Ardnish Page 10

  ‘This is pretty much what Fighting Mac told my boss would happen,’ I said. ‘We’re already seeing just that, aren’t we?’

  We rode on in silence for a while until Cammy changed the subject.

  He told me about Archie Macdonald, who was with the Canadian army. Lord Strathcona had personally raised and paid for five hundred and fifty men to be trained and shipped to Cape Town. The majority were country lads from the north-west, cattle men or lumberjacks, as well as a few Mounties. The Canadians talked fondly about the Rockies: the dramatic twelve thousand-foot-high mountains, the enormous trees, the wild bears, the twenty feet of snow in the winter and sweltering heat in the summer. It all sounded such a different and exciting world to Cammy. Archie himself now lived in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, in a village called Glencoe. He had been brought up in Glencoe in Argyll and had family there still. Lord Strathcona had made his money building the Canadian Pacific Railway. He’d bought Glencoe Estate in Scotland, and Archie’s brother worked for him. It was because of all these Glencoe connections that Archie had been selected.

  Cammy planned to head out to Cape Breton with his wife when the war was over. Archie had promised to set him up. There was land available and he would have his own farm rather than being a shepherd at the laird’s bidding.

  He looked across at me with a grin. ‘You and Morag and the family should come, too!’

  I shook my head. ‘You know me better than that, Cammy,’ I replied. ‘I’ll live and die at Peanmeanach.’

  Chapter 16

  Donald John, Ardnish, 1944

  I feel as though this coughing fit will finish me off. I can scarcely catch my breath, and I can see the alarm in Louise’s face as she rubs my back. She keeps asking me if I’m all right and telling me to breathe normally, that it will pass. She has the professional air of the nurse she was. Mairi brings me water to sip but I splutter and spit it out, unable to swallow.

  When the coughing finally eases, my ribs ache and every breath causes sharp pain. But I lie still and say nothing of it. I can sense their distress at their helplessness. I close my eyes and we all sit in a silence only broken by the gentle hiss of the peat and the howl of the wind.

  Eventually, Louise speaks. I can hear the effort she’s putting into making her voice light and carefree. ‘Angus, do you enjoy being a priest? Why don’t you tell us what led you to the priesthood? It’s been such a long time since we spoke of it.’

  I smile at her thoughtfulness in allowing me to rest quietly and listen. Opening my eyes, I watch my son, who has straightened up in his chair and seems to be collecting his thoughts.

  ‘Very well,’ he says, ‘though I’m not sure where to begin. Maybe it was our connection with Father Allan MacDonald from South Uist. Father knew him from his early days in Fort William, didn’t you?’ I nod. ‘And, Mairi, weren’t your family good friends of his in Eriskay?’

  ‘A fine man,’ she says cheerfully.

  ‘He came here to stay twice when I was a young teenager. He was a cousin of the Archbishop and I thought he was a great man, an inspirational priest. We had such long, interesting chats when I was staying with the Archbishop’s mother in the Fort. I was going to Mass the whole time and was inspired by the nuns’ teaching at the school. I don’t remember a distinct calling from God or anything like that, though; it was more of a steady drift towards my decision, which didn’t seem that momentous at the time.’

  I shake my head in amusement. ‘Come, Angus, there’s more to it than that, I can tell.’

  I see his face flush. ‘Well, of course there is,’ he stammers, ‘but it’s a long story.’

  ‘Do we not have all evening?’ Louise smiles and glances over at me. ‘What say you, Father? Would you like to hear tell of your son’s journey all the way from Peanmeanach to the priesthood?’

  I feel a lump in my throat, and nod. There is nothing I would like more.

  Angus, too, seems emotional as he continues. ‘I’m afraid I was like all young men, wanting to make my own way in life and not wanting my parents ordering me about like I was a child.’

  He looks at me. ‘Father, I’m so sorry about all the arguments. I know you were having difficult times; you were just back from the war and had just lost your leg . . .’ He pauses, before adding, ‘I was an awkward lad.’

  I wave away his apology. ‘No need for that, son, no need at all,’ I whisper. ‘Go on with your story.’

