THE HISTORY OF HAVEREL WIVES, &c.
THE HISTORY OF HAVEREL WIVES, &c.
It is a certain old saying, That where women are conveen’d in crouds there can be but little silence; and some have acknowledged that it was a great bondage for them to hold their peace in the church: and where there is much talk by ignorant speakers, it is diverting for persons of understanding to hear them. Therefore we have furnished the public with a small collection of old wives noted sayings and wonders, which they relate happened in their own time, also what has been told them by their forefathers.
Two old wives (Maggy, and Janet) at their rocks, began their cracks as follows:
Janet. A dear Maggy, an how auld will ye be now, o’ it’s lang since I kend you.
Maggy. Indeed Janet that’s what nae body kens, for my father and mither had sae mony o’ us, they ne’er counted how auld ane o’ us was, they minded ay wha o’ us was born first, and wha was neist ane anither, and that was a’ that e’er we sought to ken about it; but I ha’e mind o’ the mirk Munonday.[121]
Jan. Hout, tout, woman, the mirk Munonday, I hae mind since there was nae Munondays at a’, and the Sabbath days was nae com’d in fashion, there was a day they ca’d Sunday came anes o’ the ouk for it, we kend ay whan it came, for my father cow’d ay his beard whan the bell rang, and then every body ran to the kirk it had ony thing ado, an it were to buy saut or shune, for the chapman chiels set up a’ their creims at the kirk-door, an the lasses wad a gotten keeking glasses, red snudes, needles, prins, elshin irons, gemlets, brown bread andblack saep to buy, forby sweety wives things, and rattless for restless little anes; the men wad a bought pints o’ ale, an a gotten a whang o’ gude cheese to chow a’ the time a drinking o’t, hout, tout ay, they were braw markets on the Sundays i’ the time o’ Paepery,[122]we had nae ministers than but priests, Mess Johns, Black Friers, and White Friers, Monks, Abbots, and Bishops, they had nae wives, yet the best o’ them wad a spoken baudy language, and a kiss’d the lasses, fikle fyking bodies they ware, unko ill to please, they wad a baith curs’d fouk and bless’d them, just as ye pay’d them; a deed they were unco greedy o’ the penny, and pray’d ay to the dead fouk, and gard the living pay them for’t, and although they had play’d the loon wi’ a poor hizey she durst na speak o’t for her very life, for they cou’d gi’ ony body o’er to the de’il when they liket: They did not gar fouks learn to read and pray like our new ministers, but thump on your breast, strake your fingers o’er aboon your nose, tell your beads and rin bare-fit thro’ amang hard stanes, and cauld sna’.
Mag. A hech woman, an wad they a had carnal dealings wi’ the women, and they sae good and haly.
Jan. Hout ye daft woman, do ye think their goodness gelded them tho’ they had nae wives; there was a great sort o’ them it they ca’d cardonels, that ay when twa young bodies was married they bute to hae the first night o’ the bride.[123]
Mag. A wae worth them filthy hureing dogs, if I wadna’ a libbet them mysel, I wonder that the gentle fouks and lairds lote them do the like o’ that.
Jan. A dear woman the gentle fouks and the lairds keepet ay in wi’ them, for they said they had the command o’ the de’il and the dead fouk, and the gentles durst na cast out wi’ them, for they got a’ their sins pardon’d for the less siller.
Mag. A dear woman that was unko like, the de’il wad get nae body then but the poor fouk, and them that had nae siller.
Jan. A well a wat that was true, for an they pay’d the priest well, the de’il durst na middle wi’ them.
Mag. A wow woman, a what’s come o’ them a’ now, am sure the like o’ thae fouks it had sae meikle power, needed neither die nor yet be sick: they wad live a’ their days.
