Читать книгу Linmill Stories - Robert McLellan - Страница 10

THE DRINKIN-WATTER at Linmill had come at ae time frae a waal on the green fornent the front door. The auld stane troch was there yet, big eneuch for playin in, but the pump was lyin amang the rubbish in a corner ο the cairt-shed, and the hole it had come oot ο was filled up wi stanes. The waal had gane dry, it seems, juist efter I was born, and in my day the watter for the hoose was cairrit up frae the bottom orchard by Daft Sanny, twa pails at a time.

The waal in the bottom orchard was juist inside the Linmill hedge. There were twa trochs there, big, roun, airn anes sunk into the grun, and the ane faurer frae the spoot had a troot in it to keep the watter clean. Through the hedge tae, in Tam Baxter’s grun, there was anither troch, and it was fou ο mennans, for Tam was a great fisher and needit them for bait.

I gaed doun to the waal to play whiles, but didna bother muckle wi oor ain troot. It was aye Tam’s mennans I gaed for. I didna try to catch them, I was ower feart for that, but whan I had creepit through the hedge by the hole aside the honeysuckle I lay on my belly watchin them, wi my lugs weill cockit for the bark ο Tam’s dug.

I was fell fond ο catchin mennans, but seldom gat the chance. I wasna alloued doun to Clyde withoot my grandfaither, for I had to be liftit twa-three times on the wey ower the bank, and in the simmer he was aye gey thrang in the fields, gafferin the warkers.

Sae whan I wantit badly but couldna gang I juist gaed through the hedge and had a look in Tam’s troch. It helpit me to think ο the mennans in Clyde, for they aa had the same wey ο soumin, gowpin at the mou and gogglin their big dowie een.

For a lang while I had the notion that Tam fand his mennans for himsell, but ae day whan I was on my wey back to the hoose efter takin a finger-length ο thick black doun the field to my grandfaither I met a big laddie frae Kirkfieldbank wi a can in his haund.

‘Whaur are ye gaun wi the can?’

‘To the Falls.’

‘What’s in it?’

‘Mennans.’

‘Let me see.’

The can was fou.

‘What are ye takin them to the Falls for?’

‘To sell to Tam Baxter.’

‘Will Tam buy them?’

‘He buys them for the fishin.’

‘What daes he pey ye?’

‘A penny a dizzen.’

‘Hou mony hae ye?’

‘Twenty-fower.’

‘That’ll be tippence.’

‘Ay.’

I could haurdly believe it. I thocht ο aa the mennans I had catchit and gien to the cats. I could hae bocht the haill of Martha Baxter’s shop wi the siller I had lost.

Aa I could dae nou was mak a clean stert. The cats could want efter this.

At lowsin time that day I was waiting for my grandfaither at the Linmill road-end. It was airly in my simmer holiday, afore the strawberries were ripe, and he was warkin wi juist a wheen ο the weemen frae roun aboot, weedin the beds. I heard him blawin his birrell and kent he wadna be lang, for he was in the field neist to the waal yett, and that was juist ower the road.

The weemen cam through the yett first, some haudin their backs, for it was sair wark bendin aa day, and ithers rowin up their glaurie aprons. They skailed this wey and that, and syne came my grandfaither, wi the weeders in ae haund and his knee-pads in the tither. I cam oot frae the hedge and gaed forrit to meet him.

‘Whan will ye tak me to Clyde again, grandfaither?’

‘What’s gotten ye nou?’

‘I want doun to Clyde to catch mennans.’

‘Ay ay, nae dout, but it’s time for yer tea, and syne ye’ll hae to gang to yer bed.’

‘Ay, but can I no gang the morn?’

‘We’ll see what yer grannie says.’

‘But she aye says na.’

‘What’s putten it into yer heid to catch mennans?’

‘I like catchin mennans.’

‘Ay, ay, nae dout.’

‘Grandfaither?’

‘Ay?’

‘Tam Baxter peys a penny a dizzen for mennans.’

‘Wha telt ye that?’

‘A laddie frae Kirkfieldbank.’

‘Weill, weill.’

‘Daes he?’

‘I daursay.’

‘It wad be grand to hae some mennans to sell him.’

‘Ay weill, we’ll see. I’ll be weeding aside Clyde the morn.’

‘Will ye lift me doun ower the bank, then?’

‘Mebbe, I’ll ask yer grannie.’

He didna ask her at tea-time, and I was beginnin to think he had forgotten, but whan he cairrit me to my bed he gied me a wink ο his guid ee, the tither was blin, and I jaloused he hadna.

Shair eneuch, whan he had feenished his denner the neist day, and I had forgotten the mennans athegither, for the baker had come in the mornin and gien me a wee curran loaf, he gaed to the scullery and cam back wi ane ο the milk cans.

‘Hae ye a gless jaur ye could gie the bairn?’

My grannie soondit crabbit, but it was juist her wey.

‘Ye’ll fin ane in the bunker.’

He took me to the scullery and fand the gless jaur.

‘Come on,’ he said.

My grannie cried frae the kitchen.

‘Dinna let him faa in, nou, or ye needna come back.’

We gaed oot into the closs withoot peyin ony heed.

On yer wey doun to Clyde ye took the same road as ye did to the waal, and as faur as the waal the grun was weill trampit, but faurer doun there was haurdly mair to let ye ken the wey than the space atween the grosset busses and the hedge, and there the grun was aa thistles and stickie willie. He carrit me ower that bit, to save my bare legs, and we hadna gane faur whan the rummle ο Stanebyres Linn grew sae lood that we could haurdly hear oorsells. No that I wantit to say ocht, for near the soun ο the watter I was aye awed, and I was thinkin ο the mennans soumin into my jaur.

We cam to the fute ο the brae and turnt to the richt, alang the bank abune the watter, and were sune oot ο the orchard and ower by the strawberry beds. The weemen were waitin to stert the weedin, sittin on the gress aneth the hazels, maist ο them wi their coats kiltit up and their cutties gaun.

I didna like to hae to staun fornent the weemen. They couldna haud their silly tongues aboot my bonnie reid hair, and ane ο them wad be shair to try to lift me, and as my grannie said they had a smell like tinkers, aye warkin in the clartie wat cley. My grandfaither saw them stertit at ance, though, and syne turnt to tak me doun to Clyde.

The wey ower the bank was gey kittle to tak, wi the rocks aa wat moss, and I grippit my grandfaither ticht, but he gat me to the bottom wi nae mair hairm nor the stang ο a nettle on my left fute. He rubbit the stang wi the leaf ο a docken, and tied a string to the neck ο my jaur, and efter tellin me no to gang near the Lowp gaed awa back up to his wark.

An awesome laneliness came ower me as sune as he had turnt his back. It wasna juist the rummle o the Linn frae faurer doun the watter: it was the black hole aneth the bank at my back whaur the otters bade, and the fearsome wey the watter gaed through the Lowp. The front ο the hole was hung ower wi creepers, and ye couldna be shair that the otters werena sittin ben ahint them, waitin to sneak oot whan ye werena lookin and put their shairp teeth into yer legs.

The Lowp was waur. It was doun a wee frae the otter hole, across a muckle rock, whaur the hail braid watter ο Clyde, sae gentle faurer up, shot through awteen twa straucht black banks like shinie daurk-green gless; and the space atween was sae nerra that a man could lowp across. It wasna an easy lowp, faur abune the pouer ο a laddie, yet ye fand yersell staunin starin at it, fair itchin to hae a try. A halflin frae Nemphlar had tried it ance, in a spate whan the rocks were aa spume, and he had landit short and tummlet in backwards, and it was nae mair nor a meenit afore his daith-skrech was heard frae Stanebyres Linn itsell, risin abune the thunner ο the spate like a stab ο lichtnin.

The sun was oot, though, and I tried no to heed, and truith to tell gin it hadna been sae eerie it wad hae been lichtsome there, for in aa the rock cracks whaur yirth had gethert there were harebells growin, dentie and wan, and back and forrit on the mossie stanes that stude abune the watter gaed wee willie waggies, bobbin up and doun wi their tails gaun a dinger, and whiles haein a douk to tak the stour aff their feathers.

I didna gie them mair nor a look, for I had come to catch mennans, and as I grippit my can and jaur and gaed forrit ower the rock to the whirlies I could feel my hairt thumpin like to burst through my breist. It was aye the same when I was eager, and it didna help.

The whirlies were roun holes in the rock aside the neck ο the Lowp, worn wi the swirl ο the watter whan it rase in spate and fludit its haill coorse frae bank to bank; but whan Clyde was doun on a simmer day they were dry aa roun, wi juist a pickle watter comin hauf-wey up them, clear eneuch to let ye see the colours ο aa the bonnie chuckies at the fute.

