In the beginning the whole world was water, liquid yet still. Below the silent water lay solid rock, earth’s centre, and above the smooth surface of the water lay the air, unmoving. Above the surface of the resting air lay the motionless stars. The whole world waited, lifeless.
Then from his home in the bottomless deeps the lordly whale rose up; Balengorion rose up from his birthplace in the deep and his black back split the shimmering surface, and he blew.
So for the first time the air began to move, drifted here and there by that first breath of life. Then Balengorion curved down again to the dark depths, but as he curved away his tail rose up high above the silent surface and with one stroke of his mighty flukes a wave became. So for the first time the water began to move, driven back and forth by that first stroke of life.
Beneath the rocking waters and the whispering air the whale lay, and the dark of the deeps was no more than the dark of the air above, for there was no light in the world. Then the whale began to sing. Balengorion’s song is a mystery for he sang no words, but as he sang, in answer to his song, so for the first time the Star began to rise, called up into the sky by that first song of life.
In the wonder of that light the seas began to spawn. Swarming life filled the waters, swelled by the power of the new Day Star. First the tiniest specks of living things appeared, then the krill to feed the whale. And the whale still sang and the Day Star shone and the sea creatures grew, and the sea was the womb of all the world.
Out of that womb swam a second star. It was the moon who tore herself free from the solid depths below the waters to swing in the night sky searching for the light. Night after night she curves across the sky in the track of the Day Star. But she has no will to stand beside that light. Her shores are all dead things and in her yearning she calls the earth to join her search. By day and night the land she left tilts at her bidding and in the caves she deserted lie the captive seas.
Out of this catastrophe was all land born, when the seas fled back to fill the empty chasm where once the moon had lain. Since that time we of the sea are ever subjugated to the imperious land.
Yet the Day Star’s light continued to bless sea and land alike, and on the land creatures began to crawl. And the whale still sang and the Day Star shone.
On the dry land began Man to appear, solid and earth born, longing for a sea season; Man the Avenger, aggressive and angry. In the ranks of Man grew Parsid, Protector. At the hand of Man he saw the world perishing; he saw pain and persecution.
Parsid walked on the shore in deep thought; his was the time of decision, of midsummer venturing and the time to know himself. In his mind troubles lay thick as smelt in the sea.
Parsid waited, surrendered to the Day Light. He waited for a silence to show him the way. Then from the deeps he heard the song of Balengorion. The song of the whale was calling him, catching at him, never to return:
‘Come to the deeps, Sire of the Sea Folk, come to the open wave, to the moon tide and the star time. Come with your daughters to the cool wide sea where peace and possession is waiting for you.’
Parsid heard the song and gladly deserted the world of men. Happily he left the earth whose stones had become too hard for him. Parsid, Sire of the Sea Folk, led his family into the waves. So he gave us our freedom: to be the people of the sea.
**********
Sunday 30 September 2007
Monday 24 September 2007
The Merman of Orford
Is it possible that the Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie is not merely a legend? Is it silkies that the following historic documents are describing?
The earliest sighting of a silkie, at Orford in Suffolk, England, was reported by the chronicler Ralph of Coggeshall in his Chronicum Anglicanum of 1207. He tells how fishermen caught a wild man in their nets off the coast of Suffolk, and showed him to their lord, Sir Bartholomew de Glanville, Constable of the castle of Orford during the reign of Henry II:
‘He was naked and was like a man in all his members. He was covered in hair and had a long shaggy beard. The knight kept him in custody many days and nights, lest he should return to the sea. He eagerly ate whatever was brought to him, whether raw or cooked, but the raw he pressed between his hands until all the juice was expelled. Whether he would not or could not, he did not talk, although oft times hung up by his feet and harshly tortured. Brought into the church, he showed no signs of reverence or belief…. He sought his bed at sunset and always remained there until sunrise.
‘It happened that once they brought him to the harbour and suffered him to go into the sea, strongly guarding him with three lines of nets; but he dived under the nets out into the deep sea, and came up again and again as if in derision of the spectators on the shore. After thus playing about for a long while, he came back of his own free will. But later on, being negligently guarded, he secretly fled back to the sea and was never afterward seen.’
**********
The earliest sighting of a silkie, at Orford in Suffolk, England, was reported by the chronicler Ralph of Coggeshall in his Chronicum Anglicanum of 1207. He tells how fishermen caught a wild man in their nets off the coast of Suffolk, and showed him to their lord, Sir Bartholomew de Glanville, Constable of the castle of Orford during the reign of Henry II:
‘He was naked and was like a man in all his members. He was covered in hair and had a long shaggy beard. The knight kept him in custody many days and nights, lest he should return to the sea. He eagerly ate whatever was brought to him, whether raw or cooked, but the raw he pressed between his hands until all the juice was expelled. Whether he would not or could not, he did not talk, although oft times hung up by his feet and harshly tortured. Brought into the church, he showed no signs of reverence or belief…. He sought his bed at sunset and always remained there until sunrise.
‘It happened that once they brought him to the harbour and suffered him to go into the sea, strongly guarding him with three lines of nets; but he dived under the nets out into the deep sea, and came up again and again as if in derision of the spectators on the shore. After thus playing about for a long while, he came back of his own free will. But later on, being negligently guarded, he secretly fled back to the sea and was never afterward seen.’
**********
Friday 31 August 2007
Foraging
‘All waters of the sea together flow
But I, alone, am here with none beside
To watch with me the ebbing of the tide
Nor hear the seabird’s mournful cry ….’
‘A song for Seiglid!’ cried Idranil, as he leapt from the water. ‘Come, you misery. Wake up and join us, we must eat.’ He shook his dripping body, causing the flying drops to spatter Seiglid where he lay on the rock. ‘My nan has a bowl full to the brim and she’ll be distressed if we don’t eat it all. Come on, move, you stone, you solid lump!’
His well-aimed toe shifted Seiglid, who jumped up to find with relief that he could laugh and roar with the best. They ran awkwardly down the rock, wide feet sliding, arms held out for balance.
Feeding is a random thing among the folk but usually follows the tide’s ebb, when the beach has been gleaned and the bowls are full; full of limpets and winkles, of tiny crabs and edible weed. First the little ones are fed, their elders popping the choicest morsels into their groping mouths. Then the oldest grandsires hold out their cupped hands to be filled. The women of the folk eat as best they can, always on the move, with a special care for young mothers with their babies still at their breasts. The sires, the fathers of the sea folk, rarely join this communal feast. They find their food alone, out in the wild waters, although sometimes one would step forward proudly to take the good things offered by his womenfolk. The youngsters, the unproven useless boys, had to take their chances. When there was plenty it was lavished upon them with yearning love for their vulnerable youth, but if there was little to spare they were beaten off and forced to forage for themselves, so they could learn to survive when the testing time of venture came.
Led by Idranil they edged around the group, grinning, a cupped hand held out in hope, and sure enough the bowls were laden and they could have their fill. The afternoon sun warmed the sheltered beach and the folk rested and talked. Young maidens spread out their hair with combs of white bone, little maids at their sides waited to be groomed too. Babies were rocked in old nans’ arms or were crooned over by loving sisters as they lay sleeping in warm nests in the sand. The lazy youths stretched their limbs and their eyes slid often to their heroes.
As the shadows lengthened the tide emptied out of the cove once more and the women wandered away to search the glistening rocks again. Idranil, with Gladrid, lay in the water’s ripple and sway, playing with the little ones who rolled and dived into the curling waves at their feet. One old nan lay on the swell, a baby in her arms, pinching his nose shut whenever the waves broke over them both, laughing at his sneezing splutter, echoing with him the broken wave sounds.
‘Tsh-tsh then, tsh-tshsh, my little one.’ And she sang one of the many lullabies of the folk, her voice warm with love. Babies on the beach were held and surrounded constantly with love; comfy arms cuddled them, gentle fingers stroked them, there were no harsh words: the sea would be their master soon enough.
After a second mealtime, in the long level light of evening, the folk began to settle to sleep. Scratching and yawning, shuffling out familiar sleeping troughs in the soft sand, they muttered the warnings, the old safeguards to keep death, the longest shadow, away.
‘Morning bright to my sight come in flight, end this night.’ Idranil rattled the words away as he always did, shifting and stretching in the comfort of the cave, tumbled among his companions. Ever since they had left their mothers’ sides they had slept like this, limbs tangled together, drawing warmth. Young men of the same year of borning, they waited, some sleepless, for their days of venture.
But I, alone, am here with none beside
To watch with me the ebbing of the tide
Nor hear the seabird’s mournful cry ….’
‘A song for Seiglid!’ cried Idranil, as he leapt from the water. ‘Come, you misery. Wake up and join us, we must eat.’ He shook his dripping body, causing the flying drops to spatter Seiglid where he lay on the rock. ‘My nan has a bowl full to the brim and she’ll be distressed if we don’t eat it all. Come on, move, you stone, you solid lump!’
His well-aimed toe shifted Seiglid, who jumped up to find with relief that he could laugh and roar with the best. They ran awkwardly down the rock, wide feet sliding, arms held out for balance.
Feeding is a random thing among the folk but usually follows the tide’s ebb, when the beach has been gleaned and the bowls are full; full of limpets and winkles, of tiny crabs and edible weed. First the little ones are fed, their elders popping the choicest morsels into their groping mouths. Then the oldest grandsires hold out their cupped hands to be filled. The women of the folk eat as best they can, always on the move, with a special care for young mothers with their babies still at their breasts. The sires, the fathers of the sea folk, rarely join this communal feast. They find their food alone, out in the wild waters, although sometimes one would step forward proudly to take the good things offered by his womenfolk. The youngsters, the unproven useless boys, had to take their chances. When there was plenty it was lavished upon them with yearning love for their vulnerable youth, but if there was little to spare they were beaten off and forced to forage for themselves, so they could learn to survive when the testing time of venture came.
Led by Idranil they edged around the group, grinning, a cupped hand held out in hope, and sure enough the bowls were laden and they could have their fill. The afternoon sun warmed the sheltered beach and the folk rested and talked. Young maidens spread out their hair with combs of white bone, little maids at their sides waited to be groomed too. Babies were rocked in old nans’ arms or were crooned over by loving sisters as they lay sleeping in warm nests in the sand. The lazy youths stretched their limbs and their eyes slid often to their heroes.
As the shadows lengthened the tide emptied out of the cove once more and the women wandered away to search the glistening rocks again. Idranil, with Gladrid, lay in the water’s ripple and sway, playing with the little ones who rolled and dived into the curling waves at their feet. One old nan lay on the swell, a baby in her arms, pinching his nose shut whenever the waves broke over them both, laughing at his sneezing splutter, echoing with him the broken wave sounds.
‘Tsh-tsh then, tsh-tshsh, my little one.’ And she sang one of the many lullabies of the folk, her voice warm with love. Babies on the beach were held and surrounded constantly with love; comfy arms cuddled them, gentle fingers stroked them, there were no harsh words: the sea would be their master soon enough.
After a second mealtime, in the long level light of evening, the folk began to settle to sleep. Scratching and yawning, shuffling out familiar sleeping troughs in the soft sand, they muttered the warnings, the old safeguards to keep death, the longest shadow, away.
‘Morning bright to my sight come in flight, end this night.’ Idranil rattled the words away as he always did, shifting and stretching in the comfort of the cave, tumbled among his companions. Ever since they had left their mothers’ sides they had slept like this, limbs tangled together, drawing warmth. Young men of the same year of borning, they waited, some sleepless, for their days of venture.
Thursday 30 August 2007
Vilidorn - who fought the giant squid
Once in a warm sea time there lived a man of the folk, mighty and strong. Vilidorn was his name. His pebble-hard muscles stood out on giant limbs and his proud head stood high on his sturdy neck. Across his massive shoulders, matted with curling hair, his strength moved in rippling show, and knotted ropes of mighty sinew were his arms. Straddled firmly on his powerful legs, feet rooted in the bedded sand, this man was a rock of fortitude and stubborn will.
A hard man was Vilidorn, and proud. He laughed at the trembling efforts of the folk to topple him, and could hold three adversaries at a time to submission beneath the waters. In wrestling and grappling no one was his master. It was said his strength outmatched the very waves.
On days of storm, when mountainous breakers roared, it was his habit to defy the sea: standing motionless in one chosen spot he would shout his challenge, his full beard shaking off the spray, his red mouth laughing. Though the waves burst above his head he would not surrender, only with the dying of the storm would he step aside, kicking the last wavelets beneath his heel. Deriding their weakness he left at last and went to venture on the ocean path, calling his challenge across the deeps.
‘I am Vilidorn, strongest of the sea folk! None can hold me against my will!’
Fish rushed away beneath him. Sea birds cried, raucous, above his head.
‘Be afraid!’ they seemed to say. ‘Beware, for one may come from the darkest cavern of the deep, whose strength you cannot guess!’
Vilidorn sensed the awesome fall beneath him, and he tried in ever farther dives to sound the creatures of the deep with his challenge.
‘I am Vilidorn and you cannot hold me! I do not fear your year-long dark.’
So then the serpent rose to the daylight, its shiny length thrashing the surface, searching for Vilidorn.
The looping body pulsed over Vilidorn’s flesh, huge suckers clung to his skin, and now he felt it draw him down. Around him its many folds throbbed and flailed as Vilidorn braced his legs and arms to force aside the pressing coils. Around his ribs one squeezing circle lay, another turned and knotted about his legs. With panic strength he ripped the slapping tail from his neck and felt the tearing of his own flesh in those thousand sucking mouths. The water clouded before him and through the murk he saw the serpent’s glowing eyes and grasping beak.
With that strength which was once his pride now dying to hollows in his arms and legs yet Vilidorn struggled on to halt his enemy. Blood from his many wounds swirled in the sea about him, like shadowy serpents trailing out his death. And yet he fiercely placed his foot against that hard shell beak, stamped back his heel into a yellowed eye. It was his final thrust and blackness pressed upon him as he felt his last air crushed out of his folded lungs.
And in that moment the grappling coils were torn away and he was freed.
Up! Up to the air again! Helpless as the weakest of the folk, Vilidorn lay on the wave tops savouring life and heard the sea birds cry, joyous, above him and watched the dash of silvered fish below.
‘Be grateful,’ they seemed to say. ‘Thank the friend who came from the deeps to your salvation.’
Then, marked across his huge brow by white craters of torn flesh from the struggle he had won, the massive head of Serbadon, the toothed whale, rose from the waters, and his quiet eye sought out Vilidorn.
‘Know yourself now, Vilidorn of the Sea Folk, and put away your pride.’
‘My life is yours, lord, and in your generosity my only pride,’ replied the weary man. ‘How can I serve you in all the days you have given me?’
‘When your strength returns you may serve me, and you may help my unhappy people: return to your beaches and watch there for my brothers. Alone and melancholy they swim onto the land to end their lives. If you can, with your strength, take them back to the deeps to die in dignity; stay by their side until the last, and try, Vilidorn, to be sure that none of my people shall ever again drift unfriended into that final abyss.’
‘Trust me in this,’ swore Vilidorn.
At that solemn pledge Serbadon sighed heavily and rolled down to the lonely deeps once more.
Then Vilidorn came again to the beach of his borning, silent and understanding, to begin his lifetime duty. So it is to this time still true that no whale will die alone if Sea Folk can be by; for this we owe that great mind in the deeps who once saved proud Vilidorn.
A hard man was Vilidorn, and proud. He laughed at the trembling efforts of the folk to topple him, and could hold three adversaries at a time to submission beneath the waters. In wrestling and grappling no one was his master. It was said his strength outmatched the very waves.
On days of storm, when mountainous breakers roared, it was his habit to defy the sea: standing motionless in one chosen spot he would shout his challenge, his full beard shaking off the spray, his red mouth laughing. Though the waves burst above his head he would not surrender, only with the dying of the storm would he step aside, kicking the last wavelets beneath his heel. Deriding their weakness he left at last and went to venture on the ocean path, calling his challenge across the deeps.
‘I am Vilidorn, strongest of the sea folk! None can hold me against my will!’
Fish rushed away beneath him. Sea birds cried, raucous, above his head.
‘Be afraid!’ they seemed to say. ‘Beware, for one may come from the darkest cavern of the deep, whose strength you cannot guess!’
Vilidorn sensed the awesome fall beneath him, and he tried in ever farther dives to sound the creatures of the deep with his challenge.
‘I am Vilidorn and you cannot hold me! I do not fear your year-long dark.’
So then the serpent rose to the daylight, its shiny length thrashing the surface, searching for Vilidorn.
The looping body pulsed over Vilidorn’s flesh, huge suckers clung to his skin, and now he felt it draw him down. Around him its many folds throbbed and flailed as Vilidorn braced his legs and arms to force aside the pressing coils. Around his ribs one squeezing circle lay, another turned and knotted about his legs. With panic strength he ripped the slapping tail from his neck and felt the tearing of his own flesh in those thousand sucking mouths. The water clouded before him and through the murk he saw the serpent’s glowing eyes and grasping beak.
With that strength which was once his pride now dying to hollows in his arms and legs yet Vilidorn struggled on to halt his enemy. Blood from his many wounds swirled in the sea about him, like shadowy serpents trailing out his death. And yet he fiercely placed his foot against that hard shell beak, stamped back his heel into a yellowed eye. It was his final thrust and blackness pressed upon him as he felt his last air crushed out of his folded lungs.
And in that moment the grappling coils were torn away and he was freed.
Up! Up to the air again! Helpless as the weakest of the folk, Vilidorn lay on the wave tops savouring life and heard the sea birds cry, joyous, above him and watched the dash of silvered fish below.
‘Be grateful,’ they seemed to say. ‘Thank the friend who came from the deeps to your salvation.’
Then, marked across his huge brow by white craters of torn flesh from the struggle he had won, the massive head of Serbadon, the toothed whale, rose from the waters, and his quiet eye sought out Vilidorn.
‘Know yourself now, Vilidorn of the Sea Folk, and put away your pride.’
