trinkie
07-Aug-07, 08:56
NELLY GUNDY
By John Horne.
When ‘Nelly Gundy’ died in 1863 the town of Wick was bereft of an outstanding ‘character.’ Nelly was eighty years of age at her death, and for more than half that time she sold ‘gundy’ to the lieges of the Royal Burgh in the shelter of the Old Tolbooth stair. Two abandoned soap-boxes completed her shop fittings – one for counter and the other for seat, and all the street was her shop door; and here in all weathers, Nellie could be found resolutely attending to business. At first she occupied ‘Charlie Bruce’s corner’ with her neighbour Kirsty, and at last she wound up on the steps of Colvin’s shop in Stafford Place’ but in the long interval between she ‘kept shop’ at the Tolbooth stairs.
It was no ordinary task to induce Nelly to sell her goods – so singular in this mixed world! A purchaser had to be careful as to how he set about buying, for Nelly was a virago of pronounced likes and dislikes. Was he a laddie who had ever tormented her ? Then he might whistle for gundy, or get it by any other method he liked; he certainly would not get it from Nelly. But he would get something else – a blistering tonguing, a raking up of all his antecedents, and a street advertisement of the misdeeds of his family and their relations to the third and fourth generations, flung to the ears of everybody within half a mile of her voice.
‘Gies a pennyworth o’ gundy’ he says, approaching in good faith.
‘Na fient a bit ye’ll get; ye nor ‘e lek o’ ye!’
‘Why Nellie?’
‘Jist, ye little devilag!’
He is hurt, and retorts ‘I’m no a devil, bit ye’re ane!’
‘Nane o’ yer impidence, ye brat! Hame an’ rock yer sister’s ##################### bairn!’
His spirit rises under this lash, and he darts out his tongue at her in contempt, too intense for language.
Nelly gets to her feet now, and wags her stumpy walking-stick at him. ‘Oh, ye puir scarecrow, if I get ye! Weel I kent yer granny, the auld jade! Knocked oot her man’s teeth wi’ ‘e heel o’ her boot! Oh the limmer! Ye’re lek her, ye impident devilag!’
This slice of family history is new to him, and he doesn’t know what to make of it, so he turns to another line of attack. ‘Yer gundy’s no clean, Nelly, he howls from a widening distance.’
‘It’s lek yer aunt Jean’s character then; bit, clean or no clean, deil a nip o’t ye’ll taste at ‘is time.’
The intruder is safe beyond her stick by the time she ventilates herself fully of his tribal misdeeds; but on one olccasion he was nearer at hand and she forgot herself. In the encounter she treated her customer to a pelt of the stick on his head.
Nelly’s strokes, like her tongue, were bitter, and well laid on; and in the instance referred to they landed her in the Police Court, from which she escaped with a severe admonition. The event gave purchase to the attacks of her enemies.
‘Ye wis tried for strikin’ a boyag, Nellie’ says a youth whose father had known more of Police Courts than churches.
‘Maybe’ she admits ‘ bit I wisna jiled for’t, lek some fowk! Tak’ ye ‘at!’
But the youth is not to be beaten. ‘Never mind Nelly’, he says condescendingly, ‘I’ll gie ye a penny for a stalk’
Nelly is not to be mollified. ‘Off wi’ ye, ye win’bag! Hame an tell yer mither till scrape yer dirty tongue wi’ a graip.’
‘I’ll no bother ye if ye gie me the gundy’ he persists.
‘Deil a taste o’t. Keep yer penny till bail yer faither oot o’ the jile. Mak’ aff ye dirty, scrawlin’ brat, or I’ll brain ye! Awa.’
She threatens a chase, he, taking thought of her stick, bolts.
Jeanag Bremner from Newton once offended Nelly by being too plain with her remarks. On Fergusmas Day Jeanag asked
A ‘pennyworth o’ gundy’ Nelly refused ‘No for a fortune, ye clip-cloots’ she replied.
