My parents moved from Edinburgh to Lundin Links in 1897. My father equipped a Bootmakers Shop. The house was above the shop. The weather of that year was very stormy, and snow lay deep. Ships could not get out of Largo Harbour. All available men were mobilized to cut through snow drifts and open up roads for horse drawn food lorries and vans. The roads between Lundin Links and Largo were opened in the middle of January 1898, something that pleased my mother very much, for my entry into the world was about due. I was born on 19th of January — the Largo Doctor was in attendance, along with my grandmother — Granny Rodger, a well known midwife who had brought a thousand babies into the world, and her proud boast was she had not lost one.
By all accounts I was tiny, weighing only two and three quarter pounds according to my grandmother. I was wrapped in cotton wool and placed between a pig hot water bottle and my mother’s warm body. I was tiny, but I had good lungs for I was forever bellowing for food. I was the sixth in the family so I had many helpers. My growth was normal, thanks to my mother’s tender care, and my grandmother’s liberal droplets of castor oil. I have always detested castor oil — no doubt it stems from my babyhood. I believe I walked before I was one year old, scampered around furniture like a hare, and at the age of two chattered like a monkey during my wakeful periods. Be that as it may, I was soon to learn that young children must not speak when their elders are speaking. I have faint recollections at an early age, of having my petticoats lifted and bottom smacked for speaking out of place.
In early life I had three illnesses which stand out in my memory, croup, measles and mumps. All were very painful —perhaps more so, as I was kept in bed and in the dark. I have a vivid recollection of a croup attack, struggling and gasping for breath, with many anxious people around me, especially Granny with her bottle of magic in her hand — castor oil! I can still see a bespectacled man, opening my mouth with a spoon. He spoke quietly, then he poured some coloured mixture down my throat. In a little, hot poultices were wrapped around my throat, and one placed over my chest. How long I was ill I don’t know — the experience of the agitated people, the ‘specky’ Doctor, the medicine and poultices remain fresh to this day.
The day came when I had to go to school. How I dreaded that day, for I had heard so much from others about ‘The Strap’ and dreaded homework. On my fifth birthday Mother helped me on with my Sunday Clothes and I was led by my big brother David to Balmullo School which was about half a mile from my home.
At that time I could write ALEX CASEBY in big bold letters, count up to twenty, repeat the first verse of Psalm 23 and Psalm 121, croak, rather than sing ‘God is always near me,’ and ‘Jesus Tender Shepherd hear me.’ I did not like the teacher. She was a wild looking young woman who seemed fond of smacking and roaring at pupils. The first day she shook and strapped a boy second left from me and a little later the boy next to me got a wallop on the cheek, both for no good reason that I could understand from my loving home background. I thought in my young mind, ‘Alex, you will be next for the strap.’ So, seeing the door open. I ran out of the class, down the road and to the safety of my house. My adventure was short lived. Even as I told Mother my story my big brother arrived home looking for me. He dragged me out protesting and marched me back to the classroom. This time an elderly, peppery teacher caught me by the sleeve, thumped me with her fist and then strapped me. I struggled, freed myself, and once more escaped from school.
This time I did not go home but hid in a shed until near four o’clock, when I heard the scholars shouting as they left the playground. When I got home my good clothes were taken off, my mother gave me a scolding, my bottom was smacked, and I was put to bed without a meal. I felt I had a raw deal, and in that thought I sobbed myself to sleep. When I woke up Mother was at my side. She was not angry. I got up, put on my ‘old clothes’, and sat down to a bowl of broth and some kind of pudding and a cup of cream. All was forgiven, my first day at school was over, the adventure past.
Next day I went to school by myself and was met by my first teacher who had scared me. She gave me a sweet, and asked, ‘Why did you run away, Alex?’
I told the truth in a sobbing reply: ‘I thought I was next for a strapping, or a smack on the cheek.’
She laughed, patted me on the head and said reassuringly, ‘I’m a good teacher.’
I looked up into her face and blurted out between sniffles, ‘The boys call you Miss Pepper!’ She roared with laughter. Then she trusted me by giving me money wrapped in a note to be taken to a little village shop. What I brought back I do not know, but I was patted on the head and rewarded with a caramel. After that we were good friends.
I had her for about one and a half years, then I had the Headmaster. Some days he was good and most days not so good. As a result my previous good work deteriorated and my family became anxious and made enquiries. Many parents were so dissatisfied with the ever changing type of teacher, many not qualified, that they called a meeting of The School Board Committee and, not getting satisfactory answers, decided to withdraw their children from the school. My elder brother Bill and I, and fourteen children left and daily walked three miles each way to Dairsie School in August 1905. I was seven and a half years old.
There were neither free school transport nor many owners of cycles then, so almost everyone had to walk to Dairsie School and it proved to be a mostly enjoyable journey. The road was very rough, there were many pot holes which, when wet, formed muddy puddles of water everywhere. ‘Wellies’ did not exist, waterproof capes and mackintoshes had either not been invented or were too expensive. Yet we would always get to school on time, take off our soaked overcoats, leave them in the cold cloak room and do our lessons without grumbling.
Dairsie School was vastly different from Balmullo School. Mr W.S. Seath was a first class Headmaster, despite his weaknesses which were his temper, impatience and constant and mostly unjust use of the strap. My two other lady teachers, in separate rooms, were the opposite in personality and behaviour, quiet and strict, who gave lines to write at home as punishment instead of the strap. Line writing could not be done secretly in our small house and soon led to questions at home from my parents about my conduct during and attention to lessons and thus to many a scolding. The ladies’ method of correction was very effective because I hated upsetting my parents and making them cross with me.
School had only two afternoon breaks before the Christmas holidays, the first Tuesday in August for the Cupar Market and Fun Fair held in the streets, and the second Tuesday in September for the similar but much larger St Andrew’s Lammas Fair. At both fairs there were amusements of every kind, also Stalls with goods, Fortune Tellers and voluble cheap-jacks.
September also meant Haymaking which was a long laborious job. For those concerned there was hard, hard work in stooking, forking sheaves on to carts and then stacking. Quite a number of eleven to thirteen year old farm children had exemption from school to help with the work full time and the rest of us helped part-time.
Haymaking and harvest over, we had less than one month at school before the ‘Tattie Howkin Holidays’ came round. Two weeks were allowed in October for all children who wanted to work; a permit from the Headmaster was necessary to cover a third week. Most children worked the minimum, for the job was cruelly backbreaking, cold and tiring, and all felt proud to hand over their pay to Mum. I know I did. I was happy to be back at school.
Despite the normal autumn and winter wet and cold weather, the school had no facilities to provide hot meals or drinks of any kind — not even soup, nor even tea, coffee nor cocoa as they were too expensive. For lunch we bought a slice of bread from a local sweet shop, spread with treacle or syrup; the same knife spread both, at the princely sum of one halfpence. Fizzy drinks cost one and a halfpence for half a bottle. So to all hardy youngsters, the one meal between eight a.m. and four fifteen p.m. was a syrup piece, and a scone one carried in one s pocket from home for a ‘leave piece’, which was eaten at the morning breaktime. If one got an odd coin, for doing some good turn, it bought a cake of chocolate, or four bull’s eyes, or packet of sherbet, or four broken biscuits from the shop. I usually took my coin home to save in my ‘Purley Pig’. Hard days indeed but pleasant ones which were full of happy memories. We were all in the same boat, except for one or two fortunate children from monied families.
At my first lesson with Mr Seath, he handed me a large sheet of paper with about forty questions on it. I had to write in the answers, some only requiring one word. They touched on History, Geography, Spelling, Sums, Religion, Distances, Towns and Rivers. John, my eldest brother who was a student at St Andrews University, told me to do the easy questions first in an exam, then there will be more time for the difficult ones. I found all the questions quite easy. All at once the Headmaster’s strap was thrown at me, hit me and fell to the floor. I was bewildered by this and by the fact that the classroom had gone very silent. It was a sign from the Head that I was for the strap, something I did not know. Innocently I picked it up, walked to the front, placed it on his desk and returned to my seat. Talk about a ‘bellow of rage.’ He rushed up and barked at me, ‘I cannot stand anyone, who idles his time in dreams!’
I looked straight into his face and uncomprehendingly said, ‘I’m sorry, Sir. What have I done wrong? I have finished all the questions.’ He snapped at me: ‘Take that smirk off your face.
I waited, and waited. It seemed a long time. The door opened, in came Mr Seath who calmly muttered, ‘Go back to your seat, all the answers were correct. I believe you’ll make a good scholar!’ Then in a louder tone as I entered the classroom he said loudly, for the benefit of the other students, ‘Take that smirk off your face!’ That remark was all the pupils in the class heard.
After this incident I found most of my lessons difficult for, as a result of Mr Seath’s entry test, I was soon promoted to a class where pupils one year older had the advantage of previous lessons at Dairsie School.
My mind was made up to succeed and this resolve caused me to tax my brain at times but, having a determined nature, I progressed well. One thing I had difficulty with was Maths and Mr Seath just could not understand why. Of course I easily made up in all other subjects. So much so that in the Standard Attainment Class test which covered Reading, Writing, Poetry, Comprehension, Arithmetic and Religious studies, I reached sixth place out of eighteen. Seldom was I taken to task for my academic work.
After this achievement and although I had the strap a few times for mischief, I got on well with Mr Seath for the rest of my years at his school. He continued to roar and bellow at the students in turn. When he was in his ‘hate Alex mood’ I learned just to smile and listen for his now familiar shout — ‘Take that smirk off your face!’ This lulled me into a sense of false security as can be illustrated by the following incident.
Once, when at a History lesson where kings and politicians had nicknames, Mr Seath asked generally, ‘Has anyone in the class got a nickname?’ Alan Clark said he was ‘Nobby’, Jim Gunn answered that he was ‘Guy’, another with the surname Black claimed to be called ‘Whitie’. The Headmaster, who was now standing next to me, grinned, enjoying what he heard. He looked at me and asked. ‘Alex, have you got one?’
I replied, ‘Not that I know of, Sir. Unless you count Eck which my friend call me instead of Alex.’
Bending down he grinned at me and stage-whispered. ‘Have I got one?’
I remained silent, for I somehow sensed trouble.
He prodded me painfully and agitatedly instructed, ‘Just say Yes or No.’
So with no help from the deliberate blank looks of my fellow students I nervously blurted out, ‘Yes, Sir. Your one is “Cocky” Seath!’
He puffed up his cheeks and went so red that I thought he would burst, grabbed me by the arm, dragged me out of my seat and roared at me, ‘Come to my desk.’ Then he added in a very hurt and indignant tone, ‘I never heard such cheek!’ He pulled out his strap, ‘Take this,’ he said, but I stood still with my hands by my side. ‘HOLD OUT YOUR HAND,’ he bellowed in a terrifying way. I did.
He lashed at my hand and missed, missed again and missed for a third time because I moved my hand each time the strap came down, my reflexes were swift. After each miss the wayward strap walloped his knee, making him grimace with pain. After the third miss he was out of breath, puffing and with his face bright scarlet. Whilst he recovered, he just stared and stared at me, utterly bamboozled, then ordered me to my seat. The ordeal was over and I did not feel in the least guilty. After all, I had done no harm but to tell the truth.
Lunch time came and I was off like a shot to the ‘wee shoppie’ to buy my syrup piece. I had just finished my ‘meal’, when a boy told me that I had to go to the Schoolhouse as soon as possible. I went in fear and trembling only to be met by Mrs Seath. She was a charming person and my mother’s full cousin.
‘Alex,’ she kindly said, ‘I believe the Maister has been on his high horse with rage at you. She put her arm on my shoulder and comfortingly added, ‘Don’t pay any attention to him. His bark means nothing!’
I replied with conviction, ‘It does to me! He is clever, but he can be nasty.
‘Look Alex,’ she replied reassuringly, ‘He has been known as “Cocky” Seath for years, but you are the first to tell him to his face and he was upset.’ She gave me a nice scone covered with jam and a penny to spend on sweets.
After lunch, all was quiet in the classroom. At one point the Head came sneaking up to me and entreatingly whispered, ‘Forget what happened, Alex. Please don’t tell your parents.’
We became quite good friends except for his periodic outbursts and my deserving an occasional strapping for some sort of mischief. I was beginning to understand that although it was always right to tell the truth it was also sensible to be economic with it on some occasions — something my older brothers called tact or diplomacy.
One piece of mischief that I was caught at stands out in my mind. In our school cloakroom there was a big wheel which two boys at a time had to turn to draw water from a deep well to fill a small tank with water for our one cloakroom wash hand basin. This was a short and welcome distraction from lessons each day until Mr Seath employed Mr Skinner, the local Blacksmith, to install some pipes, which meant that a new and very large Schoolhouse tank also needed filling. What had been fun now became a tiring chore involving several shifts of boys. We all thought that this was unfair. One day some of us found a way of loosening screws on the plunger — the wheel turned easily but no water was pumped to the Schoolhouse tank. We could see this on the so-called barometer. All the Headmaster could see from the classroom was the wheel going around.
Those of us in the know tried the trick often and kept the secret. Much to our amusement there was consternation and arguments on many occasions between the Head and his wife in front of the class and in the playground. He would insist that the job had been done and she would say that he had forgotten and would have to draw the water himself, or, that the Blacksmith had not done the job properly.
One day two of us were unlucky, for the Head, suspicious that something untoward was happening, decided to do a spot check and caught us out. We each got six of the best in front of the class as an example. We dared not complain to our parents. The Headmaster, no doubt, would get a good row from all in the Schoolhouse if he revealed the truth. There were no further problems with the water supply.
My brothers John, James and David were often at Dairsie Schoolhouse, as the Headmaster had a family of three, Bill, Bellie and Nan Seath, who were similar in age to my teenage brothers and so went to school and played together.
