SUSAN TIPPETT BRAITHWAITE

Back in 2019, I started a series of posts called Thing in Scots. The series has languished for a while, and I’ve been wanting to get it up and running again. Cue Scotstober.

Scotstober is a challenge on Twitter where there’s a Scots word prompt for each day of October. You can follow it by using the #Scotstober hashtag.

Today’s word is mirk. It means dark, gloomy, night. And, here’s my response to the prompt:

Walton kept the edgie, peerin through the mirk o the wynd as he waitit fur Leigh tae answer him. “Did ye dae hit or no?” He pied doon his neb, ower heez fantoosh, wee glesses.

“Naw.” She oxtert hir hauns tae protecke fae the cauld.

“Naw? Naw?” Walton’s eens near burst oot his heid. “A kent better than tae uise a wee quine fir a mannie’s joab.” He went fir hir then, a saicant tae late.

Leigh smirked as she rammed the beetyach intae heez thairm. “Thit’s whit they aw say.”

And now in English.

Walton was on high alert, peering through the darkness of the alley as he waited for Leigh to answer him. “Did you do it or not?” He peered down his nose, over his flashy, small glasses.

“No.” She tucked her hands into her armpits to protect them from the cold.

“No? No?” Walton’s eyes bulged. “I knew better than to have a girl do a mans job.” he went for her then, a second too late.

Leigh smiled as she shoved the small knife into his gut. “That’s what they all say.”