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Border Ghost Stories.
IN THE BLACKFRIARS WYND
'_'Twill be a black day for auld Scotland when she ceases to believe in
the muckle Deil_,' commented 'the Meenister' of the Tron Kirk, when I
had explained to him my troubles and sought his 'ghostly counsel and
advice,' as the English service has it, 'to the quieting of my
conscience, and avoiding of all scruple and doubtfulness.' My father had
been English, but my mother was Scotch, and she had sent me to my uncle,
Deacon Abercrombie, to be entered as apprentice to his craft of the
goldsmiths. He was a widower, lived alone, and was reputed to be
eccentric, but as far as worldly gear was concerned the Deacon was a
highly responsible citizen; as burgess, guild brother, and deacon of his
craft he could hold his head as high on the causeway as any other, be he
who he might, in the city.
Not even the 'stairhead critics,' who, as Auld Reekie's poet writes,
'_wi' glowering eye
Their neighbours' sma'est faults descry_,'
could point at any speck in his general repute.
The Reverend Andrew Geddes was somewhat stricken in years; his beard was
white as snow, his thrapple loose below his chin, and the flesh had
ebbed from his bones, but his mind was as alert as ever, and his
goodness stood manifest in his face.
We were sitting in his lodging, situate in a high 'timberland' in the
Canongate, just without the Nether Bow, on the same side as the Tron
Kirk, and from his little _tourelle_ we could survey as from an eyrie
the coming and going of the citizens upon the street.
'Ay,' said he again, 'it will be a gey evil day for Scotland when she
ceases to believe i' the muckle black Deil. Whatten temptations he can
offer is oft forgot. Ye'll hae heard tell o' Major Weir--the whilom
"Bowhead Saint," as they callit him--ye'll hae heard tell o' him,
laddie? I mind my father talkin' o' his ain greetin' sair for bein' ower
young to gang to his hangin'.'
Had I no? Ay, and of his staff that went before him like a link boy, and
of the coach with six black horses that carried him and his sister
backwards and forwards from hell!
'Eh, laddie, what a sermon I could preach to ye on this tremendous
problem!' he said regretfully, bethinking him of my youthful years.
'Aweel,' he added discreetly, 'I dinna ken your uncle--the responsible
Deacon--save by sight and repute, as ane that disna spend, an' isna
verra sociable; yet he attends the Great Kirk, "comes forrit," does he
not, to the Holy Table?' I nodded assent.
'Is as reputable a citizen as any that treads on the High Street, and
yet for a' that he may hae a canker o' the soul. Aiblins Davie Hume has
sappit his belief, and the muckle Deil, kennin' that, is thrawin' a flee
ower him as for a saumon the noo.'
As I sat there shivering all down my spine, my companion looked upon me
very kindly from his thoughtful, gentle eyes of blue that faded to grey
at the marge, and said, 'Stop up your ears, laddie, like the adder, to
any temptin' o' your uncle. Keep watch and ward, and, if need arise, run
'_'Twill be a black day for auld Scotland when she ceases to believe in
the muckle Deil_,' commented 'the Meenister' of the Tron Kirk, when I
had explained to him my troubles and sought his 'ghostly counsel and
advice,' as the English service has it, 'to the quieting of my
conscience, and avoiding of all scruple and doubtfulness.' My father had
been English, but my mother was Scotch, and she had sent me to my uncle,
Deacon Abercrombie, to be entered as apprentice to his craft of the
goldsmiths. He was a widower, lived alone, and was reputed to be
eccentric, but as far as worldly gear was concerned the Deacon was a
highly responsible citizen; as burgess, guild brother, and deacon of his
craft he could hold his head as high on the causeway as any other, be he
who he might, in the city.
Not even the 'stairhead critics,' who, as Auld Reekie's poet writes,
'_wi' glowering eye
Their neighbours' sma'est faults descry_,'
could point at any speck in his general repute.
The Reverend Andrew Geddes was somewhat stricken in years; his beard was
white as snow, his thrapple loose below his chin, and the flesh had
ebbed from his bones, but his mind was as alert as ever, and his
goodness stood manifest in his face.
We were sitting in his lodging, situate in a high 'timberland' in the
Canongate, just without the Nether Bow, on the same side as the Tron
Kirk, and from his little _tourelle_ we could survey as from an eyrie
the coming and going of the citizens upon the street.
'Ay,' said he again, 'it will be a gey evil day for Scotland when she
ceases to believe i' the muckle black Deil. Whatten temptations he can
offer is oft forgot. Ye'll hae heard tell o' Major Weir--the whilom
"Bowhead Saint," as they callit him--ye'll hae heard tell o' him,
laddie? I mind my father talkin' o' his ain greetin' sair for bein' ower
young to gang to his hangin'.'
Had I no? Ay, and of his staff that went before him like a link boy, and
of the coach with six black horses that carried him and his sister
backwards and forwards from hell!
'Eh, laddie, what a sermon I could preach to ye on this tremendous
problem!' he said regretfully, bethinking him of my youthful years.
'Aweel,' he added discreetly, 'I dinna ken your uncle--the responsible
Deacon--save by sight and repute, as ane that disna spend, an' isna
verra sociable; yet he attends the Great Kirk, "comes forrit," does he
not, to the Holy Table?' I nodded assent.
'Is as reputable a citizen as any that treads on the High Street, and
yet for a' that he may hae a canker o' the soul. Aiblins Davie Hume has
sappit his belief, and the muckle Deil, kennin' that, is thrawin' a flee
ower him as for a saumon the noo.'
As I sat there shivering all down my spine, my companion looked upon me
very kindly from his thoughtful, gentle eyes of blue that faded to grey
at the marge, and said, 'Stop up your ears, laddie, like the adder, to
any temptin' o' your uncle. Keep watch and ward, and, if need arise, run
- GenresHorror
320 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1919
23 people are currently reading
39 people want to read
About the author
Howard Pease
17 books8 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.
Howard Pease (1863-1928) was a British writer and editor.
His family had interests in the railway business, and he was a landowner and magistrate in Northumberland and a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries. In 1900-1901 he was the editor of the Northern Counties Magazine, Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
Howard Pease (1863-1928) was a British writer and editor.
His family had interests in the railway business, and he was a landowner and magistrate in Northumberland and a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries. In 1900-1901 he was the editor of the Northern Counties Magazine, Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
September 5, 2011
The book shows it's age. It was a very difficult read with overly complicated language and often written to reflect the Scottish dialect of those telling the story. It made sure any fun to the stories was destroyed in the method of telling.
January 15, 2011
A mostly unsatisfying collection of ghost stories in which ghosts do not feature. Good thing this was free.
August 1, 2012
Anecdotal stories told in the dialect of the Scottish border. Seem to be meant as true incidents not fiction and therefore not scary or even particularly interesting.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews