The Laird of Lochandee (31 page)

There was no doubting the warmth of the welcome for all of them when they arrived at the village hall. An elderly woman with a hooded torch showed them the way up the uneven path, ushering them swiftly into the dimly lit hall with its heavily shuttered windows. Rows of wooden forms had been set out facing the small stage.

Conan and his friends joined Harry and the other two men in uniform. By mutual consent they preferred to forget about the war, for one evening at least.

Bridie felt her voice would never carry to the back where the uniformed group had gathered. Her throat and mouth felt like sandpaper, dry with nerves. Her first song was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and it was an ordeal Bridie felt she would never forget as long as she lived. Amazingly there was a spontaneous burst of applause. Then from the back of the hall came the very Welsh voice,

‘Wonderful! Even the girls in our valleys cannot sing better!'

Bridie doubted if he was speaking the truth but she sent a silent prayer of thanks for Nick's boost to her confidence. She sang the “Isle of Capri” with almost as much gusto as Gracie Fields herself.

Ross had selected his own music with some care. The minister's wife was to accompany him on the piano and they had managed a few practices. He avoided the jigs and reels since there was no room for dancing tonight. The audience seemed to enjoy participating and there were several requests until the minister had to stand up and remind the audience there was still a second half of the concert to follow.

‘Maybe we shall persuade Mr Maxwell and his daughter to give us a concert every month since they are so popular.' He beamed when this was greeted with loud cheers of approval. Rachel, sitting near the back with Beth, felt her cheeks glow with pride.

Mrs MacEwan had planned the program specially to have Bridie as the finale in the second half. Ross too had chosen quieter, more nostalgic lullabies. But it was Bridie's clear young voice which brought a lump to many throats as she sang ‘We'll Meet Again.'

‘She sings that so – so beautifully,' Beth whispered huskily, her mind on Harry. She hated saying goodbye.

‘She has her father's ear for music,' Rachel nodded proudly.

But it was the pure sweet notes of “Home Sweet Home” which caused more than one tear to fall.

Then spontaneously the young airmen were drawn forward by the rest of the audience as they all clasped hands for a rousing chorus of Auld Lang Syne.

All too soon it was morning again and time for Conan and his friends to leave The Glens of Lochandee. They were sincere in their praise of Scottish hospitality in spite of the rationing.

‘I hope you will all come back to see us,' Rachel told them warmly. ‘You will be very welcome, even if Conan is not free to come with you.'

‘It is kind you are!' Nick Jones exclaimed in his lilting voice. His eyes moved to Bridie, ‘I shall be accepting for sure.' He smiled and kissed Bridie on both cheeks. ‘Will you write to me?' he asked.

‘And to me?' George and Mark echoed in unison.

‘It's true we all love getting letters,' Conan nodded at her.

‘Aah Conan is boasting to us always about the long letters you write to him, telling him about your lovely Glens of Lochandee,' Nick said.

‘Well he's not very good at writing back!' Bridie exclaimed. ‘I didn't even know you appreciated my efforts, big brother.'

‘Oh, I do, indeed I do, Bridie.' Conan sounded more serious than she had ever heard him. ‘You'll be sure to tell me as soon as …' he looked to where his mother was talking to Mark. ‘As soon as I get a wee brother or sister, and that Mother is all right? Who would ever have thought …?' He raised his eyebrows. Bridie grinned at him.

‘I think it's wonderful! They must be still in love after all these years.'

‘Och, you old romantic!' Conan teased.

‘And what is being wrong with good old romance?' Nick winked at Bridie, bringing a blush to her rosy cheeks. ‘It makes me feel I could be killing old Jerry with my two bare hands for the sake of your lovely sister, and her friends of course.'

‘Oh of course,' Conan mocked. ‘You need to watch old Nick, Bridie. But Mother and Father are not the only ones. I believe Harry is thrilled to pieces because he is going to be a father?'

‘I know,' Bridie smiled. ‘I'm glad for them. Beth has wanted a baby of her own for ages. She told me.'

