by Millie Gray
“The fishing boat waited for me so I offered your sister and her children a lift,” Charlie explained quietly.
Only then did Hannah become aware of Father Charlie’s presence and she now looked at him in some puzzlement.
“I’m Father Charlie from Glasgow,” the priest explained. “I’m to be Father Donald’s guest on Herrig for the next two weeks.” Amazed by his youth and good looks, Hannah could only give a little bob of acknowledgement, but Carrie felt sure that if she hadn’t been there her sister would have curtseyed deeply to the priest. Instead, she held out her hand to him and announced primly that she was very pleased to meet him. Charlie responded by saying, “I must be going now. Is it just up the hill I have to go?” he asked, pointing vaguely upwards.
“No, wait,” said Carrie. “At least let us offer you some supper in return for all you’ve done.”
“Well, we could have if I hadn’t already fed your supper to the children,” Hannah said, pointing to the table that now only had a few crusts lying among the debris.
“You mean there’s nothing for us to eat?”
“Well, there is, but it needs cooking.”
“So where is it? I’ll cook it,” Carrie said firmly. Hannah shook her head.
“And why ever not? After all, you do have electricity now. And I know Mummy sent you up an electric cooker a couple of months back.”
Hannah shook her head sadly. “Yes, that’s all true – but the cooker doesn’t work when the electricity is down.”
Carrie now looked hopefully at the Raeburn.
“And that stove doesn’t go if the wind is blowing from the north-west like it is tonight,” added Hannah, who was beginning to feel Carrie was being really awkward now.
Before Carrie could say anything, she became aware that Sophie seemed to be in some kind of distress. It wasn’t so much the laboured breathing that concerned her mother but the fact that she was performing a kind of war-dance that reverberated on the lino-covered floor.
“Sophie! Whatever in the name of goodness is wrong with you?”
“Oh Mummy,” sobbed Sophie, “I need…I need to go to the bathroom and I need to go right now!”
“But we won’t have a bathroom until next year,” remarked Fergus, Hannah’s eldest son, who had been wakened up by all the commotion.
“She just means she needs to use the lavatory,” explained Carrie.
“Well, you’re welcome to have the pail that we all use.” Fergus opened the living room door and pointed to a decidedly grubby aluminium pail perched on the landing at the top of the stair.
Sophie’s face contorted in alarm. “But what I have to do can’t be done in a pail!”
“Don’t tell me you have diarrhoea again.” snapped Carrie impatiently.
Sophie took a deep breath and nodded her head furiously.
“So you’ll just need to go to the cow byre,” said Fergus calmly. “And you don’t need to be frightened because I’ll go with you,” he added helpfully, liking the look of this new cousin and wanting to ingratiate himself.
By now, all of Hannah’s children were awake and in the living room. Even Morag, who had come home from her Edinburgh school for the Easter holidays, had managed to haul herself out of bed. Quickly she intervened by saying, “Fergus, boys don’t take girls to the cow byre. I’ll do it,” and, taking Sophie’s hand, steered her towards the door. A moment later, Carrie found herself leaning forward in her chair to make room for three year old Myrtle who was trying to squeeze herself in behind her. Carrie smiled with pleasure and her grin turned to laughter when Myrtle flung both arms around Carrie’s neck and whispered, “You are a very lucky woman, Auntie Carrie.”
“Am I?” queried Carrie in some genuine surprise as she reached behind and took the child on to her knee.
“Yes, cos not only have you got the new blankets on your bed but Mummy also washed the sheets!”
Carrie felt the tears come to her eyes and knew she mustn’t let them drop. That would have been just too cruel. But she was struggling with her emotions. She just couldn’t stop thinking how easy life at home was for her. A twin-tub washing machine, sheets washed every week, a gas cooker that worked even when the electricity lines were blown down, a garden that could have won a prize – and all of those riches supplied by her Will who worked so hard to provide, just as Jamie had, for his family. She was still deep in such thoughts when Sophie rushed back into the room. This time she was doing an imitation of Waltzing Matilda and when Carrie demanded to know what the problem was now she spluttered, “Ooh, M-mummy, you said I’d have to use the cow byre but you n-never said the c-cow would still be in it!”
