The Horsieman

by Ducan Williamson

  Cousin John really became my good pal, for all the years I knew him. We had our bit fight later, but he was a great friend to me and taught me an awful lot. So I felt ashamed, but it made my auntie quite happy those nights I was there to read her the stories. That Saturday night I sat and read the book to her the whole fairin night and finished it. She was quite happy. The next day, Sunday, John and I walked up the road to see the Highland travellers.

  John said, ‘Come on, we’ll have a crack tae these Hieland folk.’ There was a man in his late sixties and his son-in-law, and they had two gellies. They had a couple of good ponies. But they didn’t have floats. It was Aberdeenshire spindled carts. John said, ‘They’re good carts. These folk’ll no have floats because they dinnae like the rubber tyres.’ When they got a puncture they couldn’t fix them. Rubber tyres weren’t very common in these days. The old man had a white horse and his son-in-law, a young man a wee bit older than us with a couple of kids, had an old, thick garron with a short tale. It was fat and it was smart-looking. John said, ‘That’s been among the travellers for a long, long while. That’s a guid old horse that.’ So we cracked to them for a while and they asked where I came from.

  I told him, ‘Argyllshire.’

  And oh, the old man kent Argyllshire fine, ‘Oh, years ago, laddie I was doon that way,’ he said. ‘And round Fort William, roond by Oban and that.’ The old man talked about Oban to me and I’d never been there in my life at that time. They came from Inverness. And Inverness to me then was foreign. But they were very nice folk. John asked them if they were going to the market.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘we’ll go to the market all right. But we’ll just go and see, we’re no takin nae horses wi us.’ But anyway, time passed by.

  Monday morning. Cousin said to me, ‘I’m takin my horse into market today.’

  I said, ‘Are ye gaun to sell it?’

  ‘No,’ I’m no goin tae sell it,’ he says. ‘I’ll prob’ly swap it awa if I see something that suits me.’

  So we yoked it up. Oh, I gave him a help and put the harness on it. Funny how light the harness was compared to the one I used to work with on the farm horses. John jumped up on the float, tellt me to jump up beside him. We drove into market. And his mother was coming, she was wanting off at the shop. We left her in the town. She said she was going to take the bus back. So we drove right into the main street. This wee pony could fairly go. It was as fat as a pig. It had a silver tail and mane and could fairly trot. It wasn’t big, about thirteen hands. He went up these side streets and through this street, past the buses. Oh, I was amazed how he could handle this pony in among the traffic. We landed into the market. There was this big, long passageway and a big place on each side. It’s still a market today, for sheep. Even the ring where they sell cattle today is still the same old horse market. In the 1940s horses came from all over. There were horses came on a Friday, Saturday and a Sunday from Inverness, from Killin, from all over the country. They came by truck. And there was a special man in the market who fed, watered and took care o them over the weekend to be ready for the sale on Monday. And then the men came to buy horses for slaughter. Nobody would give a damn, ken. You could buy it and send it for killing just as if you were killing a sheep or a cow at this present moment. There were no restrictions of any kind! Some of the most beautiful horses you ever saw went for horse meat. John tried to explain this to me.

  I said, ‘There should be a law against it.’

  ‘No,’ he says to me, ‘you can dae nothing; there’s nae law against it.’

  You could buy them at six a penny and sell them, turn them over in the same day for slaughter. And they were killed, young horses, foals, colts, anything went for meat. I felt ashamed at this. I wished I could have bought the whole bloody lot. So we loosened John’s horse out and he tied it up, took the harness off and flung it on top of his wee float. It was early, nine o’clock in the morning.

  He said, ‘They’ll no be many folk in yet.’ There were a couple of travellers with ponies, but they were standing cracking to each other. John said hello to them. But I didn’t speak to anybody I didn’t know. So John says, ‘Eh, I’ll have a walk up tae these pens.’ They were like cattle pens full of ponies! There were stalls of ponies downstairs and upstairs, double-decker. There were piebalds and donkeys of all description. Then there was a part just for the Clydesdales, colts and then mares – I never saw so many horses in all my life! So he says to me, ‘I’ll have a walk here and see if I can see onything that suits me. You have a walk up. The sale’ll be startin in a wee while.’

