LINMILL WAS a fruit ferm, and grew maistly strawberries, but my grandfaither believed in giein auld strawberry grun a rest, and wad whiles plew up a field or twa and pit it into tatties, and syne into corn or neeps, and syne into hey, and whan he had mair hey nor he needit for the horses and the hoose cou, he wad buy in some young beasts to bring on. Sae whiles there wad be a winter wi the byre fou, and whan that happent the byre beyler-hoose was a grand place to sit on a cauld efternune, for in thae days neeps were beylt and fed to the beasts in the trochs aneth their hey racks, and baith the beyler fires wad be gaun, and wi the warmth ο them, and their lowe in the hauf daurk, and the smell ο the beylin neeps, the place was gey hamely.
I used to hae grand cracks wi my cuisins at the beyler-hoose fires, aboot the queer weys ο the daft men, and sic-like maitters. But the ae efternune I hae in mind nou, the crack had gotten on to poachers. The Kirkfieldbank colliers were the warst poachers, my cuisin Jockie said, for they didna juist gang for hares and rabbits. They gaed efter phaisants, and that was a serious maitter, for the fermers themsells were forbidden to shoot phaisants, my cuisin said, but chokit them wi dried peas.
Nou that was an unco thing, and we had to be telt aa aboot it; hou the colliers bored a hole in ilka pea wi a needle, syne cut the hairs aff a pig’s back, and poued a hair through ilka hole, and whan they had gotten a haill jaur ο peas threidit wi pigs’ hairs, they sawed them in the orchards, whaur the phaisants were kent to feed, and in the mornin the phaisants were fund deid. The pigs’ hairs in the peas had chokit them. My cuisin Bob said he wad like to try that, and the twa began to woner whaur they could fin a pig. There were nae pigs at Linmill. The ae pig they could think ο belangt to Muir at the Lesmahago road-end, and they didna ken hou they micht win at it to cut the hairs aff its back. They were tryin to get me to ask young Fred Jubb to tak us up to see the pig, for Muir was young Fred’s uncle, whan my grandfaither cam in frae the byre and telt them to rin awa hame to Linville for their tea. They lookit gey putten oot, for it was snawin ootbye, and gey cauld, and Linville was a gey wey awa, and they were ettlin to be askit to bide and hae their tea at Linmill. I felt gey sorry for them whan they had to rise and gang awa.
As sune as they had gane my grandfaither cam in frae the byre again wi a wheen sticks ο beech-wuid that had been split frae a log. He had some taurrie twine, tae, in a big baa, and whan he sat doun in the sait that Jockie had left, he took oot his big gullie.
‘I had to send them awa,’ he said, ‘for I dinna want that Jockie ane to ken what I’m daein.’
‘What is it ye’re daein, grandfaither?’
‘I’m makin pegs for the traps!’
‘Traps?’
‘Ay. I’m gaun to trap the Linmill mairches the morn. There are faur ower mony rabbits aboot, and they hairm the young strawberry plants, scrapin the crouns oot ο the grun.’
‘Ye’re gaun to trap rabbits?’
‘Ay.’
‘And what wey dae ye no want Jockie to ken?’
‘The less that young deil kens the better. Gin he kent I had traps set he wad be oot afore me lookin through them aa.’
‘To steal the rabbits?’
‘Na na, juist to fin them afore me. He canna keep his neb oot ο a thing.’
‘What are the pegs for?’
‘To keep the rabbits frae draggin the traps awa. There’s a chain on ilka trap, and the chain’s tied to a peg, and the peg’s driven into the grun.’
‘Can I see a trap?’
‘No the nou. I want to hae the pegs cut afore it’s time to feed the beasts their neeps.’
‘Will ye show me a trap later on?’
‘It’ll be yer tea-time by them. I tell ye what, I’ll show ye the traps in the mornin afore I tak them oot to the mairches.’
‘Grandfaither?’
‘Ay?’
‘Can I no come wi ye to the trappin?’
‘Speir at yer grannie,’ he said.
He aye said that to try to get quat ο me, but I didna gang yet, for I wantit to see him makin the pegs. He shairpent ilka stick to a peynt, syne cut a notch aa roun the ither end, and tied a length ο taurrie twine to the notch. He warkit till he had made a dizzen, syne said it was time to feed the beasts. The smell ο the neeps whan they were putten into the trochs aye made me hungry, and I was gled whan we gaed inbye for oor tea. I speired at my grannie aboot the trappin.
‘Ye canna gang if it’s snawin.’
‘Can I gang if it’s no snawin?’
‘What daes yer grandfaither say?’
‘The laddie can come if he likes. He’ll be company for me.’
‘Dinna let him haunle the traps, then. He micht get his fingers catchit.’
‘Dinna fash.’
