Leave it open...

Ye ken, some fowk tak their games awfy serious. Ye can see it at the fitba maist weeks, an at the bools an aw. Auld Arthur McArthur that yaist tae bide up oor stair, ye aye kent how he had got oan at the bools by the noise he made when he cam hame. If he'd won, he wid be singin auld songs comin up the stair, like "Bonnie wee Jeannie McColl" or "Stop yer ticklin Jock", but if he'd lost he wid clatter his baw-bag against the bannister railins, an ye'd be lucky if ye got a "Be kind tae auld Grannie" oot o him. Then ye wid hear him abusin wee Effie tae aw hoors. He wis an awfy bad loser...

Anither yin that wis a bad loser wis John Porteous. Aye, that John Porteous. No only did he no like tae lose, but he didnae like it if onybody else kent he'd lost, sae ye imagine how bad he felt efter he'd lost a roond o gowf tae wee Alex Elphiston up oan the Bruntsfield links, an they went an pit it in the papers! In fact, that game, the yin he lost, wis the verry verry first "solemn match o gowf" ever tae be reportit in the papers, back in 1724. Fowk follaed him aboot fer weeks efter, shoutin things like "Fore!" an "Loser!" an makin wee L signs wi their fingers oan their foreheids. He hated that. Ah think that's whit made him him turn oot the bad-temperit curmudgeon he wis.

Whitever it wis, he wis weel-kent fer his soor-face. Ye mynd ah telt ye aboot whit he did tae ma puir wee hen Meg? Weel he wis like that aw the time. He wid sweer at fowk in the street, abuse weans an auld wummen, no tak his turn in a line, say, at the fleshers or baxters' stalls, he wid jist push hissel richt tae the front. Of course, naebody wid stop him, fer he wis the heid o the Toun Gaird, an ye didnae want tae get oan the wrang side o them, so a'body jist stuid aside, an mibbe mutterit wee curses he couldnae hear...

There wis this yin time in 1731 when the Kirk were fillin a lectureship doon at the Auld West Kirk, St Cuthbert's. There had been a close contest atween a Mr Dawson an a Mr Wotherspoon. Dawson had won the presbytery, but Wotherspoon had appealed an won at the synod. Feelin wis sae high they sent the Toun Gaird doon tae keep an een oan things when Wotherspoon wis tae deliver his first sermon. When Porteous got there, here had the bold Dawson no turnt up an taken possession o the pulpit! Porteous walked richt up the stairs o the pulpit, grabbed Dawson, an dragged him back doon, batterin lumps oot him aw the way doon. When Wotherspoon shows up, aw Dawson's pals jumped oan him an batterit him better!

Baith the young men died a few days later...

That's the kind o man Porteous wis, hard, uncouth, angry tae the core. If there were sides tae tak, maist fowk in the toun wid tak against Porteous. Sae we come tae 1736. Noo, tae pit ye in the picture, ye've got tae mynd this is ony thirty year efter that damned Union took place, an suddenly there were taxes an laws an awsorts bein landit oan us fae a palace fower hunner mile awa that nane o us had ever seen, an fewer cared fer. Onybody that could get aroond or unner these taxes wis awricht in maist fowks' een. When this couple o smugglers fae Fife were brocht ower an tried, an then condemnit tae hing, Embra took a wee shine tae them. When yin o them, big Andra Wilson, helped his pal Robertson tae escape when they were at a service in St Giles Kirk, by haudin twa gairds wi his hauns, an anither yin wi his teeth, he became whit ye micht cry a 'Local Hero'.

Robertson, by-the-by, managed tae get awa oan account o a'body staunin aside tae gie him a clear run, then gettin in the road o the gairds as they chasit him! He even managed tae get oot the Pottorraw Port when it wis supposit tae be shut, this bein the Sabbath, escapit tae Holland, an wis still runnin his ain pub in Rotterdam twinty year later!

Onyroads, they still had Andra Wilson, an oan the 14th o April they took him doon tae the Gressmercat fer his hingin. The atmosphere wisnae guid that nicht, Andra wis weel-likit, in fact ony smuggler wis in thon days, an there wis a richt ominous grumblin fae the crowd. The hingin went aheid, we aw watched in silence, an ye can imagine how loud a silence comes fae thoosans o fowk crammed intae the Gressmercat. When the hingsman went up tae cut Wilson doon fae the gibbet, ah couldnae help masel ony langer, ah had tae mak ma wee protest. Yin solitary stane flew through the air, an lamped the hingsman richt oan his neb. That wis aw it took...

Eruption. Thoosans o fowk suddenly let their anger oot, an there wis mair stanes, sticks an bottles, an bawlin an shoutin, a great mass o noise that soonded like a muckle monster comin fae its lair. Porteous, wha ah dae believe had been drinkin, didnae drap a second, he bawled oot "Fire an be damned!" an let aff his ain pistol, richt intae a wee laddie that worked in a sweetie-shop up the West Port. Some o the Gaird follaed him an shot richt intae the crowd, ithers thocht they wid play it safe an shoot ower their heids, except they jist shot fowk at their windaes! Porteous had the Gaird mak a retreat up the West Bow, whaur again they turnit roond an fired. There were bodies lyin aw ower the place, aboot a dozen fowk lay deid, an dozens mair injured. The bluid wis runnin doon the gundies...

Lucky fer Porteous, the Welsh fusiliers were oan staun-by up at the Lawnmercat, an they managed tae escort Porteous back the Gairdhoose, which wis the ugly squat wee howf in the middle o the High Street, aboot the tap o Cockburn Street, though Cockburn Street wisnae there then. He couldnae stay there lang tho, an he wis soon taken up tae the Tolbooth tae wait fer his trial...

The trial wis a lengthy complicatit affair. Porteous made oot that the magistrates had allowed the Gaird tae cairry loadit weapons, an he wis ony daein his duty. The magistrates, watchin their backs, said that the loadit weapons were ony tae guarantee that the hingin went aheid withoot anither darin escape, an as suin as it wis compleat, Porteous had nae richt tae open fire withoot the Riot Act bein read. Porteous said that readin o the Riot Act wis the cooncil's duty, an they had aw gaun an hid thersels awa when things got ugly, leavin him an the Gaird tae defend thersels, which they did. Back an forth it went, till at last a guilty verdict wis brocht, an Porteous wis condemned tae hing hissel...

