The Horsieman

by Ducan Williamson

  I went to this farmer once in Argyll on Poltalloch estate. He was the manager for Robert Malcolm Poltalloch. And I had sold my horse in Argyll and I was looking for a horse. This was 1966. And the man who was manager for Robert Malcolm Poltalloch was Mr MacKenzie. He became a high councillor for Argyll in Strathclyde. And this what I’m telling you is no lie. So, he had a couple of ponies for sale.

  I walked up to the big house, I rang the bell and said, ‘I want to speak to Mr MacKenzie.’ He was English.

  He comes out and he says to me, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘sir, I’m looking for a pony.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘ye’re looking for a pony are you? Where do you come from?’

  I said, ‘Well, I come from Lochgilphead.’

  ‘Where do you stay?’

  I said, ‘I stay at MacCallum’s Quay.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you’re one of the travelling people?’

  I said, ‘Yes sir, I’m one of the traveller people.’

  ‘And,’ he said, ‘do you mean to tell me you want to buy one of my ponies?’

  I said, ‘Yes sir, why not?’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t own the horses. Robert Malcolm owns the ponies. They’re his.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘sir, I’m no worried who owns them. Look, I’m needing a pony. I heard you had some for sale.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve got some for sale. I have a mare for sale and I’ve two geldings for sale. A two-year-old and two three-year-olds. But I’m not going to sell them to you.’

  ‘Why not, sir?’ I said. ‘I’m willing to pay you for the pony.’

  He said, ‘I’ve been reared down in England.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I said, ‘you’ve been reared down in England, have you?’

  And he said, ‘I know what youse tinker-gypsy people do to horses. Youse drive them from daylight to dark gathering bones, rags, bottles and scrap. And you take them and tie them to a tree.’

  I said, ‘Oh? Well, that’s your idea.’

  ‘And the poor animal,’ he said, ‘hasn’t got the life of a dog with yese. There’s no way that I would ever sell one of Malcolm Poltalloch’s animals tae the likes of you.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, if that’s the way you feel.’

  Now life has got a funny story and has funny ideas. Not far from Robert Malcolm’s place there was an old farmer by the name of MacColl. And he came from Orkney. He had a mare called old Jeannie. He had her for years. Malcolm Poltalloch kept these pedigree stallions, and he ran them on the moor not far from where Balnakeil Farm is. Now this what I’m telling you is the God’s honest truth, as I have proof to prove it.

  So I said, ‘Well, Mr MacKenzie, thank you very much. Thank you very much. I’m sorry I cannae buy your horses.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I would never sell these to youse kind o people.’ So I walked away from the castle. And I walked past this Balnakeil Farm, and I saw the mare in the field. And this young horse with the mare.

  I walked down to the old farmer and I said, ‘I’m looking for a pony, sir.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you’re looking for a pony. Well, I’ve no ponies for sale. This is old Jean I’ve fetched with me from the Orkneys.’

  ‘I know, Mr MacColl,’ I said, ‘you took this farm last year. I know Mr Turner who used to be here.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you do?’

  I said, ‘Yes. I was up at Malcolm Poltalloch and I tried to buy one of his ponies, and he wouldnae sell it to me.’

  He said, ‘Why?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘because he said I was a tinker and a vagabond and we were cruel to the ponies.’

  And you know what old Mr MacColl tellt me? He said, ‘Look, as far as I believe, if I were selling a pony, I would rather give it to youse kind o people before I would give it to anybody else under the sun. And I do have a pony. She’s only two years old, a filly.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Mr MacColl, I’m willing to try and buy it from you if you want to sell it to me.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have a look at her.’ She was running on the moor. He said, ‘Look, before you ever say a word. Robert Malcolm Poltalloch’s pedigree stallion jumped the fence and covered my mare. And this is her foal.’ Now it just shows you how things work out. ‘And this is the half-sister to Robert Poltalloch’s horses he’s got for sale at the present moment.’ So we hemmed and hawed.

  I said, ‘Mr MacColl, what would you want for your pony?’

  He said, ‘I’d want fifty pounds for her.’

  ‘Well, it’s a wee bit steep for me.’

  ‘In fact, I’d want fifty pound for her, but I couldnae sell her right at this moment.’

  I said, ‘Why not? You want fifty pound for her?’ Now I had this fifty pound in my pocket. But there’s no way in the world he was going to get fifty pound from me. ‘Mr MacColl,’ I said, ‘what’s the price of a cow? A young cow?’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘maybe forty pound.’

