LADS AND LASSES
With the severe Auld Lichts the Sabbath began at six o'clock on
Saturday evening. By that time the gleaming shuttle was at rest, Davie
Haggart had strolled into the village from his pile of stones on the
Whunny road; Hendry Robb, the "dummy," had sold his last barrowful of
"rozetty (resiny) roots" for firewood; and the people, having
tranquilly supped and soused their faces in their water-pails, slowly
donned their Sunday clothes. This ceremony was common to all; but here
divergence set in. The grey Auld Licht, to whom love was not even a
name, sat in his high-backed arm-chair by the hearth, Bible or
"Pilgrim's Progress" in hand, occasionally lapsing into slumber.
But--though, when they got the chance, they went willingly three times
to the kirk--there were young men in the community so flighty that,
instead of dozing at home on Saturday night, they dandered casually
into the square, and, forming into knots at the corners, talked
solemnly and mysteriously of women.
Not even on the night preceding his wedding was an Auld Licht ever
known to stay out after ten o'clock. So weekly conclaves at
street-corners came to an end at a comparatively early hour, one
Coelebs after another shuffling silently from the square until it
echoed, deserted, to the town-house clock. The last of the gallants,
gradually discovering that he was alone, would look around him
musingly, and, taking in the situation, slowly wend his way home. On
no other night of the week was frivolous talk about the softer sex
indulged in, the Auld Lichts being creatures of habit who never thought
of smiling on a Monday. Long before they reached their teens they were
earning their keep as herds in the surrounding glens or filling "pirns"
for their parents; but they were generally on the brink of twenty
before they thought seriously of matrimony. Up to that time they only
trifled with the other sex's affections at a distance--filling a maid's
water-pails, perhaps, when no one was looking, or carrying her wob; at
the recollection of which they would slap their knees almost jovially
on Saturday night. A wife was expected to assist at the loom as well
as to be cunning in the making of marmalade and the firing of bannocks,
and there was consequently some heartburning among the lads for maids
of skill and muscle. The Auld Licht, however, who meant marriage
seldom loitered in the streets. By and by there came a time when the
clock looked down through its cracked glass upon the hemmed in square
and saw him not. His companions, gazing at each other's boots, felt
that something was going on, but made no remark.
A month ago, passing through the shabby familiar square, I brushed
against a withered old man tottering down the street under a load of
yarn. It was piled on a wheelbarrow which his feeble hands could not
have raised but for the rope of yarn that supported it from his
shoulders; and though Auld Licht was written on his patient eyes, I did
not immediately recognize Jamie Whamond. Years ago Jamie was a sturdy
weaver and fervent lover whom I had the right to call my friend. Turn
back the century a few decades, and we are together on a moonlight
night, taking a short cut through the fields from the farm of
Craigiebuckle. Buxom were Craigiebuckle's "dochters," and Jamie was
Janet's accepted suitor. It was a muddy road through damp grass, and
we picked our way silently over its ruts and pools. "I'm thinkin',"
Jamie said at last, a little wistfully, "that I micht hae been as weel
wi' Chirsty." Chirsty was Janet's sister, and Jamie had first thought
of her. Craigiebuckle, however, strongly advised him to take Janet
instead, and he consented. Alack! heavy wobs have taken all the grace
from Janet's shoulders this many a year, though she and Jamie go
bravely down the hill together. Unless they pass the allotted span of
life, the "poorshouse" will never know them. As for bonny Chirsty, she
proved a flighty thing, and married a deacon in the Established Church.
The Auld Lichts groaned over her fall, Craigiebuckle hung his head, and
the minister told her sternly to go her way. But a few weeks
afterwards Lang Tammas, the chief elder, was observed talking with her
for an hour in Gowrie's close; and the very next Sabbath Chirsty pushed
her husband in triumph into her father's pew. The minister, though
completely taken by surprise, at once referred to the stranger, in a
prayer of great length, as a brand that might yet be plucked from the
burning. Changing his text, he preached at him; Lang Tammas, the
precentor, and the whole congregation (Chirsty included), sang at him;
and before he exactly realized his position he had become an Auld Licht
for life. Chirsty's triumph was complete when, next week, in broad
daylight, too, the minister's wife called, and (in the presence of
Betsy Munn, who vouches for the truth of the story) graciously asked
her to come up to the manse on Thursday, at 4 p. m., and drink a dish
of tea. Chirsty, who knew her position, of course begged modestly to
be excused; but a coolness arose over the invitation between her and
Janet--who felt slighted--that was only made up at the laying-out of
Chirsty's father-in-law, to which Janet was pleasantly invited.