  So I walked up and down and I came back to where John’s pony was tied. It was okay. He had flung a handful of hay to it, it was eating off the top of the float. And here’s these two traveller men. They must have bought a carry-out, because the pubs weren’t open. And they were standing trying to deal with each other. Now I didn’t want to interfere.

  I didn’t know the men from Adam, but I wanted to listen to see what they were doing. This one was a wee bit older than the other, a man maybe in his fifties. And the younger one would have been in his thirties. But I kent they were travellers the way they carried on, with their weather-beaten faces and their clothes a wee bit disorderly.

  He says, ‘Come on then! Jump up and gie me a bit hurl and see what it can dae.’ I stepped back. Now he had this pony yoked into a wee float and he jumped up on the float and pulled the reins up! The other man jumped up on the other side and he drove it away up to the top of the pen, whirled it round and drove it right back down. He stopped, jumped off.

  ‘Now,’ he says, ‘does that please ye? Wha’ dae ye think noo?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ the man says, ‘it’s no bad, no bad. But, he, it’s a wee bit wee for me.’

  ‘Aye, it might be a wee bit wee for ye, but it’s young,’ he says, ‘and I’m needin the money.’ And then they started arguing. I could hear some of the words but not them all. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘are ye interested or are ye no interested? Tell me the truth – dinnae waste ma time.’

  The young man says, ‘I’m interested in it.’

  ‘Well, come on, hoo can me and you deal?’ he said. ‘I’m needin the price o a drink!’

  ‘Well,’ he said ‘ye’ve seen mine.’ Now I’m standing against the wall, you see, smoking this fag. And the men thought I was maybe a country laddie.13 They never paid attention to me, because I was clean and tidy. I always went that way when I was young. There never was a day I didn’t wash myself and keep myself clean. I always carried spare clothes.

  The old man said, ‘Gie me a haud o yir hand then, laddie!’ And the lad held out his hand. This is a pantomime, funny to me. Now I’d have given the world if my cousin could have come, so’s he could have translated to me what was going on. I couldn’t see him, no way. But I’m listening. He said, ‘Gie me a haud o yir hand!’ So he catcht the young man’s hand. ‘Come on. If ye’re really interested,’ he says, ‘in this, I’ll tell you what I’ll dae wi ye. [SLAP] Gie me five pound and yir yoke fir mine, straight through, one for each other.’

  ‘No,’ the laddie says, ‘no! I couldnae dae it, I couldnae gie ye five pound.’

  ‘Well, let me hear ye!’ he said. ‘A biddin man’s a buyin man. Let me see, what do you think?’

  ‘Well,’ the young man said, ‘I havenae much money, but I’ll tell ye what I’ll dae wi ye. Haud yir hand! I’ll [SLAP] I’ll gie ye three pound aboot, and yokes.’

  The old man says, ‘No. No, no! No, it’s nae good.’

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘that’s aa I can dae. I cannae go another penny, I havenae got it.’ The old man walked up and he hemmed and hawed again. And I saw by the way he was walking up and down he definitely had something on his mind. So he walked back again and they stood and cracked. And they started arguing about some problem. I didn’t want to get involved.

  But then the old man catcht him, ‘Come here, then!’ he says. ‘Come here, dinnae go awa like that. You bid me three and I asked you five. Come on [SLAP] g
ie me four pound and we’ll call it a deal!’

  The young man said, ‘No, I never gied a man in my life what he asked for.’ He said to the old man, ‘Haud yir hand.’ Now this is queer to me. I was as if at this present day sitting watching television, all exciting to me. I had never seen this before. He said, ‘I’ll split the difference wi ye – I’ll gie ye three pound ten and I wouldnae gie ye another penny as a swap aboot and yokes! One for each other.’

  The old man says, ‘Right. Put it there!’ [SPIT] And he spit in his hand. [SLAP] And they made a deal. Now,’ he says, ‘come on.’

  He paid him three pound and across the street to the pub. It was just opened and they walked across.

  ‘Well,’ I said to myself, ‘I never saw something like that!’ Now I want to tell my cousin about this. But by the time I walk up here I meet him at this pen, and he’s aside this pony. He was looking around this pony in a wee pen to itself. It wasn’t a heavy-built horse. It was light made, but it wasn’t thin. He’s lifting its feet and chapping its feet with his hand. I came up and leaned over the top of the gate. The gates weren’t very high, just so the horses couldn’t jump out. ‘Well, did you get something that you fancy?’ I said.