When Carrie looked towards Hannah for a solution, all her sister said was: “No, Carrie, we simply can’t take the cow outside in such a gale. And even if I did, no doubt your Sophie would be wanting me to take out all the hens that are roosting up in the rafters there.”
It was then that Father Charlie, who had been a silent spectator to all this drama, rose and gently suggested that, since Father Donald was the only one on the island who already had such modern facilities, might it not be a better idea if he took Sophie up there so that she could relieve herself in comfort. In fact he was sure that his colleague would also allow Carrie the comfort of Donald’s one and only luxury!
Father Charlie was in no doubt as to what was in Carrie’s mind. He knew she must be wondering why this priest, Father Donald, who lived all alone and had taken a vow of poverty, should have been the first to have a bathroom installed, complete with running water and flushing facilities, while there was Hannah and herself with eleven children between them and yet all the sanitation they had was a pail at the top of the stairs and a cow byre with the cow still inside it!
Sunbeams softly streaming through the bedroom window eventually wakened Carrie. When she’d at last gone to bed with Sophie and Donald she felt certain she’d never get to sleep. At home she was used to having a hot water bottle to take the chill off the sheets but here on Herrig there was no such luxury except perhaps for the very young. But now, she was thinking of snuggling down again when she heard movement from the living room and guessed that Hannah was already up and about.
Dressing herself quickly, she quietly made her way into the living room. Hannah, kneeling by the Raeburn and obviously struggling to set it going once more, was unaware of her presence and that offered Carrie the chance to study her sister. She judged that Hannah, whose shoulders now seemed permanently bowed and whose hair was now straggly and dull, in sharp contrast to its once tantalisingly lively and gleaming blonde, had reached that point in her bereavement when nature’s anaesthetics have worn off and all that is left is the ice-cold reality of the loss. Carrie vividly recalled the vivacious girl Hannah had been and how fastidious she had been about both her appearance and her surroundings. Her thoughts turned to speculating about how things would work out for Hannah and all her children – when suddenly she became aware of movement in a pile of rags in the corner. “Hannah,” she asked, pointing to the wriggling bundle, “what on earth is that?”
Her sister turned suddenly and seemed taken aback to see Carrie there. Then a smile came to her face and she explained, “Nothing for you to worry about, Carrie. It’s just a lamb that was born two days ago. Its mother won’t feed it so it has to be bottle-fed.”
“Okay. But does it need to be in here?”
Hannah smiled again. “It will do no harm. No harm at all.” She placed one hand on top of the Raeburn for support as she began to rise slowly with her shovelful of ashes. Then came the noise of doors being roughly thrust open and Fergus came bursting into the room. “Mum,” he cried, “Jezebel’s gone!”
Hannah wobbled unsteadily before getting to her feet, so dropping the full shovel, which landed on the floor with a loud clatter. Clouds of fine grey ash spiralled upwards before slowly drifting down to cover everybody and everything in the room.
“Who in all conscience is Jezebel?” exclaimed Carrie as she tried to
spit the ash from her mouth.
“The cow! She’s our cow!” wailed Hannah.
“But it’s such a small island. She surely can’t have strayed far.”
“You’re right there. She’s not gone far. But that’s not the problem,” cried Hannah.
Carrie was quite mystified. “Then whatever is the problem?”
“The bull, of course,” Fergus explained with a knowing wink at his aunt. “He was brought over two days ago to serve all the cows on the island.”
“And everybody else’s cow has to be dragged over to him; and now our Jezebel …” Hannah hesitated and wrung her hands, “… has actually gone seeking him! Oh, the shame of it! The absolute disgrace of it all!”
“Disgrace?” exclaimed Carrie. “How can a cow going looking for a bull bring disgrace on us?”
Hannah had no time to answer before a hen marched straight in and soon began cluck-clucking contently as it proceeded to lay an egg under the table.