In steps London. The government wis awfy feart o their fragile Union, an had guid reason tae be, fer nane o us were enamourit o that dismal concoction. We had awready had the '15 an the '19, an we werenae far fae the '45, we were quite the rebellious lot, us Scots, an they widnae hae mynded crushin us, if that's whit it took. The King, George II, wis oot the country at the time, he wis back hame in Hanover, an his Queen, big busty Caroline o Ansbach, wi the Prime Minister Walpole, took it upon thersels tae gie Porteous a reprieve, expectin George tae gie a fu pardon when he got back. Embra wisnae gaunnae staun fer that...

The nicht o the 7th o September, 1736, the mob gaitherit at Wester Portsburgh, up fae the West Port. There were thoosans o us, an thoosans mair jyned the crowd as it mairchit through the toun, doon the Coogate an up tae the Netherbow Port. The gate wis taken an secured, tae prevent ony sodjers comin up fae Holyrood. Then we went up an mobbed the Gairdhoose, tyin up the Gaird an takin aw their weapons. Then oan up tae the Tolbooth, where Porteous wis bein held. He kent whit wis gaun oan mynd, cos ah'd laid that wee curse oan him a few year earlier. Puir wee Meg...

The Tolbooth door wis a great heavy thing, an stood up tae a lengthy batterin. Eventually we had tae set fire tae it tae get in, an Porteous wis dragged fae his cell. He wis cairrit up the Lawnmercat an doon the West Bow, aw in near-silence apairt fae the slow thump o the lynch-drum at the heid o the mob. We had awready arranged wi the wife fae the rope-shop oan the Bow no tae lock her door that nicht, but tae leave it open. Yin o the men went in, selectit a guid strang length o towe, an left a nice new guinea oan the coonter. Naebody can say we dinnae pay fer oor pleasures in Edinburgh...

There wis nae gibbet set up fer Porteous, but that nivver stopped us. The rope wis thrawn ower a dyer's pole near the Coogateheid, an Porteous wis strung up. Things got a bit messy at this pynt, fer he wis up an doon an up again, stripped nakit, beaten an battered, even set fire tae, but efter a bit it wis aw ower, we had taen oor justice, an the mob meltit awa, drappin the weaponry, the lochaber axes liberatit fae the Gairdhoose, aw ower the Gressmercat.

Oor leaders in London didnae like this as ye can imagine, an fer a while there wis a threat tae diminish Edinburgh, revoke oor charter, bar the Provost, pu doon the toun wa an aw the Ports, make us suffer, but in the end aw they did wis order the Netherbow Port tae be cleikit or jammed open, an fined the toun £2000 tae be paid tae Porteous' widow. Fer aw the enquiries an rewards fer information, not a soul blabbed in the toun. The wa o silence wis bigger an stronger than ony toun wa...

Porteous hissel wis buried in the Greyfriars burial-groond, his only marker bein a wee stane wi 'P' an '1736' oan it, but this wis replced in 1973 wi the heidstane ye see noo, wi the inscription "John Porteous, a captain of the City Guard of Edinburgh, murdered September 7th 1736. All passion spent, 1973"

Ye ken, thinkin aboot thon nichts, when mobs o fowk could take oan a life o their ain, an commit crimes that individually they wid nivver dream o, has left me feelin the same -

All passion spent...

Strange phenomena...

Oh hullo, it's yersel... Ye'd best come in... Whit d'ye mean, of course ah'm gled tae see ye, ah wis jist in the middle o somethin that's aw... Sit yersel doon by the fire, jist clear a space wid ye, pit that stuff oan the flair, ah'll be wi ye as suin as ah've fixed ma face... Ah'm sorry aboot the mess, ah've eh, ah've no gotten roond tae daein ma hoosework this mornin...

Ah ken, afore ye stairt oan me, ah've been awfy bad. Keepin ma curtains drawn, ignorin aw the bangin at the door an shoutin through the letterbox, barely settin fit oot the hoose. Ah ken some o ye hae been wantin tae come in tae hear ma stories, but tae be quite honest wi ye ah've no been feelin up tae it. Ah might like tae gie aff like ah'm this happy-go-lucky, aye laughin, aye drinkin sort o wumman, but like maist fowk ah hae ma doon-times. Like every yin o ye ah hae days ah jist want tae pu ma blankets ower ma heid an forget the world. Except mine can go oan fer weeks...

Of course ah've no been shut up aw this time. Aw naw. Ah've had tae go oot tae dae ma messages an the like, pick up ma prescriptions, that sortae thing. Ma doctor telt me ah should go a walk in the sunshine when ah can, tae tak masel oot o masel if ye ken whit ah mean. So ah did. Ah took masel wee daunders roond graveyairds tae lay flooers, doon back-closes tae luik at auld murder-scenes, across bridges tae see how high they are, an alang the Water o Leith...

Ah wis trauchlin alang this day past yin o the weirs oan the Water, an ma mynd wanderit back tae aw the weirs ah've kent ower the years. There wis this yin couple fae a while back, brither an sister they were, an a richt antlin couple they were an aw. He wis a bit obsessed if ye ask me, quite the purist so he wis, aye threapin at fowk tae luik forrit an tae raise their een tae the sunny uplands aheid...




The sister oan the ither haun wis a richt droll doll, she aye wis, she yaist tae spin awsorts o unco tales, supposedly stories fae her past an her upbringin in the aulden days, an here's the queer thing, she thocht she wis a witch...

Oh hing oan a meenit, ah can see whit ye're thinkin. Ye think ah'm talkin aboot Tom an Molly Weir din't ye?

Naw naw, they're no the Weirs ah'm talkin aboot. Naw, ah'm talkin aboot Major Thomas Weir an his sister Grizel Weir. At least, we yaist tae cry her Grizel, though ah think her real name wis Jean. The twa o them hailit fae Lanarkshire an were aff sheep-fermin fowk. Thomas wis born in 1599 an he had focht in the Covenantin Wars ower in Ireland in 1641, an rose tae the rank o Major. When he retired in 1650 he wis apointit heid o the Embra Toun Gaird.

The twa o them bidit in a land near the tap o the West Bow, that awfy steep creukit street that runs fae the Lawnmercat doon tae the Gressmercat. The Bow itsel, or the auld city gate, stood at the first turn oan the way doon, jist aboot whaur Victoria Terrace crosses it noo. There a muckle widden gate hung oan twa enormous hinges, an back in the auld days this gate wis shut fast every nicht. The Bow yaist tae be whaur aw the tinsmiths, silversmiths an hammermen had their shops, an fowk wid talk aboot the 'tinklin o the Bow' fer it wis a noisy wee bit. Some o the hooses oan the Bow had stood langer than maist fowk could mynd, an lookin at the yin at the tap o the street, ye hae tae wunner how they stood at aw!

