Highland Fling

by Nancy Mitford

  ‘I believe the public are admitted every Thursday, but I will make inquiries,’ said Mr Buggins.

  Presently the Rolls-Royce arrived at the Corbie’s Egg, a large yellowish mountain commanding an interminable prospect of other mountains, valleys, streams and pine woods. They all got out of the car and were induced by Mr Buggins, an ardent picnicker, to drag the hamper, rugs, and bottles halfway up a sort of precipice, the idea being that they would thus enjoy a slightly better view. What, however, they gained in that respect they lost in comfort, as they were perched on a decided slope and had some difficulty in preventing basket and bottles from slipping down it.

  Having unpacked the luncheon they waited politely for the others; but when a quarter of an hour passed by with no signs of the Buick, Sally suggested that they should begin. ‘I’m pretty peckish,’ she said, ‘eating for two now, you see.’

  Albert remarked that the Murgatroyds certainly would not have waited for them, and they all fell upon the food, munching away in a happy silence.

  It was only when they had quite finished and were drinking their coffee with the delicious feeling, so rare at picnics, that even if there were any more food it would be difficult to eat it, that Sally noticed, to her extreme horror, that there was absolutely nothing left for the others.

  She announced this fact in a voice shaking with hysteria. There was a ghastly silence.

  Mr Buggins said: ‘Surely they are bringing their own,’ without much conviction.

  ‘No,’ wailed Sally, ‘this was for everybody.’

  Another silence. Walter tried to speak, but no words came. Mr Buggins gulped down some neat whisky and said:

  ‘Wait a minute. We’ll see what’s left. Hum – yes, one leg of grouse. Three tongue sandwiches. Look! What’s this? A packet of something! Oh, dear! Petit-Beurre biscuits, rather cold comfort. Fourteen apples (curious how the cook here seems to think we are all fruitarians). No beer at all. Half a bottle of whisky. A thermos of hot milk. Yes, this is very awkward indeed.’

  Another dreadful silence descended upon them. Sally wrung her hands in despair.

  ‘Oh, goodness, goodness me! What are we to do?’

  Albert poured the remains of the whisky down his throat. Suddenly he shouted:

  ‘I know, of course! The only thing we can do is to hide the picnic basket and pretend it fell out of the car. Quick! quick! before they come!’

  With shaking hands and furtive glances down the road they packed the debris of their lunch into the picnic basket, which they proceeded to hide between two large boulders. They then seized the rugs and scrambled down a precipitous slope to the motor-car, explaining matters rather breathlessly to the bewildered chauffeur, who, when he grasped what they were driving at, was only too pleased to aid and abet their little plan as he had a private grudge against the general.

  Hardly were all these preparations completed when the Buick bore down upon them and drew up just behind the Rolls-Royce.

  General Murgatroyd was the first to get out and walked briskly up to where the guilty ones were waiting by the roadside. He looked hot and cross, his hands were covered with oil.

  ‘How’s this?’ he said in a loud angry voice. ‘We thought at least you’d have the lunch all ready for us by now. We’ve had a beastly time with a slipping clutch. Got it put right now but it’s been the hell of a journey, I can tell you, and, personally, I’m ready for my food. Come on, let’s get it out.’

  There was a gloomy silence. At last Walter, prodded from behind by Sally, cleared his throat and said:

  ‘I’m afraid, sir, that a rather – er – disappointing thing has happened to the lunch. Albert found that there wasn’t quite enough room for his legs with the basket on the floor of the car, so we stopped and put it on to the carrier. When we arrived here we found to our dismay that it had disappeared – it must have dropped off as we drove along. We hoped that you might perhaps have come across it and picked it up. No such luck, I suppose?’

  ‘This is damned annoying,’ said the general violently. ‘Who strapped it on to the carrier?’

  ‘Albert and I did, sir.’

  ‘Then you must have done it damned inefficiently, that’s all I can say.’

  He glared at Albert.

  The admiral here came forward and said, not unkindly:

  ‘Well, it can’t be helped now. Let’s have a drink while we’re waiting.’

  ‘Unfortunately, sir, the bottles seem to have been forgotten. I thought when I woke up this morning that Friday the 13th is seldom a lucky day.’

