Preamble ...
... postamble?

Ah'm shair that a lot o folk oot there wonder whit aw these postins has got tae dae w' onnythin. Mainly, it's cause we aw look fur a quiet spot tae sit awhile. Onnywey, tae keep th purists happy, ah thocht that ah'd hae a wee play w' th language.

So, afore ah start this story, ah jist want tae gie fair credit tae JP, wha wis daft enough tae get involved, an tae 'The Wicked Good Guide to Mainah English'. An tae Mr Somerville, wha taught me th diffrence tween richt an left (unlike Ina!).

As we're aw well aware, there's a proper wey tae yaise a language, an there's th wey that awboddy else does. So when Nettie Simpson's grandochter come ower fae America, an talked th wey they dae across there, things gota wee bit confused fur a while, an things got that mixed up that it was a long time afore th stoor settled in th Innerleven bools club. Even noo, when th long winter's comin in an there's nothin on th telly tae watch, them that was there'll clear their throat fur th new members tae get anither roond in. Then, warmed an wetted, they'll tell th story o Nettie's First. Funeral, that is!

It wis a Thursday, jist efter denner-time, an Big Mary was startin tae get a wee bit anxious. Awboddy that should've been there fur th mornin matches had come, played, won or lost, an naeboddy h'd started a stushie fur onny reason, real or imagined. Wullie, her man, had managed tae get along tae Methil, tae Gordon Allen's, th butchers, fur a steak pie fur th Seturday nicht raffle, withoot getting lost, done oot o change or, even worse, got ane fae th Co-op!

It wis quiet. An Mary wis startin tae fret. They say noo that ye could taste th air like it was sookin a penny, but we aw ken that that's jist bletherin.

An then th taxi turned up, an awboddy kent there wis trouble. Taxis were fur funerals an weddins, an th only likely candidate fur a weddin, Rachel Ross's lassie, Irene, had been safely married off in time tae fit twa weeks in Blackpool afore signin in tae Forth Park Maternity.

So it h'd tae be a funeral (or someboddy w' mair money than sense, or an American, which awboddy kent wis th same thing). As it turned oot, it wis baith.

W' th inbuilt sense o generals an prime ministers, Big Mary moved in tae organise. A twist o th eyebroo summoned her staff. Th Coh-mittee moved as wan tae tak charge. It w'd be done proper.

As th big guns swung roond t'tak aim, th taxi door rattled open an revealed th opposition. Clad in th best o winter wear that L L Bean's emporium c'd provide, armoured in flannel an thermal underwear, was a sicht never seen in local waters. W' hair that wis mair frostbitten than peroxide, an w' a face that never launched a ship, though it probably caused a few sailors tae scuttle wan, come Portland, Maine's answer tae Portland cement. Nettie Simpson's grandochter. Named efter her gran, but never cried Nettie tae her face. Jeanette Day Pendexter.

An on that mouthfae, th Americans fired furst. "Ay-uh!" Straddled by th furst salvo, Big Mary blinked, slowed a couple o knots, and fired back. "Hi-yah, yersel! You're no fae aroond here. No w' that outfit, onnywey. C'n ah dae onnything fur ye?" "Ay-uh say. Hain't this heah yahd the Hinnerleh-ven Buh-hoolin Club?"

Mrs Jeffery lofted a shot across th American's bows. Ayeways keen tae fire a roond, providin someboddy else fired furst. An as long as she wis w' th biggest army. "Izzat a speech impediment ye got there hen? If'n ye talk slower, we'll try tae unnerstaund ye."

Ina Wilson, bein th brains, so tae speak, o th trio, took a wee while longer tae jine in.

"Aye. This is Innerleven Bowlin Club. Are ye lost, hen? An, if ye dae mind me sayin, that taxi driver has ta'en th long wey roond fae whaur ye've come fae. If ah wis you, ah w'dnae be peyin whit he'll be askin!"