One morning the Headmaster said to me, ‘I believe your brother David, the joiner, is working on the interior of a newly
built house along the street.’ I nodded in agreement and was asked, ‘I have a letter for him, will you deliver it?’ I agreed. It was the first of April and David laughed as he read the contents out loud.
‘Please give Alex a square piece of wood to fit into a round hole.’
He gave me a penny to buy sweets and after getting me to help him for half an hour moving boards, he sent me to Charlie Skinner, the Blacksmith, with the folded letter plus some ideas of his own as to how the Head could be made the FOOL. Charlie laughed and asked me to blow up the bellows to brighten the forge fire. Soon another boy was sent to my brother, then to the Blacksmith, to find out why I had not returned to school. Charlie Skinner sent us both to the other end of the village to the Post Office with the note. The Postmistress roared with laughter and sent us to the Minister. I spent half of my penny on sweets. We walked back to School and then ran when we heard the lunch bell ringing. The Headmaster was at his lunch break and so when afternoon school began I stood before the red faced and furious man with strap at the ready who demanded, ‘Where have you been?’
I said what my brother told me to say, ‘Delivering your letter, Sir. My brother could not supply what you wanted, he sent me to the Blacksmith, the Blacksmith sent me to the Postmistress, she sent me to the Free Church Minister, but I returned when I heard the Dinner Bell. What wrong have I done, Sir?’
He blew, dithered and shuffled his feet as if he had wet his breeks. ‘Don’t you know what day it is?’
I replied, ‘Yes, Sir, it is April 1st. April Fools Day.’
He pocketed his strap and said with gritted teeth, ‘Get back to your seat, you Fool.’ As usual, as I walked back to my seat winking at my friends who were trying to keep straight faces, he growled, ‘Alex! Take that grin off your face.’ I had a good day.
April was the month when all teachers in the school picked pupils, for singing, plays, elocution, miming, dancing and choir, etc. for the School Concert that was held in the Village Hall each June. The money raised was for school prizes. Those selected had to stay at school for rehearsals on two nights per week, usually on Tuesday and Thursday. We got sandwiches, cakes and tea to ease our hunger. The two lady teachers had no trouble in managing the younger ones. Mr Seath lost his temper time and time again if a poem, song or tune was not correct, or if a play was not to his standard. One lad dressed up as a farm servant and was very good at Bothy Ballads, another played the violin. I played the Jew’s harp, the mouth organ and yodelled. When put together with other group and individual items it was a very fine entertainment which was crowded out for its two nights.
One thing especially upset the Head and that was if the words of ‘The Sandwich Board Men’, were mumbled. Many firms, such as the makers of Sunlight Soap, Boot Polish, Mazawatee Tea, Coates Cotton Reels, Victory V Gums, A 1 Washing Powder, and Soft Goods, sent illustrated boards, and poems to advertise their goods. Playing this part was great fun. As ‘The Sandwich Board Men’ we had to come onto the stage between the main acts wearing advertising boards, showing product samples and then had to recite a jingle supplied by the manufacturer. The Head took back all the samples afterwards. Need we wonder who used them!
At some rehearsals, Mr Seath would stamp his feet and shout, ‘Dreadful!’ And waving his arms about and shaking his head, much to our unconcealed mirth at his antics, he would add, ‘No concert this year,’ — over and over again — until his wife could cool him down. So we restarted again and again and eventually met with his approval, which he signalled by saying, ‘Thank you all, your parents and friends will enjoy YOUR efforts.’ Needless to say, the concerts were a great success, for no pupil knowingly let any teacher down and any errors made just added to the fun of the evening for all concerned.
Every morning at school Mr Seath held a Religious Session. He was very exact and it was a great joy for most of us to hear the pleasant way he explained the prophets, apostles and the moving way he described the marvellous sayings of Jesus. Deep down in his heart he was a religious man. He loved the psalms and requested, never commanded, us to memorize some and also to read passages in the Bible. I just loved the first half hour of each day. Perhaps I got naughty after that! Just like the Headmaster and as my own way for blowing off steam!
Dairsie had two Ministers. The Rev D. Graham Webster of the parish church. He was six feet three inches tall and always wore a tile hat, plus a frock coat. The other was Rev James Cameron of The United Free Church. He was five feet five inches and wore a lounge suit and pancake hat. They walked the length of the village every day and were nicknamed ‘The Tall and the Short’. They came to the school once each month to test us on the Headmaster’s religious instructions. Rev Webster often picked on me. One day he said, ‘Alex, what are the first and last verses of Psalm 23.’
For devilment I said, ‘I to the hills will lift mine eyes. . . He interrupted, ‘Tut, tut, Alex. I said Psalm 23, not 121.’
Without further ado. I repeated the whole of the correct Psalm. The Minister complimented me.
‘Very good indeed Alex, we all make mistakes.’
If Mr Webster had only looked back, he would have seen Mr Seath thump me on the back as I returned to my seat, shake his fist and scowl at me. The Minister’s kind remarks saved me from the strap in front of the class. Some days later Mr Seath did say to me after another incident, ‘Don’t try and trick me, as you managed to do to Mr Webster!’
One Sunday, when I was ten years old, my three older brothers, John, James and David were invited to the Dairsie schoolhouse. For some reason they were told to bring me too. I wonder why? Had I done something wrong? Well, Granny Moyes, Mrs Seath’s mother, our Mum’s aunt, was there. She wanted to see me! I got a fine welcome from all, including Belle, Bill and Nan. The ‘Maister’ was very subdued. Granny asked me many questions. I was glad when all were called for a lovely tea. The six so-called children, set out for a walk. It was near to my bedtime and I made for home. The Headmaster seemed to be even more tolerant towards me from then on.
Another favourite activity was our ‘mushroom runs’ which started in the late summer. David, my elder brother, was usually the leader. Carrying our new willow potato creels, we would set out at five a.m. from our home in north Fife. At Seggie Hill, the gatekeeper at the railway crossing was on the spot to let us through with the advice, ‘Go to the right, lots of good pickings!’
My brother always thanked him politely and then took us to the left where we would find hundreds of the choicest mushrooms. We soon filled our creels and sprinted for home. We kept some mushrooms for breakfast. They were delicious fried in bacon fat. Many we gave away to our friends, relations and old people in the village. For the others we were paid one penny per pound. Our trips out were normally on Wednesday and Friday, before going to school. Up to mid-September we usually managed about six trips, averaging around seven shillings out of our early morning journeys. The willow creels we used were being specially made for the October potato gathering. They were made by ‘nomads’, who cut the wands from the willows. The creels cost ten pennies and a jelly piece’ for the bairns. We were able to use them later for our ‘tattie howkin’ during the school holiday in October.
I made two trips to Dairsie schoolhouse during the late summer holidays, once with a basket of mushrooms gathered from the many farm paddocks, and another time with punnets of blackberries from Lucklawhill heather area. On this second visit, just before school restarted, the Headmaster was in one of his best moods, until his Mother-in-law came into the room. She was, as ever, very forthright in her words when she greeted me.
‘Guid t’ see you, Alex. Is the Maister still civil wi’ you?’
Mr Seath took me by the arm, spluttered the command, ‘Come into my room!’ There we talked and talked, then he said, ‘When you return to school I hope you will be a more attentive pupil.’ I felt I had to say something.
‘Of course, Mr Seath, I have always tried to be a good scholar, you have said so yourself, but I do object to your nasty remarks and temper.
He was silent for a few minutes, then dismissed me with the words, ‘I’m glad you are going to behave.’
Summer holidays over, I resumed my five day trek to Dairsie for my second year and most of my lessons proceeded pleasantly. I had no complaints; my first year of irritations from Mr Seath seemed over, although his temper, at times, turned on another boy, who never spoke back. I learned that one mother, anxious at her daughter’s nervousness, had spoken to the Chairman of the School Board of Management Committee who had spoken to Mr Seath about his treatment of pupils. Possibly the schoolmaster took the hint that his behaviour was bordering on the unacceptable.
Advancing classes meant that there was a grand variety of new lessons added to the previous ones. Outside there was drill in the playground, field-trips and visits to places outside Dairsie, such as Wall’s Nurseries at Cupar. Inside there was Music, for which I had no ear, Speech Craft (Elocution) and something I liked very much, Still Art, because it allowed me to draw trees, bushes, houses, and other inanimate things, in black pencil or ink, and white crayon on black paper. I had some fine pictures.
One thing pleased me very much, eight of we older boys were taken once each week on a hike to the Old Dairsie Castle and told its story, then on to Dura Den, locally one of the finest sources of fossils, where we hunted for specimens in the overhanging rocks and in the ‘dry stane’ dikes built from riverbed stones, and, with bare feet, in the stream bed. Some of our other lesson-hikes took in the wealth of fruits, flowers, roots and herbs found in hedgerows, also the insect life to be found under the piles of stones taken off fields by farm workers and deposited in odd corners. We had to write essays and draw sketches of our discoveries after each field trip which were entered for competition categories set by the Head but judged by an independent source. I always had a flair for story writing or pen drawing and took most of the money prizes.
I had grown to love Dairsie School, most lessons came easy to me and I had a good memory. Like any other boy I had many fights, usually with some boy cheating at games. When we were caught at this we were severely punished. Innocent devilment always got the better of me at school as my next recollection will show.
Once a visiting Inspector told us something about the common things that were chemicals, such as baking powder and about their properties. Mother used baking powder and so I took some to school next day in my hand and put it into the Headmaster’s inkwell on his desk as I entered. The ink boiled up in a most alarming but gratifying way and soaking everything lying on the desk, including the strap, with blue froth. My fellow students shrieked with delight at my chemistry experiment. When Mr Seath whirled round to see what was causing the hilarity and saw the mess, he picked up the inky strap and, as was usual, threw it at the person he suspected was guilty — me. There was now ink on many books, papers and students. I had to take the strap back to him and I still recall the cruel thrashing he gave me and which my father repeated after school.
One day, as the weather was good for October, it was decided the big boys should tidy up what the Head called, ‘The School Garden Plots,’ and the older girls have lessons in dressmaking, knitting and plain sewing. Judge our surprise when we were told to clean out his smelly henhouse instead, and barrow the manure to a compost heap, near to the five school plots.
Quite near to the front door of the schoolhouse was an apple tree which had one maturing apple on it for the first time in many years and Mr Seath was very proud of it. Mrs Seath came out with a basket chair and embroidery. She was there to guard the apple from us! The evil smelling manure had to be dug out, loaded into the barrow, wheeled from the henhouse, between Mrs Seath’s chair and the apple tree, then to the plots for dumping, and returning empty by the same route. There appeared to be no way that the apple could be removed without detection. What a challenge to secure it as recompense for the ‘forced labour’.
I was not in agreement with the plot to steal the apple for it was dishonest, risky and would infuriate the Head. I promised to do nothing to prevent it or to tell afterwards how it was done and who did it! Barrow after barrow passed to and fro. Mr Seath came out to see how we were getting on in the henhouse, then round to see the compost heaps. All at once he roared, reverting to local dialect, ‘Babbie! Whaur’s ma’ apple?’
In a fluster she stammered in confusion, ‘I have never moved from here.’ Then she regained her composure and said somewhat indignantly, ‘You cannot blame me, nor any boy! Confidently she concluded, ‘No one has stopped coming or going, whilst passing by me.
We were lined up. The furious man said to each boy in turn, ‘Did you steal it?’
The answer from each was the defiant, if unconvincing, exclamation, ‘No, Sir!’
Following each disclaimer, Mr Seath snarled at the suspect, ‘Well, take that blasted smirk off your face!’ We were ordered to clean our boots, wash our hands and get back to the class room.
What happened to that apple? As the barrow passed by Mrs Seath and under the tree, a boy who was a crackshot threw a small stone and struck the twig, the apple fell among the soft ‘pongy’ dung. The boy pushing the wheelbarrow continued as normally, dumped the load, pocketed the apple and returned with the empty barrow to the hen house. We cleaned up the apple and all had a bite in turn. The small core left was crushed and thrown over a wall into a field and eaten by a cow. My ‘bite’ was a good one! I never knew who threw the actual stone. If a showdown had resulted in a strapping to draw the truth from me, then I would have submitted to the ‘taws’ rather than tell, just like the others. After all, no ONE of us had stolen the apple, so our answer of ‘No’ to our personal interrogation was almost true!
Some twelve years later, I took Williamina MacFarlane, my sweetheart, to Dairsie schoolhouse, to meet Mr and Mrs Seath as family relations. In conversation, the mystery of the apple came up. It obviously still perplexed the Head, so I told the true story. Instantly, as if the incident had happened only the day before, Mrs Seath declared triumphantly, emphatically and with some feeling, ‘There you are, Willie. I did NOT fall asleep in my chair while at my embroidery!’
We all had a fine laugh, except for Mr Seath. I was surprised that he did not tell me to take the smirk off my face!
For five years on end our school garden plots were judged to be the best amongst local schools and so in 1910, as a reward for our efforts, the Headmaster took we boys of his gardening class on a tour of interesting gardens and lovely homes. Mr Christie, farmer of Dairsie Mains, was so pleased with our results as one of the governors, that he paid for a two-horse wagonette to take us around. We visited Melville House which was a lovely building with gardens of great beauty. To our delight the Head Gardener, with rows prepared for beans, peas and parsnips, gave each boy some seeds to sow. He gave Mr Seath two musk rose bushes, which were duly planted in the school garden. A young man from the house arrived with a tray of cakes, chocolate and apples and a tumbler of lemonade. Melville House, dating back to the seventeenth century, had quite a number of uses down the years, and now after being a school, it was taking on a new lease of life as a hotel. The old gardener accompanied us to Fernie Castle which was also going to become a hotel and gave us its history as once the seat of the Earls of Fife. The churches of Monimail and Bow of Fife were of great interest and with full congregations each Sunday we were told. At the smiddy, the smiths were assembling cycles or making very pretty wrought iron gates. Then we moved on to Collessie. The horses were given a meal while the Minister of Collessie took us for a mile walk, every yard of which was history, ancient ruins of a fort, burial grounds and excavation areas where prehistoric articles of gold, bronze and china had been found. At the Minister’s manse we were given pies and mugs of cocoa — delicious indeed. Then a long, slow and gentle journey home with lots of singing and happy laughter. It was a lovely reward for our gardening efforts.