In the Covenantin days, in the latter hauf o the seeventeenth century, the fowk o the Bow had a reputation fer religious purity second tae nane in the toun, an they were sae up thersels we yaist tae cry them the 'Bowheid Saints'. Major Weir wis the godliest o the godly, the purest o the pure, an his prayers an sermons were sae fervent, sae birsie, that he got the name o 'Angelical Thomas'. He wis byorner a dour man, tall an lanky wi a big neb, aye luikin doon tae the groond, but when he stood up tae pray, leanin oan his cruikit thornwood staff, his een were aw alicht an the power seemed tae thrill through his body as he warned his flock o the comin o the End o Days an the great fecht atween Guid an Evil. He wis a bit dramatic tae ma way o thinkin, but the Bowheid Saints lapped it up an thocht he wis somethin special...

Of course, we werenae aw taken in by the Saints o the Bow, an there were some queer tales went roond, in parteecular aboot Major Weir's thornwood staff. Some said it yaist tae go his messages fer him, some said it answered the door fer him, ithers even said they had seen it bouncin alang the street afore him at nicht, cairryin a lamp fer him! It wis a cursed stick, fowk said he got his preachin powers fae it, some said the verry Devil wis in it, but some fowk'll say onythin fer a laugh...

 But fer aw the gossipin that went oan aboot Angelical Thomas, ye can imagine the stir that went roond the toun when we heard that he had stood up tae preach yin nicht, but insteid o comin oot wi his usual firebrand holier-than-thou sermonisin, he launched intae a confession.

An no jist ony confession it wis either, nane o yer 'ah'm a puir sinner nae fit fer God's mercy' stuff. Naw, this wis a confession o true evil, o bein in league wi Auld Nick hissel, o practicin sins that didnae hae names, sins o the flesh an o sorcery. He claimed tae be a warlock o the worst sort. The first ah heard o it wis the mornin efter, staunin in a line doon at the Fleshmercat doon Halkerston's Wynd. Jessie Knox telt me she had heard it fae her auntie's cousin that had a button stall up the Lawnmercat, an she had heard it fae her neebor's sister's man, him bein a porter doon the Bow. Nane o us believed it at first, it wis jist the sort o tattle ye aften heard in the toun, here th'day gone th'morn sortae story. Even the Provost didnae believe it, an refused tae hae the Major arrestit, hopin the thing wid jist blaw ower...

But then Grizel stepped up, an claimed the twa o them had been th'gither, as man an wife so tae speak, fer years, an had gotten up tae awsorts, an caused aw kind o strange phenomena. She said that they had inheritit their witchcraft fae their mither, an regularly toured the countryside in a fiery coach, gaun tae coven meet-ups. She confirmed that the Major got his diabolical powers fae his cruikit staff. It wis the incest that did it fer them tho, an so the three o them, Thomas, Grizel, an the walkin-stick, were aw locked up in the Tolbooth...

Ah mynd Major Weir's trial weel, fer it wis ma birthday, the 9th day o April, 1670, an ah treatit masel tae a new hat an a nice broch fer ma shawl. It wis fair, quite warm fer the time o year, wi wee fluffy clouds, nae sign o rain. We didnae find oot much mair at the trial than we awready knew, fer the Major widnae let oan. He said he had said aw he had tae say an he wisnae aboot tae say nae mair. When he wis asked if he had ever actually seen the Deil, he answered that 'the only feelin ah ever had o him wis in the dark'. That raised a wee titter, but aw in aw it wis a bit o a disappointment, but ah still had the hat an the broch, which wis nice...

So, anither trip doon tae the Gallowlee oan Leith Walk it wis. Afore they strung the no-sae-Angelical-noo Thomas up, they asked him fer his repentance, but he wid gie them nane o it. "Ah hae lived as a beast, ah will die as a beast!"

An so he did. Efter the hingin they threw the Major oan the fire, as per witchcraft rules, an they threw his stick oan efter him, an ah hae tae admit, it crackled an spat an twistit an louped aboot like, weel, like a stick posessed...

Grizel wis taen doon the Gressmercat fer her hingin, an she managed tae gie us a wee bit o entertainment at the end an aw. She took it intae her heid that she had tae die wi aw the shame she could, an it wis aw the magistrates could dae tae stop her fae rippin aw her claes aff. Puir mad auld sowel...

An that's the tale o the Weirs o the West Bow. Noo ony similarity ye micht see atween them an Tom an Molly Weir is fae yer ain fervid imagination, nothin tae dae wi me. Ah hope ye're gled ye got me tae answer ma door, tae be honest ah'm gled ah answered it an aw. It's nae fun tellin stories tae yersel, fer a stairt ah'm aye askin questions ah dinnae ken the answers tae. So if ye're done ah'll let ye get oan, ah think ah've got some hoosework tae get oan wi masel. Noo dinnae be a stranger, Cheerie!

An dream o sheep...

Well, whit a day that wis an nae mistake. The first visit fae the Pope fer nearly thirty year. Wha o us kens if we'll still be here the next time he comes roond tae see us? Ah mind askin masel that question the last time the Pope came tae see us, tho tae be fair ah wid jist point oot it had taken him near 2000 year tae get aroond tae it that time, which is why we got sae excited. That wis the time ah ended up in the middle o Pastor Jack Glass an Reverend Ian Paisley's counter-demonstration, but that's a story fer anither time. An noo he comes back barely thirty year later? Popes are a bit like buses in that way ah suppose. Ah wid say trams, but ah bide in Leith mind, an ah jist want tae greet onytime trams are mentioned. Pass me that box o hankies oan the sideboard wid ye...

It's awright, ah'll be awright, jist gie me a meenit...

Right. Aye... Whaur wis ah? Aye, Popes. Aye, it wis nice tae see aw thae happy wee faces shinin wi adoration, aw thae men no feart tae wear dresses oot o the hoose, aw thae Saltires wavin an no a Union rag in sight, the auld Queen an her man still oan the go, an maist o aw oor beautiful toun, Edina wi the bonnie cheeks. She luikt stoatin in the sunshine so she did, the star o the show as far as ah'm concerned. Ah'm aye fit tae burst wi pride when a big name comes tae the toun, an gets tae see whit a braw wee place we bide in, an they pit yin o thon cameras in the sky tae luik doon ower the toun.

