Rhanna

by Christine Marion Fraser

  ‘The day will come,’ he boomed, ‘when we must all come to the threshold of our existence. We must prepare ourselves for that day for when it comes, according to the way we have lived our earthly lives, so also will we live our eternal lives. If we have tried to be truly good, chaste of mind and body, the angels of heaven will be there to meet us. Trumpets will sound! The gift of everlasting life will take us to the gardens of heaven where the gentle winds of purity will bear the scents of sweetness that we may breathe the clean good air we have earned. Will you feel those winds, dear friends . . . will you?’

  He paused and looked round his congregation. It was a habit of his to stop at a vital question and fix his flock with his piercing eyes so that the full effect of his words would have time to sink into their minds.

  Shelagh stirred and grunted, smacking her lips on the sliver of mint that had stuck to her top plate. She had been enjoying a nap but the minister’s deep boom had penetrated both sleep and deafness. She was confused for a moment and was quite unable to stop the great surge of wind that burst from beneath her in a triumph of sound. One after the other the farts tripped merrily like a roll of drums, the hard wood of the pew only serving to heighten the boisterous echoes. Shelagh sat quite still and upright, her look of supreme innocence confusing everyone for a moment. The acoustics in the kirk made sounds difficult to pinpoint and those in the back pews looked at each other accusingly. But there was no confusing those who sat at the front. Merry Mary made a surreptitious but noticeable movement away from Shelagh while everyone choked to keep back their laughter.

  Morag Ruadh’s face, red from her fight with the harmonium, grew redder still and her fingers fluttered over the keyboard as if she were debating whether or not to take the huge responsibility of playing the congregation out of the kirk before the end of the sermon.

  ‘God help us all,’ muttered Maggie Taylor and dug her youngest son in the ribs before he burst out laughing.

  Elspeth’s face remained like a poker and she glued her eyes to the pulpit, ignoring Hector’s hissed remark about Shelagh being even ruder than she was.

  Shona sat rigid in her seat and fought to keep back the bubbles of mirth but a glance at Niall, whose face was crimson with suppressed merriment, caused one of the bubbles to escape in a strangled snort. Mirabelle was very aloof and upright but Shona glanced at her and knew that if she were to allow one muscle to move she would shame herself for the rest of her life because the laughter was sparking out of her eyes. Old Joe had turned a strange shade of blue and Lachlan had his head in both hands while his shoulders shook like a jelly. He had heard Shelagh’s ‘winds’ many times but today she had surpassed herself. The minister coughed discreetly then, with admirable calm, went on with his sermon. When it was over, the congregation poured hurriedly from the kirk. Shelagh bid everyone a reserved ‘good day’ and went calmly down the slope emitting a small belch in her wake.

  ‘Ach, but that was the best laugh I’ve had in weeks!’ said Tom Johnston. ‘My God it was the trumpet voluntary right enough!’

  Old Joe nodded. ‘Ach! It’s shamed I am just that she is a relative of mine but it was the best turn I’ve heard yet in kirk! It was heaven “scent” right enough!’

  Merry Mary sniffed disdainfully. ‘It’s all very well to laugh but I was the one sitting next the old scunner. The minister gave me a gey suspicious look. As if I’d do a thing like that! The smell near killed me!’

  Lachlan threw back his head and roared. ‘Ach, don’t worry, Mary,’ he consoled, ‘just think we’d all be dead if we couldn’t do what old Shelagh did, only we might not make ours so public.’

  ‘Really, doctor!’ said a shocked Merry Mary and walked stiffly away.

  Tom Johnston turned to Biddy who having laughed herself to exhaustion was sitting on a stone fanning herself with her hat. ‘Can I give you a lift home, Biddy? The bairns can sit on each other’s knees and leave a wee space for you.’

  Biddy’s face lit up, but Mirabelle, who was very fond of the midwife and liked her company, said quickly, ‘Och, but I was going to ask you over for a bite of dinner. There’s more than enough.’

  ‘Och, that would be nice now,’ acquiesced Biddy. ‘I was only having cold mutton so it will keep till tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll away then,’ said Tom and went over to his trap where his family were waiting impatiently.

