The Laird of Lochandee

by Gwen Kirkwood

  It was the end of the May term. Ross was the jubilant new owner of The Glens of Lochandee. It was true that he now had a bank loan of two thousand five hundred pounds, as well as owing money to Alice, and to Conan’s Trust fund. He was not sure how he and Rachel would ever repay it, as well as the interest, but he was determined to try. Mr Niven had been filled with doubts. Ross knew it was only Alice Beattie’s staunch recommendation which had persuaded the old solicitor to act for him.

  Rachel wrote to Willie and Ruth, as well as to Meg, jubilantly telling them their news. She was dismayed when the replies came. Meg and Willie were filled with doubts, almost bordering on recrimination in Meg’s case. It was clear she thought Conan’s legacy should not have been put at risk. Peter, on the other hand felt it was a wise investment to secure their home and their livelihood. Ruth reported that her father felt they had done well and he wished them every success.

  ‘It’s plain to see it’s those who know least about farming who are in favour,’ Ross commented gloomily. ‘We shall have to work even harder and prove Meg and Willie wrong. Conan must leave school. We shall need his help.’

  Ross believed more firmly than ever now that his son’s place was on the land, working beside him, acquiring the thousands of bits of knowledge he would need to farm Lochandee, to care for the cattle and sheep, horses, pigs, and crops.

  ‘He has so much to learn,’ he declared vehemently, ‘and now he will have a future worth working for. What good can it do him staying at school? He had his sixteenth birthday last week. He is a man.’

  Rachel bit her lip. She knew Ross was right. If Conan was going to farm The Glens of Lochandee he did have many skills to learn. Somehow she could not imagine him farrowing a pig or drenching a sick cow. He would not even know which of the bottles in the medicine chest to use, much less how to get the cow to swallow it. It was true he could plough a furrow almost as well as Ross himself, even though he lacked practice. She sighed.

  ‘It’s his life. We will discuss his future with him. But we must let him make the decision himself.’

  Later that evening, before either Rachel or Conan could say a word, Ross was putting forward his firm opinion of where Conan’s duty lay. Rachel threw him an angry look. She was amazed when Conan calmly agreed to his father’s suggestions. She had never known him to be so amenable regarding anything to do with farming.

  Later Rachel found him sitting on a fence looking over the fields, chewing abstractedly on a stem of grass. She could not resist asking,

  ‘Conan … are you sure? About leaving school, I mean?’ He gave her the steady look and slow smile which reminded her so much of Ross.

  ‘Can you ever be sure about the future, Mother? What did you dream of when you were sixteen?’

  Rachel flushed. At sixteen she had been an orphan. She had been dangerously innocent. She had been in love with Ross. She had been cruelly beaten by Gertrude Maxwell. She shivered.

  ‘Life was different when I was your age, Conan.’

  ‘Exactly. Well, I have a feeling that my life is just starting. Mother … do you think there will be another war?’

  ‘A war? I do hope not!’

  ‘Anthony Eden resigned as Foreign Secretary because he thought Mr Chamberlain was too eager to please Hitler and Mussolini, didn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know. You read far too much about politics. Maybe your father is right. Perhaps it’s time you learned about things which will do you some good in life.’ Rachel’s tone was sharper than she had intended, but Conan did not seem to notice.

  ‘The Government must have paid some heed. They must think war is a possibility or they wouldn’t be issuing all the gas masks. And look how much money they are spending on defence, and on building new aerodromes for the Royal Air Force.

  ‘I expect they are just taking precautions.’

  ‘Maybe they know that if the man Hitler can get away with it he would rule the whole of Europe – maybe Britain too.’

  ‘Never. Anyway it’s not our business. Do you think you will miss your studies at school?’

  ‘No. I can choose what I want to study now. Decide my own future.’

  Rachel would not have felt so reassured if she had known what Conan had in mind.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  IT WAS THE BEGINNING of September and Conan listened to every radio news broadcast he could manage. Rachel felt he was obsessed with the talk of gas masks and air-raid shelters, Hitler, the Jews being forced to flee for their lives.

