Adeline Smith Reid MBE was brought up in the fishing village of Portessie. She sent YL a Doric letter with memories from the 1940s and 50s…
The hinmaist eyne o the Sloch afore Strathlene, an pairtet fay the rest o the toon bi the toll road. A haimly, coothie, neuk faar abudy kent abudy an doors wir nivver locket. The kettlies aye on the byle, for the masken o’ a welcome cuppie an a fine piece, fin a budy drappet tee bye.
Auchteen fisher hoosies in Craigenroan place wi thir gayle eynes lookin oot tay the sea, ah bonny paintet an kept lik a palace. Ra’ad up at the back wi thir gairdens hyne up tay the face o the brae is the six hooses o Chapel Street. The laan mark in the village is the aul biggin caad the Store, aince a Methody Chapel, used for storen fishen gear. En atween the twa is the road gaan doon bye, heidin oot at the hinner eyn, past the stayshen steppies an daunneren eesht past the sammen bothy.
My myne harkens back tay childhood days, thochts fludden wi happy memries. Takken an insicht entay a worl that fowkies nooadays wid hay nay idea aboot. Village life o speerited an close knit fishen community, a graan foon-dayshen on the early path o’ life. The haime tongue wirdies, upmaist in oor mynes an spoken in the naitrul tongue o’ the Doric, oor ain culcher. Skweel wiz a different Maggie Rennie, it wiz English or the strap. We seen learnt!
We wintet for nithin, as they wid say noo adays – self sufficient. The weekly eerins or rashens bocht at the co-opie at number twa, far the kinabbrie o’ stalwerts wir ivver cocket exchanging the aul farrent claik, a lach, pitten wrangs tay recht, times stracht tay the pynt. Smacherie fur us bairns, the gaalshuchs lynt up lik sodgers in jarries, sookie boolies, coo candy, black an fyte strippet baas, penny chews, joo jobs, panjotries, pandrops for Sunday, butter baas, conversayshins an chaa chouws. Frys cream chocklet, a baabees wirth o likerus for wir sugar watter, made up in a bottle shakkent an the froth sookit up. We thocht we wir Airchie.
Heich up the heid o the brae steed Bill the butcher’s shoppie the fyte, timmer, biggin wi its saa dust fleers, muckle bress wechts, mealie an black puddens hingin fay hooks. An cocket for ah tay see wiz a kintrapshin thit shot oot sassiges fay a choob. Knots o beef stappit in the middle hollie cam oot as mince. The sicht fairly shook wir intimmers ye nivver saa the lik. On wir lynie wid be, a bittie tay byle an a bane fur soup.
Up abeen the counter wiz jars wi gaulshucks hyne up on a shelf, an lang fyte Cannels, tippence each, a favourite eerin wi the aul fowk shid the lechts gaan oot.
Alfred’s drapers shoppie wiz doonmist on the brae an selt the fashens, lisle stokkens, ah kyne o’peenies, cocksiedoodles. Flim flummeries an floorishens for wedden presents and the daily papers. Papers wir drappet aff the Aiberdeen trainee ivvery mornen, a curn oz caad tee an helpet at week eynes wi extra deliveries, hurlen aboot in hiz clootie hoodet sports carrie, the heicht o importence.
District Nurse Flo, a legend, bade wi her aul mither in Craigenroan place, thir wiz nithin she didna ken an wiz aye at the ring o the bonnet for medical advice. First an foremist she wiz there an keepit us recht in her ain carein wye.
A walkie ower tay the Post Office waast the toon for the penshins an letter posten, takken en a claik wi faa ivver ye fell in touw wi. Eddie Mac up the brae, charged the aul farrant wireless batteries. Ain o mi jobbies, for an aul neeper I wiz weel warrent aforehaan “nay tay shakk the battery on yer wye hame or ye micht mix up mi stayshens”.
We didna ken oni better an hid a steff airm cairying the battery hame tay its richtful place. In the simmer nechts weemin wid sit ootside warpen ganzies, wiskers roon thir middle tay anchor the needles, the wires nay taken time, clikken an knyppen, makken bonny pattrins an newsin at the same time.
The bluebird service bussie, hurlt by ivvery ooer, an stoppet at Craigenroan place. It wiz the highlecht o wir days, sleepless nichts if a trippie oot tay Elgin wiz plannt, only a day an a denner awa we wir up tay high doh days aforehaan.
Anent the store, on the brae wiz the stroop wallie, spyooin oot crystal clear icy caul watter. The cementet troch an sire roon aboot, kept spotless clean. Wifies wid dee thir boats orra washen in muckle widden tubs up tay thir elbicks in watter. The sayen wiz a moofay o stroop waal watter fin a budy wiz ailin or pyouwin awa geed them a fylie langer fin aboot tay meet thir Mayker in the neesht worl.
Tee by, the heich store paillens draypit ower wi the fresh barket nets hingin oot tay dry, the fisher men, taraneesin us bairns an telling weel embellisht stories we were easily kittilt up and the reeshly pyokie wi the gaalshuchs wiz aye at haan tay kweel us doon .
Aul fowk wir weel lookit aifter, messages an eerans atteynet tay, we were daurt tay tak a penny for reward. Windies were skytet, washed, an polisht, moss atween the cassie stanes picket. Pavements scrubbit wi bleach ivvery Friday. We ah hid a great pride in wir git-eyne, athin wiz spotless clean for the weekeyne. Sunday was special we wore wir Sunday duds, then awa ower tay the Gospel Hallie for the Sunday Skweel.
