The Laird of Lochandee

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘Are ye lost?’ he asked.

  ‘Er … no, I don’t think so. My – my husband wanted to speak to a Mr Forster …?’ She looked over towards the house.

  ‘That’s me then. What does he want? We don’t have visitors. Not since …’ He frowned fiercely. ‘Not since our laddie went.’

  ‘My son is in the forces,’ Rachel said gently. ‘Every morning and every night I pray he is still safe. War is an awful thing.’

  The man looked at her keenly. ‘Aye,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘Aye. Ye’d better come wi’ me then.’ He led her towards the house and introduced her to his wife. Seeing her husband, and another woman, seemed to reassure Mrs Forster and she opened the door wider and bid them enter. There were photographs everywhere of their son in all stages of his life from a little boy in frocks to a handsome young man in army uniform.

  ‘I’m glad you came too,’ Ross said afterwards. ‘I got the feeling they were almost pleased to see us, but they would never have welcomed me on my own.’

  ‘I think it helped when they knew we understood about their son.’ Rachel sighed. ‘It must be awful …’

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ Ross said softly and patted her hands where they lay clenched tightly in her lap. ‘Conan will come back safely, I’m sure he will.’

  ‘Will you be very angry if he doesn’t want to farm The Glens of Lochandee, Ross?’

  ‘Not any more. I shall just be thankful when the war is over and he’s back safely, whatever he decides to do with the rest of his life.’

  ‘I’m glad, especially when we have Bridie and Ewan as well.’

  ‘We’re very lucky. We still have each other.’ Ross gave her a sideways smile. He’s still as attractive as ever, she thought with a lift of her heart.

  ‘Bridie is amazing. I never believed a girl could tackle the work she does. Even Sandy admits she’s better at ploughing with the tractor than any of us, now she has learned how to handle it. She’s certainly better at helping the ewes to lamb and rearing the calves.’

  ‘A-ah!’ Rachel laughed merrily. ‘You should never underestimate a woman, Ross.’

  ‘No, so it would seem. Mrs MacDonald once said the same thing. She was referring to Alice Beattie.’

  Conan and Nick were spending their leave together at Lochandee in the late summer of 1943. It was harvest time so Bridie persuaded them to help her load the carts with sheaves of corn at Nether Rullion. The Forsters had agreed to most of their land being cultivated on condition Ross took charge. They were content to be left with three small fields closest to the steading, enough to grow a bit of hay and grazing for their three cows, the hens and a couple of sows.

  Rachel had packed them a picnic for their midday break and the three of them propped themselves against a pile of sheaves to relax and enjoy the sunshine.

  ‘You know, Conan,’ Bridie reflected between mouthfuls of bread and cheese, ‘if you still want to have a garage and buses, you should ask Father if he could buy a bit of land from Brigadier Jamieson. The small field at the bottom of this one borders the main road into Lockerbie. It would be an ideal spot for catching passing trade.’ Conan looked at her sharply.

  ‘That can’t be the main road to Lockerbie, is it?’

  ‘It is. When I am on top of the load of corn I can see vehicles going into the town. A string of those army lorries went up yesterday, and one day when I was here, a convoy of tanks went along.’

  ‘I’ll go and take a look as soon as I’ve eaten this. You coming, Nick?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Nick answered drowsily. ‘I’m gathering my strength to keep up with this slave-driver you call your sister.’ He gave Bridie a teasing glance. Conan shrugged and loped away down the slope. Bridie bunched a fist and aimed it at Nick. He caught it and held it in his hands, gently unfolding each finger in turn. Almost caressing them.

  ‘What neat capable hands you have, Bridie.’ He sighed. ‘I really do look forward to your letters every week you know.’

  ‘Mmm,’ she leaned back against the stooks, her free hand behind her head, her face, with its faint dusting of freckles, raised to the September sun. She gave him a teasing sideways smile. ‘Yours are improving a little. I’m beginning to feel I know you quite well.’

  ‘You are?’ He seemed pleased as he turned towards her, cradling her hand against his chest as he looked down into her face. Their eyes met, and held. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he bent closer. His lips found hers in a gentle kiss. There was a question in his grey eyes as he raised his head.

