Those Who Fought for Us

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 3

  A World Gone Mad

  Edinburgh - June 29, 1914

  Robert raced into the study room and exclaimed in apparent alarm, “Have you seen the newspapers, Alastair?”

  “Nae, whit’s the matter?” Alastair responded indifferently.

  “The Archduke of Austria was assassinated in Sarajevo yesterday!”

  “Soo?” Alastair responded, a blank stare enveloping his features. “Where’s Sarajevo?”

  “It’s in Serbia,” Robert responded. “I say, there’s no reason you should know this, but it’s an ominous sign, I’m afraid.”

  “Whit makes ye say that?”

  “The Austrians have been itching to get at the Serbs, and this may just push them over the edge.”

  “Ah’ve still nae idea whit ye’re gettin’ at, Robert.”

  “War, Alastair, I’m getting at war.”

  “Reit. Two Eastern European countries gang tae war. Sae whit? Hoo does it affect us here in Scotland?”

  “We may be drawn into it, if it comes to that. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Hoo do ye kin this mince, Robert?”

  “My father is a colonel in the British Army, that’s how. He sent me a telegram last night.”

  “Whit did it say?”

  “It said three words – Born of Folly.”

  “Boorn ay folly…whit in heck does that mean?”

  “If I know my father, it means something catastrophic is going to happen, and if my guess is correct, something very soon, my friend.”

  “Well, we shall see aboot that. In the meantime, Ah’ve a physics exam tae prepare fur.”

  Edinburgh – July 25, 1914

  Robert met them at The Boar’s Head’s Behin’, fully aware that it might be their last time, the spectre of war having by then thrust itself inescapably upon much of Western Europe. Elizabeth and Margaret arrived just as Robert, Alastair and his friends were finishing a round of ale.

  On seeing the pair coming towards them, Alastair exclaimed, “Och, here ye are! Cheers for comin’,” and he gave each a friendly embrace.

  “Oh, the pleasure is ours,” Elizabeth replied, attempting to put the best face on a world gone mad.

  Clasping each in turn, Robert put in, “How are you?”

  “Under the circumstances, as well as can be expected,” Elizabeth responded with a forlorn smile.

  Surprised that the usual four friends were not alone, Margaret inquired, “Who are your friends?”

  Alastair responded, “We’ve all enlisted. They’re in the Highlander regiment with me.”

  “What! You’ve enlisted?” Robert queried incredulously.

  “Reit,” Alastair volunteered, “If’n there’s goin’ tae be a war, we lads want tae be there fur the start ay it. We’d all hate tae miss it, seein’ as hoo it might last nae too long.”

  Shaking his head in dismay at this unexpected move, Robert responded, “I’d say there’s little chance you’ll miss it.”

  At this, Alastair turned to his friends and announced, “Lads, thes be Elizabeth, and thes be Margaret.”

  At this pronouncement the three boys smiled politely and introduced themselves as Bobby, Walter, and Richard. Bobby then volunteered, “Och, ye look almoost like sisters, what with yer flamin’ red hair and identical uniforms!”

  “Yes, so we’ve been told,” Margaret responded politely.

  Alastair followed this with, “Whit say, ladies, up fur a spot ay ale?”

  Elizabeth cooed in perfect Scottish, “Och aye,” and, Margaret nodding in unison, the lads chuckled their concurrence.

  Elizabeth now continued with, “May as well, if this war drags on, a spot of merriment may be in short supply. Come to think of it, ale may even be in short supply.” At this, the entire group laughed pleasantly, not a single one of them having taken her comment seriously.

  Bobby now spoke up, announcing, “Alastair has jist bin tellin’ us aboot yer foray tae St. Andrews a few weeks back. He says ye had a merry time ay it fur Beltane. We’ll make Scots ay ye yet, lasses!”

  “Yes, it was quite festive,” Elizabeth responded pleasantly.

  “The Scots are a proud people,” Margaret put in, “But they certainly know how to have a good time!”

  “Och aye, speakin’ ay which, we four were wonderin’ if’n ye might be in fur a roond ay haggis. Yer naut true Scots till ye’ve partaken ay haggis. Whit say, lasses?” Alastair asked merrily.