When they had red up the house, the Auld Licht lassies sat in the
gloaming at their doors on three-legged stools, patiently knitting
stockings. To them came stiff-limbed youths who, with a "Blawy nicht,
Jeanie" (to which the inevitable answer was, "It is so, Cha-rles"),
rested their shoulders on the doorpost, and silently followed with
their eyes the flashing needles. Thus the courtship began--often to
ripen promptly into marriage, at other times to go no further. The
smooth-haired maids, neat in their simple wrappers, knew they were on
their trial and that it behoved them to be wary. They had not
compassed twenty winters without knowing that Marget Todd lost Davie
Haggart because she "fittit" a black stocking with brown worsted, and
that Finny's grieve turned from Bell Whamond on account of the
frivolous flowers in her bonnet: and yet Bell's prospects, as I happen
to know, at one time looked bright and promising. Sitting over her
father's peat-fire one night gossiping with him about fishing-flies and
tackle, I noticed the grieve, who had dropped in by appointment with
some ducks' eggs on which Bell's clockin hen was to sit, performing
some sleight-of-hand trick with his coat-sleeve. Craftily he jerked
and twisted it, till his own photograph (a black smudge on white)
gradually appeared to view. This he gravely slipped into the hands of
the maid of his choice, and then took his departure, apparently much
relieved. Had not Bell's light-headedness driven him away, the grieve
would have soon followed up his gift with an offer of his hand. Some
night Bell would have "seen him to the door," and they would have
stared sheepishly at each other before saying good-night. The parting
salutation given, the grieve would still have stood his ground, and
Bell would have waited with him. At last, "Will ye hae's, Bell?" would
have dropped from his half-reluctant lips; and Bell would have mumbled
"Ay," with her thumb in her mouth. "Guid nicht to ye, Bell," would be
the next remark--"Guid nicht to ye, Jeames," the answer; the humble
door would close softly, and Bell and her lad would have been engaged.
But, as it was, their attachment never got beyond the silhouette stage,
from which, in the ethics of the Auld Lichts, a man can draw back in
certain circumstances, without loss of honour. The only really tender
thing I ever heard an Auld Licht lover say to his sweetheart was when
Gowrie's brother looked softly into Easie Tamson's eyes and whispered,
"Do you swite (sweat)?" Even then the effect was produced more by the
loving cast in Gowrie's eye than by the tenderness of the words
themselves.
The courtships were sometimes of long duration, but as soon as the
young man realized that he was courting he proposed. Cases were not
wanting in which he realized this for himself, but as a rule he had to
be told of it.
There were a few instances of weddings among the Auld Lichts that did
not take place on Friday. Betsy Munn's brother thought to assert his
two coal-carts, about which he was sinfully puffed up, by getting
married early in the week; but he was a pragmatical feckless body,
Jamie. The foreigner from York that Finny's grieve after disappointing
Bell Whamond took, sought to sow the seeds of strife by urging that
Friday was an unlucky day; and I remember how the minister, who was
always great in a crisis, nipped the bickering in the bud by adducing
the conclusive fact that he had been married on the sixth day of the
week himself. It was a judicious policy on Mr. Dishart's part to take
vigorous action at once and insist on the solemnization of the marriage
on a Friday or not at all, for he best kept superstition out of the
congregation by branding it as heresy. Perhaps the Auld Lichts were
only ignorant of the grieve's lass's theory because they had not
thought of it. Friday's claims, too, were incontrovertible; for the
Saturday's being a slack day gave the couple an opportunity to put
their but and ben in order, and on Sabbath they had a gay day of it,
three times at the kirk. The honeymoon over, the racket of the loom
began again on the Monday.
