The Laird of Lochandee

by Gwen Kirkwood

  Alice was dismayed when Ross suggested buying some Friesian cattle. They both knew her own beloved cows could never be replaced and he believed the black and whites would be more productive. Willie and Ruth rarely wrote except at Christmas but they had heard of the Lochandee catastrophe from Meg and wrote to commiserate over the loss of the Lochandee Ayrshires. Willie had mentioned the black and white cows which were replacing many of the dairy shorthorn herds around him in Yorkshire. He said the bull calves made better beef cattle than the dainty Ayrshires, and they were excellent milkers. He knew of six well-bred heifers for sale and offered to negotiate on Ross’s behalf, and also to supervise loading them on to the train.

  ‘He says the herd is free from tuberculosis and he does not think they have any trouble with contagious abortion,’ Ross said, knowing that either disease would mean another disaster if they bought in infected cattle. It was one of his greatest worries. Eventually Alice agreed to compromise and have some of each breed.

  The Lochandee Friesians were the first in the area and several farmers came to see them and ask about their performance. Bridie had adopted the first Friesian calf to be born at The Glens of Lochandee. She had named it Star on account of the white mark on its face, but even Ross could see it was not so adorable as Silky Socks had been.

  The following summer Conan came home from school and proudly announced that he had passed the examinations which would allow him to attend Dumfries Academy. He had the cheeriest grin anyone had seen for a long time.

  ‘You will tell Aunt Meg, Mother?’ he asked eagerly. ‘I promised Polly I would work hard and keep up with her, and I have. I think she will be pleased.’

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ Rachel assured him happily. ‘We all are.’

  ‘Indeed we are,’ Alice added her praises and so did Beth, with considerable teasing about widening the door to get his head inside.

  ‘You’ve done well, laddie,’ Ross said gruffly. ‘You will have a long day though, with a three mile cycle ride every morning and evening to catch the bus to Dumfries.’

  ‘I will do Conan’s work,’ Bridie piped up eagerly. She was seven years old and desperate to learn to milk a cow of her own. She already had her own brood of chicks. Ross smiled fondly. He had never managed to get her another calf as beautiful as her beloved Silky Socks. Bridie was loyal but resilient – even with her pets.

  ‘All in good time, lassie. You’ll be a great help to me soon.’

  ‘I shall need a bicycle of my own,’ Conan said slowly, thinking over his father’s words.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Rachel assured him. ‘We shall find the money for that.’

  ‘Mr Pearson promised to help me make one for myself if you would buy the frame and wheels and the lights and brakes and things …?’ He looked hopefully at his parents.

  ‘Grandfather says Conan would be a great help to him if only he had a bit more time to spend in his workshop after school.’ Beth related enthusiastically, unaware that neither Ross nor Rachel knew of Conan’s frequent visits to the cycle shop. He was eager to learn and deft with his hands, often performing tasks the old man’s stiff fingers found impossible now. Moreover Beth’s grandfather enjoyed his company and his enthusiasm.

  Conan bit his lip and looked warily from one parent to the other. He loved the smell of grease and oil and working beside the old man but he had the feeling his parents did not approve of anything except farming. He understood as well as anyone that money was short. It had been a lean couple of years since the foot-and-mouth disease with no lambs to sell and no pedigree heifer to take to market. Even now there were still some empty stalls in the byre so there was not as much milk either.

  Changing the breed of the Lochandee cattle was not the only concession to changing times. In the village there was an unusual stir of excitement as large steel towers were being erected on either side of Lochandee village, marching across country from the town of Dumfries. They were to bring electricity to the village and some of the nearby farms were being offered a supply, but only if they would guarantee to use sufficient to make the installation economical to the electricity company.

  Surveys were carried out and agreements made with landlords and tenants. The electricity pylons needed land, and later access would be required for their maintenance. Some tenants objected to the ugly pylons and rows of wooden poles. Alice considered them all an unwelcome addition to her beloved glens, even while she acknowledged electricity appeared to be a sign of progress.

