The Horsieman

by Ducan Williamson

  He said, ‘This is my Katie’s sister’s man, Katie’s good brother.’ He was called Hector Kelby. And he shook hands with me. We came down and put the tent up. The man had this white horse and he liked the way I spoke, you see. He asked me all about Argyllshire and he tellt me he was born at the Baton Farm, in Argyllshire. He had lived in Argyllshire but he hadn’t been down in years. So he and I got on just like we had known each other for life! I never saw two people take to each other like me and him did. And years later we were to become the greatest of friends. The only regret I ever had in my life – when he died I never knew about it.

  So Sandy said to me, ‘That’s wee Hector Kelby, a hardy wee gadgie. See that wee cratur, he can fight like big guns! There no a man in Aberdeenshire would speak tae that wee sowl.’ He was no older than forty-five or so. Big moustache. Smart as a weasel. So after the supper was over we got round his fire. And then the cracks and tales started.

  And ghost tales went on the entire night. Till about two o’clock in the morning with Hector. And then he wanted me to sing to him. And I had to sing. I sang the first song, that was it! He sat up and he made tea, and he made more tea and wanted another song, and he made more tea! And everybody went to their bed while me and Hector sat till daylight. It was summertime. This was the first time that somebody was really interested in me singing to them. And he had two lassies, two laddies and his wife Lizzie. Oh, he was awfully fond of country and western songs, Jimmie Rodgers. He had a gramophone and he had the records.

  The next morning after Sandy and Katie and the crowd got up, they had a bit breakfast and a bit wash. Sandy said he was shifting on to Braemar. He was going to wait there till the games started. And Katie was going to sell heather.

  So old Hector said, ‘Well, I was thinkin o haein a run up tae Braemar wi yese. Prob’ly I’ll no stay as long as that.’ Because it was nearly a month till the games. ‘But I’ll prob’ly come back tae the games. I’ll walk wi yese anyway.’ So the man packed his cart and Sandy packed his wee hand barrow. Hector had this big white horse and a nice spring cart. He turned to Sandy, ‘Sandy, look, I know that laddie’s been wi you fir a guid while and I bet ye he’s pulled that barra every road in Aberdeenshire. Come on wee Sappie, you’ll get yoked in there, you take a shot o the barra!’ And Hector says to me, ‘You go ahead, laddie, and you tak ma horse. I’ll walk wi him, I’ll see he takes the barra.’

  So we made our way to Braemar green. When we landed, there wasn’t a soul, nobody. We stayed for a couple of days and the women did pretty well with baskets and flowers. But I had a yearning to get to Blairgowrie. So I tellt Sandy and Hector I was taking off the next morning. And Hector told me he was at the berries two-three times himself, but he wasn’t going that year. And he tellt me a few things.

  ‘Pro’bly my sister Lizzie and Johnie Whyte, they’ll be there. If ye see them ye’ll be okay.’

  I said, ‘I’ll prob’ly stay two-three days and see how it goes. Then I’ll push on tae Inveraray again and see the auld folk, and I’ll prob’ly come back.’

  ‘Well, I’m goin back tae Aberdeen,’ Hector said, ‘after the summer, efter the games is over. I’ll prob’ly take an auld hoose about Aberdeen, if ye ever come in aboot, mind and look me up!’

  I said, ‘I’ll keep that as a promise.’ So the next morning I left Braemar and made my way over the Devil’s Elbow. This is the first time in my life I’d been this road. I travelled on. It was late in the day before I took off – I’d promised Sandy I would come back again, and wherever he was I would look him up . . .

  He’d tellt me, ‘You’re goin to Blairgowrie, eh? We’ll prob’ly never see ye again fir a while.’

  I’d said, ‘I’ll be back sometime.’

  THOMAS THE RHYMER

  O True Thomas he lay on a Huntly bank

  Beneath an eldin tree

  O when he saw a lady fair

  Comin ridin ower the lea.

  O Thomas he doffed off his hat

  He got down upon his knee,

  He said, ‘Lady you’re the greatest queen

  That ever I did see.’

  ‘O no, o no, o Thomas,’ she said,

  ‘That name does not belong to me

  For I have come from Elfin Land

  And I have come to visit thee!’

  O her mantle it was of the forest green

  And her tresses they were so fair

  And from ev’ry tass of her horse’s mane

  Hung twenty siller bells an mair.

  ‘O mount you up, o Thomas,’ she said,

  ‘An you maun come along wi me

  For I am bound for Elfin Land

  It is very far away!’

  So they rode and they rode, and they merr’ly merr’ly rode

  And it’s merr’ly they rode away

  Antil they came to a red river

  That lay across their way.

  ‘What river is this?’ o Thomas he said,

  ‘O please to me do say!’

  ‘O this is the River of Blood,’ she said,

  ‘That is spilled on this earth in one day!’

  So they rode and they rode, and they merr’ly merr’ly rode

  An merr’ly they rode away

  Antil they came to a crystal river

  That lay across their way.

  ‘What river is this?’ o Thomas he said,

  ‘O please to me do say!’

  ‘O this is the River of Tears,’ she said,

  ‘That is spilled on this earth in one day!’

  So they rode and they rode, and they merr’ly merr’ly rode

  An merr’ly they rode away

  Antil they came to a thorny road

  That lay across their way.

  ‘What road is this?’ o Thomas he said,

  ‘O please to me do tell!’

  ‘O this is the road you must never lead

  For that road it leads to Hell!’

  Then they rode and they rode, and they merr’ly merr’ly rode

  They rode for a night and a day,

  Antil they came to a great orchard

  That lay across their way.

  ‘Light down, light down,’ o Thomas he said,

  ‘O it’s hungry that I maun be!

  Light down, light down,’ o Thomas he said,

  ‘For some fine apples I do see!’

  ‘O touch them not,’ the Elfin Queen said,

  ‘Please touch them not I say!

  For they are made from the curses

  That fall on this earth in one day!’

  Then reachin up into a tree

  Into a tree so high,

  She plucked an Apple from a tree

  As they went ridin by.

  ‘O eat you this, o Thomas,’ she said,

  ‘As we go riding by

  And it will give to you the tongue

  You shall never tell a lie!’

  So they rode and they rode, and they merr’ly merr’ly rode

  And they rode fir a year and a day

  Antil they came to a great valley

  That lay across their way.

  ‘What place is this?’ o Thomas he said,

  ‘O please to me do say!’

  ‘O this is Elfin Land,’ she said,

  ‘And it’s here that you maun stay!’

  So Thomas got some shoes of lovely brown

  And a coat of Elfin green

  And for seven long years and a day

  On earth he was never seen.

  Traditional

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A TRAVELLER HERITAGE

  I wasn’t really interested in picking berries, but in seeing for myself what happened in Blairgowrie. So I made my way, and it got kind of late. I slept in a haystack all night right on the top of the hill, near the Devil’s Elbow. The next morning I made my way down the Spittal o Glenshee and into Blairgowrie, a place they call the Well Meadow. This was a green, a great big open space of ground where the travellers used to loosen out their horses.
There was a pub across from it where the men made all their swaps and deals. If they couldn’t swap at home at the tents, two or three men drove into town, and when they got a drink they went out in the green. When I came into the Well Meadow six or seven horses and carts were loosened out. Horses were tied up to the wheels and the harness flung on the carts. I said, ‘There a lot o traivellers like masel I doot.’ And a bunch of men were standing out on the green and some of them drunk. They were hitting hands [SLAP] ‘Come on noo, come on then, I’ll . . .’ And I knew this was a deal going on. And the country folk in the village paid no attention because they had seen this often, ‘Oh, that’s jist the berry workers fae Blairgowrie.’

  So I walked out a bit of the road. Uncle Sandy had tellt me, ‘Ye’ll see plenty traivellers. Ye’ll be all right, jist jump on the first cairt ye see. Ye’ll get a hurl oot to the berry fields.’ And this man came along with a pony. The man was sober and he was trotting on. He stopped.

