Ardnish Page 17

  Captain MacDonald mentioned the rumours in the camps – and in the press – that the British were putting ground glass in the food. The ladies confirmed that they had heard this story, too, but, they explained, it was not ground glass at all. Potassium permanganate, in the form of Condy’s crystals, was being added to the tinned food to make it last longer. The rumour had been started by the Boer to stir up hatred of the British Empire and highlight their plight.

  As we headed back up the hill to the camp, Captain MacDonald rounded on me the moment we were alone. ‘Gillies, I gather you have put your name on the sheet to stay out. Well, your request has been turned down. You are sailing back with the rest of us after Zastron, and that is the end of the matter. I don’t wish to discuss it any further.’

  I started to make my case, reminding him what he had heard about the death rates in the camps and that I couldn’t simply abandon Linde and Anja. I tried to tell him how Linde had saved my life, but he wasn’t prepared to listen to a word and stormed off ahead.

  Chapter 28

  Donald John, South Africa, 1901

  What was expected to be our final week on active service was not a successful one. Alongside the Connaught Rangers, we rode on our mission to Zastron, which took two days. We found out where the De Wet Commando had been just one day before, and rode all the way back having achieved precisely nothing. The Boer were such experts at slipping away. They always had pickets out, sometimes as far as ten miles away from their encampment, and thus had plenty of warning of our approach. A guide once told us that the British Army were like a herd of charging elephants and the Boer were like cunning leopards. It felt like trying to catch trout with my hands in the burn at home. Perhaps De Wet had disappeared into Basutoland as it was so close to Zastron. I could see its beautiful, snow-capped mountains, thousands of feet high, in the distance.

  Throughout the futile trek I continued to fret about Linde and Anja. Were they being bullied? Did Mrs Fawcett secure them a different tent? Clean water? Were they surviving the harsh conditions? I pictured Linde in my mind: her long fair hair and delightful smile, the laughter we’d shared during our time together despite the circumstances. I tried to recall her reaction when my hand was on hers, or when I took my handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat and grime from her face. I knew that she was as attracted to me as I was to her and I longed to be alone with her again. If only Anja hadn’t interrupted us as we had lain beneath the wagon! Although Captain MacDonald had done everything he could to keep us apart, my passion remained as strong as before.

  The keener I was to get back to Aliwal, the slower our convoy seemed to become. First, the girth broke on my saddle and I had to use a pair of trouser braces to tie it together, and then we had to take a detour to a farm that we spotted in the distance. It hadn’t been burned down, but as soon as we reached it we could tell that no one was there. As I walked through the rooms I could see that the farmers had fled as dinner was being prepared. A horde of flies buzzed around mouldy vegetables and a rotting chicken. The beds were made up and looked inviting. I imagined Linde and me there, entwined, with all the time in the world and no one else within miles. Then, just a few miles away from Aliwal, we were delayed for a whole day after unusually heavy rain caused us to be stuck on the wrong side of a swollen river.

  To pass the time, the talk amongst the men was all about getting home to the Highlands and their excitement about seeing the women in their lives. Cammy and I talked about having a big reunion in December at the Volunteer Arms in Fort William, and all the Lochaber men were keen to come.

  In the final hour of the trek Captain MacDonald came over to me and we rode together. I expected to get another lecture from him about my behaviour, but instead we talked about the horses: how they were in such poor condition, exhausted and suffering from various ailments after their exertions. Many had shed shoes and were limping badly. We hoped that the Second Contingent would have reached Aliwal North by the time we arrived, so we could head down to the Cape as soon as we had handed over the horses and firearms. He did not mention my previous insubordination and my request to stay out longer. I was surprised by his lack of censure at first, but later I suspected that, after his order to sail back with the First Contingent, he believed I wouldn’t see Linde again and that disaster had been averted.

