by Ian Todd
“Right, okay…Ah gie in. Where did the name tag come fae then?” Paul suddenly asked her, breaking the ice.
“What?”
“Ye heard. Whit kind ae name is Saba? It sounds kind ae posh tae me, so there’s nae surprise there, eh?”
“Do you really want to know or are you just being nice to me because you feel guilty about shouting at me and abusing my family?” she replied, too late tae bite aff that tongue ae hers and avoid inflaming the situation.
“Aye.”
“Yes what?”
“Ah’m back crawling fur furgiveness.”
“You liar!” she mocked, laughing.
“Well, go oan…hit me wae it.”
“No, you’ll just laugh and make a fool of me.”
“Of course Ah will, so spit it oot,” he retorted, grinning and flashing they white even teeth ae his.
“My name is Saba Blair MacIain MacDonald. There are a few other names in there that originate from Belgium, but I’ll stick to the Scottish ones. The Blair comes from my great, great grandmother and the MacIain and MacDonald? Well, everyone knows who they were.”
“Ah don’t.”
“Glencoe?”
“Never heard ae him either,”
“Are you serious? Did they not teach you about history at school?”
“Well, they telt us aboot the Battle ae Hastings in ten sixty six and anyway, Ah never went tae school much, apart fae a couple ae years in primary.”
“Right, I’ll keep this as brief as I can. On the twenty seventh of August in sixteen ninety one, King William agreed to offer all the Highland chiefs, including my ancestors and their clan members, a pardon for any who took part in the Jacobite Uprising. The main thing is that they had to take an oath of allegiance before the first of January sixteen ninety two, in front of one of the magistrates in the Highlands. If they didn’t appear in person, not only would the pardon be withdrawn, but those who hadn’t signed up, would suffer dire consequences. The Highland chiefs were not too sure whether to accept, so they sent word to France to get the exiled King James’s permission. Anyway, one thing led to another and the agreement from King James finally reached the chiefs sometime in the middle of December. You have to remember that this was the middle of winter. Anyway, Alastair MacIain, my great, great, great, great grandfather, who was the twelfth Chief of Glencoe, waited until the last minute before heading off to sign the oath. He made quite a few mistakes. First of all, he went to the governor of Fort William to sign the oath. The governor sent him packing as he said he, the governor, wasn’t authorized by the King to receive the oath. He then informed MacIain that he would need to go to Inveraray and take the oath before the Sheriff of Argyll, who happened to be a Campbell. Now, MacIain was a bit wary of making this journey because of trouble between his clan members and the Campbells. The governor in Fort William gave MacIain a letter that he said would ensure his safe passage and give him protection. The letter also stated that MacIain had made the deadline but had gone to the wrong place to take the oath.”
“Is that the same Inveraray oan Loch Fyne that we’re taking the boat tae?” Paul asked her.
“Yes, I think so. Anyway, it took MacIain three days to reach Inveraray. On the way there, he got picked up by the Earl of Argyll’s men, who took him to Barcardine Castle and kept him waiting for a full day. What MacIain didn’t know was that this was a delaying tactic on the part of the Campbells to make his situation worse. If you think my ancestors were bad, you should read up about the Campbells. Anyway, he managed to get back on the road and made it to Inveraray. Once he got there, Sir Colin Campbell wasn’t there and MacIain had to hang about for three more days until Campbell eventually arrived. Everything seemed to go fine and Sir Colin took his oath and signed the papers. Even though he didn’t trust the Campbells, he felt he had done his duty and headed home. What MacIain didn’t realise was that the main person in Scotland with all the power at that time was a person called John Dalrymple, who happened to be a Lowlander and hated the Highlanders. He had already sent out a statement to the army in the Highlands, stating that severe punishment was to be dealt out to all those who didn’t abide by the terms and dates of the offer of the oath. He was also against the King offering the oath in the first place. After MacIain arrived home, he thought no more about it, but in London, the Campbells got in touch with Dalrymple and persuaded him to go to the King and convince him that MacIain was in breach of the conditions of the oath and that the twelfth Chief of Glencoe should be used as an example to those who disobeyed the King,” Saba said, falling silent.
“So, whit happened next?” Paul asked, turning tae look at her, fascinated.
“Oh, right. Anyway, it’s all in the history books. All the double dealing started up again, which eventually led to a Captain Campbell being issued with orders to kill everyone under the age of seventy in Glencoe, with particular emphasis on killing the Old Fox...the Old Fox being my ancestral grandfather, MacIain.”
“And did they?”
