“You are looking somewhat tired, Erchie,” I said to the old man on
Saturday. “I suppose you were waiter at some dinner last night?”
“Not me!” said he promptly. “I wasna at my tred at a’ last nicht; I was
wi’ Jinnet at the Clachnacudden conversashion. My! but we’re gettin’
grand. You should hae seen the twa o’ us sittin’ as hard as onything
in a corner o’ the hall watchin’ the young yins dancin’, and wishin’
we were hame. Och, it’s a fine thing a conversashion; there’s naething
wrang wi’t; it’s better nor standin’ aboot the street corners, or
haudin’ up the coonter at the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults. But I’ll tell ye
whit, it’s no’ much o’ a game for an auld couple weel ower sixty, though
no’ compleenin’, and haein’ their health, and able to read the smallest
type withoot specs. I wadna hae been there at a’, but Macrae, the nicht
polisman that’s efter Jinnet’s niece, cam’ cravin’ me to buy tickets.”
“‘I’m no’ a Clachnacudden native,’ says I till him. ‘If it was a reunion
o’ the natives o’ Gorbals and district, it micht be a’ richt, for that’s
the place I belang to; and if a’ the auld natives cam’ to a Gorbals
swaree I micht get some o’ the money some o’ them’s owin’ me. But
Clachnacudden!--I never saw the place; I aye thocht it was jist yin o’
thae comic names they put on the labels o’ the whisky bottles to mak’
them look fancy.’
“Ye’ll no’ believ’t, but Macrae, bein’ Hielan’ and no’ haein richt
English, was that angry for me sayin’ that aboot Clachnacudden, that he
was nearly breakin’ the engagement wi’ Jinnet’s niece, and I had to tak’
the tickets at the hinder-end jist for peace’ sake. Jinnet said it was
a bonny-like thing spilin’ Sarah’s chances for the sake o’ a shillin’ or
twa.
“So that’s the wye I was wi’ the Clachnacudden chats. Dae ye no’ feel
the smell o’ peat-reek aff me? If it wasna that my feet were flet I
could gie ye the Hielan’ Fling.
“But thae natives’ reunions in Gleska’s no’ whit they used to be.
They’re gettin’ far ower genteel. It’ll soon be comin’ to’t that ye’ll
no’ can gang to ony o’ them unless ye have a gold watch and chain, a
dress suit, and £10 in the Savin’s Bank. It used to be in the auld days
when I went to natives’ gatherin’s for fun, and no’ to please the
nicht polis, that they were ca’d a swaree and ball, and the ticket was
four-and-six for yoursel’ and your pairtner. If ye didna get the worth
o’ your money there was something wrang wi’ your stomach, or ye werena
very smert. Mony a yin I’ve bin at, either in the wye o’ tred, or
because some o’ Jinnet’s Hielan’ kizzens cam’ up to the hoose in their
kilts to sell us tickets. There was nae dress suits nor fal-lals aboot a
reunion in thae days; ye jist put on your Sunday claes and some scent on
your hanky, wi’ a dram in your pocket (if ye werena in the committee),
turned up the feet o’ your breeks, and walked doon to the hall in the
extra-wide welt shoes ye were gaun to dance in. Your lass--or your wife,
if it was your wife--sat up the nicht before, washin’ her white shawl
and sewin’ frillin’ on the neck o’ her guid frock, and a’ the expense
ye had wi’ her if ye werena merried to her was that ye had to buy her a
pair o’ white shammy leather gloves, size seeven.
“A’ the auld folk frae Clachnacudden in Gleska were at thae swarees, as
weel as a’ the young folk. Ye were packed in your sates like red herrin’
in a barrel, and on every hand ye heard folk tearin’ the tartan and
misca’in’ somebody at hame in Clachnacudden. The natives wi’ the dress
suits that had got on awfu’ weel in Gleska at the speerit tred or
keepin’ banks, sat as dour as onything on the pletform lettin’ on they
couldna speak the tartan. Ithers o’ them--that had the richt kind o’
legs for’t--wad hae on the kilts, wi’ a white goat-skin sporran the size
o’ a door-bass hung doon to their knees foment them, haudin’ in their
breaths in case the minister wad smell drink aff them, and tryin’ to
feel like Rob Roy or Roderick Dhu.
“In thae days they started oot wi’ giein’ ye tea and a poke o’ fancy
breid--penny things like London buns and fruit-cakes; and between the
speeches oranges were passed roond, and wee roond hard sweeties, fine
for pappin’ at the folk in front. Ye aye made a guid tea o’t, the same
as if’ ye never saw tea in your life afore, and preferred it weel biled.
