FORBYE MY GRANDFAITHER at Linmill, that was my minnie’s faither, I had ane at Lanark, that was my daddie’s. He was a beylie, my Lanark grandfaither, and a maister dyker—they say he biggit aa the dykes on Tintock —but I haurdly saw him save on the Saubbath, whan I was taen to Lanark to the Congregational Kirk, and there he was the precentor. Sae I can haurdly mind him no weirin Saubbath blacks, and a white stairched dickie, staunin up fornent the Congregational poupit, facin the choir, wi a gey solemn look on his face, and a wee black stick in his haund, conductin the singin.
He wasna content juist to serve the kirk himsell. His haill faimily had to help. My uncle Geordie gaed roun wi the collection box, my daddie and minnie sang in the choir, and my aunt Lizzie played the organ, watchin my grandfaither’s wee black stick in a lookin-gless fastent aside the music rack.
But that wasna aa. The organ was ane ο thae auld-farrant kind that had to be pumpit, to gie it air, and I did the pumpin, wi a lang haunle stickin oot ο the side ο it, ahint a green curtain.
I was alloued to bide in ahint the curtain aa through the service, save at sermon time, whan I had to come oot and sit richt in ablow the poupit cushion, facin oot, opposite my grandfaither; and he glowered at me aye whan I grew restless, as I whiles did, for the meenister gat whiles cairrit awa, and forgot aboot denner-time.
Ae day, whan my daddie and minnie had gotten up to the Bluimgait in guid time to staun by the kirk door and hae a bit crack afore gaun inbye—and that was bye the ordinar, for it was a gey trauchle aa the wey frae Linmill and we were nearly aye late and oot ο braith—onywey ae day, whan we were in time for a bit crack at the kirk door, my aunt Lizzie telt me they were gaun to hae the communion, and I had to bide on in the kirk for it, and no leave whan she had played the second voluntary.
I telt her I didna ken what the communion was but she said it didna maitter, syne I askit if there wad be a sermon at the communion and wad I hae to sit oot in front for it, and she said there wad be a sermon afore it, as on ony ither Saubbath, and I wad hae to sit oot for that, but efter the service was ower, and she had played the voluntary, to gie the bairns time to leave, I was to bide ahint my curtain and no come oot till she telt me.
I askit what wey the bairns had to leave and she said it was because they werena auld eneuch for the communion: it was for growen ups, and I wasna to keek through my wee hole in the curtain aither, for it gart the curtain move, and the folk could see it, and it was a disgrace. I was to sit still and juist listen, and be ready to pump the organ whan it needit air for the singin. I wad hear the meenister makin the announcements.
Syne the bell stertit to ring, and I was taen awa in, and on my wey up to the front I saw that the table atween the poupit and the choir, that had flouers on it for ordinar, was covert wi a white claith, and there were twa siller dishes on it covert wi table naipkins, and something else forbye, but afore I could mak up my mind what it was I was in ahint the curtain, pumpin the organ for the first voluntary.
I kent my wey through the service by this time and I listent whan the intimations cam, and shair eneuch the meenister said there wad be communion at the end ο the service for members ο the denomination, and wad ony that werena able to tak pairt please leave wi the young anes.
I felt gey prood that I was alloued to bide in, and I could haurdly contain mysell for the rest ο the service, waitin to see what the communion wad be like.
I dout I maun hae been gey impatient, for they said efterwards at denner-time that the sermon had been short, but I hadna thocht sae, for there had been whiles whan I had lutten my braith oot wi a weary souch, and had fund my grandfaither glowerin at me; and he had a gey glower, I can tell ye.
But the sermon was ower at last, and the service tae, and syne the voluntary, and I could haurdly keep my ee frae that curtain.
The bother was that though there was a wee hole in it, that the laddie afore me had made for keekin oot o, it was whiles no whaur ye could use it, for the curtain was hung on a brass rail, wi rings, and as ye poued it open and shut ye cheynged the folds, and gin the wee hole gat into a fold ye couldna see through it withoot pouin the curtain straucht, and that moved it, and folk could see it, and kent ye werena behaving yersell.
And that day ο aa days the wee hole was in a fold.
The meenister announced a hymn, though, and I had to pump for a while, and while I was pumpin, hopin aabody wad hae their een on my grandfaither’s wee black stick, I moved the curtain wi my shouther, hopin it wad cheynge the folds, and the wee hole wad be cleared.
It wasna. I could still see naething.
I had juist to jalouse what was happenin, frae what I could hear, and it was aboot the last supper, and hou Christ askit his disciples to tak breid and wine, efter he had gaen, to mind him by, and whan he brak the breid he said it was his body, and whan he took the cup he said the wine was his bluid, and syne the meenister said the congregation wad tak the breid and wine, efter him, and I couldna help it: I moved the curtain and keekit, and saw my uncle Geordie and Yuill the jeweller haundin roun trays wi wee glesses ο wine on them, and siller dishes wi wee squares ο breid. And the folk ate the breid and drank the wine, lookin gey solemn, and I felt feart I wad be fund oot keekin, and took my ee frae the hole.
