Chapter Seven
February 1930
Of course, it wasn’t the end of Willie’s troubles. He couldn’t help himself doing the things he shouldn’t be doing, but as he often reassured himself, he didn’t know he was doing wrong until he was told what he was doing was wrong. So how could that be bad?
He had never got on well with Miss Cowe, who confided to Emily when she met her in the village post office one day, ‘You know, Mrs Fowlie, your William is not a dunce, although I sometimes used to think so. He has quite a good brain, but only when he wants to use it. I had him for – three years? Yes, he moved to the next class when he was almost seven, and he is over eight now, is he not? I would really have liked to see him making more progress while he was with me, and Miss Bell, who will take him through Primaries Four and Five, says the same. Perhaps, however, he will blossom out when he goes into the headmaster’s class. It is often the case that one teacher can make more of a pupil than another. A clash of personalities, in some cases. At least I can congratulate myself that his behaviour has toned down considerably, so no doubt his learning powers will increase with age. I do hope so.’
Emily had been quite heartened by this brief conversation, telling her mother-in-law on her weekly visit, ‘At least she said he was behaving better at school, but why can’t he behave better at home?’
Gramma Fowlie shrugged. ‘I canna gi’e you an answer to that, lass, but what’s he been up to that’s so bad?’
‘Oh, nothing that bad for a while. It’s just the little things that annoy me. He ayeways needs more than one telling to do what he’s told.’
Mina smiled knowingly. ‘And what laddie ever does what he’s tell’t the first time he’s tell’t? You’re expectin’ ower muckle fae him, Emmy. In fact, you’re makin’ mountains oot’n molehills. If you’d some laddies for a son, you’d ken a gey difference.’
Emily bridled at the criticism and pretended not to understand the true meaning of her mother-in-law’s words. ‘Yes, of course some boys are like angels, never answering back and obeying whatever their parents ask them to do.’
Luckily, Mina was not one to take offence easily. ‘No, lass, I meant that Willie’s just an ordinary loon, playin’ tricks, nae likin’ to be disciplined, aye lookin’ for something exciting to dae. He wouldna be a right laddie if he sat on his backside fae morn till nicht like you want but there’s dizzens o’ laddies worse nor him.’
‘Aye, I suppose you’re right. It’s just – well, it’s wearing, that’s what.’
‘An’ it’ll wear by. In nae time, you’ll be wonderin’ where your wee laddie’s gone, an’ wishin’ you had him back. He’ll be gettin’ in trouble for other kinds o’ things.’
‘What other kinds of things?’ Emily asked, already fretting.
‘Oh, lass, you’re an affa ane for worryin’. Enjoy your bairns when they’re young, for they’ll tak’ their ain roads when they grow up.’
Although Connie was the older, it was Becky who took the first step into the adult world some months later. She had grown into a real beauty, rounded figure, lovely fair silky hair that waved round her elfin face in a very becoming fashion now that she had started to wear it up. Her cheeks were deep pink, her startling blue eyes were always dancing mischievously and her lips always turned up in a smile. She drew boys to her like a flame draws moths, and she made the most of it, playing one off against another. At first, she showed no preference for any one of the half dozen who hung around her and her friends at the kirk soirees and dances, but gradually it became noticeable to the others that she was very much attracted to Jackie Burns, the only son of Thomas Burns of the Mains of Burnton, where both girls were employed. The other girls teased her – or rather, accused her – of picking him because he came from a wellto- do family, but Becky denied this. She pointed out that, although her father was only a farm servant and they had little money, her life had always been a happy one, and that wealth didn’t always bring contentment.
‘I love Jackie for himself, not for what his father is,’ she declared.
She could see that the other girls did not believe her, but what did it matter? Resentment, jealousy, hatred – love conquered everything, and so she went on meeting Jackie Burns as often as he asked her, this increasing from once a week to almost every night. His ardour also increased as the weeks went past. For the first few nights, he had contented himself with taking her hand shyly when they were walking out, which did disappoint her a little, but then, after sitting down one night in a clearing in Calder’s Wood and talking for a while, he put his arm round her and drew her against his chest.
