Document 1339

The Ootlaw

Author(s): David Purves

Copyright holder(s): David Purves



Thorfinn: Yerl o Iceland

Valgerd: his guidwyfe

Gunlöd: thair dochter

Gunner: a crusader

Orm: a minstrel

a thirlman

a messenger

The action takes place in Iceland


bi Johan A Strindberg

owerset intil Scots

bi David Purves


Scene: A hut, door at back, window holes, right and left, closed by big heavy wooden shutters. Wooden benches against walls, the high bench, a sort of rude throne, at left. The uprights of this high bench are carved with images of the gods, Odin and Thor. From the wall beams, hang swords, battle axes and shields. Near the high bench stands a harp. Gunlöd stands at an open window-hole peering out; through the opening, one gets a glimpse of the sea, lighted by the aurora borealis. Valgerd sits spinning by the fire, which is in the middle of the room.

Valgerd: Steik the winnok-bole!

(Gunlöd is silent)

Valgerd: Gunlöd---!

Gunlöd: Did ye speak, Mither?

Valgerd: Whit ir ye daein?

Gunlöd: Ah im watchin the sea.

Valgerd: Whan wul ye lairn ti forget?

Gunlöd: Tak awthing awa frae me but ma maimories!

Valgerd: Luik forrit, lass – no back!

Gunlöd: Wha can lichtlie the strang viking that luiks back whan he quuts his ain strand?

Valgerd: Ye hae haen thrie wunters for ti mak yeir fareweills.

Gunlöd: Ye speak richt – thrie wunters! For here, the simmer never cums!

Valgerd: Whan the ice-shuds melts on the wattir, syne the Spring wul be here.

Gunlöd: The Northern Lichts melts nae ice.

Valgerd: Naither dis yeir tears.

Gunlöd: Ye never saw me greit.

Valgerd: Ai, but Ah hae heard ye. As lang’s ye dae that, ye’r aye a bairn.

Gunlöd: Ah im no a bairn!

Valgerd: Gin ye wad be a wumman, ye maun suffer in seilance.

Gunlöd: Ah’l git quut o ma dule, Mither. Ah’l leave it ahint me.

Valgerd: Na, na – you beirie it, lyke yeir deepest treisir. The seed maunna ligg on the tap o the grund gin it’s ti breird an growe rype. It soud bring unco bliss – an gret saucht.

Gunlöd: (After a pause) Ah’l forget.

Valgerd: Awthing---?

Gunlöd: Ah’m gaun ti try.

Valgerd: Can ye forget yeir faither’s dourness?

Gunlöd: Ah hae gey near forgotten that areddies.

Valgerd: Can ye forget the war a tyme whan yeir forebeir’s biggin stuid on Bröviken’s strand? Whaur the saut wund sang in the aik wuid whan the ice-bund seas ran free – whaur the hemlocks gied furth thair douce scent an the linties yammert amang the linden trees – an Balder, the God o Spring an blythness, loulied ye ti sleep on the green meidaes? Can ye forget aw this, whyle ye listen til the sea maws peingin on the bare craigs an skerrs, an the cauld blowsters frae the north yowlin throu the nirlt birks.

Gunlöd: Ay!

Valgerd: Can ye forget yeir friend, yeir faither ture ye frae as a bairn, ti save ye frae the whyte Christ?

Gunlöd: (In desperation) Ay, Ay!

Valgerd: Ye’r greitin! Ah see ye!

Gunlöd: (Disturbed) Sumbodie is walkin ootby. Mebbe Faither is cummin hame?

Valgerd: Wul ye try ti mynd ilka day, athout greitin, that we byde nou in the land o ice – rinagaits frae the Kinrik o Svea an hatit here bi the Christ-men? But oor namelieheid is nane the waur, tho we haena been kirstent an kissed the bishop’s hand. Hae ye ever spoken til onie o the Christians sen we hae been here at aw?

Gunlöd: (After a pause) Na, no me. Tell me, Mither, is’t true that Faither is ti be the Yerl, here, in aw Iceland anaw?

Valgerd: Dinna bather yeir heid aboot that, bairn!

Gunlöd: Syne Ah dout he’l no git on weill wi the Christians.

Valgerd: Ye’r feart for that?

Gunlöd: Sumbodie is ootby.

Valgerd: (Anxiously) Did ye see yon ship lyin in the firth this mornin?

Gunlöd: Ah wes rael gled for ti see it.

Valgerd: Did it hae the feigur-heid o Thorfinn?

Gunlöd: Ah coudna richt mak it oot.

Valgerd: You watch oot, ma lass!

Gunlöd: Is it the-nicht, Ah can gang oot?

Valgerd: The-morn --- fyne ye ken.

Gunlöd: Mither---!

Valgerd: (Going) Mynd you the ingil, or Ah git back!

(Valgerd goes. Gunlöd looks aftrer her mother, then cautiously takes a crucifex from her breast, puts it on the high bench and falls upon her knees.)

Gunlöd: Christ, Christ, forgie me the lee Ah telt!

(Springs up, noticing the image of the gods on the high bench)

Na, Ah canna pray afore thir ill-gien eimages.

(She looks for another place)

Halie St Olaf, halie --- Ai, Ah canna mynd hou the bishop cryit hir!
God! God! God! Dinna kuist me inti purgatorie for this sin!
Ah’l say ower the haill lang prayer of the monks --- credo, credo – in patrem --- Ai, Ah hae forgotten that, tae.
Ah’l gie five heich caunils for the altar o the mither o God, the neist tyme Ah gae ti the chaipel ---

Credo, in patrem omnipotentum --- (Kissing the crucifex eagerly)

(A song is heard outside the hut, accompanied by a lyre)

A crusader gaed oot til the Halie Land,
Ai, Christ, tak the maiden’s saul in hand,
An til yeir kinrik bring hir!
Ah’l cum back, aiblins, whan the sprush trees bloom.

Simmers thrie he stravaigs ferr frae thee,
Whaur nichtingales sing thair delicht,
An masses he hauds baith day an nicht,
At the halie sepulchre’s chaipel.
Ah’l cum back, aiblins, whan the sprush trees bloom.

Whan the palm trees breird on Jordan’s strand,
Syne maks he a prayer ti God,
That he micht gae hame til his native land,
An birze til his hert his luiv.
Ah’l cum back, ma luiv, whan the sprush trees bloom.

