The Whaups of Durley

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THE WHAUPS OF DURLEY THE Whaups of Durley The Menlock Mowdies And the Snipes of Burley, Daurna stick oot their noses For the Whaups of Durley BY WILLIAM C. FRASER LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN All rights reserved. I DEDICATE THIS MY FIRST BOOK TO LADY SUSAN GRANT SUTTIE, PRESTON GRANGE. * V I began writing stories some years ago for the Newcastle Weekly Leader, and for the Beacon, an Edinburgh publication. I have to thank the proprietors of these papers for permission to use some of the material which first appeared in a print dress in their pages. W. C. F. CONTENTS. THE WHAUPS OF DURLEY.

Chapter I. Glen Durley

COME and tak' a keek through my braw spyglass, laddies," auld Robbie Lindsay used to say; "it'll bring yon far away hill sae near, that ye'll get a waft o' the heather blossom and hear the Unties singing in the wuds." I wish I could get a spyglass like this to show you Durley, the peaceful old fashioned village of my boyhood. Nowhere can you find greener valleys, brighter dancing streams, softer swelling purple hills, sweeter clumps of hazels and rowan trees. Thatched cottages, grey with age, are WHA UPS OF D URLE Y. 2 scattered carelessly along the face of the hill. Old-fashioned gardens, circled with bourtree and rowan, stand out like shadows from every house. Nearer the Burn, like sheep sheltering from the storm, white cottages draw closely together with their backs turned to Menlock Hass, for in winter the frosty wind breaks fiercely down the glen.

I wish I had a spyglass to let you see the old place as I knew it ; I wish I were able to let you hear the crack of the old men at the Brig-end, or by the smiddy fire, or to enable you to draw in your chair to the fire and listen to old-world stories as they were told by grey old men in their chairs by the ingleside, or wrinkled grannies as they sat by their spinning wheels. The old people who were the delight or terror of my boyhood, are now lying beneath the green mounds in the shadow of the auld kirk. Many of my schoolfellows lie beside them ; some have wandered far away ; the few who still listen to the Auld Kirk bell and watch the mist rolling down the Corbie Glen have changed with the years that hasten past. As I sit and muse on the past, the mist rolls away, and I see once more Durley as my eye first saw it ; I hear once more the sound of vanished voices.

If I had a spyglass as powerful as Robbie claimed his to be, I would carefully polish the glasses and put it in your hand ; then, as you lifted it to your eye, where would I first tell you to look ? Surely at the softly rounded, peaceful, purple hills that guard this happy valley. " Oot o' the worF and into Glen Durley," is a saying often muttered by people who live beyond the sheltering circle of our hills, who consider themselves our superiors. Looked at from the Durley side, it is some thing to be thankful for. Turn the glass lower down ; look at the smooth green meadows through which the bright Hazel Burn brawls and winds and saunters. Keep your eye on the burn as it rushes sharply round the curve of yon steep hill, striking fiercely against the rock on which the time-worn walls of the auld castle stands, hastening rudely through the Corby Linn Woods, where the crows have built their scraggy nests and shrieked their noisy gossip ever since I mind, or my father before me.

As the burn leaves the wood it moves more sedately. You can catch a glimpse of Gledshaw Mains up the glen to the left, and if the wind be in the right airt you may hear Jock Elliot singing as he herds the cows, or bawling on Beauty or Camp to come in by and lie doon. Passing along, you enter the village by the Tounheid ; clinging to the face of the hill you see cosy thatched cottages shaded by rowan trees, while hagberry and bourtree bushes shelter the gardens from intrusive sheep. Do you see yon snug house on the brae top ? That's where Davie Little, the weaver, keeps the loom busy with customer work. You can hear the shuttle moving as you stand on the road that rounds the foot of the brae. You had better stay where you are ; don't climb the brae, for it is not easy to get away. Davie dearly loves a twa-handed crack ; his tongue gangs like nine ell o' wind, his neighbours say, and his crack to strangers is more likely to be irritating than diverting, for he is a dour body and an awfu' rasper wi' his tongue.

