IT may have been only imagination on my part, but I most certainly received the impression that Belfast was not as strict in its Lenten observances as Dublin and Cork, anyhow it was gratifying to notice an improvement in our business. We were excellently housed here too, and the landlady was the proud possessor of a delightful little baby girl who insisted on supplementing her private commissariat by visiting us at every meal except supper, and demanding her share of whatever was going; she must have had a rare digestion, but tried it rather highly on one occasion when we found her nearly choked with a lengthy strip of bacon rind she had annexed when unnoticed.

It was otherwise a very uneventful week, being too wet for golf, and only redeemed by the incidents of the departure and passage to Glasgow, for which we inherited the reversion of a special steamer which had been chartered to bring over the entire company and effects of Pinkie and the Fairies.

Some half-dozen of us assembled for mid-day dinner, before going aboard, at Miss Trevor Lloyd's rooms, and there was tremendous excitement in the street on the arrival of large contingents of Fairies in furs and attendant nurses and governesses, all looking as if the passage had hardly been as smooth as they could have wished.

I had several saloon berths for the voyage, few of which I used owing to the marvellous smoothness of the sea and the clear night, a combination which offered an irresistible temptation to remain on deck. A short nap, lasting as far as the end of Belfast Lough, fortified me for my night watch which was full of interest. The lights of Ayr, Arran and Ardrossan opened up in turn and the effect was most strikingly beautiful as the islands loomed out of the clear dark of the night, with little points of light increasing from stars to lamps as we drew nearer; the chief engineer had come up for a breath of air as we passed an island on which there was a revolving light which had a most weird effect as it shone first on the sea and then hurried round the cottages and houses on the island as if telling the inhabitants that it was on duty. I spoke of this to the engineer, near whom I was standing, and to my great pleasure he forthwith quoted Kipling's line, "the light which wakes the sailor's wife to prayer." He was anxious that I should go below and inspect his engines, but the idea of so many steps, up again, appalled me and I excused myself on the ground of shortness of breath; he was very sympathetic but some ten minutes later, when I burst involuntarily into song at sight of the gracious moon, giving all the value I could to both parts of the duet, "The Moon hath raised her Lamp above," he remarked, rather tersely I thought, "There isna much wrang aboot yere chest!"

I thought perhaps he was feeling a little hurt, and tried to explain that singing was not the tax on the breath that stair-climbing would be, and he resumed his friendly smile, whereupon I took an encore for the duet and gave him quite a selection of unaccompanied songs, at the conclusion of which he was kind enough to say, "That's fine." I was just about to launch into a serious recitation, having told him the title of it, when he said he must "gang awa' doon," and did so.

The entrance into, and passage up, the Clyde was a succession of pictures to interest any artistic eye, the chilly dawn growing gradually lighter and disclosing the monster shapes of the big steamers going out, the barges and ferry boats full of workmen crossing the river to the different yards, while the air was already beginning to throb with the noise of iron meeting iron, which as we slowly steamed towards our berth swelled to the full volume of its chorus of workers.

This being my first journey up the Clyde brought me a great disillusionment of the mental picture I had formed of the celebrated stream, but, while much disappointed at its extreme narrowness, I was lost in admiration of the marvellous manner in which these sea-going monsters are warped in and out of docks and through lock-gates which look as if they could not possibly open widely enough.

It seemed, for some reason which I cannot possibly explain, a most undignified manner of arriving from a foreign country. We slid alongside an unpretentious-looking kind of quay, amid no excitement or curiosity of any sort, landed unobserved and were immediately absorbed into the ordinary street traffic; I felt that someone should have met us, and congratulated us on a safe arrival.

A stroll up Buchanan Street saw us embarked in the train for Perth, a town to which I had always hoped to pay a visit, so rich is it in history and romance. After this very lengthy journey we were more than grateful for the basin of excellent Scotch broth which the intuition of our landlady had provided, but, being somewhat rich, a little went a long way I found, while Plummer, more courageous, shortly after complained of "black spots and the room going round" – which in the kindness of his heart he ascribed to the steamer passage.

Being here, it was the obvious thing to do, to buy and reread "The Fair Maid of Perth," and also visit her house, of which, I gathered, there is very little of the original remaining.

Having also heard a legend to the effect that there was a hotel at the window of which it was possible to sit and fish for salmon (catch salmon, I believe it was) I looked for this also, but failed to find any trace of it, and our host at the golf club on the North Inch, Mr Robertson, whose hospitality considerably brightened the last weeks of Lent, confessed that in all his years of residence, and they were many, he had never heard of such fishing facilities.

We made the acquaintance of a most delightful old lady, a Dundee fishwife, who came twice a week to hawk her wares, and dined regularly with Mrs Milne, our cheery landlady. Mistress Macfarlane was over sixty, and without a grey hair on her head, and of truly noble proportions. These and her unfailing good humour so appealed to Plummer as to impel him to a proposal of marriage, but it appeared that she held men in very light esteem and refused, which was a pity, as she would have played Audrey to perfection, with perhaps a new reading in which Touchstone would have come off second best.

