Memories of my life

by Mrs. J. S. O. Allen

One more thing I found, and that was that the people made the linen from the flax that grew on the place. The bed-linen that they had in use for the visitors they said was a hundred years old. I saw some that was newly made. It would be something to remember to sleep between sheets newly made. I ought to explain that these ships I saw came in for the shelter of the hills from the fearful gales. I think now that was the most enjoyable time I ever spent. One way and another I got to see a good deal, and was learning to know that there was both dignity and independence in the labors of a house-servant. The charm is to feel assured that your services are approved. I am quite sure that Mr. Mouncey could get plenty of inspiration for his magazine; he was always taking notes, and was not above calling my attention to things interesting or instructive if I were with them.

Miss Heslip came from near Falkirk, and knew all about Denny. Both she and Miss Mouncey often took me with them. I rejoiced in a scamper, so one morning we took the two children and tracked off to climb a hill called Goat-Fell. We had some lunch with us. Mr. and Mrs. Mouncey had gone somewhere else; at any rate, we began to climb, and kept on climbing and resting for I do not know how long. Well on in the afternoon we had lunch, and started to come down. We did not go to the top. It was awful, perfectly awful to see the sheep browsing about on those hills. They looked like mere specks. My wonder was that they did not roll into the sea, which foamed at the foot in some places. We were to be there from June 1 till the last day in August. The beach was a picture, with the cliffs above and underfoot the Scotch pebbles and shells and the rocks and seaweed. I had only to sit and think.

Many people came to the island on a Saturday afternoon and brought tents with them, and stopped till Monday. The caves were used as well. Some minister would come from the city and preach in the open air. We all went on the hilltop to hear him. It was like a fairyland. From there you could see the Ailsa Crag, which looked as if it were in the clouds. There were no public buildings, no fine arts, and yet few places have so much natural attraction for the holiday season as the Island of Arran.

While bathing I made the acquaintance of a young girl, who, like myself was with some visitors from the city. She could swim and float on the water for ever so far. She told me that her father and brothers were fishermen, and that she had been often away with them for weeks at a time, and they had taught her to swim. I used to watch her in terror when she would go under water and come up in another place. Her name was Annie Smith, and she took me in hand to teach me to swim. I tried to do as she told me, but one morning I went too far. I could not see her, and I felt myself being carried out to sea. I was helpless, and the seawater was in my mouth and ears, and I was trying to catch hold of some seaweed. All at once Annie got sight of me. She gave a scream, and, coming out, pulled me to the shore. I did not know how I got there, but I found myself in bed with all the young people and the master and mistress in my room. I soon got alright, but never again went beyond my depth in the sea. It was a strange feeling, and for days I could hear the roaring of the water. I felt that I should always remember that girl who saved me from drowning. Annie could manage a boat and use the oars. The young ladies often went for a sail and took me with them. They had gentlemen friends, and sometimes we had the Scotch bagpipes on board. I thought what a pity it was that such glorious days should pass so quickly.

Mrs. Pringle, from whom we rented the house, would let me come with her to the dairy, and I helped her sometimes with the churning. The butter was made differently then. She had fowls and plants and a vegetable garden. Everything was speckless and clean. All this gave me an insight into the ways of the world not to be regretted. She had three children, and her husband and her brother, who was an elderly man, worked about the place. They had some hay growing some distance from the house. Mrs. Pringle let the young couple and me go to see the haymaking. We would go off in the cart and come back on top of a load of hay, which was put in the loft for the winter. The fresh sea wind and the smell of the hay were beautiful. How one can enjoy life in the open air! I looked forward to coming again the next year.

It looked such a short distance from where we bathed to cross over to The Holy Isle, which was once the burying-place. The dead were taken there in boats, and there was an old monastery where the monks lived, and where many of them were buried. It was much patronised by visitors. There was but one house there with people living in it, and that was a public-house. All our people with some friends went one afternoon. It was not convenient to take me, although it had been promised that I should go to The Holy Isle before we left.

That memorable summer was nearly ended. Mr. Mouncey had gone to Glasgow. Mrs. Pringle's brother and his nephew got the boat. I made arrangements with Annie Smith to come with me to see the isle. The days were still long, so we got there in time to see the ruins of the abbey, and to try and read the indiscernible names on the tombs. There were no headstones, but all were lying flat, and were covered over with moss. Such were the graves of the monks. We rushed about to see all we could. The moss was more than a finger in length, and there were feathery-like ferns. The higher up the old building the more dainty they appeared. I asked the young man if he thought he could get some for me from the top, for I wanted some pulled up by the root to plant. At some risk he went, and, to my grief, he just pulled the ferns off. I brought different curios to keep in remembrance. We went into the house. I only saw one woman, and she did not look very bright. No wonder, either, surrounded by the sea and its deadliness. Mr. Cook, who was with us, spoke to her in Gaelic, and she brought in some scones and whisky. Neither Annie Smith nor I drank whisky, nor were we asked to, but the scones I shall never forget. They were made of flour, ground from green peas. I tested them, and I asked Mr. Cook afterwards what they were made of. He said they had a field of green peas, which, on being, gathered, they dried and ground after the Bible custom between two stones. They were as green as grass, but not bad to taste.

Mr. Cook was well acquainted with the isle, and he showed all the places of antiquity. The people who lived there had boats, and some more than one, and ran to and fro from Lamlash and Brodic. They made a good living in that way in summertime. We went back to our boat, and the tide had gone and left it high and dry on the side, such a long way from the water. Mr. Cook stood and looked in despair. He forgot that the tide was receding, as we were in such haste to get ashore, and he told us afterwards that he had never been on the isle after dark. The men who lived there had gone either to Brodic or Lamlash. The young man who was with Mr. Cook was named Cooke also. The strength of the four of us could move the boat, but it could not be dragged down the side of the rocks for fear of damage. So three we had to wait till the tide came in. It was moonlight, and the mental visions that passed through my mind are there yet. The people were anxious about us. Mr. Cook had only one eye, and they thought that some mishap had occurred. We got home alright, and I was glad I had seen The Holy Isle.

While it is fresh in my mind, I may add here that many years after I was telling a friend about my trip to The Holy Isle. A friend of hers came in and sat down. She begged me to finish the incident, and I went all through about the ferns, and so on. Someone called to the man that sat by me. I looked to see if he were going. He called out to the questioner that he would not move till I had told my experience of that night on the isle. He then said he was the young man that climbed up the ruins to get me the ferns. His name was Cook, and he was employed in a confectioner's shop in Adelaide. He had a wife and children. I hoped to see him again, but I was away from Adelaide for some time. When I returned I made enquiries, and was told that he bought a place near Blackwood. It was laughable that, not knowing the man, I should be telling a story in which he had a part. If he is alive and sees his name in print I hope he will pardon me.