Читать книгу Ploughman of the Moon - Robert William Service - Страница 4

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"Please, Aunt Jeannie, can I go out and look at the hens?"

Over her spectacles my aunt gazed at me suspiciously. "Whit fur, Rubbert Wullie, do you want to look at the hens?"

"I don't know whit fur, I jist want to look at them."

"Ye'd be faur better lookin' at yer bonnie Bible. Don't ye like yer wee Bible?"

"Ay, but I like the hens better."

My aunt was inclined to be shocked; however I was paying her a pretty compliment, for her Plymouth Rocks were her heart's pride. Still she hesitated; when Grandfather, peering from under his spectacles, broke in.

"Whit fur will ye no' let wee Wullie look at the hens? He'll no dae them ony herm."

My aunt seemed doubtful. To her my capacity for doing harm was only limited by my awakeness. Grudgingly she consented, and no released prisoner ever sighed with more profound relief. It was the afternoon of the Sabbath and I was richly miserable. My new boots pinched me, my white collar choked me. My hair was smugly flat, my Sunday suit skin-tight. My winter woollens were prickly, while my thick stockings made my legs itch. For a boy of five could worse torture be conceived?

How well I remember that little parlour! The furniture, padded with horsehair, was glossy black. Antimacassars draped arm-chairs and sofa, while on the wall was Moses in the Bulrushes, done in coloured wool by Aunt Jeannie. The book-case was grim with volumes of sermons, and the pendulum of the grandfather's clock swung with relentless austerity. Under a glass bell was a collection4 of wax fruits—apples, pears, peaches, grapes. I had never tasted the last two, but as I gazed at them my mouth watered. Could they be as delicious as they looked?

My three aunts sat round the glowing fire. Aunt Jeannie was reading Good Words, Aunt Bella the Quiver, and Aunt Jennie Sunday at Home. The only reading I was allowed was Fox's Book of Martyrs, whose pictures of burning saints gave me a gruesome delight. My aunts wore black silk skirts, and in front of the fire they drew them up over their knees. I was supposed to be too young to notice, but the fatness of their legs disgusted me. Grandfather would doze on the sofa till his snores awoke him. He had a crinkly white beard, and for long my idea of God was a grandiose edition of Grandfather.

I lived with him and my three aunts in the little Ayrshire town. Grandfather was postmaster; Aunt Bella sold stamps, while Aunt Jennie jiggled a handle that in some inconceivable way sent off telegrams. Aunt Jeannie ran the house and looked after the garden and the hens. All three were virgins. They might have married, but they were jealous of each other, and when a man came "spierin'" one of them the others crabbed his style, so that the poor laddie gave up.

Gazing through the grating of the hen-yard, I regained my serenity. The hens calmed me. I liked them, all but the cock, a truculent bully, strutting amid his meek wives. I was angry when he would pounce on one of his consorts, jump on her back, and with pecks and flapping of wings flatten her to the ground. With stones I would go to the rescue, but one day Aunt Jeannie witnessed my intervention and stopped me.

"Leave him alone, he's no' hurtin' them," she said pensively. I recall to this day the look in her eyes. It seemed to say: "Oh, for a human rooster!"

For six days of the week I was happy, but the Sabbath was misery. We rose late. The house was hushed, the Post Office dark. Newspapers had been put away and whistling was forbidden. I asked Aunt Jeannie if I might whistle hymns, but she vetoed the idea. "Ye don't know the tunes well enough to stick to them," she objected. After breakfast of "parrich and finnan haddie" came preparation for5 church. All of us went, except one of my aunts who stayed to prepare lunch. Happy was I when I was sick enough to keep her company. Together we would stand behind the Nottingham lace curtains and watch the church-goers.

Our town consisted of a single street of whin-grey houses and was about two miles long. The population were church-goers to the last child. There were three churches, the Established, the Free and the U.P., and the rivalry between them was so bitter members of one denomination would scarcely speak to the others. We belonged to the Auld Kirk and looked down on the U.P. and the Free with disdain. We would not patronize a shopkeeper who did not belong to our sect, and Aunt Jeannie ceased to sell her eggs to a grocer when he became a "Wee Free."

