The Island Nurse

by Mary J. Macleod

  When I had dressed and gathered courage, I went outside, carrying some hot water to melt the ice on the chickens’ water bowl and to feed them. Although they had a well-insulated house, the two hens roosting near the door had succumbed to the cold. Needless to say, there were no eggs.

  The weather was so unusual for Papavray that the whole atmosphere seemed weird. The sky was a uniform grey: it had a brittle, crackly feel and the freezing mist of morning formed airborne ice particles that burned one’s face. It was eerily quiet and nothing moved. No blast of the belligerent wind, no drumming of rain on the roofs, no bellowing of cattle or barking of dogs. Not a voice, not a car, not a tractor disturbed the uncanny silence. This was no crisp, frosty morning when one could take appreciative lungfuls of clear, cold air. A gulp of air today would burn lips, search out loose fillings and sear protesting lungs. The hills themselves seemed bowed with the weight of the freezing air, and everything appeared to be in a state of suspended animation, just waiting until the grinding, oppressing, all-pervading cold should lift.

  But there was no snow, just ice and cold. Taps refused to run, wells froze solid and the burn was a tumble of ice and rocks. It broadened into a pool near our boundary and by using a crowbar and kettles of hot water we were able to lower buckets into the icy depths. By the time we had carried one back across the croft to the house and returned for another a thin layer of ice had already begun to form in the hole.

  As I staggered indoors from the chicken house, Archie appeared, sliding and puffing his way across the croft.

  ‘Mary-J!’ he shouted, and his voice, normally blown away by the wind, sounded clear and crisp in the still air. ‘My, my!’ he exclaimed breathlessly. ‘It’s cold, cold indeed.’ He seemed set for a chat, so I interrupted.

  ‘Archie, it’s far too cold to stand here. Come in, for goodness’ sake!’

  Thankfully, we stood close to the Rayburn. At the opposite end of the open-plan room, the boys were at the hearth with newspaper, sticks, coal and peat. They seemed to be building the ‘towering inferno’, and I began to think that we might get warm today after all.

  Archie was speaking, ‘. . . and I’m off in the boat, y’see, so give me a list of any shopping you need. Not too much, mind! Only what you need. There’ll be plenty will need things. You’ll get milk and eggs anyway from Old Roderick, but he has nothin else left in his wee shop. Tis all gone!’

  I began to understand that Archie was going round the coast to Dalhavaig by boat.

  The icy roads over Ben Criel and by Loch Annan were impassable, the low clouds adding more and more frozen layers to the thick ice already covering their surfaces, so the only way out of the village for much-needed supplies was now by boat.

  I dragged my mind back to Archie. ‘I think you are very brave, Archie.’

  Much embarrassed, he replied, ‘Ach, tis nothin! Nothin at all. Sea’s like a millpond. Your phone workin, is it?’

  Surprised at the change of subject, I answered, ‘Yes. Amazingly it is.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said.

  ‘What is it, Archie? Something bothering you?’

  ‘Well, two things. When I get to Dalhavaig, I’ll be ringin you to send Nick across to tell Mary I’m safe.’ (So, although Archie sounded confident, Mary was obviously not happy with this intended boat trip.) He continued, ‘And I’m hearin that the wee girl is no well at Struakin.’

  ‘Fiona! Oh my!’ Struakin would be totally cut off at the moment. Sarah, Robbie and Fiona were the only folk there now, and they were about to move away.

  ‘How do you know this, Archie?’

  He began to look sheepish and shuffled his feet. I realised that he had been indulging in a hobby of his – listening in to the police and emergency radio bands on his old transistor. ‘What is happening about it?’

  ‘I’m thinkin Dr Mac might have got through on the phone, but I think there is something wrong with that too.’

  After he had gone, with a short list of necessities (I had a huge, well-stocked freezer), I rang Dr Mac.

  ‘I don’t know, Nurse,’ he said in answer to my questions. ‘The line is so poor, but I keep trying to get through.’ Thinking of my helicopter friends, I asked if they were an option if it was an emergency.

