THERE WERE WHILES three daft men at Linmill, whiles mair, but the anes I mind best were Daft Sanny, Johnny Kirkhope, and Joe the Pole. They had a big bedroom wi twa built-in dooble beds and a white jamb fireplace, lyin at the ither end ο the front lobby frae the kitchen, and it was keepit as bricht as a new preen, for men frae the Coonty Cooncil, like Murdoch ο the Teaths, cam ance a year to hae a look, and see that they were weill lookit efter. They had their meat in the kitchen, at a table by the winnock, juist afore the rest ο us had oors at the big table in the middle ο the flair, fornent the fire.
They werena alloued into their bedroom to sit, save at ein in the winter, whan it was airly daurk. Then my grannie aye lit a big fire for them. On simmer eins, or in wat weather in the winter, whan they couldna wark ootbye, they sat in the auld byre, on a sait by the winnock, lookin oot on the closs. Mind ye, they had wark to dae ein in the auld byre, for ance a year, at the stert ο the winter, a big beech was cut doun, and whan it was sawn into short lengths it was taen to the auld byre and stackit, and the daft men spent the wat wather in the winter sawin it up and choppin it into logs.
Apairt frae the wark in the auld byre, they had their ain jobs ootbye. Daft Sanny did the reugh wark aboot the hoose, polishin the grate and scrapin pats, and gaun to the waal across the Clyde road for watter. Johnny Kirkhope and Joe the Pole warkit oot in the parks and orchards, delvin in the winter atween the berry beds or roun the bottoms ο the busses, but Johnny wasna muckle use. He seemed to be aye tired, puir sowl, and was aye slippin awa to hae a sleep, and he was caaed Johnny-Hide-the-Pea. Joe the Pole was a guid warker, though, if ye left him alane, though he wadna wark on the Saubbath, ein in the simmer, whan aa they had to dae that day was walk up and doun amang the strawberries, bangin on a tin tray wi a parritch spurtle, to keep the craws aff the fruit. He was religious, was Joe, and aye prayin, movin a wee bit ο thick black tabawkie frae ae haund to the ither, and mutterin into himsell.
Their main job in the simmer, through the week, was cairryin in the baskets ο berries frae the parks, to my grannie in the shed. This brocht them into contact wi the folk that poued the fruit, the Donegals and the weemen frae Kirkfieldbank, and whiles wi ither folk tae, that cam aboot the shed, and there was whiles some bother, for folk that didna understaun them wad whiles lauch at them, and if they noticed, they were gey angert. Joe the Pole wad hae naething to dae wi onyane save my grandfaither or my grannie, and peyed nae heed to ony ithers, juist giein them a glower and walkin past them, but Daft Sanny and Johnny Kirkhope fair enjoyed a crack wi ony that didna lauch at them. For they were baith collectors.
Johnny Kirkhope collectit watches. Mind ye, naebody eir gied him a watch that wad gang. Aa he gat were broken anes and toy anes oot ο luckie-bags, but onything that lookit like a watch gied him pleisure, whether it gaed or no.
Daft Sanny had mair sense, for he collectit pennies, and naebody could gie him a bad ane. Ye wad hae wonert at aa the pennies he gat, ane frae my faither ilka Setterday, whan he cam for the week-end, and ane aye frae the meenister, Denner-Time Davie, whan he cam for his tea. And he gat ithers frae the vet, and the tea-traiveller, and Willie Mitchell the packman, and ein frae the Donegals, whan they were fou. They aa seemed to think it a great divert that Daft Sanny gethert pennies, and haundit them ower as if siller juist grew in their pooches. I wonert gey aften what Sanny did wi aa thae pennies, for he neir spent them. There was juist the ae shop near the ferm, Martha Baxter’s at the Falls, and I neir saw him near it. Then ae day I fand oot.
The meenister had caaed, airly in the efternune, and whan he had shaken haunds wi my grannie and me and sat doun in my grandfaither’s big chair at the kitchen fire, my grannie sent me oot to the hen-hoose to fin twa eggs for his tea.
The hen-hoose was straucht across the closs frae the hoose back-door, at the end ο a lang cairt-shed that lay open to the closs, whaur the hens scartit in wat wather. There was a stane waa atween the cairt-shed and the hen-hoose, and up in this waa, juist ablow the riggin ο the rufe, was a wee hole for the hens. To win through it they had to sclim up frae the cairt-shed flair by a plank wi slats nailed to it, laid against the waa like a stair. They were aye quait eneugh gaun up this lether to roost whan daurkenin cam, but through the day, if ae hen was gaun up to lay, and anither was comin doun efter layin, there was aye a collieshangie, for the hen gaun to lay wadna gie wey, but cooried on its hunkers wi its feathers on end, makin a noise like a rattle, while the hen that had laid stude up straucht wi its neck streitched and era wed like mad, and syne flappit its wings and lost its balance, and had to flee to the cairt-shed flair, skrechin wi fricht, and whan my grannie heard it in the kitchen she wad say ‘That’s the seiventh the day,’ or ‘the eichth’ as the case micht be. She was aye pleased to hear that skrech, for eggs brocht a shillin the dizzen.
