I am in the middle of reading a web published story called
Campbeltown Life by a gentleman named Donald Keith. It is mostly about his boyhood and early years growing up on the campbeltown peninsular during and after World War II in a working class family. This is both touching and extremely funny if you can get your head around some of the Scottish vernacular. You can just dip in and out of the stories as they are built in to a book but mostly short and digestible. One seriously funny autobiography! Extract below. I don’t know why this isn’t published as it’s more than worth a read and book length. Photos are scattered throughout for those interested in such things. All the stories are separated by headings so it’s pleasurable to navigate with a screenreader.
Click on the above link and prepare for a laugh.
‘Old John lived with his wife in a little house in Fisher's Row. They were retired
and often slept late, sometimes until well into the morning. As 'boys will be boys'
my father and his friends decided to give John and his wife an extended night, at
the expense of a black piece of board.
Accordingly, one dark autumn night when the couple were fast asleep, my father and
his friends, slipped into Fisher's Row and placed a piece of black board on old John's
window.
They returned next day and listened at the couples door to what the occupants were
saying. As the time was now about midday they could hear John's wife talking to him.
"John, is it no time tae get up? A feel as if it is a lang nicht, a can hear burds
whistlin oot side an fowk takin?"
"Bide yer time wuman its only midnight, we hae eight oors tae sleep yet in oor bed."
"But a hear fowk in the street goin tae work an a boats siren goin its dinger in
the loch."
A note of exasperation came into John's voice at his wife's questions. He got up
and lit a candle.
"Al awa tae the window an look oot, an then wull ye believe me?"
He peered out but only saw an inky void.
"There ye are," he sighed, "it is as dark as the Earl of Hells Waiscote. We better
get back tae oor beds an sleep."
My father and his friends were sniggering at the effect of their prank but the approach
of a constable made them beat a hasty retreat. The constable plodded past the house
but never gave a second glance at the blackboard on the window.
At about tea time my father returned to Fisher's Row and listened at John's door.
The couple were still in bed and he could hear them talking.
"A ken not Mary, but we seem tae be sleepin for ages an a have a richt hunger. The
clock says seevin in the morn, but it is still pitch black. A cana unnerstaun it
a ta!"
"Wid ye nae be better tae gaun oot in the street an ask fowk whit time it is?"
There was a pause, then John said wearily:
"Are ye daft wuman, we hae a fine clock -- a German Waggata-wa. How can I go oot
an ask fowk when they are a asleep in their beds? Git up an mak me a piece o breed
an jam, them weel awa back tae bed."
As my father listened he could hear Mary moving about and he saw the glimmer of a
candle through the door. A heavy hand gripped his shoulder and, alarmed, he turned
to see constable MacLaren staring at him.
"Well! Up to no good Keith? Pestering old fowk. Get back home and I will see your
mother about this hooliganism."
As he spoke he gave my father a wallop that sent him scurrying away. On his way home
he met his friends and they decided to carry on listening at John's door.
About midnight John sprang from his bed cursing.
"Mary wheres ma troosers am goin oot tae see if its daylight."
My father's friends scattered as John appeared at the door to be confronted by the
dark night. He peered into the gloom at the faint street lights.
"Michty me! Thur is something wrang wae the time am sure, the world must be a tae
pot!"
As he spoke a man stumbled past, the worst of drink.
"Hey pal!" shouted John, "Whit day is this is it the morrow, or is it yesterday,
or is it na any day?"
The drunk peered at him.
"A dina ken whit day it is pal, but a ken it is nicht a the time."
With that he staggered of into the night, leaving John scratching his head.
In the long night that followed the wind came to the couples rescue, blowing the
black board from the window and when the true dawn filtered down they arose hungry,
and went outside.’
