The Laird of Lochandee

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘I shall have to take care,’ Bill Carr chuckled, ‘or young Frank will be taking over both my job with horses, and my daughter.’ Emmie blushed furiously and Frank glanced at her shyly from under the peak of his flat cap. Ross and Sandy laughed. Alfie joined in with his usual cackle, though he had no idea why they were all smiling. There was no doubt the two young people had got on well together since Frank returned to work at Lochandee even though Emmie was a couple of years older.

  There was little cause for laughter a few weeks later. It was the first Sunday in September. The village church had been well-filled for the morning service, as it usually was these days. Even the least devout seemed to have an urge to attend and join in the prayers for peace. The minister’s sermon was longer than usual, his prayers too. The congregation grew restless. Most of them were ready for their Sunday dinners.

  They had almost finished singing the last hymn when the Beadle entered through the vestry door, his face pale and stern. He handed the minister a folded note and retired to his place at the back of the church.

  As soon as the last notes of the hymn died away the minister read out the message.

  ‘We are now at war,’ he read gravely. ‘The Prime Minister has declared the Country is at war with Germany. Let us pray for our King and Country.’

  A few hours later their President made the same declaration on behalf of France.

  It was a shock when an official letter arrived requiring Alfie to attend for an interview and medical examination in readiness for joining the army. Alfie had no idea what it all meant since he could neither read nor write and he had rarely left the farm. Never in his life had he been further than the Blacksmith’s in the village. Rachel wrote a letter explaining Alfie’s mental condition but the officials were adamant that he must attend.

  Ross decided he must take him in the car, and if possible accompany him into the interview but this was not permitted. Long before the officials had finished their questions poor Alfie had messed his pants, wet himself and was sick over the wooden table at which two men sat filling in forms. Ross could hear Alfie getting more and more hysterical and he could imagine his long gangly limbs flailing everywhere. He could sit still no longer and he jumped from his chair. He was on his way to the door when it was flung open and two burly fellows almost carried Alfie out bodily.

  ‘We did tell you he was not suitable for army training,’ Ross protested in annoyance. Alfie’s distress upset him dreadfully.

  ‘It’s our job to check for ourselves, Mr Maxwell,’ one of the officials told him curtly. ‘We receive all manner of excuses.’

  ‘But Alfie is in a reserved occupation, in addition to his condition …’

  ‘Ah, we have many men who would like to claim they are in essential work. It’s just an excuse for most of them and essential workers will be cut to the minimum. The Government are encouraging women and girls to fill the places of men on the land.’

  ‘But there is a lot of work which women cannot do!’

  ‘Then the few men left will need to do the heavy work and leave the rest to the women. You will need to reorganise, Mr Maxwell. Good day to you.’

  Frank Kidd was not so lucky. He celebrated his twentieth birthday in the middle of October. He was called for his medical and drafted to the army. His brother, Willie was eighteen the following month and immediately volunteered for the RAF and was accepted.

  ‘Our time in the Air Training Corps helped me get in,’ he told Conan triumphantly, but his parents were devastated to find that both their sons were leaving the glens and going to war.

  During the winter Conan did the work he was asked to do but it was clear to everyone that his thoughts were on other things. Beth was angry and frustrated, tearful and tense when Harry was away. Conan helped her with the bicycle repairs as much as he could but they both knew she would not be able to keep it going without Harry.

  It was a Saturday morning at the end of March when Conan waylaid Emmie on her way back to her cottage after finishing the milking.

  ‘I’m going off on my bike as soon as I’ve finished here, Emmie. Will you go across to the house about half past eleven and tell mother I shall not be back for dinner. I’ll be home in time for milking.’

  ‘Why can’t you tell … Oh no, Conan! You’re going to volunteer! That’s why you don’t want them to know where you’re heading, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

  Conan raised one eyebrow in the quizzical way he had and gave a wry grimace.

  ‘Don’t go, Conan,’ Emmie pleaded. ‘Not you as well. Please don’t volunteer. They’ll send for you soon enough if they need you.’