  ‘Mmm … I liked it,’ Bridie murmured ingenuously.

  ‘Oh, Bridie!’ he gave a low laugh, his eyes alight. ‘Are you always so – so honest and straightforward?’

  ‘Always,’ she nodded solemnly, but her blue eyes were sparkling.

  ‘You’re precious! Most women flirt outrageously and go all coquettish if a man so much as smiles their way.’

  ‘You’ve known a lot then?’

  ‘A lot of what?’ He looked puzzled.

  ‘Women of course.’

  ‘I don’t go around kissing them if that’s what you mean – or anything else for that matter.’ His voice dropped, ‘But, since we are being honest with each other, I confess to liking our first kiss so much I’d quite like another …?’ This time the look in his eyes brought the colour to Bridie’s cheeks. She was neither experienced nor sophisticated in such matters and her heart beat an excited tattoo. Nick’s kiss was a sweet, lingering exploration as he slipped his arm around her, holding her closer.

  ‘What’s this then?’ Conan’s voice startled them. ‘Is that why you sent me off to view the road, Bridie Maxwell?’

  ‘No! It is not!’ Her cheeks were burning. She wished Conan had not returned so soon, but perhaps it was just as well he had. Nick gave her a deliberate wink then turned to look up at Conan.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Did you approve of the site?’

  ‘Not the sight I’ve just witnessed. I hope you’re not taking advantage of my young sister, Nick?’ Conan’s tone was half joking, but his eyes were serious.

  ‘Conan! It is far too much respect I have for Bridie. You should be knowing I would never take advantage of her.’ Nick’s Welsh accent was more apparent. Although his voice was low there was anger in it too.

  ‘Yes,’ Conan nodded ruefully. ‘Yes I do, old boy. But there’s not many of the fellows I’d trust with her.’

  ‘Hey, I’m present, you know. And you needn’t worry, big brother. I may have led a sheltered existence but I’m not exactly stupid, you know.’

  ‘I do know. Far from it. It’s just that I always think of you as just a kid.’

  ‘For goodness sake, Conan, I’m eighteen.’

  All too soon their leave was over and the rest of the harvest seemed to drag on interminably. Normally Bridie enjoyed every season in its turn but there really was far too much to do and not enough labour to do it well. Inside she was restless. Nick’s kiss had awakened a tumult of emotions in her – and it was not just his kiss either, nor even the touch of his hands. It was the look in his eyes – full of questions, full of promises too? She was not sure. He had made her feel all of a-tremble inside, and now he had gone. She was filled with a yearning she had never known before.

  ‘I can’t wait for this war to be over,’ Nick had written in his first letter after he had returned to base. My sentiments exactly, Bridie had echoed silently.

  No amount of wishing could bring the dreadful war to an end. Winter came and spring followed with stricter rationing than ever. Every scrap of iron from garden gates and fences had long since been removed and taken to the factories for making into weapons. Conan came on brief spells of leave, often bringing Nick with him.. At the very end of May he arrived very late in the evening, accompanied by Mark instead. Bridie hid her disappointment. She liked Mark, and he still wrote the best letters, but he was not Nick.

  ‘I don’t like to see Conan so tense,’ Rachel said as sh
e snuggled into Ross’s embrace in the big bed. Ewan still slept in his crib in their bedroom. Although he was a sturdy two-year-old he was Rachel’s baby and she felt it was safer to have him near when the aeroplanes droned through the night skies. He had boundless energy but he slept soundly and rarely disturbed them.

  ‘It’s enough to make any man tense flying into danger so often, never knowing whether you will return, be killed, or be taken prisoner.’ Ross held her closer, knowing she needed comfort. There would always be a special bond between her and Conan but he was no longer jealous. Indeed his own heart ached every time he watched his eldest son going back to base. ‘He looks so much older than his twenty-two years. Older and far too tired this time.’

  ‘Mark looks even worse I thought. If this war goes on much longer I think he will be heading for a breakdown of some sort.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll see to it that they get some good wholesome food, if nothing else, dear Rachel.’ Ross stifled a yawn. There were never enough hours in the day for all he needed to do.