One thing always saddened us. At the end of November, many clever children left our school for pastures new and we lost playmates. It was the ‘flitting’ (housemoving) time for many farm servants who had been ‘fee’d’ to work for other masters at the August Lammas Fairs. The fathers always explained their job changing as ‘improving their position’. There could have been some small financial benefit in some of the cases I knew about, but the work tasks to be done were much of a muchness wherever they went. Perhaps restlessness was the cause of many moves. Replacements who came to the farms usually had very fine children who joined us at school. It took we long-term students a long time to really know the Headmaster and his ways, and more so for the new pupils from different schools.
We were all of one mind: Mr Seath was a very good Headmaster, until the strap was revealed. One new boy was not afraid to speak and said when threatened, ‘I have been in four schools, and never had the strap, and I am not to have it now.
He picked up his bag and walked out, followed by his sister. Mr Seath was visibly stunned. Next day, the boy and his sister were back, not a word was said and neither were ever strapped.
Everything progressed quietly and in a reassuringly predictable way for me in my last few years at Dairsie School. A few months before leaving his school, Mr Seath had us all hard at revision on the previous quarter’s lessons. I must say, most of the girls were very clever and we boys in the same grade did not want to be on the losing side for test results. We all tried hard and we suspected that something special was to happen when the Head made us work even harder for two days.
We soon knew why this extra effort was needed. At the end of the second afternoon Mr Seath said to the class, ‘Tomorrow I want each one of you to come dressed up. That means, clean boots or shoes, tidy in every way. You must have well-washed faces and hands, combed hair and come prepared to be on your best behaviour. The Inspector of Schools comes tomorrow.’
Next day Mr Seath was smiling as each pupil passed him for close inspection: he had no complaints. He was all dressed up himself, fine suit and shoes and, much to our surprise, no strap dangling from his pocket. We were told the routine. Mrs Seath would watch for the horse-drawn cab coming from Cupar. She would give two taps on the window with a long brush as the signal that the Inspector was near. Mr Seath would then ask easy questions until the Inspector knocked on the door when we must become silent in class, with our heads down pretending to read.
When our visitor eventually entered the Head announced, ‘Scholars. The Inspector for Schools.’
We all rose in our places and said in well-rehearsed unison, ‘Good morning, Sir.’
He replied, ‘I’m delighted to see you. You all look so happy and cheerful. You are a credit to your Headmaster.’ We were then told to be seated.
Mr Seath took a sheath of papers from his desk. The Inspector looked them over, then got down to business. He asked many questions on various subjects and was obviously very pleased with our responses. Then he came around, looking at exercise books, jotters, drawings, and individual essays and made a point of speaking with each pupil. He looked at my writing and queried of me, ‘Who taught you to be such a fine copperplate writer?’
I replied, ‘Mr Seath, Sir.’ The headmaster beamed from ear to ear. I do not think he saw me smirking!
The Inspector was more than delighted and complimented all on the satisfactory progress in all subjects. Much to our joy he recommended that the Headmaster give us the afternoon off.
As he made ready to go to the door with Mr Seath we all stood up and chorused, ‘Thank you for your visit, Sir. We wish you, Good Morning.’
So ended our major examination. We did not linger around the school, nor run for our ba’bee treacle or syrup lunch pieces, but all made a beeline for home. Soon our smart clothes came off, old ones on, and out, after a meal, to tidy up someone s garden.
At school the next morning the Headmaster looked very relaxed and beaming. He said some flattering words, telling us, ‘In all my experience, this was the first time any School Inspector has given a perfect report. I am proud of you all.’
My time at Dairsie was coming to an end. I sat an exam in the Bell Baxter School, Cupar, and was awarded a bursary to the Harris Academy, Dundee. At my school prize-giving day I missed winning the best pupil ‘Dairsie Medal’ by one mark. It went to a girl who had all of her education at Dairsie School. I had the ‘Duncan Prize’ for my second place and several prizes for other subjects. After the ceremonies, I spoke to Mr Seath and thanked him for all his patience with me. He shook me by the hand, patted me on the back and after a pause said, ‘I was determined to thrash you into a first class pupil. I believe you will prove a credit to Dairsie School and make your mark in the world.’
I was sorry to leave. On the whole I was happy and maybe was full of mischief at times.
I was very proud of my prizes, many of which were for my essays and art book sketches done in pen and ink and pencil. I had also enjoyed doing crayon ones, but they were hopeless and had brought me no success. My father admired my prize books and set about reading them immediately. He had them all read before I had a chance to do so! Mother was also very charmed indeed with the results of my efforts, and eventually kept them on display, in her special place, together with all the prize books and signed parchments my elder brothers had previously won. Together we boys had all worked and studied hard to please our parents, and inwardly we were proud of our well-earned school awards.
When Mr Fred Innes, Editor of The Fife News learned of my prize essays and drawings he wanted to print them. My father refused to allow this for reasons he never explained to me. However, from that time, he encouraged me to contribute articles, gaining one penny per column inch! It was the beginning of a long career in journalistic writing.
Whenever the day was dry and the time of year was appropriate, we would leave home for school as soon as possible, run to school with our girds (hoops) and play ‘bools’ (marbles) or conkers when we got there. Market Day was on a Tuesday and then the early risers could help the cattlemen and shepherds to herd their animals towards Cupar, for it was on the way to school. Most village boys and girls worked also in market gardens during April to October after school hours, Saturdays and in school holidays. In many cases, children from poor families had to leave school and they, like the men, worked full-time on local farms and market-gardens and in mills — but for a fraction of the men’s rates of pay. I cannot recall ever hearing of school inspectors following up truancy cases; the school authorities were not strict. It seemed to me that any twelve-year-old or over pupil from a poor family who could satisfy the local inspector that they had reached a coping standard in reading, writing and counting were given ‘Nelson’s Eye’ approval to miss school and take up full-time jobs instead. I knew that my parents and my elder brothers made sacrifices to keep me at school full-time.
Children not only worked hard in and out of school, they also played hard at all kinds of sports and games in their spare time. April was the month for making our own kites and flying them, cutting willows to make bows and arrows for games, also going over fields, listening to larks, cuckoos, bleating lambs and for the elusive corncrake.
In the spring and early summer it was grand fun, guddling in burns for minnows, eels, baggies, tadpoles and catching other insects such as bees and butterflies in jam jars. During our guddling we sometimes became so excited that we got our clothes and shoes wet chasing after creatures, and other highjinks usually led to tears in our pants. All of this usually earned us smacked bottoms, because clothes and shoes were expensive items. Our samples were proudly presented to our teacher after the weekend. They were usually fulsomely praised and used as the basis for natural history lessons which I loved. Sometimes the teacher had to find shelf space for a dozen jars, from our weekend guddling. At the end of Monday classes the ‘catches’ were all put into a pail and poured into a large stream which flowed to the Dura Burn.
In the growing season we were encouraged to examine the roadside carefully on our way to school for wild plants and animals and roadside gardens for signs of vegetable and fruit development. In the hedges we looked for every kind of nest and did not rob eggs or forage amongst growing crops. We reported what we had seen and heard to our teachers verbally and in essays, poems and pictures. They, to their credit, missed no opportunity to help us learn from and build upon our everyday experiences. This also gave me things of common interest to discuss with my family and so draw upon their rich fund of, and love for, all things natural.
From May onward to August for most youngsters, it was short periods at market garden work outside of school hours, then mid-June to end-July, full time work. No one grumbled, we felt we were earning to get new clothes and shoes. We also made short train trips to Dundee from Leuchars, walking six miles to Newport Ferry to cross to Dundee, with a precious shilling to spend, or six miles walk to St Andrews, or Cupar, to spend or not to spend our hard earned shilling.
After school I took part in most sports — football, cricket, running, general athletics, but I admit I was not very good.
Regular talent concerts were held in Dairsie School. I enjoyed watching or entering every event, sometimes winning prizes in poetry, yodelling, whistling and miming. I had special classes in elocution, so it was natural I had a great love for poetry and an ‘edge’ over my competitors. My sorties into the musical world proved hopeless. I had a bad ear for music, singing was out, except for church hymns and psalms on Sundays which I sang joyously — but not melodiously.
Occasionally a friend and I saved up enough to hire cycles. They had hard tyres as the roads were rough, no brakes and a fixed wheel. We cycled mile after mile, in fact twenty-five miles. We did enjoy ourselves. One place we had a drink of water, another a cup of milk from a farmer’s wife, another a Jam-covered scone, all from strangers who admired our novel way of transport. On getting home, we cleaned our cycles, took them back and paid our one penny hire charge. By the time I was about ten years of age, my brother had quite a good cycle, with good brakes and tyres. For keeping it bright and clean and well oiled, I sometimes had the use of it. I could now enjoy many long tours around the countryside with my friends. We were interested in churches, old castles, all ancient buildings, smiddies, rivers, streams and all types of wild life. Everywhere we noted down all that we saw and, speaking for myself I later wrote essays on my adventures.
During the autumn months we played football, cricket, quoits and rounders in fields, skated or pretended to curl on frozen ponds or helped local craftsmen. Our jackets acted as goal posts or wickets and as points for bowlers and batters. Footballs were made from pig’s bladders or from odds and ends of cloth, taken from old scarecrow jackets — much to the annoyance of the farmers. Cricket balls were only soft ones borrowed from the girls who used them for their ball games. Bats were home-made from the local carpenter’s waste and cut and shaved by ourselves as he instructed. We really had excellent games. We had no skates, but we enjoyed sliding on ponds and even curling ponds. We really worked ourselves into sweats and rubbed the tackets and studs on our shoes and boots down to the leather.
Another fine colder-day frolic was to play in a large wood of pines and hard woods, ash, beech, oak etc. We could climb up them like monkeys. We had grand swings, made from the coconut fibre ropes used to build haystacks. Our mums often had something unpleasant to say when we got home with scratched knees, swollen fingers, limping and exhausted in scuffed boots. No wonder we were tired, the wood was over a mile away. The Blacksmith’s shop attracted many boys. I loved blowing the bellows, poking the fire, watching sparks fly and horn burn as horses were being shod, tightening up harrow bolts, sweeping up the floor and picking up horse shoe nails, tools and waste. These adventures seemed to end up with me and my friends getting very dirty! All of these escapades usually ended in a smacking for someone.
In deepest winter we followed the snowploughs — or farm servants — digging paths through deep drifts to get us to school and keep essential traffic moving. We also had fun with snowball fights, building snowmen, igloos and clearing paths for elderly people.
We village children were encouraged to keep pets and to learn how to look after them in all types of weather. These included dogs, cats, white mice, rabbits and hedgehogs and were never allowed indoors. There was a fund of knowledge in the village about animals and their care amongst the farm servants who were more than willing to share it for the asking, and I asked! Most people had a hen run and always had lots of eggs and were able to sell some.
In addition to our routine pastimes and pleasures, most boys had certain regular duties to do for the elderly or infirm, which were allocated to them by their mothers. Running errands, drawing water from wells, carrying in coals, cleaning lamps and lots of other chores. Girls, like my sister Netta, were expected to help their mothers as most families were large. Youngsters never expected any money or gifts of any kind. Such work was seen as a duty willingly done, no one was ever neglected. We all loved our minor tasks, even caring for the sick and elderly or infirm neighbours. Balmullo was indeed a happy place where even the gardens of those who needed help were communally dug and planted free as a pleasure rather than a chore.
Summer was a time for mums, grannies and big sisters to be outside toiling in tubs of soapy foam to wash blankets, sheets and curtains by hand or with possers. Water had to be carried from wells, dammed up steams or one solitary water pipe by the menfolk. It was a grand sight to see most village females, sleeves rolled up, sack apron on, rejoicing in the sunshine. The men fixed up long lines and washing was soon dripping out the water. In about four hours everything was dry and so very clean. Now we boys took over and helped the older folks. We went to their houses, carried their washed blankets and sheets to the home of a dear old lady up the School Brae. There the articles were mangled, or beatled, to fold them. We young ones loved to help with folding the blankets and sheets, beatling them or turning the big wheel of the mangle. Her charge for this folding service was one penny for one blanket and a sheet. She had lots of treacle toffee and peppermint sticks ready for every child who carried bundles and helped.
Each September the threshing mill came to the surrounding farms with its exciting steam engine and oats and wheat were put through the mill. This was the signal for us boys to carry all the mattresses in the surrounding houses to the farm, empty the tic-stuffing contents into the cattle courts, refill them with fresh free chaff from the mill and finally carry back the bulky bags to their owners. Jumping black fleas would get into our clothes from some mattresses and bite us all over. Then we would have to strip, search for and kill the fleas on each others bodies, wash outside in the cold and put on clean clothes before we were allowed into the house. Mum would boil and wash all the flea-infested clothes, as she was a stickler for cleanliness. The reward? That night we would sleep soundly and softly on very high sweet smelling beds. Unfortunately, it only took a few days for the chaff to settle and compact, so making for a very hard mattress and uncomfortable sleeping until the thresher returned a year later.
