Rough Scan
AT SALTCOATS
I‘M sure ye
must be wondering, BAILIE, what’s come ower me. Weel, I hivna’ forgot ye’ or my freens, your readers, either; but
the fac’ is, I’ve been extending my business, and I’ve opened a branch
establishment doon here in Saltcoats, and a’tho’ it’s no sae big as
my ither establishment, yet it’s growin’, it’s growin’.
Ye may weel
speir what sent me doon here. Hooever,
ye ken I like everything that’s auld-fashioned, and where could ye get
an aulder-fashioned toon than this?
The first time I saw’t was on a Glasgow Fast-day when we got
a chape trip, and as I stood at the ruins o’ the auld castle (some folk
say it was never a castle but just an auld saut work) at the foot o’
Castleweerock, and inhaled the ozone, I said to niysel’, “This is the
place for me to start anither mammoth coal depôt tae leave tae my second
laddie as an inheritance, and enjoy the fine sea air when I’m no
thrang,
and so maybe add a dizzen years tae my life. As it maun be a gie cauld place in winter I
should, forbye, dae a guid bizzness.”
I acted on the
spur o’ the moment—that’s a kin’ a’ circus-looking quotation, but it’s
no meant for that—an’ started richt aff.
My auldest son
and heir still stauns at the receipt o’ custom at Stra’bungo, and my
second hauds the reins o’ management doon here, and I jisi rin back
an’ forrit atween them a fortnicht here and a fortnicht there, and gie
a kin’ o general supervision ower the young
anes,
guiding them in the paths o’ rectitude their faither has trod for sae
mony years..
Weel, the langer
I’m here the better I like it. Man,
BAILIE, it's an auld-worl’ toon.
The newspapers
are makin' a great wark aboot the rowdyism o' the Glasgow Toon Council,
and I am inclined tae think frae the rate they're going on, that they'll
by and bye be pulling oot revolvers and bowie knives at one anither.
Doon here, Toon
Cooncils dinna exist, and a Provost is unknown. Every man is a law unto himsel’, and it works wunnerfu’ and saves
a’ disputes. We’ve neither Magistrates,
Toon Cooncil, nor Dean o’ Guild Coort.
They tell me
that when some new-fangled notion is agitated for they ca’ a meeting
o’ the inhabitants, and after a sang or twa they hae a freenly talk,
and finally come to the conclusion that they had better “leave weel
alane;" it has served them in the past, and there’s nae reason
why it shouldna dae sae for the future.
Noo, that’s guid soun’ common sense.
There’s a heep
o’ folk alloo that the race is degenerating, and if so, why should they
be coddled up wi’ new improvements?
If we can dae withoot magistrates what’s the use a’ haein’ them?
I wis reading
in the papers aboot one o’ the Bailies o’ some toon or anither wha wis
sentencing a prisoner, and he said, “Prisoner, God has given you health
and strength, and instead o’ that ye go about stealing hens.” We’re better withoot a brilliant mind like
that.
Oor principal
street here is no vera wide, but it serves its purpose weel eneuch,
and hae this advantage that the vera shortest-sichted body can read
the tickets in the shop windows on the ither side withoot goin’ aff
the pavement. The pavement itsel’ is ten feet wide in some
places, and in ithers no three inches.
That, ye aee, gies everybody a choice; if ye’re no pleaaed wi’t
in one place ye can move on a few yards tae where it does suit you. The hooses are built, some wi’ the gables tae
the street, and some wi’ the fronts, and some stickin’ oot and some
stickin’ in; in fac’, sae droll are they that ye wid maist think they
had been dancing a quadrille, an’ that some sudden shock had left them
a' stationary. Tae my mind, hooever, it’s faur mair original
tae see them that way than in a hum-drum lime, no ane an inch beyond
the ither, and becoming a vera weariness in their monotony.
Three or fower
weeks ago a lot o’ lettera apppeared in the papers aboot the dangers
o' folk crossing the railways. Lod,
we think naething o’ that doon here.
The lines wi’ us rin richt thro’ the middle o’ the toon, and
ye’ll see barrows, carts, and lassies hurling perambulators, a’ trying
races wi’ the engines. Even the weans playing at the “bools” or the
“peever” neier fash their thoom aboot the trains, but play awa’ within
a few inches o’ them, and yet naebody is ever hurt.
They’re as it were, acclimatised tae it. As there’s nae bridge at the station ye’ll see the passengers running
across the rails, and twa porters haulin’ up an auld, fat wife oot o’
the way of the approaching train. We
perfectly un’erstaun each ither here, and when the engine whistle is
heard ye’ll see the vera horses rinning tae try an’ get thro’ afore
the gate is shut, so wise are they, and the engine goes kin o’ canny
tae gie them a chance.