Nou there was ae whirlie lie wi a shalla end, and a runnel that cam in frae Clyde itsell, and on a hot day, gin aa was quait, the mennans slippit ben, aboot twenty at a time, to lie abune the warm chuckies and gowp in the sun. That was the whirlie for me, for gin ye bade quait eneuch till the mennans were aa weill ben, and laid yer jaur in the runnel wi its mou peyntin in, and syne stude up and gied them a fricht, they turnt and gaed pell mell into it.

I laid doun my can and creepit forrit, and shair eneuch the mennans were there, but I couldna hae been cannie eneuch, for the meenit I gaed to lay my jaur in the runnel they shot richt past and left the whirlie tuim. It was a peety, but it didna maitter. I kent that gin I waitit they wad syne come back.

The awkward thing was that if ye sat whaur ye could see the mennans the mennans could see yersell, sae I had to sit weill back and juist jalouse whan they micht steer again. I made up my mind no to move ower sune.

Wi haein nocht to dae I fell into a dwam, and thocht ο this thing and that, but maistly ο the siller Tam Baxter peyed for the mennans. Syne my banes gat sair, sittin on the hard rock, and I moved a wee to ease mysell a bit. On the turn roun my ee spied the otter hole, and I could hae sworn I saw the creepers movin. I began to feel gey feart, and my thochts took panic, and it wasna lang afore I was thinkin ο the halflin that fell in the Lowp, though I had tried gey hard no to.

I lookit up the bank for my grandfaither, and shair eneuch there he was, staunin looking doun on me to see that I was aa richt. I felt hairtent then, and pat my fingers to my mou to keep him frae cry in oot to me, for I kent that gin he did he wad ask hou mony mennans I had cat chit, and I didna want to hae to tell him nane.

Kennin he was there, I grew eager to show him what a clever laddie I was, and I kent I had gien the mennans rowth ο time to win back ben the whirlie, saw aa at once I lowpit forrit and laid my jaur in the runnel; but I was sae has tie that I laid it wrang wey roun. It didna maitter, though, for the mennans were ben, dizzens ο them, and they couldna win oot. Quick as a thocht I turnt the jaur roun and gied a lood skelloch. They shot this wey and that, and syne for the jaur, and whan I saw that some ο them were into it I poued hard on my string.

I was ower eager, for the jaur gaed richt ower my heid and brak on the rock at my back, and the mennans I had catchit flip-flappit for the watter as hard as they could gang. I grabbit my can and gaed efter them, but they were gey ill to haud, and by the time I had twa ο them safe the ithers were back into Clyde.

I stude up. I was richt on the edge of the Lowp.

I couldna tak my een aff the glessie daurk-green watter, and I kent that the whirlie was somewhaur ahint me, sae I didna daur step back-wards. I juist stude still wi my breist burstin, and my wame turnin heid ower heels, till I gey nearly dwamt awa.

I didna, though, I gaed doun on my knees, aye wi my can grippit ticht, and had a wee keek roun. The whirlie was ahint me, but faurer up the rock than I had thocht. I creept weill past it, and lookit up the bank.

My grandfaither wasna there. He hadna been watchin me efter aa.

I ran to the bank fute and cried oot, but wi the rummle ο the watter he didna hear me, and I stertit to greit. I grat gey sair for a lang while, and syne stertit to sclim up the bank, but I slippit and tummlet my can.

It hadna ae bash, but the mennans were gane. I gied my een a rub wi my guernsey sleeve and stertit to look for them. In the end I spied them, bedirten aa ower and hauf deid. I mindit then that I hadna filled my can wi watter.

Whan they were soumin again they syne cam roun, though ane ο them lay for a while wi its belly up, and I thocht it wad dee. Whan it didna I felt hairtent again, and began to wish I could catch anither ten.

I had nae glass jaur.

I fand a wee hole in the rock and pat the mennans in, and syne gaed to the whirlie. It was tuim, for I hadna keepit quait, but I tried my can in the runnel and fand a bit it wad fit. I wasna dune yet.

I tied my string to the can haunle and sat doun again to wait.

I had a waur job this time to keep mysell in haund, tryin no to think ο the horrid end I wad hae come to gin I had tummlet ower the edge ο the Lowp, but I maun hae managed gey weill, for I didna seem to hae been sittin for a meenit whan my grandfaither’s birrell gaed.

