by Tony Parsons
Despite the grandeur of most of the places they visited, Catriona knew her husband well enough to realise that his heart was not fully in their trip. His heart and mind were always preoccupied with his interests at home and with his mother. In their lovemaking Catriona gave herself to him with such exuberance that he had no cause to complain about that aspect of their journey.
It wasn’t until the evening before they were to reach Loch Etive that David seemed to relax. It was at Loch Etive that they were to visit Willie Cameron, who had sent Meg out to Australia for Angus Campbell. The prospect of meeting this good handler and inspecting his dogs brought about David’s lightness of mood. Catriona sighed as she watched him set out plates and knives and forks for their evening meal. There was still the same smooth unhurried way of doing things that she had first noticed in the early days of their relationship. She knew that deep down, setting everything else to one side, David’s great interest was sheepdogs. He liked horses, and indeed all livestock, but he had been a boy wonder with sheepdogs and they still held his heart. No matter that what they had seen was wonderful, it couldn’t hold a candle to the prospect of seeing sheepdogs in action.
They had come down by Portnacroish and Loch Creran, crossed Loch Etive at Connel and camped the night on the shore of the loch. From here it was only a short drive to Willie Cameron’s farm. Catriona had written to Cameron from Australia advising him that she and her husband, who was a sheepdog icon in Australia, would be making the trip and that they would like to visit him. Catriona had explained the circumstances of her father’s death after leaving Cameron and that she was Angus Campbell’s daughter. Willie Cameron had written back telling them that he would be happy to meet the daughter and son-in-law of so grand a gentleman as Angus Campbell. They had rung Cameron two days previously (there was now a phone at the farm) and told him that they hoped to see him in a couple of days. Catriona had also, through officialdom in Canberra and police headquarters in Inveraray, been in touch with veterinarian Alisdair Grant who had found her father in his campervan.
There had been a sharp shower just on dark but the next morning dawned bright and clear with a cool breeze coming down the lake from the west. The land that swept before them was part of the first country settled by Irish people in the days when Scotland was known as Dalriada. It was the country of legend and folklore and song; the country of Campbells, Camerons and MacDonalds, among several other clans.
The road to the Cameron farm led through some of the most typically Highland country they had seen. There were small unnamed streams running away towards Ben Cruachan (Cruachan was the war cry of the Campbells of Argyll and Breadalbane) before they came to the small hamlet of Glennoe by Glen Noe. Willie Cameron’s farm was close by and, as Willie explained later, behind him were the real Highlands with Beinn Eunaich at the head of Glen Liver and Glen Noe.
From the moment they met, David instinctively liked Willie Cameron who was, he reckoned, a real dog man. There was now a wee Willie Cameron so Jean Cameron stayed inside the farmhouse and Catriona felt that she should stay there too. Catriona would have preferred to be with her husband but good manners dictated otherwise.
Of course, David wanted to see Willie’s dogs in action so after he had had a look at them, he asked if he could see them work. Willie didn’t seem reluctant to show them off and was obviously very proud of Glen, the dog Angus had seen when he visited Willie. There were Cheviot-cross sheep that Glen cast around and handled beautifully. The dog did everything he was told. There was a whistle command for every voice command and these sent the dog either way in what Australians called the side commands and Americans referred to as flanking commands. At long distances the smallest variation in whistle was enough to move Glen one way or the other or to drop him. It was impressive control and no doubt needed for the kind of trials the Scottish used. The dog didn’t have to think for itself as most of its work was done by its handler. There was a young bitch Willie had not long started and she was under good control too. But there was no bitch like Meg.
‘Have you nothing by Meg’s sire to show me?’ David asked.
‘I didna keep anything, Mr MacLeod. They were a wee bit fresh for the trials,’ Willie answered. ‘And how would Meg be going?’