  At this, Robert put in good-naturedly, “I had no part in this, ladies.”

  Elizabeth responded, “Sure!” thereby surprising everyone, but she then added, “Just kidding. That stuff is vile!”

  The boys hooted in perfect unison yet again, and at this point Alastair handed the ladies their round of ale, offering, “Tis oon me. Er, oon the lads here, tae be exact.”

  “Thanks, mates,” Margaret responded politely.

  “Whit, are we lads all her mates?” Bobby queried.

  “No, it’s nothing like that, Bobby,” Robert interjected, “She’s from Australia. It’s just her way of saying ‘friend’.”

  Bobby rejoined mirthfully, “Och, and me thinkin’ she was fur me hide!” thus inducing yet another round of boisterous laughter.

  Ignoring the innuendo, Margaret suggested, “I could do with a bite to eat, mates. Care to divide up some fish and chips, sort of a late lunch?”

  “Soonds stoatin tae me!” Alastair chimed in. “Lads?” And as all three of his companions nodded their approval, the group set about the task of enjoying their fleeting afternoon to the maximum extent possible. Lunch was a boisterous affair and, the ale flowing freely, the exchange of mindless banter was just the tonic needed in a time of mounting apprehension.

  By the time the food was downed, it was late in the afternoon, at which point Alastair announced, “Soo, friends, we’ve a stoatin annooncement tae make today. It seems the regiment is shipping out tae Europe in two weeks’ time. In case ye’ve nae heard, it seems there may be a war comin’.”

  Elizabeth exclaimed grumpily, “What, you’re shipping out! Well, you took your sweet time getting round to telling us, Alastair,” but then, realizing that her gruffness was inappropriate, she immediately rebutted her own gaff with, “We must give you boys a proper sendoff, since we may not see you for quite some time.”

  “Excellent notion. What did you have in mind, Elizabeth?” Robert asked pleasantly.

  “Oh, I’ve no idea. I was just being polite,” she responded in embarrassment.

  “Och, Ah’ve a stoatin idea,” Alastair volunteered, “Ah was wonderin’ - would anyone be in fur a hike? After all, tis a brammer September evenin’.”

  Glancing skeptically towards Margaret, Elizabeth asked, “What sort of hike?”

  “Naethin’ serioos,” Alastair responded, “Whit aboot hikin’ tae the top ay Arthur’s Seat? We cood git there in time fur sunsit. If’n ye’ve never seen sunsit from Arthur’s Seat, thes might be yer best chance fur quite a spell.”

  “How long will it take?” Margaret asked.

  “Och, should take nae more than an hour tae git up there,” Alastair replied.

  “I’m fur it!” Bobby chimed in, “Lads?”

  “Ay coorse,” Walter responded.

  “Me tay,” said Richard.

  “Alright, count me in,” Elizabeth responded reluctantly, “Margaret, what say you?”

  “Oh, alright. I’ll go, too,” Margaret agreed dubiously, “But it better be worth it!”

  Thinking to himself that this was a waste of time, Robert responded in resignation, “Oh, alright, me too.”

  At this all seven giggled, and the now tipsy group set off on what might be their last outing together for quite some time. An hour and a half later, they were all standing gazing down toward the city from the crest of Arthur’s Seat.

  “Wow!” Margaret exclaimed. “You can see the Forth River from here!”

  “Reit,” Alastair voluntee
red, “Tis nae that far. Tis jist that we’re high enough tae see it from here.”

  “And over there is Holyrood Palace,” Robert offered, pointing as he spoke.

  Alastair responded agreeably, “Reit, but the king’s nae in residence at the moment. Other more pressin’ matters, I suppose…” his voice trailing off meaningfully.

  Attempting to steer back towards more pleasant subjects, Elizabeth observed, “My, I hadn’t realized it, but Edinburgh is quite a beautiful city.”

  At this Margaret suggested, “Yes, reminds me a bit of Melbourne.”

  “Do you miss it?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes, terribly, but I suppose life goes on.”