“Yes. The Campbells turned up in Glencoe on the pretence that they were collecting the King’s taxes. The MacDonald’s welcomed them. Although there were over a hundred soldiers, the MacDonald’s fed them all and put them up in their houses and their barns. The fact that they did the killing in the still of the night was what made it all the more shameful. MacIain, or the ‘Auld Fox’ as the Campbells referred to him as, didn’t make it out of his bed. They murdered him as he tried to get up. I think there was about thirty eight of the MacDonald men murdered that night. A few of MacIain’s sons managed to escape. The women and the children were thrown out into the glen. Forty women and children froze to death in the glen after the Campbells burned down their houses.”
“Fuck!” Paul muttered under his breath.
“I’m surprised you never got taught this at school.”
“We only got taught English history.”
“In America, celebrating the clans is a big thing, especially in New York.”
“So, where did the Saba label appear fae then?”
“Oh, that name isn’t as dramatic as the Scottish ones. I was born on a farm in Kenya.”
“Africa? So, ye’re no Scottish then?” Paul exclaimed, laughing as him and Wan-eye turned tae look at her.
“I’m as Scottish as you are.”
“Okay, Ah’ll accept ye’re hauf Scottish then,” he teased.
“Anyway, I was named by Maasai women who looked after me when I was born. Because I was born on the seventh day of the seventh month at seven o’clock in the evening, they called me Saba. In Swahili, Saba means seven. My father accepted the name as a birth name. I don’t think my mother was too pleased at the time though.”
“Well, it’s a cool name.”
“Do you think so?”
“Ah kin only think ae wan other name that comes close tae it and it’s a Glaswegian name.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, Senga. Wan ae ma pals, Johnboy Taylor wis in love wae a lassie called Senga when he wis at school. We aw thought it wis a stoating name…very exotic an aw that, although the story behind where it came fae isnae quite as good as yours.”
“What does Senga mean? Do you know?”
“Aye, it’s Agnes spelt backwards,” Paul replied, hoping she widnae notice that he wis turning right at the Braemore Junction towards Gairloch, insteid ae the left that he’d written oan his junction route.
Chapter Forty Four
The sun wis beating doon. Saba passed him wan ae Whitey’s pickle jars containing the water. In the distance, they could see Loch Broom and the road that they’d jist come alang fae Ullapool. There wur a few scattered croft hooses oan the side ae the mountains oan the other side. Jist efter Badcaul, hauf way up a steep hill, Saba asked him tae stoap.
“Ah’m no sure if that’s a good idea. If this thing rolls backwards, we’re goosed and Ah’ve never started wan ae these oan the side ae a steep hill,” he’d said tae her.
“You’ll manage at the to
p. We’ve got to get out and look at the views, and anyway, One-eye will need to pee.”
“Right, well, if this thing ends up doon the side ae a mountain, ye kin explain tae Innes that we lost his good boat because ye wanted tae check oot the view.”
Paul parked as close tae the embankment at the side ae the road as he could. He looked aboot. If another car or lorry came alang they’d be in trouble.
“Look, Paul, the Summer Isles,” she squealed, spreading the folded map oan the right wing ae the Landy and looking between it and the group ae wee islands scattered oot in front ae them.
“Check that oot as well. It’s absolutely amazing,” he said, looking back alang tae where she’d pointed oot tae him wis Little Loch Broom, which lay back in the direction they’d jist come fae.
“Hmm, I’m not sure if that is the Summer Isles.”
“Right, Ah don’t want tae spoil yer fun, bit we need tae get gaun,” he said reluctantly as he opened the driver’s door and Wan-eye jumped in.
“Drive on, Batman,” Saba hooted, pointing forward.
They didnae hiv long tae wait until the first real challenge confronted them.
“Jeez!” he said as they passed a signpost that said Gruinard Bay.
“Will we make it?”
“Ah’m no sure, bit there’s only wan way tae find oot,” he replied, as he sped across a wee stone bridge and drapped the gears, before tackling the steep bendy slope.
“It looks like some sort of navy installation,” he heard Saba shouting fae ootside.
“Ah’m no sure that’s the safest place tae sit,” he shouted back, hivving a good swatch at her legs and thighs as she sat wae her body oot the passenger side windae, facing across the tap ae the Landy.
“The views are amazing,” she shouted.
“Aye, they’re no bad fae in here as well,” he shouted, laughing as her thighs clamped thegither like a couple ae lift doors.
“Pig!” he heard her shout, as he made it tae the tap ae the hill.
“Ah’m hungry,” he said tae her, efter she climbed back in tae her seat and the Landy descended doon the other side ae the hill.
“It says here on the map that we’re coming to a place called Poolewe. Why don’t we stop there and eat the sandwiches and biscuits you brought? According to the map, it sits on a bay.”
“Sounds like a good idea tae me. Ah’ve goat a wee job that needs daeing,” he said.
In Poolewe, Saba goat oot the sandwiches while Paul took Innes’s auld number plates and a screwdriver oot ae his bag.
“What are those for?” she asked him, shading her eyes fae the sun as she watched whit he wis up tae.