Jeanag left her, to think out a plan of succeeding. She sought a favourite of Nelly’s. and asked her to secure the coveted sweetmeat - to be obtained nowhere else at that time o’ day. Jeanag was successful, and came in sight again sucking the gundy.
‘D’ye see ‘at!’ she shrieks, pushing the gundy under Nelly’s nose. ‘There’s yer gundy, an’ no thanks till ye!’ She stands coolly beside the soap box, sucking the stalk, and remarking ‘Rare stuff Nelly, bit dirty, awfu’ dirty Nelly!’
Nelly springs to the attack. ‘Div I no ken yer fowk – greedy, thievin’ trosks, every one o’ them! Yea that o’t – ye till come till a decent woman’s stall an’ ‘’ ---
‘’Rare stuff Nelly, bit dirty, awfu’ dirty, Nelly’ breaks in Jeanag cooly, smacking her lips.
‘If it’s dirty, it’s gangin’ intil the richt skin, then – tak ye at’ The blatter of Nelly’s tongue draws a policeman to the scene, and Jeanag moves off, throwing a piece of gundy from her, and observing ‘ It’s dirty awfu’ dirty Nelly; I think I’ll no eat it!’
‘Ye thrawn auld manure bag!’ mutters Nelly, but the policeman gags her from further speech by a warning motion of his hand.
Nelly did business only with her favourites, which meant, I fear, that the range of her steady customers was somewhat limited.
As Nelly was the only manufacturer of gundy, however, and as gundy was the chief toothsome delicacy in that day, it may be presumed that her rigid observance taught some rude swains the necessity of a soft tongue and engaging manners. Rather than dispose of her gundy to an enemy, she carried it home with her at the close of the day! This gives unquestionable evidence of her ‘game’ spirit.
She was very frail in her later years, but held to her post bravely. Ten days before her death she went home ‘clean done’ and took to her bed. And the threatening, bustling, scolding figure was never seen again on the spot which had known her so long, and the name of ‘Nelly Gundy’ became the label for a memory.
By John Horne.
By John Horne.
When ‘Nelly Gundy’ died in 1863 the town of Wick was bereft of an outstanding ‘character.’ Nelly was eighty years of age at her death, and for more than half that time she sold ‘gundy’ to the lieges of the Royal Burgh in the shelter of the Old Tolbooth stair. Two abandoned soap-boxes completed her shop fittings – one for counter and the other for seat, and all the street was her shop door; and here in all weathers, Nellie could be found resolutely attending to business. At first she occupied ‘Charlie Bruce’s corner’ with her neighbour Kirsty, and at last she wound up on the steps of Colvin’s shop in Stafford Place’ but in the long interval between she ‘kept shop’ at the Tolbooth stairs.
It was no ordinary task to induce Nelly to sell her goods – so singular in this mixed world! A purchaser had to be careful as to how he set about buying, for Nelly was a virago of pronounced likes and dislikes. Was he a laddie who had ever tormented her ? Then he might whistle for gundy, or get it by any other method he liked; he certainly would not get it from Nelly. But he would get something else – a blistering tonguing, a raking up of all his antecedents, and a street advertisement of the misdeeds of his family and their relations to the third and fourth generations, flung to the ears of everybody within half a mile of her voice.
‘Gies a pennyworth o’ gundy’ he says, approaching in good faith.
‘Na fient a bit ye’ll get; ye nor ‘e lek o’ ye!’
‘Why Nellie?’
‘Jist, ye little devilag!’
He is hurt, and retorts ‘I’m no a devil, bit ye’re ane!’
‘Nane o’ yer impidence, ye brat! Hame an’ rock yer sister’s ##################### bairn!’
His spirit rises under this lash, and he darts out his tongue at her in contempt, too intense for language.
Nelly gets to her feet now, and wags her stumpy walking-stick at him. ‘Oh, ye puir scarecrow, if I get ye! Weel I kent yer granny, the auld jade! Knocked oot her man’s teeth wi’ ‘e heel o’ her boot! Oh the limmer! Ye’re lek her, ye impident devilag!’
