Linmill Stories by Robert McLellan

Author:Robert McLellan [Robert McLellan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: IGP-002CBL
ISBN: 781847675453
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 1990-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

13

THE TRACE HORSES

THE DESSERT STRAWBERRIES at Linmill were poued straucht into fower-pund berry-baskets, cairrit up to the shed at the Lesmahagow road-end, and weyed and sortit by my grannie. Syne the baskets were laid in wuiden crates, in three layers, ilka ane covert wi pink tissue-paper, wi a Linmill label on the tap layer, and the lid was fastent doun. Efter that the crates were liftit on to the upper flair ο the shed, whaur there was a big double door that opent oot on to a loadin platform. The lorries were backit on to this platform at the end ο the day, and the crates loadit on and happit ower, and driven to the big cairt shed in the closs at Linmill till the airly mornin, whan they were taen awa to the mercat.

I saw the lorries loadit aye, for whan they were drivin back to the ferm to wait for the nicht in the cairt shed I aye gat a hurl frae my grandfaither, and that was a thing not to be missed. But whan they were putten into the cairt-shed that was the last I saw ο them till efter denner-time the neist day, whan they were driven back tuim.

My grandfaither didna gang to the mercat. He bade at hame and gaffert the warkers in the fields. The lorries were driven by my uncle and my cuisin Jockie, a laddie aulder nor mysell, and mony a tale he had to tell ο the lang drive he had, through Kirkfieldbank and up the Mouss Peth, a stey brae aside the Lockhart Mill, and syne by the Lee Wuids alang the main Glesca road, through Braidwuid and Carluke and Wishaw, and syne on through places I couldna mind the names o, big touns asteer wi hunders o folk, that to tell ye the truith I didna like the soond o. Naething I heard ο them gart me want to gang near them.

Ae day, though, whan I was haein my breakfast, I heard my grannie grummlin aboot my grandfaither bein late, and she gaed oot to the closs hersell to blaw the birrell for the Donegals in the bothy to gether for their wark. Syne she had a word wi auld Paddy O’Brien, and telt him to tak them doun to the field aside the Clyde orchard and see them stertit on the pouin. He was to be gaffer till my grandfaither cam back.

I wonert whaur my grandfaither had gotten, and stertit to speir. She said he hadna come back yet wi the trace horses.

‘Trace horses?’

‘Ay. He gangs to the Mouss Peth ilka mornin wi trace horses.’

‘What are trace horses?’

‘The Mouss Peth’s ower stey for ae horse to pou a lorry up. He has to yoke anither horse to ilk ο the lorries to get them to the tap.’

‘But the lorries hae juist ae set ο trams.’

‘Ye yoke the trace horse in front ο the trams, wi chains.’

‘Chains?’

‘Ay. Feenish yer breakfast. I’m thrang.’

I said nae mair, but whan my grandfaither

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