‘Meg is a really good bitch for our conditions. Look, call me David please, Willie – I’m not one for Mister. Meg, now. She has a lot of things in her that I like and she works more like a kelpie than a border collie. We mated her with a kelpie and got some cracking good dogs. My brother-in-law, that’s my wife’s brother, has her. Stuart’s place is next to mine. I was hoping to have a look at more dogs by her sire,’ David told him.
‘There’s plenty to be seen but they’re away away up north. I used the dog because I wanted to try something that didna have Wilson blood, you ken. The Wilson dogs had a grand name and everyone used them so much that it’s a mite hard to find a top dog that doesna have the blood. Ross has such a name up north I took my old bitch up to him,’ Willie said.
‘Are there many collies that look like Meg up there?’ David asked.
‘Losh, man, there’s plenty. There’s dogs almost all black and red-and-whites and an odd lemon-and-white and there’s greys and grey-and-whites. But they’re not just up north. You can find them anywhere. A lemon-and-white ran for Wales one year. There could be more of the black ones up beyond Ullapool and I’ve heard that some of them have island blood in them. It doesna matter what colour they are; it’s the work that counts,’ Willie said sagely.
David nodded. ‘My sentiments entirely, Willie.’
They walked down to the house where Willie announced it was lunchtime and asked them would they stay for a wee bite. Over the mutton and potatoes they talked about farming matters and farming problems and David learnt that Willie ran eight hundred sheep and about a hundred head of cattle. It didn’t seem enough for a decent living but of course livestock returns were much higher in the United Kingdom. Willie also grew potatoes.
‘And what would you run out in Australia?’ Willie asked.
‘About twelve thousand wethers on the hill-country places and about seven thousand breeding ewes on the other three. There’s about five hundred stud ewes in them. We breed rams from them. Then there’s about four hundred head of commercial cattle and about two hundred stud Hereford cows for bull breeding. We have a small lot feeding set-up where we test our steers,’ David said.
‘You couldna look after all that yourself?’ Willie said in amazement.
‘Goodness, no. I have a son and daughter who run a place each and help otherwise, and there are other people too. We stand a thoroughbred stallion and my son and his wife look after that side of things,’ David said.
‘You’d no get time to work dogs?’ Willie said.
‘I don’t these days. My son Angus is a good handler and has won trials. Sadly, my trial days are in the past,’ David said.
‘David won the National with a kelpie,’ Catriona told them. ‘He scored the possible hundred points in the final.’
‘You dinna say,’ Willie said. He was still trying to come to terms with how a man could manage so many sheep and cattle.
When they went out to the van to leave, David extracted two bottles of top-quality whisky he had purchased on the trip. ‘I’d like you to have these for your hospitality, Willie. Maybe when you and Jean are having a nip on a cold night you’ll remember the Australians who came to see you. I’ll certainly remember you both and this place.’
‘Well, that’s generous of you, David – thank you.’
‘By the way, what did Angus pay for Meg, if it isn’t a rude question?’ David hoped the gift of the whisky would soften Willie’s reaction to the question.
‘Mr Campbell gave me ten thousand dollars for her, David. It wasna what I asked for her. I would have asked two thousand pounds for her but he offered me the ten. I told him she wasna ready to take but he wanted her. There’s dogs that have made that amount of money, mostly to Americans, but trained dogs. Me
g wasna finished, you ken?’
So Angus had really handed over ten grand for Meg. It was the last great gesture of his life and David reckoned the old chap had been right about his selection. Angus had learnt a hell of a lot.
‘I took her down to London and sent her from there,’ Willie explained.
‘Maybe I’ll come back and see you again one of these days, Willie. I’ve a notion to travel up north so I can have a look at the dogs you talk about.’
One day they would need to use another outcross and maybe there were dogs in northern Scotland that would do the job. When he retired it might be good to go up north and just poke about. Maybe look for the descendants of the Rutherfords and see what records they had.
