“Well done boys,” Elizabeth said as the approached the pebbles at the edge of the island. “Now you can help us with the dismount.”
John stepped into the water and Jamie waited whilst the “girls” were lifted out on to the shore, before being lifted out himself.
The shapes of the buildings were recognisable, though it was impossible to say what height they might have been and what they might have looked like. Apart from the strong, upright bases at doorways and the flagstones, the only clue was the rubble. A low stone wall marked out a circular structure. It looked familiar to Jamie.
“They must have kept sheep in here,” he said. The others agreed. The monks would have kept sheep for the meat and for making woollen clothes. The loch would have provided fish. It all seemed to make sense.
Mhairi was looking out, down the line of the loch. John and Jamie wandered off to find some hazel. The two young woman stood together, looking south.
“I remember,” Mhairi said, “it was the first aircraft I had ever seen: a fragile-looking black thing flying down the loch. Euan explained it to me. It’s odd to think about it now but it was a thing of wonder back then, the latest technology. It can’t have been safe, flying that. I think I’d have been tempted to fly over the water, just in case.”
“You mean for the soft landing?”
“Yes,” she replied, looking around her. “This place is exactly the same as I remember. It hasn’t changed at all, except it was a different time of year and the leaves were starting to turn. I still think of him a lot, you know; about what could have happened, but I never say anything- well, hardly ever,” she said, thinking about before.
“There’s no right and wrong,” said Elizabeth, “only what works and what doesn’t. What you are doing, it definitely works. Just look at Jamie and how happy he is. Would that have even seemed possible three or four years ago? Exactly.”
Less than a minute’s walk away, but out of earshot, the two boys were making inroads into the art of stickmaking. It was the selection phase, as John explained.
“These are hazels, but she won’t mind if we just take one or two.”
Nothing.
“What we are looking for is a stick that is straight and about four foot long. Hazel sticks are used because they are straight and also quite flexible. See how this one bends and springs back?
“Have a wee look round. You want one that’s the height of your shoulder. Good- yes, that’s one. So is that. Well done, Jamie. I can see a couple over here that would be fine for me.
“The next thing, to help you choose the best stick, is to consider how thick they are. You want your stick to be about an inch thick near the ground and maybe about three-quarters of an inch at the thin end.”
He could see Jamie looking around immediately he said this.
“The last thing to think about is the kind of stick you want to make: the design, in other words.”
Jamie looked blank. “I would want one that was good for walking.”
“That’s right,” said John, “but there are two designs. You could make a normal walking stick, with a thick handle.” He pointed to a strong withy, one of a number Jamie had identified at the base of a large hazel.
“If you cut here,” he said, “this curved bit would be the handle.” He grasped it and Jamie nodded. “The other end of the stick would be about where then?”
Jamie pointed.
“That’s right.”
“What’s the other kind of stick then, Doctor John?”
“Well it’s called a thumbstick, because you put your thumb in it when you are walking. Like this.” He reached up to a fork and put his thumb in. “The bottom of the stick would be about here.” He tapped it lower down.
“Right now, Jamie. Decision time. Which would you like?” He lit his pipe as Jamie thought about this, trying out various bends and forks before opting for a thumbstick.
“Now I’ll cut down the ones we choose,” said John, “because that’s the most boring bit, then we can use our own knives to do the other things”
Jamie nodded and brought out his own knife, just as John reached into his pocket for his. He could see Jamie comparing.
“Mine has a flat thing. It’s for tamping down tobacco.” He demonstrated.
“It doesn’t have a tin opener like yours though. That’s something that would be really useful.”
It was the work of only few minutes to cut down the chosen sticks and trim them. Then John showed him how to grip the knife so that the thumb almost opposed the blade, so it would bite through the bark without slipping. Then, using a short length, he showed him how to cut away the bark in a spiral by winding in the stick whilst keeping the knife hand still.
Jamie was smart and capable and soon a six inch section of his thumbstick had a neat spiral..
“That is brilliant,” said John. “Let’s go and show them.”
The ‘girls’ were picking their way through the remains of buildings when they all met up. The acclaim was universal. Yes, John assured them, Jamie had cut the spiral with his own knife as well as trimming the stick and also choosing it.
“You’ll need to show Grandpa,” Elizabeth said. “He is always making things like this, using tools.”
“Even Mr Clare would be impressed with this,” said John, “and that takes some doing.”
“Don’t show him yours then,” said Mhairi. “The spiral is much better in Jamie’s one. Look at that bit there. You’ve obviously had several goes at cutting it.”
“I’m better with legs and arms,” John replied. “The bark is thinner.”
Jamie laughed at that one too.
For the next half hour they wandered round together, looking at the stones, imagining the buildings and the lives of the people there. Occasionally these thoughts were interrupted by 1940: some green army lorries on the nearby road, or a car or motorcycle disturbing the silence.
Mhairi looked at her watch. “Time to go, she said, “so we can all help with the tea. Right- has everybody got everything?”