“When the tea was bye and the boys were blawin’ as much breath as they
had left into the empty pokes, and bangin’ them aff like cannons,
the chairman wad stand up on the pletform and make a speech aboot
Clachnacudden. I used to ken that speech by hert; it was the same
yin for a’ the natives’ reunions. He said that Clachnacudden was the
bonniest place ever onybody clapped eyes on. That the Clachnacudden men,
were notorious a’ ower the world for their honesty and push, and aye got
on like onything if they were tryin’, and didna tak’ to the drink; and
that the Clachnacuddem lassies were that braw, and nice, and smert, they
were lookit up to every place they went. When he said that the natives
o’ Clachnacudden kent fine it was the God’s truth he was tellin’ them,
they got on their feet and waved their hankies and cheered for ten
meenutes.
“Havin’ taken a drink o’ watter frae the caraffe at his side--efter
makin’ a mistake and tryin’ to blaw the froth aff the tumbler--the
chairman then begood generally to say that Gleska was a gey cauld,
sooty, dirty, wicked place for onybody to hae to live in that had been
born in the bonny wee glens, and the hulls, and hedges, and things aboot
Clachnacudden, but still=
```’Their herts were true, their herts were Hielan’,
```And they in dreams beheld the Hebrides.’=
At that ye wad see the hale o’ the Clachnacudden folk puttin’ whit was
left o’ their pastry in their pouches and haudin’ their hankies wi’
baith hands to their e’en to kep the tears frae rinnin’ on their guid
waistcoats or their silk weddin’-goons. And the droll thing was that for
a’ they misca’d Gleska, and grat aboot Clachnacudden, ye couldna get yin
o’ them to gang back to Clachnacudden if ye pyed the train ticket and
guaranteed a pension o’ a pound a week.
“Clachnacudden bein’ Hielan’, they aye started the music efter the
chairman’s speech wi’ a sang frae Harry Linn ca’d ‘Jock Macraw, the
Fattest Man in the Forty-Twa,’ or some ither sang that kind o’ codded
themsel’s. Then the minister made a comic speech wi’ jokes in’t, and
tried to look as game as onything; and the folk frae Clachnacudden
leaned forrit on their sates and asked the wifes in front if they had
mind when his mither used to work in the tawtie field. ‘Fancy him a
minister!’ says they, ‘and tryin’ to be comic, wi’ his mither jist yin
o’ the Mac-Taggarts!’ A’ the time the puir minister was thinkin’ he was
daein’ fine, and wonderin’ if ‘The Oban Times’ was takin’ doon a’ his
speech.
“And then a lot o’ nyafs in the back sates aye began to heave
orange-peelin’s at folk that was daein’ them nae hairm.
“Efter the swaree was ower, the weemen went into the ladies’ room to
tak’ aff their galoshes, and tak’ the preens oot o’ their trains, and
the men went ower to the Duke o’ Wellington Bar, rinnin’ like onything,
for it was nearly eleeven o’clock. The folk the hall belanged to started
to tak’ oot the sates for the dancin’, and sweep the corks aff the
floor; and at eleeven prompt the Grand Merch started. Whiles they had
Adams’s or Ilfs band, and whiles they jist had Fitzgerald, the fiddler
that used to play on the Lochgoilhead boat. It didna maitter, for a’
the Clachnacudden folk were fine strong dancers, and could dance to
onything. Man! I aye liked the Grand Merch. The man wi’ the reddest
kilts aye started it at the Clachnacudden, and when the Grand Merch got
a’ fankled, they jist started ‘Triumph,’ and did the best they could.
“That was in the grand auld days afore they got genteel. Nooadays, as
I’m tellin’ ye, it’s a’ conversashions, and they work aff their speeches
on ye wi’ no tea at a’ and no pokes o’ pastry, nor naething. Ye’re no
use unless ye hae the lend o’ a dress suit, and your pairtner has to
‘hae pipe-clyed shoon, a muslin frock no’ richt hooked at the neck, her
hair put up at Bamber’s, and a cab to tak’ her hame in. It’s naething
but the waltzin’. I’m prood to say I never waltzed in a’ my born days,
though they say I have the richt kind o’ feet for’t, me bein’ so lang
at the waitin’. And a’ they auld classic dances, like La-va and the
Guaracha Waltz and Circassian Circle’s oot o’ date \ I havena even seen
Petronella for mony a day.
“And the music’s a’ spiled; it’s a’ fancy music they hae noo, wi’ nae
tune ye can sing to’t as ye gang up the back or doon the middle. Ye’ll
see them yonder wi’ their piano, three fiddles, and a cornet. If I was
gaun to hae a cornet I wad hae a cornet and no’ a brass feenisher.
“Ye’ll no’ see ony o’ the dacent auld Clachnacudden folk at their modern
reunions; the puir sowls has to bide at hame and gang to their beds
early that they may get up in time to mak’ a cup o’ tea for their
dochters that was at the conversashion. No; Jinnet and me’s no’ keen on
Clachnacudden or onything o’ the kind nooa-days: we wad faur sooner stay
at hame and read ‘The Weekly Mail.’”