A Better Place

by Tania Roberts

  “Good morning to ye Mr Campbell,” he greets them, tilting his top hat ever so slightly, “and to ye too Mrs Campbell. I am William Gunn, factor for the Cromartie Estates and paying ye a visit this fine morn to collect the outstanding rents on behalf of ye Laird.”

  The factor is a short rotund man. Small round spectacle lenses balance on the end of his bulbous red nose. He flicks his riding cape back over his shoulder and glances quickly at a silver pocket watch he removes from his waistcoat pocket. It is a look that indicates he wants his business in the village to be over and done with quickly and any delaying by the crofters will not be tolerated.

  Murdo does not invite the factor inside. There is no point. There is no money to give him.

  “Well, it be a wasted visit ye be having to Achadh’ a Braigh, ain’t it?” Murdo glares at the factor whom he judges to be trying to make the power of his position compensate for deficiencies in his height.

  “Nae. Ye just need to handing over the ten pounds ye be owing in back rents and I’ll be on me way Mr Campbell and letting ye get back to ye fine meal.”

  “Fine meal! Since last month’s storm, we have nothing to eat but bannocks.”

  “There be nowt wrong with bannocks for breakfast Mr Campbell, to be sure. Ye have nae paid ye dues with labour so now I need the ten pounds if ye please.”

  “If it was just bannocks for breakfast ye may get ye ten pounds. Bannocks is all we be havin’ to eat at all today. There be nowt else. And there nae be ten pounds to give ye.” Murdo runs his hands through his hair. It is all he can do. He wants to slam the door on this smug little man. “The Laird only wants me services when I need to be fishing or tending the fields to feed me own family.”

  “Well, Mr Campbell. If ye be fishing and growing crops then ye be making money to be able to pay. I cannae return to the Laird without ye payment. I be doin’ me rounds of all the villages in the estate and I’ll return a week on the morrow to collect your rents on me way back home.”

  “Can ye not see, the storms have destroyed me crops and it nae be safe to fish. Ye can return all ye like but there willnae be any money to pay ye. We be struggling to feed our children and they be more important than ye Laird.”

  Murdo closes the door. Silent words pass between he and Annie. They do not want to go into battle with the factor but if they are to survive through the winter, keeping food in their children’s stomachs will be their only priority.

  .....

  Another week passes. The factor does not return to Achadh’ a Braigh. The weather forces him to ride to the warmth and safety of the Laird’s castle. The Scottish Highlands are deep in the grip of a long hard winter that started with the out-of-season storm and continues with relentless fury. The high hills of Ben More wear a thick blanket of snow and the rivers are frozen solid. There are no fish to be caught. Supplies of oats are diminishing. The children are hungry. Without food in their bellies it is a struggle to keep them warm. Angus and Mary are unable to attend school. The trek across snow-covered fields is too dangerous. The confined space of the croft seems to hold the family captive. There are only so many games of knucklebones they can play. Restless and grizzling they squabble with one another. Annie is at her wits end. She tries to get the children to sleep as long as possible. Three little bodies snuggled together in one box bed at least keeps them warm. Her own body no longer has the capability to produce any milk for wee Ann and the bairn is reluctant to accept the substituted watery gruel. Annie’s attempts to comfort her are futile as the bairn senses her mother’s own anguish.

  “Och, Murdo. What are we to do? We cannae go on like this much longer.”

  Raking his hands through his hair, Murdo shakes his head slowly from side to side. His shoulders slump. He feels defeated. He spends every waking minute of every day and many night hours when sleep eludes him fighting an internal battle. His role as chief provider for the villagers is an onerous one but he has not failed them in the past and he will not now. His parents, the old McLeod women and the young women in their care all rely on him for their food supplies. Everyone carefully rations their oatmeal supplies but this year that is not enough. He has already used all of his credit at the general merchants to buy meal supplies. The only solution, he can find to stave off the villagers’ hunger, is to go to the Laird to ask for help. But this goes against the very essence of his being. He can hear Great-Grandma Mary’s words as if she is standing right beside him – ‘a Scotsman makes the best of what they have.’ In the past there has always been something but now they have nothing.