  ‘It happens to be Friday the 12th today, though,’ said Lady Prague.

  The admiral at first appeared stunned by this piece of news, but, suddenly galvanized into life, he cried:

  ‘Forgotten! What do you mean? I saw them into the car myself. I always see to the drinks.’

  ‘Yes, he does: I can vouch for that.’ The general looked again at Albert as he spoke.

  Nobody answered.

  ‘This is all most peculiar and extremely annoying,’ said Lady Prague. ‘What makes it worse is that the picnic-basket with fittings was Prague’s silver-wedding present from the tenants – with his first wife, of course. We shall certainly have to inform the police of this loss. Meanwhile, what shall we do for luncheon?’

  ‘If I might make a suggestion, Lady Prague,’ ventured Mr Buggins timidly, ‘perhaps you had better go to the Auld Lang Syne at Invertochie and have your luncheon there?’

  ‘And what about all of you? Aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, we are starving – starving. I meant, of course, for all of us to go, but thought that if only a few can get in, owing to the large crowd which is always attracted there by the games, that you should in justice come before us, as it was partly owing to our carelessness that the basket was lost.’

  ‘Oh, I see; yes. Well, there’s no point in waiting here, we might as well push on to the Auld Lang Syne. Most inconvenient and tiresome.’

  They all climbed back into the cars and when they were once more under way Albert said:

  ‘Really, Walter, you are a sneak. Why did you say it was my legs that hadn’t enough room: surely you could have chosen someone else. I’m in such disfavour with the general and I feel now that he will never look on me kindly again.’

  ‘I’m sorry; I couldn’t think of anyone else.’

  ‘Well, there was yourself.’

  ‘I never think of myself.’

  ‘I suppose you all realize,’ said Jane, who was tightly holding Albert’s hand under the rug, ‘that we are fated to eat another enormous lunch. Personally, I couldn’t face a small biscuit at the moment.’

  They gazed at each other in horror at this prospect, but Mr Buggins assured them that there was no need for anxiety as the hotel was certain to be full on that particular day.

  ‘I am even rather perturbed,’ he added, ‘as to whether those poor hungry things will get a bite or sup.’

  ‘I’m quite sure that Lady Prague will get a bite, and don’t doubt that the admiral will somehow find a sup,’ said Albert; ‘but think how awful it would be if there did happen to be enough for all of us. Hadn’t we better pretend to have a breakdown and let the others go on?’

  ‘You forget it’s the general behind us, who obviously knows all about cranking plugs and things: he’d see in a moment that nothing was wrong. No, we shall have to risk it.’

  When they arrived at the Auld Lang Syne it presented, to their dismay, a singularly empty and welcoming appearance.

  ‘Lunch for ten? Certainly. This way, please.’

  The waiter led them through a stuffy little hall bedecked with stags’ heads, up some brown linoleum stairs to the dining-room which, though empty, smelt strongly of humanity.

  ‘No, sir; no crowd now. There has been, sir; oh, yes, but they’re all to the games. Will you start with fish or soup, sir?’

  At this moment the rest of the party appeared, headed by Lady Prague, who said:

  ‘As we are
in such a hurry I will order for everybody,’ and took the menu card from the waiter.

  ‘Tomato soup, roast mutton, two vegetables, rice pudding and prunes, Cheddar cheese, celery and biscuits. That will do nicely. I shall drink ginger beer. What about everybody else?’

  ‘Whisky,’ said the admiral, quickly. ‘I wish I could understand what happened to those bottles.’

  He looked suspiciously at Albert.

  Very soon the tomato soup arrived. It tasted strongly and unnaturally of tomatoes, was hot, thick and particularly filling. Lady Prague fell upon it with relish and crumbled bread into it.

  Albert, Jane, Walter, Sally and Mr Buggins never forgot that lunch. Seated in a row, their eyes fixed upon a print of the Battle of Khandi Pass (underneath which hung a key so that members of the British aristocracy portrayed there should easily be recognizable), they miserably waded through the bill of fare ordered by Lady Prague.

  They suffered.

