But and Ben
"To describe the homes in some of the more sequestered spots in Scotland, it is not necessary to search the records of the past..."
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“But and Ben,” from Scottish Life and Character, by William Sanderson, 1914.
The aim of the historians, poets, and painters of the past seemed to be to represent a few prominent figures very frequently much out of proportion while the great mass of the people formed a dim and blurred background. Had we depended on these sources of information, we should have known little indeed of the common people; but patient research, resulting in the discovery of letters, diaries, church records, and town council minutes, has done much to supply vivid pictures of daily life in the olden time. In our own day the importance of the people is being more and more recognised, and therefore any historical picture, to be at all acceptable, must have the foreground well filled with the ordinary members of the community.
To describe the homes in some of the more sequestered spots in Scotland, it is not necessary to search the records of the past, for, even at the present day, examples may be found of very simple conditions of life, while the memory of some old people can carry them back to a positively primitive state of affairs. Suppose, then, that we select one of the older types of Scottish peasant houses, not of the very poorest class, and endeavour to picture the daily life of its occupants.
The dwelling stands apart from other houses and is surrounded by a small garden plot in which potatoes and the few ordinary vegetables used in Scottish households are growing, while one or two simple flowers, such as wallflower, sweet-william, nancy pretty, balm, southernwood, and thyme, keep the surroundings from being altogether prosaic. The cottage is whitewashed and exceedingly plain, but somehow it seems to harmonise with the scenery in a way that no other style of house-building will. To knock at the door would indicate common courtesy from our point of view, but it would probably put the inmates in a flutter of excitement, so we enter the open door and walk along the flag-stones of the short passage.
At the end of this passage, or entry, as it is called, a ladder leads to the loft; but that portion of the dwelling, just under the thatched roof, being only used for extra sleeping accommodation or as a lumber store, need not claim our attention. Lifting the latch of the door on our left, we enter the living-room or kitchen and find the good folks busily engaged, for there is little time for idleness in country homes, where so much depends upon individual labour. The guid-wife makes us welcome, but apologises for her inability to accept our proffered hand, as she is busy baking scones and has not had time to remove the dough from her fingers. The lassie, who sits peeling the potatoes which she has just washed in the burn, is instructed by her mother to "gang ben the hoose and fetch the guid chairs," but we protest and seat ourselves on the wooden settle by the side of the fireplace.
Suspended from the "swee” the kail-pot hangs over the glowing peat fire, ready to receive the vegetables which the eident hands of the lassie will soon prepare. On the opposite side of the fireplace is the peat neuk, which plays the part of a coal scuttle and is replenished at intervals from the peat stack outside. The custom of whitewashing the sides and back of the fireplace heightens the effect of the fire, and gives an air of brightness to what might otherwise be a rather dull interior.
One side of the apartment is occupied by the box-beds which were to be found in all Scottish houses, and, though modern hygienic laws may condemn them, there can be no doubt as to their comfort. Sliding doors, neatly panelled in plain unpainted wood, kept scrupulously clean by frequent scouring, were a feature of these beds, and the closing of them during household operations accounts for the cleanness of the bedding, which surprises us by the height to which it is piled.
The dresser is evidently a most important part of the household furniture, for the pride with which the guidwife glances along the upper rack, with its goodly array of plates and painted bowls, is unmistakable. The press or cupboard in the corner of the apartment contains the scones, oat-cakes, butter, cheese, and milk of which we are invited to partake. The household work goes on even while we are there, as much has to be done before the guidman comes home at the gloaming.
The lassie, having finished her preparation of the vegetables, takes the stoups from behind the door and goes to the spring for a "raik" of water, while her mother transfers the vegetables to the pot. The salt is procured from a small box with a circular opening and cover, which has been let into the wall near the fireplace, a similar receptacle of larger dimensions being used for oatmeal, unless the cottage can boast of a meal ark. Above our heads, suspended from hooks fixed in the joists for there is no proper ceiling are several braxy hams, which add to the provender, especially in winter-time. After the kail-pot has "come through the boil," it is set to the side to simmer, while the girdle takes its place on the swee. The white, toothsome scones are soon fired and set on edge on the dresser, so that we may taste them before we go.