It wis a wee shame tho, that they nivver brocht the auld man up tae see the Auld Toun. Apairt fae Holyroodhoose he nivver got tae see the real heart o the city up close. Tae ma mind it's a peety they nivver took him tae see the statues o John Knox an Davie Hume, nivver took him up tae the High Kirk o Saint Giles. Ah cannae fer the life o me think why no...

Talkin o Saint Giles kirk, me an ma pal Jenny had arranged tae meet up there efter work yin Saturday efternin a few year ago. Ah had been daein stairs aw mornin an ma heid wis spinnin, she had been at her stall doon by the Tron sellin cabbages an the like. She wis a greenwife ye see, an selt aw manner o vegetables an fruitstuffs, bawlin oot her "Neeps like succar! Wha'll buy ma neeps?" an her "Fower-bunch a penny, wha'll buy ma caller radishes?" She had sic a loud voice oan her, ye could hear Jenny's cry aw the way up at the Luckenbooths ah'm no kiddin ye!

We met up aboot fower o'clock, an it wis sic a hot an sunny day we took a wander doon the Gressmairket an sat oot in the sun an knocked back a wheen o ales. Ye dinnae aye realise how much ye're drinkin when ye're enjoyin yersel. We were aw bletherin aboot the tale o that Betty Trot an her farce o a dookin. As the nicht wore oan we found oorsels up at the Greppa inn ahint the Parliament Close. Even tho it wis a braw bricht summer's nicht, when ye went doon thae shadowy back-stairs an intae the gloom o that tavern it wis that dark ye had tae feel yer way tae the bar. No fer nothin wis it cryed the Gropin-hoose...

Eventually we endit up gaun dancin at the auld Assembly oan the West Bow. That wis a ricketty auld joint by this time, no far fae fawin doon aroond oor lugs, but the dancin wis rare, the ale wis flowin, an we were haein the time o oor life. Jenny wis a grand mover, she had slinkier hips than ah could ever dream o haein. Ah'm nae sure whit time we got hame at that nicht, aw ah ken is that the sun wis risin, an even Jenny wis gettin hoarse fae aw the singin an laughin. Ah said cheerio tae Jenny at her stair door an telt her ah wid see her in the mornin fer the kirk...

Oh but did we no pay fer oor sins in the mornin? Ma heid wis loupin fit tae burst, an it wis aw ah could dae but tae splash ma face wi water an drag ma guid frock oan. Ah went up tae collect Jenny, an she luikit as bad as ah felt! Her faither, Mr Geddes, wisnae best pleased wi us either. He telt Jenny she wis gaunnae hae tae clean oot their cludgie fer a week fer stayin oot sae late, an gied me a bellin-aff fer leadin his dochter astray. Me? Leadin her astray? Chance wid be a fine thing, Jenny wis the rabble-rouser, no me! But ah said nothin, ah jist held ma tongue. If truth be telt ah kept quiet cos if ah'd startit tae talk ah think ah wid've chucked up aw ower his guid shoes. Ah jist luikit doon at the flair an kept swallaein...

We walkit up tae the kirk in silence. Ah could tell by the luik oan Jenny's face it wisnae worth startin up a conversation wi her, she wis in yin o her moods. Ah think she had took the hump wi me cos ah got mair gropes in Greppa than she did, but then ah think ye can pit that doon tae her loud voice, ye didnae hae tae grope tae ken whaur Jenny wis. We got tae the kirk, foldit oot oor wee creepie-stools an sat doon. Ye see, ye had tae be somebody special tae get a proper pew in thon days, lassies like us had tae bring oor ain seats.

There wis an awfy atmosphere in the kirk that mornin, an it wisnae aw doon tae mornin-efter-nicht-afore sair heids. That auld monster King Chairlie the First wis intent oan sweepin awa oor Reformation an tae oor mind he wantit tae bring the Popery back. He had awready brung back Bishops tae oor kirk, an this mornin, the 23rd o July 1637 he had decreed that the meenister wis tae read fae a new English prayer-buik. Noo Popery's yin thing, but Anglicanism? Noo he wis gaun too far. Fowk werenae happy an ye could feel it in the air, ye could've cut the tension wi a knife...

Ah wis barely aware o aw this tho, haein only managed a couple o hours' sleep. As soon as the kirk went quiet an Jimmy Hanney, the Dean, had stairtit dronin oan, ah stairtit noddin aff. Ah wis jist gettin intae a guid sleep, leanin against Jenny's shooder, an fer some unkent reason stairtin tae dream o giant sheep, when Jimmy had got tae the meat o his sermon an began tae read fae the new prayer-buik. He hadnae got twa words oot when Jenny let oot this ear-shatterin yell an leapt up, cowpin me richt aff ma stool an landin me oan ma erse oan the flair!

"Wha daur say Mass in ma lug?" she screams, "Ah hope ye get piles, ye auld fart!"

She picks up her stool an launches it at the pulpit. Suddenly there's uproar in the kirk, fowk are bawlin an shoutin, they're chuckin stools, bibles, walkin sticks, breid rolls, onythin they had tae haun really, an there's me lyin flat oan ma back like a cowpit sheep, no able tae get tae ma feet, nor even tae ma hauns an knees. By this time there wis a riot gaun oan ower ma heid, fit tae match the riot gaun oan inside o it. Ma skirts were gettin tramplit oan in the melee an it wis aw ah could dae tae crawl ma way tae the kirk door an oot intae the street. The door slammed shut ahint me, an sae ah jist kept oan crawlin...

Ah think ah must've crawled aw the way hame that mornin, judgin by the state o ma frock the next day, it wis aw split doon the side an aw clarty at the knees. It seems Jenny had stairtit somethin in the kirk that day. They even pit up a wee memorial tae her, tho ye'll notice they pit the wrang stool up oan it, that there's a cuttie-stool, no a creepie-stool! Anyroads, the riot she stairted went oan aw day lang, an even efter the Toun Rats had managed tae evict maist o the rioters fae the kirk they went oan chuckin sticks an stanes at the windaes till gaun oan six at nicht. The unrest led tae the men o the toun signin up tae a National Covenant the next February, tellin King Chairlie whaur he could stick his ideas, an so began the troubles that went oan fer twinty-odd years, bringin an end tae Chairlie, the comin o the tyranny o Cromwell, an eventually it led tae the birth o Leith Walk. There's aye some guid tae come fae bad is there no? That wid be the same Leith Walk that wis meant tae hae brand spankin new trams wheechin doon it by noo... trams...

Pass me thae hankies ower...

Night Scentit Stock.

 "Gardyloo!!"