  ‘You will have to get permission from the Laird to erect your unsightly structures,’ she told the surveyors. ‘We are only tenants of the land.’

  ‘Wait until you see the benefits the electricity will bring,’ the young man grinned, ‘and we do need the co-operation of the tenants as well. We don’t want to harm your crops, or your animals, nor do we relish working in a field with a bull beside us. Who farms the land above yours?’

  ‘Mr McNish has one field adjoining ours. The fields which are growing wild are not let.’

  ‘No tenant? You mean they are just left to go back to gorse and bracken?’ the young man asked incredulously.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What can his Lordship be thinking of? Doesn’t he need the rents?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ Alice shrugged.

  ‘Well I shall have to get him to sign the forms to give permission.’

  * * *

  The surveyor never did get the Laird’s signature. News of his death reached The Glens of Lochandee with reports that he had been caught up in a riot while visiting a Jewish family in Germany.

  The news was greeted with foreboding, amongst villagers and farm tenants alike. There would be death duties to pay and it was common knowledge that the Laird had never replenished the family coffers after the death of his father. Indeed it was rumoured that his extravagant living and the Factor’s inefficient management had depleted them still further.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  SIX WEEKS LATER ALICE was surprised when a large car drew into the farmyard. A man in chauffeur’s uniform jumped out and opened the door for a slim woman veiled and gowned in black.

  ‘The Laird’s widow!’ Alice gasped. ‘What can she want here? Will you show her into the front sitting room please, Rachel?’ Alice was all of a flutter. ‘I must wash my face and tidy my hair.’

  Rachel led the woman into the house. She did not feel the awe which Alice clearly felt. The woman looked pale and strained.

  ‘We were so very sorry to hear the news of his Lordship’s death,’ she said sincerely.

  ‘Thank you,’ Lady Lindsay nodded. ‘You must be Mrs Maxwell?’

  ‘Yes, your Ladyship.’

  ‘I believe your husband is joint tenant with Mistress Beattie? I would like to meet him.’

  ‘I will bring him for you as soon as Mistress Beattie returns. Can I get you some refreshment?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you. Ah, you are Mistress Beattie?’ she asked, looking over Rachel’s shoulder. ‘I am pleased to meet you. I believe you were a close friend of my late father-in-law?’

  ‘We rode together when we were young,’ Alice said warily.

  ‘He spoke of you with great affection and respect.’

  ‘Why, thank you, your Ladyship.’ Alice flushed, but with embarrassment or pleasure Rachel could not tell.

  ‘He told me you were once as familiar with the farms on the estate as himself and the Factor.’

  ‘Did he really tell you that?’ Alice seemed overwhelmed. ‘We did ride around most of the estate.’ She sighed nostalgically. ‘My grandfather often accompanied us, you understand. He taught both of us to ride and care for our ponies. How we loved the countryside, in all its seasons.’

  ‘Unfortunately the estate is not in such a healthy state now. To be frank with you, I do not know what will happen, or what inheritance there will be left for my own young sons. It will take time to settle my husband’s affairs.’

  ‘I am so sorry …’

  ‘Mea
nwhile a surveyor from the electricity company came to see me recently. He informed me that the land bordering The Glens of Lochandee is returning to wilderness. I understand Mr McNish and Mr Douglas gave up their lease on those fields some time ago. I believe it has never been re-let. Would you and Mr Maxwell be interested in taking on additional land? The lease can only be a short one at this stage. I realise that makes it a less attractive proposition.’

  ‘I’m sure Ross would be interested. He has been frustrated by the neglect ever since the land became vacant and we were refused the tenancy.’

  ‘Refused?’ Lady Lindsay’s mouth tightened. ‘Another of Mr Elder’s incomprehensible decisions no doubt! As though the estate affairs are not bad enough without sheer neglect!’ Lady Lindsay said tightly. ‘I may as well tell you, my father believes Mr Elder has done more harm than good since he became Factor. He has dismissed him. Until the estate affairs are more in order I must ask you to come to me if you have any problems, or anything you wish to discuss.’

