A Breath of Autumn Read online

  Euan Ally’s Uncle Lachy had started work on what he persisted in calling ‘Ally’s Castle’ and was getting on well; ‘the boys’ had overhauled The Two Ruaris after her winter lay-up and had started on the season’s fishing, reporting good catches but grumbling that, as a consequence, prices were disappointingly low. All the same, it was plain to see their satisfaction that they were once again in contention with the sea.

  On the croft the potatoes were growing staunchly, their green tops unaffected by the occasional tousling of the wind; the grass looked promising and the corn was growing satisfactorily. The peats, cut earlier in the spring, were now drying on the peat island prior to being ferried over and stacked against the house for winter use. The cattle were flourishing, their shaggy coats combed and sleeked by the wind, and Euan Ally’s small flock of sheep were eagerly familiarising themselves with the Westisle grazing. Soon Enac was able to boast that their ‘Castle’ now had firm set walls and a roof which was in the process of being securely wedged and weighted, roped and tied ready to defy the assault of the severest winter gale. It also boasted a chimney stack, topped by a chimney pot that would not have looked out of place on a mansion.

  ‘My, it’s going to be a house fit for a rich man just,’ Enac declared delightedly.

  ‘And for the coming bairn,’ added Euan Ally.

  Momentarily surprised, Kirsty looked at Enac.

  ‘Aye, I reckon I’m carrying a bairn,’ confirmed Enac. ‘It’ll be due about Hogmanay maybe.’

  Kirsty held both of Enac’s arms for a moment in silent congratulation.

  That same evening Willy John brought over a boatload of Clachan folk, catching Kirsty unawares. Although she was feeling tired after a long day’s work weeding and earthing the potatoes, the sound of happy voices and the exchange of warm greetings, followed by the appreciative comments on the strupak she hastily provided, dispelled any tiredness. Kirsty was soon enjoying the ensuing ceilidh.

  As the gentleness of the season continued, the evening cruises became more frequent. It was as if Clachan had newly discovered Westisle as a venue where they could count on a welcome and be sure of enjoying themselves. Kirsty assumed it was more likely the presence of Enac and Euan Ally that brought over most of the younger folks while the older people were no doubt curious to see what sort of job Lachy was making of the rebuilding of ‘Ally’s Castle’; whatever brought them, there was no doubt the cruise parties were highly popular and enjoyed by young and old.

  ‘As good as a concert,’ Enac was heard to announce one evening when the postman had brought his melodeon; the bus driver had brought his bagpipes and the dancing, skirling, wisecracking and whooping had become wild enough to attract the attention of homing gulls which hovered low, interrupting shrilly and raucously as if competing with or remonstrating against the hilarity.

  Another evening Kirsty herself heard one ancient pipe smoker observe to his equally ancient crony, ‘I’m saying a ceilidh like this is near as good as New Year.’

  ‘More better,’ had come the considered reply. ‘I’m after thinking a ceilidh like this is as good as a dose of salts. It kind of loosens the cac in you so that it’s no effort to go out on the moors the next day.’

  ‘An’ there’s no missionary on the island that can condemn us.’

  ‘Aye indeed. No missionary in sight nor sound nor hearing that can give an account of it,’ agreed his companion discreetly. Two heads nodded in tacit understanding as pipes were replaced and puffed at complacently. Kirsty reminded herself that the two old men belonged to the generation that feared the condemnation of the missionary rather more than the wrath of the Almighty.

  Occasionally, one or two ‘touries’ might be permitted to join an evening cruise, so long as they were agile enough to clamber aboard a small and often leaky boat without protesting that their feet were getting wet. They had also to accept that the trip had no scheduled departure or return time. A tentative enquiry as to a departure time might have elicited a phlegmatic, ‘Ach, it’ll not be till Fergus or Willy or whoever is back from taking his cow to the bull,’ or some such excuse. A timid entreaty as to when they could expect to see their beds that night might bring the insouciant response, ‘Not until the sun has hidden itself at the back of yon black sgurr and is thinking of showing itself out the other side I reckon.’ With such hazy information the enquirer would have to be content, so it was only the adventurous or totally indifferent souls who would risk the trip.

