by Jess Smith
Davie soon got a job, and Margaret was as pleased as punch to have her little grandsons only ten minutes down the road. Things settled easily into the ways of scaldie folk, except for one tiny flaw—me—I wasn’t one. I needed to get away, but after many an argument Davie knocked holes in my arguments for moving around the country and said I was being selfish. The boys needed stability, and anyway, how many times had we heard stories from travellers about the extermination of their kind from the roads of Scotland. I was aware of the situation when I lived in my bus, and matters had became worse. What was left for my kind? Where would we go? How could we make a living? Yes, I think it was round that time my mind told me that memories of the old ways was all I had, that I should just lump it and be content with my lot.
So, for the first time since I had my boys, I got a job. I was twenty-three years old. Yet I felt like an auld humpy-backit wife stuck hard in her routine. Davie would come in have his tea, we’d do the dishes and I’d go to work in an old folks home. At ten pm I came in, kissed the bairns goodnight and went to bed. Yes, a scaldie life was just grand—aye, right!
Well, there you have it. So why not fill that cup and come back with me to those happy old days when life was full and clocks had no faces. This story is from our days in the bus.
If that old mutt of yours needs a walk then take him, I’ll wait until you come back. If you don’t own a dog, then read on.
29
MY SILENT FRIEND
We’d not meant to drive so far down country, but as the weather had been diabolical in Perthshire and Argyll, my Daddy went to Galloway searching for better climes. We knew lots of travelling gypsies from that area, like the Marshalls, the Blythes, the Youngs and the Gordons. Daddy went searching for an old wartime mate of his. He was a real olden-style traveller who made horn spoons; his name was Billy Hearne. After we’d stopped on several fields cracking with other gypsies, the man’s whereabouts were revealed to us by a big hairy blacksmith who had bought a smallholding for his wife and horses. He directed us to a place amid miles of sand dunes, where we discovered Daddy’s old mate and his family.
Dina was one of his daughters, a ten-years-old deaf mute with three brothers and two sisters, who were brilliant fun. Me also being ten, I hit it off with Dina from the first moment we met. Her folks were old-fashioned tinkers who refused to modernise, and it was a joy to sit in their long tunnel-like tent with its rows of beds and a stove fixed in the centre. Within a night of our arrival, Dina’s old granny, Billy’s mother, a brilliant storyteller, had me glued to my seat with her tales. She told biggies about Hell’s long-tails (rats) dragging a phantom bogey filled high with the souls of bad weans. She was amazing, because at first glance you saw this wrinkled old half-dead-looking body, but the minute she opened her mouth it was like listening to a young woman: terrific.
We couldn’t pull our bus onto the sand, so were forced to leave it on hard ground and walk down to Billy’s place. This was a nightmare, because the first night I was there I had listened to so many tales I had a bladder like a fish-bowl. Well, how could I be expected to squat down in ghostly sand dunes, with sea winds whistling like eerie elves from every angle? Dina had no fear, though. Because of her inability to hear and speak, she never heard a word of her Granny’s ghost stories, although she made faces of staring eyes and covered her mouth when a creepy bit was was being told. I thought her antics were just from copying her siblings, but certain events would soon change my mind.
Billy had some farmwork to do, and as Daddy had been recovering from chest problems he was under doctor’s orders to take things easy. I really mean Mammy’s orders, because she was as near to a healer as he got. Anyway, he decided he’d go with Billy for the crack. Me and Dina wandered on behind our fathers, she hand-gesturing and me stumped at first as to what she was meaning. It didn’t take me long, though, to make out what she meant, because her hand signals were very artistic. She followed with her eyes the wild creatures of the Galloway countryside, and made birds by joining both hands and fluttering her fingers. Rabbits were represented by a few hops and jumps.
