Jamie Fleeman, the Laird of Udny’s Fool, the most illustrious, was probably the very last of his order in Scotland. A real “natural,” Jamie had, notwithstanding, rare “glimmerings of common-sense,” as Bailie Nicol Jarvie avowed concerning the Dugal Craitur, and possessed a pungency of ready wit and humour and withering sarcasm which caused him to be dreaded as a foe and trusted as a friend. Without troubling to follow the details of Jamie’s career, interesting as these are, we will simply glance en passant at his strange personality, and proceed to account some well-authenticated stories in which he was a prime actor.

Biographically, suffice it to say that, according to one writer, he was a native of Longside, in Aberdeenshire, and was born on the 7th April, 1713, whilst an earlier chronicler asserts that the place of the great man’s birth is so uncertain that the eighty-and-one parishes of Aberdeenshire might, if they pleased, contend for that honour in like manner as the seven cities of Greece contended for the glory of having been the birthplace of Homer. Jamie spent the days of his boyhood about the house of Sir Alexander Guthrie of Ludquharn, and at a very early period of life began, by his bluntness of manner and shrewdness of remark, to attract the notice of his superiors. By and by he gravitated to Udny, which remained his “head-quarters” during many pleasant years. He had a strange appearance. “His countenance—indescribably, and even painfully, striking—wore that expression which at once betrays the absence of sound judgment; his head large and round—his hair perhaps naturally brown, but rendered, by constant exposure to the weather, of a dingy fox-colour, and not sleek, but standing on end—as if Jamie had been frightened out of his wits—indicated that his foolishness was not assumed but real.” A person of strong and reliable affection, Jamie had equally strong and confirmed prejudices. The latter had respect to places, persons, and animals. No red-haired woman, for example, could gain his respect. “Whaur saw ye ever a lady wi’ scarlet hair?” he would growl. He had a prejudice in favour of dogs, and a hatred of cats, and this, he said, was “gentlemanny.” All the curs in the country knew him, and were glad to see him. Wherever he stayed, the dog was generally permitted to share his bed and board. At Waterton he taught a large house-dog to observe a line drawn across the porridge pot. On one side of the line the porridge belonged to Jamie, on the other the dog was permitted to feed, Jamie’s spoon making the boundary line to be duly respected. One morning the dog being from home, the cook insisted that the cat should be permitted to take Curry’s place. Fleeman’s countenance fell at the suggestion, but he did not venture to remonstrate and run the risk of losing the cook’s favour. Pussy was accordingly placed at the opposite side of the pot from Jamie, but ignorant of the law of the pot, she speedily transgressed by putting her nose across the marshes. Fleeman suspended operations, and viewed her for a moment with an eye of sovereign contempt. A like transgression on the part of the dog would have been adequately punished by a slap over the head with the back of his spoon; but less mercy must be shown to the cat, so, quietly slipping his hand down on the enemy’s head, he, with a sudden jerk, plunged her over the ears into the scalding mess, gravely remarking the while, “Desperate diseases require desperate cures, ye curst wretch!”

Factors were no favourites with Jamie either, and it was a trait in his character that he employed every opportunity that presented itself to annoy those whom he held in aversion. One day a proprietor, at whose house he was on a visit, was walking out with his factor, and showing him a field of hill-land which he had cultivated at considerable expense, but which had proved very unproductive. “I have tried many things,” said the gentleman; “what do you think, if planted, would be likely to thrive in it?”

The factor, a very corpulent man, put on an air of great consequence, and stood musing for a time, during which Jamie was overheard saying—

“O’d, I could tell ye what would thrive in’t.”

“Well, Fleeman,” said the Laird, “and what would that be?”

“Plant it wi’ factors, Laird,” said the fool, “they thrive in every place; but for a’ that,” added he, “deil curse the crap, it’s no a very profitable ane.”

The proprietor of an estate near by Udny was held in special aversion by Jamie, and one day when the fool was lolling on the bank of the Ythan, basking himself in the sun, he was hailed from the other side of the water by this laird, who asked him where was the best ford. The malicious knave directed the laird to the deepest pool in the river, and the laird attempting to cross narrowly escaped drowning. When he arrived, sorely drenched and “forfouchen,” on the other side, he made up to Fleeman, and in a voice hoarse with passion, accused the poor fool of a design to drown him. “Gosh be here, Laird!” said Jamie, “I’ve seen the geese and the deucks crossin’ there hunders o’ times, and I’m sure your horse has far langer legs than they ha’e.”