  “Aye, me love. I know.” He draws Annie into his arms. For an instant they are able to draw strength from one another and slip into another time. But it is only for an instant. Murdo breaks from the embrace and fetches his warmest clothes. “I’ll have to go and ask for help. I’ll try the church first. Or maybe Roderick at the store will be able to help us. If I cannae get some food or money from there I’ll have to go to the Laird.”

  Annie can feel Murdo’s tension. His bushy eyebrows form a singular mantle over his sunken eyes. His breathing is rapid and shallow. She knows he prides himself on being able to provide for his family. To have to ask for help is a last resort.

  “I may be gone several days. It’ll take a while in this weather.”

  “Aye. Be careful.” Tears well in her eyes but she’ll not shed them. She’ll not add to Murdo’s burden a weak and worrisome wife.

  Knowing there will be many risks in his journey, Murdo hugs each of his children, silently praying it will not be the last time he sees them. His love for Annie is conveyed with a kiss. There is a distant fleck of hope in his eyes as he crosses the doorsill into the wintry weather.

  .....

  Pelting rain slices through the cold air. Heavy drops beat against Murdo’s cheeks. After walking for three hours, his boots are sodden and he can barely feel his toes. Approaching the church at the head of Loch Broom he sees a small group of men gathering outside. They warm themselves by a fire built in a pile of peat bricks. Steam rises from their drying clothes and the mugs they hold in their hands. Murdo cannot smell the broth over the smoke of the peats but a deep rumble from the pit of his stomach reminds him any food would be delicious.

  “Welcome, me son. Come, warm yeself by the fire.” Reverend John McMillan greets Murdo with open arms. “We just be waiting for the delivery of the meal barrels the Laird has promised. Did ye not bring your horse and wagon to carry yer ration home?”

  “The Laird is giving us meal?” Murdo didn’t believe the minister’s words. A fortnight ago the Laird had been demanding rent and now he is providing meal for the crofters – it is too good to be true.

  “Aye me son. Lord Sutherland has most generously decreed that each family be given half a barrel of meal, from his own supplies. It is a goodwill gesture from the Laird to ensure the survival of his people.”

  “His people? I be me own person, nae his!”

  “Aye, but we are all the Lord’s children. I’m guessing ye be here to ask for help for ye family.” Murdo nods, silently acknowledging that the Reverend is right. “Well, that help be here in the form of meal from the Laird.”

  “But he’ll nae doubt be adding the cost of it to our outstanding rent.”

  “Nae my son. It be a gift. Accept it as such. Ye be the Lord’s child and blessings from the Lord take many forms.”

  “But I cannae pay me rent. The Laird will still be chasing me again for payment.”

  “Well, ye’d best talk to the other men about that. I heard them talking about joining the Highland Land League.”

  Murdo’s stomach again reminds him of the reason for his trip. His hungry children will be grateful for the food and will not worry about who provides it. He grabs a mug of hot broth from the table, still in disbelief that his quest for food has been so easy. He joins the other crofters to discuss the unpaid rents and see if he can find someone to share a horse and cart with on his return journey.

  Chapter Four

&nb
sp; Coigach, Scottish Highlands 1883

  “Donnae do it like that Murdo!” Angus growls. “Do it like I showed ye!”

  “I cannae keep the plough straight. It’s too heavy.”

  “Come on, swap places. We gotta get this field ready. Ye lead the horse, I’ll steer the plough.”

  “I wish we were at school. This is too hard.” Murdo grumbles.

  At six years old he’s only just got to go to school and he likes it far better than working in the fields. The new boots the Laird has given him for his good schoolwork are rubbing his feet raw.

  “Stop moaning. We gotta do it. Mama can’t now she’s got another baby coming and Papa’s away.”

  Murdo can barely reach the horse’s bridal. Luckily the old Clydesdale knows what to do and is easily coaxed forward. The spring sun is setting over Achadh’ a Braigh by the time the lads have the field ploughed. The rows of furrows are not quite as regimented as their Papa would have achieved but they are proud of their efforts.

  “Ye go on home now Murdo. I’ll just feed the horse and put the plough away,” Angus says, knowing his little brother is tired.

