hadn’t changed a bit and the day was breaking pale and lovely over the slopes. And there were the spires of the churches and the top of the bridge over the Tweed. For a moment I thought I was back in the twenty-first century.
I hadn’t been looking about long, but when I turned back the woman with the hat and the basket under her arm was gone. From the washerwoman’s talk the day before, I guessed she was going to the market.
I knew my way to the High Street. The soles of my bare feet were already hardening and it was getting easier to jump over stones and clumps of grass without it stinging. I clambered over the stone dyke and ran over the field that led to the edge of town. The church bells rang out for six in the morning. I don’t think I had ever been out so early, but it seems rising early was common in the past. There were lots of people around. Smoke was already puffing out from the chimneys of the mills. I could hear horses neighing and it sounded like every cockerel in the world had gathered in Peebles for choir practice. All I had to do was followthe noise.
In the High Street there were a good many animals. A man was herding sheep into a wooden makeshift fence and they were BAA-ING their woolly heads off. Another man with a long wooden stick was coaxing cows into a stall. They were MOO-ING and he was shouting. A group of women with long brown skirts on and scarves around their hair were busy lining up what smelt like barrels of fish. Already some of them were starting to cry out: “Herring, haddock, trout, eels! Come and buy! Come and buy!”
I stroked the silver chain around my neck. I was so hungry I decided to try and sell it to buy food. There was a butcher arranging pigs’ heads and pigs’ trotters and every bit of pig you could imagine – except bacon in a vacuum pack from a supermarket. Even the butcher with his pink face looked a bit like a pig. I ventured further along.
Carts pulled by horses were piled high with potatoes and cabbages and leeks and carrots and onions. Everybody was wishing each other a very good morning. There was no sign of the woman from the big house, but my eyes lit up when I saw, sitting among a pile of onions, a girl about my size smile at me. She was plaiting onion stalks and singing:
“Up in the mornings no fir me, up in the morning early…”
“Stop yer complaining,” a man shouted. He was arranging his vegetables in pretty shapes on the cart. I guessed he was her father. The girl went on silently stringing up the onions without even glancing up at him.
A woman called out, “Away to the butcher, lassie, and get us a ham shank. A good one mind, none of your scraggy end, tell him.” I guessed that was the girl’s mother and the girl seemed happy enough to lay down her onions and hop down fromthe cart. She skipped along the High Street, in no hurry to get that ham shank. I followed her, and skipped too. Soon we were skipping side by side.
“We’ll get a game of peevers soon,” she said, like she had known me for ages. “I got good stones for skiting.” She patted the pocket of her apron. I smiled and skipped some more. “Then,” she went on, waving to the men at the baker’s stall, “we can go down the river and play chuckie stanes.”
I worked that one out. Chucking stones. I smiled. “Guid,” I said, trying to sound like her, “that would be just grand.” The smell of fresh bread was making me feel light-headed. I unclipped the tiny silver chain from around my neck. It had belonged to my mother, but I knew she wouldn’t want me to go hungry. I swung it in front of the girl. “Where’s the best place to sell this?”
The girl froze and stared at the silver chain. “You pinched that, did yea?”
I shook my head and clasped it to me, and just to prove the point tears welled up in my eyes. “It was my own dead mother’s,” I said with a little sob. I wasn’t acting. I really did feel sad.
Next thing the girl wrapped her arm around my
I hadn’t been looking about long, but when I turned back the woman with the hat and the basket under her arm was gone. From the washerwoman’s talk the day before, I guessed she was going to the market.
I knew my way to the High Street. The soles of my bare feet were already hardening and it was getting easier to jump over stones and clumps of grass without it stinging. I clambered over the stone dyke and ran over the field that led to the edge of town. The church bells rang out for six in the morning. I don’t think I had ever been out so early, but it seems rising early was common in the past. There were lots of people around. Smoke was already puffing out from the chimneys of the mills. I could hear horses neighing and it sounded like every cockerel in the world had gathered in Peebles for choir practice. All I had to do was followthe noise.
In the High Street there were a good many animals. A man was herding sheep into a wooden makeshift fence and they were BAA-ING their woolly heads off. Another man with a long wooden stick was coaxing cows into a stall. They were MOO-ING and he was shouting. A group of women with long brown skirts on and scarves around their hair were busy lining up what smelt like barrels of fish. Already some of them were starting to cry out: “Herring, haddock, trout, eels! Come and buy! Come and buy!”
I stroked the silver chain around my neck. I was so hungry I decided to try and sell it to buy food. There was a butcher arranging pigs’ heads and pigs’ trotters and every bit of pig you could imagine – except bacon in a vacuum pack from a supermarket. Even the butcher with his pink face looked a bit like a pig. I ventured further along.
Carts pulled by horses were piled high with potatoes and cabbages and leeks and carrots and onions. Everybody was wishing each other a very good morning. There was no sign of the woman from the big house, but my eyes lit up when I saw, sitting among a pile of onions, a girl about my size smile at me. She was plaiting onion stalks and singing:
“Up in the mornings no fir me, up in the morning early…”
“Stop yer complaining,” a man shouted. He was arranging his vegetables in pretty shapes on the cart. I guessed he was her father. The girl went on silently stringing up the onions without even glancing up at him.
A woman called out, “Away to the butcher, lassie, and get us a ham shank. A good one mind, none of your scraggy end, tell him.” I guessed that was the girl’s mother and the girl seemed happy enough to lay down her onions and hop down fromthe cart. She skipped along the High Street, in no hurry to get that ham shank. I followed her, and skipped too. Soon we were skipping side by side.
“We’ll get a game of peevers soon,” she said, like she had known me for ages. “I got good stones for skiting.” She patted the pocket of her apron. I smiled and skipped some more. “Then,” she went on, waving to the men at the baker’s stall, “we can go down the river and play chuckie stanes.”
I worked that one out. Chucking stones. I smiled. “Guid,” I said, trying to sound like her, “that would be just grand.” The smell of fresh bread was making me feel light-headed. I unclipped the tiny silver chain from around my neck. It had belonged to my mother, but I knew she wouldn’t want me to go hungry. I swung it in front of the girl. “Where’s the best place to sell this?”
The girl froze and stared at the silver chain. “You pinched that, did yea?”
I shook my head and clasped it to me, and just to prove the point tears welled up in my eyes. “It was my own dead mother’s,” I said with a little sob. I wasn’t acting. I really did feel sad.
Next thing the girl wrapped her arm around my
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