(At the beginning of the song, Gunlöd springs up and then listens with more and more agitation and eagerness. When the song is over, she goes towards the door to bolt it, but so slowly, that Gunnar is able to enter before she slips the bolt. Gunnar is clad in the costume of a crusader with a lyre swung across his shoulder.)

Gunnar: Gunlöd:---! (They embrace. Gunlöd pulls away and goes towards the door) Ye ir feart for me? Whit is’t, Gunlöd?

Gunlöd: Ye never taen me in yeir airms afore!

Gunnar: We war bairns than!

Gunlöd: Ye ir richt – we war bairns than. Whit dis that siller faucon mean on yeir shield face? Ah saw it on yeir ship’s bou this mornin anaw.

Gunnar: Ye saw ma ship – ye kent ma sang, an ye wad hae barred the door agin me! Whit im A ti unnerstaun frae that, Gunlöd?

Gunlöd: Spier naething at me, Gunnar! Ah im sae disjaskit in speirit – but sit ye doun an lat me speak ti ye!

Gunnar: (Sits) Ye say naething.

Gunlöd: Ye ir no sayin oniething aither.

Gunnar: (Pulls her to his side) Gunlöd, Gunlöd – haes the snaw fawn sae lourd yeir maimories haes been daivert? The verra bens here ir on haud wi fyre – an ye ir cauld as a yowdendrift – but speak – speak! Whit ir ye daein here in Iceland – an whit haes befawn?

Gunlöd: Terrible things – terrible – an mair ti cum gin ye byde here langir –
(Springs up)
G’awa, afore ma faither cums.

Gunnar: Dae ye think Ah wad leave ye nou? Me, that haes huntit for ye for lang years?

Whan Ah coudna finnd ye at hame, Ah gaed ti the wars agin the Saracens ti seek ye the tither syde the grave. But ma tyme haedna cum. Whan the fowert Spring cam, Ah heard tell, throu gangril merchants, ye coud be fund here. Nou Ah hae fund ye, an ye want me ti leave ye here in this unco derkness – in this heathen pitmirk.

Gunlöd: Ah im no ma lane!

Gunnar: Yeir faither disna loue ye – he disna want ye – yeir mither disna unnerstaun ye, an thay ir baith heathens.

Gunlöd: Ah hae a whein freins amang the Christians.

Gunnar: Syne ye hae becum a Cristian, Gunlöd! The halie virgin haes heard ma prayers.

Gunlöd: Ay, Ah hae. Ai, lat me kiss the cross ye weir on yeir shouther—that ye got at the halie sepulchre!

Gunnar: Nou Ah’l gie ye a brither Christian’s kiss – the first, Gunlöd, ye hae haen frae me.

Gunlöd: Ye maun never kiss me again!

Gunnar: Aweill than, tell me, hou did ye becum a Christian?

Gunlöd: First Ah believed in ma faither – he wes that strang; syne Ah believed in ma mither – she wes that guid; lest, Ah believed in you – ye war that strang an guid – an sae braw; an whan ye gaed awa – Ah stuid ma lane – Ah coud never believe in masell – Ah wes sae waek; syne Ah thocht on yeir God – an Ah prayed til Him.

Gunnar: An the auld gods ---

Gunlöd: Ah hae never been able ti believe in thaim – altho ma faither ordert me ti – thay ir wicked.

Gunnar: Wha lairnt ye ti pray? Wha gied ye the crucifex?

Gunlöd: The bishop.

Gunnar: An naebodie kens that?

Gunlöd: Na, naebodie ava – but Ah haed ti lee til ma mither an that bathers me.

Gunnar: An yeir faither brocht ye here sae the Christians wadna win near ye.

Gunlöd: Ay – an nou he is expekkit hame frae Noroway wi his men, as he is ti be the Yerl o the island.

Gunnar: God forbid!

Gunlöd: Ay! Ay --- but ye maunna daidil here. He is expekkit hame the-nicht.

Gunnar: That’s fyne wi me – thare ayont Hjärleif’s heidland, rydes ma ship – oot ti sea than! The’r an affshore wund, an afore the first cock craws, we’l be weill oot o sicht.

Gunlöd: Ay! Ay!

Gunnar: An afore lang we soud be at Ostergötland – whaur the Simmer is yit green – an thare ye wul leeve bien in ma castel, that Ah hae biggit whaur yeir faither’s houss aince stuid.

Gunlöd: Is’t no aye thare?

Gunnar: Na, it wes burnt doun ti the grund.

Gunlöd: (Angrily) Bi the Christians?

Gunnar: Ye ir that easie roused, Gunlöd!

Gunlöd: Ah’m thinkin, mebbe Ah wad raither be a heathen.

Gunnar: Whit ir ye sayin, quyne?

Gunlöd: (After a pause) Forgie me, forgie me – Ah im in sic an ill tid – an whan Ah see the Christians, wha soud be an exempil til us, dae sic things ---

Gunnar: Birze oot that thocht, Gunlöd! Birze it oot! It is ungodlie! Dae ye see this wraith? (Produces a spray of flowers)

Gunlöd: Whaur did ye git it?

Gunnar: Ye ken thae flouers, Gunlöd?

Gunlöd: Ay, thay grew in ma faither’s gairden – can Ah keep thaim?

Gunnar: Gledlie – but whit dae ye want thaim for, whan we ir gaun thare oorsells?

Gunlöd: Ah’l byde here an luik at thaim the lang wunter throu – the hemlock wul bring me in mynd o the green wuids, an the anemones o the blue lift abuin.

Gunnar: An whan thay ir wuthert an deid?

Gunlöd: Ah winna think on that.

Gunnar: Syne cum wi me, frae this dreich land – ferr awa an thare, whaur we war bairns, we wul leeve as free as the burds amang the flouers an sunshein. Thare ye needna gang in saicret til the Kirk whan the bells jowe for the Sabbath. As ye wul see the new chaipel wi its vaultit ruif an pillared aisles. An hear the choir, singin whan the bishop lichts the incense on the hie altar. Thare ye wul worship God an feel yeir hert syndit clean frae aw sin.

Gunlöd: Wul Ah flee than --- leave ma mither?

Gunnar: She wul forgie ye in tyme.

Gunlöd: But ma faither wad caw me a couart, an that Ah coudna allou.

Gunnar: That ye maun thole for the sake o yeir faith.

Gunlöd: Thorfinn’s dochter wes never couartlie.

Gunnar: Yeir faither disna loue ye, an he wul hate ye whan he kens aboot yeir conversion.

Gunlöd: Weill he micht, but he wad never lichtlie me.