If there's an ill-natured side to a question, Davie's sure to get hold of it. " I dinna ken what this worl's comin' to noo-a-days ; there'll sune be nae leevin' for canny dacent bodies ava, that will there no. Noo afore the Reform Bill passed — ye'll no hae mind o' that though; I mind it brawly, that div I. Ye see " "Guid day, Davie, I doot we maun be steppin'." That snug little house by the roadside, with the bright scarlet poppies in front blooming in the smallest of gardens bordered with boxwood and white chucky-stanes, is auld Jessie Stewart's. The house nearer us is Peggie Baillie's. There she is, standing at the door, fresh from the washing-tub, rubbing the froth from her brawny arms as she wipes her hands on her coarse checked apron. She sees you are anxious about Jessie, and as she is fair bursting to tell you all she knows, you had better listen.

" Aye, she's a quiet, cannie body, is Jessie ; but there's aye been a mystery aboot her. It's lang years noo since she took the hoose. Naebody kens wha she is or where she comes frae, though I canna but say mony's the ane that's speered. She brocht her laddie wi' her, a shilpit wersh lookin', sma', shankit creatur'. Rinnin' aboot amang the bent and heather where the whaup wheeples wrocht wonders on him, he turned oot a rale wise-lookin' chiel. Nae suner had he grown up to be man muckle than he gaed away to foreign pairts amang the black folk. Sic queer things he sent hame to the auld body. Serpents corkit up in bottles, big shells wi' the sough o' the sea in them, elephants' skins, teegar's claws, and guidness only kens a' what. Hooever, no to taigle ye, I'll mak' a lang story short and tell ye hoo in the en', Archie — that was his name — stoppit writin', and naebody can imagine what can hae come ower him.

It's my opinion he's deid, but that's neither here nor there; still an-on the auld woman doesna think that. Na, na, far frae that ! Every mornin', wat and dry, she's stan'in' at the door waiting for the post ; but postie, canny man, never turns a fit her way. It's a rale peety when things like that happen, div ye no think ? " Do you see that small farmhouse standing in the meadow on the pleasantest crook of the burn ? Knock at the door when you like, you'll not be turned away wi' an ill word, for auld Laird Hamilton lives there, and presides at the informal club of village worthies who gather round the roaring peat fire during the long winter evenings. The kitchen, where the Laird sits smoking his pipe in the muckle chair by the chimley lug, is a sicht for sair een ; you can scarcely see the blackened roof for hams, white and black puddings, and reisted sausages.

How snug and inviting the place looks ! We'll drop in some night before long and ha'e a crack wi' the Laird. As we pass along the houses increase in numbers and bustling importance. The Randy Raw is on the left. Matthew Elliot, Jock's father, lives in the end house ; as for Jock, he's aye at hame at denner-time. " He's aye workin' mischief," his mother says, "except when he's eating or sleeping." That's his crony, Sandy Shaw, coming along the road wi' a bonnetfu' o' mice he has been catching in the Laird's stackyard ; he is going along to the school to let them away among the lassies. What noise is this ? a threshing-mill ? — no, it comes from that house near the bridge. It is the school ; the maister must be oot speakin', and the boys, yelling and stamping with their clogs, are enjoying themselves.

The inn is across the bridge, where the tarnished " Wallace Head " grins a grizzly welcome. It was a cheery place when the mail coach used to come rattling up in a cloud of dust. Over there, beside three venerable ash trees, stands the auld kirk, and truly it has all the signs of long-departed youth. The walls are wrinkled and wind-bitten, the old tower is bent in the shoulders, the voice of the bell is husky and cracked, the very rope has a wheezy, asthmatic sound. The windows, like the eyes of a worn-out old man, are dim and bleared ; the door is plated with rusty tacks bearing fragments of faded paper. You must go down two steps if you wish to enter the kirk, for the dust of the vanished gene rations is rising higher year by year. How uncomfortable the inside of the kirk looks on a week-day !

How wooden the seats are ! The lofty pulpit, with its rickety stair, heavy overhanging sounding-board, knob behind for the minister's hat, and box below for the pre centor—how truly it is in keeping with our fathers' grim contempt for beauty or comfort while they worshipped ! Over all comes the peculiar musty smell of decaying wood and imperfect ventilation which, wherever felt by the wandering Scot, recalls fond memories of the auld kirk at hame. Let us rather linger in the kirkyard. What significant grassy hillocks, what queer weather bitten, lichen-eaten tombstones ! On how many of them the lettering has long since wasted away. More slowly the quaint crossbones and skulls are losing their shape, keeping time, it may be, with their grim counterparts hidden beneath. Martyred Covenanters sleep here, their oppressors also sleep ; so kindly does their dust mingle that the cleverest chemist could not give each his due.

Here, a thousand years ago men were buried ; to-day aulcl Wullie Gaw has been happing somebody up. You can hear him clapping down the sods with his spade. Not long ago among yon nettles and thistles, digging a grave for a wandering piper's child, he found a gold ring with a ruby, on which a crescent was engraved. All else had melted into dust. If you knew the story of that ring, what judgment would you pronounce on the dust in which it lay hidden? Was it the keepsake of a brave Crusader freed by a Saracen maiden ? Was he faithful or faithless ? Who knows, who can tell ? At the foot of the kirk brae stands the smiddy, a favourite howff for old men and boys in the winter nights, for the crack is unco' guid there. On the patch of waste ground beyond, the young men gather to play at quoits in the summer evenings.

During the fair time the whole place is covered with shows, sweetie stalls, rowley powlies, and billy fair plays. " Tak' care o' your bawbees, bairns, when ye gang to the fair," auld granny would say, " for ye'll see some geyan waff lookin' creatur's yonder ; there's cheatry chiels yonder wi' tongues that wad wile the lugs frae a cuddy." Take a good look at the little old-fashioned cottage standing on the brae overlooking the burn. How thick the walls are, how small the windows ! " I'm thinkin' the man's heid hasna been sair this mony a lang day that built thae was," you will say to yourself, if you are lucky enough to have been born on the Glen Durley side of the Tweed. The well stocked, well-kept garden behind will make your teeth water. The flowers grow in the patch in front, few but select.

Here is plenty of appleringy, for auld Betty likes a sprig of it in her hand as she goes to church on Sundays. Here also is mint, the pressed leaves of which are used to mark the chapters the minister reads on Sunday, so that she may go over them again through the week. Here is the gaily striped gardener's garters, blushing sweetwilliam, daisies, pansies, and batchelor's buttons. You had better step in and see Betty for a minute ; be sure she will make you heartily welcome. As you pass in, take care and not knock down that bourock of chucky-stanes on the left, nor step too far on the right on Betty's appleringy. Don't knock at the door, lift the sneck and gang in — she's rather dull o' hearin'. As you enter, old Betty jumps out of her armchair, lays aside the stocking she has been knitting for wee Jamie, and, brisk as a bee, rubs the imaginary dust from a chair with her apron, and asks if you will be pleased to rest your feet for a wee.

She is far from being young, yet is still as gleg as a hawk, as clean as a new pin. " Hoo am I, say ye ? Atweel I canna complain. When I consider hoo weel off I am compared wi' sae mony puir desti tute creatur's, I'm thankfu'. Still-an-on I whiles ha'e my dark oors when I think on the young bein' ta'en away in their prime an' the auld left to mourn their loss. It's a sma' hoose this, but it's big eneuch for me and mine noo. The loss o' my bairns was a sair blow to me ; but it was the Lord's will and we maun submit. I had twa braw sons and a dochter, as mainnerly weans as onybody could wish for. They never gi'ed me an ill word, I never kenned what it was to have a sair heart wi' them, and noo they're a' away and I've only wee Jamie my grandson left. I houp the Lord '11 spare me twa or three years till he's able to dae for himsel'.