All too soon the chatter had to end. Goodbyes were said.

‘You're a lucky fellow, Conan,' Nick Jones sighed wistfully. ‘I don't think I could have torn myself away from all that – not when you had a good enough reason to stay – family and friends, the valleys and lakes …'

‘Glens and lochs,' Conan grinned, ‘at least that's what we call them in Scotland.'

‘Whatever you call them, it's beautiful countryside, warm-hearted people – and a lovely sister.'

‘I reckon it's a good job we are taking this philanderer away with us,' George teased.

‘I'm glad you asked me to come with you, Conan,' Mark said quietly. ‘Thanks.'

‘We are pleased you agreed to come.'

‘Your mother told me you had another sister?'

‘Yes. She died when she was young, but I don't think Mother ever forgets.'

‘No. Yet life goes on.' He sighed. ‘Yes, I'm very glad I came.'

* * *

Christmas was a subdued affair everywhere in spite of the extra rations of four ounces of sugar and two ounces of tea. Women had done their best to save up coupons and improvise as much as they could, but everyone was aware of the serious threat of invasion and the devastation and suffering caused by the bombs.

Rachel was far from well. Doctor MacEwan warned her to rest her swollen legs as much as possible. There was still no word of the prisoners of war coming out to help. Beth only went home at weekends now to save the bicycle ride from the village. She had kept in remarkably good health and still helped Bridie with the milking and the hens. Ross forbade her to attempt any of the heavier tasks.

At the end of January they were all taken by surprise when Rachel announced in the middle of the Monday morning washing,

‘I think the baby is coming! It isn't due for at least another three weeks by my reckoning …' She broke off, with a gasp, doubling up as pain enveloped her.

‘Get your father, Bridie!' Beth called in panic. ‘Bed … you must go to bed …'

Doctor MacEwan arrived in person in response to Ross's garbled telephone call.

‘Mrs Warner, the new midwife, is on her way.'

Three hours later Doctor MacEwan informed Ross that he had another son.

‘He's a mite early, and a bit on the small side – just over five pounds. But with careful nursing and plenty of warmth, he should survive. The midwife thinks he will be a bit slow to feed at first. I leave these things to the womenfolk. They have more experience about such matters than we men.'

‘But Rachel? My wife, is she all right? Can I see her now?' Ross demanded tensely.

‘You'll be able to see her shortly. To tell the truth I think it's for the best that the baby is as impatient as his father …' He quirked his bushy eyebrows humorously, but Ross was too anxious about Rachel to notice. ‘I'm serious, Mr Maxwell. It is fortunate the baby is early. Another month and your wife's health could have suffered badly. You will have to give her time and be patient. Your son will need some extra care.'

‘He's so small!' Rachel lamented tearfully the following day. ‘Do you think we should ask the minister to come and christen him?'

‘Doctor MacEwan seemed to think he would be all right,' Ross tried to reassure her. He was far more concerned for her own health in spite of her protestations that she was fine. He consulted the midwife, a homely little woman called Amy Warner.

‘I'm well-pleased with your son, Mr Maxwell. He is feeding better than I expected. But, if it would put your wife's mind at rest, I see no harm in asking the minister to christen the wee fellow. Have you chosen a name yet?'

‘Name? Why no, we have not discussed that.'

‘Well,' Amy chuckled, ‘You had better go and talk with Mrs Maxwell first then. Don't worry if she's a bit tearful. It was a short labour but not an easy one.'

Rachel decided they should ask Alice to choose the baby's name. Alice was overwhelmed.

‘What about calling him Ewan – after the doctor? He's a good man. Ewan Alistair perhaps? My own name was McAllister. Would you consider that?'

Rachel and Ross approved her choice. When he was three days old Rachel was allowed downstairs to Alice's room for half an hour. There the minister blessed them all and carried out the christening of Ewan Alistair Maxwell. Bridie was his godmother and she could not have been more proud of him if she had created him herself.