Gunnar: Ye wul gie up yeir luiv, Gunlöd?

Gunlöd: Luiv! Whit div Ah ken aboot luiv? But Ah mynd o a maiden that haed a man friend that gaed awa – eftir that, she wes never blyth again – she juist sat dowie lyke, shewin silk an gowd. Whit she wes makkin, naebodie kent – an whan thay spiered at hir she juist grat. An whan thay askit hir whitfor, she never lat on – she juist grat the mair. She tint hir color awthegither an grew fauch an shilpit, an hir mither made ready hir shroud. Syne an auld kerlin cam ti luik at hir an she said it wes luiv that ailed hir.

Gunnar: Gunlöd, is that whit ye want ti happen ti ye?

Gunlöd: Gunnar, Ah never grat whan ye gaed awa, kis ma faither says it is waek ti shed tears. Ah never shewed silk an gowd, for ma mither never showed me hou ti dae it. Wes Ah in luiv than?

Gunnar: But ye hae aften thocht o me throu thae years.

Gunlöd: Ah hae dreamed aboot ye sae aften, an this mornin, whan Ah stuid bi the winnok whaur Ah aye staun luikin oot ower the sea, Ah saw yeir ship cum up oot the East an A becam restless, for aw Ah didna ken it wes your ship.

Gunnar: Whitfor dae ye spend sae mukkil tyme goavin oot at the sea?

Gunlöd: Ye ask ower monie quaistens, sae ye dae.

Gunnar: Whitfor did ye want ti steik the door agin me?

(Gunlöd is silent)

Whit did ye no snek it for, awthegither?

(Gunlöd is silent

Hae ye lost yeir tung?

(Gunlöd bursts into tears

Ye’r greitin, Gunlöd, and ye ken yeirsell whit ye ir greitin for – ye loue me.

Gunnar takes her in his arms and kisses her)

Gunlöd: (Tearing herself away) Ye maunna kiss me! Gae awa frae me! Leave iz alane! Leave iz alane, wul ye?

Gunnar: Ay! Ye loue me an ye wul cum wi me.

Gunlöd: Ah dinna care ti be telt whit ti dae bi YOU. Ah’l no cum wi ye!

Gunnar: The volcano thraws up fyre whyles – syne it burns itsell oot!

Gunlöd: Ye hae taen awa ma peace o mynd foraye! Gang awa an lat me forget ye!

Gunnar: Div ye ken whit the siller faucon stauns for? It stauns for the wyld burd Ah’m gaun ti tame.

Gunlöd: (With force) YOU---! Awa wi ye afore Ah end up hatin ye! Naebodie is gaun ti tame me!

Gunnar: This is the fyre o yeir viking bluid speakin, but in tyme it wul be slockent. Ah’l wait for ye, ae day an ae nicht. An ye wul cum ti me – cannie as a dou seekin beild frae the snell wund. Nou ye wad flie lyke a faucon, but Ah haud the ribbon in ma haund. That is yeir luiv, that ye canna win free frae. Whan the gloamin dounfaws again, ye wul cum ti me. Or than, Gunlöd, fareweill!

(Goes to the door and stops. Gunlöd is silent!)

Gunnar: Fareweill!

(Gunnar goes)

Gunlöd: We wul see, prood callant, wha turns up the first. Whan thir flouers bloom again, syne Ah’l cum.

(Throws garland into fire. She watches it burn thoughtfully. When it is quite burnt she bursts into tears again and falls upon her knees.)

Ai God! God! Lowden ma prood speirit! Ah canna beir it gin he leaves me!

(She hastens to door. At the same moment, Valgerd enters, passes Gunlöd, and goes to the fire.)

Valgerd: Did Ah no tell ye strecht ti tend the ingil? It is gey near oot!

(Gunlöd is silent)

Valgerd: (Putting her hand against Gunlöd’s heart) Ye hae a saicret.

Gunlöd: Ay, Mither, Ah hae.

Valgerd: Waird it weill! Keep it in yeir hert!

Gunlöd: But Ah hae ti speak – Ah canna beir it onie langir.

Valgerd: Whan did ye ever ken a mither that didna ken hir dochter’s saicrets?

Gunlöd: Wha telt ye mynes?

Valgerd: (Harshly) You dry yeir tears!

(There is a pause)

Gunlöd: Ah think Ah’l hae ti gang oot – up on the bens – or on the foreland. It is awfu close in here.

Valgerd: Gae up ti the garret -- - an ye can be yeir lane thare.

(Enter a thirlman)

Valgerd: Whit ir ye eftir?

Thirlman: We can hear the Yerl’s trumpets blawin ayont the craigs an the storm is gittin waur. It’s gaun ti be a richt doister!

Valgerd: Is it derk yit?

Thirlman: Ay, it’s a terrible derkness. It’s pitmirk ootby.

(There is a pause)

Gunlöd: Send oot a boat – Na, twa – as monie as can be fund!

Thirlman: Ah dout aw the boats is oot for the hunt.

Gunlöd: Licht the beacon fyres!

Thirlman: Aw the wuid is that platchin weit wi rain, naebodie haes been able ti kinnil the ingil aw forenicht.

Valgerd: Awa wi ye!

Thirlman: Hou wul the Yerl manage, dae ye think?

Valgerd: That disna concern you!

(The Thirlman leaves obediently)

Gunlöd: Ye haena forgotten the wrang he did ye.

Valgerd: Ah’m no lyke ti forget ma revenge aither. Naebodie soud lay haunds on the dochter o a Yerl.

Gunlöd: Awricht than--- Nou, yeir tyme hae cum – tak yeir revenge! Ah’l shaw ye hou ti dae it – lyke this. (Takes a lighted torch) Pit this torch in the winnok-bole an ye can wreck him afore he lands. Pit it in the left ane an ye can save him ---

Valgerd: (Interrupts) Gie you me the torch an leave me!

Gunlöd: The’r ae sacrifice ye can mak that can dill doun the gods. Gie up yeir revenge!

(Gunlöd moves to leave)

(Valgerd takes torch, hesitates, and goes quickly to left window-bole and places it there. Trumpets are heard)

Valgerd: Ye struck me, Thorfinn – Ah swure revenge – but Ah’l hummil ye wi a kynd deed.

(Gunlöd returns unseen by Valgerd)

Gunlöd: (Falls on her mother’s neck) Thenkye Mither! Thenkye!

Valgerd: (Disconcerted) Ir ye never awa yit?

