THE RED-FACED "SCOTCHMAN"
Created | Updated Mar 19, 2008
I’ve imagined a mysterious dynasty of Morwennas and made up some stories about them. This particular tale is built around the story of Elizabeth Veale from Bridgerule. In 1788, at Holsworthy, Elizabeth married John Macarthur, who was to become an influential figure in colonial NSW and who has been given a name as the father of the Australian sheep industry. He was even featured on an Australian bank note. I felt sure that any credit for the development of farming in colonial NSW must be due to Elizabeth, the farmer’s daughter, (and to transported agricultural labourers) rather than to a politically ambitious army officer. After writing the story, I found that the contribution of Elizabeth Macarthur is, in fact, well recognized. I also found that John Macarthur grew up in Plymouth, not in Scotland, and that Elizabeth’s childhood was spent, not on a farm, but in a rectory!
I don’t know whether the people of Bridgerule and Tamarside in general know all about Elizabeth. I hope some of them will get to read my story and then be interested to search the web and find out more about her.
THE RED-FACED "SCOTCHMAN"
What a name to be stuck with! It’s all right at school and things, because they all call me Wen, even the teachers, but it’s when visitors ask you your name, or you have to go to the hospital or something. Miss Tickner says, “Oh, it’s a lovely name, a saint’s name. Perhaps you’re descended from Saint Morwenna.” But everyone knows that saints don’t get married and have descendants. And Dad says that St Morwenna was Irish and probably had red hair and green eyes. Dad loves putting people right; he’s always got to know something different from everyone else.
And there’s another thing – being tiny. There’s kids in Mrs Durling’s class taller than me. I don’t want any different hair, but it would be nice to be tall. Mum’s not very tall, but she says she hopes I’ll be like her and not like Gran. Gran is so little too. She’s lovely though.
Gran is Morwenna too. And anyone who’s lived around here for a long time knows that her gran had the same name. It’s a thing in our family – there’s always a granddaughter called Morwenna. Gran says she thinks we’ve been doing it for years and years. I always walk down to Gran’s on Saturday mornings. I’m supposed to do jobs for her, but usually I just sit at the kitchen table and she tells me stories while she’s baking.
********
Gran was making saffron cake, as she did every Saturday morning. I sat on the kitchen chair and swung my legs, waiting to eat the first bun hot from the oven. Gran was standing on an old Corona box but still had to raise her elbows up above the rim of her mixing bowl to work the lovely yellow dough.
“Do you mind being little, Gran?”
“Wen, dear, how many times have ‘ee asked me that same question? Have the children at school been teasing ‘ee again?”
“No, they don’t tease me now I’m in top class.”
“Well, perhaps I minded once, my love, when I was young, but I’ve had seventy years to get used to it. ‘Tis less to clothe and less to clean, though I don’ think ‘tis any less to feed.”
“Did you ever talk to your gran about it, Gran?”
“Oh yes. I was just like you – I wadn’ best pleased about it. Nor about my name neither. The other children used to terrify me dreadful. I’d often go down to Gran’s in tears, on Saturday mornings too, funny enough. And Gran, my gran, would say, ‘’Tis nort to cry about, chiel. ‘Tis a name that makes us a proper family, more of a family than folks wi’ a grand name like St Aubyn or Tre, Pol and Pen.”
“I suppose it does, Gran, if there’ve been lots of Morwennas before us. How many do you reckon, Gran?”
“I don’ know, but my granny and her grandmother before her, and several before that, I reckon.”
“So we’re real Cornish people then?”
“Now what does that mean? Have ‘ee been talking to Uncle Tommy and ees something something Kernow? Who knows where us come from? The whole world is liquorice allsorts now and all the better for it. Your dear old granddad was from Lebanon and one great-grandfather or something was Danish. I’ve got no time for folks talking as if ‘twas something special to have been born at Treskinny Cross.”
“But do you think we’ve always lived around here, Gran?”
“Well, yerabouts, I suppose. Mind you, us could all have ended up in Australia. My great-great-grandmother nearly went there one time.”
“You’ve never told me about her, Gran. Who was she? Why was she going there?”
“Haven’t I told ‘ee that old tale? Well, my great-great-grandmother Morwenna was in service with a well-to-do farming family out t’other side of Lanworthy. They had a daughter, Miss Elizabeth, and her made a great pet of great-great-grandma – just a young maid then, of course. Great-great-granny was little like us. And pretty like us too, eh? This Miss Elizabeth was a strange young lady for they days. Oh, her’d dress up pretty and go visiting with the parson and local gentlefolk, but her was a real farmer’s daughter too. More than that really, I suppose, not just making the butter and suchlike but out helping with the lambing, driving horses or poking the hay.”
“Well, about that time, there was a lot of out-of-work army officers come down yer, come for the hunting and because they could make a show of being grand gentlemen among the poor folks round yer. One of’m was a big red-faced Scotchman, a blustery loud-mouthed know-it-all, and course ‘ee would go and take a fancy to Miss Elizabeth.”
“But she didn’t like him, did she, Gran?”