It was over three weeks later before Beth's baby was born. It was a prolonged and difficult labour.

‘It would have been better if the wee mite had come when it was due,' Doctor MacEwan muttered exhaustedly. Amy Warner felt the baby was far too big for Beth's small frame. She had realised from the beginning she was going to have problems. She had sent a note across to the Doctor's house to warn him, but it was the following evening before his help was required. He gave Beth chloroform while he used forceps to help her baby into the world.

When Beth saw the tiny face with its purple wounds and the misshapen head she wept bitterly. Amy Warner tried to reassure her that the marks would fade and the little girl would grow up as pretty as her mother but Beth would not be consoled. She longed for Harry – and yet she did not want him to know what a mess she had made of their longed for child.

In the end it was Bridie, with all the wisdom and tact of a woman twice her age who wrote to Harry. She had asked Amy Warner to tell her the truth.

‘I am telling the truth lassie,' Amy Warner assured her in all sincerity. ‘I've seen babies much worse injured than this wee mite. Doctor MacEwan is a patient man and he has a lot of skill. In three months you will scarcely know the baby had such a difficult passage into the world. If I were you I would just tell the father he has a fine baby girl or he'll imagine all manner of things and he'll worry needlessly. Tell him his wife will write as soon as she has regained her strength, but she wanted him to know straight away.'

Bridie nodded and wrote Harry the nicest letter of congratulations she could think of. Although she was unaware of it she had a delightful way with words. Harry carried her letter next to his heart until it fell to shreds.

‘You've made me the happiest man on earth, even with all the problems of army life,' he wrote in a short letter of acknowledgement. ‘I'm longing to be back home with Beth. I can't thank you enough, Bridie.'

Lucy was six weeks old when Harry first saw her on a fleeting forty-eight hour visit. He thought she was perfect. When he understood the reason for her tiny head still being a little lopsided his concern was all for Beth.

‘I do believe she's going to look like my mother,' he said happily. ‘At least she has the same colour eyes – a sort of bluish green.'

‘I think all baby's eyes are blue at first,' Beth said uncertainly.

‘I don't know and I don't care.' Harry chuckled, watching the rosebud mouth searching for food. ‘I think she's just wonderful and so are you. I've got the two best girls in all the world.'

After his visit Beth's health and spirits improved rapidly. She had been unaware of having any apprehension or depression, but suddenly a weight seemed to have lifted. She would do everything in her power to make things work out for her little family. She wished with all her heart that Harry had been Lucy's real father, but she had no regrets about her daughter's birth when she saw the happiness on Harry's face as he cradled her in his arms.

* * *

It was the middle of April and spring was in the air. Bridie loved all the seasons and everything about her life at Lochandee. She loved writing letters and keeping her diary. She loved reading too, but she had no regrets about leaving school to spend her time on the farm. Each evening before Alice settled for the night she looked forward to hearing Bridie's lively account of the happenings of the day. Sometimes it would be an unexpected brood of chicks, a new calf or a stubborn ewe.

On this particular evening Bridie had helped three tiny lambs into the world and they were all alive and well. She was bursting with pride and satisfaction.

‘Father says I'm better at helping the ewes to lamb than he is because my hands are smaller, especially now that I'm getting to know how to deal with all the little complications.' Alice smiled fondly at the sparkling eyes and glowing skin. She leaned forward and took Bridie's hand in hers.

‘I know now I need not worry about the future of The Glens of Lochandee, Bridie. It will be as safe in your hands as it ever was in mine. I'm truly thankful.' She smiled serenely and her eyelids drooped.

‘I will leave you to rest now,' Bridie murmured softly.

‘Goodnight, my dear …'

A little smile curved Alice's lips as she thought of other springs, of lambs at play, of sunshine and showers in her beloved Glens of Lochandee. With a sigh of contentment she closed her eyes for the last time.

Chapter
Thirty-one

R
OSS AND
R
ACHEL KNEW
they had lost one of the best friends they would ever have in Alice Beattie. She had possessed a rare combination of wisdom and compassion. Her quiet dignity had earned respect from almost all who knew her.