Years as a teacher had given her the right to organise.
“Hats, scarves.” She looked at John. “Pipes? Good. Is everybody sure?”
Something in her manner obliged them to nod.
In fact, they needn’t have rushed back. There was very little which needed doing, as far as tea was concerned. The pie- a mixture of lamb and various vegetables- had been slipped into the oven in the early afternoon. And the potatoes were peeled and ready for boiling. A large part of this meal came from the farm itself, including the eggs which had gone into the sponge. It was a little less sugary than it would have been in earlier times, but good all the same. There was much patting of stomachs and a loosening of belts, and formalities. Anxieties were suppressed, only surfacing briefly when Jamie told everyone about his Spitfire, or the shortages were touched on. Otherwise the conversation was of school and sport and, in particular, about tractors.
And, to begin with, sticks.
“Very neat work,” said Grandpa. “The spiral is clean and even. Did you find it easy to do that?” Robert was turning it over in his hands, following the cut marks. “A comfortable thumb grip too. That is very good.”
Jamie told his grandfather, rather too quickly, in fact, about the different designs, and the hazel trees, and how they decided on the length. “Doctor John showed me how to use the knife to cut the spiral, always turning it away from you. You have to hold it like this.”
He reached into his pocket- then there was a noticeable pause and a look of concern. The knife was not in the pocket. He switched the stick to the other hand and tried there. Relief. He retrieved the knife and opened it out.
“You have to hold it like this,” he said, “and turn the stick.”
Grandpa nodded and smiled. “That is exactly right. Just the way I do it. You can even trim the fork to make the thumb hold more comfortable. All three men sat together, helping one another. There were funny to watch, thought Elizabeth, who was cle
aring the table. There is always a part which refuses to grow up. That was her experience of men, at any rate.
“You’ll find,” said Grandpa Mackinnon, “that in time your knife will become blunt, especially if you use it a lot on wood. When that happens I’ll show you how to sharpen it and how to test it for sharpness.”
He looked at Jamie, who was opening out the other blade.
“I remember giving Euan a knife when he was about your age. He was excited, just like you. I’m not sure what became of it…..”
Sensing a cul-de-sac, John redirected the flow. “And of course you should put a spot of oil on the blade now and again, to keep it shiny and help it to open smoothly.”
He clicked the blade shut and opened it again. “This is a beautiful knife Jamie. Just imagine all the things you’ll be making with it.”
Then it was an endless string of guesses and predictions. Robert nodded to John, grateful they were back on track.
Only about six paces from them, but a whole world away, Granny handed Mhairi the next in a line of wet dishes. Mhairi found a drier area on the dishtowel, gave the bowl a careful wipe and placed it with the others. Elizabeth was going from kitchen to living room, returning dishes to the dresser.
“Jamie is very happy, Mhairi,” Granny said, before adding, “and it’s because of you.”
“Everyone helps. A lot of people care about him. He has good friends at school; he loves coming here….”
“Yes, but it is you who made it possible…. I often think we should have done more. It shouldn’t have been your responsibility, bringing Jamie up. We should have tried again once your dad had recovered.”
“I don’t like you thinking that way. You mustn’t think that way. I’ve never felt it as a duty or a responsibility. I love him. That’s always been enough. Mum, Jamie knows we are all one family and he counts on all of us. All of us. We’ve all done our share.”
“Yes, but it was you who made it possible.”
There was a pause: praise is always harder to respond to.
“Well,” Mhairi said, “I make him my priority. Any one of us would do the same.”
“Priorities are important,” said her mum, “but you can’t just have one priority. Other things are important too.” She handed over the last of the cutlery and pulled the plug.
“Teaching is still important to me. Doing it well…”
“That’s not what I mean- not that kind of priority.”
Mhairi dried the cutlery and put it in the drawer under the worktop.
“John is very nice, isn’t he,” Granny continued, quite impassively.
“Oh, right.”
“He really likes Jamie. Elizabeth mentioned that to me when you arrived back. She’s very impressed.” Elizabeth was still next door, where the conversation had moved on to tractors. “Of course, you are his priority.”
There was a long pause
“What I’m saying is think about yourself too. Anything which makes you happy will be good for Jamie too.”
Mhairi folded up the dishtowel and hung it on the rail next to the kitchen range, where it would dry. She looked at her mother and spoke softly.
“Nobody knows- well nobody apart from you- and you only know because you’ve seen us together.”
“Possibly. What I’m saying is he seems a good man and he could make you happy, if you let him. Just think about it. Decide what you want. Whatever you decide, we will support you.”
“I know that, Mum,” said Mhairi. “Thanks.” They hugged briefly
“You’re a lovely girl,” she whispered, “be happy. Right, we’d better get the teas organised, before they start getting all suspicious. We’ve got lemonade, if Jamie wants that instead. ”
Next door they were on about biplanes.