In one corner stands the large spinning-wheel upon which the woollen yarn is spun by the guidwife, and beside it lies a quantity of rowans ready for spinning. The bundle of wool, which will also be converted into rowans after having been carded by the hand cards, also awaits the deft fingers of the mother or daughter for the young lassies are early taught the mysteries of carding and spinning. Some coloured wool shows that the mistress of the household is a dyer as well as a spinner, and there are no fears of the colours "running" during any future washings, as the dyes are all "fast," having been extracted from various herbs and mosses. As the weaver must get the yarn on the morrow, the housewife, having emptied her last girdleful of scones, draws out the spinning-wheel, and soon we are admiring the skilful way in which she converts the long soft rowans into strong yarn, from which the knight of the shuttle will fabricate a "homespun" cloth which will stand the test of wear and tear.
A glance at the wag-at-the-wa' clock tells that the laddies will soon be in for their dinner, having doubtless got a good appetite from their work at casting the peats. The clock is evidently one of the household treasures, and it is quite possible that it is not long since its homely tick was added to the sounds to be heard in the cottage. Most likely the guidman and his spouse were brought up in homes where the only timekeeper was a sand-glass, which ran for five minutes and then had to be turned, a chalk mark being made on the back of the door each time this was done, while a cross mark indicated the hour when the twelfth turning was reached. On bright sunny days this tedious mode of timekeeping could be dispensed with, as one of the family could go outside and "step the shadow." This was done by standing erect, noticing carefully where the shadow reached to, and then stepping the distance. By means of this living dial a very fair idea of the time could be obtained, noon, of course, being indicated by a practical absence of shadow.
A glance through the little window shows us the boys coming up the brae, so we go "ben the hoose" till they have had their dinner, the mother explaining that they are "gey blate" before strangers.
South of the Tweed, "ben the hoose" would be dignified by the name of parlour, but in these northern lands the two apartments are distinguished by the words "but and ben." As soon as we are ushered into this portion of the dwelling, we feel that this is an inner sanctum which is only used on rare occasions. The chest of drawers, in all the glory of mahogany, faces us as we enter, and we feel that its numerous drawers contain the best "claes " of the household. In one of these receptacles the guidman's black coat and other portions of his Sunday attire lie neatly folded, while in another his wife's black silk gown is as carefully laid away; these garments, which were first used on the wedding day, will probably last a lifetime.
What appears to be two small drawers is really a single deep one, where lies the guidwife's best bonnet, which may be quite fashionable for years to come. On the top of the chest of drawers lies the large family Bible, and such books as Boston's Fourfold State and Crook in the Lot, Baxter's Saints' Rest, Doddridge's Rise and Progress, Life of Colonel Gardiner, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and perchance a volume of Scottish history.
The polished birch chairs appear almost as new as when they left the workshop of the local wright many years ago, while the table is probably of equal quality, though hidden by its ornamental cover. There are box-beds here also, but their hangings, etc., clearly indicate that they are reserved for visitors or special occasions.
A Scottish housewife among the peasant or working classes takes great delight in the "ben" part of her domicile, but personally makes little use of it. When special visitors come, however, the case is different, and they are received and entertained here until they tire of the unusual restrictions of company manners and find their way to the cheerier precincts of the kitchen. Even when the house has several apartments, the Scottish family has a fondness for the kitchen, and as a consequence that portion of the dwelling is more commodious in Scotland than in most other countries. The kitchen is the Scotsman's parlour, and most of his fondest memories are linked on to the scenes enacted there, when his heart was young and impressionable.
As we intend to return in the evening when the guidman is at hame, we do not further trespass on the busy housewife's precious time, but go down the brae and cross the wimpling burn, which seems to sing:
A wee hoose in the North Countrie,
Wi' clean and cosy but and ben,
Aft sends to lands far owre the sea
The pick and wale o' honest men.
Yet though they rise to high estate
And gather mickle gear and fame,
Or mingle freely wi' the great,
The wee cot hoose is aye their hame.
Sanderson, William. Scottish Life and Character. Adam and Charles Black, 1914.
About TOTA
TOTA.world provides cultural information and sharing across the world to help you explore your Family’s Cultural History and create deep connections with the lives and cultures of your ancestors.