As we trudged on and communicated in our own way over knolls and burns towards a low-lying farm surrounded by steadings, a sudden sound rent the air. The blast of a powerful horn reminded Billy of something he’d clean forgot—there was a hunt on that day. ‘Nae point in heading through thon fields, the farmer will be sitting astride his cuddy tuggered up like a lighthouse beacon, red face tae go with his jacket. He’ll not be needing me.’ Billy reached into a torn waistcoat pocket, retrieved chewy baccy, popped some in his mouth, spat a brown spyuch onto a flat stone and turned to go back. Daddy refused the offer of a breath-choking chow and followed on. Laughing over at me, he said, ‘Listen, Jessie, you keep a civil tongue in your head, my lass. This is hunt country, and I dinna want you screeching at the riders.’
I pretended not to listen, and knew if I saw one red jacket I’d fly into a rage.
His companion told him that Dina was the worst wean in all the world. He’d a red face and hard job explaining to a furious huntsman, who was missing a saddle and a whip, that she was a mute lassie. Daddy asked how that came about. Billy said that his daughter had spurred a horse, and when the rider fell off she’d unsaddled the beast to prevent the rider returning to the hunt. When he lifted his whip to take it across her legs, she tore it from his hand and threw it into a fast-flowing burn.
‘But what can ye dae at chastising a poor wean wha canna hear nor speak, aye, Charlie?’
‘Aye, man, it must be sore tae live in a silent world, right enough.’
Billy then quelled the rage swelling in my heart at the thought of witnessing a fox hunt, when he said it was just a gathering of riders who met every so often to ride wild across the moors and low-lying fields. Then, far off, I heard their whistles and horns, and when on the horizon appeared a line of well-bred horses straddled with straight-backed riders, I had to admit they certainly looked a grand sight. I forgot for a moment that my friend couldn’t hear, and said to her, ‘Dina, dae ye hear the thumping o’ yon horses’ hooves?’
She smiled and nodded, and then it dawned on me: this fly wee bisom can read lips. Now, in a small way, I didn’t feel so helpless towards her. I knew now if my explanations with hands and body movements failed, then I’d to face her and slowly mouth what I wanted to say. That, though, in itself was a mystery to me, because if she lived in a silent world from birth, then how would she know what words were, never mind their meaning? But this was only a momentary thought for me, because what was on my mind was the same thing that all ten-year-old weans have; all I wanted was to play and rout the place.
Dina didn’t want to go back home; she needed to explore, to show me her countryside. It was her countryside, because although the Hearnes were travellers, they never moved any further north than this area. She pulled on her father’s jacket, tugged at his sleeve, and made signs with fingers touching his lips and her own. I didn’t understand, but her father did—she wanted to go wandering over the hillside and down the next valley. ‘She has a favourite stream where she plays with otters. She must like you, lass, because not many folk get taken there. Sometimes when she goes missing for hours we know where to find her.’
Daddy wasn’t keen to let me go far in a strange place. Like Mammy he knew how much I had the wander urge, so he told me to ‘be home when your shadow grows longer’—in other words, by late afternoon. I’d had a bigger than usual plate of porridge that breakfast, so no doubt my belly would be happy enough missing lunch. Billy assured Daddy nothing would happen to me, because Dina knew the ways of the countryside; she also knew when to be home. Deaf or not, her backside would still feel a sharp wallop, just like her siblings, if she disobeyed the family rules. And as for roaming away from home, four hours was considered enough for any traveller bairn; after that whistles were blown and dogs were sent to search.
So, after waving goodbye to our fathers, we set off to explore Dina’s stomping ground. The sun
shone bright in the early summer sky, and the air was filled with the scent of every wild blossom one could hope to smell; and this sense to my mute companion was her finest. She held my hand as she stretched her neck upwards, then turned her tilted head in every direction. Like a hound she sniffed the fragrant air; then letting go my hand ran and ran around until dizzy, whereupon she fell upon the grass laughing silently. I joined her and began pointing at a few fluffy clouds that danced across the bright blue heavens; she in turn pointed to a lone buzzard. He must have thought we were tasty food, because in an instant he left his thermal to swoop down; once he distinguished our human forms he flew back up to his resting-place on the wind and ignored us.