About ten the bells began to ring, and from the far ends of the long town the worshippers formed into procession. It was a solemn march, every one dressed in Sunday best, with face grave. Black was the dominant colour, and to show a bit of brightness was to shock convention. As they walked, their slow steps never faltered, while conversation consisted of side whispers; for all knew that behind the lace curtains of every house eyes were on them and tongues were wagging.

"Look! Mrs. McWhinnie's got a new bunnet, an' her man no' ten months pit awa'."

Or "Puir auld Jimmie Purdie. His step's gettin' gey feeble. I'm thinkin' whuskey's no' sae good a cure for the rheumatics after a'."

Again: "Hoo changed yon Gillespie lass looks sin' she went to work in Glesca. I wonner if she's better than she ought to be. An' her mither deid o' the gallopin' consumption."

Always the same barbed remarks as the procession went by to the sound of bells. And how I loved to watch it when I got the chance! That wasn't often, though. Generally I was told to wash behind my ears, plaster down my hair, don my Sunday suit and get ready to join the throng. My aunts were busy putting the finishing touches to their black silk dresses and their bonnets with the crape and sequins. We were always in mourning, although the last death6 had occurred years before. When we were ready Aunt Jeannie's last act was to straighten my Glengarry bonnet, to which I had given a jaunty tilt. It was my new one. My school bonnet had neither ribands nor a "toorie," as one of my first acts on going to school was to tear off those sissy appendages. If questioned about the mutilation I would blame it on the older boys. Incidentally, my Sunday Glengarry had a red "toorie"; but Aunt Jeannie thought it wasn't proper for church, so she inked it black.

Grandfather preceded us to church by half an hour, because he stood by one of the plates where people piled their pennies. He donned a frock-coat, faded to green, and a ruffled top-hat that transformed him into a dignified elder. Last of all, he would slip into an inside pocket a "wee gill." From this the vestrymen would nip during the service, and on the rare occasions when Grandfather joined us in the pew he would be chewing a clove.

Before leaving, Aunt Jeannie would gaze at herself in the glass and pull faces till she finally achieved her Sabbath simper. As I trotted to church by her side, she would say: "Dinna kick the stanes, wee Wullie. An' tak' longer steps. Mind, ye've got on yer new boots." But my mind was on something else—the ordeal I dreaded, putting my penny in the plate. Really, it was a ha'penny, for only grown-ups gave pennies. Once I asked Aunt Jeannie why she gave me a ha'penny and she answered tartly: "Because I havena' got a farthin'."

The reason I dreaded putting my copper in the plate was Mister McCurdie. He was a crony of Grandfather's, and a great joker; but to me he always presented a grim aspect. There were two doors leading into church and he stood at the right while Grandfather had the left. Grandfather on these occasions did not deign to recognize me, but Mister McCurdie's specs had a minatory glitter. It was through his door I had to pass, and there he stood behind his plate piled high with coppers. Occasionally a sixpence glimmered among them. Once, indeed, I saw a shilling; but that must have got in by mistake, and was regarded with exultant vigilance by both elders.

As I approached shrinkingly with my small coin, my Cerberus, towering down on me, would fix me with an accusing eye. Then one day he bent forward and whispered: "Look oot. I'm watchin' ye.7 Ye're yin o' they lads that pits in a penny an' tak's oot tippence." At this dreadful accusation I blushed and shrank away like a sneak-thief. After that, I held out my small coin at arm's length and dropped it from about a foot above the plate. Once it missed the edge and rolled to the floor, where I had to retrieve it. Cringing under his look of reprobation, I sneaked into church feeling as if all eyes were upon me, a suspected thief. I began to wonder if I really wasn't one. I felt fearfully in my pockets to see if no twopence were lurking there. I almost expected the minister to arise and denounce me from the pulpit.

