), J. Storer Clouston’s novel Vandrad
the Viking: Or the Feud and the Spell (1898),
Eric Linklater’s The Men of Ness (1932), George
Mackay Brown’s Magnus (1973) and Vinland
(1992), and Robert Rendall’s poem Shore Tullye,
which imitates the dróttkvætt meter used by Old
Norse Skalds (Rendall 1951). For a further discussion
of the Old Norse influence on Orkney literature,
see D’Arcy (1996:187–192, 205–216, 257–279).
This paper will assess to what degree Christina
Mackay Costie followed the trend set by writers such
as Clouston, Linklater, and Rendall in letting her
Old Norse Cultural Influence in the Work of Christina M. Costie
Ragnhild Ljosland*
Abstract - This paper examines the work of 20th century Orkney writer Christina Mackay Costie in order to assess whether
it is possible to trace any Old Norse cultural influence. As awareness rose in Orkney in the 19th century onwards of Orkney’s
past as a Norse earldom, and English translations of Old Norse literature became available to a British readership, Old Norse
literature began to have a strong influence on Orcadian literature and continues to do so today. Most of Christina Mackay
Costie’s work does not readily fit into the framework of this type of 20th-century Orcadian literature. However, closer
inspection reveals another strand of influence arising from Old Norse folklore, myth, and legend which may have entered
Costie’s work through Orkney’s living oral storytelling tradition and traditional customs and beliefs, making the Old Norse
heritage found in her work something more genuine and different from that in literature inspired by the influence of Victorian
translations of Old Norse literature, especially the sagas. Methodologically, the paper represents a cross-fertilization
between folkloristics and literary analysis.
Across the Sólundarhaf: Connections between Scotland and the Nordic World
Selected Papers from the Inaugural St. Magnus Conference 2011
Journal of the North Atlantic
*Centre for Nordic Studies, University of the Highlands and Islands, Kiln Korner, Kirkwall, Orkney KW15 1QX; ragnhild.
ljosland@uhi.ac.uk.
2013 Special Volume 4:177–188
R. Ljosland
2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
178
writing be inspired by translated Old Norse literature.
It will then proceed to explore whether there is any
other traceable Old Norse cultural influence in her
work which is not directly inspired by translated Old
Norse texts but comes from a different background,
namely shared folklore which goes back to the time at
which Orkney was still part of Scandinavia.
Christina Costie’s “Old Norse Stories”
In Christina Costie’s published works, there is
only one piece that stands out as having been clearly
inspired by translated Old Norse literature. This is a
short story from her collection Benjie’s Bodle, named
“The Dog Called Vige”. This story draws its inspiration
directly from a passage from Olaf Tryggvason’s
Saga within Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla, which
Samuel Laing translated into English. The relevant
extract from the saga goes as follows:
“While Olaf was in Ireland he was once on an
expedition which went by sea. As they required
to make a foray for provisions on the coast, some
of his men landed, and drove down a large herd
of cattle to the strand. Now a peasant came up,
and entreated Olaf to give him back the cows that
belonged to him. Olaf told him to take his cows,
if he could distinguish them; ‘but don't delay our
march.’ The peasant had with him a large housedog,
which he put in among the herd of cattle, in
which many hundred head of beasts were driven
together. The dog ran into the herd, and drove out
exactly the number which the peasant had said he
wanted; and all were marked with the same mark,
which showed that the dog knew the right beasts,
and was very sagacious. Olaf then asked the peasant
if he would sell him the dog. ‘I would rather
give him to you,’ said the peasant. Olaf immediately
presented him with a gold ring in return, and
promised him his friendship in future. This dog
was called Vige, and was the very best of dogs,
and Olaf owned him long afterwards” (Laing and
Sturluson 1844:400–401).
From this short account, Costie builds a longer
tale with much more flesh and blood and life to it,
using her imagination to fill in what the saga does
not tell us, such as who the peasant is and what his
circumstances are, and why he gives Olaf his dog so
willingly.
“The Dog Called Vige” comes across as clearly
inspired by saga literature, for instance in its description
of the Vikings’ excessive eating and drinking
and vomiting, and by giving its characters nicknames
such as Limp-leg, One-eye, and Great-sword.
However, Costie also deviates from the saga style by
entering into King Olaf Tryggvason’s head and describing
his feelings, his fears, and worries. She also
cares for the dog’s feelings, as might be observed in
the final paragraph of the story:
“[Vige] stood on the prow of Olav’s vessel and
watched until the coast of Ireland became a blur in
the distance and gradually faded from view. And
that night, too, there was sorrow in the hut over the
hill, and a little boy cried himself to sleep for the
playmate who would not return. So Vige learned to
obey commands in a strange tongue, and to dodge
the kicks and blows aimed at him by the servants.
He fought the older dogs and ignored the young
ones and gradually found his own place in this new
household, but to Olav Trygveson alone he gave
his fealty and wisdom and courage as Thomas [the
peasant] had ordered him to do. But sometimes
when the high winds and snows of winter beat
about his northern home, lying close by Olav’s feet
in his own special place by the fire, he would shudder
and yip in his sleep, for he was far away from
Norway, romping with a little boy in the green
fields of Ireland” (Costie 1956:86).
As a whole, “The Dog Called Vige” must be
characterized as clearly saga-inspired, but does
not imitate the stylistic features of the saga genre.
Whereas the Icelandic sagas characteristically only
hint to their characters’ true feelings by describing
their looks, speech, and behavior, “The Dog Called
Vige” gives the reader direct insight into such matters.
Letting part of the story be told from a dog’s
point of view is also unheard of in Icelandic sagas.
Although uncharacteristic for Costie and the
saga style, “The Dog Called Vige” is not uncharacteristic
when compared to trends in Orkney literature
of the period. As D’Arcy (1996:187–192,
205–216, 257–279), Seibert (2008:204, 225–232),
and Hall (2010:30–66, 138–151, 163–188) have
demonstrated, letting a translated saga form the
starting point or general inspiration of a fictional
text was a popular method in 19th- and 20th-century
Orkney literature. While texts may vary in how
closely they try to imitate the saga style, an approach
similar to Costie’s may for instance be
found in George Mackay Brown’s novel Vinland
(Brown 1992). This novel uses the Old Norse
Vinland sagas as its inspiration, and bases some of
its plot and characters on these sagas, while also
developing an independent storyline. It starts off
using short sentences and factual statements, in
an imitation of the saga style: “There was a boy
who lived in a hamlet in Orkney called Hamnavoe.