Still skitin roond on full rudder, an w' her instincts on full steam, Big Mary wis seein a situation that cawed fur caution! She c'd hardly mak oot a word this woman oot th taxi wis sayin, so she chainged her course in a blink, an sent Ina in tae make th next exchange o shot. A guid general kens when tae send in someboddy else tae tak th shellfire, an concentrate on th graund strategy. It's whit leaders dae!

Ina wis crafty, an she h'd depths o knowledge that naeboddy had ever plumbed. (No willin'ly onnywey!). She'd even ta'en twa years o Latin at th skale. Thocht that if'n she became a chemist, it w'd save on prescription chairges. She c'd see whaur this could be tae her advantage, an onnywey, when it biles doon tae it, there wisnae a lot o diffrence tween languages. (An if there wis, she c'd jist mak it up, an Big Mary w'dnae ken.)

"Mebbe, if'n ye tell us yer name, that'd be a start. O.K.?" "Jeezum Crow! Cain't any of you people speak English. This heah gal is called Pendexter. Jean Day Pendexter!"

Big Mary an Mrs Jeffrey wis strugglin tae foll' th conversation, an so, started wan o their ane.

"Pendexter? Whit's a Pendexter?" sayed Mrs Jeffrey. "Ah dae ken. Hey Ina! Whit's a Pendexter?"

Ina wis tryin hard tae spit oot th gritty bits, an mak somethin o th conversation. So she snapped back at Big Mary. "It's a left-haunded ballpoint pen! Noo let me get on w' this …"

Ayewis quick tae spot somethin tae mump aboot wis Mrs Jeffrey. "Left-haunded ball point. If mah mum h'd been able tae afford wan o them, I'd've passed mah qually, an went tae th high skale. Cah write left-haundit w' th richt-haundit pens that skale gi'en oot!"

"So yer name's Jean, an y're lookin fur th Boolin Club." Sayed Ina. "Were ye lookin tae set up a match?"

Jean looked at Ina w' that face that says 'Can do a bit o business'. W' a bit sideweys at Mary an Mrs Jeffrey, reckonin "That theah payuh oh hoes could no way 'get heah from heah, no mind from theah'. Well, ayuh cain't says as I'm lookin fuh a match. But, I guess prob'ley, I am lookin foh this heah buhoolin club".

Ina circled roond th taxi fur a minute. Ayewis a guid tactic while thinkin. "You chairgin fur this?" "Aye" sayed th driver. "Mah clock's still runnin, an it's costin!" Ah've never seen a face that bad that it c'd stop a clock, but wan furrow o th eyebroos, an that meter wis turned aff. Sharpish. Clock stopped. "Well, it wis mah piece break, so ah suppose ah'm on mah ane time." That fae a taxi driver that wis tryin gey hard tae fade intae th backgrund.

"Richt!" says Ina. "An why are ye lookin fur th Boolin Club?"

Amazinly, Jean's face lost its hard edges fur a second, an oot come th story.

"It's my Gramma Jean-nette Simpson. Shuhely, I was named aftah huh. I cayum all the wayuh cross the Lantic, from ayuhpawt to ayupawt, with only an ayuh-line bed lunch ta keep the body ah-runnin. Ah comes all this way heah ta see ha, but when I get to ha house, theh-are was nobody theah." "Hing on a minute", Ina butted in. "Ye've flew aw th wey fae th States tae see yer grannie. Is that richt?" Jean c'd see that sayin 'Yes' was th easiest wey tae get on w' her story. "Ay-uh! The house, it was sitting emptuh. No smoke up from the chimbly. And then a neybuh, He come ah-tellin me it was Thudsday, and Nettie - ah thinks he meant Jean-nette, my Gramma - she would be away to heh funehral. It would be at 3 o'clock. Somuhplace he called the 'Crem'." By this time, th Portland cement wis crackin. Th make-up wis strugglin tae cope. Ye c'd see she wis a wee bit upset. "My Gramma! Came all this way heah. Hahd tellin not knowin she was dead. And now, I'll be up and missin her funehral."

