Jessie's Journey

by Jess Smith

  Soon, though, after a fit of giggling, fear of the dark gave way to sleep, and peace ruled in the quiet night. Then, somewhere in the surrounding blackness, a deep, throaty growl was heard by the half-sleeping Shirley.

  ‘Oh my God, what in Rabbie’s name was that?’ Shirley pushed her back into Chrissie’s belly.

  ‘You stupid bugger, you knocked the wind out from me!’

  ‘Did you hear it, the growling, did you f---ing hear it?’

  ‘Shirley, for the love of God, lassie, if the folks hear you cursing like that...’

  ‘Never mind that. There’s something in the night, out there in the pitch. Can you feel its presence?’

  The two girls lay huddled close together, straining their ears and listening. They didn’t have long to wait, when suddenly a bloodcurdling growl shook the leaves on the whispering silver birch trees. Two hooting hoolits spread their wings and glided up and over the bus.

  ‘Oh God, Shirley, you’re right enough, it’s a monster, let’s run into the bus!’

  ‘No, if we do, Daddy will say we’re making it up!’

  ‘I’m willing to take a leathering, rather than face whatever is lurking out there.’

  As my two sisters sat almost glued together, staring into the darkness, a movement in the trees made Chrissie shoot like a bullet beneath the tartan rug while Shirley stiffened with fear. Now, readers, when she did this, a strange form of temper would come on her. Instead of running like the clappers, as any normal teenager would do, my big sister faced whatever or whoever was responsible for her terrified state. This is exactly what she did now.

  She ripped off her long cotton gown and ran screaming, mother-naked, into the night towards the beast! Lunging, she grabbed its arm, and with the strength of a dozen big men flung the mesmerised creature straight into the River Tummel! ‘Get back where you came from!’ she screamed. ‘Frighten me, would you, you bastard, I’ll give you frightening wee lassies.’

  That wasn’t the end of it. Oh no, she decided to give it one more kick. So into the freezing river she went. ‘Come out here right now and fight like a man!’ By now her temper was totally out of control. Foam came from her mouth, her eyes rolled in their sockets and her body began to shake. The dripping monster was struggling for breath as it spat clumps of river reeds from its mouth. It crawled onto the bank coughing and spluttering. She let out a kick.

  ‘Help, stop it, Shirley! It’s me, Uncle Joe, I was only joking you!’

  ‘Look at the state of you, lassie,’ said Mammy, who along with the rest of us had been awakened by Shirley’s screams. ‘Get some clothes on yourself,’ she added, wrapping a coat round her dripping daughter’s shoulders. ‘And as for you, Joe, you should have known better. Don’t you remember what she did to big Macallum’s nose?’

  Well, reader, who could forget that poor big man! We were up visiting with Auntie Maggie in Aberfeldy, when the said man decided to tickle Shirley’s feet sticking out the back door of wee Fordy. Oh yes, folks, that’s right, you’ve guessed. As fear gripped her, she kicked out and duly broke the gadgie’s (man’s) nose! The moral is, don’t play bogeyman on our Shirley!

  One good thing came from that incident on the banks of the Tummel—the lassies never again asked to sleep in the bus-boot bed! Well, who knows, if another monster came a-creeping it might not have been a friendly uncle.

  With another winter soon to be upon us we headed for Crieff, the Perthshire town surrounded by tattie fields, neep fields and farms, and where there was—yuk—a school.

  10

  THE MIXI RABBIT

  Here we are, then, in a cosy wee bit at the foot of Tomaknock hill, surrounded by the fields of Dollerie. Tattie-lifting is in full swing, and I’m imprisoned in Crieff Junior Secondary School. This is what I remember from that winter.

  My father came in, slumped down in his chair, shifted his bunnet to the back of his head and said, ‘there’s not a rabbit living without two swelt eyes. Every place I turn the craturs are blindly wandering all over, bumping into everything. Pain, they’re in awful pain. It’s a bad thing right enough. Six year in the war, never have I seen such awfulness.’ He heaved a sigh that seemed to come from far in his soul.

  I couldn’t understand why a man who killed rabbits and fed his family on them should be bothered one way or the other, and told him so.

  ‘I never thought the sight of a live rabbit would put you into such a state, seeing as you make a living from killing them,’ I said.

