Shepherd Life, 1914
"It is when the lambing season is past, and the long warm days of summer come, that the shepherd enters the poetical portion of his existence..."
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“Shepherd Life,” from Scottish Life and Character, by William Sanderson, 1914.
The town dweller, who watches a flock of distracted sheep being driven through the crowded streets by rough drovers and badly trained dogs, may be pardoned if he begins to doubt the stories he has read of piping shepherds and beauteous shepherdesses; but anyone who has resided in the country would soon enlighten him as to the true state of the case. While the drover with his yelping dogs is the very antithesis of the shepherd, the latter in real life is very far removed from the Sylvander of poetry and requires to be endowed with a strong physical frame to endure the constant strain demanded by his calling. The Scottish shepherds are a splendid race of men, whose skill in the fulfilment of their arduous duties is often the result of the inherited training of generations; for the boy, who goes with his father from the lonely cot to watch the sheep, is almost sure to become a shepherd.
To understand the life of the shepherd aright, we must live with him for a short season in the far-off glen or the wind-swept moorland, where his little dwelling stands out of sight of any other human habitation. We must see him leaving his wife and bairns and the comfort of his home, so that he may force his way through a blinding snow-storm which may have overwhelmed some of his flock. We must watch the anxiety of the wife and mother, as she awaits his return, before we can fully appreciate the bravery of the man, and rank him among the heroes of industry who go forth with their lives in their hands. Winter and spring are anxious seasons for the shepherd, for he knows that his reputation, to a large extent, depends upon his success in saving the sheep from destruction and rearing the lambs which come before the snow has left the ground.
It is wonderful how few of the snow-born lambs die, when we consider the weather conditions which prevail as they are ushered into the world; but our wonder diminishes when we see the incessant watchfulness of the shepherd. His lambing bag is ever ready, and when some weakling is discovered he carries it home, where the warmth of the peat-fire and the heated milk bring back the life that was almost extinguished. When the weakling has the double disadvantage of being an orphan through the death of its mother, the finding of a foster-mother requires some strategy on the part of the shepherd. A ewe which has lost a lamb has a strong objection to adopt another, but when the skin of the dead one is fixed to the back of the living lamb the difficulty is generally got over, and the shepherd is relieved of one more burden.
It is when the lambing season is past, and the long warm days of summer come, that the shepherd enters the poetical portion of his existence. The hard part of his work is got over in the early morning, when perchance the mist lies in patches along the hillside and the sun has only gilded the higher ridges. When he has seen his flocks properly disposed, and ascertained that none are missing, he returns to his home, if the distance is not too great. Watch him as he strides along, his feet adapting themselves to the slopes in a way that is a puzzle to those who are only accustomed to level roads.
The sun, which is now above the mountain tops, changes the dewdrops on the bent and heather into iridescent diamonds. The whins are a blaze of golden light, and stand forth in bright contrast to the green background. Who that has seen the evergreen whins in all their glory will be surprised to learn that Linnaeus, the great Swedish botanist, when he first beheld them on an English common, fell down on his knees and thanked God for a sight so fair? His efforts to introduce the plant into his own country, however, were a failure, for, hardy though it appears, it can only be grown successfully in temperate climates.
When the shepherd stands on some lofty summit, it is not the extent of vision which thrills him, but the impression of the reality and truth of nature, and resulting therefrom, an intense feeling of liberty. The stillness all around, broken only by the shrills notes of a wild bird or the distant bleat of a sheep, enters his soul, and he is enabled to penetrate further into the mystery of silence than most men.
The shepherd is never altogether, for his faithful friend the collie is ever at his side with watchful eye, ready to obey his master’s slightest wish. Much has been written about the wonderful sagacity of the collie, but one must see him “working” a hillside to appreciate fully his great worth, and to understand how impossible it would be for the shepherd to undertake his difficult tasks, had he not the assistance of one or two well-trained dogs.