By now the general hubbub had wakened the whole household and they had all assembled in the living room, just as the calf that Jezebel seemed to have abandoned poked its head around the door looking for its mother. To add to the general confusion, Sophie, who never could stand any offensive smell, became acutely aware that Angus, Hannah’s youngest son, was urgently in need of his nappy being changed; and so, without a second thought, she diligently set about the task. The only difficulty was that she couldn’t find any clean nappies and as soon as she set him down he began to run around the room, naked from the waist down.
Surveying the mayhem, Hannah clenched her fists, drummed them fiercely on her chin and without a word pushed past the calf and fled from the house.
“Where’s she going?” Carrie asked.
“To the church, of course. To pray,” said Morag. “That’s what she always does when she doesn’t know what on earth to do!”
Carrie gasped. She didn’t know what to do either. Maybe she too should try asking God for some guidance. With an effort she managed to squeeze past the calf to follow her sister and was about to leap over her first boulder when she was halted in mid-jump by a most horrendous and bloodcurdling scream. Landing flat on her back, she realised from the piercing tones of the shriek that a child was in trouble.
Dashing back into the house she discovered that the agonised howling was coming from two-year-old Angus, who was now corralled in the far corner of the living room by the desperately hungry lamb who was prepared to feed off anything that resembled a teat – in this case poor Angus’s little penis! Instinctively, Carrie swept Angus into her arms, stroked his back soothingly and kissed him passionately. Then, surveying the surrounding chaos, she realised that order simply had to be restored – and that she herself would have to take charge.
First, Morag and Sophie were ordered to wash and dress the younger children. Fergus was then instructed to get the calf out of the house and back into the byre before going in search of the calf’s wanton mother. And once he’d found her, he was then to milk her, as the family seemed to be lacking in that essential. Katie was sent out, first to collect the eggs and next to feed the hens. She was then to help Morag and Sophie hang out the washing after their initial chores had been completed. Roddy found the naughty lamb being virtually kicked towards him by a now ruthless Carrie, who sternly commanded him to return it to the byre and make an absolutely secure home for it there. Carrie’s final demand was that, when all her instructions had been properly carried out, they were to make a human chain and bring up as much water as the family would need for the day.
Once the lamb had been safely removed, Carrie put Angus down and set about washing all the dishes and mopping the floor before starting to bake soda bread, scones and pancakes. After that it would be time to fry up some breakfast. Three hours had passed, however, before the home was finally clean, tidy and bright. The whole brood of Hannah’s children were happy once more – all, that is, except Angus, who had climbed up onto the window ledge where he could lovingly protect his precious manhood by fiercely clutching it!
The table was set and the smell of bread, bacon, black pudding, sausages and eggs had them all growing excited with anticipation. Carrie was flipping the last pancake when the door opened and there stood Hannah, pulling her head-scarf from off her head.
The younger children at once hurled themselves towards her and made a tight circle around their mother’s waist. Hannah patted each of their heads as she took stock of her home, the home that just a few hours ago had seemed so cold, miserable and impoverished, but was now as she used to have it – warm, bright and inviting: a place where children might know they were safe and loved. Hannah gazed at the scene before glancing out of the window where the dancing washing seemed to be waving merrily to her. As she turned her gaze back into the room, she was near to tears but sniffed vigorously before looking at her sister and triumphantly asking, “Now, my sister, do you doubt the power of prayer!”
Sam and his team had finally arrived on the island and were settling in. Fergus, who naturally assumed he’d form part of the construction team, had willingly directed the four tradesmen up to the Chapel House where they were to have their sleeping quarters. As Fergus introduced them to Father Donald, he emphasised, “Mummy says to thank you again, Father, for letting the men sleep here.” Turning to the men he added, “But you are to have all your meals down with us.”
Father Donald said nothing but bestowed a gracious smile on everyone. He knew just how much Fergus missed his father. Often, when Jamie was alive, Donald would look down from the Chapel House and see Jamie and Fergus getting the boat out to do a spot of line-fishing. Or sometimes Jamie would be teaching Fergus about crofting and how to be a good shepherd. Donald also knew that Fergus felt he should now shoulder as many of his father’s responsibilities as possible – not only in tending the flock of sheep but in shepherding his mother and siblings too.