  Chapter 29

  Donald John, Ardnish, 1944

  A wave of chatter about Angus’s ordination party has started up. I love to hear the merriment but I need to be alone with the Archbishop now. ‘Would you, please, listen?’ I say, as firmly as I can, to break the flow. ‘I want to have a talk in private with the Archbishop, so if you could all have supper tonight at Mairi’s that would be grand.’

  Louise is remonstrating at the party being broken up and Mairi is muttering that she still has some fish pie left, but they all know why and dutifully get up. I can hear my wife saying to the Archbishop in a hushed tone that if I start to fade, he must come and get her.

  ‘Of course he will, Mother,’ says Angus. ‘Archbishop Andrew knows where we are. Come.’

  The three women and Angus put on their coats, and Morag crosses the room to kiss my forehead.

  Finally, we have the house to ourselves. The Archbishop stokes the fire – I observe the care with which he handles the crumbly peat – and then he comes to my bedside, adjusts my pillow and sits down. He waits for me to speak.

  ‘Archbishop,’ I begin awkwardly, ‘I’ve been living with a secret for some forty years and I need to get it out before I go. It’s about a woman. I was your brother Colonel Willie’s piper and batman, as you know, at the time. He knew about it.’ I pause, staring into the fire.

  The Archbishop nods. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

  ‘I want to tell you everything, to get it off my chest – my last confession,’ I say, anxiety fluttering in my chest.

  He rises, crosses the room and retrieves a half-bottle from his bag. With a twinkle in his eye, he fetches a couple of glasses. ‘It helps to have a parishioner amongst the excise men,’ he murmurs, pouring two measures. ‘This will maybe help you to remember the details, Donald John.’

  I am delighted. It’s months since I had a sip of the blessed uisge beatha. I swirl it around the glass, draw it into my nose, savouring the aroma. I touch the moisture against my lips, a drop, just a drop; it has to last the night.

  There is a long silence as he waits for me to begin; only the wind whistling outside and the rhythmic tick of the clock on the dresser can be heard.

  I meet his gaze. ‘I am ready.’

  The Archbishop drapes his stole around his neck and, murmuring ‘Munire me digneris’, puts his cross over his neck. ‘Take all the time you need,’ he says gently. ‘And tell me everything.’

  ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,’ I whisper. And then, squirming uncomfortably at the realisation, I add, ‘It’s . . . forty-seven years since my last confession.’

  Chapter 30

  Donald John, South Africa, 1901

  When we finally reached Aliwal North, the Second Contingent were waiting for us: fresh-faced lads, many of whom were friends and relations of our men. We were instructed to hand over our rifles and horses to them and depart within an hour as the train was already loaded with others and waiting for us. If we missed the ship from Cape Town, no one knew how long it would be before we could get another. We were told we could sleep on the train and that there would be a big breakfast ready for us the next morning. No one complained and spirits were high; we were homeward bound.

  But my stomach churned. Just three miles away were Linde and Anja, and they were undoubtedly suffering. How could I do this to them? How could I abandon them without saying farewell? I couldn’t just tear myself away. They needed me. Linde was clearly in danger and I had made a promise to Anja.

  It seemed, in that frantic hour of upheaval, that the captain’s eyes were always upon me. We gathered at the station where Captain MacDonald carried out the roll call.

  ‘B
lack Sandy, Mull River? Macdonald Seventeen? Sergeant Cameron? Piper Gillies?’

  ‘Here, sir!’ I called out in response.

  We climbed on board the train, settled into our seats, and the whistle blew. The train juddered, and we watched the eager faces of our replacements recede into the distance. The mood was jubilant and the weariness of the last few days melted away as the men talked excitedly. Captain MacDonald walked through the train. He caught my eye and I lifted my hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘Home soon, Gillies,’ he said, smiling.

  I sat there in silence, my head against the window, feigning sleep, in my own private world. Linde would be devastated by my betrayal, my disappearing without a word, and Mrs Fawcett’s warnings about the camps were ringing in my ears.

