Forgotten Treasures #7: MY NATIVE SALMON RIVER--PART 2

My reminiscences of Spey and Speyside are drawing to an end, and I now with
natural diffidence approach a great theme. Every Speyside man will recognise
from this exordium that I am about to treat of "Geordie." It is quite
understood throughout lower Speyside that it is the moral support which
Geordie accords to Craigellachie Bridge, in the immediate vicinity of which
he lives, that chiefly maintains that structure; and that if he were to
withdraw that support, its towers and roadway would incontinently collapse
into the depths of the sullen pool spanned by the graceful erection. The
best of men are not universally popular, and it must be said that there are
those who cast on Geordie the aspersion of being "some thrawn," for which
the equivalent in south-country language is perhaps "a trifle
cross-grained." These, however, are envious people, who are jealous of
Geordie's habitual association with lords and dukes, and who resent the
trivial stiffness which is no doubt apparent in his manner to ordinary
people for the first few days after the illustrious persons referred to have
reluctantly permitted him to withdraw from them the light of his
countenance. For my own part I have found Geordie, all things considered, to
be wonderfully affable. That his tone is patronising I do not deny; but then
there is surely a joy in being patronised by the factotum of a duke.



I have never been quite sure, nor have I ever dared to ask Geordie, whether
he considers the Duke to be his patron, or whether he regards himself as the
patron of that eminent nobleman. From the "aucht-and-forty daugh" of
Strathbogie to the Catholic Braes of Glenlivat where fifty years ago the
"sma' stills" reeked in every moorland hollow, across to beautiful Kinrara
and down Spey to the fertile Braes of Enzie, his Grace is the benevolent
despot of a thriving tenantry who have good cause to regard him with esteem
and gratitude. The Duke is a masterful man, whom no factor need attempt to
lead by the nose; but on the margin of Spey, from the blush-red crags of
Cairntie down to the head of tide water, he owns his centurion in Geordie,
who taught him to throw his first line when already he was a minister of the
Crown, and who, as regards aught appertaining to salmon fishing, saith unto
his Grace, Do this and he doeth it.



Geordie is a loyal subject, and when a few years ago he had the opportunity
of seeing Her Majesty during her momentary halt at Elgin station, he paid
her the compliment of describing her as a "sonsie wife." But the
heart-loyalty of the honest fellow goes out in all its tender yet imperious
fulness towards the Castle family, to most of the members of which, of both
sexes, he has taught the science and practice of killing salmon. Hint the
faintest shadow of disparagement of any member of that noble and worthy
house, and you make a life enemy of Geordie. On no other subject is he
particularly touchy, save one--the gameness and vigour of the salmon of
Spey. Make light of the fighting virtues of Spey fish--exalt above them the
horn of the salmon of Tay, Ness, or Tweed--and Geordie loses his temper on
the instant and overwhelms you with the strongest language. There is a
tradition that among Geordie's remote forbears was one of Cromwell's
Ironsides who on the march from Aberdeen to Inverness fell in love with a
Speyside lass of the period, and who, abandoning his Ironside appellation of
"Hew-Agag-in-Pieces," adopted the surname which Geordie now bears. This
strain of ancestry may account for Geordie's smooth yet peremptory skill as
a disciplinarian. It devolves upon him during the rod-fishing season to
assign to each person of the fishing contingent his or her particular
stretch of water, and to tell off to each as guide one of his assistant
attendants.



It is a great treat to find Geordie in a garrulous humour and to listen to
one of his salmon-fishing stories, told always in the broadest of
north-country Doric. His sense of humour is singularly keen, notwithstanding
that he is a Scot; and it is not in his nature to minimise his own share in
the honour and glory of the incident he may relate. One of Geordie's stories
is vividly in my recollection, and may appropriately conclude my
reminiscences of Speyside and its folk. There was a stoup of "Benrinnes" on
the mantelpiece and a free-drawing pipe in Geordie's mouth. His subject was
the one on which he can be most eloquent--an incident of the salmon-fishing
season, on which the worthy man delivered himself as follows:--