That wis the cry ye wid hear aw ower Auld Reekie, ten o'clock at nicht an six in the mornin. They were the twa times ye were allowed tae chuck yer refuse oot the windae doon intae the close, aw that ye couldnae burn. If ye were in luck it wid reach the bottom an the scaffies wid shovel it awa, if yer aim wis oot, or it wis windy weather, then yer slops widnae reach the groond, but wid end up splattered doon yer wa, an ye wid hae tae wait fer rain tae clean it aff. It gave the toun quite a scent at nicht, but it didnae smell like a bouquet o' flooers.

Ye'll hear fowk maintain that Auld Reekie got its name fae aw the smoke belchin fae a thoosan chimneys an envelopin the toun. That's mince. The toun wis ca'ed Auld Reekie lang afore we could aw afford tae buy coals, an cam fae the stench o the daily ootpoorins fae aw the windaes. Oan a hot summer's day, wi a Sooth wind blawin, were ye tae staun ower the Nor Loch in Bearford's Park, whaur they bigged the first New Toun, the smell wid've knockt ye oan yer back. Ah wis aye endin up oan ma back in Bearford's Park, but that's anither story fer anither day...

The scaffies, wi their wee barries, wid come an take maist o the dirt awa, but in the auld days we had ither ways o cleanin the closes an aw. A lot o fowk kept swine an hens, sometimes in their ain hooses, sometimes in an oothoose, an they wid grub aroon in the mess eatin whit pickens they could find. Ah kept a few chickens masel, mainly fer their eggs, but haundy fer a roast come the Daft Days. Noo an again ah wid leave the eggs an let a docker raise a brood o chicks ah could sell or pass oan tae ma neebors.

Ah had this yin braw hen fer years, ah cryed her Meg efter the big gun up the Castle fer she shot oot eggs the size o cannonbaws, an she wis a grand layer, kept me gaun in chicks fer as lang. Ah got quite attached tae Meg, she wid aye come runnin when ah ca'ed her name. It didnae maitter how far doon the close she wis, up she wid trot, wi a wee train o chicks ahint her aw cheepin merrily. Meg wis great, Meg did awthin richt, Meg wis the best hen in aw Embra. She had ony yin fault, an that wis that she wid aye get under yer feet when ye least needed it. When ah wis in the hoose say, an ah wis mibbe brushin ma flair, everytime ah turnt roon she wid be at ma ankle, gettin tanglt up in ma skirts, if ah wis wearin them. Ah warned her time an' time again, but she widnae listen. Peety that, or she might hae been wi us still...

Ah wis hingin oot ma windae this night, it wid be aboot seeven o'clock, an ah wis watchin aw the bairns playin doon Libberton's Close. The close ran aff the High Street doon tae the Coogateheid, near enough whaur the George IV Brig noo stauns. Ah stayed up the stair fae John Dowie's alehoose an there wis aye somethin gaun oan in the close, somethin tae watch. Ah wis watchin this auld boy haein a pish in yin o the doorways when ah noticed this figure comin up the close. Ah recognised him richt awa, it wis that Captain Porteous fae the Toun Gaird. Bumptious big eedjit that he wis, a'body hated the man, an ye could see fowk joukin tae get oot his road, pressin thersels intae doorways an the like. Exceptin Meg. Ah saw her jist at the last meenit come wanderin richt oot intae the middle o the close, an ah tried tae shout, but too late.

Porteous tried tae avoid her by takin a wee trip-step, but still managed tae catch her, did a wee skip an a birl, spun roon an landit hard oan his erse in the gundie runnin doon the middle o the close. A dozen heids lookin oot fae their windaes aw laughed at yince, sic wis the popularity o the man. He got hissel tae his feet, his face like thunder an looked aroon fer the hen that caused his fa fae grace, then he liftit his walkin-cane up, an brocht it hard doon oan Meg's wee heid! The murderous rogue!

Ye could see by fowk's reactions, an the sounds o their bawlins an cursins, that Meg wis a weel-loved hen. Men an wummen were appearin at every door an windae barrackin the arrogant Captain. Ah wis fair blazin masel, an near tae greetin. Ah yelled a torrent o unprintable assaults doon at him, an then shoutit that "As God is ma witness ah wish ye hae as mony fowk celebratin at yer ain hinter-end as there were feathers oan that puir chicken!" an ah picked up ma chamber-pot an emptied it doon oantae his heid.

By rights he could've come right up the stair an arrestit me, it wis far too early fer poorin-oot, but the cheerin that wis resoundin roon the close wa's made him see better sense an he jist brushed doon his shooders, shook his heid, and struttit aff up the close. Leavin me tae collect ma puir deid Meg an bring up her brood o chicks oan ma ain sel.

It wis a couple o year efter this that Captain Porteous met his ain sorry hinter-end. He had been locked up in the Tolbooth, that dark an dreary pile oan the High Street, whilst he waitit fer word o his appeal tae come through fae London. That wis the appeal against his sentence o execution fer openin fire oan a crowd o us that were haein a peaceful riot yin nicht. It's a lang story. When the messenger arrived, the nicht o the 7th o' September 1736, wi the news that he had been reprieved, Porteous startit celebratin wi his pals, an telt them the story o ma hen an how ah had cursed him. Called me an auld witch so he did. Said he had cheatit the curse so he did. Said ma pish smelt o' roses so he did, which wis nice o' him...

Ten meenits later, while they're still aw carousin awa, laughin an jestin, they hear the sound o the 'deid-drum' thumpin its doleful beat at the heid o his lynch-mob oan their way up fae the Grassmarket.

Porteous, kennin whit the noise meant, crys oot "Damn the auld wife! She wis right!!"

An' ah wis. It wis a busy nicht in the Grassmarket that nicht. There were as mony fowk there as feathers oan a hen...

Breathin

Some o ye might hae heard o ma pal Margaret fae Musselburgh. Ah bumped intae her yin Auld Year's Night up at the Tron an we hit it aff right awa. She wis a right tearawa when she wis a lassie, her mither near sent her tae the Puirhoose mair than yince. She wid come up tae the toun oan a Friday efter dinner, an nivver got hame till early Sunday. Ye could say she had 'smilin een', though ah think grinnin wid be closer tae the mark. We had some rare times, drinkin up the Bow, dancin at the Assembly rooms, an canoodlin doon the back closes. If Maggie couldnae get a click she wisnae happy, but thae times werenae aften. We were young, life wis hard, an ye had tae take yer pleasures whaur an when ye could.