  And he looked up. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  I said, ‘Aye.’

  He said, ‘Whaur were ye?’

  ‘I was doon there. I saw a couple of travellers and they were swappin horses.’

  ‘Ach, they’re always at it,’ he said. ‘You’ve never seen nothing yet. It’s no started yet.

  ‘The queerest folk in the world,’ I said, ‘John.’

  He said, ‘What was queer?’

  I said, ‘They were slapping each others’ hands, spittin and slappin.’

  ‘That’s their dealin,’ he says. ‘That’s their deal. These folk, that’s their bond. They cannae read or write and there nae pen and paper with them. The’re nae bill o sales or nothing. That’s what they dae. Once their deal’s made that’s it! There’s no comin back with them. He’ll prob’ly go into the pub and drink that three pound ten.’ I had tellt John about the deal. He said, ‘I hope you didnae interfere with them.’

  ‘No-o-o,’ I said. ‘I didnae interfere, I didnae ken nothing aboot them, what they were doin. I was only a bystander.’ In fact, I wasn’t even supposed to be listening to them. See, travellers are a queer lot. It they were having a deal with each other they hated anybody to listen in, especially if you owned a horse. Because if you already knew how much the man had got and what the horse was costing him, then it was unfair if he tried to swap you this horse to yours. So it was a policy among travellers if you saw somebody dealing, you turned your back or walked away, didn’t interfere. It was none of your business. That’s why they actually pulled each other aside. It’s the same at the present moment. If you’re going to deal with somebody about a motor you don’t deal in the open, but quietly, so’s nobody’s going to ken. If somebody overhears what I buy a thing for, they’re not going to give me a profit onto it. But they weren’t so hard against country folk,14 a traveller man and a country man dealing. Travellers liked to see them dealing, although they wouldn’t interfere. They liked to see the reaction of the country man against the traveller, and the traveller pitting his wits against the country man. I’ve seen many’s a time when two men could not reach a deal. A traveller man standing by would come up.

  He’d say to the man, ‘Well, are you finished?’

  He would reply, ‘Well, I could dae nothing with him.’

  Now he would say, ‘Are you sure you’re finished?’ He would ask twice.

  And the traveller man would say, ‘Well, you go ahead. I’m finished wi him, I can dae nothing with him.’

  Then the other traveller would come in and say, ‘Well, if you cannae deal with him, how about me and you haein a bit trade?’ It started all over again. That could go on for five or six folk before a deal was made.

  But anyway, I said to my cousin, ‘You got something?’

  ‘I like this horse,’ he says, ‘an awfae lot. It’s no very old, but it’s been workin. I think it’s broken in. But I ken the man that owns it. He’s been at me once or twice, but I haena seen him yet. He’s prob’ly knocking about.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I wouldna ken him.’

  ‘No, you’ll no ken him,’ he says. ‘But were you up at the ring? I think the sale’s started.’

  I said, ‘No, I wasn’t up at the ring.’

  ‘You go up there and take the first door to your right, and,’ he said, ‘gae in there. You’ll see a big ring full of sawdust and you’ll see all the folk, and a lot of seats. Go in there and pass the time. I’ll search and listen to them getting sellt. You’ve never seen a horse getting sellt?’

  I said, ‘No, I’ve never seen a horse gettin sellt before in my life.’

  ‘Eh, and I’ll have a wee bit walk up, aboot,’ John says. ‘This is what I’m interested in, this horse here. I’ll no be buyin naething in the ring. If I dinnae get this ane I’ll prob’ly keep my ain. Did you see plenty horses noo?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I’ve seen plenty horses, you’ve nae idea.’

  ‘Pro’bly half of them you’ve seen today’ll go for slaughter,’ he said. ‘Half of these beautiful horses . . . But dinnae be too long because I’m goin for a cup of tea. Come back in a wee while. If I dinnae see you I’ll come lookin for you.’

  I said, ‘Right.’ So this is strange to me. I walked up and I met this man. He had this hankie tied around his neck. I didn’t know he was a dealer. He had red boots on him and a whip in his hand. I said, ‘Eh, whaur are they sellin the horses, mister?’ And he looked at me. ‘Whaur are they sellin the horses aboot?’