“Ah’m changing the number plates as a precaution. The bizzies will probably hiv circulated the number plates ae George’s Landy.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Ah don’t know aboot that. It’s better tae be careful though. We’ve only clocked a few cars since we left Ullapool, bit ye never know. The other good thing is that they won’t be looking fur a Landy that’s towing a boat. The first thing people will clock is The Dignity. Hopefully that’ll distract them until it’s too late and we’re past them.”
“So, you have thought of everything,” she said, smiling, as she haunded wan ae Whitey’s good breid and cheese pieces tae Wan-eye, who wolfed it doon hungrily.
They hidnae been sitting at the side ae the road fur long before company arrived.
“Oh, I wonder where they’ve all travelled from.” Saba said, staunin up and looking in the direction ae Gairloch.
“Dae ye think they’re holidaymakers?” he asked her.
“If they are, they’ve taken the entire town with them,” Saba replied, as the first caravan pulled o’er and stoapped beside them.
“Hello there. Nice day for a sail on the lovely shores of the west coast, eh?” the first guy, who’d appeared fae the convoy ae caravans, said wae a smile, walking past Paul and Saba tae hiv a closer look at the boat.
He wis quickly followed closely by another dozen guys.
“It’s a bloody Loch Fyne skiff, Gus,” a boy ae aboot Paul’s age said tae the guy that hid spoken first.
“A skiff? Ur ye sure now, Donald?”
“Oh aye, no question about that. Is that no a Loch Fyne Skiff?” Donald turned and asked Paul, as the trailer and boat wur suddenly overrun wae a mass ae snottery wee weans swarming aw o’er it.
Meanwhile, the wummin who’d followed their men folk oot ae the vans and lorries hid started tae light fires at the roadside.
“Aye, it is.”
“See, I told ye,” Donald said, clearly chuffed wae himsel.
“Don’t you think we should get going, Paul?” Saba asked nervously, thinking that only Paul wid hear her.
“It’s okay, lass, we won’t do ye no harm. Don’t move on account of us. We’re just going tae feed the men folk and the bairns and be on our way,” a curly-haired wummin piped up.
“Oh no, er, I didn’t mean…”
“You’re welcome to join us for a bite to eat?” another wummin offered, drying her hauns oan the embroidered apron that wis tied roond her waist.
“Gus? Gus? Where the bloody hell are ye?”
“I’m over here, Mither.”
“Go and get us some mussels and a bit of crab, if ye can. Finlay’s getting the seaweed,” Mother shouted fae in amongst a group ae wummin who wur staunin, chewing the cud further doon the line.
“In our way of life, it would offend us if a fellow traveller didn’t stay for a bite to eat when it was offered,” Gus said tae Paul, wae a twinkle in his eye.
“Well, we widnae want tae upset anywan’s way ae life then, wid we?” Paul replied wae a grin.
Apart fae wan wee yelping skirmish between Wan-eye and wan ae the Gypsy dugs, Wan-eye wis hivving a ball. There must’ve been aboot fifteen dugs, aw running aboot, being chased by aboot twenty weans, aged between three and ten.
“So, Paul, what happened to the wee pot-licker’s eye?” Gus asked, as Saba and Paul ate a bowl ae the most amazing grub that Paul hid ever tasted in his life.
Paul explained whit happened tae Wan-eye oan account ae him being apprenticed tae Tim, Innes’s dug.
“God curse those keepers!” Mother spat, as Paul looked across at Saba, who wis sitting impassively.
“Aye, there’s been many a good gypsy laddie who’s been brought down by those braggarts, that’s for sure,” Finlay nodded, letting loose a stream ae spit oan tae the fire.
“So, whit’s the score wae yersels then, Gus? Ur youse aw away oan yer holidays or something?”
“No, we’re heading north, looking for work. It’s been scarce pickings this year though. We haven’t taken our traditional routes due to all the violence that was meted out against us last year and now when the local bobbies find out we’re coming their way, we’re harassed to move on. We’ve just come up from Perthshire.”
“Are you Scottish?” Saba asked, sounding surprised.
“Aye, can ye no tell, lass?”
“I can detect snatches of Gaelic words, I think, but there are other words I’m not sure of,” Saba replied.
“Aye, we’ve a mix in there. There’s your traditional Scottish, Gaelic and some Patois,” Gus replied, lifting a flat roond ae breid aff a hot stane beside the fire and tearing a lump aff ae it, before passing it across tae Paul.
“Oh, so you’re not Romany then?”
“No, no, lass. We’re all from the Highlands, or should I say, we were.”
“Were?” she asked.
“We’re all McLeod’s and originally come from Assynt and Kincardine. During the clearances, when we got put off the land, a lot of us perished that first winter, particularly the old and the very young. Some of us managed to settle while others escaped across to the Americas via Ullapool. Some, like us, have been wandering ever since,” Mother replied.