Transcribed and researched by Elaine Corbett
This article was discovered in the Ardrossan and Saltcoats Herald of January 1895, and rather than cut it out, here it is in its entirety so that all the people mentioned in it can be linked to their family trees and their farms to the posts in the blog. And click on The Tinker's Wedding song below, you will be humming it all day....It gives us a very real first hand insight into the lives we have been recording here in the blog. Sadly, I think our invitations to the reunion must have been lost in the post....
Ochiltree Schoolfellow's Reunion
This annual re-union was held in the School Room on the evening of Hogmanay. The committee had been most assiduous in the discharge of the duties devolving upon them, and the result was that Monday night's meeting was not only one of the largest but one of the most successful and enjoyable of the kind that has ever taken place. The chair was occupied by Mr M.M Osborne of the Kilmarnock Standard, himself a worthy son of the parish, and he was supported on the platform by the following good and true men: - Mr R. Montgomerie, Lessnessock: Mr R. Wilson, Auchincloich; Mr Jacob Sloan, Clydeneuck; Mr Alex McLennen of Glasgow; and Mr Smith jun. Thirdpart.
The chairman proceeded to give the annual address and in doing so he said:-
Ladies and gentlemen, - In talking over this evening's event with one of yourselves, and enquiring how I ought to shape my speech, he said:"Be sure to butter up the Ochiltree folks, and cut it short, for the bits o' lassocks will be wearying to get their fit shaken." (Laughter.) The girls (God bless them) are most likely feeling like the ancient philosopher who, when asked by a condescending patron "What can I do for you?" replied, with a significant wave of his hand - "Stand out of the way and let the sun shine on me." So, in case I should stand between them and the hour just at hand when they expect to "foot it featly," my remarks, like a cuddy's gallop, will be short and sweet - something like the candy Billy Nicol used to give us in lieu of rags, and which he kept in a mysterious box in a cunning corner of his cart. (Laughter and Applause.)
cuddy - horse
I notice that this is the thirty-third anniversary meeting or re-union of the natives of this parish, so that the custom of holding annual intercourse, which though brief, serves to gladden friendly faces "as iron sharpeth iron," has survived a whole generation. This is a fact which emphasises the lasting nature of the impressions received in and around our native place, and the fondness with which we return from time to time to revive once more those cherished scenes and memories regarding which we may localise the poet's quotation and ask:.
"Breathes there a man with soul so dead ,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native vale?"
Sir Walter Scott
In enlarging on the associations which cluster round Ochiltree as I have known it, I do not intend to place before you those notabilities who have gone out from among you, and who, by their native ability and perseverance, have reflected lustre upon their home and their upbringing there on "oatmeal and the shorter catechism." (Applause)
While far from undervaluing professors, authors, doctors, lawyers, ministers, and school inspectors whom you can claim as belonging to you by birth and early education, I give special honour to the man who, clinging to his native soil, makes two blades of grass grow where only one grew before - who by his industry and patience makes the wilderness and the solitary place to bloom and blossom as the rose. In that respect I am like the native who was asked by a hero-worshipper at Ecclefechan, "Is this where the great Thomas Carlyle was born?" In reply, he said - Tam Carlyle was a haverin' thrawn body that wrote books. Weel, I dinna ken muckle about him, but Jamie, Jamie Carlyle - he was a man. He bred the best pigs that gaed into the Dumfries market."
I may claim to be an Ochiltree man out-and out since both my grandfathers and my father were farmers in the parish now extended. One of the former who struggled in the cultivation of the somewhat sterile acres of Killochside succeeded in leaving a very handsome legacy to his country. This was not of the kind announced in mission records as devoted to provide aprons for the heathen, but a legacy of a different stamp dictated by the charity which begins at home - a stalwart family of twenty sons and daughters. Such an achievement by my ancestor makes me feel that to have been born and brought up in the parish is a privilege of which any man might well be proud, and the consciousness of which affords a perpetual inspiration. When out in the world and beset with cares and troubles, one reverts with instinctive alacrity to the babbling burnie, the green meadow, and the heathery knowe where our seniors have fought the battle of life, and mayhap to the secluded kirkyaird "where the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." In conjuring up reminiscences of the district, I have been struck with the recollection of the freedom and abandon of social life that characterised its douce inhabitants, who, while they were soberly alive to the sterner duties of life, did not shrink from going in for its acknowledged pleasures, keenly enjoying a bit dram and a smoke, and the hilarities of the kirn and the friendly gathering. Indeed, they were of the sort who walked by the old admonition which says - "Speak when ye're spoken tae' drink when ye're drunken tae, and when the bell rings gang tae the kirk."
