Reprinted from Edinburgh Evening Dispatch, May 1 and 2, 1891 and reprinted in Reverend John Kerr's The Golf-Book Of East Lothian.
***ADDED*** It's best to try to simply read the "Part One" monologue of the 'Oldest Inhabitant" phonetically and I think that helps a great deal in understanding the written Scottish dialect, at least most of it. Thanks for your forbearance and I trust you'll find this an enjoyable read. Happy Holidays!
The Coming Of The Honourable Company Of Edinburgh Golfers To Gullane
Part One
’Gude kens where Gullane’s gaun,” said the oldest inhabitant to me a few days ago, and stooping upon his staff, the venerable sage thus enlarged upon his subject. ‘Never since I can mind, an’I’m no young noo, hae there been sic ongauns o’ ae kind and anither. What grand biggins they’re pittin up a’ wheres – dar me, there ‘ll sune be nane o’ the auld anmes left but Darg’s Smiddy; an’ what gran’ gentry they’re gettin’ to fill the biggins i’ the simmer time. My certy, but Gullane’s geyan croose noo-a-days – no like the time when the king took the Kirk awa’ frae’t because it was “a decayin’ toun, “ and the minister had naething to dae but blaw tobacco. It’s nae common kine – nae sma’ talk, I can tell ye; but carriages-and-pairs fleein’ aboot wi’ bailies an’ cooncillors, lords and earls in them. We’ll be havin’ the Queen hersel’ afore lang, an’ what for no? Didna Her Majesty get brattocks frae the auld pond in Mark Barker’s time, an’ d’ye think she can ha’e forgetten them when ilka brattck cost her a pound a piece, as Mark as often tell’t me? The deil’s awa’ wi’ the tailor, and ne’er a haddie nor a herrin’ ha’e we haen sin’ John Hare brak his leg at Martimas; but w’eve got a butcher o’ oor ain noon, an’ a greengrocer, an’ a “scienteefic” dressmaker, an’ we’re sune to ha’e a baker to oorself’s, an’ het baps I’ the morning’ – so w’ere rale weel aff. There’s John the carrier, honest man – we’ll no want as lang as he’s on the road for a’ the luxuries o’ Embro’ toon; but I’ll no fori’e John for the price he chairged for coals the time o’ the strike, an’ nae wunner, for he’s got a hoose o’ his ain noo, like a castle. And there’s the racehorses on the green again – the bonnie craturs wi’ their gimp legs dancin’ aboot; man, I like to see them an’ Gullane’s hersl’ again, as I used to mind o’t in I’Anson and Dawson’s time “Ca’ them horses!” says auld Wully Noble; “they’re jist weedsand ne’er ane worth muntin I’ the lot o’ them.” Wullys a bit doitit noo, but he kens a horse yet, and maybe he’s richt; but for a’ that I say they’re bonnie bits o’ craturs, an’ I like to see them caperin’ aboot. Od, man, bu tthey’ve been awfu’ times, sin’ auld Dawvit Pringle dee’t this time twalmonth’ a douce man Dawvit, an’ kent mair aboot this kintraside than the feck o’ fowk, an’ mony a crack we had boot bygane times, but he slippit awa’ ceevily in the hinner-en’ did Dawvit, an’ it’s me they’ll be ca’in for next – it’s a guid allooance I’ve haen, four-score and’ twa, a lang lease of grace, an’ no muckle to show for’t; but it’s a mercifu’ Creator we’re I’ the hands o’, an’ that’s ae comfort. Sic a winter as we’ve had – did ever ye see the like o’t wi’ frost and an’ rain an’ wind an’ snaw? Nae wunner Kirsty has been sae bad wi’ the nerves, an’ wee Wully, the bit bairn, had to be ta’en to the asylum. Sic a winter wi’ waddins an’ weans – faegs, but they’ve keepit the minister rinnin’ baith nicht an’ day marryin’ an’ bapteezin; an’ puir man, he’s failin’ like mysel’ an’ no sae gleg as he was once. There’s a new ane come to the Free Kirk – a douce lad wi’ a daylicht face, they say, an’ nane o’ the hoolit aboot him, an’ maybe he’ll be a bit help; but I’m no sure aboot meenisters noo – theyr’e either no soond ava, or a’ soond thegither; an’ am no sae kirk-greedy as I ance was, for there’s ower mony cantrips and flummeries aboot them for me – an’ that’s true what I’m sayin’, though maybe you’re no’ my way o’ thinkin’. The schulemistress, tae, maun hae a man like the lave, an’ sae they’ve got a new lass, an’ a well-faured ane she is, to help Maister Wulson wi’ the carritches, and look after the bairns an’ their bits o’ seams. An’ we’ve gt a new Schule Board, or rather an auld ane, an’ sic a worry they made to get some o’ them oot that sudna be there – a’ for naething in the meaintime, but maybe the time’s comin’.