  ‘They’ll not get a helicopter even if it is urgent. There’s freezing fog on the mainland and they can’t take off. And there’s no way I can drive to the end of the road, and, even supposing I could, I’m too old and too arthritic to walk that two-mile track. I’ll just keep trying to get through.’

  A moment or two later, the phone rang. It was John, our policeman.

  ‘Nurse! Stop Archie from leaving NOW and then ring me!’

  Taken aback but galvanised by such a peremptory tone, I grabbed a coat and raced outside. I could see a figure plodding towards the old boathouse where the local men kept their nets and outboard engines. Suddenly glad of the still conditions, I yelled his name and, in spite of the distance, he heard and turned back. Together we returned to the house, where I phoned John.

  ‘Doctor finally spoke to Sarah. He wants you to go with Archie and ask him to put you ashore at Struakin, and once there you are to look after Fiona until the inshore lifeboat arrives from the mainland and then accompany them to the hospital. Doc thinks it’s appendicitis. All right?’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ was all that I could think of to say. Archie had gathered what was needed. Regretfully, I looked at the huge fire, which was beginning to heat the house at last. I donned the warmest clothes to hand (bother the uniform) and followed Archie to the boathouse.

  We pulled and pushed the heavy, clinker-built boat into the inky, undulating water, and he began to wrestle with the cold engine. After much muttering and energetic tugging at the starter cord, there was a cough, a splutter, a satisfying roar and we were off.

  The trip was smooth and uneventful but unbelievably cold. Cutting through the sea at quite a speed, we were creating our own rushing wind, which made it even colder. I soon abandoned the seat and slid into the well of the boat. At least it was fractionally warmer there. How Archie managed to keep his head up and his blue, distance-focused eyes open and fixed ahead was a mystery to me, but he seemed completely at ease.

  We rounded a headland and the little ruined harbour of Struakin came into sight. Robbie was on the shore to meet us as Archie cut the engine and we slid through the shallow water to ground gently on the pebbles.

  Robbie was distraught. ‘She is in so much pain, Mary-J. Down here.’ He indicated an area on the lower right-hand side of his abdomen.

  ‘When is the lifeboat likely to be here?’ I asked.

  ‘About an hour now, I should think.’

  One hour! And then another perhaps to load and take Fiona to the hospital. I was worried, knowing how a patient’s condition can change almost from minute to minute in some cases, and an appendix can burst without warning.

  We followed Robbie into the house. The phone was ringing. Sarah answered and passed it to me. The inshore lifeboat had left the mainland some half an hour ago and so should be here in another 20 to 30 minutes depending on the fog. Apparently it was getting worse, and I was told to have ‘contingency plans’ should they be late or, indeed, unable to get there at all.

  ‘You do know that we are very isolated, with virtually no other way out of here and that we do not have the doctor’s help?’ I was really worried now.

  ‘Of course! But we can’t work miracles. There must be another boat there, surely?’

  Archie! He was still hovering around. I would keep him and his precious boat here if I could.

  I went into the bedroom. A hot, flushed face gazed at me from the snowy pillow. Fiona had been crying but was quiet at the moment while Sarah gently bathed her forehead.

  ‘Hello, Fiona.’

  A weak smile answered me. I explained that I was about to ‘have a look at her tummy’. I barely touched her abdomen but I could feel the ‘guarding’ of the muscles and she flinched. Her temperature was up, as was
her pulse rate.

  ‘I think Dr Mac is probably right, Sarah.’

  ‘Rob will have to go with her in the lifeboat. I get so seasick that I’d just be a nuisance, Mary-J.’

  I was hoping that the fog would lift and that the lifeboat would be able to get here, as the thought of poor Fiona going in Archie’s boat was not a happy one. It would be cold, uncomfortable and the jolting dangerous, but anything was better than doing nothing. Archie, however, was getting restless.

  ‘Nurse. If I don’t go soon, I’ll not get back by dark.’

  At that moment we heard the roar of powerful engines. Rob came running into the house.

  ‘Off we go!’ He was trying to be jolly and, wrapping the little girl in a warm blanket, lifted her gently and effortlessly and carried her out into the freezing weather. The inshore lifeboat was rocking quietly on the tide line. Fiona was made comfortable and strapped in. She lay among cushions, cocooned in blankets and waterproofs.