Jan. A wat well did they, for the maist o’ them is dead and rotten, and the rest o’ them gade awa’ to Italy, where the auld Pape their father, the de’il, the witches, brownies and faries dwal,[124]and then we gat anither sort o’ gospel fouks it they ca’d curits,[125]fine sort o’ dainty honest foulks they war, but gay and greedy, they did na’ like sculdudery wark, but said na meikle against it, for a hantle o’ bits a callans wad a gotten twa or three bastards before they wad a gotten breeks; they beit to hae their tithes of every thing that grew, mony a time my father wist they wad take the tithes of his hemp too, an it were to hang themsels, they were ay warst whare a poor man or wife died, altho’ they left weans fatherless and mitherless, a deed they wad a sent their bellman, and wi’ his lang prelatic fingers he wad a harled the upper pair o’ blankets affo’ the poor things bed, for some rent that they gard fouks pay for dying, a sae did they e’en, and yet they keepit a hantle o’ bra haly days, and days o’ meikle meat, Fastrens-e’en and Yule days, when we gat our wames fou o’ fat brose, and a sippet Yule sowens till our sarks had been like to rive, and after that a eaten roasted cheese and white puddings well spiced, O bra times for the guts, well I wat every body might live than that had ony thing to live on.
Mag. But dear Janet ye’er bra an lang o’ the memory, do ye mind o’ the waefu blast, when the foul thief was raging in the air, and the de’il dang doun a’ the kail yard dykes cutted the corn stacks, tirr’d the houses and blew giddy Wille’s wig in the wall, they said it was some young minister it had rais’d the de’il, and for want o’ a cock, a cat, or some unkirsen’d creature to gi’ him, they could na’ get laid again, an he brake the bridle slipped his head an ran awa frae them.[126]
Jan. A deed woman I heard tell o’ that, and how wood Willie M‘Neel met him on the staps in the mids o’ the water, an shot him o’er, and thought to drown him, but he gade doun the water like a meikle branded bill roaring, a’ burning fire; but I hae mind the first time it the de’il came to this kintrey was on a Sunday, I was a wi’ bit gaun lassie my father and a’ the men fouk was at the kirk, the ware twa o’ them, a humeld ane an a horn’d ane, a goodman de’il, and a goodwife de’il as we took them to be, we ran a’ into the house, and my mither barr’d the door and hunted the dogs at the byre hole, thinking the de’il wou’d rin frae the dogs, but, na, na, they got up on their tae end like twa auld men, they were a rugh lang hair like a pyet horse, wi’ lang bairds aneath their chin, and the meikle horn’d de’il box’d the dogs in at the hole agen, we ran a’ ben the house and grat, but our Jock wha wis a little gabby gaun laddock, cry’d ay, mither, mither, what is the de’il seeking here, he’ll be wanting to tak a’ the auld wives ancats to mak witches o’ them,[127]I true whan my gran mither heard that, she gat up and ran ben to the spence, and crap in the bear meal barrel to hide hersel frae the de’il, and curr’d there ’till the kirk skaild, a deed she was sae fear’d, she made her burn in the barrel; and what was’t true ye after a’ but a tupe and a ewe of the highland gaits, it the laird had gotten to gie the lady milk, but mony a day we leugh at the twa de’ils.
Mag. But dear woman, what an a body is that de’il, it ev’ry body is sae fear’d for him, is’t na him they ca’ auld nick, what fore do they ca’ him auld nick?
Jan. A dead woman I dinna ken what like a body he is, but they say he’s a’ black, and they ca’ him auld nick, because he’s aulder nor Adam, and Adam was the first man in the warld, and they say the de’il will never die, nor yet be sick, nor yet tak sair een.
Mag. A wow Janet but ye’re a witty creature, but can ye tell me what way the blackamoors is made, some fouk says they’re a’ dipped in cats blood and burnt bear strae, but I’m ay thinking the litster doucks them in amang the broe that they lit the black claith wi’, and then sells them to the lairds and gentle folks to flee their bairns wi’, or dis the gentles eat them when they’re dead think ye.[128]
Jan. Hout awa daft creature, the blackamoors is fouk just like oursel, but only they hae a black skin on them, did ye never see black sheep and white sheep, black horse and white horse, ye think they’re a’ de’ils because the de’il’s black: Ithought mysel lang syne, they were made for the penny, and sell’d the dearer o’ the black skin.
Mag. But Janet did ye ever see the de’il, I wad fain ken what like he is, some says he’s like a bill, a bear or an auld beggar man.