  I said, ‘Are you no better selling me the pony? It’s no good to you! And buy another cow with what I give ye for it. You can buy a calf for it. You rear it up, you’ve plenty of grass to feed it.’ We steered away from the pony all together. ‘You buy a good calf to yourself for twenty-five pound.’ You could buy good wee heifer cows for ten pounds at that time. ‘You could buy two calves for twenty pound apiece. You can grow them up and you’ve plenty to feed them. You’ve got two cows. That pony’s no good to you. You’ll never do nothing with it. It’s wild, it never saw a cart. It’s never seen a motor and you’ve never handled it. It runs with its mother.’ He never was about it. I said, ‘You’ve never put a halter on it. And prob’ly I could never do nothing with it. But I’m willing to buy it from you.’ Now it was wild, really wild. But it was a beautiful creature. So we hemmed and hawed, hemmed and hawed.

  And he said, ‘Come back tomorrow. I’ll talk it over with the wife.’

  So the next day I went back again. And he was in. ‘Well, Mr MacColl,’ I said, ‘I’m back to see about the pony.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m no keen to sell it. I’ve had another offer from somebody else.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s too bad. You’ve had another offer from somebody else.’

  He said, ‘I’ve had an offer of forty-five pound from somebody else. They’re goin to use it for the wood. They’re going to drag trees with it in the wood.’ Now this horse was fourteen hands and it was as broad as a barn door!

  I said, ‘Mr MacColl, no way in the world the man who’s gaunna buy that horse is gaunna drag it in the wood! It’s never seen a car or anything. You’d better sell it to me.’ So we hemmed and hawed.

  ‘And look,’ he says, ‘I wouldnae take nae less than forty-five pound fae ye.’ Now I knew I had it. I knew it was mine. But there was no way I was going to give forty-five pound straight off for him. I would at the end, because I didn’t have a horse. I was sitting at MacCallum’s Quay. I had a cart and I had harness. I was in Kilmory for the neeps. And I had sellt my pony to old Jack. And I knew Mr MacColl was going to get the forty-five pound; even suppose it was like a raging lion, I was going to bring something back to the wife and tell her I bought a horse! And it was the most beautiful animal. This is the last horse I ever had. And we hemmed and hawed.

  I started, ‘Forty-two pound.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Forty-three pound.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Forty-four pound.’

  ‘No.’

  I hit his hand – now he didn’t have any sense o dealin. He didnae ken what dealin was. I said, ‘Mr MacColl, to tell you the God’s truth, I’ll give ye the fourty-five pound if you give me a luckspenny back!’

  He said, ‘What is a luckspenny?’

  I said, ‘A wee piece of silver tae give me luck with the pony I’m buying.’ And I counted the forty-five pound in his hand. He went into the house and what did he bring me back? A sixpence. He handed me a silver sixpence and I spit on it
[SPIT] and I put it in my pocket. Now I never knew what to do with this pony. I had to go and catch it. It never was inside a stable in its life. It never had a halter on its head in its life. So we rounded it up in the field and we brought the old pony, Jean, the old mother in. And we brought the pony in. I said, ‘What do you call it?’

  He says, ‘Trixie.’

  I said, ‘Come on then, Trixie, get you in the stable! You’re mine noo and I’m gaunna look after ye. And it had a silver tail and mane. It was a cross Arab and garron. It was about fourteen two and as fat as a barn door. There was a drain down its back. We got it into the stall and we crushed it in beside the mother against the wall.

  He says to me, ‘You’ll never go near it.’ And I put my hand on its hip and when I gave it a good clap like that, it pulled its backend into it.

  I said, ‘Look, you’ll no kick!’ I knew I had a pony. I had given it a skelp on the hip and it had pulled its backend into it, as if it was afraid of me. I said, ‘I’ve got a pony! Come on, doll!’ I put my arms round its neck. I said, ‘Doll, I’ve got you. I’ve got a pony. It’s mine noo.’ And I walked up to his barn and took a rope halter down. I put it on its head and I led it out the door. And its bare feet were as broad as that, two handfuls. Its hooves were immaculate, back and forward. I said, ‘I’ve got myself a horse this time. I’ll never part with you!’

  And I led it out. He shaked hands with me, bade me farewell. ‘Noo,’ he says, ‘take good care o her.’ Now wait till you hear this: it shows you what can happen!

