‘What about you, Duncan?’ I asked. ‘Are you coming for a strupak too?’ Duncan was large-boned, thin and dark, with a metallic-looking moustache. Whenever I spoke to him he looked at the ground. I got the impression that he thought his eyes so bold and bright that he conscientiously dipped them as one dips the headlights of a car.
The two men accompanied me to the cottage and while they drank tea and munched thick slabs of fruit cake I packed a few sandwiches for them. The way the Bruach men were inclined to go out in their boats for long spells without taking any food distressed me. I could only assume that their tummies had been too maltreated to be sensitive to mealtimes, for they just did not seem to notice hunger. Hector, who was wandering in and out of the kitchen with his half-full cup of tea, suddenly perceived the silver buttons of the policemen and went off, cup in hand, to meet them.
‘Tsere tsey are, nice as you like to me today,’ he muttered when he came in to deposit his cup and collect his sandwiches. ‘Fine you one day and hire your boat tse next day to sweeten you. Tsat’s tse pollis all over. But I’m damty sure tsey’re no keepin’ me away from. tse herrin’. Corpse or no corpse, I’ll be back for tsat.’
I watched the weather as anxiously as the men. I loathe salt herring, but the crofters consider it not only a necessity but a delicacy. If it blew up there would be no herring fishing and the excitement that had threaded its way through the village with the coming of the shoal would the away. All morning the sun and the rain argued with each other while the wind played a bustling arbiter, but with the afternoon the sun finally triumphed and calmness again spread itself over the loch. As I fed the hens in the evening, Wayfarer, seeming downcast by her mission, struggled up the shadowed loch leaving an arrowed wake and, soon after she had moored up, a lorry which had been waiting at the shore juddered past the cottage with its gruesome burden, covered in tarpaulins. Another lorry full of glowing, gaily waving men, presumably members of the rescue party, followed shortly afterwards, and then the car with the policemen. Hector and Duncan called in at the cottage on their way home. Duncan looked a little white and strained, Hector merely looked smug.
‘You see all tsat load of men goin’ up tse road in tse lorry?’ he demanded of me. I nodded. ‘Well, every one of tsose men I brought home in my boat in one load, and tsere was over twenty of tsem without tse pollis.’
‘How did you get away with that?’ I asked him.
‘Well, tsey came down to tse shore and tsey had tse body so tsey put tsat on board. Tsat was all right. Tsen came tse sergeant. “All aboard, we’ve finished for tse night, lads,” he told tsem, nice as you like. When eleven was on se boat I held up my hand. Says I, “I’ll have to come back for tse rest of you, I’m no allowed to carry more tsan twelve on tsis boat, I have no licence.” “Where’s your twelve?” asks tse sergeant, and he looks cross. “Eleven of you and him in tse tarpaulin,” says I. “Tsat makes my twelve.” Tse sergeant looks at me and he says, “Tsat’s a fine big boat you have tsere, Hector, and tsough tse law says twelve it’s a daft law.” “It was no so daft a few weeks back,” I told him. “Why, tsat boat’s safe enough with fifty aboard,” he says. “On you get with you, boys.” “It’s your responsibility,” I says. “My responsibility entirely,” he agrees, so off we go, happy as you like. Ach, but tsey’d been trampin’ the hills and climbin’ around all day lookin’ for tse body and they didn’t want to be left tsere in se dark. Tsey knew I’d take my time before I’d go back for tsem.’
‘The sergeant was quite friendly, then,’ I said with a smile.
‘Friendly!’ echoed Hector. ‘He was tsat friendly when I offered him a sandwich he near bit tse hand off me. Aye, but I know what I’ll do if tsey catch me with more tsan twelve again. I’ll say all tse rest over twelve is corpses.’
I mentioned to Hector before he left that Erchy and his friends were expecting to ceilidh at the cottage that evening.
‘We’ll maybe be tsere ourselves too,’ he promised. I was perfectly well aware that it was not my company that was being sought but only the convenient shelter of my cottage. The Bruach herring fishing was done from dinghies and the net was set and reset every hour or so, the crew coming ashore between settings. My cottage, so close to the shore and to their nets was ideally situated for them, and I resolved that as soon as Morag and Behag, who were also coming to ceilidh with me that evening, had left for their own home I would retire to bed and leave the herring fishermen in possession to brew themselves tea and make themselves comfortable as they wished.
