The Horsieman

by Ducan Williamson

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I got them from Mrs Sinclair,’ or Mrs such-and-such, tellt him a lie, ken, where I got them.

  ‘That’s okay!’

  So here I go, feel like a lark. Nicked over to the shop. I got an ounce of tobacco, four pence. Two loaves for my mother, tin of milk, half pound of margarine, and what I could get for my two shillings. You got an awful lot for that amount. I wouldn’t buy sweeties of no description. Not if I thought I was denying my mother one single penny. I wouldn’t do it, no way in this world. And I came back up. I was a hero. They were all sitting in the tent. Maybe they were very hungry. Maybe they didn’t have very much. Father didn’t have a smoke. And I had kept tuppence for a whisky bottle full of paraffin oil. That burns for about four days in the wee cruisie. But I had a pension. I knew I had it made and I wasn’t worried.

  Father says to me, ‘Where’d you get the money, laddie?’

  I said. ‘I had some jars. I got some jars. I begged some jars.’ So this was it. And I was thinking about it in the morning again. I couldn’t wait to get back again, back again to the same shed. Now the ones I’d sellt, I built them right back to the board where I’d lifted them, so’s the next day I could take the same dozen back out again. He never catcht me! And I wouldn’t tell God Almighty.

  If my brother Dodie went with me or some of the lassies, I would never go near it. Or if I were with the country laddies I wouldn’t go near it. No, it was my secret and I wouldn’t tell anybody. And, he also had lemonade bottles. He gave a penny for these lemonade bottles with a naked man and a wire on the top, like old gin bottles. He had them stacked in the corner and I could reach out my full arm’s length, and I could only get two or three sometimes. They were built in crates and everyone had a wee space. But I couldn’t reach the crate. I made up my mind I was going to get some of these crates close to the hole some way in the future.

  The next day I went down again and I looked all around. There was the high dyke, and the wee path at the back of the shed. I pulled the board back, and out with a dozen clay jars, the same dozen I had built in! Back again to old Dan with them.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘Dan . . .’

  ‘Oh aye,’ he said. I never went back with him this time. I wouldn’t take them back to the shed every time. I had only taken twelve this time. I left some for myself again. I wasn’t going to be too greedy. He gave me a shilling. And a shilling, I’ll guarantee, it was as good to you then as five pounds now. If you spent it right! So I took the shilling. I put the wee board back into place and shoved a stone against it with my foot, so’s nobody could find it was slack. And back up to my mother.

  I said, ‘Mother, a shilling.’

  She said, ‘My laddie, where’d you get the shilling?’

  I said, ‘I was gatherin blocks along the shore.’ These were roots that came in with the tide, blocks of stick wood.

  There was an old woman, Mrs Gordon, and she was crazy on blocks, tree roots washed in by the tide. I used to walk for miles along the shore gathering all the driftwood and putting it up to dry. And God upon anybody that stole them – brother Dodie used to steal my sticks often! And I used to build up the sticks on the shore off the tide mark. Then, when they were kind of dry, I gathered all the wee ones, or if I could, break the big ones in two. Mrs Gordon was awful fond of blocks to put in her fire. It was the old-fashioned grates. And if they could put an oak block on the fire with a wee bit firewood, it burned the whole fairin night! I used to put my blocks out to dry on the shore. I had two directions – away along the low shore, and the other way around by the pier. But they were never good by the pier, because the dykes were too high. The sticks were always waterlogged, never got washed up far enough. The beach was the best.

  Now I had three different things; some women liked kindlings and some women liked blocks; some women liked bits of sticks. You always had plenty to do! So you kept your bits of sticks till you got a bundle of thick bits, and you left them to dry. You kept your blocks and separated the wee bits that came in with the tide, for the old women who liked kindlings. Old Mrs Gordon wouldn’t take them, she had plenty kindlings. I charged tuppence for a wee bundle of sticks. They would always take them from you! And along with the sticks, you would always say to them, ‘My mother wants a bit kail.’

  The old woman would go to the garden and take two big twists of kail for you. Or if she was digging tatties she would give you the wee ones out of the garden. But I had my beach, and I used to go along the shore and gather my sticks. Now I was thirteen and needing to go back to school for another term. This was February.

