Rough Scan
THE FANCY FAIR
HEIGH ho!
It’s a’ bye noo—the Bazaar I mean.
Little did I think when I wis slumbering peacefully in my cradle—noo
a guid wheen years ago—that sich honours were in store for me.
The numbers o’ Duchesses an’ Countesses that shook hauns wi’
me, ye widna believe, an’ every ane wis gledder than anither tae meet
me, for as one of them said, “It’s not your fault, Mr Kaye, that you’re
only a commoner — you might as well have been born a Duke — indeed you
are more benevolent and fatherly looking than many a Duke,” an’ indeed
that wis true enough, for as far as I saw the titled folk were jist
like any ither body.
Betty thocht
at first that the leddies wid be a’ hinging roon wi’ diamonds, an’ hae
a wee black boy haudin’ up their dresses; an’ that the gentlemen wid
hae swords, an’ cockit hats, an’ medals, wi’ a flunkey walkin’ behin’,
carryin’ a goldheided cane an’ a bottle o’ lavender water.
At the Bazaar a Duke, a Marquis, an Earl an’ me gaed awa’ tae
hae a bottle o’ champagne, an’ ye widna ken ony difference in us — indeed
the waiter aye ca’d me “My Lord“ — an’ afterwards we had a smoke.
They had ceegaurs, an’ I had a wudden pipe, an’ I heard a lady
say, “Look at that old Duke how unaffected he is — smoking a common
wooden pipe - an’ what a noble profile!
It’s so easy to recognise blue blood.
How different he looks from our pinchbeck gentry.”
I, of course, said naethin’, but it pleased me rale weel tae
be a Duke if it wis only for one day.
Betty wis ane
a’ the ladies at the Saltcoats an’ Stra’bungo stall. She was dressed as a Bavarian peasant, whaurever they come frae
— someway aboot Jamaica they tell me — an’ she wis tae see that the
young Countesses attended tae their business, an’ made as mony sales
as possible. When I arrived
tae help them, a’ the ladies—an’ there
wis some o’ them gey bonnie – cried oot, “Here’s the dear old man,”
an’ then jist as I had been Abra’m, they fell on my neck an kissed me. I wis quite ashamed – afore sae mony folk –
but a Duke tell’t me that thae titled folk were feer in their manners
than commoners.
My duty wis
tae sit in below the coonter taking the things oot o’ the boxes, wrapping
them up in paper, and handing them to the Countesses tae sell. It wis hard work, but my heart wis in it, an’
I sat in as sma’ a space as ever I sat in in a’ my life before. It wis tryin’ tae my back, an’ sair on my legs,
but I sat an’ whustled intae mysel’, an’ as I wrapped up the nichtcaps
an’ bottles o’ scent tae be ready for the customers, I chuckled at the
thocht o’ hoo we were nailing them.
Having been ance young mysel’, I had great feelings for the leddies
when a young man stopped tae talk tae them, an’ I never listened, but
“cooried” doon weel oot a’ sicht an’ took oot a sandwich, an’ as I took
a bite an’ heard some sweet nonsense whispered, I wid sae tae mysel’,
“Aha, my man, that’s anither sixpence,” for I noticed it cost them jist
aboot sixpence a compliment.
I had tae keep
seeven ladies gaun, so sometimes, as ye may guess, I made mistakes,
whiles haunding up a Noah’s ark instead o’ a pincushion, an’ a bairn’s
pinafore for an auld lady that wanted a pair o’ gloves; but man’ it
wis winnerfu’ hoo correct I wis, a’ things considered.
“Mr Kaye, hand
me up a pair o’ slippers, please. Oh,
dear, this is a black doll you have given me, and it wants a leg, too.”
“That wis jist
the way I wis trying tae get it aff my hauns, because it wis damaged,”
says I; “tell them jist tae tak’ that or let it alane — when it’s for
charity, folk shouldna be owre particular.”
“Oh, Mr Kaye,
here’s a ‘masher’ coming. What
will I offer him?”
“Weel,” I says,
“we’ve a hale boxfu’ o’ monkeys here — they go up the one side o’ the
stick, an’ heid foremost doon the ither — we must try an’ sell them
— here’s ane o’ them.”
“I say, your
majesty, I mean my lord — tut, tut, I mean countess, I’ve tummled a
can o’ marmalade in among the fancy slippers.
What”-
“Is Provost
Kaye here?” says a fine cheery voice; an’ wha wis this but the Duke
o’- I forget wha’s this he said he wis — there wis that many o’ them—but
he wis a Duke onyway — an’ when I crept oot an’ shook the sawdust oot
my hair, he put his arm through mine, and he says, “Come away, Provost;
Lord Tobermory and Sir Rodenick Macfaurlane are waiting for you to have
a gemmn at dominoes.” And so awa’ we gaed, and we took a turn doon
the old village street first. Man,
BAILIE, if yon wis the way they used tae build the hooses they were
queer — such ups an’ doons an’ roonaboots, an’ sich wee peens o’ gless
that ye wad wunner hoe they could see oot at a’.
And they must have been very bad speller - they could hardly
spell the commonest word; they apelt the,
ye — but of course we a’ ken eddication
has made great strides since the Skule Board began. Hooever, it wis an awfu’ crush, an’ we could
see naething, so we gaed awa intae a wee room, where the ither twa wis
waiting for us, an the Duke got in ceegaurs, an’ gied orders that we
werena tae be disturbed on ony accoont, short o’ the Queen hersel’ ca’ing. So we sat and cracked awa’, an’ played for
a penny the gemm.
“Colonel,” says
one o’ them tae me, “it’s a great pity you are not one of us — a man
of your talent would be a decided acquisition to our ranks.”
“Ah, your Royal
Highness,” says I, “dinna craw sae crouse; thae Socialist chiels are
going tar mak’ short work o’ ye - a’ you that toil not, neither do you
spin — I’m no sure whether that’s in the Bible or in Shakespeare, but
it doesna matter — ye’ll hae tar succumb tae we toilers, wha, as Gladstone
says, aye, an’ as Joe Chamberlain says, are the salt o’ the earth.
Feel that arm“ — the Duke felt it — “that’s the arm o’ a self-made
man, wha has risen frae, I may say naething, to be a Provost, a Colonel
o’ the volunteers, an Elder, and I don’t know what a’. But I hope I hiv a heart tae feel for ithers’ misfortunes, and if
ever Gladstone does get the better o’ ye, an’ puts ye oot o’ hoose an’
ha’, if ye come any way near my hoose, I’ll aye hae a bed for ye, and
a wee bit tobacco, an’ a welcome.”
“Come on, Provost,
it’s your turn — double nine, can ye follow that?”
“I can,” says
I; and I did, BAILIE; and we played awa till I won fourpence frae the
Duke and tippenee frae each o’ the ither twa, and then the Duke sang
a comic song, an’ I gied a recitation, and Sir Roderick played a breakdoon
on the tambourine, an’ a’ this put such life into us that Lord Tobermory
got up on the table and danced “the Sailor’s Hornpipe,” and a bright
thocht struck me, so I gaed to the door an’ stuck up a notice—
COMIC
SINGING, NEGRO MINSTRELSY, AN’ CLOG-DANCING
By
the
FOUR
PEARS OF THE RALM.
ADMISSION
SIXPENCE.
No
Waiting. A Constant Succession
of Novelties.
BAILIE, they
crooded intae us at sich a rate that we cleared a guid few pounds for
the bazaar. Long may dukes an’
bakers join hand in hand for the relief o’ the puir and afflicted.