To try if Jamie was proof against the allurements of pelf, some one about the place scattered a few copper coins on the way between the house and the well, and kept watch at the time when he would be sent out for water. Fleeman, carrying his buckets, came to the place where the coins lay, and, eyeing them for a moment, he muttered to himself—just loud enough to be heard by those who watched his conduct—“When I carry water, I carry water; and when I gather bawbees, I gather bawbees,” and passed on. This shows that if Jamie was a fool, he possessed a virtue which many who are not accounted so cannot lay claim to.

Another story illustrates his extraordinary sagacity. On one occasion he was sent all the way to Edinburgh with a letter to the Laird, who had gone thither some short time previously. Jamie arrived in Edinburgh safely, but he was quite ignorant of the Laird’s address; and this he set about to discover. And thus—as he wandered about in the streets, he narrowly inspected every dog he met, and was at last sufficiently lucky to recognise one of his old bed-fellows. Seizing him in his arms, he ran into a shop, and, asking a coil of rope, measured off five or six yards, and fastening the end of this round the dog’s neck, he set him down, and giving him a few hearty kicks, cried, “Hame wi’ you, ye scoonging tyke! hame wi’ ye!” and, following at the heels of the half-frightened-to-death dog, he discovered the Laird’s temporary dwelling-place.

Fleeman’s wit was sometimes of a playful cast, sometimes of a grave and didactic nature; but grave or gay, it rarely failed to effect the object for which it was called forth. Passing along the road one day, he was accosted by a foppishly-dressed individual, who eyed him from head to foot, and exclaimed in a rather impertinent manner, “You are Udny’s fool, are you not?”

“Ay,” replied Jamie, with an odd stare, peculiar to himself, “I’m Udny’s feel. Fa’s feel are ye?”

Being at Peterhead, Fleeman was one day on the shore near the “Wine Well,” where several gentlemen belonging to the town were assembled, and looking very earnestly through a telescope at some distant object. Always of an enquiring nature, Jamie asked one of the gentlemen what it was they were so intently surveying. “Oh, Jamie,” said he, bantering the fool, “we are looking at a couple of limpets that are trying a race on the Skerry! D’ye no see them?”

“I canna just say that I do,” replied Jamie, as grave as a judge. Then, turning up one side of his head as if listening intently, he all of a sudden assumed an animated expression of countenance, and exclaimed with ludicrous gravity, “Lo’d bless me, sir, I hear the sound o’ their feet as they scamper up the face o’ the rock!” and passed on.

Jamie’s practice was never to call any person a liar, but when any one told him what he considered was a deliberate falsehood, he just capped the initial lie with a bigger one.

“Man, Jamie,” exclaimed an individual whom he met on the road one day, “have ye heard the news?” (Jamie had a well-known penchant for news).

“Na, faith I,” said Jamie, all expectation. “What news, man?”

“O’d man,” said he, “there’s seven miles o’ the sea burned at Newburgh this morning.”

“Ay, man,” replied Jamie, apparently very much in earnest. “Weel, I little ferlie, for I saw a flock o’ skate that darkened the very air fleein’ ower this way about breakfast-time. They gaed ower by Waterton to the woods o’ Tolquhon, and they’ll likely be biggin’ their nests there.”

As is often the case with naturals, Jamie was possessed of extraordinary strength, particularly in his arms; and in this connection there is a good story told of him. There happened to be in Aberdeen an English regiment, the commander of which was a gasconading fellow, who constantly bragged of the extraordinary strength of his men. One day the Laird of Udny and this officer were of the same party at dinner. When the glass began to circulate, the officer began to boast, and, as was his wont, got louder and louder in praise of his men, as he became more and more heated with wine. At length, Udny, believing that the insult was levelled at his countrymen, by the pertinacity of the officer’s boast, said rather smartly—

“From all accounts, these famous grenadiers of yours are the best wrestlers that England can produce. I’ll take you a wager of twenty guineas that the lad who herds my cows, and carries peats and water to the kitchen, will throw the best man in your regiment.”

The officer was in a paroxysm of rage, but confident that his men were as good as he had represented them to be, he readily took the bet, clenching it with an oath, and added that the pride of the Scotch would soon be laid as low as it was on Drummossie Moor.

Time and place for the trial of strength being appointed, Udny, after ordering his servant to purchase half a pound of fine twist tobacco, set off to his residence. Fearing that Jamie might not relish the job he had prepared for him, Udny thought it the wisest course to coax him a little, and knowing his passionate fondness for tobacco, he presented the half-pound, at the same time remarking—

“I have got myself into a scrape, Fleeman, and no man but you can take me out of it.”