  ‘I must go, Emmie. I must …’

  ‘Are you so keen to kill people?’ Emmie demanded harshly, but her dark eyes were glinting with tears.

  ‘Kill people!’ Conan was startled.

  ‘Yes kill! That’s what war is all about. Killing people on the other side. Some of them are innocent men and women and children …’

  ‘Is that what Frank tells you when he writes?’ Conan asked uncertainly.

  ‘Frank hates the war. He hates being away from Lochandee and he hates all the things soldiers have to do. I wish he could have had the chance to stay at home.’

  ‘Aye …’ Conan bit his lip. ‘Well I’d still like to see what they have to say. Maybe the RAF will not be as bad as the Army – if they’ll have me that is. You’ll tell Mother … please Emmie?’

  ‘All right,’ Emmie agreed resignedly, ‘but I still think you’re crazy to volunteer.’

  Emmie’s outburst gave Conan much to think about as he peddled swiftly along the narrow country roads. There were primroses blooming along the grassy banks and some of the hedges were bursting into leaf – fresh and green. Spring was in the air. In his heart Conan did not really want to leave Lochandee, but he felt compelled by some inner conviction. Even so, if there were jobs for him in the RAF where he did not have to kill people he might prefer them, if they gave him a choice.

  At half past eleven Emmie went nervously across to the house with Conan’s message.

  ‘Where has he gone?’ Rachel asked distractedly.

  ‘He … he didn’t say.’

  ‘Oh, well I don’t suppose he’ll starve. Come and say hello to Beth.’

  ‘Beth’s here? Is the shop shut today?’

  ‘I shall have to give up the shop until the war is over,’ Beth said wearily, coming to join them in the pale spring sunshine. ‘I hate Harry being away. I don’t even have his baby to nurse or to – to …’

  ‘Hush Beth, don’t cry. Don’t upset yourself,’ Rachel urged. She turned to Emmie. ‘Beth is wondering if we have any work for her here.’

  ‘Any work? More than you’ll want, I’ll bet.’ Emmie grinned at Beth, trying to coax a smile in return.

  ‘I think Ross will be pleased to have you back instead of a land girl, especially one from the city.’

  ‘I hear some of them are quite good,’ Beth summoned a wan smile, ‘but our braw blacksmith did not say what they were good at!’

  ‘Surely he doesn’t still have a roving eye!’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘He’s too old.’

  ‘Are they ever too old?’ Beth grimaced wryly, thinking of some of the stories Harry had told her about his fellow soldiers.

  Harry Mason came home on leave with a forty-eight hour pass. At his request Conan cycled down to the village to see him.

  ‘I have not told Beth yet,’ he confided, ‘but we are being drafted abroad. Don’t know where, so don’t ask. I do know Beth will be upset so I’m putting it off. I want to make the most of our time together. That’s why I want to beg a favour?’

  ‘Beg away then,’ Conan grinned.

  ‘Would you help Beth sort out the remains of my stock, sell off anything you can?’

  ‘Of course I’ll do that,’ Conan promised, ‘If Father will lend me the car I will take the rest to that shop in Annan. They will surely give you something for the spare parts?’

  ‘That’s a great idea! I�
�ll pay for the petrol. One and ninepence a gallon it is now, I believe, and getting scarce. I’m glad we sold the van.’

  ‘I’d better get started as soon as you leave, in case I get my own call up papers.’

  ‘Aye,’ Harry sighed. ‘I heard you’d volunteered, you silly bugger!’ he punched Conan playfully on the shoulder. ‘I’d give anything to stay here with Beth and rear a family, but it’s not all bad. Your parents will get an awful shock though,’ Harry added gravely. ‘I think you should warn them.’

  ‘No,’ Conan shook his head emphatically. ‘It will be bad enough when the time comes. Father will accuse me of deserting the glens and the family, wasting the opportunities he’s given me. Mother will be upset because I’m going away and may never come back. They only ever quarrel about me. Bridie is so soft-hearted, even about her chickens, so I expect she will be in tears. I’m telling you, Harry, I’m dreading it. If I could just disappear I would.’

