The Island Nurse

by Mary J. Macleod

  ‘I think I will go and fetch Sunshine. I won’t be able to feed her in the morning if it snows like this all night,’ I said to no one in particular. George was watching a programme on the flickering television, and Nick and Andy were hoping that the snow would get deep enough for sledging.

  Although the pony’s field was less than quarter of a mile distant, the track to it was so steep that it might have been impassable by morning, so it seemed wise to bring her to the tiny paddock by the house while I still could.

  I trudged off through the deepening snow, and as I neared Sunshine’s field I was surprised to see Iain-Angus, our vet, wandering around the shore in an apparently aimless way. But our vet was never aimless! He was a very hard-working man: up at 6 a.m. and often still tending some sick animal at midnight. In fact, if we needed him for one of our animals, we sometimes had to wait until the early hours, as he served several other islands as well as an area of the mainland.

  He saw me and raised his hand in greeting, continuing to walk along the beach. A walk on a beach in a snowstorm was not a normal pursuit, I thought.

  ‘Iain-Angus! What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘I might ask you the same thing,’ he said with a grin, glancing at the white heavens.

  ‘That’s easy. I’m going to get Sunshine to take her to the house,’ I replied. ‘But what are you up to?’

  ‘I think I’m wasting my time, Mary-J. I had word that Dhubaig’s Commission bull was in trouble somewhere here. I came straight here, but with this snow I canna see well. He’s a big fellow, though, foreby.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s over by the cliffs?’ I offered.

  The vet peered through the curtain of snow. ‘Mary-J. Look! Can you see? Is it himself?’

  Over on the rocks was a dark shape, only visible because all the rest of the surroundings were white. I glanced at Sunshine. She could wait for a little while, I decided.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ I shouted to the retreating figure of the vet as we both started to flounder across the beach. All the while there was a little nagging thought at the back of my mind. This is a bull. He might be injured. He might not be pleased with life.

  Iain-Angus read my thoughts. ‘I’ll see what’s wrong first. You stay back a bit.’

  The island bulls were free to roam, and with plenty of ‘wives’ to keep them busy, they were usually very docile. But it wouldn’t do to be too complacent.

  I could see that he was lying half on his side among a tumble of large rocks, and as the vet approached he raised his head and ‘grumbled’ in his throat. Iain-Angus bent down beside him, and it was apparent that one leg was caught between two of these big boulders. Going to his head, the vet tried to encourage him to rise in the hope that the movement might be sufficient to release the leg, but the animal seemed unable to respond at all.

  ‘He’s well and truly stuck. I don’t think there is anything broken, but he’s been there some time.’ He indicated a pile of dung behind the bull. ‘I think he has exhausted himself trying to get out.’ He stared out to sea. ‘It must have happened since the last high tide, but it will be back again in less than three hours. We will need to get him out very soon.’

  He stared at the trapped animal for a moment. ‘Right. It will take three or four men to move the rocks, hold the bull and so on. I can’t sedate him if he’s to help himself to get up, so it might be dangerous. He must weigh a ton or more.’ He rumpled his shock of greying hair. He never wore a hat or cap, even in weather like this.

  I was thinking quickly. ‘Suppose you stay with him and I run Sunshine home and get some of the crofters? Would that help?’

  ‘Aye. Indeed. Archie and his tractor, Fergie, Murdo . . . perhaps Donny. Lots of rope, some crowbars. Yes, yes. And some sort of halter . . .’

  ‘I have that,’ I interrupted. Sunshine’s halter would be too small, but I knew Iain-Angus would manage somehow.

  The vet continued, ‘I’ll stay and try will I prevent him from struggling any more. Off ye go then, Mary-J! Perhaps George . . .?’

  I left him mulling over the problem. I collected Sunshine and we trotted off side by side – it was too slippery on the hill to ride her.

  Once home, I shouted the news to George, and after handing Sunshine over to Nick I rushed off over the croft to find Archie while Andy ran to tell Fergie, thinking that this was even more exciting than sledging! I knew that I did not need to fetch anyone else, as all the activity was bound to be noticed, the reason quickly relayed, and plenty of help would be forthcoming.