  “I’ll go when I’m ready. Stop telling me what to do. Ye’re nae Papa,” snaps Murdo, tired of his brother’s bossiness, tired of working all day but not too tired to think for himself.

  “I was just trying to be nice to ye,” Angus mumbles as he carries some straw over to the horse. The horse drinks from the dyke and gives a gentle neigh of appreciation for the pile of straw at her hooves. “At least ye’re grateful for me help.”

  Murdo reaches the croft as his sisters Mary and Ann come up the track from the river, holding hands and skipping along singing.

  “Meileag! A chaora dhubh, bheil cloinh agad an drasd? Tha, dhuin’-uasaid, sin agam. Tri poca lan- aon do’n mhaishhistir, aon do bhean-an-taighe, is aon do’n a gille bheag tha fuireach san t-sraid chuil.”

  Mary has taught her little sister ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’ today. She carries a basketful of wild hyacinths they have collected from the sheltered banks of the river. Their girlish giggles complement the sweet scent of the spring flowers. Seeing Murdo, Ann reaches into the basket to gather a posy of flowers for her big brother.

  “I donnae want any of ye sissy flowers.” Murdo knocks the posy from Ann’s hands and storms on past.

  At three, Ann does not understand that Murdo’s anger is not her doing. Tears trickle down her cheeks as she kneels to gather the fallen flowers.

  “Murdo’s in a grump. Murdo’s in a grump.” Mary pokes her tongue at him as she bends to help Ann. “Ne’er ye mind wee one. We’ll take the flowers to Mama, she’ll like them.”

  The flowers are soon back in the basket and the girls skip home to the croft.

  .....

  “Good evening everyone. Have ye left me some of that tasty-smelling broth?” Murdo asks as he enters the croft shaking the water drops off his hat.

  “Aye me husband. I have saved ye a bit. The lads have been working the fields today and are so hungry I thought they might eat the lot if I didnae put some aside.” Annie notices Murdo’s clothes are saturated. “Ye best get changed. Ye be all wet.”

  “Just caught in a spring shower. Nae much.” Murdo takes a mug of broth from Annie and sits down between his children on a stool by the fire. “Well tell me, how has ye day been? Angus, did ye get the field ploughed?”

  “Ye’ll catch ye death in them wet clothes.” Annie’s words go unheard.

  The children are all eager to share their news and Murdo is too interested in his children’s stories to worry about some damp clothes.

  .....

  When the children are all tucked up in bed, Murdo and Annie take some quiet time by the fire. A very pregnant Annie is grateful to take the weight off her feet and anxious to hear Murdo’s news from the Highland Land League’s meeting he’s attended in Ullapool.

  “They’ve got the Government involved. They’re gonna have an enquiry. We’ll be able to tell our side of the story and the men will come to Ullapool to listen.”

  “What men?” Annie asks, suspiciously curious but not wanting to stifle the long-awaited enthusiasm she can see in Murdo.

  “They’ve got Mr Fraser-Mackintosh. He’s in parliament and he agrees with what we want. And Lord Napier, he knows how it was in the past when we paid with just six days of labour and knew our crofts would be saved for us.”

  “The Government won’t listen if they are all on our side. They’ll want the enquiry to be independent or nothing will come of it.”

  “Aye, they’ve got Sir Donald Cameron and Sir Kenneth Mackenzie. They’re landlords. And the Sheriff of Kirkcudbright, he’ll know about the land raids. The trouble we can cause if they donnae listen to us.”

  “We donnae want ye being arrested Murdo. It’s a struggle now to get things done when ye are nae around.”

  “I’ve taught Angus what to do. The lads have managed fine today. Achoo!” Murdo sneezes. “We’ll get the crop sown on the morrow.”

  “Aye, but they’re too young to go fishing and too small to use a scythe.”

  “Aye. We just gonna elect someone to speak for us and make sure they know what to say. Achoo! I’ll go to Polglass next week for another meeting to do that. Achoo! There will be one more trip to Ullapool for the hearings. Achoo! The lads will be able to manage until then. I’ll be back before the bairn’s due.”