Oor spiritual
wants are weel looked aifter. On
week days we hae the reputation o’ keeping a guid dram, frae the “Saracen’s
Head” o’ the auld coaching days, wi’ its French-like stable-yard and
its balconies, doon tae ony number o’ cozy, wee, auld-fashioned
public-hooses
where, tae elderly folk like me, a refreshment tastes twice as sweet
as in ane o’ the gran’ Glasgow shops wi’ the mirrors an’ the ale pumping
machinery.
On Sundays we
hae ample choice. Oot o’ echt
kirks we hae twa o’ the auldest in Scotland, baith o’ them much alike. As ye enter the kirkyard ye see a three-legged
stool in the open air wi’ the “plate” on it. The first day I went, as there wis naebody
in sicht my weans werena for putting in their penny, and indeed I swithered
mysel’, but suddenly I saw the elder keekin’ oot o’ a wee hoose at the
back o’ the kirkyard door. I
wisna sure at first whither he wis readin’ an inscription on ane o’
the tombstanes or watching me, but I thocht I wid err on the safe side,
so the pennies were duly deposited, and I doot not by this time a coloured
pocket-nepkin extra has been sent oot tae the Zulus.
The stairs tae the gallery are ootside o’ the building a’thegither,
so that when ye get tae the heid o’ them, and open the daor, ye are
in the kirk, touching the ceiling.
In ane o’ the kirks, hinging frae the roof, is a full-rigged
ship, a model o’ the clippers that used tae rin frae Saltcoats to Demerera—for,
min’ ye, Saltcoats wis once a great shipping place, and tae this day
we hae captains and captains’ widows in abundance.
We don’t copy
your big toons aither; we chalk oot a line o’ oor ain; even oor milk
cairts, instead o’ haeing your wee, paltry-lookin’ roon barrels, hae
fine, big, sqnare boxes that maist fill the cart and look substantial
like. Even oor post office is unique. It’s the front hauf o’ an ironmonger’s shop,
and when ye go in for a ha’penny stamp ye are surrounded by gless cases
full o’ frying pans, ashets, and goblets, which ye can study the time
the lassie is serving ye.
But we hae oor
periods o’ excitement, tae, BAILIE.
No long ago they grippit a shark which they carried up to Kilmarnock
tae let the toon’s-folk see what like a beast it wis; and every noo
and again a circus comes and sets up its tent, and sen’s oot gran’ bills
showing the performers riding on their heids wi’ their legs going thro’
a balloon.
Then the Salvation
Army gied us a turn a while syne. I
gie ye a copy o’ their proclamation.
When I read it first I thought it wis the French coming to bombard
the hale toon. Here it is :-
“Captain
M'Phee,
the American tambourine player, and male and female warriors, with an
army of blood and fire soldiers, will march through Saltcoats on Tuesday
first, at 6 p.m.
“6.30—Knee drill.
“7—Spiking of
the enemy’s cannon.
"7.30—Fire
and blazes along the whole line.
“8.30—Surrender
of the entire opposing forces; red-hot gospel shots will be fired into
the devil’s ranks.
“Happy Joe,
the champion pigeon-flyer, from Sheffield, will play on his hallelujah
fiddle.”
We were ower
canny for them, hooever, so they hae shaken the dust aff their feet
at us, and gene tae pastures new.
We hae a gran’
Golf Club, at which I wis asked tae tak’ a haun, but I doot I’m ower
stiff noo; and we hae as much dynamite made every week, a mile frae
us, as wid blaw the hale o’ Roosia tae bits.
Then for fresh fish it bates a’.
Ye'll see the women coming up wi’ the fish every morning frae
the quay, an’ them that fresh they’ll be jumping oot o' the barrows
ontae the street.
But above a’
we hae lots o’ fresh air blawing richt in frae America, ye may say,
so ye can weel believe that the doctors here cry that it’s “miserably
healthy.” There’s jist one hearse for the hale district;
and, indeed, I think it was here that the gravedigger said, “Trade wis
that bad that he hadna buried a leevin’ sowl for six weeks.”
Glasgow folk
talk about Arran, and its hills, and its air, and they think they’re
weel aff if they can get a fortnicht at it in simmer, but here every
morning when I’m shaving I can see a’ the Arran hills, and inhale a’
its breezes and the fine sautwater smell o’ cockles and wreck, withoot
needing tae risk the voyage ower on a coarse day.
BAILIE, come
doon and see us, and I’ll gie ye a dram that’ll dae ye guid efter yer
dinner.