  He smiles. ‘Very well. I was restless, I admit to that, although I was sad going off, leaving Sheena and Donald Peter at home. I always tried to get home for a couple of weeks a year to help with the hay and the potatoes. Before I went, you were always asking if I had a girl on the go and when would I get a proper job at the aluminium smelter or one of the estates. I just got a bit fed up of being nagged. Anyhow, Captain Willie came to my rescue, if you recall. I left with him to go to Fort William.

  ‘I headed off to work for Charles Rudd at Ardnamurchan Estate first of all. I think you met him in South Africa, didn’t you, Father? Captain Willie said he’d try to get me a position on the estate, and that’s how it turned out. We set off on horseback, took the ferry across the narrows at Corran and stayed at the Maclean of Ardgour’s house. I was in the servants’ quarters, obviously, but I was treated very well. Then we had a long ride to Glenborrodale Castle, which was a magnificent building of red stone. My goodness, I’d never seen such grandeur: the uniformed servants, the fancy Panhard car on the drive and the lovely yacht, Mingary, moored in the bay.

  ‘It was bewildering at first. The building was so new there was still furniture arriving and constant deliveries. Business guests were coming and going. Our horses were led off and I was taken to meet the house staff at supper. The servants ate like royalty, it seemed to me, and the next morning I was delighted to be offered a job as the laird’s piper until October that year when Rudd was due to sail back to tend to his business affairs in South Africa.

  ‘The butler fitted me out with a kilt, doublet and glengarry, and told to me wear this the whole time – except when I was sleeping!

  ‘I travelled everywhere with the laird and his young wife, in his carriage to Shiel Bridge, and in his yacht to Inveraray Castle and Bute. At the castle my duties were to pipe the household out of bed at seven thirty with a reveille, pipe them on and off the Mingary, and pipe the guests in to dinner. Apart from a wedding or funeral amongst the community, that was that. It was an easy role and it earned me a handsome pay packet. In my spare time I ran to get fit and worked on my piping. I had a plan for my future.

  ‘It was a wonderful experience, but there were two problems. The first was the butler. He was a tough South African called Jacob Baak who seemed to have it in for me . . .’ He frowned.

  ‘And the second?’ Louise presses.

  ‘We were banned from speaking Gaelic,’ he says, too quickly. ‘Presumably because Baak didn’t speak it and was worried about us talking behind his back. I seemed to be the culprit with everything, and was always put to washing the pots or taking the laird’s dogs for a walk before bed.’

  ‘And why might that have been?’ I ask, enjoying making mischief.

  Angus sighs. ‘Oh, all right. The second problem wasn’t really the Gaelic. It was Corrie.’

  ‘Corrie? Who was that?’ Louise asks, wide-eyed.

  ‘Rudd’s wife,’ Angus admits. ‘She was the same age as me and less than half that of her husband. She was recently over from South Africa and everything was new to her. Tanned, fair-haired, tall and elegant, she was a . . . delight.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Louise exclaims. ‘A real beauty!’

  Angus sighs. ‘Oh yes. And of course Rudd was always busy in meetings or out with the builders and estate workers. He was worried that she’d get bored, so I was asked to show her around. She wanted to learn to fish, so I took her up to the freshwater lochs and she would have a good few in her basket for the return. I taught her how to shoot with a rifle as she was keen to stalk deer when the season came along. Th
en I took her on a visit to an illegal whisky still that I knew of. I had to tie her scarf around her eyes so she wouldn’t know of its location. I told her a little about Tearlach, Mother’s cousin, who made whisky at an old nunnery on the island of Canna. He was always asking me to go and work there with him. He would bring the whisky over in big containers and bottle it at Rhu, just to the north of us, using second-hand Long John, Dewar’s and White Horse bottles in order to smuggle it down to Glasgow.’

  ‘So you spent a bit of time alone with her?’ Louise enquires, eager to know more.