Gunlöd: Ah’l gang nou. (Gunlöd goes)

Valgerd: (Alone by the window-bole) Ay, ye rair for help, ye michtie man, wha aye helpit yeirsell.

(Trumpets are heard)

Whaur is aw yeir maucht nou – whaur is yeir kinrik ---?

(A blast of wind blows out the lighted torch)

(Valgerd, terribly frightened, takes torch and lights it)

Ai, but he micht still dee oot thare. Whit can Ah dae? Wha soud Ah pray til? Odin--? Njard--? Ogir--? Ah hae cryit on thaim for fortie year, but littil guid it haes duin me. Thay hae never aunsirt me. Ah hae made sacrifices, but never hae thay helpit me.

(Orm enters unnoticed)

Valgerd: Almichtie God, whitever ye micht be richt cawed, that gars the sun ryse an set, that rowles ower the wund an wattirs – Ah pray ti YOU. Ti you Ah sacrifice ma revenge gin ye wul save him.

Orm: (Coughs) Guid nicht til ye Valgerd. Haed ye no better hap yeir cloak aboot ye? – the wund is byordnar snell the-nicht.

(Valgerd, disconcerted, take down torch and closes window bole)

Valgerd: Walcum, Orm---!

Orm: Thenkye kyndlie---!

Valgerd: Hou ir ye daein, Orm?

Orm: No sae bad, whan Ah can win in near the mukkil logs.

Valgerd: (Irritated) Ah mean, man, whitlyke wes the traivel?

Orm: Aweill, that’s a gey lang storie.

Valgerd: Weill, mak it short!

Orm: Aweill, as ye ken, we gaed ti Noroway, eftir men an timmer.

Valgerd: Orm---!

Orm: Valgerd---!

Valgerd: Ye haena spoken ae wurd aboot the Yerl.

Orm: Hae YOU spoken a wurd aboot yeir man?

Valgerd: Whaur is he? Is he aye leevin?

Orm: Ah dinna ken.

Valgerd: Ye dinna ken! --- an you, his foster brither? Whaur did ye lest see him?

Orm: Ferr oot in the bey ootby – in the wattir. It wes gey cheerie oot thare, Ah can tell ye. Ye soud hae seen him soumin wi ma herp in his hand. The kelp wes that raivelt in his baird an hair, ye coud hae taen him for auld Neptune himsell. Syne thare cam a mukkil swaw as big as a houss---

Valgerd: An syne---?

Orm: An syne – Ah coud see ma herp nae mair.

Valgerd: Orm, ye mak a baur whyle yeir laird an brither is aiblins drounin oot thare! Gang you an seek him this verra meinit! Dae ye hear whit Ah’m sayin?

Orm: Mercie, Wumman, whit ails ye? Ah canna mynd that ye war ever that bathert aboot yeir man afore. Whyle ye’r on yeir feet, ye micht finnd tyme ti fesh me a waucht o yill afore Ah gae.

Valgerd: You byde here an warm yeir knees bi the ingil. Ah’l gang masell – for aw the wund an storm.

Orm: (Taking her hands) Wumman, Wumman, ye canna! Ye ir a wumman eftir aw.

Valgerd: Lat gae ma hands!

Orm: Wumman, the Yerl is awricht. He is saved.

Valgerd: Saved---?

Orm: Ay, he haes been gien back ti ye – an here’s his vyce nou.

(Orm goes out. The voices of Thorfinn and Orm are heard outside. Thorfinn laughing loudly.)

Valgerd: The Yerl is cummin – he is lauchin – Ah never heard that afore – but Ai, sumthing terrible is cummin,

(She wrings her hands. Enter Thorfinn and Orm)

Thorfinn: (Laughing) That wes an unco sicht---!

Orm: Ay, it wes that!

Valgerd: Walcum hame, Guidman---!

Thorfinn: Thenkye Guidwyfe! Hae ye been oot in the rain? Yeir een is aw weit an begrutten lyke.

Valgerd: Ye ir awfu joco!

Thorfinn: Joco---? Ay, sae Ah im.

Valgerd: (To Thorfinn) Eftir awthing, ye can be sae blyth?

Thorfinn: Howt ay! The’r nae want o timmer in the North.

Orm: Nou mebbe, we micht hae sumthing ti pit sum lyfe back intil us?

Thorfinn: Weill said! Fesh a pikkil yill, Wyfe, an lat’s be cheerie lyke!

Orm: An we’l thenk the gods that saved us.

Thorfinn: Ai, whan wul ye growe up an forget thae sagas, Orm?

Orm: But YOU force yeir wyfe an dochters ti believe in thaim.

Thorfinn: The weimen fowk soud hae gods.

Orm: Wha dae ye think helpit ye oot thare in the storm?

Thorfinn: Man, Ah helpit masell.

Orm: An yit, ye cryit oot til Ake-Thor whan ye war swallaed bi yon mukkil swaw as big as a houss.

Thorfinn: Thare ye tell a lee.

Orm: Orm never lees.

Thorfinn: Orm is a poet!

Orm: Ah dout Thorfinn maun hae swallaed ower mukkil saut wattir whan he cryit oot an pled for help, ti hae sic a bitter tung.

Thorfinn: You tak care o yeir ain tung, Orm!

(Valgerd brings drinking horns)

Valgerd: Here, foster-brithers, Ah drink til yeir aith o freinship an ti better luck for yeir neist voyage.

Thorfinn: Ye’r no ti speak aboot that again.

(They drink. Thorfinn takes horn hastily from mouth)

Whaur the bairn?

Valgerd: (Troubled) She is up in the garret,

Thorfinn: Cry hir doun!

Valgerd: She’s no verra weill.

Thorfinn: (Looks sharply at Valgerd) She’l cum doun whitever!

Valgerd: Ye dinna mean that.

Thorfinn: Ye heard whit Ah said.

Valgerd: That’s no yeir lest wurd.

Thorfinn: A man haes onlie the ae wurd, tho a wumman maun aye hae the lest.

Valgerd: (Weakly) Ye’r tormentin me.

Thorfinn: Ye’r roused, Ah believe.

Valgerd: Ye’r lauchin ower mukkil the-nicht.

(She goes out)

Thorfinn: Orm, a thocht haes cum ti me.

Orm: Gin it’s a gret ane, ye haed mukkil need keep it til yeirsell. Gret thochts is ill ti cum bi thir days.

Thorfinn: Did ye notice ma guidwyfe?

Orm: Ah never notice ither men’s wyfes.

Thorfinn: Hou cannie an gentie she wes.