While Morag and Behag were still with me the first lot of fishermen trooped in and flopped down on the available chairs and on the floor. There were Erchy and Johnny and Angus, nearly always an inseperable trio in any evening ploy; there were Tom-Tom and a cousin from Glasgow. Their eyes were shining and they all looked drunk, but they were drunk only with the excitement of the occasion.
‘The loch’s stiff with fish of some sort,’ pronounced Erchy.
‘If Hector catches herrin’ tonight I’ll no get him to bed for a week,’ mourned Behag.
‘No mart needs to sleep when he’s catchin’ herrin’,’ Erchy told her. ‘I’ve stuck at the herrin’ for a week near enough without gettin’ a wink of sleep and never felt tired. So long as you’re catchin’ them it’s all right. It’s when you’re not you get tired.’
I noticed the absence of deaf Ruari whom I had expected to be there as skipper of the Seagull. ‘Doesn’t Ruari go herring fishing at all?’ I asked.
‘Ach, he cannot come because Bella’s afraid to sleep by herself. Honest, the way that man looks after his wife you’d think there was a subsidy on her.’
‘How come you to be here then, Angus?’ asked Morag. ‘Isn’t Ishbel on her own and in no fit state to be left?’
‘I got my brother to stay beside her tonight,’ Angus excused himself.
There were noises outside and soon Hector, Duncan and Sandy Beag were adding their voices to the general teasing and argument which inevitably accompanies an impromptu ceilidh like this.
‘You’d best see to your nets,’ said Morag as she tied a scarf over her head in readiness to go home. ‘You’ve been in here over an hour, Erchy. You’ll no catch herrin’ in Miss Peckwitt’s kitchen.’
‘The way you women talk about the fish it’s a wonder we ever catch a single one,’ cut in Sandy Beag irascibly.
‘Oh, stop frettin’ yourself, Sandy,’ Morag told him. ‘Erchy himself has been speakin’ of me herrin’ by name, have you not, Erchy?’
‘I believe I did,’ admitted Erchy.
‘Then he’ll no catch any the night,’ predicted Sandy earnestly.
‘There are quite a lot of superstitions connected with herring fishing, aren’t there?’ I began, and stopped as I met a glare from Sandy.
‘Aye, there’s a few right enough,’ Erchy said. ‘One is that you mustn’t go fishin’ for them on Fridays. Another that you mustn’t let a woman cross your path when you’re on your way.’
‘I thought it was only a red-haired woman?’ I interpolated.
‘A red-haired woman’s all right for ordinary fish, but herrin’ are more particular. Any woman will put off herrin’ so they say. Then, you mustn’t point at them when you hear them playin’. You’ve got to show where they are without pointin’. And you must never turn the boat against the clock when you’re goin’ out to the net. That’s the only one I take any notice of myself.’
‘You mark what I say, Erchy, you’ll no get the fish you’re wantin’ tonight the way you’re after speakin’ of them,’ Sandy reiterated.
After Morag and Behag had gone, I went to bed and heard vaguely throughout the night the heavy clumping of sea-boots in the kitchen and at times the disturbing sound of raised voices. When I got up there was a lovely fire burning in the grate, the kettle was hissing on the hob and the cups they had used had been washed and put away. News came later that the night’s fishing had yielded one herring.
The following night I was in bed when t
hey arrived, but I had told them to make use of the kitchen. I slept soundly and the dawn was only a paler shadow over the sea when mere came a thumping on the door of my room.
‘What is it?’ I called sleepily.
‘Were you not sayin’ you were wantin’ to get a lift to the mainland if you could, so as to get your car?’ Erchy’s voice shouted.
I grunted that I had indeed said so. The repairs to ‘Joanna’ were now completed, the garage had said, and she was ready for collection.
‘Well, now’s your chance. We’ve ’phoned for a lorry to take our fish and it’ll be here in half an hour. I’m away now.’
I got up quickly and went into the kitchen. The table was strewn with dirty cups—no saucers—and the floor was littered with cigarette stubs. There were only elusive red cinders under a mound of warm peat ash in the grate. An abandoned cap hung on a chair, glistening with herring scales in the lamplight. I pushed the dishes into the sink and brewed coffee. The air of the kitchen was still thick with tobacco fumes and my mouth felt as though I too had been smoking all night. I finished my coffee as I heard the noise of an engine, and threw on my coat. The hens and Bonny would have to wait until I got back.
