‘Yes, I have – not just on it, I’ve climbed up it – all the way.’
Her wrinkled brow furrowed further. ‘It is rather high, Eve.’
My reply was studiedly nonchalant. ‘It’s nowhere near as high as the mountains at home,’ I corrected myself hastily, ‘I mean, in India.’
‘No, but – you are rather young…’
I retorted, ‘I’m a grown-up, Aunt Ethel – I wouldn’t be allowed to stay here otherwise, would I?’
That floored her. But she rallied. ‘Few adults care to climb the Gob.’
‘Grandmother Fanny did – with Apa, when he was younger than me. And Apa told me about Seamus Gunn climbing down it, over the crest itself.’
Now I’d really made her jump. ‘Eve, you surely aren’t thinking of—’
I cut her short. ‘I’ve decided to climb down over the crest – today. ‘Bye, Aunt Ethel.’
She called after me, ‘Eve – be careful!’ My only reply was a wave.
So now I had to do it.
Half an hour later I was standing on the very edge of the crest. My plaits were tucked up out of the way under my cap, and my divided skirt was buttoned up into breeches. And I was frightened. Not of the sheer drop beneath me – I was mountain-born, after all. No, I was frightened of making that crucial first move. After the first twenty feet or so I would be back on familiar territory – but, before that – everything depended on being able to reach that jug handle – suppose I couldn’t? And then suppose I couldn’t get back up again, either? I’d be stuck, perched and stranded on that narrow shelf, unable to get either up or down – with no Apa to come to my rescue.
And then I saw the yacht.
At first I merely seized on it as an excuse to delay my start. I’d been at Helspie long enough now to know that it was no ordinary vessel. With its sleek lines and slender column of pale grey smoke drifting from the discreetly painted funnel that steam yacht exuded wealth and leisure. So I decided to stand and watch it head out to sea.
But instead it changed course, and began coming closer in. Not close, but near enough for me to see several small figures standing at the rail, looking up at the Gob. And then one of them, the largest one, put a kind of funnel to his lips – handed to him by a uniformed sailor – and shouted up to me.
Faint but clear came his message: ‘Get back from the edge!’ Cheek – who did he think he was, giving me orders?
‘Get back, Child!’
Child! And I was fourteen today! I’d show him. That settled it, I would climb down, now. But my decision was not just bravado. Because now I was sure that if I did get stuck, there was someone out there who’d do something about it. A man who orders a steam yacht that size to change course so he can shout commands through a megaphone is not the type to sail away and leave a person glued like a fly on flypaper to the surface of a cliff. Not that I was going to get stuck. All at once I felt totally confident.
Turning my back on the gesticulating figure I carefully lowered myself over the crest and down into the fissure. Let go – slide – a moment of panic, then my questing feet found the narrow shelf. Pause. I reached down – and grasped the jug handle! Test, Eve – test. It was firm and strong. I let myself down until I was dangling over the ledge – and dropped down on to it.
Pause, rest, relief.
Then off again on my steady routine. Stop – think – test – move; stop – think – test – move. Although I was back on my familiar route I was so engrossed in my climb that when I reached the mid-way shelf and turned myself round to shuffle along it I was surprised for a moment to see the yacht still there. Several ladies had now joined the men at the rails. They carried pretty, fluttering parasols and one waved to me – the big man’s arm swept up, peremptorily, restraining her. Quite right too; I could do without distraction at the moment.
Reaching the end of the shelf I carefully turned myself to face the cliff again. Think – test – move – stop; repeated again and again until at last I reached the big, sloping slabs at the base of the cliff. I almost scampered down them to slide my body over the edge of the last one, let go, and drop lightly onto the sandy stretch of shore. Then I stepped back a couple of paces, craning my head as far back as it would go to look up at the Gob above me.
I’d done it – I’d done it! And I waited for that beloved voice to tell me:
‘Well done, Eve!’ – but only the waves replied.
Then I heard the clapping.
