LIBEL ON SCOTSMEN

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume LVI, 19 July 1924, Page 7

LIBEL ON SCOTSMEN

THEIR WJT AND HUMOUR CANVASSED

It, lias been said that all the peoples of tho earth weep in the same language, but laugh in different languages. When one thinks this over, it seems to bo tme. A Frenchman will laugh at something which will leave a Scandinavian cold. An American will become hilarious over a joke which will make no humorous appeal to an Englishman. As for a Scotsman, Sydney Smith is alleged to have said that it required a surgical operation to get a joke into tho head of a Scotsman, and this gibe at the Scottish race has been extensively quoted ever since. But the truth of tho matter is that no such statement was ever made by Sydney Smith. The correct version is recorded by Dr. William Chambers, of Edinburgh,* the founder of Chambers’s Journal. Dr. Chambers said to Sydney Smith that ho must, at least, admit that the Scots were a. humorous race, and the English man of letters replied :

‘Oh. by all means, you are an immensely funny people, but you need a little operating upon to let the fun out. T know of no instrument so effectual for the purpose as the corkscrew.” Strange to say, the fire of English wit is largely directed at the people of Aberdeen. For example, it is stated that an Aberdonian was taking a walk with his young son. when he said: ‘Jock, is that yer Sunday hoots ve’ve on?” “Ay.”

‘‘Wool, then. Ink’ longer steps.” There is also the story about the Jew who went to Aberdeen and filled in his census paper with the declaration that ho had gone there to learn bis profession ; or the one about the Aberdeen fish dealer, who said that as he had to buy his fish from Scotsmen and sell them to Jews, lie could "male’ naething n't.”

Even the. dumb animals from the Granite City are alleged to he endowed with this keenness of eye for the main chance, as witness that story about the Aberdeen -horse that came, to a sudden standstill on the streets of Glasgow, and would not move until they lifted up his hoof and found a ‘saxpence’ underneath. The Archbishop of Canterbury is an eminent Scot, and this is one of bis stories:

‘‘A Scotsman got a position in a largo commercial house in London, and a friend, meeting him shortly afterwards, asked: ‘Well, how are you liking England?’ ‘AH right,’ he replied. “ ‘But how do you like the English?’ “ ‘Oh, weel,’ said the Scot, ‘I havna met many o’ the English yet. Ye see, a’ my dealings are wi’ heads o’ departments.’ ”

Much Scottish humor that •* peculiarly characteristic circles round the minister, the beadle or sexton, and the simple folk of the country districts. A parish minister one Sunday was reproving his congregation for sleeping, in church during the sermon. He said: “-.Look at Jamie Fleeman, the parish fool; he's wide awake.” “Av, and if I hadna been a fool I would line been sleepin’, too,” responded Jamie, loud enough for everyone to hear.

On another occasion, in the winter time, when the weather was cold and stormy and tho church without any system of heating, the minister was preaching an unusually long and dry sermon. The members of the small congregation rose one after another, left their pews, and quietly went home, until the beadle became the only auditor. That official waited patiently for a time, but the sermon went on until he could stand it no longer. So he slowly and noiselessly ascended the steps of the pulpit, and, taking the key to the church out of his pocket, he held it in front of the preacher,,..remarking in a subdued tone ; “If yei please, sir," when ye’re done’, will ye be sao kind as to lock the door?” The beadle or church officer is in Scotland —especially in the country districts —a greatly privileged person, and is often a bit of a character. A young university student, fresh off tho irons, visited his native parish, and met the beadle, who had a high opinion of his minister. The student said he heard the minister’s sermon, hut that the simile of the wind upon the barley which had been used was borrowed from the ‘Odyssey’ of Homer. “Diana tell me that,” retorted the beadle. “I believe it’s mail’ likely Homer borrowed it frae oor man.”

Earl Balfour said recently that philosophy was not so popular in any country as in Scotland. But some of the folks are philosophers without knowing it ,as tho following instance will show: — The minister and his man Jearr.es were driving past a Highland distillery. Tho tall chimney was considerably off the perpendicular, and the minister said: “If that stack falls it will kill somebody.” Jeames immediately replied: “It’ll kill mail* folk it it stan’s.” Then there is the story of the fellow, supposed to be half-witted, who was one uay walking through the Earl of Eglintoun’s private grounds. The earl saw him and called:

“Come back; you’re on the wrong road.”