"Twa or three seasons back I was attendin' Leddy Carline whan she was
fushin' that gran' pool at the brig o' Fochabers. She's a fine fusher, Leddy
Carline: faith, she may weel be, for I taucht her mysel'. She hookit a
saumon aboot the midst o' the pool, an' for a while it gied gran' sport;
loupin' and tumblin', an' dartin' up the watter an' doon the watter at sic a
speed as keepit her leddyship muvin' gey fast tae keep abriesht o't. Weel,
this kin' o' wark, an' a ticht line, began for tae tak' the spunk oot o' the
saumon, an' I was thinkin' it was a quieston o' a few meenits whan I wad be
in him wi' the gaff; but my birkie, near han' spent though he was, had a
canny bit dodge up the sleeve o' him. He made a bit whamlin' run, an' deil
tak' me gin he didna jam himself intil a neuk atween twa rocks, an' there
the dour beggar bade an' sulkit. Weel, her leddyship keepit aye a steady
drag on him, an' she gied him the butt wi' power; but she cudna get the
beast tae budge--no, nae sae muckle as the breadth o' my thoomb-nail. Deil a
word said Leddy Carline tae me for a gey while, as she vrought an' vrought
tae gar the saumon quit his neuk. But she cam nae speed wi' him; an' at last
she says, says she, 'Geordie, I can make nothing of him: what in the world
is to be done?' 'Gie him a shairp upward yark, my leddy,' says I; 'there
canna be muckle strength o' resistance left in him by this time!' Weel, she
did as I tellt her--I will say this for Leddy Carline, that she's aye
biddable. But, rugg her hardest, the fush stuck i' the neuk as gin he waur a
bit o' the solid rock, an' her leddyship was becomin' gey an' exhaustit.
'Take the rod yourself, Geordie,' says she, 'and try what you can do; I
freely own the fish is too many for me.' Weel, I gruppit the rod, an' I gied
a shairp, steady, upward drag; an' up the brute cam, clean spent. He hadna
been sulkin' aifter aa'; he had been fairly wedged atween the twa rocks, for
whan I landit him, lo an' behold! he was bleedin' like a pig, an' there was
a muckle gash i' the side o' him, that the rock had torn whan I draggit him
by main force up an' oot. The taikle was stoot, ye'll obsairve, or else he
be tae hae broken me; but tak' my word for't, Geordie is no the man for tae
lippen tae feckless taikle.



"Weel, I hear maist things; an' I was tellt that same nicht hoo at the
denner-table Leddy Carline relatit the haill adventur', an' owned, fat was
true aneuch, that the fush had fairly bestit her. Weel, amo' the veesitors
at the Castle was the Dowager Leddy Breadanham; an' it seemed that whan
Leddy Carline was through wi' her narrateeve, the dowager be tae gie a kin'
o' a scornfu' sniff an' cock her neb i' the air; an' she said, wha but she,
that she didna hae muckle opingin o' Leddy Carline as a saumon fisher, an'
that she hersel' didna believe there was a fush in the run o' Spey that she
cudna get the maistery ower. That was a gey big word, min' ye; it's langidge
I wadna venture for tae make use o' mysel', forbye a south-countra dowager.



"Weel, I didna say muckle; but, my faith, like the sailor's paurot, I
thoucht a deevil o' a lot. The honour o' Spey was in my hauns, an' it
behuvit me for tae hummle the pride o' her dowager leddyship. The morn's
mornin' cam, an' by that time I had decided on my plan o' operautions. By
guid luck I fand the dowager takin' her stroll afore brakfast i' the
floor-gairden. I ups till her, maks my boo, an' says I, unco canny an'
respectfu', 'My leddy, ye'll likely be for the watter the day?' She said she
was, so says I, 'Weel, my leddy, I'll be prood for tae gae wi' ye mysel',
an' I'll no fail tae reserve for ye as guid water as there is in the run o'
Spey!' She was quite agreeable, an' so we sattlit it.



"The Duke himsel' was oot on the lawn whan I was despatchin' the ither
fushin' folk, ilk ane wi' his or her fisherman kerryin' the rod. 'Geordie,'
said his Grace, 'with whom will you be going yourself?' 'Wi' the Dowager
Leddy Breadanham, yer Grace!' says I. 'And where do you think of taking her
ladyship, Geordie?' speers he. 'N'odd, yer Grace,' says I, 'I am sattlin in
my min' for tae tak' the leddy tae the "Brig o' Fochabers" pool;' an' wi'
that I gied a kin' o' a respectfu' half-wink. The Duke was no' the kin' o'
man for tae wink back, for though he's aye grawcious, he's aye dignifeed;
but there was a bit flichter o' humour roun' his mou' whan he said, says he,
'I think that will do very well, Geordie!'