School took up five days of the week and on most dry Saturdays many boys worked in market gardens for about six hours, the rest given over to fun. I always loved Sunday. We were up early and by nine thirty a.m. all the family were ready for Church. We had three and a half, perhaps more miles, to walk along a path by a small stream. We had to go through five small field gates, on to a rough road, then by fairly good road, through the little village of Logie to the United Free Church. It was a tiny building. Our family were: Mother, Father, John, James, David, William, myself and later my sister Netta and my younger brother Angus. Mrs Jean Millar (then Miss Melville), was the organist (no salary then). Jean and four or five of her family attended also. There were other families from Balmullo and many farms and homes around. The Minister was the Rev Thomas Chrichton, later, the Rev Dr William Hamilton. The singing, mostly psalms and paraphrases, plus hymns later, were sung with great enthusiasm. The prayers, like the sermon, were so very, very uplifting. From earliest years I dearly loved the Church and have never ceased to do so.
Back home about one o’clock, Mother did not take long to heat up the broth made the previous day, boil potatoes, cut up the cold meat that had seasoned the broth and warm up some rice, or ground rice pudding. Meal over, we did not get out to play. We read books — no comics then — completed our school home work — then at half past three it was Sunday School time, in Balmullo Hall. Children from other churches, Logie parish church and some from the two churches in Leuchars, took part. We had a superintendent and three lady teachers.
The last meal of the day was at half past five and usually was bread, butter, home made jam, one scone and one cup of tea. Tea was very dear then. Before bed-time — usually nine o’clock
— we were allowed out for a walk, with Mother or David, while John and Jim studied. Sunday was a relaxed, mind clearing day — something young people in cities missed.
One delightful Saturday event in summer was the Sunday School outing to Kinshaldy Sands. For most this would be their only yearly away day holiday. Farm servants polished and decorated the harness, groomed the horses to perfection, painted the corn carts — the means of transport — and the men too, were dressed for the annual occasion. Children were attired in their best clothes, mums and grannies looked forward to the fun. Straw covered the floor of the cart; padding made seating easier for the elderly to sit on. The youngsters sat on the straw. Six or seven corn carts took part in the cavalcade. A coup cart carried hampers of food, cans of milk, crates of lemonade, prizes and all that was needed for games.
It was a lovely sight: cheering, flag-waving children, beaming mums and grannies and bigger children walking alongside the corn carts. Everyone was so happy, the five miles did not seem long and we youngsters, already hungry with excitement and dry through being noisy, were anxious to sample the good food and drinks. As we arrived at the picnic field Mr T.C. Henderson of Vicars Forth Farm would, as always, judge the best turned out team of horses, harness and corn carts. Modest prizes were awarded by Mrs Henderson who was presented with a gift. Then this was followed by seemingly endless back-slapping, hand-shaking, cheering and praise for the winners plus more and lengthier commiserations for the runners-up and losers. We children wanted to have our picnic and probably could not fully appreciate the seriousness of the judging for those involved, even when we saw tough workers cry with joy or sorrow at the outcomes.
At last, journey’s end. Soon tarpaulins were spread on the ground and Sunday School superintendents, teachers and their friends set to work and handed out bags which contained cake, cookies and sandwiches. Milk or lemonade was also served to children from huge pottery jugs. An advance party had an urn of tea ready for the grown ups. The women seemed to drink gallons of it and talk endlessly — at the same time — to each other joyfully and with much laughter. Only after the horses were uncoupled from the carts, had their trappings off, their halters on, had been watered, fed and put to run in a nearby field did the men in the party think of feeding themselves. Then they had pies, filled bridge rolls and lashings of tea in a much quieter but just as happy a way as their womenfolk.
Our first meal together was over all too soon. Then for we young ones it was boots or shoes and stockings off and a race over the soft warmy-wet sand into the cold water of a slow incoming tide. Rangers were in position to see the children did not go too far into the sea. When the mums and grannies arrived, they had a canvas shelter rigged up to hide behind as they took off their boots or shoes and hitched up their clothes. This was the moment the men were waiting for and they taunted, ‘What dirty feet you ha’ Maggie,’ and, ‘Tuts Jess, ye’r red bloomers will get wet,’ or if the girl was plump, ‘Don’t fall into the sea, Kate, else we’ll a’ be droonit.’
Some of us were too young to understand the remarks the women made by way of reply but some of them really swore at the men tormenting them with personal remarks, much to the delight of we children who were not supposed to understand and to the pretend shocked looks of the minister!
While all the talk was going on, one or two young men got behind the canvas shelter and mixed up all the shoes and stockings, even filling some stockings with pebbles, whelks, mussels and shells. The ‘row’ afterwards was noisy and one farm servant after another was blamed for the wicked deed! It was glorious fun! Bigger children rejoiced in the hilarity, but the smaller children played joyfully making sand castles or mud pies and decorated them with shells.
The games were intensely interesting. A riot of fun and laughter. Races of all kinds including egg and spoon (with china eggs), three-legged, sack, skipping, hopping on one leg, backward, blindfold and for the big boys and girls there was a marathon race of two hundred yards along the damp sand. For the men and women of all other ages the great excitement was in the Tug of War, men against men, women against women, the winner of each heat in the final. They were keen but a lot of cheating went on to ensure that the men met the women in the last game. There was a mock struggle by the men and when the women were in their last gasp, the men stopped, the women piled on top of each other, the crowd shouted a spirited, ‘Foul,’ and there were mock ‘Oohs’ and ‘Ahs,’ or the occasional, ‘Shame on you men!’ The women were then declared to be the winners by the judges for the men’s unseemly treatment of them and there was much pretend indignation by the men with witty rejoinders from the women.
The time passed all too quickly. Prizes were handed out; every child got something. Then the long awaited shout from the announcer through his megaphone, ‘Back to the canvas for tea.
Rev Broom, the minister, arrived. He spoke of the joy of a picnic and the record of Sunday School attendance. Then he prayed and prayed and prayed. It seemed as if he mentioned every fish in the sea and every grain of sand by name, until a loud voice roared, ‘The water in the urn is near boiled dry!’
Dear Rev Broom heard, took the none-too-subtle hint in good spirit and said, ‘Amen.’ We naughty children cheered.
There was plenty to eat and tea, lemonade or milk for all who wanted it. The meal over, horses were caught and harnessed to the corn carts. Votes of thanks were said, all children were ordered into a long line across one side of the picnic area and were asked to walk across it and to pick up every scrap of paper, which a man burned, and food litter. Food scraps were strewn along the shore. In seconds the seagulls devoured the lot.
One incident I overheard was laughable. A young English lad from Manchester was in the picnic party by invitation. He laughed at the fun until tears ran down his cheeks. Near the end, he was very silent and a young farm servant asked him if he was all right.
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘But I cannot see any urinal.’
With a puzzled look on his face the worker queried, ‘What kind o’ a beest is that?’ The young lad whispered an explanation into the farm servant’s ear who then retorted, ‘Oh! Is that a’! Every bush round aboot ye is that thing!’
The return home was quieter. All were full of joy, having had a warm sunny day. There would be lots of stories to tell in the long winter nights to come — of the big fish seen in the sea, the crabs, lobsters, starfish, also of the daring swims and games we enjoyed. Imagination was a grand thing for some who had few treats in their lives. Pride of place must go to the farm servants, elderly and young, for the excellent display of groomed horses, decorated harnessing, corn carts and to the farmers for allowing the men a day off with wages. I believe that each man also received ten shillings. Money subscribed by the parents, the two grocers, ‘Cynicus’, and other well-to-do local people, helped to make the Sunday School Picnic the event of the summer.
A very important day stands out in my life during the summer of 1909 when I was eleven and a half years old. The Rev Thomas Chrichton, Minister of Logie and Gauldry, told the congregation he had hoped to be a missionary at Livingstonia in Central Africa, but that medical boards had turned him down on three separate occasions owing to a heart condition. After the church service, three children, including myself who formed his Junior Bible Study Group and loved his instruction and the way he made Bible characters come to life, heard more from him about his disappointment at being rejected on health grounds for Livingstonia. Suddenly he said, ‘Perhaps one of you will go to Central Africa one day in my place?’ He offered a prayer, his words were so slow and appealing, he nearly had us in tears.
After the Benediction, I stood up and said, ‘When I am big I will go.’
Mr Chrichton smiled, patted me on the head, ‘Thank you, Alex. I will remember this day.’
I never forgot my promise.
All around the villages of Balmullo were over one dozen farmers, with good farms and first-class farm servants. All worked very hard from seven a.m. to six p.m. Some men were, in turn, up earlier and working later to water and feed the horses. Dairy workers started milking at six a.m.
Married men had houses, young men had bothies. Farm servants ‘fee’d’ for six months at a time at Cupar ‘Feeing’ market in October. No documents were signed — one shilling was handed over by the farmer, as an ‘Earl’. It was a binding verbal contract. Some farm servants stayed at the one farm all their working days. Usually, servants’ wives worked on the farm and grounds also, spreading manure, thinning and shawing turnips, hay making, harvesting and among other things stacking and threshing.
Times were hard, but no one starved. We all had to learn to make the best of what little we had. The community saw to that because the old, unemployed or sick who were on the Parish Poor Roll, received one shilling and ninepence per week, or three pennies per day, sometimes to feed a large family. Payment was calculated to be enough to keep them in bread and water. Men’s wages in 1910 were very low, 15/- to 30/- for a sixty hour week and this was barely enough for a family to live on. Those in need had to be helped from the village resources.
I had a try at most jobs over many seasons and did not like the hard exacting work except for the potato gathering which I enjoyed. I did my full share of all these different jobs, all for small wages. I never felt that I was being exploited as all village children did similar toils as a natural part or our accepted traditional rural ways.
Balmullo had tradesmen second to none. Quarry men, masons in whinstone, sandstone, marble and slate; their carving was a pleasure to see. Fencers and field drainers, woodcutters, joiners, blacksmiths and mill workers, who operated machinery and guillotines. Water diviners and insurance agents. I found out all I could about their jobs and kept notes.
My father was a Master Bootmaker and I loved learning from him. He made boots and shoes from the foundation. His work was a joy to see — all hand made. It took him five days to make shoes for the Laird of Logie House and his family. I had the job of delivering them, the pair of shoes were priced at less than £2. I was always given a six pence coin and then sent round to the housekeeper for a ‘piece’, a scone and jam. Sometimes there was also a precious jar of honey as a gift for my mother.
Balmullo had only one licenced grocers shop. Anyone who bought a glass of whisky, or bottle of beer, had to drink it outside. Some men who worked so hard all week and had a refreshment on a Saturday night, were chattering and even singing, after a bottle of beer costing two pennies. Drunk on tuppence! Men who were very quiet, home loving all week, had volumes to say over a glass of beer. My father never touched alcohol of any kind and all our family were total abstainers. As the one policeman, stationed at Leuchars, once remarked, ‘It’s a sair fecht t’catch a wicked person in Balmullo.’
He was right, we were all so neigh hourly and full of trust. Doors were never locked, nor windows ever snibbed and I cannot remember any house being burgled.
Balmullo had its quota of talented people, as well as others who came under the category of’ ‘Worthy’. David Foggie was a distinguished artist — portrait and landscape. He was an R.S.A. His painting of my young sister, Netta, was greatly admired, also one of my father ‘The Cobbler at his Bench’. Martin Anderson, the famous postcard cartoonist who was known as Cynicus, was an outstanding man, in his breeches and velvet jacket. When his castle was being built, we boys loved to tidy up chips around the masons. Cynicus would hand out bright new shining pennies to us. It was grand fun.
In winter the nights drew in and in Balmullo, instead of field sports and games, it was time for activities such as barn dances at farms and concerts in the Village Hall by local or visiting talent. All were well attended.
It was also a time for weddings, mostly held in the bride’s house. Boys and girls waited for the ‘Scatter’, a shovel full of coins, thrown into the crowd. Then a two barrel gun shot in the air, to scare off evil spirits and the black chimney sweep handing a sprig of white heather to the bride and kissing the young wife for luck. Then the going away of the couple in the horse-drawn cart with lots of tattered shoes, horse shoes, tin cans and tied pieces of metal rattling behind the cab. Next morning before going to school, I was not the only boy at the house of the wedding, searching among the dirty stones or grass for coins and I was usually lucky. The pennies were saved up.
My brother David was a joiner in the village. His master was also the undertaker. When anyone in our community died it was one of Dave’s duties to ensure that a black bordered envelope, containing an invitation to the funeral, was sent to each house where there was an adult male. For delivering about sixty envelopes I got a silver sixpence. Along the funeral route all blinds were drawn as a mark of respect. Men only, solemn-looking and dressed in dark shoes, trousers, white shirts, frocked coats, plus tiled hats, walked gravely behind the black horse-drawn hearse to Leuchars Cemetery, nearly four miles away. The minister always found something good to say about the deceased at the graveside. On one occasion the farmer to be buried had taken his own life and Preacher said, ‘Jim was anxious to be HOME,’ which the widow and family appreciated.
When I was about seven years old I was asked to go to Granny Mitchell’s house in the village to recite a poem to her. She was ‘Granny’ to all we young people and took a keen interest in our development and education. Her door was always open and so I knocked gently and walked in, trying to look confident although feeling just a little bit afraid. Sitting in a chair sat the frail old lady. She was dressed in black, as all old ladies were expected to be dressed, with a shawl over her shoulders and a white mutch on her head. Her head was bowed, she was slowly speaking a prayer, so she did not know that I was there. She mentioned neighbours and others I knew by name and after each prayer offered for them she said, ‘Keep them safe, Lord. Keep them safe.’ I felt a little scared and too much the intruder and so I left quietly. When I told my mother she gave me a hug and patted me on the head saying gently. ‘You have seen a saint praying, Alex.’ On many difficult occasions in future years I was to remember ‘Granny’ praying for me and others and this gave me courage to do what had to be done and helped to build the faith I now possess.
Louisa, or Ba’bee Lou, as all we youngsters called her, for she sold us nice things to eat for a halfpenny which we knew as a ba’bee, had a Sweetie Shop in her house. She was a dear old soul who knew and loved everyone in the village and was loved in return by all we children. She only had one eye and peered at her customers, her head cocked to one side.