I swung round. The yacht was nearer still now, and the rails were lined with people – clapping, all clapping me. And the big man who’d tried to stop me climbing down was clapping too. Then he picked up his megaphone again and I heard his bellow of: ‘Well done, youngster – well done!’ And I swelled with pride. Until the next bellow of, ‘You’ve got pluck, boy.’ Boy – the cheek! Fancy thinking I was a boy!
Bending down I tugged at the buttons to set my skirts swirling loose, and then I swept off my cap and tossed my head so my plaits swung free before running forward to the very edge of the waves. And there I dropped my curtsey – just as I had at the end of ‘The Gondoliers’.
For a moment my audience were silenced by surprise, then the voice bellowed: ‘Three cheers for a very brave little lady! Hip, hip,’ there was a roar of hoorays. By the the end of the third one they were all waving – ladies their parasols, gentlemen and sailors their caps.
I waved my own cap back, then remembering Naini Tal I thrust it into my skirt pocket, raised my hands above my head, and went cartwheeling off across the sands. Exit stage left – and don’t look back.
I did sneak a look back eventually. The yacht was already heading out to sea – it had come in as close as they dared already. I knew there was a shelf in the sea beyond the Gob, Apa had told me. I must tell him about – No, I would tell Aunt Ethel instead. I began to run.
Chapter Eleven
Aunt Ethel was standing by the croft door, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun as she peered over towards the cliffs. There was a chair behind her – she must have been sitting outside, waiting. As soon as she caught sight of me she came hobbling forward. ‘Eve, you’re back!’
‘Yes,’ I said casually, ‘It didn’t take that long to climb the Gob.’
‘Did you climb down it, as well?’
‘Oh yes,’ I said, trying hard to be nonchalant, ‘Yes, I climbed down over the crest – just like Seamus Gunn.’
She looked so pleased, and clapping her gnarled hands together exclaimed, ‘Well done, Eve, well done! And you’re much younger than Seamus was when he performed the same feat – but then, you’re female, and the female of the species is so much more able than the male. But still, I don’t even know of a woman who’s climbed down – and you’re still only thirteen years of age.’
‘Actually, Aunt Ethel, I’m fourteen now – it’s my birthday today.’
She looked even more pleased. ‘Then we must celebrate. Come along inside – now, what have we got?’ The answer to that question was the heel of the loaf, three withered apples and a piece of mouldy cheese which had slipped down the back of the cupboard and been forgotten about. Aunt Ethel picked up her purse. ‘If you run down to the baker’s, perhaps we might procure a cake?’
I came back with a black bun, all they’d got left. By then Aunt Ethel had set the table with two dusty wine glasses and an even dustier bottle of sherry. She poured, then handed me a brimming glass. ‘A toast, to Eve – and her conquest of the Gob.’
The sherry tasted pretty foul to me but I drained the glass, and when she refilled it I finished that, too, along with most of the black bun. Then I told
Aunt Ethel all about climbing in the Himalayas until I suddenly felt very sleepy and rather odd. So I tumbled dizzily into bed and slept right through until half-past tin time the next morning.
When I woke up I felt a lot more cheerful – though I have to admit I was disappointed to find that Aunt Ethel had retired to her room as usual. But there were so many things to do and see outside
– especially around the harbour – and I soon realised that there were distinct advantages in being treated as an adult. For instance, the concept of ‘bed-time’ had obviously never entered Aunt Ethel’s head; she herself stayed up or went to bed as she chose, regardless of night or day, and she clearly assumed that I would wish to do the same – which I soon did. Especially in June, in Caithness, when there’s barely any night at all. So while Duggie, Mungo and Ewan had to creep out through their bedroom windows whenever they fancied a night’s poaching with Duggie’s Uncle Fergus, I could simply walk out of our ever-open front door.
But I’m running ahead, here. Before I joined Duggie’s gang there was the matter of grandfather’s solicitors – and there, Aunt Ethel was wonderful. When the telegram arrived a few days after my birthday I was reduced to quaking terror.
It was addressed to Aunt Ethel, of course – but Aunt Ethel, also of course, handed it over to me. ‘This appears to concern you, Eve.’ I read: ‘Please have Evelyn’s luggage ready packed. Arriving Helspie tomorrow morning to collect and return her to school. Henderson.’