  He said, ‘You want a lift, laddie?’

  I said, ‘Aye.’ He had a good bit o thick pony in the cart and he drove up to the berries. This was the first time I was in the Gothens. It was a moor at the other end of Blairgowrie just before you go to Meikleour. There were some large fir trees on this big heathery moor. And there was a big gate where the travellers could go in and put their tents up. You didn’t need permission. Then there were dormitories, tin huts further back next to the farms. They were kept for the local folk who came from Dundee or Glasgow. In these dormitories were running water and toilets. And all the young folk used to come there and pick berries. Couples met and many were married. They had a great life just by meeting at the berries! Some non-travellers came at the time of the Glasgow Fair. When the really poor folk wanted a cheap holiday they came to the Gothens. Maybe they had two-three bairns and they just picked and earned enough money to keep them alive. They enjoyed the countryside. There were trees and fields for evermore, and they enjoyed getting away from the towns for a while.

  But I had got a lift and the man said to me, ‘You goin to the berries?’

  I said, ‘Aye, what kind o crop is the berries this year?’ I had never picked berries before in my life, not domestic ones for sale. And there were these drills with raspberries hanging in clusters, and all these couples, one on each side of the drill picking the fruit with pails. They had these tin luggies tied round their waists.

  So when I came into the camping place I looked round. I’d never seen so many tents in all my life: there were bow tents and there were barricades. There were gellies and there were home-made structures of all description. There were some travellers with horse-drawn wagons, ones with wooden tops and horse-drawn lorries with wee tents built on them. And all these ponies tethered up, I’d never seen so many in my life! Grey ponies and black ones and thin ones, all kinds of horses and dogs running about for evermore! Greyhounds, oh, big greyhounds! So I was lucky, one of my cousins was there and I stayed along with him for a few days to have a look at this berry carry on. But to me it was more exaggerated than what it really was. At night-time, oh, they gathered round a big fire and they started swapping and dealing. But you finally got sick of this through time, you got so used to it. It was a great thing when you heard about it, if you didn’t know much. But after you’d been a time through it and had seen most of it, it didn’t appeal to you the same. There were drunk men coming on stottering on top of fires, arguing with each other and pulling horses by the head, ‘Come tae ye see this! Come tae ye see that!’ And arguments would start and fights and women shouting, kids roaring, bawling.

  But the best day among them all was a Saturday when the berries were finished for the week. It was time for everybody to go to the town. Everybody had a horse. And the man with the speediest one would wait till all the horses were strung out away along the road. Then he would jump on, he and his wife, and one by one he would overtake all these horses on the road. And it’s an awful shaming thing to any person who has a horse – you’re trotting on, sitting driving your horse on the road and all in a minute – another horse overtakes you. Then it overtakes the next one and the next one and the next! And a man would say, ‘By God, that man’s horse can fairly go!’

  Now he was only giving them encouragement, for he had his own idea that everyone he’d passed would be at him for a deal. And he knew fine he could have his own way in a deal because he’d got the fastest horse and everybody would be after it. When he landed in the town the first thing he would stand and loosen the horse out. They’d all gather round and explain how fast this horse would be. ‘Och,’ the man who owned it would say, ‘it’s no nae faster than any other one.’ Probably he turned down about six or seven deals till he got something that suited him, and then he’d swap. And this man who had got this horse faster than all the other ones would wait till the next Saturday coming, and he would do the same thing. Or maybe somebody had got it who wouldn’t part with it; they did refuse to deal too.

  But the thing that was most interesting of all was the dealing round the fires. Then they would take their dogs and all go out to the field. And the first hare that rose they would hunt it with their hounds. Then they’d come back and start swapping among dogs. My cousin took me round all these travellers and introduced me. Some of them I had met before in my travels, some I knew and some I didn’t. He pointed out the horses and told me the ones that had complaints. My cousin had a good horse of his own, and he showed me ones he might swap for her and ones he wouldn’t have. But the next day I was going to go out and pick berries. I said I wasn’t going to come to the berries without picking any!