The trait of neighbourliness was specially prominent. I can easily recall the long winter forenights when we used to sit in a big cheery kitchen with a blazing fire, at the back of which a huge log of wood was placed to throw out the heat. While we were enjoying the grateful warmth, the door sneck would click and a neighbour step in and be welcomed. This process would be repeated till quite a circle was formed around the blazing ingle, and then, belyve, song and story would commence. About a quarter of a century ago the presiding hero was Bob Hillhouse, better known as "young Shaw." I have never heard a singer who could give a breezier or more spirited rendering of "The tinker's wedding," or "Nanny that Leeves next door." or throw more pathos into Archie McKay's "Be kind tae auld grannie." (Applause). Such an individuality was of course in great request at all our social parties, although, his language being sometimes too rough and ready - too frequent and too free - his invitation might perhaps be accompanied by a needful injunction to mind his P's and Q's. Conspicuous too, in those days for her frolicsome temper was Teenie Murray whose constant good nature and merry laugh were in every innocent ploy and joke of all the neighbourhood. She now brightens and adorns the home of a respected Ochiltree man resident in Dumfriesshire, and I am glad to say is still the same merry Teenie as of yore. (Appl.)
Teenie (Christina) was the daughter of a carter from Whitehill, Ochiltree, so would be well known in the village. She married the boy next door, Thomas Smith and they went to farm at Glenesslin, Dunscore.
Let me recall one of our most cherished native institutions - A "Blackman Spree."
At the time of which I speak, "putting the stane" was a great pastime in the country and occupied many hours of the merry youths. One night a challenge was taken up between Bob Hillhouse and Tom Lindsay, the vanquished to stand half a dozen pounds of treacle to be made into "blackman." Quite a large number foregathered to witness the contest, which was conducted with much determination by both candidates. Bob lost. Messengers were despatched to Geordie Hillhouse's for the treacle, and the fun and frolic which followed, occasioned by the making and eating of the "blackman," I must leave to your own memory and imagination, for many of you have seen the like.
Blackman - A sticky treacle toffee
Hillhouse family of Schaw
Lindsay family of Reidston
Born on the very fringe of the parish and too far away to go to Ochiltree School, my knowledge of the village of Ochiltree which we regarded in those days as the enlightened centre of all civilisation, was necessarily very limited. We heard reports about it, its streets, its gas, etc. wonders which we often longed to see for ourselves in person. The first time this youthful ambition was gratified was when in company with a brother, I was despatched on an errand to a relative there. The friend to whom we were sent was known to us only as "Aunty Bell" - so with unsophisticated simplicity we knocked on the first door that came handy, and our summons was answered by a good wife of the place. At our inquiry for "Aunty Bell" she simply roared with laughter and held up her hands. When her merriment became subdued, she recovered her breath and said, "Ye'll be twa wee Osbornes frae the Shield na?"
As we readily admitted the soft impeachment, we were at once directed to Mrs Boyd's as the goal of our quest. Arrived there our introduction to the sciences was effected when the gas was burned for our special enlightenment, although how it could be put out without blowing by simply turning a screw long remained a great mystery to us. But in our childhood we chiefly received our impressions of Ochiltree people as they passed our road end, the kitchen window in the Shield being, in this respect, a sort of "Window in Thrums," from which much might be observed.
By far the most important figure in our eyes was the Venerable Doctor Morrison. And here let me say how much Ochiltree was blessed by such a medical practitioner. At all times, and in all weathers, he was to be seen driving to those places where the black cloud of trouble hovered. The doctor's pony had always the same canny leisurely trot. When it lifted a foot it seemed to put off as much time as possible before putting it down again. (Laughter). I can see the quadruped yet and its picturesque master with his full rubicund face as he sits in the corner of his gig with a huge knitted comforter round his neck. He was no believer in new-fangled nostrums, his prescriptions being chiefly limited to a good rousing dose of senna for us youngsters who had "filed our stomachs" with green grozets or other indigestibles, or a dozen big "poothers" for the complaints of our "potent, grave, and reverend seignors." The good doctor made it a matter of conscience never to recommend any physic without first testing its potency by experimenting on himself - a practice which, if universally followed by the faculty, might tend to diminish the woes of much-medicated human nature.
Green grozets - green gooseberries
Poothers - Powders
The next most prominent personage in our eyes was the parish minister, a man too, of wonderful charm and variety. He has been described by Dr Boyd of St Andrews, the accomplished essayist, and himself the son of a neighbouring manse, as being a man of extraordinary talents. I did not sit under Mr Walker regularly, but I had frequent opportunities of hearing him, and, although like the darkie, there's nothing I can disremember better than a sermon. I can vividly recall some of his discourses yet. He was evidently a great admirer of Burns, and frequently in the pulpit quoted from the poems of the Ayrshire bard. I can well recollect a splendid homily of his on Charity, in which he with much effect, quoted the lines :-
"Then gently scan yer brither man,
Still gentler sister woman,
Though they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside is human."