Ina wis startin tae get a grasp o this. Well, some o it, onnywey. Jean sailed on through th growin fog o words.

"The neybuh, he is sayin 'Goah to Hinner-Lehven Buh-hoolin Club. Ay-uh. Them, they'll know evrything. They-uh always acted like theyuh did. You ask them! Jea-nette always playud theah." Afore Ina c'd speak, Big Mary wis in there. "Well then, whit's she sayin?" "Near as ah c'n mak oot, she's Nettie Simpsons grandaughter, fae America. Netties daed, an the funerals at Kirkcaldy crem at 3 oclock."

Big mary wis shocked! "Nettie's daed, an never telt me! An wha's gaun tae organnise th tea? An oor names'll be dirt if we dinnae turn up at th service. There's only wan thing tae dae!"

"The Innerleven Boolin Club'll hae tae oarganise Nettie's funeral! It's only richt!"

Noo, ah'm shair that onny o youse oot there c'n see whit's comin. It's a bit like askin th Dodo tae arrange skale dinners, an feed th cat while y're at it. Wance th fleet sets sail, it's gey hard tae haud them back.

"Ina! Mak shair that taxi driver disnae sneak awa! Jeannie, you start makin ready fur th tea!" "Ay-uh. You want me to make the tea?" "Naw, no you, Jeannette. Ah mean her across there. Jeannie Cook. She can mak th tea, an - jist haud on a minute. Aggie! You mak the tea. Jeannie, jist mak yersel yaisefy. Get yersel aff tae the butchers. Get th biled ham. Get th bread f' Stuarts. Lightbodys'll be sellt oot b'no. Nae stale stuff, mind."

Jeannette jist stood there. It wis like watchin a prize turkey organise Christmas. Orders were fleein oot aw-weys. Wan word in twenty wis aboot aw she got. But the rest o th wee turkeys were streamin oot th yaird in aw directions. Ye kent wha wis th big ane at th table. Big Mary wis oarganising!

Th taxi driver did try tae sneak awa, but Ina's fit wis in th road. (Thirty years later, when they invented speed bumps, sleepin polismen, traffic calmin, caw it whit ye like, ah ayeways wis minded o Ina Wilson)

"Ye'll be stayin fur a bit, then." Sayed Ina. "An ye'll be keepin yer haund aff that clock!" Th driver jist nodded, an sweated. "Noo that awboddy kens whit tae dae, it's time tae get respectable. Ina! Whit time did th Yank say fur th funeral?" Jeannette got that bit. "Listen you. I'm from the United States. From Maine. It's Yankee!" "That's whit she sayed, Jeanette. 'Yank' She jist misses oot th excitin noises." She turned. "It wis 3 0'clock, Mary."

Lookin at th thermally insulated American, Mary reckoned there wis nae wey tae get her changed fur th funeral. "Yell jist have tae go as ye are! At least, y've got a hat." Th hat in question looked like an advert fur Grouse whisky - aw feathers an curly bits. "Ina! You an me'll get changed intae oor best funeral claes. Ah've been deein tae wear that black suit fur ages. Tell her tae watch the taxi man." She explained tae Jeannette. "Me an Mary's gaun tae get ready fur th funeral. Ye ca' go in boolin claes. Watch th taxi fur us. We'll need it tae go tae th Crem."

Th guard changed ower, but th prisoner stayed th same. Wan last spark o revolution wis dunted on th heid when Jeannette took his Rizla machine awa. "I am telling you, Mister man. There'll be no smoking in my taxi!" "An there wis me thinkin it wis mine. Winder if th mill's takin on workers. Ca be worse than this."

Jeannette wis startin tae worry. Her gran's funeral time wis nearly on her. Th twa folk that were either oarganisin or translatin had vanished. Th boolin club was a turmoil o tablecloths an dusters. Folk kept on appearin wi message bags (whatever they were!). An th only person she could recognise fae th time she arrived wis Mrs Jeffrey. No sae guid!