One of our company secured a day's fishing and unfortunately caught some trout, which he kindly presented to us, whereupon he was invited to breakfast to help eat them; they turned out to be rather a failure and I saw the party going breakfastless when our worthy Mistress Milne appeared with a handsome "plat" of eggs and bacon, accompanied with the remark, "I ken weel they Tay troots!" and the balance was restored.

A stroll round the North Inch, where from time immemorial the Burghers Club has golfed, and of old the races were held, was made additionally interesting by an endeavour to locate the spot where Conachar dived into the river at the conclusion of the great fight between the two rival clans so magnificently treated by Sir Walter Scott, but this again no one could point out, nor was there discoverable even a shaving of the ladder Rothesay used in mounting to the Fair Maid's window. The window itself is, I was credibly informed, the only part of the original house left, and is, per se, strong evidence of the purity of Rothesay's intentions, for it is too small to admit the passage of anything larger than a diminutive cat, nor could the Fair Maid have eloped by its means. This is but another proof of the wisdom of leaving unvisited many spots around which the halo of historical romance has cast a glamour which the actuality so often rudely dispels.

We had, however, a romantic experience of our own during the week, to which, imbued with the feeling engendered by the reperusal of Scott's delightful tale, I have felt irresistibly impelled to endeavour to lend an echo of the atmosphere which seems to envelop Perth and its neighbourhood, and which I venture to entitle:

A Perthshire Idyll

or

How Mistress Lucie Symes became a Bride

(The explanation of words marked * will be found in the Glossary)

On a heavenly morning in spring, at an hour when many of the honest burghers of Perth were just awaking to the knowledge that a steaming bowl of porridge was awaiting their pleasure, the casual traveller along one of those mysterious wynds* with which their quaint old town abounds, might, were he possessed of an observant eye, have noticed the sallying forth of a small but gay cavalcade* composed of four persons, whose position and occupation in life he might have been at some pains to determine.

It was too early an hour for the gentry of the town to be astir, while few even of the thrifty mercers had appeared within their beetle-browed doorways, but a second look from the typically incurious Scotsman may have led to the muttered expression "Southrons – they'll be some of yon player folk who tramped into town yestre'en."

The debonair party consisted of a jovial-looking somewhat portly man, who carried his fifty odd years with the mien* of a former athlete, and seemed to be the leader of the expedition, his companion being an alert-looking young woman, whose bright and bonny face indicated the happy and witful temperament associated with the Celtic race. The two other members of the party were a young man, whose appearance and carriage were a juvenile replica of those of his elderly friend, and a buxom maiden of some ten summers, and as many winters, whose springy step and merry outlook proved her possessed of that joie de vivre* which our Gallic neighbours so keenly appreciate.

Little indeed did any of the four suspect, as they fared forth in the callow morning air, what a strange happening Pandora was preparing for two of their number. With snatches of song and merry jest they left the old town far behind, and below the battlements of Kinnoul sought the banks of the smoothly flowing river where the industrious salmon netters were to be seen hauling on the strands through which the silvery gleam of a Tay salmon, as he surrenders life and liberty, brings a feeling of regret that such things must be ere we can come to the full appreciation of the noble fish.

Here for an idle hour or two the four sat basking* in the sun and watching the netting, until the pangs of hunger gave reminder of the early hour at which the morning nourishment had been consumed, and as, through a lack of foresight on the part of all, severely rebuked by the leader, Master Roland Swift, there had been no effort to provide for this emergency, it became imperative to wander forth in search of the wherewithal to recruit exhausted nature, Master Swift, with the wisdom of years, suggested a retirement to the base, where supplies are invariably kept, but with the enthusiasm of youth – or was this the moment of which Pandora took advantage – Master Glazier loudly clamoured for a forward movement, arguing that there must of necessity be somewhere within reach a hostelry* ready and willing to supply their modest requirements; it being yet wanting some few minutes of noon, and the original intention having undoubtedly been the spending of the entire day away from the city, both Mistress Olive Robartes and Mistress Lucie Symes added their entreaties, and the voice of wisdom, as ordinarily, occupied a rearward position.*

The resolution to go forward at any risk was followed by a hasty chaffering with the stalwart fisher-folk concerning the price of a ferry to the far side of the Tay, and the matter being adjusted to the delicate satisfaction of these simple-minded men, behold the expedition safely landed at the bottom of a steep and tortuous ghyll* leading up from the banks, among trees, hedges and indigenous wild grasses, which all combined to present nature in a most attractive garb to our four pilgrims. Mistress Lucie here acted as pioneer, with that firm and even flat-footed* step so indispensable to the mountaineer, followed at the space of some three yards by Master Glazier, the rearguard being formed by Mistress Olive and Master Swift; these precise details became noteworthy only in the light of what followed, when some two hundred yards of the ascent had been traversed in the same order, leaving the latter couple in the advantageous position of witnesses* to the importance of the occurrence.

At the side of the path there lay, insidious object, the loose hoop of a barrel, complete in circumference, and of some two feet in diameter; moved by who shall say what spirit of mischief, or fell intent, Master Glazier, having seized the hoop, dexterously flung it over the shoulders of the fair Mistress Lucie, accompanying his action with the fateful words: "Lucie! With this ring I thee wed!"