Through the week Maggie selt fish fae her sculley, like her maw an her grannie afore her, trudgin up the Fishwife's Causey o a morn, an back doon every night, bent double wi a load o herring oan her back, an it wis nae surprise when she mairrit ontae Wullie Dickson, a fisherman fae Inveresk. No lang efter their waddin though, did he no get the ca up fae the pressmen tae fight fer King George, leavin Maggie oan her ain. There wis nae social in thon days, sae Maggie got a position servin in a pub near Kelso, hopin Wullie wid mak it back tae her, an wonderin how tae fill her time till then...

Maggie, bein the lass she wis, didnae tak lang tae mak freens, an she only took five meenutes mair tae get compromised. It wis either the landlord or his son, Maggie wid nivver let oan, but either way, she didnae want tae admit it, Wullie bein awa an' aw. So she hid it, the daft sow. Ye see, back then, they wid hing ye as soon as look at ye, an gettin pregnant an then hidin the fact wis yin o their 'capital offences'. She lastit as lang as she could afore she startit showin, but then she had tae leave, an wandert the streets. Noo, Maggie aye swore that her bairn wis born still, an that's as it may be, but leavin it sittin oan the banks o the Tweed wisnae her brightest idea, an the basket wis soon discovered, alang wi her prayer-book, the yin wi her name, written in copperplate, in the inside cover.

They couldnae prove murder, no that they had tae, concealment o the pregnancy an the birth wis enough, an puir Maggie Dickson wis tried an condemned tae hing in the Grassmarket, right near tae where she used tae pairty sae hard. Well ah couldnae very well jist stand by an dae nothin, could ah? Lucky fer Maggie, ah kent the rope-maker's sister's laddie, so ah ca'ed in some favours an got him tae fiddle wi Maggie's noose, if ye get ma drift...

The next mornin wis awfy, ah dinnae like tae think oan it. They hung Maggie up oan the gibbet, oh ah wis greetin, fer whit seemed like an eternity, the gallow-boy pu'd doon oan her legs twice, an Maggie gurgled a bit, then went aw limp an silent. Efter a bit they cut her doon.

Ah saw then that Maggie had obviously been tryin tae grab at the rope an had managed tae get her wrist caught in the noose. It didnae seem tae hae saved her onyroads, nor did the supposedly 'fixed' noose. Ah wis gaunnae hae tae hae words wi that laddie. Nae mair favours fer him. So, we put Maggie in her kist an put her oan the cairt. The meenister at Inveresk had said he wid bury her, which wis awfy guid o him, oan account o her bein a hung wumman. So aff we set, we were gaun tae Inveresk by the auld drover's road, oot Bristo Port an roon by Craigmillar. Nae sooner had we got tae the tap o Candlemaker's Raw though, did this mob o surgeon's laddies no come runnin through the entry fae Argyle Square an set upon the kist! We had tae fight them aff, me wi ma whip an Shuggy an Peery wi clubs. They were tryin tae get her body fer thon anatomists tae butcher an were jumpin up oan the cairt, yin even took a swing at me, but ah shimmied oot the road an he slammed at the kist wi his hammer! Split it open at the end! Ah mind at the time thinkin 'oh, ye'll thank me fer that Maggie" Ah jist thocht she had, ye ken, passed wind as she'd passed awa, but oan reflection that wis jist Maggie. She farted a lot.

They were jist laddies, an a bit saft at that, sae we soon had the back o them, an aff we set again. We got through the Port an took the auld road tae Dalkeith. It wis hard gaun, fer the road wis only fit fer kye an sheep, we were gettin shoogled aw ower the shop, an we'd only got as far as Peffermill by dinnertime. So we stopped fer a wee sherry an a filled roll. While we were inside, twa joiners cam ower tae the cairt, yin o them said they had heard somethin, but ah think they had their een oan Maggie's knockers masel. They were at the cairt when we cam oot, an here, right enough, there wis moanin an bumpin noises comin fae the kist! When we got the lid up, up sits Maggie, aw gaspin an greetin an slaverin an' prayin, an breathin...

Peter Purdie happened tae be drinkin in the pub at the time, so we got him oot an he opened a vein oan Maggie's airm tae let the blood oot. That made her sit up, though she wis still ravin an greetin. We took her doon tae Musselburgh that night, an then tae her brother's hoose the next day, where great crowds o nosy neebors an fisher-wummen flocked tae see her an brocht her cairds an floo'ers an bars o tablet. The very same crowds that wid hae happily sat in kirk an sniggered an pointed at her as she sat there at the front oan the penance stool, while the meenister tormentit her fae the pulpit fer gettin spoiled, which wis why she tried tae hide her condition in the first place. She couldnae staun the shame o it.

Whitever it wis that saved her, or whitever it wis that revived her, Maggie nivver gied me a word o thanks ye ken. The selfish besom widnae even let me in when ah went doon tae see her the next week. She wis too busy, sittin up in her bed wi a wee bed-jaiket oan, surroundit wi blooms an writin 'thank-ye' cairds tae aw her pals an weel-wishers, drinkin port an lemon an giein interviews tae the Evenin News. Ah ken this cos ah saw her through the windae. In fact it wis me that named her Hauf-Hingit Maggie when ah wis talkin tae the News reporter ootside her gate. Ah had tae pit the record straight, Maggie had been spinnin the laddie a line aboot divine intervention an how she didnae ken whit she wis daein wis a sin, but noo she did cos she wis 'saved'. She wis gaunnae tak a new name an spend her life helpin puir bairns. She wantit tae be kent as "Saint Margarita Cervica, Queen o' folk's necks" Ye've got tae mind she had jist had her neck hauf-broke an her brain wis addled wi lack o oxygen an surfeit o port an lemon! It's jist as weel ah kent that reporter's grannie's Avon Lady.

Noo, ah've pit up yin o the English papers that covered the story,  tae gie ye a flavour o how it wis seen doon there, fer there wis a lot o interest in Maggie's tale. The funny thing is, an ah've checked ma diary twice, is that Maggie wis hung in 1728, nae doobt aboot it, an yet this paper says it wis in 1813. Mibbe news disnae travel as fast as whit fowk aye say it dis, or mibbe 1813 wis jist a slow news year...

Maggie thocht she wis somethin special efter that, "Hauf-Hingit Maggie Dickson" wis the name she aye went by, she opened an alehoose in Musselburgh an folk came fae aw airts an' pairts tae see her. Her man Wullie even cam back tae her fae the war. They had tae hae anither waddin, fer Maggie wis legally deid, which wis why they couldnae hing her again. They had seeven bairns an Maggie kept the howf gaun till she wis an auld wummin. Ah nivver went but ah heard it wis an awright pub. Bit tatty. Sortae run-doon an' dirty. But that's jist whit ah heard, an ah'm sure it couldnae hae been true...

