The Horsieman

by Ducan Williamson

  And this cattle float, you would have got a laugh with it coming in! The driver would say, ‘All right then, there such and such is goin to one field, and I want twenty off at this fairm. I’m droppin off some in the other field . . .’ And some farmers worked you harder than others.

  It was a pantomime. I saw about sixty workers on this cattle float and bairns. They were all carrying these bundles, baskets and some with pots and frying pans. Pots of soup for their dinner and cans for their tea, baskets full of messages and wee bairns rolled up in shawls. Some with prams, and all on this cattle float. And the driver lowered the back door, and some of them would ‘moo, moo’ when they went in, same as they were cattle! So the travellers talked among themselves, if they got hard work on one farm.

  ‘Oh, I’m no goin back there nae mair!’ And when the man let down the back door he said, ‘Right you, here!’ Some didn’t want to go to this field because they were worked too hard, and they’d tellt each other. And I’ve seen the driver standing at the door and the farmer standing in the field, and nobody would come out! They all wanted to go to the farm where they got it easy. And the farmer would go round welting the bloody float with a stick trying to get them to come out. But he finally got some of them coaxed. Some would go just to keep the peace. Maybe they went there that day, and they got it easy; and maybe the next farm they went to they worked harder! Then they went back to that first one the next day again! It was a real pantomime.

  But anyway, a lot of horses were there. Dealing and swapping every night. Never a night passed but somebody was out, men standing, and you’d see them nodding and cracking to each other. Two of them [slap] hitting hands, ‘Well, that’s hit then.’ That’s another deal, another swap. I’ll tell you, you could have had a horse there, had it four or five times, swapped it away and got it back, swapped it away and got it back. And the same with dogs. And the same with tents. And motors too! They were out in the road pushing these old cars. Some of them had no self-starters, but a starting handle on them. And then there were travellers playing pipes and playing the accordions. And the patrol car was there every night from Crieff. But the funny thing was, with such a crowd and so many folk being there, Saturday night was different from the nights nowadays. You couldn’t put a crowd of folk like that together now and have the same peace. Maybe an odd one was away to the pub having a wee drink. He came back and there wasn’t a word; if he did the same thing now there’d be fights and arguments and the police would never be away from the place. The folk’s better off now and they’ve got everything they want. But in these days you had maybe twenty-thirty families in the one camping site. There never was trouble. The police came for a wee look around and that was all. Playing pipes and accordions and playing quoits and swapping and dealing – the police didn’t have any trouble with them.

  I stuck it for four or five weeks. And I was no better off. Day out and day in we weren’t making very much. You maybe saved a couple of pound or that, but it just went away as quick as you got it. So I said to myself, ‘I’m gaunna have a horse before I leave here. Ane a wee bit bigger than mine for carryin my scrap.’

  So I got word, one of the men gave me a tip-off, ‘The’re an auld man and his wife ower at the wee toon o Madderty, and he’s looking for a wee horse for the wintertime for him and his old woman. The ane he’s got’s too big for him to keep.’

  I said, ‘I’ll take a drive over and see him on Sunday.’ And now my pony’s been running in the field among clover to its knees and it was really fat, good condition! I cleaned my harness, yoked my wee float. Oh, it was a real tidy yoke. I jumped up on the float and drove over to Madderty, about six miles from where we were staying. I knew the place where the old man stayed because I had worked on the same farm with an old woman, Katie Johnstone, years before when I was single. My pony wasn’t too fast, but it was a nice wee trotter. I was no time in going over. So there were two families, a man Johnstone and this other man, MacArthur. I drove into the camping site just as if I were in for a crack, as travellers usually did on a Sunday.

  The man Johnstone came out and said, ‘Oh aye, ye comin in fir a crack?’ He had a big gelly up.

  ‘Aye.’ I tied the pony to the fence. This man had four or five sons and he always kept a good horse. But this man MacArthur next to him was the man I had come to swap with. So after we’d had a cup of tea, we sat and cracked for a while. I asked Davie Johnstone, ‘I heard that auld Davie was lookin for a wee pony for the winter . . .

  He says, ‘That’s a nice wee pony you’ve got.’

  ‘Aye, but it’s too wee for me. I could dae wi something bigger.’

  ‘There’s your man across there, auld Davie. He’s got a pony, a bloody guid pony. It’s big, a lot bigger ’an that. It’s a white horse, a good thick-set horse for your job.’ He meant it was heavy in the bone. And I went over. When I came out the wee man was standing at the cart.

  ‘That’s a nice wee pony, laddie,’ he said, ‘ye have there.’

  ‘Aye.’

  And he says, ‘I’m lookin for a wee pony for the wintertime.’

  ‘So they were tellin me. And I’m lookin for a bigger ane.’

  ‘Well, come ower and see my horse. Maybe me and you could hae a bit deal?’

  ‘Oh well,’ I said, ‘the best we could! I’m sure it will stand a look, it disnae matter what like it is.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no a bad horse. But it’s no a youngster like masel! Past its best – but it’s a good horse.’