Jamie eyed the tobacco with a look of great satisfaction, clapped a couple of inches from the end of it in his cheek, and looking Udny in the face, with an air of great seriousness, said—

“What is’t Laird?”

“You must shak’-a-fa’ for me, Fleeman,” said Udny.

“Is that a’?” cried Jamie.

“But it is with soldiers, Jamie; and if ye throw them, ye shall get another half-pound of tobacco.”

Jamie began to gambol and cut capers, as was his custom when in good humour, and Udny saw his point was gained.

On the appointed day Jamie appeared at the Cross of Aberdeen bareheaded, his hair standing on end as on ordinary occasions, and dressed in the sackcloth coat which he usually wore. The soldiers, not deeming that they jested with their antagonist, were playing on him all sorts of tricks. When the hour approached the Colonel appeared, and had his men drawn up in order. Seeing no person with Udny, he demanded him, with an air of triumph, to produce the cowherd who was to throw the best man that England could produce. Udny beckoned to Jamie, who came capering forward. The officer looked with an air of contempt on Udny and his cow-boy, whilst a loud laugh burst from the soldiers when they saw the poor idiot whom they had lately been jeering brought forward as a match for any man in the company. As the soldiers were really fine men, and expert wrestlers, their commander, instead of selecting the strongest of his party, ordered out one of the weakest, determined, as he thought, to turn the laugh, as well as the bet, against Udny.

“Do you take the first shake?” inquired the soldier, approaching Jamie not without some evidence of aversion.

“Na, na,” replied Jamie; “tak’ ye the first shake, for fear ye getna anither,” and he threw the soldier from him as he would have done a child.

Another and more powerful man shared the same fate. The Colonel now began to suspect that Udny’s man was better than he looked. He was likewise irritated by the smiles on the faces of the bystanders, and ordered out the best man in his regiment.

Jamie, too, was beginning to be in earnest, and the champion was seized and dashed to the ground in an instant, which done, Jamie ran up to the Laird and inquired—

“Lo’d! have I a’ that dyke o’ men to throw, Laird? If sae, tell their maister to ca’ oot twa or three o’ them at ance, for I maun be hame in time to tak’ in the kye.”

The Castlegate rang with shouts of laughter, and the bet was declared off.

Jamie liked to accompany the Laird whithersoever he went, and, mounted on a huge “rung,” he could keep pace with his master’s pony, if the journey was not a very long one. One year the Laird set out for Perth Races, and, as the sequel indicates, without—purposely or forgetfully—making Fleeman aware of his intention. Udny had not proceeded far on his journey, however, until the scene of his sojourn was being talked about the house. Jamie’s ears, always on the cock, caught the word, and, taking to his rung, he cut across the country, and reached St. Johnstone before his master. Jamie had a friend in the kitchen of every house at which Udny was in the habit of visiting, and, calling on one or other of his Perthshire benefactors, he had got served with the larger half of a leg of mutton. With this he repaired to the Brig of Perth to make a meal, and wait the Laird’s arrival. It was not long until the Laird of Udny made his appearance.

“Hilloa, Fleeman,” said he, reining up his nag, “are you here already?”

“Ca’ awa’, Laird,” said Jamie, smacking his lips, and not deigning to look his interrogator in the face—“ca’ awa’! Ye ken a body when they hae something.”

It is recorded of him that one day when travelling along the road he found a horse shoe. Shortly after Mr. Craigie, the minister of St. Fergus, came up to him. Jamie knew the minister well, and, holding up the shoe and examining it carefully all round the while—

“Od, minister,” he said, “can ye tell me what that is?”

“That!” said the minister, “you fool, that’s a horse shoe!”

“Ah!” said Fleeman, with a sigh, “sic a blessin’ it is to hae book lear! I couldna tell whether it was a horse’s shoe or a mare’s!”

The following is about the only anecdote recorded of Fleeman which exhibits a mingling of the rogue with the fool:—He had been sent to Haddo House to fetch some geese thence to Udny Castle. Finding the task of driving them before him a very arduous one, by reason of their many perverse digressions from the public road, Jamie, when his patience was fairly exhausted, procured a straw rope, and twisting this about their necks, he took the double of it over his shoulder and walked swiftly on, dragging the geese after him, and never casting “one longing, lingering look behind.” On his arrival at Udny, he discovered to his horror, that the geese were all strangled and stone-dead. The breed was a peculiar one, and strict injunctions had been given to him to be careful in conducting the geese safely home. So his ingenuity, which never failed him, had to be drawn upon to devise a plan that would free him from disgrace. Accordingly, dragging his victims into the poultry yard, he stuffed their bills and throats with food, then boldly entered the castle.