The boy’s name was Ranald. Ranald’s father had
a small ship called Snowgoose” (Brown 1992:1).
However, the novel soon starts deviating from
the saga style in a way reminiscent of “The Dog
Called Vige” by giving the reader direct insight
into the protagonist’s feelings: “Ranald said nothing.
He was afraid to open his mouth. He disliked
the sea. Even in a small row-boat he felt uneasy
and squeamish” (Brown 1992:2). While being a
much longer work of stronger literary quality than
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
“The Dog Called Vige”, Vinland demonstrates the
same technique of using a saga text as the basis of
a story written in a more modern style.
”The Dog Called Vige” is omitted from the posthumous
publication The Collected Orkney Dialect
Tales of C.M. Costie, which in addition to a number
of later stories contains all the stories from Benjie’s
Bodle except this particular story. According to the
foreword, the criterion for stories to be included in
the posthumous collection was that Christina Costie
herself or her sister Bessie Costie wished to see
them preserved (Costie 1976:6). Apparently “The
Dog Called Vige” failed this criterion, the author of
the foreword, Costie’s close friend Ernest Marwick,
deeming it a “slight and uncharacteristic” piece
(Costie 1976:6).
Christina Costie nonetheless made one more
attempt to write in the saga style, as can be seen in
a fragment of two pages in manuscript form, currently
kept by her relative Nancy Scott of Orkney.
The fragment is entitled “Gudrun Thorgilsdottir”
and appears to be a translation of Njal’s saga into
Orkney dialect. The surviving two pages follow the
opening chapter of Njal’s saga closely, and based on
the linguistic form of place-names used here, such
as “Rangavollene” and “Breidfjord” and personal
names such as “Unn”, “Torgerd”, and “Torstein”, it
seems that Costie was translating from a Norwegian
edition of the saga rather than from the Icelandic.
The Norwegian translations of this saga, which were
available before Costie’s death in 1967, were in the
Bokmål form of Norwegian by Karl L. Sommerfelt,
in 1871, by Fredrik Paasche, in 1922, and by Hallvard
Lie, in 1941; and in the Nynorsk form by Olav
Aasmundstad, in 1896, and Aslak Liestøl, in 1961.
However, the “-ene” ending in “Rangavollene” suggests
a Bokmål edition as Costie’s source rather than
a Nynorsk edition.
It is not known whether Costie intended the text
to be a faithful translation or if she was planning to
deviate from the saga text later on and develop her
own story. The title “Gudrun Thorgilsdottir” does
not refer to any character in Njal’s saga, although
there are other characters in the saga by the first
name of Gudrun. Perhaps the intention was to use
Njal’s saga as a springboard to a saga-inspired story
featuring Gudrun Thorgilsdottir as heroine?
Viewing Costie’s literary production as a whole,
Simon Hall’s description of early modern and modern
Orkney literature as being an “over-enthusiastic
celebration of [...] shadowy Norse figures” (Hall
2010:1) certainly does not seem to be characteristic
of Costie’s work. It is nonetheless known that Costie
herself was keenly interested in local history and
was a member of the Orkney Records and Antiquarian
Society (Ljosland 2011:19). She was also proficient
in Norwegian and Icelandic and evidently read
saga literature (Ljosland 2011:58), so her choice of
not basing more of her writing on Old Norse literature
is not through a lack of means or skills.
Costie’s works thus demonstrate little of the
overt inspiration from translated Old Norse poetry
or saga literature like that found in the works of
other Orkney authors cited above. The remainder
of this article will nonetheless attempt to show that
Costie’s literary works tap into a different and more
indirect strand of Old Norse cultural influence, making
use of preserved Old Norse beliefs, mythology,
and folklore which seem to have survived in Orkney
independently of the written sources. This strand of
living Old Norse cultural influence has made its way
into Costie’s poetry and short stories as a result of
her use of the Orcadian oral storytelling culture as
inspiration for her work.
Old Norse Cultural Continuity in Christina
Costie’s Works
The second part of the article will examine
Christina Costie’s short stories “The Story o’ Peerie
Fool” and “Bora the Coo fae the Sea” (to be found
in Costie 1976) and the poems “Islesman’s Request”,
“The Shore Below Wir Hoose”, and “Speir
Thoo the Wast Wind” (Costie 1997), with a view to
identifying those elements that seem to have roots
in Old Norse traditions and beliefs which may have
survived as part of Orkney’s oral culture, entering
Costie’s poems through her contact with key 19thand
20th-century Orcadian cultural traditions. In the
late 19th and early 20th century, there was a budding
interest among scholars in exploring connections
between Orcadian and Old Norse folklore (Seibert
2008:161). Costie, however, seems to have based
her work not mainly on scholarly literature, but on
genuine contact with Orkney’s oral culture, as will
be shown below.
Costie’s interest in cultural traditions and folklore
is plain to be seen in her works. Coming from a
family where stories were told, Costie was “steeped
from her childhood in the lore of both North and
South Isles [of Orkney]” (Hewison 1998:29). At the
time of its release, her short-story collection Benjie’s
Bodle was compared to the work of the Orkney
folklorist Walter Traill Dennison, who also based
his written stories on traditional tales and anecdotes
which he combined and developed in new ways
(Ljosland 2011:31–32). Both in terms of technique
and style, Costie’s work in these stories is comparable
to Dennison’s, as they both drew on the rich oral
culture of the local Orkney community but used their
imagination and writing talent in order to combine
and transform these sources into tales which—while
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
180
still recognizably based in the oral tradition—are
clearly their own (see Dennison 1880, Dennison and
Clouston 1904).
In terms of style, Costie’s and Dennison’s short
stories base themselves on the “fireside tale” oral
style, with extensive use of first person narrative and
writing in dialect. Compare for instance Dennison’s
opening of the story “Why the Hoose o’ Hellsness
wus Brunt” (in Dennison 1880:1–25) to the opening
of Costie’s “When the Aald Man o’ Hoy Took a
Holiday” (in Costie 1976:65–71):
“Aye bairns, he’s jeust fower scor’ an’ fifeteen
year sin’ de Forty-five. Sheu wus a sair ga’n year
amang the gentry. The’ wur t’ree hooses brunt i’
the Nort’ Isles. An’ I’me ga’n tae tell you why de
hoose o’ Hellsness wus aen o’ them” (Dennison
1880:1).
