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OUR life at the Parks was
pleasant, though toilsome, and its strenuousness was relieved by many an
interlude of pleasant experience which, in prospect and retrospect, not
less than in actual participation, cast over the whole field of our
existence the lustre of their brightness. We were a happy family.
Differences of opinion there were, which were stoutly maintained, but
there was no strife. In all the years which have followed, a like
harmony has been maintained, something for which all surviving members
are truly thankful. All the families, Fletchers, Farquharsons and
Stewarts, can, I believe with equal truth congratulate themselves on the
possession of a like spirit, though, alas, many of those who in earlier
years were bonds of unity are with us no more.
Around the Christmas
season we visited back and forth with the young folks of Kinaldie,
Knocksoul and Loanhead. As time went on, the round was extended and more
varied from year to year. Newkirk came into the lime-light more and
more. With Mrs. Anderson, who believed in the efficacy of "the rantry
and the red threed," we usually had a yearly meeting. We also met
occasionally with Mrs. Milne of Bogarierie, the Inneses of the Moston of
Blelack, and still more frequently with Mr. Michie, where we would meet
with Mr. James Davidson, the parish minister's brother whose general
information and natural eloquence were above the ordinary, Dr. Cameron
who was an accomplished violinist, Mr. Samuel Innes, Miss Paterson of
Grodie and others.
BALLATER AND AUCHOLZIE
To all of our family the
great event of each recurring year was a trip to Ballater and Aucholzie
in the end of harvest which, instituted by our parents before memory had
begun to inscribe her record, continued to brighten the successive
seasons to the last of our stay in Scotland. At Ballater, we were
entertained royally by our aunt Margaret and cousins. There we could see
the soldiers who formed Her Majesty's Body Guard perform their daily
evolutions on the village green. Thence we made excursions to the top of
Craigendarach, the Pass of Ballater, the Wells of I'ananich, or the old
Caitic of the Knock, in which the Gordons of the ancient times had
feasted friends and retainers or from stone-arched vaults, now crumbling
from the teeth of the passing centuries, had drawn liquid refreshment
for the casual visitor or for the entertainment and encouragement of
allies, in common with themselves, on some wild purpose bent. To what
scenes of barbaric splendour had those tottering walls been witness, and
what secrets of direst tragedy may not those crumbling dungeons guard.
On such occasions our
tour would also embrace the sheep-farm of Aucholzie, the home of our
maternal aunt Nellie and her husband William Gordon. The latter, who was
the son of a sheep farmer, had early developed great capacity in the
management of sheep. When a little boy, his father had, for his
encouragement, presented him with a ewe, with promise of free pasture
for all her increase. Soon the question that had troubled good old
Abraham in his dealings with his ambitious nephew arose, and a division
had to be made. So the son, less selfish than Lot, moved out and came to
Aucholzie where, in his chosen line, he made great success. In some
respects he was peculiar, but beneath an exterior somewhat unpromising,
beat a kind and generous heart. Upon him, as well as upon our aunt we
could always rely for a cordial if not a demonstrative welcome, and on
our cousin William we could with equal confidence depend for
entertainment both varied and pleasing. Their home was on the southerly
side of the river Muick which has its source several miles west of
Aucholzie near the southerly base of "Dark Lochnagar" and persues its
course through a romantic glen which, taking its name from the stream,
is known as Glenmuick. In its course through the narrow glen, guarded by
a range of heath-covered hills, on either side, the little river, near
its source, traverses a romantic little lake known as Loch Duloch. Some
miles still further on its way, it broadens out again into a loch of
larger dimensions, known as "Loch Muick." Flanked by its protecting
hills on either side, and unapproached by any public highway, this lake
might stand for an embodiment of peace and security. No wonder that
Royalty, sated with the glitter and distractions of the Court, should
have here erected a lodge and equipped a yacht from which to enjoy,
yearly, for a brief holiday its solitude and peace.
Some four miles below the
Loch last named, and about half a mile above the Aucholze home, is the
Lynn or falls of Muick which, on the rocky sides of its water-worn
channel, records its age in terms of it; slow recession up stream as the
solid rock has crumbled to the slow attrition produced by the action of
its waters throughout the long ages of their activities. Man's clock
ticks out his time in seconds while the pendulum of the Universe gathers
milleniums in its mighty sweep. How evanescent is life, and how enduring
the everlasting hills! Yet, over them both, crumbling, alike, sooner or
later to decay, broods the mystery of conditions unrelated to our
present frame of time, which, with our feeble powers we can neither
grasp nor envisage.