Aa the wey up frae the kirk to my Lanark grannie’s at the Gusset Hoose for denner I was terrified my grandfaither had seen the curtain movin, but as sune as he had said grace he stertit to his soup, withoot as muckle as speirin what the meenister’s text had been, a thing bye the ordinar. And a guid thing tae, for in my curiosity aboot the communion I had forgotten to keep mind ο it, and gin he had askit I wadna hae been able to tell him, and my denner wad hae been speylt, as it gey aften was at the Gusset Hoose, if no ower the meenister’s text, then ower some ither maitter.
Nou efter denner on the Saubbath my daddie and my minnie, and for ordinar my aunt Lizzie tae, took a walk to Saint Kentigern’s kirkyaird, to read aa the faimily heidstanes, syne efter tea my aunt Lizzie took me back to the kirk for the Sunday-schule. But that Saubbath it was different. My aunt Lizzie said she wad hae to gang doun to the kirk richt awa, to redd up efter the communion, and I wad hae to gang wi her, for she wadna manage back for me afore the Sunday-schule stertit.
Sae efter denner doun the Waalgait we gaed, insteid ο up the loch road to the kirkyaird, and whan we had won doun the Bluimgait to the kirk we gaed in by the back door, and there aside a sink in the scullery neist to the Sunday-schule room were the twa siller dishes, and the trays wi the wee glesses, that had held the breid and wine for the communion.
The trays took my ee richt awa. They were made ο polished aik wuid, wi holes for the wee glesses, and ilka tray had fower siller legs, that fittit into hallies in the ane ablow, sae that ye could staun them ane ower the ither withoot pittin ony wecht on the glesses, and the tray at the bottom had a lang siller haunle, that gaed ower the haill set, sae that a man could cairry it in ae haund, and hae the ither free for haundin the trays oot.
My aunt Lizzie had putten a kettle on a gas ring and was takin the trays apairt whan I noticed that ane or twa ο the glesses in the tray second frae the bottom were brimmin fou; and in the bottom tray there wasna a single gless tuim.
‘There’s some wine left ower,’ I said.
‘Ay,’ said my aunt Lizzie, ‘there’s aye aboot twa tray-fous left ower. Ye canna aye be shair hou mony are comin, and there wad be a fair todae if folk cam and there was nae wine for them.’
‘What are ye gaun to dae wi it?’
‘I aye juist drink it, to get redd ο it. It wad be a fair skiddle tryin to pit it back in the bottle. You can help me.’
‘To drink it?’
I could haurdly believe my ears. I didna juist ken hou it was, but I kent I daurtna touch it.
‘I dinna want to drink it, aunt Lizzie.’
‘What wey no? It’ll dae ye nae hairm. It’s no the kind ο wine that maks ye fou. Yer grannie maks it at the Gushet Hoose wi essence frae the chemist’s. See. Look. Ye wadna fin me takin it gin it was drink.’
And wi that she tuimed ane ο the glesses ower her thrapple.
‘Dinna dae it, aunt Lizzie,’ I said. ‘It’s no richt.’
‘What’s wrang wi it?’
‘I dinna ken. But it’s no richt.’
‘What gars ye think that?’
‘I dinna ken.’
‘Ye suld ken what gars ye think a thing’s no richt.’
‘It was the meenister.’
‘What aboot him?’
‘What he said.’
‘Whan?’
‘At the communion.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Aboot the breid and wine.’
‘What?’
‘He said the breid was the body, and the wine was the bluid. Dinna drink it, aunt Lizzie.’
‘I drank it at the communion.’
‘Dinna drink it here.’
‘What wey no?’
‘I dinna ken.’
‘There can be nae hairm in it.’
‘It’s no richt.’
‘What’s wrang wi it?’
‘I dinna ken.’
‘Ye keep sayin “I dinna ken”. What am I to dae wi it, gin we dinna drink it. Pour it doun the sink?’
‘Na.’
‘Sae that’s wrong tae, is it?’
‘Ay.’
‘Then what am I to dae wi it?’
There was juist the ae thing I could think o, though that didna seem richt aither.
‘Pit it back in the bottle.’
‘It’s ower muckle ο a skiddle, and it’s no worth keepin. See here, gin ye winna let me drink it it’s gaun doun the sink, and this is the last time I’ll bring ye here whan I hae this job to dae.’
And wi that she poured the wine doun the sink, in a tizzie.
It wasna like my auntie, that, and she gat waur whan she was washin the glesses, and brak ane.
‘This is aa your faut,’ she said.