“Yaas, A’ll tell thee a story indeed, if thoo
bees a geud boy an’ taks up thee supper. No’ hid’s
no aboot Tammie Norrie ither, hid’s aboot the Aald
Man o’ Hoy, an’ wan time that he gaed aff for a
holiday” (Costie 1976:65).
As noted above, when Benjie’s Bodle was published
in 1956, the reviewers immediately saw the
likeness to Dennison’s works; as Ernest Marwick
(foreword, in Costie 1976:5) notes, “Despite the
lapse of time [76 years], and the changes that had
affected Orkney speech, she was immediately recognised
as Dennison’s true successor”. Marwick also
remarks that Costie is the first among Orkney writers
after Dennison to follow his lead (Costie 1976:5).
In the following examination, I mean to illustrate
Costie’s use of Orkney oral culture in the works
noted above (“The Story o’ Peerie Fool”, “Bora
the Coo fae the Sea”, “Islesman’s Request”, “The
Shore Below Wir Hoose”, and “Speir Thoo the Wast
Wind”), assessing whether a continuity with Old
Norse culture can be found here. When examining
“The Story o’ Peerie Fool” and “Bora the Coo fae
the Sea”, my analysis will focus on folklore creatures
and tales with a Nordic/Old Norse background,
while in “Islesman’s Request”, “The Shore Below
Wir Hoose”, and “Speir Thoo the Wast Wind”, emphasis
will be placed on Old Norse world view and
beliefs, especially concerning the nature of death
and concept of the soul.
“The Story o’ Peerie Fool”
“The Story o’ Peerie Fool” is based on a traditional
fairy tale from the island of Rousay, Orkney,
concerning three princesses being kidnapped by a
giant. The story is from Rousay both in the sense that
it has been collected in Rousay (Marwick 1972:180)
and that it is set in Rousay, as can be seen in the
opening words “There were once a king and queen
in Rousay who had three daughters” (Marwick
1975:144).
In “The Story o Peerie Fool”, we meet three
princesses who, after their father’s death, live with
their mother in a small house in Rousay. Like most
Orkney crofters, they grow cabbage in a “kailyard”.
One day they discover that some of the cabbage has
been stolen. It turns out to have been stolen by a giant,
and the princesses decide to take it in turns to be
on guard in order to confront him. Over the course of
three nights, the giant picks up each of the princesses
and carries them home in his straw basket. On their
arrival at the giant’s house, the princesses are told
that they have to milk the cow, put her to the hill,
make food, tease, card and spin the wool, and make
cloth before the giant comes back. The first two
princesses make a poor job of their work, and it is
made worse by their refusal to share their food with a
group of fairy folk who arrive at the house. The giant
then peels the skin off them and flings them into the
hen house. When it is the turn of the third princess,
she agrees to share her food. A little yellow-headed
boy of the fairy folk then offers to help her with her
wool work and the weaving. All he wants in return is
for her to guess his name when he comes back. The
group of fairies then goes away with the wool. Later,
an old woman arrives and asks if she can stay the
night. The princess is worried what the giant might
say, and sends her away. She instead finds a restingplace
at a nearby mound, where she suddenly hears
and sees the fairy-folk through a crack. They are
busy teasing, carding, and spinning, and urging them
on is the yellow-headed boy saying “Tease, teasers,
tease! Card, carders, card! Spin, spinners, spin! For
Peerie Fool, Peerie Fool is my name.” The old wife
runs back to the princess with these news, so when
the yellow-headed boy comes back with the cloth,
she is able – after pretending to guess some wrong
names – to tell him his name. He and all the fairyfolk
run away, and on their way they meet the giant,
who notices their ugly looks. The fairy-folk tell him
that the hard work with the wool is to blame for their
looks, and he vows that the princess shall never work
again. He is also very pleased when he sees the cloth.
Sometime later, the princess is longing for home.
She finds her sisters, gets their skins back on, and
manages to smuggle them home by tricking the giant
into carrying them home hidden in his straw basket
with hay on top. Last, she smuggles herself home in
the same way, where the mother and sisters await the
giant with boiling water. This kills the giant, and the
queen and princesses live happily ever after.
The story has been passed down orally, as well
as having been published in several printed versions.
The Orkney folklorist Ernest Marwick wrote
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down two versions of the story, one in Orkney dialect
(Marwick and Robertson 1991:290–292, “The
Peerie Fool and the Princess”) and one in Standard
English (Marwick 1975:144–146, “The Giant, the
Princesses, and Peerie-Fool”). The story also appears
in County Folklore Volume III (Black and
Thomas 1994 [1903]:222–226, “Peeriefool”) and in
Muir (1998:127–131, “Peerie Fool”). Of these, only
Black and Thomas’ version was available in print in
Costie’s lifetime.
The Orkney wonder tale which lies behind
Costie’s story seems to be a blend of two wonder
tale types, one of which originates in Norway (see
below) and the other having a more general European
distribution. The framework of the Peerie Fool
story (all versions) corresponds to that of AT 311:
Rescued By Their Sister (Thompson 1946:36, 173,
482; Hodne 1984:68–72; see Førlandsaas 1872:no
page numbers). Embedded within this framework
is a story corresponding to AT 500 (The Name of
the Helper: Thompson 1946:48, see Grimm et al.
2009:136–137). It also has elements of another
fairy tale, AT 501 (The Three Spinners: Thompson
1946:48–49; see Asbjørnsen and Moe’s Norwegian
version “The Three Aunts” in Dasent 1800:225–229;
“The Three Spinning Women” in Grimm et al.
2009:41–42). See Ljosland (2012) for a more detailed
comparison of the Peerie Fool tale to AT 311,
500, and 501.
Regarding its wider distribution, Thompson
(1946:36) says the area of greatest popularity of AT
311 is Norway and the Baltic. Thompson (1946:36)
suggests Norway as “an important centre of dissemination
of this tale, if not its original home.” The Orcadian
Peerie Fool story thus clearly belongs to the
Nordic fairy tale tradition. Especially noteworthy,
however, are certain features in Costie’s version that
are not found in the other Orkney versions, and thus
seem to have come from local oral tradition that she
herself knew. These are detailed below.