“Well, funny enough, her did, and ‘twadn’ very long ‘fore they were married. ‘Ee got back in the army and was posted abroad somewhere. Her had to go too. ‘Ee told her to find a lady’s maid to take with her.”
“So one day her called great-great-granny in and asked her to go with her as her maid. That was a big thing, see, because great-great-granny was only a kitchen maid or something, not a lady’s maid. ‘Morwenna’, Miss Elizabeth said, ‘I’m going to have to spend my whole life far away from here and I’d really like to have you with me. It will make it easier for me if I have you, one of my own people to talk to. And I have a feeling that there will be something special that I’ll have to do. I’d like you to come too and help me’. Course, great-great-granny thought that was wonderful, a real adventure. And her mother was all for it too, her becoming a lady’s maid. But in the end, her didn’ go.”
“Why, Gran? What happened?”
“Well, her grandmother was still alive then, our I-don’-know-how-many-great grandmothers, living right down in Cornwall somewhere. And the old lady called for Morwenna to go down there, and her told her something or showed her something that made her change her mind.”
“I wonder what she said. I expect she was worried about her going so far away. And did Miss Elizabeth go to Australia?”
“Yes, her did. And do ‘ee know, while her husband was spending ees time being the grand gentleman out there, arguing and drinking and politicking, Miss Elizabeth went back to farming. Her wrote letters home about her lovely farm, with its apricot trees and peaches and wonderful great sheep. ‘Twas Miss Elizabeth who showed’m out there how do proper farming. And of course, the Scotchman, her husband, got all the name for it – ee who didn’ know no more about farming than ee could pick up with ees knife and fork!”
“Did your great-great-grandma tell you all about this, Gran?”
No, dear. Her died long ‘fore I was born.”
“So how do you know the story, Gran?”
“Well, ‘twas a very special way it happened. Wen dear, this idn’ easy for ‘ee to understand, but ‘twill all come a bit clearer d’rectly. You see, I went there once, to the farm where great-great-granny had worked. I didn’ know ‘twas that place. I just happened to go there because I was riding round with Father when ‘ee was delivering the corn meal. I was about your age then and I loved to go with’n in the lorry. Well, they would have us come in and have a cup of tea, and I was sitting there in the great old farm kitchen looking around at the slate floor and the big old fireplace with the bread oven in the wall of it – I can see it now – and then suddenly – I knowed it all. ‘Twas as if I was my great-great-grandmother. Only in an instant, but I could see and feel all that happened from ‘fore ever the army officers come there to when Miss Elizabeth’s mother was sitting at the kitchen table reading us the letters from Australia.”
“Oh, Gran, did that really happen to you? I’d give anything to have a dream like that.”
“Wen, my dear, I think something like that will happen to ‘ee one day. But ‘twas hardly a dream. They’m more than that. They’m what goes with us being Morwennas and being nizzledraff size all the days of our lives. ‘Tis something very special that’ve been give to us.”
********
I don’t know whether the people of Bridgerule and Tamarside in general know all about Elizabeth. I hope some of them will get to read my story and then be interested to search the web and find out more about her.
THE RED-FACED "SCOTCHMAN"
What a name to be stuck with! It’s all right at school and things, because they all call me Wen, even the teachers, but it’s when visitors ask you your name, or you have to go to the hospital or something. Miss Tickner says, “Oh, it’s a lovely name, a saint’s name. Perhaps you’re descended from Saint Morwenna.” But everyone knows that saints don’t get married and have descendants. And Dad says that St Morwenna was Irish and probably had red hair and green eyes. Dad loves putting people right; he’s always got to know something different from everyone else.
And there’s another thing – being tiny. There’s kids in Mrs Durling’s class taller than me. I don’t want any different hair, but it would be nice to be tall. Mum’s not very tall, but she says she hopes I’ll be like her and not like Gran. Gran is so little too. She’s lovely though.
Gran is Morwenna too. And anyone who’s lived around here for a long time knows that her gran had the same name. It’s a thing in our family – there’s always a granddaughter called Morwenna. Gran says she thinks we’ve been doing it for years and years. I always walk down to Gran’s on Saturday mornings. I’m supposed to do jobs for her, but usually I just sit at the kitchen table and she tells me stories while she’s baking.
********
Gran was making saffron cake, as she did every Saturday morning. I sat on the kitchen chair and swung my legs, waiting to eat the first bun hot from the oven. Gran was standing on an old Corona box but still had to raise her elbows up above the rim of her mixing bowl to work the lovely yellow dough.
“Do you mind being little, Gran?”
“Wen, dear, how many times have ‘ee asked me that same question? Have the children at school been teasing ‘ee again?”
“No, they don’t tease me now I’m in top class.”
“Well, perhaps I minded once, my love, when I was young, but I’ve had seventy years to get used to it. ‘Tis less to clothe and less to clean, though I don’ think ‘tis any less to feed.”
“Did you ever talk to your gran about it, Gran?”
