‘He’s getting up today and Babbie is supervising so I thought I’d best keep out of the way.’ He crooked his arm to Shona in a dashing manner. ‘Will you do me the honour, my leddy?’
They went off giggling and Kirsteen smiled at Fergus. ‘They have made up beautifully wouldn’t you say, Fergus?’
He kissed a lock of her golden hair. ‘Almost as well as we did on a certain night not too long since. I only hope . . .’
‘Fergus,’ she reproved quietly, ‘everything is all right. They are very young and very much in love. You haven’t forgotten what that is like, have you?’
‘Ay, I’m beginning to . . . let me see, it must be nearly two nights now and that seems an age away. You wouldn’t fancy a quick scrub in the tub before dinner, would you? I could always do your back . . .’ They hugged each other with delight, and then he grew serious, his eyes dark with his love for her. ‘Every day I watch you and I thank God for my happy life. Each morning I love you more than the one before which means all our tomorrows will be better than our yesterdays . . . and Good God! Here is me a farmer, turning into a poet. Get on your way, woman, and take the baimie with you before it bursts with all that milk you’re feeding it!’
Shona and Niall walked over the hill hand in hand, occasionally breaking into a run to chase each other like children, and by the time they reached Dodie’s cottage they were hot and breathless.
‘For goodness sake! What on earth is that?’ Niall cried, pointing to a ramshackle creation of wood and metal huddled into the bushes near the cottage. The wind soughed through it, rattling metal against metal, eerily whining into cracks in the wood. They didn’t need to look too closely to realize that Dodie had built himself a ‘wee hoosie’ using materials from the wrecked German bomber. The tail piece of the plane served as the roof with the bold symbol of the swastika breathtakingly displayed to the world. Niall and Shona gaped in astonishment, then sped over to examine the monstrosity at close quarters. The door scraped open on ill-fitting hinges. In the middle of the black cavern sat Dodie’s large chamber pot, looking like the proverbial pea in a drum. On a small wooden shelf a large assortment of aircraft equipment jostled with a pile of neat newspaper squares. To the right of the chamber pot the control column was stuck into the ground at a crazy angle; propped in a corner was the broken barrel of a gun; under it, decoratively arranged, a band of ammunition.
Shona pointed at the control column and hissed, ‘What is that for?’
‘The mind boggles – but that’s not all – look at this! Dodie is certainly going to be well amused when he’s using his wee hoosie!’ Affixed to the back of the door was an array of plane’s instruments looking decidedly incongruous in such odd surroundings.
‘Och, he’s the limit!’ Shona giggled. ‘He’s made his wee hoosie like the inside of a plane so that he can pretend to be flying when he’s in here!’
Niall let out a bellow of mirth which coincided with a terrible bellowing that suddenly erupted from the cow shed. Ealasaid stood in her stall looking greatly distressed and Niall saw immediately that her udder was so distended the veins stood out like knotted rope. ‘She hasn’t been milked,’ Niall said, frowning. ‘Something’s wrong with Dodie. He would never let Ealasaid suffer like this.’
They raced to the cottage and tiptoed in. They hadn’t visited the place since they were children but it hadn’t changed. Threadbare curtains covered the tiny windows, ashes spilled from the grate, treasures reaped from sea and land lay everywhere, lovingly gathered by the old eccentric who saw great beauty in the simple things of life. But one difference was immediately apparent. The old rickety chairs had been replaced by two well-upholstered car seats. They sat, one on either side of the fireplace, comfortably ridiculous-looking. Various other car accessories were scattered round the room and Shona held her breath in delight. Madam Balfour’s car was one of two cars on the island; the other was owned by Lachlan.
He had been talked into buying it by a doctor acquaintance who was shocked to find his colleague still using outdated modes of transport. After much persuasion Lachlan had acceded to the suggestion of a car, but he felt embarrassed and out-of-place in a vehicle that made all eyes turn, and he began to find the car more trouble than it was worth. Machines of any sort were regarded with amused suspicion on Rhanna. Few of the men were mechanically minded, including Lachlan himself who found it easier to manipulate a horse or a bicycle than he did a contrary starter motor. Moreover, with the advent of war, fuel became difficult to obtain and the car had since lain in a shed, and was used only for the most urgent cases on the farthest corners of the island.