Costie’s version of the story is written in Orkney
dialect as if told orally by a storyteller, and contains
details and dialogue which the other versions lack.
An example of dialogue that is not found in any of
the other printed versions of the tale is the following
refreshing exclamation from the old woman:
“‘Ill-oor, ill-oor!’ cried the aald wife, makkan
for the door, beesoms an’ a’. ‘Raither wad I sit
apae the tap o’ the Twal’ ’oors Toor i’ the teeth o’ a
westerly gale than rin foul o’ a Giant. Let me win
oot o’ here for ony favour.’”
The eerie-sounding Twal’ ’oors Toor (Twelve
Hours Tower) is the name of a high hill in the North-
West of Rousay.
Most of the dialogue and some of the details,
such as the names of the princesses (Leezo, Maggie
Ann, and Bella Jean), are probably of Costie’s own
invention (see Ljosland 2011:64–71 for further
details). Other details, however, have probably
been drawn from genuine oral tradition that Costie
would have heard from relatives in Rousay, as her
father’s side of the family hailed from that island.
Such a detail is the location of the story to the farm
of Faraclett, which still exists today as a farm in the
northeast corner of Rousay, something not noted in
the other versions.
Another detail occurring in the Norwegian
reflex of AT311 known as “Risen som ville gifte
seg”(Førlandsaas 1872:no page numbers), which
is paralleled in Costie’s “The Story o’ Peerie Fool”
(Costie 1976:73) but missing from the other versions
of the Peerie Fool story (Marwick and Robertson
1991:290–292; Marwick 1975:144–146; Black and
Thomas 1994 [1903]:222–226; Muir 1998:127–131)
is that the girl has to go and search for the cattle high
up in the hills.
At the end of the story, Costie provides another
very interesting detail, which is also missing from
the other written accounts (Marwick 1975:146, Marwick
and Robertson1991:292, Black and Thomas
1994:226, Muir 1998:131): the description of where
the body of the giant was disposed of. Black and
Thomas’ (1994:226) version of the story simply ends
by saying: “They couped it about him when he was
under the window, and that was the end of the giant.”
The exact same sentence occurs also in Marwick’s
(1975:146) Standard English version, while in his
(1991:292) dialect version he adds: “Wae all the fine
things they had got fae the giant’s hoose, the Queen
an’ the three Princesses were as happy as could be.”
Costie (1976:78), on the other hand, has much more
information:
“Some folk’ll tell thee that they yoked ousen
tae ’im, an’ dreggid ’im tae the hill awa up under
Knitchen, bit hid’s me belief, an’ A’m sheur A’m
right, that they harled ’im tae the shore, an’ twat’ree
boats towed ’im oot tae the middle o’ Longatong,
an sank ’im there (…)”.
This makes it sound like there have been alternative
living traditions in Rousay about what happened
to the giant’s body, which Costie has heard. Costie’s
account of the disposal of the giant’s body also ties
in with the wider Nordic tradition of employing
giant stories to explain landscape features such as
boulders, ravines, skerries, and land bridges (Hodne
1990:9–14, 40–50, 71–73; Schön 2004:183–4).
This last example also demonstrates living Nordic
giant lore having been preserved in the island of
Rousay and used as a feature of Costie’s “The Story
o’ Peerie Fool”. The underlying folktale is only one
of numerous stories and legends from Orkney involving
giants. Landscape features in Orkney such
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
182
in the story of Jack and the Beanstalk (see, for example,
Alexander 2002:54, 111–112, 148). Marwick
(1972:178–180) nonetheless argues that the numerous
Orcadian stories of giants are more likely to
share their cultural ancestry with Nordic stories. He
notes the similarities between the Orcadian stories
and stories of trolls from Norwegian folk tales or the
jǫtnar of Old Norse myth, who “[…] liked to spirit
away beautiful girls, princesses in particular, whom
they forced to spin all day and to scratch the troll’s
head all night” (Marwick 1972:180). Even if the idea
of a giant has a much wider distribution and may not
be safely attributed to Old Norse cultural influence
in Orkney, and the fairy tale itself is related to European
fairy tales such as Rumpelstiltskin and The
Three Aunts/Spinners, there are obvious elements
of Costie’s story which seem directly attributable to
Old Norse or Norwegian cultural influence. As has
been shown above, the fairy-name Tirso appears to
be of Old Norse origin, and the tale type AT 311, on
which “The Story o’ Peerie Fool” is closely based,
originates or has its center of distribution in Norway.
It is clear that the additional traditions to which
Costie refers are also Nordic.
“Bora, the Coo fae the Sea”
Christina Costie’s short story “Bora, the Coo fae
the Sea” (Costie 1976:56–64) is another amalgam
of motifs and characters found in living Orkney
folklore. The central plot element is that of a fairy
cow emerging from the sea and being captured by a
human farmer. Tales of fairy cattle emerging out of
the water are common in Scottish, Irish, and Welsh
folklore (McNeill 1957–68:133, Simpson 1972:96),
but the motif is also found in Nordic folklore, in
Iceland, going back to the 16th century (see Simpson
1972:94–96; for an account from Denmark, see Kvideland
and Sehmsdorf 1988:260).
The central folktale underlying “Bora, the Coo
fae the Sea” also exists in a published version (Scott
1967:157); however, as the year of this publication
corresponds to the year of Costie’s death, it is unlikely
to have been Costie’s source. Hugh Marwick
(1929:162) also summarizes the folktale by saying
that it is a story from North Ronaldsay concerning a
mermaid who was married to a human man (this, as
well as that of seal-women, being a common motif
in Orkney folklore). One day she found her “seaskin”,
put it on, and went back to the sea. However,
she would subsequently come and visit her children
when her husband was away from home. The last
time she returned, when her children were grown
up, she took away the cow she had brought with her,
and with the cow also all its calves, speaking a verse
to call the cow and calves (Marwick 1929:162).