"Ah've goat a cousin in Florida cawed Irene. Ye'll maybe ken her" "Your cousin in Florida keeps goats?" "She mairried a Yank durin th war. Of coorse, she never telt her first man, but then, he wis runnin around wi yon Wilma on th buses. Goad, could that woman grow a moustache."

Jeanette wis startin tae realise that havin a conversation wi Mrs Jeffrey wis like playin a one armed bandit. Lots o' lemons spinnin aboot, but nae jackpot! Jist tae pass th time, she'd gie th taxi a wee dunt evry time th driver reached fur th door haundle.

Jist as she wis aboot tae mak wan last, desperate attempt tae communicate wi Mrs Jeffrey, Big Mary an Ina come roond th corner like twa black pierries. Big on tap, black an wi a suspicion o' a whisper o' overstrainin cables. Dressed tae kill, an ready fur a funeral.

"Richt" sayed Mary, "Awboddy in th taxi. Awthings oarganised, an if that driver c'n himsel started, we can mak it tae th Crem."

Mary an Ina struggled intae th back, an Jeanette tried tae get in wi th driver. "Fur heaven's sake, Missus. Th ither side! Th ither side. It's no America! Ah'm th driver."

Twa seconds later, he wisnae!

"Ay-uh. Will somebody give me directions along this toteroad, jest sos ah kin get to this Crem." At that, th taxi wis fired up, crunched intae first gear, an screechin up th road.

"What do I do now?" "Seein as y're daein fifty, try pittin it intae top gear." By noo, th driver (ex) had given up on drivin, workin, an carin aboot onnythin but breathin. He wis startin tae think aboot getting a sicknote fae th doctor, tae get aff work, when he remembered that it wis his car, an he wis self employed.

"Left! Left! Ya daft besom. We drive on th left!" If he lived long enough, he could ayeways retire. Wha wants tae be a taxi driver onnywey!

As th taxi rocketed up th High Street, past th Wonder Store, Mary tried tae get back intae th driver's seat (only metaphorically, as Jeannette wis in th actual seat an th driver wisnae, if ye get mah meanin). "Ah've oarganised Willmax's wee bus fur th rest o th mourners. If ye see it, let it catch ye!"

Maybe ah should explain. Willmax was a garage business, an they owned a wee bus fur hire. An it wis wee. Hauf th length o wan o Alexander's Bluebird coaches, an available fur hire at reasonable rates. It wis done in pastel pink an green, lots o chrome an fins on th backside an th inside had acres o thon awfy plastic widd. Ina described it tae Jeannette.

"Ay-uh. Sounds real cunin. Is that it a ways down the road at the back of us? If so, how do you slow this foah bangah beetah down?"

Isn't it wonderful how one unthinkin answer can provide treasured memories for years. Th taxi wis screamin (or maybe jist th driver) by Methil Primary Skale at th time…

"Jist turn richt! Roond b' Fisher Street an back th wey we come." Jeannette stuck her heid oot th windae, an yelled "Can't find the directional. Hanging a right!" Th bairns had jist been let oot fur their efternoon break, an th tyre squealin an th shoutin had them climbin up th railins. Roond th skale went th taxi, richt back on tae th High Street, an richt in front o th wee Willmax bus. "I think there are more cars tryin to catch us!" "Well, tak th car roond again." "Hangin a right!"

This time, it wis a taxi, foll'd by a wee chrome an pastel bus that birled aroond th skale, tyres blawin oot blue reek, an rattlin th occupants aroond inside. Aw th bairns h'd seen Ben Hur at th pictchers th week afore, but this wis much better. Mair cars jined in as th taxi went roond fur anither shot. Ah'm tellin ye. Jist ask onny bairn that wis at Methil Primary that day, an they'll tell ye that Charlton Heston drove roond Methil skale that day w' a chicken stuck on his heid!

At last, efter sweepin up th district nurse in a Morris Minor, Jimmy th fishman an twa Jehovah's Witnesses in a Standard 10, the cortege (fancy word, eh!) biled up Fisher Street tae Bayview.