Jan. Indeed I never saw sae muckle as the de’il a’ my days, but I’ve heard the ministers flyting and misca’ing him, and whan they said a’ that they cou’d say o’ him, they ca’d him an ill spirit, and a great liar, mony a ane has war names than a’ that yet.[129]
Mag. But do you think there is ony de’ils but ane, every body’s speaking an crying on him, ane couldna answer them a’.
Jan. A deed they say there’s black anes and white anes o’ them, humel anes, and horn’d anes, the very witches is haf de’ils whan they’re living, and hail de’ils when they’re dead; the brownies is haf dogs haf de’ils, a’ rugh but the mouth, seeks na claise, ae man’s meat ’ill sair them, and they’ll work ten mens work in ae night, forby hob-goblins fairies and elfs, that shoots fouks beasts to dead, an no a hole to be seen in the skin o’ them;[130]hard na ye tell o’ the twa Highland wives, how the tane cry’d oh, on, oh on, Shenet my cows shot, houp, poup, co’ she, an wha shot her, a de’d it was the de’il, oh hough, oh hough, Shenet we’ll a’ be kill’d whan the de’il has gotten a gun.
Mag. A sweet be wi’ us woman, is nit an unco thing they dinna a’ flee on the minister, whan he flytes and misca’s them sae, do ye think they hear him?
Jan. A doubtless but they hear and sees too, they’re neither blind nor bleer-ey’d, but ay whan ye speak o’ them, name the day cry it’s wansday thro’ a’ the warld and there’s nae fear o’ you.[131]
Mag. But what de ye think o’ our minister, is he a good man think ye?
Jan. Indeed I think he’s a gay gabby body, but he has twa fauts, and his wife has three, he’s unko greedy o’ siller, and he’s ay preaching down pride, and up charity, and yet he’s that fou o’ pride himsel, that he has gotten a glass window on ev’ry side o’ his nose, and his een is as clear as twa clocks to luk to, he has twa gigglet gilliegaukies o’ dochters, comes into the kirk wi’ their cobletehow mutches frizel’d up as braid’s their hips, and clear things like starns about their necks, and at ev’ry lug a walloping white thing hanging like a snotter at a bubbly wean’s nose, syne about their necks, a bit thin claith like a mouse web and their twa bits o’ paps playing ay niddity nod, shining through it like twa yearning bags, shame fa’ them and their fligmagaries baith, for I get nae good o’ the preaching looking at them; and syne a’ the dirty sherney hought hizies in the parish maun hae the like or lang gae; but an I ware to preach, sic pride sudna hae baith peace and property in my parish, I wou’d point out my very finger to them in the kirk, and name them baith name and sirname, and say there sits sherney Meg o’ the mill, stumpy May o’ the moss, sniveling Kate wi’ her hodle-makenster coat, they came into the kirk bobbing their hin quarters like three water wag tails, shaking their heads like a hunder pund horse, smacking their lips and hauding their mouth like May puddocks; and what shall I compare them to, but painted Jezebels; the whore of Babylon or Rachel the harlot, with a’ their gaudy decoying colours, high taps, and spread glittering tails, whan they come sailing into the house of prayer, as it were a house o’ dancing and debaushery, go, go, ye painted pisweips to fairs and weddings,and there display your proud banners of pride which ye are puffed up with, it is the very spirit o’ the devil, and unbecoming o’ the house o’ prayer: But if these gillygaukies shou’d come into the kirk with their heels up and their heads down, our mess John is become like ane o’ the dogs of Egypt, he’ll no move his tongue, and I believe he darna for Clipock his wife; wha’s element is to banter a’ the poor beggars from her door, nane can stand her but the tinkler wives, and she’s ay whinging about charity, but it’s to hersel, she widna pity the cripple on the blind’s back, but bids gae hame to their ain parish filthy beggar dirt,[132]she casts a’ her cauld paritch and kail to the cocks and hens, kicks the poor colly dogs out at the door, ca’s them filthy useless brutes, because they canna lay eggs, like hens eggs, she’s ay flyting on her lasses, hungers her servant lad, eats cocks and hens hersel, and gars the poor minister eat saut herrin.
