ABOUT the middle of the last century, Thomas, or as he was popularly
called, “Tam Giffen,” resided, or I may rather say wandered, in the
parishes of Kilbirnie, Beith, and Dunlop, as a mendicant. He is reported
to have been a stout-built man, of something more than middle age, of a
sourish turn of mind; and was in the habit of giving laconic, mysterious
answers to those who dared to ask him questions. Much superstition
abounded in the country at that time; and “Tam’s” aspect, which was
remarkably forbidding, together with his strange disposition, soon
attracted the awe-stricken attention of the simple peasantry, who went
so far as to call him a _Warlock_. Tam, with the shrewdness of a crafty
mind, made use of this folly and superstitious fear for his own
aggrandisement; and few, after a time, dared refuse him an alms, from
his “uncanny” notoriety. Of the many strange and unaccountable stories
still related of him. I will narrate the following:—
“One day when the water of Lugton, which separates the parishes of Beith
and Dunlop, was rolling “from bank to brae,” and the holms were in a
flooded state, Tam was observed on the opposite bank by some people.
Happening to lose sight of him for a few minutes, what was their
astonishment to find Tam standing beside them, high and dry! The water,
which was full and over-flowing, was more than thirty feet in width, and
no bridge nearer than two miles. To the hurried question, how he got
across, he quickly replied—”Hoo, I didna come across ata, I was in a
hurry, and just came through below it.”
At another time, a remarkably pious man, in the parish of Dunlop, during
a high gale of wind, ascended to the roof of his house, which, according
to the custom of the time, was of thatch; laid a number of stones and
sticks on the roof, to prevent the wind from blowing the thatch away;
and while on the roof, according to his own account, a tremendous
whirlwind swept round and nearly overthrew him. He mentally ejaculated,
“God save me,” and held on by the rigging. His bonnet and wig were blown
away—where, he could not tell. Next day, after the storm was abated, he
went again on the roof of the house, to mend the damage which had been
done. Looking down, he perceived “Tam” standing at the foot of the
ladder, and surveying him with a most sinister gaze. “Ye held on weel
yesterday,” exclaimed Tam; “gin ye hadna whispered ‘God save me’, we wud
ha blawn ye doun, but we took awa your wig and bonnet: gae awa doun tae
the well in the meadow, and ye’ll get them lying there, aside the sauch
bush.” The man accordingly went, and, in the exact spot, found his wig
and bonnet.
An honest blacksmith, one evening, going to weld two pieces of iron
together, called on his apprentice, who was reported to be a _heedless_
youth, to come and assist him in beating the iron. After calling once or
twice, and receiving no answer, he angrily exclaimed, “I may just as
weel cry on Tam Giffen.” “What do ye want,” whispered a voice behind
him, which was no other than Tam’s: “I was just fleeing through the air
wi’ a wheen o’ them that’s gaun awa to dance in Kilbride kirk-yard the
nicht, and I thocht I wad come in an’ see what ye wanted wi’ me.” “Did
ye come in at the door,” exclaimed the astonished blacksmith. “No, I
just drapped doun the lum—but I maun awa’, or they’ll miss me:” so
saying, he instantly disappeared.
At last “Tam” was discovered lying dead on the banks of the Garnock
water, near Garrit Linn, in a wild and solitary glen, in the parish of
Kilbirnie. According to tradition, he was murdered by the fairies for
disclosing some of their secrets. He was buried in Kilbirnie churchyard;
and his grave is still pointed out to the curious.