  Seconds later, my mind switched to Morag, standing outside the house at Peanmeanach as I left, the sun behind her. We’d spent twenty-two years together since we made our marriage vows. For better or for worse. All marriages went through bad patches, but perhaps things would be better once I got home. After all, her letter had made it clear she missed me and wanted me back home with her.

  I closed my eyes. I had betrayed my wife and I was probably condemning Linde and her child to death. I had broken God’s commandments. I was a wretched man. I crossed myself and prayed for Mother Mary’s guidance. ‘Hail, holy Queen, Mother of mercy, hail, our life, our sweetness, and our hope. To thee do we cry . . .’

  One by one, the men were lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the train. I gazed into the darkness, the black sky with an occasional flash of distant lightning. It must have been about two hours since we had left. I was aware of the train slowing to a halt. We were arriving at Burgersdorp. Every mile was taking me further and further from Linde and Anja and their fate.

  I made my decision. I rose from my seat and the movement stirred Cammy, who was dozing on the seat opposite. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked blearily.

  ‘I’m going back, Cammy. I have to make sure Linde is safe. Will you tell Captain MacDonald, please? But not until tomorrow.’

  Cammy blinked. ‘You’re staying?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, unable to meet his eyes.

  ‘But what on earth will you say to Morag?’

  ‘That’s my concern.’ I could feel my cheeks burning as I spoke.

  Cammy wasn’t impressed. ‘My God, man – don’t be so rash! Think of your family!’

  But my mind was made up. I held out a case. ‘Here are my bagpipes. You know how precious they are to me. Will you please take them back and leave them in the Highland Bookshop in Fort William? I’ll pick them up when I get back.’

  He shook his head but stowed the pipes with his belongings.

  I jumped off the train and moved quickly into the shadows. Luckily, everyone seemed to be asleep. No windows were open, and I could see only Cammy’s worried face pressed against the glass. I waved at him as the train gathered pace and disappeared from sight.

  I was alone.

  I knew there would be a hell of a to-do in the morning. Captain MacDonald would be furious and would undoubtedly charge me with being absent without leave. I was now a deserter. I was at risk of being court-martialled and shot.

  I slumped against the station building. It was too late now: I’d made my decision. At dawn I would climb on a train going north and head back to Aliwal. I would find Linde, check that she and Anja were safe and had basic provisions, and then I would turn myself in to Colonel Murray.

  But the very first thing I had to do, as soon as I got back to Aliwal, was to get to the Royal Hotel, sit down and write to Morag, and make sure the letter went in the post. I had written to her only days ago to say how pleased I was to be returning soon, and I knew that she and the children would be excited. She would be upset when she discovered I wasn’t returning when I said I would be, although not as upset as she would be if she knew the reason behind it.

  It was a long, cold night without a blanket, but I was so mired in gloom I doubt I would have slept in any case. Although I was fearful, I didn’t regret for a second my decision to turn back.

  The next morning, I bought a bowl of mealies from a stall and sat waiting for a train. Several passed, with blasts of their whistles and clouds of smoke: an armoured train bristling with guns; several hospital trains heading south; and one crammed with women and children bound for the concentration camp at Bethulie. I prayed that these poor souls were unaware of the conditions Mrs Fawcett had told us about. The women’s eyes stared at me with hostility; the children, oblivious, were playing and chatting happily. I realised it was probably their first time on a train.

  It wasn’t until midday that I finally boarded a train. It was full of fresh recruits heading to Bloemfontein and a smattering of British civil servants heading beyond to Pretoria. I avoided conversation apart from explaining to one persistent individual that I was carrying a message on behalf of my commanding officer. There seemed to be no limit to the amount of deceit I was now engaged in.

  Later, in the hotel lounge at Aliwal, I sat chewing my pen, an uneaten beef sandwich in front of me, wrestling with how best to tell Morag that I wasn’t going to return as planned.

  Royal Hotel,

  Aliwal North,

  OFS, South Africa

  15th July 1901

  Dear Morag,

  I write this letter with a tortured heart, knowing what distress it will cause you. I have decided to remain in Africa for a while, and am signing up for a further tour with the Second Contingent, who have just arrived.