‘My life is yours, lord, and in your generosity my only pride,’ replied the weary man. ‘How can I serve you in all the days you have given me?’
‘When your strength returns you may serve me, and you may help my unhappy people: return to your beaches and watch there for my brothers. Alone and melancholy they swim onto the land to end their lives. If you can, with your strength, take them back to the deeps to die in dignity; stay by their side until the last, and try, Vilidorn, to be sure that none of my people shall ever again drift unfriended into that final abyss.’
‘Trust me in this,’ swore Vilidorn.
At that solemn pledge Serbadon sighed heavily and rolled down to the lonely deeps once more.
Then Vilidorn came again to the beach of his borning, silent and understanding, to begin his lifetime duty. So it is to this time still true that no whale will die alone if Sea Folk can be by; for this we owe that great mind in the deeps who once saved proud Vilidorn.
Monday 27 August 2007
Can silkies help the seals?
Common seal populations around the Orkney and Shetland Islands are shrinking and the cause is not as yet understood. Could it be the result of overcrowded breeding grounds such as two silkies saw many years ago?
The island when at last they reached it lay like a fat woman at low water, hip and shoulders rising roundly from the waves, the waist a low valley between the two. The exhaustion of journey’s end almost overwhelmed Giersi, but Hancid swam on, circling to the eastern beach. Here, as they approached, the damp breeze reached them across the island and the smell of the seals was pressed into nose and mouth, eyes and face.
‘Fagh! Oh Hancid, what is it? Why does it smell so bad?’
‘You’ll see,’ he replied grimly. ‘Come.’
Only stark necessity had forced him to bring her to this place, he hated what he was doing but knew that she had to learn to leave her beloved seals. She must no longer live with them in the gheos but return and live more like a woman of the folk.
They stepped awkwardly up the beach, finding their way between the cows who lay there with their pups. Frequently they were met by an angry hiss as the seals reared up at their approach.
‘Be careful not to go too close,’ murmured Giersi, ‘They like a whole body space clear around them.’
‘Then they haven’t enough room here,’ snapped Hancid stumbling wretchedly as his awkward feet slipped in un-nameable slime and he stubbed himself painfully against stones.
Suddenly a huge bull rose up in front of them, blocking their way. The white hair of his head showed him to be a senior, used to long years of dominating the cows and younger bulls of his beach. With a snarl he loped towards them, bouncing and crashing down the beach.
‘No, no. Be careful!’ screamed Giersi, and lunged towards the rocks at the side of the beach. Hancid stumbled and fled toward the sea where the master bull halted, searching for him with bleary, coated eyes. The beach was now a scene of panic with many cows humping toward the water or striking out with agitated flippers at the press of neighbours too close to their young. Two little pups, white coated, lay crushed in their own blood, where the rush of adults had trampled them.
Looking numbly out to sea, Giersi made out Hancid working his way round to the rocks where she crouched, sobbing at the horror of what she had seen. But he was not finished yet. Cautiously he led her up into the grassland behind the beach. Here, though less crowded, the scene was the same. Cows reared up aggressively as they approached, even snarling and snapping at them. On their guard now for the big bulls the silkies were able to avoid surprising them as they slept and they kept to the higher ground, away from the muddy stream where younger bulls wallowed and eyed the cows. On all sides Hancid pointed to abandoned pups; some were long dead and black flies hung in a visible stench above them. Others, abandoned at birth, lay like helpless infants in soiled and wrinkled bags of fur, too weak to lift their heads, their eyes dulled by dirt and disease. Too many small bodies lay crushed and broken under the awesome weight of adults.
Giersi could walk no further but fell to her knees in the mud and slime of the beaten grass.
‘Why have you brought me here? What do you want to prove?’ she cried. ‘This is not their true life; they are forced to live like this. There is something evil here, Hancid. No creature chooses to be degraded into this. The island is too full. Can they not move to other, cleaner beaches? Hancid, what does this mean?’
‘There are no other beaches, Giersi. Have you never wondered why the folk live as they do, on one sparse rock, when there are oceans all round the world where they might go? There are no more beaches for the people of the sea, the landsmen want them all. And so your precious seals live here for only a short part of the year, angry, aggressive and vicious. Soon they will leave it all and go out into the waters unloving and alone until it all is forced upon them again next year. Stay with the folk, Giersi. They will never abandon you like this poor creature.’ With his foot Hancid stirred the mute body of a day-old pup huddled against a tuft of rank grass for shelter.
The pup’s fur lay in empty rolls along its narrow body, the soft white hair rumpled and damp. At the nudge of Hancid’s foot however it rolled on its side and brushed an agitated flipper at him.
‘This one has some courage left to fight against his fate,’ Giersi smiled through her ready tears. ‘Hancid, let us interfere. He has the right to life, or death with dignity. Let us take him to the gheos and give him a new chance.’
‘He will die, Giersi, he needs to be fed. Without his mother’s milk he will die in a few days. Leave the seals, Giersi, come back to the folk.’
‘You are so sure you are right. Can’t you see that I am right in this? Help me Hancid, we must bring him away, that is the only way that I can forgive you for having brought me to this evil place. Only by saving just one can I bear to think of all the rest. Without this one alive I think I must come here to kill them all, to save them from this disgusting lie, which is never life.’
Alarmed at her violence Hancid began to help her away, afraid at last of what he had begun. Slipping in the disgusting mud they staggered on, then Giersi looked back.
On the slope behind them the little pup, weeping piteously, was slithering along to follow them.
‘Borhaab!’ he cried. ‘Borhaab.’
And she knew that she would take him away. Borhaab would be his name.
**********
The island when at last they reached it lay like a fat woman at low water, hip and shoulders rising roundly from the waves, the waist a low valley between the two. The exhaustion of journey’s end almost overwhelmed Giersi, but Hancid swam on, circling to the eastern beach. Here, as they approached, the damp breeze reached them across the island and the smell of the seals was pressed into nose and mouth, eyes and face.
‘Fagh! Oh Hancid, what is it? Why does it smell so bad?’
‘You’ll see,’ he replied grimly. ‘Come.’
Only stark necessity had forced him to bring her to this place, he hated what he was doing but knew that she had to learn to leave her beloved seals. She must no longer live with them in the gheos but return and live more like a woman of the folk.
They stepped awkwardly up the beach, finding their way between the cows who lay there with their pups. Frequently they were met by an angry hiss as the seals reared up at their approach.
‘Be careful not to go too close,’ murmured Giersi, ‘They like a whole body space clear around them.’
‘Then they haven’t enough room here,’ snapped Hancid stumbling wretchedly as his awkward feet slipped in un-nameable slime and he stubbed himself painfully against stones.
Suddenly a huge bull rose up in front of them, blocking their way. The white hair of his head showed him to be a senior, used to long years of dominating the cows and younger bulls of his beach. With a snarl he loped towards them, bouncing and crashing down the beach.
‘No, no. Be careful!’ screamed Giersi, and lunged towards the rocks at the side of the beach. Hancid stumbled and fled toward the sea where the master bull halted, searching for him with bleary, coated eyes. The beach was now a scene of panic with many cows humping toward the water or striking out with agitated flippers at the press of neighbours too close to their young. Two little pups, white coated, lay crushed in their own blood, where the rush of adults had trampled them.
Looking numbly out to sea, Giersi made out Hancid working his way round to the rocks where she crouched, sobbing at the horror of what she had seen. But he was not finished yet. Cautiously he led her up into the grassland behind the beach. Here, though less crowded, the scene was the same. Cows reared up aggressively as they approached, even snarling and snapping at them. On their guard now for the big bulls the silkies were able to avoid surprising them as they slept and they kept to the higher ground, away from the muddy stream where younger bulls wallowed and eyed the cows. On all sides Hancid pointed to abandoned pups; some were long dead and black flies hung in a visible stench above them. Others, abandoned at birth, lay like helpless infants in soiled and wrinkled bags of fur, too weak to lift their heads, their eyes dulled by dirt and disease. Too many small bodies lay crushed and broken under the awesome weight of adults.
Giersi could walk no further but fell to her knees in the mud and slime of the beaten grass.
‘Why have you brought me here? What do you want to prove?’ she cried. ‘This is not their true life; they are forced to live like this. There is something evil here, Hancid. No creature chooses to be degraded into this. The island is too full. Can they not move to other, cleaner beaches? Hancid, what does this mean?’
‘There are no other beaches, Giersi. Have you never wondered why the folk live as they do, on one sparse rock, when there are oceans all round the world where they might go? There are no more beaches for the people of the sea, the landsmen want them all. And so your precious seals live here for only a short part of the year, angry, aggressive and vicious. Soon they will leave it all and go out into the waters unloving and alone until it all is forced upon them again next year. Stay with the folk, Giersi. They will never abandon you like this poor creature.’ With his foot Hancid stirred the mute body of a day-old pup huddled against a tuft of rank grass for shelter.
The pup’s fur lay in empty rolls along its narrow body, the soft white hair rumpled and damp. At the nudge of Hancid’s foot however it rolled on its side and brushed an agitated flipper at him.