David and Catriona travelled back to the main road by the side of Loch Etive and left it where the road turned south-west to join the A85. This road took them through the Pass of Brander before they stopped to boil the billy and so Catriona could photograph Lochawe, one of the legendary homes of the Clan Campbell. They left the A85 shortly after leaving Loch Awe, the picturesque lake nearby, and drove down towards Inveraray on the A819. They camped beside a lovely waterfall rather than travel any later. Next morning they picked up mail in Inveraray and then met up with Alisdair Grant who was to show them where he had found Angus Campbell.
Alisdair Grant was a fine upstanding man with the eyes of a lynx. Grant had made some enquiries after being contacted by Catriona and had discovered that the MacLeods were people of real substance. Scottish officialdom had done a check on David’s interests which they said were ‘extensive’.
‘We don’t like taking you away from your clients, Mr Grant, and we’re quite prepared to pay for your time,’ David said on meeting the veterinarian.
‘You’ll do na such thing,’ Grant said firmly. ‘One day soon I’ll likely go to Australia to look at things and you might be able to do something for me.’
‘Name it,’ David said. ‘We do embryo transplantation of stud sheep and cattle and you’d no doubt find that interesting.’
Grant beamed. ‘And you’d use artificial insemination for your stud sheep?’
‘Oh, yes. We inseminate hundreds of ewes to the top rams.’
‘The very thing. I’ve been wanting to see your merinos since I was a vet student,’ Grant said.
He took them out in his station wagon and they left the van at his surgery. They drove out on the A83, which skirted Loch Fyne, and Grant entertained them with tales of local history. The Clan Campbell was the most powerful of the Scottish clans in this area. The chieftain of the Campbells of Argyll was referred to as MacCailean Mhor. The castle of Argyll to which Angus Campbell had been headed was not a great distance out on the A83 but Angus hadn’t made it. He had died beside a small stream perhaps three-quarters of the way to the castle.
Grant turned off the road and pulled up beside this stream. ‘This is where I found your father, Mrs MacLeod,’ he said.
‘Catriona,’ she said and flashed him a quick smile. Few people had ever been able to withstand Catriona’s smile and her brown eyes.
‘Well, Catriona, let me say that it was no a bad place for your father and a Campbell to die. Up beyond Argyll there’s Clachan and Rob Roy’s house on the Brannie Burn. You could say that he had come home,’ Grant said.
‘Now that we know the spot could you take us back and we’ll bring the van out here? We’d like to spend a night here, Alisdair,’ Catriona explained. She and David had discussed this previously. Although Catriona had declined to camp on Culloden she had no such fears about camping where her father had died.
After stocking up with a few provisions, Catriona and David returned to the place of Angus’s death. It was while David was sitting at the camp table that he remembered the mail they had picked up in Inveraray earlier in the day. They had arranged with Moira that she should send mail to Inveraray and then to Edinburgh.
‘There’s a card from Moira,’ he said as he flipped through the mail. He read it first and Catriona saw his face harden. ‘What is it, darling?’ Catriona asked.
‘Bruce McClymont is dead,’ he said. ‘He died a fortnight ago. Moira went to his funeral.’
This had been one of the arrangements he had made with Moira. She was to represent him if Bruce passed away. He had not rung home for over a fortnight because Moira had told him he was not to be a fusspot as everything was going well.
‘I did as I promised and attended Bruce’s funeral,’ he read. ‘It was at Deniliquin and it was very big. I read your eulogy and Bruce’s grandson read another. Ian is gorgeous – and unmarried.
‘PS. I think Ian liked me. I sure liked him. M.MacL.’
Catriona looked at her husband and shook her head. She could see David’s hand in this development. He and Bruce had had their heads together a lot on Bruce’s last trip. Bruce had told them that his grandson was shy of girls, was like a fish out of water in Melbourne and had wanted to be back at the station for years. Bruce wanted his dogs carried on and Ian was supposed to be ‘dog-mad’. David wanted somebody special for Moira and Ian McClymont just might be that person. The two men had so much respect for each other that a marriage between the two families couldn’t be bettered. It would give David the extra son he had so much wanted.