  Archie was soon coaxing the cold engine of his ancient tractor into smelly, belching life. Fergie appeared with Andy, both carrying sizeable pieces of rope, and down the hill came Murdo and Roddy, complete with two hefty crowbars. Everyone seemed to know by ESP what was needed. Soon, a small army of men were plodding through the snow.

  I gathered a few first-aid bits (not for the bull: I felt that we would be lucky to get away with this little endeavour without human injury). Alistair had popped in to say hello, and it was lucky that he was here because he had a vehicle that we all called the ‘Thing’. It was a conglomeration of bits from an old tractor, part of a pick-up truck and various other weird cogs and wheels that Alistair had fashioned together to pull his boat up the beach. It was high off the ground and because of the snow he had come visiting on it. He called it ‘Hilda’!

  When told of the problem, he took his pipe out of his mouth to say, ‘Let’s go! Hilda will be useful, I’m sure.’ And off we went, Andy and I riding on an incredibly uncomfortable ‘Hilda’. The snow clouds had gone and a watery sun was trying to warm the shivering shore.

  Iain-Angus was still crouching beside the bull, trying to stop the animal from hurting himself further.

  ‘Come here quietly,’ he called to the advancing mob. ‘He’ll get edgy if we all rush at him.’ The crowd stopped a few yards away.

  ‘Now,’ said Iain-Angus. ‘If a couple of strong chaps can gently get the crowbars into the gaps between these rocks . . .’ He indicated the gaps in question to Murdo and Roddy, who had gone forward. ‘Can we have the two vehicles ready nearby? Tie the ropes to them. We might need them to help heave him up when he is freed.’ He looked round, and the precise instructions continued until he was satisfied that everyone understood their position and what they were to do. Nick, Andy and I were told to keep back ‘in case’. Alistair was on Hilda, ropes at the ready, with George beside him to assist. Archie was nearby on his gently chugging tractor, while Fergie together with Donny (young, strong and fearless) stood near Iain-Angus.

  ‘Mary-J, you keep an eye on yon box [his veterinary equipment] – I’ll maybe need that when we get him out. Now, everyone, if his injuries allow, he will be off the minute he is released. Be ready to get out of his way! If we can catch him, we’ll take him to Mary-J’s horse shelter for me to look him over.

  ‘Right. I have the halter. Roddy and Murdo – you are ready with the crowbars. Fergie, Donny – you will grab his horns. Try no to move too fast.’

  The horns in question were long and sharp, so, although he was big and black, he must have had some ‘Highland’ in him somewhere.

  I suddenly thought. ‘Does he have a name? Would he respond to it?’

  They all looked at me as though I had grown two heads.

  ‘Well, the cows often know theirs,’ I said in self-defence. ‘I thought it might help if he did.’ They all thought I was mad.

  Iain-Angus rescued me. ‘He has, as it happens, but I doubt he knows it. Tis “Boris”.’

  There was silence. A bull that has been given a name like ‘Boris’ is unlikely to be a quiet, docile creature. We all eyed him with misgiving, and I wished fervently that I had not asked.

  ‘Right, we are all ready. Let’s go!’

  Everyone leapt into action. Roddy and Murdo edged forward and, with one eye on Boris, inserted the ends of the two crowbars under one of the rocks, while Donny and Fergie gingerly leaned over the vast shape of the animal and grasped hi
s horns. He immediately tried to raise his massive head, but the two men held him firmly and the vet took this opportunity to slip the halter in place. As the first rock eased, Boris attempted to move his trapped leg, but the second rock still held it firmly.

  As the men wedged the crowbars under the second rock, Iain-Angus motioned to everyone to be aware that the animal would be free at any moment. The rock was moved away but, although he struggled, Boris could not rise.

  ‘He’s been there so long I’m thinking he’s stiff and cold,’ said the vet. He motioned for the vehicles to approach slowly. With the rocks now out of the way, Roddy and Murdo threw down the crowbars and joined Fergie and Donny to keep the thrashing bull still while the vet managed to get the ropes round the huge neck.

  ‘Get you behind him and push to get him on his feet when the ropes are taut!’ The vet addressed the men holding the bull still. ‘When I say, start pulling!’ This was to Archie and Alistair on the two vehicles.

  After a moment – ‘Now!’

  The two vehicles started to move away and the ropes tautened.