  I was a good sized laddie for my age. The school’s high up the brae, and I was down on the shore. It had been a heavy day of rain. The burn was in spate. And all the sticks that came down with the burn got thrown out in the tide, and then the tide would wash them on the shore. And I was busy gathering sticks along the shore, putting them up to dry. I looked up – here’s three big laddies from school, the three biggest laddies from the master’s, Mr Campbell’s class, sent to bring me in! I had absconded for a month, on the run!

  You see, my father and mother weren’t worried. I could read and write enough and I could count. I was a better scholar than the rest of my brothers and sisters, and the village children who were in school. My parents weren’t worried, because I was a source of income to them. They kent fine if I got a penny or a shilling, tuppence or thruppence, I wouldn’t waste it on any rubbish. My brother Dodie would buy a bar of McCowan’s toffee, climb a tree and sit till he ate it before he would bring a penny home. But I wasn’t like that.

  So the three boys were sent, the schoolmaster sent them to arrest me. But I didn’t see the boys until after they had come down the banking. They had short trousers on. I was thirteen and I could fight like big guns! I wasn’t heeding about the three of them. And I had my day planned. I was going to get my sticks out, now I had more dried along the shore. I had Mrs Gordon, Mrs Beattie and Mrs Harrison, I had them all in mind what I was going to give them. I had every day laid out for myself. And I kent which was which and who was getting what. And woe be to anyone who was in my territory! It was worse than a robin in the snow. Dodie daurstna touch them, no way! Touch my sticks – it was murder, because I’d have had him killt.

  I’m just at the burn and I saw this big stick coming down with the burn. I said, ‘He might go away to the tide, go across the sea. I’ll never get him.’ I unbuckled – off with my boots. I’m going out to catch him before he goes too far – big lump of stick that came down the burn. But I left my boots on the banking. I waded out, to keep my boots dry. When I got back to the boots, who was standing there? Here were the three boys waiting on me. Now it’s about eleven o’clock, playtime. Oh, I’d been on the run for about a month . . .

  And the lassies, my sisters were all making excuses for me. But they kent! I was running wild in the village, going along the shore boiling whelks, begging the houses, robbing the gardens – but not doing anything destructive, mind ye! No bad turns. My father and mother didn’t mind because they kent every penny I got was for their sake. And my father kent – I used to sit and read Western stories to him, cowboy books at night-time. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I cannae dae nothing with him.’ He wouldn’t hit me. My mother wouldn’t touch me. Now I was only waiting on one thing, when she would go to Minard till I got my jars. And I robbed the shed at night and sometimes through the day. But I made my mistake going back at night-time. I got too greedy. I took a box of bottles, and the next day I went back– there were fifteen big nails in the back of the shed! That’s another story, though. But he didn’t know it was me!

  Anyway, the three boys came to arrest me for to take me to the schoolmaster, to the school. I said, ‘What is it, boys?’

  They said, ‘We’ve got to take you to school, Duncan.’

  Now I kent I wasnae good enough for all three of them. I put my boots on. ‘Well,’ I said.

  He said, ‘Mr Campbell said we’ve got to take you in. We’re takin you! We wer
e sent for you and we’re takin you in.’ By force they were going to take me in to school.

  There’s nobody in the world is going to take me to school, no way in the world! I wasn’t fourteen till April, you see, when I was legally free to leave. I had a couple of months to go. I was telling them in the school that I was older than I was.

  I said, ‘Look, boys, I’ve left school. I’m fourteen. I was fourteen in January.’ But there was an old woman in the village who was close to the schoolmaster. She had a record on every wean my mother had till the day my mother died. And they kent our age as good as what we did. So I had put my boots on, just bits of boots slipped on my bare feet. ‘Well, boys,’ I said, ‘there’s nothing for it. I’ll have to go to school.’ Now the burn’s in a good spate, and I had it planned. When the minute they mentioned it – I had it planned – up in my head right away. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll go with youse. Nae arguin about it. I’ll go to school. Wait a minute, I’ve got to wash my face.’

  Now, I had a wee bit jacket on me. This was for holding my jars and my eggs and my vegetables. You know, the lining was all torn out. I turned the sleeves, for the inside of the sleeves was the only bit that was clean. I turned the jacket outside in and left it down on the banking.