The wey into the hen-hoose for folk was by a door in the grund-flair. I hatit gaun through it, for the flair inside was a fair scunner. It was whiles cleaned, mind ye, and covert wi strae, but the hens roostit on the rafters abune it, and their dirt drappit doun on it, and covert ilka inch, sae ye couldna fin yer wey to the lether that led up to the rafters withoot trampin on it. The lether itsell wasna muckle better, nor the rafters aither, and whan ye won to the heid ο the lether ye had to step ower the rafters to the boxes whaur the hens laid their eggs. I didna feel safe on thae rafters, for ye could see doun atween them, and if ye had slippit ye wad hae haen a gey tummle, and though the strae on the flair ablow wad hae broken yer faa, a lander in aa the dirt wad hae been waur nor a broken neck.
Weill, as I telt ye, I was sent to fetch twa eggs for the meenister’s tea, and I gaed through the door, and ower the dirty flair to the lether, and up the lether and on to the rafters, and as I was makin my wey ower to the nests I gied a look through the skylicht. I aye stoppit at the skylicht on my wey ower to the nests, for it had a lang airn haunle that ye used if ye wantit to open it, and ye could haud on to this for a while and feel safe.
The skylicht was in the slope ο the rufe on the side awa frae the closs, and lookit oot ower the tap parks lyin at atween the ferm and the bend at the heid ο the Lesmahagow road. There was a dry-stane dyke atween twa ο the parks, and I saw Daft Sanny gaun up the dyke-side wi something white in his haund, like a parcel rowed up in newspaper.
I wonert what he was up to, for he keepit lookin roun, as if he didna want to be seen, and in a wee while he stoppit, and poued a stane oot ο the dyke, and had a bit look at the hole, and pat the stane back again. Efter tryin a wheen different places he seemed to fin a hole to please him, and syne pat his parcel in it, and pat the stane back again. Syne he took anither stane aff the dyke, a wee ane, and laid it on the grun at the dyke fute. Thinks I, he’s hidin something, then I heard my grannie cry in on me no to tak aa day, for the kettle was beylin.
For days efter that I watchit for a chance to hae a look at that dyke whan Daft Sanny was black-leidin the kitchen grate, or awa doun across the Clyde road to the waal for watter, but by bad luck my grandfaither had a squad ο weeders in the tap parks at the strawberries, and for twa days he was in the park aside the dyke. But the day cam whan the weedin was feenished, and the squad was shiftit across the Clyde road, and as sune as Daft Sanny gaed awa doun to the waal, I made for the dyke whaur I had seen him hide his parcel. I gaed through the yett into the gress park on the faur side ο the dyke and stertit lookin for a wee stane at the dyke fute. I hadna gane faur eir I fand ane. I lookit for a loose stane in the dyke abune it and sune fand ane, and poued it oot, and shair eneugh there was a parcel. I lookit roun to mak shair naebody was lookin and syne stertit to open it. There were layers and layers ο newspaper, and then, in the hairt ο it, a wee roll ο twal pennies. I had jaloused aa alang that this was what I wad fin, and I had ettlet to tak them, but I was feart, and juist pat them back.
I had a feelin, though, that Sanny had been faurer up the dyke whan I had seen him, sae I had anither look up a bit, and fand anither wee stane at the dyke fute, and anither faurer up still, and aye abune the wee stane there was a loose stane in the dyke. I jaloused he had parcels hidden aa ower the place, and wonert to think that he suld fin ony pleisure in juist rowin up siller in parcels, and hidin it awa in a dyke.
For weeks efter that I gaed through the maist terrible temptation. Ilka time I saw Martha Baxter’s winnock, and hadna a penny to spend, I thocht ο aa that siller lyin useless in the dyke. Whiles I wad slip up the dyke-side whan I thocht Daft Sanny was thrang, to hae a look for mair hidie-holes, and in the end I had fund seiven, but I didna touch the siller. I was ower feart. And ae day Daft Sanny saw me comin back doun the dyke-side and he cam rinnin through the yett gruntin, and stude chinnerin at me, sayin something that soundit like ‘Buggie indigo’, and I ran to my grannie greitin, but I wadna tell her what wey.