As a rule, the Scottish shepherd is a well-read man, and frequently in his plaid neuk or pocket may be found some volume which cannot be lightly skimmed over. As he reclines at noonday on a couch of heather, his eye following the fleecy clouds as they float athwart the blue sky above, his ear enjoying the hum of insect life or the soft murmur of the mountain rill, and his heart filled with the tranquillity of it all, his mind may be endeavouring to solve some metaphysical problem suggested by some passage in the book at his side. Though often removed from his fellow-men for lengthened periods, he keeps abreast of the topics of the day, for somehow history penetrates into the most remote corners, and the foam from the breakers of passing events is wafted to the loneliest valleys or the homes of the mountain dwellers.
A well-educated man himself, it is the shepherd's desire that his family should enjoy the advantage of a good sound education; but the remoteness of his dwelling makes it difficult for the little ones to attend school. In most cases, however, they do so, and the distances traversed by the little feet would surprise our city scholars, who can generally find a seminary of learning within a stone's-throw of their own dwelling.
Far removed from towns or villages, the schools which the shepherd's children attend are very small, as a rule; but they are none the less important on that account, for the teacher has time to deal with each child individually. The smallest Board school in Scotland was situated near Tweed's Well, the source of the river Tweed, but was closed a few years ago. The scholars were mostly the children of shepherds and were few in number, the average attendance being about six. The school-house was a small cottage with only one apartment, which served as school-room and living-room for the Dominie. In one corner was the bed, while in front of the tiny window were two small forms for the scholars. On the wall hung a smoke-begrimed map, which matched in hue the exposed wooden joists of the low ceiling. The whole place measured only a few feet each way, and was not conspicuous for its comforts; yet doubtless some of the little ones, who attended when the weather permitted, will look back with pleasure to their "schule-days."
I had the privilege of a chat with the Dominie in his little school-room, shortly before the place was closed, and it was quite evident that his departure, consequent on the depopulation of the district and the Board's decision to discontinue the school, would be a wrench to him.
In addition to their ordinary work some shepherds undertake, during the summer-time, the care of bees, and it is not an uncommon sight to see a sheep-fold containing a goodly number of "skeps." The hives have been carried long distances by their owners and placed under the care of the shepherd, who sees that no harm befalls the industrious insects, which gather a rich honey harvest from the purple heather all around.
Although the loneliness of his residence and the nature of his calling naturally make the shepherd a serious man, he has generally a frank manner, and, like most of his countrymen, a quiet vein of humour. The oft-quoted "surgical operation" of Sydney Smith is rarely necessary to enable a true Scot to see the point of a joke, but it must be a joke with a point. What Sydney Smith really did say was not exactly what is so commonly attributed to him. The late William Chambers, of the famous publishing firm of W. & R. Chambers, thus relates the circumstances under which the genial humorist made his famous remark: "My reverend and facetious visitor made some little inquiry about my own early efforts, and he laughed when I reminded him of a saying of his own about studying on a little oatmeal for that would have applied literally to my brother and myself. 'Ah, labora, labora,’ he said sententiously, 'how that word expresses the character of your country!'
"’Well, we do sometimes work pretty hard,' I observed; ‘but for all that, we can relish a pleasantry as much as our neighbours. You must have seen that the Scotch have a considerable fund of humour.'
"'Oh, by all means,' replied my visitor; 'you are an immensely funny people, but you need a little operating upon to let the fun out. I know no instrument so effectual for the purpose as the corkscrew!’”
Visits to the cattle and sheep sales, or the annual fair, are events in the even tenor of the shepherd's life, and on these occasions the younger men especially can throw themselves with enthusiasm into all the "fun of the fair." The country fair has lost much of its utility and attractiveness, but in former times it was a most important gathering, as can be seen from the fact that Hogg, the "Ettrick Shepherd," when Sir Walter Scott secured a seat for him at the coronation of George IV, declined the honour on the ground that the event happened on the same day as St. Boswell's Fair.
City life may have a tendency to obliterate or tone down national characteristics, but there is little fear of their entire disappearance as long as we have a race of shepherds and country-bred men
Who breathe the air of liberty
And feel the throb of Nature's heart;
Around whose path sweet silence reigns
And grants the power to think apart;
Who, far removed from haunts of men,
Are self-reliant, true, and strong;
Whose hearts, not dulled by worldly strife,
Respond to strains of Heavenly song.
Sanderson, William. Scottish Life and Character. Adam and Charles Black, 1914.
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