Читать книгу Ploughman of the Moon - Robert William Service - Страница 8

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The first day I went to school I came home crying.

"Whit's the matter?" asked Aunt Jeannie.

"I don't want to go to school."

"Whit fur don't ye no want to go to school?"

"The boys won't leave ma kilts alane. They pull them up."

That was true. I had gone to class so proud in my Highland costume. "Yer wee kilts are sae bonnie," said Aunt Jeannie. But the other boys had jeered, and then one of them had lifted me up and spanked me. Before the girls too. Oh, how I was shamed! No, I wouldn't wear them again to school, and Grandfather sustained me. "Gie wee Rubbert Wullie his troosers," he ordained.

But kilts were my first costume and they are associated with my earliest memory. It is interesting to discover one's first recollection. Mine is of going to jail. It was the year before I went to live in the Long Grey Town with my aunties, and I was then in the city with my parents. I was wearing my kilt for the first time. Perhaps that was what impressed the occasion on my memory. I was walking with my nurse. She lugged me along with one hand while with the other she pushed the pram with my baby brother. I hung back, wanting to look at the shops. A candy shop particularly excited me, but my nurse dragged me on. Then Romance entered her young life and she released my hand to surrender hers to a budding butcher. This was my chance. Always the Escapist I slipped away.

The sweetie shop was round the corner, and there I gave myself up to the joy of window-shopping. For half an hour I stood with my nose flattened against the pane; then I suddenly remembered my nurse. No sign of her. I was lost. It rather elated me. Forlornly I stood at the curb and a crowd collected. "Oh, the puir wee laddie!30 He's wandert," I heard them say, and I enjoyed their commiseration. The crowd increased. Suddenly a stalwart policeman parted the people and loomed over me. He had a long black beard, but I looked up at him without awe.

"Where d'ye live?" he asked.

"Half past four," I answered. No doubt this was because nurse had been told to get home by half past four, and that was all I could remember. But again he asked me, and again I answered: "Half past four." I still recall how the crowd laughed, while I wondered why they should.

Then the officer took me by the hand and conducted me to the police station. It is difficult for a bobby to maintain his dignity holding a tiny tot by the hand. He must have felt this, for he walked in a stately way and loftily ignored me, while the people we passed gave me glances of pity. But I trotted along cheerfully, enjoying it all. The station waiting room consisted of bare walls and benches garnished with squalid looking people. They gave me the same commiseration. The "wee callant wi' his braw kilts" held the centre of the scene. Then a blousy matron arrived and clasped me to her capacious bosom. I resisted—till she brought me tea and buns and tempted me to sit on her knee. I was enjoying myself when Mama blew in. She was frantic and ran to grab me; but I was having a gorgeous feed and, with my mouth full of bun, I refused to leave the matron. Kicking and howling I was dragged from the police station; and (though I have no doubt I richly deserved it), I take this occasion to state I have never been in one since.

One morning Aunt Jeannie said to me: "Ye're wearin' yer kilts the day."

"But I'm going to school," I objected.

"No, ye're no'. Yer father and mother are comin' to visit ye." This filled me with dismay. It had been a long time since I had seen them, and I had almost forgotten their existence. From time to time I heard of the birth of new brothers but did not feel interested. So I donned my kilt, now too short for me. When my parents arrived I was so shy I hid in the wash-house and had to be routed31 out. I hung back as I was introduced to the authors of my being, and it was only by offering me sweets my mother coaxed me on her knee. When she did, I remember a look of horror coming over her face. However she said nothing—just then.

Apart from my diffidence, the visit was not a success. Aunt Jeannie objected to tobacco, and Papa was obliged to go outside to smoke. While he puffed his pipe moodily by the pump, Mama was having an argument with Aunt Jeannie by the hen-house.

"My word!" said Mama. "I consider it shocking. To think that that poor boy has nothing on under his kilt—nothing. He's absolutely bare."

"That's whit makes Hielandmen hardy," said Aunt Jeannie. Mama was unconvinced. Then Aunt Jeannie stressed the handiness of the garment when it came to performing certain natural functions, and this Mama was obliged to admit though it evidently shocked her. "Well, I don't approve of it," she said, "and I'm real vexed." I think it was this matter of the kilt that made her finally retrieve me, although my aunts wanted to adopt me. However, Mama was anti-adoptionist to the core. If she had had a hundred children, instead of a mere ten, I do not think she would have parted with one.