  ‘Ah, as long as it’s got four legs and a tail and can walk, and it’s strong, it’ll dae me.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s all right if that’s the way ye see it.’ So he took me over to the field at the back of his tent and here was this pony, a white horse about fourteen two. Thick set horse. I looked at him. He was white but he had wee brown spots on his skin, brown dapple through his coat.

  And I said, ‘Davie, it’s a nice pony you’ve got.’

  ‘Ah, it’s no nae youngster.’ But I knew it wasn’t as old as he was letting on. Because all these white horses, when they get up a certain age, after ten–twelve year old they go completely white. He still had some of the brown spots through his coat. I took him to be at least ten year old, a good age for a horse. Some horses live till they’re twenty-twenty-one. Good strong bit o horse. And I was really interested. So just to kid on and show him that I knew what I was doing, I opened his mouth and had a look at his teeth. Just for show! But I was really interested in the horse. I lifted his feet. He was well shod, beautiful hooves on him. His feet were fine and strong. I pulled him up and forward on the rope.

  I said, ‘Aye, he’s okay.’

  He said, ‘Come and see my harness.’ I looked at his harness. Now when you’re swapping horses, it was no sense o me giving a man a wee horse and him keeping his big cart and harness. ‘No,’ he said, ‘the best thing me and you can dae is, we’ll have a complete swap o yokes, if mine suits ye. Because yir wee yoke would definitely suit me and the auld wife for the winter. It’s fine for tae feed and the harness is fine. It’s just the ideal thing.’

  ‘Man,’ I said, ‘it’s no fast. It can go, but it’s no fast.’

  He said, ‘It’ll suit me if mine’ll suit you.’

  ‘Well, come on, let me see your harness, let me see your float!’

  ‘Well, the worse thing aboot it is the float.’

  ‘Ach well, it’ll no matter!’

  ‘Oh dinnae think I’m sayin onything against it – it’s a good float. But laddie, it’s no like yir wee float. It hasnae got rubber wheels. It’s got iron wheels.’ Some people didn’t like the iron tyres because they began to get too old-fashioned. But they were good because you could never get a puncture with them. On soft ground they sunk, cut in. But on the farm roads where I used to go hawking scrap and that, maybe away miles up a farm, with rubber tyres you could get a puncture. The horse then had to pull a flat wheel. For the old man and woman knocking about the towns and that, they could go to a garage an
d get a puncture sorted.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘old man, that disnae bother me. I’m no worried about that – in fact, I like the iron wheels.’ They were good and strong.

  He said, ‘Some folk likes the iron wheels. But I like the rubber tyres. It’s no so noisy on the road. The iron rungs is awfae noisy.’ Because the roads weren’t as good as they are now with a lot of gravel and chips on them.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘me and you can hae a swap!’

  He said, ‘What’s the deal goin to be?’

  ‘You’ve seen mine and I’ve seen yours. Look, you’ve got a big horse and I need it.’

  He said, ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And I’ve got a wee horse and you need it. What do we say, one for the other? A level swap through!’

  ‘By God,’ he said, ‘laddie, you’re game!’ And he spit in his hand. ‘Haud yir hand! I hope me and you’ll deal again.’ Well, I never did deal with that man again. And we clapped hands and we had a deal. ‘Come on then,’ he says, ‘and get some mair tea before ye gae hame.’ So he took me in and gave me a good cup. He came out and gave me a hand to yoke this pony. And I yoked it up. ‘Billy’ he called it. And his float was a good one. Big, oh, plenty of room and a high back door on it, and it had beautiful shafts. The man’s harness was fair. So, he was pleased with his wee yoke. And I jumped up.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘this is the thing for me!’ And this horse was as quiet as a sheep. And it was a gelding. Some people didn’t like a white horse. They said a white horse was only worth white money, ye know, among travellers. But to me he was worth a lot of money. Well, I had that horse for three years after that. So I said, ‘Billy, you’re a good old horse.’ But he wasn’t fast. Not a fast trotter, but he was a good walker. And if you get a good walking horse, it’ll go further than any trotting horse. A good walking horse was better to you, in those days. So I took my horse home to Muthill.

  And everybody came down to have a look, a strange face in the camping site; and ‘Oh aye, you got old Davie’s horse.’ Some folk had their own opinion. ‘Oh, that’s a good horse, laddie. I’ll tell you one thing, that’s a guid beast that. That old man gied a few pound for that horse. You haen a deal wi him?’

  I said, ‘Aye.’ So I took it home and tied it up to my camp.

  Jeannie said, ‘That’s a good old horse that.’ They knew a horse! You couldn’t fool a traveller – they just had to look. If they saw it on the road, if they saw it walking, they knew. The wife’s mother could hear a horse at night on the road and tell you if it was a good sound horse or not by the way it walked. And not only her, but other travellers as well. They could distinguish the difference between horses just hearing their feet on the road at night-time. I’ve seen me camped in a camping place with my cousin John, having our two horses tied. And we heard a horse’s feet on the road. Sometimes they got loose. And Jeannie said, ‘Laddie, that’s yir horse ’at’s in the road.’

  I said, ‘Mebbe not.’