We lay there for some time, me laughing loudly and she doing the same in her silence. Suddenly my friend’s eyes narrowed; she sat up, then stood, stiffly turning her head from east to west, then from south to north. I was puzzled: it looked as if she were listening. Then, without warning, she lay down hard upon the ground, pressing the front of her body into the earth. She stared at me, and the look of terror on her face was indescribable. Quickly she jumped to her feet, gripped my hand and like a whippet tore across the braes, pulling me with her. My futile attempt to slow her down only had her leaving me trailing behind, as she skipped and almost flew across the hillside. She plunged down a steep embankment, only stopping when she came to a wide stream.
Without pausing for breath she waded into the water, and pulled her soaked body onto a small island in the middle of the stream. She began frantically running her fingers amidst tree roots, and then a smile spread across her wet face. She gestured that I should come over, and being the curious age I was, I didn’t need asking twice. Soon I was staring down at something my young eyes had never seen before—two tiny baby otters snuggled together in a nest of thick river grasses and broken twigs, built with the skill and care only a loving parent could provide. Dina didn’t touch the little ones, yet she would not leave them. Rather to my annoyance on account of my wet clothing, she pulled me up to sit at the other side of the sightless water babies.
Dina sat down, making no movement apart from folding her arms over her knees, and darting those fast-moving steely blue eyes up and down stream. I could see she was expecting company, as her gaze moved from high ground to low, scanning every inch of the stream’s embankment. She knew we were not alone, yet at that time I heard no sound. Suddenly something moved among the long grasses on the bank; she smiled and pointed. I looked in the direction of her finger, and was amazed to see two adult otters come swimming towards us. They swam past us, yet made no attempt to get us away from their offspring. Dina lowered her hands and fanned the baby otters. I think she was calming the parents in doing this. I felt they knew her—don’t ask me why, because I have no explanation, just a gut feeling that my new friend was more known to the animals than me. I had seldom taken an interest in these semi-aquatic creatures, believing them to be vicious in the protection of their young, yet here we were sitting inches from them and no screeching or attack took place. One, which I thought must have been the father because of his size, nosed the air, then like a grey streak he dipped his head, rolled his eyes and dived.
The smaller otter followed him. I could only think that we should not have been there: they couldn’t get to their young while we humans were holding them back. My face spoke what I thought; but Dina shook her head as if she were telling me I was wrong.
Then, as if from nowhere, a panting, snarling hound came bounding upstream, followed by several men. One had a long stick with which he was poking the water. He shouted to the other men that there were wee lassies on the island, meaning us. ‘Wait back, lass,’ he called to the dog, who was already heading in our direction, slavers dripping from loose jaws. I grew stiff with fear and grabbed Dina’s arm. She, unlike me, didn’t flinch, just gazed with a cold unmoving stare at the fierce animal which continued to ignore her master’s command. Only a few feet from us, I could feel the hot breath of the beast’s nostrils on my face. ‘Lord help us, we’ll be shredded, because that gadgie canna control his bitch,’ I thought, as shivers ran the length of my spine. All of a sudden, just as my eyes tightened with a fear that sent my heart into my throat and blocked my screams, the man with the stick lunged forward, hitting the hound hard on the back. She yelped and drew back, shook her wet coat and bounded toward the bank to sit by her master’s side.
‘You bloody bairns had better no hing around this burn when the hounds hae a scent, awa hame with ye.’
I squeezed tight upon Dina’s arm, which felt like hardened steel. She had not heard him, but by her stern face there could be no mistake, she knew exactly what he had said. She shook her head fast, then faster, flailing both arms in an erratic fashion that prompted one man to say, ‘she’s simple, better keep the dogs away. Anyway, if there’s young ’uns we’ll chase the otter away, and sure as fate they’ll not come back.’
I wasn’t quite sure what these wet-trousered men with their rolled up shirt-sleeves were doing there with their sticks and hounds. I didn’t dare ask because I was so far away from my secure bus home and Dina from her tunnel tent; fear had entered my young body. This pool in the stream looked deep in parts, and these men had hungry, lantern-deeking jaws onto themselves.
