A Breath of Autumn

by Lillian Beckwith

  ‘I reckon the spring will come early this year,’ Jamie prophesied confidently.

  ‘It can’t come too early for me,’ Kirsty opined. ‘The winter’s been pretty coarse.’ They were standing outside the house and from habit were assessing the sea. After a pause she felt compelled to ask, ‘Would you be reckoning on getting across to Clachan this week?’ She hadn’t seen her son for six weeks and was feeling his absence.

  ‘Aye, I reckon the Katy will be making the trip so we’ll get Wee Ruari home for the weekend surely.’

  Kirsty’s mouth relaxed into a thankful smile. It would be good to hear her son’s chatter as a change from the roaring of the waves.

  True to Jamie’s prophecy, the signs of spring soon began to manifest themselves. Jamie and Euan Ally decided the time was right to start getting The Two Ruaris sorted and ready for sea. Then one of the hens started to go broody. It was too early according to Enac, who advised her to follow the accepted practice of putting the hen into a sack and hanging it from a line where it would be well buffeted by the wind. With no place to settle or roost the hen would get over its broodiness within a couple of days and would be ready to start laying again. Kirsty chose to ignore her advice however and set a clutch of eggs under the hen.

  Once The Two Ruaris was sorted ‘the boys’ made the trip to the mainland and Jamie brought back a message from Dogan to remind her that the time was getting on for a muirburn.

  ‘Already?’ Kirsty queried.

  ‘Aye, I reckon he’s right enough. We could be doing with an extra hand or two so maybe when I go for Wee Ruari I’ll talk to a couple of the Clachan lads and see if they’re willing.’

  He reported that the men would indeed be prepared to help ‘after the Sabbath’ – a condition which Wee Ruari protested against since it meant that the muirburn would take place when he was back at school.

  ‘You’ll get a much better sight of it from Clachan,’ Kirsty told him. ‘You’ll be able to see the island ringed with fire!’

  The boy was not prepared to be comforted however. ‘I’d sooner be here,’ he argued sulkily but since Monday morning dawned calm there was no excuse for him to remain on the island instead of going to school.

  Once the muirburn was finished the urgency of the season’s work began to assert itself and, on a day attended by a ‘pride of the morning mist’ that was reckoned to foretell a spell of fine weather, Kirsty was turning the sheets she had washed and spread out on the dyke the previous evening when she heard Enac hailing her.

  ‘I see you’re busy then.’

  ‘Aye, I was wanting to get these turned while the dew was still on them,’ she acknowledged. ‘You yourself are about early enough. And what news of the wee one just?’

  Turning to show Kirsty the ‘wee one’ tucked snug and safe in the shawl she wore across her shoulders Enac nodded approvingly.

  ‘My mother always said May was the month for bleaching,’ she agreed. ‘The sun dries things too quickly when it comes later in the year.’

  Kirsty surveyed the hills across the Sound, which, though they still looked taciturn, had shed their winter grimness.

  ‘Aye, I believe the time’s coming for a bit of blanket washing too,’ she observed.

  ‘Indeed, I myself have one or two blankets that could do with a wash,’ said Enac, adjusting her shawl as the baby wriggled. ‘They belonged to my mother so I brought them over with the loom. You mind you were after saying there was a good burn for blanket washing over-by,’ she nodded her head towards her cottage.

  ‘I do indeed mind saying that,’ Kirsty admitted.

  ‘Well, if Euan Ally or Jamie will carry over the nice big tub you have here we could make a day of it together,’ suggested Enac. ‘May is best for blanket washing too, I mind.’

  Kirsty led the way into the house where the kettle was simmering on the fire. She glanced closely at Enac as she handed her a strupak; the girl seemed a little perturbed she thought and to be paying more than usual attention to the baby.

  ‘The bairn’s not worrying you?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No, no indeed,’ refuted Enac. ‘He’s a right broth of a boy. If I’m worried it’s because of a letter I got in the post and Euan Ally says I must ask you about it before I reply.’

  ‘Is it something to do with me then?’ Kirsty enquired.