The natural politeness of the Allardice family gave me my invitation to
Tibbie's wedding. I was taking tea and cheese early one wintry
afternoon with the smith and his wife, when little Joey Todd in his
Sabbath clothes peered in at the passage, and then knocked primly at
the door. Andra forgot himself, and called out to him to come in by;
but Jess frowned him into silence, and hastily donning her black mutch,
received Willie on the threshold. Both halves of the door were open,
and the visitor had looked us over carefully before knocking; but he
had come with the compliments of Tibbie's mother, requesting the
pleasure of Jess and her man that evening to the lassie's marriage with
Sam'l Todd, and the knocking at the door was part of the ceremony.
Five minutes afterwards Joey returned to beg a moment of me in the
passage; when I, too, got my invitation. The lad had just received,
with an expression of polite surprise, though he knew he could claim it
as his right, a slice of crumbling shortbread, and taken his staid
departure, when Jess cleared the tea-things off the table, remarking
simply that it was a mercy we had not got beyond the first cup. We
then retired to dress.
About six o'clock, the time announced for the ceremony, I elbowed my
way through the expectant throng of men, women, and children that
already besieged the smith's door. Shrill demands of "Toss, toss!"
rent the air every time Jess's head showed on the window-blind, and
Andra hoped, as I pushed open the door, "that I hadna forgotten my
bawbees." Weddings were celebrated among the Auld Lichts by showers of
ha'pence, and the guests on their way to the bride's house had to
scatter to the hungry rabble like housewives feeding poultry. Willie
Todd, the best man, who had never come out so strong in his life
before, slipped through the back window, while the crowd, led on by
Kitty McQueen, seethed in front, and making a bolt for it to the
"'Sosh," was back in a moment with a handful of small change. "Dinna
toss ower lavishly at first," the smith whispered me nervously, as we
followed Jess and Willie into the darkening wynd.
The guests were packed hot and solemn in Johnny Allardice's "room:" the
men anxious to surrender their seats to the ladies who happened to be
standing, but too bashful to propose it; the ham and the fish frizzling
noisily side by side but the house, and hissing out every now and then
to let all whom it might concern know that Janet Craik was adding more
water to the gravy. A better woman never lived; but, oh, the hypocrisy
of the face that beamed greeting to the guests as if it had nothing to
do but politely show them in, and gasped next moment with upraised
arms, over what was nearly a fall in crockery. When Janet sped to the
door her "spleet new" merino dress fell, to the pulling of a string,
over her home-made petticoat, like the drop-scene in a theatre, and
rose as promptly when she returned to slice the bacon. The murmur of
admiration that filled the room when she entered with the minister was
an involuntary tribute to the spotlessness of her wrapper and a great
triumph for Janet. If there is an impression that the dress of the
Auld Lichts was on all occasions as sombre as their faces, let it be
known that the bride was but one of several in "whites," and that Mag
Munn had only at the last moment been dissuaded from wearing flowers.
The minister, the Auld Lichts congratulated themselves, disapproved of
all such decking of the person and bowing of the head to idols; but on
such an occasion he was not expected to observe it. Bell Whamond,
however, has reason for knowing that, marriages or no marriages, he
drew the line at curls.
By and by Sam'l Todd, looking a little dazed, was pushed into the
middle of the room to Tibbie's side, and the minister raised his voice
in prayer. All eyes closed reverently, except perhaps the
bridegroom's, which seemed glazed and vacant. It was an open question
in the community whether Mr. Dishart did not miss his chance at
weddings; the men shaking their heads over the comparative brevity of
the ceremony, the women worshipping him (though he never hesitated to
rebuke them when they showed it too openly) for the urbanity of his
manners. At that time, however, only a minister of such experience as
Mr. Dishart's predecessor could lead up to a marriage in prayer without
inadvertently joining the couple; and the catechizing was mercifully
brief. Another prayer followed the union; the minister waived his
right to kiss the bride; every one looked at every other one, as if he
had for the moment forgotten what he was on the point of saying and
found it very annoying; and Janet signed frantically to Willie Todd,
who nodded intelligently in reply, but evidently had no idea what she
meant. In time Johnny Allardice, our host, who became more and more
doited as the night proceeded, remembered his instructions, and led the
way to the kitchen, where the guests, having politely informed their
hostess that they were not hungry, partook of a hearty tea. Mr.
