Le Raté.
When the means of education were not so good or so plentiful in Guernsey as they are in the present day, it was customary, with the better class of farmers, to send their sons to school in England for a year or two, in order that they might acquire, together with a more correct knowledge of the English tongue, such acquaintance with the ways of the world as might fit them to enter upon the active duties of life on their return home. This object, we may suppose, was to a certain extent gained, but, like the monkey who had seen the world, many of these youths returned to their native isle with an inflated idea of their own consequence, and affecting to despise and ignore all that had been familiar to them from their earliest childhood.
It is said of one of these young men, that, after a residence of no long duration in England, he pretended, on his return, to have completely forgotten the names of some of the most common farming implements, and, indeed, to have almost lost the use of his mother tongue. His father was in despair, for it was evident that if the boy could not converse with the labourers, he would be of little or no assistance in directing the farming operations. A lucky accident set the father’s mind at rest on this score. His son, in passing through the farmyard, put his foot on a rake that was lying on the ground, partly hidden by some straw. The handle flew up and hit him a smart blow on the forehead, upon which, forgetting his pretended ignorance, he exclaimed, in good Guernsey-French, “Au Guyablle seit le râté,” (“Devil take the rake.”) His father, who was standing by, congratulated him on the miraculous recovery of his memory, and begged him henceforth not to forget “sen râté.” The proverbial saying “Il n’a pas roublliaï sen râté,” (“He has not forgotten his rake,”) is still applied to a person who remembers what he learned in his youth.[223]
[223] See a story precisely similar in its incidents in that curious collection MacTaggart’s Scottish Gallovidian Encyclopædia, under the word “Claut.” The story must be an ancient one, to be told in places so far apart as Galloway and Guernsey, and speaking totally different languages.
Le Cotillon de Raché Catel.
The evils that may result from being over particular, and the wisdom of letting well alone, are exemplified by the story of Rachel Câtel and her petticoat. This respectable matron or spinster—for tradition gives us no clue to her state in life—was engaged in fashioning a petticoat. She cut it out, and found it somewhat too long. She cut again, and now it was too short. When, therefore, a thing has been spoilt by too much care or meddling, old people will shake their heads and say:—“Ch’est coum le cotillon de Râché Câtel. A’ le copit et il était trop long. A’ le copit derechef, et il était trop court.”
The Cat and the Fox. A Fable.
One day a cat and a fox were travelling together and chatting of one thing and another as they jogged on their way.
At last says the cat to the fox: