|Well, Erchie; not away on the Fair holidays?” I asked the old man one
July day on meeting him as he came out of a little grocer’s shop in the
New City Road. The dignity of his profession is ever dear to Erchie;
he kept his purchase behind his back, but I saw later it was kindling
material for the morning fire.
“Not me!” said he. “There’s nae Fair holidays for puir auld Erchie, no’
even on the Sunday, or I might hae ta’en the skoosh car doon the wye o’
Yoker, noo that a hurl on Sunday’s no’ that awfu’ sair looked doon
on, or the ‘Mornin’ Star’ ‘bus to Paisley. But Jinnet went awa’ on
Settur-day wi’ her guid-sister to Dunoon, and I’m my lee-lane in the
hoose till the morn’s mornin’. It’s nae divert, I’m tellin’ ye; there’s
a lot o’ things to mind forbye the windin’ o’ the nock on Setturday and
watering the fuchsia. I can wait a municeepal banquet wi’ ony man in my
tred, but I’m no’ great hand at cookin’ for mysel’.
“Did I ever tell ye aboot the time the wife was awa’ afore at a Fair,
and I took a notion o’ a seedcake Duffy’s first wife had to the tea she
trated me to on the Sawbath?
“‘It’s as easy to mak’ as boilin’ an egg,’ says Mrs Duffy, and gied me
the receipt for’t on con-deetion that when I made it I was to bring her
a sample. Something went wrang, and I brought her the sample next day in
a bottle. It was a gey damp seedcake thon!
“I havena been awa’ at a Fair mysel’ since aboot the time Wullie was
in the Foondry Boys, and used to gang to the Hielan’s. I mind o’t fine.
Nooadays, in oor hoose, ye wad never jalouse it was the Fair at a’ if it
wasna for the nae parridge in the mornin’s.
“Ye’ll hae noticed, maybe, that though we’re a’ fearfu’ fond o’ oor
parridge in Scotland, and some men mak’ a brag o’ takin’ them every
mornin’ just as if they were a cauld bath, we’re gey gled to skip them
at a holiday, and just be daein’ wi’ ham and eggs.
“But in thae days, as I was sayin’, the Fair was something like the
thing. There was Mumford’s and Glenroy’s shows, and if ye hadna the
money to get in, ye could aye pap eggs at the musicianers playing on the
ootside, and the thing was as broad as it was lang. Forbye ye didna get
the name o’ bein’ keen on the theatricals if your faither was
parteecular.
“I mind ance I hit a skeely-e’ed trombone, or maybe it was an awfuclyde,
wi’ an egg at Vinegar Hill. The glee pairty--as ye might ca’ him if ye
were funny--chased me as far doon as the Wee Doo Hill. I could rin in
thae days; noo I’ve ower flet feet, though I’ve a warm hert too, I’m
tellin’ ye.
“If ye werena at the Shows in thae days ye went a trip wi’ the steamer
_Bonnie Doon_, and ye had an awfu’ fine time o’t on the Setturday if
ye could jist mind aboot it on the Sunday mornin’. Duffy’s gey coorse,
bein’ in the retail coal trade and cry in’ for himsel’; I’m no’ like that
at a’ mysel’; it widna dae, and me in the poseetion, but I mind ance
o’ Duffy tellin’ me he could never fa’ asleep at the Fair Time till his
wife gave him the idea o’ lyin’ on his left side, and coontin’ yin by
yin a’ the drams he had the night afore. He said it worked on him like
chloryform.
“I hope ye’ll no’ mind me speakin’ aboot drink; it’s awfu’ vulgar
coonted noo, I hear, to let on ye ever heard that folk tak’ it, but in
thae days there was an awfu’ lot o’t partaken o’ aboot Gleska. I’m tellt
noo it’s gaen clean oot o’ fashion, and stane ginger’s a’ the go, and I
see in the papers every Monday efter the Fair Setturday that ‘there has
been a gratifying decrease in the number o’ cases at the Central Police
Court compared wi’ last year.’ I’m that gled! I have been seein’ that
bit o’ news in the papers for the last thirty years, and I hae nae doot
that in a year or twa drunks and disorderlies’ll be sae scarce in Gleska
at the Fair, the polis’ll hae to gang huntin’ for them wi’ bloodhounds.
“It’s a fine thing the Press. It’s aye keen to keep oor herts up. Ye’ll
notice, perhaps, that at every Gleska holiday the papers aye say the
croods that left the stations were unprecedented. They were never kent
to be ony ither wye.
“I daursay it’s true enough. I went doon to the Broomielaw on Setturday
to see Jinnet aff, and the croods on the Irish and Hielan’ boats was
that awfu’, the men at the steerage end hadna room to pu’ oot their
pocket-hankies if they needed them. It’s lucky they could dae withoot.
When the butter-and-egg boats for Belfast and Derry left the quay,
the pursers had a’ to have on twa watches--at least they had the twa
watch-chains, ane on each side, for fear the steamer wad capsize. I says
to mysel’, ‘It’s a peety a lot o’ thae folk for Clachnacudden and County
Doon dinna lose their return tickets and bide awa’ when they’re at it,
for Gleska’s a fine toon, but jist a wee bit owre crooded nooadays.’
“I hae nae great notion for doon the watter mysel’ at the Fair. Jinnet
jist goes and says she’ll tell me whit it’s like. Whit she likes it for
is that ye’re never lonely.
“And ‘it’s that homely doon aboot Rothesay and Dunoon, wi’ the Gleska
wifes hangin’ ower the windows tryin’ as hard as they can to see the
scenery, between the whiles they’re fryin’ herrin’ for Wull. And then
there’s wee Hughie awfu’ ill wi’ eatin’ ower mony hairy grossets.
“But it’s fine for the weans too, to be gaun sclimbin’ aboot the braes
pu’in’ the daisies and the dockens and the dentylions and--and--and a’
thae kin’ o’ flooers ye’ll can touch withoot onybody findin’ fau’t wi’
ye. It’s better for the puir wee smouts nor moshy in the back-coort,
and puttin’ bunnets doon the stanks. They’ll mind it a’ their days--the
flooers and the dulse for naething, and the grossets and the Gregory’s
mixture. It’s Nature; it’s the Rale Oreeginal.
“It does the wife a lot o’ guid to gae doon the watter at the Fair.
She’s that throng when she’s at hame she hasna had time yet to try a new
shooglin’-chair we got at the flittin’; but ‘it’s a rest,’ she’ll say
when she comes back, a’ moth-eaten wi’ the midges. And then she’ll say,
‘I’m that gled it’s ower for the year.’
“That’s the droll thing aboot the Fair and the New Year; ye’re aye in
the notion that somethin’ awfu’ nice is gaun to happen, and naethin’
happens at a’, unless it’s that ye get your hand awfu’ sair hashed
pu’in’ the cork oot o’ a bottle o’ beer.”
“You’ll be glad, I’m sure, to have the goodwife back, Erchie?” I said,
with an eye on the fire-kindlers.
He betrayed some confusion at being discovered, and then laughed.
“Ye see I’ve been for sticks,” said he. “That’s a sample o’ my
hoose-keepin’. I kent there was something parteecular to get on the
Setturday night, and thought it was pipeclye. The grocer in there wad
be thinkin’ I was awa’ on the ping-pong if he didna ken I was a beadle.
Will ye be puttin’ ony o’ this bit crack in the papers?”
“Well, I don’t know, Erchie; I hope you won’t mind if I do.”
“Oh! I’m no heedin’; it’s a’ yin to Erchie, and does nae hairm to my
repitation, though I think sometimes your spellin’s a wee aff the plumb.
Ye can say that I said keepin’ a hoose is like ridin’ the bicycle; ye
think it’s awfu’ easy till ye try’t.”
“That’s a very old discovery, Erchie; I fail to understand why you
should be anxious to have it published now.”
Erchie winked. “I ken fine whit I’m aboot,” said he. “It’ll please the
leddies to ken that Erchie said it, and I like fine to be popular. My
private opeenion is that a man could keep a hoose as weel as a woman ony
day if he could only bring his mind doon to’t.”