Like Lachlan, the young laird, a keen horseman, seldom used his car, which had been purchased at his mother’s insistence that ‘people of our standing ought to have a car’. But unlike Lachlan, Madam Balfour revelled in the attention paid her when her son drove her round the bumpy island roads. However, with his going she could find no one else willing to drive the vehicle. Angus, the aged groom, had been shown how to drive, ‘Aying’ his way through a course of instruction, but he had tucked the knowledge away in the farthest recesses of his mind in the hope he would never have to use it. Used to a lifetime of caring for horses, he resented the space the car took up in the stable buildings. Madam Balfour had been furious when he had refused to recover the car after the Commandos had left it near Croynachan, and by the time she had coaxed Lachlan into fetching it, it had been completely dismantled. Only the chassis and the body shell had been left to rot on the Muir of Rhanna.
It had been difficult to lay blame at any one door, and finally Madam Balfour had tried to enlist the services of Dugald Donaldson who was a retired policeman. But he had refused to get involved and eventually she had contacted the Stornoway police, from whom she was now awaiting an official visit. Rhanna was visited seldom by a policeman. The one who usually came was related to nearly everyone on Rhanna and spent his time ceilidhing at relatives’ houses. But it had been rumoured that ‘Big Gregor’ had been transferred to Mull, and when Madam Balfour’s plans became known there had been a scuffle to cover up any little misdemeanours that might warrant investigation. Tam McKinnon had been particularly disturbed by the news and had made haste to transfer his ‘still’ back to Annack Gow’s secret room inside the blackhouse. A delighted Annack had been only too willing to oblige, and once again her secret room was fully operational, as it had been in the days of her forebears.
Thinking back on all those events, Shona smiled to herself as she looked round the room. She knew that no official being would hazard a visit to Dodie’s cottage and she hugged herself with glee at the idea of his getting away with a large share of the spoils.
‘Are you about, Dodie?’ Niall cried and was rewarded with a soulful ‘He breeah’ from a door leading out of the kitchen. They went up a short passageway, hung with driftwood cupboards, and came to the bedroom. Dodie’s particular odour pervaded every cluttered corner. His old mackintosh hung from a hook on the door over a layer of tattered oilskins. Under the window stood his huge wellingtons and Shona rushed forward to throw open the sash, allowing the fresh, clean air from the moor to swoop in and absorb the smell.
‘Ach, dinna open that window!’ Dodie cried in alarm. ‘I’m just about dead wi’ cold as it is!’ He was terribly embarrassed, cowering under the threadbare sheet like a frightened animal. He was a pathetic sight with his gaunt, grey face covered in stubbly little patches of hair. On a locker by his bedside a Delft cup held ancient dregs of tea, and on a saucer beside it two mouldy crusts adhered to a festering slice of cheese. Grimy tears coursed down the sunken indentations of his face, his mouth was twisted in pain and a band of perspiration glistened beneath the rim of his greasy cap.
‘I have a terrible bellyache,’ he wailed, scrubbing his tears with one hand and rubbing his middle with the other. ‘It’s been on me for a time now but it has just got worse this whily back. I’m near dyin’ wi’ the pain . . . and – Ealasaid, my poor beastie, is ill too. I havny been
able to rise out my bed to milk her. She’s roarin’ in pain and breakin’ my heart hearin’ her.’
‘I’ll go and milk her now, I saw a bucket in the shed,’ Shona said, thankfully escaping the room.
‘And I’ll go and fetch Father before he finishes in the surgery,’ Niall added quickly. He eyed a heap of gay patchwork quilts lying on an antiquated bride’s kist. ‘Would you like some of these quilts on the bed, Dodie? You’re shivering.’
Dodie looked terrified. ‘No, no, I dinna want them! Just shut the window.’
Exasperated, Niall banged the window shut and turned out of the cottage. Leaving Shona to keep an eye on things he ran back over the hill track to Slochmhor. He found his father at once, and having managed together to get the neglected car started, they hurtled over the narrow track, the sound of the roaring engine making the crowd at the peat hags stop work as one.
‘An emergency, just,’ commented Erchy.
The others nodded in sad agreement. ‘The doctor is having a busy time these days,’ was the general verdict.
‘Who will it be?’ wondered Kate.
‘Lachlan will see them along,’ Jim Jim said with conviction.