Robert Burns
A hero, but one whose sanguinary exploits received a more awesome kind of homage from us, was the village butcher, Hector Murdoch, who did all the killing about our place. Peter Ballantyne, of Killochside, was also ranked by us a a great man, because of his power over the brute creation. He was often in the fields training his hawks and dogs, and positively I never heard a man with such a powerful pair of lungs, for his cry could be heard miles away.
The dogs were greyhounds. In 1871 Peter Ballantine junior was also a gamekeeper at Killochside so this may refer to father or son.
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| Peter Ballantyne |
Our place had also numerous visits from John Aird in the course of his peregrinations through the parishes of Ochiltree and Coylton, and when in the former his chief howf was Willie McIntyre's at the Moat Toll. The chairman here recalled several occasions in which John had played a prominent part, and a recital of which revealed the well-known characteristics of this worthy. By his drolleries and his oddities poor John did much to sweeten and enliven the circle in which he moved. After life's fitful fever he now sleeps well in a neighbouring churchyard. May the turf lie lightly on his innocent bosom!
William McIntyre was a joiner and cartwright by profession
But I must regretfully leave these old friends and come back to the General Characteristics of Ochiltree People.
Their leading virtue, I should say, is enthusiasm, and to this trait I believe they owe much of their success in life. For instance, the Smiths of Whitehill have earned and almost world-wide reputation as cheesemakers; and nobody could make a better plough, or put on exactly the correct amount of "cut" and "feather" than John Strawhorn. Then, for touching up a Spanish cock's lugs, Willie McIntyre had no superior, and I believe practically retired from the showing because he could not find a foeman worthy of his steel. Then in the ancient craft of ploughing, the sons of Ochiltree have a splendid record. I am sorry to think the annual ploughing match here has become a thing of the past. Some of those before me must have seen "Chipperleggan" at a match, and I am sure they will admit that, besides being himself "a firm houder, " that as a "hander" he had few superiors.
John Strawhorn - or Strathern, blacksmith of East Tarbeg
Chipperleggan - The Bowman family
I now come to the showing and breeding of Ayrshire cattle, for in this department I hold the sons of Ochiltree have won for themselves a most enviable fame. No other parish in Scotland has turned out the same number of prize-winning animals within the last twenty years, and indeed the Ochiltree strains of cattle are blended with all the leading herds of the country. Here it may be said that in and around the show ring an Ochiltree man is seen at his best. When I first commenced to attend shows, the approved way of leading the animals was this:- The pilot might sometimes be seen, like Tam o'Shanter glowrin roon wi' prudent care to see that his charge was not showing the rump "a kennan cauld," "Owre large abin the ears," or ewe necked. But now see the artful or artistic way the animal is manipulated. One hand is placed on each side of the head, and the pilot walks backward, after the manner of a Salvation Army captain. It is astonishing how much skin or chowks can be concealed beneath a rope, if deftly placed, the superfluous cuticle being plastered on the cheek by a turn of the wrist.In imagination let us stand round the ring at Ayr or Kilmarnock. In a big class of bull stirks the weeding process has been going on until only the select are left. Amongst those competing for the blue ribbon we find as pilots such able generals as Adam Montgomerie, Lessnessock: Willie Lees; Jamie Wallace, Piperhill; Bob Lindsay, Reidston; Jamie Mackie, Drongan Mains; Johnnie Mair, Hanniestone; and Pate Wardrop, Garlaff. Faces are set, and every nerve is strained in suspense. It would almost seem as if the leaders were about to take their respective charges along a tight rope. At last judgement is given, and then the crowd gathers round the first prize one, it for the nonce being transformed into as great a hero as a Waterloo veteran. Congratulations flow in on the happy owner. One says - "Ye have won in a canter," while another knowing one ventures the sage remark that "Queedie" and John Murray (who have been officiating) are fell judges o' a bull stirk. Aye but they ken them. Suddenly the happy possessor of the bull discovers that they must all be dry after so much excitement, and scoops them off in a beeline for the refreshment tent, where it is a case of brandy a' round. The owner of the second prizer thinks he would have won if only the bull had had a better pile o' hair; while that of the third is confident that he has the coming bull, and by another year will knock them all into fits. Further down the stances you find the disappointed and disgusted exhibitor, but of course he is not an Ochiltree man. Oh, no; Failure is not to be found in the Ochiltree vocabulary. We will give his opinion of the judging in his own words:
"It is perfect roguery to think that my bull was never drawn, after a' my washing. And to be beat by a bachle like yon they have placed first. Man the wrang en'o' him is foremost, and his tail is stuck on the en' o' his back like a swallow's nest. Jist luk at my bull - the fine banes and small tail - sure signs of pedigree and pure breeding. His tail is theeked intae his back, then he has fine wide torrs, a back like a table, tapering on tae the shouther like a lance, thick roun' the heart, shouther bleds nicely knit, lang tapering neck finely set on, ebb at the brisket, horns like a deer, fine wide expressive muzzle, a grand open countenance, and an e'e like an aipple." And then he adds with a fine touch of subtle sarcasm,
"But of course, I wisna gaen the judges brandy." (Laughter and applause.)