‘Yon otter is hiding up here in a holt. Come on, boys, the dogs will have him soon!’
‘Bloody hell fires, the bastards are hunting the poor wee otter!’ I shook with anger. I made to stand on my feet, but Dina yanked me down, pointing to the babies who were by now moving uncomfortably, probably needing fed. Dina covered them over with more damp grasses and they quietened. I could see now what her plan was. Obviously, being from these parts, she knew of the practice of otter-hunting. I didn’t, and there was nothing worse than an ignorant body screaming the odds at folks she neither knew or understood.
So while the hounds took off after the male otter, who had left his dangerous hiding place and was tearing towards a wooded area, we sat protecting the young. Every now and then I saw my silver streak, with a big snarling hound inches from his low-lying tail, but each time he escaped. Further downstream I lost sight of him, and he disappeared from view in a patch of slimy thick stagnant water. All the while the dogs barked and howled, the men brandished sticks, shouted orders to go here and come there, growing hoarse now. I prayed to every god I hoped there might be, but to no avail. Suddenly, without seeing any evidence of a kill, I knew by the stillness that the brave water-coloured animal had lost his struggle for survival.
He had fought well, the little fellow, but when I saw his broken body held in the mouth of the very bitch who wanted to take a bite from us, I knew it was over. Poor otter, what a brave wee lad. In minutes the hounds and their masters were gone over the knowe’s flank, whistling and chatting happily. Some women, who for their own reasons had held back, when the hunt was over joined the troop of men to examine the dead beast. To them this was just another otter, just another out-of-doors incident. But to me, albeit briefly, it was one of the saddest of days I’d ever witnessed.
I watched Dina’s face, and of course she too was sad, but already she was pulling and tugging for me to leave the island. Dripping wet and more than a bit stiff, we made our way onto the mossy bank opposite, where thin willow branches were interspersed with silver birch. Dina tugged at my sleeve, pointing to the island from which we’d just come. I looked where she indicated, and suddenly the still water rippled as the mother otter, without doubt now brokenhearted, curled onto her young.
If she could speak, I knew she’d say how proud she was of her man, and how strong a husband he was. He gave his life by drawing the pack away from his tiny family, knowing his partner would continue to rear their young. And was it his last wish that when they, the hunters, came again next year, those fully grown otters would outrun their predators? Yes, I knew little of such matters, but as is the way with most travelling children, I had seen life as it is—in the raw!
Dina was smiling as we ran back hom
e, because she’d thwarted the destruction of the two young otters. The sun’s light was lengthening our shadows, and for sure we’d both be chastised for it, but hey, wasn’t it worth it?
I never told my family about the hunters—I’d have suffered for it if I had. Our survival in those days depended on maintaining a healthy country attitude: don’t interfere in our culture and we won’t interfere in yours.
That night the old granny held us all spellbound with her ghost tales. To say I was frightened was an understatement. Rather than go for a pee I kept it in, resulting in a sore belly.
Dina’s family just popped round the side of the tunnel tent, and it’s as well the thunder and lightning storm that night that threw our imaginations into realms of terror was followed by a deluge, or the smell of hot urine would have made pigs retch.
Next day Dina and I went gathering nettles for old Granny Hearne’s rheumatism. She needed new heads from fresh growing nettles to make a concoction which she swore blind made her lift her old legs like a spring lamb; without it she stiffened with hard knotted joints.
It was very early, about seven a.m., when my pal Dina appeared at the side window of the bus where my bed was. I peered out to see her all dressed and ready for the day. I wouldn’t go anywhere without my breakfast, not even if Jesus himself had called for me! So, after a quick swallow of porridge and toast, my feet once more began a journey with the silent but masterful Dina. I can’t tell you what so excited me about this wayward lassie: perhaps it was they way she seemed to be so wise about nature, even the human kind. Life with this wean was neither dull nor silent. I was becoming fond of her and knew that when the time came, our parting would be sore.