as standing stones, boulders and land spits are often
explained in folklore as resulting from the actions
of giants; for example, a boulder in the district of
Sourin in Rousay is known as the “Finger Steen”
and is said to have been thrown by a giant named
Cubbie Roo, his finger marks allegedly still being
visible on it (Marwick 1972:178–179). For further
examples, see Marwick (1972:178–179). One also
notes in some of the giant legends recorded by
Marwick (1972:178–179) and Muir (1998:10–11)
the recurring theme of giants possessing a straw or
heather basket, known in Orkney as a “kaesy” (with
variant spellings) or “cubbie” (also with variant
spellings), a feature which also occurs in Costie’s
“The Story o’ Peerie Fool”. Given Costie’s location
of “The Story o’ Peerie Fool” in Faraclett, it
is also interesting to note that this farm contains
a standing stone known as the Yetnasteen. This
name incorporates the Old Norse word for giant:
Jǫtunn, and Hugh Marwick (1947:95) gives the
etymology of the name as jǫtna-steinn1: stone of
the giants. This particular stone is said to wake up
once a year at New Year and go to a nearby lake
for a drink (Marwick 1975:32). Another interesting
detail in Costie’s version of “The Story of Peedie
Fool” (not found in other versions) is the youngest
princess’s list of names she suggests for the “little
yellow-headed boy” before arriving at the correct
answer, Peerie Fool. Her three final guesses before
revealing the true name are “Tirso”, “Ervo”, and
“Dockanblade” (Costie 1976:77). It is noteworthy
that these are all plant names in the local dialect:
Tirso means march ragwort, ervo means chickweed,
and dockanblade is dock (Flaws and Lamb 2001:15;
Marwick 1929:5, 191). Interestingly, however, the
name Tirso might be related to the Old Norse word
þurs, another word for giant. This is phonetically
possible with the addition of the diminutive ending
–o in combination with the development of þ → t,
as occurs, for instance, in the place-names Trussins
Geo in Papa Westray, Orkney (Marwick 1972:178)
and Tirsawater, Shetland (Jennings 2010:5), both
containing the word þurs. If Tirso was a trow (troll/
fairy) name in Orcadian folk tradition, perhaps
Costie, understanding its other meaning as a plant
name, then chose the names Ervo (from Old Norse:
arfi, Marwick 1929:5) and Dockanblade to match?
The preservation of giant lore in Orcadian folk
memory reflected in “The Story o’ Peerie Fool”
and these place names may thus be an indication of
cultural continuity which goes back to Old Norse
culture. While giants are also found in British and
other European folklore—one only needs to think of
the Biblical Goliath or the Greek Cyclops, or numerous
British giants such as Cormoran and Cormelian,
Gog and Magog, or the giant encountered by Jack
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It is said about Grýla that she has fifteen tails and
is dressed in animal skin, and thus looks more like
an animal than a woman (Gunnell 2001:35–36). Her
appearance is similar to another figure in Orcadian
folklore known as the “gyro”, a word deriving from
Old Norse gýgr, meaning ogress. Like the Grýla, the
“gyro” was also “a dark repellent monster with many
horns and several tails” (Marwick 1975:32). On the
island of Papa Westray, a festival known as Gyro
Night, where males dressed up as the “gyro”, was
celebrated at least until 1914 (Marwick 1975:107).
That it was males, in particular, who dressed up as
the ogress, was also typical of the medieval Icelandic
Grýla community drama tradition (Gunnell
2001:35).
It is uncertain whether Costie was basing her
“Muckle Grullyan” character in the story “Bora, the
Coo fae the Sea” on a genuine Orkney tradition or
whether she used academic sources for this particular
piece of folklore. A Grýla verse from Shetland,
in Norn, is recorded by Jakob Jakobsen (1897:19,
see also discussion in Gunnell 2001 and Helgadóttir
2010). Another Grýla verse is recorded by the Orcadian
linguist Hugh Marwick (1929:xxxv–xxxvi),
who got it “many years ago phonetically from the
lips of a Stronsay fisherman, who said he had learned
[it] from a Fair Isle fisherman.” Costie may have
read about Grýla in these sources. On the other hand,
the Papa Westray tradition of Gyro Night, if word of
it reached Kirkwall, would have been within living
memory for Costie, who was 12 years old when it
was last celebrated in 1914 and later a close friend of
Ernest Marwick, who recorded the custom (Marwick
1975:107).
Death, the Afterlife, and the Concept of the Soul
I will now turn the attention from stories to
poetry, and in particular to poems by Costie dealing
with death and the question of what happens to
humans when they die. Although Costie was a Protestant
Christian (Ljosland 2011:110), some of her
poetry reaches beyond Christian ideas when dealing
with death.
An example may be the poem “Islesman’s Request”
(Costie 1997:52). In this poem, an old man
who has ended up in town requests of his daughter
that he should be buried, not in town, but in the
churchyard on the island where he originally came
from, and where his wife is already buried. The reason
this is important is that there he believes he will
be able to hear all the sounds he was used to hearing
when he lived on the island, and he will be able
to keep an eye on his son, who presumably is now
running the family farm: “Hoo wad I ken and hear/
If Johnnie’s ahint wae his neeps?” The poem beautifully
and perceptibly describes all the sounds of the
Scott’s (1967:157) version of the story is also said
to hail from North Ronaldsay, but the plot is quite
different. The mermaid does not appear here; instead,
a sea-bull “bulls” an ordinary cow, and the
resulting female calf has unusual qualities and gives
birth to many calves before disappearing into the sea
with her calves in response to a call. Of these two
accounts, Costie’s (1976:56–64) version is closer
to Scott’s, but not identical. In Costie’s version, the
cow itself is a sea-cow which gives an abundance
of milk and has a large progeny before being called
back to the sea. The substantial difference between
Costie’s and Marwick’s accounts makes it unlikely
that Marwick was Costie’s source, and taking the
publication date of Scott (1967) into account it
seems probable that Marwick’s, Scott’s and Costie’s
versions were independently based on the same living,
oral tradition.
A verse spoken in all three versions of the tale
supports this interpretation. In Costie’s version it
appears as “Come back, Borey, wae a’ thee skorey,
an follow thoo me tae the sea”(Costie 1976:61). In
Hugh Marwick’s version (1929:162): “Come oot,
Green Gorey, wi’ a’ thee skory, an’ follow thoo me
tae the sea!” In Scott’s version (1967:157): - “Brak
thee baund, Boro, Tak wi’ thee aull thee store-o.”
The “skory” in the verse refers to the flock of calves
(cf. Old Norse:skari – flock: Marwick 1929:162).