  I walked up from the Balnakeil which is in the canal bank in Cairnbaan crossroads. And I walked down past the hotel on the main road going to Lochgilphead, and a big private car came along and stopped. Right beside me. Who was this? MacKenzie. The Poltalloch’s manager. And he came out.

  He said, ‘Eh, hello.’

  I said, ‘Hello.’

  ‘You got yourself a pony?’

  ‘Yes, I got myself a pony.’

  He said, ‘You know, eh, I tried to buy that pony. That’s a half-sister to my garron ponies. And the half-brother o this mare, which is not half as good looking as her, took the prize in the Highland Show in Lochgilphead last year.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ll tell you something, Mr MacKenzie. This is no going to take nae prize in the Highland Show.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’ll be going to gather rags, bags, bottles and bones in yir tinker’s cart!’

  I said, ‘It’s got nothing to do with you what it does! It’s mine, I paid for it.’

  He said, ‘If it was mine, you couldnae buy it for a hundred pound!’

  ‘Well, Mr MacKenzie, it is not yours, it is mine. And I’m going to take it home and I’m going to yoke it in my tinker’s cart. And I’m going to take it to Fife and I’m going to gather scrap with it. And I’m going to gather rags with it. And it’s my pony!’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘look, if it was mine you could never look at it.’

  ‘But it is not yours, Mr MacKenzie, It’s mine.’ And he jumped in his car and he went off. So I walked Trixie back to MacCallum’s Quay and my brother Willie was there and my brothers Jack and Jimmie. They had ponies. They all gathered round me.

  Jack said, ‘In the name of God, laddie, whaur did you get that animal? That’s the most beautiful animal in the world.’ And Jeannie, the weans’ mother came out.

  She said, ‘That’s a bonnie pony.’ And everybody loved this pony. So the turnip thinning was finished and we’re all going back to Fife.

  Jack said, ‘I’m gaun away, brother. I’m shifting back to Fife.’

  And brother Jimmie, he had the big garron, big Rosie. He says, ‘I’m going to Fife.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘boys, look. I’ll have to get this pony broken in. It never was in a cart in its life.’ So I took it up to Kilmory Farm. And Archie came out. Archie MacArthur looked. And I’ll no tell you a word of lie. If he was here today he would tell you.

  He says, ‘How much do you want for it?’

  I said, ‘It’s no for sale. But I’m needing a cart frae ye. That wee float I’ve got’s too wee for it.’

  He said, ‘I’ve got a milk lorry round the back, a four-wheeled lorry I used to go to the milk with.’ He had bought his first car to deliver their milk in 1966. His lorry and his harness were in the back of the shed. So I bought them. And I’m left with Trixie. I lifted her feet. Travellers lifted the feet of a new horse, and chapped them with a stone, like a blacksmith would do. If the pony carried on they knew the pony was wild. So I got Trixie’s feet between my legs as if I were a blacksmith and I picked up a wee stone. I chapped her hoof and she stood like a lamb. I picked up the other back foot, and I chapped her hoof with a wee stone. She stood like a lamb. And then I picked up the front foot, and I chapped her hoof, and she stood like a lamb.

  I said, ‘You’re a darling!’ Next day I go into Lochgilphead, into Mr Neilie Crawfurd, who was a piper in the Argyll band. He was the blacksmith. I said, ‘Neil, I want you to shoe my pony for me.’

  He said, ‘That’s MacColl’s pony.’

  I said, ‘Of course, that’s MacColl’s pony.’

  He said, ‘That’s wild.’

  I said, ‘Neil, it’s no wild. That’s a darling! It’s the quietest thing you ever seen in your life. I want a set of shoes on it.’

  He said, ‘It’ll cost ye.’

  ‘I’m no caring what it’ll cost me.’

  ‘It’ll cost you two pound fifty for a set o shoes.’ It was a lot then, but it was nothing! I could afford it. ‘What do you call her?’

  I said, ‘Trixie.’

  ‘Whoa, lassie!’ he said, ‘Trixie, lassie.’ He put a hand up her neck, right down her hip. Lifted her leg, clapped her like that and he clapped her belly. He said, ‘That’s a quiet pony.’

  I said, ‘Right, mister. Nellie, put a set of shoes on her!’ Nellie put a lovely set of shoes on her, right. And once she got her feet pared and a set of shoes she looked different. She was a different horse all together. She liked the click-clock of her feet on the road. So I came walking back and old Jack, my brother and my brother Willie and Big Jimmie thought I was never going to get this pony shod because she had always run on the moor and she’d never seen anything on the road. But she didn’t bother about cars at all. She never bothered! She was a natural horse. I’ll tell you something, if I hadn’t gone into cars, I would have never parted with that horse in all the days of my life! So wait till you hear this.