  Ross was elated when heard Lady Lindsay’s news. The rent was reasonable to compensate for the neglect and the short period of the lease and they had been promised a longer lease once the estate had been satisfactorily settled. He was relieved to hear there were no plans to sell The Glens of Lochandee, or any of the other farms immediately bordering Valantannoch and the Home Farm. Outlying farms would be sold to pay the death duties and the future of the remaining farms was still undecided.

  Ross’s jubilation was infectious and when he pulled her triumphantly into his arms later that night Rachel found herself sharing his joy, responding to his passion, revelling in their exultant union. Love and desire flared between them and their tension over Conan’s future was set aside. Surely he would appreciate this was all for his benefit one day.

  Many months later, when the electricity supply had been connected to Glens of Lochandee, a little red van chugged up the road with the name Harry Mason painted on the side. A cheery faced man hopped out and announced that he was selling electrical appliances.

  After a great deal of talking and demonstrating and bargaining Alice resisted the electric irons but she succumbed to the purchase of a Hoover vacuum cleaner for the sum of four pounds, nineteen shillings and sixpence. Beth, who had been agog with excitement, clapped her hands in delight.

  ‘You will never need to lift your carpets at spring cleaning time again,’ Harry Mason assured them.

  ‘Well I trust you are telling the truth,’ Alice wagged her grey head sternly, ‘because that is exactly why I have bought this wonder sweeper of yours, young man. I am getting too old for hanging carpets on the clothes line and spending hours beating the dust out of them every spring.’

  ‘You willna regret it, ma’am. I’ll be back in six months and see how you are faring.’ He gave Beth an audacious wink and a broad smile creased his leathery face when he saw her blush. ‘Maybe I shall be able to sell you a refrigerator to keep your milk and butter cool then.’

  ‘Indeed you will not! The dairy keeps them cool enough. Today’s extravagance will be enough to last me a lifetime. Two weeks of a man’s wages your magic sweeper has cost me.’

  ‘Well, I am grateful for your custom, Ma’am. Just to show how grateful I will make this young lady a gift of a paper lampshade to shield her bonny eyes from the glare of the electric bulb. If you’ll accompany me to my van, Miss …?’

  Beth followed willingly. She had known the local men all her life and this stranger brought a frisson of excitement. He might not be the most handsome of young men but he was certainly cheerful.

  Harry’s red van became a familiar sight at Glens of Lochandee, but it was not because he was selling electrical gadgets to Alice Beattie. He was completely captivated by Beth and, like Conan, became a frequent caller at Mr Pearson’s cycle shop. The old man was growing frail and he welcomed Harry’s cheery company and his willingness to lend a hand. When Beth had an evening off and on Sunday afternoons they frequently spent their time together at the old man’s cottage, or walking by the loch before having tea with him. It was Harry’s kindly manner and his patience with her grandfather which made Beth realise Harry was the man she longed for to share the rest of her life.

  A year after his first visit to Glens of Lochandee Beth and Harry Mason were married. It was a quiet wedding but Bridie was terribly excited when Beth asked if she could be her bridesmaid along with Emmie.

  They set up house with Mr Pearson until the old man died a few months later. Much to Conan’s delight Harry decided to keep on the cycle shop and combine it with small electrical goods and repairs.

  Unknown to his parents Conan had called on old Mr Pearson almost every evening on his way home from school. He missed the old man badly but his interest and enthusiasm quickly earned Harry Mason’s respect. The two soon became friends in spite of the difference in their ages.

  When Lady Lindsay made her second visit to Glens of Lochandee the affairs of the estate were far from being settled. She looked even more pale and strained than she had the previous year.

  ‘I know times are bad for farmers as well as landowners,’ she said with a note of weariness in her voice, ‘but I must raise more money from the rents. They are our only income now, and I am afraid there will be no money for repairs this year.’ Ross stared at her.

