Memoirs of a Highland Lady

by Elizabeth Grant

  Betty Campbell used to tell us that at first the people did not like their ‘Little Laird’ bringing home an English wife. But when they saw her so pretty, so tall! they softened to her; and then when came the chubby boy (for I was not accounted of, my uncle Rothy’s deed of Entail cutting me and my sex off from any but a very distant chance of the inheritance), a fine healthy child, born at the Doune, baptized into their own faith, she soon grew into great favour; and when, in addition to all this, she set up wheels in her kitchen, learned to count her hanks, and dye her wool, and bleach her web, ‘young creature as she was,’ she perfectly delighted them. At this time in the highlands we were so remote from markets we had to depend very much on our own produce for most of the necessaries of life. Our flocks and herds supplied us not only with the chief part of our food, but with fleeces to be wove into clothing, blanketing, and carpets, horn for spoons, leather to be dressed at home for various purposes, hair for the masons. Lint seed was sown to grow into sheeting, shirting, sacking, etc. My Mother even succeeded in common table linen; there was the ‘dambrod’ pattern, supposed to be the highland translation of Dame board or backgammon,9 the ‘bird’s eye,’ ‘Snowdrop,’ ‘chain,’ and ‘single spot,’ beyond which neither the skill of old George Ross nor the weaver in Grantown could go. We brewed our own beer, made our own bread, made our own candles; nothing was brought from afar but wine, groceries, and flour, wheat not ripening well so high above the sea. And yet we lived in luxury, game was so plentiful, red deer, roe, hares, grouse, ptarmigan, and partridge; the river provided trout and salmon, the different lakes pike and char; the garden quite abounded in common fruits and common vegetables; cranberries and raspberries overran the country, and the poultry yard was ever well furnished. The regular routine of business, where so much was done at home, was really a perpetual amusement. I used to wonder when travellers asked my mother if she did not find her life somewhat dull.

  You will now be able to follow us in our daily rambles, to understand the places and the people whom in our walks we went to see. On rainy days we paced about the shrubbery, up the river to the green or west gate, over the Drum, back again to the white gate and so home or out at the white gate and along Tomnahurich to turn at the burn of Aldracardoch. But in fine weather we wandered much further afield, first coaxing Miss Elphick a little further than she liked, and then as her walking powers improved getting her onto great distances, particularly when cooler weather made exercise pleasanter. She soon became interested in our visits to all around, and felt pleasure in yielding to our wishes to have some point as the aim of every journey. Indeed, people high and low were so civil to the odd little woman, she would have been inexcusable had she not met their advances civilly. When we went to Inverdruie we passed the burn at Aldracardoch, over which a picturesque wooden bridge for footpassengers was thrown. The saw mill and the miller’s house were close to the road, too close, for the mill when going had often frightened horses fording the stream. The miller’s name was again McGregor, that dispersed Clan venturing now to resume the name they had been constrained to drop. They had, as was usual on all such occasions, assumed the patronymick of whatever Clan adopted them, remembering always that loved one which was their own. James McGregor’s father had been known as Gregor Grant, so the son slid the easier back into that of right belonging to him. The road held on under high banks of fine fir trees, then came the lighter birch, and then a turn brought us to the Lios Mór, a swampy field of some size backed by the forest—the view of which, as he drained it year by year, was so pleasant to the Captain that he had built himself a covered seat among the birch in front of it, which used to be the extent of his walk on a summer’s evening. Ten minutes more brought us up a rugged brae and past the offices upon the moor at Inverdruie, in the midst of which bare expanse stood the very ugly house my uncle Rothy had placed there. It was very comfortable within, and the kind welcome, and the pleasant words, and the good cheer we found there, made it always a delight to us to be sent there.

  The Captain and Mrs Grant lived in the low parlour to the left of the entrance, within which was a light closet where they slept; the hall was flagged, but a strip of home made carpet covered the centre, of the same pattern as that in the parlour, a check of black and green. The parlour curtain was home made too of linsey woolsey,10 red and yellow. A good peat fire burned on the hearth; a rug knit by Mrs Grant kept the fireplace tidy. A round mahogany table stood in the middle of the room; a long mahogany table was placed against the wall, with a large japanned tray standing up on end on it; several hair bottomed chairs were ranged all round. A japanned corner cupboard fixed on a bracket at some height from the floor very much ornamented the room, as it was filled with the best tall glasses on their spiral stalks, and some tea china too fine for use. A number of silver edged punch ladles, and two silver edged and silver lined drinking horns were presented to full view on the bottom shelf, and outside upon the very top was a large China punch bowl. But the cupboard we preferred was in the wall next the fire. It was quite a pantry; oat cakes, barley scons, flour scons, butter, honey, sweetmeats, cheese, and wine, and spiced whiskey, all came out of the deep shelves of this agreeable recess, as did the great key of the dairy. This was often given to one of us to carry to old Mary the Cook, with leave to see her skim and whip the fine rich cream, which Mrs Grant would afterwards pour on a whole pot of jam and give to us for luncheon. This dish, under the name of ‘bainne briste,’ or broken milk,11 is a great favourite wherever it has been introduced, though it somehow eats better in the highlands than in any other part of the world.

