Lord Somerville and the Wyrm of Linton.

By Lindsay Webster

Guid folks I bid e’ gather ‘round an’ gie some o’ yer time. Tae hear a tale o’ knicht an’ beast told in guid Scots rhyme. The tale o’ auld Laird Somerville, our generous lairds own pa’. O’ how he fought the Wyrm o’ Linton an’ lived tae tell us a’.

It fell about the Lammastide, as a’ guid stories do. A great Wyrm came tae Linton an’ the beasts, he ate a few. But the sheep an kye did tire him, he wanted other meat, an’ so he hunted peasants an’ he ate them, head tae feet! The actions o’ this michty beast attracted bauld young knichts. They came frae west, they came frae east tae gie him muckle fight.

  But the Wyrm wis auld an wily, an’ the knichts were soundly beaten. Then roasted in their armour an’ taen awa’ an eaten.

  The people o’ fair Linton, o’ salvation they despaired, till a squire rode tae the village whae was tall wi’ gowden hair. His name was John o’ Somerville an’ though he wis young in years he had a brain up in his heid that wis worth a thoosan’ spears.

  He rode up tae the fell beasts lair upon a fine young filly. Great flames flew out an’ cooked his mount an’ left him feelin’ silly! On foot he fled that awful place, the wyrm it made tae chase him but John wis young an’ fleet o’ foot an able tae oot pace him.

He arrived back in fair Linton, blackened but unbeaten an’ swore he’d tak his vengeance for his horse which had been eaten.

  He found himsel another horse, a bow-backed, ill-fed nag, bought fur scarce a shilling frae a hunch-backed ill-fed hag. He climbed upon his shaky mount an ventured forth onto the muir, a burnin’ piece of good turf peat on his lance tae mak a lure.

  He approached the wyrms great cave, the beast wis fast asleep but its massive nostrils twitched when it smelt the burnin’ peat. It awoke wi’ a roar and a gout o’ great flame that wid put a’ the horrors o’ Hell tae shame. It lurched frae the cave an’ made tae attack wi’ a tail that could dish oot a hefty great whack. But the reek comin’ aff the smoulderin’ peat hid our bauld hero sae he wasnae beat. The wyrm couldnae see him but he couldnae see the wyrm sae both blundered aboot till luck took a turn.

  Through the reek John could see een the size o’ ripe apples, he hefted his lance an’ thrust it… richt doon the beasts thrapple!

  The wyrm it wis slain but wi’ it’s great thrashin’ tail, reshaped the land, the hill an’ the vale. It smashed up great forests, it mangled the glen, an’ the land left behind is that which ye ken.

  When the king got word o’ his actions that day, he had John knichted wi’ oot any delay an’ gie to the Somervilles the lands of Linton sae fair an’ if ye visit ye’ll see that they’re still livin’ there!

  Guid friends that ends oor epic wee play so gie us a clap an’ we’ll bid e’ guid day!