  ‘That’s got nothing to do with it, Jess. I kill them quick.’

  ‘Aye, but now the Mixi fly does it for you.’ I never usually spoke back to my father.

  Daddy picked his stare very carefully and said, ‘Have you seen one yet?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, my lass, knowing how you go mental with your cousin Grant for cutting worms for fishing, I suggest you take a cycle ower the Braidhaugh, it’s full of it there.’

  Cousin Grant was a first-class fisherman. Even from the earliest age he knew all about where to fish and when. He was my Auntie Jenny’s oldest son and lived in Muthill. Sometimes he’d come travelling with us. Mammy loved having him. Not only was he a perfect gent, but he was, what was sorely lacking in our home, a boy!

  Daddy described how, as he’d done for years, he had approached the usual farmers to do the rabbiting with his snares and gun, only to be told they now had far better, and cheaper, ways than his.

  ‘Aye, man,’ said the farmer, beaming. ‘I’m right pleased, a rare wee fly inserted deep inside the burrow, and before you know, it’s spread a deadly disease through the whole lot of them. Isn’t it great?’

  The proud farmer then took my Dad up on the braeside to see for himself. The sight had him coming home grey-coloured, with no stomach for his supper.

  ‘Yes, that’s a terrible sight. Some unnatural body discovered that method of vermin control. He’ll not be missed on judgement day, I can tell you, and I hope I’m there to see it.’

  Next day, I decided to bike it over from Tomaknock and see for myself the dreaded myxomatosis that had perplexed my father so much.

  The Braidhaugh lies to the west side of Crieff by the low Comrie road. Resting my bike against the end of the Earn bridge, I walked on up towards the sprawling fields of Alichmore, seeking out a mixi rabbit. I didn’t have far to go before the nightmarish sight my father spoke of came blindly stumbling through my very legs. The rabbits were dragging pain-wracked bodies and desperately sniffing at runs for one that would lead back to a safe, dark burrow. Swollen red eyes looked so out of place on the usual bundles of grey fur. I wished I hadn’t been so eager to see this sight. I cursed below my breath, for I was too young to do it aloud. But, by God, I was sorely tempted that moment to scream at the top of my voice, ‘WHY?’

  Behind me I heard the sound of feet crunching on grass. ‘This is private ground, who gave you permission to be here?’ I turned to see a big, bunneted man glowering at me, sleeves rolled up, crook in hand, collie dogs slithering round his legs like snakes with feet. The temper was on me, though. I had no fear of the stranger.

  ‘Permission is it? No, I have none, but I see the Devil has his!’ I answered, pointing at the tortured rabbits, blood trickling from their eyes.

  ‘Look, lassie, sure I’m as scunnered as yourself by the disease. I’ve no stomach for unnatural doings, but a shepherd is what I am, and a busy one at that, so if you can get away from here before the gamey comes, I would be grateful.’

  ‘To fiery hell and back with the gamey! I hope he writhes there in agony with scabby eyes for eternity.’ My voice rose higher.

  If my parents had heard the way I addressed this older person I would have got the back of a hand for sure.

  ‘It’s the new way the farmer has of vermin control, and nothing to do with the gamey,’ said my shepherd, before whistling in his collie dogs that had ventured too far from his legs. They obediently gathered at his feet as if they had done the unthinkable.

  He
removed his bunnet, scratched his head, then said, ‘Look, lassie, I can see you’re pained, so I’ll make a promise. If you go now, then I’ll put these craturs out of their misery. I can’t say fairer than that, now can I?’

  The gentle man replaced his tweed cap, reached down, picked up my sick rabbit by the hind legs, and with two chops into the back of its neck, its pain was no more. Then another one, and soon three more pain-free bunnies lay limp at the feet of his faithful sheep dogs.

  ‘There now, lassie, forget the sickness for the time being. No doubt you’ll see a lot more from now on, if it’s a traveller lass you are.’

  ‘I can never forget what is nothing short of a crime against Mother Nature,’ I said, ‘but mark my words, one day she’ll have her revenge. You’re a good man, shepherd. She’ll look kindly on you. God bless you, may you live a long and healthy life.’