Dumb* with astonishment the four stood, until the tension was relieved by the excited exclamation from Mistress Olive of "A marriage! It is a marriage, and we two are the witnesses!" Of the contracting parties Master Glazier appeared the more disconcerted, Mistress Lucie, with a thrifty foresight something unusual in the circumstances, immediately asking of the witnesses: "What are you going to give us for a wedding present?"

Her anxiety being allayed with a Scots penny* on the part of Master Swift and a small and delicate mechanism for improving and cooling the visage on behalf of Mistress Olive, the journey was resumed amid a buzz of excited contemplation of the position, including the practicability of securing a divorce at equally moderate charges and at equal speed. It is notorious that an excessive use of the vocal organs increases the necessity for liquid and solid refreshment, and it was therefore with no little joy to all concerned that there loomed* in the near neighbourhood a house of most attractive exterior.

Whether hostelry or private house, it was determined that there and shortly should these necessities be relieved, and a short approach through the loaning* saw the party greeted by a most hospitable housekeeper, in the absence of the master of the house, at that moment ambling into Perth on his palfrey.*

The diffident request made for a glass of milk and a biscuit was met by an invitation "to come ben* the hoose" and something should be forthcoming, the something eventually proving to be an excellent cup of tea, with the welcome addition of eggs, hot scones, cakes of all kinds and delicious home-baked bread. Surely Lucullus* never partook of a better wedding breakfast than this perfect stranger, in his own absence, offered to this unexpectedly married pair. And surely none but those under the domination of Cupid could have, in so light-hearted a manner, accepted the Unknown's hospitality. The presence of a loaded shot-gun in the feast-room suggested to Master Swift the advisability of using sufficient despatch in the meal to allow of departure before the return of its owner; not that this indicated a want of courage on his part, or a supposition that the owner of the house was of a bloodthirsty nature, but rather as a precautionary measure against the possible return of a hungry man to a larder depleted by strangers.

The wedding-feast being despatched, and vails* bestowed, the expedition set forth, cheered and rehabilitated, on its return to Perth, and here the voracious chronicler (a printer's error has crept in, I observe) is compelled to the sad reflection that contentment of the body does not invariably produce contentment of the mind, this being forced upon his notice by the bickerings indulged in by the newly-wedded pair on the homeward path, on all matters pertaining to married life, the ordering of the household and, above all, on the firmly expressed determination on the part of Mistress Glazier to keep control of all moneys, subject to a weekly dole* of infinitesimal dimensions to serve her spouse's private needs.

There being no necessity for concealment, we may admit that the persons taking part in this little pilgrimage were indeed members of the troop of mummers* then performing in Perth, the actual names being suppressed by the chronicler only in view of any possible question arising as to the validity or illegality of the marriage. Even this precaution would not have been necessary had the contracting parties been certain of their own wishes in the matter, but a regard for the truth compels the historian to reveal that the episode seemed to have created a feeling of slight irritation on the part of both, the determination to consider it a marriage seeming to depend entirely on the mood of one or the other in turn, and the fact of their never being in agreement at the same time put a certain strain on their friendship, which was naturally carefully fostered by the other members of the troupe, who found therein much cause for amusement.

Marriage, it would seem, is rarely an unmixed blessing, and the fatal facility* offered by Scotland for experiments in this direction is much to be deplored. Here are two young people who were happy together as friends, quarrelled the moment they were united, and on the last occasion when met with were as happy once more as previously, being at last in agreement as to the desirability of forgetting the entire occurrence.

There is, however, one aspect of the affair which each would do well to bear in mind, and that is that, the circumstances being known to all the members of the troupe, it will be a costly matter should either of the two later on wish to contract a serious marriage in contradistinction to a Perthshire Idyll!* In conclusion, the narrator of this romantic episode would like to mention that the involuntary host, Mr Leyburn of the Grange of Elcho, was also met with and thanked for his hospitality later in the week, when he was good enough to express his delight at having been of such signal service in Cupid's cause.

GLOSSARY

Wynd. A narrow passage haunted by Boreas. [back]

Cavalcade. From the French "cheval," a foot traveller. [back]

Mien. Signifying "nothing mean about me." [back]

Joie de vivre. "All alive-oh!" [back]

Basking. A change from busking. [back]

Hostelry. Non-existent. [back]

Rearward position. "Took a back seat." [back]

Ghyll. No relation to Gill or Jill. [back]

Flat-footed. No personal reference. [back]

Witnesses. At times suborned. [back]

Dumb. Inexplicable. [back]

Scots penny. Invaluable. [back]

Loomed. It did not. [back]

Loaning. The path to borrow. [back]

Palfrey. Anglice, bicycle. [back]

Come ben. Everyone knows this. [back]

Lucullus. Everyone doesn't. [back]

Vails. A motor of satisfaction. [back]

Dole. –ful. [back]

Mummers. Almost extinct. [back]

Fatal facility. Admirable alliteration. [back]

Idyll. Something that really happened. [back]

Page modified 3 February 2008