Orm: Ay, she peitied ye.

Thorfinn: Peitied me---?

Orm: Ay, kis the dule that lauchs is the lauchter o Daith, she thocht.

Thorfinn: Ah wumman canna think.

Orm: Na, no wi hir heid, but wi hir hert. That’s hou she haes a smawer heid, but a bigger breist nor us.

Thorfinn: Ah hae an ill bodement at ma hert, richt aneuch. An awfu dreid haes cum ower me.

Orm: Puir Thorfinn---!

Thorfinn: Ma bairn! Orm, whan she cums in, bid hir drink frae the horn til Asa-Odin!

Orm: The tod snowks agin the wund. Ah can see whit ye ir aboot

Thorfinn: Be reddie! Here thay cum.

Orm: Dinna you be ower sair on the bairn, Thorfinn, or ye wul hae me ti reckon wi.

(Valgerd and Gunlöd enter. The latter heavy with sleepiness)

Gunlöd: Walcum hame, Faither.

Thorfinn: Ir ye tellin the truith?

(Gunlöd is silent)

Ye ir no weill, ir ye no?

Gunlöd: Ah’m no masell, awthegither.

Thorfinn: Sae it seems, Ah’m hearin.

Orm: (Waving a drinking horn over the fire) Cum, Gunlöd, an tuim this sacred horn til Odin, that saved yeir faither frae wrack at sea the-day!

(All empty their vessels except Gunlöd)

Thorfinn: Drink, Gunlöd!

(Gunlöd throws the horn on the floor, goes to Thorfinn and buries her head in his lap)

Gunlöd: Hear me, Faither! Ah im a Christian. Ye can dae whit ye lyke wi me – ye canna dae skaith til ma saul. God an the Sancts wul sain it.

(Thorfinn is beside himself with grief and rage. Rises and pushes Gunlöd away from him and tries to speak, but words fail him. Sits on his high bench again in silence. Orm goes to the women and speaks quietly to them. They go toward the door. Suddenly Gunlöd turns.)

Gunlöd: Na, Ah winna gang. Ah maun speak, sae that ye, Faither, winna gae til the grave wi a lee – for yeir haill lyfe haes been a lee! Ah sal sacrifice the respect Ah haed for ye as a bairn – luiv Ah never felt – for ti prove ti ye whit terrible guilt ye hae brocht on yeir ain heid. Ye lairnt me ti hate – ye lairnt me ti fear this gret Yerl Thjorfinn an ye succeeded, kis Ah trummil aye afore yeir ill tein. Ah respect yeir gret deeds, but ye never lairnt me ti loue ma ain faither. Aye, ye pusht me awa whan Ah wantit ti cum til ye – ye puzzint ma saul an nou ye see the punishment o God afore ye.

Thorfinn: Oniething Ah hae duin wes duin for yeir ain guid.

Gunlöd: You hae made me a creiminal – for that’s whit Ah im nou. Whitfor dae ye hate ma faith? Kis it is luiv, an yours is ill-wull. Ai, Faither, Faither, Ah wad fain kiss the clouds frae yeir brou. Ah wantit ti daut yeir whyte locks an gar ye forget the dule that whytent thaim. Ah wantit ti stell ye whan yeir streps began ti stotter -- Ai, forget whit Ah hae said!

(She falls on her knees)

Open yeir airms an claucht me til yeir hert! Luik at me in a kyndlyke wey, juist the aince, afore it’s ower late. Speak ae tender wurd ti me!

(Thorfinn glares at her. She springs to her feet)

Ai, but yeir glower nithers me! Ye winna loue me! Ah sal pray for the pouer ti loue YOU.

(She bursts into tears and goes out, followed by Valgerd. Orm goes forward to Thorfinn)

Thorfinn: Sing for me, Orm!

Orm: Orm the poet sings naething but lees.

Thorfinn: Sing lees than!

Orm: Wes the truith that bitter?

Thorfinn: Whit div ye say?

Orm: Never heed! Ye wul hear mair frae me eftir.

Thorfinn: Orm, ye ir ma frein.

Orm: Ai ay, sae Ah im.

Thorfinn: Orm, Ah want peace.

Orm: The’r twa weys for ti win peace: ae wey is never ti dae oniething ye regret – the ither is never ti regret oniething ye dae!

Thorfinn: But gin ye hae duin things ye regret areddies?

Orm: Ir ye sayin ye ir vext for yeir ill-set til yeir bairn?

Thorfinn: (Angry) Ah regret naething. As ferr as ma bairn is concerned, ye haed better haud yeir tung.

Orm: Listen, Thorfinn – hae ye ever thocht aboot whit yeir lyfe haes been?

Thorfinn: Thinkin is for auld weimen – daein things haes been ma lyfe.

Orm: Whit dae ye ettil ti dae nou?

Thorfinn: Whit dae Ah ettil ti dae nou?

Orm: Ay--!

(Thorfinn is shaken and silent)

Ye see hou even a wee bit thocht struck ye – juist think than, gin a mukkil thocht soud cum ti ye. Ah dinna think ye daur luik back, kis ye ir feart for the sicht ye wad see.

Thorfinn: Lat the past byde beirit!

Orm: Na, Thorfinn, whit Ah’m gaun ti dae is ti teir the corps frae thair lairs an thay wul goave at ye wi thair empie een or ye chitter wi grue an fear – an ye wul ken than that ye war never a man ava.


Orm: Ye can shout aw ye lyke – ye ir still a bit hauflin – ye ir aye a laddie. Ay, YOU! But ye’r no yeir lane. Ah hae seen a hantil big, mukkil bairns wi lang tousie baerds an gray hair, an heuchie backs anaw.


Orm: Ye can buller or the houss shaks --- ye canna shout doun the truith.

Thorfinn: You be quaeit,, afore Ah fell ye ti the grund wi ma niv!

Orm: Gae on, fell me! Dird me ti daith – teir the tung oot ma mou -- ye’r rael guid at sic ploys. In the hinner end, the truith wul be that YEIR LYFE HAES BEEN A LEE.

Thorfinn: (With repressed anger and pain) Orm, for peitie’s sake, say nae mair!

Orm: Ai, but Ah wul speak. Mercie, feel that! Dae ye feel the verra yird dirl anaith yeir feet? That means the’r an erdine doun ablo! The haill warld is in jizzen. She is aboot ti gie birth til a gret new hero. Open yeir een, Man, an look! He wul be born, this yung, strang, braw prince that wul ring ower aw the fowk in the warld. His sceptre is cawed luiv an his croun is cawed licht, an his name is the new age that is dawin!