Her death was the first real loss Bridie had experienced and her heart was filled with genuine sorrow. Conan's friend, George Green, had been killed soon after his visit to Lochandee and Bridie had been shocked at the thought of a young life cut cruelly short, but she had not known George well. He had not been a daily part of her life since the day she was born, as Alice had.

She continued to exchange letters with Conan and his two remaining friends but it was Mark who seemed to understand how much she missed Alice Beattie, perhaps because he had suffered an even greater loss with the death of his twin brother. His letters were sensitive and kind. Nick apologised for his inadequacy as a letter writer and Bridie understood he did not find it easy to put his sympathy into words.

‘Bridie seems to have grown into a woman so quickly,' Rachel sighed. Ross agreed, but he was proud of Bridie and the knowledge she was acquiring about the running of The Glens of Lochandee.

‘We are living in troubled times. Death seems to be all around us, but Bridie will cope. She has your spirit, Rachel. I remember your dignity and courage at your father's funeral, and I knew how close you had been to each other.'

‘We all learn from life's experiences I suppose, but I must admit I have missed Alice even more than I expected. She was more than a friend to us.'

‘So have I.' Then Ross smiled remembering fondly. ‘Even at the end she left me good advice in her letter. She wanted to explain why she had left her share of the land and stock to Bridie.'

‘Yes, that was a surprise. She left me quite a nice little nest egg, as well as her jewellery and other treasures. I certainly didn't expect anything. I suppose we can't blame her Canadian cousins for being so angry and trying to contest her will. It was kind of old Mr Niven to come and tell us how much she had appreciated our help and friendship. I know he was her solicitor but I would have hated him to think we had only cared for her to get her money.'

‘He said she would have had neither money nor home if she had depended on her cousins.' Ross looked serious. ‘It was a nasty letter they wrote. Perhaps Alice expected something like that when she instructed Mr Niven to deal with them. I doubt if I shall be able to follow all her advice though.'

‘I expect you will. I think she knew all of us better than we knew ourselves. She was right about you.' Rachel chuckled, giving him a playful punch. ‘You are ambitious, and you do think women cannot make decisions as well as men.'

‘I wasn't aware of feeling that way. I thought I was protecting and caring for my women.' Ross put on a pretence of hurt.

‘Of course you do care for us,' Rachel gave him an affectionate hug. ‘It's just sometimes you forget we have minds of our own?'

‘O-oh no!' Ross chuckled. ‘I'm never allowed to forget that! I was pleased to know Alice had faith in me though.'

‘Her faith was justified. We are making better progress at paying off the loan than we ever expected. Prices may not be high but at least we know we can sell everything we produce during this hateful war. Are you going to buy a tractor to do the ploughing, or were you just teasing Bill Carr?'

‘I'm seriously considering it.' Ross chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘The Government are demanding that we plough more and more land to grow corn. I can't see how we can manage to get enough acres cultivated without more men and horses, and neither are available. Then there is the sowing and the harvest. Conan thinks he can teach Bridie to drive the tractor.'

‘If he can get enough leave,' Rachel reminded him. ‘Nick and Mark have promised to spend their next leave here too. They are all eager to help if they can.

As it happened, it was only Nick who managed to spend a precious week of his leave with them, and that was only because he had been slightly injured. None of them discussed their work. It was strictly forbidden in case any information fell into enemy hands.

Rachel knew that Mark and Conan had been due for leave. They nearly always flew together but she couldn't help worrying. She always wondered if they were being sent on a particularly dangerous mission, although she considered they were all dangerous since the reality of war had been brought so close to home. Shortly after Alice's death, a bomb had been dropped on the little town of Gretna. Since then her heart quailed whenever she heard aeroplanes, knowing they were intent on destruction somewhere. In spite of reporting restrictions news filtered through of the devastation of Clydebank as well as other ports and cities.