  ‘Well, it is and it isn’t in a kind of way,’ admitted Enac. ‘It’s this way. When we went to stay with my sister for our wedding this lassie called. She had twin bairns, a boy and a girl maybe about five years old but well advanced both of them. Lovely bairns they were too and she was bringing them up to be right wee heroes. She was a nice enough lassie I thought, and married to a laughter-filled Irishman though I didn’t know then that they were living in the Gorbals!’

  Kirsty’s lips tightened at the mention of the Gorbals, remembering the unsavoury stories of that area of blighted tenements and of those who lived there.

  ‘Well, this Irish husband of hers,’ Enac continued. ‘She seemed happy enough with him, but it seems he got in with a gang of gamblers. He lost all his money, if he’d ever had any, then she found he hadn’t being paying the rent and soon the bailliffs came and took away all the furniture save for a bed. Her man was sent to prison and then the landlord gave her no more than two weeks to find the rent money or she would have to get out. She might have been able to do it too for she got a shilling or two from an old woman for doing her washing and ironing and things, but when the children came home from school one day with tear-stained faces saying the other pupils had been taunting them that their father was in prison and they’d never see him again she couldn’t stand it just. She had told them that he’d gone away to see about a job. Straightaway she set to and made sleeping bags for them and with their tent and what little money she had they took off for a farm where they used to go camping. But when they got there they found that the farmer had died and the farm had been sold. She didn’t know the new people, but they said she could camp there for a couple of weeks. My sister kept in touch with her, and now she writes to me to ask can they come to the island where they won’t be known and camp on Euan Ally’s croft for a little while?’ She looked at Kirsty enquiringly. ‘Euan Ally doesn’t mind, but he says I must ask you first.’

  ‘Ach, the poor soul! Of course I don’t mind.’ Kirsty’s voice was edged with compassion.

  ‘She’s no island girl,’ Enac sounded a note of caution.

  Kirsty smiled. ‘She doesn’t have to be an island girl to pitch a tent on Westisle for a couple of weeks, does she?’

  ‘No, but what I’m saying is she won’t be used to our way of doing things. She’ll be a townie more than likely.’

  ‘Well, well have to show her won’t we,’ Kirsty rejoined, and saw the look of relief that came over Enac’s face.

  ‘ “The boys” are after saying they’re reckoning to make a trip to the mainland tomorrow to collect a pile of wood so I’ll be sure to try to get word to her telling her she’s welcome to come and camp on the island.’ Enac seemed to be assuring herself of her intention.

  That same evening Jamie carried the washtub to the burn by the ‘Castle’ and the next day the two women trod the blankets with their bare feet in the soapy water and then stretched them in the burn, securing them with a few suitably sized boulders, to rinse in the fast flowing water. Afterwards they both sat on the bank wiggling their feet in the water while Enac’s baby slept peacefully in the cradle beside them.

  ‘I mind my granny saying that this was the best part of the yearly blanket washing,’ Kirsty told Enac. ‘She reckoned it did more good to her corns than anything else.’

  ‘I’ll mind that when I come to get corns,’ Enac responded. ‘But right now I’m ready for a strupak.’

  Together they picked up the cradle and, still barefoot, carried it back to the cottage.

  ‘That’s one good job jobbed as my mother used to say,’ Enac remarked as she brewed a pot of tea and filled a couple of mugs.
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br />   Kirsty nodded. ‘The first of the spring jobs,’ she agreed as she drank her tea.

  ‘I’ll be over in the evening to help get the blankets on the dyke to dry,’ she promised Enac as she pulled on her stockings and boots ready to start back. ‘And I’ll bring you the Bulletin to have a read of. I forgot to bring it with me this morning.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that,’ replied Enac. The Bulletin was the only paper ‘the boys’ could manage to get hold of when they went to the mainland, and every word of it was read, even the advertisements. Kirsty particularly liked the recipes; Enac liked to read of the goings on in all the various districts and, since every scrap of paper was precious and had to be conserved for one purpose or another, parts of the Bulletin often lay about the house for weeks at a time.

  The baby whimpered. ‘He lets me know soon enough when he wants feeding,’ said Enac as she bared her breast.

  When The Two Ruaris returned from the mainland the next day ‘the boys’ brought with them not only a load of wood but, to Enac’s astonishment, a woman and two children along with their camping gear. Kirsty was not there to see them land and the first she heard of the new arrivals was from Jamie.