While the distribution of the motif of sea cattle
seems to suggest that it is not necessarily of Old
Norse origin, another character in Costie’s tale
more arguably is. The character in question is called
“The Muckle Grullyan”. The protagonist of the
story, Olav, is about to fall asleep on the shore when
he hears a supernatural voice calling to him. The
voice identifies itself as “the muckle Grullyan that
sits apae the lum”, the “Grullyan” being explained
in the story as “a sea monster” (Costie 1976:57).
This character is clearly related to the Old Norse female
monster Grýla (Marwick 1929:62). The Grýla
was also known about in Iceland, the Faroe Islands,
Fair Isle, and Shetland (Helgadóttir 2010:200–213).
Helgadóttir (2010:210) also finds it likely that
“Grýla must have been known in continental Scandinavia
already in the Middle Ages.” Not noting
Marwick’s (1929:62) Orkney/Fair Isle Grýla verse
(see below), Gunnell (2001:34) gives the distribution
of the Grýla tradition as “from the Swedish
lakes to Western Norway, and from Shetland to the
north of Iceland.” Unlike in Costie’s tale where
she is a sea monster, Grýla is usually thought of as
an ogress who lives in the hills and wilderness for
most of the year, but who sometimes comes down
to the farms where she frightens people. However,
as might be noted from the quote from Gunnell
(2001:34) above, the Grýla has been recorded in
Sweden as a lake monster.
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
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island, from the drone of the bees in the heather to
the rumble of carts from the mill and the clash and
thunder of the sea as it hits the land: “[If I were buried
in town] I wad miss the soond o’ the folk/Gaan
aaf tae shaer i’ the hill,/An’ the drone o’ the bees i’
the heather/An’ the rumble o’ cairts fae the mill. […]
An’ the roarin o’ howe-backid waves,/For the clash
an’ the thunder o’ land sea/Tearan the rocks an’ the
caves.” This is where the old man wants to stay after
death. It is noteworthy that there is no mention of
Heaven or Hell.
What makes “Islesman’s Request” interesting
from the point of view of Old Norse influence or
the survival of Old Norse ideas, is the idea of the
deceased living on, in some form, in his homeland
and thereby inhabiting or becoming part of
the land. The existence of this idea in the poem
does not, of course, prove the existence of any
continuous tradition surviving in Orkney. It does,
however, suggest that Costie had the idea from
somewhere, and expressed it in her poetry. That
said, an abundance of parallels can be found in Old
Norse literature and Scandinavian folklore. Gunnell
(in press:17) lists a number of examples from Old
Norse literature of the dead living on either in their
graves or in the local landscape: “in Landnámabók
(1968:98 [S68], 125 [S85], 140 [S97], 233 [S197]);
Grettis saga Ásmundssonar (1936:57–59); Brennu-
Njáls saga (1954:192–194); Eyrbyggja saga
(1935:9); Harðar saga (1991:40–43); Ynglinga
saga (Heimskringla 1941–1951 I:24–25); Flateyjarbók
(1944–1945 II: 76 and 78); and Hrómundar
saga Grípssonar (1944:276–278).” In traditional
Norwegian folk belief, there are likewise stories
of the dead remaining on their home farm or near
it (Visted and Stigum 1971:368–374). The original
farmer who cleared the land had a special status.
He, or alternatively someone from the family
who had been particularly well renowned and respected,
became the farm’s special guardian spirit.
This guardian spirit was called “alv” (elf), “gardvord”
(farm protector), “haugbu” (mound dweller),
“nisse”, or other names (Visted and Stigum
1971:368, 373). Gunnell (in press) notes that this
type of spirit was also imported from Norway to
Orkney and Shetland, but not to Iceland or the
Faeroes. The name “haugbu” for such a spirit may
be related to the Orcadian dialect words “hogboy”
and “hogboon”; as Marwick notes, “the hogboy
or hogboon [is] the equivalent of the Old Norse
haug-búi or haug-búinn (mound-dweller) and of
the Norwegian haugbonde. At one time almost every
mound in Orkney had its hogboon” (Marwick
1975:39, see also Marwick 1972:188–189).
A similar idea of the dead or the spirit of the dead
remaining in the landscape can be seen in a wonderful
pair of Costie’s poems named “The Shore below
Wir Hoose” (Costie 1997:46) and “Speir Thoo the
Wast Wind” (Costie 1997:14). There is nothing in
the published collections of Costie’s poetry to say
that these two poems were intended as a pair. However,
I have grouped them together on the basis of
similarities in contents. In both, we hear of a young
man named John who has drowned some years previously.
Both are narrated in first person by someone
close to John, and both share the common theme of
mourning for John and raising the question of where
he is now.
“The Shore Below Wir Hoose” is narrated by
John’s mother. She has been to church and been
told by the minister that in Heaven she will be able
to paint beautiful paintings. But the only motif she
wants to paint is the shore just below her house. The
reason is that this is the shore where she goes to remember
her son John. Curiously, she does not seem
to expect a reunion with John in Heaven. On account
of what she has been told by the church minister, she
pictures herself as eventually going to Heaven, but
she does not seem to think of John or John’s soul as
being there. Instead, John’s mother’s daily reunion
with John takes place down by the shore below her
house: “I t’owt o’ his bitto life, feenished sae seun
an’ by,/Hoo he’d played on de banks abeun me wae
twa partan back for kye” (Costie 1997:46). This is
where she sat just before he was born. This is where
he played when he was little. And this is where she
goes to remember him. Therefore, her only wish is
that when she eventually goes to Heaven, she may
have a view of the shore below her house from there:
“So du sees hoo wir knit taegither, me an’ de hoose
an’ de shore./An’ gin I can see hid i’ Heaven, A’ll no
lippen2 anyt’ing more” (Costie 1997:47). It is almost
as if she feels that she would lose contact with John
if she loses sight of the shore. The shore seems to
represent the border between the living world of
John’s mother and the eternal world of the ocean
which took her son, where he still somehow seems
to reside.
The poem “Speir Thoo the Wast Wind” also involves
someone in communication with John. It is
not clear who the narrator of this poem is; it might be
John’s mother, or girlfriend, or another close friend
or relative. The poem’s narrator is in communication
with John by sending messages with the west wind:
“And many a message/I’ve sent ower the sea./Speir
thoo the Wast wind,/He’ll tak id for thee” (Costie
1997:14). John here seems to exist in the wind, the
sky, and the elements.
