The Muckle Cauldron

Is it a tale of witches you're speering after now? Ach, awa wi you, you've had all my tales. Well, mebbee not all. You've heard about the brounies and the bogles, and you know well enow to poke a hole in your eggshells so as the witches canna use them to sink ships. And about elf-shot cattle that sicken and dinnae thrive when a witch puts a spell on them. But I've ane tale left that you've no heard. Pull up that wee stool then and mind you dinnae stop peelin those tatties.  When I wis a wee lassie, I was aye slipping off to do ma ain thing, or threepin at the auld folks to tell me a story - aye, jist like you now, altho I flatter mesel that I'm no as auld as they yins.

But this time I'd been caught and told to clear out the auld threshing barn. It was a richt stoorie place - fu o spiders. So I wisnae best pleased and I didnae tak ower much time wi my task. I carried out all the sticks and stalkies to the midden at the back o the yaird, and swept a bit stoor an oose oer the threshold. This still left a wheen o trashtrie frae the hoose at the far end, and I amused mesel by luikin through it. Maist o it was trashed - a luggie that had tint it's chain, a yoke wi a muckle crack in it, twa bits o a bowl I mind my sister brak on the hearth. But there was ane thing that caught my een - a muckle great cauldron, fat and blackened wi fire. It had unco marks around the rim, and seemed to grow in size before ma verra een. All o a sudden the air aroun me grew derksome an I shivered in the cauld. I ran oot the barn screaming o bogles and lang leggity beasties.

They gathered roun and speired at me what the matter was but not ane o them ever minded seeing the cauldron afore. All but the auldest auld yin who nodded and minded a story she'd heard as a wee lassie, jist like I was. A loon wha minded the plough was makin his way hame frae the smiddy, an the road took him along towards the auld Kirk o Alloway. It was an eerie place then as it is now, wi hoolets an siclike craturs, an weel-kent as a place o ferlies an unco doings. The nicht was mirk, the rain was plashing and spattering doon, an the wind squalling amang the trees. As he drew close to the Kirk he noted a bricht glow glimmerin roun the auld stanes. His thochts turned to witches, and the verra Deil himsel, wha was said tae sit in state in the ruins.

Noo there are twa thochts as to why he did what he did next. Ane says that the Almichty above gave him courage; anither has it that he'd got unco fou at the Smiddy. For whatsoever reason, he took ae step towards the Kirk, an anither, an reached the windae afore he knew what his ain feet were daein. An eerie glow cam frae a fire made up in the middle o the ruins. The place was empty. He heard a soughing noise frae ahint him, and turned tae see derk shapes o men, and wimmin, in the field by the Kirk. Ane by ane, they each pullit up a stalk o the ragwort and cried out some word or words that he didnae catch. An ane by ane each rose into the sky wi shouts and skirls. The ploughboy was left alane. 

The flames frae the fire still danced though, sae he loupit up through the windae an drapt doon intae the empty Kirk. Atop the fire he saw a muckle cauldron, black as pitch. The contents seethed and jouked - heids o bairns no yet blessed by a meenister, lang banes o those hangit on a gibbet, an ither foulsome things. He seized the side of the cauldron an rocked it back an forth on its chain, makin the foul liquid spill oer the lip. He poured oot the contents onto the hearth an unhooked the jinkin chain. Empty noo, the cauldron didnae seem sae heavy, sae he raised it oer his head and tuik it hame, where it stayed in his faimly doon through the years tae this day.

The ithers aw laughed an clappit the grandame for the tale, an slipped back awa tae field and fireside. My fright almaist forgotten in the sun, I spiered at grannie to go wi me tae the barn, an see the muckle cauldron for herself. She hirpled oer the yaird an in at the barn. The corner was still derk an fu o shadows. A wee mousie rin oot oer the stanes but she paid it no mind. The cauldron sat there, lowring at us. 

"Thon's but a gey guid parritch kettle," grannie said, an seized it by the handle to swing in the crook of her arm. She scoured it and rinsed it, and set it on the hearth and cooked her sowans in it on the morn. An afore ye ask, she didna dee til some years after that, an ne'er took ill afore her last. Sae mayhap it was but a tale. An what happened tae the cauldron ye ask? Whit did ye think ye were peeling tatties intae?

