Vee: Lost and Found Page 8

  “Probably. The big naval guns, if there were any, would have been manned by the navy, I expect. There could have been Fleet Air Arm people too, for seaplanes. But there would have been army people too. It was probably a real hotch-potch.”

  “But at least they were all safe, on the land, not like those poor buggers out there, the ones who had to plough through the ice to get to Russia. They had to chip the ice from the superstructure, you know, otherwise the ships could become top-heavy and capsize.

  “Mellon Charles- the end of the line. Weird name. I see there’s a Mellon Udrigle at the other side of the peninsula. Strange names, especially for up here.”

  They were in luck: there were some cars in the small car park in front of the museum, so it was definitely open. It was not a grand affair, but very plain: a long, low building with display screens set up. The emphasis, Tom thought, was on the important thing- the contents, not the premises. All around them were photographs, life histories, maps, personal recollections and a few objects. The lady at the small table smiled as they entered and made their way round.

  Three other visitors were in the gallery- from Poland, Alastair thought, or possibly Eastern Europe. He found their presence welcome because it relieved him of the need to make polite conversation.

  The information was horrific, as he knew it would be. The photographs showed old, sometimes archaic-looking transports being sent out into seas which modern vessels with their radar, GPS, powerful engines and advanced construction would avoid. And there was the constant threat of attack from U-boats, which could be faster than the lumbering transports in the convoy, and the threat from surface vessels from E boats to the Tirpitz and everything in between. If they managed to negotiate these dangers, there was also the likelihood of air attack from Luftwaffe bases in Norway, attacks which threatened the ships even in Loch Ewe itself, before the convoy sailed into open water.

  Worse than any of this, though, was the information about the crews, some of whom were pictures aged just eighteen or nineteen. Apparently, on the merchant ships some crewmen were even younger. Alastair pointed to one display and beckoned Tom over.

  “Christ,” he whispered, and shook his head. “What must they have suffered.”

  Sometimes there were pictures of Then and Now, old men next to their young selves.

  “How can we ask our young people to go through this?” asked Tom.

  “I know. It’s inhuman. Just children, some of them. I’ve seen enough.”

  In fact neither of them could make it all the way to the end of the exhibition. It was just too oppressive, so they made their way to the door, made a donation, smiled a thank-you to the lady at the table and stepped outside. For such events to have been experienced here, in this place, seemed impossible.

  “Ten to twelve,” said Tom. They could stop for coffee, but neither wanted to. It wasn’t the huge breakfast from less than three hours before, because that hadn’t stopped them in the past. It was the place and they had to get away from it. The village of Gruinard was only about six miles away, and they might be feeling better by then. Some things are worse to think about even than anthrax.

  15 Such Good Boys

  Gairloch 1938

  “Working in the shop was enjoyable,” Mhairi thought as she surveyed the three rows of desks, “but this feels like home.”

  She could hear them leaving the building, fanning out when they passed through the doorway and on to the road- the loud conversations, the running feet. It felt good being back.

  The boys’ row had been let out first today. She smiled to herself. The girls hadn’t been expecting that: hence the ‘explanation’.

  “Mark, you have worked very, very hard today and boys, you all listened very well.”

  She had beamed at them until she recognised the symptoms: yes, they were beginning to believe it. Mark had looked stunned before a smile emerged. Yes, it was definitely a real smile.

  “Today I would like you to have the chance to leave first.”

  They had all stood up, looked around at one another as if they might have misheard, said thank-you and left.

  “Thank-you Miss Mackinnon,” several of them had said for a second time on the way out.

  Of course they hadn’t actually worked harder, or been quieter, or looked out of the window less (or picked their noses less, for that matter) –but they were beginning to believe they had.

  “Good,” thought Mhairi. “It will make behaving easier next time. Boys, they’re just so simple.” She permitted herself a quiet smile. “That’ll be why they grow into men.”

  Initially, though she had no qualms whatsoever about taking up the post, she was unsure about one thing- whether or not she should be the one to teach Jamie. She knew she would have to teach him sometime because there were only three teachers in the school, but when should that be?

  “Right away, I think.” That had been Graham’s answer, though he was quite happy to switch classes with her if that was her preference.

  Now, three months in, she was glad she had taken his advice. She could see a different little boy emerging, becoming part of good friendships, in and out of school. Really knowing this, having observed it herself- that was better than being reassured by others. Jamie was happy. Everyone could see that. Euan and Margaret had every reason to be proud. She thought of them often; always, she realised, as if they were still here. It was her job to make up for that.

  Sometimes in the evening, once he had brushed his teeth and put on his nightclothes, they would talk for a while in front of the fire. It might be about the programme they had listened to on the radio, or about something Jamie had heard from one of the other children at school, or seen in a newspaper headline. More often than not, though, it was just the tittle-tattle that young children find so engrossing: how James Macpherson had hurt his ankle in football; who had scored goals; what Ben’s uncle had told him about the Germans; the huge fish that Willie had seen at the quayside; in other words, a ramshackle of unfocussed bits and pieces.