‘This one has some courage left to fight against his fate,’ Giersi smiled through her ready tears. ‘Hancid, let us interfere. He has the right to life, or death with dignity. Let us take him to the gheos and give him a new chance.’
‘He will die, Giersi, he needs to be fed. Without his mother’s milk he will die in a few days. Leave the seals, Giersi, come back to the folk.’
‘You are so sure you are right. Can’t you see that I am right in this? Help me Hancid, we must bring him away, that is the only way that I can forgive you for having brought me to this evil place. Only by saving just one can I bear to think of all the rest. Without this one alive I think I must come here to kill them all, to save them from this disgusting lie, which is never life.’
Alarmed at her violence Hancid began to help her away, afraid at last of what he had begun. Slipping in the disgusting mud they staggered on, then Giersi looked back.
On the slope behind them the little pup, weeping piteously, was slithering along to follow them.
‘Borhaab!’ he cried. ‘Borhaab.’
And she knew that she would take him away. Borhaab would be his name.
**********
Tuesday 21 August 2007
Balidur - who was rescued by a bird, a gannet
In the early times, when the seas were warm and the folk lived thick as smelt in the sea, their limbs silver and bronze, then there lived a boy of the folk, Balidur , who was an urchin, full of a fine mischief.
This boy Balidur was sturdy and straight-limbed and his face was open and his eyes full of light. He was a boy, honest and fair in deed, who never knew worry or care, but as a little one grew, close and comforted, strong at his mother’s side. Gentle he was and tender, guiding the steps of little ones but never heeding the words of the old: for within him lived an imp who wanted to laugh at all that he should have held good.
The old ones spoke to Balidur, his nan and the grandsires, saying, ‘Never hurt the birds, our friends. Never give them reason to fear us.’ But at this Balidur laughed:
‘Why would they fear us?’ he asked. ‘The birds can lie on the wind when we are tied to the waves. Let them rather learn to listen to us, who sing daily with more meaning than any bird, who cries his single song on the wind and then it is heard no more.’
So he laughed and would not see what the grandsires wanted to tell him, that we are all equal under the same light. And the nans told him ‘Love all creatures, Balidur, for we are all spawn of the Day Star.’ But he would not heed them, and saw in all the seas only matter for laughter and fun.
On the beach of his borning he came one day upon a large white bird. Afraid and forgotten was that bird, and white in every feather as a flake of snow. But Balidur, full of evil and fun, wanted to spoil the bird and took in his hands black lumps of clay. While the bird looked sadly on him Balidur held firm its feet, and while it could not fly spread black earth upon its wings thinking to make it heavy as he was, to make it cling to land and never more venture over the water. But the bird, staring sadly on him all the while, folded its mud-heavy feathers to flight and lifted away from Balidur, and the beach and from the folk entirely. No one saw it more for the bird knew shame with its mud-dark wings; and fear also, for no longer could he hide when on the snowy wastes of the north.
But Balidur cared nothing for the bird he had harmed in his youth. With his straight limbs and his charm he went on to hurt others, members of the folk, even the maids of his own borning, until none would be his close companion.
‘Leave us!’ said the grandsires. ‘Go now on your venture for here you hurt everyone you touch, and our hearts are made dark by you, just as you darkened the bird in the time of your childhood.’
Then Balidur went venturing, and far he swam and wide, proud in his head and too strong in his heart for any maid of the folk to hold him. So swimming he went due north, to try his pride on the ice.
Cold is the sea of the north waters, cold and hard. Ice fingers hold that sea and stretch out, unforgiving, to capture any who linger after Equinox. Yet Balidur lingered. He had seen no bear, the laughing lights had eluded him as they do so many who venture north in pride. Seals slipped away as he approached, And no birds sang.
At last the narrow grip of winter stretched across the snow, and wind from the Ultimate North scoured its surface. White drops were everywhere: up, down, before and behind, wherever he turned Balidur saw no surface any more, no snow, no sky, no sea. All, all was white.
That whiteness of the Ultimate North is all light. It is every light you ever saw, and it pierces the eyes as a beach grit would, ending all senses. In a cold white blindness Balidur circled, knowing no sense of homeward, lost and alone.
Then came the Bannern, friend of the folk. Flying ahead of him Balidur saw the dark mud wing that he himself had made. But our bird, in spite of all, held no hurt for him. Steady he flew, turning and returning until Balidur set after him. Then steady and slow he led the white-blind boy out of the snow, back to the sea, and gave him again to the waves, his home.
‘Go with the water,’ he whispered to the youth. And Balidur came home. Great the joy at that late return. Full the thanksgiving of mother and sister, thanks to the Bannern, whom none will ever harm again. Remember the Bannern, friend of the folk.
**********
This boy Balidur was sturdy and straight-limbed and his face was open and his eyes full of light. He was a boy, honest and fair in deed, who never knew worry or care, but as a little one grew, close and comforted, strong at his mother’s side. Gentle he was and tender, guiding the steps of little ones but never heeding the words of the old: for within him lived an imp who wanted to laugh at all that he should have held good.
The old ones spoke to Balidur, his nan and the grandsires, saying, ‘Never hurt the birds, our friends. Never give them reason to fear us.’ But at this Balidur laughed:
‘Why would they fear us?’ he asked. ‘The birds can lie on the wind when we are tied to the waves. Let them rather learn to listen to us, who sing daily with more meaning than any bird, who cries his single song on the wind and then it is heard no more.’
So he laughed and would not see what the grandsires wanted to tell him, that we are all equal under the same light. And the nans told him ‘Love all creatures, Balidur, for we are all spawn of the Day Star.’ But he would not heed them, and saw in all the seas only matter for laughter and fun.
On the beach of his borning he came one day upon a large white bird. Afraid and forgotten was that bird, and white in every feather as a flake of snow. But Balidur, full of evil and fun, wanted to spoil the bird and took in his hands black lumps of clay. While the bird looked sadly on him Balidur held firm its feet, and while it could not fly spread black earth upon its wings thinking to make it heavy as he was, to make it cling to land and never more venture over the water. But the bird, staring sadly on him all the while, folded its mud-heavy feathers to flight and lifted away from Balidur, and the beach and from the folk entirely. No one saw it more for the bird knew shame with its mud-dark wings; and fear also, for no longer could he hide when on the snowy wastes of the north.
But Balidur cared nothing for the bird he had harmed in his youth. With his straight limbs and his charm he went on to hurt others, members of the folk, even the maids of his own borning, until none would be his close companion.
‘Leave us!’ said the grandsires. ‘Go now on your venture for here you hurt everyone you touch, and our hearts are made dark by you, just as you darkened the bird in the time of your childhood.’
Then Balidur went venturing, and far he swam and wide, proud in his head and too strong in his heart for any maid of the folk to hold him. So swimming he went due north, to try his pride on the ice.
Cold is the sea of the north waters, cold and hard. Ice fingers hold that sea and stretch out, unforgiving, to capture any who linger after Equinox. Yet Balidur lingered. He had seen no bear, the laughing lights had eluded him as they do so many who venture north in pride. Seals slipped away as he approached, And no birds sang.
At last the narrow grip of winter stretched across the snow, and wind from the Ultimate North scoured its surface. White drops were everywhere: up, down, before and behind, wherever he turned Balidur saw no surface any more, no snow, no sky, no sea. All, all was white.
That whiteness of the Ultimate North is all light. It is every light you ever saw, and it pierces the eyes as a beach grit would, ending all senses. In a cold white blindness Balidur circled, knowing no sense of homeward, lost and alone.
Then came the Bannern, friend of the folk. Flying ahead of him Balidur saw the dark mud wing that he himself had made. But our bird, in spite of all, held no hurt for him. Steady he flew, turning and returning until Balidur set after him. Then steady and slow he led the white-blind boy out of the snow, back to the sea, and gave him again to the waves, his home.
‘Go with the water,’ he whispered to the youth. And Balidur came home. Great the joy at that late return. Full the thanksgiving of mother and sister, thanks to the Bannern, whom none will ever harm again. Remember the Bannern, friend of the folk.
**********
Monday 20 August 2007
The birth of a silkie
The sea murmured and flowed, soft among the outer rocks. The night was calm and mild: the moon, a fingernail of pale light low on the horizon, was reflected across the gentle swell in a shimmered line which lay straight into the cove. A glissading breeze lifted from the wave sides to whisper among the dried weeds and water-softened wood on the high drift bank left by winter’s storms. Among the grey and dusty pebbles a mass of dried whelks’ eggs shifted and pittered on the slope.
Awake in the cave, Merrin heard the slight sound and tensed. She was reacting too acutely, she knew, but she felt vulnerable, like an egg whose soft shell was only a single tight layer of skin. She was not strong enough, impervious enough, to protect the life within. The baby moved inside her and she grunted at the discomfort, moving heavily to find relief from its weight. Her time was very near and, over-reacting again; tears fell, although she would have called herself happy. She had waited so long for this and now was apprehensive: nothing must fail. Her fears, unusual among the maidens of the folk, disturbed her mother and Borry came to her, furtive in the slanting shadows, to give her the charm.
Fat Borry, folds of flesh at wrist and elbow, squatted at her daughter’s side, breathing noisily.