Thorfinn, div ye mynd the saga anent Thor at Utgärda Loke? He wauchtit sae deep frae the horn that the trolls trummilt – but whan the auld kerlin felled him til his knees, syne the trolls laucht. It wes the new age that baet him, an it is this age that haes slain you --- the laird o the new age – it is God Himsell that haes baeten ye.

Thorfinn: Ah hae never kent onie god but ma ain micht. On that god, Ah aye believe.

Orm: Ye dinna ken Him? You that haes warsilt wi him this lang tyme. It wes Him that drave ye frae yeir native kintrie, an ye thocht ye war joukin frae Him. It wes Him that dang yeir ships ti flinders an swallaed up yeir treisirs an pit an end til yeir pouer. It wes Him that claucht yeir bairn frae ye. It wes Him ---

(A messenger enters)

Messenger: Ir ye the Yerl Thorfinn?

Thorfinn: Ah im that.

Messenger: You cairrit oot the massacre on the ness at Reyd-fiord lest Spring?

Thorfinn: (Undisturbed) Sae Ah did.

Messenger: Ye reived an burnt Hallfred at Thorvalla?

Thorfinn: Ay---! Ah daursay.

Messenger: An syne ye slippit awa oot o sicht.

(Thorfinn is silent)

Aweill, The Allthing haes nou named ye a creiminal an declared ye an ootlaw. Ye ir nou ootby the beild o the law an onie man is free ti tak yeir lyfe.
Ah can tell ye yeir faes ir nou nearhaund an ye haed better flee whyle the’r aye tyme. Ye wad be weill advised ti mak guid yeir escape this verra nicht.

(The messenger leaves and there is a long pause)

Orm: Dae ye ken wha that wes?

Thorfinn: Ye micht weill spier.

Orm: That wes a messenger frae yon auld kerlin in the yairn, that felled Thor til the grund – that stuid for the new age!

Thorfinn: Ye speak lyke an auld wumman yeirsell.

Orm: This new age disna staun for force, but ye hae contert it an fyled it, sae nou it dings ye doun in the stour.

Thorfinn: This age canna thole smeddum, sae it worships waekness. It browdens on sachlessness.

Orm: Whan ye cam ti this island, ye swure ti mak peace. Ye hae brukken yeir aith. Ye hae dishonored yeirsell, sae nou ye maun dee lyke a creiminal.

Thorfinn: Ir YE gaun ti caw me a creiminal anaw?

Orm: Ay, Ah wul.

Thorfinn: Wad YOU daur ti brek an aith?
Wad YOU daur ti be cryit a creiminal an putten til the horn?

(Orm is silent)

Ye puir wretch---! Ye pit shekkils on me whan Ah ettil ti flee! Lyke a fell sairpent ye curl yeirsell roun ma legs. Lat gae o me!

Orm: We twa hae sworn the aith o foster brithers. Ah canna lat gae.

Thorfinn: Aweill, Ah’l brek it.

Orm: Ye canna.

Thorfinn: Syne Ah’l kick ye oot ma road.

Orm: That wul be the daith o us baith.

Thorfinn: Ir you a man, Orm?

Orm: Ah hae becum juist a poet.

Thorfinn: Syne ye hae becum nocht ava.

Orm: Ah kent whit Ah wantit, but Ah coudna win it. Ye coud win oniething, but ye didna ken whit ye wantit!

Thorfinn: Aweill, thenks for yeir sang! Fareweill, Orm!

Orm: Wha wul sing yeir daith sang nou?

Thorfinn: The corbies, nae dout.

Orm: Dae ye daur dee, Thorfinn?

Thorfinn: Ah daur mair! Ah daur ti be forgotten!

Orm: Ay, ye war aye strangir nor me. Fareweill!
We’l meet anither day.

(Orm leaves)

Thorfinn: Aw ma lane again – aye ma lane.

(There is a pause)

Thorfinn: Ah mynd ae day i the back end in a storm in the Inglish sea, whan ma draigon ship foundert an Ah wes kuist up on the rocks ma lane.
Ai, whit lang dreich days an nichts. Nocht but the cloudless lift an the deep blue sea aroun me. No even the sea maws ti wauken me wi thair skraichin! It wes gin Ah wes deid areddies.

Onlie the stound o ma hert telt me Ah wes still leevin, an whan Ah coud feel it nae mair, Ah swerfed awa for a whyle. Whan Ah cam tae again, Ah heard the stoundin o anither hert an deep beathin that wesna ma ain, an sum smeddum cam back ti me. Ah luikit up, an here the war a mukkil selkie goavin at me wi blearie een, as gin it wes vext for me. Ah wes nae langir ma lane! Ah raxt oot ma haund for ti clap its roch bodie, but it made for the wattir an Ah wes aw bi masell again – mair lanesum nor afore.

Sae here im Ah, back on yon rocks again. Whit im Ah feart for? Ah im feart ti be lanesum – Ah im feart for masell. Wha im Ah ti be feart for masell? Im Ah no Yerl Thorfinn the Strang that haes commanded thousans o men? Wha never spiered for freinship or luiv an aye bure the birn o his ain dule. The maun be twa Thorfinns: Thorfinn the Strang an Thorfinn the Waek.

Wha herried ma strenth? Wha dang me doun? Wes it the sea?
Hae Ah no maistered the sea on thrie tymes ten voyages? It haes baet me but the aince – but this wes ti the daith! It wes strangir nor me.
It wes a God. Wha ir ye that lowdent the storm that baet me?
Aunsir me, sae that Ah micht believe!

Ah hear nae aunsir. The’r nae aunsir. Ah hear ma hert stoundin again.

Ah im cauld, Ah’m freezin---! Ah im aw ma lane!

(He goes to door and calls Valgerd. A thirlman enters)

Thirlman: Ye cryit, Maister Yerl?

Thorfinn: (Recovering himself) Ye war mistaen.

Thirlman: Ay, maister.

Thorfinn: Hou monie men ir the?

Thirlman: Ai, aboot hauf o thrie score, Ah think.

Thorfinn: Ir ye feart ti dee, thirlman?

Thirlman: Hou can Ah be, whan Ah believe Ah’l be savit?

(He crosses himself)

Thorfinn: Whit dis that fouterin mean?

Thirlman: The bishop haes lairnt us ti dae that, Maister.

Thorfinn: Ah forgot for a wee that ye ir a Christian.