  This was a time she enjoyed more than any other, this sitting together in a conversation about nothing, which made it, in reality, all about them. Even when she had given him his cuddle and tucked him in, sometimes the questions would keep on coming- endless questions : about the shape of the moon, about aeroplanes; questions about the things you didn’t see so much of in the shop; about foreign countries- where they were, what they were like…… She would often stay for a good ten minutes after he’d nodded off, before she sneaked downstairs.

  How lucky it made her feel, being loved.

  And how lucky she felt, knowing that Jamie’s future was important to others also. She thought of the school and the Sunday School, and his friends: a jigsaw of relationships and securities. She thought of her own parents; Jamie’s grandparents, after all. More than anyone else, they had made this possible.

  Mhairi thought back to the early meetings, soon after the disappearance, and the great unanswered questions which had stared them in the face. Somehow- no one knew how, looking back- they had managed to push these to the side and make Jamie the centre of things. Private grief and private fears would remain just that. Perhaps, she reflected, this was something which had helped everyone. It was impossible to say.

  She did know this, though- their involvement, even their mere presence, had made it possible for her to cope. In some ways, she supposed, it might have been a little easier for them. After all, Euan had left home many years before. The training in naval design had taken him to Glasgow and the jobs in Greenock and then Govan had been very demanding. Meeting responsibilities like those had called for long hours and few holidays. Like her parents, Mhairi had always wanted to see more of him.

  The news of his relationship with Margaret- frankly, it had worried them. Perhaps they would see Euan even less. These anxieties were dispelled immediately on meeting her. Yes, she was from Glasgow, but a warmer and more open person would be difficult to imagine. She was pretty too, which often helps
. Most of all, she loved the mountains, so visiting Loch Maree was always the preferred excursion.

  Of course, once Jamie came along, the joy seemed to reverberate from the surrounding hills. Everyone had to know.

  Mhairi toppled the two half-burnt logs so that they fell flat into the grate, and watched the flames lick along the unburnt portion. A shower of bright sparks crackled upwards.

  Guilt is a terrible thing, undiminished by the passing of time. Yes, she had felt jealous. An automatic response, she told herself, that anyone would feel, if only for an instant. And it had only been for an instant, when her own life had seemed dull and flat and…lifeless. Quite honestly, that was the truth of it. She loved her brother.

  Jamie’s eighth birthday fell in the middle of April 1940 and without revealing this to Jamie, the family decided to treat it as a special event. There were several reasons for this. Mhairi’s father, Robert Mackinnon, would be sixty at the end of the month. This was deemed to be a good reason in itself for a celebration. In reality, there was a truth behind that which remained unspoken. He was finding it difficult to cope with the workload on the farm. He had long since accepted that the farm would not pass on to a family member, but the full implications were just beginning to make themselves real. In another year or two he might not feel able to celebrate anything genuinely. The three women of the family who made the decision hid this reason behind a big round number, just as they should have.

  The second reason was the world beyond them, and the inroads it was making. The military presence: the concrete construction work in the harbour, the shipping- no-one could have failed to be put on edge by these. Then there was the radio news, the newspapers, the shortages and restrictions that were coming in. In Europe, Hitler had occupied Czechoslovakia, unopposed by the western powers and now there was tension over Poland. There was talk of great masses of tanks in the panzer armies and huge German bomber fleets. The evacuations in London and the other great cities seemed to confirm a great fear: that the bomber would always get through.

  A year on, no-one in Britain might feel like celebrating.

  That is why everyone would make a special effort this year, in April 1940. Elizabeth was coming up from Glasgow- a surprise for Jamie. As a special treat, rather than taking the usual nine mile bus journey to Granny’s, John would take them there in his car. This also meant that they could all have an outing together at some point in the day, the young ones anyway. John had also offered to take Mhairi and Jamie to Kinlochewe, to collect Elizabeth at the railway station. Mhairi had to have a good think about that and decided that perhaps that would be ‘going a bit far’.

  As she said to John, “You don’t want people to be getting the wrong idea, after all.”

  On the week before the birthday, the schoolwork and the playing outside afterwards absorbed almost all of Jamie’s energies, as usual. It was only in the last two days that she sensed a slightly changing focus, as if his attentions were coalescing differently, around something which had just emerged. It couldn’t be called an expectation, because Jamie wasn’t thinking about presents, or a party or indeed any specific thing.

  “It’s excitement,” she told herself. “When you are only seven, birthdays are like that.”

  She did feel a bit guilty, though, in keeping quiet about all the arrangements they had made, but convinced herself it would be worth it in the end. Like everything else, birthdays needed to be managed, even if they did happen by themselves.

  That was why on the morning Saturday April 16th, she said absolutely nothing and felt able to enjoy the disappointment which he was trying to hide to spare her feelings.

  At eight forty-five, precisely on cue, there was a knock at the door.

  “Could you get that please, Jamie” she said, “I’m just pouring the tea.” Then she listened in...

  “Good morning, Jamie.”

  “I’ll just get her…… Auntie Vee,” he called through.

  “Actually, Jamie, it’s you I’m here to see.”

  Enjoyable pause in the kitchen.

  “Happy Birthday, Jamie, and many happy returns!”

