Document 673
Dipper: 61 - Double Anyntit
Author(s): Dr James A Begg
Copyright holder(s): Dr James A Begg
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Nae mair nor three days had gaen by since the Sanny Todd caper, whan the grapevine tellt us again that the McGintys were set tae dae the Castle watter, an that this time they had pousion – cyanide pouder!
Their ither ploys wi nets an treble heuks we cuid pit up wi, but this wis serious! It wis yae thing drawin a net doun a puil, but only the scum o the earth or eejits wad pit cyanide intae a puil, killin everything in the river frae caddis grubs tae saumon; especially in the middle o a heat wave, wi mebbe the chance o killin ferm beasts slockin their drouth; or waur still - weans haein an early douk five miles further doun the watter the neist mornin!
An whit wis mair, the grapevine said they'd got themsels a 'minder' - a big heid-banger wi a Black Belt in Karate - or sae the story went!
True or fause, we were for takin nae chances, an a team o five byllies linkit up wi fower o the Castle keepers tae watch the watter that nicht. We'd watched an walked till efter twa o'clock, an had juist rendevoused tae gang back tae oor caurs parked aff the drivewey, whan we heard a caur draw up on the main road. There wis a mad dive intae the rhododendrons, an then cam the high-pitched revs o a caur engine gaein intae reverse - an did he no stert tae back doun the drive!
Courit doun ahint the busses, oot o the beam o the reversin lichts, we cuidnae believe oor luck whan it drew up near eneuch forenent us.
'Wait till they've got their nets oot the boot then jump them!' I croaked across the road tae the ithers, juist afore fower men gat oot the caur an crowded roun the back. There were saft thuds an a clink o chains as secks o poachin graith were dumped on the road.
'Right….Nou!'
There wis pandy-bluidy-monium as torches flashed on, an bodies flew aa-roads - some chasin, ithers bein huntit - in the pitch bleck amang the trees. A white sark picked oot the driver, an I went for him as he stuid aside the door wi the caur engine still rinnin. Lucky for us baith (or sae I thocht!) he gied nae resistance, but pit his hauns abune his heid as meek's a lamb.
Aa roun aboot in the mirk there wis bawlin an sweirin as byllies laid intae poachers - an intae ilk ither as weel! A shape went hurtlin by chased by three byllies, an anither crashed intae the wids, while nearhaun a big stramash wis gaun on that drew my ee juist at the wrang time.
A shove sent me heidfurst on the gress, an afore I kent it the caur wis burnin its tyres oot o the drivewey wi its boot-lid clangin like a set o cymbals!
Wi that, the collieshangie de'ed doun an we stertit countin heids an lickin oor wounds. We hadnae dune that weel considerin oor 'numerical superiority'. The driver had escaped; ane o the McGintys had run the gauntlet o butterfingert byllies an wis awa the same gait; while fower keepers, the cause o the stramash that had divertit me at the wrang time, were sittin on the heid o yin o the gang.
Wis it Wullie McGinty? Wis it Dick! He wis awa as weel - an aa we were left wi wis their puir minder wi a bluidy nose an unhappy memories o his furst nicht's poachin!
The Polis shuin arrived an identified him as a pub bouncer, mebbe no sweirt tae gie somebody a belt on the nose himsel, but certes nae Black Belt at ocht else!
We tuimt oot the bags an rand three nets wi chains, mair secks for the fish, an a wee Tate an Lyle seerup tin fou o holes, tied tae a string, but wi nae cyanide tae pit in it. This worrit us till the neist day whan Neil tuik a turn oot tae the scene o the crime, an rand a poke haudin three pun o cyanide hidden ahint a hedge nearhaun the drive entrance.
Oor 'minder' in due coorse got a 'wee mindin' himsel frae the Sheriff in the shape o a £150 fine, but it wis no till years later, whan I met Wullie McGinty on the river yae August efternuin, that I got the ither hauf o the story.
His brither Jimpy had managed tae brek free o the byllies, cairryin the cyanide, had stashd it ablow a buss, an then hadnae stoppt rennin till he got tae Maybole - five miles awa!
Wullie, on the ither haun, had dived intae the trees five yairds awa, an lain doggo listenin tae aa the stramash - an aa the sweirin efterwards - till we aa went awa hame!
'An see yon nicht at the Tidal Puil…. yer big mistake wis walkin abreist comin doun thon pad. If ye'd been walkin single file, we'd hae thocht ye were juist a man takin his dug oot…. an cam richt up by ye an been nabbed!
We niver did catch Wullie, tho the Sheriff pit him awa for a lang time for ither things, but Jimpy finally met his poachin Watterloo, an a £350 fine, whan he got careless an the Polis themsels nabbed him at, o aa places - the Tidal Puil!