  There was indeed never any urgency about the return trip to Clachan unless the bus driver had chosen to be a member of the party when naturally there was a loosely approximate time imposed so that the bus could leave Clachan near enough its scheduled departure. Otherwise, since during the spring and summer there was only a perfunctory dimming of the light and no real darkness, the Clachanites’ disregard of clock time was patent and the ceilidhing would continue well into the early hours of the morning. Not even the most senile members of the party ever admitted tiredness. Work might tire them but revelry appeared to be a stimulus.

  They had no need to worry about the cattle since they would be out on the hill with calves at foot, so there would be no distended udders needing to be relieved; the poultry would very likely have been sent for their ‘summer holiday’, that is, they would have been banished to the moors where they would virtually fend for themselves until the autumn with no more than a roughly built sod shelter to serve as a retreat from any really wild or wet weather or to provide privacy for egg-laying. Any eggs not filched by predatory rats, stoats, or hoody crows would be collected by the children after their release from school.

  When Westisle hosted an evening cruise there was little enough rest for Kirsty, but she was content to mentally store the sounds of laughter and merrymaking to recall during the bleak short days of winter and the long nights when there was likely to be no sound save the roar of the sea and the steady throbbing of wind against the house.

  It was shortly after the commencement of the English school summer holidays that a letter arrived from the English couple telling Kirsty that they expected to be in Clachan the following week and asking if they could be collected whenever possible. The first suitable day happened to be the first day of Wee Ruari’s school summer holidays and since it was a Friday Jamie took the fishing boat across to Clachan to collect all three of them.

  Kirsty did not go down to watch for the boat’s return but waited at the door. She was not expecting her son to come rushing into the house as he normally did, being sure he would regard it as his duty, even his right, to escort the young couple to the house.

  ‘They’re here!’ She heard his shout at the same time as she spied them coming along the track, the couple carrying their camping gear, Wee Ruari laden with his end-of-term exercise books.

  ‘Jamie let me bring the boat some of the way by myself,’ he announced, with breathless excitement.

  ‘My, my,’ Kirsty complimented him. ‘You’ll soon be taking yourself to school and bringing yourself back home again the way you’re coming on.’ She greeted the young couple warmly. ‘It is a fine day for crossing,’ she said. ‘You will be taking a wee strupak before you unpack?’

  ‘No, no,’ refused the young man hurriedly. ‘We’d like to get the tent up pretty quickly, maybe fairly close to your house temporarily if you don’t mind, and then we would be very grateful if we could come and enjoy one of your strupaks.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve great memories of your strupaks,’ the young woman’s voice sounded almost nostalgic.

  ‘Do as you please just,’ Kirsty indicated a site near the barn. ‘Your tent would be safe enough there I reckon, away from the cattle, and any hens you can shoo out of the way just.’

  Hardly had she settled back to her chores when there was another interruption. Willy Joe arrived with a passenger in his boat and Kirsty found herself shaking hands with a squat dark man whose eyebrows resembled shaggy tweed.

  ‘Dugan’s been gamekeeper since he was hardly more than
a wee laddie, for some Lord or other that’s died over-by in Appin, is that not so Dugan?’ Willy Joe introduced his passenger.

  Dugan nodded modest confirmation.

  ‘An’ he’s over in Clachan seein’ his sister that was married to Tearlach Mor’s brother till he passed on, and now he’d like fine to see how Westisle’s doin’ since both Ruaris have passed on,’ Willy Joe finished his introduction.

  ‘Aye indeed,’ admitted Dugan, ‘and I’m after hearing Euan Ally has got himself wed and has got his Uncle Lachy to sort one of the old but and bens for himself and his wife to live in.’ His tone was a mixture of surprise and censure.

  ‘He seemed keen enough to have it that way,’ Kirsty acknowledged.

  ‘And they’re telling me he’s getting a fair-sized croft to go with it?’

  ‘We agreed a fair amount of land.’

  ‘And he will be bringing over his sheep?’

  ‘I believe that to be his intention.’ Kirsty forbore from disclosing to Dugan that Euan Ally’s sheep were already enjoying Westisle grazing.