‘Take it, take it,’ she panted. ‘Keep hold of that, for it won’t be long now, and you’ll be sure to come through as clean as that shell. I’ve put words in it. There’s nothing to worry you, my pretty. Nothing to worry.’ She stroked Merrin’s cheek, smoothed her hair, fondling its curls. Then, pressing palms into her chubby knees levered herself upright. ‘Won’t be long now.’ She smiled bravely and waddled away. Her visit had frightened Merrin more than ever.
She looked slyly at the monster shell in her fist, smoothed and clean, the opening pink and full-fleshed. Like lips. She covered it quickly with her hand, ashamed of her thoughts. Like the other maidens she had laughed and joked recently, pulling winkles from their dark shells intact. Every whole creature promised a successful birth they said. She wished her fingers had proved nimbler.
She shifted again in her sleeping hollow, trying to ease the ache in her back, but it gripped suddenly tighter, groping deep into her groin. Her heart jumped and flexed as if it would swim up, out of her ribs: was this what she had been waiting for so long?
The young moon had set into the west when she gave her first joyful cry. It was certain: her babe was ready in its time of borning. Mothers and nans hurried round her, wide-eyed little maids watched, fingers to their mouths.
‘Outside! Outside!’ Everyone was calling and laughing, helping her to her feet, supporting her in the ritual. Out of the cave, out of the womb into the world, the world of water and of air.
She had prepared the place days before in the shelter of a leaning rock just above the tide line. The flood was running now, close beside the rock. Soon all would be complete. She stumbled a she walked but loving hands reached out, arms held her, and she lay back at last catching the rhythm of it as the sea lapped close around her, calling the child.
It seemed as if, one after another, master waves drummed on her body and their undertow tugged deep within her. She breathed, shallow gasping breaths, whenever she was able. She could see nothing, hear nothing but the sea roar in her ears. She remembered the shell and thought she was listening to its convoluted call, deep down. Deep. Down. With one wilful effort she arched her body, reached for the surface once more, and it was done. Eased into the world on a sigh, her baby was born.
Borry and an old nan took it up, lifted it away into quiet waves for washing. Maids of her own borning helped Merrin to her feet. Weary but triumphant she slid into the smooth sea and waited to be clean. Then proudly carrying her little daughter she led them all back up toward the slumbering cave.
Out on the skerries the seals called, watching suspiciously the activity on the pre-dawn beach. The womenfolk turned and looked back. Colour was drifting into the sky once more, another day waiting to be born.
‘What is coming for you?’ Merrin whispered to the infant in her arms, gazing into the folded face and rubbing dry the downy fur on shoulders and arms. ‘What lifetime of new days here among your folk, measured out by the rise and fall of the sea, your home?’
It was not thinkable that a girl-child would ever leave the home beach.
Awake in the cave, Merrin heard the slight sound and tensed. She was reacting too acutely, she knew, but she felt vulnerable, like an egg whose soft shell was only a single tight layer of skin. She was not strong enough, impervious enough, to protect the life within. The baby moved inside her and she grunted at the discomfort, moving heavily to find relief from its weight. Her time was very near and, over-reacting again; tears fell, although she would have called herself happy. She had waited so long for this and now was apprehensive: nothing must fail. Her fears, unusual among the maidens of the folk, disturbed her mother and Borry came to her, furtive in the slanting shadows, to give her the charm.
Fat Borry, folds of flesh at wrist and elbow, squatted at her daughter’s side, breathing noisily.
‘Take it, take it,’ she panted. ‘Keep hold of that, for it won’t be long now, and you’ll be sure to come through as clean as that shell. I’ve put words in it. There’s nothing to worry you, my pretty. Nothing to worry.’ She stroked Merrin’s cheek, smoothed her hair, fondling its curls. Then, pressing palms into her chubby knees levered herself upright. ‘Won’t be long now.’ She smiled bravely and waddled away. Her visit had frightened Merrin more than ever.
She looked slyly at the monster shell in her fist, smoothed and clean, the opening pink and full-fleshed. Like lips. She covered it quickly with her hand, ashamed of her thoughts. Like the other maidens she had laughed and joked recently, pulling winkles from their dark shells intact. Every whole creature promised a successful birth they said. She wished her fingers had proved nimbler.
She shifted again in her sleeping hollow, trying to ease the ache in her back, but it gripped suddenly tighter, groping deep into her groin. Her heart jumped and flexed as if it would swim up, out of her ribs: was this what she had been waiting for so long?
The young moon had set into the west when she gave her first joyful cry. It was certain: her babe was ready in its time of borning. Mothers and nans hurried round her, wide-eyed little maids watched, fingers to their mouths.
‘Outside! Outside!’ Everyone was calling and laughing, helping her to her feet, supporting her in the ritual. Out of the cave, out of the womb into the world, the world of water and of air.
She had prepared the place days before in the shelter of a leaning rock just above the tide line. The flood was running now, close beside the rock. Soon all would be complete. She stumbled a she walked but loving hands reached out, arms held her, and she lay back at last catching the rhythm of it as the sea lapped close around her, calling the child.
It seemed as if, one after another, master waves drummed on her body and their undertow tugged deep within her. She breathed, shallow gasping breaths, whenever she was able. She could see nothing, hear nothing but the sea roar in her ears. She remembered the shell and thought she was listening to its convoluted call, deep down. Deep. Down. With one wilful effort she arched her body, reached for the surface once more, and it was done. Eased into the world on a sigh, her baby was born.
Borry and an old nan took it up, lifted it away into quiet waves for washing. Maids of her own borning helped Merrin to her feet. Weary but triumphant she slid into the smooth sea and waited to be clean. Then proudly carrying her little daughter she led them all back up toward the slumbering cave.
Out on the skerries the seals called, watching suspiciously the activity on the pre-dawn beach. The womenfolk turned and looked back. Colour was drifting into the sky once more, another day waiting to be born.
‘What is coming for you?’ Merrin whispered to the infant in her arms, gazing into the folded face and rubbing dry the downy fur on shoulders and arms. ‘What lifetime of new days here among your folk, measured out by the rise and fall of the sea, your home?’
It was not thinkable that a girl-child would ever leave the home beach.
Monday 30 July 2007
Silkies and their legends
Parsid – the Creation Myth
In the beginning the whole world was water, liquid yet still. Below the silent water lay solid rock, earth’s centre, and above the smooth surface of the water lay the air, unmoving. Above the surface of the resting air lay the motionless stars. The whole world waited, lifeless.
Then from his home in the bottomless deeps the lordly whale rose up; Balengorion rose up from his birthplace in the deep and his black back split the shimmering surface, and he blew.
So for the first time the air began to move, drifted here and there by that first breath of life. Then Balengorion curved down again to the dark depths, but as he curved away his tail rose up high above the silent surface and with one stroke of his mighty flukes a wave became. So for the first time the water began to move, driven back and forth by that first stroke of life.
Beneath the rocking waters and the whispering air the whale lay, and the dark of the deeps was no more than the dark of the air above, for there was no light in the world. Then the whale began to sing. Balengorion’s song is a mystery for he sang no words, but as he sang, in answer to his song, so for the first time the Star began to rise, called up into the sky by that first song of life.
In the wonder of that light the seas began to spawn. Swarming life filled the waters, swelled by the power of the new Day Star. First the tiniest specks of living things appeared, then the krill to feed the whale. And the whale still sang and the Day Star shone and the sea creatures grew, and the sea was the womb of all the world.
Out of that womb swam a second star. It was the moon who tore herself free from the solid depths below the waters to swing in the night sky searching for the light. Night after night she curves across the sky in the track of the Day Star. But she has no will to stand beside that light. Her shores are all dead things and in her yearning she calls the earth to join her search. By day and night the land she left tilts at her bidding and in the caves she deserted lie the captive seas.
Out of this catastrophe was all land born, when the seas fled back to fill the empty chasm where once the moon had lain. Since that time we of the sea are ever subjugated to the imperious land.
Yet the Day Star’s light continued to bless sea and land alike, and on the land creatures began to crawl. And the whale still sang and the Day Star shone.
On the dry land began Man to appear, solid and earth born, longing for a sea season; Man the Avenger, aggressive and angry. In the ranks of Man grew Parsid, Protector. At the hand of Man he saw the world perishing; he saw pain and persecution.
Parsid walked on the shore in deep thought; his was the time of decision, of midsummer venturing and the time to know himself. In his mind troubles lay thick as smelt in the sea.
Parsid waited, surrendered to the Day Light. He waited for a silence to show him the way. Then from the deeps he heard the song of Balengorion. The song of the whale was calling him, catching at him, never to return:
‘Come to the deeps, Sire of the Sea Folk, come to the open wave, to the moon tide and the star time. Come with your daughters to the cool wide sea where peace and possession is waiting for you.’
Parsid heard the song and gladly deserted the world of men. Happily he left the earth whose stones had become too hard for him. Parsid, Sire of the Sea Folk, led his family into the waves. So he gave us our freedom: to be the people of the sea.