Ran Tan Waltz

Ah'm jist a biddy that bides up a stair, ah've aye bided up stairs. When ye bide up a stair ye get tae ken a lot aboot fowk. It wis nae secret up oor close that Mary wis a bit o a drinker. Ye wid catch her some days gaun fer her messages at fower in the efternin. That's far too late tae get fresh fish ah wid say. No that ah wid say it tae her face mind, ye widnae speak tae her then, no afore she'd been doon the street, or she wid bite yer face aff. She aye had her heid doon an wid hurry by ye, aye half-walkin-half-runnin, fashin tae get aw her messages done afore her man got back fae his work. Big Tommy McGuigan wis a dark-lookin thundercloud o a man, he aye looked like he wis jist aboot tae pish wi rain. He rarely went oot mind, bar fer gaun tae his work an tae the kirk. When he telt Mary he wis gaunnae get rid o her, a wee bit o me couldnae help but feel a wee bit relief fer her, fer she wis never gaun tae be settled till she wis awa fae him or else yin or baith o them wis deid an buried. It wis awfy tae see cos she'd been sae happy a bairn, she wis awbody's pal, aye smilin, aye laughin, an she wis fine till she met him an got couried in under his thumb. We aw kent she wis drinkin, ye could see fer yersel it wis obvious, no gettin up till aw hoors, no pittin her washin oot till it wis practically gettin dark, she wis aw erse-afore-elbae, it's a wonder she got oan at aw, ah dread tae think whit the inside o her hoose wis like!

We'd heard a whisper right enough, it wid've been some weeks back, that she'd been seen hingin aboot doon the fit o Leith Wynd yin night. Bold as brass she wis apparently, right there at the auld Trinity kirk corner. We aw ken it's hard makin ends meet at times, but hawkin yersel oot's never the answer. Mary wis lettin hersel doon, thank god her maw wis deid, an half o me wonders if she did it purely tae get Tommy riled up, whit wi him bein aw strict Brethren an that.

Well, if that wis her game it worked a treat right enough, mair than she wis bankin oan ah wid wager, for ah doot she could've foreseen whit wis comin tae her. God alone knows whit he had done tae pit that amount o fear that he must've pit intae her, or whit he pit in her drink, some tincture o defeat an dismay, fer she must've walked aw that way, fae her hoose doon at Blackfriars tae the Grassmarket, wi that sign roon her neck. Can ye ever imagine the shame o it? Ah will say fer the lassie tho, fer yince she wisnae half-runnin, aw naw, this night she wis jist shufflin alang at Tommy's side, lookin even mair wee an bent ower than usual. Aw the way up the High Street they walked an doon the West Bow. We were aw gethered at this time up at the heid o the Grassmarket, some o the shows were up, an we were hain a grand blether. Bein as it wis a Wednesday it wis half-day, an it had been too hot tae dae much in the way o hoosework that day. Me an some o the lassies were sittin up at the fit o the Bow haein a right laugh, joshin the wee laddies an puin faces at the auld wummen. Tae be honest we were aw half-cut, we'd been there since dinnertime, an ah wis oan the sherry, ah think ah must've had aboot fower pints, an some o the faces ah wis puin ah wisnae rightly meanin tae...

Anyway there they came doon the Bow an right past us. Him big, lowerin, dark an stridin oan, wi his guid black suit an hat oan, her wee shilpit bauchle o a figure doon aside him, wi this board sign hingin roon her neck, an chalked oan it wis these words-

"TO BE SOLD BY PUBLIC AUCTION" 

an an auld tow roped aroon her waist, him leadin her through the streets like a kye gaun tae mairket. It seems Tommy had awready fixed this affair up in advance an had an auctioneer awready waitin ootside the White Hart pub, his name wis Jock somethin. Ah think the wee man had been inside the White Hart since it opened that mornin, likely fortifyin his nerves, kennin whit wis comin his way that nicht. Tommy McGuigan must've paid him weel fer his troubles, but smellin like a brewery like wee Jocky did cannae hae come cheap, an he'd be lucky if he'd hae a ha'penny left o his 'fee' by the time it came tae gettin up oantae his box an tryin tae start the sale.

Whit ah hellish rammy there wis gaun oan doon there in the Grassmarket that night. Thoosan's o folk, aw shoutin, aw bawlin, aw barrackin, awbody had somethin tae say tae it an say tae it they wid. Some were haranguin Mary fer her 'crimes'. Noo, how could it be a crime tae be a drunk? Ye couldnae help it! We were aw half-pished back in thae days! Sherry an beer wis aboot aw ye had tae drink. We had nane o yer bottled spring water or Barcardi Breezers back then. Aw Naw. No even Irn-Bru, they hadnae invented that yet! Or even a decent latte. Ye got pished, or ye went dry. Ye could try the water fae the wells if ye wanted, but that smelt o horse manure half the time. Ah aye went fer a nice Harvey's Bristol Cream if ah wis in the hoose, but ah wid drink onything if ah wis oot in company, no wantin tae get a name fer masel fer bein high-falutin. The lengths ah wid go tae tae smuggle in ma supplies... Other folk were shoutin at her that it wis awright tae be a lush, but she shoulda nivver hae tried sellin her body. "That wis beyond the Pale!", they were shoutin, an "Ya feckin Jezebel!" an suchlike. There wis anither bunch, sittin ower by the auld Corn Exchange, haein a sit-doon demonstration in support o drunken-sex-industry-workers-rights, or at least that's whit they looked like. They were only sittin doon cos they couldnae stand up straight mind. Ah think they had come doon fae the Tap o Lauriston alehoose where they'd been 'debatin' aw day. They were a rum bunch aw roond, wi their hair an their faces an their claes an their... attitudes... Ah ask ye, why dae fowk dae that tae thersels? Dae they no want tae get a shag or somethin?

So, by-an-by, wee Jocky manages tae get things quietened doon a bit, mainly by bangin twa auld biscuit tins th'gither so it took a while. Fowk eventually shushed each ither, an it aw went a bit quiet...

Wee Jocky cries oot, "Right! Oyeez! Dae ah hae ony bidders fer this fine wife here?" an there's shouts here an there amongst the crowd. First up this auld Shepherd fae the Heelans bids a pound an ten bob, an then a tinker an then a Pig Jobber we heard wis fae Killarney cry oot their bids. A pound an twelve an sixpence wis the Pig man's bid, noo can ye imagine bein pit up fer that price? £1.65 in th'day's money. That's no funny. Mary didnae deserve that...