Wee and a' as he is, he's a terrible comfort to me — There's that menseless whaup girnin' in at the window, my sang, Jamie ; you'll catch it, gin I get a grip o' ye." So saying, she seizes a stout hazel rung and runs out after a towsy, bare-headed urchin who has been flattening his nose against the bull's-eye in the centre of the pane, gazing in while she was speaking, but by the time she gets to the door wee Jamie Glen is off to work mischief some where else — it may be to borrow a few mice from Sandy Shaw, or to harry cushy-doos' nests in the Herd's Plantin' with Brosy Jock. The happiest days of my life were spent along with Brosy and wee Jamie, in the auld grey glen among the silent hills, and in memory I often go back to the time when we were learning our lessons with the auld maister, or lying amongst the yellow broom on the brae-face in the pleasant summer afternoons.

Chapter II. My First Day At School

THE most pleasant memories of bygone years cluster round the village school. No form from the past comes so distinctly to my mind as the old schoolmaster, Mr. Thomson. He was a rugged, uncouth, kindly old man, an excellent scholar, though with little practical knowledge and little aptitude for teaching. " His learning," it was said, " took him far ben among the stars, and he could crack far glegger in a dead language than other folk could do in a living one." I believe he started life with the intention of studying for the ministry, but his bashful, unassuming dis position hindered his progress. He came to IS the grey hills of Durley a young man, and never could muster sufficient courage to return to college and finish his studies ; so he became a fixture, and lived to instruct the grandchildren of the boys he had origin ally stepped aside from graver studies to teach during the last illness of his prede cessor.

He never married, and used to say " a wife was far too grand a luxury for the like of him " ; so his simple wants were at tended to by Mary Geddes, his housekeeper, a wrinkled, sour-tempered old woman. In his own house he was the kindliest of men, and heartily enjoyed a friendly crack by a neighbour's fireside. Everywhere he was welcomed, but as he grew older he became less inclined to leave his own house ; he liked better to work in the garden, watch his bees, read an ode of Horace while smoking his pipe in the cool of the evening, and, above all, to minister to the comfort of a very ancient and very shaggy cuddy. Such was the maister when I went to school — "a dune man," the villagers said, " fa'in' into staves," and become quite unable to control a herd of boisterous children. The bigger boys cared nothing for his threats, and were very unwilling to take any harder treatment off his hands.

Nor were the smaller boys worse off. If they could say their lessons, well and good ; if not, perhaps another day they would be better prepared. As far as I can remember, no one was ever punished for neglecting his lessons. It would have been looked on as an act of gross injustice to punish a child for such a trifling, such a very common offence. The great virtue was sitting still ; this amply made up for all lack of scholarly attain ments. Yet I fear it was a very uncommon virtue indeed — in fact it was altogether unknown ; the consequence was that punishment was very frequent, and at times exceedingly severe. Mr. Thomson had a disagreeable habit of standing with his back to the fire, with the tawse carelessly dangling from his hand. Sometimes from the faint odour of burnt leather we knew that he was roasting the WHAUPS OF DURLEY. 18 tawse taes, a sure method of increasing the efficacy of his instrument of torture.

A long black ruler used to lie on the desk. I never liked it, for he never scrupled to use it against any boy whose conduct dis pleased him. It is true we had so many methods of eluding punishment, that when the blow did fall the hit amply made up for the numerous misses. We were allowed to amuse ourselves very much as we pleased during school hours, so long as we did not unduly interfere with the usual routine of lessons. I'm not sure whether we liked the inside or the outside of the school the better. Our choice probably depended on the state of the weather. If the weather was showery, we risked the danger of acquiring a little learn ing by sheltering for the day inside ; if, on the contrary, a clear sky and a bright sun gave promise of a glorious day, we grudged to waste an entire day on lessons.