**********
In the beginning the whole world was water, liquid yet still. Below the silent water lay solid rock, earth’s centre, and above the smooth surface of the water lay the air, unmoving. Above the surface of the resting air lay the motionless stars. The whole world waited, lifeless.
Then from his home in the bottomless deeps the lordly whale rose up; Balengorion rose up from his birthplace in the deep and his black back split the shimmering surface, and he blew.
So for the first time the air began to move, drifted here and there by that first breath of life. Then Balengorion curved down again to the dark depths, but as he curved away his tail rose up high above the silent surface and with one stroke of his mighty flukes a wave became. So for the first time the water began to move, driven back and forth by that first stroke of life.
Beneath the rocking waters and the whispering air the whale lay, and the dark of the deeps was no more than the dark of the air above, for there was no light in the world. Then the whale began to sing. Balengorion’s song is a mystery for he sang no words, but as he sang, in answer to his song, so for the first time the Star began to rise, called up into the sky by that first song of life.
In the wonder of that light the seas began to spawn. Swarming life filled the waters, swelled by the power of the new Day Star. First the tiniest specks of living things appeared, then the krill to feed the whale. And the whale still sang and the Day Star shone and the sea creatures grew, and the sea was the womb of all the world.
Out of that womb swam a second star. It was the moon who tore herself free from the solid depths below the waters to swing in the night sky searching for the light. Night after night she curves across the sky in the track of the Day Star. But she has no will to stand beside that light. Her shores are all dead things and in her yearning she calls the earth to join her search. By day and night the land she left tilts at her bidding and in the caves she deserted lie the captive seas.
Out of this catastrophe was all land born, when the seas fled back to fill the empty chasm where once the moon had lain. Since that time we of the sea are ever subjugated to the imperious land.
Yet the Day Star’s light continued to bless sea and land alike, and on the land creatures began to crawl. And the whale still sang and the Day Star shone.
On the dry land began Man to appear, solid and earth born, longing for a sea season; Man the Avenger, aggressive and angry. In the ranks of Man grew Parsid, Protector. At the hand of Man he saw the world perishing; he saw pain and persecution.
Parsid walked on the shore in deep thought; his was the time of decision, of midsummer venturing and the time to know himself. In his mind troubles lay thick as smelt in the sea.
Parsid waited, surrendered to the Day Light. He waited for a silence to show him the way. Then from the deeps he heard the song of Balengorion. The song of the whale was calling him, catching at him, never to return:
‘Come to the deeps, Sire of the Sea Folk, come to the open wave, to the moon tide and the star time. Come with your daughters to the cool wide sea where peace and possession is waiting for you.’
Parsid heard the song and gladly deserted the world of men. Happily he left the earth whose stones had become too hard for him. Parsid, Sire of the Sea Folk, led his family into the waves. So he gave us our freedom: to be the people of the sea.
**********
Thursday 26 July 2007
On the Existence of Marine Hominids (Homo Aquatilis)
D.R.McBride MSc. PhD., late of the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute, has written the following, undated, article:
From recorded sightings it seems possible that a species of aquatic hominid has been in existence in the waters of the North Atlantic over a period of many centuries. Such a species has in fact been postulated as an evolutionary link between the anthropoid apes of the Miocene Age and the earliest of human remains, Autralopithicus Africanus. The theory of an aquatic evolutionary stage during the Pliocene Age was first put forward by Professor Sir Alister Hardy in his article “Was man more aquatic in the past?” (New Scientist 7, 1960, pp 642-5), which explains many conditions found in modern man but unknown among primates.
For instance, the vertical posture of man, recognised even in the earliest skeleton remains by the extension of the knee joint, would be facilitated by a ten-million year evolutionary period spent supported in water. It is not suggested that this primitive hominid escaped into the deeps at this time: it is probable that he was an inter-tidal dweller, feeding on crustaceans known to have been in existence at that time, and on other abundant forms of marine life. Searching and groping for these foodstuffs under water would have made an evolutionary necessity of the sensitive and agile human hand. It is also suggested that on a beach, surrounded by pebbles on all sides, man first made use of this primitive tool to break open the shells of the creatures on which he lived.
Other physiological evidence in support of this aquatic theory is to be found in the streamlining of the hair tracts on the human body, seen most clearly on the human foetus while still immersed in the womb. These follow exactly the lines which would be produced by water flowing over the body. Furthermore, as a result of this ten-million year immersion, it is possible to understand the layer of subcutaneous fat which is a feature of man’s ability to retain body heat, but which is found in none of the primates from which he evolved.
Recorded descriptions all seem to suggest just such a creature as the aquatic phase in man’s evolution would have given rise to in historical times. The unfortunate fact remains, however, that no direct evidence has been found to substantiate this theory from the Pliocene Age, possibly due to the fact that the remains of such creatures would have been washed away and devoured at sea; which would also have been true of any more recent inter-tidal marine hominid remains.
The discovery and rescue of a full grown male of this species in the waters off Cape Cod in the northern United States offers proof not only of the aquatic theory in man’s evolution, but also that Homo Aquatilis is not yet extinct.
This specimen, as previously accounts have suggested, was human in form and appearance, although almost entirely covered in thick body hair, brown in colour but with lighter tints. Only the face and the inner surface of arms and legs were entirely free of hair.
Although of less than medium height, 5ft 2ins, he was thickset weighing 133lbs, with well-formed muscles of hip and thigh. The whole body showed evidence of a covering of subcutaneous fat, which may be active in the same way as blubber in the whale and walrus.
Facial characteristics were entirely human, though the features were flattened after the manner of mongoloid peoples. The nose however was firm and of a muscular tissue which could be opened or closed at will. The hands were broad, with short fingers; the feet wide with bones spread but with a webbing of skin between each toe. While the legs were long in proportion to the body they were rotated slightly outward and the feet were splayed apart. This made movement on land appear awkward but was a great asset when swimming: the motion being similar to that of butterfly stroke. Since in the water this meant both legs were kept close together it is easy to see why earlier observers often believed that they had seen a creature with a tail, similar to that of a fish or seal.
Like other aquatic mammals the subject must have been capable of diving to considerable depths since the rib cage, though strong, had an elasticity which would be capable of protecting the lungs under heavy pressure. He was able to adjust his metabolism in order to survive submerged for long periods of time: the physiological mechanism of bradycardia, the slowing of the heartbeat, was noted when diving, and to a much more marked extent than is evident in land-dwelling man.
As this species spends long periods of time immersed in the sea there is little need for perspiration as a method of cooling, so fluid intake need be only a fraction of that of land mammals. When on land, however, the subject found hot weather particularly uncomfortable and needed frequent dousing with water in order to maintain body temperature adequately. Fluid requirements were for the most part met by moisture in food, although it is interesting to note that, like the merman of Orford [see 16 July 2007] he was careful to wipe away any trace of salt water from fish. There would appear to be adaptations to the function of the kidney which reduce the filtration rate to very low levels when necessary.
Diet was entirely carnivorous, marine life only being preferred. While in captivity the subject was never known to accept red meat in any form, nor any vegetable foods. He was uninterested in cooked foods, though obviously able to distinguish what they were. Teeth were small and flat, best used in chewing and grinding, with no pointed canines for tearing food, so that it was reasonable to assume that this species subsists entirely on small animal prey. The sense of smell was well developed, though not as acute as that of a dog; vision was adequate, though less than accurate at distance (Sph -075, Cyl -025, Axis 90, both R & L). Such hearing tests as were carried out by a method of limits showed an extremely sensitive auditory system, which may in fact exceed that of Homo Sapiens.
With only a single subject for study it was not possible to make any observation of social habits, though the general impression was of a gentle and entirely non-aggressive individual. This was also borne out by the lack of any of the attributes of the hunter, such as canine teeth, acute sense of smell, long-sightedness etc. The species is evidently not nocturnal; like the Orford merman the subject slept by night and was only active during the day.
Possibly as a result of captivity this specimen was very subdued in his behaviour patterns, though obviously stimulated by a return to the sea. He wept easily, uttering sad sounds which may have followed definite patterns. This aspect of the research is still underway.
Although eager to learn, nevertheless the specimen under observation seemed unfamiliar with any kind of artefact, though he readily understood the uses of a pan or bowl for carrying or storing. If, as is postulated, this was a direct descendant of the marine phase in man’s evolution, his development has been non-aggressive, and he has adapted most successfully to his environment, in the manner of the Eskimo, the Australian Aborigine or the Bushman. Such a species has little need of technical progress since he has accepted the limitations of his natural habitat and has grown within those limitations to the fullest extent of his powers.
If it were possible to observe such a species in large numbers it might then be conceivable for land-dwelling man also to learn this all-important technique; for in the twentieth century it is becoming increasingly evident that the progress path we have chosen is more destructive of our environment than we were able to foresee.
From recorded sightings it seems possible that a species of aquatic hominid has been in existence in the waters of the North Atlantic over a period of many centuries. Such a species has in fact been postulated as an evolutionary link between the anthropoid apes of the Miocene Age and the earliest of human remains, Autralopithicus Africanus. The theory of an aquatic evolutionary stage during the Pliocene Age was first put forward by Professor Sir Alister Hardy in his article “Was man more aquatic in the past?” (New Scientist 7, 1960, pp 642-5), which explains many conditions found in modern man but unknown among primates.