  Shona and Niall followed in the wake of the grown-ups.

  ‘Did you like the kirk?’ asked Niall gruffly.

  Shona, clasping her bible and walking like ‘a real little lady’, tried to sound polite. ‘It was very nice. I liked your father reading, he has a nice voice so he has. But . . .’ Her dimples deepened. ‘Shelagh was the best of all.’

  ‘I heard a cow do that once!’ exploded Niall. ‘But not so loud as Shelagh!’

  They were still giggling when they came upon Dodie at the roadside at the same spot they had left him more than an hour before. Ealasaid, imperious to all his coaxings, was standing, sublimely chewing a mouthful of cud.

  ‘God, man!’ cried Hamish. ‘Have you not got her over to Croynachan yet or are you on the way back?’

  Dodie looked like a soulful bloodhound. ‘She won’t come, no matter how much I calls her. I’ve tried pushing and pulling but the damt beast is like a consumed bowel! She just won’t move!’

  Phebie looked thoughtful. ‘Dodie, it’s maybe because she doesn’t recognize your new name for her. What was she called before?’

  ‘Buttercup,’ he said disdainfully. ‘I wanted her to be fancy-like and thought Ealasaid would be lovely just!’

  ‘Why not call her by the name she’s used to . . . just this once!’ Phebie hastened to add as Dodie’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  ‘Ach, c’mon, man,’ coaxed Hamish. ‘Phebie’s right. You can call her anything you like when you’ve got her safely to Croynachan.’

  ‘Just this once,’ agreed Dodie with a watery sniff.

  ‘Buttercup! Buttercup!’ they all shouted together but the cow lifted a bleary eyelid, bellowed disdainfully and remained where she was. A flock of gulls rose from a nearby field and flew to the sea that shimmered in a blink of sun peeping unwillingly from behind deep grey clouds.

  ‘We’ll all push her!’ decided Hamish and strode purposefully forward. The others joined him, their shoulders against the massive hairy backside. Biddy pulled off her best hat and set it carefully on the heather before going into the fray.

  ‘Damt cow!’ she puffed. ‘I’m too old for this! Get going, you auld Cailleach!’

  But instead of going forward the cow took several paces backwards pushing everyone aside. Her tail flicked then curved into an arch and manure poured from her like thick porridge. There seemed no end to it and all the while the cow stood with a look of pure relief on her face.

  ‘My hat!’ screamed Biddy but it had disappeared under the deluge.

  ‘My God!’ Dodie’s tobacco-stained teeth showed for a moment. ‘It’s maybe she was consumed after all!’

  Without further coaxing the cow turned and lumbered gently in the direction of Glen Fallan and Dodie loped hastily after her.

  Biddy stared aghast at the sea of dung that covered her hat. ‘Damt cow! The dirty bugger has ruined my best hat! I’ll never be able to wear it again!’

  ‘Tut, tut!’ admonished Hamish with a twinkle. ‘Swearin’ on a Sunday, is it?’

  ‘Away wi’ Sunday!’ cried Biddy, outraged, and flounced away home despite Mirabelle’s reminder that she was invited to dinner.

  ‘And how did you enjoy your first kirk service?’ Fergus asked Shona when they were seated at the table.

  She looked up, a piece of chicken halfway to her mouth.

  ‘Oh, Father! It was the best laugh I’ve had for a long time!’

  He raised his brows and Mirabelle threw Shona a warning look but it was too late, she was already relating all that had happened and great gusts of laughter roared from her father.

  Mirabelle’s frown disappeared.
Fergus was laughing more often of late and it was his daughter who could draw the laughter from him in such abandon. He wiped his eyes, eyes that were still alight with fun.

  ‘And did you learn anything at all about God?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Shona assured him, ‘but mostly I learned about Shelagh’s winds and Dodie’s consumed cow! Ach, poor Biddy! She was very upset about her hat. Maybe God will see to it she gets another because the minister says He works to give us what we want and I think Biddy wants a new hat most of all.’

  That evening Shona was so excited she could barely sit still while Mirabelle read from the bible. She was starting school the following day and it seemed a whole new world was opening up for her.

  ‘You’d best behave yourself tomorrow,’ Mirabelle warned. ‘I hear there’s a fine new teacher come from Oban. Old Roddy has retired and gone to live with his sister in Mull. He was aye too soft wi’ the bairns but this one’s a real tartar from all I hear and stands no nonsense.’

  ‘Can I wear my brown stockings now that it’s spring? My legs were terribly itchy and warm with these wool ones you made me.’

  ‘The black ones it is, madam! It’s still gey bleak and cold. Now into bed, say your prayers, and don’t ask God for anything for yourself.’

  Shona snuggled under the blankets and asked God to bless all the people on Rhanna especially her father and Mirabelle.

  ‘And God,’ she whispered. ‘Mirabelle says not to ask anything for myself but there are one or two wee things that bother me. I want my father to love me all the time, not just sometimes, and I’d like Biddy to get a new hat because she’s old and doesn’t have a lot of money, so maybe you could arrange a miracle. Also Mirabelle’s the best there is but she’s making me wear those black stockings tomorrow and I’ll have to do it, but please God don’t let any of the children notice them. They’re cosy and warm but they’re black and make my legs look like spurtles so be a good boy, God and I’ll try always to be a good girl, Amen.’

  She turned on her back and gazed at the ceiling. There was a little damp patch shaped like a man’s head. A nice kind head and she knew it was Jesus’s head because it had a little beard exactly like the picture on her bible marker.

  ‘Goodnight, Jesus,’ she said, and, hugging her rag doll, she cuddled into Tot who was snoring.

  Next morning she choked over her porridge, left her boiled egg and got so excited that Mirabelle became exasperated and her father impatient and finally bad-tempered. She was ready long before Mirabelle who, because it was her first day, was seeing her into school.

  Niall whistled past them on the road and children were streaming from all directions, some still with their breakfast ‘pieces’ in their hands. The school faced the sea. Waves thundered to the shore and the tang of salt was thick in the air. There were three new children to be enrolled and Mirabelle waited till it was Shona’s turn before she turned away, her shoulders humped and a suspicion of tears in her eyes. Up till then Shona had felt very happy but when she watched Mirabelle walk away a lump came to her throat and she suddenly felt very small and deserted.

  ‘Shona McKenzie?’

  ‘Y-yes.’

  ‘Come along with me, Shona. I’m new too so I think we’re both feeling a wee bit strange, is that right?’

  The new teacher was tall and slim with fair hair and blue eyes. Shona thought she was utterly beautiful and didn’t know why Mirabelle had called her a ‘tartar’.

  The classroom was big and smelled of chalk and musty books. A sea of faces turned to look at Shona and the other new children. Fresh from the Easter holidays, and not liking being back at school one bit, the older children were ready to seize at any distraction and tittered when the newcomers were placed in a little section on their own. Shona went hot and cold and thought everyone was looking at her stockings. She tucked her legs under her seat till they hurt and concentrated her attention on a pale shaft of sunlight that danced through the window.

  It was soon evident that the new teacher was a disciplinarian. The children, used to ‘Old Roddy’, sprawled untidily over their desks till a sharp reprimand brought them upright.

  ‘Straighter! Straighter!’ commanded Miss Fraser. ‘Pretend you have each got a ruler up your jumper.’

  The dumbfounded class sat like pokers and clasped their hands sedately on their desks. One boy sniffed loudly and drew his sleeve across his nose.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Miss Fraser, fixing him with her clear blue eyes.

  ‘Er – Wullie McKinnon, miss. It’s the cold I’ve got so I have! The snotters are just trippin’ me so they are.’

  He was Nancy’s youngest brother, the one she had delivered into the world, and his language was even more indelicate than the rest of his family. The class tittered but one look from Miss Fraser quelled them.

  ‘Bring a handkerchief tomorrow, William,’ she said and turned towards the blackboard.

  Wullie gulped and wondered if the tail from one of his father’s old shirts would pass muster as a hanky. He was bothered continually with a runny nose and his mother ‘skelped’ him regularly on the ear and said she could go for a slide on his sleeves. He was plied with bits of old sheets and bits of old shirts but more often than not used them to clean excessive mud from his shoes in case his father skelped his ear too.

