The Days of Auld Lang Syne

Farms were held on lease in Drumtochty, and according to a good old custom descended from father to son, so that some of the farmers' forbears had been tenants as long as Lord Kilspindie's ancestors had been owners. If a family died out, then a successor from foreign parts had to be introduced, and it was in this way Milton made his appearance and scandalised the Glen with a new religion. It happened also in our time that Gormack, having quarrelled with the factor about a feeding byre he wanted built, flung up his lease in a huff, and it was taken at an enormous increase by a guileless tradesman from Muirtown, who had made his money by selling “pigs” (crockery-ware), and believed that agriculture came by inspiration. Optimists expected that his cash might last for two years, but pessimists declared their belief that a year would see the end of the “merchant's” experiment, and Gormack watched the course of events from a hired house at Kildrummie.

Jamie Soutar used to give him “a cry” on his way to the station, and brought him the latest news.

“It's maybe juist as weel that ye retired frae business, Gormack, for the auld fairm's that spruced up ye wud hardly ken it wes the same place.

“The merchant's put ventilators intae the feedin' byre, and he's speakin' aboot glass windows tae keep the stots frae wearyin', an' as for inventions, the place is fair scatted up wi' them. There's ain that took me awfu'; it's for peelin' the neeps tae mak them tasty for the cattle beasts.

“Ye hed nae method, man, and a' dinna believe ye hed an inspection a' the years ye were at Gormack. Noo, the merchant is up at half eicht, and gaes ower the hale steadin' wi' Robbie Duff at his heels, him 'at he's got for idle grieve, an' he tries the corners wi' his handkerchief tae see that there's nae stoor (dust).

“It wud dae ye gude tae see his library; the laist day I saw him he wes readin' a book on 'Comparative Agriculture' afore his door, and he explained hoo they grow the maize in Sooth Ameriky; it wes verra interestin'; a' never got as muckle information frae ony fairmer in Drumtochty.”

“A'm gled ye cam in, Jamie,” was all Gormack said, “for I wes near takin' this hoose on a three-year lease. Ae year 'ill be eneuch noo, a'm thinkin'.”

Within eighteen months of his removal Gormack was again in possession at the old rent, and with a rebate for the first year to compensate him for the merchant's improvements.

“It 'ill tak the feck o' twa years,” he explained in the kirkyard, “tae bring the place roond an' pit the auld face on it.

“The byres are nae better than a pair o' fanners wi' wind, and if he hesna planted the laighfield wf berry bushes; an' a've seen the barley fifty-five pund wecht in that very field.

“It's a doonricht sin tae abuse the land like yon, but it 'ill be a lesson, neeburs, an' a'm no expeckin' anither pig merchant 'ill get a fairm in Drumtochty.”

This incident raised Gormack into a historical personage, and invested him with an association of humour for the rest of his life, so that when conversation languished in the third some one would ask Gormack “what he hed dune wi' his ventilators,” or “hoo the berry hairst wes shapin' this year.”

One could not expect a comedy of this kind twice in a generation, but the arranging of a lease was always an event of the first order in our commonwealth, and afforded fine play for every resource of diplomacy. The two contracting parties were the factor, who spent his days in defending his chief's property from the predatory instincts of enterprising farmers, and knew every move of the game, a man of shrewd experience, imperturbable good humour, and many wiles, and on the other side, a farmer whose wits had been sharpened by the Shorter Catechism since he was a boy,--with the Glen as judges. Farms were not put in the Advertiser on this estate, and thrown open to the public from Dan to Beersheba, so that there was little risk of the tenant losing his home. Neither did the adjustment of rent give serious trouble, as the fair value of every farm, down to the bit of hill above the arable land and the strips of natural grass along the burns, was known to a pound. There were skirmishes over the rent, of course, but the battle-ground was the number of improvements which the tenant could wring from the landlord at the making of the lease. Had a tenant been in danger of eviction, then the Glen had risen in arms, as it did in the case of Burnbrae; but this was a harmless trial of strength which the Glen watched with critical impartiality. The game was played slowly between seedtime and harvest, and each move was reported in the kirkyard. Its value was appreciated at once, and although there was greater satisfaction when a neighbour won, yet any successful stroke of the factor's was keenly enjoyed--the beaten party himself conceding its cleverness. When the factor so manipulated the conditions of draining Netherton's meadow land that Netherton had to pay for the tiles, the kirkyard chuckled, and Netherton admitted next market that the factor “wes a lad”--meaning a compliment to his sharpness, for all things were fair in this war--and when Drumsheugh involved the same factor in so many different and unconnected promises of repairs that it was found cheaper in the end to build him a new steading, the fathers had no bounds to their delight; and Whinnie, who took an hour longer than any other man to get a proper hold of anything, suddenly slapped his leg in the middle of the sermon.