  Archie had raised a hand in salute and was now speeding away through the water on his way to complete his interrupted shopping trip.

  Robbie sat protecting Fiona from the wind and off we went. I felt that my presence was achieving nothing, for what could I do? He was a big, strong man to hold her and carry her and, although obviously in pain, she was quiet and comforted by his presence. But Archie had gone and my instructions had been to accompany the patient.

  We were not travelling at full speed, as the crew recognised the need for a smooth ride, but the land swell rocked the boat alarmingly. We had to keep as close to the shore as the outcrops of rocks and small islets would allow because of the dense, patchy, swirling fog farther out to sea.

  Very soon, we rounded the last headland and came within sight of Dalhavaig. The airborne bows sank to sea level as we slowed and slid into the harbour. The ambulance was waiting and Fiona was transferred to the elderly vehicle.

  The road from the waterfront to the hospital had been scraped and sanded by the busy roadman, Charlie! As always, Joc was with his master. As the ambulance passed, Charlie stood to attention and saluted. I found this gesture of concern and respect very touching. He would have been told by the ambulance driver, or perhaps Archie, that it was Fiona who was ill and in all probability what the diagnosis was likely to be.

  The vehicle lurched along and negotiated the slight rise to the hospital. I reported to the young surgeon, who wasted no time in taking Fiona through to the theatre.

  With Fiona in good hands, I began to wonder how or even if I would get home. Perhaps Archie was still in the village? Perhaps I could get home with him? With a quick ‘goodbye’ to Rob, I set off towards the harbour.

  A voice hailed me. ‘Nurse! Tis you! You’ll be looking for Archie.’ It was Charlie. ‘Aye, I ken you’d no be long up there. She’ll be in the operation by now, I’m thinkin.’

  ‘Yes, Charlie, she will be. Where is Archie? I’m hoping to catch a lift home with him.’

  ‘Aye, I know. I told him he’d be as well to wait for ye. He’s at the pier now. Look!’

  And there he was in the distance, sitting in his boat, tied up to the pier.

  I looked at Charlie in admiration. ‘How did you know I’d be back and looking for a lift with him?’ As soon as I had spoken, I thought how stupid I was to ask. It would be just another example of the efficiency of the jungle telegraph and the thoughtfulness of these island people.

  ‘Ach,’ said Charlie. ‘Tis the sensible thing to do. But hurry! He’ll not want to wait. The light will no be with us past three and tis gone midday.’

  ‘Here she is then, Archie,’ he announced on reaching the pier. It sounded as if he were delivering some long-awaited parcel. I scarcely had time to thank him before the engine spluttered into life and Archie turned the boat towards the mouth of the harbour.

  ‘We’ll be putting on a bit speed. We’ve not much time before dark.’

  ‘Why are we going back this way? Surely the usual route is shorter than going back past Struakin again?’

  Archie was embarrassed. ‘Aye. Well, y’see, it was like this. While you were seein to the wee girl, Sarah asked me to get her a few wee things. What with her movin soon, she’d not much food in. It’ll not take us long.’

  ‘What a good fellow you are, Archie.’ And I really meant it. What kindness I had encountered on this dreadful day.

  ‘Aye, well . . .’ Archie coughed.

  So we beached once more at Struakin. The goods were delivered and off we went again. Dhubaig was as icily unwelcoming as ever as we pulled the boat up the beach in the deepening twilight. Looking forward to a fire and warm food, my mind turned again to poor Sarah, alone at Struakin on this dark, bitter night. I trudged wearily homeward in the gloom.

  Luckily it turned out that Fiona’s appendix had not ruptured in spite of all the tossing about that she (and it) had endured. She was home within a week and seemed happy and relaxed when I went to remove her stitches. Sarah was far more shattered than the little patient.

  FORTY-TWO

  Fire!

  Christmas was nearly upon us again! The need for one of our now-famous shopping expeditions became pressing, but at this time of the year it was virtually impossible to do it in one day as it was dark until about 10 a.m. and the light failed again by 3.30 p.m. So we were to stay with Angus and Maggie. Angus of the bottomless store! I wondered what monstrosity he might have for us to transport this time.

