‘Bodkin Travels Without a Ticket’ (21 September, 1861)

The following is one of the many epistles of Tammas Bodkin, the character used by editor William D. Latto to speak frankly (and amusingly) on current affairs. Latto became editor of the people’s journal in December 1860 and used the platform to launch Tammas, bringing himself a fair amount of fame in Victorian Scotland.

Maister Editor,—I promised to gi’e ye a scrift o’ hoo we were fendin’ an’ farin’ at Cockmylane, an’ as I dinna like to mak’ a promise withoot performin’ it, I sall endeavour, noo that Andro Sooter s awa’ to his bed, an’ Tibbie is streekit to her stockin’, to snatch an oor or twa frae the dresscoat I mentioned in my last epistle, in order to set doon twa or three unco queer adventures o’ mine since we cam’ to reside in these pairts. In regard to that coat, I may juist observe parenthetically, that I’m generally sae tired wi’ my daily perambulations to an’ fro through this country side, viewin’ a’ the uncos I can clap an e’e on, that by the time Andro Sooter creeps awa’ to his roost, I find mysel’ in a better trim for sleepin’ than for exercisin’ my warldly callin’, sae ye may conclude, wi’ every probability, o’ bein’ perfectly correct in yer surmises that the coat has made but little progress as yet; an’, to tell the truth, I’ve only got the length o’ lookin’ at the claith, an’ thinkin’ aboot beginnin’ in doonricht earnest, maybe the day after tomorrow, or at least some nicht soon, but we’ll see as to that when the time comes. Tibbie, hooever, has dune some guid, for she has already finished ae stockin’, and has the marrow o’t doon as far as the intaks at the heel; but then, ye’ll observe, Tibbie hauds the wires gaen at ony orra time; such as when Mrs Sooter is oot milkin’ her kye, or awa’ wi’ her butter; but as for me, I’ve nae orra time to spare, for frae the peep o’ day to the dewy shades o’ even’, I’m either oot on the hairst rig alang wi’ Mr Sooter, helpin’ him to grieve the shearers, or I’m awa’ wi’ Andro’s fowlin’ piece on my shoother, like Robinson Crusoe, for twa or three oors on end, amusin’ mysel’ wi’ shootin’ corbies, peesweits, an’ colliehoods, an’ ither fowls o’ the air than dinna exactly come oonder the provisions o’ her Majesty’s game laws. I wasna four-an’-twenty hoors at Cockmylane, ere I had completely cleared the toon o’ sparrows an’ yellow-yorlins, insomuch that not ane o’ them wad daur to show neb in my presence. So, on Tuesday mornin’, I had made up my mind to extend my sportin’ tour to a wide stretch o’ muirland that lies aboot a mile or sae sooth by wast frae Cockmylane, wi’ the view o’ tryin’ my hand at the craws an’ earnbleaters that Andro informed me were plentiful thereaboot. So I taks doon the fowlin’ piece, tells Mrs Sooter that I wad be back by dinner time at the very latest, an’ awa’ I goes. For a pairt o’ the way the hie road leads precisely in the direction o’ the muir whereunto I was journeyin’, an’ as I am joggin’ alang, a big lumberin’ machine o’ a carriage comes up containin’ a gentleman, wha, I perceived, e’ed my fowlin’ piece wi’ a suspicious glance i’ the by-ga’en, but he made nae remark an’ as little dd I. Thae coontry gentlemen wad as soon meet the diel wi’ a half dizzen o’ his angels at his heels as meet an honest tailor like mysel’ wi’ a fowlin’ piece ower his shoother. So Andro Sooter told me, an’ Andro has better opportunities o’ pickin’ up information on that subject than he is disposed to be a’thegither thankfu’ for.