  ‘However did that come about?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘Enac was to give you a letter to post to the woman telling her she would be welcome to come and set up a tent for a couple of weeks and yet here they are before a letter could possibly have got to them.’

  ‘Aye, well it seems the woman was offered a lift to the port by a lorry driver she knew that was coming to collect fish. She went into the post office to ask if there was any place she might pitch a tent for the night and happened to mention that she knew someone from Westisle. The postmistress told her The Two Ruaris was in the harbour that very day and maybe she would get a chance to go and see her friend. Well, while they were talking Euan Ally came in to buy a stamp to put on Enac’s letter. The postmistress told him that the woman there knew Enac and when they began talking and Euan Ally realised who the woman was he gave her the letter to save the stamp. When the woman had read the letter she started to cry and told Euan Ally that Enac had said she would be welcome to camp on Westisle. Well, Euan Ally didn’t think that Enac would be too pleased if he left them there so he told them to get aboard the boat there and then. So here they are. Enac was knocked back with surprise when she saw them, but she’s looking after them for now until they can get the tent up.’

  It was not until the following day that Kirsty met the woman and her two children. An embarrassed Enac introduced the equally embarrassed mother as Marney and the twins as Julie and Johnny. They were a shy but well-behaved trio she thought, and wondered how Wee Ruari would react to having strange children on the island. Since the next day was a Friday and the sea looked placid enough she had no doubt that Jamie would be bringing her son home from school and she was likely to find out soon enough.

  They were all down at the shore to meet the Katy the following afternoon, and as soon as Wee Ruari stepped from the boat Enac called out.

  ‘Here you are Ruari, we’ve got two children for you to look after and teach.’

  Kirsty thought her son stared at the twins disapprovingly; it was his customary reaction when meeting strangers and the twins sidled behind their mother.

  ‘They’re awful wee,’ was her son’s comment after he had met them. ‘Not nearly so big as me.’

  ‘You’re older than them,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Are they going to stay here?’

  ‘Until their father comes to collect them.’

  ‘Where will they go then?’

  ‘Back to Glasgow, I suppose.’ She hoped he would not question the children about their father’s whereabouts.

  His curiosity satisfied he went on to tell her, ‘There are touries in Clachan.’

  ‘Touries already?’ she was surprised.

  ‘Mhairi Beag has two staying with her this week and she says she has two booked for next week.’

  ‘She’ll be pleased enough at that.’

  They were sitting in the kitchen and Jamie, having taken off one of his seaboot socks, was inspecting it as if he suspected a thorn or a piece of crab shell had lodged in the foot of it.

  ‘I think someone’s been putting cockle shells in my socks,’ he accused lightly, looking at Wee Ruari.

  ‘No, it was a whelk shell,’ the boy teased, backing away as if he was dodging a clout.

  ‘I’ll whelk you if you try it,’ threatened Jamie.

  ‘You mean you’ll skelp me, don’t you?’

  ‘Both,’ retorted Jamie, making a swipe in the boy’s direction. There followed a jovial altercation as Jamie put on his sock and stamped his foot into his boot.

  ‘I’m thinking you’ll maybe be getting some touries over here for yourself in a few weeks,’ he told Kirsty.

  ‘Here? On Westisle?’

  Jamie nodded confirmation.

  ‘Are you after thinking you’ll be ready for them?’ he asked her.

  ‘Have you ever known me to be any other way?’ She pretended to be indignant.

  ‘No, I mean for them to stay in the house here,’ he insisted.

  ‘Haven’t I got plenty potatoes and oatmeal and eggs and rabbits and milk …’

  ‘Ach, there’s no need to go on. You know very well what I’m meaning.’ He sounded slightly testy. ‘Can I let you know within half an hour of knowing myself just?’

  She nodded solemnly then, seeing his tight-set mouth, she smiled. ‘Half an hour will be time enough,’ she assured him, while making a mental note to begin airing the two beds in the loft.

  As the weather grew more settled, and Wee Ruari was home for the summer holidays, Kirsty saw more of the twins who were soon being chaperoned about the island by her son. He did not seem to mind their presence while they apparently felt privileged to be in his company. The change in them was remarkable; their cheeks exchanged paleness for a rosier hue, their legs grew visibly sturdier and even their shyness moderated to such an extent that Kirsty could now speak to them without them hanging their heads and feigning dumbness.