Mag. A well I wat then I wish he may not turn a drucken body, for herring maks fouk ay dry, but well I wat Janet ye hae tell’d their faults on baith the sides, an I hae ae great faut to our minister yet, and tho’ I ware dead and rotten the night afore the morn I’ll neither forgi’ him nor yet forget him, a what he said to me, that I sud be ta’en and douked for offerin to marry agen, a woman at my age; an auld man, said he, ought to marry some kindly body to keep him clean in his auld age, but an auld woman (said he) that can wash a dud sark to themsels needs nae men; and now no Janet, I am no to ca’ very auld although I be stricken in years, I dinna ken my ain age, being kirsen’d in the time o’ Paepery;[133]I hae the penny, tho’ bair o’ flesh and blood, has four good teeth before and well willin gums in the backside, I canna gang far without a staff, an yet I wad as fain be married as whan I was fifteenyear auld, O woman! but a man in the bed is an usefu body, they hae a sweet breath, and natural heat to keep a body warm; but an our minister ware an auld wife, he wad ken what the want of a bit man is as well as I, and a’ this began about wanton Wat the town taylor that promis’d to tak me again sic a time or tell me what for, mony a pickle well butter’d kail bleds I gi’d him, held out frae my ain wame and stappit in a his, he said he wad do as muckle to me again, but he has na don’t fause loun carle it he was, cheated me out o’ sax pund and twa sarks and then gar’d me mak a fool o’ mysel whan the laird’s duket[134]was biggit and made a’ white to gar the dows come, he said an my window ware as white they wad come to me too, and I like a poor fool took a basin fu’ o’ good bear meal and made it drammock and whitened a my window wi’t, but the never a dow came near hand me the mair o’t, but a’ the town dogs came pyking and licking it at night and day, I was plagued wi’ them till a gude shure came and wisht awa agen, the laird an every body came to look and laugh at it.[135]
Jan. But Maggy an ye be a mind to marry ye maun snod yoursel better up, cast awa your staff, singe your whiskers wi’ a candle or fir stick, stand straight up like a rash kekle, and looky cantylike whan the carles is gaun by, tak a mouthfu’ o’ good meat, and a drap dram in the mornin will keep the dirtaff your face and raise the red in your cheek, ye see the hens turns ay red lugget or they begin to lay: a body that wants a bit man will use mony a shift for ane, I ken how I did mysel whan I was fourteen lang year a widow, and thought never to gotten ane, I feed our John, whan he was a saft silly docus callan to ca’ the pleugh, and keepit him three years till he turn’d a wally whincer and fain wad I had him, but he widna speak o’t to me, but ae day we was in the house our lane, an I ties a gude hard stane knot on the strings o’ my toy beneath my chin, an fykes wi’t awee, then says, O Johnny my man look an ye can louse this knot wi’ your teeth, he lays a hand on every shouther and louses the knot, and I gripes him by the twa lugs and gies him a kiss, and saes poor man Johnny thou has a sweet breath, thou needsna want a bit kiss o’ me whan thou likes lad, I true that culli’d him hither ay the mair, ha, ha, thou has nae art woman.
Enters Humphray Clinker, hearing a’ that past, perswades his aunt Maggy that no man would marry such as her, for she looked like a picture of death riding upon hunger’s back, a rickle of banes row’d up in a runkly skin, had wasted her body with water lythocks into a scrufe of skin and bane for want of teeth to chow bread for the nourishment of her body, and that he was com’d on purpose to write her testament or latter will, that it was a lightness in her brain before death; therefore she ought to go to bed and die directly,[136]which she accordingly did[137]by taking thought of what was said to her, the priestbeing sent for came and discoursed with her, but still she keeping her purse in her hand, which he observed, desired she would give it to her friends or she died, to which she would answer by her sooth that she wad not, for she wad tak it wi’ her, for she had heard every body say they were the better o’ the penny wi’ them, gang whare they like, and so died supposed to be an hundred and six years old.
Humphray’s aunt Janet is yet alive an has made an oration in praise of the old women, and on the pride of the young.
Finis.