  ‘No! You can’t leave without a proper goodbye. That would be the coward’s way – and I know you’re no coward, lad. Anyway I’m relieved to know you’ll help Beth sort things out, and I’m glad she’s going back to work at Lochandee. It will be a lot better for her than working in the munitions factory they’re building down near Annan.

  Harry’s brief leave was over all too soon and Beth was glad to throw herself into clearing out the shop. She missed him terribly. She sensed he was being sent to some sort of dangerous or secret posting this time. He had warned her she might not hear from him so regularly.

  ‘As soon as I can let you have a proper address I will, but meanwhile they’ll forward my letters on to me, so be sure and let me know if there’s any news …?’

  ‘I will,’ Beth promised. ‘You know I will, but I miss you so much, Harry. It makes me … Oh I don’t know – frustrated and restless and … I just wish you hadn’t to leave me.’

  Beth knew Harry longed for a baby as much as she did but a fortnight after his departure she was plunged into despair again, in spite of the passion and desperation of their last night together. She was miserable and depressed and she could not bear to tell him yet. She would wait until he sent his proper address in case the letters were censored. It made her feel inhibited.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘CHEER UP, BETH,’ CONAN urged, ‘Harry will be back before you know it.’ It was late on a Saturday evening. They had finally cleared out the remains of the stock and swept the dusty floor and shelves for the last time. They were both weary and dirty with dust and oil, but Conan was relieved they had completed the clearing out before his call-up papers came.

  The empty echoes of the shop seemed to depress Beth more than ever. It saddened Conan to see her so down in spirits. He had known her all his life. They had almost grown up together and there had always been affection between them. His face reddened as he remembered some of his teenage fantasies. Since she married Harry Mason and moved back to the village he felt almost as much at home in their house as he did in his own.

  ‘I could die for a cup of tea,’ he said now, thinking the age old brew might comfort Beth. ‘I’ll finish off in here if you go through and poke up the fire and get the kettle boiling.’

  ‘All right. I feel filthy though. I think we could both do with a good wash before we eat. I expect the water in the boiler will still be warm. The fire has been lit most of the day. I shall have to be more economical with the coal in future, I suppose.’ She sighed heavily.

  ‘Right,’ Conan nodded absently.

  ‘Is something bothering you?’ Beth asked on her way through to the main part of the cottage. ‘You’re not regretting volunteering, are you?’

  ‘Oh no. I think I’m looking forward to some of the new experiences. Most of the lads in the ATC seemed to have … well you know … been with a woman. Even the ones who weren’t married seem to know … What it’s all about.’

  ‘Oh, Conan! Most of the girls in Lochandee fall over themselves just to get a smile from you. You could have any one of them for a girl friend.’

  ‘Och, they’re just schoolgirls most of them.’

  ‘Oh yes? It’s not that long since you left school, old man!’ Beth teased and went off to put the kettle on, chuckling as she went. Conan smiled to himself. At least Beth had cheered up now.

  Minutes later she was back with a block of soap and a clean enamel pail half full of warm water.

  ‘There’s plenty of warm water. I’m going to wash my hair while the kettle boils. I thought you might like to wash? I never realised we had so much dust in here.’

  ‘Thanks Beth. I’ll just finish sweeping up the pile of dust and shavings.’

  Conan took his time and then he stood the pail of warm water on the old workbench. On impulse he stripped off his shirt and dipped his head in the pail, working up a lather with the soap and washing his head and arms. It felt wonderful to be clean again and he dashed out to the back yard to rinse himself off under the pump. The water was cold and invigorating. Beth had forgotten to give him a towel. Shaking his head like a dog out of a river he laughed and hurried through the back door of the cottage, droplets glistening on his ginger-blond lashes and on his broad shoulders.

  The back door opened straight into the small scullery and Beth was bent over the stone sink rinsing her hair. She jerked upright, startled by his sudden entry. Conan skidded to a halt, his eyes widening. Beth was stripped to the waist.

  ‘I-I’m s-sorry,’ he stammered. ‘You didn’t leave me a towel.’

  Swiftly Beth seized her own towel and pulled it around her shoulders.