Weel, ye see, awa’ rolled the gentleman in the carriage, an’ as I was anxious to spare my legs till I got to the sportin’ grund, ye’ll no hinder me to slip in ahent the vehikle an’ seat mysel’ on the back settlements thereof. It was far frae bein’ a comfortable seat, as it was completely covered ower wi’ iron spikes, as a safeguard against the pranks o’ the juvenile portion o’ society, wha are ever ready to ride on a carriage if sae be they can do sae free gratis for naething. Hoosomdever, I managed to mak’ gude my quarters, though it was certainly purchasin’ easdom for my legs at the expense o’ anither portion o’ my body. I reached my destination in the name o’ naetime withoot ony mishap occurrin’, but, lo, and be, hold! when I essayed to dismount, I stuck fast! Yea, dootless, I was firmly nailed to my seat! I edged mysel’ aboot in a’ the directions o’ the compass, but oot o’ the bit I couldna get. I tried to disentangle the hinder pairts o’ my garments frae their intimate association wi’ the iron spikes, but in vain—no ae inch wad they budge, an’ the carriage drave on’ at a dashin’ pace, too, thus renderin’ it still mair difficult for me to do ought for my ain deliverance. I had but ae hand to work oot my salvation wi’, for my ither hand was wholly engrossed wi’ keepin’ hauds o’ Andro Sooter’s gun. I micht hae called oot to stop the coach, an’ I wad dootless hae gotten some assistance to dismount, but I was dubious as to the kind o’ service I wad receive frae Maister Jarvie, no to mention the great personage inside, seein’ I was travellin’ withoot a ticket as it were, havin’ nae earthly business to be where I was. It was exceedingly sinfu’ o’ me sae for to violate the rules o’ gude breedin’ as to ride withoot an invitation, that I’ll frankly admit; an’ if I sid live to the age o’ Methusalem, catch me do the like again. Here was justice pursuin’ me for my transgression, nor did the haill amount o’ my punishment consist in bein’ carried like John Gilpin, father than I had originally bargained for, though that was mortification eneuch, but there was the annoyance occasioned to certain salient points o’ my corporation by reason o’ the sharp-pointed iron spikes aforesaid—the pain whereof became, in the process o’ time, almost mair than I was able to bear. The Apostle Paul spak’ o ‘haein’ a thorn in the flesh, but, my certie, I had a score o’ them in my hide a’ at ae time. I fought bravely for my freedom like a rotten in a trap, until I saw it was nae use fechtin’ ony langer, an’ then I just resigned mysel’ to despair, concentrating a’ the energies o’ my soul an’ body on making the best I could o’ a bad bargain—that is, fidgin’ aboot frae ae position to anither as the demands o’ nature micht suggest. In this way the carriage sped onwards in the direction o’ Cupar; so, when we were passin’ through Darsie Muir, the bairns on the street cam’ runnin’ after us, envyin’ me, nae doot, o’ my ride, though, if they had kent a’, they had mair reason to bless their stars that they had the free use o’ their ain legs; for I’m certain sure at that blessed moment I wad hae gi’en the best croon-piece that ever was in my aucht to have had the soles o’ my feet at the grund again. After this, I sanna envy the man that rdes in a chariot, for, though he may sit on a hair cushion, an’ keeps up as fair an ootside appearance as I did on my involuntary journey to Cupar, he may yet hae his ain iron spikes o’ some kind or ither in soul or body to render his life as miserable as mine was on that luckless forenoon’s jaunt. The bairns havin’ got up wi’ a shout “hangin’ behind!” Jarvie garred his whup wallop twice or thrice ower the tap o’ the vehickle to frichten aff intruders, whereby he gae my fingers sundry cruel cuts that added considerably to the discomforts o’ my situation. Hoosomdever, I keepit my seat in spite o’ the whup, for the very gude an’ sufficient reason, that I couldna get doon. No an urchin did we pass on the road but he wad stand in an attitude o’ admiration, an’ wish himsel’ in my shoon; no a field o’ shearers did we pass but they wad rest frae their labour in order to inspect and pass their opinion on the passing equipage, an’ especially to speculate on the gentleman riding behind, who, they argued, could be naething less than the butler, or the footman, or the flunkey at the very least. Dog on it! it was ill eneuch to hae a score o’ iron spikes in my body, but to be ca’d a flunkey, that sent the iron into my very soul. Continue reading “‘Bodkin Travels Without a Ticket’ (21 September, 1861)”

‘Bodkin Discovers an Old Acquaintance’ (14 September, 1861)

The following is one of the many epistles of Tammas Bodkin, the character used by editor William D. Latto to speak frankly (and amusingly) on current affairs. Latto became editor of the people’s journal in December 1860 and used the platform to launch Tammas, bringing himself a fair amount of fame in Victorian Scotland.

Maister Editor,—Ae mornn’ i’ th’ end o’ last week, I receives, amang my ither rather extensive correspondence, a letter that wasna juist a’thegither like a business letter, because it was written in a hammert hand o’ wreat, on an auld-fashioned sheet o’ letter-paper, withoot an’ envelope, and sealed wi’ a thimble; an’ so, my curiosity bein’ a wee thocht excitit, I seizes hauds o’ the epistle, first an’ foremost, breaks it open, an’ reads as follows:—

Cockmylane,

the four o’ September,

18 hundered and 61.