Thirlman: Dae ye want me ti byde in yeir service, seein that ye ir a heathen.

Thorfinn: Ah want ti shaw ye hou littil Ah think o the Christian creed. We maun pit doubil bolts on the North yett!

Thirlman: Ay, Maister, but the faith is strangir nor a hunder bolts.

Thorfinn: Wha askit you for yeir opeinion?
Whit befell whan ye becam Christians on the island?

Thirlman: Ai, it wes easier nor ye micht think. Thay juist poured cauld wattir on us an the bishop read frae a mukkil buik, an syne thay gied ilkane o us a whyte serk ti pit on.

Thorfinn: Tell the twal strangest men ti tak oot thair new aixes – div ye hear?

Thirlman: (Starting to leave) Ay Maister.

Thorfinn: Haud on!
Dae ye mynd whit wes wrutten in that mukkil buik?

Thirlman: Ah dinna mynd mukkil aboot it, but the war a yairn anent twa kettrens that war hung up on crosses alang wi the Son o God. But ane o thaim gaed ti Heivin i the end.

Thorfinn: Did thay pour wattir on him tae?

Thirlman: The bishop never said.

Thorfinn: Dae ye ken whuther the’r onie horses in the stable?

Thirlman: Ah think thay ir aw oot at the gress, but Ah’l gae see.

(He starts to go)

Thorfinn: Ye maunna leave me – byde! Haud on a wee, Man!
Gin ye war ti dee the-nicht, wad ye gang in peace?

Thirlman: Ay, gin Ah haed tyme for ti pit up a bit prayer first.

Thorfinn: Dis that bring saucht til a bodie i the end?

Thirlman: Ai, ay, Maister?

Thorfinn: (Rises, takes up a goblet) Ah’l gie ye this, gin ye wul pray for me.

Thirlman: That wadna be aneuch.

Thorfinn: Ye wul hae ten, the neibor o thae, but gin ye tell oniebodie aboot it, Ah’l tak yeir lyfe.

Thirlman: It wadna help gin ye gie me a hunder. Ye maun pray yeirsell.

Thorfinn: Ah canna, but Ah’m tellin YOU ti pray.

Thirlman: Ah wul dae as Ah’m telt, but ye wul see it dis nae guid.
(Praying) Jesus Christ, hae peitie on this puir sinner that begs for yeir mercy.

Thorfinn: That’s a lee. Aw ma lyfe, Ah never begged for oniething.

Thirlman: Ye wul see that it disna help.

Thorfinn: Haund me ma airmor an help me buckle up, wul ye!

Thirlman: Ye ir no keepin still. Ah canna richt fessen the buckles.

Thorfinn: Ye wretch that ye ir!

Thirlman: Mercie, Maister, yeir haill bodie is shakkin.

Thorfinn: That’s a lee!

(Valgerd and Gunlöd enter)

Thirlman: Can Ah gang nou?

Thorfinn: Awa wi ye! (Thirlman leaves)

Valgerd: (Coming forward) Ye cryit on me.

Thorfinn: That’s no true. Ah didna.

Valgerd: Mak reddie! Ah hae heard whit haes happent til ye.

Thorfinn: Syne it is best that you (indicating both Valgerd and Gunlöd) dern yeirsells doun in the grundhouss.

(Another messenger enters)

Messenger: We ir aw here ootby for ye. The’r mair nor twa hunder o us. Wul ye yield til oor greter strenth?

(Thorfinn is silent)

Ye dinna aunsir. Lat the weimen gae! -- sen we ir gaun ti burn doun yeir houss.

(Thorfinn is silent)

Whit’s yeir aunsir?

(Gunlöd, who has been standing by the door, comes forward and takes a battle axe from wall)

Gunlöd: Ah’l gie ye yeir aunsir! Yerl Thorfinn wad hae brocht up his dochter gey ill, an littil wad his guidwyfe loued him gin thay haed desertit him nou.
Here is yeir aunsir! (Throws battle axe at messenger’s feet)

Messenger: Ye ir strangir nor Ah thocht, Thorfinn. For yeir dochter’s sake, ye wul hae the chaunce ti faw lyke a hero. For hir sake, ye winna dee a skellum. Prepare yeirsell for an open fecht oot on the field!

(He goes out)

Thorfinn: (To Valgerd) Awa wi ye, ye couartlie faithless wumman, ti gaird ma treisir sae ill – ti mak ma bairn ma fae.

Gunlöd: Ai, Faither, im Ah nou yeir fae?

Thorfinn: Ye ir a Christian, but it is mebbe no ower late yit. Wul ye deny the whyte Christ?

Gunlöd: Never wul Ah dae that, but Ah wul follae ye ti the daith.

Valgerd: Ye can caw me hen-hertit. Ah can thole that, but faithless – that isna fair – Ah wes never that. Aiblins Ah haena aye loued ye lyke sum wumman frae the South, but aw ma days Ah hae been leal ti ye. An Ah hae sworn ti dee alang wi ye, as is oor auld wey.

(She opens a trap in the floor)

Valgerd: See, here Ah hae made reddie ma lair. Ah’l ligg here anaith thir auld reikie bauks that haes watcht ower aw ma days an ma dule, an wi thae gods (Points to carved images of Thor and Odin on uprights of high bench) that gydit us here. Ah want ti gang wi the lowes in the fyre, an ma speirit wul ryse up in the smeik ti Ginde, an finnd saucht i the feinish.

Gunlöd: Im Ah ti be left aw ma lane eftir ye’r awa? Lat me gang wi ye, Mither!

Valgerd: Na, Na, bairn, ye ir yung. Ye micht mak oot yit in a doucer kintrie. But the auld fir tree dees aye on its first ruits.

Gunlöd: Faither, Faither, ye maunna dee. Ah can save ye!

Thorfinn: YOU---!

Gunlöd: Yeir friend, Gunnar, liggs aff Hjärleif’s Ness wi his warriors. Send ane o the thirlmen til him bi a rounaboot wey an he wul cum an help.

Thorfinn: Ah see---! It wes frae oot that wal that ye drew yeir smeddum. You keep yeir help an leave here gin ye want!

Gunlöd: Ye’r no gaun ti think o me as a couart. Ah’l gang wi you, Mither. Ye canna stap me.

(Thorfinn goes to the door, trying to conceal his emotions)

Valgerd: Na, byde here, Thorfinn, an bare yeir gret saul ti me! Lat me ken yeir richt feelins for aince!

Thorfinn: An YOU canna read thaim nou, lat thaim never be read!