  First the soup, followed by enormous helpings of congealing mutton with boiled vegetables; then – except for Albert – mountains of tepid rice pudding floating about in brown prune juice and studded with the prunes. Albert firmly refused this, saying:

  ‘It is my peculiar misfortune that from a child I have been unable to digest rice. Prunes I find so disintegrating that I seldom touch them.’

  ‘Traitor!’ whispered Jane, kicking him under the table.

  ‘No biscuits, thank you,’ said Mr Buggins; adding in a jocular voice, ‘I have always been told that one should rise from a meal ready to eat a penny bun.’

  ‘And are you ready to now?’ asked Albert doubtfully.

  At last the nauseating meal drew to a close, and Walter (who luckily had some money with him) was obliged to put down twenty-eight shillings for his own, Sally’s, Jane’s and Albert’s share of the bill. This was felt by some to be the saddest moment of the day.

  ‘My spirit is broken,’ said Albert, as they walked downstairs again, ‘or I should certainly bargain with the innkeeper for that exquisite aspidistra. I covet it. But I have no energy left in me for such exertions. Mr Buggins, do tell me, I have always so much wanted to know, who was Auld Lang Syne?’

  It was past three o’clock when they arrived at the enclosure where the games were taking place. Each member of the party had to pay five shillings to go in.

  ‘I knew it would be cheaper, in the end, to go to the Lido,’ said Walter bitterly.

  There was an enormous crowd in the enclosure consisting of very large strong-looking people; the men mostly wore kilts and the women dull but serviceable tweeds.

  Albert bought a programme which he shared with Jane. It was printed on thin pink paper and informed them that they were about to witness:

  TUG OF WAR. VAULTING WITH POLE.

  PIPING. DANCING.

  THROWING THE HAMMER. TOSSING THE CABER.

  FOOT RACES. CYCLE RACES. RELAY TEAM RACES.

  PIPING COMPETITION.

  Albert began explaining this to Jane as they were separated from the others:

  ‘ “Tossing the caber”. Now that will be worth seeing; the caber is Scottish for a young bull and this ancient sport was introduced into Scotland by the survivors of the Spanish Armada, who settled in many of the islands. “Throwing the hammer”. Two men, I believe, are given six hammers each to throw and they see who can knock out the other one first. Dangerous, but what is that to these wild clansmen?’

  ‘How d’you know all this?’ asked Jane suspiciously.

  ‘My dear, of course I know all about it. Don’t be tiresome, but come and see for yourself.’

  As they drew near to the arena their ears were greeted by a curious medley of sounds, the results of two brass bands playing different tunes, a band of bagpipes and a man walking drearily round alone, piping.

  ‘So like Le Pas d’Acier,’ murmured Albert, who had long entertained an unreasonable dislike for that ballet.

  The arena, which was railed off from the crowd by ropes, was a large piece of flat ground like a football field. At one side of it there was a raised platform, on which sat several ancient men in kilts.

  ‘The chieftains,’ Albert explained, ‘of neighbouring clans. Although they look so friendly, each in reality is fingering his dirk; their hearts are black with age-old hatreds of each other. Meanwhile, their brave clansmen are striving with might and main to win the games. Let’s get up closer, I can’t see anything.’

  The arena presented an extraordinary spectacle of apparently meaningless activity. People seemed to be doing things quite by themselves in every available corner of the field, while, encircling the whole, about seven skinny little men in shorts were quickly cycling round and round, followed by a crowd of even skinnier little men, running. They mostly looked like Whitechapel Jews. Some girls in Highland dress and long flowing hair were dancing a fling in one corner; in another an enormous giant appeared to be balancing a tree on his chest. The tug-of-war went on the whole time, neither side gaining an inch, and the vaulting also was incessant.

  ‘I am bitterly disappointed!’ cried Albert, when he had gazed for some time upon this medley of sports. ‘I had imagined that I was going to see savage Highlanders, in philabeg and bonnet, performing unheard-of feats. And what do I find? Men of more insignificant physique than myself cycling, running, jumping, and doing it rather worse than little boys at their private school sports. As for the noise, I cannot condemn it too heartily. I am suffering real physical pain and, also, I feel most dreadfully sick.’