Then, ae Saubbath efternune, in the middle ο the simmer, whan the strawberries were ripe and the Donegals were back in the barn for the pouin, I met my cuisins at the Falls road-end. They were sittin on the gress aside the fute ο the front gairden watchin the brakes leavin the Falls Hoose, no faur doon the road. The horses were aye fresh efter their stop at the Falls, and the coachmen keen to hurry on and mak up for lost time, and as sune as they won the level at the ferm road-end they quickent into a trot, and spankit roun the front-gairden bend. I dout oor thochts werena on the horses, though, for efter a while Bob said juist what I had been thinkin mysell.
‘Come on ower to the Falls Hoose, Jockie.’
‘What’s the use?’ said Jockie. ‘We hae nae siller. Hae you ony siller, Rab?’
‘Na.’
‘What aboot gaun doun to the Black Brig and staunin on oor heids,’ said Bob. ‘We could mak siller that wey.’
‘We’re no alloued,’ said I.
‘Wha’s to ken,’ said Bob.
‘I ken whaur there’s siller,’ I said.
‘Whaur?’ said Bob.
I telt them aa aboot Daft Sanny’s parcels. I kent I suldna, and I felt like a criminal, but I couldna keep my secret any langer.
‘Come on,’ said Jockie, efter I had feenished. ‘Daft Sanny’s in the park aside the waal orchard, chasin the craws. He daesna leave there till tea-time.’
We gaed up the near side ο the hoose and alang the back ο the barn, and syne alang the back ο the lang cairt-shed, till we cam to the yett by Sanny’s dyke. There were twa Donegal men sittin on the yett, chewin gress and spittin.
‘Ye’d better no let the gaffer see ye sittin on that yett,’ said Jockie. ‘Ye’ll waiken the hinges.’
Ane ο the Donegals said it was a peety they couldna get sittin on their ain hin-ends on the Lord’s day, efter slavin for the gaffer aa week. The gaffer was my grandfaither.
‘Ye can sit on yer hunkers,’ said Jockie. ‘Ye dinna hae to speyl a guid yett.’
The ane that had answert Jockie wantit to argie, but the ither drew him awa, and they gaed aff up the cairt road to Johnny Moorcraft’s park, and sat on the yett up there. It wasna my grandfaither’s. They could still hae seen us frae whaur they were, but Jockie said it didna maitter, they mebbe wadna be lookin.
‘Come on, Rab,’ he said, ‘show me whaur the loose stanes are.’
I showed him hou to fin the loose stanes, and he telt Bob and me to gang roun by the closs mou and watch the wall yett for Daft Sanny. We hadna been at the closs mou for five meenits whan Jockie cam efter us, baith his pooches a jingle.
‘I herrit fower ο his holes,’ he said, ‘and pat the paper back juist the wey it was. He mebbe winna fin oot for weeks. Come on, nou, for Martha Baxter’s.’
He took us to the Falls shop and bocht us aa lemonade and biscuits, syne caramels for himsell, and luckie-bags, sherbert dabs, and sugarally straps for Bob and me. We took oor loot doun to the sait abune Stanebyres Linn, but there were some folk sittin there, aff ane ο the brakes, sae we sclimmed the fence and gaed doun on to the rock at the heid ο the Linn, and sat there in the thunner ο the watter, juist oot ο the spray, and fair made beasts ο oorsells.
I took guid care afore I gaed hame to dicht the sugarally aff my mou, but I couldna eat my tea, and whan my grannie yokit on me, and speirt what I’d been eatin, I said grosets. She believed me, but gied me a guid flytin, and threatent me wi a dose ο caster ile, and I was gey gled to get to my bed skaithless. I lay for a while wi a pain in my peenie, wonerin if ye could get the jeyl for stealin frae a daft man, and wishin we had left Sanny’s siller alane, but bye and bye the pain gaed awa, and aa I could think ο efter that was the grand spree we had haen, chewin till oor jaws were sair, and I gaed to sleep dreamin ο it.
In the mornin I was gey worrit in case Daft Sanny wad fin that maist ο his siller had gane, and I keepit my ee on him, but he didna leave the closs mou aa day save to gang to the waal, and I began to think that mebbe efter he had hidden his siller he forgot aa aboot it.
But I was wrang.
Twa-three days efter oor spree at the Linn I was doun in ane ο the parks abune Clyde, waitin for my grandfaither to leave his gafferin and cairry me doun ower the bank to the watter-side, whaur I could play amang the whirlies, paiddlin and watchin the mennans. He had a big squad that day, ο Donegals and neibor weemen baith, and Joe the Pole and Johnny Kirkhope were cairryin baskets frae the park to the shed, but Daft Sanny was supposed to be up at the hoose, for he neir warket awa frae the back door save on the Saubbath.