Glossary

speering (asking)

elf-shot (flint arrowhead thought to be made by fairies)

threepin  (insisting or persisting)

stoorie (dusty)

midden (rubbish pit)

oose (fluff)

wheen (indefinite quantity)

trashtrie (worthless rubbish)

luggie (bucket/pail with 'lugs' or ears rising up from the staves)

tint (lost)

muckle (big)

unco (strange)

loon (rascal)

hoolets (owls)

ferlies (unusual sight)

mirk (dark, gloomy)

fou (drunk)

soughing (noise as of wind through trees)

skirl (shrill, piercing sound, shriek)

loupit (hopped)

jouked (bobbed)

jinkin (making a chinking noise)

clappit (pat affectionly)

grandame (grandmother or great grandmother)

hirple (to walk slowly, to hobble)

lowring (scowling)

parritch (porridge)

sowans (a dish made by soaking oats in water) 

Character interviews! With Weasley_Detectives!

OK so it's interview time again! This time round I'm doing a question swap with Weasley_Detectives at Weasley_Detectives - so head on over there to read her amazing Tintin fanfic, 'Tintin and the Seal of Cagliostro': A spate of mysterious high profile robberies by the gentleman thief "Kaitou Red" have captured the public's imagination. Tintin is hot on his trail, but when jewel of the opera, Mademoiselle Castafiore, is kidnapped, the infamous reporter fears he has stumbled upon a far deadlier plot. 

She also has a Tumblr account for the story: https://kaitou-red.tumblr.com (yes, that cover artwork is hers; she's ALSO an awesome artist.) 

Weasley_Detectives has chosen to interview Bee, so without more ado, let's get on with the questions. I've chosen to interview her OC Gideon Stark, and my questions and her answers will appear after Bee.

BEE from Brats

What is your earliest memory?

I don't know how old I am in the memory, but I was still small and weak. I remember hearing the babies crying, and wishing they would stop because I wanted to sleep. So I got out of my bed and went towards the noise, but before I could get there one of the older children tripped me up and pulled my hair. The others joined in, kicking at me on the floor and I could only curl up and wait for them to stop. Eventually one of the wardens came in and pulled them off me. We all got punished though. I can remember thinking it wasn't fair, but then life isn't fair, is it?

Do you have any pet peeves? 

I don't like when people grab me without warning, or push and pull me around. 

If you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?

I'd like to know what other people are thinking, because then I would know how to react to them and how to manipulate them better. And if you can manipulate people then you can get them to leave you alone.

Which member of the Brats are you closest to and why?

Probably Zed, because I met him first. He's quiet and thoughtful. I like being around him because he treats me like a normal person, and focuses on things that I can do, rather than making me feel different just because I can't see.

Do you consider Sparrow a friend?

I wouldn't say we're friends. I think Sparrow is bossy, thoughtless and naive. She only thinks about what she wants to do. I don't even know at this point if we could ever be friends. I don't like her and I don't think she likes me. Not that I care.

How do you think your friends would describe you?

Prickly. Quiet. Blunt.

If you could change one thing about your personality, what would it be? 

I'd like to be able to trust people more. But I know I can't. People are always selfish in the end.

Do you consider yourself a follower or a leader?

I don't like this question! I guess I'm following Sparrow, because I don't want the responsibility of being a leader. Being a leader means people depend on you, and I don't like depending on others, or having others depend on me. But being a follower is a weak position, and I don't see myself as weak. So I suppose if  Sparrow wasn't here I'd be a leader, since no one else could be.

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you go and who would you take with you?

I'd go somewhere sunny and dry, because I like feeling the sun on my skin, and I've had enough of being soaked through by the rain. I'd have a house all on one level where nothing would ever change position and I'd be able to find my way around without help. Zed could come with me, if he liked, I suppose.

You and Sparrow are stuck on a desert island together. You discover a pack of creatures who appear to treat you as gods. Do you and Sparrow share power, or do you divide the island into two warring nations?

Stuck with Sparrow?! I might start off by sharing power because I couldn't care less what other people do, as long as they leave me alone, but eventually I'd get so annoyed by her that I'd run off to be on my own, followed by like-minded individuals who'd worship me from a respectful distance. And we'd probably end up fighting over something stupid.