  ‘But we have never received money for the repairs we have carried out – not since Mr Shaw left.’

  ‘Of course you have,’ Lady Lindsay corrected him. ‘They are all there in the ledgers and Mr Elder’s reports on the dates he carried out his surveys.’

  ‘Surveys!’ Ross gave a hollow laugh. ‘He never came near to inspect anything and he certainly never paid for repairs.’

  ‘It is true,’ Alice nodded her support for Ross.

  ‘Then he must have taken the money for himself!’

  ‘We had heard things were not going well,’ Alice said placatingly. ‘I believe Ross was half expecting a rent rise and we are used to carrying out our own maintenance.’

  ‘We are,’ Ross agreed, ‘but I would have liked the estate to extend our byre to make room for more milking cows?’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ Lady Lindsay answered without hesitation. She rubbed her hand over her brow. ‘I am sorry. The farms we have sold have barely covered the death duties.’ Then almost under her breath she added, ‘If only that were all.’

  There was silence. At last Ross ventured,

  ‘Would you give your permission for us to knock the wall out of the barn which adjoins the byre then? We could add extra stalls to milk the cows ourselves. Of course it would mean a shortage of barn storage but …’

  ‘Barn storage!’ Lady Lindsay echoed. ‘There’s little else but empty sheds on your neighbour’s farm. Mr McNish is giving up at the May term. If you can afford to pay the rent you can lease Nether Lochandee also.’ She spoke without much hope of anyone taking her suggestion seriously. She was no fool. Prices were poor for all farm produce. They seemed likely to remain so with the cargo ships of cheap imported foods queuing to be unloaded in all the ports.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Ross …’ Alice cautioned.

  ‘I am serious.’ She looked at Alice, ‘but only if it is what both of you want, and if you can pay the rents,’

  ‘It will not be long before Conan leaves school. That will be another pair of hands to help,’ Ross declared happily when Lady Lindsay had departed.

  ‘Conan? He’s too young,’ Rachel protested.

  ‘Lots of farm lads leave school at thirteen if they are needed to work.’

  ‘But he loves the school. His teachers are expecting him to stay on until he’s sixteen.’

  ‘Sixteen! Does he mean to stay at school until he’s an old man then?’

  ‘They have important examinations then. He told me his maths teacher keeps suggesting he should go to university.’

  ‘University? Whatever would he go there for? That wouldn’t help him to farm.’

  Rachel bit
her lip, but she made no reply. She was beginning to suspect that Conan would never be happy working on the farm with herself and Ross. The farm and the animals meant everything to them, as they did to Alice. Conan reminded her more and more of her father but his mind was sharper, more enquiring, than her father’s and he had a more restless nature too. Young as she was, Bridie was the one who took an interest in everything to do with the animals and the farm.

  The following year Lady Lindsay made another of her annual visits. She congratulated Ross on his progress, but he waited tensely. Rumour had it that the late Laird’s debts were even more crippling than the taxes and several more farms were on the market to sell.

  ‘The remainder of the estate is to be settled on my two young sons,’ she told them with a faint smile. ‘My brother is coming down to stay with us. He will help me run the estate.’

  * * *

  Two years later Bridie also passed an examination admitting her to Dumfries Academy. Conan, who was four years older, still attended school. The Rector had written to Ross requesting he be allowed to stay on. He worked hard at his studies but he always finished his tasks on the farm. Rachel knew he did not enjoy the work but he did it without complaint and she felt torn between the interests of the two men in her life especially as she had guessed Conan still spent time with Harry Mason learning about his appliances.

  She respected Ross, she shared his ambitions and his love of the land, but in her heart she feared his dreams for the future would never be Conan’s. Alice had also begun to suspect Conan’s heart was not in farming. It grieved them both. They had believed the future of Lochandee would be safe for at least another generation. They all worked hard to make a living from the land – and what else was there? Men all over the country were desperate for work, families hungry for food, children barefooted and ragged. Surely Conan should be happy to have all these things, even though the work was often hard and the weather frustrating.