Scotland -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
A stranger in the Tenements in the afternoon would have noted more than
one draggled youth, in holiday attire, sitting on a doorstep with a wet
cloth to his nose; and, passing down the Commonty, he would have had to
step over prostrate lumps of humanity from which all shape had
departed. Gavin Ogilvy limped heavily after his encounter with Thrummy
Tosh--a struggle that was looked forward to eagerly as a bi-yearly
event; Chirsty Davie's development of muscle had not prevented her
going down before the terrible onslaught of Joe the miller, and Lang
Tammas's plasters told a tale. It was in the square that the two
parties, leading their maimed and blind, formed in force; Tilliedrum
thirsting for its opponents' blood, and Thrums humbly accepting the
responsibility of punching the Fast Day breakers into the ways of
rectitude. In the small ill-kept square the invaders, to the number of
about a hundred, were wedged together at its upper end, while the
Thrums people formed in a thick line at the foot. For its inhabitants
the way to Tilliedrum lay through this threatening mass of armed
weavers. No words were bandied between the two forces; the centre of
the square was left open, and nearly every eye was fixed on the
town-house clock. It directed operations and gave the signal to
charge. The moment six o'clock struck, the upper mass broke its bonds
and flung itself on the living barricade. There was a clatter of heads
and sticks, a yelling and a groaning, and then the invaders, bursting
through the opposing ranks, fled for Tilliedrum. Down the Tanage brae
and up the Braehead they skurried, half a hundred avenging spirits in
pursuit. On the Tilliedrum Fast Day I have tasted blood myself. In
the godless place there is no Auld Licht kirk, but there are two Auld
Lichts in it now who walk to Thrums to church every Sabbath, blow or
rain as it lists. They are making their influence felt in Tilliedrum.
The Auld Lichts also did valorous deeds at the Battle of Cabbylatch.
The farm land so named lies a mile or more to the south of Thrums. You
have to go over the rim of the cup to reach it. It is low-lying and
uninteresting to the eye, except for some giant stones scattered cold
and naked through the fields. No human hands reared these boulders,
but they might be looked upon as tombstones to the heroes who fell (to
rise hurriedly) on the plain of Cabbylatch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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