The Chapel

But I anticipate. The chapel is prettily situated close to one of the entrances to Kemnay House, a little way beyond the farm of Milton of Kemnay (Mr H. D. McCombie), close to the Kemnay and Alford Road, and amidst a clump of trees, whilst nearby is the cottar's house tenanted by William Emslie, the beadle. Passing along the road you would never suspect the building to be a place of worship. It is a plain old dwelling with chimneys at both ends. Originally it was erected by dissenters in the district, who gave it the form of a dwelling house, so that in the event of its ceasing to be used as a church it might readily be adapted for ordinary residence. In the fullness of time it reverted to the proprietor, I understand and it has since served as Mr Burnett's chapel.

Bald and Bare

Entrance to the church is by a little side door near one of the end of the house, and the scene inside transports the visitor at once into the bald and primitive severity of the ancient edifices in which our forefathers worshipped. There is a plain stencilled dado, but the prevailing yellow ochre and whitewash appear to frown grimly on this concession to frivolity. The seats consist of bare worm-eaten wood, untouched by paint or varnish, and the pulpit (which is of precisely similar workmanship) is of the old box pattern, and is reached by a short flight of steps to the right. The Kemnay House family pew is to the left of the pulpit (on the preacher's right), and is a large square compartment with cushioned seats, and what looks like a centre table covered with red cloth. The pulpit is lit with two candles. That used to be the only sort of illumination in vogue, but to the walls of the narrow building paraffin lamps are now affixed. There is no central aisle; the passage keeps well to the right, and the seats to the left of it run cross-wise, room being left on the other side of the passage for a long side seat, which, however, is broken into two to give space for the little stove.

The Congregation

That was the character of the building into which at half past four o'clock I wandered. There were only seven of us then in the building – including the beadle – five adults and two young nickums who sat on opposite sides of the stove and made each other laugh. It seemed at first as if we were to be the whole congregation. Slowly, however, others sauntered in, young women, one or two young men, and a few worshippers of maturer years. And there were village loons – how they will talk about it in years to come! – who were keeking in and sniggering, and who, at last, when Mr Burnett emerged, came in with a rush and took the back seats, their fresh ruddy faces glowing with delight, nods and winks being exchanges, and fits of laughter (due to nothing in particular) proving infectious. Kemnay House dependents formed a considerable portion of the congregation, and all told, (including the loons) there were about 30 to 40 0f us.

The Beadle

Mr Burnett was late. The beadle, who had been busy making the usual preparations and attending diligently to the stoking of the little stove, was growing a bit anxious. William Emslie is a tall, somewhat spare, and rugged crofter, weather-beaten and bald, a grand specimen of the old-fashioned beadle, with a certain dry (but unconscious) humour, slow but methodical, and stern, and as much the master of ceremonies as even the preacher. He succeeded his father-in-law, John Laing, a man of kindred character, and Mr Burnett still sometimes calls him "John Laing" instead of "William Emslie."

Mr Burnett

The Preacher

Away went William to the door, and by and by the voice of the aged laird (he is now in his 90th year) was heard. Then in a few seconds the thin, stooping figure – so familiar to many of us in Union Street – was seen hurriedly advancing, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, the veteran being, however, as alert and keen as ever, and seeing a great deal more (for he is a remarkably close observer) than he appeared to do. In his aquiline nose and sharp eyes there is pronounced individuality, but the general impression one gathers is that of intense earnestness and a charming and transparent simplicity and uprightness of character. Even those who may be inclined to smile at Mr Burnett's peculiar ratiocinations in the pulpit, and out of it, respect him highly, and in Kemnay the Patriarch is regarded with affection and esteem. A common remark is "It would be well if we had more like him."

Opening the Service

Making his way to the family pew, Mr Burnett hastily divests himself of his greatcoat, hat, and walking stick, and fumbles about in his pocket for his papers, and then hands the bible to Emslie, who receives it gravely, mounts the pulpit steps with all due solemnity, and having deposited the bible on the pulpit board stands aside to let the preacher pass. My fellow-worshippers (my very hospitable host and hostess) were Mr and Mrs Petrie, and almost immediately after coming into church, Mr Burnett had singled out Mr Petrie, and asked him to lead the singing, a request that was readily complied with. The service opened with some verses of the 55th Psalm, which Mr Burnett read with considerable emphasis and feeling, raising his voice to a loud pitch at times, and lingering upon some of the words. Then the veteran engaged in prayer, and there I leave him alone, as I think all worshippers in similar circumstances should be. The prayer was characteristic and fervent, and the only matter that tended to excite a smile was the manner in which the suppliant selected the parish minister for prominent and endearing notice, whilst the other clergymen in the neighbourhood were dealt with summarily and in slump. Deliverance from Popery was very earnestly prayed for.

Mr Burnett read very much in the manner in which he prayed, but sometimes walked backward and forwards. He had given out the opening psalm without resort to his spectacles – surely a feat on the part of the patriarch – but he had to use the "glasses" when reading, and occasionally he bent very closely over the Bible. He read from the 11th chapter of Isaiah and the 15th chapter of Romans, and latterly his voice fell away a good deal, and his reading was almost as if he were talking to himself.

Curious Chapel Scenes

Bundling out the Looks

The loons, I need scarcely say, were all this time restless, and one could frequently hear them tittering. Something now happened which precipitated "ructions" between them and the beadle. I presume some of the nickums had been growing boisterous. Emslie, with set face and glaring eye, strode down the passage, singled out one offender and with stentorian voice commanded:- "G'wa." The lad shrank back. More severely than ever the beadle repeated the summons, "G'wa oot, see." Still the nickum did not budge, but seizing him by "the scruff of the neck" the irate beadle bundled him out at the door. Now thoroughly aroused, the beadle frowned next upon a whole form of loons at the far end of the little chapel. "G'wa," he thundered out, and the lads realising that he was not to be tampered with, marched out in a body, and as they went Emslie growled after them, "Nae dacent body can get live't for ye." Peace then reigned for a time, only certain of the nickums stole back later on, and reinforcements arrived.

"He Canna Dee't"

Almost simultaneously – for Mr Burnett gave no heed to this episode – a crisis of a different sort developed. Mr Burnett, who uses the Baptist hymn book, was about to give out a hymn when Mr Petrie tried to have it impressed upon him through the beadle that it would be better to sing a psalm, as the people did not know the hymns, and hymn books were not available. "Bit I'll ees'ly gie ye a hymn book," said Emslie loudly. However, Mr Petrie thought he would try a little gentle persuasion on the preacher. Ascending the pulpit stairs, he suggested that it would be better to replace the hymn with some familiar psalm. Mr Burnett demurred, and protested that this would interfere with his arrangements. Mr Petrie retreated, and was supplied with a hymn book by the beadle. He pointed out to Emslie, however, that he had forgotten his spectacles, and that he could not therefore lead the singing. Away up the pulpit stairs went William and bawled into the laird's ears, "He's got a hymn book, bit he canna dee't." But Mr Burnett was not to be baulked. He gave out the hymn, rushed down the pulpit steps, put the large hymn book into Mr Petrie's hands, and hastened back. Mr and Mrs Petrie good-naturedly pulled through (spectacles by this time were forthcoming), and Mr Durward M'Combie gave ready and valued assistance, though very few of the congregation "joined in."