‘If the Lord spares them,’ Isabel sighed sagely.
There was a move towards the milk luggie where creamy milk was amiably dispensed, together with much speculation about the ‘emergency’.
When Lachlan arrived the hens were squawking dismally in the kitchen while Shona boiled a rather sparse ‘hen’s pot’ over a fire made up hastily with cinders and kindling. She knew Dodie would be embarrassed by her presence and Lachlan went alone into the bedroom.
‘You dinna have to look at me, Doctor,’ the redfaced Dodie sobbed. ‘I know fine what ails me.’
‘Indeed, and what might that be, Dodie?’
Dodie looked with horror at the pile of patchwork quilts. ‘It’s these! I know it’s these! I’ve been smitted, Doctor!’
‘Smitted with what?’ Lachlan saw how distressed the old eccentric was and his voice was gentle.
‘With Shelagh! You mind, Doctor, she always said it was the winds she had, but I know fine what killed her.’
‘But, Dodie, that was years ago,’ Lachlan protested. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with your condition.’
‘I have it, Doctor, the cancer! The same as Shelagh. Before she died she told me I was to have these lovely quilts made by her very own hands. After she passed on I took them . . . just to please her because she was always my good friend. My, but they were warm right enough but I havny used them since my bellyache started.’
Lachlan sat down on the bed which sagged alarmingly under the extra weight. Patiently he explained. ‘You don’t catch cancer, Dodie. It isn’t a germ like a ’flu or cold. Please believe that. I’ll examine you and tell you what I think you’ve got.’ Despite vigorous protestations he proceeded with the examination, inwardly shocked when he saw how thin Dodie was. A few minutes later he looked up, a warm smile lighting his face. ‘Stop worrying, Dodie, you don’t have cancer but you do have an ulcer, probably a duodenal.’
Dodie looked terrified. ‘Ach, Doctor, that sounds worse than the other!’
‘It won’t be with proper treatment and diet. What on earth have you been eating, man?’
‘Nothing, Doctor.’
‘Nothing! But you must be eating something!’
Dodie turned his face to the wall and his big calloused hands worked nervously on the sheet. Lachlan felt a great surge of remorse and compassion for the old man. His life had been one of misfortune from the start. Against all odds he had battled on, catering for his simple needs by the sheer hard work that had been his lot since he was old enough to hold a spade. Everyone on the island genuinely liked him, but his fierce independence made charitable acts difficult and he was more or less left to his own devices. It never occurred to anyone that the show of independence might be a form of pride born in a man deprived of the basic things in life that everyone else took for granted. His was a big heart with a great capacity for loving all the creatures, great and small, that God had put on the earth. In his simple world he had created for himself a life far happier than that of many who had all the obvious requisites. But it was a lonely existence and no one needed to be that lonely.
‘Come on, Dodie,’ Lachlan coaxed, taking one of his big hands and squeezing it reassuringly. ‘You can tell me, I’ll understand.’
‘Och, Doctor, I’m starvin’ so I am! I used my ration book to help light the fire one morning – I didny know what it meant for I canny read things in the foreign language. When I went to Merry Mary’s for my messages, she asked me for it and I didny like to tell her I burnt it. She would think I was daft, and it bein’ a Government thing I thought I would get into trouble so I just stopped goin’ to the shop. My tattie crop was a bad one last year and all but ran out on me after the New Year. Then that big Jerry wi’ the square head burst in on me and ate everything that was left . . . even the few neeps that I had. My poor hens have gone off the laying without the right food – it’s terrible to see them starvin’ to death.’
‘You could have boiled one to yourself, Dodie.’
‘Och, no, never! I wouldny kill the poor beasts!’ Dodie was horrified at the suggestion.
‘So, you had only Ealasaid’s milk?’ Lachlan said quietly.
‘Ay, but never even that sometimes for she has never been the same since that big German chiel hurt her udder tryin’ to get milk out o’ it.’ He put out a big hand. ‘Doctor, it’s my baccy I miss most. You wouldny have a wee bit – would you now?’
Lachlan extracted a tin from his pocket. ‘You keep this, Dodie, but don’t chew any till you’ve had a bite to eat. It’s not the best thing for an ulcer but it will do wonders for your peace of mind. Now put your clothes on. I’ll take you down in the car to Slochmhor.’