  ‘Aye well, right enough, but I reckon you and ‘the boys’ will be needing to have a good muirburn next Spring,’ he commented after a few moments’ meditation.

  She thought he had a homespun kind of voice that urged her to trust him.

  ‘I’d be glad of any advice you could give me,’ she invited, offering him the obligatory strupach.

  ‘Well then, you mightn’t be doing so bad for yourself to rent out a bit of grouse-shooting when the time comes,’ he suggested. ‘I believe the two Ruaris wouldn’t hear of such a thing though they could have done well enough out of it. You have a deal too many grouse on the island to my way of thinking.’

  ‘Indeed, do I not know it just,’ Kirsty exclaimed. ‘Haven’t I said plenty of times to the Clachan men that they’re welcome to come and do a bit of shooting but though they’re well enough pleased to come and shoot rabbits they scoff at wasting cartridges on the grouse. Myself I would like fine to hear less of the birds shouting “Go back, go back” every time I’m out on the moors. But Clachan folk won’t eat grouse so they won’t shoot them.’

  ‘They won’t eat them,’ echoed Dugan derisively. ‘Ach, Clachan folk always was daft anyway. Mind you, I reckon it’s the women’s way of cooking the birds likely. They don’t boil so well in a pot so my wife tells me. I never ate them myself till I got a wife that baked them in the oven.’ He gestured towards the range. ‘You have an oven there, if it gets hot at all.’

  ‘It gets hot enough,’ Kirsty told him. ‘It cooks grand pies and cakes and things so long as it has plenty of peats. Maybe if Jamie would bring me a couple of grouse I could cook them along with some potatoes, but I doubt neither of “the boys” would have an appetite for such, though I myself would like fine to try them.’

  ‘Aye, then that must be the way of it,’ concluded Dugan. Thanking her for the strapak he rose to go. ‘I’d best be away to take a look at how Lachy is getting on with the building of “Ally’s Castle”,’ he joked. ‘And then Willy Joe will be for taking me back to Clachan.’

  As they shook hands he said, ‘If you get to feeling you might want to let a bit of shooting, get word to me just, and I’ll see what I can do.’ He paused for a moment and then added, ‘Maybe you could put up one or two folk that would come for the shooting?’

  Kirsty smiled. ‘Maybe I could do that just,’ she agreed without enthusiasm.

  ‘You could keep it at the back of your mind maybe,’ he insisted.

  ‘Just so,’ she agreed, but she knew that at the back of her mind it must stay for a long time.

  Dugan nodded approval and, with a final farewell, set off with Willy Joe over the hill. No sooner had they left than the English couple came into the kitchen, preceded by Wee Ruari.

  ‘We think we’ve got the tent firmly pitched,’ they said. ‘So we’ll accept that cup of tea if it’s still on offer.’

  ‘Tea is always on offer in this kitchen,’ chirped Wee Ruari. ‘See, there’s steam coming out of that kettle and that one.’

  Kirsty tried to silence him with a gesture, but realising he was likely to monopolise the conversation until his mouth was full of food she allowed him to continue. Somewhat to her surprise, the young couple seemed eager to talk about and anxious to again visit the old settlement. As it was still early evening they wanted to decide, with Lachy’s approval, which of the old habitations they would choose to have rebuilt for their proposed summer dwelling.

  During the winter, Kirsty had grown sceptical of their desire to have a permanent summer residence on Westisle, telling herself that their early enthusiasm would doubtless have waned by the time they had seriously balanced the facilities of city life against the frustrations and rigours of life on Westisle. Listening to them again, after they had returned from visiting the old settlement and were once again comfortably ensconced in her kitchen, there appeared to be little doubt as to the seriousness of their intention.

  ‘For so long as it lasts,’ murmured Jamie cynically, when she later remarked to him on their apparent enthusiasm.

  ‘I believe they’re keen enough yet,’ Enac supplied. ‘I was over with them now just, when they were speaking to Lachy about their ideas and trying to get him to say when he reckons he can start work.’