  They said, ‘Okay.’ As long as I left my jacket, they believed me. And this bloody lad, I mind on him yet!

  I said, ‘I’ll have to wash my face. I’m no gaun to school without washin my face.’ So I got down in the burn and they’re standing on the bank. I waded in the burn. I was trying to wash my face, and I waded out a bit further. I knew they wouldn’t wet their feet! My jacket was still on the banking. I was supposed to dry my face with it, with the sleeves. And when I got a good wee bit in the burn I cut right across! Right across, to the waist. And they flung stones after me. Now they wouldn’t come in, I knew they wouldn’t. And I crossed the burn to the other side. This laddie catcht my jacket, my wee bit jacket, and he flung it right out into the burn. It went away with the spate! I shook my hand at him.

  I said, ‘Ye’ll no catch me! You’ll no get me!’

  ‘We’ll get you,’ they said, ‘when school’s over. We’ll get ye the night-time, when school’s over.’

  I said, ‘Ye’ll no catch me!’ But that’s my jacket gone now. And God knows where I was going to get another. Do you know where I got my jacket? Four days later coming in with the tide! It went down with the burn, out in the sea and in with the tide. I took and put it on a stone to dry. I waited another four days for my jacket to dry. And I still never went to school!

  After the boys had gone back to school that morning, I had waded back across the burn. It was nothing to me going in to the waist. I didn’t worry about water. I was like a duck. Now, I had kent, it was eleven o’clock. They were back in school – playtime was passed. And they tellt the master the whole story what happened, how I’d made a fool of them. Now I’d shamed them, and they were making a plan to give me a touching up, give me a beating. But they never gave me any beating; I got them one at a time after that. And I frightened the life out of the three of them. I was thirteen, sister dear, I was like nails! There was nobody in the world could do anything to me!

  I’ll tell you what records I held with the laddies in school: now I’m not exaggerating! I held the record for the highest jump, jumping over the high banking, because I jumped over the Furnace bridge into the water. And there was nobody would follow me! That was one record. I had the record for climbing the highest tree, up to the top, well you couldn’t go any further. No laddies would follow me, you know! See, if you had the record you kept it, nobody could beat it. And I hold it yet! For going over the bridge. And I climbed to the top of the school building, the chimney. And I sat at the back – this is where I was gotten – and this is the story.

  About two days after the attempted arrest, I got kind of wearied. I kent my mother had two-three shillings, so I went to the school. I used to go up and play with the laddies all the time on the school playground, carry on with the lassies, and when the school went in I cut away. I wouldn’t go into school. So it was dinner hour and the weans were out. Somebody was speaking about climbing.

  I said, ‘Right.’ I went up at the back of the school, right up to the top of the building, up the side of the wall, climbed the roan pipe up to the roof, over the roof and right up to the chimney pots. As low as your father and as low as my mother, I’m telling you the God’s truth – I sat on top of the chimney pots. Who came out but Miss Crawfurd! And this wee lassie who used to like me, she stayed on a farm. This laddie shouted, ‘Duncan’s up!’ The lassie held her hand across his mouth, but before she could get her hand across, the teacher looked up and saw me on the pots. She made me come down. I came down, and she put me back into the class in school.

  And I’m sitting, I’m wicked! Now I’ve been two months out of school. It was like taking a wild weasel and putting it in a nest of rabbits! I’m looking for an escape. I’m no interested in what she’s speaking about to me. I’m looking for a way out. I was really wild. I mean, no bad, nae way. I wasn’t bad, wasn’t violent. I wouldn’t hurt a wee wean or anybody, I wouldn’t give anybody cheek. But there was nobody could catch me! And there was no way in the world anybody was going to tie me down! No way.

  The teacher tried to keep me in school. I asked out, to leave the room. No, she wouldn’t let me. Now, they had blinds down on the window. It was late on in the afternoon. The teacher had a big lamp lighted on the roof. She filled the blackboard with writing. And then she wanted the piano shifted from one room to another. This was the God’s truth. She picked the biggest laddies because she always had it shifted back and forward.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, ‘you can help tae.’ Miss Crawfurd. She had glasses on. In her own way she really liked me! I think she envied my freedom. And she says, ‘Come on, Duncan, you’ll help too!’