  Another ‘Now’ from the vet and the four men behind the bull started to heave and push while the ropes pulled steadily. Iain-Angus was pulling at his head and murmuring encouragement. Boris began to scrabble with his legs, trying to raise himself. His own efforts, in addition to the pulling and pushing, gradually began to show results. First the back legs and then the front gradually found purchase on the slippery rocks and he was up.

  ‘Watch you now!’ Iain-Angus warned, but Boris was too wobbly and dazed to be any threat to anyone. The vet unhitched one of the ropes from the bull but left the halter and the other rope round his neck and started to walk him away from the rocks onto the snowy sand.

  Calling over his shoulder, Iain-Angus said, ‘Turn off the engines and follow me on foot, in case [in case of what, I wondered]. Mary-J, bring the box and someone go ahead to open the gate to Sunshine’s field, and I’ll need something strong to barricade the entrance to the shelter. [The horse shelter was open, with no door or gate.] I can see a sizeable gash on his leg from the sharp rocks.’

  Our little cavalcade set off, and once we were well away Archie took off at some speed on his tractor.

  ‘He’ll be fetching a door or something for the shelter,’ was Fergie’s opinion.

  Into the field we went. Boris seemed very quiet and biddable. Now that I could appreciate his full size, I realised how brave these men had been to tackle such a notoriously unpredictable creature as a bull, and a frightened bull in distress at that! Iain-Angus was leading the animal into the shelter, turning him so that he could see the leg more clearly.

  ‘Hold his head.’ He handed the halter to Fergie and bent to peer at the leg. As soon as he touched it, Boris threw up his head in protest.

  ‘Hmm. I’ll need to give him a local. The box, Mary-J, if you please, and perhaps another two of you to help Fergie and Donny? He will not care for the needle.’

  And he didn’t! It took the combined strength of all the men to hold him still, but gradually the local anaesthetic took effect and Iain-Angus was able to do a little fancy stitching to a four-inch L-shaped gash. Nick and Andy gave Boris some of Sunshine’s hay, and he munched happily during the whole procedure.

  ‘Right,’ said the indefatigable vet. ‘Now we need something to keep him in here so that he does not rush about and start the bleeding or pull the stitches.’

  As though on cue, the unmistakable sound of Archie’s old tractor was heard, and he swung into the field. He had attached his trailer and on it was a large, heavy wooden byre door.

  Nick and Andy and the rest of the men helped him to unload it and place it across the opening. Archie had brought wire, hammer, nails and small bits of wood, all of which would now be used to secure the door for the night.

  ‘Just remember to let Iain-Angus out first,’ laughed Alistair.

  ‘Where did you find this?’ asked Fergie, looking at the door with suspicion.

  ‘Ach, it was just lyin around,’ muttered Archie.

  ‘I recognise it. Tis that one Kirsty got from old Dougall the Hill for to mend her byre. I’m surprised she let you have it. She’s been waitin on young Barry to fix it.’

  ‘Ah, well . . .’ Archie looked a bit sheepish. Fergie stared at him.

  ‘She didn’t let you have it, did she? You just took it!’

  ‘Ach. She’ll no be out in this weather, foreby, so she’ll not be missin it. I’ll have it back long before that good-for-nothin nephew of hers gets round to fixin it.’

  No one was hurt during the dangerous rescue, and we all trooped home to warm up and dry off. The bull recovered well and in a few days was wandering the hills, doing his ‘duty’ again.

  The snow melted almost as fast as it had fallen, as so often happens in the islands, and Andy and Nick did not get much sledging done. But the excitement of the day made up for that.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  ’Arry’s island

  One bright, sunny day, I sat on a low, rocky hill near the castle. The wind was gentle and the sky was a deep blue with odd grey and white clouds shaped like buns and some like saucers. I could see why folk sometimes claimed to have seen a flying saucer. In a poorer light, these clouds scudding by were a remarkable shape and could so easily be mistaken for an alien object. I could not, however, see anything resembling the little green men that seem to figure so highly in fiction. Why ‘green’, I suddenly wondered?

  A small boat was chugging its way towards the shore below my rocky perch. There was the tiniest of harbours tucked between two outcrops of rocks, and in bad weather it must have taken great skill and nerve to negotiate the narrow entrance. But today the little craft glided safely into the sheltered space on clear, calm water. A grey seal circled the boat several times before deciding that it was not likely to yield nourishment; he could not smell fish on board, so he swam away to find lunch elsewhere.