  She says, ‘No, it’s no John’s horse, it’s yirs.’ And I would go out and sure enough it was mine. They knew the certain noise of the horse’s feet with the certain size. A light horse would have gone ‘pitter-patter’ on the road. It was the rhythm. Travellers knew every single noise at night-time. If it was only the cracking of a stick, they could tell you if it was an animal that cracked it. If somebody was walking through a wood, they could tell you if it was a beast that tramped on a stick and broke it or a human being.

  But anyway, I was quite happy with this old horse. I said to Jeannie, ‘I’m goin away back to Fife.’ And I tellt John and his mother. We were there about five weeks but we’d managed to save six pound for the last week. ‘We’ll shift on Sunday. We’re no so bad noo, we’ve got two-three shillings that’ll keep us on the road.’

  We landed back in Fife and I went away down to Anstruther. We were doing fine there and we used to go every weekend to the store, sell our stuff. We weren’t getting much, maybe eight or nine, ten or twelve pound a week working, to keep yourself living. Get a wee sell-up, sell old non-ferrous metals and rags and woollens and that. You saved up for a week and you took it into the big stores and sellt whatever you had, a couple of old car batteries and things. You worked hard all week till Saturday morning. Well, the wife kept herself and kept the messages going by hawking flowers and baskets. We made an odd basket at night-time. And she collected old clothes and sellt them round the poor houses, folk who couldn’t afford to buy new ones. She only had Edith and she could put her in the pram and go away hawking all day. Well, I could yoke my pony and I could go away hawking all day. What I got I fetched home with me. She went to the wee village and I went out to the country. I dropped her off and picked her up at night with the pony. She only had the one bairn with her, so the two of us could get out.

  I would say, ‘Well, I’ll pick you up about two or three o’clock in the village.’

  Well, she would hawk that village all day. She would give maybe a dozen flowers away to some woman for a bag of clothes. She would pick the good stuff out, what was wearable again and she’d keep them in a bundle. Then she went to some poor woman, a woman with a big family maybe who would buy some second-hand clothes for her weans. She would sell them for seven or eight shillings or so. That was plenty for us! Because food was very cheap. And with her two-three shillings she would keep the messages coming, keep us alive. And I would always get tatties on the farms and I could get turnips when I was out hawking. And I did my share too round the houses. I always collected. If I came to a house the woman would say, ‘Well, I have naething tae gie ye. But there a bag o clothes here if ye want tae take them.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll take them. I’d be quite happy. And I’ll gie ye a couple o shillings for them.’ And I would take them home. Jeannie would pick the good stuff she wanted out of it, and then I would get the rest as a sell-up of rags for the weekend. But we worked away that way.

  SIR PATRICK SPENS

  O the king he sits in Dunfermline toon

  He’s a-drinkin the blood-red wine,

  He said, ‘Whaur shall I find a skeely skipper

  For to sail this fine ship o mine?’

  Then up and spakes an auld eldry knight

  Wha sits by the king’s right knee,

  He said, ‘Sir Patrick Spens is the finest sailor

  That ever did sail the sea!’

  So the king he takes his quill in hand

  And in a letter he did say . . .

  ‘You maun tak this to Sir Patrick Spens,

  You maun tak it right away!’

  O the first words that Sir Patrick read

  O a loud laugh laughed he,

  And the next words Sir Patrick read

  O a tear it blindit his ee.

  He said, ‘Wha has gone and done this thing

  And tellt the king on me?

  That I maun sail through storm and gale

  That I maun gang to Norway?

  But I’ll sail my king, I will go my lord,

  I’ll sail right through the fame,

  For I’ll make my way to Norway

  And I’ll bring young Margaret hame.’

  So they sailed away from Burntisland toon,

  They sailed right through the fame

  For they were bound for Norway

  Just to bring young Margaret hame.

  Well they hadna been in Norway

  O a week nor scarcely three

  When the highest lords in the king’s court

  Did turn around and did say:

  ‘O those Scottish men they drink our wines

  And they spend our gold

  And they have come to Norway

  And they’ve brought nane of their own!’

  ‘O you leears aloud,’ cried Sir Patrick Spens,

  ‘You leears aloud!’ cried he,

  ‘The’re twenty thousand of gold and silver

  And a dowry I’ve brought with me.

  But I’ll sail this night, this very night

&n
bsp; I’ll sail right through the fame,

  I’ll make my way to Scotland

  And I’ll bring young Margaret hame.’

  So they sailed away from Norway

  They sailed right through the fame

  For they were bound for Dunfermline toon

  Just to bring young Margaret hame.

  But in the Firth of Forth they ran into a storm

  And the waves around them they did sweep,

  Now Sir Patrick Spens and his gallant crew

  Lie sleepin in the deep.

  Traditional

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DO YOU BELIEVE IN EVIL?

  You see, life in these days was very hard for the travelling people, and they could not depend on anybody. The only friend they really had was the horse. This was the only means of survival for them, and they could trust it to carry their burden, make their living and do anything they wanted. It was the only thing they could really trust. Travelling life was situated around the horse. Even when it came night-time, when their day’s work was done and their chores were finished, when they gathered round the campfire, the subject was the pony, the horse. They didn’t only deal among it, they told stories about it. Everything that meant really much to them was the horse.