Scriptures drummed entays the Sankey an Redemption hymns learnt wird perfect, a soiree lookit forret tay aince the eer, dres’t in wir finery an stannen up in front o freens an faimly an singin lik lenties ah athoot myoosic. We were well deen tay, at the eyne o the nicht, abudy got a cuppie tay or a drink o’ fresh milk, a baggie wi a cream cookie an aipple an a galshuch in a reeshly paper, we were affa prood.
Sunday School’s picnic ootin in the summer tay Cullen Hoose, dresst in wir Sunday best, takken awa in the bussies, waggin flaggies, an singing, a great day oot for us ah an weel lookit forret tay. Rinnen races, queuing up for a shottie on the swings takkens hyne up in the trees, intay the sky, tay anither worl.
Monday was aye washen day, deen wi military precision. The washoose corner byler lechtet afore sevvin an the fytes hottren in the soapy watter afore we left for the skweel, like the driven snaa they wappet in the breeze hysert up on the touws, a bonny secht. Peety pye the new wife faas mishwashen hippens or washen wiz the wrang culler. Peer quine wid be miss caad an tain throuw the mill. Hame fay the skweel, wash day denner o halesum mait, wiz yarvall broth. Stovies or fitivver wiz left ower fay Sunday the plates wir scrappet an teemt.
Spring cleanen wiz anither story, the hale hoose wiz tirrt, strippet an cleant inside an oot, paintet an papered, blankets an heavy curtains washt an streekit ower the bonny yalla funns on the brae, tay dry in the sunshine. Basses shukken till the fibres wir fleggit. The crap o the waa in the attic fytent wi snowcem till ivvery gneck wiz attakket. Ye nivver saa the like ivvery hoosehold wiz the same.
Cooriet intay the brae at the fet o’ Chapel Street the railway steppies, the brae leadin up tay the stayshen, oor favourite play placie fin it wiz ower caul for the beach. A hale Jing bang oz made oor ain fun, an the days wir nivver ower lang. Skippen wi aul deen ropes fay the nets, thick an strong singing verses an skippen in time tay made up choonies. Ill trikket loons wid caa the ropes furlen them ower an gaarren the stew an stanes skyte aff the road. Heymin Annie if ye missfittet yer tymin an scaddit yer kweets, dodgin the double ropies. We wir nane the waaur an easily pleased.
Tin feet made fay teem traykle tins an twa bits o string, makken on an trotten aboot like horses, we wid race ain anither doon the street till ain wid coup or tummle on the road. Saaft sponge baas wi a string though the middle, made wir stottie baas, we stottet for oor’s on the gayle eyne o’ the hoose, dubble an treble stotts each trying tay oot dee the ither tay see fay wiz cliverist. Hiplicks wi a lamie aff the beach, polisht tay makk it skyte. Hoosies an shoppies doon the beach, we kent ivvery hydie holie, houwkin cleeks, raken fur labsters or partens, temmets wi a bent preen fishen aff the bothy pier for poddlies, scoorin for wylks fin the visiters cam up fay London.
Dookin at the first sannies, a curn aul corks tied the gather wi a touw anaith wir oxters geed us support till we maistert the sweemin. A hurl if we were lucky in the bothy cobble hyne oot tay thir nets, dookers wir nivver aff, the simmer months wir het an lastet fur ivver, it was doon the beach ivvery day. Ah the best o pals.
Dressen up an riggit oot for widdens wiz deen oot o the back laftie. The dressen up kist hailt oot an the widen gear sortet oot atweens. We waftet doon the back stair in ah wir finery takken shotties fylies at faa wid be faa, an makken up stories. A bonny fyte rose bush wi sweet smellin flooeries steed anent the stair, for wir floorishens tay makk the day special. Playen for oors fay mornen till nicht the fun wiz eyneless.
On weet days we gaithert in oor wash hoose, wi the muckle stane bilt enn byler in the corner, far we sat an sang tay the wyndie up gramma-phone and His Masters Voice rekkards, takkin turns tay loup doon fay the byler an crank the hannle fin the choonie driftet awa. Fyles wi wid caa the hannle o’ the mangle tay the the myoosic for dancing. Happy days an mony lachs.
Thir wiz the usual roons o vannies an fowkies commen en aboot sellen trokke. The bakers vannie appeart aince a week. The soon o the horn gaart mithers gaither oot, ah primpet up wi thir cross ower peenies, baskets wi a fyte desh towel, tay happ the bread. Lachen an joken wi the baker fah lookit forret tay a claik. The bisket draars o fancies gaart the breth gawaah, thir wiz ah kynes takken yer ee’, sair heidies, prefabbies, german buns, flees cemetaries.
Cullen wifes breeshts, skoskies an baps, meringues an ains wi icin ower the tap wi a cherry stappet in the middle, thingamajigs an hoojakapivs. The list wiz eyneless. A packet o riceies an fardins an oor weekly tret a baggie o Turra Tattie crisps.
The clootie bag hung ower the door knob the nicht afore wytin for the early mornen buttries an safties fay the baker’s loons, the rattlin soon o the milk bottles clinkin on the doorstep, it wiz time tay rise.
A picter o’ a carefree childhood enriched wi winnerfae an happy memries.
Why not share your memories with YL readers? Contact Natasha Mckim by calling 01224 343382, sending her a message at natasha.mckim@ajl.co.uk or writing to: YL magazine, Lang Stracht, Aberdeen, AB15 6DF