Dishart presided with the bride and bridegroom near him; but though he
tried to give an agreeable turn to the conversation by describing the
extensions at the cemetery, his personality oppressed us, and we only
breathed freely when he rose to go. Yet we marvelled at his
versatility. In shaking hands with the newly-married couple the
minister reminded them that it was leap-year, and wished them "three
hundred and sixty-six happy and God-fearing days."
Sam'l's station being too high for it, Tibbie did not have a penny
wedding, which her thrifty mother bewailed, penny weddings starting a
couple in life. I can recall nothing more characteristic of the nation
from which the Auld Lichts sprung than the penny wedding, where the
only revellers that were not out of pocket by it, were the couple who
gave the entertainment. The more the guests ate and drank the better,
pecuniarily, for their hosts. The charge for admission to the penny
wedding (practically to the feast that followed it) varied in different
districts, but with us it was generally a shilling. Perhaps the penny
extra to the fiddler accounts for the name penny wedding. The ceremony
having been gone through in the bride's house, there was an adjournment
to a barn or other convenient place of meeting, where was held the
nuptial feast; long white boards from Rob Angus's sawmill, supported on
trestles, stood in lieu of tables; and those of the company who could
not find a seat waited patiently against the wall for a vacancy. The
shilling gave every guest the free run of the groaning board, but
though fowls were plentiful, and even white bread too, little had been
spent on them. The farmers of the neighbourhood, who looked forward to
providing the young people with drills of potatoes for the coming
winter, made a bid for their custom by sending them a fowl gratis for
the marriage supper. It was popularly understood to be the oldest cock
of the farmyard, but for all that it made a brave appearance in a
shallow sea of soup. The fowls were always boiled--without exception,
so far as my memory carries me; the guid-wife never having the heart to
roast them, and so lose the broth. One round of whisky-and-water was
all the drink to which his shilling entitled the guest. If he wanted
more he had to pay for it. There was much revelry, with song and
dance, that no stranger could have thought those stiff-limbed weavers
capable of; and the more they shouted and whirled through the barn, the
more their host smiled and rubbed his hands. He presided at the bar
improvised for the occasion, and if the thing was conducted with
spirit, his bride flung an apron over her gown and helped him. I
remember one elderly bridegroom, who, having married a blind woman, had
to do double work at his penny wedding. It was a sight to see him
flitting about the torch-lit barn, with a kettle of hot water in one
hand and a besom to sweep up crumbs in the other.
Though Sam'l had no penny wedding, however, we made a night of it at
his marriage.
Wedding chariots were not in those days, though I know of Auld Lichts
being conveyed to marriages nowadays by horses with white ears. The
tea over, we formed in couples, and--the best man with the bride, the
bridegroom with the best maid, leading the way--marched in slow
procession in the moonlight night to Tibbie's new home, between lines
of hoarse and eager onlookers. An attempt was made by an itinerant
musician to head the company with his fiddle; but instrumental music,
even in the streets, was abhorrent to sound Auld Lichts, and the
minister had spoken privately to Willie Todd on the subject. As a
consequence, Peter was driven from the ranks. The last thing I saw
that night, as we filed, bare-headed and solemn, into the newly-married
couple's house, was Kitty McQueen's vigorous arm, in a dishevelled
sleeve, pounding a pair of urchins who had got between her and a muddy
ha'penny.
That night there was revelry and boisterous mirth (or what the Auld
Lichts took for such) in Tibbie's kitchen. At eleven o'clock Davit
Lunan cracked a joke. Davie Haggart, in reply to Bell Dundas's
request, gave a song of distinctly secular tendencies. The bride (who
had carefully taken off her wedding gown on getting home and donned a
wrapper) coquettishly let the bridegroom's father hold her hand. In
Auld Licht circles, when one of the company was offered whisky and
refused it, the others, as if pained even at the offer, pushed it from
them as a thing abhorred. But Davie Haggart set another example on
this occasion, and no one had the courage to refuse to follow it. We
sat late round the dying fire, and it was only Willie Todd's scandalous
assertion (he was but a boy) about his being able to dance that induced
us to think of moving. In the community, I understand, this marriage
is still memorable as the occasion on which Bell Whamond laughed in the
minister's face.