Valgerd: Ye ir no the dour stane ye micht seem. Ah ken ye hae feelins. Lat thaim kyth nou an ye wul ken peace.

Thorfinn: Ma feelins ir ma hert’s bluid. Wad ye see that?

(The clatter of arms is heard outside and Thorfinn starts to go out when he hears this. This continues for a while and Thorfinn returns when it ceases.)

Valgerd: Guidman, wul ye no byde an say ae wurd o fareweill?

Thorfinn: Wumman, ye teir doun ma strenth wi yeir feelins. Ye gut me lyke a herrin. Lat me gae! The lest play haes begun!

Valgerd: Say fareweill ti me at least.

Thorfinn: (Restraining his feelings with effort) Fareweill, Bairn---!

(Goes out)

Valgerd: That man, naebodie wul bend.

Gunlöd: God wul bend him!

Valgerd: His dourness is lyke whunstane.

Gunlöd: God’s mercie is greter!

Valgerd: Aweill than, fareweill ma bairn---!

Gunlöd: Ye wad leave me ahint, ma lane?

Valgerd: (Embracing Gunlöd) Ir ye reddie?

Gunlöd: The halie virgin prays for me.

Valgerd: Ah truist in the luiv o God.

Gunlöd: An Ah trust in the mither o God.

Valgerd: Ah kenna hir ava.

Gunlöd: Ye maun believe in hir!

Valgerd: Ma belief is no yeir belief.

Gunlöd: (Embracing Valgerd) Forgie me, Mither!

Valgerd: Nou til yeir steid bi the winnok!

(Gunlöd opens the wooden shutter at the window-hole and looks out. Valgerd takes a torch and places herself by the trap door in floor)

Gunlöd: The fechtin is sair.

Valgerd: Can ye pick oot the Yerl?

Gunlöd: Ay, he stauns at the yett.

Valgerd: Hou is he daein?

Gunlöd: Awthing faws afore his aix.

Valgerd: Is he weariein at aw?

Gunlöd: The’r nae sign! Na, he stauns strecht as a caber--- See yon – whit terrible northern lichts!

Valgerd: Haes monie men fawn?

Gunlöd: Ah canna richt tell. The tulyie is drawin awa frae the threshin yaird. Ai, the Heivins is aw reid lyke bluid!

Valgerd: It’s a fey taiken.

Gunlöd: Faither is cummin back nou.

Valgerd: Is he mittilt?

Gunlöd: The’r a hantil bluid on him. He’s hirplin! Ai, Mercie, he’s founderin!

Valgerd: Steik the winnok-bole an truist in God!

Gunlöd: Haud on a meinit, yit!

Valgerd: Ir ye feart ti luik?

Gunlöd: (Going towards door) Na! Na!

(The sounds of the conflict gradually die away)

Thorfinn: (Comes in, pale and wounded) Byde whaur ye ir!

(Valgerd goes towards him. Pause)

(On high bench) Cum here!

(Valgerd and Gunlöd go to him. Thorfinn caresses Gunlöd’s hair, kisses her forehead, then presses Valgerd’s hand.)

(Kissing Valgerd) Nou ye see ma hert’s bluid.

(Valgerd rises to get torch)

Valgerd: Oor pairtin is nou foraye. It is aw by an duin wi nou.

Thorfinn: Byde you an leeve wi yeir bairn!

Valgerd: But ma aith---!

Thorfinn: Ma haill lyfe haes been a brukken aith, an yit Ah howp --- it is better ti leeve ---

(Orm comes in wounded. Stops at door)

Orm: Can Ah cum in?

Thorfinn: Cum awa inby!

Orm: Hae ye fund saucht nou?

Thorfinn: (Caressing Valgerd) Suin! Suin! Ah’l finnd it suin.

Orm: Syne we ir reddie for the lang traivel.

Thorfinn: (Looks at Valgerd and Gunlöd) No juist yit---!

Orm: (Sits on bench) Hurry, gin ye want companie!

Thorfinn: Orm, ir ye a Christian?

Orm: Ye micht weill ask.

Thorfinn: Whit ir ye than --- a riddil?

Orm: Ah wes awthing. Ah wes naething. Ah wes a poet.

Thorfinn: Div ye believe in oniething?

Orm: Ah hae cum ti hae a belief.

Thorfinn: Whaur did ye finnd it?

Orm: Throu disappointment, mishanter an dule.

Thorfinn: (To Valgerd) Valgerd, gie me yeir haund, lyke this, haud ticht – tichter – ye maunna lat gae or – or the end.

(Gunnar comes in and stops by door)

Thorfinn: Wha cums? Ma een ir bleirie.

Gunnar: Shuirlie ye ken me!

Thorfinn: Ah ken yeir vyce, but ma een ir that bleirie.

Gunnar: Ah im yeir kinsman, Gunnar.

Thorfinn: (After a pause) Cum forrit!

(Gunnar remains where he is, looking questioningly at Gunlöd)

Thorfinn: Is he here yit?

(Gunlöd rises, goes with slow steps and bowed head to Gunnar. Takes his hand and leads him to Thorfinn. They kneel)

Thorfinn: (Putting his hands on their heads)




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Information about Document 1339

The Ootlaw


Text audience

General public
Audience size N/A

Text details

Method of composition Wordprocessed
Year of composition 1996
Title of original (if translation) Den Fredslöse (The Outlaw)
Author of original (if translation) Johan Strindberg
Language of original (if translation) Swedish
Word count 7971
General description One-act play

Text type

Script (film, play, radio, tv etc.)


Author details

Author id 17
Forenames David
Surname Purves
Gender Male
Decade of birth 1920
Educational attainment University
Age left school 17
Upbringing/religious beliefs Protestantism
Occupation Retired Biochemist
Place of birth Selkirk
Region of birth Selkirk
Birthplace CSD dialect area Slk
Country of birth Scotland
Place of residence Edinburgh
Region of residence Midlothian
Residence CSD dialect area midLoth
Country of residence Scotland
Father's occupation Master Grocer
Father's place of birth Selkirk
Father's region of birth Selkirk
Father's birthplace CSD dialect area Slk
Father's country of birth Scotland
Mother's occupation Housewife
Mother's place of birth Selkirk
Mother's region of birth Selkirk
Mother's birthplace CSD dialect area Slk
Mother's country of birth Scotland


Language Speak Read Write Understand Circumstances
English Yes Yes Yes Yes All circumstances
Scots Yes Yes Yes Yes