  Doctor Macleod shook his hand and entered.

  “And this is for you,” he said, handing over a small package. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Jamie looked at Mhairi, who smiled and nodded. He unpicked the string and opened it out, revealing a brown linen covered book.

  “It’s one of my favourites,” Doctor Macleod said.

  Jamie opened it. ‘The Jungle Book’ by Rudyard Kipling.

  “Oh it’s beautiful,” said Jamie, unable to take his eyes from it.

  Mhairi crouched down in front of him, touching his elbow.

  “These are wonderful stories Jamie- about tigers, bears, a brave boy in the jungle. Really wonderful…. Happy Birthday,” she said, giving him a hug, being careful to avoid the hand with the open book in it.

  “Thank you, John. That’s a wonderful present,” she said, straightening up before they kissed each other on the cheek. They both looked down at Jamie and smiled.

  “Well Jamie,” said Dr Macleod, “I thought we could all go for a wee run in the car. How does that appeal to you?”

  He nodded. “Oh yes please,” he said, looking over to Mhairi.

  “What a lovely idea,” she said. “We can go right after we’ve had a cup of tea. Have a seat, John and please excuse me for a moment.”

  Mhairi headed upstairs. John smiled at Jamie. Jamie smiled at the book. He had found a line drawing- a boy and a wolf stood on a big rock. A tiger hid in the bushes looking at them.

  “And this is from me,” Mhairi said, touching Jamie on the shoulder and kissing his cheek. It was an irregularly shaped thing, indistinct in outline, in a package designed to reveal nothing of its contents. Jamie gave it a squeeze. No clues.

  Inside there was a scarf, wrapped round and round something.

  “Now you’ll have to unwrap that very carefully,” Mhairi said, not that it really needed saying. Jamie had always been careful with his things.

  Piece by piece it was revealed- the curved tail of an aircraft, a slim body, beautiful, elliptical, wooden wings…

  “A Spitfire,” he gasped.

  “Yes. It was made by a friend of mine. Mr Clare- he makes carved walking sticks and ornaments. This is the first aeroplane he has ever made”

  Then she added, “I suppose we should keep quiet about who made it, Jamie. He wouldn’t be able to make one for everyone.”

  Jamie looked at her and nodded. Already he could see its curved wings streaking through the clouds and feel it bank over, wings tilted, into a long dive.

  “It’s a beautiful thing,” said John. “You could almost believe it could fly.” He blew on the propeller, a two-bladed wooden one with a central brass screw, and it spun, rattling slightly. “That is fantastic. I’ll need to see if I can get him to make one for me. If he ever comes to see me because he’s feeling unwell I can tell him the activity would be therapeutic.”

  Mhairi laughed. “As long as you don’t suggest a career change. We really need him in the school.”

  “We’ll take our coats and scarves,” she said, “because we could be going anywhere. You might want to take your book, Jamie- but leave the aeroplane here, to play with when you get back.”

  He could see the sense in that.

  Very soon they were winding up the hill on the road to Kinlochewe. The gears were whining slightly louder than before.

  “I’m glad I bought a Rover,” said John. “They last far longer than most, and it’s a problem getting hold of a car now. You know.”

  They crested the summit and had the long incline to Loch Maree in front of them. The car backfired as he eased off the throttle.

  “Pardon me!” he said.

  Jamie sniggered.

  “Any guesses?” asked Mhairi innocently, turning round to look at Jamie, who just smiled back.

  They turned right almost opposite the hotel. Talladale. Less than a mile on t
hey reached the farmhouse. There were balloons tied to the front door knocker and a big Happy Birthday sign. Mhairi hadn’t seen balloons for ages. Elizabeth must have brought them from Glasgow.

  16 The road to Ullapool

  2014

  The road from Aultbea took them over the hilly mass of the Greenstone peninsula and down through the small village of Laide. To get any view of the sea you’d have had to walk over the rise, so they didn’t bother. They pulled in at the side of the road on the downhill instead. Out to their left they could see some small islands, quite distant. The feeling of space was palpable. They could feel themselves just reaching out into it.

  Passing through Gruinard itself they could see very attractive houses set well back off the road on the right hand side. They looked traditional in design but newer than the other buildings. Tom made a mental note to look in the estate agents’ windows when they were in Ullapool. It would be interesting to see what they would go for, not that he had much money to spend on a house. In fact, it was a bit of a stretch just paying for the B and B.

  They continued without stopping along the shores of Little Loch Broom. A few miles further on, as they were approaching a right hand bend, a large parking area swung out from the road and they turned into it, the car scrunching on a patch of loose tarmac.

  “This is my favourite view in the whole of Scotland,” said Alastair. “It’s not the most spectacular, or the most dramatic or anything like that. I love it because of where it is as well as what it shows you.”

  They both got out. It was a huge U-shaped valley pointing directly to Loch Broom, whose waters were clearly visible. They could see tiny houses on the valley floor, the small stands of trees and the dark green of the fields in vivid contrast to the mountains on the left, which were rocky. The grass there looked thin and browny-green. On the right the mountain had pine forest, in large dark-green patches.