There was once a young man named Jack who lived in a cottage with his mother. Their cottage lay on a highland estate owned by a rich laird, and Jack earned his living by minding the laird’s sheep.

It was easy work but it was dull work. Jack would sit outside all day, in all weathers, watching a flock of sheep who rarely did anything interesting. Fortunately, the glen in which the sheep grazed was a bonny one. A river ran down the middle of the glen; oaks grew on one bank and birches on the other. Jack liked to sit with his back to the tallest and grandest of the oaks, which was known to the people thereabouts as Auld Croovie. It stood farther up the bank than all the other oaks, and from his high seat Jack could see all the way to the laird’s castle, which sat at the end of the glen on the far bank.

One summer’s morning, Jack was sitting beneath Auld Croovie as usual. The sky was grey, the air muggy. Everything was quiet and still, as if the earth beneath and the sky above were asleep and dreaming.

Jack noticed someone coming his way down the glen. The figure drew closer and he saw that it was Kate, who assisted the cook in the laird’s kitchen. Jack was happy to see Kate, but nervous too, for he’d been in love with her for as long as he could remember. She came to see him often, bringing him sweets and cakes that she’d baked especially for him, but Jack guessed that she probably did that for everyone.

‘Good morning, Jack,’ she said with a smile. ‘How are you today?’

‘Same as always. Minding sheep. Bored of minding sheep.’

‘You can’t be bored today, Jack! It’s a special day.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s midsummer.’

‘So what? Midsummer is just another day to the sheep, so it’s just another day to me.’

‘It’s more than that, Jack, whatever the sheep might think. There’s magic in the air today. Don’t you feel it?’

‘Ach, I don’t know anything about magic. All I know is I’m hungry,’ he said, eyeing the bag in her hand.

‘Well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. Tonight, on midsummer’s night, if the legends are true, the trees in this glen will rise up out of the earth and dance. Anyway, I’d best be going, Jack. It was nice to see you. It’s always nice to see you.’

She gave him a handful of biscuits, smiled in a way that made him blush and left.

‘Dancing trees indeed,’ said Jack as he began on the biscuits. ‘I never heard of such nonsense.’

* * *

Around midday Jack noticed another person making their way down the glen towards him. It was his mother, who mostly spent her days at home, knitting clothes from the wool which Jack gathered. She often brought Jack his lunch.

‘There’s your piece, son,’ she said, handing Jack a bannock and a slice of cheese. ‘Have you had a good morning?’

‘Kate came to visit. She was blethering about magic, saying the trees would get up and dance tonight.’

‘She’s right, Jack. Many folk say that the trees in this glen dance each midsummer’s night.’

‘I don’t know about that.’

‘You’ll see. But be careful, Jack. You and me are insects to an oak like Auld Croovie. You could get squashed if you don’t watch yourself.’

‘I’ll be fine, Maw,’ said Jack, rolling his eyes.

‘Don’t give me that look, son. And take this.’ She handed him a length of rope.

‘What am I going to need…’ began Jack. But she was already off.

* * *

The day crawled by. Jack never saw a glimpse of sunshine all day, but at least it wasn’t cold or raining. He drifted in and out of daydreams as the sheep wandered around, chewed grass and stared at nothing in particular. When Jack got sore he would stand up and stretch or wander about for a while before sitting down again, his back to Auld Croovie.

The day wore on.

Jack picked up a twig, tossed it into the air and caught it. Magic? Dancing trees? Could it really be true? No. There was no such thing as magic. Kate and his maw must have got together and decided to play a trick on him. Some folk had too much time on their hands.

All the same… he’d heard so many strange stories about midsummer. Seal people emerging from the sea to dance. Sidhe-folk gathering at the old stone circles. If fairies and seal people danced on midsummer, was it possible that trees did too? And he had to admit that there was something odd in the air today. It was as if a storm had gathered far, far away but was even now racing towards him. It was as if something in the earth deep beneath him was slowly, slowly waking up.

Why was he thinking such strange thoughts? Jack tossed his twig away down the glen. Maybe he was going daft. There was no such thing as dancing trees, and he would stay here all night to prove it so.

With that settled, Jack leaned back against Auld Croovie and promptly fell asleep.

Hours later, beneath a dome of shimmering stars, Jack awoke as Auld Croovie shifted behind him.

* * *

Jack leapt up so fast that he lost his footing and tumbled down the hillside. He halted himself, got to his feet and looked up at Auld Croovie. The ancient oak was jerking from side to side like someone trying to kick off a tight pair of boots.

A moment later, he broke free.

Auld Croovie pulled a long, twisting root out of the earth. Another followed, then another, leaving great gaping holes in the earth. Once all his roots were free, he used them to walk down the hillside towards the river.

Jack dived out of Auld Croovie’s way as he passed. Auld Croovie was huge yet he moved gracefully, almost cat-like. Jack could have sworn that he glanced at Jack as he passed, but without much interest.

Auld Croovie had other things on his mind.

Jack saw that all of the oaks had wrested their roots free and now made their way downhill. The ground shook with each step they took, yet Jack felt unthreatened by the trees. He followed them downhill.

The oaks reached the river and waded out into the water. They seemed to be gazing up at the far bank.