18 A Fragile Thing
Gairloch 1940
When the car hiccupped and jerked at the bottom of the hill, Mhairi looked over her shoulder. No- Jamie was still asleep. How could anyone sleep like that, with their head jammed up against a metal door?
“He’s still asleep,” she said. “He looks absolutely shattered.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s been a busy day. Remember he’s been rowing a boat, carving a stick, playing party games. Just being excited- that’s tiring- and he was very excited.”
“Aha: no doubt about that,” she agreed.
Mhairi had another look backwards, just a quick check.
“Mum knows,” she said. There was a long pause. “I mean she knows about us.”
“And how does she feel about it?” He asked this without a sideways glance, eyes deliberately focusing on the road to make it easy for Mhairi.
“She likes you.”
“That sounds ominous, as if there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“She likes the idea of us. I like the idea of us too,” Mhairi continued, “not just the reality of us.”
“It might take some time for me to work out what that means. I do arms and legs, remember. Philosophy- that’s much harder.”
They were approaching the pier and about to climb the hill when Mhairi sensed a movement behind her. “Nearly home now, Jamie. You might want to sit up.”
At the end of the main street they turned left and the car pulled up at the door. Mhairi opened the passenger door on Jamie’s side, making sure that he didn’t fall sideways, because he hadn’t sat up.
“Come on, big boy,” she said, helping him inside, nodding at John, who collected Jamie’s things from the back of the car and followed her in.
She was already half way up the stairs with Jamie by the time John got inside. Jamie was a bit big to carry now, so she was leading him up the stairs.
“Nearly there now,” she said.
“Can you stay for a cup of tea Doctor John?” she said, looking down at him from the landing. “If you could just stick the kettle on….The kitchen is over there.”
John smiled. That was part of the appeal, this pretending not to know. He thought about all the other things he didn’t know about either. They were the best things in his life.
It was only a few minutes later that Mhairi came back down: she had to be sure that Jamie was properly tucked up, so they would be undisturbed. He heard the softness with which she closed Jamie’s door and watched as she descended lightly, carrying the coat she had been wearing. At the bottom of the stairs she turned, stretching upwards to hang it on the peg, an act which made her red dress ride up a little. It was a plain, simple garment, probably rather old-fashioned now that dresses were longer. Mhairi straightened it a little before she came over.
These little things, the small unconscious acts: how could they say so much?
“The kettle is whistling,” she said. “If you’d like to deal with it, I’ll put a match to the fire.” As always, the grate was already set.
John got up and brushed past her.
“So you actually did put the kettle on,” she said.
“You said you wanted tea,” he said, enjoying the contact.
“Yes, I would like tea, but that’s not why I asked for it.” She tilted her head and glanced upstairs.
“The other side of her,” he thought. “This is the knowing part. God, I love that too!”
“I’ll do the fire,” he said. “Firelighting is a job for a man.” He gave the last word unnatural emphasis. “You can just make the tea.”
“So thoughtful. That must be why I love you,” she said, gently throwing her arms around his neck. He could feel the fingertips of her right hand as they walked their way down his side to the waist, before giving his backside a monstrously huge grope. And then she was in the kitchen before he had any time to react, well, react consciously anyway.
The fire lit easily, the dry kindling having been stored indoors. Three or four split logs were left in the basket at the side of the hearth.
“Need any more logs?” he called through.
“No, I’ve plenty, thanks. We’ve still got some left over from last week.”
&nbs
p; She was walking through with two mugs on a tray and some plain biscuits. “I only put the fire on for an hour or two in the evenings. The house holds its heat, in April anyway.”
He checked his hands- clean- took the mug and sat down next to her on the couch. She leant on him a little; a reassuring thing.
“You mentioned your mother, and that she knows.”
“Aha. For quite a while, I think.”
“What about your dad?”
“Oh, he’ll know when she’s explained it to him. But don’t worry, he’ll think it’s great. After all, you are a doctor, which is the next best thing to being a farmer.”
“He actually wanted you to marry a farmer? Really?”
“Oh yes. That was the idea. It’s the normal thing for farmers to want. I remember being introduced to some young farmers, many years ago. They weren’t my type.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I could tell they were used to handling livestock, if I can put it like that.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t worry. They never got anywhere and I made sure they didn’t enjoy it.” She laughed. “Oh no….You’re the one for me. You deal with infectious diseases and horrendous skin complaints.”
“Impitigo last week,” said John proudly. “And don’t forget the weeping sores.”
“I always think of them fondly,” Mhairi said.
He burst out laughing.
“Shoost now,” she said. “Remember it’s a cup of tea we’re having.”
They looked at the fire and sipped their tea. One of the logs had fallen awkwardly now that the kindling had been consumed. John rearranged things with the poker and put another quarter log on.
“That should be it now,” Mhairi said. It always amazed her how quickly the new log blazed, great flames just appearing, moving upwards.
Mhairi kicked off her shoes and drew her legs up so that her feet snuggled almost under her, touching the arm of the couch. They sat together for many minutes, his extended arm cupped around her shoulders as she cooried in.
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