"Bangin a left"

There's a lot o folk alive today, only cause Wellesley Road wis a braw wide road in thae days. Ye couldnae dae it noo. The taxi swung roond tae th left, closely foll'd b' th Willmax bus. Swingin wide, th district nurse nearly overtook th bus, afore th bus driver cut across an nearly pit her through th door o th Wizard Cleaners. Meanwhile, th twa witnesses slipped by on th inside, singin hymns, so some folk say. Jimmy th fishman trailed ahent in a, dismal but safe, last place. Wi th taxi still in th lead, an Jeanette now confidently in fourth gear, an Big Mary gi'en directions, it wis 'Crem. Here we come!' As they passed th White Swan Hotel, Jimmy th fishman tried tae chicken oot. But th Swan Brae runs th wrang wey, an as he tried tae tak Denbeath Brig on th railway side, aw he managed t' dae wis land on tap o' a wagon gaun tae th washers at th Wellesley. Neck an neck, long th road past th Wellesley pit. An ambulance, pullin oot o th Randolph Wemyss hospital, stripped its gearbox tryin tae pu back aff th road. Baith ambulance agreed efterward that, even if they had tae pey fur th gearbox, it wis still worth it.

Collectin a van fae Stuarts, th bakers an onnybody else that wis visitin Buckhynd that day, th ever increasin procession gathered speed (an a terrified auld boy wi' his bing bike, headin fur Auld Buckhynd. It didnae hae onny tyres but it wis daein a fair lick as it disappeared intae a hedge at Muiredge. "What way, now?" "Tak th next richt, an we'll go along th Staunin Stane Road." "Bangin a right" "Hey" says Mary "You're understaunin evry word ah'm sayin!" "Well, if you shout it loud enough, an often enough, even us Yankees can pick up what you are saying." "C'n ah butt in a minute?" Ina prodded Jeanette's shooder. "Are they level crossin gates no shut?" Jeanette stuck her heid ootth windae, an th chicken hat started tae tak flight. "Could be. Could be." "An is that no wan o thae Wemyss Railway pugs comin along th line?" Ina wis startin tae soond jist a bit strained. "Ay-uh. Could be. Could be." Big Mary wis havin nae backslidin. "Pit yer fit doon, woman! They'll open th gates fur us." An pointed tae th train o mourners ahent them. Th gatekeeper wis comin tae th same decision. Wan loco wis nothin compared tae th horde rushin up th road towards th crossin. Wan o' them h'd a chicken tied tae her heid, an th wings were still flappin. Spinnin his big wheel. Up went th big white pole, an no a second too early. Th loco driver wis blawin his whistle and settin th throttle tae reverse, as a taxi, a pink an green bus, th district nurse an twa boys singin in a Standard 10, aw shot across in front o th loco. Th baker's van swerved intae th vertical gatepost wi an almichty bang, an twa hundred cream an fancy cakes exploded across th inside o th windscreen. Th loco wis across, untouched, an th rest o th procession poured over th track ahent him. "Whit wis that aw aboot?" he thocht, then noticed th twa rhubarb tarts sittin on th coal at th back o th loco. Ten minutes later, when he got tae th Wellesley, he wis guid enough tae share them wi' Jimmy th fishman. An guid enough no tae ask why Jimmy's van wis sittin on tap o' a wagon.

Wance on th Staunin Stane Road, things were able tae ease aff a bit. Ina h'd spotted th hearse up aheid, an Jeanette h'd enough experience b' noo, tae slip smoothly up ahent it, and slow doon tae a dignified pace. Funerals have ayewis got tae be dignified. Th bus slowed tae. So did awboddy else. An as they rolled along th road (wi' great respect an dignity, cause ye dinnae overtake a hearse. Ever!), th passengers got a chance tae set thersel tae rights. Hats were straightened. Teeth re-inserted. Corsets re-adjusted. Shoes were swapped aroond till awboddy h'd th richt pair. They were gaun tae get tae th Crem in time. Nae bother.