"Praesently me an' her leddyship startit for the 'Brig o' Fochabers' pool.
She cud be vera affauble whan she likit, I'll say that muckle for the
dowager; an' me an' her newsed quite couthie-like as we traivellt. I
saftened tae her some, I frankly own; but than my hert hardent again whan I
thoucht o' the duty I owed tae Spey an' tae Leddy Carline. Of coorse there
was a chance that my scheme wad miscairry; but there's no a man on Spey frae
Tulchan tae the Tug Net that kens the natur' o' saumon better nor mysel'.
They're like sheep--fat ane daes, the tithers will dae; an' gin the dowager
hookit a fush, I hadna muckle doobt fat that fush wad dae. The dowager didna
keep me vera lang in suspense. I had only chyngt her fly ance, an' she had
maist fushed doon the pool a secont time, whan in the ripple o' watter at
the head o' the draw abune the rapid a fush took her 'Riach' wi' a greedy
sook, an' the line was rinnin' oot as gin there had been a racehorse at the
far end o't, the saumon careerin' up the pool like a flash in the clear
watter. The dowager was as fu' o' life as was the fush. Odd, but she kent
brawly hoo tae deal wi' her saumon--that I will say for her! There was nae
need for me tae bide closs by the side o' a leddy that had boastit there was
na a fush in Spey she cudna maister, sae I clamb up the bank, sat doun on ma
doup on a bit hillock, an' took the leeberty o' lichtin' ma pipe. Losh! but
that dowager spanged up an' doun the waterside among the stanes aifter that
game an' lively fush; an' troth, but she was as souple wi' her airms as wi'
her legs; for, rinnin' an' loupin' an' spangin' as she was, she aye managed
for tae keep her line ticht. It was a dooms het day, an' there wasna a
ruffle o' breeze; sae nae doobt the fush was takin' as muckle oot o' her as
she was takin' oot o' the fush. In aboot ten meenits there happent juist fat
I had expectit. The fush made a sidelins shoot, an' dairted intil the vera
crevice occupeed by Leddy Carline's fush the day afore. 'Noo for the fun!'
thinks I, as I sat still an' smokit calmly. She was certently a perseverin'
wummun, that dowager--there was nae device she didna try wi' that saumon tae
force him oot o' the cleft. Aifter aboot ten meenits mair o' this wark, she
shot at me ower her shouther the obsairve, 'Isn't it an obstinate wretch?'
'Aye,' says I pawkily, 'he's gey dour; but he's only a Spey fush, an' of
coorse ye'll maister him afore ye've dune wi' him!' I'm thinkin' she
unnerstude the insinivation, for she uttert deil anither word, but yokit tee
again fell spitefu' tae rug an' yark at the sulkin' fush. At last, tae mak a
lang story short, she was fairly dune. 'Geordie,' says she waikly, 'the
beast has quite worn me out! I'm fit to melt--there is no strength left in
me; here, come and take the rod!' Weel, I deleeberately raise, poocht ma
pipe, an' gaed doun aside her. 'My leddy,' says I, quite solemn, an' luikin'
her straucht i' the face--haudin' her wi' my ee, like--'I hae been tellt fat
yer leddyship said yestreen, that there wasna a saumon in Spey ye cudna
maister. Noo, I speer this at yer leddyship--respectfu' but direck; div ye
admit yersel clean bestit--fairly lickit wi' that fush, Spey fush though it
be? Answer me that, my leddy!' 'I do own myself beaten,' says she, 'and I
retract my words.' 'Say nae mair, yer leddyship!' says I--for I'm no a cruel
man--'say nae mair, but maybe ye'll hae the justice for tae say a word tae
the same effeck in the Castle whaur ye spak yestreen?' 'I promise you I
will,' said the dowager--'here, take the rod!' Weel, it was no sae muckle a
fush as was Leddy Carline's. I had it oot in a few meenits, an' by that time
the dowager was sae far revived that she was able to bring it in aboot tae
the gaff; an' sae, in the hinner end, she in a sense maistert the fush
aifter aa'. But I'm thinkin' she will be gey cautious in the futur' aboot
belittlin' the smeddum o' Spey saumon!"



