17
“Did this linkie give a good run?” he asks grandly, “Aye, Sir, she did,” replies Sandy. “Nae she didna!” a voice yells from the Square. I know it’s Wullie. The Baillie looks startled, and displeased, there’s an outbreak of murmuring In the crowd as he leans to the microphone and demands “Who said that?” “A did, Sir,” Wullie’s climbing the steps now.
“Are you making a complaint against this linkie?” asks the Baillie, with an impatient scowl. “Aye, a am, Sir.” “And what is your complaint?” “Three complaints, Sir –“ the Baillie frowns. “First, the linkie an her freends laid a foil –“ “A false trail?” “Aye, they’d scugged fuid in a cubbie-den, an that misled oor dugs.”
[1] The baillie looks sceptical, there’s a cry of “Rubbage!” and a good deal of muttering in the crowd.
“And the second complaint?” “She hunker’d afore she had ony need. That wis snuilin.”
[2] There’s a gasp from the crowd, I feel Sandy’s grip on my arm tighten instinctively at this shock – being accused of laying a foil is serious enough, but snuilin is a shameful, humiliating charge, my cheeks are burning, I feel hot tears in my eyes. The Baillie himself looks shaken.
“And the third?” “She gied ower fechtin afore she’n bin richtly takken. That wis snuilin tae.”
[3] There’s a commotion in the crowd, people are shouting, the gang of McRae’s prison-mates are below the steps, just under me, I can hear them yelling abuse at most of the rest of the crowd, who sound as shocked as I am. One of the couple of police on duty is trying to impose some order, her colleague’s shouting into his mobile, calling for assistance. As for Sandy, his grip on me is still iron, but he’s shaking, white with fury, I’m afraid he’s going to stride across and punch Wullie.
“Order!” shouts the Lieutenant-Colonel, I’d always thought him a bit of a pompous ass, but on this occasion he has a presence and power about him that speaks authority. Things quieten enough for him to declare, “These are very serious complaints you are making, Wullie McRae. Are you sure you have good grounds for them?” Wullie’s looking down at his feet, shuffling them awkwardly, obviously he’s been put up to this nonsense by his dad and his evil pals, but he mumbles, “Aye, Sir… a hae groonds…”
“Well,” announces the Baillie, “These complaints will have to be heard formally immediately after the end of this ceremony. In accordance with the customs and
Ordinar o the Rug, the linkie will have no right to speak for herself, neither will any female, but a man who can do, and is willing to, may speak for her.”
Wullie hurries off down the steps, not daring to look at anybody till he reaches his dad with his gang of mates, the policeman and woman are watching them sternly. Sandy leads me down, Mam and Dad are waiting at the bottom, I burst into tears. Sandy unlocks the handcuffs – not strictly allowed yet, but even the McRae’s aren’t going to add that to my list of offences! Mam gives me a handful of tissues, and a big hug, saying “Dinna greet lassie, dinna let them see ye greetin…” “Amna feart,” I sob, “A’m jist bleezin… hoo daur they ca me a cooard?” “Ye’re nae cooard, Lulie,” I hear Sandy say, “ye’re a bonnie fechter, ye’ll show thaim!”
[4]
But it’s Anna’s turn now, she gives me a supportive smile as Major Morton leads her to the steps, the linkie of the Baillie-Rug. As Maister o’the Whup he declares that she “gave a guid run”, and he’s presented with a sash in the Baillie-Rug sett to place on her right shoulder, it looks nice with her kiltie, swinging across her shapely, scarred breasts. She gets a good cheer as she descends and perches on the step beside me.
Dad has been in deep conversation with Jock and Sandy. We all look up, expecting the Baillie to summon me up for the hearing, but Major Morton has another announcement to make. “I have to inform you, Baillie Sir, and all gathered here, that there is another linkie on whom I must report.
Miss Una MacGillivray, a burgh-lassie, was rugged by a private, licensed rugger named Mr. Polivanov…”
Una! We’re all listening anxiously, what’s happened to her? “To the best of my knowledge and belief, Sir, she gave a good run. As Mr. Polivanov’s dogs were chasing her, she ran out across the mud in the estuary to the Rum Rocks. The dogs caught her there, but Mr. Polivanov got into difficulties with the soft mud and the incoming tide. Luckily, his shouts, the linkie’s cries, and the dogs’ barking attracted the attention of Fred Stewart and his son, who were out fishing on the far side of the bay, they called the Coastguard. Mr. Polivanov was rescued by the inshore lifeboat, but the linkie was found to be in urgent need of medical care, she’d been so badly savaged by the dogs. The Air-Sea Rescue helicopter took her to Loreburn General Hospital, where she is in intensive care. I’ve heard that her parents are with her, and her condition is described as serious but stable.”
A shocked hush descends on the Square. Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford is silent for a good couple of minutes, before speaking in a strained tone. “Well, thankyou, Maister. I’m sure we all wish the linkie a good and speedy recovery, and thank all those involved in the rescue. Do we have any information about Mr. Poli.. er .. the gentleman?” “He and his friend, who took the linkie Mollie Burns, are reported to have left their lodgings at midday. The dogs were impounded by the Police, I understand they will have to be put down, as very dangerous animals.”
The Baillie frowns, “H’m, I think the Rug Committee needs to tighten up procedures for issuing licences to strangers.” The Maister’s face when he hears that is a picture! After another pause for the shaft to sink in, the Baillie declares, “Again, we wish the lassie well. It may be a little early to say this, but perhaps it will help her to get better – it would seem to me that, as she was rugged but not takken, we should deem that she was ‘given the best’, and so she should be declared a Braw Linkie!” A cheer roars up. “Do you agree, Maister o’the Whup?” “Aye, Sir,” says the Major, grumpily, “I do.”
[1] The linkie and her friends laid a false trail. they hid food in a cubbie-den, and that misled our dogs.
[2] She signalled surrender before she had any need to, that was cowardly.
[3] She gave up fighting before she’d been properly captured, that was cowardly too.
[4] Don’t cry, girl, don’t let them see you cry. I’m not frightened, I’m just furious – how dare they call me a coward? You’re no coward, you’re a fine fighter, you’ll show them!
)
She gave a great run in my opinion! The real rascals are the people who put that fence up!