Fergus had just departed with the men when Carrie asked Sam, as she made a pot of tea, “How are things back at home?”
“Fine. Will and I had three good days out golfing together. But he’s away back to work now,” replied Sam, looking shrewdly about the room, “and talking of work – you’ve been here for a whole week now and what have you accomplished?”
Carrie felt she was a wee girl again and was being asked to justify her contribution to the household and its problems. “Well,” she began hesitantly, “I bake and cook every day but there never seems to be enough.”
“Huh!” said Sam dismissively.
“Look Sam, just you wait till you see what happens at mealtimes before you start finding fault with me. The NAAFI couldn’t keep this lot going.”
“Is this your way of telling me you haven’t yet started on planting the potatoes?”
“That’s right,” was Carrie’s curt reply, as she produced a scone she’d been saving for Sam. Deciding he didn’t deserve it, she started eating it herself. “And since you’re so ruddy smart you can join me tomorrow on doing the easy bit.”
“And what was the difficult part?”
“Oh, would you believe it, just the gathering of the seaweed.”
“And what was hard about that?”
“Well, first of all you wait till the tide goes out. Then you go down in the perishing cold with a creel strapped to your back and you gather the kelp up. Then, when the creel weighs about a hundredweight, you lift it on to your back and then do your best to climb back up to the potato patch, where you not only spread it out but nearly kill yourself an’ all.”
Sam felt chastened. “Look, I’m leaving the building work to the blokes who are experts, so tomorrow I’ll be able to help you do the planting.”
The household had breakfasted early and the men were already hard at work on the extension. Carrie and Hannah had cleared the breakfast dishes and were ready to join Sam out on the potato field. Hannah then explained how lazybed planting was done and it was evident from the start that there was nothing in the slightest “lazy” about
it. First of all, she said, you had to dig a trench – but this simple task was impeded by the numerous gigantic boulders that couldn’t be removed so had to be worked around. Then you spread some cow manure that had to be taken from the dung heap (which unfortunately was located at the far end of the croft) before you laid down an ample layer of kelp. And finally you laid in the potatoes before covering them with soil. Hannah assured them both that once ready for howking in the autumn, they would be so clean you scarcely needed to wash them.
Carrie’s heart sank. It was going to be a long, laborious task and the wind shrieking about her was already chilling her to the marrow. Her spirits were further deflated when Hannah announced that now Carrie and Sam knew what needed doing, she would go up to the Chapel House to make the men’s beds – and while she was up there and Easter being due shortly she would scrub the chapel floor as well!
“Right,” said Sam as Hannah headed off, “you start digging, Carrie, and I’ll do the hard bit and cart the dung over.”
Two hours later Carrie’s hands were caked with mud and stiff with cold. She did try to straighten her back but the effort resulted in a series of excruciating spasms that ran the full length of her spine, down her legs and into her very toes.
“Come on, old girl,” Sam encouraged, while tipping yet another barrow-load of dung at his sister’s feet. Carrie only groaned in reply as she tried desperately to straighten up. “You’re not half out of condition, Carrie. I well remember…”
Carrie was at last upright and Sam’s memories were triggered when he looked at her tear-smudged face. He recalled so clearly how, when no more than bairns, they both had to go to the potato-picking to raise money for the rent so that they wouldn’t be evicted. He could vividly picture how her hands, as today, were caked with mud, her fingernails broken and edged in black dirt. The most poignant of those reminiscences was of dragging her from the sodden field and holding her close to him – just as he was instinctively doing now. That small act of brotherly kindness resulted of course in Carrie sobbing profusely upon his chest. “Oh, Sam,” she cried, “if I can’t cope with this life for a fortnight,” and she gestured with a wave of her arm towards the croft and all its needs, “how is our Hannah ever going to survive? And the children… The last thing I want for them is to have a childhood like ours – a childhood where you were never able to be simply a child and play to your heart’s content.”