Nick was no expert at cultivating the land but he understood machines. Amidst a lot of laughter and cheerful banter he and Bridie mastered the art of starting up the new Fordson tractor and manoeuvring it around the farm. Bridie was determined to learn to plough with it. Despite a lot of teasing about her wobbly furrows, she got the soil turned over a great deal faster than Bill Carr could plough with the horses.

In January two members of the War Agricultural Committee came to The Glens of Lochandee. Ross greeted them curtly.

‘I know it is your job to inspect the farms and to see whether we can produce more. Well I'm telling you now we are ploughing as much as humanly possible with the labour I have left.'

‘We have not come to inspect The Glens of Lochandee, Mr Maxwell,' the tall man explained. He introduced himself as Mr Silverman. ‘This is Brigadier Crossley. We are here to ask you to join the Committee. Your name has been proposed by several farmers in the area. Your views and farming practices are well known and respected.'

‘Why – why thank you.' Ross was taken aback. He frowned. ‘But I am not at all sure I would like to join you, gentlemen. As I see it, inspecting neighbouring farmers, telling them what they must do …' He shook his head. ‘No, that is not my line.'

‘We are only asking you to advise them, Mr Maxwell.'

‘It is for the good of the country after all.' The Brigadier lowered his voice and looked around him, even though they were inside the house. ‘It is essential to get every ounce of food we can grow if we are to feed our own people. The German U-boats are destroying hundreds of tons of food, even though our ships are travelling in convoy. The situation is far more serious than we would wish the general public to realise.'

‘But we are all doing our best,' Ross protested.

‘You may be, Mr Maxwell, but not every farmer is. As a matter of fact there is one particular farm we would like you to supervise. It is only a few miles from here, nearer Lockerbie. The owner is an old friend of mine, Brigadier Jamieson. His late wife left him two farms and a large house. He sold one of the farms some time ago but he has about twenty-five acres of park land around his own house, as well as sixty acres of woodland, and the farm of Wester Rullion. The tenants there had one son. He was lost at Dunkirk and they have no heart to carry on. They exist with a few animals in the fields closest to the house. They don't want to leave their home, but they don't want to farm. The Brigadier considers they have made the supreme sacrifice already with the death of their son so he is refusing to evict them.'

‘Evict them! I should think not,' Ross exclaimed.

‘We don't want that either,' Mr Silverman said mildly, ‘but we do need to get every acre of land into full production and it is a good farm going to waste. We hoped you would consider talking to the Forsters at least. If they refuse to move out, then they must let us cultivate the land. The farm is almost two hundred and twenty acres. We could supply a tractor and a driver, as well as some of the other machinery, if you would agree to supervise the work and get the land back into cultivation.'

Ross was silent, considering. He bit his lip.

‘If the place needs a lot of attention I should need to leave the running of my own farm to my wife and daughter during my absence. Bridie is only seventeen.'

‘Amazing what our women are doing for the war effort. Amazing!' the Brigadier puffed out his chest. Ross guessed he must be in his sixties and wishing he was still commanding his men.

‘Give me a few days to consider,' Ross said. ‘I will drive over to see the Forsters.'

‘Ah yes … well we could maybe get you a few extra gallons of petrol to help with the travelling.' Ross knew they were assuming he would take on the job. They regarded it as his duty but he could not contemplate the prospect with any enthusiasm. He knew some farmers felt they had been hounded by the War Ag. as the organisation was called locally.

Bridie recounted all the events that happened at The Glens of Lochandee and in the village when she wrote to Conan, so the visit from the “War Ag. Men” also had a mention. Conan was a good letter-writer himself when he put his mind to it but his letters were short and Bridie sensed he was either very tired or preoccupied with other things.

Nick, on the other hand, always wrote scrappy notes, but Bridie had learned that he really did appreciate her own efforts. She had tried to thank him for giving up his leave to teach her to drive the tractor.

‘Just keep writing me letters, Bridie. That's all I ask – at least for now.' He gave her one of his wicked winks. ‘You know by now I am not much at writing letters myself, but I really look forward to receiving yours. You give us all a breath of the outside world and remind us what we are fighting for when we get a bit down.'