  A slight, rugged-looking man landed at the tiny quay. He sprackled up the slope towards me.

  ‘’Ow do! It be a grand day,’ he called.

  ‘Hello,’ I replied, trying not to show my surprise at the accent. It was Cornish! Now here must be an interesting tale. He didn’t give the impression of being a tourist, so what was a Cornishman doing in the north of Scotland?

  He plonked himself down on the ground beside me. ‘’Ow be thee, then, maid?’ he asked chattily. We exchanged views on the weather, the castle and the state of our little world, but I was consumed with curiosity. It must have shown.

  ‘You’m wondrin what a body like me be doin yer. Well, I’ll tell ’ee.’

  And he did! He introduced himself as ‘Harry’ – or ’Arry. He had been a soldier in the Second World War, and his company had been sent to the Faeroe Isles to provide a deterrent to enemy attempts to blow up supply ships taking the northern route and to thwart any attempts to invade Britain from the north.

  Harry told me how the men were welcomed into the communities and, like so many of his compatriots, he began to get friendly with the young Faeroese girls. He became interested in one quiet country girl called Olga. The young folk fell in love, and after the war Harry returned to marry her and settle down on the Faeroes. But being unskilled, he found it difficult to get work, try as he might. Harry, a farmer’s son, had only ever worked on the farm until war drew him away.

  While he was in the Faeroes, his father died and left him the farm in Cornwall. Olga took some persuading to move from the isles of her birth and from which she had, so far, never ventured, but Harry could really do nothing else, so they eventually moved the thousands of miles to the very southern tip of England.

  ‘Ahh, twer the only thing to do. But she weren’t ’appy. No. ’Er din’t say much, but I knew. Ah, I knew.’ Harry shook his head and a sad expression came over not only his face but seemed to spread to his whole body. ‘But she put up with it fer some years. She missed ’er family and the long summer days of the North. ’Er couldn’t get used to the w
armer weather in Cornwall and she missed snow in winter.’

  ‘I would have sent her back for an ’oliday now and again, but I couldn’t afford it. The farm ’ad been ’it with foot and mouth, and the cattle ’ad bin slaughtered. The compensation were pifflin and we was strugglin. Olga were pinin fer ’ome and I din’t know which way to turn. ’Er were in some state!’

  But evidently fate took a hand when a letter arrived from Olga’s brother in the Faeroes. He had been working on the oil rigs and had made a great deal of money, so he, Sven, had now fulfilled a long-held dream of leasing the small remote Hebridean island of Ardnacloich.

  ‘I know it,’ I said, thinking of Jaynie and Baby Janet. ‘It forms part of Duncan’s estates.’

  ‘That’s right. Clever man was Sven. Knew what ’ee was about all right.’

  ‘Anyow, ’ee wanted me to go and work for ’im on this ’ere island. Twas about three miles long and two wide. No electric, but a wind generator, and no ferries or anythin. Just you and your own boat. Well, Olga were ecstatic. Twas North again, y’see. Not Faeroes, no, but same sort of place and climate. And ’er brother were married to Sonya, ’oo ’ad bin ’er school friend. Ahh! Twere an opportunity at just the right time.’

  Harry sold the Cornish farm, and he and Olga set up home on Ardnacloich. It seemed that the venture was a great success. The two couples got on well together and many fulfilling years went by. Although so far north, it was sheltered by the Outer Hebrides, so they grew just about all their own vegetables and even some fruit. They kept sheep, goats and cows for food and to sell. Buyers had to travel to the island to purchase their chosen animals, Sven and Harry being unwilling to leave their beloved isle.

  Harry’s enthusiasm faded a little as he said, ‘Olga was all right because ’er brother and Sonya were there, but I don’t think ’er ’eart were in it as much as the rest of us. ’Er ’ad to work some, but I did as much as I could to save ’er. To make sure ’er were as ’appy as possible . . .’

  He sighed. ‘I’ve come to go up to see this ’ere Lordship. ’Ee never comes to the island. Says Sven looks after all the books and such like so well that ’ee’s ’appy to leave us be. But now . . .’