  That evening I went up Kilmory Road and I said to my brother Jimmie, ‘I think I’ll throw the harness on Trixie, see what happens to her.’ So I put the saddle on her, bridle, breechen on, put the cripper under her tail. She never bothered. So I go up the old road what did I get? I took a big bath with me, and I filled it full of stones. I yoked her in this bath. With the noise of the stones coming behind her, she pulled it along the road, me leading her along. And with the rumble and tumble, the rumble and tumble of the stones in this bath she never even looked over her shoulder at it! I said, ‘That’s it!’ And she never was in harness in her life. You’ll no believe this, but I swear on my mother’s grave this is the God’s honest truth.

  So I led her back down to MacCallum’s Quay to the shore. And she was sweating. I loosed the harness off and I rubbed her down and dried her off. But she never was in a tether, you see. So I tied her up and I cut some grass for her. The next day old Jack shifted and big Jimmie shifted back to Fife. My brother Willie didn’t have a pony.

  He says, ‘Brother, I couldnae go and lea youse.’ Old Sandy Cameron had a pony, brother Jimmie had one, Jack had one and Pipe Empty had a pony. They all took off that morning from MacCallum’s Quay and left me sitting there with this half-broken horse, me and my brother Willie. Now Willie had two wee kids, Christine and Duncan. I’m left with this horse. My lorry is lying up at Kilmory Farm. I had the harness down with me. So we’re sitting.

  I said to Willie, ‘Brother, we’ll never get shifted.’

  ‘Tsst,’ he said,
‘there naebody to stop us. We’ll go up and we’ll yoke her in the lorry and we’ll shift the morn.’

  I said, ‘Are ye game? Look, brother, it never was in a cart before in its life.’

  ‘Never mind it,’ he says, ‘you get one side and I’ll get the other side. She disna kick, she disna bite.’ We go up, fling the harness on Trixie. Oh, she was a beautiful animal. God that I had her the day! I wouldn’t take a million pound for her. We walk up to Kilmory. We lead her up, back her into the cart shed, put the shafts of the lorry down on her. It was a rubber channelled lorry. I pass Willie the reins.

  I said, ‘You take the reins. I’ll take her by the head.’ So we led her right out by where the caravan site is now, right out to the old post office down by the main road by Lingerton and right back to MacCallum’s Quay.

  Willie said, ‘That pony’s going nice, man, no bothering itself.’ We pulled her into MacCallum’s Quay.

  I said, ‘Tomorrow we’ll shift.’ Now this is truth, I’ll swear to you on my mother’s grave, I’m telling you the God’s truth. We tied her up, cut her some grass. We got up the next morning. I said, ‘Willie, we’re shifting.’

  He says, ‘Okay.’

  I said, ‘Pack yir stuff on the lorry.’ He had only a wee tent and two wee kids and a pram. I said, ‘Pack it on!’ And Jeannie got the weans ready, we packed everything, pulled the cover and happed everything. Yoked Trixie on. Where were we that night? Cairndow shore at the other side of Inveraray. Everybody was sitting on going along the roadside. Wait till you hear this now! As we pulled into Cairndow shore, old Jack and Pipe’s fire was still going!

  Willie says, ‘They’re ahead of us. And they left you, brother, they left you wi yir wee pony. They thought we couldnae go.’ We stayed that night in Cairndow. Willie and I went up and we poached two salmon from the back of John Noble’s big house. We had a feed of salmon that night. The next morning we packed up, packed the cart. Down Loch Lomond, into Balloch. Where did we catch up on Sandy, Pipe, Jack and Uncle Jimmie? In Drummond old road outside of Kippen. Were we going! And everybody was sitting on the lorry driving along the road. Trixie was stepping out just taking it easy doing about twelve mile an hour. We’re sitting on. I drove into Kippen. I was the hero! And Trixie’s stepping to her chin. Sandy Cameron’s pony was turned out, old Jack’s was turned out, and Big Jimmie’s was turned out – all at the camp watching me coming up Lomond strait, coming into Kippen. And Trixie was going like the lamb of God, just taking it easy, these big strides in this lorry. I was only a day behind them. Pulled into the camp, lowsed her out, patted her, tied her to a tree. And they all came down. They swore in their life they wouldnae believe it.