Catriona could see by the faint smile that came and went on her husband’s face that these possibilities were in his head. They softened the fact that Bruce McClymont was no more.
‘I can see you’ve been plotting a bit, David,’ she said.
‘I simply asked Moira to attend Bruce’s funeral if he died while we were away,’ he replied.
‘Simplicity has nothing to do with it, David. If I know you, and I think I do, you and Bruce would have discussed the possibility of getting Moira and Ian together. If this hadn’t happened I’ll bet that Bruce would have sent Ian up to you to show him how to work dogs. That way he could meet Moira,’ she said.
‘Now you mention it, Bruce did say something along those lines,’ David teased.
‘Ha! I thought so,’ Catriona said triumphantly. ‘You’re matchmaking, David.’
The big man leant back so far in his camp chair it threatened to give way. ‘What if I am? What if they sell Jimbawarra and invest the money and Ian comes up to me? That way we keep Moira and we get another son,’ he said.
‘I thought that was your plan of campaign. You’re very devious for “just a bushie”, David. You really are,’ she scolded.
‘I wouldn’t call it devious, Cat. It’s simply good planning. Do you want me to do the spuds?’
‘You’re changing the subject, David. Yes, you can do the spuds. How long do you think it will be before Ian comes up to see us?’ Catriona asked.
‘Not very long, Cat. If he’s lost his heart, maybe a week after we get back,’ David said with a grin.
‘God, I put up with a lot,’ Catriona said. ‘And I only lived next door to you.’
‘Don’t let’s go over that again,’ he said. ‘These long evenings are great, aren’t they?’
‘There you go changing the subject again, David. Do you want steak or chops?’
‘What about a bit of both?’ he answered.
Later, after they had eaten, they lay together on a rug and looked out across the deepening purple of the Highlands. ‘Do you think Daddy had time to appreciate this place?’ she asked.
‘I doubt it, Cat. Alisdair said he probably ran the vehicle in off the road when the big pain hit him. He may have died at that time or else he stayed in the van until a bit later,’ he said.
‘What do we do now? Head for Iona?’ she asked.
‘I think so, Cat. That is, if you’re sure you can handle the boat trip?’
‘It’s not the open sea, David. The islands are well protected, aren’t they?’ Catriona asked.
‘I believe they can be rough at times, but we won’t go in rough weather. That’s the beauty of having the van. It’s only a small trip from Oban to Iona but there’ll be some swell from the ocean,’ he s
aid.
Catriona groaned. She had experienced the effects of the Atlantic swell and they were still fresh in her memory. But if they had to go by boat to reach Iona, so be it. Iona, of all places mentioned in her father’s diary, was the most important to her.
It was an eerie feeling to be camped in the spot where her father had taken his last breaths. Catriona couldn’t get to sleep for some time as she thought of her father and what it must have been like for him in those last few conscious moments. Did he regret being away from his family? It didn’t seem so. Certainly if he had entertained any doubts about the wisdom of taking this last trip they had not come through in his diary. Conversely, he had seemed very pleased he had made the effort. Iona, and what he had witnessed there, seemed to have made everything worthwhile.
Catriona was still asleep when David called her for breakfast. He, as usual, was up early and had been for a walk up the road towards Argyll Castle. ‘You mean thing. You might have called me,’ she told him.
‘You were sleeping like a log, Cat,’ he said between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs. ‘It’s a top morning. We’ll drive up to the castle so you can get your photographs and then head back to the coast. I’ll make a few phone-calls in Inveraray. Do you want to meet your relations at the castle?’
Catriona shook her head. ‘Not on this trip, David. I’d like to get to Iona while this good weather lasts. If we go in, they might ask us to stay and I wouldn’t like to refuse,’ she said.
David nodded his understanding. The aristocracy didn’t intimidate him but he had no special desire to meet Angus Campbell’s relations. What he wanted most of all was to get back home as soon as possible. Yet he didn’t want to spoil Catriona’s happiness. It was quite apparent that she was enjoying every moment (on land, at least) of their trip.