"But of course, I wisna gaen the judges brandy." (Laughter and applause.)
Burns speaks of "sprachlin' up and dinnerin' wi' a lord;" but I have beaten even Burns, for I have stood before Her Majesty the Queen. Some of the Ochiltree boys were exhibiting at the great Royal show at Windsor, and I was there to give a hand. The prize animals were paraded past the Queen, who was seated on a temporary throne to view them, the leaders getting strict injunctions to gracefully lift their hats as they passed Royalty. A couple of hours waiting, with bands playing and flags flying, did not improve the temper of "Cockabendie", who broke into a sort of war dance right opposite Her Majesty, and instead of the leader lifting his cap in the most approved fashion, as he had been directed, he was hustled past in a most unceremonious manner. The incident was ludicrous in itself, and it was rendered all the more so by a wit who followed shouting over his shoulder to those of us who came behind: "Dae ye see Drummie? You's deevilish guid!" (Laughter) As the contingent defiled in view of the sovereign, I think I heard her remark: "My Ochiltree subjects have, as usual swept the boards. They are a fine body of men. Do you think Lessnessock would accept a baronetcy?" (Applause).
Cockabendie, Ayrshire bull bred by Robert Osborne of Drumjoan ' Drummie'
But whether or not rewarded with royal honours, the sons of Ochiltree have always recognised that there is no royal road to distinction and have been content to win it by the old way of skill and perseverance. Whatever walk they may have adopted, they have brought their native enthusiasm and ambition to bear upon it, with the happiest and most satisfactory results. Certain it is that wherever they may wander they turn wistfully in thoughts to the place of their birth, if possible re-visit its scenes, walk once more its quaint streets, and hail again auld kent faces, seek out its long familiar haunts, and revel in the rural beauties that so fascinated their childhood as to remain an indestructible memory. Perchance they stroll into the ancient kirkyard, and there spend a pensive half-hour of retrospection. But, whether a meeting here with the living or musing yonder beside the dead, an undying regard fills their breasts for the well-remembered spot of the childhood - a regard like that so well expressed by the poet when he exclaimed :-
.....loveliest village of the plain
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting Summer's lingering blooms delayed -
Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please -
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene.
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labour with and age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
Onward he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend:
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Oliver Goldsmith
(Loud Applause)
The musical programme was interesting and varied. Miss Hamilton of Polshill, New Cumnock, and Miss Smith of Cumnock, sang as they always do, chamingly. Bailie Richmond, Cumnock, sang with his usual excellent taste. Mr J Walters Crawford of the Cumnock News told one of his stories, and also played a violin solo, while he, with Mr Ballantine (cello) accompanied Miss Smith in one of her songs. The String Band, under Mr Lyle played a fine selection of Scottish Airs. Mr J. H. Harris was the comic, and the feature of his songs was the perfect way in which Mr Macallister, Glasgow, played all his accompaniments. All the other accompaniments were played by Miss Mary Ballantine in her customary cultured way.
After a few closing remarks from the Chairman, Mr Wilson neatly proposed a vote of thanks to the artistes, Mr McLennan to the committee, Mr Smith to the School Board, and Mr Montgomerie to the Chairman. The dance which followed was a brilliant success, over 160 ladies and gentlemen joyously tripping it to the fine music of Mr Lyle's Band.
the following is the committee for next year:- David Robb, Palmerston, convenor; Adam Montgomerie, Lessnessock, secretary and treasurer; Robert McCosh, village; William Dick, Drumsmudden; Hugh Rorrison, Holehouse; R. Sloan, Pennymore; Robert Wilson, Roadend; Charles Wyllie, village.
A special word is due to Mr Mungo S. Wills of Braehead, for the splendid way in which he discharged his secretarial duties.