  Pressing the conversation in yet another direction, Alastair announced, “Lasses, the lads and me would like tae invite ye tae avail yerselves ay my wonderful haggis, in honor ay our sendoff tae war,” and so saying he pulled his bagpipe from his knapsack and, removing his cache of haggis from within, he asked, “Whit say ye?”

  “Oh, alright,” Elizabeth responded in apparent resignation, “You’ll never give up until we partake, but only because you’re leaving us so soon.” For her part, Margaret merely nodded her acquiescence.

  Alastair proceeded to divide the haggis neatly into seven more or less equal parts and, on his signal, all present bit into their morsels simultaneously. As one might expect, the boys – Robert excepted - grinned in unison as they chewed their tidbits, whereas both young ladies grimaced, groaned, and barely managed to gag their way through the assigned task.

  “Sooo, whit dae ye think, lasses?” Alastair queried on completion of it, “Tis the real mince, aye?”

  Still grimacing, Elizabeth replied derisively, “Lovely.”

  “Scrumptious!” Margaret exclaimed sarcastically, “Too bad you’ve run out.” And at this acerbic remark, the entire group giggled gaily.

  “Lasses and lads,” Alastair now announced officiously, “We seven are all noo joined indelibly in the ‘Clan ay Alastair’s Haggis’. After the war has ended, ye must all promise tae return here fur the Clan ay Haggis Reunion. Whit say ye?” and at this all nodded their mutual assent.

  “Stoatin,” Alastair exclaimed, “Ah shall hold ye all tae it. And noo, lasses, perhaps ye’ll share a nice fire with us as the final part ay our sendoff tae the front. We could hike down tae the base ay Arthur’s Seat and build a stoatin bonfire. Whit say ye?”

  “Hmmm,” Elizabeth responded, “Let me think…” and, having said this, she whispered in Margaret’s ear. The pair obviously enjoyed their covert interchange, and after a few moments, Elizabeth posited, “We accept. We could sing some songs and then hike back into town, the perfect sendoff for soldiers going off to war.”

  “Stoatin! Ah might even be persuaded tae play a tune or two oon my bagpipe,” Alastair crowed. “Och aye, off we goo then.”

  “Soonds like fin,” Bobby replied. The others nodded their approval, and the group commenced the hike back to the base of Arthur’s Seat.

  Once there, the boys gathered up what firewood they could find and built a campfire. As it was a cool summer’s evening, the fire was just the right tonic to keep the evening chill at bay.

  The group then seated themselves before the fire in anticipation of the final festivities of the evening. After several minutes of congenial banter, Alastair arose, pumped air into his bagpipe and played the haunting melody ‘Amazing Grace’. The mournful refrain induced a somber mood within the group, the specter of coming war slowly spreading over them. Alastair subsequently played ‘Danny Boy’, and all joined in singing the familiar lyrics.

  Darkness now closing in, Alastair exclaimed, “Ah kin, let’s play a small gam!”

  “What sort of game?” Margaret murmured suspiciously.

  Alastair smiled impishly at her and suggested, “Reit, jist somethin’ fer the fun ay it, a proper sendoff! Hoo aboot it, lasses - lads against the lasses?”

  Rolling her eyes impetuously, Elizabeth grumbled, “I knew it…”

  “Why don’t we play ‘Ken a Liar’?” Alastair queried assertively.

  “What’s that?” Margaret inquired naively.

  “Tis a gam we played, growin’ up in Aberdeen,” he responded. “Each side gets tae ask the other side a question, and the other side has tae answer the question correctly, or they have tae perform a task chosen by the other side. The first side tae answer ten questions correctly wins the game.”

  “And what happens to the losers?” Elizabeth asked suspiciously.

  “Och, naethin’ special. Tis jist fur fin.”

  “Alright, I’ll play,” Elizabeth responded, “But no tricks, boys.”

  “Me, too,” Margaret replied.

  “Stoatin,” Alastair responded, “Lads, come over tae thes side ay the fire. Lasses, ye take that side. Lasses, if’n ye please, goo faerst.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Elizabeth responded. She whispered to Margaret, then asked, “When and where was the last battle fought on British soil?”

  At this the boys all laughed, Bobby volunteering, “Thit’s easy! ‘Twas the Battle ay Culloden - 1746!”

  Glancing forlornly at Margaret, she mumbled, “I should’ve known better than to ask a Scot that question.”

  “Alreit, tis the lads’ turn,” Alastair said, adding immediately, “Hoo many lads have each ay ye kissed?”

  “Three,” Elizabeth responded brazenly.

  “One,” Margaret responded, nearly simultaneously.

  Alastair crowed immediately, “Wrong! Margaret, Ah saw ye kiss Robert in St. Andrews, and later that night, ye also kissed yers truly, meanin’ me!”

  Glancing furtively toward Robert, Margaret countered, “But I only kissed you on the cheek that night!”

  “Still coonts!” Alastair hooted. “Now, ye’ll have tae perform our biddin’, lasses. It jist soo happens, Ah’ve the perfect penance. Yer suggestion ay a sendoff fur the lads gave me the idea. Lasses, ye must kiss each ay the lads in turn, seein’ as hoo we are all off tae the front. Tis a moost fittin’ sendoff, if’n Ah do say soo myself.”

  Elizabeth and Margaret glanced at one another dejectedly, but then Elizabeth suddenly shrugged and, rising from her seat by the fire, she commanded, “Alright, boys. Stand up! This is your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Because you are all going off to war in a few days, and seeing as how I’ll bet not one of you has ever kissed a lass, I’m going to bring each of you up to date. Go on! Stand up!” And at her repeated command, the boys all stood and, incongruously lining up, each and all grinned idiotically as they awaited their just rewards.

  She then commanded to Bobby, “You first, you fool.” Bobby smiled peevishly, an obvious slave to her every command. She then sauntered up to him, hips swaying suggestively, grabbed him by the waist, and leaned in for a short but searching kiss. At the end of it Bobby stumbled backwards and, gazing appreciatively at her, he let out a long whistle.

  Elizabeth proceeded to apply a stylish kiss to each one of them, at which point the last - Richard – staggered and collapsed farcically to the ground. From his prone position, he subsequently mumbled to no one in particular, “Thenk ye, Laird! If’n Ah die the moorn, Ah shall die delirious happy fur certain!”

  At this the entire group laughed boisterously. Placing a hand on her hip, Elizabeth then turned toward Margaret and instructed, “It’s your turn, girl. Get to it!”

  “Oh, alright, if I must!” Margaret replied timidly, but in fairness she did indeed carry out her task with a decided mixture of virtue and elegance. The boys’ excitement had by this point reached a fevered pitch.

  Elizabeth now announced, “Alright boys, retake your seats, but no more funny business. This game is serious, and the victors are still in doubt,” adding officiously, “Next question.”

  Margaret followed with, “I believe it is we ladies’ turn.”

  “So, our second question…” Elizabeth mumbled, hand on her chin, obviously concentrating on the task at ha
nd. Suddenly, her eyes lighting up, she queried with apparent conviction, “Who succeeded Queen Elizabeth to the throne of England?”

  “James the VI of Scotland,” Robert responded immediately.

  At this Elizabeth blurted, “Darn! I didn’t think Robert was playing the game, seeing as how he’s not going off to war.”

  “Good point,” Alastair agreed. “So we’ll give ye a pass oon that one.”

  “Lads’ turn,” Alastair volunteered. “Here goos, lads - I’ve a good one - whit does a Scot wear underneath his kilt?”

  Margaret glanced vacantly at Elizabeth, Elizabeth duplicating it in return. The pair thenceforth converged and, whispering animatedly, Elizabeth subsequently responded, “We’re not sure what the proper term is, but we ladies call them knickers.”

  “Wroong!” Alastair crowed triumphantly.

  “What? Wrong? How could we be wrong?” Margaret responded.

  “A Scot doesnae wear anythin’ beneath his kilt!”

  “What? You mean nothing at all?” Elizabeth replied in evident horror.

  “Reit – naethin’ a’tall,” Alastair crowed. “You want that Ah should demonstrate fur ye?”