  There remains much work to do here and I would like to see it through. I have also made a promise to someone and I cannot renege on it.

  I know you will be struggling with the harvest now. I am very sorry not to be helping. Please take some comfort that the money I am saving is substantial. It will look after us well and we will be able to buy a few more sheep when I return.

  Give my love to Angus, Sheila and Donald Peter. I miss them.

  I believe the campaign has not long to run and promise to you that I will be home before long.

  Your husband,

  D. J. Gillies

  I nearly signed off with ‘yours faithfully’, but, blushing, could not write the words. I handed the letter to the concierge for mailing, paid him for the postage and left the hotel.

  It was an hour’s walk to the camp, and I passed a stream of people on the route. At times I almost broke into a run, so keen was I to see her.

  Remembering my run-in with the camp commandant, I knew I’d have to avoid the main entrance. I climbed through the barbed wire and scurried along the riverbank, in full view. I rushed around, peering in tents, expecting the camp staff to come running at any moment.

  When I finally set eyes on her, I didn’t get the reception I was hoping for.

  ‘Donald John,’ she said, not even getting up to greet me. She looked more cross than pleased. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh, Linde,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry I left.’ I squirmed uncomfortably. ‘I’ve come to help you. Is there somewhere we can talk?’

  We walked along the riverbank. The flimsy fence between us and freedom felt absurd. Anja trailed along behind. I squatted down and encouraged her to come forward for a hug but she hung back, behind her mother’s skirts. Her face was paler than I had ever seen before and she had dark shadows under her eyes, as did her mother.

  I told Linde how I’d jumped off the train to come and look for her, how she and Anja really mattered to me, and that I wouldn’t rest until I could get them out of the camp. I’d get medicine and find a room in the town for them to stay in. My rush of promises tumbled awkwardly over themselves. In reality I had no idea what I could do to help and I could see Linde knew that.

  The whole encounter was awkward and tense. A British soldier making a social call on a Boer woman understandably drew a great deal of attention. We returned to the tent and sat on our haunches outside, in full view of the others, who were all shooting dark glances at u
s. Linde had been assigned a different tent, though, away from her relatives, which she thanked me for. That made me relax a little. She explained that Mrs Fawcett and her ladies had organised it, although her mother-in-law had kept the paraffin stove. She told me that there had been another fight at the water pump the previous day. Betje had been there, and had started berating her loudly.

  ‘Here’s the whore, sleeping with a British soldier, telling him our secrets! She’s a traitor, she should be executed!’

  Linde had fled, face crimson with shame.

  ‘I’ll go and sort this out once and for all,’ I exclaimed, rising to my feet.

  Linde grabbed my hand and pulled me down. ‘No! You will not. Don’t come again, Donald John, please,’ she pleaded. ‘It only makes things worse for us. The word will spread that you have been in the camp, and then the other women in the tent will tell the camp staff. We will be given half-rations. Anja is sick and hungry, and I cannot bear to see her suffer any more. You must understand.’

  Despite her remonstrations, I vowed to return the next day. I’d bring coal so she could boil water, and some soap. She clutched my arm. ‘Unless you can get us out of here for good, don’t come back, Donald Angus.’

  As I made my way back to the town my mind began to formulate all sorts of wild plans. Linde was terrified of reprisals. Anja had been listless, had barely acknowledged me. It was as though she had resigned herself to the worst. I had bought an expensive tin of Queen Victoria chocolates for her, but she’d barely glanced at them. She was a far cry from the chatty, lively lass I’d played with on the veld only days before. How could I get them out? Maybe I could find an abandoned farm. There must be one or two on the way to Zastron where we could take cover. I’d need two horses, some civilian clothes, food and various other basic necessities. But the veld was teeming with soldiers from both sides. The Boer and the British would want to hunt us down. It seemed hopeless, but surely this bloody war must be coming to an end. Was it just a matter of time?