The Donegals were blarneyin awa, especially the weemen, and my grandfaither was tellin them to talk less and think aboot their wark, whan there was a soond like the roar ο a bull, and Daft Sanny cam rinnin oot ο the wall orchard, trampin ower the strawberries in his anger, and shakin his neive at the Donegals, and cryin ‘Buggie indigo! Buggie indigo!’
‘He’s brekkin oot again,’ shouted my grandfaither. ‘You, Paddy, and you tae, Pat Maloney. Help me to grip him!’
The weemen rase and ran skrechin for Clyde, slidin doun ower the bank, some ο them heid ower heels, but Paddy O’Brien and Pat Maloney stude by my grandfaither, and grippit Sanny by the airms. I had rin in ahint a hazel, and I saw them leadin him awa, strugglin like a wild beast. I kent what was wrang wi Sanny. He had fund oot that his siller had gane, and he was blamin the Donegals.
I felt terrible, and was feart to gang hame. It was lang efter tea-time when my grandfaither fand me, at the fute ο the front gairden, ower the dyke frae the road. I had gane there thinkin that if Capie the butcher’s van passed up the road on its wey hame frae Crossford, I micht get a hurl to his shop at Kirkfieldbank, and frae there walk to Lanark, and gang to my ither grandfaither at the Gusset Hoose, but whan I thocht ο what he wad say whan he heard I had been stealin, and him the kirk precentor, I cheynged my mind, and juist sat and waitit, no kennin what to dae at aa.
‘Oh there ye are,’ said my grandfaither.
He didna seem angert, and I was gey relieved.
‘Was it you that took Daft Sanny’s siller?’
‘Ay.’
‘He says there were fower shillins.’
‘Ay.’
‘Did ye spend haill fower shillins?’
‘Ay.’
‘Aa by yersell?’
‘Na.’
‘Wha was wi ye?’
I said naething.
‘Whan was it?’
‘On the Saubbath.’
It made it soond aa the waur.
‘Wha was wi ye? Ye werena alane?’
‘Na.’
‘Were Jockie and Bob wi ye?’
‘Ay.’
‘It wad be Jockie that took the siller?’
I said naething to that aither.
‘I woner hou the young deil fand oot whaur he hid it.’
‘I saw him hidin it, frae the skylicht in the hen-hoose.’
‘What were ye daein up there?’
‘Gettin twa eggs for the meenister’s tea.’
‘Ye suld hae keepit yer gub shut. Ye micht hae kent Jockie wadna be able to keep his haunds aff it. And Sanny aye breks oot whan his siller’s taen.’
‘Did someane take his siller afore?’
‘Some ο the Donegals, twa year syne, and he nearly killed ane ο them. We nearly had to send him awa.’
‘Will he hae to be sent awa this time?’
‘Na na, he quaitent doun as sune as yer grannie had gien him his fower shillins back. And she’s gien him a bank to keep it in, a wee black airn box wi a key, and a watch-chain to hang his key on, and he’s as pleased as a bairn. Come on nou for yer tea. Ye suldna hae biddin oot like this. Were ye feart Daft Sanny wad win at ye?’
‘I thocht my grannie wad gie me a flytin for stealin.’
‘Stealin? Weill, it was, in a wey, but ye wadna hae taen the siller if it hadna been for Jockie, I’m shair ο that, and ye can haurdly blame the young deil for takin siller oot ο a dyke.’
We made for the front-gairden yett.
‘Grandfaither?’
‘Ay?’
‘Daes Daft Sanny ken wha took his siller?’
‘Nae fear. He thinks it was the Donegals, nae dout, and he’s better to think that. They can look efter themsells.’
‘Ye mean he micht gang for them?’
‘Weill, ye can neir be shair. He micht gin he hadna gotten his siller back, but yer grannie’ll hae quaitent him, I think.’
My grannie wasna juist sae plaisent as my grandfaither. First I gat a flytin for no comin for my tea. Syne I gat anither for tellin a lee on the Saubbath, whan I couldna eat my tea for the spree, and blamed it on the grosets I had eaten. Syne I gat anither for tellin Jockie whaur Daft Sanny hid his siller. Syne I was telt what Daft Sanny would hae dune to me gin he had fund oot that I was to blame. He micht hae killed me, she said, the wey he ance tried to kill the Donegals, and he wad hae been taen awa back to the asylum for it, and she wad hae lost the best black-leider ο grates and scraper ο pats atween Lanark and Hamilton. It was the thocht ο lossin Daft Sanny that seemed to fash her, no the thocht ο me bein killed.
I can tell ye I keepit oot ο Daft Sanny’s wey efter that. I couldna eir be shair that he hadna fund oot about oor spree at the Linn, frae someane at the Falls, and gin he gied me a look I was shair he had murder in his ee, and ran for my grandfaither.