On such a day a state of ignorance was by far the more blessed ; so, as the sunbeams crept across the floor and flickered cheerily on the dingy wall, we glanced longingly out at the hills and woods and thought of the pleasant glens, where in shady nooks of the burns speckled trout were lazily venturing out from cunning places of retreat. On such a day the maister would now and then give us an extra hour or two of play ; if this were not given, a few of us were likely to agree to leave our lessons for more healthful and enjoyable pursuits. It was not difficult to get out of school ; it was difficult to get off to the hills without being seen : for if our parents got word of our ploy, our reception at home was likely to be too warm to be comfortable. My first day at school was a great day in my life.

I can recall few past events so readily or so vividly. Timidly I crept along to the abode of learning ; unwillingly I was dragged in by a bigger boy ; with fear and trembling I sat down in a quiet corner. The way the wild, noisy boys intensified their natural fierceness of ex pression by making faces at me as they passed was very trying to my nerves, and WHA UPS OF DURLE V. 20 when I saw the maister bustling about with the tawse, about which I had so frequently heard, I began to wish that I were somewhere else. However, I sat still in my corner, listening with wonder to the increasing clamour around. It was not long before Mr. Thomson came along, clapped me kindly on the head, asked my name and age, and then proceeded to inquire into the extent of my knowledge. I claimed a slight acquaintance with the ABC, and ventured to tell him that I could point out several of the " ken speckle " letters, such as round O, crooked S, or curly-tailed Q, and stated, after the fashion of lads and lassies at the hiring fair, that what I didn't know I was willing to learn.

In a few kindly words he praised me for the extent of my knowledge, encouraged me to proceed with my studies, and as I happened to be the solitary member of the ABC class, told me to stick in hard in order that I might overtake a more ad vanced pupil who for some weeks had M Y FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL. 21 been tackling with the first few pages of the "Tippenny," and who was at present sitting in the opposite corner from myself. I glanced timidly across, and saw a well fed, curiously attired boy sitting contentedly by himself, industriously chewing a large slab of a mysterious substance which I subsequently learned to know under the name of indiarubber. The maister soon rushed away from me to quell a rising disturbance among some big boys at the fire, so I turned my attention to the talented child who had already advanced so far ahead of me in the acquisition of learning.

He was a fat, brosy-faced laddie, dressed in a blue blouse with two pockets bulging out heavily on either side of him. The weight of learning did not seem to press very heavily on his mind, for he was busily engaged overlooking his treasures, all of which he seemed to carry about with him. He slowly emptied one pocket, carefully scrutinising every separate object as he laid it on the seat ; then he began lovingly to transfer the contents of the WHAUPS OF DURLEY. 22 other pocket to the one just emptied. I regret that I am not able to give an exact inventory of his property. A tangled mass of string, from which, with great patience, he managed to draw out several short differently coloured pieces, seemed to be valued highly ; a knife, with all the blades broken and a rusty corkscrew detached, the brass work of an old lamp, a handful of beans, a tin matchbox (stolen, as I after wards learned, from his uncle), and the battered remains of a penny whistle, formed part of his possessions.

There was, I noticed, a striking poverty in the department of literature ; his library was as yet unformed, or at least crowded out by more desirable articles. Apparently he did not even possess a copy of the " Tip penny." I learned afterwards that he had already lost or worn out several copies of that work, and was now patiently waiting till a new scholar came, in order that he might confer the honour of looking on with him. My anxious gaze at his treasures soon attracted the attention of this brosy laddie with the well-filled pockets. So, after care fully securing his property, he quietly left the place where he was sitting, and moved cautiously along till he came to where I was sitting. After waiting till the maister's back was turned, he doubled his fist, held it up in my face and said, " Smell that, and tremble."

