Tam O’Shanter or How Maggie lost her Tail

Hello hello and welcome to Storynory! You’re listening to Jana and I’m back with a story in honour of Burns Night ~

Burns Night is a celebration held on the 25th of January in honour of Scotland's famous poet, Robert Burns. Families and friends gather to enjoy traditional Scottish food like haggis, neeps (turnips), and tatties (potatoes). There’s often lively music with bagpipes, dancing, and poetry readings.

Robert Burns' poems can be tricky to understand because he often wrote in Scots, a traditional language of Scotland. For example, he uses words like braw (good), wee (small), and ken (know).

Some of his poems include great stories, including this one Tam o Shanter, which tells how Tam’s horse Maggie lost her tail. I’m going to retell the tale with a few quotes from Burn’s lively and fun poem.

Tam o’ Shanter, our hero, lived in Ayr, a lovely town known for its kind people and bonnie lasses. Once a week, he went to the market to sell oats, turnips, and eggs from his farm. At the end of the market day, when his pockets were full of money, he liked nothing better than to visit the inn and chat late into the night with his friends.

Tam’s wife Kate warned him again and again about staying out late. She said that it would lead him to trouble—either drowning in the river Doon or running into spooky witches near the old haunted church!

But did Tam listen to his good wife’s sound advice?

o’ course he didnae!
O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta’en thy ain wife Kate’s advice!

One night, after a busy day at the market, Tam settled down by a roaring fire at the pub with his best friend, a jolly shoemaker who loved a good joke and a laugh as much as Tam did. The two of them sang songs and swapped funny stories till late in the evening. The landlady joined in with sweet smiles, and even the storm outside didn’t bother Tam. He was too happy to care about the wind and the rain.

Time flew by as they enjoyed themselves, forgetting all their worries. Tam felt like a king, as if nothing in the world could spoil his fun.

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
vanishing amid the storm.

And all the while Tam’s wife Kate was sitting alone at home:
Her brows like a gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

It was the dead of night when Tam climbed onto his trusty grey horse, Maggie, and started his journey home. The wind howled as if it might blow itself away. Rain lashed down, and flashes of lightning lit up the sky before being swallowed by the dark. The Devil himself seemed to be stirring up trouble that night!
Tam, however, was determined. Sitting tall on Maggie, his strong and steady horse, he plodded through the mud and puddles. Sometimes he pulled his blue bonnet down against the rain; sometimes he sang an old Scottish tune to keep his spirits up:

Whiles glowring round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares:

Bogles by the way are like goblins or evil spirits.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll:

As he rode, Tam passed one eerie spot after another—a snowy ford where a traveller had frozen, a big rock where a drunken man had fallen, and a place by a well that held a sad story. The storm roared louder as the river Doon rushed ahead, its waters wild.

As they passed the old church, known as the Kirk on the Hill, Tam noticed a strange, flickering light. Curious, he reined Maggie in. “Let’s have a look,” he said.
Maggie, although she was a horse, had more sense than Tam. She did not want to approach the haunted church. But Tam clapped his heels into her sides and made her step right up to the door of the Kirk.
Still seated on his trusty horse, Tam peered inside. His eyes nearly popped out of his head! The Kirk was full of witches and warlocks, dancing wildly.
“Hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, put life and mettle in their heels!”
In the corner sat the Devil himself, disguised as a black dog, playing the bagpipes so loudly that the whole building shook.

Tam couldn’t look away, both horrified and amazed.
As Tammie glowr’d, amaz’d, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;

The witches looked haggard and frightening. Except for one—Nannie, a lively young witch wearing a shirt called a "cutty sark." Tam was so fascinated by her energy and her dancing that he couldn’t help shouting, “Well done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant all was dark:

Maggie, Tam’s brave horse, bolted as fast as she could. And the witches came after Tam and Maggie, like bees buzzing angrily out of their hive when someone tries to steal their honey, or like a pack of dogs chasing a rabbit that darts out of hiding, or like a market crowd shouting, “Catch that thief!”

So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi’ mony an eldritch skreech and hollow.

Tam knew that if they could cross the bridge over the River Doon they would be safe. Witches, you see, dare not cross water. At last the bridge was in sight! They had almost reached it.

Maggie sprang forward with one last bound to safety - but as her hooves left the ground the witch named Nannie flew forward and caught her gray tail. She gave it an almighty tug:

The carlin caught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Poor, brave Maggie. She hurried across the bridge and brought Tam back to the safe haven of his wife Kate. It was a valuable lesson for Tam but it cost Maggie her tail. For ever more she had to live with a little grey stump! And whenever Tam set eyes on his horse’s tailless rump, he remembered his promise to Kate - that from then on he would always listen to her advice.

And that was ‘Tam O’Shanter’ or ‘How Maggie Lost Her Tail’ read by me Jana for Storynory.com.

Robert Burns is also famous for writing Auld Lang Syne sung at New Year,
An another poem, Address to a Haggis, which goes

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang ‘s my arm.

Well I didn’t say that it was easy to understand! Just remember that Haggis is the Chief of Puddings!

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From me Jana, until next time, bye for now!