  Everyone was tense since the increasing threats to Czechoslovakia. The Chancellor of the Exchequer had made it clear that Great Britain and France were devoted to the ideals of democratic liberty and determined to uphold them. People were beginning to interpret this as a threat of war if Hitler went ahead.

  Rachel knew that Beth and Harry Mason always saved their newspapers for Conan to read.

  ‘I do wish you would not give them to him, Beth,’ Rachel had declared irritably only a week ago. Much to her dismay Beth’s face had crumpled and she struggled to hold back her tears.

  ‘Conan thinks it would be a great adventure if there is a war, but my Harry would be one of the first to be called for service. We – we haven’t even got to a-a baby yet. I don’t want him to leave me. He has already been for retraining. Who would look after the shop?’

  ‘Oh Beth! I’m so sorry. I hadn’t thought of that.’ Rachel had said no more about the newspapers but she knew Conan cycled down to the village whenever he got the opportunity. Sometimes he stayed to help Harry with his electrical repairs, or with the bicycles, but he nearly always returned with a folded paper tucked inside his waistcoat, or in his jacket pocket.

  On this particular September evening, however, Ross insisted Conan should take the milk cows to one of the top fields which had been part of the neglected Nether Lochandee land. It had been ploughed and re-seeded. They had been rewarded with a fine crop of hay in August and now it had produced an aftermath of fresh grass and clover. It made a valuable feed at the end of summer when the usual pastures were stale and often bare. It gave a much needed boost to the milk yields too.

  ‘Bridie enjoys tending the cows while she is doing her reading for school,’ Conan argued.

  ‘She has a lot of written homework to do tonight,’ Ross insisted. ‘You will have to take them. It’s a fresh field and the cows will be greedy. Keep a careful eye on them and don’t let them graze too long and eat too much clover. Bring them back to the meadow ready for morning and be sure to fasten the gate properly.’

  Conan tucked the latest newspaper up his waistcoat and set off with the herd of milk cows. They ate the fresh grass with evident enjoyment, barely pausing, storing it up to chew again later. They seemed to know their time would be limited and were determined to make the most of it. They are not so stupid as people think, Conan decided with a smile as he settled himself comfortably on the grassy bank with his back against a tree. After about half an hour he stirred himself and made a leisurely inspection of the cows. They scarcely looked up as he moved amongst them. He settled down with his paper again. An advertisement for an Air Training Corps in a village hall about three miles from Lochandee caught his eye. Further down there was an article about the successful response to the government recruitment campaign for anti-aircraft forces. Conan’s attention was riveted. The cows were forgotten.

  It was the restless mooing, pawing and crowding of the cows which drew his attention. They seemed to be gathering around something at the far edge of the field. He had not realised they had wandered so far away. He jumped up and loped across the grassy pasture, already damp with autumn dew.

  His face paled as he drew near the bunch of cattle. Some of them were giving low roars – whether of fear or grief or whatever cows felt for their fellow animals, he did not know. Lying in the midst of the milling throng lay one of their best milk cows, her belly distended like a balloon, her legs almost pointing skyward already. She was groaning in pain and there was no way Conan coul
d get her to her feet.

  He broke into a cold sweat. There was only one remedy. He needed to plunge a knife into her abdomen to release the gas and stop the pressure on the cow’s heart. He had only a penknife. It was far too short. Besides it had to be plunged in exactly the right spot. He had never seen it done. It was a drastic cure – an absolute last resort.

  There was a special knife in the wooden medicine chest at home. It was long and pointed and had a sheath with a lip which stayed in the cow’s side to allow the gas to pour out. He began to run across the fields, down the track towards the house. He saw his mother in the vegetable garden and began to call. She did not hear him until he was almost at the farmyard.

  ‘Where’s Father?’ he panted, bending double with the stitch in his side. ‘Cow. Blown up …’

  ‘I’ll get him.’ Rachel wasted no time. She knew by the sight of Conan’s white face that it was serious. He did not panic easily.