  “No!” Elizabeth exclaimed in obvious dismay, “We shall take your word for it!”

  “Weel, be that as it main, the fact remains, ye lasses owe the lads a penance.”

  At this pronouncement, the ladies shared yet another forlorn glance.

  Alastair now whispered to his co-conspirators, and returning his gaze toward the ladies, he commanded, “We, soldiers who are aboot tae be shipped off tae war on behalf ay Britain, have nae seen beneath a lass’s kilt. Accordingly, we command ye tae raise yer skirts an’ provide us with a moost enchantin’ sight.

  “What?” Elizabeth cried in shock, “We’ll do no such thing, Alastair Stewart!”

  Rebutting her refusal, Alastair offered pleasantly, “We’ve won the point fair and square, and we feel it only fair tae say, we’ll nae hold ye tae it if’n yer nae ay a mind tae it. But such a patriotic gesture would send us certain off tae war with spirits soarin’, if’n ye git my meanin’.”

  Elizabeth leaned back and, placing one hand on her chin, she glared at the four Scottish boys. In return, all now stared at her in brazen anticipation.

  At this Margaret suddenly interjected, demanding, “Alastair, Robert - give me your sporrans. Elizabeth - follow me.”

  “What? You’re not serious!” Elizabeth responded.

  “I’ve never been more serious in my entire life!” Margaret replied. “Follow me!”

  The lads were now struck completely motionless, as if glued to their collective spot, completely uncertain as to what exactly might lay in their immediate future. Still, they remained resolute in their collective determination to await the outcome, no matter how long the delay. Time stretched out interminably and, the embers from the fire commencing to die down, the light grew dim.

  Then suddenly, a lovely apparition came toward them. Strolling silently, she was adorned with her kilt and knee-length socks supplemented by two sporrans draped from her neck, each strategically placed over an otherwise unadorned breast. In the dim light they could make out that she wore a scarf draped carefully about her face, her hair tumbling over it, so that it was impossible to tell which lass it was. She strutted slowly around the fire, uttering not a single word, and then traipsed demurely back in the direction she had come from. Finally, halting at the extreme edge of the light she turned away from them and, flinging her skirt skyward, she awarded them a single fleeting glimpse of her knickers. Then she disappeared and, the entire scene having elapsed in mere seconds, the lads were frozen in shock.

  The audience suddenly erupted in boisterous applause, Bobby blurting breathlessly, “Which one ay them was that?”

  “Ah’ve nae idea,” Alastair responded. “Tis that damn red hair! And whit with those identical outfits, there’s nae way ye can teel those two apart in the mirk.”

  Speaking for the first time during what was to his mind a rather sordid episode, Robert put in, “Nor I,” and it was obvious that he was exceedingly offended by the entire proceeding.

  “Diz it matter?” Walter interjected sagely. “We saw whit we saw, and Ah’m sure Ah’ve never seen anythin’ like that in all my life!” At this exclamation the four Scots laughed raucously, at which point the ladies returned, their clothing restored to its former appearance. The pair appeared to be quite embarrassed, but obviously relieved that they had accomplished their assigned penance as tastefully as possible.

  “Wow! Doo that again!” Alastair crowed impetuously.

  “Not on your life!” Margaret exclaimed reproachfully. “That was a gift from us to you, seeing as how you are all going off to war. I should think that more than completes your training.”

  “Ha!” Alastair snorted, “We’re ready noo! Ah’d say we’re ready fur anythin’!”

  “Which one ay ye was it?” Bobby queried recklessly.

  “That is our little secret,” Elizabeth replied with a sly grin. “Oh, and one other thing - we must ask you to never speak of it again. Understood?”

  Speaking for his friends, Alastair replied, “Och aye, ay coorse,” as they nodded their concurrence in awestruck unison.

  Robert now interjected resignedly, “It’s getting late. I suggest that we end the game and head back to town, before this gets completely out of hand.”

  At this the entire group stood and, perhaps in part due to this last penance, they made their way back to town in thoughtful solitude.

  A week later the Highlanders shipped out to Europe.