The man stood still and said: “D’ye ken whaur I’m gaun?” “No,” said the earl. “Then how in the woi’ld can ye tell whether I’m gaun the lleht road or no?” And he walked on.

Not so very long ago "there lived an old Highland minister whose homely remarks occasionally drew a smile from even the most serious-minded of his congregation. One day lie paused before beginning bis sermon and called out:

“There's a voung man there ticklin’ a young woman in the gallery. When lie stops I’ll begin!” The same minister, preaching a sermon on Faith,’ made use of the following illustration from his own experience:—“l was coming over in tho ferry boat from Cromarty to Invergordon, and a storm arose. The boat gave a big lurch .and a young woman sitting near me gave a scream and just gripped ire round the middle. My friend, that’s faith.” „ ’ In a fishing town in the north of Scotland an old fishwife had died, and her daughter was relating to the neighbours all Che details of her illness, how she had nursed her mother and applied poultices, and so on. She concluded in a sad, mournful tone: “But, ma freene, I’ve the proud satisfaction o’ knowing that she has gone to a better world* v/i’ the mark o’ my mustard poultice on her breest.” . Despite the tradition that the average Scot is of dour disposition and resents every attempt at putting the joke °n him,’: ’ho is a firm believer in the ime which says: “Laugh, and the worm laughs with you.” When the jokes are good he can enjoy them even at ns own expense. lor instance,, an Aberdonian was once asked his impressions of London on a Sunday. He replied : “Oh, it’s just like Aberdeen on a tag Day. No a soul to bo seen on Ihe streets. But there are times, occasions of men. tal excitement and stress, when the Celtic nature inclines to the vitrio.ic. An English lady entered a butcher s shop in Inverness, and wanted an English sheep’s head. The butcher said there was no difference between an Eng’ lish and a Scotch sheep s head. I he lady, however, was very persistent--it must he an English ope, and no other. So the butcher, losing his temper went into the back shop, mi 9W?- ' to exclaim to his assistant? , , “jli, Tougal, skin to sheep s head am

mak’ it English. Tak’ oefc the fceain?. but leave in tlio tongue.’ Tima waft Culloden avenged. T will conclude with an episode of odo of the scones of which t mv&elf was a witness. It was in a Royal burgh on the borders of tho Highlands, just before the war. It was New Year’s Eve, commonly called “Hogmanay” in' Scotland, and three bosom cronies—Sandy the souter, Jamie the baker, and Donald the butcher-— foregathered in the back shop of tho latter after closing time to celebrate the departure of the old Year and welcome in the new. It* was a Saturday night, and when Donald had pulled down the window shade and turned off the lights in the front shop the trio adjourned to the rear of the premises, and spent an hour or two to their mutual satisfaction. Now Donald, although a bachelor, was likewise an elder of the kirk, and saw to it that his boon companions,* who wore both married men, did not probng the revel until an unseemly hour. Having hade them good-night, Donald returned to bis seat by the fire in the back shop and felt asleep. So sound were bis slumbers that when the sun arose on that Sabbath mom he stored not, and the first bell bad clanged from the steeple of the kirk, of which he. was an ornament and a shining light, and some of the good folks were beginning to stir on the streets, ere he awok“Bless me,” said Donald, ‘ I’ve slcopit in.” forgetting in his exciioent that it was the first day of the week, as well as the first day of the year, and thinking only that he had negb ct-ed to open his shop at the usual 1 our. Jumping up, lie hurriedly donned Ins blue-and-white striped apron, pulled up the window blind, opened up the frontdoor. and stood looking forth with all tho alertness he could command ready for the first customer. Who should lie espy coming along the street hut his friend Sandy the souter. Sandy. who was a magistrate of the burgh, as well as a worthy citizen, was arrayed > < all the glorv of a frock coat, “lum” bat, and black trousers. Donald wrs a bit surprised at this display of - candour, and at once bailed him ; 'cod mornm’, Sandy. Will ye be gob' to a funeral thy day? Whas d;d? “There’s nobodv deid. Donald. T 1 is is the Sabbath dav, an’ I gaun tea the kirk.” , 1 Donald’s meat emporium was c used in record time, but this fall from ■ race will be remembered by his fellow I citizens unto the third and f> urtli generations.—Dearborn Independent.