  In the centre of the ceiling hung a glass globe to attract the flies. Over the chimney piece was the Captain’s Armoury, two or three pairs of pistols, safely encased in red flannel bags very dusty from the peats they burned, several swords of different sorts in their scabbards crossed in different patterns, and a dirk or two. On the chimney slab was a most curious collection of snuff boxes of all sorts of shapes and sizes intermixed with a few large foreign shells. The Captain, in a wig, generally sat in a cornered chair with arms to it, never doing any thing that ever I saw. He was old and getting frail, 85 or 86, I believe. Sometimes when he was not well he wore a plaid cloak, and a night cap, red or white, made by his industrious wife in a stitch she called Shepherd’s knitting. It was done with a little hook which she manufactured for herself out of the tooth of an old tortoiseshell comb, and she used to go on looping her homespun wool as quick as fingers could move, making not only caps, but drawers and waistcoats for winter wear for the old husband she took such care of. She was always busy when in the house, and out of doors she managed the farm, and drove the Captain out in a little low phaeton I remember my father buying for them in London. Occasionally this first summer they dined with us, and then the old great grand Uncle looked very nice in his best suit. Mrs Grant was really charming, full of highland lore, kind and clever and good, without being either refined or brilliant, and certainly plain in person. She had a fine voice, and sang gaelick airs remarkably well and any Scotch airs indeed but the wild gaelick ballads were her forte. My Mother was extremely attached to this excellent woman, and spent many a morning with her; we used to watch them convoying each other home after their visits, turning and returning upon the Tomnahurich road ever so many times as each lady neared her own premises, wondering which would be first to give in and take final leave of the other. It was my Mother’s only walk for she was indolent about exercise and therefore these gossips with her Aunt were of use to her.

  It was a good mile beyond Inverdruie to the Dell, and we had to cross five streams of rapid running water to reach it, for into so many channels did the river Druie divide about a couple of miles below the bridge of Coylum. The intervening strips of land were all thickets of birch, alder, hazel, and raspberries, through which the well trodden paths wound leading to the simple bridges of logs without a rail that crossed the water, a single log in all cases but one, where the span being very wide two were laid side by side.
We skipped over them better a great deal then than I at least could do it now, but poor Miss Elphick, to get her over the best of them, the one with the two logs, was no easy matter, the others she did not attempt for many a day unless assisted by some of the saw miller’s lads who abounded in this neighbourhood and obligingly waded the water by her side. One day we had a charming adventure on Druie side; just as we were preparing to cross one of the single logs an old woman in a high crowned cap, a blanket plaid, and a bundle on her back, stept on it on the opposite side. We were generally accompanied in our walks by an immense Newfoundland dog called Neptune, an especial favourite whose particular business it was to guard the garden where he lived in a very pretty wooden house in the midst of flowers. Neptune happened to be marching in front and knowing his way as well as we did, proceeded to cross the log. On he stept, so did the old woman, gravely moved the dog, and quietly came on the old woman, till they met in the middle where both stood still. To pass was impossible, to turn back on that narrow footway equally difficult; there they stood, the old woman in considerable uncertainty. The dog made up his mind more quickly, he very quietly pushed the old woman out of his way. Down she fell into the river, and on he passed as if nothing extraordinary had happened. She was a good old creature, just as much amused as we were, and laughed as heartily, and she spread the fame of Neptune far and near, for every body had the story before the day was over. Miss Elphick and her sawmiller got over in safety that morning, but on another occasion, the first time she tried to cross alone, both she and Mary, who was leading her, lost their balance and got well ducked. The leading was a foolish plan, the free use of the arm being necessary to the balance.

  The Dell was an ugly place, a small low house, only two or three stunted trees in the garden behind it, and a wide, sandy, stony plain all round, never a bit the more fertile for the regular inundation at the Lammas tide when the Druie always overflowed its banks. A narrow passage ran through the house from which on the one side opened the kitchen and the spare bedroom; on the other the family room and the parlour into which most melancholy state apartment we were always ushered. Over head were two garrets, one for children the other for servants, lighted by small windows in the gables. Here the first lairds of Rothiemurchus had lived after a fashion that must have been of the simplest. It then became the jointure house, and in it the Lady Jean passed her widowhood with a few fields and a hundred pounds a year. Mrs McIntosh was a tidy guidwife, cleaner than the generality of her country women, but she was nothing beyond the thriving farmer’s helpmeet. She had no curtains in her best parlour, nor any furniture except a large dining table and some chairs, and a square of carpet in the middle of the room. She and her husband lived either in the kitchen or in their bedroom, and each in their own department quite did the work of a head servant. The cheer she offered us was never more than bread and cheese and whiskey, but the oaten bread was so fresh and crisp, the butter so delicious, and the cheese—not the ordinary skimmed milk curd, the leavings of the dairy, but the Saturday’s kebbock12 made of the overnight and the morning’s milk, poured cream and all into the yearning tub. The whiskey was a bad habit, there was certainly too much of it going. At every house it was offered, at every house it must be tasted or offence would have been given, so we were all taught to believe, I am sure now that had we steadily refused compliance with so incorrect a custom on the real proper ground of its unsuitableness, it would have been far better for ourselves, and might all the sooner have put an end to so pernicious a habit among the people.