This is where it gets wild. This braw big brawny Irish soutar suddenly comes bargin oot o the Black Bull pub, he's heard aboot the £1/10 that wis bid, an he's no happy one bit. Ah heard efter it that this big Irish laddie had a bit o a thing fer Mary, an as weel as that ah heard that he had been yin o her 'clients' doon the Leith Wynd if ye catch ma drift. Whitiver the reason, anyway, he pushes up tae the auld pigger, an lamps him yin in the breid-bag! The wee fat pigger's doon oan the setts, squealin like a, weel, like a wee piggy. Aw hell breaks loose!

There's screamin an bawlin, folk are gaun "Fight! Fight! Fight!" like as if they were back at school. Next thing, this big Irish guy's up oan the auctioneer's box, tells him he wants tae buy Mary, then punches wee Jocky in the heid! Knocks the wee man right aff the box an splits his heid! Merry Hell ensues. At least this pits a smile oan Mary's face tho, an she starts hee-hawin awa, ah'm thinkin she must've kent this Irish laddie efter aw, an the crowd's aw laughin alang, ye could barely hear yersel think, such wis the kerfuffle.

It wis at this point that ah became aware o thon lassies fae the Art College. They had aw gaithered up aroon the Cowgateheid, an had massed a crowd o hunners o wummen an lassies th'gither. They were startin up chants o "Nae sellin o wifies!" an "Doon wi men!", an haein wee impromptu workshoaps oan 'Raisin yer self-esteem through shoutin' an 'How tae get black-leid oot o yer hankies' A rowdy section o them had hi-jacked a builder's cairt, an were passin oot muckle big stanes an hauf-bricks tae the ither lassies. They were pittin these stanes intae their hankies an shawls, some were drappin their knickers an turnin them intae slings. Then at a loud cry fae yin o them, yin that ah think wis fae Fife, gaun by the beehive hairdo an the yellae leather mini-skirt... ah ask ye... so, they aw come steamin across the Grassmarket, straight at the auction...

Fowk were gettin pushed oot the way, knocked aw ower the shop, by this monstrous creature, formed fae hunners o lairy lassies, screechin like banshees an swingin their knickers abune their heids. Never let onybody tell ye the Grassmarket's gettin awfy rough. It wis nivver ony other way. Ah'm right up fer it by this time, aw the excitement had got tae me, that an the sherry, so ah'm aff wi the knickers an ah'm up an runnin wi them.

"Doon wi men!" ah'm screamin, "Gie us oor hoosekeepin'! Aw ae it! Gie us it noo!" Ah'm haein a rare time tae masel. Some o the wummen hae set upon Jocky an they're giein him a right batterin. Aw o a sudden ah find masel staunin square in front o big Tommy McGuigan, if ah may say so, he's the real villain o the piece. He's the man that thinks he can jist pick up a wumman, an drap her jist as easy if he's no happy wi her. Whit aboot Mary ah say? Where does she gang? Whit dis she dae if he turns her oot? It's nivver the man's problem, is it?

Big Tommy's glowerin afore me like a thunderheid aboot tae burst, an ah've got a hauf-brick in ma haun. Well, the invitation wis laid right oot there, wrapped up in ribbons wi bows oan it, so ah think ah shouted somethin in his face like "This'll learn ye tae sell yer wife ye dirty swine!" an then ah battered him. Flat-oot. Kyboshed...

Ah wis miraculous... ye should've seen ma smile, ye could've hung yer washin oot oan it...

Until he got right back up oan his feet like a Jock-in-the-box an skelped me in the face. Oh. Ma nose wis aw burst, ah'd cut ma lip, the paper said ma een came up like twa October cabbages. No that ye should aye believe whit ye read in the papers, but that goes withoot sayin, ye should see some o the other shite they wrote aboot me. They said ah wis a sweep's wife! Jist cos ah hadnae had a chance tae wash ma face that mornin! Well, ah'd slept in, an ah wis in a hurry tae get ma messages done. Aw the same, ah'll 'sweeps wife' them...

Still,it wis guid o Lachie the Lum tae step in fer me at this point tho, that wis a bonus, ah'll hae tae mind him come Hogmanay. Luckily he had his brushes an poles wi him. He wis jist aboot tae lay intae big Tommy wi his equipment when the Toun Gaird showed up, late oan the scene as ever, an things startit tae quieten doon again...

Ye widnae credit it tho, even efter aw that bother, big Tommy still insistit oan gaun through wi the sale, an it aw startit again fae scratch. Jocky got some young laddies fae the Scouts tae gaird his box fer him, they did it fer sixpence atween them, whit they'll dae fer a bob ah've yet tae find oot. The twa Irishmen dropped oot o the auction at this point cos they said it wis mair bother than it wis worth. First then, this camp auld seaman comes up, an he starts slaverin oan aboot Mary's tarry top-lights, whitever they were, an makin crude references tae her tight riggin. Mary? Tight riggin? Ah've nuthin against the lassie but the only ship ye could compare her tae wid be the Vital Spark! Aw puffin an blawin an nae amount o scrubbin wis ever gaunnae turn her intae a Maid o' th' Mist...

We were aw windin the auld sailor up, jist fer a laugh, afore we set oan him, when up rides this fermer fae Ecclesmachen, oan a white charger... well it wis a horse, he says he's lost his wife tae the pox in September past an he needs a new yin. Here he says, he's got two pound five shillin an could he hae her?

So, £2.25 it wis. £2.25 eh? It's no much is it? Fer a wumman's life. Still, Ecclesmachen's supposed tae be a nice place, an Mary aye said she fancied livin in the country. The last ony o us saw o Mary Mackintosh wis her sittin oan the back o a horse ahint her new man canterin through the West Port wi a muckle big grin oan her coupon, swiggin fae a bottle o Buckfast fortified. Ah hope she settles...

If ye dinnae believe me that this aw happened, jist tak a look at the newspaper. Ah'm tellin ye it wis aw aroon 6 o'clock oan Wednesday the 16th o July, in the year 1828, in the Grassmarket in Embra. Because it wis in the papers awbody wis talkin aboot it fer weeks efter. It's no a night ah'm likely tae forget in a hurry. Tae this day folk are aye comin up tae me an askin how come ma een are sae cabbagey. If ah've got a hauf-brick in ma haun an a sherry in ma belly ah show them...