was the time for it! An odd but undoubtedly true thing: that in such circumstances it actually gave greater pleasure to help oneâs neighbour than to help oneself. The same in peat-cutting and other half-communal tasks. Let a man look back into the crofting days of his youth, before the petrol pump came, and check his memories. The neighbourly outing for peat-cutting had all the preparations, the expectant atmosphere, of a picnic. That was, Î Tim, a fact!
Natural enough, too, when one thought of the variety and interest, the meeting of friends in a common task, a common need, the flash and clash of personalities, and â no profits! Shades of Robert Owen!
And these lads who helped, how they pumped him about Glasgow! How eager they were to hear stories â especially about whores! Their eyes would glisten with wonder, their faces smile, half-embarrassed, as they looked away or studied the small hole a kicking heel made in the turf. Do you tell me that? A shake of the head from Andie, an older hand.
God bless me! Boys, weâre fairly missing our time here. What! They all laughed. Sometimes they laughed untiltheir sides ached, throwing suggestions at Andie, whose face worked in a wry humour. And us slaving here to get a few stooks in! Andie shook his head and looked from one to the other. It must be a terrible place, Glasgow, yes, it was not a place he would like to be in on a dark night. Why, wouldnât you know what to do? I would have no idea whatever, answered Andie, his eyes gleaming.
Itâs sometimes not so easy as it looks, said Tom. And a fellow can get a bit of a shock many a time. He described his visit to Dose, as an example, and gave them Doseâs parting oracle. They laughed at that until they could hardly stop. Hang it, it made a fellow weak laughing. So there Tom was going along the street, a dark-glooming street with no-one about, for it was fairly late, just as if he was going along the Glen road to Taruv, when a woman spoke to him. A young woman, slim and light on her feet, with a quiet clear voice. He stopped, of course â until he heard what she said and knew it was no woman on the Glen road to Taruv. What did she say? Oh, something like Hullo, dearie. He knew what it meant all right, so he turned and walked on. She thought this an invitation â and followed. So there he was and it was no joking matter. The dark lane â and he took to his heels. To your heels? said Andie, his eyes glinting and searching into Tomâs. Yes, said Tom, to my heels. To your heels? repeated Andie and he looked at Tomâs heels and shook his head in wonder at the strange uses to which heels could be put.
It was as good as a play and better, with the autumn air crisp about the stooks in the field and the darkness falling. It had been exceptionally good harvest weather and on the whole he had enjoyed the work. After the first week, when his body had got all muscle-bound, he experienced, for the first time in his life consciously, a rare sense of physical well-being. The morning air had a tingling fragrance and sweetness that came into mouth and nostrils like a cool invisible drink. The involuntary shiver in the frosted air made the body itself feel light and cool against its clothes. The eyes travelled over hill and glen and sky, saw it was going to be a good day again, and came back to the standing corn waiting to be cut. It wasnât a bad thing to be astir at thathour, preparing to cut your own corn. Necessity did make a difference. Assisting your father at work you didnât like was a slow silent rebellious business. But here, in the morning, all by yourself, before your mother milked, and fed the hens, and tidied the house, and fed and cleaned your father, and came at last to bind the corn you had cut, here in the fresh of the dry morning with responsibility and mastery in the order of your going, with a done father stretched on his bed and a dependent mother, here with a scythe
Natural enough, too, when one thought of the variety and interest, the meeting of friends in a common task, a common need, the flash and clash of personalities, and â no profits! Shades of Robert Owen!
And these lads who helped, how they pumped him about Glasgow! How eager they were to hear stories â especially about whores! Their eyes would glisten with wonder, their faces smile, half-embarrassed, as they looked away or studied the small hole a kicking heel made in the turf. Do you tell me that? A shake of the head from Andie, an older hand.
God bless me! Boys, weâre fairly missing our time here. What! They all laughed. Sometimes they laughed untiltheir sides ached, throwing suggestions at Andie, whose face worked in a wry humour. And us slaving here to get a few stooks in! Andie shook his head and looked from one to the other. It must be a terrible place, Glasgow, yes, it was not a place he would like to be in on a dark night. Why, wouldnât you know what to do? I would have no idea whatever, answered Andie, his eyes gleaming.
Itâs sometimes not so easy as it looks, said Tom. And a fellow can get a bit of a shock many a time. He described his visit to Dose, as an example, and gave them Doseâs parting oracle. They laughed at that until they could hardly stop. Hang it, it made a fellow weak laughing. So there Tom was going along the street, a dark-glooming street with no-one about, for it was fairly late, just as if he was going along the Glen road to Taruv, when a woman spoke to him. A young woman, slim and light on her feet, with a quiet clear voice. He stopped, of course â until he heard what she said and knew it was no woman on the Glen road to Taruv. What did she say? Oh, something like Hullo, dearie. He knew what it meant all right, so he turned and walked on. She thought this an invitation â and followed. So there he was and it was no joking matter. The dark lane â and he took to his heels. To your heels? said Andie, his eyes glinting and searching into Tomâs. Yes, said Tom, to my heels. To your heels? repeated Andie and he looked at Tomâs heels and shook his head in wonder at the strange uses to which heels could be put.
It was as good as a play and better, with the autumn air crisp about the stooks in the field and the darkness falling. It had been exceptionally good harvest weather and on the whole he had enjoyed the work. After the first week, when his body had got all muscle-bound, he experienced, for the first time in his life consciously, a rare sense of physical well-being. The morning air had a tingling fragrance and sweetness that came into mouth and nostrils like a cool invisible drink. The involuntary shiver in the frosted air made the body itself feel light and cool against its clothes. The eyes travelled over hill and glen and sky, saw it was going to be a good day again, and came back to the standing corn waiting to be cut. It wasnât a bad thing to be astir at thathour, preparing to cut your own corn. Necessity did make a difference. Assisting your father at work you didnât like was a slow silent rebellious business. But here, in the morning, all by yourself, before your mother milked, and fed the hens, and tidied the house, and fed and cleaned your father, and came at last to bind the corn you had cut, here in the fresh of the dry morning with responsibility and mastery in the order of your going, with a done father stretched on his bed and a dependent mother, here with a scythe
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