GIDEON STARK from The Seal of Cagliostro

What was your childhood nickname?

I don't believe I could repeat any of them in polite company. In any case, they were less nicknames, more threats of violence from an angry mob.

What would be your food heaven and food hell?

Caviar and cigarettes! As for food hell... Fish head stew. Don't ask.

You're a stylish chap - who are your style icons and why?

Josephine Baker. She's simply marvellous. Do you think I could pull off a leopard?

What makes you get up in the morning?

The call of sowing seeds of chaos wherever I may roam.

We know you're a bit of a gambler, but do you always win? Tell us about a time that you lost a gamble.

Well there was that time in Izmir with Archie, a fine vintage Château Lafite Rothschild, and that damned Sicilian. Oh, and the Goat. *sighs* We.. We don't talk about Izmir.

We all have something we hold dear - what would you consider your most treasured possession?

Tintin. *dreamy sigh* He's such a delightfully trusting plaything...

It's fair to say that you're a hit with the ladies - what do you look for in a woman?

Strawberry blonde hair. Freckles. Honest blue eyes. A sense of adventure. Charming recklessness. A world famous reporter and staunch activist for the common good... *dreamy sigh*

Do you have any bad habits? (Apart from gambling and womanising, we know about those.)

Only espionage, treachery and the intricately detailed planning and execution of 101 notoriously high profile thefts. Ha! I jest, of course. I suppose telling bad jokes would be one of my many bad habits.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I've always rather fancied donning one of those old German handlebar moustache-beard affairs. Oh you mean about my personality? I suppose I can be a tad too self involved...

What would you consider the lowest depths of misery?

Oh, jolly good question. But what to pick? A comfortable marriage of convenience? Becoming an upstanding member of society? Sobriety? Good god, so many to choose from.

First Mudlark of 2021

 Last week I went out mudlarking for the first time in ages. I have one spot that I go to, near me, that is at the mouth of a river where it meets the sea, and then spots along the beach that I know I regularly find stuff at. Mudlarking, if you don't know what it is, is an obscure sort of hobby where people look for things in mud, or in my case, sand. I think of the things I find as little historical treasures, but I suppose they are essentially the rubbish of history. In some cases, literally, as often collected rubbish was dumped on beaches to be taken away by the sea.

I find old pieces of pottery and china, sea glass, bits of old broken bottles, bottle stoppers (glass and vulcanite) and plastic figurines. I've even found what could possibly be a small stone cannonball, but that's a story for another blogpost.

On this mudlark I found 19 pieces of blue and white pottery, 3 pieces of pink transfer ware, one piece with tiny hand-painted gilt detail, one piece of black transfer ware, one piece of a Staffordshire slipware mixing or kitchen bowl, the handle of a brown teapot, a highly detailed piece of brown pottery that probably came from a teapot, two necks of old bottles with corks still in, the top of a clay ink bottle, a glass bottle fragment with embossing on it, two vulcanite bottle stoppers and one glass bottle stopper.

The slipware fragment is terracotta with a mustard yellow glaze with brown decoration in an elongated wave pattern. I'm very excited by this piece as it's only the second piece of Staffordshire slipware I've found, and is probably mid nineteenth century. 

The vulcanite bottle stoppers are mid twentieth century, and can be dated fairly accurately to that as one is 'war grade' style, with the middle hollowed out to save on rubber, and the other has text on it that allows me to research further. 'Vulcanisation' was a process that hardened the rubber to make it stronger.  These stoppers can often be found with a softer red rubber seal still around them that made the bottle stopper airtight. The second vulcanite stopper I found was marked with 'Wm. Murray & Co. Ltd/Craigmillar/Edinburgh'. A quick internet search later and I discover that William Murray & Co. was a brewing company founded in 1880 and closed in 1963. So my little bottle stopper is nearly 60 years old. My glass bottle stopper will be even older, and would have had a cork seal around the glass.

The glass bottle fragment has '...AYLOR/...ERBALIST/...REET/...K' embossed on the side, which probably was a Herbalist, called Taylor, who worked out of an unknown street, and then the town, which would end in K (either Kilmarnock or Greenock?) but I've been unable to find out anything more.