Ardnish Was Home Read online

  Eventually she decides: ‘You’re right, DP. It’s a great idea. It would be good for Owen. Let’s ask him.’

  The next day, we meet Owen as he is coming home from school. We sit and talk. He is a nice lad, just a bit withdrawn and reluctant to talk. He hates David, his mother is depressed, and school isn’t going well as a result. Owen quickly agrees that he wants to come with us, that it will be the right thing for him to do.

  ‘Your mother has to agree, though,’ I tell him. ‘We can’t just take you away from her. But we can tell her she can come and visit.’ I look across at Louise, who nods her agreement.

  And so, everything is agreed. Mam knows that Owen and David will never get on, and it’s not hard to convince her that Owen will have a better life with us. She doesn’t say as much, but we can tell that is what she is thinking.

  Louise’s other brother Thomas comes from Merthyr Tydfil to meet us at the Station Hotel, and we eat together with Louise’s mother and Owen. Thankfully, I get on with Thomas. We’re not too different in age, and he promises to come and visit in the summer with his mother. We all agree that if Owen isn’t happy, then he’ll come back with them then.

  I send a telegram my parents: ‘Arrive Tuesday 3.15 train, DP’ is all it says.

  The army has given warrants for my wife and me to get the train back to Lochailort, and so with Owen, Daffie, bagpipes and luggage we set off, bound for Crewe and then Glasgow.

  The train belches sparks and steam as it trundles through Wales towards the north and a new beginning for my family. Louise clings on to my arm and watches as Owen’s confidence gradually grows. His eyes are huge with excitement as he absorbs all the sights unfolding along the track.

  I tell the boy about the life we’ll have when we got there and how he’ll be made welcome by the friendly people on Ardnish. He can fish for lobsters, help with the deer stalking, the harvest – everything.

  ‘You’ll love it, Owen, but it’ll be nothing like your life in Wales.’

  From Crewe onwards, we are in darkness. Louise lies fast asleep on my lap. I can feel the bump of the baby; it’s quite big now. I am a lucky man to have found this girl. I doze happily, thinking of Ardnish, my family and how well things have turned out. I know my mother will fall in love with Louise and be as excited about the baby as we are.

  In Glasgow, there are crowds of raucous soldiers waiting for trains. The babble of voices competes to be heard over the noise of the engines. We have to change stations to get on the West Highland Line, and we are cutting it fine to catch the only onward train of the day. The rain is pelting down. Daffie’s pulling at his lead, and my bagpipes and suitcase keep slipping from my grip. Louise and Owen are close behind me. We’ll just make it and no more . . .

  LOUISE

  Only a few minutes, and we’ll be on the train north. I can’t wait. This hustle and bustle isn’t for me; Ardnish sounds more my sort of place.

  ‘Wait for me, DP!’ I call out.

  I am only a few feet behind him, a bag in each hand, struggling to keep up. I jostle through the throng, and then lose sight of him. I stop to look around, trying to pick him out in the crowd.

  A tram bell rings, and I hear a sickening thud. A moment of deathly silence, and then a woman screams.

  Somehow, I know it’s DP. I push forward and see him there on the ground, his body twisted, motionless. A pool of blood oozes onto the rain-soaked cobbles. Daffie’s straining at the lead, which is wrapped tightly around DP’s lifeless hand.

  *

  Two days pass in a blur. The authorities agree that my husband’s body should be sent by train to Lochailort. I know it’s the right thing to do. He would want to be buried alongside his family.

  By now I am determined to go to Ardnish . . .

  *

  HOME

  The two old boatmen speak Gaelic in hushed tones. The oars dip and pull, causing barely a ripple on the water. I am perched at the rear of the boat looking straight ahead; Owen is hanging over the bow looking at starfish.

  It is exactly as he described. Beautiful cattle with enormous curved horns and hair the colour of DP’s stand down by the shore. The grass is a vibrant green, the rocks are glistening from a recent shower, and the air is alive with birdsong.

  The sun drops in the sky. Suddenly, I can hear DP’s voice in my head telling me why this peninsula, with its curving beach and towering mountains opposite reflected in the sea, is the most beautiful place on earth. One of the men turns to me and points, and there, just coming into view, is a bay with its crescent of thatched cottages.

  Smoke is wafting from the chimneys, and the glow of the setting sun makes everything seem warm and welcoming. I can see three figures in the distance. It’s them – Morag and Donald and Father Angus.

  I breathe deeply, smooth a hand over my hair and compose myself. I’m ready to meet them, to tell them their beloved son has died and I am bearing his child. With Owen and Daffie beside me, I climb out of the boat and walk across the beach towards Ardnish and home.

  Author’s Note

  Ardnish Was Home is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. While some of the names are those of real people who lived at the time the novel is set, what they did and said has been fabricated.