A ROMANTIC JOURNEY AND A
GREAT SERMON
The district of Cromar in
which we had our home, distant as it is from any of the large centres of
population was not entirely cut off from the social, political and
ecclesiastical influences by which the cities were being ever more
constantly impressed. Nor was it alone through the printed page that
access was had to the thoughts and utterances of the great. Now and
again the community would be thrilled by the presence and power of the
most gifted of the land. One such experience came to our Free Church
youthful crowd in 1863 by a visit from the late Dr. Guthrie, who, in
that year carne to Crathie to open on a week-day a free kirk building
erected on a site generously donated by His Royal Highness the late
Prince Consort, the deed of conveyance being one of the last acts of
that nobleman's life. The Stewart and Farquharson families determined to
hear the far-famed preacher, but for conveyance over the 18 miles of
highway intervening, they could command only one dog-cart with
accommodation for only four. Mr. Samuel Innes, a mutual friend came to
our assistance with the offer of a horse and farm-cart, the latter
seated with chaff or straw-stuffed five bushel bags laid cross-wise on
its springless floor. The offer was gladly accepted, and early in the
morning of a fine summer day, three Farquharsons and an equal number of
Stewart girls under the conduct of Mr. Innes as driver made their
cheerful progress at the rate of not less than three miles an hour, past
Loch Kinnord around Culblean, and thence over a beautiful turnpike road,
along the river Dee, with its fragrant birches, past Ballater, and
thence to the home of our friends the Davidsons at Torgalter, whence we
crossed on foot the river by the adjacent bridge which landed us on the
other side, near Balmoral Castle, and in a few minutes more we found
ourselves in the church. Our friend the driver, though a farmer like
myself, was an expert short-hand writer and made a report of the sermon,
which he later copied out for me in the short-hand corresponding style
as a reading exercise. Needless to say, by the time that I was able to
master it, which I eventually did, I became better acquainted with that
sermon than with any I have since heard.
INVERCAULD VISITED
The rents payable by the
tenants on the Invercauld estate were, for the most part payable in coin
of the realm, but a small part was required (possibly merely allowed) to
he paid by providing and delivering at the farm of the proprietor, at
Invercauld so many bolls of oat-meal, and delivering there a certain
quantity of coal, as stipulated in the lease, the coal being delivered
during the summer and the meal during the winter in each year. It was my
good fortune to have assigned to me, just once, the duty of making such
a delivery. It was a coal delivery, and in June or early July the most
delightful time of the year. On the journey, I was accompanied by two
neighbours, one of them being my good cousin John Fletcher, now of
Tilbury East, Ontario, and the other Andrew Milne of Bogariere, each
discharging for himself or his household, an obligation similar to my
own. We had, each, one horse and cart in charge. Our first objective was
the village of Aboyne, about nine miles distant. There was the railway
station nearest to us and also nearest to Invercauld, at which coal
could be procured. The way was interesting along our whole route. First,
passing through the fir wood on Lickley hill, which my father, when a
little boy, had helped to plant, we emerged soon to find, on our right,
the mansion house of the small estate of Corrachree, of which the owner
was Col. Farquharson. Three miles from home we passed the Village of
Tarland which may be regarded as the commercial metropolis of Cromar.
TRADITIONS OF THE FORTY
FIVE
Through its humble
streets, tradition asserts that seven brothers, of a family of
Farquharsons from a farm near by called "The Bog," marched, with a piper
before them to join Prince Charlie in 1745. That tradition was confirmed
by the late Rev. James Wattie, who, surprised to see on an Edinburgh
street a sign bearing the name of Farquharson, went in and interviewed
the proprietor who informed him that an ancestor of his with some
brothers had left in 1745, a farm called The Bog to join the Prince and
had never returned to their native place.