  I skipped off down the hillside to find my old bike, feeling that at least a few rabbits had been spared the awful fate that awaited millions. One thing certain, I would never put rabbit in my mouth again, and I didn’t!

  Mammy rowed me for being lippy to the shepherd, but Daddy gave me a toffee penny dainty (out of sight of my mother, of course). ‘You have a tongue in your head, Jessie,’ he said, ‘for such a little one, but mind and use it wisely, and don’t have a go at every gamey you come across. Some do more than you think, looking after the countryside.’

  I smiled at my father’s words and said, ‘If he gives out the mixi fly, then I’ll not miss him whatever he may do!’

  Daddy though, was a worried man: a chunk of his livelihood was gone, and he was finding it harder and tougher to make a shilling. The tattie money, fine though it was, kept us awhiles, but we were getting bigger, food was getting dearer, school clothes were wanted for us four youngest; it meant not nearly enough was coming in and he had to find other ways of making money.

  The summer had no such problems: there was the berry picking and gathering the brock wool. Mammy was hawking and doing fortunes, and, always well maintained, we ate and laughed. But times were changing; the old ways were, like the rabbits, on the decline.

  ‘Jeannie,’ said Daddy, one morning, ‘I’ll have to be making a proper living, one that brings in enough money. All this dodging here and there without a guarantee is no use. I have to earn enough so that we can put by for that rainy day you’re always speaking about.’

  ‘Do you mean that you’re thinking on a house, Charlie?’

  ‘Well, I could be doing just the very thing, hen, though I’ve no intentions of putting my old bus on the market, he stays for the summers.’

  Mammy couldn’t have been any more excited if you’d given her all the lowy (money/fortune) in America!

  ‘Here in Crieff, Charlie, is as good a place as any. Chrissie has the eye of a fine local lad, and the bairns like the school.’

  A visit with his old pal, the very man who owned the ground we were presently living on, secured a piece of it to build Mammy her dream home. Papers were drawn up of plans and the likes, with the help of a friendly lawyer. With assistance from some of Daddy’s brothers and cousins, drainage pipes and foundations were laid. It looked like we were going to winter-settle, like many other travelling folks.

  I sulked, while around me the older lassies could hardly contain themselves. How could they wish to be anchored to one spot? Seeing the same things, day in, day out. What about the hills of Glen Coe, the west coast isles, midden-raking, beach-combing, bluebell woods, campfires? I could go on and never stop, because the list was endless. I tossed so much in bed I had the blankets on and off the floor, and my young sisters shrieking at Mammy to make me sleep somewhere else.

  ‘What’s wrong with you, Jessie?’ asked my parents after supper one night.

  ‘Well, I thought we were supposed to be travelling people. Gadabouts, tinkers, gypsies, hawkers, whatevers?’

  ‘Aye, that we are,’ laughed Mammy. ‘But, child of mine, we’ll always be travelling folks. Just because I want to have a secure warm home, doesn’t mean we’re not what God made us to be.’

  ‘We are what we are, Jessie,’ added Daddy.

  ‘Look,’ I blurted out, ‘surely there’s nothing wrong with our old bus. Is it not warm and secure when the wee stove is roaring away up the lum on a cold winter’s night?’

  ‘It’s not that, Jessie,’ answered Daddy, taking my hand in his, ‘but when we’ve an address, I can find a business. Maybe building or painting, something that will bring in a decent living—you’ll have to understand.’

  I had answered them back once; any more and I’d be getting the back of the hand, but my mouth would not be closed on this issue. After all, wasn’t my future at stake too? ‘I hate this world, so I do, it’s a cruel, cruel place. Mixi rabbits and imprisoned wee lassies, it’s a horrible place, I wish I was dead.’

  The thought of leaving my bus to live in a big house, missing out on my travelling in among the west coast, Oban’s sands, routing through Ruthven Barracks, and the many countless things I seen and done was tearing me apart. Och sure, we would travel in the summer, maybe now and again. But I had seen what happened to a lot of relatives who rooted down. So long as the security of a house was there, they got lazy, missed out April, May, maybe found time to put on the road in June.

  That meant school. God bless and save us, imagine biding in school until then, I’d go pure moich, nothing surer!

  But, as Rabbie Burns remarked, the best-laid plans of mice and men will sometimes gang astray.