  I went out and took a drill with my cousin. He got one side and I got the other. I picked and I picked and I picked on till about one o’clock. And I had this big pail. He was saying to me, ‘Squeeze them doon, dinna be feart tae squeeze them!’ And the juice was running over the side of the pail, running on to my leg. And I carried this big pail of berries into the weighing machine. The man took them and cowped them into a big bucket. He hung it up, weighed it. ‘One and eight pence, a penny ha’penny a pound.’ So I tellt my cousin, ‘No, that’s me finished. That’s my berry pickin finished!’

  So I never picked any more berries in Blairgowrie. But I did go back years later when I was married. My first visit to Blairgowrie I wouldn’t say was a big success to me. I wasn’t seeing anything that was really new. But the main thing that I enjoyed was two-three deals and swaps, and the two-three stories, you know, cracks, tales and sing-songs round the fire. When it got dark at night-time all these fires kindling, maybe about sixty or seventy fires going, all outside. Some of the folk had gellies, the folk from Skye or the Highland Stewarts had gellies with inside fires, tanks and chimneys. But most of the folk all had their outside fires at night-time and their horses tethered nearby. Then every cart and horse would drive away along the road, and the travellers would cut loads of grass because the feeding was very poor, eaten down to the quick. And the farmer wouldn’t give them a field. Even suppose the farmer had, they couldn’t turn all the horses loose together because there would have been murder made, horses kicking and biting each other. And travellers as a rule liked their horse close beside them. So the only thing was, you had to tie the horse beside the fire as close to your place as you could, go and cut grass and hand feed it.

  So I waited for about three days and I saw the whole rigmarole, what went on. And I went into Blairgowrie a couple of times, saw the dealing and swapping going on in the Well Meadow. Other travellers I had been talking to, like Rabbie Townsley and Sandy and Hector and them, they probably enjoyed it. But I didn’t. I did enjoy it later on. I was there at the last year of it. I think the farmer closed the Gothens in 1950. And then the travellers spread out to the wee local farms, maybe three or four camps, four or five at Marshall’s. And they went up into Park Hill above Blairgowrie. But there never was the same amount got together after that. They always went to the berries, it’s traditional, travellers still go back to the berries. But I said to my
self, ‘Prob’ly it’s guid enough fir the folk that really likes it that way fir a wee while.’ But you soon got very sick of it. I stuck it for about four days and then I left. I had the notion in my mind I was going to get a job somewhere, work and buy a horse for myself. I mean, it was all right standing by watching someone else dealing, but I had never actually had a deal myself. And I’d never had the pleasure of going to a man and asking him to buy an old horse, because I’d never enough money at these times. I was always on the move from place to place. I travelled round about Scotland for two years nonstop, never waited very long in the one place except in the wintertime.

  So I made my way back into Perth, and from there I went back over Tyndrum again once more. I landed back home and I stayed with the old folk right on till October. I went to the old farm at Auchnangoul where I’d started to work, and I worked with Mr MacVicar for another couple of weeks. Then I took a notion I was to go on the road again. I remember saying farewell to my mother and my father. And that’s the words my mother tellt me, ‘Ye’ll prob’ly be mairrit and have a wife the next time ye come back.’ Those are the words she said.

  I said, ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  My father said, ‘Why don’t you go back to the farm where you were working? If you say that horses are so cheap, why don’t you work and make some money on that farm? Then go back tae Perthshire and buy a horse there to yirsel?’

  Well, it would have taken me a year working at the pay I was getting from the old farmer at Auchnangoul. I was seventeen past and he was only giving me ten shillings a day. It was too slow for me. So I saved up a few pound and made my way again to Perthshire, and landed back with my brother Sandy. By this time he had left Balbrogie and he had landed in Stanley on a berry farm. I stayed with him for a while and I got word that Rabbie Townsley was in Coupar Angus. It’s not far from Stanley – in by Kinkell bridge and Meikleour. But he was at Burrelton, staying up in a place called Gallow Hill.