  ‘I forgot about a towel,’ she apologised, already recovering from the shock of his intrusion, though her skimpy towel barely covered the fullness of her breasts and her dark hair was dripping everywhere. Conan could not take his eyes off her.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he breathed unsteadily. ‘Really beautiful.’

  ‘You’re not a bad hunk of man yourself,’ Beth told him wryly, surveying the breadth of his shoulders still glistening with water. His chest was lean and muscular, not an ounce of spare flesh on him. She pulled herself together. ‘And I’m old enough to be your mother, so I can’t be that beautiful,’ she muttered in an effort to draw Conan out of his enchanted trance, but there was a traitorous desire clenching her own stomach. It was clear he had never seen a half-naked woman before.

  ‘You’re barely twelve years older than I am … You’re a real woman …’

  ‘Pass me another towel, please, to rub my hair dry. They’re over there on the clothes horse.’

  Conan reached for the towel.

  ‘I’ll rub it for you.’ He turned her towards him. He was more than a head taller than Beth and he rubbed her head gently. She could see the rapid beating of his heart close to her face as he towelled her hair.

  Beth loved Harry deeply. She knew he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, but that did not prevent the surge of longing which shuddered through her. She was missing her husband, yearning for his arms around her. She was barely aware that Conan had stopped drying her hair and was looking down at her. The towel had slipped a little from her shoulders. Slowly, almost reverently, Conan touched the rounded fullness of her breast. His fingers moved into a stroking caress. Beth caught her breath, feeling a rush of desire as primitive as the wildest jungle animal.

  ‘Let me, Beth?’ Conan whispered hoarsely. ‘Please …?’

  Their eyes met. Beth saw the raw desire in his, and with it a faint uncertainty. Her heart filled with tenderness, but her body responded with a passion beyond her wildest imaginings.

  ‘It is so wrong!’ she muttered helplessly. Her arms closed tightly round his naked torso. She revelled in the hard, lean strength of him. He picked her up as easily as if she was a child, his gaze holding hers, waiting. She closed her eyes briefly. Opened them. Looked deeply into his.

  ‘The bedroom is across the passage.’

  Conan pushed the door open with his toe. He set Beth on the bed as gently as if
she had been made of the most fragile porcelain. She felt cherished. His youthful adoration was totally at odds with the manly desire which could no longer be hidden. Beth was filled with a confusing tumult of emotions. She did not understand herself. Afterwards she might hate herself, but for now she wanted this body of a fair young god as much as he wanted her.

  Later they lay side by side on the bed. Conan raised himself on one elbow and looked down into Beth’s face. He smiled. It was a slow, attractive smile.

  ‘Thank you, Beth,’ he said softly. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have taught me more than you’ll ever know.’

  ‘God, Conan, you’ve nothing to learn! You’ll break a lot of hearts I reckon.’ Beth reached for a blouse from a nearby chair and pulled it on. ‘I feel a bit less of a wanton woman when I’m covered up.’

  ‘You’re not a wanton woman,’ Conan smiled, but he got up from the bed and pulled on his trousers. ‘There, we are both respectable again.

  ‘Yes …’ Beth said doubtfully. ‘Conan …’ she bit her lip frowning slightly.

  ‘What is it Beth?’

  ‘I-I should not have let you … I’m not really a wicked woman you know …’

  ‘Oh, Beth, I know that!’ Conan laughed softly.

  ‘I love Harry. I miss him terribly. I … I think that’s why, why I enjoyed it so much with you tonight. I-I feel so frustrated without him.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Harry …’ Conan looked grave. ‘I cheated on Harry tonight, and he has been such a good friend to me too. I’m sorry about that – but it’s the only thing I’m sorry about,’ he added seriously. `You’ll not tell him, Beth, will you?’

  ‘No! Never! He would be terribly hurt.’

  ‘Yes,’ Conan nodded, relieved. ‘It’s our secret then.’

  ‘You … you’ll not get drunk and … and boast about your conquests, Conan, will you …?’ Beth asked biting her lip.

  ‘Conquest? Beth you’re not a conquest. You’ve given me the greatest gift anyone could give. You were so patient …’