The key point in “Speir Thoo the Wast Wind” lies
in the last stanza. Here it is explained what the narrator
believes has happened to John’s soul or spirit:
“For he, like the grey goose,/ Maan wander sae
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
the grey goose, light such as the Northern Lights, or
wind, in other words, as part of nature.
The poem’s flock of grey geese may, on one level,
represent the real geese that may be seen high up in
the sky, ploughing the heavens, on their journey to or
from faraway lands. One need not employ Old Norse
beliefs to read the geese as a symbol for John’s long
journey from mortal life to the next, wherever that
may be. But is it also possible to read them as an
aspect of the soul? In shamanic tradition, some humans
were believed to have the ability to send their
spirit in the form of an animal out on expeditions,
making it possible to visit the otherworld, while the
human was left unconscious, a skill also attributed to
Odin (Sanmark 2010:161–162). One possible shape
for the travelling soul or spirit is that of a bird. One
notes that Alver (1989:110) feels that “the unaccountable
presence we call the soul” is “best symbolized,
perhaps, as a bird.” In the same way, fylgjur
and the hugr could both take animal form, including
bird form (Heide 2006b:135, Mundal 1974:33). For
example, the swan, eagles, and hawk that appear in
a dream in Gunnlaug’s saga ormstungu, chapter 2,
may be seen as bird fylgjur, and are interpreted as
such in the saga text itself: “stórra manna fylgjur”
(“the fetches of important people”: translation by
Katrina C. Atwood 2000:563). Hilda Ellis Davidson
also suggests that Odin’s ravens Hugin and Munin
“may symbolise the sending out of his spirit into
other worlds” (Davidson 1996:49). On the basis of
Norwegian folk tradition, Alver (1989:122–123)
also records fylgjur taking on bird form. The motif
of a bird symbolizing a dead person’s spirit is also
known from Orkney folklore, as two tales from
North Ronaldsay show. In one tale, “uncanny white
birds flew upward” after dark from the spot where
two children were buried, and the birds vanished
after the bodies’ reburial in the churchyard (Scott
1967:163). In the other tale, a woman with a newborn
baby is found dead by the shore, “with two
white birds sitting at her head” (Scott 1967:156). It
is thus possible to read the grey geese in “Speir thoo
the Wast Wind” as symbolic of the soul or a spirit
travelling in this world or between worlds, following
beliefs already existent in Old Norse.
May the soul or spirit then also take the form of
light? Alver (1989:111) lists “fog, light, vapour or
fire” as the more abstract forms that the spirit can
take. In the folktale from North Ronaldsay, Orkney,
noted above, where “uncanny white birds” were
seen above a grave, there is also the presence of
“strange lights” which follow the bodies after their
reburial in the churchyard, where “they may still be
seen” (Scott 1967:163). In the Orkney and Shetland
dialects, there is also a word, gamfer or ganfer (Marwick
1929:51, Jakobsen 1928–32:211), which can
free,/And flit like the dancers3/In lands far fae thee”
(Costie 1997:14). In other words: John has been set
free and become part of the wind, the weather, and
the sky. He can fly like the grey geese and dance like
the Northern Lights. But he can also still hear messages
from his loved ones when they send their messages
to him with the west wind. John can wander
freely among the elements, and with him perhaps the
spirits of all drowned seamen.
If one is to attempt a reading of the poem which
is informed by Old Norse beliefs, one may start by
observing the three forms in which John’s spirit or
soul seems to be embedded:
(1) As a grey goose or among the grey geese,
(2) As part of the Northern Lights or among the
Northern Lights, and
(3) Present in the wind or in communication with
the wind.
Old Norse belief and later Norwegian folk tradition
contains an array of representations of the spirit
or soul (see Alver 1989 for details). What we now
might term the ego-soul, or the psyche, representing
thought, wish, desire, and temperament, is in the Old
Norse tradition called hugr (Alver 1989:110–111).
Interestingly, the hugr may leave the body on independent
journeys, sometimes in visible and sometimes
in invisible form (Alver 1989:111–120). When
visible, the hugr usually takes the form of the person
it belongs to, or an animal that has some relationship
to the person’s character, or a more abstract shape
such as fog, light, vapor, or fire (Alver 1989:111).
Other, but related, concepts of the soul include
those of vord and fylgja, the difference being that
these seem to have a more passive and permanent
existence alongside the human, over which the human
has little control, whereas the hugr’s journeys
are limited in time and may be controlled (Alver
1989:121). Heide (2006b:153), however, points out
that the terms may also be used interchangeably in
Old Norse literature.
Interestingly, the independent life of the soul
was not seen as ceasing at the moment of death. As
Alver writes: “The vor(d) can designate that which
leaves a person at the moment of death. It was widespread
custom [in Norway] to leave the door ajar
when someone died, to let the vor(d) out” (Alver
1989:121). After a person’s death, the fylgja could
also “start leading her own independent existence”
(Sanmark 2010:161).
In order to connect Costie’s poem to these Old
Norse concepts of the soul, it is necessary to connect
the three forms John’s spirit or soul takes in the
poem to the various forms the spirit or soul can take
in Old Norse belief. It is therefore necessary to examine
whether the spirit or soul in Old Norse belief
can also be seen as taking the form of a bird such as
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
186
2006a:350 with references). A similar tradition in
relation to the vord is recorded in Norwegian folk
belief by Alver (1989:122), who recounts a description
from 1786 where the spirit of the dead person is
seen leaving the body in the form of “a thick, narrow,
long, whitish cloud, at times extinguishing candles
[…]” (see also Heide 2006b:203).
It might be going too far to suggest direct parallels
between Costie’s portrayal of the nature of
the soul or spirit and any particular ancient Old
Norse forms such as the “breath soul” or andi, the
travelling hugr, the ganfer, or the fylgja. However,
the very idea that the soul or spirit can take on an
independent existence in this world and remain (as
in “Islesman’s Request” and “The Shore Below wir
Hoose”), perceive (as in “Islesman’s Request” and
“Speir Thoo the Wast Wind”), and be visible (as in
“Speir Thoo the Wast Wind”) is without question
reminiscent of Old Norse beliefs that Costie might
have encountered in Orkney oral tradition. While it
is not possible to conclude that Costie definitely had
Old Norse beliefs regarding the nature of the spirit
or soul in mind when she wrote the poems “Islesman’s
Request”, “The Shore Below Wir Hoose”, and
“Speir Thoo the Wast Wind”, it is nonetheless easy,
as I have shown, to read the poems in such a light. To
my mind, this reading adds depth to an understanding
of these three poems.