I respectfully submit that whoever made up the Ten Commandments might have done a better job. Take the fourth. One is exhorted to honour one's parents, with a bribe of longevity. Honour to whom honour is due, say I. I have known very few men worthy of it, and I could never see why parents should be honoured just because they are responsible for our existence. I know it is considered bad taste to criticize them, and I do not want to be lacking in respect; but I have always felt that it should be the other way about—that it is the parents who should honour the children; for if the race is really advancing, the new stock should be better than the old.... I must confess that on his visit to me Papa failed to make a favourable impression. He had the reddest face I ever saw. His head was balder than that of Mister Lamb, but his mutton-chop whiskers were longer. In fact they looked like discouraged Dun32drearies. But what most impressed me was his stomach, which ballooned a fancy waistcoat girt by a heavy gold chain. Although he carried his bay-window with dignity, I disliked it.

Of the many good things Papa did for me, not the least was to serve as a physical warning. My hair has faltered but never failed, while my girth has not got out of bounds. Of course we are not permitted to pick our parents; but I think every father should so conduct himself that his children would never want any other, even if they had the choice. Family and ancestry have never interested me. I hope I am descended from yeoman farmers with ruddy faces and bright eyes. If I am descended from pale weavers, I am not ashamed, for they are a worthy folk and their brains are alive. But if I am of collier stock, I will say nothing. Yet I have a dark suspicion, for I remember an old lady, a sister of my grandmother. She had a face as delicate as a cameo, and she was handsome in an aristocratic way. But she wore a mutch, and she used to sit by the fire with a cutty pipe in her mouth, smoking strong tobacco that savoured of the pit.

Of all my family Grandfather most commanded my respect. He was a pawky Scotsman of the non-committal type. If you said it was a fine day, he would look thoughtfully at the sky and finally admit: "Weel, I've see waur." If you suggested it was raining, he would answer cautiously: "I'll no be denyin' it's a wee bit saft." But he was fond of a sly joke and had a fund of vestry-room stories, such as the one about the "height of hospitality" and that other about the lassie who indignantly told her musical but over-ardent sweetheart: "Never will I fornicate wi' a man that whistles on the Sabbath."

He had two enthusiasms, the Scotch Kirk and Scotch whisky. Every morning he would stir into his porridge, which he took in a wooden bowl, a big wooden spoonful of Mountain Dew. But he also boasted that though he liked his wee dram he had never been the worse of liquor. He was canny in his cups. And what a pleasure he got out of eating! Every Saturday night he would bring us a dozen twopenny mutton-pies and I would be given a whole one. How delicious they seemed, fresh from the baker's oven. And the black33 puddings Aunt Jeannie made with blood from the butcher's—how crisp and crackly! Our high tea was a prideful occasion, with cookies, buns, scones, bannocks and oatcake, all made by Aunt Jeannie. Grandfather was praiseful of everything he ate, believing that when people cooked for you you should always be grateful and never criticize.

However, Aunt Jeannie's cooking was above criticism, particularly her cakes. Not that sometimes she didn't have a dud, but I liked duds best. Oh, how I loved the sad, heavy streak in the centre! And her short-bread! Scotch short-bread was glorified by her magic. Many a sore belly have I had from it; but bless it! let me have another.

Cold boiled ham was Grandfather's delectation, and the sight of it always makes me think of his death. We had a whole one for supper in honour of a lady visitor. Grandfather carved it with virtuosity and kept us in a simmer of merriment with his humorous remarks. Finally, the lady had to catch a train, and as she said her good-byes she complimented Grandfather on the deliciousness of his ham. Immediately he carved a huge slice. "Here, lassie, tak' this awa' wi' ye."

"But how would I carry it?"

His answer was prompt. "Pit it inside yer bunnit." We all laughed at his sally, and he reached for his glass of water. I saw the glass tilt in his hand and the water spill down his beard. I thought it was because he was laughing so; then I saw the glass fall to the floor. Still laughing, he looked at his hand wonderingly. A look of childish surprise came over his face. There was no pain, no fear, just helpless bewilderment. Then he slumped over and was dead. So he enjoyed life to the last, and passed like a flash with a laugh in his eyes and a joke on his lips.

When I left the Long Grey Town I did not return for many years. But before I crossed the seas I went to say good-bye to my aunties. They were getting on in age but bearing up bravely. Though we merely shook hands on parting, they saw me go with some sadness. I did not share this, for life was behind them and for me it was mostly to come. I wanted to get away as quickly as possible.34 Aunt Jeannie came to the station and embarrassed me by having tears in her eyes. I hated any sentimental fuss, so she pretended to smile, all the time thinking she would never see me again. But I wanted the train to hurry. All I thought of was of the adventure awaiting me. With the selfishness of youth I forgot her care and tenderness. As the train pulled out she kept waving her handkerchief. I could see her eyes shining, and I knew that when I was gone she would go behind the station and jab her hanky into them.

I promised to write often, but I rarely did so. I was fighting the battle of life, and they lived in a vague past that no longer meant anything to me. But from time to time I got news of them. They had retired to a tiny cottage, living pinched and meagre days. I did not realize it or I would have sent them the odd hundred pounds. I would never have missed it. It would have meant all the difference between scrimping and luxury to them. Instead of a loaf they might have bought a cake. Well, I just didn't think of it, and I am everlastingly sorry.

Of my good deeds I never yet

Have grudged a single one;

But O how deeply I regret

Good deeds I might have done!

Forty years later I visited the Long Grey Town. It was changed out of recognition. There was a modern Post Office, and when I asked where the old one was they could not tell me. I found it at last, a pinched little grey house. But it was as neat as in Aunt Jeannie's time. There was the front door, freshly varnished, with its iron knocker. She was proud of her door and kept the flag-stone gay with whiting. Even the cobbles were scoured.... There was the thick mossy wall with the sunken door that led down to the garden. This was the one I always used, and through the hole in the top hung a cord to lift the inside latch.

I got the owner to let me take a peep at the garden. That, at least, had little changed. I saw the same flower-beds and remembered how I was sent to school with a sprig of sweet-william in my coat. The smell of the black currants made me think of poor35 Aunt Aggie, and as I looked at the raspberry canes I seemed to see a wistful little ghost peering out at me. Such an innocent boy, dreaming of fairies and knights in armour, and loving to be by himself so that he could live his dreams ... Yes, there were ghosts all around me, but chiefly of Aunt Jeannie and Grandfather. I cursed myself for being sentimental. Nevertheless I said: "God bless them."

Then I went to the church and sat in our old pew. Little was changed, except that there was a stained glass window instead of the clear one through which I used to see the swallows. And there were cushions on the seats. But there in front of me was the knot in the wood I had tried to punch out, with the marks of my knife still in the varnish. I felt like a little boy again. It was hard to realize that over half a century had gone and that for me life was nearly over. Most of the congregation had passed on, and soon I too would be eating my salad from the roots. As I left the church I was sunk in melancholy.

I searched for the graves of the family. The grass grew long and rank. Bedded in it were mouldy slabs of stone and moss-grown tombs half weathered away. Oh, it was old, old—confusion, neglect, rottenness! It smelt of the charnel house, and over it hung the ruined wall of the ancient Abbey. I sought out the sexton, a grey-haired man and bent.

"Yes, yer aunties used to sell me stamps in the Post Office. There's no' many like them now-a-days. But there's no' many left to mind o' them. My! when yer deid it's a caution hoo quick ye're forgotten."

Yes, it was a shock to me. In this town they had been born, lived and died. They had been a part of it and had helped in its growing. Every one knew them and they knew every one. Yet now almost no one knew of them. Few had ever heard of them. Even their names were forgotten. We searched for the family grave, but he explained that a recent storm had blown down many of the tombstones. Finally he gave a grunt of discovery, and lifted a flat, mean slab covered with green slime, on which I could decipher the name of my grandfather alone. I minded when it was clean white marble—a thin, cheap stone, but the best we could afford. 36

So there they were, these old folks, so fine, so worthy, lying in a nameless grave. I felt shamed beyond belief. I went to the chief stonemason of the place and ordered a tall monument of granite, bearing all their names; and in due time it was erected. I have never seen it; but perhaps sometime I will go back and pay my last respects to those humble people who were of my blood. Of my three aunts I think sadly. They should have married and had many children. They were made for that. But destiny meted out to them obscure and frustrate lives. Sterile and unfulfilled, they passed. Unwanted women—Ah! there are so many of them. Yes, I will go back and beg them to pardon me for my neglect. I might so easily have made their life less hard. A few luxuries, ribands for their caps, silken petticoats; instead of bannocks, cakes. And standing in the shadow of their tomb I will think sadly:

They asked me for short-bread and I gave them—a stone.