‘Oh, Becky,’ he breathed, ‘I like you an awful lot.’
Her heart had speeded up, but she said nothing. She wanted more than this from him, much more. He had held his arm at her waist all the way home, and she went to bed feeling quite frustrated. ‘He’s awful slow,’ she complained to her sister.
Connie studied her closely. There was no sign that anything untoward had happened, yet she knew that Becky loved the boy.
A few more weeks passed, with Jackie progressing to a goodnight kiss at her door, which endearment grew steadily more fervent as the weeks went past, until the time came that Becky had been waiting for. Jackie let his hand stray to her breast, and after a very slight resistance, she let him carry on, fully understanding that he was stimulating himself as much as he was stimulating her. But she did not intend to let him go all the way. Her mother had warned her against that.
‘Once you let a boy have his way with you,’ she had said, ‘he’ll lose interest. Don’t think because he’s making love to you that he really loves you. Many a lassie has been left in the family way after letting a boy do what he wanted. Boys – and men – are usually after one thing, and when they get it, they move on to another girl. Keep your hand on your ha’penny till he’s puts the wedding band on your finger.’
Becky had believed her, and even though she loved Jackie with all her heart, she had come to acknowledge that marrying a boy with prospects would be much better than marrying a farm worker, and she didn’t want to jeopardise her chances of marrying into the Burns family.
‘How’re you and Jackie getting on?’ Connie asked one night, after Becky had stayed out until well after ten.
‘Great. He’s on the boil, pleading with me to let him … you know, and I just say no.’
‘You’re playing with fire.’
‘I know, and I’ll make sure the fire doesn’t go out.’ Becky threw her underclothes over a chair and grinned. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got a lovely body? Jackie says I have, and that’s what he wants. My body, Connie. And I want him to have it, but not unless he weds me.’
Connie’s eyebrows had shot up. She could only agree that Becky had a lovely body, for she was quite jealous of it. Her own body wasn’t curvy. Her breasts were quite small, her hips weren’t voluptuous, her waist wasn’t so slim. Everything about Becky shouted, ‘Come and get me. I’m waiting for it.’ And the Burns laddie wouldn’t wait for ever. If Becky didn’t give in to him, he would soon get some other girl who would.
Although Emily had been preparing herself for her elder daughter, who would be twenty in August, to meet a lad and eventually want to be wed, she was utterly devastated when Rebecca, just sixteen past September, asked at breakfast time one morning, ‘Mam, can I ask Jackie Burns to come for his tea some night this week?’
It was Jake who said, jokingly, ‘Is this a lad you’ve gotten?’
‘We’ve been keepin’ company for a good few month, an’ he wants to ask you something, Dad.’
The girl was blushing now, letting Emily know exactly what was in the wind, but her husband was grinning. ‘Aye, tell him to come the morra if he wants. I’ll be glad to answer ony question he likes.’
The girl jumped up to hug him. ‘Oh, thanks, Dad. That’s great. I’ll tell Jackie the night it’ll be OK.’
She took her father’s arm and they both went out together, leaving Emily gazing he
lplessly at her other daughter. ‘Did you know about this, Connie?’
Guiltily red-faced, the girl said, ‘Becky and Jackie Burns, you mean?’
‘Of course I mean about Becky and Jackie Burns.’
At this point, Willie, who had been drinking everything in, decided to put in a word or two of his own to lighten the atmosphere. ‘It’s a shame his name’s nae Robbie, in’t it?’
Glad of the interruption, Connie gave him the answer he was obviously waiting for. ‘Why is’t a shame his name’s nae Robbie?’
‘He’d need to watch and nae go ower near the fire.’
‘Ower near the fire? I dinna see what …’ Connie’s nose was wrinkled in puzzlement.
‘In case his robbie burns,’ Willie laughed.
‘What’s Robbie Burns got to dae wi’ this? He’s Scotland’s greatest poet, Mr Bremner used to say.’
‘He’s being very rude!’ Emily’s mouth was drawn in. ‘And stupid! Not many men call it their robbie, it’s usually called their willie, so he needn’t laugh at other folk.’ Her scowl deepened. ‘You haven’t answered my question yet, Connie.’