______________________________________________

End, MY NATIVE SALMON RIVER




Wolfgang


This work is in the public domain. According to the license agreement at my
source, I may not name that source here without including the entire license
agreement......which is much too long and dull. To the best of my
knowledge, the use of this material here does not violate either that
agreement or U.S. copyright law.

"Wolfgang" schrieb im Newsbeitrag
...




My reminiscences of Spey and Speyside
SNIP

Very nice, thanks.

TL
MC

Wolfgang wrote:
My reminiscences of Spey and Speyside are drawing to an end, and I
now with natural diffidence approach a great theme. Every Speyside
man will recognise from this exordium that I am about to treat of
"Geordie." It is quite understood throughout lower Speyside that it
is the moral support which Geordie accords to Craigellachie Bridge,
in the immediate vicinity of which he lives, that chiefly maintains
that structure; and that if he were to withdraw that support, its
towers and roadway would incontinently collapse into the depths of
the sullen pool spanned by the graceful erection. The best of men are
not universally popular, and it must be said that there are those who
cast on Geordie the aspersion of being "some thrawn," for which the
equivalent in south-country language is perhaps "a trifle
cross-grained." These, however, are envious people, who are jealous
of Geordie's habitual association with lords and dukes, and who
resent the trivial stiffness which is no doubt apparent in his manner
to ordinary people for the first few days after the illustrious
persons referred to have reluctantly permitted him to withdraw from
them the light of his countenance. For my own part I have found
Geordie, all things considered, to be wonderfully affable. That his
tone is patronising I do not deny; but then there is surely a joy in
being patronised by the factotum of a duke.
snip
I really hated to do that - it was a very nice read. It was especially
fun to have to read much of it out loud (even if it was in my head)
before I understood the subject matter. Thanks.
--
TL,
Tim
---------------------------
http://css.sbcma.com/timj/

"Tim J." wrote in message
news
snip
I really hated to do that - it was a very nice read. It was especially fun
to have to read much of it out loud (even if it was in my head) before I
understood the subject matter. Thanks.

Dialect always makes for interesting reading.....sometimes because of what
it adds to a story.....sometimes just because it's wretched. I think Forbes
did a very good job.....based on what little experience I've had with Scots
English. It was largely the dialect that induced me to include this piece.
The rest of it, while by no means bad, is not remarkable either (except
perhaps for those who know the water and/or it's history) and would probably
not have been enough.

Wolfgang
begorra!

"Wolfgang" wrote in message
...

//snip//

withdraw that support, its towers and roadway would incontinently collapse
into the depths of the sullen pool spanned by the graceful erection.

//snip//

Promising! And this is only the first paragraph. Does it get better??

--
Bob Patton
(change bgzqsdq to charter to reply)
..

"Bob Patton" wrote in message
...
"Wolfgang" wrote in message
...

//snip//

withdraw that support, its towers and roadway would incontinently
collapse into the depths of the sullen pool spanned by the graceful
erection.

//snip//

Promising! And this is only the first paragraph. Does it get better??

Purely a matter of personal taste. You tell me.

Wolfgang

"Wolfgang" wrote in message
...

//snip//
Purely a matter of personal taste. You tell me.

Wolfgang

This is going to be too good to pass up. I'm going to have to figure out a
way to get some of this into a PowerPoint presentation. :-)

(I printed out both parts and will read them when I have a little time.
Thanks for posting.)

Bob

"Bob Patton" wrote in message
...
"Wolfgang" wrote in message
...

//snip//
Purely a matter of personal taste. You tell me.

Wolfgang

This is going to be too good to pass up. I'm going to have to figure out a
way to get some of this into a PowerPoint presentation. :-)

If you're going to do the accent, I'd like a copy.

(I printed out both parts and will read them when I have a little time.
Thanks for posting.)

My pleasure.

Wolfgang

"Wolfgang" wrote in message
...

//snip//
(I printed out both parts and will read them when I have a little time.
Thanks for posting.)

My pleasure.


Read them today. Really quite interesting from a couple of perspectives.
Gives an insight into the way upperclass englishmen thought in the 19th
century.

Also defines the word "turgid". :-)

Bob

"Wolfgang" wrote in message
...

Clipped a good read.
Thanks for digging that up. I refered to my copy of the "New Book of the
Road" as I read it. The book is a very detailed roadmap/ historical atlas
published by Readers Digest and the UK AA. I found a few of the places in
it as I read.