Jack followed their gaze to where the slender birches were pulling their roots free. When that was done, the birches made their way to the water. Their movements were lithe and elegant; they didn’t shake the ground but glided over it like silver spiders.

The oaks moved to the centre of the river. The birches came to meet them. Every tree held out its branches to another. They came together as pairs, embracing one another with their branches.

Then, beneath the midsummer stars, the trees began to dance.

Round and round each pair went, oak and birch entwined together, the river rushing and bubbling about their roots. Some pairs danced sedately, or clung together like long-parted lovers; others twirled and pirouetted, throwing their branches up to the night sky.

Jack watched it all, full of wonder. It was like a dream, yet somehow he also felt as if he were truly awake for the first time. If he listened carefully, he could hear faint music, or even feel it rippling across his skin. He swayed as he watched, mimicking the dancing trees, his smile growing ever wider. If only Kate were here to see this with him.

Should he go and get her?

He looked up the glen, in the direction of home…

And saw the laird marching down the glen towards him.

The laird had a sack on his shoulder and a fierce, hungry look in his eyes. If he had seen Jack, he gave no sign of it. He drew close, turned uphill and headed towards the spot where Jack normally sat. The laird didn’t stop to watch the trees dance for even a moment.

What was he up to? Whatever it was, Jack was worried.

Jack reluctantly turned his back on the trees. He climbed the hill, following the laird. He saw the laird reach the place where Auld Croovie normally stood, and then disappear.

Jack broke into a run and soon reached the spot where the laird had vanished. Gaping holes pocked the earth; light glimmered from within them.

Jack peered into one and gasped.

It was full of treasure!

Gold and silver coins, jewels, cups… Jack couldn’t believe it. The laird must have climbed down a hole to collect the treasure.

And why not? Trees had no use for treasure. Surely Auld Croovie wouldn’t mind if Jack took one or two small items, perhaps a few coins…

His mind made up, Jack climbed down one of the holes. There was a little cave at the bottom with treasure stacked against its walls. Jack set to filling his pockets, all thoughts of restraint quickly forgotten. Very soon his pockets were stuffed. Well, he could only carry what he could carry. It was time to go. Unless he came back with a sack…

Just then, Jack heard a voice calling down to him.

‘Jack! Come on, now! It’s time to go!’

It was Kate.

Jack ran to the edge of the treasure cave to see Kate squinting down at him. ‘Hurry, Jack! The trees are done with dancing. They’re bowing to one another and saying goodnight. You’ll get squashed!’

Jack took one last look at the treasure. It still sang to him but the spell was broken. He turned his back on it and climbed to the surface with a helping hand from Kate.

Out on the hillside, Jack brushed the dirt off his clothes as he looked downhill. The oaks were indeed heading their way. Some had already reached their standing spots and thrust their roots back into the earth. Anyone caught in one of those holes…

‘The laird!’ said Jack. ‘He’s still down there!’

They ran from hole to hole until they spied the laird in one of the deeper holes. He had three bulging sacks at his side and was busy filling a fourth one.

‘Get out of there!’ called Jack. Remembering the rope his mother had given him, he pulled it from his bag and threw an end down to the laird.

‘Grab hold and we’ll pull you up!’

The ground was shaking so hard that Jack was nearly knocked from his feet. He glanced downhill; the old oak was almost home.

‘Now! Come on!’ shouted Kate.

‘No!’ said the laird. ‘I’m not leaving any of it!’ He went on stuffing his sack, ignoring the rope.

Kate pulled Jack aside just as Auld Croovie arrived home.

They collapsed together as Auld Croovie thrust his roots back into the ground, one by one. As his final root entered the earth, they heard a muffled scream that was quickly cut short.

‘That’s the end of the laird, I suppose,’ said Jack. ‘I never liked him, but it’s a bad way to go.’

It occurred to Jack in that moment that he and Kate were lying together on soft grass, their arms wrapped around one another. His pockets were full of gemstones and Kate seemed in no hurry to let go of him.

Kate caught his eye and grinned.

‘Do you still say there’s no magic in the air, Jack?’

* * *

Jack and Kate didn’t come home that night. They spent the night beneath the branches of Auld Croovie as he swayed in the rising wind, remembering the feeling of a birch in his arms and cool water rushing around his roots.

Jack sold the gemstones he had acquired and used the money to buy the laird’s castle. He married Kate beneath Auld Croovie’s branches and the two of them moved into the castle, along with Jack’s mother whom they gave her own wing. Every midsummer’s night, for as long as they lived, they went to watch the dance of the trees and to give thanks to their favourite tree, Auld Croovie. ∗

∗ My version of this story comes from a version by the influential Traveller singer and storyteller Stanley Robertson. Supposedly Stanley’s family would camp at a Traveller site near Lumphanan in Aberdeenshire when they were working on the flax harvest; Auld Croovie was the name of a tree near the site. In some versions, the trees dance only once every fifty years. The word ‘Croovie’ is from the Gaelic word ‘craobh’ for tree.

Stanley Robertson had a profound influence on many singers and storytellers, including the celebrated singer Sam Lee who was his apprentice. You can listen to some recordings of him on Soundcloud here.