The Loon's First Fee

So it was all settled 'Siven powin,' mither had said before we left the hoose, 'nae a penny less! The loon' s fourteen and he's worth that tae ony fairmer; aye, and mair, come tae that!'

So I went with my father down through the fields to see old Weelum Mackenzie of Fernieden, the three-horse farm among the trees at the foot of the Berryhill. Somebody had told my old man that Weelum was looking for an orra loon tae sort the nowt and work the odd mare, old Bloom.

It was a fine June evening as we strode through the lush pasture, thrashing the white petals from the wet daisies, moistened with dew, so that they stuck to our black tackety boots like confetti at a wedding. We went down through the nowt, newly out from the byres, plucking at the fresh spring grass with their hard tongues, the sunhaze on their backs, too busy and content to bother us. The startled larks sprang up from their nests and sang above our heads, perhaps to distract us from their eggs and young. The peesies wheebled from the newly sprung cornfields, frightened at our approach, while the oyster-catchers were gossipping and running hither and thither on the greening turnip drills.

I was a bit flustered at the prospect of starting work on my own. I wasn't too keen and I had tried various ways to get out of it; away from the grun, the dubs and the sharn and the stink. Yet here I was on my way to get a chain round my neck like a stirk in a stall and earn my penny fee.

Old Weelum was in the farm close, throwing corn to the hens from a pail around the barn door. He saw us at the gate and laid down his pail and came to meet us.

'Aye aye Charlie,' addressing my father, 'that's a fine nicht.'

'Aye, it is man,' replied my old man, 'this'll fairly bring on the neeps tae the hyowe.'

'Aye, jist the thing man.'

Old Weelum then looked me up and down and stroked his stubbly chin, crinkling his blue eyes in a friendly smile. Not that I was a stranger to old Weelum, for I ran through his parks every day to the school, sometimes calling in bye for young Weelum to keep me company, though mostly it was an excuse to save me going round by the road.

'Ye've brocht the laddie wi ye Charlie, I see.'

'Oh aye, we heard ye wis needin a loon tae sort the nowt and work the orra beast and thocht he micht suit ye.'

'Jist that Charlie, jist that man.' And Weelum pushed his cloth cap to the back of his grey head. 'Weel I hinna fee-ed onybody yet. I was jist waitin tae see gin I could get a loon leavin the skweel at the simmer holidays. The last lad we had was gettin owre big and needin mair wages than I could affoord tae pey. That's jist the wye o't ye see: efter ye learn 'em tae work they jist up tail and aff tae somebody else for mair siller. That's jist the wye o't man.'

Now I happened to know that the last loon hadn't been 'socht tae bide' because he had taken old Weelum's pocket-book from his jacket in the turnip shed, where Weelum had left it when he came home from the mart. In fact he was going to hash some neeps for the nowt and help the loon in the byre when his wife called him in for his tea. When his back was turned the loon put his hand in his maister's pooch and took the wallet. It contained £70 that Weelum had gotten for twa-three stirks at the market, paid in cash, and the loon thocht he had stumbled on a gold mine. Weelum got the bobby but it took them three days before they could get the loon to admit he took the money, and when finally cornered he handed it back. But it was a lesson for old Weelum, who had always trusted everybody, and after that he got a cheque book from his banker. I also knew that the last loon had been careless with Bloom when she bolted with a cart and smashed it, and it cost Weelum more than the loon's fee to repair the cart. Maybe the loon couldn't help it but I would bear it in mind if I had to work old Bloom. But Weelum never spoke ill of anybody and we heard nothing of all this from him.

My old man still had his hands in his trouser pockets. 'Fit wages wid ye be offerin?' he asked, looking bashful-like at old Weelum.

'Lat's hear ye Charlie. Fat dae ye think yersel?'

'Fit aboot siven powin Weelum?' And Weelum pursed his lower lip over his moustache, trying to make up his mind.

'Ye're jist stiff eneuch Charlie: ye see there's a month gaen by the term or the laddie leaves the skweel. That means siven powin for the five months till Martinmas, and that's mair than I was coontin on. Mind he winna hae a sair job and he'll be weel treatit in the hoose. We a' feed thegither in the kitchie and he'll get what's agyaun amang the rest o's.'

'Aye aye, I ken that Weelum. I wasna thinkin aboot that. But mind he's nae a greenhorn; he's been a lot wi me in the byre up bye, and he kens aboot the beasts.'

Weelum rolled a pebble with his toe, thinking aboot the loon's experience 'up bye,' as Charlie had put it, amang the nowt beasts.

'Fat wad ye say tae sax powin ten Charlie? Ten shillins less than ye socht -- and mind he's comin tae a gweed hame: a cup o tay afore bed-time, sleepin in the hoose; man we dinna even rise in the mornin wi ither folk...'

'Weel it's like this Weelum: the gweed-wife said I wasna tae lat the loon awa for less than siven powin, that's the wye I'm sae thrawn!'

'Weel weel, but ye'll jist hae tae explain the thing tae her Charlie, maybe she never thocht on the five month instead o sax the laddie wad hae tae work. There's only ten shillins atween us and I think I'm bein fair eneuch. I have tae gie my foreman thirty powin for the sax month, and he can ploo or dae onything; cut corn, thrash, bigg rucks or fill the barn. Losh man, we only get fifteen bob for a quarter o corn, siven and saxpence the bag, it hardly peys tae ploo nooadays.'

At this moment the collie dog came out of the kitchen and began whacking my legs with his friendly tail. I bent down to fondle his silken head for Roy and I had met before in quite unusual circumstances. Weelum's face was a map of spidery wrinkles, smiling as he watched us, loon and dog. What he didn't know was that until lately I was terrified of dogs, even of Roy here, and that not so long ago, when I tried to saw down a tree for mither's fire in the wood above Fernieden, Weelum's collie came and watched me with his teeth bared. I was half through the small tree and loth to leave it and yet terrified of the dog. I tried to shoo him away but he just stood there and snarled, while I thought of some way of getting rid of him. Then I had a brain wave, so I ran home to mither and asked where was the bone that we had in the broth for Sunday? She said it was in the midden, and what would you be wantin with a dead bone anyway? I said never you mind, trying to hide my cowardice, then ran to the midden for the bone and carried it to the wood on the Berryhill. I had hoped that Roy would be gone by the time I got back. But no, for there he sat, still watching the tree, bewitching it almost, you would have thought, his head to one side, my saw sticking in the rut. Perhaps the dog had more wit than I thought and knew I would be back. Anyway I tossed him the bone and he ran away with it quite contentedly, while I felled my tree and got it into lengths for carrying, for I was more afraid of that dog than I was of the gamekeeper, gun and all.

But now Roy and I were friends and we both watched while the two men bargained for my services.

'A' richt Weelum, we'll jist tak it: sax powin ten as ye said; and as the loon disna need an insurance card till he's sixteen that'll save ye anither powin. And fa kens he could be somewye else or that time. But we winna fecht aboot ten shillin's gin ye treat the laddie weel.'

'Nae fear o that Charlie, nae fear o that. We'll get on jist grand. Won't we loon?' And he crumpled my battered cap on my head with his work-grained hand.

When we returned home mither was darning a sock on the tattie-chapper, though she sometimes used a ladle, the wooden chapper inside the sock to stretch it, the wool in her lap, her fingers busy with the needle.

My old man hung his sweaty cap on a rusty nail at the back of the inner door and sat down beside her at the fireside. 'We couldna get siven powin woman,' he said, 'ye forgot the laddie has still a month at the skweel efter the term, and aul Weelum Mackenzie wadna pay for his schoolin.'

'So I did,' said mither, biting through the woollen thread with her teeth, 'I forgot aboot that. A' the same the hungry brute could of gien the loon the siven powin. It'll hardly keep claes on his back onywye. He needs a decent suit for a start, and that'll tak aboot fower powin; forbyes underclaes, socks and sheen, and he'll need a waterproof for comin hame on a rainy nicht. You men folk dinna ken whaur the money goes and as little ye care. Hagglin aboot ten shillins. If I'd kent that I wad a fee-ed the loon masel!'

And so it was agreed, and in four weeks' time, when the school picnic was over, and I had bombarded the last Aunt Sally of my schooldays, and broken a few more clay pipes in her mouth, and the dominie had pinched my cheeks for the last time on the day after my fourteenth birthday I would begin work as a fee-ed loon with old Weelum Mackenzie of Fernieden, picking the sprouts from the tatties at an earth-pit round the back of the steading. Looking back I must have been awfully anxious to start, because it was a Saturday (a whole day of course) thinking to have a break on Sunday before tackling a full week.