To say that Dun Edinbane has seen better days is an understatement. This dun has been almost utterly destroyed, and there is almost nothing recognisable to suggest that the present-day rubble pile was ever a broch except that it is circular in outline. The interior is just a jumble of fallen blocks, and the nearest I could find to a section of walling of any significance was where a single large second course block remained in place, balanced on two stones of the foundation course—the merest hint of what must once have been. But a broch it is, and thus it demands a visit.
Edinbane is a typical one-street community, and parking is a problem: you may have to leave your vehicle some distance from the starting point of your walk in. Look out for a house near the end of the road, the only one with a bright red tiled roof. The way to Dun Edinbane, which lies unseen to the northeast, starts at the previous property, where the driveway continues past the house to a whitewashed cottage a hundred odd metres uphill (No 21 Upper Edinbane). From the gate to this cottage, take to the heather and simply follow the fence on the right uphill for a further 200 metres, and it takes you straight to the broch (red line in the map).
And the Dun is surely the location for this story too. And if it isn't it should be.
A well-to-do couple in the neighbourhood of Edinbane had but one lack in their prosperity - they had no child. But, at length, to their pride and joy, the wished-for child arrived. A bountiful harvest demanded all hands at work, and the mother carried her infant out, and left it comfortable and apparently safe inthe charge of a young girl. But the latter was heedless and false to her trust, and she left the sleeping infant to the many dangers which menace infant life.
During her absence the fairies, attracted by the beauty of the human child, stole it, leaving in its place a peculiarly unattractive infant of their own species. From that time the healthy child "dwined," always wailing and refusing to eat. After all ordinary means had been tried and had failed the mother consulted a "wise man." This person bade the mother listen if she could hear the crying of her own child, which she soon perceived to be coming from a little hill.
By the advice of the wise man the mother took the fairy child near this hill and slapped it hard. Immediately a voice was heard exclaiming in anger, "Throw her out her own ugly brat," and the fairy child disappeared, leaving, at her feet, her own comely infant.
p204-205 in
Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.
This just has to be the location of the following story.
Two hunchbacks lived at Edinbane, about fourteen miles from Portree. One of these fell ill, and asked his comrade in misfortune to go and feed his herd of cattle, the beautiful shaggy creatures one still sees in the Highlands. As the neighbour, a kindly, merry man, proceeded on his mission, he heard sounds coming from a small hill, and, listening, he heard a voice chanting continuously, "Monday, Tuesday."
With a sudden impulse he joined in, "Wednesday, Thursday."
A voice inquired, "Who will be adding nice verses to my song?"
"A hunchback bodach," the man replied.
"Come in to my house," said the voice, and the hunchback obeyed.
An old fairy man greeted him, and in gratitude for the addition to his song he took off the disfiguring hump.
We can picture the neighbour's astonishment when the transformed hunchback returned home. Jealousy consumed him, and the next day he hurried to the same place and heard the same song, which now included the nice new verses. Jealous of his neighbour's good fortune, for he was a sullen, discontented man, he joined in, "Friday, Saturday."
But this did not have the desired effect, for a wrathful voice demanded, "Who will be spoiling my nice song?" and the fairy man emerged and dragged him inside. With somewhat arbitrary cruelty he added the neighbours hump to that already on his back and drove him out.
p203-4 in
Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.
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