She made delicious toffee apples which were three for a penny and a pleasant sherbert brew which was given by the eggcupful as a bonus to all children who spent a penny or more as purchases. All sweets were homemade such as her treacle drops which were four for a ba’bee and nine for a penny. They were super for they lasted so long and I would ask for ‘Four of your ten minute black sucks, please.’
She would always reply, ‘Mind your please noo!’ There were also honey balls, cinnamon twists, mint squares, horehound cough rings and many more at five for a ba’bee and nine for a penny.
In her little front room she set up three tables each day and covered them with fresh and spotlessly clean linen and here visitors could get a meal: a pot of tea with a large potted meat or home cured and cooked ham sandwich, a currant scone with butter and jam and a fancy ginger cake costing threepence per person. Ba’bee always had her one eye on business for she claimed that, ‘The tea does’na pey, but what they carrie oot peys!’
All these nice things and her cakes, scones, jams, potted meats and brews of ginger ale, blackcurrant wine and cider were made in her small back kitchen. The range was open and had, at the most, room for a kettle and two small pots. Water had to be pumped from the village pump and carried some distance. Washing-up was done in a large wooden tub. She also dug and planted her own garden and made most of the soft fruits into the jams she sold.
Foreman Manzie, as he was called by everyone with great respect (I never did discover his real first name), worked as Station Foreman at Leuchars Junction and he was said to have the finest voice on the whole of the North British Railway network. Every morning as I waited for my train to take me to school in Dundee I heard him pronounce lovingly in his rich clear tones, ‘Cupar, Ladybank, Thornton, Kirkcaldy and Edinburgh train.’ After a brief pause he would boom out, ‘Change here for Saint Andrews.’ According to the direction of the wind his voice was audible up to a mile away and I can testify to this fact.
Foreman Manzie was a model employee who made his work ethic known to all who inquired by proclaiming, ‘I’m paid by the N.B.R., but I’m a servant to all people.’ He believed in service but not in servitude. The station was Mr Manzie’s pride and joy. Fires burned brightly in the waiting rooms when it was cold; toilets were clean, lamps were in good trim, seasonal flower arrangements and plants brightened the platforms and lampposts and woe betide anyone who threw down litter.
No job in the station was demeaning for him and he never complained about the rude behaviour of ‘posh’ passengers who felt they were his superiors. He was especially helpful to and mindful of the elderly people who used his station, being ever ready to help them on or off trains or carry their luggage. Once a fussy golfer called the foreman over to a siding where the St Andrews train was waiting and demanded impatiently, ‘I say, porter, when does this damned train leave for St Andrews?’
Like a rocket came the loud reply for all to hear, ‘We have only N.B.R. trains, Sir, and they always leave on time. Get on board now, unless you have an hour to spare.
Eck, Wull and Jeck were friends and ‘Bothy Lads’ in 1909 who lived and worked on three different local farms. They were partly paid in kind by their masters for their extra efforts at harvest-time with flour and oatmeal and as this was usually more than they needed to feed themselves over the winter the y would try to exchange their surplus for things they needed. On the Monday evening before the Cupar Feeing Market the lads met as agreed, slung their pokes (bags) of flour and meal over their shoulders, mounted their pushbikes and with only guttering oil lamps for road illumination they set off in the dark for Dairsie to sell their goods to raise pocket money for enjoyment at the market.
On the way Eck’s bike crashed into Bill Henderson’s coal cart and the flour, meal and coals were scattered onto the road. The three lads were arguing angrily with the coalman about who was to blame for the loss and what compensation should be given when Jimmy Nicholson, the quick-witted Cupar Carrier, arrived on the scene. He had to be told each art ‘s version of events and then it was agreed that he should decide what should be fairly done. Jimmy listened patiently, thought long and then said, ‘So ah’m t’judge, am I b’damned? It’s sic a meal and coalie (melancholy) business. Ah’ propose Eck fills his baggies wi’ coal an’ old Henderson keep th’ floor’ an’ meal!’
They all had a hearty laugh at the joke and judgement, reached just such an arrangement and parted good friends.
The blacksmiths of the district met as always at each Cupar Market to talk over the prices they would charge for horse shoeing, sharpening plough socks and coulters and harrow taings and for rimming wooden cart wheels by sweating on iron bands. They ate pies and drank beer, whisky or tea according to their taste or persuasion. At the 1910 market a well-seasoned farmer from our village, made talkative by too many brandies, found them at their discussions in a pub and decided to tease them with the query, ‘Why the deevil are ye’ no’ at ye’r wark? ‘S’pect us fermers will need tae pey mair fur jobbin’.’
Lovable Wull Johnson of Bulmullo Smiddy cannily replied, ‘Jeems, ye’ are in oor black books. Ye’ hay’ nae peyed ony o’ us for twa ‘ears, just pey us noo.’
Jems stood his full height, then dived into his oxter (shoulder) pooch (pocket) and drew out pound notes from it and then silver from his breeks’ (trousers) ones and threw it onto the table in anger at being shown up in front of so many other farmer friends, pronouncing over and over again, ‘Tak’ yer shares o’ that. Ah’m an ‘onest fermer!’
The blacksmiths were satisfied to take what was due to them and handed some notes and silver back to Jeems who just seemed to be realizing what the drink had made him do. Suddenly the farmer looked aghast, knocked at his head with his fists, turned quite pale and then shouted in trepidation, ‘Lord ha’e mercy on me, that’s the wife’s hen an’ egg an’ milk siller for a sewin’ machin’, new steys an’ a frock. Lord tak’ her nippet t’ung aff me an’ let her blast the b****** smiths!’
Another farmer had an elderly housekeeper called Katie who was well versed in outdoor as well as indoor tasks and who was prone to lose her temper and speak her mind. One evening, in April 1912, the shepherd was rushed to hospital for an operation, so the about-to-lamb ewes were brought into the cornyard beside the house. Unfortunately the foreman’s wife who normally milked the cows had a bad quinsy throat and old Farmer John was full of lamentations.
‘Katie,’ he moaned, ‘maybe the Lord will tak’ me the nicht. Ah’m shair he’ll tak’ me the nicht!’
Katie had listened to all she could and could take the strain of keeping quiet no longer. She burst out with, ‘Thank hivven for that sma’ blessen’. ‘Tween hoosewark, milkin coos an’ waiting fur ewes t’lamb, it’s a mercy you’ll be oot the wey!’
Campbell Smith, Sheriff of Dundee, loved Balmullo for he was born and brought up in the area and owned and rented out homes in the village to which he was a frequent, familiar and popular visitor. He constantly claimed that the climate in the area was good for those with chest complaints contracted in the city from its smoke and grime. He expected his tenants to crop the gardens for vegetables and politely asked them each to keep a little space for the sweet smelling flowers he enjoyed, such as Night Scented Stock and Migonette, to help brighten up the gardens.
One day when he visited the village in 1912 he saw an elderly woman cleaning her doorstep and said, half by way of conversation and the rest by way of query, ‘So you’re whitening the step?’
‘Oh, no,’ came the reply, ‘I’m cauming th’ stane.’
From then on he took an interest in this village art of chalking, or decorating front door steps, the stone door surrounds and window sills with coloured chalks in flower geometric or in imaginative patterns of dicings or whorles.
Most of the women spent hours after breakfast time during six days each week making and maintaining their own personal and wonderful designs which were washed away by rain or by constant use. Mrs Brown’s doorstep surrounds always had a complex of connecting crosses and so we boys referred to her in conversation as ‘Mrs Broon, wi’ th’ kissin’ doorstep.’ Others were also pinpointed to strangers by this method. To produce the range of colours the ladies used ochre-coloured chalks, whitening, blackening and red Bath-brick which they bought from travelling salesmen. It was sad to see them cleaning off fading patterns and fun to watch the new sharp ones appear as diligent care was lavished on the art form for everyone’s pleasure.
In the early part of 1913 a married couple with three children came from Dundee to Bulmullo. Jimmy Nicholson, the carrier, helped them by bringing their few belongings to an empty but-and-ben in the village. The wife was Swiss and not too strong because of lung trouble. They had been told that many people came to our area to recuperate because of the very healthy air and mild climate and this was true.
The husband walked the three miles to Guardbridge and found himself a labouring job at the big papermill. Along with the other men he set out for work on six days each week at five a.m. and did not come home until about seven p.m. They were a happy family and to the sorrow of us all the wife became very ill. The husband was forced to leave his work to look after his wife, family and the housework. It was a case of no work — no pay as far as the employers were concerned.
Our village admired the man’s courage and devotion and rallied round to help the family in all practical ways possible. Dave Meldrum gave them coal, Mrs Adamson of the farmhouse supplied them with potatoes, eggs and milk. Andrew Melville and Jimmy Gray, who were the village grocers, sent provisions. Jess Kinnear handed in fresh vegetables. Will Fyfe and Alex Niven, the local butchers, delivered sausages, potted meat and mince. Betsy, the fisherwife from Arbroath, left smokies and many more gave clothing, footwear and fuel. So the village expressed its concern for the incoming family until the husband and children managed to recover from the grief of losing the wife and mother and return to their relations in Dundee.
There was a constant loss of capable youth from our village and many sad partings. Many young men and women emigrated to Canada, Australia and New Zealand. Other men joined the army and navy and served overseas. Others were recruited into the police and fire service, many went to work on the railway and in private gardens. Young women were attracted to city offices, became housemaids or waitresses, trained in dressmaking and quite a number learned to become teachers, nurses, hotel receptionists or writers. Without exception all were keen, progressive, well liked in the village, sadly missed and a great loss to the little community as few ever permanently returned.
As usual, the annual Dundee Holiday Week took place during ‘Berry Picking’ time. The visitors were always welcome, they were a happy lot of people, glad to live in the fresh country air. They lived in rented rooms, in tents and garden sheds. They came by ferry to Newport and walked the six miles. What they earned for a few days’ work they took in berries instead of money and made jam to take home and to sell. At nights they made merry, dancing in the street to music from pipes, squeeze box, fiddle and singing. Many villagers joined in. One week in one year was all too short for such fun.
It was Dundee Holiday Week, 1908. Several of we village boys had finished our berry picking in a market garden in Balmullo at three p.m. so the rest of the day was our own. After a meal we told our parents we were going to Southfield to Mrs Gray’s cottage. Our object was to guddle for trout in the Montray burn. We did not get any. The fish slithered through our hands, but it was good fun. One of the Gray boys told us there were a dozen elderly folk at St Michael’s Hotel, dead beat after walking from Newport Ferry, their destination being Balmullo. We soon had our stockings and boots on and running to St Michael’s. Sure enough at the railway bridge there were very tired looking elderly folk, beside them parcels, two cooking pots, a bird cage with a canary inside, a sack of blankets and a scratched-looking bike with hard-rimmed tyres. We told the old folk we would carry the baggage. I took the bike, put a sack over it, also the cooking pots across the handle bars. We set out, five young boys, only too willing to help the elderly without any thought of reward. We reached Balmullo tired and happy, the old folk very happy indeed. We saw them to their cottages in the Stable Row. We each got a penny and to my great surprise I was told, ‘Keep the bike laddie, it’s no more use to me.’ I could hardly believe it for it was a dream come true!
Between berry picking my chums helped me to scrape off all the old paint and then apply two coats of black enamel. The bike had no brakes and had a fixed wheel. I cycled hundreds of miles on my bike all over Fife and beyond without mishap. For six years at Dundee holiday time I cycled to Newport ferry, met the man who gave me the bike and carried his luggage to Balmullo without recompense.
There were many genuine travellers. The ‘Specky Man’, who had a box of steel rimmed glasses and who would shout, ‘Try them on until a pair fits.’ The dentist usually had a good trade and audience! The packmen all carried a superior article of clothing. The Arbroath fish women, with mouth-watering smokies and kippers. The photographers and sketchers all had a very good trade. The shears and hedgebill grinders and others had a welcome into homes.
I have recollections about several well-known hawkers who were regular visitors to the villages in the north of the Fife. ‘Red Sandy’ hawked clean carrots at a shilling a stone. He sold Edzell Blue potatoes and leeks as thick as your wrist, beetroot as big as your fist and swedes like footballs. Andra pushed a barrow with apples, pears and plums in season and any odd thing he could sell when fruit was unobtainable. He had a stock expression.
‘Tach, damn you, tak’ double or anither tuppence and let me hame!’
Willie was a quiet trader in china and sundries. He too had a stock introduction: ‘Good day, ma’am. A’ve pots and pans and jelly cans, cups and saucers, plates big and small, brooms and brushes short and tall, lots o’ting-a-lings for the bairns and a drawie full o’sweets for the family.’ He would tap articles of china and remark, ‘Soond as a bell. If it breaks with fair handling A’ll replace it free. Mind ye, A canna’ replace wild smashin’.’ He had a rival in the trade. Geordie by name. Geordie did not carry the high-class goods Willie offered. Customers would say, ‘You are dear, Willie. Geordie sells such an article tuppence cheaper!’ Willie would bend his head in silent thought, then reply with something witty like, ‘My high-class china has on it the Potteries hallmark. Geordie’s is stamped with a navvy’s tackety boot!’
‘Packie Joe’ had a firm grip in every home. Children liked him, bigger boys would carry his shoulder pack or his case. Once he confided that he carried: ‘One hundred assorted articles, including pins, needles, reels, studs, laces, braces, buttons, hooks and eyes and hairpins.’
He knew the families in each home, from the baby to the oldest, the school they attended, the jobs they were in, who they were married to, wherever they were. He remembered the size of boots, length of leg, neckbands and colour tastes of all. We all gathered round him as he took out his wares and announced them one by one in a questioning sort of presentation as if hoping to be stopped by someone wanting to buy an item.