I went frantic. ‘No, Aunt Ethel – I can’t, I won’t!’
‘Do I take it that you do not wish to return to school?’
‘No! I mean, yes, you do. It was awful, Aunt Ethel—’ I poured the story out.
I suppose I should be fair to that school; I can see now that it probably wasn’t a bad school, as schools go. But personally I’m not a great believer in boarding schools, and in any case, with my upbringing I was totally unsuited to it. I conveyed that pretty thoroughly to Aunt Ethel who patted my arm reassuringly, ‘Leave it to me, Eve. “Luggage ready packed” indeed – he’s the one who will be sent packing!’ She returned to her room, still chortling over her little joke.
Despite her confidence I wasn’t optimistic. I spent a miserable night – where would I run to next time? Besides, I liked Helspie.
The Scottish Mr Henderson arrived. He was not very cheerful, after having had to spend the night in Wick, and then come rattling all the way from the station at Lybster in an ancient cab. And it was pouring with rain.
‘Good morning Miss Gunn. I trust your great-niece is packed and ready to depart?’ I shot behind Aunt Ethel and she was magnificent. She routed him. Half an hour later he climbed back into his cab and left, alone, having promised to have my trunk sent up to me. I’d had to prompt Aunt Ethel on that one. But for the rest – ! ‘As Eve’s only surviving relative … should have been informed of her whereabouts in England … dispositions made for her without consultation …’ And when Mr Henderson made some excuse about my education suffering because of my being in the wilds of Scotland she drew herself up to ask haughtily, ‘Are you implying that I am not capable of educating my own great-niece?’
‘Well, I—’
‘What school could teach her fifteen languages – not allowing for the lesser Chinese dialects?’
He demurred, ‘But there is the question of the classical languages—’
Silencing him with an imperious wave she turned to me and asked, ‘Eve – before you took your leave of that school, how far on were you with your Sanskrit?’
I was bewildered. ‘Nowhere, Aunt Ethel – we didn’t do it.’
She rounded on Mr Henderson. ‘You sent my great-niece to a school which did not offer Sanskrit?’
‘I don’t really see the necessity of—’
‘The girl is fluent in Hindustani – of course she would find Sanskrit of value.’ Mr Henderson muttered something about Latin, at which Aunt Ethel promptly spouted a long extract from one of Cicero’s letters, concluding with a rousing: ‘“…quam si parentes aut amicos aut patriam deserat!” Yes, she who does not oppose wrong is just as guilty as she who deserts her parents, friends or country – or, indeed, her great-niece. I think, Mr Henderson, you will miss the next train from Lybster unless you leave now.’ He left, still in the pouring rain.
I exclaimed, ‘Aunt Ethel, you were wonderful!’ then, ‘So when are my lessons going to start?’
‘Which lessons?’
‘With you – the ones you told Mr Henderson you’d be giving me.’
Her face took on a rather shifty expression. ‘If you were listening carefully, Eve, you may have noticed that I didn’t actually say I would be giving you lessons—’ And she hadn’t. Gosh, clever old Aunt Ethel; she’d have been a wow in Almora.
As you’re well aware, I personally feel that one should never be too narrow about education. And in practice I did learn an awful lot from Aunt Ethel – some of it even came in useful for boring old school certificate exams. We did have language days, when we spoke to each other in German or French, or occasionally toyed with a little light Latin. And I bargained for some Chinese lessons in return for teaching Aunt Ethel Hindustani – and pretty quick she was too – she really did know Sanskrit because her main interest – practically her only interest I used to think sometimes – was, as Apa had said, comparative religion. I ask, ‘Tell me a bit more about how the Chinese bind women’s feet, Aunt Ethel.’
To which she’d reply, ‘After exhaustive enquiries I came to the conclusion that there was no religious significance in it at all, Eve – unlike the custom of … absolutely fascinating … and then in the spring the priest would…’ I’d try and conceal my yawn.
But when she was on form Aunt Ethel was brilliant. As I’ve said, I really did learn so much from her. Some people have even argued that I learnt far too much!
But one thing I didn’t learn from Aunt Ethel was how to cook. She’d always had servants, and now she hadn’t got them she simply put up with cold, tinned corned beef and sardines – which had been a favourite of mine, as you may remember – but I was rapidly going off them. So I did what I would have done back in Almora. Having found a sharp knife in the dresser drawer I whittled myself a collection of throwsticks and set off in search of game – which in Helspie meant rabbits, lots of them.
I studied their habits, watched for their runs, located their little latrine pits – and downed one. Not first time; I was a bit out of practice. And I’d never actually skinned a rabbit before – but I’d helped skin man-eating tigers, and kakar and chital, so I thought it couldn’t be that different. It is – rabbits are a lot smaller than tigers – so mine was a bit hacked about by the time I’d finished, but it was minus guts and fur, which is the crucial thing. Next, the fire. I was initially suspicious of the peat, but actually peat lights very easily. Then I found a toasting fork and before too long the aroma of fresh cooked meat had wafted under Aunt Ethel’s door and brought her out to admire my initiative and consume her share of the rabbit. ‘Eve, this is quite delicious – I do miss fresh meat sometimes.’
I decided to strike while the toasting fork was hot. ‘Aunt Ethel, why don’t we get a maid, to cook for us?’
She shook her head, and explained that she’d spent almost all of her money travelling in China, and what was left she was spending on books, and the tins, and having the washing done—’I really can’t do without clean linen’ – so a maid was out of the question. ‘But,’ she leant forward, ‘That is actually a very good thing, Eve, because I’ve now come to the conclusion that it is demeaning for one person to have to wait upon another – and equally demeaning for the person who is waited upon.’ She sat back with a smile, ‘It is so fortunate that I ran out of money – otherwise I would never have arrived at that basic truth.’ She licked her fingers and then went hobbling off back to Confucius – or was it Lao-Tse today?
My trunk arrived the next morning – followed by a letter from Mr Henderson pointing out that as long as I was refusing to abide by the terms of my grandfather’s will I would receive no money from his estate. If, however, I changed my mind… was willing to resume my education… blah, blah… I tossed it down on to the table and went off to catch more rabbits.
As my throwstick connected and the rabbit jerked before flopping down, I realised I was not alone – a boy in a navy-blue jumper had materialised beside me. Re
aching into his pocket he took out a large catapult. We sidled along the wall to the next position and he downed his prey.
Over the next fifteen minutes a traditional male bonding ceremony took place. Compete – swagger – boast: ‘I killed mine outright’—’Mine was running much faster’. Followed by the ritual exchange of weapons: ‘You need to pull it back further.’ ‘No, flick it higher’. With weapons restored to their original owners – each of whom remained convinced of the superiority of his own – we picked up the still-warm furry bodies and headed back to the road. Then the boy – who was called Duggie – said, ‘Rabbits are easy. I’ll be seeing Ewan and Mungo down the harbour this evening – to have a go at the long-tailed fellows. When the sun drops behind the cliff – they come out, then.’
I was there. Feeling a bit uneasy – suppose long-tailed fellows weren’t edible? I was a pacifist, after all. They weren’t edible. I saw a grey body go streaking through the shadows and exclaimed, ‘It’s a rat!’
Duggie turned to glare at me before saying, emphatically ‘That is a long-tailed fellow.’
I got the message. In Almora you don’t call a little boy a boy, you call him a girl – so the Evil Eye won’t be interested in him. Now I asked, ‘What are those long-tailed fellows after, then, down the harbour?’
‘They come for the fish guts – do a lot o’ damage, they do.’ Ah, not edible, but still definitely classed as vermin. Taking careful aim I launched my throwstick.
Helspie rats were more difficult to hit than Helspie rabbits, but I was determined to prove the value of my throwstick – and I did. When we’d accumulated a collection of tails – apparently the fish-curer paid a ha’penny a dozen for them, providing they were fresh – Duggie said, ‘We’ll be on our way now – don’t want to kill ‘em all at once. Save some for tomorrow.’
After collection and distribution of our earnings the four of us went sauntering up the strath. Ewan said, ‘My Mam says you come from India. Is that where you learned to use that stick thing?’
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