‘But . . . what about Ealasaid?’ came the inevitable wail.
‘One of the lads will drive her down.’ Lachlan’s smile lit up his boyish face. ‘How would you like to go and stay with Mairi for a wee while?’
Dodie’s face glowed through the tears. ‘Mairi,’ he breathed happily.
‘Ay, you know how she loves looking after people. With Wullie away she’s at a loss . . . You and Mairi get on fine together, and she’ll put Ealasaid in with Bluebell.’ Lachlan was rewarded by Dodie’s radiant eyes. He knew he wasn’t taking a liberty, because Mairi had often confided to him her desire to give Dodie ‘a good bit loving care and plenty food.’
Lachlan went out to explain matters to the young people who were tidying the kitchen.
‘Poor old Dodie,’ Shona breathed.
‘It’s up to all of us to see this never happens again,’ Lachlan said. ‘He could have died up here and no one the wiser.’
Niall swallowed hard. ‘Surely – Erchy must pop in sometimes with the mail?’
‘What mail? I don’t think Dodie has ever had a letter in his life. Just now I noticed a picture postcard above his bed. It was tattered almost out of recognition by continual handling . . . probably the only postcard he’s ever had.’
They went outside and stood silently, each appalled and saddened by their thoughts. Niall looked at Dodie’s pitiful attempt to build a ‘wee hoosie’ in order to be like the majority of the islanders, and he said huskily, ‘Come the summer Dodie will have the finest wee hoosie on Rhanna. I asked Wullie the Carpenter last night if he could give me a job during my summer holidays. I should learn how to knock a few nails into wood. I’ll get some of the lads to help me. We can scrounge some bits and pieces from Tam. He has a shed full of junk.’
‘Good idea,’ Lachlan approved.
Just then Dodie appeared, apologetic because he had taken some time to gather together his most treasured possessions into a large, spotted hanky.
‘My hens, what about my hens?’ he whispered, holding on to a gatepost for support.
‘They’ll be looked after too,’ Lachlan said patiently and bundled Dodie into the car.
When they arrived at Slochmhor, Dodie underwent the rigours of a steaming carbolic bath, but the comforts that awaited him more than made up for such indignities. For the first time in his life he was made to feel cherished and important and was the first to admit he owed it all to a ‘leddy’.
Part Five
Rhanna
Spring 1941
Chapter Fifteen
Shona walked quickly over Glen Fallan to Slochmhor. Anton was leaving the island next day and Niall had asked Shona to come over to the house early because he had planned some sort of outing. They were all sorry that the young German was going. Lachlan had kept the military medics at bay with various plausible excuses but there was no denying that Anton was now fit enough to go.
The April sun cascaded over the countryside, the heat of it abundant for the time of year. The air was fragrant with the scent of clover, crushed by the frolicking hooves of the lambs scattered in the fields, and Shona lifted her bright head and breathed deeply. She loved the spring, with each day bringing the promise of the long, golden summer ahead. The last few weeks with Niall had been full and happy. In a way, they both seemed to be getting to know each other all over again. Sometimes the past loomed very near, at others it was so far away it was like a dream, a mad jumble of hurried moments in which everything happened too quickly for there to be any lasting impressions.
Shona’s thoughts drifted as she went up the path to the house. As she expected, it was very quiet. Phebie had worked so hard the day before, preparing for the surprise ceilidh they would hold that night, that Lachlan had decided to leave his patients to the tender mercies of Nurse Millar and take Phebie away for a day off. They had gone off with Fergus and Kirsteen to picnic in one of the sheltered coves near Croy. Elspeth, too, was away. She had passed Laigmhor earlier on her way to the shops at Portcull, and now Slochmhor looked rather deserted nestling against tall green pines.
When Shona reached the kitchen she saw Niall standing outside the kitchen door with Babbie in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. He was stroking her fiery hair tenderly and she was leaning against him crying quietly. In her hand fluttered a buff envelope and Shona remembered that Erchy had gone whistling away ahead of her up the Glen. That envelope! Those tears! So unlike cool, self-possessed Babbie to cry. A pang of jealousy shot through Shona’s heart at sight of her friend in Niall’s arms but she knew she was being unreasonable, that something had happened to cause the scene.
Rhanna at War Page 22