It was time to gang hame. I could haurdly believe it.

I gaed forrit to meet him as he cam doun the bank.

‘Hou mony mennans hae ye catchit?’

‘Juist twa. I broke my jaur.’

‘Dear me. Whaur’s the can?’

‘It’s ower by the runnel. I hae tied my string to the haunle ο it.’

‘And whaur are the twa mennans?’

‘In a wee hole.’

‘Quait, then, and we’ll hae ae mair try. It’s time to gang hame.’

He sat doun and cut himsell a braidth ο thick black, and whan his pipe was gaun and the reik risin oot ο it I gat richt back into fettle. I sat as still as daith, wishin his pipe had been cleaner, for it gied a gey gurgle at ilka puff, and I was feart it wad frichten the mennans. But I didna daur say ocht.

Aa at ance, withoot warning, he lowpit for the runnel wi the can. I lowpit tae.

The can was useless. The mennans saw it and gaed back ben the whirlie. They juist wadna try to win oot.

‘Fin a stane,’ said my grandfaither.

I ran to the fute ο the bank and fand a stane.

‘Staun ower the whirlie and pitch it in hard.’

I lat flee wi aa my strength. The stane hit the watter wi a plunk. The mennans scattert and shot for the runnel. My grandfaither liftit the can.

Whan my braith cam back I gaed ower aside him.

‘Hou mony hae we gotten?’

He was doun on his hunkers wi his heid ower the can.

‘I canna coont. They winna bide still.’

My hairt gied a lowp. Ther wad shairly be a dizzen this time. But I was wrang.

‘Eight,’ he said.

I had a look mysell. I coontit them three times. There were eicht and nae mair.

‘Come on, then. Fin the ither twa and we’ll awa hame.’

I was fair dumfounert.

‘But I hae juist ten, grandfaither. I need anither twa still.’

‘Na na, we’re late. Yer grannie’ll be thinkin ye’re drount.’

‘But I need a dizzen.’

‘What dae ye want a dizzen for?’

‘For Tam Baxter’s penny.’

‘Dinna fash aboot Tam Baxter. I’ll gie ye a penny mysell.’

‘But I want to make my ain penny.’

‘Na, na.’

‘They’ll juist be wastit.’

‘We’ll gie them to the cats. Whaur did ye put the first twa?’

I took him ower to the wee hole. They were there still. He pat them in the can wi the ithers and made for the bank.

‘I’ll tak the mennans up first.’

He gaed awa up and left me. Whan he cam doun again I had stertit to greit.

‘Come on, son. I’ll gie ye tippence.’

But it didna comfort me. I had wantit sae hard to mak a penny ο my ain, and I juist needit twa mennans mair. It was past tholin.

Whan we cam to the waal I was begrutten aa ower. He stude for a while.

‘Haud on, son. Ye’ll hae yer dizzen yet.’

He took the tinnie that hung frae the waal spoot. It was there for the drouthie warkers.

‘We’ll put the mennans in this.’

He had a gey job, for it didna leave them muckle watter, but he managed.

‘Bide here and haud on to it. Keep ae haund ower the top or they’ll lowp oot.’

He left me wi the tinnie and took the can through the hedge. I jaloused at ance what he was efter, and my hairt stertit to thump again, but there was nae bark frae Tam’s dug. It maun hae been tied at his back door.

My grandfaither cam back.

‘Here ye are, then. Put thae anes back.’

I lookit in the can. There ware twa in it. I tuimed in the ithers.

‘That’s yer dizzen nou. Ye can tak them ower to Tam the morn.’

I kent I couldna face Tam the morn.

‘Daes he no coont his mennans, grandfaither?’

‘Na na, he has ower mony for that.’

‘But it’s stealin.’

‘Dinna fash aboot that. Tam’s laddies whiles guddle oor troot.’

It was the truith, and they didna aye put it back, but still I kent I couldna face him.

We came to the waal yett.

‘Grandfaither?’

‘Ay?’

‘I think we’ll juist gie them to the cats efter aa.’

‘What wey that?’

‘I’m feart. I couldna face Tam Baxter.’

‘Havers.’

‘I couldna, grandfaither.’

‘He’ll ken naething.’

‘He micht fin oot.’

‘Deil the fear.’

We cam to the closs mou.

‘Grandfaither?’

‘What is it?’

‘Juist let me gie them to the cats.’

‘Aa richt, son. Please yersell.’