Their ither ploys wi nets an treble heuks we cuid pit up wi, but this wis serious! It wis yae thing drawin a net doun a puil, but only the scum o the earth or eejits wad pit cyanide intae a puil, killin everything in the river frae caddis grubs tae saumon; especially in the middle o a heat wave, wi mebbe the chance o killin ferm beasts slockin their drouth; or waur still - weans haein an early douk five miles further doun the watter the neist mornin!
An whit wis mair, the grapevine said they'd got themsels a 'minder' - a big heid-banger wi a Black Belt in Karate - or sae the story went!
True or fause, we were for takin nae chances, an a team o five byllies linkit up wi fower o the Castle keepers tae watch the watter that nicht. We'd watched an walked till efter twa o'clock, an had juist rendevoused tae gang back tae oor caurs parked aff the drivewey, whan we heard a caur draw up on the main road. There wis a mad dive intae the rhododendrons, an then cam the high-pitched revs o a caur engine gaein intae reverse - an did he no stert tae back doun the drive!
Courit doun ahint the busses, oot o the beam o the reversin lichts, we cuidnae believe oor luck whan it drew up near eneuch forenent us.
'Wait till they've got their nets oot the boot then jump them!' I croaked across the road tae the ithers, juist afore fower men gat oot the caur an crowded roun the back. There were saft thuds an a clink o chains as secks o poachin graith were dumped on the road.
'Right….Nou!'
There wis pandy-bluidy-monium as torches flashed on, an bodies flew aa-roads - some chasin, ithers bein huntit - in the pitch bleck amang the trees. A white sark picked oot the driver, an I went for him as he stuid aside the door wi the caur engine still rinnin. Lucky for us baith (or sae I thocht!) he gied nae resistance, but pit his hauns abune his heid as meek's a lamb.
Aa roun aboot in the mirk there wis bawlin an sweirin as byllies laid intae poachers - an intae ilk ither as weel! A shape went hurtlin by chased by three byllies, an anither crashed intae the wids, while nearhaun a big stramash wis gaun on that drew my ee juist at the wrang time.
A shove sent me heidfurst on the gress, an afore I kent it the caur wis burnin its tyres oot o the drivewey wi its boot-lid clangin like a set o cymbals!
Wi that, the collieshangie de'ed doun an we stertit countin heids an lickin oor wounds. We hadnae dune that weel considerin oor 'numerical superiority'. The driver had escaped; ane o the McGintys had run the gauntlet o butterfingert byllies an wis awa the same gait; while fower keepers, the cause o the stramash that had divertit me at the wrang time, were sittin on the heid o yin o the gang.
Wis it Wullie McGinty? Wis it Dick! He wis awa as weel - an aa we were left wi wis their puir minder wi a bluidy nose an unhappy memories o his furst nicht's poachin!
The Polis shuin arrived an identified him as a pub bouncer, mebbe no sweirt tae gie somebody a belt on the nose himsel, but certes nae Black Belt at ocht else!
We tuimt oot the bags an rand three nets wi chains, mair secks for the fish, an a wee Tate an Lyle seerup tin fou o holes, tied tae a string, but wi nae cyanide tae pit in it. This worrit us till the neist day whan Neil tuik a turn oot tae the scene o the crime, an rand a poke haudin three pun o cyanide hidden ahint a hedge nearhaun the drive entrance.
Oor 'minder' in due coorse got a 'wee mindin' himsel frae the Sheriff in the shape o a £150 fine, but it wis no till years later, whan I met Wullie McGinty on the river yae August efternuin, that I got the ither hauf o the story.
His brither Jimpy had managed tae brek free o the byllies, cairryin the cyanide, had stashd it ablow a buss, an then hadnae stoppt rennin till he got tae Maybole - five miles awa!
Wullie, on the ither haun, had dived intae the trees five yairds awa, an lain doggo listenin tae aa the stramash - an aa the sweirin efterwards - till we aa went awa hame!
'An see yon nicht at the Tidal Puil…. yer big mistake wis walkin abreist comin doun thon pad. If ye'd been walkin single file, we'd hae thocht ye were juist a man takin his dug oot…. an cam richt up by ye an been nabbed!
We niver did catch Wullie, tho the Sheriff pit him awa for a lang time for ither things, but Jimpy finally met his poachin Watterloo, an a £350 fine, whan he got careless an the Polis themsels nabbed him at, o aa places - the Tidal Puil!
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Dipper: 61 - Double Anyntit. 2024. In The Scottish Corpus of Texts & Speech. Glasgow: University of Glasgow. Retrieved 21 November 2024, from http://www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk/document/?documentid=673.
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Dipper: 61 - Double Anyntit
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