Auld Freend,

I have na seen or heerd tell o’ ye for more nor thirty year, and the last time I seed ye—ye’ll mind was in the year that Burke was hanged, and we were attackted by the gangrel Irishman on the hie road between Dalkeith and Musselburgh, and you thought he was the murderer Hare, and gave him such a wallop under the fifth rib, that his heels went over his head, and he landed into the middle of a whin bush; and you’ll mind how you and me parted at Mungo Mathew’s public, close by the toll bar, after we had had a half mutchkin thegither bekause it was a wet morning. After that I losed sight of you entirely, bekause I went to Ayrshire to work at the Iron-Stane, and after I wrought there for nine or ten year, I gaed out to Austreelia, and I made my fortune herding sheep to Mr Jone Wauchope, at a place thirty mile up from Melbourne, called Bloody Gully. I came home five year syne, and have took a farm, ye’ll see the name of it at the tap of this letter, and it is about six mile on this side of Cupar, and about two mile and a half on the other side of the coach-road to the water-side. I’m very comfortable, and I have a wife, and my farm is three plews lawbour, and I am very busy with the shearing just now, or I would have tried to find you out, for I’m sometimes at the market on Friday, but Mistress Sooter an’ me would be happy if Tibbie an’ you could come over and spend a week or 2 with us, and we will tak’ no denial, and you must come over to Newport with the 9 o’clock boat on Monday morning, and I will be at the water-side with a cart to drive you to Cockmylane, and I have to be at Newport at anyrate for a basketfu’ of ale, and a barrel o’ shearers’ bread. I found oot that you were in Dundee by seeing your letters and sae muckle about you in the newspaper. I must close this letter, because it is nine o’clock at night, and I am tired and sleepy, and we have to be up at five o’clock if it is a fair morning.

No more at present, but remains your auld friend,

Andrew Sooter,

tenant of Cockmylane.

Dog on it! the readin’ o’ this letter revived auld and kindly recollectons. I had nearly forgotten a’ aboot Andro Sooter, but when he mentioned my encoonter wi’ the drucken Irishman twa-an’-thirty years syne, my memory brichtened up, an’ I mind the particulars o’ that ploy, an’ a’ aboot drinkin the half-mutchkin wi’ Andro at the toll house, as weel as if they had happened only yesterday or the day afore. At that time, Andro, a young daft chield, aboot twenty years auld, was castin’ drains on a farm in the neeborhood o’ Dalkeith, an’ i’ the lang winter e’enins he was wont to come into the shop and chat awa wi’ the ‘prentices an’ journeymen, and he employed us to mak’ his stacks for him, an’ shape his corduroy cutikins, the sewin’ whereof he was wont to execute wi’ his ain hands, for he was aye a savin’ kind o’ a’ loon. Ay, ay, an’ Andro had warsled sae far up i’ the warld as to hae a farm o’ his ain. Weel, wha wad hae thocht it? For Andro was never kent to be a philosopher, but he was aye a wee thocht gruppy i’ his way, and attendit faithfully to his business, an’ after a’, it’s yer canny eydent, sayin’ kind o’ folk that grow rich, an’ no yer men o’ talent an’ genius. A’ thae thochts passed through my mind when I had read Andro’s letter, an’ sae I steps my ways ben to Tibbie, an’ reads the letter to her, an’ we had a consultation aboot oor invitation to Cockmylane, the result whereof was that we would be at Newport on Monday at the ‘oor appointit. We cam’ the mair readily to this conclusion, that we had half made up oor minds to tak lodgin’s for a week or ten days ower at Newport or doon bye at Carnoustie, at onyrate, for the sake o’ Tibbie’s health, that has been onything but in a satisfactory state sin’ we cam’ to live in this oonsavoury locality o’ the toon, amang the odours o’ fish-guts an’ the sickly aroma o’ Phelim O’Grady’s auld rags an’ rotten banes. The invitation to Cockmylane was therefore a special dispensation o’ Providence, that removed a’ financial obstacles to oor holiday jaunt an’ especially relieved me o’ the irksome duty o’ hagglin’ wi’ greedy landladies aboot room rent, an’ the price o’ gas an’ coal, an’ the perquisites due to the servent for cleanin’ oor shoon. That was what I never could put up wi’, an’ preserve my mental serenity, ever sin’ I cam’ to fend for mysel’ in this warld; an’ mony’s the time I’ve suffered mysel’ to be victmeezed rather than kick up a stoor aboot a paltry shillin’ or twa, an’ that’s dootless pairtly the reason why i’m the poor man I am at this oor an’ day. Continue reading “‘Bodkin Discovers an Old Acquaintance’ (14 September, 1861)”