  Conan followed his parents back to the field. He was amazed how fast they could run in an emergency – both of them. He was still trying to catch his breath.

  They were too late.

  Ross did not say a word. Conan thought it would have been easier if he had shouted at him, called him names – anything to show the anger and disappointment behind the stern white mask, the clenched jaw. He could not know that Ross had learned to repress his feelings almost from the cradle.

  Conan knew how he must feel. He knew every penny was needed to pay the bank. He did not know all the cows in the herd yet, not as Bridie and his parents did, by name, by their performance at milking, by their personalities and conformation – but he did know this was one of the best yielders. It had been bought as a heifer from a famous herd in Ayrshire after the foot-and-mouth epidemic.

  Rachel tried to hide her dismay. A cow was a big loss to them at any time but especially now with such a burden of debt hanging over their heads. She shook her head and bit hard on her lower lip. She wanted to weep for Ross, but when she looked at Conan the accusation died from her lips. He looked ready to burst into tears himself as he stared at the lifeless cow. Death was such a final thing.

  ‘We’d better round up the rest and get them down to the meadow,’ Ross said flatly. He turned to Rachel. ‘I’ll walk amongst them for an hour or so, just to make sure there are no more.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Ross looked steadily at Conan. ‘You will bring the buggy and get her out of the field. You’ll need to dig a good-sized hole to bury her properly.’

  Conan nodded silently. He knew he deserved all the blisters he would get by the time he had finished. If only he had concentrated on the cows. If only he had listened to his father’s advice.

  ‘You learn by your mistakes, laddie,’ Alice nodded when she heard what had happened.

  ‘I certainly hope he will,’ Rachel said sharply. ‘That is not the sort of mistake we can afford.’

  Just when war seemed inevitable news came that Mr Chamberlain was to attend a conference with Herr Hitler, and other leaders. It was in the early hours of the morning before an agreement was reached. Alice had listened anxiously to the BBC Home Service and she reported eagerly on what she believed was a successful outcome.

  ‘Hitler has been granted most of his demands but the Czechs were not present to voice any dissent. Mr Chamberlain received a tumultuous welcome on his return from Munich. He appeared with the King and Queen on the balcony at Buckingham Palace. “I believe it is peace for our time” he declared. He informed the House of Commons that the Anglo-German accord had brought peace with honour.’

  Alice repeated Mr Chamberlain’s words over and over, so great was her relief.

  When Conan dared to question how the Czechs must feel, knowing that part of their country had been handed over to Hitler, she chided him.

  ‘You are too sceptical for one so young.’

  A month later he reminded Alice.

  ‘I was not the only one who had doubts about the peace accord with Germany.’

  ‘You are too smart for your own good,’ Rachel told Conan irritably. She had an uneasy feeling that Conan, despite his youth, had a better idea of the undercurrents of politics than any of them, wrapped up as they were in their own problems of work, work and more work, with the worry of paying their debts.

  In spite of his shock and remorse for losing one of their best cows Conan had not forgotten the announcement he had read about the Air Training Corps in a nearby village.

  As the days grew shorter the evening work grew less. The meetings were within cycling distance. He made up his mind to join the group of other young men who met each week.

  Bridie had a school friend named Fiona Sinclair from the same village and she soon discovered the reason for his weekly cycle ride in the dark. It troubled her that Conan had not confided in their parents but she kept his secret.

  When news began to filter through about the dreadful atrocities which had occurred to Jewish men, women and children throughout a long night in November, Conan’s feelings got the better of him.

  ‘There will be a war! Britain will have to fight for the freedom of ordinary men and women, and I shall fight too,’ he declared in an unexpected outburst.

  ‘Conan! You are just a boy …’ Rachel began.

  ‘No! No, I am not just a boy. I have been going to meetings of the Air Training Corps. If our politicians have the guts to stand up for the principals of freedom and honour, then I must play my part too, as soon as they will take me! I mean to be ready.’