As sune as I waukent in the mornin I rase and lookit oot ο the winnock. The haill closs was thick wi snaw, but there was nane faain, and I kiltit up my goun and did a dance. Efter breakfast I followed my grandfaither into the barn. He took the traps aff a cleik on the barn waa, and we gaed into the byre and sat doun at the winnock. Aa the auld pegs on the traps were rotten, and sae was the twine that held them to the trap chains. He stertit to tak the auld pegs aff, and I stertit speirin, and afore lang he had to stop his wark to show me hou a trap was set. Ye pat yer fute on the lang spring aside the chain, and pressed it doun, and the jaws ο the trap opent till they were lyin flat, and the square airn plate that lay atween them was catchit in a notch. Whan a rabbit stude on the airn plate the notch flew back, and the spring lowpit up and brocht the jaws ticht thegither, and the rabbit was catchit by the legs. It was gey hard on the puir things, my grandfaither said, but he couldna hae rabbits speylin the strawberry plants, and there was nae ither wey ο gettin redd ο them save by usin ferrets, and ye couldna use ferrets if their holes werena on yer ain grun. I had seen a ferret ance, in a hutch and whan I had putten oot my haund to gie it a wee clap it had tried to bite me, and gin I had been a rabbit I wad hae thocht ferrets waur nor traps.
But bye and bye he had aa the new pegs tied on, and we were oot on the mairches, weill rowed up in tap-coats and mufflers, lookin for places in the hedge whaur the rabbits cam through. We fand ae place efter anither, and my grandfaither set the traps. He said ye had to be carefou to cover them up, sae that naething was seen ο them, or the rabbits wadna gang near. There was nae snaw aneth the hedges, and he laid the traps amang mouls and withert leaves, and whan they were set he drew some leaves ower the jaws, and some mouls ower the airn plate, and gey cannily he gaed aboot it, for fear he wad touch the airn plate and set the spring aff. He said anither thing ye had to mind was whaur ye set the traps, sae that ye could fin them again, and aye afore he left ane he lookit aa roun to fin some mark, like an ash plant in the hedge amang the thorns, mebbe, or a big stane by the ditch, or mebbe juist the distance frae a yett. Whan the dizzen traps were set we had haurdly covert the mairch wi Tam ο Law’s, and my grandfaither said he wad hae to get mair traps or the job wad take aa winter.
The snaw cam on again whan we were gaun inbye for oor denner, and it snawed sae hard aa efternune that he telt my grannie at tea-time that he was shair the roads wad need clearin in the mornin, if there were to be ony vans wi butcher-meat or breid.
Whan I rase in the mornin he was oot and awa, and I was sair disjaskit, for I had wantit to gang roun and look the traps. The snaw had gane aff, sae I was alloued oot to play, though I was telt to be shair and no wade ower the buit heids. I gaed aboot the closs for a while, though wi aabody awa it was gey dreich. I gaed into the stable and had a look at the twa horses that werena oot, syne I gaed into the byre and watchit the beasts munchin their hey, syne I gaed into the beyler-hoose. The fires hadna been lichtit yet, and it was gey daurk and cauld. In a wee while I had slippit oot ο the closs mou. I couldna keep my mind aff the traps. My grandfaither had said the day afore that he wad be lookin them first thing in the mornin, but I thocht that mebbe wi the roads needin clearin he had forgotten them, and if there were ony rabbits catchit they wad still be lyin oot.
But could I mind whaur the traps had been set? I gaed to ae place efter anither, feelin shair that I had been there the day afore, but ae ash plant was juist like anither, and sae were the stanes dug up oot ο the ditch at the hedge fute, and it was my grandfaither, and no me, that had meisurt aa the distances frae yetts; and nae suner had I gane forrit to a place whaur I was shair there was a trap than I fand I was wrang, for deil a trap could I fin. They had been ower weill hidden. But in the end I fand the last trap we had set, ane at the heid ο the tap park at the faur end frae the Lesmahagow road. It was easier to fin nor the ithers, mebbe, because it was lyin juist whaur a hedge atween twa ο Tam ο Law’s parks met the mairch wi Linmill. But it wasna juist that aither. It hadna been hidden weill. There were nae leaves ower the jaws, nor mouls ower the wee airn plate.
I sat on my hunkers weill in by the hedge, thinkin that shairly if there had been a rabbit in ony ο the traps I wad hae seen it, and I could haurdly believe that my grandfaither had dune aa his wark for naething. Ae thing was shair, he had haen nae chance ο catchin a rabbit in the last trap, it was sae plain to see.
I wonert if I could try to hide it better, but I had seen hou cannie my grandfaither was, whan he was coverin them up, and I kent it was a gey kittle maitter. Shairly, though, I could drap a wheen withert leaves ower the jaws withoot pittin my fingers near them. I gaed alang the hedge and gethert some, though they were gey near into mouls wi the winter sae faur on, and ill to fin, but afore lang I had gethert aa I needit, and drappit them ower the trap frae weill abune it. They fell doun on it lichtly, and gey near covert it, but no juist to my likin. Ye could still see ane o the jaws stickin up, and hauf ο the wee airn plate. I pat doun my haund and warkit some ο the leaves ower the ae jaw that was still showin, and managed to hide it at last. Nou for the airn plate. I had to pit my fingers inside the jaws to win at the mouls on it, but I thocht that if I was licht wi my touch, and juist gied the mouls a wee bit tig and drew my haund awa like lichtnin, I wad be safe eneuch.