Our pew was at the back of the church. It was of varnished pine and so constructed as to ensure a maximum of discomfort. The seats were narrow, the backs at an awkward angle to discourage drowsiness. In all the church there was not a cushion. When the congregation was seated, the bells ceased and the Minister entered, preceded by the Beadle, carrying the big Bible. Once, going up to the pulpit, the Minister tripped over his gown and said: "Tut! Tut!" His neck got very red; and always after that I watched eagerly, hoping he would trip again and say: "Tut! Tut!"

My aunts went to church early, so that they could see the others arrive. It was their great moment. Their eyes missed nothing, as they stored spicy comment for lunch-time conversation. Then we settled down to two hours of worship. At the prayers I was told to keep my head bent and close my eyes. But I dared to open them, for there was a brown knot in the wood in front of me that fascinated me. I tried to gouge it out under cover of the prayers, but even with my new pocket-knife I never succeeded.

The Minister, the Reverend Mister Lamb, had a bald head of lustrous polish and mutton-chop whiskers. Usually his discourse was prosy, but in inspired moments his voice rose to a yowl. This would occur at least once in every sermon, and I awaited the moment with an expectant thrill. Yet somehow, when it came I was secretly ashamed. Even at that age public displays of emotion embarrassed me. I felt sorry for him because he felt so badly about sin and all that; but when he relapsed into dreariness again, I8 thought it would be a relief to hear him yowl.

By us he was looked upon as an Intellectual. Had he not preached a sermon entitled Man and the Monkeys, putting in his place a whipper-snapper of a scientist called Darwin, who had dared to voice a ridiculous theory utterly at odds with Holy teaching. Indeed, the congregation thought so much of it they had it printed as a pamphlet. But, whatever his other gifts, the Reverend Lamb was surely long-winded. Usually he began his sermon with Firstly and worked up to Seventhly. Then to my relief he would begin Lastly. But to my irritation he would go on to Finally. And when he would drone, "In Conclusion," I was too exhausted for further mental protest. Then, as I slumped on the bench, Aunt Jeannie would pass me a peppermint and a stern look that made me sit upright again. This peppermint was an extra, because at the beginning of the sermon we would each receive one. The custom was general. All round church you could see peppermints being passed, as if the congregation was bracing itself for an ordeal.

Returning home was so different from going to church. It was as if every one had been relieved of a burden. Duty grimly done, we walked joyously, heads high, eyes smiling. We formed groups, greeting, gossiping, even joking. At lunch Grandfather was pawky and aromatic, while my aunts discussed the sermon with critical comments on the garments of the other women. They knew what bonnets were re-trimmed, what dresses dyed. Over the cold meat, rice and prunes, they tore their neighbours apart. Released from the strain of "unco guidness," every one became human again.... But the respite was short. Soon it was time for Sunday school. Aunt Jeannie had taught there for thirty years and was now Lady Superintendent. It was unthinkable I should ever miss, but really I did not dislike it. We had to memorize tiny texts printed on gilt tickets, and this I did with exultant ease. Besides, I enjoyed the hymns, which often had likeable tunes. Indeed, in later years I slightly altered some of the melodies and turned them into comic songs.

After Sunday school Aunt Jeannie usually suggested a walk to the cemetery. It was her idea of divertissement. There, hanging over9 tombs, she would sniffle and sigh. When at a certain point her handkerchief was produced, I hotly resented the dear departed; however, to her it was an orgy of sentiment she enjoyed to the last fat tear.

These childish memories may seem trivial, but they reveal traits that were to distinguish my whole life. To this day I shun graveyards with their melancholy evocations; and I refuse to attend funerals, for in a few years I will have to be available at my own. But above all do I hold my horror of the Scotch Sabbath. Indeed it has left me with a distaste for church-going of any kind. Yet I approve of piety ... for others. Oh, yes, I send my cheque to the vicar and applaud those who hold down the family pew, but I would rather worship in my own kale-yard. If I am not a pillar of the church, I am, at least, one of the pagan columns that support it from outside.