Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush — Inside the Classic

Voices of the Parish

The narrative voice in these excerpts is layered, shifting between a standard English narrator and the rich Scots dialect of characters like Drumsheugh, Burnbrae, and Marget. Drumsheugh’s complaint about “veesitin’ the schule and sittin’ wi’ bukes in oor hands” is not merely comic; it reveals a deep attachment to the old ways of learning, where the Dominie’s personal judgment mattered more than bureaucratic inspection. Later, Burnbrae’s prayer—spoken in Scots—uses the metaphor of the “Elder Brither” who “cam’ a long road tae find us,” blending theological language with the homely cadences of the glen. This linguistic contrast underscores a central tension: the formal structures of church and school versus the intimate, lived faith of the people.

The Pharisee’s Humility

Lachlan Campbell’s transformation is the most striking personal arc in the excerpts. Formerly a “grand inquisitor” on the Session, proud of his knowledge, he now confesses: “I wass thinking that I knew more than any man in Drumtochty, and wass judging God’s people.” His speech retains a Highland lilt (“it iss a great joy for me to move that Mary Macfarlane get her token”), but the content is radically changed. He quotes Scripture—“So the last shall be first, and the first last”—and applies it to himself. The scene where Flora’s hand reaches for Lachlan’s during the singing of Psalm 103 is a quiet, physical marker of this change. The narrator notes that “the manners of Drumtochty were perfect, and no one turned his head,” yet the gesture is seen and recorded, a private moment made public only to the reader.

Ritual and the Unseen

The vestry scene at the close of the excerpts is a masterful piece of understated drama. Carmichael opens his eyes after Burnbrae’s prayer and sees the six elders—a tailor, a stonemason, a shepherd—standing beneath the lamp, the light falling “like a halo on their bent heads.” The narrator explicitly dissolves the physical setting: “That poor little vestry had disappeared, and this present world was forgotten.” The quotation from 2 Corinthians 4:18—“the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal”—is not merely appended but earned by the preceding accumulation of detail. The mundane materials of parish life—the lamp, the elders’ trades, the cramped room—are transfigured into a vision of the eternal, without any strain or sentimentality.

Readers attuned to the interplay of dialect and standard English, and to the way small gestures carry large meanings, will find these sketches richly rewarding. The excerpts offer no complete plot, but they do reveal a writer who trusts his characters’ voices to carry the weight of theme. Pay attention to the moments when the narrator steps back and lets a farmer’s prayer or a former Pharisee’s confession stand without comment—those are the hinges on which the work turns.

Some evenings, I think of Drumtochty's folk wrestling with change, their voices carried on dialect and quiet faith. Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush holds that tension like a well-worn psalm. And when I close it, my hand often reaches for In Kedar's Tents — Reading Companion, a gentler neighbour, sharing the same long shadows and the same patient hope for home.