‘Caps, hankies, blouses, scarves, shirts, underwear, knickers, stockings, nappies, bibs, mutches, ribbons, shawls, gloves… ?‘ Halting for a little breather for he had lung trouble, he would soon continue.
‘Printed dresses, satin slips, tea cloths, towels, table covers, lace curtains, flannel sheets, pillow cases, ties, night shirts and valances?’
Balmullo had to depend on vans for various foodstuffs; they were travelling horse vans, with bread and cakes, butchers with every choice cut, fishmongers, paraffin sellers — all house lighting was by lamp and candle — china merchants with pots and pans and jeely cans, dishes all stamped; handsome chambers or po’s, lots of ting-a-lings for the bairns; shingle sellers, shingle from the seashore, threepence a half pailfull, to help hens lay eggs with firm shells and although Balmullo had about a score of the finest market gardens and gardeners in Scotland — no one could grow carrots and rhubarb like Sandy Bell of Leuchars. Two other excellent traders gave first class service. The carriers between Dundee and Cupar, lorry loads, drawn by two horses, conveying all kinds of produce and the miller who delivered superfine flour and meal, to every farm and home.
Regular annual invasions came to Balmullo and all other villages in the good weather. Punch and Judy shows, barrel organ players, fiddlers, melodeon players, trumpeters, pipers, jugglers, groups of singers, strong arm men, bending iron and smashing wood with their bare hands. Acrobats, showmen with tents and placards promising wondrous sights, a sheep with six legs, calf with three, giant owls, only a halfpenny to get in and see the trick-stuffed exhibits.
A horse drawn lorry would unexpectedly arrive. Out came men who attempted to sell linoleum, carpet squares, paint, remnants and other goods. Some proved to be ‘Cheap-Jacks’ who cheated then quickly moved on.
There were travelling variety stage shows. They were a great treat, so clean, tuneful, cheerful and professional. The party numbered a dozen. They travelled in a horse drawn wagonette. They played in Dairsie Hall about six thirty p.m., a quick drive to Balmullo just after eight o’clock for a late performance followed by packing-up and moving to lodgings in Leuchars and so on around the county of Fife. I got in free at the Balmullo shows because I stuck up bills in the village and collected tickets at the entrance. They would recite new funny poems and songs which we children would memorise and use in our games. Some that I remember went as follows.
My father’s a farmer on yonder green
He’s plenty of money to keep me aye braw
An’ there’s nae bonnie laddie’ll tak’ me awa.
I said to myself as I looked in the glass,
I’m a gie bonnie lass and a handsome young lass.
Wi’ my hat an’ my feathers I’ll give a Ha! Ha!
An’ there’s nae bonnie laddie’ll tak’ me awa.
Alice Fair is very ill, what shall we send her?
A piece of cake, a piece and jam, a piece of apple dumpling.
Who shall we send it with, who shall we send it with?
Mrs Brown’s daughter.
She came downstairs dressed in silk,
A rose in her hair as white as milk,
She took off her glove and showed me her ring,
Tomorrow, tomorrow the wedding shall begin.
My Mother’s a queen
And my father’s a king,
And I’m a little princess.
But you’re a nasty thing.
It’s not because you’re dirty
It’s not because you’re clean;
It’s because you’ve got the whooping cough
And that’s a nasty thing.
If my mother knew
That I played with you,
She’d take me over her knee
And give me, one, two, three a leerie.
Eh’m gaen awa’ in the train
And you’re not coming wi’ me.
Eh’ve got a lad o’ ma am
And his name is kiltie Jeemie.
Jeemie wears a kilt,
He wears it in the fashion,
And every time he twirls aroond
Ye canna help fae laughin’!
Summer was also the time for tramps, beggars, tinkers and gypsies. All had a distinctive role in our order of things. A tramp to us was a type of man who would leave Dundee, cross to Newport by ferry boat and walk to Balmullo. He would be well known to farmers where he sought bed and breakfast in return for a little work. About six miles was usually enough walking for one day to a tramp. At the nearest farm he would hand over his matches and pipe — to avoid the danger of causing a fire — be given a big scone, have his ‘billy-can’ filled with skimmed milk and be allowed to sleep in the straw barn. At six o’clock next morning he would willingly help in the stables, byre or garden for a few hours. Then he would wash in a pail of cold water in the farmyard, go back to the farmhouse, have a good meal, his pitcher filled with tea and take to the road again. In his next few days he would try to travel eight miles per day, the next few up to ten miles, then to a steady daily twelve miles — going mainly to his usual farms getting meals for a little work and sometimes a coin or two for a bottle of beer. Tramps normally ‘wintered’ in cities.
Beggars were simply tramps who demanded ‘something for nothing,’ an attitude quite foreign to that which was acceptable in our small community. Beggars did not like work, were always scrounging after a ‘penny’ which would be spent on strong drink, sometimes they would grudgingly accept the crust of bread they pretended to want. Unlike tramps most beggars were unkempt, untidy, dirty and smelly men with nasty tongues, quick to make sinister threats towards anyone who would not meet their demands. Therefore beggars were discouraged from remaining in or near to the farms or the village as bitter experiences had taught that they usually meant trouble for someone. Stories were told of barns or hayricks that caught fire. In my young mind I could understand the appeal of the tramps’ lifestyle, but I felt uneasy about beggars and wanted to know what had made them become unsociable, resentful, impoverished and unhappy outcasts. My parents warned me not to mix with them and told that they were not to be trusted. I bowed to their better judgement — and went on wondering how such people could be helped.
Tinkers were women with a small child and a basket on her arm — needles, pins, clothes pegs, hat pins, buttons, laces, studs and other trifling odds and ends.
‘Buy something and I’ll read your “Palm lines” for three pence. This is my lassie’s child. Have you an old pair of shoes, stockings, a dress, something to “hap” her at night, maybe a “jeelie piece” or biscuit. A’m hungry ma’sel.’
They were not beyond swearing terribly at, or putting curses’ on householders who would neither buy their wares nor give them the clothes, food or drink they said they needed. In stark contrast their husbands or partners, the men tinkers, were usually very different. They worked long and hard to produce the good willow baskets, heather pot scourers, brushes, ‘beesoms’, clothes pegs and the neat bundles of kindling the womenfolks and children tried to sell door-to-door and also at curing mole skins. It was a pleasure to watch them work at their makeshift roadside shelters and to attempt copying their skills with wood. Again I was exhorted not to fraternize.
Most gypsies were splendid workmen. Out of old tins, they made tin mugs, graters, metal spoons, wire toasting forks and some very fine horn ornaments and trinkets in wood. They spent most of the winter in the old blue-stone quarry. They had quite good tents. Not far away was the wood, so they had lots of fuel. They ate well, all from Nature’s produce. Tea was made from various leaves, sweetened with honey; spreads for the bread was made from preserved wild rose hips syrup, brambles, raspberries and hedge gooseberries. From stream banks and burn beds, they gathered and dried many kinds of herbs, fungi and molluscs. After harvests they were allowed to glean wheat, barley and oat fields and from the grain they made tasty wholemeal breads. From ‘tattie howkin’ work for farmers they earned an ample winter’s supply of ‘broke’ (small) potatoes. Rabbits wandered into the quarry and made fine smelling stews or roasts, as did pigeons. Both of these were always in good supply and any turnips that fell off carts also went into the suspended iron cooking pots. The gypsies had a way of storing everything, even the necessary roots, barks, berries and dried insects as medicines. They were a class on their own, never mixing with the tramps, beggars or tinkers. As a boy I loved to watch the people in the Blue Quarry, to talk with them and learn. They were clean and polite and were an accepted part of the rural scene.
From the Balmullo Reservoir, belonging to Guard Bridge Paper Mill, a new pipeline was being dug by a firm who used navvy gangs. One day, a grubby-looking man stopped John, my eldest brother and an undergraduate at St Andrews University, and said to him, ‘I see you passing every day. Where do you work?’ When told he was a student he offered, ‘If you have any difficulty with languages or any other subject just let me know and I will help you — for the price of a drink.’
That evening the man came in response to an invitation from John. He looked much cleaner but would not come into our house. John showed the man a lesson in Greek which he read correctly, then one in Latin with a similar result. Next an English lesson was translated into Hebrew within a few minutes. We were all astonished at the navvie’ s learning. Later, my father heard from the navvy himself that he was at one time the Principal of a large Public School and previously a university lecturer in England. His downfall was alcohol, he had become a compulsive drinker, lost job after job, finally his family disowned him — hence his current plight. Father decided to help. After many sessions and just when we all thought the man was reforming — he got clothes etc. — he disappeared. It was so difficult to understand that man, even when we discovered that in the same navvy squad there were also a business man, an accountant and a solicitor to mention only a few who had fallen so low because of their common compulsive desire for alcohol. I pledged myself in church never to drink.
One of the joys of the young farmers’ recreation was the annual barn dance. The place where many a young farm labourer first met the girl that would later become his wife. It was held in a decorated and clean-swept granary. Forms were brought from school or hall, or specially prepared bunches of straw made good seating. Twelve weeks before the dance well-groomed farm hands and neatly dressed young women attended dancing lessons from an instructor, who was also a fiddler. He commanded strict obedience from his pupils. Woe betide the lad, or lass, who erred. He explained the bow then all the various sets of a dance. Then, thumbing his fiddle, he gave the command, ‘Up lads noo! Up lassies too! Twa in a line noo! Let ilka ane boo!’ Then he would half sing. ‘“Ta tiddleum, ta toodleum. . . . Toots Maggie ye’re a wrang you! Fine ye’re a’ richt noo!” Set till ilk ither noo! Turn round aboot noo! Ta Tiddleum, ta toodleum. First frae tap noo! Doon the middle noo! Stan’ back Wull Broon, you! Jine haunds noo! Ta Tiddleum, ta toodleum. Dammit, ye he’vy fitted gowks, back t’yer places and get yer bre’th! Ta tiddleum, ta toodleum.’
The pupils loved the fun, loved the teacher and, true to his word, he had them up to scratch and dancin’ fit for the farm granary dance with its charming reels, waltzes and set pieces.
On a Friday evening early in each December the three smiddy fires were damped down at Jeck Robertson’s smithy at Balmullo. The old railway sleeper floor was swept and trestle tables erected. At seven o’clock all of the oil lamps were lit. jimmy Nicholson, the carrier, arrived with a load of ‘goodies’, boxes of oranges, dozens of black buns, scores of round slabs of shortbread, many ginger cakes, packets of sweets, tubs of apples and crates of fruit juices. People from all around made for the smiddy. It was the annual raffle for the festive season. Penny and bawbee tickets were in great demand. The prizes were: (1) twelve oranges and six apples. (2) Slab of shortbread and a ginger cake. (3) Assorted fruit and sweets. The bawbee prizes were mostly for youngsters and were normally fruit and sweets. After a swift half-a-dozen draws for the smaller value tickets came the ‘ticky’ (threepenny) wagers, with four prizes. By half-past eight the fun was really on. ‘Tanner’ (sixpenny) raffles with baskets of everything from the stall and a bowl of nuts thrown in. The smiddy raffles were excellent get-togethers with happy people, laughter and fun and a prize of some kind for everyone. Jeck Robertson, at exactly nine-thirty, opened the nail-studded smiddy door and out into the cold trooped the Balmulloites with their ‘goodies’. Come weather fair or foul, the raffle was held and at the end of the day no one was disappointed. The smiddy door was shut. Then no one grudged the hardworking organisers a drop of the ‘hard stuff after their hectic time.
My grandfather, James Rodger, possessed a fine sense of humour and the following are two stories which he claimed were true and were often told in the village. When church discipline was strict long ago and members, for misdeeds, were brought before the Kirk Session, one minister was so alarmed at husband and wife quarrels that he called a meeting of all married men in the parish. It was decided that all married men be rowed out to the Bass Rock in the Forth for one month. The day came and all married men took to boats, rowed to the Bass Rock and settled down quietly. Three days later there was commotion at Largo Pier. Twenty wives took to boats, while a dozen attempted to swim to the Bass Rock to bring back their husbands. The parish minister was alarmed. He ordered the swimmers to be picked up and the women in the boats to return to harbour. Word was sent to the contented husbands on the Bass Rock to come home. On their return a service of reunion was held at Drummochy and all lived happily ever after.
‘That is why,’ Grandad would say when ending this story, ‘couples live peacefully in Largo today!’
The second story had a sea background. A sailor, after two years at sea, returned to Lundin Mill with his loud-mouthed parrot. He stayed with a family called Davidson. The parrot chatted, chirped like a blackbird and swore at random. One day the minister knocked at the door.
‘Who’s there?’ shouted old Davidson. Like a flash, the parrot screeched, ‘Th’ auld damned moochin’ minister!’
Poor Davidson was brought to book, but his plea was, ‘Minister, I never uttered a word!’
One man we watched each morning had a special cycle made with a long padded seat from the back along the bar to the handle bars. He had his cycle close to the wall, mounted very slowly, tucked his jacket up and drove off very slowly all the way to Cupar. He had an exacting job. He believed he had a ‘glass bottom’. His actions proved it, for in his office he had a special chair, and he carried a cushion in a briefcase when going for his lunch. He was a clever, well-spoken man, but did not mix with the villagers. One day as he was cycling to work a young farm servant smashed a bottle on a dike. The cyclist threw himself on to a grassy bank — crying and wailing, ‘My bottom is smashed.’
He was lifted onto a cart and taken home. Doctor was called in. It took the man a long time to recover from his phobia.
Summer time was a time of greatest activity in the market gardens. Pulling berries, peas, cutting lettuces, cabbage and cauliflower, or gathering early potatoes, carrots and turnips, picking sweet peas, sweet william and other fragrant flowers.