  ‘I did, yes. And as the weeks passed, I confess I fell madly in love with her. I would find any excuse to be with her. She would follow the sound of my pipes down to the lochside and sit on the jetty listening while I played, as Baak watched from the castle. Another day I was practising my dancing for the Highland Games and she begged me to teach her. I was holding her around the waist to lift her, both of us laughing, when who should come in but Baak. Although nothing happened between us, it was an unfortunate coincidence how often Baak would come around the corner when Corrie was close to me.’

  ‘No coincidence at all,’ Mairi adds, winking at Louise.

  ‘The last straw came when I was teaching her Gaelic. The two of us were sitting side by side in the dining room, a book between us on the table. Corrie was giggling as she tried to pronounce a difficult word, and I put my hand on hers – only for a second, mind. We looked up, and there stood Baak and Mr Rudd.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Louise clapped her hands to her face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Within an hour I was walking down the road towards Salen in the clothes I’d arrived in, with no time for a farewell to Corrie or the other servants.’

  ‘You poor thing, Angus,’ Louise says. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘I knew I’d have a bit of explaining to do to Captain Willie, and so three days later I presented myself at the Ben Nevis distillery, cap in hand. We had a cup of tea in his office and I told him of my being expelled in disgrace. I expected him to be furious with me, of course, but instead, he called in his brother Jack and got me to repeat the entire story. They just dissolved into fits of laughter whenever I imitated Baak’s voice telling me off.’

  Angus laughs softly at the recollection, then pauses. I see his shoulders slumping.

  ‘Despite my laughter now, I was very sad about Corrie for a long time. Although she had given me no indication, I really felt she shared my love. I eventually decided to write a letter asking her to meet me in Fort William, but I never heard back. Perhaps Baak or her husband intercepted it. Anyway, as time passed I told myself she wouldn’t be daft enough to exchange her rich husband for a kilted young crofter’s son who could play a nice jig. It was likely just a holiday infatuation for her . . .’

  ‘Go on, Angus, finish your story,’ I urge him.

  ‘Well, after I left Rudd’s employment I spent the next three years doing piecemeal work here and there, but I always made myself available to compete at the Gatherings. With piping in my blood – thanks to you, Father – I wanted to have a good go at competing in the Highland Games. And I’d always been strong and fast so tossing the caber, throwing the hammer and the races were my ambition – and the prize money was well worth having. I boarded in luxury with Captain Willie’s mother at Invernevis House in Fort William; she had a room at the back of the house that I could come and go from in exchange for doing some chores.

  ‘Peter MacLennan had the General Store and I was the boy carrying boxes off the steamer and loading up the wagon, or carrying hundredweight bags of oats off the train and dividing them up for the customers. Sometimes I would get the early train to Corpach and work on the Caledonian Canal, opening and closing the locks at Neptune’s Staircase and playing the pipes for the tourists. I earned a good few tips from the yachts coming through there.

  ‘The harder the work, the happier I was, and I was getting paid to get myself in good shape for the Highland Games in the summer. There was a mine just opened in Strontian I thought about approaching, but it was too far away. Then I met a foreman of McAlpine’s in the Volunteer Arms – I knew him from the Mallaig railway work – and heard there was some well-paid work in Kinlochleven. He gave me a letter of introduction, and I walked over the hill by the General Wade road and stayed through a couple of the wettest months of the winter. My job was messenger for the foreman and I had to run back and forth for ten hours a day, from the village up to the site.

  ‘It was as rough as hell over there, with thousands of men, mainly Irish navvies, employed to build the Blackwater Dam and the aluminium plant. Fights broke out every night, and the men were coarse, with language rougher than I’d ever heard. The work itself was terribly dangerous: men were dying the whole time, falling off the scaffolding or getting hit by machinery. I remember being appalled when I saw how many graves there were up by the dam.

  ‘We slept in tents, and I’d wake in the same sodden clothes I’d worn the day before. There was porridge for breakfast, watery soup at midday and gravy of some description with a mountain of potatoes from the canteen in the evenings.

  ‘A big woman called Kitty O’Leary ran the bar and sold her homemade potcheen in the centre of the town, and although the police knew fine it was there, they dared not try to close it down, for fear of a riot. The potcheen was cheap, vile and lethal. I shared a tent with a lad who was decent enough when sober, but a hell of a man for fighting when he was with the drink. On a Thursday and Friday night, his pay would go straight across to Kitty O’Leary, and by three in the morning he would come crashing into the tent with blood on his face, a broken nose or missing tooth – and more enemies made.