  The class was given a number of sums and a dejected silence fell while Miss Fraser turned her attention to the newcomers. She was delighted to discover that Shona could do the alphabet and asked her if she could write the letters down and show them to the other two little ones. Shona glowed with pride and spent a happy hour printing big coloured letters. But at playtime she was surrounded by a jeering group and she stopped gnawing at the big rosy apple Mirabelle had given her and stared at the chanting children.

  ‘Teacher’s pet, awful wet! Liquorice legs like wee black pegs!’

  ‘Och, away you go,’ she cried, angry tears filling her eyes.

  ‘Will you give us a bite of your apple?’ asked a freckle-faced boy whose hair stuck up in red spikes.

  Niall suddenly burst into the group, his fists bunched. ‘Leave her alone!’ he cried menacingly, ‘or I’ll punch you all on the nose. You’re just jealous because she’s cleverer than you!’

  ‘Stickin’ up for a lassie!’ yelled Wullie disgustedly. ‘What’s wi’ you, Niall? She’s a wee baby!’

  Like a flash Shona darted forward and grabbed Wullie by the hair. His nose frothed and tears poured down his face but the hold on his hair grew stronger.

  ‘Take that back,’ warned Shona, ‘or – or I’ll pull all your hair out and leave you like a baldy old man!’

  The other children screamed in delight and Wullie screamed in agony. ‘I’m sorry! I’ll no’ say you’re a baby again!’ he promised in terror.

  Miss Fraser came running. ‘What on earth is happening?’ she demanded. ‘I thought someone was being killed!’

  The children shuffled sheepishly and Wullie drew his sleeve across his streaming nose. ‘We were just playin’, miss.’

  ‘Well, play quieter in future . . . and for goodness’ sake bring a hanky tomorrow, William. You should be ashamed – a big boy like you.’

  The children filtered slowly away and Shona was left to look triumphantly at Niall.

  ‘Can you skim stones?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Well, I’ll show you – at dinner-time.’

  Shona smiled. She knew she would never be called a baby again.

  FIVE

  The summer of Shona’s sixth year was spent roaming the glens and moors of Rhanna. She and Niall were inseparable. Sometimes they were accompanied by other children; more often they were alone, finding in each other an appreciation for the wide open spaces and the small creatures of nature. They were both sensitive and intelligent and felt a certain impatience with others of their own age whose boisterous presence chased away the wild life they so eagerly looked for. Birds’ nests abounded on the long stretches of open
moor. Trout flashed in the clear brown rivers and they spent hours lying on dappled banks, silently intent on a pastime enjoyed by many of the island children, that of guddling. Niall was well practised in the art and could easily bring an arching silver fish from the water, much to Shona’s frustration because to her the whole thing seemed an impossible difficulty she would never learn.

  On really hot days, when the world outside beckoned and the classroom was a hot stuffy prison, Miss Fraser took the school swimming. The shallow waters at the edge of Loch Tenee were ideal for beginners. Nothing was more delicious than easing hot feet into the cool water and the first breathtaking sensations were hailed with screams of ecstatic agony.

  Miss Fraser’s ‘modern ways’ and extreme good looks had already caused her to be the subject of much speculation. Local crofters and fishermen suddenly had very pressing tasks that took them suspiciously close to Loch Tenee where, through the cover of summer green, they could furtively inspect Miss Fraser’s lithesome body in a swimsuit, comparing her mournfully to their ‘Cailleachs’.

  Some children had no bathing suits but splashed happily in underpants and knickers. Mirabelle had hastily sewn a piece of material into something resembling a costume and Shona proudly splashed in her bright red attire.

  Dogs came and joined in the fun. Tot had grown into the habit of going off to school each afternoon to await her young mistress and naturally, if swimming was to be in the curriculum, it meant a welcome break from long afternoons waiting for school to finish.

  Each day dawned blue and cloudless. Bees droned lazily in the heather. Dunlins called out with their peculiar buzzing whistle on the marshes and oyster-catchers probed unhurriedly with their long red bills for molluscs. The haze of heat caused strange effects and from a distance the white shimmering sands looked like burning snow. Old men sat on harbour walls smoking their pipes and dreaming of younger days when more than the mind could wander at will.