Conclusion
The aim of this paper has been to assess whether
the work of Christina Costie follows the lead of
other Orcadian writers in utilizing re-discovered Old
Norse literary texts as inspiration, or whether other
traces of Old Norse cultural influence can be found.
In answer to this, it is not known whether Costie
harbored any feelings of “atavistic kinship” (Hall
2010:1) with the figures of the Old Norse sagas. If
she did, it does not show in her writing: Only one
clearly saga-inspired story by her survives in complete
form: “The Dog Called Vige” which was later
excluded from her collected works on the grounds of
it being uncharacteristic of Costie’s production as a
whole. Costie’s work in general does not at all come
across as an “over-enthusiastic celebration of these
shadowy Norse figures” (Hall 2010:1), which is
perhaps a reason why only three pages of Hall’s History
of Orkney Literature (2010) deals with Costie
(pp. 122–125). She is therefore less consciously
Old Norse-inspired than many of her contemporary
Orkney writers, and is better compared to Walter
Traill Dennison than for instance George Mackay
Brown or Eric Linklater.
In spite of this, an analysis of Costie’s short stories
“The Story o’ Peerie Fool” and “Bora the Coo
denote very different meanings such as a person’s
doppelganger, a sound or feeling of a person arriving
before their arrival, a portent of a person’s death,
or weather phenomena such as a mock sun, a halo
around the sun or moon, a broken rainbow portending
bad weather, or cold mist indicating snow. Heide
(2006a:350–351) also explains that the gan- or gamprobably
refers to a spirit sent forth, and the –fer
refers to a journey, deriving from Old Norse *gandferð.
Heide (2006b:207) shows how the Orkney and
Shetland understanding of ganfer/gamfer is paralleled
in the gandreið vision in Njál’s saga, where,
among other things, a ring of fire appears in the
sky, accompanied by a spirit rider and bad weather
(Magnusson and Hermann Pálsson 1960:214–215).
In both cases, the weather phenomena and atmospheric
conditions seem to be the visible signs that
travelling spirits are present. I have nonetheless not
come across any reference to Northern Lights being
understood as a ganfer/gamfer, even though, as
noted, several other light phenomena such as a mock
sun, a halo around the sun or moon, and a broken
rainbow are covered by the term. Extending the
understanding of light phenomena in the sky as observable
signs of travelling spirits to cover Northern
Lights does, however, not require a long stretch of
the imagination, and may work as such in the poem.
Once again, there is reason to connect such an idea
to existing Nordic tradition.
It is also clear that the spirit or soul may also
take the form of wind, both in Old Norse literature
and in later Norwegian folk belief. As Eldar Heide
writes: “Det ser ut til at det har vori svært utbreidd
frå gammalt av å oppfatte utsend sjel som vind
[…]” (“It seems to have been very widespread from
old to understand a soul sent forth as wind”; Heide
2006b:196, my translation). Heide (2006b:196)
also explains that there was a complex of ideas
where the spirit or soul was thought of as wind, and
could be visible in the form of bad weather. Heide
(2006a:350) draws attention to the fact that “[...] the
notion of soul or spirit is derived from breath, which
is moving air, a form of wind. In languages from the
Atlantic to Siberia the word for breath and soul/spirit
is the same.” The Old Norse word in question here
is andi. This “breath soul” (Sanmark 2010:160–161)
could also be sent forth as wind by sorcerers (Heide
2006a:350–351). In a similar way, in the kennings
of Old Norse Skaldic poetry, the mind may be
paraphrased as an ogress’s wind (Heide 2006a:351,
2006b:196).
Heide also notes that in death, the “breath soul”
could sometimes be seen as it left the body: “It is a
widespread belief that when someone dies, the spirit
leaving the body may blow out candles, or make
a gale, if the departed had a strong mind (Heide
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fae the Sea” and her poems “Islesman’s Request”,
“The Shore Below Wir Hoose”, and “Speir Thoo
the Wast Wind” has identified traces of Old Norse
traditions and beliefs which may have survived as
part of Orkney’s later oral culture and entered into
Costie’s work via that route. In the two short stories
cited, and also in most of Costie’s other short
stories (Costie 1976), her familiarity with Orkney’s
oral storytelling culture generally comes across as
something very real and genuine, and gives a definite
strength to her writing. “The Story o’ Peerie Fool”
and “Bora, the Coo fae the Sea” have both been
shown to transmit Nordic folklore (in the form of
tales and belief concerning creatures) which had
been passed down orally before Costie’s use of
them in her works. While the three poems discussed
contain less certain evidence of Old Norse or Nordic
influence, it is possible to see their understanding of
the nature of the soul or spirit as having roots in Old
Norse and later Nordic ways of thinking on the subject.
It is not known how aware Costie was of these
motifs and ideas being of Old Norse origin: She
might have seen them as part of the 19th- and 20thcentury
Orcadian culture which her writing reflects.
All the same, rather than feeling put-on and awkward
due to a “vast historical and cultural distance”
(Hall 2010:1) between the time and culture of the sagas
and 19th-/20th-century Orkney, the genuine preservation
and passing down of these living Old Norse
motifs, stories and ideas which were maintained in
Orkney’s storytelling culture makes Costie’s works
feel more genuinely Nordic and sincere. In Costie’s
case, the historical and cultural distance between the
Old Norse world and the present does not seem to be
so vast after all.
Acknowledgments
The author would like to thank the peer-reviewers and
guest editor Professor Terry Gunnell for their suggestions
for the improvement of this paper, Dr. Alexandra Sanmark
for consultation on Norse pre-Christian belief, Dr. Andrew
Jennings, Dr. Eldar Heide, William Frost, Tom Muir, and
Sunniva Saksvik for help with references, and Nancy Scott
as copyright holder to Christina Costie’s work.
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Endnotes
1Other Orkney place-names containing the word
jǫtunn are Ettan’s Pow in Papa Westray and Echna
Loch in Burray (Marwick 1972:178 ).
2“Lippen”: expect (Flaws and Lamb 2001:37).
3“The merry dancers”: northern lights (Flaws and
Lamb 2001:40).