Near Aboyne and
beautifully situated in a valley near the public highway which makes a
bend southerly towards it, is the castle of The Marquis of Huntly which,
to our trio brought the memory of an old Jacobite song, "Hey, Johnnie
Cope are ye waukin' yet? If ye were waukin' I would wait to go to the
Coles i' the morning." A lady of the castle, some time back was a
descendant of the famous, but unfortunate general named in the song,
and, to her ear the solo; could not fail to be distasteful. During her
stay in the castle one summer, a hired man on the premises was very fond
of whistling, and unfortunately, one of his special favourites was "Hey,
Johnnie Cope." And that tune kept ringing in her ears till she could
stand it no longer. So, at length the whistler got notice that he was no
longer needed. The man could not understand why he had been discharged,
but, on making enquiry found out the cause. "Oh, that's a' is it?
"She'll get mair o't." It was, however, a mean revenge.
At Aboyne we got our
carts duly loaded and started on our next nine miles journey to Ballater,
our road leading along, and every here and there coming up to, the bank
of the romantic Dee. Aboyne is beautifully situated on the northerly
bank of the river which is there crossed by a chain bridge. No doubt the
river, all along its course, is full of local and historic interest, but
it was to me largely unknown till the moor of Dinet was reached. From it
was visible the hill of Mulloch which derives its name from a Danish
General of that name who there fell and was utterly routed by Malcom
Canmore, then King of Scotland. Rounding the shoulder of Culblean, near
by, we soon reached the Cambus o' May where mine host John Ogg stood
ready to supply the spirituous wants of the thirsty ones at reasonable
rates and "not exceeding saxpence a mutchkin as long as the Dee should
run past." Whether that meant in perpetuity or so long as the river was
available for dilution purposes is not very clear.
REEL O' TULLOCH
Soon was reached the Auld
Kirkyard o' Tulloch with the bare roofless walls of its old church,
which are still standing. In this church (or possibly in its
predecessor) tradition asserts that the famous Reel o' Tulloch was first
danced. The Sunday was extremely cold and stormy, so much so, that the
good priest did not expect that any of his parishioners would come out,
and therefore stayed at home. The people sat and waited in the fireless
church till they got very cold. Soon they got up and began to move
around to keep themselves warm, and finally commenced to dance, when was
evolved that famous reel "that gaurs us a' in ane unite."
A little farther on and
we were opposite Craigendarroch on our right, with the beautiful
Monaltrie House, which, on a perfectly level park, nestles at its foot.
The Farquharson who was laird of this estate (or possibly, of another
estate, farther up the Dee, of the same name) during the Prince Charlie
rising, was proclaimed a rebel and very narrowly escaped the gallows,
but was eventually pardoned and had his estate restored to him. Of his
son it is told that one time he had attended some function in Edinburgh
at which he had expressed with shame, his regret that his father had
been a rebel. This was too much for honest Robbie Burns who was present.
He got up and addressing Farquharson said "If your father has no need to
be ashamed of you, you need not be ashamed of him."
?1cro c the river from
this point, are the famous wells of Pananich, with their mineral waters
long noted for their health-giving dualities, though it was hinted that
"not for health alone the lasses cam to Pananich." A few minutes more
and Ballater is reached. Here used to live my aunts Margaret and Jane,
and here, in joyful fellowship with the children of the former, were
spent some of the happiest days of my life. Passing Ballater with its
wooden bridge, replacing a nobler structure of stone which, by a flood
of unprecedented proportions, was borne down, some time in the thirties
of last century, but which we did not cross, we followed the road :round
Craigendarroch, past the Pass of Ballater, along the northernly side of
the river. Dark Lochnagar, whose snow-cap is never lifted, gradually
unfolded his vast dimensions across the river on our left and was soon
left behind. The Torgalter burn is crossed—that meek little streamlet
which gently sings its peaceful song as it comes down the hill rejoicing
to meet the welcoming Dee.
A FLOOD AND A FOOL
Not always had it been so
meek. To that awful and historic flood of 1839 that bore down the stone
bridge at Ballater it contributed no mean fraction of the former's
potency. It was a thunder-storm accompanied by rain such as had never
before been heard of or since experienced in that locality. Rocks
released by the power of new-born water torrents, rolled down the
mountain side, sometimes blocking the public highway and the waters,
gathered by the hills on either side, as into a mighty trough, issued
through the valley in a roaring mass, many feet in depth. So suddenly
did it come that a gentleman, in his carriage had just crossed the
Torgalter to find that the road ahead had become impassable. He would
fain have retraced his steps but the Torgalter, now a roaring flood,
forbade his passage. A humble cottager by the road ventured out in the
terrible downpour to offer the shelter of his unpretentious abode, but
was repelled by the contemptous reply that his lordship would rather be
hanged than enter such a dwelling. "Your way be it" said the hospitable
cottager, "but i' the mids o' the meantime, my thocht is that ye're mair
in danger o' bein' drooned than hanged."