Having just got the joke, the girl had to straighten her face before saying, ‘I didn’t think you were serious.’
‘You knew she was seeing him, though?’
‘Aye, Mam.’
‘And what were you doing the time she was with Jackie Burns? Have you a lad, and all?’
‘Not a steady lad.’
‘You go out with lads, though?’
Stung into defence, Connie blustered, ‘What if I do? I’ll be twenty-one next year and I’ll not need your permission to have as many lads as I want.’
Taken rather aback by this, Emily was less abrupt. ‘Aye, you’re right, Con, and I’m sorry, but Becky’s still just sixteen, and she hasn’t seen much of life. She doesn’t know how many evil men there are in the world that prey on young lassies.’
His eyes as wide open as they could possibly be, Willie said, ‘How could they pray on young lassies, Mam? Do they mak’ them sit doon an’ jump on their backs to pray?’
Angry at passing the remark in front of the boy, Emily shook her head. ‘No, it’s not that kind of praying, it’s …’ She halted, stuck for another explanation.
‘Willie,’ Connie said quietly, ‘you ken when a cat catches a mouse and plays wi’ it afore he kills it, well, the mouse is the cat’s prey, spelt P-R-E-Y. And there’s men that catch young lassies and torture them. They mebbe dinna kill them, but they hurt them as much as they can. That’s what Mam was meaning.’
The matter sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction, Emily rose to clear the table, Connie went to take her coat off the peg in the porch before setting off on her bicycle to Home Farm, where she was employed as dairy-maid and Becky as kitchen-maid. They were the only two servants in the house, as the farmer’s wife liked to do most things herself.
Willie got his satchel from the porch, stuffed in his dinner box, his mind concentrating on one thing – what was Jackie Burns going to ask Dad tomorrow night?
Naturally, his first question to his little chum on their way to school was, ‘Hiv you ever heard o’ men jumpin’ on lassies’ backs to pray?’
Shaking his head vigorously, his eyes alight with naked curiosity, Poopie said, ‘I never kent men did that. I’ve never seen ony man jumpin’ …’
‘Neither hiv I, but that’s what my Mam tell’t Connie. Mind you, Mam often tells us things that’s nae true, jist to mak’ us dae something, or nae dae something.’
More confused than ever, the other boy blinked several times before saying, ‘I canna understand what you mean.’
‘Ach, you dinna listen richt, that’s your trouble. She said men jump on …’
‘Aye, I got that bit, but it’s this dae something or nae dae …’
Willie gave up. ‘Never mind. Come on, we’ll be late if we dinna hurry.’ But he couldn’t help wondering about the picture his mother’s words had conjured up. What could any man be praying for if he was sitting on a lassie’s back? Letting his mind puzzle over various things a man might want, it slowly dawned on him what he would want most if he was a man. A horse! That was it! He fancied sittin’ on horseback fighting off his enemies. But why had his mother made such a secret of it?
Having solved the problem, he buckled down to concentrating on what Miss Bell was saying, then realising that the rest of the class already had their heads down doing whatever they had been told to do, he had to nudge his neighbour to find out which page of his sum book he should turn to.
It had been a long hard fight – Emily had been dead set against her daughter marrying so young – and week after week had gone by with constant arguments between Becky and her parents, until Jake was won round by his daughter’s tears, and claimed his right as head of the house to give his permission. Once this had been given, Jackie dropped a bombshell by telling them that his mother wanted the wedding to be at the Mains, upsetting Emily, who had visualised being in charge of all the arrangements in her own house. This contretemps also took some days to settle, but finally everyone was agreed that it should be the bride’s choice. Greatly relieved that the battle was over, Jackie had arranged a date with the minister, who had agreed to perform the ceremony in the bride’s home on the first Saturday in June, which didn’t give much time for other arrangements to be made.