  “Och, Murdo. Ye know these bairns come when they want, not when we think they will. Besides ye’ll nae be going anywhere if ye catch a chill. Ye best get yeself off to bed.”

  Murdo’s eyes twinkle. “Aye, me love, come warm me up.” Murdo helps Annie up from the stool to draw her into an embrace. Her protruding belly stifles any attempt at intimacy. She yawns. He sneezes. They both concede sleep is more important tonight.

  .....

  Reverend John McMillan knocks his gavel on the wooden lectern. About twenty men gather in the church and each one has an opinion he wants heard. Silence is necessary before any constructive discussion can begin.

  “Quiet men, quiet! Ye’ll each get your time to speak.” Gradually the talk abates to a hushed mumble and the Reverend proceeds. “The Napier Commission will sit in Ullapool two weeks on the morrow, on Monday 30 July. We need today to elect ye representatives to speak of ye grievances to the Commission. We need for those grievances to be put in writing so they can be submitted to the Commission.”

  “We cannae write a word. We’ve ne’er had a need to do so.”

  “I can do ye writing for ye. Ye just need to decide what it is ye wish to be said.”

  “Labour for rent – nae money we donnae have!”

  “Compensation for improvements!”

  “Security for our family crofts!”

  Reverend McMillan has heard all of these grievances before and he is largely in agreement with the poor souls in his congregation. He knows the Commission will not listen to angry protest; it is logical argument, facts and suggested solutions that are required.

  “Quiet! Quiet! We’ll nae get anywhere if ye all yell at once.” The Reverend waits patiently as the last of the angry voices die down again. “I suggest that ye need men from each town, the young to explain how it is now and the old to explain how it used to be. Crofters to explain the life made on the land and fishermen to explain the life made from the sea. I also intend to speak on behalf of the people of the parish – the cottars and the paupers who must rely on the church for their subsistence. I have already attended a similar meeting in Polban and they have elected two representatives – Mr Alexander McLeod and Mr Murdo Shaw who used to be fishermen and are now crofters.”

  “Murdo Stewart from Achiltibuie is a good man. I’d like him to speak on our behalf,” suggests someone from the group.

  “Aye. I can do that.” Murdo Stewart stands so that those with whom he’s not familiar can identify him. “I can tell them about the roads or lack thereof for our people. The grain mills built to take business away from our people. The lack of fish
curing facilities and piers for our fishing boats.”

  “Duncan McKenzie from Reef,” another voice suggests. “He be the oldest among us. He’ll remember how it was before rent increases and evictions.”

  “Do ye accept that nomination Mr MacKenzie?” The Reverend knows the humble old gentleman relies on his sons for support. They try to make their life from fishing but are in want of a suitable harbour and proper boats and fishing material.

  “Aye. I be the only available. All the young men are away in the east fishing.”

  Murdo does not know these men personally but knows from what has been discussed that their grievances are the same as his. He wants his grievances to be heard but does not feel confident enough to offer to appear before the Commission himself. He is happy with the men selected.

  “Two delegates duly elected then. I think that be enough. There will be others elected from other meetings. Ye need now to tell me what needs to be written.” Reverend McMillan gathers his paper and quill and prepares to write their joint submission.

  Another two hours pass before the men emerge from the church. It has been a good meeting and they each return to their crofts hoping that the Commission will look positively on their grievances and ensure action is taken to improve their lot.

  With everything fresh in his mind, the Reverend sets about writing his own submission. He first details the extent of his parish of about forty miles square. He wants to explain the issues and suggest the remedy. The conversion of croft land to large sheep farms and deer forests, which are then leased to wealthy southerners, mean the eviction of crofters to poorer quality land. Less land is available to more people and the land is of poorer quality. The Reverend believes the crofters should be given use of more arable land through club farms where a group farms for the good of all. Rules need to be put in place and they need to be abided by. A tenant should not be evicted unless rent is unpaid or he is guilty of a misdemeanour. By the time the Reverend has written all he wants to detail, the submission is some ten pages in length. The Commission will only sit in Ullapool once though, so he must be sure to include everything if it is to be of any assistance to his congregation.