‘Od, man, Cor’nel, but they’re great times for Gullane. An’ ye wad hear the German band that gied us a veesit mair than ance this winter. I’ve nae ear for meesic mysel’, but I’m thinkin’ it wad be the Reel o’Tulloch they played sae brawly, and set the auld wifes an’ weans a’ dancin’ tthegither. I’ve naething to spare, as ye ken, but I gied the chaps a bawbee – I coodna help it. Sic strings o’ wild geese! Did ever ye see the like o’ them this winter? – thousands and thousands o’ them craikin’ ower oor heids every ither nicht; but a’ the strings o’ wild gees were naething tae yon flicht o’ wild swans about Yuletide. Eh, but the sicht was uncanny; when I saw their lang necks and their braid wings flappin’ I’ the lift, man, I railly thocht the judgment was come; ae blast o’ a trumpet, an’ I wad hae tumbled doun on the spot as deid as a mawk. I got a gloff, I can tell ye, for there was mair on ma conscience than I was jist carin’ to answer for at the time; an’ when their tailes gaed yont the Whim, I gaed ben to Smith’s, for I was gey dwammy, and had a wee thocht o’brandy that kist cheer’t me immense, as ye micht suppose. Ye’ve been at mony a big fecht, Cor’nel, as I’ve heard ye tell; but I’m mista’en if ye’re no vexed, like me, that sae mony folks here hae been makin’ fules o’themselvesby rinnin’ sae muckle into law. I’m no sayin’ Smith got justice frae the Shirra, but better ha’e mendit the dog-cairt an’ said nae mair aboot it, for wasna the Laird o’Kingston’s blame, but his man Peter’s, an’ ye cann tak’ the breeks aff a Hielandman. An’ d’ye no think it wad hae been mair wiselike o’ ane an’ a’ to have settled this drainage collyshangy ower a mutchkin or twa? But the lawyers ‘ll hae the best o’t – they like a guid-gangin’ plea; an’ the new-fangled Coonty Council maun dae something to keep themsels afore the public, an’ it’s iz that’ll ha’e the piper to pay in the end o’t. Eh, whow! But it’s a pitifu’ sicht. Wel dae I mind my faither telling’ me aboot the coods frae a’ pairts gaitherin’ to see the puir soger ladies shot at the Yellow Mires, when Grant’s Fencibles lay aff Jovie’s Neuk waitin’ for the French; but it’s an awfu’ douncome to see sic a lot o’ lairds, lawyers, doctors an’ common fowk a’ rinnin’ wi’ their noses, an’ sniffin’ at the end o’ a drain like a lot o’ terriers after a rat. Sic fykin’ noo-a-days aboot drains! I’m thinkin’ we were healthier langsyne when there was nane o’ them. There’s nae jeuks or brattocks noo, for wi’ them an’ their drains oor bit pond’s nae mair to be seen, an’ Gullane withoot the auld pond isna the place it was in my young days, no’ within a mile o’t. What’s a’ the fuss – but I’m wearyin’ ye, Cor’nel – what’s a’ the fuss aboot this new gowff club an’ this new links at The Howes? They’re a gran’ set, they tell me – raill gentry the haill o’ them, an’ a spankin’ players, an’ they ca’ themsel’s The Honourable Company. An’ what for are they honourable mair than ither gowffers, wad ye tell me? Wh are they refleckin’ on wi’ their big title? Dae they mean that the weavers o’ Aberlady and Dirleton, when they forgathered wi’ their clubs on Hansel Monday, as Dawvit Pringle used to tell me, werena honourable, an’ Laird Tamson wi’ thae cronies o’ his I’ the Farmers Club, or the ‘Castle’ chaps wi’ Happy Chairlie at their head – are they no as honourable as ony Embro’ gents? But it’s an ill win’ that blaws naebody guid – auld Robbie tells me he’s getting ‘three shillin’s a day for chappin’ stanes on the new road, an’ the Laird o’ Lingo’s groom’s coft a horse an’ cairt for himsel’, an’ tey’re a’ makin’ fortins atween here an’ Rattlebags quarry, for they ken hoo to charge, an’ mony a ane’s been the better o’ the masons that’s biggin’ the new clubhouse ludgin’ wi’ them, where tere was nae simmer gentry aboot; maybe a’ wull come richt wi’ Gullane by-and-bye – Gude kens.’
So he spoke, and then slowly moved away, his white locks waving in the wind. His talk did not weary me, it interested me much, and it is here set down along with what follows in the belief that there are many readers of the Dispatch, here and elsewere, not uninterested in Gullane – it’s past, it’s present, and it’s future. Having given the best of my days to the service, in a military capacity, of my Queen and country, and seen as much of the wolrd as is good for me, or perhaps more, I have chosen this village as the quietest, peacfullest nook I could find in my native country – a spot where true rest is to be found ‘ far from the madding crowd’, and such repose of mind and body as is necessary to ‘husband out life’s taper to its close’. I have contracted no cynical views of the world or the people that are in it, but I have done my work, and why should I be in the way? I am, and hope to be to the last, a lover of all this is best and simplest in human nature, and a student of its various phases. This is my second reason for settling here. The people are neither artificial nor vicious – they are simple, natural, and true; and I like them and like to study them. They are capable of improvement, but it might be of a kind that would develop greater faults than they have, for the sake of a higher degree of certain virtues which at present they possess in moderation, and so I am pleased with them and their ways, and ‘the oldest inhabitant’ and I are great friends; in him I have the faithful reflection of the life of the village. He may be garrulous, but I am always interested in his remarks and he knows it.
My third reason for residing here is – Golf. Without that my rest at Gullane would be burdensome; my interest in the people would become meddlesome. Long ago, when a boy at Madras College, I learned to play, and you known one never forgets the game. Alas! It is now to me what Andreww Lang somewhere calls it – ‘the old man’s exercise’. Cowper, who is a plain poet, and therefore a favorite of mine, says truly –
“The want of occupation is not rest;
A mind quite vacant is a mind distrest.”
Golf keeps the mind from being vacant; but the mind must be quite vacant for golf. This is no paradox to anyone who knows the game. This is why I golf, and this is why I have chosen to reside at Gullane. I know of no better green; none more elastic in its turf; none where a better class of caddies can be had; none where such fine, quiet matches can be arranged; none with more delightful glimpses of landscape, sky, and sea.
To Be Continued…