Tears for a Tinker (35 page)

Thirty years later, I am still searching for it, but it seems to have disappeared. Daddy died in 1982, and according to Roger Leitch who edited
The Book of Sandy Stewart
, his manuscript
is mentioned in the said book, which was published in 1988. So at least it was still kicking around six years after Daddy died. Hamish died in 2002, making my search all the harder.

We travellers believe that if something is meant, then so be it. In other words, if
The White Nigger
is to be, then it will find me.

The flats were on four levels, and I remember one time when Davie had been overdoing New Year celebrations. Several of his mates, ones who came back to Crieff for a holiday at Hogmanay, called
on him, and with my blessing he took himself off to the pub for a richt guid blether.

The bairns had been given bikes by Santa, and we spent all day cycling country roads until the poor things had frozen fingers and itchy bums. I’d borrowed an old bike of Sandy’s,
and, oh God, was I hippit! After tea, all I needed was a bath and my bed. Davie, being a guid bletherer, I knew would not be home until late, so I locked the door meaning to open it in time for his
homecoming. But I didn’t realise how sleepy I was; the bairns too were out of it. So when Davie began knocking, we all failed to hear him. Now, not one to be undone, the bold lad with more
than a fair share of the booze in his belly, decided he would scramble over each balcony to reach his own. I kid you not, when I say that for a sober man this would have been a job for
mountaineering equipment and abseiling gear, with experts on hand for guidance—but you know that old saying, ‘when the drink’s in, the wit’s oot.’

I remember the shocked look on my neighbour’s face, when she described the appearance of a man throwing his lanky legs over her railings and heaving upwards towards the next floor. She
blamed too many Babychams on Hogmanay causing her to imagine things, and I failed to enlighten her. Not only that, my Spiderman was so drunk that he’d not a single memory of his escapade. It
was our Johnnie, relieving himself at three am, who heard his Dad gently knocking on the verandah door to be let in. All I can remember was the freezing cold body that huddled into my back,
swearing to every god on the entire planet that he’d never drink so much again. Aye, aye!

Bringing our family up in the flats was fun. It wasn’t my idea of a home, but the people were great. In the summer when it was sunny and hot, all the mums would fill baskets with food and
we’d sit and blether having a braw picnic. Whoever lived in the bottom flat fixed a hosepipe onto their bath tap, allowing the bairns to frolic in the water. They filled polythene bags,
chucking them at each other in water fights, and when the council erected a swing park nearby the kids had added enjoyment.

Yes, as houses go I liked the flats, but with our growing family, two bedrooms weren’t enough: we needed another room for our budding little female. In due course we left our flat and
settled into a four-apartment house in Monteith Street. This spacious house was great (do you notice how my preoccupation with travelling the road is fading in favour of the scaldie life?) and
soon, with Barbara in her fifth year, I watched my last bairn set off to school.

This house had what the others didn’t—a cosy fireplace. At long last there was somewhere to gather my kids round and tell my resurrected stories. One cold winter’s night, when
a thick layer of snow covered the land for miles, I remember telling this story to my family. Even Davie gave me his ear.

The Precious Black Jewel

A long, long time ago, before cars or tellies or glass windows, the land was covered with lovely flowers. Lanard picked a bunch of sweet smelling red roses to present them, with
his undying love, to Wisa. Pretty Wisa lived across the glen, and Lanard and his cousin Rigg had both fallen in love with her. She had a way with her though which wasn’t so attractive in one
so bonny—her greed for precious jewels.

One day, after years when both men had been vying for her affections, they were summoned to her house. ‘Boys,’ she told them with a flirtatious flutter of her long silk eyelashes,
‘if you love me, now is the time to bring me what I desire more than any other thing on earth. It is a jewel; one so sparkling, so big, so immensely beautiful, that I will not be able to
refuse my hand to whoever brings it to me. She writhed around them like a serpent circling its prey, stroking their muscled arms with her long fair hair.

‘I shall dig for gold and bring you a mountain of it, my sweet,’ said Rigg excitedly; her perfume lingering in his nostrils.