“Well, Jamie, have you brought the geese?”

“Ay have I.”

“And are they safe?”

“Safe! I put them into the poultry yard, an’ they’re goble, goblin’ an’ eatin’ yonder as if they hadna seen meat this twalmonth. I only hope they haena chokit themsel’s afore noo!”

If Jamie Fleeman’s wits were “ravelled,” his heart was generally found sound and in the right place. His sympathies invariably went with the weak, the suffering, the poor, and the oppressed; and many anecdotes, not a few of them quite pathetic in their character, are on record, in illustration of this delightful side of his nature. Just one here:—There was a young fellow, a servant about a farmhouse where Fleeman sometimes stayed for a day or two at a time, who had seduced a poor girl in the neighbourhood, and added to his first fault by resolutely denying that he was the father of the child, and strenuously endeavouring to make it be believed that the girl’s reputation had always been of a very doubtful nature. Before the Kirk-Session he appeared again and again, where he declared his own innocence, and denounced the poor girl as a liar and worse, although, up to that time, she had really borne an unimpeachable character. With all these facts Jamie was, along with everybody else in the district, perfectly familiar, and he formed his own opinion regarding them. One evening at the farmhouse aforesaid, when the servants were gathered round the kitchen fire, and, with the fool in their midst, were playing off little jokes upon Jamie, in order to get amusement by his quick repartee, no one teased him more than he who had lately figured so conspicuously before the Kirk-Session.

“Man, Jamie,” said he, “ye’re sic a fool that I’ll wager ye that ye canna tell whether ye be your father’s son or your mither’s? Fat answer ha’e ye got to that? Just tell me?” And he burst into a loud fit of laughter, as if he had got the better of Jamie.

“Tell ye me first, then,” said Fleeman, gravely, “fat answer ye have to gie your Maker at the last day, when He asks you if ye didna break the lass’s character, and then swear that ye did nae sic thing. It will maybe then be asked of you if you can tell whether her boy be not your son as well as his mither’s; and, faith, I’m thinking it will puzzle you to mak’ it out that his being the son o’ the ane hinders him from being the son o’ the ither.”

Some of those present laughed, others looked as if they did not know what to do. But the upshot of the matter was that, in the course of a few days after, the man waited on the minister, declared himself mis-sworn, confessed he had purposely endeavoured to injure the girl’s character, and begged to be absolved from Church censure.

To an accident which befell him when following his avocation of cowherd, is to be ascribed the origin of a proverb very current in Buchan—“The truth aye tells best.” Fleeman had, in repelling the invasion of a corn-field by the cattle under his charge, had recourse to the unwarrantable and unherd-like expedient of throwing stones. One of his missiles, on an evil day and an hour of woe, broke the leg of a thriving two-year-old. Towards sunset, when the hour of driving the cattle home had arrived, Jamie was lingering by a dykeside, planning an excuse for the fractured limb of the unfortunate stot. “I’ll say,” he soliloquised, “that he was loupin’ a stank an’ fell an’ broke his leg. Na! that winna tell! I’ll say that the brown stallion gied him a kick and did it. That winna tell either! I’ll say that the park yett fell upon’t. Na! that winna tell! I’ll say—I’ll say—what will I say? Od, I’ll say that I flung a stane and did it! That’ll tell!”

“Ay, Jamie,” cried the Laird, who had been an unseen listener, “ay, ay, Jamie, the truth aye tells best.”

In course of time Jamie was waited on to pay the debt of Nature, and, while standing round his death-bed, one said to another—

“I wonder if he has any sense of another world or a future reckoning?”

“Oh, no, he is a fool!” replied the other. “What can he know of such things?”

Jamie opened his eyes, and looking this man in the face said, “I never heard that God seeks where He did not give.”

After this he lay quiet for a short time, when he again opened his eyes, and looking up into the face of one standing near, whom he respected, he said in a firm tone, “I’m of the gentle persuasion, dinna bury me like a beast!”

His remains lie in the churchyard of Longside, in close proximity to the grave of the Rev. John Skinner, the author of “Tullochgorum”; and in kindly recognition of the humanity in poor Jamie, a handsome polished granite obelisk has been erected as near as is known to his grave, which bears the following inscription:—

Erected
in 1861
to indicate the grave
of
JAMIE FLEEMAN,
in answer to his prayer,
“Dinna Bury Me like a Beast.”