By the Torgalter burn is
the farm on which our neighbour and friend the late Rev. Geo. Davidson
the parish minister of Coldstone was born. Just beyond is The Micras,
the birthplace of our esteemed teacher, Rev. J. G. Michie. Beyond these
places, I had never been before, and am therefore unable to record
anything of particular interest regarding the remaining part of the
journey further than that the scenery is beautiful and grand. The
mountains to the north are wild and majestic and some of them were
flecked with snow. Their names I am unable to give, but I believe that
one of them would be Ben Macdhui which is one of the highest in Britain.
A BOTHY EXPERIENCE
At last we reached our
destination, and having delivered our coal-rent contribution and stabled
our horses, we were received into the kitchen apartment of a large
building used, apparently as a "bothy," for the accommodation of the
many employees of the estate, such as gardeners, game-keepers, woodsmen
and others, and in which sleeping accommodation was provided for
visitors from the tenantry on such business as our own.
In Cromar the farms were
usually small and the wealthiest of the farmers engaged in the manual
toil of the agriculturist along with his hired assistants, between whom
and himself there was no impassable gulf. Indeed so slender was the
barrier between them that it was not infrequently surmounted by the
natural ability, sobriety, diligence and economy of the more worthy and
intelligent of the hired workmen. Of the bothy system, therefore, I had
had no previous experience. This, my first introduction to its working,
presented a mode of life so strange that I shall give some account of
the entertainment there provided.
On the hearth in the
kitchen into which we were ushered there blazed a cheerful wood-fire,
from the warmth of which, a suspended tea-kettle sang its welcome and
its promise of hospitality. Around the fire were some men with
intelligent faces diligently reading, while others here and there
through the apartment, were otherwise amusing themselves, but none of
them had a word for us or gave the least sign of interest or of
curiosity concerning us. On the Premises we saw no woman or faintest
trace of woman's handiwork. It was, as I understand, a veritable bothy.
Presently we found ourselves seated at a table on which supper was set
for three. The table-ware consisted of a big wooden dish of the genus
known in Cromar as a "cap," only this one, in size resembled more the
huge wooden receptacle known there as the "bossie" which was used for
mixing the dough for the manufacture of oat cakes. Besides the wooden
cap there were set on the table a vessel containing a quantity of
oatmeal, a jug containing milk, some salt and a spoon for each of us.
From that spread, with the aid of our warm-hearted friend the
tea-kettle, whose appreciated welcome has already been noted, we were
expected to make our supper. But for one circumstance, the situation
would have presented no difficulty whatever. That circumstance arose in
connection with the wooden dish, which, in itself would have given no
occasion for remark, for such in those days were common, but this one
had degenerated to the condition of the great company of the unwashed.
All over its inner surface were visible the marks and remnants of former
contents. To eat out of such a dish was impossible, unless under the
compulsion of an appetite such as none of us had as yet acquired. To me
the situation was entirely new, and I could think of no remedy short of
total abstainance. With Milne it was different. Whether, through past
experience or quicker intuition, I know not, but he saw the way out and
without remark, addressed himself to his task. Taking the dirty dish and
placing it beside the oat-meal container, he proceeded, spoonful by
spoonful, to fill the former with the contents of the latter. This fully
accomplished, and salt laid on top, he seized the kettle with his left
hand, and at the same time reversing the spoon in his right, proceeded
to pour the liquid into the centre of the mass. Meantime, with the spoon
handle, he stirred the liquid into the central portion of the meal,
taking special care to preserve intact a safe margin of dry meal under
and around so as to avoid contact with the inner surface of the dish, he
then poured on some milk, and again reversing his spoon, was ready to
invite Fletcher and myself to join him in making a hearty and
satisfactory supper. By a repetition of the same process, a clean and
palatable breakfast was secured. How the superfluous enveloping meal was
disposed of, need not here be told. This experience was interesting for
once but it is needless to say that there was no desire to repeat it. |