For instance, the vertical posture of man, recognised even in the earliest skeleton remains by the extension of the knee joint, would be facilitated by a ten-million year evolutionary period spent supported in water. It is not suggested that this primitive hominid escaped into the deeps at this time: it is probable that he was an inter-tidal dweller, feeding on crustaceans known to have been in existence at that time, and on other abundant forms of marine life. Searching and groping for these foodstuffs under water would have made an evolutionary necessity of the sensitive and agile human hand. It is also suggested that on a beach, surrounded by pebbles on all sides, man first made use of this primitive tool to break open the shells of the creatures on which he lived.
Other physiological evidence in support of this aquatic theory is to be found in the streamlining of the hair tracts on the human body, seen most clearly on the human foetus while still immersed in the womb. These follow exactly the lines which would be produced by water flowing over the body. Furthermore, as a result of this ten-million year immersion, it is possible to understand the layer of subcutaneous fat which is a feature of man’s ability to retain body heat, but which is found in none of the primates from which he evolved.
Recorded descriptions all seem to suggest just such a creature as the aquatic phase in man’s evolution would have given rise to in historical times. The unfortunate fact remains, however, that no direct evidence has been found to substantiate this theory from the Pliocene Age, possibly due to the fact that the remains of such creatures would have been washed away and devoured at sea; which would also have been true of any more recent inter-tidal marine hominid remains.
The discovery and rescue of a full grown male of this species in the waters off Cape Cod in the northern United States offers proof not only of the aquatic theory in man’s evolution, but also that Homo Aquatilis is not yet extinct.
This specimen, as previously accounts have suggested, was human in form and appearance, although almost entirely covered in thick body hair, brown in colour but with lighter tints. Only the face and the inner surface of arms and legs were entirely free of hair.
Although of less than medium height, 5ft 2ins, he was thickset weighing 133lbs, with well-formed muscles of hip and thigh. The whole body showed evidence of a covering of subcutaneous fat, which may be active in the same way as blubber in the whale and walrus.
Facial characteristics were entirely human, though the features were flattened after the manner of mongoloid peoples. The nose however was firm and of a muscular tissue which could be opened or closed at will. The hands were broad, with short fingers; the feet wide with bones spread but with a webbing of skin between each toe. While the legs were long in proportion to the body they were rotated slightly outward and the feet were splayed apart. This made movement on land appear awkward but was a great asset when swimming: the motion being similar to that of butterfly stroke. Since in the water this meant both legs were kept close together it is easy to see why earlier observers often believed that they had seen a creature with a tail, similar to that of a fish or seal.
Like other aquatic mammals the subject must have been capable of diving to considerable depths since the rib cage, though strong, had an elasticity which would be capable of protecting the lungs under heavy pressure. He was able to adjust his metabolism in order to survive submerged for long periods of time: the physiological mechanism of bradycardia, the slowing of the heartbeat, was noted when diving, and to a much more marked extent than is evident in land-dwelling man.
As this species spends long periods of time immersed in the sea there is little need for perspiration as a method of cooling, so fluid intake need be only a fraction of that of land mammals. When on land, however, the subject found hot weather particularly uncomfortable and needed frequent dousing with water in order to maintain body temperature adequately. Fluid requirements were for the most part met by moisture in food, although it is interesting to note that, like the merman of Orford [see 16 July 2007] he was careful to wipe away any trace of salt water from fish. There would appear to be adaptations to the function of the kidney which reduce the filtration rate to very low levels when necessary.
Diet was entirely carnivorous, marine life only being preferred. While in captivity the subject was never known to accept red meat in any form, nor any vegetable foods. He was uninterested in cooked foods, though obviously able to distinguish what they were. Teeth were small and flat, best used in chewing and grinding, with no pointed canines for tearing food, so that it was reasonable to assume that this species subsists entirely on small animal prey. The sense of smell was well developed, though not as acute as that of a dog; vision was adequate, though less than accurate at distance (Sph -075, Cyl -025, Axis 90, both R & L). Such hearing tests as were carried out by a method of limits showed an extremely sensitive auditory system, which may in fact exceed that of Homo Sapiens.
With only a single subject for study it was not possible to make any observation of social habits, though the general impression was of a gentle and entirely non-aggressive individual. This was also borne out by the lack of any of the attributes of the hunter, such as canine teeth, acute sense of smell, long-sightedness etc. The species is evidently not nocturnal; like the Orford merman the subject slept by night and was only active during the day.
Possibly as a result of captivity this specimen was very subdued in his behaviour patterns, though obviously stimulated by a return to the sea. He wept easily, uttering sad sounds which may have followed definite patterns. This aspect of the research is still underway.
Although eager to learn, nevertheless the specimen under observation seemed unfamiliar with any kind of artefact, though he readily understood the uses of a pan or bowl for carrying or storing. If, as is postulated, this was a direct descendant of the marine phase in man’s evolution, his development has been non-aggressive, and he has adapted most successfully to his environment, in the manner of the Eskimo, the Australian Aborigine or the Bushman. Such a species has little need of technical progress since he has accepted the limitations of his natural habitat and has grown within those limitations to the fullest extent of his powers.
If it were possible to observe such a species in large numbers it might then be conceivable for land-dwelling man also to learn this all-important technique; for in the twentieth century it is becoming increasingly evident that the progress path we have chosen is more destructive of our environment than we were able to foresee.
Sunday 22 July 2007
silkiesightings
Cape Cod 1963
Is it a silkie that the following article by D.R.McBride is describing?
End of July I arranged to go out in the boat with Stan Leamus. Stan is a regular old New Englander composed of harshly angled bone and leathery brown skin; his only concession to that day's airless heat was to remove his knitted sweater, and it lay in the cluttered little cabin among nets and pots and oily rope. As the boat chugged out into Cape Cod Bay:
'We'll catch nothing in this glare,' he said.
The sea was like a sheltered pond through which, at long intervals, passed a heaving swell so slow as to slide unnoticed beneath the hull.
I saw it first and called out to Stan.
'What's that?' I cried, and pointed.
'Looks like a seal.'
We watched the sleek dark head on the surface. I put up my binoculars to compare the little one with the grey seal of Scottish waters. But what I saw made me pause. Then:
'Take a turn over there, Stan.’ I said. ‘There's blood on the surface.'
As we drew closer I jumped up onto the cabin roof for a clearer view down into the water. There I could see the sluggish movement of limbs.
'It's not a seal, it's a man!'
Stan eased back on his throttle and guided the boat round on a wide curve about the dark stain spreading in the water, and I dived straight in from the roof. Between us we lifted the thickset figure from the water and we lay him on the decking. A deep, jagged wound had slit his inner thigh. I found the pressure point and twisted a piece of twine into a tight tourniquet then pressed a pad over the wound, trying to draw the gaping sides together as I did so. I was aware throughout of Stan standing above me watching with disapproval.
'If you listen to me you'll leave that. Throw him back over the side.' And Stan turned his head and spat.
'What do you mean?'
'Take a look at that, and use your head.'
For the first time I studied the injured man, and I’ll say I was surprised. I’m a hairy man myself, but that figure lying in the well deck there was covered in a brindled brown hair over his shoulders, his arms and the backs of his hands, across his chest, his back and buttocks. The outer parts of his legs were also thickly covered, wet, sleek and streamlined.
'Is it a man after all?' I couldn’t help myself – I simply didn’t know what to think.
'Use your head,' Stan grunted again. 'Where did it come from?'
Then we both looked out over the tilting surface. There was no horizon, the sea shifted to haze and the haze became the sky. There were no boats.
'Tell me what you're thinking, Stan,’ I said, ‘I don't understand this.'
'I think we would have been better never to have seen him.'
'But what is he?'
Stan waited awhile before he spoke again, then:
'I don't give any credence to the idea that they search for the souls of doomed sailors, but they're said to swim in the wrecks. I've never seen one before, and I wish we'd never seen this.' Savagely he opened up the throttle, and I knew he was heading us back to land.
I said nothing. I've sailed with fishermen before and I know their superstitions.
'It's one of the seal folk,' I told him finally. 'We know them in Scotland, where I'm from. Every man of the western isles is acquainted with them. He'll do us no harm. Do you have a needle on board? I have to stitch him up.'
In the first-aid box I found what was needed. Already I knew that I could never call a doctor. I knew from that moment that it was a silkie I had saved.
Is it a silkie that the following article by D.R.McBride is describing?
End of July I arranged to go out in the boat with Stan Leamus. Stan is a regular old New Englander composed of harshly angled bone and leathery brown skin; his only concession to that day's airless heat was to remove his knitted sweater, and it lay in the cluttered little cabin among nets and pots and oily rope. As the boat chugged out into Cape Cod Bay:
'We'll catch nothing in this glare,' he said.
The sea was like a sheltered pond through which, at long intervals, passed a heaving swell so slow as to slide unnoticed beneath the hull.
I saw it first and called out to Stan.
'What's that?' I cried, and pointed.
'Looks like a seal.'