  This, however, wasn’t a time for dwelling on the future. No, this was nearing April’s end, lambs were coming and the frost was going. Building my mother’s house just had to wait. Summertime, with all its bonny ways, sang out from the budding trees: ‘Come on, you travelling folks, what are you waiting for? Get on the road again!’

  I was just beaming when Mammy, holding me by the hand, went into school that Friday morning and knocked on the headmaster’s door.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Riley, is it that time already?’ asked D.O. Mclean, Head of Crieff Junior Secondary School. (Remember my visitor when I was in hospital with a broken leg?)

  ‘Aye sir, time to be going,’ she said, then sat down at his insistence.

  ‘As I have said to you many times, these lassies o’ yours, they are clever children, especially Jessie. If I were you, I certainly would think about putting her to Morrison’s. We here at the school could help with funding.’

  The man went on and on about ‘proper education’. I bit my lip and prayed Mammy would get up and go before he could change her mind. There were plenty of friends and relatives who lived in and around the area. I knew for a fact they were more than willing to keep me while the rest of the family travelled. And, God almighty, he wanted me to go to Morrison’s Academy, the snobs’ school!

  ‘You fair gladden my heart when you speak of my lassies like that. And to think that our Jessie is paying attention to her teacher means she is enjoying her lessons. But,’ (and to me this was the biggest ‘but’ in the world) ‘when she reaches the eleven-plus year, then I’ll think seriously on what you say, Mr Maclean.’

  ‘Please do, Mrs Riley, please do that. Here’s the leaving certificate for you. Have a good summer now, will you?’

  ‘Thanks again, sir, the same to yourself,’ said my mother, before adding, ‘Where are you holidaying this year?’

  ‘I’m taking the family up the west coast,’ he answered, rising from his leather chair to open the door for us.

  ‘Well, if Charlie has a mind, we’ll be round the coast ourselves. Might even run into you then?’ Mammy had a lovely way with words, I always thought.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out for the bus, then. Good day, and good health. Oh, talking about health, has the leg healed all right, pet?’ he said, looking my left leg up and down, even although it was my right one that’d been injured.

  ‘Yes sir, it’s doing away fine,’ I answered, thinking back on his visits to the hospital. That was then; now it w
as time to leave school for the whole summer, pure freedom!

  Hello, yahoo and skip-to-ma-loo, she’s got it! The certificate from the headmaster allowing us early leave from school clasped in her hand, Mammy and I walked up the High Street, purchased the day’s messages, then got back home to finish packing.

  When we arrived, Daddy met us, smiling from one ear to another. ‘Jeannie, I took a run over to Perth, met two lads from down by the Borders. They told me most traveller lads are making their fortunes spray-painting.’ He went on and on about all the money men in England were making. ‘When we get back in the autumn, I’ll give this spray-painting serious thought, could be the very thing, eh, Jeannie?’

  Mammy was smiling as she nodded, then got on with the job, as me and my wee sisters bounced up and down on a big rubber tractor inner tube Daddy got from his pal, the farmer. Perhaps he felt guilty not hiring him to do the same vermin control as in the past. Daddy did do his moles for him, though. Thankfully, nobody has yet discovered a flea that can wipe out those wee underground funnel-nosed creatures—not yet, anyway.

  WILLIAM ‘KEITH’ MACPHERSON, 1893–1973. Born at Chattan in Comrie, he was a very gifted poet. When he met you, sure as fate a poem would be penned in your honour. Keith was the proprietor of the Bridgend Garage, and took great delight in driving the school bus through the glens and villages. His poem ‘The Auld Schule Car’ is a classic. It was also a song. It is to his daughter, Maimie Carson, my dear friend, I owe many thanks for allowing me to accompany the above tale of the mixi rabbit with her father’s poem.

  TO A RABBIT

  Wee hoppin’ loupin’ scurrin’ beastie,

  Whiles ham and veal, whiles chicken tasty,

  I think they’ve been a wee bit hasty,

  Plottin yer end.

  Myxomatotis new and nasty,

  My furry friend.

  Tae me, ye’ve been a lad o’ pairts,

  A problem child in a’ the airts,

  They say ye broke some fairmers’ he’rts,