I couldna think what had come ower her, save mebbe that she was beginning to feel vext that she had poured the wine doun the sink. But she feenished washin the glesses, and dried them, and pat them back in the trays, and syne pat the haill set awa in a press in the Sunday-schule room.
Syne she turnt to the twa siller dishes that had held the breid.
There was some ο that left tae, and she gied me a look, but said naething, and rowed it in ane ο the table naipkins, and laid it on the sink-brod, and gied the dishes a dicht, and pat them awa tae, in the Sunda-schule press, and lockit it.
Syne she cam back to the bit scullery and foldit the table naipkins, and pat them in a basket wi the tuim wine bottle. But the naipkin wi the breid she didna touch.
‘Hae ye forgotten the naipkin wi the breid in it, aunt Lizzie?’
‘Na, I haena,’ she yappit. ‘Juist you mind yer ain business. Here’s Mr Yuill to tak the Sunday-schule.’
And shair eneuch Yuill the jeweller was there, the Sunday- schule superintendent, and in a wee while ane or twa teachers cam forrit, friends ο aunt Lizzie’s, and the bairns themsells, and we were aa thrang for an hour recitin the texts we had been gien to learn aff by hairt frae wee coloured cairds; and listenin to stories frae the Bible. Lichtbody the lawyer’s wife was my teacher, and she telt us the story ο Lot’s wife, that lookit back at Sodom, and was turnt into a pillar ο saut.
The classes were nearly aa dune and we were waitin for the Sunday-schule to skail whan I saw my aunt Lizzie through the winnock, shakin a naipkin into the manse hen-ree, and there were the wee squares ο communion breid, inside the ree, being focht ower by the meenister’s hens.
She gied a quick look ower her shouther at the kirk back door, foldit the naipkin, and syne disappeared frae sicht; though it wasna lang afore she had slippit back into the Sunday-schule, showin nae sign ο the naipkin, and was sittin aside her class again till Yuill the jeweller feenished his story – he aye took twice as lang as ony ο the weemen – and rase up to lowsen us wi a prayer.
I jeyned my aunt Lizzie to gang back up to the Gusset Hoose for oor tea. She hadna the basket.
‘Hae ye forgotten the basket, aunt Lizzie?’
‘I’ll get the basket the morn. Ye dinna cairry baskets on the Saubbath.’
‘I saw ye feedin the breid to the meenister’s hens.’
‘Ye suld hae been peyin mair attention to yer lessons.’
‘My lessons were dune.’
‘What story did ye hae?’
‘Lot’s wife.’
‘Can ye mind it in case yer grandfaither asks ye aboot it?’
‘Ay.’
We turnt into the Waalgait frae the Cross.
‘Rab?’
‘What?’
‘Dinna mention to yer grandfaither that I drank ony ο that communion wine. Dae ye promise?’
‘Wad my grandfaither be angry?’
‘Oh I dinna ken that. But he micht. Dae ye promise no to mention it?’
‘Aa richt. Wad he be angry gin he kent ye had fed the breid to the meenister’s hens?’
‘What wey suld he be angry aboot that?’
‘I dinna ken.’
‘Ye think he suld, though?’
‘I dinna ken.’
‘There ye are again. Ye dinna ken. What was wrang wi feedin the breid to the meenister’s hens?’
‘And what aboot it?’
‘It wasna richt.’
‘What daes the like ο you ken aboot it?’
‘I juist ken. Ye said there was naething wrang wi drinkin the wine aither, but ye dinna want my grandfaither to ken aboot that.’
She was quait efter that till we cam to the pavement at the Gusset Hoose back door.
‘Rab?’
‘What?’
‘Mebbe ye’d better no mention what I did wi the breid.’
‘I kent it was wrang.’
‘Weill, mebbe. And ye winna say I drank ony ο the wine? Promise.’
‘Aa richt.’
‘That’s a guid laddie.’
Aa through the tea I was feart to meet my grandfaither’s een, in case he wad jalouse that I kent something I was forbidden to tell him. And that ein on oor wey hame to Linmill efter the kirk skailed there was a flash of lichtnin, juist ahint Lanark gasworks, syne a rummle o thunder, and an onding ο heavy rain, and a storm cam on for the rest ο the nicht, and we were drookit, and I couldna help thinkin ο the fire and brunstane that the Lord had rained on Sodom and Gomorrah, and I thocht ο Lot’s wife, that the Lord had turnt into a pillar ο saut.
And efter aa that, as sune as I gaed to sleep, I had a terrible dream, wi God sittin up in heaven lookin juist like my grandfaither, in his Saubbath blacks and white stairched dickie, and his brous were drawn doun in a maist fearsome glower, and his een were borin into me, and I kent it was because he had been watchin whan I was at the back ο the kirk wi my aunt Lizzie, and she had flung oot the breid and the wine.
It was a while efter that afore I could feel shair he wasna gaun to turn her into a pillar ο saut.