  It was over a strupak that she and Enac were discussing with Marney the difference in the children – their increasing robustness, their growing confidence – as they watched Wee Ruari show them how to build suitably shaped stones into a sturdy dyke.

  ‘Oh, they love being here,’ enthused Marney, and Kirsty caught the touch of regret in her tone. ‘To them it’s a great adventure.’

  ‘Bairns are bound to love the island,’ said Enac confidently. ‘Or they do until they get to thinking there’s a more exciting life elsewhere.’ Looking down at her baby nestled in its shawl she continued complacently. ‘Likely that’ll not be bothering me for a whiley yet though.’

  ‘Only another year for me,’ lamented Kirsty. ‘Wee Ruari will have to go further afield then I reckon.’

  ‘He’ll be ready for it,’ Enac comforted.

  ‘He’ll be ready enough,’ Kirsty agreed, ‘but it’s not something I’ll be looking forward to just the same.’

  ‘My two would like fine to go to Wee Ruari’s school in Clachan,’ put in Marney. ‘So they say anyway.’

  Enac murmured a disinterested, ‘Aye’, but Kirsty forbore comment.

  ‘How long could they be thinking of staying on the island with only a tent for a home?’ she asked herself.

  Jamie had confided that, according to Euan Ally, in inclement weather the ever hospitable, ever generous Enac insisted that the visitors bring their sleeping bags into the kitchen of the ‘Castle’. Euan Ally grumbled that this was inconvenient when it was an early morning start for the fishing. In fact Euan Ally had said that he was becoming fearful that if they stayed much longer he would be relegated to a bunk in the loom shed so that Marney could share Enac’s bed. Kirsty quelled a faint sense of guilt at her own attitude and deemed it wiser to deflect the conversation.

  ‘Jamie was after telling me to be expecting touries to stay before long,’ she disclosed aft
er a suitable silence had elapsed.

  ‘Aye, I believe that professor is already in Clachan and staying with his daughter at Morag’s,’ Enac acknowledged. ‘Euan Ally reckons they’ll be wanting over here now they know you have a couple of rooms to let. It seems they found plenty to take their fancy when they were over for the day that time.’

  ‘They seemed well satisfied with their visit,’ Kirsty allowed.

  It was only a few days later that Jamie announced, ‘If the sea is calm enough in the morning I’ll be bringing over the Canadian professor and his daughter that was here last summer; they’re wanting to stay on the island for a week or two.’

  ‘For a week or two!’ She was surprised, not because they were coming, but by the proposed length of their stay. ‘As long as that?’ she queried.

  Jamie looked at her defiantly as if challenging her to protest. She remained silent, merely comforting herself that the beds would be well and truly aired.

  The morning was calm when Jamie set off for Clachan and Kirsty made sure to be on the shore to welcome the expected guests.

  ‘You look well,’ she greeted them, shaking hands warmly.

  ‘We feel on top of the world,’ responded Hugh Roberton. ‘We’ve been visiting various islands and the weather’s been really kind to us.’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed,’ confirmed Dina. ‘We’ve been swimming with seals and stroking porpoises and, while I’ve been searching for specimens, Pop’s been searching for long-lost relatives.’ She turned to Jamie and Kirsty noticed the depth and warmth of the smile they exchanged.

  ‘And did you trace any relatives?’ Kirsty asked Hugh Roberton.

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But we met an old man who used to live on the island of Killegray and he believes my mother came from there. It’s hard to find out any more for Killegray was evacuated some years ago, and apart from a few sheep no one lives there any more.’

  ‘I did hear that right enough,’ Kirsty agreed, remembering how shocked she had been to read of the folks she had known deserting their island; the island where she had been born and where she had lived with her Granny and Uncle Donny until her Granny had died and she had been sent to the city to live with an elderly aunt. She’d hated the thought of the friendly little community being disbanded; of the lovely little island left without the varied activities, the sounds and smells of people to sustain it. She’d hoped to go back to it some day and make a home there; a home for herself and Uncle Donny … But the hope had been killed by city life.