No genuine Scotchman ever thought the less of a neighbour because he could drive a hard bargain, and any sign of weakness in such encounters exposed a man to special contempt in our community. No mercy was shown to one who did not pay the last farthing when a bargain had been made, but there was little respect for the man who did not secure the same farthing when the bargain was being made. If a Drumtochty farmer had allowed his potatoes to go to “Piggie” Walker at that simple-minded merchant's first offer, instead of keeping “Pig-gie” all day and screwing him up ten shillings an acre every second hour, we would have shaken our heads over him as if he had been drinking, and the well-known fact that Drumsheugh had worsted dealers from far and near at Muirtown market for a generation was not his least solid claim on our respect. When Mrs. Macfadyen allowed it to ooze out in the Kildrummie train that she had obtained a penny above the market price for her butter, she received a tribute of silent admiration, broken only by an emphatic “Sall” from Hillocks, while Drumsheugh expressed himself freely on the way up:

“Elspeth's an able wumman; there 's no a slack bit aboot her. She wud get her meat frae among ither fouks' feet.”

There never lived a more modest or unassuming people, but the horse couper that tried to play upon their simplicity did not boast afterwards, and no one was known to grow rich on his dealings with Drumtochty.

This genius for bargaining was of course seen to most advantage in the affair of a lease; and a year ahead, long before lease had been mentioned, a “cannie” man like Hillocks would be preparing for the campaign. Broken panes of glass in the stable were stuffed with straw after a very generous fashion; cracks in a byre door were clouted over with large pieces of white wood; rickety palings were ostentatiously supported; and the interior of Hillocks' house suggested hard-working and cleanly poverty struggling to cover the defects of a hovel. Neighbours dropping in during those days found Hillocks wandering about with a hammer, putting in a nail here and a nail there, or on the top of the barn trying to make it water-tight before winter, with the air of one stopping leaks in the hope of keeping the ship afloat till she reaches port. But he made no complaint, and had an air of forced cheerfulness.

“Na, na, yir no interruptin' me; a 'm rael gled tae see ye; a' wes juist doin' what a' cud tae keep things thegither.

“An auld buildin's a sair trachle, an' yir feared tae meddle wi 't, for ye micht bring it doon aboot yir ears.

“But it's no reasonable tae expeck it tae last for ever; it's dune weel and served its time; a' mind it as snod a steadin' as ye wud wish tae see, when a' wes a laddie saxty year past.

“Come in tae the hoose, and we 'ill see what the gude wife hes in her cupboard. Come what may, the 'ill aye be a drop for a freend as lang as a'm leevin.”

“Dinna put yir hat there, for the plaister's been failin', an' it micht white it; come ower here frae the window; it's no very fast, and the wind comes in at the holes. Man, it 's a pleesure tae see ye, an' here's yir gude health.”

When Hillocks went abroad to kirk or market he made a brave endeavour to conceal his depression, but it was less than successful.

“Yon 's no a bad show o' aits ye hae in the wast park the year, Hillocks; a'm thinkin' the 'ill buke weel.”

“Their lukes are the best o' them, Netherton; they 're thin on the grund an' sma' in the head, but a' cudna expeck better, for the land 's fair worn oot; it wes a gude fairm aince, wi' maybe thirty stacks in the yaird every hairst, and noo a'm no lookin' for mair than twenty the year.”

“Weel, there's nae mistak aboot yir neeps, at ony rate; ye canna see a dreel noo.”

“That wes guano, Netherton; a'hed tae dae something tae get an ootcome wi' ae crap, at ony rate; we maun get the rent some road, ye ken, and pay oor just debts.”

Hillocks conveyed the impression that he was gaining a bare existence, but that he could not maintain the fight for more than a year, and the third became thoughtful.

“Div ye mind, Netherton,” inquired Drumsheugh on his way from Muirtown station to the market, “hoo mony years Hillocks's 'tack' (lease) hes tae rin?”

“No abune twa or three at maist; a 'm no sure if he hes as muckle.”

“It's oot Martinmas a year as sure yir stannin' there; he 's an auld farrant (far-seeing) lad, Hillocks.”

It was known within a week that Hillocks was setting things in order for the battle.

The shrewdest people have some weak point, and Drumtochty was subject to the delusion that old Peter Robertson, the land steward, had an immense back-stairs influence with the factor and his lordship. No one could affirm that Peter had ever said as much, but he never denied it, not having been born in Drumtochty in vain. He had a habit of detaching himself from the fathers and looking in an abstracted way over the wall when they were discussing the factor or the prospects of a lease, which was more than words, and indeed was equal to a small annual income.

“Ye ken mair o' this than ony o' us, a 'm thinkin', Peter, if ye cud open yir mooth; they say naebody's word gaes farther wi' his lordship.”

“There's some fouk say a lot of havers, Drumsheugh, an' it 's no a' true ye hear,” and after a pause Peter would purse his lips and nod. “A 'm no at leeberty tae speak, an' ye maunna press me.”

When he disappeared into the kirk his very gait was full of mystery, and the fathers seemed to see his lordship and Peter sitting in council for nights together.