Then there was the woman ‘Worthy’. Children called her ‘The Witch’, and we ran from her. She was a kindly, lovable person, but to us ‘The Witch’. She hated thunder. One evening, at a quoiting match, the air was sultry and hot. All at once a loud clap of thunder rent the air. We hurried home, as we did not want to get wet if rain came on. In the distance we could see ‘The Witch’ rushing up the road, skirts over her head, red petticoat showing. She was mumbling and at times screaming. Boys got pieces of tin, or pot lids to add to the confusion of the rolling thunder. The poor soul ran by instinct up Tea-pot-Close, into her house, no doubt cursing the god of thunder. Many boys got smacked by their mothers for annoying ‘The Witch’. I could plead innocence, though inwardly I enjoyed the fun. No rain fell, the thunder ceased, so boys hurried to the quoiting pitch to see Balmullo win the match.
Great excitement took place at General Election time in 1910. My father was Chairman of the Liberal Group. The Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith, was the Party Candidate for our area. I delivered the newsletters, dates of hustings and posted up bills. Father, being an excellent speaker, moved to villages around, including Dairsie, where Mr Seath, my Headmaster, was Chairman of the Conservative Group. At one meeting in Dairsie Hall where Mr Seath spoke in favour of Colonel Sprot, the Tory Party Candidate, my Father said, ‘No one wants a Tory Candidate who knows nothing but Army Regimentation. I move a Vote of No Confidence in him. Vote for a tried Politician. Vote Liberal.’ Great was the applause.
Next day, at school, just after Scripture, Mr Seath said to me, ‘Tell your father to stick to Balmullo; he talked a lot of nonsense.
I felt bold and said, ‘Yes, sir, I will do that. He got a grand welcome last night from Dairsie Liberals. I was there.’
He countered with, ‘Get back to your seat. You are your father’s parrot!’
Everything was calm and I enjoyed my lessons, until the election results came out and Asquith had a huge majority.
Next day Mr Seath was quiet, until he said sharply, ‘Take that smirk off your face. I know what it means. An upstart Englishman is our new MP — some MP!’
The day after I left Dairsie School, Willie Simpson came to my home and asked me if I would like to work in his market garden until September when I would begin studies at the Harris Academy, Dundee. Naturally, I asked how much he would pay me per hour and when I told him Geordie Fowler, a rival in business, had already called and promised me more, he at once countered with, ‘I ken you’ll no tell me a lee in front of your Mither. I’ll give ye a penny more per hoor.’
So I worked with Willie Simpson, at ‘Magic Well’, Balmullo, for most of my summer holidays. When I had my first pay of 14/- for the first week, Willie, who was a bit tipsy, remarked drunkenly, ‘Maybe, I’m payin’ yi too much, it’s been a bad week for me.’
I pocketed my pay and casually replied, ‘All right Willie, I’ll go down to Geordie Fowler on Monday.’
This remark acted like a bucket of cold water over him for he pleaded earnestly and soberly, ‘No, no, Alick! I’m only joking.’
My main tasks included looking after the horse and loading up the lorry so that Willie could make an early morning start with his deliveries to St Andrews’ greengrocers. My first job each morning, which I loved and looked forward to, was to water, feed and groom the cart-horse, then muck-out and tidy up the stall. As the next major part of my duties I weighed up all the punnets of fruit and baskets of peas, boxed the lettuces, bunched the early turnips and carrots, packed the cabbages and other things brought in by the field workers and loaded up the lorry ready for the morning deliveries. When I accepted these responsibilities I was not yet thirteen years old. I knew the ropes because I had worked in similar market gardens for most of five previous summers and so I knew most routine tasks quite well. Willie had good value for his money and imposed on youthful goodwill and zeal to do well as can be seen from the following regular incident.
I worked uncomplainingly for most of that summer for Willie. Words just cannot illustrate Willie’s frequent terrible behaviour tantrums when he came home dirty, dishevelled and the worse for drink, after delivering his precious load of choice fruit and vegetables to shops in St Andrews. Sometimes he was uncontrollably and belligerently wild, but somehow I got his boots off. Amazingly, walking back to the house in his stocking feet calmed him down. Then, when I led him inside and lowered him into his favourite fireside chair by a warm fire which I had already prepared in readiness for his arrival, he would instantly fall asleep, sometimes for hours. When he woke up his dried-out and cleaned boots would be beside him.
Occasionally Willie would give me an extra shilling for my care of him. Even so, my mother felt that he was a bad influence. It was true that I had too much to do which involved lots of extra unpaid hours and not even much thanks for it. So, to please my mother, I moved to Geordie Fowler’s market garden.
By way of stark contrast with Willie Simpson my new employer demanded high standards, could not tolerate laziness, but was just, sober and reasonable. The work was hard, for sometimes I had to do digging and a lot of planting. All we workers liked Geordie for he never expected us to do tasks he could not do himself. He was the only gardener to allow a ten minute break in the forenoon and afternoon and to pay overtime money for us working beyond agreed eight and a half hours to complete berry orders. My basic pay was 16/-. I gave Mother 12/- and saved 4/-. For the urgent delivery of goods to St Andrews, outside working hours, Geordie paid me 1/- and the fruiterer added the same amount. I loved saving money.
In spite of all this work I made time for exercise during the long bright warm evenings. My brother David gave me the use of his cycle for my friend and we visited many interesting places.
One such favourite evening trip I remember was to a part of the River Tay where the Mars was moored. It was a training ship which was used to give young offenders, so called naughty boys, short sharp shock treatment to prevent them becoming criminals. While ashore, the boys gave drill displays and band concerts to show what they had learned.
Then, on to Newport Ferry, another nearby place and also an absorbing hive of activity. The ferry carried all kinds of cargo, horse drawn lorries, brakes, carts, pony traps, cattle, sheep and a large number of people, on foot or with cycles.
Next we made for Tayport, a pretty place where we could see ships unloading bales of Esparto grass for Guardbridge Paper Mill. The dockers worked very hard for, as we learned, they were on ‘piece time’, the harder they worked, the more they earned.
Finally and though late in the evening, we visited a sawmill which we heard grinding, only to find that the Foreman knew us as he was a Balmullo man and we were invited to look at the work. He showed us different types of wood from many countries and explained what they were useful for. As usual, I had my notebook and wrote such information down. All too soon it was too dark to see properly, the lamplighter was doing his evening rounds and the few gas lamps in Tayport were soon hissing brightly. Day was spent. We lit our oil cycle lamps and made a very leisurely trip home.
I kept one Saturday free that August for ‘The Dundee Courier’ had intimated that a brake-load of geologists from Dundee were to explore Dura Den and the Kemback areas in search of samples. I had met some of the party mentioned when Mr Seath took me in his senior class on a field-trip to Dura Den. Two of the party, who had lived in Balmullo, knew me and asked me to help them find fossils.
I was armed for action with a small mason’s chisel, a light hammer and an old pair of shoes. The two geologists I knew wanted to find fish fossils and I knew just where they were! Not far from the mill beside the Dura Burn and at the top of a hill was a sandstone dike made from stones originally taken from the river-bed or its banks. Mr Seath had shown us how to secure fossils from this dike. I explained what I intended and where as well as why, we could search successfully and asked them to follow me. They laughed and said that the stream bed was the only sensible place to find fossils as the running water washed away the softer sandstone to reveal where there was a sample. After further argument they decided to humour me, followed me up to the dike and surprise after surprise, they found two splendid specimens of fish, within as many hours, without making themselves wet or cold.
The secret was kept from the others by my companions telling lies about the source of the finds. I was paid 2/- to say nothing, fed with sandwiches and got a small bottle of very refreshing soda cream lemonade.
The rest of the party wanted me to lift stones out of the water for them so I resumed work after lunch by paddling in the burn, lifting out stones of all sizes and leaving them on the bank. Others in the party examined the stones and some useful parts of fish, insects, ferns and dark blobs like charcoal were found.
A halt was called to the lifting, chipping and searching at about six o’clock. I was glad, for I had become a ‘slave’, expected to meet every order from the eager party, with their insistent commands. ‘Do this!’ And, ‘Look here!’ Also, ‘Try over there!’ Sometimes, ‘Chip that stone!’
Precious finds were carefully wrapped up, labelled and put in a big hamper which was carried back and stowed in the two horse brake. We made for the main Cupar to Newport road and when the party stopped at Dairsie Hotel for refreshment, I knew that it would be hours before the journey continued and so I offered to walk home to Balmullo. The Leader thanked me and gave me 2/6, others gave me tips. On the way home I counted up my earnings of 8/- which was much appreciated. It would help pay for some textbooks that would soon be required.
As the summer holidays were coming to an end, country schools were already in session from early August, but the city ones did not resume until September. My parents insisted that I should have a holiday. I cycled to Lundin Links for a few days’ stay with my grandmother, my dear Granny Rodger. She was so pleased to see me and, to my great delight, my mother came by the afternoon train bringing my younger brother William, aged five with her.
It was a pleasant evening so Mother and I visited many relatives. Later, Uncle Jim, Mother’s brother from Methil and two of his daughters looked in. So at about nine o’clock, together with my cousins Ruby and Jean, we youngsters had a walk down to Largo Harbour, through Largo as far as the net factory at Temple and then retraced our steps home to Burnside House. Granny thought we were lost and we had this lecture: ‘In my young day, all children would be safe in bed long before this time, nine o’clock.’
After some supper, Uncle Jim and my cousins left at ten p.m. to walk back to Methil. Granny’s house was silent by ten thirty
p.m.
That Saturday I was again at Methil, touring the docks with my two older female cousins where German ships were loading coal into their holds. Their mother, my Aunt Helen, was not in good health. They looked after her and appreciated a break and some company. Uncle Jim, their father, was head of the ‘Trimmers’, the men who levelled the coal out in the ship’s holds. It was a dirty and very dangerous job, but all men were well paid and fully insured by their employers which was a most liberal fringe benefit. Next we explored Leven where we had a snack lunch costing 1/- each and paid for by Uncle Jim, then a walk along the seashore to Lundin Links and all to Granny’s house.
Two older cousins, Jenny and Nell, arrived in the late afternoon, with a basket of all kinds of food, so it was a happy event, one that delighted Granny and my mother. Our visitors left about eight o’clock, so we had an early evening in bed for once. The following day, after church, I had a cycle run along the east coast. Near Colinsburgh, I saw some lovely chestnut trees; in a few minutes I had a pocket full of half ripe chestnuts. Weeks later I would have some fine ‘conker’ games with them. My young brother was bedded early. Mother and I visited Bella Burns (Mother’s cousin). She stayed in the house where I was born. Then it was house after house, where Mother visited people she had known when she was a girl. I learned a great deal about Largo Parish and my mother’s family background.
The following day I saw Mother and Angus off on the train for Leuchars and home. Later, after a meal with Granny, I was homeward bound taking side roads which wound through Balcurvie, Kennoway, Chance Inn, Ceres, Cupar and so home to Balmullo. It was a wonderful cycle run and I had noted many things and places that were of interest.
It was nearing time for me to buy my new Harris Academy rigout. I had a note of most of the things I required. One pleasant afternoon Mother and I walked to Leuchars Junction and caught a train to Dundee. We walked from Tay Bridge Station to Smith Brothers, where my eldest brothers got their clothes. In my pocket I had my own money, saved up during the holiday work and money I had from many errands for people.
I was indeed a rich boy, with £2.15.0d jingling in my pocket. I bought shorts, 8/-, cardigan, 2/5, blazer, 4/11, hose, two pairs for 2/4, two shirts, 4/-, two pairs of pants, 3/-, four collars 2/-, two ties, 1/6, cap 1/- and three hankies, 7d. One of the directors, a Mr Smith, knew Mother and gave us two tickets to go upstairs for tea. Next we walked to Potter’s Shoe Shop where we purchased one pair of boots for 4/9, shoes, 4/3, plimsoles, 1/-, two pairs of laces which were free. Our next stop was Meldrum’s for a school bag costing 2/9. Down by the market we saw a man selling lace curtains who called us to come near. I still had money left so I bought mum the curtains she wanted for 4/11. All I had left was 6d and with this I bought 1 lb of sweets. Of course I also paid for the rail and tram tickets. Mother did enjoy her journey to Dundee and I loved going with her, she was always so charming. This was my first real visit to Dundee, although some weeks before by way of a recce I had cycled with a friend to Newport and crossed the River Tay by ferry to Dundee and back.
The days passed quickly — or so it seemed and soon my young life was to change in many ways for I would be plunged from the serene quietness of little Balmullo into the speed of trains, tramcars, constant movement of traffic and city people, in Dundee.
Mother made me try out my new clothing so that she could make any necessary alterations. Adorned in my school uniform, plus a cap on my head, I felt like a new being. Boys never wore caps in the village of Balmullo as we were all proud of our fine crops of hair. The cap would not fit properly and the hair had to go!
Concerning barbering services, the dairyman at Balmullo Farm, John Seth, cut the hair of the village boys on a Saturday evening each month in his kitchen and the last boy had to sweep up. A week before going to school in Dundee I was the last boy to be shorn in this way. I dutifully cleaned up, threw the hair in the fire and set his ‘lum’ (chimney) alight! What frantic activity putting it out and what a mess of soot and water was caused in the room. It had to be spring cleaned — in August!
A number of local people travelled daily to Dundee, so I had company each morning on my walk to Leuchars Junction. There were other boys and girls from Leuchars and Guard-bridge going to the Harris Academy and I was able to team up with two boys, who had already completed one term at ‘The Harris’, as the Academy was called locally. One new friend asked if I wanted to buy his first term books. I said yes, We had the same subjects.