  He said, ‘Are ye interested?’

  I said, ‘Aye, I’m interested.’

  He said, ‘Can I sell ye something?’

  I said, ‘No. I want to see where they’re selling the horses in the ring.’

  He said, ‘Go in that door to your left there, first door, gae in and you’ll get the ring.’

  As I walked in the people called ‘runners’ were running the horses around the ring. A young laddie went to the stall, took the horse out and ran it round the ring so’s that everybody could see it. There was a big high railing all around. The horse couldn’t get near you, or you near the horse. The seats were high up, built like a picture hall. But the seats were built behind each other so’s you werenae in each other’s road. You could also stand round the railing in the front to get as close to the animal as possible. There were women in riding breeches, there were lassies and there were men, old men, people with books in their hands with catalogues, with all the horses listed and all the numbers. There were horse dealers and travellers galore, all round this ring watching these ponies getting sellt.

  As I landed in, in came this horse. Oh, it was a beautiful pony. I didn’t know much about horses then, but it was a pony about fourteen hands, a piebald, black and white, a mare. And this laddie was running her round. I wished I had had money. Now the auctioneer sat up on a high stool and he had a wooden mallet. There was a form in front of him and a table. Now I had never heard an auctioneer selling horses before in my life. I got in, I crushed into this wee space close to the fence. And I’m leaning over. This laddie about fifteen or sixteen ran this pony round, trying to make it run.

  Then the auctioneer started, ‘Come on now, ladies and gentlemen, now! Here we are. Here’s a nice four-year-old piebald mare. Warranteed sound. Free from vice, free from all road traffic. Work in single or double harness.’ It was really broken in for everything. ‘And very quiet with children, and quiet in the saddle. What am I bid for her, then? What am I bid? Any advance on fifteen pound?’

  This old man I was watching had a newspaper in his hand. He held up the paper, ken, that’s what they did.

  ‘I’m bid sixteen pound. Sixteen pound I’m bid, sixteen pound. I am bid sixteen pound.’

  And another man in another corner, ‘Seventeen pound.’

  ‘Sevente
en pound, seventeen pound I’m bid. I’m bid seventeen pound.’ And then he went on from seventeen to eighteen, ‘Eighteen pound I’m bid, eighteen I’m bid, any advance on eighteen pound? At eighteen pound!’ Chap with his mallet. ‘Sold at eighteen pound.’ And that was dear at eighteen pound. I’d wished I’d had that money, I’d have bought that horse. I thought to my ownself, when I worked on the farm back in Argyllshire it would have taken me nearly six months at half a crown a day to get eighteen pound. So I watched more ponies getting sellt and I’m fascinated. They’re all ponies. The dearest horse there that day was about twenty-six pound. There were mares and foals, there were Shetlands, there were donkeys. They were going for very little, but it was a lot of money then.

  So I said, ‘I think I’ll go and look for my cousin John.’ I walked back out the door and down I went. I met him standing with this wee gadgie, a man. He wasn’t very big, about five foot. He had the clearest blue eyes I ever saw in my life. He looked straight at me and John introduced me.

  ‘This is my cousin from Argyllshire.’

  And the wee man said to me, ‘Have you any ponies?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I have no ponies, sir. I’ve nae ponies.’

  ‘No,’ John said, ‘this is the first time he’s ever been in market in his life. He disnae have any ponies.’

  He says to me, ‘How are the ponies selling? Were you in the ring?’

  I said, ‘I didna ken hoo they’re sellin. They’re no very dear. They’re goin very cheap.’

  He said, ‘What do you call cheap?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I saw a beautiful pony gettin sellt for eighteen pound.’

  He said, ‘That’s kind o dear.’

  John tellt him, ‘This is my cousin from Argyll, and this is his first time in the market. Eh, he disna ken very much about horses. He’s stayin with me for a while.’ So he and John talked. But he was the best looking wee man ever I saw in my life. And he was so civil and so nicely spoken. You could take to him right away. And he had this hankie, this tartan, what they called a ‘muffler’ tied across his neck. But he wasn’t a traveller. He was a country gadgie.