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...

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...