  Whiskey drinking was and is the bane of that country; from early morning till late at night an eternal dram drinking was for ever going. Decent gentlewomen, Mrs Cameron of the Croft, for instance, always began the day with a dram. Whiskey was presented to every visitor of every degree. In our house the bottle of whiskey, with its accompaniment of a silver salver full of small glasses, was placed on the side table with cold meat every morning. In the pantry a bottle of whiskey was the allowance per day, with bread and cheese in any required quantity, for such messengers or visitors whose errands sent them in to that direction. The very poorest cottages could offer whiskey. The floaters, indeed, all the men engaged in the wood manufacture, drank it. in goblets three times a day, yet except at a merry making we never saw any one tipsy. We children were extremely fond of the tastes we got every where, particularly when the dram was well spiced and sweetened, but most assuredly it was not good for us though the quantity we took at a time was but small.

  We sometimes spent an evening at the Dell. Duncan McIntosh played admirably on the violin, he was a second Neil Gow for all lively musick, it was quite delightful to dance to it. Many a happy hour we have reeled away both at the Doune and at the Dell, servants and all included in the company, with that one untiring violin for our orchestra.

  A walk to the Croft led us quite in another direction. We generally went to the white gate, and through the new garden on to the Milltown muir past Peter the Pensioner’s wooden house, and then climbing over the railing wandered on among the birch woods till we reached the gate at the Lochan Mór; that passed, we got into the fir wood, refreshed ourselves in the proper season with blaeberries and cranberries, then climbing another fence re-entered the birch wood in the midst of which nestled the two cottages called the Croft. A few very small fields surrounded the houses separated by innumerable wooded knolls breaking the ground into beautiful bits of wild scenery and a little burn leaped down from a rocky height to wander away along a green holm where there was generally to be seen a bleaching. The cottages were not adjoining; the upper one connected with the farm offices was the dwelling of the family, the lower and newer one at a little distance was for strangers. Old Mrs Cameron, who was by this time nearly blind, sat beside the fire in a bonnet and shawl as if ready for walking, never occupied, talking little, but sighing a great deal. Miss Mary bustled about in her way of managing, kind as her nature would let her be, for hospitable or generous she was not; there was little fear of our getting a Saturday’s kebbock at the Croft or a bowl of cream for our cranberry jam, a little honey with a barley scon was the extent of Miss Mary’s liberality. Curtains or carpet or a cushioned chair none of them would have valued. They had always a good fire and a kind welcome for the Laird’s children and that satisfied us for we liked going to see them, and when Mr Cameron was not too busy with his farm and could stay within and play on the Jew’s harp to us, we were quite happy. He played more readily and better at the Doune, the tender airs which suited the instrument affecting his poor melancholy wife, of whom he was passionately fond. He was a constant guest at the Doune, dining with us at the least three times a week, but no weather ever prevented his returning to the old wife at night; well wrapped in his plaid he braved wind, rain, hail or snow, walking his two or three miles in the dark winter evening as if he had been six and thirty instead of seventy six. He was thoroughly a gentleman; no better specimen of a highlander and a soldier ever adorned our mountains. Old and young, gentle and simple, all loved Mr Cameron—how he had seen so much of the bitter of life could hardly be explained, perhaps he had suffered from an over softness of disposition. His pretty cousin fell in love with him and he married her. She disliked his profession and he gave it up. Their numerous children were spoiled as infants and died young, all but one who failed in every undertaking. Poor my father took care he should not be, for he made him his Factor. In addition to the salary of this office, he had a lieutenant’s halfpay and his farm at a very reasonable rate. He and Mrs Grant, Inverdruie, were two flowers in the wilderness; other society could well be dispensed with when theirs was attainable. There was a charm in their very simplicity, in their ignorance of what we call the world. A strength in their natural acuteness, in the use they made of their good common sense which must have been more satisfactory to those capable of appreciating them than any amount of more brilliant yet more everyday characteristics.

  Almost all my Stories of the olden time were learned either at Inverdruie or the Crof
t. They never wearied of telling what I never wearied of listening to. John Grant of Achnahatnich was also one of the chroniclers of the past, but he never interested me so much in his more fanciful stories as did my old Aunt and my old Cousin in their more apparently accurate relations. They may have insinuated a little more pride of race than was exactly suited to the ‘opening day,’ yet it did no harm so far as I was concerned, and the younger ones had no turn for these antiquities There was never one highland feeling either in John or Mary. Jane in childhood was more taken up with the scenery than the people. William solely occupied with the idea of future power. All was to be some day his and that was sufficient to him. Little as they suspected it, I was the dreamer, could have been the Bard to the family as far as love for the race and a knowledge of their deeds could have qualified a candidate.