  Conan would never admit to his parents that he was finding life a strain but he talked to Bridie.

  ‘There was a rumour going around the base just as we left. Some of the British and Allied airmen are supposed to have made their escape from one of the German prisoner-of-war camps.’

  ‘Could it be more than a rumour?’

  ‘It is supposed to be impossible to escape from the camp they were in. A group of them had made a tunnel – or so the story goes. If they did, it must have taken forever.’ He passed a hand over his brow as though the thought of it wearied him. ‘A worse rumour is that a number of them were – were shot. Shot in cold blood, so near to being free. God, war is a cruel thing.’ Bridie heard the tremor in his voice. She dared not look at him. There were tears in her own eyes and in Conan’s too.

  ‘Is there no end in sight?’ she asked huskily.

  ‘The generals and politicians keep trying new strategies. We never know where we are going, or what our target will be until just before take-off. It’s just as well – it doesn’t do to think too much. It’s impossible not to sometimes, though, especially when you know there will be innocent women and children dying down below us. This war isn’t their fault, any more than young Ewan is to blame. They are ordinary families, human beings, just like us.’ There was a break in his voice.

  It was the first time Bridie had heard him sound so depressed. Usually he and Nick laughed and joked, and showed only cheerful faces.

  ‘Will you and Nick get any leave to help us with the harvest this year?’ she asked, trying to turn Conan’s thoughts to brighter things.

  ‘I doubt it. Sometimes all leave is cancelled at short notice when there is a big raid on. Nick needed to make a visit to Wales this time. Something to do with his father’s business and the Government taking over the firm now it has to be wound up legally. Nick thinks he will come out of it pretty well financially. His only fear is that he might not survive to enjoy it with the lady of his choice.’ He gave Bridie a teasing glance. She shivered at the thought of Nick never coming back, but she couldn’t help blushing at the look in Conan’s eye. Nick had never made any promises and she could only guess at his feelings.

  Over their evening meal it was Rachel who asked if there was no end in sight to war. Conan and Mark exchanged glances and shrugged noncommittally.

  ‘The Germans have a new weapon,’ Mark said. ‘It’s called a doodle-bug. They have no pilots and when the fuel is done they explode. They’ve done a lot of damage already.’

  ‘The Government are going to erect prefabricated houses for the people who have lost their homes,’ Conan said. ‘The car factories are supposed to manufacture them in kits and it only takes a few men to put them up.’

  Ross could see they were both avoiding talk of their own activities. He encouraged them to tell Rachel about the houses, hoping it would distract her.

  ‘They’re steel-built and single-storey but they have two bedrooms and a living room, as well as a bathroom and a lavatory,’ Conan said, flashing his father a grateful glance.

  ‘Don’t forget the kitchen,’ Mark prompted. ‘It has a washbasin and a copper as well as a cooking stove and refrigerator, and a small table which folds down to save space.’

  ‘What news have you of Wester Rullion?’ Conan asked, changing the subject completely. ‘Bridie said the Brigadier wanted you to buy it. Is he still planning to go off to Canada to live with his daughter?’

  ‘He is but we can’t afford to buy Nether Rullion while we’re still paying the bank loan, though we should clear that debt in a couple of years if the demand for home-grown food continues.’

  ‘I’m sure home-produced food will be needed for years. The war has caused so much devastation everywhere,’ Mark said quietly.

  ‘Well the Brigadier has drawn up a seven-year tenancy agreement for us so we’ve been lucky with that. The Forsters will continue renting their own bit of land and the house so they are content with the arrangement too.’

  Conan bit his lip and eyed his father uncertainly. Rachel saw, and read his mind as she often had in the past. She reached over and patted his hand.

  ‘Don’t worry Conan. We’re not taking the tenancy because we expect you to farm it.’

  ‘Your mother’s right,’ Ross agreed. ‘Just come home safely. As a matter of fact I told the Brigadier you want to build a garage and set yourself up with a bus or two. He is quite willing to sell you the few acres near the main road if you decide it’s right for you and Nick.’