  ‘One day he fell a hundred feet from the top of the dam, just yards from where I was standing. I went across to him and could see that he was dead. His body was smashed, his face frozen in terror. Looking up, I saw the men at the top looking down and I had no doubt they’d thrown him off. But I knew they would close ranks and there would be no prosecutions. The verdict was accidental death.’

  ‘It sounds like you were in real danger there,’ says Louise.

  Angus nods. ‘That was it. I fled back to Invernevis, and the luxury of a bath and the obligatory seven o’clock Mass at the convent every morning with Mrs MacDonald and the house staff. I told her that Kinlochleven was so rough that the postman had to have two policemen escort him in.

  ‘Mrs MacDonald had a cook and a couple of girls in service. We used to go to dances together at the Banavie Hotel or for a drink at the Drover’s Bar. One of the girls was from Barra and the other from Bohuntin. They had been at Invernevis for over a year and had lived a quiet life; they were shy girls and not used to big towns. We had fun together; I think they liked having a young man to take them out. Greta, the Barra girl, was married within a year and went to live in Invergarry, and Sophie became the cook for Captain Willie in Spean Bridge.

  ‘At the Highland Games that summer I piped and danced and competed in all the adult men’s track races. I even did the heavy events, too. I won almost seven pounds despite coming second in virtually everything! That was more than a working man would make in a year back then. I never won in the athletics as Ewen Mackenzie outran me every time, and on the heavies I was up against the legendary A. A. Cameron, who was the world heavyweight champion. I won all the piping, though.’

  I hear the pride in his voice and smile. ‘We came to see you at the Lochaber Gathering at Jubilee Park,’ I remind him, ‘and there was that photograph of us with you in the Oban Times, laden down with cups and shields!’

  He beams. ‘I remember that day so well. Captain Willie had a party of guests there and amongst them were the Rudds. Corrie watched me all day.’

  ‘Did you speak to her?’ Louise asks.

  ‘I did not, but I was proud she saw me.’ His face reddens.

  ‘What about the race up the Ben?’ I ask, to help him out.

  ‘Oh yes, that was the event everyone was talking about. There was to be a race up
Ben Nevis and I trained hard for it, running up to the observatory and hotel at the top at eight o’clock every morning. Mr MacLennan gave me newspapers that came off the early train so the clientele at the hotel could read them at breakfast. I’d be back down by ten and off to work. I was lucky that all my employers knew of my sporting ambitions and allowed me the flexibility.

  ‘Anyway, I took part in the first Ben race, but it was won, predictably, by Ewen Mackenzie. He worked on the path there so he was incredibly fit. The third year I did it, I took a bad tumble coming down and hurt my knee badly enough that I couldn’t compete again in any races, so that was the end of my lucrative career at the Highland Gatherings.’

  He looks up sheepishly. ‘I think the story of my journey to the priesthood has meandered somewhat.’

  ‘We’re all enjoying it,’ Louise reassures him.

  ‘Well, it was my time at Invernevis that first got me thinking about becoming a priest. I couldn’t continue competing, and as time went on I began to feel unfulfilled.’

  ‘And you realised Corrie would never be yours?’ Louise says gently.

  He shrugs. ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. But throughout everything the Church has always been important to the family and it still fascinates me. Remember when the Archbishop was ordained at Fort Augustus Abbey? He came to stay with his mother while I was there and we had these endless talks about God into the early hours. I was intrigued. It was then, one autumn day, when he and I went to see his brother Captain Willie at Blarour in Spean Bridge. There was a golf course, and as we struggled round, for some reason I made up my mind. I went off to the seminary at the Scots College in Rome shortly after and the Archbishop has been my mentor ever since.’

  ‘I was so proud at your ordination in Glasgow,’ I say. ‘The Archbishop himself was on the altar. What a day that was!’

  ‘And what a party back here afterwards!’ Angus adds.

  I close my eyes again, content and ready for sleep.