Hector loomed up in the open doorway. He looked in surprise at my attire. ‘Are you comin’ with us?’ he asked, his eyes signifying immense-pleasure at the prospect.
‘I thought it was Erchy who told me to hurry,’ I said. ‘Are you sharing a lorry between you?’
‘No, indeed,’ he replied. ‘We’re havin’ a lorry each.’
‘You must have got a lot of herring,’ I complimented him.
‘Well, we got a few cran.’
‘And how many did Erchy get?’
‘Ach, he got very few herrin’. Mostly mackerel it was in tseir net, tsough I don’t know why. Tsey didn’t set tseir nets much different to our own.’
‘Sandy will be more superstitious man ever,’ I said. ‘But Erchy will be disappointed.’
‘Aye, he was disappointed right enough,’ he said with spurious sympathy, and then added brightly, ‘God! I could hear him swearin’ away tsere all night. I believe he made a swear for every mackerel he took out of tse net.’ He chuckled. ‘You may as well come on our lorry,’ he went on. ‘It’ll be tsere before Erchy’s.’
Erchy bounded m at this juncture, looking a little cross.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes, I’m ready, but Hector says his lorry will be there before yours, and I must try to get back here as soon as possible.’
‘Damty sure it won’t be mere before my lorry,’ Erchy said combatively.
‘Damty sure it will,’ responded Hector.
‘I’m going on the one that’s in front at this moment,’ I said firmly, and went out and got into the cab, leaving the two still arguing in the kitchen.
The foremost lorry was loaded with herring and ready to start. The mackerel lorry was only now coming up from the shore. Duncan and Sandy, the latter looking very self-satisfied, hoisted themselves to the back of the lorry with the fish. Hector jumped in beside me. ‘Come on! Give her tse gutty,’ he urged the driver. ‘Tsere’s a good dram in it for you if we beat tsem to it.’
‘Why are you so bothered about beating Erchy’s lorry?’ I asked as the driver roared the engine full ahead. ‘Surely if he has mackerel his catch won’t affect the price you’ll get for your herring, or the other way round.’
‘Indeed it will so!’ Both the driver and Hector turned on me indignantly. ‘If he gets tsere first with his mackerel tsey won’t be nearly so keen to pay high prices for our herrin’. Oh, tsey’ll buy tsem, right enough, but tsey’re no big buyers and tsey cannot take a lot of fish. We could very easily lose by it. Y’see, Erchy has some herrin’ himself. He’ll sort tsem on tse way in and if tse buyers tsinks tsere’s only a few tsey’ll pay him top price. Tsen when tsey see us come in with our lot tsey’ll tsink tsere must be plenty more so tse price will drop.’ He turned to the driver. ‘Make every bit of speed you can, Neilly,’ he exhorted him. The driver nodded understandingly.
Whilst we were on the narrow road we had no difficulty in keeping our lead. The horn of the following lorry was sounded repeatedly but whenever we came to a passing place our driver took the middle of the road and frustrated any attempt on the part of the other driver to get ahead. I wondered if Erchy was in the cab of the lorry similarly exhorting its driver and promising a similar reward. As we careered along at furious speed my hair began to stand on end. I knew the tortuous Bruach road and treated it with respect. The lorry driver must have been equally familiar with it but this morning he treated it with contempt. The lorry was senile and unbuoyant and through the gaps between the floorboards I glimpsed the rough road planed by our speed. When we reached the narrow strip of road with the sea a sheer drop of eighty feet below I cowered into my seat and had I not been firmly wedged between Hector and the driver I believe I would have essayed a jump from the offside door. When we came out on the high road I felt a certain amount of relief though our speed was still perilous.