I was wrang. I had to lean forrit a wee to rax ower to the trap, and I lost my balance. My haund gaed doun on the airn plate wi aa my wecht abune it. The jaws lowpit up and fastent on fower ο my fingers, juist ablow the knuckles. I had been scaudit ance, whan a pan ο saut fish had faaen aff the Linmill range, and the pain in my haund was juist like that scaud. And no juist my haund: I could feel it in my breist tae, and in ae side ο my neck. It was mair nor I could thole, and I grat oot lood.
I dinna ken hou lang I grat, doun on my knees, leanin on the haund that wasna catchit, and juist wishin I could dee. I cried for my grandfaither, ower and ower again, syne I cried for my grannie, and in the end I was cry in for my minnie, though she was awa in Hamilton wi my daddie.
Nae help cam, and the pain grew waur, and I kent I wad hae to dae something by mysell. I thocht I could mebbe get my fute on the spring and lowse the jaws, but I couldna staun up, and though I managed to get my fute on the spring I could pit nae wecht on it. Then I thocht ο tryin to pou the peg oot ο the grun, but I had juist ae haund, and it wasna eneuch. I began to see that if naebody cam I wad be there till it grew daurk. I tried to lift the trap aff the grun sae that I could turn roun, but the wecht ο the trap made the pain waur, and I had to pit it doun afore I had managed to move.
I tried turnin my heid and lookin ower my shouther, and for a wee while I had a view ο the hallie ablow me, wi Linmill lyin in the middle. I could juist see the snaw-covert rufes, and the back waa ο the cairt shed. The closs mou was on the side ο the steidin, juist oot ο sicht, and the hoose was at the faur end, facin the ither wey. It wasna likely that onyane no lookin for me wad come in sicht, and I didna feel I could yell muckle langer. I had to stop lookin, for the twistin ο my heid threw me oot ο balance, and I could feel my wecht gaun ower on my sair haund. I sat and grat again, and began to woner whan they wad miss me. Shairly by tea-time, whan my grandfaither cam back wi the snaw-plew. But I wadna see the plew comin back, wi the closs-mou oot ο sicht, sae that was smaa comfort. And whan they did miss me they wadna ken whaur to look, for I hadna said whaur I was gaun. I began to feel shair I wad be oot aa nicht, and wad dee ο cauld and stervation, and I gat into a panic and roared like a bull, but naebody heard me, for I gied a pou at the trap and managed to turn hauf roun, and aa I could see was the white snaw and the blank waa ο the back of the steidin. My pain gat sae bad wi the pouin at the trap that I had to gie up roarin and juist sit and thole.
I heard a terrible squeal then and lookit alang the hedge, and saw something movin. It was a rabbit, catchit in anither ο the traps. I stertit to greit again, into mysell. Then I heard my grandfaither caain my name. He was faurer alang the hedge, comin my wey. I answert him and he saw me, and cam rinnin forrit. In a wee while he had putten his fute on the spring and opent the trap jaws, and I drew my haund oot. When I saw it I gey near fentit. Whaur the teeth ο the trap had grippit my fingers they were juist aboot cut in twa. The skin wasna broken, though, but it was crushed richt into the bane, and the teeth marks were blae. The ends ο my fingers were like talla. My grandfaither liftit me and pat my heid on his breist and carrit me awa doun hame.
He said no a word aboot me gaun to look the traps. Naither did my grannie, but she yokit on to my grandfaither for lettin me gang wi him whan he set them, and caaed him a sumph and a gommeril and aa that was stippit, till he lost his temper wi her and telt her to shut her gub. I didna want ony tea, and my grannie pat me to my bed. They gaed on flytin at ane anither aa through tea-time, till I wished wi aa my hairt they wad stop.
Then I mindit.
‘Grandfaither?’
‘Ay, son, what is it?’
‘There’s a rabbit in a trap, grandfaither. It was squealin.’
‘Whaur?’
‘Alang the hedge frae whaur ye fand me.’
‘Ay weill, I’ll get it in the mornin. Gang to sleep, if ye can.’
‘Grandfaither?’
‘What is it nou?’
‘The rabbit was squealin, grandfaither. I wish ye wad gang and let it oot ο the trap.’
‘There wad be nae peynt in lettin it gang, son. It’s legs’ll be hurt.’
My grannie gaed for him.
‘Then for guidness’ sake awa and pit it oot ο its misery. He winna sleep a wink till ye dae.’
My grandfaither rase withoot a word and gaed awa oot again, and I lay and tholed my pain till he came back.
‘Did ye kill it, grandfaither?’
‘I had to, son. It wad juist hae deeit gin I had let it gang.’
I lay and grat for a while, into mysell, and my grannie and grandfaither sat in their chairs by the fire, as still as daith, no say in a word.
I maun hae drappit aff to sleep in the end, and in the mornin I could haurdly feel my sair haund, though the marks were still there, and bade there for weeks; and I neir heard as muckle as a mention ο rabbits for the rest ο that holiday.