Lanard knelt on one knee, took hold of her hand and said, ‘I don’t know where to find jewels to match your beauty, my love, all I have is these two strong arms and a heart filled
with undying love and devotion.’

‘That is as it may be, but I shall marry whoever brings me the most precious of gems.’

With a last flutter of eyelashes she closed the door on them, and promised not to speak to either until they’d fulfilled her dearest wish.

Rigg sneered at his cousin, saying he was only wasting his time, because he had no knowledge of jewels and it would be he, Rigg, who would marry Wisa.

Poor Lanard, those words rang so true. All his life what he had cared about was what the earth gave in way of food to sustain its people, and not useless commodities like gems, which were just
simple stones as far as he was concerned. They couldn’t help the sick or feed the poor and hungry. Yet how much he loved the only precious gem that meant anything to him—Wisa.

Rigg searched high and low, covering hundreds of miles and taking little sleep, digging and gouging the earth whenever he saw anything sparkle in the sunlight. Weeks passed, when one day, while
resting under a shady willow tree, he overheard a conversation between two merchants. These overweight men of substance were, according to their serious discussion, carrying a treasure to some rich
man who lived several miles further up that road. Rigg’s eyes widened at the thought of what the silver boxes hanging either side of the mule held, and the more he thought about it, the more
he felt that he was getting nearer to claiming Wisa over his cousin.

‘Good day, my fine fellows,’ he said, smiling, ‘can I be of any assistance to you?’

The merchants, weary and thirsty after their long journey, were more than glad of an offer of help, for it was obvious they were lost. ‘Could you be so kind as to point the way to Lord so
and so’s castle? We seem to have taken a wrong turning.’

‘This is a coincidence, my friends, because I too am going to see his Lordship.’

So, with a fox-like cunning, Rigg then proceeded to take the pair of tired men with their fine cargo to a quiet spot, where he duly robbed them. The way home was full of imaginings of what Wisa
would say at the wonderful present he was bringing to her.

Lanard would never have robbed anyone, in fact he probably would have taken the merchants to their destination without expecting payment. But having searched everywhere for a sparkling gem
without success, poor sad Lanard rested under the branches of an oak tree. It was very hot, and in his tired state he fell asleep. He slept for only a little while, however, because something
pushed against his back, a movement from the tree behind him. He rose, and saw to his utter amazement a tiny hand opening a door in the tree’s trunk. Then, without a word, the smallest man
he’d ever seen darted out and lifted some twigs before darting back. ‘Wait a moment, sir,’ said Lanard, ‘pray tell me who you are. I don’t know if I’m dreaming
or not.’

The tiny creature laid his twigs down and stared at Lanard for a while, before saying, ‘I’m one of the little elves who take care of the earth’s crust. Who are you, and why do
you look so heavy laden?’

Lanard told his companion everything about Wisa’s conditions for marriage and how futile his situation was, because he knew nothing about precious gems.

The elf sat down, scratched his head and tugged upon his red beard, then said, ‘I will give you the most precious gem in the entire world. Unlike other stones it is a
life-saver.’

The tiny creature promised he’d go and bring this stone if Lanard would be patient and wait. After what seemed an eternity, the elf returned holding a small cloth bag drawn tight by a
cord. He open it, pushed his hand inside and brought out a horrible-looking black stone. Lanard’s heart sank. What would Wisa do when she saw such an object?

The elf watched him and read his thoughts. ‘Listen to me, son, I have never told a lie in my life, so when I say this is the world’s most precious stone, I mean it. Now take it, give
it to your love, and tell her what I have said. If she does not love you, then she’ll reject it, but if she does then you’ll have a good wife.’

Lanard, full of new vigour, set off to present his love with this gift. When he got to her house he met his cousin, laden down with his illegal offering.

Wisa opened her door, her eyes feasting on the silver boxes. ‘Ooh, what have you got, Rigg?’

‘For you, my dear, not one, but two caskets filled with every kind of jewel in the world. See.’ He opened the lids to reveal piles of the most exquisite gems, gold, diamonds,
emeralds and rubies, everything to adorn a handsome lady.