Caught up in the young couple’s excitement, Emily found herself looking forward to it, and looked out the outfit she had worn at her own wedding in 1909. It was over twenty years old, but it was a style that didn’t go out of date – a dusky pink two-piece with, instead of a hat, a lovely band of silk rosebuds (made by Beenie Middleton’s middle daughter, who was now a milliner in Ellon, but had been an apprentice at the time). Bridesmaid Connie had been given a beautiful powder-blue crêpe de chine dress that was too tight for her mistress, but fitted the girl as if it had been made for her. Unable to afford new clothes for themselves on top of all the other expenses, Jake and Emily were content with wearing their Sunday best.
It came as no surprise to any of them, of course, that Willie would almost put a spanner in the works. Becky had been looking through pictures of weddings in the magazines Mrs Burns had given her, showing fashionable wedding parties and detailing wedding etiquette. ‘I don’t want anybody saying we don’t know how to behave,’ she had excused herself to her mother before breaking the appalling information that she wanted Willie to wear a kilt.
‘It looks so nice in this photo, doesn’t it?’ she had gone on, laying out one of the books spread open at a double page image of what looked like a society wedding, or at least someone with a truly wealthy background. The guests looked like advertisements for the latest styles, like fashion plates, as Connie observed, the best man and the groom in tailored grey suits with top hats to match, the bride in a pure white confection (as befitted a virgin) with a high headdress and a long veil draped around her feet.
The two boys, one at front left and the other at front right of the picture, stood stiffly wearing the kilt and full regalia, down to the small dirks at their stocking tops. Even Emily had to agree that they looked very elegant, but they were bonnie boys, hair in place, everything about them absolutely perfect, whereas Willie … She shuddered at the thought of how he would look at the end of the wedding day – even at the end of the first half-hour after he was dressed. ‘No, Becky, I don’t think that’s a good idea, and besides, we couldn’t afford to buy a kilt for him and all that other things.’
Becky’s face wore a radiant smile. ‘You don’t have to buy anything, Mam. Mrs Burns is giving us a shot of the kilt her Tommy wore when he was about Willie’s size.’
When Willie was shown his outfit for his sister’s wedding, he flatly refused even to try it on. ‘I’m nae goin’ to wear a skirt! I’m nae a lassie! A’body’ll be laughin’ at me. Oh, Mam, you canna mak’ me wear a skirt?’
Gramma McKay, there to present her wedding gift of a pair of pink flannelette sheets, shook her he
ad at the boy for being so uncooperative but did her best to talk him round into at least giving it a try. ‘You never know, you might like it once you’ve got it on.’ Noticing his frown darkening, she added, ‘And you’ll likely have the girls after you when you’re looking so handsome.’
It was the wrong thing to say because he didn’t like girls, but she wasn’t accustomed to being thwarted by anyone, not even a young boy, and went off home in high dudgeon.
Gramma Fowlie, however, did manage to talk him round the following day. ‘Come on, ma lambie. Just for this Gramma. Put it on to let me see how you look, eh?’
Willie loved this grandmother more than any of his other relatives, except maybe his father, so, very reluctantly, he got out the offending garment, unfolded it from its layers of tissue paper, pulling a disgusted face when his nose was assaulted by the reek of moth balls.
His Gramma fastened all the buckles that had to be fastened, fitted on the sporran and adjusted it, saying aloud as the brainwave came to her, ‘This is where the Highlanders kept their pistols. You ken, the men that fought for Bonnie Prince Charlie.’
It was as if she had waved a magic wand. His attitude changed as he stepped towards the wardrobe mirror in the girls’ room, his back straightening, his head more erect, his expression that of a brave Highlander, ready to defend the rightful king of Scotland, though his enemies called him the Young Pretender.
Gramma stood by his side, nodding, encouraging him in his moment of glory. ‘D’you like it?’ she asked at last. ‘It’s right comfy, isn’t it, without breeks interfering wi’ your legs, an’ what else is in the bag?’
When he was fully rigged out in the white shirt with ruffles at the neck, the black velvet jacket and black brogues with silver buckles, the gilt had worn slightly off the gingerbread. The velvet of the jacket and the ruffles on the shirt added more femininity to the ‘skirt’. ‘Do I have to wear it, Gramma?’
The Nickum Page 5