‘I can't imagine you ever getting down in spirits, Nick.'

‘I'm afraid I do, sometimes. When a plane has been shot down and you know you've lost a bunch of good mates. Things like that. So you see your letters are refreshing, and appreciated. Don't ever forget that, even if I don't write much in reply.'

‘Conan says you are not supposed to write about your work.'

‘No. We can't be too careful. It's surprising where the Germans have their spies. Does Mark write to you?'

‘Oh yes. He wrote some lovely letters after Aunt Alice died. He really seemed to understand how much I missed her, even though she was not really my aunt, or a proper relation.'

‘Mark misses his brother badly. I never had a brother or a sister, so I suppose I don't really understand. Some of Mark's crew think he places less value on his own life now.'

‘Conan says he is very brave,' Bridie said uncertainly. ‘He thinks he will get a medal when the war is over.'

‘Mark is brave all right, but the rest of his crew depend on Conan to be a steadying influence. He's a good flight engineer you know. I know it's not what your father wants him to do, but if we both come through safely we do plan to go ahead and set up a garage.'

‘I know.' Bridie was silent for a while, then, ‘Where? I mean where would you like to have a garage? Would you want to live in Wales?'

‘Not really. I've nothing to keep me there now.'

‘But your mother?'

‘My parents married when they were young. They were childhood sweethearts, I suppose you would say. They had resigned themselves to being childless and I suspect they were happy and complete just the two of them. Then I came along when my mother was forty-one.'

‘That must have been a surprise.'

‘More of a shock I think.' Nick gave a wry grimace. Underneath the usual banter Bridie thought she detected a little sadness.

‘Conan told us your father died last year.'

‘Yes, he had a small engineering business but everything had been turned over to the war effort and I suspect he was working too hard. My mother missed him dreadfully. She – she died three weeks later.'

‘Oh Nick! I'm so sorry. Conan never told me that.'

‘He didn't know. I-she just went out one night – walking. It was very wet. They often walked by the river – my mother and father – it was their favourite place. I don't know whether she slipped or – or whether she went in. She drowned anyway.' He swallowed hard. ‘I don't know why I'm telling you all this, Bridie. I've never told anyone else.'

‘Then I'm honoured, and I'm glad you did tell me. We all need friends to share our troubles.'

‘And you're a real pal, Bridie. I appreciate it.' He gave her a warm hug and kissed her cheek. After that Bridie made a real effort when she was writing to Nick. She realised he found it easier to talk than to write.

Rachel understood why Ross did not relish the prospect of visiting the Forsters.

‘I'll come with you and wait in the car, if you like?' she offered. She was secretly afraid they might attack Ross with a pitchfork, or even a rifle, if they resented his interference.

The farm steading at Wester Rullion was muddy and neglected with broken hinges on doors, slates sliding off the roof, walls crumbling for want of repair, manure piled high in one of the stockyards. She watched as Ross knocked at the door with its peeling paint. It was opened a crack and a woman peered out. Rachel watched intently as he tried to explain his business but a tap on the car window distracted her attention. She wound it down to speak to the elderly man.

‘Are ye lost?' he asked.

‘Er … no, I don't think so. My – my husband wanted to speak to a Mr Forster …?' She looked over towards the house.

‘That's me then. What does he want? We don't have visitors. Not since …' He frowned fiercely. ‘Not since our laddie went.'

‘My son is in the forces,' Rachel said gently. ‘Every morning and every night I pray he is still safe. War is an awful thing.'

The man looked at her keenly. ‘Aye,' he muttered gruffly. ‘Aye. Ye'd better come wi' me then.' He led her towards the house and introduced her to his wife. Seeing her husband, and another woman, seemed to reassure Mrs Forster and she opened the door wider and bid them enter. There were photographs everywhere of their son in all stages of his life from a little boy in frocks to a handsome young man in army uniform.