  ‘They’ve spoken to him already! And what did Lachy have to say to them?’ Kirsty still tended to be dubious of Lachy’s willingness to take on such work for total strangers. She was anxious to hear what his reactions had been when the couple had pressed him about their plans.

  ‘Ach, he told them it would likely be next summer before he would be fit to start even thinking on it and when they said that seemed to be a long time to wait he told them if they still had a mind that way they could hasten it by hauling good strong driftwood from the shore and putting it where it would be handy enough for him. Not that just but he showed them the right kind of building stones and told them to pile them near at hand.’

  Kirsty expressed her astonishment.

  ‘Ach, he still mocked them to Euan Ally and me saying they’d never wish to spend a whole summer in a wild place like Westisle, but they’ve either convinced him they’re serious enough just or he’s after thinking it’ll make a good story to tell at the winter ceilidhs.’

  ‘And you think he’s believing them enough to start working for them?’ Kirsty queried.

  ‘I reckon so right enough, if he’s spared,’ Enac said with a sardonic chuckle.

  ‘I reckon so. If they leave him a good enough deposit,’ quipped Euan Ally.

  On the way back from milking the next day Kirsty took the path which would lead her near the old settlement and its dilapidated cottages. She was struck by the way work on Euan Ally’s chosen dwelling was progressing.

  ‘My, my but I’m seeing a great difference already,’ she complimented him and his uncle.

  ‘Aye, it’s coming along well enough,’ they admitted brusquely as if resenting her appearance.

  Kirsty always felt a little embarrassed in Uncle Lachy’s presence as evidently he did in hers. Since he had landed on Westisle she had seen very little of him. Euan Ally’s inexpert introduction had merely indicated to her that he was ‘Lachy there’ and after a nod and a brief handshake the man had ignored her. He’d either been instructed or had himself chosen to sleep in a bunk aboard The Two Ruaris and, according to ‘the boys’ he had brought with him a pot for his potatoes and fish which he cooked over a rough fireplace he’d built in a sheltered spot among the ruins. With the help of ‘the boys’ Kirsty ensured he was well supplied with oatcakes and scones but apart from that he wanted nothing from her, spurning all offers to share a meal with them in the house. Only twice so far had he been persuaded to come near enough to take a ‘fly cup’ and even then he’d insisted on it being taken outside for him to drink.

  ‘You’d think he was safe enough here in the kitchen with you and the two boys to keep me from seducing him, wouldn’t you,’ she demanded of Enac one
day when his bashfulness had seemed particularly irksome.

  ‘Ach, when a man’s a poacher and a precentor and has an old wifie that girns at him for so much as smiling on the Sabbath you canna expect him to be like other men. All the same,’ she’d added after a pause, ‘there’s plenty say he’s a fair comic when he’s away with the men and has taken a good dram.’

  Kirsty smiled. ‘I can believe that well enough,’ she allowed.

  ‘And he’s said to be the best man in these parts and beyond when it comes to a bit of building,’ Enac championed.

  ‘He seems to be a right lad o’ pairts,’ Kirsty commented.

  ‘Aye, that’s right enough,’ Euan Ally confirmed as he came into the kitchen. ‘He’s after saying he’ll get the roof finished if the weather holds.’

  ‘And if he’s spared don’t forget,’ Enac put in with assumed piety.

  ‘He’s saying to make sure the range comes the next time the boat’s over so he’ll be knowing what sort of space he has to make for it. You’d best write a letter telling them to make sure and send a chimney with it,’ he reminded Enac.

  She had spent most of the day gathering crotal from the rocks and was now massaging some of the cream which Kirsty had put aside for making butter into her knuckles.

  ‘I’ll see and write it tomorrow, for you to post next time you’re in Clachan, ‘she promised. ‘My fingers is a bit sore tonight.’

  ‘I’ll be going across to Clachan first thing in the morning,’ Euan Ally warned her, causing Enac to grimace. ‘Lachy’s needin’ me to get a pair of his breeks from his wife seeing he sat in the sea yesterday and he’s not got them anywhere near dry yet. I think he’s feeling kind of uncomfortable at night since he doesn’t take them off to sleep.’