  I said, ‘Aye, all right, I’ll help too.’ This is the school room here, and there was a long passage going through to her room. And there were the toilets in there and the washhand basin, and there was a door out to the gate, see! And you had to pass by the main door to get into the master’s room, where there was a big room on your right and then a partition for the wee five-year-olds.

  So, we got the piano. Three laddies at the front, three at the back and a laddie at each side. And we put down the lid. Miss Crawfurd was working with the blackboard. The boys are all shoving the piano. I waited till I got level with the door – feesht – and I’m out and off! I never saw that piano again. That was my last time. I only spent about an hour and a half in that class from that time she got me till the minute she shifted that piano. I got rid of her, I was out, over the dyke and off. Off to the shore. And that was me, I never went back in school again. Nobody kent where I went. It was a waste of time trying to tie me up. You couldn’t do it, no!

  So I went away, cut to the shore, begged two or three matches. Down along the shore I tore a wee bit of my jacket, lighted it, gathered wee sticks and kindled a wee fire. I got limpets, got whelks, had my wee fire, sat and ate my meal. Roasted limpets, boiled whelks, and I never used a pin! I got a sharp stick, sharpened it with my teeth, and picked the whelks out of their shells. That was my dinner. I had a tin I’d hid in a bush with a wee wire handle. I held it on the fire with a wee stick and I waited till it came to a boil. Salt water, you boiled them in salt water. My own lonely fire on the shore. And I could kindle a fire, sister dear, you’ve no idea, I could kindle a fire in the middle of the sea! I had this knack, I could kindle a fire on a day of heavy sleet or snow or storms – it was no difference to me. And I could kindle a fire along the shore in any circumstances in any way! I could get things to make a fire where nobody in the world could get them, wee bits of driftwood washed under a rock; or I’d lift a stone and get dry grasses in below. To get a wee blaze started! Once you got a wee blaze, you fed it till it got into a flame. I didn’t have a pot; I had my wee wire, a circle made on the end of it. I put the limpits sitting
in the circle and held them over the fire so they wouldn’t fall off.

  And then one day, it was just about a month before I was fourteen, my mother said to me, ‘Are ye comin wi me, Duncan? I’m gaun up to Adie MacCallum’s. He wants me up to plant a wee puckle tatties.’

  I said, ‘Right, Mammy, I’ll go wi ye.’ Oh, I was glad to get away. Now she had got me a pair of long trousers from the jeweller in Lochgilphead. Long flannels. The first long trousers I ever had in my life. She had been down in Lochgilphead and the jeweller’s wife had given her some rags. In among them was this pair of flannels. He was about my size and they just fitted me to a tee.

  We were just on the road to go up to Adie’s at Auchindrain when we came to the bridge. There’s this man sorting the dyke at the roadside. Now my mother smoked a pipe, she carried a wee cuddy pipe in her pocket. And she cracked to the man. Neil she cried him. He smoked a pipe too.

  She said, ‘Gie me a wee bit tobacco fae ye, Neil, tae fill my pipe.’ He kent her for years since she was a wean.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘Betsy, I’ll gie ye a bit tobacco.’ He gave her a bit. ‘Man,’ he said, ‘that laddie’s fairly growin.’

  ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘that’s Duncan. He’s comin on fine. We’re gaun up tae Adie’s tae plan . . .’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘he hasnae much.’ Neil was building drystone dykes along the side of the road.’

  She says, ‘Ye’re makin a good job there, Neil.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘I’m makin a good job. It’ll be all right.’

  ‘Man’, she said, ‘hoo do ye manage these big rocks, liftin these rocks?’ My mother was only a young woman; bonnie, short, blonde curly hair.

  ‘By God, Betsy, it’s no so easy,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it’s no so easy.

  She said, ‘Could you no get somebody to gie ye a help.’

  ‘Whaur am I gaunna get onybody? I cannae afford nobody tae gie me a help.’

  She said, ‘Duncan’ll gie ye a help if ye’re needin him for a day or two. If ye show him what tae do.’