We cam to the closs mou.
‘Grandfaither?’
‘What is it?’
‘Juist let me gie them to the cats.’
‘Aa richt, son. Please yersell.’
IN THE AULD horse days, afore the fruit-growers in Clydeside had motor lorries to send to Larkhaa and siclike places for loads ο keelie tounsfolk to pou their strawberries, fetchin them ilka mornin and takin them back at nicht, aa the berry-pouin was dune by weemen and laddies frae Kirkfieldbank and ither bits of places roun aboot, and by squads ο gangrel Irish, caaed Donegals, that bade at the ferms in barns and bothies till the season was ower, whan they moved awa to the upland ferms for the hey and the tatties.
Ae sic squad cam to Linmill ilka year. The mairrit anes had the auld bothy abune the milk-hoose that had been biggit for the byre lassies, but the single weemen bade at the tae end ο the big barn, and the single men at the tither, wi a bit raw ο auld blankets hung up for a waa atween them. To get into the milk-hoose bothy ye had to gang into the barn and up a lether, sae whan the Donegals were aa beddit doun at nicht they were aa ahint the ae barn door, and that was lockit aye by my grandfaither, at ten o’clock, whan he lockit the muckle yett at the closs mou.
He had whiles a gey job to get them aa in for the nicht, wi the aulder anes gey aften taiglet on their wey back hame frae the Kirkfield Inn, and the younger anes oot amang the hedges or in the ditches daffin, wi nae sense ο time. But he was weill respeckit amang them, and though they whiles blarneyed him in the maist droll fashion, the mair whan he had a bit dram taen himsell, they did his biddin aye whan he grew douce wi them, and nane eir daured to lift a haund against him, ein whan he gat crabbit wi them, as he did whiles, and ordert them to their beds like a pack ο bairns.
Whan they were aa in and the barn door lockit, and the closs mou yett, he wad come into the hoose and mak ready for his bed, and nae maitter what unco steer he micht hear frae the barn as the Donegals made ready for theirs, he wadna set fute ootbye in the closs again that nicht. Let them howl and skrech for aa they were worth, and they gaed their dinger whiles, I can tell ye, he gaed intil his bed aside my grannie in the kitchen closet, poued the claes ower his heid, and snored like a grumpie.
Save ance, on a Setterday, and it was a dreidfou nicht that, as ye shall hear.
But first ye maun ken that amang the Donegals that cam to Linmill ilka year, like the peesweeps to the tap parks, there was an auld couple caaed Paddy and Kate O’Brien. Auld they maun hae been, for they had poued strawberries at Linmill afore my minnie was born, and aye whan they cam, and had settled doun in the best corner ο the milk-hoose bothy, neist to the fire and awa frae the door, they wad seek oot my minnie, to hinnie and dawtie her as if she was a bairn ο their ain, no forgettin to tell her what a bonnie laddie she had gotten, kecklin around me like clockin hens, and clappin my heid and cuddlin me till I could smell the smeik aff them, for they were aye beylin tea in a wee black can.
This pair, Paddy and Kate, for aa their great age, behaved aye when they were sober like a trystit lad and lass, and ein whan they were thrang on the berry beds, whaur they were aye pairtners, they wad rookety-coo in ilk ither’s lugs like cushie doos. But whan they were fou, and they were baith deils for the drink, they seemed to hate the grun ilk ither walkit, and it was a diversion to watch them gaun aff at ein to the Kirkfield Inn, wi arms linkit and heids thegither, to come back at nicht pairtit, Kate walkin aheid dour and grumlie, and Paddy stacherin efter her, a lang way ahint, cur sin and sweirin at her, and flingin stanes.
Ae Setterday nicht, the wild ane I hae mentioned, they had gotten byordinar fou, for they had gane to the Lanark races and won some siller on a horse, and a sair job my grandfaither had to get them into the barn. But get them in he did, and lockit the door, and syne the closs mou yett, and in the end he won to his ain bed, weary for sleep, for he had a guid dram in him that nicht himsell.
A while efter, whan the steer in the barn had deed doun, and the rummle ο Stanebyres Linn had come into its ain, there was a skrech frae the milk-hoose bothy that wad hae curdlet yer bluid. The haill barn bizzed again like a bees’ byke, and the dug on the chain at the stable door lat oot a yowl.
Syne there was sic a fleechin and flytin, and duntin and dingin, as we had neir heard in the barn afore in aa oor days. In the end the barn door itsell was dung and daddit, and there were cries ο murder.
My grandfaither juist had to rise to see whit was whaat.
He turnt the big key in the barn door and poued it open, and oot stachert auld Kate O’Brien, wi her hair doun her back, her claes torn gey near aff her, and bluid rinnin doun her face and breist. And she was cursin her man Paddy wi sic dreidfou spleen that it was terrible to hear.
My grandfaither waitit wi his muckle neive liftit for Paddy to come oot tae, but a wheen ο the younger Donegals were haudin him doun inbye, and they cried to my grandfaither to fetch a raip, for they thocht that Paddy had gane wud athegither, and suld be weill tied up.
My grandfaither peyed nae heed to their clavers, but gaed into the barn, took Paddy frae them by the scruff ο the neck, and mairched him oot into the closs. In the closs he had to let him be for a while, to fin the key ο the closs mou yett, for he was gaun to pitch him aff the ferm athegither, and as sune as he lowsed his grip he gat a clowt on the lug. Paddy had gane for him.
That wasna to be tholed, sae my grandfaither gaed for Paddy, and a bonnie fecht it micht hae been, hadna Kate, whan she saw her man haein the warst o it, turnt her coat athegither, and gane for my grandfaither like a cat wi kittlins. Atween the twa he was in a fair wey to bein torn to daith.
The ither Donegals lookit on frae the barn door, feart to interfere, and though I was fain mysell to fling a stane or twa I didna daur, for I micht hae missed the pair I was aimin at and hit my grandfaither.
I had reckoned withoot my grannie. She ran to the kitchen for the big claes beetle, gethert up her goun, and laid aboot her.
That settled it. Kate and Paddy ran to the barn and poued the door tae ahint them.
That micht hae been the end ο the haill affair, but my minnie, whan she had seen my grandfaither in a fair wey to bein murdert, had taen fricht, and no waitin to see my grannie’s pairt in the affair, had let hersell oot at the Linmill front door and run for Airchie Naismith, and Airchie had yokit his gig at ance and driven helter-skelter for the polis.
Whan the polis cam, a muckle weill-fed lazy craitur by the name ο Gilfillan, he and my grandfaither gaed into the barn, and ye could hae heard a preen drap, the Donegals were sae awed. In a wee while oot they cam again, Gilfillan leadin Paddy wi the ae haund and Kate wi the tither, and my grandfaither cairryin their bundle ο claes and their auld smeikie can.
My grandfaither convoyed them oot ο the closs, lockit the closs mou yett ahint them, and came into the hoose. And afore lang there wasna a soun to be heard bune the rummle ο Stanebyres Linn.
I had thocht that Gilfillan wad tak Paddy and Kate to the jeyl, and nae dout that was what he ettlet whan he left Linmill,