  ‘You have been going to meetings?’ Ross echoed sharply. ‘You mean to tell me you have not been spending every Wednesday evening helping Harry Mason with his repairs as we thought?’

  ‘I did not tell you that,’ Conan defended himself, but his colour had risen. He looked like a guilty child to Rachel’s eyes. ‘You assumed I went to Harry’s,’ he mumbled. ‘As a matter of fact one of Sandy’s sons goes too.’

  ‘Our Sandy? Sandy Kidd?’ Ross looked incredulous. ‘I thought young Willie was working over the other side of Lochandee.’

  ‘He’s working on a farm there, but he cycles to the meetings. We all do.’

  ‘Sandy never mentioned it. Does he know?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Conan shrugged. ‘I expect Willie will tell him when he’s ready,’ he added warningly.

  Rachel could not help worrying and nothing Ross could say could comfort her. Tension mounted.

  ‘It’s always Conan!’ Ross raged one evening. ‘He has always come between us.’

  ‘You should be concerned about him too. He’s learning about fighting a war. A war, for goodness sake – not a children’s tea party. He’s your son too!’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t feel that way!’ Ross stormed and took himself off to look around the cows. The byre was often the most peaceful place he could find in the evenings. He loved the warmth, the pungent smell, cows contentedly chewing their cud, the odd grunt and snuffle as they settled down for the night in their stalls. He was proud of the herd he was gradually rebuilding. He loved the farm, the land, the whole area around Lochandee. It was his life. He could not understand how a son of his could want anything more.

  Rachel hated quarrels. She felt strained and tense. She spoke in haste but Ross did not understand how she felt about Conan. He was more worried about repaying the debt he owed to the bank. Prices were not improving in spite of the fledgling marketing boards which now organised the sale of the milk.

  It was a long winter at Lochandee and things did not improve when spring came. There were increasing fears that war was inevitable. As many had predicted, Hitler had not kept to the peace agreement. In Britain the Territorial Army was to be doubled. Drill halls were being built all over the country for training. Plans were announced for evacuation of children from the cities to the country. Men over twenty were called into the forces. A register of all younger men was being compiled. Everyone would have a job to do. Beth grew more and more tense and frustrated. She
longed for a baby and she hated the thought of Harry going off for training.‘But you will not need to go away, Conan,’ Rachel said when announcements were made listing essential workers. ‘Miners are needed at home to produce enough coal for the factories to build the ships and aircraft and weapons. Farmers are exempt too, now that the Government wants us to produce as much food as we can. They are afraid the Germans will try to sink our ships and starve us into submission if we cannot get supplies.’

  Conan tightened his lips and shook his head, but he made no reply.

  ‘Your mother is right!’ Ross told him sharply. ‘See here,’ he waved a newspaper at his son. ‘We produce less than a third of our own supplies. An army of hungry men will not be fit to fight! Can’t you see that? The Government are urging us to plough up grassland and sow grain instead. They are even giving two pounds an acre to help us do it. Suddenly they are desperate for home-produced supplies, but it will not be a case of supply and demand for farmers. They are setting up a ministry to control supplies of food and prices.’

  At the end of May Conan celebrated his seventeenth birthday and wished he was twenty. Harry Mason had to do more training and was forced to be away from his little shop more often than he could afford. Conan helped whenever he could but Ross was ploughing more of the neglected land he had acquired with Nether Lochandee and no one had much free time.

  Some of the higher, wetter land would never be fit to plough but that was all the more reason to make the best of the fields nearer the farmyard. All the pastures he had brought into the Lochandee rotation had grown better grass and the animals were thriving on it. He was not so happy about growing large areas of corn though. It was never easy to gather in the harvest with the notoriously wet climate of south-west Scotland but if the Government brought in the ruling he would be forced to grow corn whether it was practical or not.

  All through the hot summer days tempers were frayed. Everywhere people were tense.

  Sandy Kidd’s elder son, Frank, returned to Lochandee to work for Ross. Unlike his younger brother Willie, he did not enjoy living in a bothy away from home, though he loved his work on the land, especially with the horses.