“Oh yes. I was just like you – I wadn’ best pleased about it. Nor about my name neither. The other children used to terrify me dreadful. I’d often go down to Gran’s in tears, on Saturday mornings too, funny enough. And Gran, my gran, would say, ‘’Tis nort to cry about, chiel. ‘Tis a name that makes us a proper family, more of a family than folks wi’ a grand name like St Aubyn or Tre, Pol and Pen.”
“I suppose it does, Gran, if there’ve been lots of Morwennas before us. How many do you reckon, Gran?”
“I don’ know, but my granny and her grandmother before her, and several before that, I reckon.”
“So we’re real Cornish people then?”
“Now what does that mean? Have ‘ee been talking to Uncle Tommy and ees something something Kernow? Who knows where us come from? The whole world is liquorice allsorts now and all the better for it. Your dear old granddad was from Lebanon and one great-grandfather or something was Danish. I’ve got no time for folks talking as if ‘twas something special to have been born at Treskinny Cross.”
“But do you think we’ve always lived around here, Gran?”
“Well, yerabouts, I suppose. Mind you, us could all have ended up in Australia. My great-great-grandmother nearly went there one time.”
“You’ve never told me about her, Gran. Who was she? Why was she going there?”
“Haven’t I told ‘ee that old tale? Well, my great-great-grandmother Morwenna was in service with a well-to-do farming family out t’other side of Lanworthy. They had a daughter, Miss Elizabeth, and her made a great pet of great-great-grandma – just a young maid then, of course. Great-great-granny was little like us. And pretty like us too, eh? This Miss Elizabeth was a strange young lady for they days. Oh, her’d dress up pretty and go visiting with the parson and local gentlefolk, but her was a real farmer’s daughter too. More than that really, I suppose, not just making the butter and suchlike but out helping with the lambing, driving horses or poking the hay.”
“Well, about that time, there was a lot of out-of-work army officers come down yer, come for the hunting and because they could make a show of being grand gentlemen among the poor folks round yer. One of’m was a big red-faced Scotchman, a blustery loud-mouthed know-it-all, and course ‘ee would go and take a fancy to Miss Elizabeth.”
“But she didn’t like him, did she, Gran?”
“Well, funny enough, her did, and ‘twadn’ very long ‘fore they were married. ‘Ee got back in the army and was posted abroad somewhere. Her had to go too. ‘Ee told her to find a lady’s maid to take with her.”
“So one day her called great-great-granny in and asked her to go with her as her maid. That was a big thing, see, because great-great-granny was only a kitchen maid or something, not a lady’s maid. ‘Morwenna’, Miss Elizabeth said, ‘I’m going to have to spend my whole life far away from here and I’d really like to have you with me. It will make it easier for me if I have you, one of my own people to talk to. And I have a feeling that there will be something special that I’ll have to do. I’d like you to come too and help me’. Course, great-great-granny thought that was wonderful, a real adventure. And her mother was all for it too, her becoming a lady’s maid. But in the end, her didn’ go.”
“Why, Gran? What happened?”
“Well, her grandmother was still alive then, our I-don’-know-how-many-great grandmothers, living right down in Cornwall somewhere. And the old lady called for Morwenna to go down there, and her told her something or showed her something that made her change her mind.”
“I wonder what she said. I expect she was worried about her going so far away. And did Miss Elizabeth go to Australia?”
“Yes, her did. And do ‘ee know, while her husband was spending ees time being the grand gentleman out there, arguing and drinking and politicking, Miss Elizabeth went back to farming. Her wrote letters home about her lovely farm, with its apricot trees and peaches and wonderful great sheep. ‘Twas Miss Elizabeth who showed’m out there how do proper farming. And of course, the Scotchman, her husband, got all the name for it – ee who didn’ know no more about farming than ee could pick up with ees knife and fork!”
“Did your great-great-grandma tell you all about this, Gran?”
No, dear. Her died long ‘fore I was born.”
“So how do you know the story, Gran?”
“Well, ‘twas a very special way it happened. Wen dear, this idn’ easy for ‘ee to understand, but ‘twill all come a bit clearer d’rectly. You see, I went there once, to the farm where great-great-granny had worked. I didn’ know ‘twas that place. I just happened to go there because I was riding round with Father when ‘ee was delivering the corn meal. I was about your age then and I loved to go with’n in the lorry. Well, they would have us come in and have a cup of tea, and I was sitting there in the great old farm kitchen looking around at the slate floor and the big old fireplace with the bread oven in the wall of it – I can see it now – and then suddenly – I knowed it all. ‘Twas as if I was my great-great-grandmother. Only in an instant, but I could see and feel all that happened from ‘fore ever the army officers come there to when Miss Elizabeth’s mother was sitting at the kitchen table reading us the letters from Australia.”
“Oh, Gran, did that really happen to you? I’d give anything to have a dream like that.”
“Wen, my dear, I think something like that will happen to ‘ee one day. But ‘twas hardly a dream. They’m more than that. They’m what goes with us being Morwennas and being nizzledraff size all the days of our lives. ‘Tis something very special that’ve been give to us.”
********