We watched the sleek dark head on the surface. I put up my binoculars to compare the little one with the grey seal of Scottish waters. But what I saw made me pause. Then:
'Take a turn over there, Stan.’ I said. ‘There's blood on the surface.'
As we drew closer I jumped up onto the cabin roof for a clearer view down into the water. There I could see the sluggish movement of limbs.
'It's not a seal, it's a man!'
Stan eased back on his throttle and guided the boat round on a wide curve about the dark stain spreading in the water, and I dived straight in from the roof. Between us we lifted the thickset figure from the water and we lay him on the decking. A deep, jagged wound had slit his inner thigh. I found the pressure point and twisted a piece of twine into a tight tourniquet then pressed a pad over the wound, trying to draw the gaping sides together as I did so. I was aware throughout of Stan standing above me watching with disapproval.
'If you listen to me you'll leave that. Throw him back over the side.' And Stan turned his head and spat.
'What do you mean?'
'Take a look at that, and use your head.'
For the first time I studied the injured man, and I’ll say I was surprised. I’m a hairy man myself, but that figure lying in the well deck there was covered in a brindled brown hair over his shoulders, his arms and the backs of his hands, across his chest, his back and buttocks. The outer parts of his legs were also thickly covered, wet, sleek and streamlined.
'Is it a man after all?' I couldn’t help myself – I simply didn’t know what to think.
'Use your head,' Stan grunted again. 'Where did it come from?'
Then we both looked out over the tilting surface. There was no horizon, the sea shifted to haze and the haze became the sky. There were no boats.
'Tell me what you're thinking, Stan,’ I said, ‘I don't understand this.'
'I think we would have been better never to have seen him.'
'But what is he?'
Stan waited awhile before he spoke again, then:
'I don't give any credence to the idea that they search for the souls of doomed sailors, but they're said to swim in the wrecks. I've never seen one before, and I wish we'd never seen this.' Savagely he opened up the throttle, and I knew he was heading us back to land.
I said nothing. I've sailed with fishermen before and I know their superstitions.
'It's one of the seal folk,' I told him finally. 'We know them in Scotland, where I'm from. Every man of the western isles is acquainted with them. He'll do us no harm. Do you have a needle on board? I have to stitch him up.'
In the first-aid box I found what was needed. Already I knew that I could never call a doctor. I knew from that moment that it was a silkie I had saved.
Saturday 21 July 2007
Are Silkies only a legend?
The Times 1809
In 1809 The Times had printed a report by a Scottish schoolmaster named William Munro describing his encounter, on the beach near Thurso, with:
“…. a figure resembling an un-clothed human female, sitting upon a rock extending into the sea, and apparently in the action of combing its hair, which flowed around its shoulders, and was of a light brown colour …. the forehead round, the face plump, the cheeks ruddy, the eyes blue, the mouth and lips of a natural form…. It remained on the rock three or four minutes after I observed it, and was exercised during that period in combing its hair, which was long and thick, and of which it appeared proud, and then dropped into the sea.”
Other local people also admitted to having seen similar creatures, their descriptions compatible with those of the schoolmaster.
In 1809 The Times had printed a report by a Scottish schoolmaster named William Munro describing his encounter, on the beach near Thurso, with:
“…. a figure resembling an un-clothed human female, sitting upon a rock extending into the sea, and apparently in the action of combing its hair, which flowed around its shoulders, and was of a light brown colour …. the forehead round, the face plump, the cheeks ruddy, the eyes blue, the mouth and lips of a natural form…. It remained on the rock three or four minutes after I observed it, and was exercised during that period in combing its hair, which was long and thick, and of which it appeared proud, and then dropped into the sea.”
Other local people also admitted to having seen similar creatures, their descriptions compatible with those of the schoolmaster.
Are silkies only a legend?
American Journal of Science 1820
Again in North Atlantic waters, Captain Asa Swift, the master of the Leonidas, out from New York, records, in The American Journal of Science of 1820, a ‘strange fish’ which was seen to follow the ship:
“The second mate…. Told me the face was nearly white, and exactly like that of a human person; that its arms were about half as long as his, with hands resembling his own; that it stood erect out of the water about two feet, looking at the ship and sails with great earnestness. It would remain in this attitude, close alongside, ten or fifteen minutes at a time, and then dive and appear on the other side…. Mr Stevens also stated that its hair was black on the head and exactly resembled a man’s; that below the arms, it was a perfect fish in form, and that the whole length from the head to the tail was about five feet.”
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Again in North Atlantic waters, Captain Asa Swift, the master of the Leonidas, out from New York, records, in The American Journal of Science of 1820, a ‘strange fish’ which was seen to follow the ship:
“The second mate…. Told me the face was nearly white, and exactly like that of a human person; that its arms were about half as long as his, with hands resembling his own; that it stood erect out of the water about two feet, looking at the ship and sails with great earnestness. It would remain in this attitude, close alongside, ten or fifteen minutes at a time, and then dive and appear on the other side…. Mr Stevens also stated that its hair was black on the head and exactly resembled a man’s; that below the arms, it was a perfect fish in form, and that the whole length from the head to the tail was about five feet.”
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Wednesday 18 July 2007
silkiesightings
Sixteenth Century
Is it possible that the Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie is not merely a legend? Is it silkies that these historic documents are describing?During the explorations and discoveries of the sixteenth century many tales of mermaids were brought back from the sea, along with exaggerated accounts of sea monsters and other wonders. However, in 1608 Henry Hudson, sailing on his second voyage in search of a Northeast Passage to China, recorded a sighting of a mermaid in the Barents Sea. According to the two seamen, Thomas Hilles and Robert Raynar, who saw her:
"Her back and breasts were like a woman's and her skin very white; and long hair hanging down behinde, of colour blacke; in her going down they saw her tayle, which was like the tayle of a porpoise, and speckled like a macrell."
During this same year another mermaid was sighted, also in the North Atlantic, off Newfoundland.
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Is it possible that the Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie is not merely a legend? Is it silkies that these historic documents are describing?During the explorations and discoveries of the sixteenth century many tales of mermaids were brought back from the sea, along with exaggerated accounts of sea monsters and other wonders. However, in 1608 Henry Hudson, sailing on his second voyage in search of a Northeast Passage to China, recorded a sighting of a mermaid in the Barents Sea. According to the two seamen, Thomas Hilles and Robert Raynar, who saw her:
"Her back and breasts were like a woman's and her skin very white; and long hair hanging down behinde, of colour blacke; in her going down they saw her tayle, which was like the tayle of a porpoise, and speckled like a macrell."
During this same year another mermaid was sighted, also in the North Atlantic, off Newfoundland.
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Monday 16 July 2007
silkiesightings
Silkies have been sighted!
Is it possible that the Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie is not merely a legend? Is it silkies that the following historic documents are describing?
The earliest sighting of a silkie, at Orford in Suffolk, England, was reported by the chronicler Ralph of Coggeshall in his Chronicum Anglicanum of 1207. He tells how fishermen caught a wild man in their nets off the coast of Suffolk, and showed him to their lord, Sir Bartholomew de Glanville, Constable of the castle of Orford during the reign of Henry II:
‘He was naked and was like a man in all his members. He was covered in hair and had a long shaggy beard. The knight kept him in custody many days and nights, lest he should return to the sea. He eagerly ate whatever was brought to him, whether raw or cooked, but the raw he pressed between his hands until all the juice was expelled. Whether he would not or could not, he did not talk, although oft times hung up by his feet and harshly tortured. Brought into the church, he showed no signs of reverence or belief…. He sought his bed at sunset and always remained there until sunrise.
‘It happened that once they brought him to the harbour and suffered him to go into the sea, strongly guarding him with three lines of nets; but he dived under the nets out into the deep sea, and came up again and again as if in derision of the spectators on the shore. After thus playing about for a long while, he came back of his own free will. But later on, being negligently guarded, he secretly fled back to the sea and was never afterward seen.’
**********
Is it possible that the Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie is not merely a legend? Is it silkies that the following historic documents are describing?
The earliest sighting of a silkie, at Orford in Suffolk, England, was reported by the chronicler Ralph of Coggeshall in his Chronicum Anglicanum of 1207. He tells how fishermen caught a wild man in their nets off the coast of Suffolk, and showed him to their lord, Sir Bartholomew de Glanville, Constable of the castle of Orford during the reign of Henry II:
‘He was naked and was like a man in all his members. He was covered in hair and had a long shaggy beard. The knight kept him in custody many days and nights, lest he should return to the sea. He eagerly ate whatever was brought to him, whether raw or cooked, but the raw he pressed between his hands until all the juice was expelled. Whether he would not or could not, he did not talk, although oft times hung up by his feet and harshly tortured. Brought into the church, he showed no signs of reverence or belief…. He sought his bed at sunset and always remained there until sunrise.
‘It happened that once they brought him to the harbour and suffered him to go into the sea, strongly guarding him with three lines of nets; but he dived under the nets out into the deep sea, and came up again and again as if in derision of the spectators on the shore. After thus playing about for a long while, he came back of his own free will. But later on, being negligently guarded, he secretly fled back to the sea and was never afterward seen.’
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