Amongst the social features of a bygone age in Edinburgh were the
_bickers_ in which the boys were wont to indulge—that is, street
conflicts, conducted chiefly with stones, though occasionally with
sticks also, and even more formidable weapons. One cannot but wonder
that, so lately as the period when elderly men now living were boys,
the powers for preserving peace in the city should have been so weak as
to allow of such battles taking place once or twice almost every week.
The practice was, however, only of a piece with the general rudeness of
those old days; and, after all, there was more appearance than reality
of danger attending it. It was truly, as one who had borne a part in it
has remarked, ‘only a rough kind of play.’[160]
The most likely time for a bicker was Saturday afternoon, when the
schools and hospitals held no restraint over their tenants. Then it
was almost certain that either the Old Town and New Town boys, the
George Square and Potterrow boys, the Herioters and the Watsoners, or
some other parties accustomed to regard themselves as natural enemies,
would meet on some common ground, and fall a-pelting each other. There
were hardly anywhere two adjoining streets but the boys respectively
belonging to them would occasionally hold encounters of this kind; and
the animosity assumed a darker tinge if there was any discrepancy of
rank or condition between the parties, as was apt to be the case when,
for instance, the Old Town lads met the children of the aristocratic
streets to the north. Older people looked on with anxiety, and wondered
what the Town-guard was about, and occasionally reports were heard that
such a boy had got a wound in the head, while another had lost a couple
of his front teeth; it was even said that fatal cases had occurred in
the memory of aged citizens. Yet, to the best of my recollection—for I
do remember something of bickers—there was little likelihood of severe
damage. The parties somehow always kept at a good distance from each
other, and there was a perpetual running in one direction or another;
certainly nothing like hand-to-hand fighting. Occasionally attempts
were made to put down the riot, but seldom with much success; for it
was one of the most ludicrous features of these contests that whenever
the Town-guard made its appearance on the ground, the belligerent
powers instantly coalesced against the common foe. Besides, they could
quickly make their way to other ground, and there continue the war.
Bickers must have had a foundation in human nature: from no temporary
effervescence of the boy-mind did they spring; pleasant, though
wrong, had they been from all time. Witness the following act of the
Town-council so long ago as 1529: ‘_Bikkyrringis betwix Barnis_.—It
is statut and ordainit be the prouest ballies and counsall Forsamekle
as ther has bene gret bikkyrringis betwix barnis and followis in tymes
past and diuerse thar throw hurt in perell of ther lyffis and gif
sik thingis be usit thar man diuerse barnis and innocentis be slane
and diuisione ryse amangis nychtbouris theirfor we charge straitlie
and commandis in our Souerane Lord the Kingis name the prouest and
ballies of this burgh that na sic bykkyrringis be usit in tymes to
cum. Certifing that and ony persone be fund bykkyrrand that faderis
and moderis sall ansuer and be accusit for thar deidis and gif thai be
vagabondis thai to be scurgit and bannist the toune.’
An anecdote which Scott has told of his share in the bickers which took
place in his youth between the George Square youth and the plebeian
fry of the neighbouring streets is so pat to this occasion that its
reproduction may be excusable. ‘It followed,’ he says, ‘from our
frequent opposition to each other, that, though not knowing the names
of our enemies, we were yet well acquainted with their appearance, and
had nicknames for the most remarkable of them. One very active and
spirited boy might be considered as the principal leader in the cohort
of the suburbs. He was, I suppose, thirteen or fourteen years old,
finely made, tall, blue-eyed, with long fair hair, the very picture of
a youthful Goth. This lad was always first in the charge and last in
the retreat—the Achilles, at once, and Ajax, of the Crosscauseway. He
was too formidable to us not to have a cognomen, and, like that of a
knight of old, it was taken from the most remarkable part of his dress,
being a pair of old green livery breeches, which was the principal
part of his clothing; for, like Pentapolin, according to Don Quixote’s
account, Green Breeks, as we called him, always entered the battle with
bare arms, legs, and feet.
‘It fell that, once upon a time, when the combat was at the thickest,
this plebeian champion headed a sudden charge, so rapid and furious
that all fled before him. He was several paces before his comrades,
and had actually laid his hands on the patrician standard, when one of
our party, whom some misjudging friend had entrusted with a _couteau de
chasse_, or hanger, inspired with a zeal for the honour of the corps
worthy of Major Sturgeon himself, struck poor Green Breeks over the
head with strength sufficient to cut him down. When this was seen,
the casualty was so far beyond what had ever taken place before that
both parties fled different ways, leaving poor Green Breeks, with his
bright hair plentifully dabbled in blood, to the care of the watchman,
who (honest man) took care not to know who had done the mischief. The
bloody hanger was flung into one of the Meadow ditches, and solemn
secrecy was sworn on all hands; but the remorse and terror of the actor
were beyond all bounds, and his apprehensions of the most dreadful
character. The wounded hero was for a few days in the Infirmary,
the case being only a trifling one. But though inquiry was strongly
pressed on him, no argument could make him indicate the person from
whom he had received the wound, though he must have been perfectly
well known to him. When he recovered, and was dismissed, the author
and his brother opened a communication with him, through the medium
of a popular gingerbread baker, of whom both parties were customers,
in order to tender a subsidy in name of smart-money. The sum would
excite ridicule were I to name it; but sure I am that the pockets of
the noted Green Breeks never held as much money of his own. He declined
the remittance, saying that he would not sell his blood; but at the
same time reprobated the idea of being an informer, which he said was
_clam_—that is, base or mean. With much urgency he accepted a pound
of snuff for the use of some old woman—aunt, grandmother, or the
like—with whom he lived. We did not become friends, for the bickers
were more agreeable to both parties than any more pacific amusement;
but we conducted them ever after under mutual assurances of the highest
consideration for each other.’[161]