Hector glanced behind him. ‘He’s comin’ alongside,’ he told the driver. ‘Head him off!’ But the driver, to whom I hoped sanity had perhaps returned with the constraint of a main road, refused to swerve more than a foot or two. The cab of the second lorry drew inexorably up on us, its grim-faced driver visible crouched over his wheel. Our own driver increased his speed so that the two lorries kept their bonnets dead level. I was surprised to see that Erchy was not in the cab of the other lorry, but by turning to look out of the rear window I could see him and his cronies standing up among the piled mackerel, looking desperately streamlined with their caps back to front and their clothes flat against their bodies. They were all fiercely gesticulating and mouthing what I knew would probably be wild insults at the men on the back of our own lorry. I saw Erchy pick up a mackerel and hurl it vengefully towards us. I saw his cronies instantly pick up fish and hurl them likewise, and almost immediately I saw the herring raining down on them from our own lorry. I glanced at Hector but he was intent on chewing his fingers, his eyes glued to the road. It was fortunate that it was so early in the morning and there was no traffic; if there had been I doubted if our drivers, in the mood they were in, would have got out of the way. I looked round-again as we passed a tinker encampment beside the road. Two of the tinkers stood outside and I saw their expressions change rapidly from outrage to delight as they too were pelted with fish.
‘Two loads of mixed herring and mackerel,’ announced the fish buyers’ assistant when the lorries finally halted at the pier.
‘Here, no!’ protested Hector, hurrying to the back of the lorry. His mouth dropped open as he saw his confederates standing shamefaced among the herring and mackerel. He went closer. ‘How in hell did tsis happen?’ he asked, dazedly.
‘Ach, we just had a bit of an argument,’ Erchy told him. ‘It’s settled now.’
‘God!’ ejaculated Hector when he had heard the full story. ‘Tsat’s a joke right enough. I wish I’d seen tse faces of tsose tinks when tse fish hit tsem.’
‘Indeed, we near fell off the lorry ourselves laughin’ at them,’ chuckled Johnny.
The fish dealer paid them their money and they all went off happily together to wait in some congenial place for the pubs to open so that they could spend it. Only the two drivers were left and they stayed in their lorries glaring at each other lugubriously until they were gestured away by impatient fish porters.
‘Ach, them Bruach men,’ said the fish buyer in my ear, ‘there’s no sense in them at all. I believe they’re as mad as I don’t know what.’
I went to collect ‘Joanna’ and allowed my body to untense itself slowly as I drove homeward. The morning mist was rising from the hill corries and from the tumbling, bracken-fringed burns. Above the mountains to the east the sunlit clouds had the metallic look of crumpled tinfoil. At the tinker encampment the family were gathered round a fire and a big fat woman was flourishing a frypan. A most delectable smell
of fried herring was wafted across the road.
Bread and Uisge-Beatha
‘The Hebrideans,’ declaimed the holidaymaker from Glasgow, ‘are very pure, you know.’
I didn’t know, so I waited for her to explain. She had been coming to Bruach for a holiday every winter for the last ten years, long before I had known of its existence, so she really should have known what she was talking about. I wondered if she would next trot out the myth that crofters are hard working. She did. ‘Bruach in my opinion,’ she summed up, ‘is an ideally happy, healthy, moral and law-abiding community.’ Janet, her landlady, slid me a wary glance from the corners of her eyes.
‘Indeed, and isn’t it nice to hear someone say that?’ she asked me.
‘Oh, but I mean every word of it,’ enthused the visitor. ‘I should simply love to live in Bruach.’
It is curious that the people who express a longing to live in the Hebrides usually avoid doing so. So far as I knew, the only people who had made any real effort to find a home in Bruach had been middle-aged spinsters like myself, and for this the fact that the village had more than its share of middle-aged bachelors may have been largely responsible.
It was a chilly evening in November; an evening of chastened calm after a day and night of such storm and fury that when I had looked out of my cottage that morning I had been faintly surprised to see the outer islands still occupying their normal positions. Janet, the visitor and myself were comfortably ensconced in the visitors’ sitting-room awaiting the arrival of the grocery van which visited the village each week. Though there was a small general shop in Bruach, the owner of which claimed to sell everything from ‘fish to chemistry’, many of the crofters preferred to go to the van for the bulk of their purchases. The main reason for this, I believe, was that it came on specified days at more or less specified times so that everyone could congregate round it when it stopped and indulge in a ‘good crack’, as they called a gossip. To wander up to the shop when the chances were that you would meet no one but the grocer or his family was not considered nearly such good entertainment. Wild weather on van days gave the excuse to drop in at the houses of friends who lived near the road and to chat over a cup of tea while listening for the long-drawn-out blast of the horn by which the driver always announced his arrival.
The Sea for Breakfast Page 17