At my first day at the Academy all the new scholars had to assemble in the large Hall together with second year pupils who knew where to go. As each name was called out by the secretary and we came forward we were handed a card. Mine read, ‘Alexander Caseby, Ex-Dairsie Public School, Headmaster, Mr W.S. Seath. Subjects as follows — English, History, Maths, French, Latin, Science, Art, Arithmetic, Geography, Physical Exercise, Woodwork, Music/Elocution. My eyes fairly boggled at the string of subjects. After a lapse our names were called out again by the same official so, ‘Alexander Caseby, proceed to Room so-and-so, your Register Master will be Mr so-and-so.’ A former pupil met me and took me to find the room.
The building was really huge and bewildering with seemingly stair after stair, room after room. The Science and Art Rooms were four flights up with no lifts of any kind to them. A beaming teacher met me and shook me by the hand. By eleven o’clock, twenty-two pupils were enrolled and a bell rang to announce the forenoon break. My throat was dry and I needed the toilet. Fortunately just outside the room I met my second year train companion, the lad who offered me the chance to buy his first term books. He soon showed me the way to the drinking cups and toilets. My new friend later looked at my book requirements and told me that he had the lot which I immediately agreed to buy for 7/6, a saving of possibly 50/- on new books. In the course of my first day I visited six teachers in six different rooms. When the finishing bell sounded at four o’clock I felt much less anxious than when I arrived. I was quite satisfied, for I now felt that I could succeed with hard work plus my determined nature.
That evening the Guardbridge lad arrived at my home with my textbooks. They were well covered and in excellent condition throughout. The lad was paid 10/-, the price difference being made up by my elder brothers John, James and David. I was now all set for the first term.
At the end of the first week I had met all my teachers, visited all my necessary rooms and understood what was expected of me. Two teachers had been at St Andrews University with my brother John and they were most helpful. Two things I must admit were unpleasant. French and Latin and Science and Maths classes followed each other as double periods on a Monday. I found this heavy going. The other subject groupings and contents were quite pleasant for me, especially English, History and Geography.
Each day I had 2½d for lunch. A small bowl of sour apple pudding the size of a cup cost 2d. The other halfpenny was intended for a small roll with soup, but I spent it sometimes on an ice-cream cone, other times on a fancy cake or sweets, to give my meal variety. My lunch was always the same because three colleges in Dundee had no catering facilities and students were encouraged to use MacDonalds Restaurant in Whitehall Crescent which provided our cheap school dinners.
Teachers also used the restaurant and my Art Master, Mr Plenderleith, nicknamed ‘Mr Splendid Teeth’, was a regular and always made a point of sniffing the flowers on his table and saying loudly, ‘Ah! God’s wonderful flowers.’
Devilment got the better of me and so one day I put plenty of pepper onto the flowers on his usual table causing him to sneeze violently, much to everyone’s amusement. Somehow it did not really seem all that funny to me and from then on I tried to be less of a comedian.
I bought a train season ticket and so on Saturday afternoons I was back in Dundee shopping around for all kinds of groceries for my family and neighbours, finding bargain prices for commodities such as tea, margarine, bacon, cheese and rice. I would buy a big parcel of them for 2/6. The stallholders would give me a free bag of sweets for bringing them trade and the neighbour would tip me 3d for my bother, which they knew would be used to help with my school costs.
During school lunch hours my friends and I often toured Dundee Harbour. Here were scenes of great excitement when the whalers came in from Arctic regions. I can recall the seamen using long handled knives to carve up blubber, it being boiled up and the smells of extracted oil, the heaps of hides, teeth, walrus tusks and flippers. All the men looked so healthy after their Arctic voyages which brought great prosperity to Dundee.
Dock Street was another schoolboy favourite haunt. One shop window was where a man worked tattooing names and fancy creatures on the arms of seamen. Other good weather lunch times we visited places of interests such as the museum, art gallery, ‘Sosh.’ (Co-Op), D.M. Browns, G.L. Swilson, Smith Brothers, the Advertiser and rival Courier newspaper offices, the courts, jute mills and jam factories. Concerning the latter three, we were taught in Balmullo that Dundee was most famous for jute, jam and judges.
I wrote many essays and stories about these lunchtime explorations, the queer speech of many townspeople and covered exciting incidents including the Suffragettes stripping the slates off and then burning down the Kinnaird Hall, trying to do the same to Leuchars Station, then chasing Winston Churchill through Dundee streets and the digging up of St Andrews Golf Course greens.
The ‘Wild Ladies’ as the press named them, caused a lot of havoc and had many sympathizers amongst the male students at St Andrews University, including my elder brother John who met his future wife, Peg, on a ‘Votes for Women’ march. The only time I got the ‘Tawse’ (strap) in a Harris classroom was for being late back after lunch for a history lesson. The cause was that I had been watching and making notes about the Suffragettes’ activities at the Kinnaird Hall. I also wrote about the laying of the foundation stone of Caird Hall, a very happy event attended by the whole Academy.
At the end of my first year I had an average pass mark of 68%. It had been a year of hard uphill slogging, mastering new techniques, understanding teachers, some were very mercurial, others the very opposite. One teacher strutted about as if he was a learned professor, full of self-importance and oblivious to the world outside his narrow specialism. He illustrated this one day by pointing to a pupil (who was obviously unwell), demanding, ‘Who do you think you are? You with your head between your hands.’
The startled teacher was given a truthful, if ego-deflating answer when the pupil replied, ‘I’m Willie so and so, frac Montrose, the Miller’s loon. You’re Mr So and So, sine frae Montrose, the Dairyman’s laddie.’
A great hush fell over the class as the teacher retorted indignantly, ‘Go to the Rector’s room at once.’ The lad did go, but within minutes he was dispatched to Dundee Royal Infirmary to have an emergency appendectomy.
When the boy returned to class some weeks later, teacher and pupil were friends.
My homework took up about one and a half hours per night for five nights during school session. I grew to love the Harris Academy, it had character, was well disciplined and always up to date. I made many good friends.
The years passed quickly while at the Academy. Thanks to the excellent teaching of Mr William Seath at Dairsie, I was well ahead for my years.
It was common talk at the Academy that if Germany had a good harvest the war would start. A German language teacher, Herr Pag Myre, a man of military bearing, just over sixty years of age, decorated for his courage in the Franco—Prussian War, gave September 1st as the day when hostilities would begin.
‘And we shall win.’ he said, ‘with great new lands under the Kaiser.’ One teacher, Mr George Blackhouse, who was in the’ British Intelligence Corps in the Boer War, was most emphatic.
‘We shall make you Huns lick our boots.’
Several of our German teachers were invited to Germany for the summer of 1914 which was a bumper harvest year and when war was declared they were interned and, rumour had it, they were well treated and used for translation duties in prisoner of war camps.
In the first week in August 1914 a special train was hired to take choir members and their friends, from the churches in Wormit, Newport, Tayport, Leuchars, Dairsie and Cupar to Balloch for a trip on Loch Lomond. As the Balmullo crowd reached Leuchars Junction we were genuinely shocked to see the porters posting up large notices headed — PROCLAMATION OF WAR AGAINST GERMANY. The notice content ordered all reservists to report by the fastest route to their Depot. The police at Leuchars had already rounded up a few of them for a special troop train.
Our excursion train was stopped at Ladybank and six other places. Each time we were shunted into sidings, to allow troop trains to pass at top speed. We reached Balloch two hours late and as soon as we boarded the steamer it set sail. My elder brothers James and David were in the party with me and my oldest brother John and his fiancée, Peg, joined us on the steamer.
The sail up the beautiful loch was quiet, for all the talk was about the unexpected escalation of events leading to the war. When we reached Tarbet a policeman came on board and shouted in a Highland accent, ‘Is there a man called CASEBY on board?’
Mr Seath who was near replied, ‘There are four men called Caseby here!’
The Constable fired back at him the demand, ‘Send me the one I want!’ Then looking at his telegram and papers he explained, ‘It’s John, a teacher who was a cadet in the St Andrews University Corps,’ and then after a sigh he ordered, ‘Step forward! You must report to your former unit at once. Now go!’
The ship’s captain standing nearby countered with, ‘My orders are to proceed to Ardlui to pick up naval reservists, so this officer cadet will have to wait here until I return.’ This was agreed. a meal we looked around Tarbet, then many of us took
a stage coach tour to Arrochar on Loch Long. The driver was dressed for the occasion in red coat and tile hat. He roared out the names of all the mountain peaks far and near, especially ‘The Splendid Cobbler’. We were not in the mood for making merry so we returned to Tarbet for tea, the steamer returned with its reservists, picked us up for a sad journey back to Balloch where John and his fiancée had to say ‘Cheerio’, not knowing when next they would meet.
It was a very very slow train journey home. We were shunted into many sidings to give troop trains priority, arriving in Leuchars at about one thirty a.m. Our feet were tired by the time we walked home to reach Balmullo outskirts at just after two a.m. only to be met by the Leuchars policeman looking for another reservist from Logie to accompany him to Leuchars for a four o’clock troop train. The villagers just could not sleep that night, as lad after lad, arrived home from distant places under orders to collect their reservist uniform and kit and then to catch a train.
The war seemed to come suddenly and the country responded with grim resolve. All army reservists were called up, uniformed men appeared everywhere, railway stations became the scene of many sad farewells. Within days a new resolve seemed to hit the whole country. Recruiting offices sprang up to be thronged with people from all levels of society wanting to enlist. With unbelievable speed, for so it seemed to me then, our area became geared to war conditions. Women took the place of the men in fields, factories, offices, behind the counter, in work shops and went to work in munition factories. Retired men returned to their old positions with new vigour and older women started ‘Knitting Circles’, to supply warm balaclavas, scarves and stockings.
In the Harris Academy many teachers who were all graduates and army cadets were recalled and commissioned, whilst many others who were not subject to such orders were eager to enlist. Our classes were enlarged, the standards an quality of education declined and the atmosphere of school changed. My parents tried supplementing my studies finding me private tutors, but these young men were fervent t fight and soon joined up. I did not like what had happened not the fact that I was too young for recruitment at sixteen and half years of age, so reluctantly I left school to find work that might help the war effort.
That same day the Postmaster at Leuchars heard from his daughters of my decision to leave the Harris and sent for me t give me a job as postman in our rural area, just vacated by a man who had enlisted. The six day per week hours and duties were spread over a two week rota as follows:
First week — five a.m. take mail off the train from the south load mail to be sorted on mail van train — seven a.m. home for breakfast — eight a.m. back to Leuchars to deliver the mail to houses on my round and return to the post office by twelve noon.
In the second week the arrangements were — seven a.m. to twelve noon, then eight p.m. to ten p.m. to deliver and collect mail and load it onto specified trains. During my second week I visited St Andrews, location of the head post office, was fitted. with uniform and provided with a new red bicycle. My pay was 30/- per week and the hours suited me for I tried to privately continue with my Academy studies and take the university. entrance exams — I had the books for my studies at home and money to pay for private lessons. I only gave up such study plans when all three of my tutors enlisted with patriotic fervour.
Each day, more and more men from surrounding farms, railway stations, mills, shops and tradesmen were delighted to be enlisting for the army and navy, while every able woman was willingly moving into traditional semi-skilled and even skilled ‘men’s work.’
By October 1914 the lists of killed, wounded and missing appeared daily in newspapers. It was customary to see groups of village people who could not afford newspapers waiting around to hear — from those who had papers — if their relatives or friends at the battlefront were on the ‘missing, wounded or dead’ lists.
The newspapers were first with the casualty lists and it was some time later before individual telegrams or letters came through. It is difficult not to remember the many tragically sad scenes of grief that burned onto my young memory or to recall relatives, friends and teachers so quickly lost.
The war took on a grim and personal aspect, for day after day I saw local men go off to war and others coming back from France wounded. A few of the wounded died and there were funerals, but for those killed in action there were only memorial services, as those bodies that could be found were committed to foreign soil.
I was fond of my work and was never late, but within me was the urge to enlist as other ‘men’ were doing. I was tall, smart, athletic and looked more than my age, or so I thought. So, three months short of my seventeenth birthday, I went twice to recruiting offices, only to be disallowed when my age was admitted, but told to return next year. My father warned me’ not to enlist until I was nineteen years old.
Several weeks later a large poster of Lord Kitchener, at Leuchars Junction, kept haunting me with the accusation that I was not doing my part. I can still see the message in mind’s eye emphasised by Kitchener’s pointed finger and the caption read: YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU, JOIN MY 100,000. I met a capable woman who was keen to be a ‘Postie’ on my round and so I felt justified in my next move. On 7th January 1915, 1 was back at a Dundee army office determined to be recruited.
Fortunately the officer in charge did not know me and ignored the comments of an army clerk who remembered me. The officer asked, ‘When were you born?’ I tried to answer against the hubbub around, ‘19th January, 1898, Sir. He must have felt that he misheard for he said by way of half-query, ‘Good. Age nineteen?’ After a brief pause and in the absence of any response from me he continued, ‘Gunners are required for the Royal Field Artillery. Are you interested?’ Proudly and positively I replied, ‘Yes, Sir.’ I was passed into the medical room where all tests were perfect. Later, back with the officer he declared, ‘Your number will be 70412 in Kitchener’s 100,000.’ I took the oath, was handed 1/- and became a soldier. I
Then a clerk handed me a many-questioned form to fill in which several others were struggling to complete. Within minutes mine was finished, the officer was called, he looked at the form and then at me and said nicely, ‘What lovely writing.’ He asked me to sign, added his signature, shook me by the hand and said sincerely, ‘Good luck, lad. Now go home and await instructions.
Back at home my mother cried, so too my younger sister and brother, Netta and Angus. My father looked pleased and was adamant, despite my mother’s pleadings, that he would not demand my release due to my age.
Next day I was back on my postal round, but word soon reached every home that I had enlisted and within a few days I was given £3 in gifts by people I barely knew. The woman was allowed to take over my job and my uniform was handed in. I was free and anxious to get my army papers.