  ‘I shall have to earn some money first,’ Conan grinned ruefully.

  ‘We’re setting aside the legacy Sam Dewar left for you so you will have a bit of capital to start up.’

  Conan’s eyes lit up.

  ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard in – in ….’

  ‘Since the war started,’ Mark finished for him glumly.

  ‘Yes,’ Conan nodded. ‘Nick has money from the sale of his father’s engineering business so we …’ He broke off at the sight of Mark’s expression. ‘I’m sorry, Mark. I shouldn’t be going on about my future, not when you’ve lost …’

  ‘Life has to go on,’ Mark said quickly. ‘I’ve made up my mind to take a course in making and restoring fine furniture. That’s my father’s business.’ He looked at Rachel. ‘It will please him when I tell him I intend to carry on. It has been in the family for three generations already.’

  ‘Then I’m sure your parents will be delighted,’ Rachel told him warmly.

  The two young men left Lochandee at dawn on the first of June to travel back to their base.

  “The trains were crowded and we missed our connection at Birmingham,” Conan wrote. He always let Rachel know they had got back to base safely. Bridie knew it made their mother happy but Conan had confided it was just as well she did not know when they were flying or she would never sleep at all.

  * * *

  Less than a week later the Allied troops made a surprise landing in France. Rachel prayed this marked the ending of the war and the return of all the men. She hoped in vain.

  Although there were reports that Normandy had been liberated, plans were being made to evacuate more children out of London. The Germans had no intention of surrendering and their flying bombs were lethal and came without warning.

  In September Conan came home on twenty-four hours leave. He told no one of his orders but Bridie sensed the tension in him and gleaned enough to hope the war would be over if the next operation was successful. She prayed fervently.

  Even prayers were to no avail. The Allied soldiers failed to take a vital bridge and many of the paratroopers were taken prisoner. The German forces were putting up strong resistance in spite of reports that the Allies were supposed to be pushing the frontiers further out every day.

  “All the men and women in the Lochandee Home Guard, and in Lockerbie too, have been told they can hang up their uniforms,” Rachel wrote in her weekly letter. “Surely the end of the war must
be in sight now? Will you be home for Christmas? Would Nick like to spend it with us? He will be very welcome.”

  The war was not over and neither Conan nor Nick was able to spend Christmas at Glens of Lochandee, but Bridie was not the only one who was disappointed.

  ‘I was really looking forward to Harry being home to play Santa Claus,’ Beth told Bridie. ‘Lucy is almost three and Harry has missed so much of her young life.’

  ‘At least we know they are still alive,’ Bridie tried to comfort her. ‘It said on the radio that Colonel Glen Miller and two of his friends are missing somewhere over the Channel. There is no trace of their aeroplane.’

  Beth, who never swore, suddenly burst into tears and sobbed.

  ‘This bloody war! It seems to have gone on forever. Why do good men have to die so cruelly?’

  Neither Rachel nor Bridie could answer. They both felt more like weeping with her, but for them worse was to follow.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  IT WAS FEBRUARY WITH the usual dark and dreary weather so Conan’s cheerful letter was doubly welcome to them all.

  “We have just returned from another successful mission. As usual the padre was waiting to greet us with a cup of hot sweet tea and the bottle of brandy in his hand. I swear it is like nectar from the gods after six hours of ….”

  The next two words had been scored out and replaced by “up there” and the letter continued:

  “It has become a sort of ritual. The padre always asks “with or without?”. Even after the most exhausting trip there is always one of the lads who chants “WITHOUT, Padre! Without TEA, if you please.”

  We are beginning to feel there must be an end in sight. The atmosphere at the base is lighter and more cheerful, though we have no real news to make us feel this way.

  The food is no more plentiful though, but we should not grumble. We are privileged. Cookie still manages to scrape up an egg, as well as bacon, for our return meal. I expect you find it difficult to believe eggs are scarce as gold, when your hens run around the yard, trying to hide five or six eggs in strange nooks and crannies. We always swear we can smell the bacon frying as soon as we cross the Channel on the way back.