This slice of family history is new to him, and he doesn’t know what to make of it, so he turns to another line of attack. ‘Yer gundy’s no clean, Nelly, he howls from a widening distance.’
‘It’s lek yer aunt Jean’s character then; bit, clean or no clean, deil a nip o’t ye’ll taste at ‘is time.’
The intruder is safe beyond her stick by the time she ventilates herself fully of his tribal misdeeds; but on one olccasion he was nearer at hand and she forgot herself. In the encounter she treated her customer to a pelt of the stick on his head.
Nelly’s strokes, like her tongue, were bitter, and well laid on; and in the instance referred to they landed her in the Police Court, from which she escaped with a severe admonition. The event gave purchase to the attacks of her enemies.
‘Ye wis tried for strikin’ a boyag, Nellie’ says a youth whose father had known more of Police Courts than churches.
‘Maybe’ she admits ‘ bit I wisna jiled for’t, lek some fowk! Tak’ ye ‘at!’
But the youth is not to be beaten. ‘Never mind Nelly’, he says condescendingly, ‘I’ll gie ye a penny for a stalk’
Nelly is not to be mollified. ‘Off wi’ ye, ye win’bag! Hame an tell yer mither till scrape yer dirty tongue wi’ a graip.’
‘I’ll no bother ye if ye gie me the gundy’ he persists.
‘Deil a taste o’t. Keep yer penny till bail yer faither oot o’ the jile. Mak’ aff ye dirty, scrawlin’ brat, or I’ll brain ye! Awa.’
She threatens a chase, he, taking thought of her stick, bolts.
Jeanag Bremner from Newton once offended Nelly by being too plain with her remarks. On Fergusmas Day Jeanag asked
A ‘pennyworth o’ gundy’ Nelly refused ‘No for a fortune, ye clip-cloots’ she replied.
Jeanag left her, to think out a plan of succeeding. She sought a favourite of Nelly’s. and asked her to secure the coveted sweetmeat - to be obtained nowhere else at that time o’ day. Jeanag was successful, and came in sight again sucking the gundy.
‘D’ye see ‘at!’ she shrieks, pushing the gundy under Nelly’s nose. ‘There’s yer gundy, an’ no thanks till ye!’ She stands coolly beside the soap box, sucking the stalk, and remarking ‘Rare stuff Nelly, bit dirty, awfu’ dirty Nelly!’
Nelly springs to the attack. ‘Div I no ken yer fowk – greedy, thievin’ trosks, every one o’ them! Yea that o’t – ye till come till a decent woman’s stall an’ ‘’ ---
‘’Rare stuff Nelly, bit dirty, awfu’ dirty, Nelly’ breaks in Jeanag cooly, smacking her lips.
‘If it’s dirty, it’s gangin’ intil the richt skin, then – tak ye at’ The blatter of Nelly’s tongue draws a policeman to the scene, and Jeanag moves off, throwing a piece of gundy from her, and observing ‘ It’s dirty awfu’ dirty Nelly; I think I’ll no eat it!’
‘Ye thrawn auld manure bag!’ mutters Nelly, but the policeman gags her from further speech by a warning motion of his hand.
Nelly did business only with her favourites, which meant, I fear, that the range of her steady customers was somewhat limited.
As Nelly was the only manufacturer of gundy, however, and as gundy was the chief toothsome delicacy in that day, it may be presumed that her rigid observance taught some rude swains the necessity of a soft tongue and engaging manners. Rather than dispose of her gundy to an enemy, she carried it home with her at the close of the day! This gives unquestionable evidence of her ‘game’ spirit.
She was very frail in her later years, but held to her post bravely. Ten days before her death she went home ‘clean done’ and took to her bed. And the threatening, bustling, scolding figure was never seen again on the spot which had known her so long, and the name of ‘Nelly Gundy’ became the label for a memory.
By John Horne.