Lanard watched as she ran the gems between her fingers, giggling with excitement. She turned and stared down at the greyish cloth bag hanging limp at his side and said, ‘Well, what have
you brought me—hurry, open it.’

Rigg folded his arms and sniggered while Lanard clumsily unwound the cord, pulled open the bag and took out the black stone. ‘Here,’ he said.

‘What kind of insult is this? I ask for gems, you bring me a filthy dirty stone, and your cousin presents me with more than a princess would possess. You won’t be given the chance to
insult me again.’ With that she turned to Rigg and led him inside, slamming her door in Lanard’s face.

This was terrible. How long had he dreamed of caring for the beautiful Wisa, his beloved. There was, and never would be, any other for him, yet how stupid of him to trust an elf, a horrible
weasel-faced man of lies. He’d allowed himself to be tricked. Filled with these thoughts, Lanard ran and ran until he knew or cared not where he was. At last, exhausted, he lay down and fell
into a slumber, muttering to himself, ‘I wish to sleep forever, and never to walk this earth again, in the knowledge that my love is joined to another!’

What he failed to notice was that he’d stopped at exactly the same spot beneath the branches of the oak tree where he’d encountered the little man, who just happened to hear
Lanard’s heartfelt wish.

So with a wave of his hand, night came upon the land and with it the first winter. Up until then it had always been summer, with sunshine and rain, but it was never cold. So when this spell was
cast upon the land, no one knew what to do, it was a nightmare. Flowers withered and died, trees shed their vivid green leaves, and fruit lay on the ground and was covered with snow. Old people
died of cold. Rigg and Wisa hid behind their doors, shivering under all their bedcovers. Their useless gems secured in boxes offered no comfort or warmth. The tiny man took care of Lanard, who
slept through all this, by covering him over with piles of fallen leaves. Then one dark and foggy day he sprinkled magic dust over those closed eyes and whispered, ‘Time now, son.’

Lanard opened his eyes and stretched his stiff bones. He sat up and wondered what manner of place he’d slept in. ‘Where am I?’ he called aloud, ‘is anyone
about?’

‘You have been asleep lad,’ said the elf, ‘for a long time; ten years to be precise.’

His awakening did not eradicate the memory of losing his love and the reason for it. He grabbed the little man and said, ‘You tricked me, how could you be so cruel as to lie to me?’
He felt the freezing cold air rushing around him, and added to his questioning, ‘Why has the land turned so cold? Is this another of your wicked tricks?’

‘I do not lie, nor do I create evil. Now remember when I told you the black stone was the most precious of all stones, that stone your greedy love refused? Now, do you still have
it?’

He felt the bag tied to his belt and took out the stone. ‘Here it is, but I think you owe me an explanation.’

‘Come with me, young man. It is time to give your world its other sun.’

He watched in amazement as the tree trunk opened to reveal a concealed passageway, along which he followed his companion. At its end was a cave with black walls, where hundreds of tiny people
were working away with axes cutting out stones. ‘These are our gems, now watch.’ The elf took some twigs, laid them in a pile, then put a handful of the stones on top. He put two twigs
together with a smaller one between and rubbed hard. Lanard thought it was another feat of magic when he saw smoke appear, then fire. It was the first time he’d ever witnessed this flaming
stuff, but it warmed him and he stopped shivering.

‘This will save the people of your world until the sun shines again. Take a big basketful. Now go and bring heat to your freezing world.’

He went first to Rigg and Wisa. ‘I have brought you back the black stone: now will you accept it?’

When they saw how it worked and warmed them they were repentant. Rigg confessed to his crime of theft, and Wisa swore never again to put a finger on worthless gems.

The elf instructed Lanard how to dig the black stone from the earth, and soon every house had a plentiful supply to use for heating and to help them survive the annual winter.

The stone was later given the name of coal.

Coal is precious indeed, but even although my new home had its fireplace we opted for gas. I managed many a tale around that warm coal-effect gas fire on the coldest nights,
when the weather kept my growing brood indoors.

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