  ‘Well, can you wonder?’ said Jane. ‘Personally, I’ve never felt so ill in my life before. What I’m wondering, though, is how we are to account for the picnic-basket being found again.’

  ‘Oh, easily. We can say that some rough man brought it back.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s so unlikely; because how is the rough man to know whom it belongs to? Presumably, if there is an address inside, it will be that of the Prague home, as they say in films.’

  ‘We shall have to advertise for it. Oh! the boredom of these games! I’ve never known anything so oppressive. And as for those cyclistes they make me feel positively giddy, round and round like rats in a cage. Can’t we go home soon? There’s Alfred Sprott! Doesn’t he look awfully jolly? Let’s go and embarrass him.’

  Albert gracefully approached Lord Alfred, who was standing with a pretty blonde young woman.

  ‘De-ar Alfred,’ he said, placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘why are you not playing in these delightful games? I remember so well the day you won all the sports at Eton.’

  Lord Alfred turned scarlet, muttered something, and hurried away into the crowd.

  ‘Always so gauche, the darling boy,’ said Albert sadly. ‘Here comes Mr Buggins.’

  Mr Buggins was walking with a tall, oldish man in a kilt, whom he introduced as Sir Alexander McDougal.

  ‘Sir Alexander,’ he said, ‘is the convener of the games this year. He has just been judging the piping competition.’

  ‘In other words, I suppose,’ said Albert, ‘the producer. Well, sir, I must congratulate you. Seen as a sort of outdoor ballet these games must command the highest praise. The music, too, although at first unmelodious, seems now a very fitting background to these fantastic gestures. Charming! Charming!’

  Sir Alexander walked quickly away, followed by Mr Buggins.

  ‘Why did you say that,’ asked Jane (a truthful girl), ‘when you know how bored you are feeling?’

  ‘Well, darling, I always think that any artistic endeavour, however unsuccessful, should be encouraged. These games do show a certain amount of enterprise; when looked at impartially there is a sort of pattern to be discerned in them. In time they might become most interesting and unique. Meanwhile, they are, of course, far too monotonous.’

  ‘And do you realize,’ said Walter, who, with Sally, now joined them, ‘that they are still doing the very things that they were doing at ten o’clock this morning?’

  ‘The same people?’

  ‘The same
, or others so similar to them as to be indistinguishable.’

  ‘Don’t you think,’ said Sally wearily, ‘that we might go home, as we’re all here?’

  This suggestion was felt to meet the situation quite admirably, and Walter was sent off to find Mr Buggins, while the others waited in the car.

  ‘Sicker,’ said Albert, as they finally bowled off towards Dalloch Castle, ‘I have never felt.’

  After dinner that evening the party assembled in the hall to take leave of Captain and Lady Brenda Chadlington, who, to nobody’s very great regret, were leaving the castle for the jolly cosy little lodge where Lord Alfred Sprott and others made such a cheery crowd. When they had gone the butler came up to Lady Prague and informed her that the picnic basket had just been brought back by a rough man.

  ‘Most peculiar,’ said Lady Prague; but she let the matter rest at that.

  Fifteen

  Jane sat talking to Sally in her bedroom after tea. Poor Sally had spent most of the day being sick. Morris (or Minerva) was beginning to make his (or her) presence felt in no uncertain way.

  ‘What is so unfair,’ she said, ‘is that I’m not only sick in the morning, which one expects to be, but sick in the afternoon and evening as well. However, I’m quite pleased we’re going to have him, you know. I think a little squawking baby will be great fun, and Walter’s been divine about it.’

  ‘Albert and I are going to have four, all boys. One thing I’m not looking forward to is telling my family about Albert. Think of their feelings when they hear that he’s an artist, who lives abroad and was sent down from Oxford. They’ll blow up, that’s all. Oh, how I dread it!’

  Sally, who knew that Jane enjoyed nothing so much as a scene with her parents, murmured words of sympathy.

  ‘I expect they’ll be delighted when they see him. Albert gets on very well with older people. Look at Mr Buggins.’

  ‘Yes, and look at General Murgatroyd,’ said Jane quickly, frowning at the idea that they might approve of Albert. ‘He’s much more like daddy than Mr Buggins is.’