A funeral procession is a graund thing. It gies folk time tae ponder, tae reflect on th life o' th deceased. Tae try an remember whit they looked like, an if th ceremony's ower quick, maybe a chance tae nip doon tae Kirkcaldy fur a bit o shoppin. Or a pint.

Naeboddy wis sayin much as they arrived at the Crematorium. Wan last chance tae get yer stays comfy afore ye h'd tae sit quiet. Scratchin an squirmin wis a no-no. No dignified. Th taxi driver, he'd seen enough o dignity. First chance, he wis off. Sell th taxi. Emigrate. Onnthing!

Jeannette, Ina, an Big Mary surroonded th man in charge (fur want o' a better word). "You'll be th faimly o th deceased, ah take it. Ah wis not expecting quite so many. None at all, in fact. I thought th deceased wis …" Mary didnae fancy him at a'. Bit shifty. Bit o a sweetie wife. "Whit d'ye mean! You sayin we w'dnae be here fur th ceremony?" Wiltin under th glare o th female trinity, he fell back on th old male ploy, yaised in these circumstances. Abject surrender! "No. No. Ah take it that one of you ladies will be sayin a few words?" "Try stoap us!" went Mary. "Ah think it should be Jeanette" Ina put in, afore th pair man wis roastit. "Ye'll want tae say somethin, hen." Ah think that Ina wis startin tae notice th hat, or it could jist be an unfortunate choice o words.

"Richt" cried Mary. "Awboddy tak yer places. Jeanette's gaun say a few words." Jeanette stood up, an looked at th audience. "I'd like tae thank awboddy that's here today. So many have come. My gramma must have been very popular." The twa men fae th hearse looked at each ither. "Whit did she say?" "Wheesht!" ordered Mary. "I would just like to say my grammas favourite poem." Th man in charge looked at th twa men fae th hearse. "Gramma always loved a bit of verse, an she taught mah mutha who taught it to me." "But…" "Will you lot no shut up, an show a bit o respect" hissed Mary. "Aye, let th lassie speak!" Ina joined in. Th three men let their heids slink doon ahent their shooders. "You cairry on hen" urged Ina.

"Gramma's poem.

You cannot choose the rose of life no matter how you're born. For some will touch the dew crossed bud While others catch the thorn

You have no right to sacrifice another for the flower. To take it all is purest greed And evil in its power

And yet you have a duty, plain, If come before, to warn. And fore the hand of innocence Place yours across the thorn.

Gramma. Ah surely miss you."

Ina knuckled awa a tear. "That wis awfy guid, lass" Mary put on her hard face, but ye could tell that she was moved. "That wis a braw poem. Ye must've learnt English special, jist fur that.

Awboddy moved in closer tae share th moment. "That wis jist hoo ah remember it. Ye h'd th words jist richt."

"Nettie!" "Gramma!" "You're no supposed tae be here" shot in Mary. "You're supposed tae be daed!" "Dinnae be daft. Ah'm no daed! Ah've jist come here fur mah weekly funeral." Nettie looked up at awboddy as though they were daft. "Weekly funeral?" Ina looked richt puzzled. "Aye. Ah like tae come along tae a funeral. Jist the wans that disnae hae a lot o faimly. Bit o' company fur th send off." "Gramma?" Jeanette looked doon at Nettie. "But this is your funeral?" "Oh, dae be daft. Do ah look dead?" Big Mary started castin aroond. Nae man wis gaun tae mak a fool o her. But th twa men wi' th hearse were daein 100 miles an 'oor back along th Staunin Stane, an th man in charge h'd run oot o' charge an gaun oot. "Whit'll we do now" asked Mary. "C'n we still sing th hymn?" sayed Nettie. "Ah ayeways liked th hymns." So they did.

Many years later, we aw went tae Nettie's funeral, an we sang th hymn. Th second, and as faur as we ken, her last wan.

Awboddy wis in agreement, though. Nettie's first wis her best!