  For several days before the intended trip, we watched the weather with anxiety. If it snowed heavily, Glen Knochiel would be impassable and our plans (and perhaps our Christmas) would be spoilt.

  On the appointed day, armed with the usual enormously long shopping list (again as many things for others as for ourselves), we set off well before daylight. The weather was bitterly cold and snow was forecast. Mary was coming with us to stay with her cousins and have a ‘good crack’ (a gossip).

  The shopping round followed the usual pattern, but with more time to spare it was much more enjoyable and we even visited the one and only theatre to see a performance of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. On the third day, as we prepared for our return, Mary announced that she had decided to stay for another few days.

  ‘I’ll come back with the Commission or the school inspector,’ she said.

  I was puzzled. She explained.

  ‘I could get a lift with the school inspector, but I’m thinkin he’s that clever he’s no fun at all! No. I’ll likely catch the Commission instead.’

  ‘The Commission?’ I repeated.

  ‘Aye. He comes from the Crofters’ Commission to inspect the land.’

  ‘Do you know that he will take you?’

  ‘Ach, he’ll take me all right!’ She nodded knowingly. ‘Yon mannie will be after some venison from Archie.’

  So all was clear! With grateful thanks to our hosts, and the Land Rover packed to the roof with everything from Christmas trimmings to a back boiler for hot water, we set off.

  Mary had been scathing when she saw the back boiler. ‘Can they no just boil a wee kettle full like other folk?’

  I forbore to remind her that many folk, including ourselves, had baths and therefore needed rather more than a ‘wee kettle full’!

  Once away from the town, the snowy landscape opened up before us. The white hills, the dark green of the pine forests and the grey waters of the loch, ice-covered in places, were a perfect backdrop to the shaggy Highland cattle at the water’s edge. Their thick coats were catching the huge snowflakes as they fell and when they raised their heads to inspect us they seemed to be wearing fluffy white hats.

  The Highlands of Scotland are at their most spectacular in the snow. View after beautiful view opened up before us as we drove deeper and deeper into the wild landscape. Regal mountains, clothed in white, stood out against a leaden sky, but occasionally the clouds would part and silvery sunlight slanted across the shimmering slopes. The lonely scene glowed in the eerie light, while steely lochs reflected the sombre sky, the water appe
aring even darker at the edges where its gloom contrasted with the white banks. Vast pine forests shivered starkly under their white mantles, looking like so many thousands of Christmas trees. Craggy rocks beside the road were softened by the blanket of snow and young birch trees bowed their heads under the weight of the clinging flakes.

  By the time we reached Papavray, the dim light of the winter day had dawdled imperceptibly into darkness and it was getting rapidly colder. I hoped we were not going to have a repeat of the intensely cold weather that we had experienced a few weeks ago.

  With thoughts of home and a meal, and glad of the four-wheel-drive capability of the Land Rover, we climbed the dark, slippery side of Ben Criel.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ asked Andy.

  ‘It smells like a bonfire,’ said Nick. ‘There’s red in the sky too. Look!’

  We looked. An angry pink and red glow was spreading across the sky, interspersed with billowing black clouds. Clouds? No. This was smoke!

  We came over the top of the hill, looking down on Loch Annan. George braked and we stared in amazement. We were among the high hills on the side of Ben Criel; hills that were now ablaze with roaring, crackling flames of orange and red shooting high into the air. They left a trail of sparks to be borne away on the fresh breeze and to alight on any nearby hill, possibly starting another fire.

  We were speechless. There was an almost primeval magnificence about the awe-inspiring scene which left one feeling diminished, insignificant in the face of this exhibition of the power of nature’s forces.

  ‘It’s the heather,’ I said, in a sort of trance. ‘It’s so dry and brittle. We haven’t had rain for weeks.’

  The crofters lit controlled heather fires every three or four years, usually in February, normally a ‘dry’ month. If left undisturbed, the heather on the hills would become huge and woody, taking over the grazing intended for sheep and deer. With great skill, born of years of experience, 20 or so men with fire beaters would select an area of hillside – a different area each year – and set light to the heather in a long line, having determined the direction and strength of the wind. It was an organised and well-disciplined exercise.