I cautiously placed my nose close to the clenched fist, when all at once a vigorous, well-directed blow nearly flattened it, and made me roar with agony. At once all eyes were directed to the scene of con flict. The aggressor fled ; the maister rushed at the diligent chewer of indiarubber. The school was in an uproar. Caoutchouc ran ; the maister followed. The big boys en couraged Brosy with flattering shouts, and occasionally lifted him over a seat, while others cunningly stretched out their legs to taigle the wrathful dominie. Once he was almost caught in a corner, but getting below a desk he speedily crawled out at the other end. Still Mr. Thomson, with uplifted WHA UPS OF DURLE Y. 24 tawse, followed up. The excitement be came intense. Turnips were left half eaten, knives were closed or pocketed, string games failed to charm ; even those who were toiling through the intricate maze of the nine O's laid aside their slates.

In the midst of all this uproar I sat trembling with fear. What would happen to me for causing this awful uproar ? I began looking wildly round for a safe place of concealment, and could see none. What I might have done it is hard to say, if one of the big boys had not come to the rescue, seized me by the arm, dragged me to the door, opened it, and pushed me outside, exclaiming, " Run, run, run for your life ! You'll be killed ; the maister will murder ye if ye're here anither minute ! " I gave him no time to repeat his warning. I fled for my life up the school entry, and took to the hill ; nor did I rest till I was safely hidden under the shadow of the Lady Mantle Stone. Then I lay down and con gratulated myself on my fortunate escape. My reverie was soon broken by a loud shout, and, looking up, I beheld my late assailant coming quickly up to my hiding place.

He was no longer threatening — his broad, open countenance was beaming with joy. He had followed me, not to display his prowess, but to invite me to go to the Bull's Lake to spend the rest of the day fishing for minnows. "Hoo in a' the worl' did ye contrive to get away ? " I exclaimed. "Weel, ye see," said Brosy Jock, "he weared me into a corner, but I ran through between his legs, and I've to thank you for leaving the door open ahint you." I refused his tempting offer of a day's fishing, as I had the A B C to learn ; but begged as a great favour that he would lend me his slab of " chewin' india " for the rest of the day. Jock at once generously handed it over — all the more readily, I daresay, because it would not be needed to beguile the tedium of a long day in school — and at once disappeared in search of worms ; while I, sheltered beneath the friendly rock, began chewing the indiarubber, as I was anxious to get as much pleasure out of it as possible. So ended my first day at school.

Chapter III. How We Learned Our Lessons

THE school stood a little apart from the public road, a wind-bitten, sturdy old building. The windows were filled with small diamond lozenges of glass, doubtless put in at the suggestion of a frugal heritor who grudged the annual outlay for broken glass. Ranged round the room on a raised platform were substantial writing - desks. Near the fire stood the maister's desk, and round it an empty space where the various classes were called up. The girls sat on one side of the room, the boys on the other, while the smaller children sat on forms nearer the centre. We were allowed to sit where we pleased, and to amuse or instruct ourselves as we felt inclined, as long as we appeared on parade when our class was called up and we did not make too great a disturbance. The pleasantest time at school was during the winter, for then the bigger boys and girls, who had been away serving during the summer, returned with quickened faculties for work ing mischief and a greater sense of the value of learning.

We always left home in plenty of time in order to engage for a while in the . rough and merry sports of the playgreen. When we were deeply engaged in a game of " hatting ower the bonnets," "Scots and English," or the " Bools," and in our excitement getting noisier and noisier, we would be stopped by a shout, " The schule's in," and at once picking up our bonnets or marbles we made a rush for the door. The struggle to get in first did not spring from an undue love of learning, it rather pointed to the anxiety of the boys to form a portion of the crowd of strong-limbed, brown-cheeked laddies who are jostling each other for a sight of the fire. After a few minutes of this initiatory rite the group is dispersed, frequently by the tawse — sometimes even the black ruler is called into requisition.