A Large Measure of Snow

by Denzil Meyrick

  ‘I don’t mind,’ replied Jo wearily. ‘I just want to feel better again.’

  ‘And you will, you will. I better get Hamish his tea. He’s a right bugger if it gets cold. Fair pampered by that mother o’ his.’ Hoynes had another thought. ‘You’re a single lassie yourself, are you not?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes.’

  ‘Aye, well, you could do worse than a fisherman. Oor Hamish is a fine man. Good family – well, apart from his faither, and that was a weakness for the bottle, nothing mair.’

  Jo ignored Hoynes’ attempts at matchmaking. The thought of becoming romantically involved with the man in the ancient suit, receding hairline and weird eyes was enough to send her stomach churning again. ‘Could you please pass me that bucket?’

  Hoynes pushed the bucket across the cabin with the toe of his sea boot. ‘I see it’s no’ your first visit tae it, neither.’ He gave Hamish a shout through the speaking tube. His first mate came to the hatch and took the two mugs of tea handed to him.

  As Hoynes began his squeeze through the hatch back to the deck, he heard Jo mumble. ‘What’s that, lassie?’ Hoynes leaned his head back into the cabin.

  ‘Don’t drink the tea.’ Her voice was slurred now. Plainly she was suffering.

  ‘Don’t you worry. Jeest you concentrate on getting better.’

  With that, he was back on the snowy deck.

  Hoynes gave the wheelhouse window another rub before joining Hamish in the cramped space. The blizzard was so heavy now that it was hard to see the bow of the Girl Maggie. The skipper sipped his hot tea thoughtfully.

  ‘This isna the kind o’ trip we envisaged, skipper. No, not at all,’ said Hamish as he peered into the snow, ship’s wheel in his brawny hands.

  ‘No. I wished we’d jeest turned doon the offer. Though it would’ve been a miserable time for the folk in Kinloch if we hadn’t volunteered. I daresay a few would have resorted tae cannibalism when the food became scarce.’

  ‘I know just who, tae.’ Hamish shook his head.

  ‘We can only pray that things improve.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right there.’

  13

  On board the Evening Star, McMichael was becoming increasingly concerned by the turn of the weather. Unlike Hoynes – who thought such a thing an unnecessary indulgence, not to mention an unthinkable expense – he had a radio.

  ‘Evening Star to the Kinloch fleet, come in, over.’ He waited for a few moments, but there was nothing but static on the crackling line. McMichael was about to give up when a faint voice sounded through the wooden speaker above his head. ‘Aye, Jim, it’s Davie here.’

  ‘Davie who?’

  ‘Davie Robertson, who do you think?’

  ‘You’re supposed tae say, “Roger, the Black Isle receiving, over.”’

  ‘Och, I canna get tae grips wae this radio stuff at all. You knew fine who it was as soon as I opened my mouth. You only saw me this morning.’

  ‘That’s no’ the point. We should be observing the correct protocol on the wireless. You never know who’s listening.’

  ‘It’s hardly Radio Caroline, Jim.’

  ‘Clyde Coastguard, they’ll have their lugs roon this, and no mistake.’

  ‘You’re worried about who’s listening to your radio protocol when we’re out here about tae crash intae Arran in a blizzard. You’re a brave man, right enough, McMichael, but I’m no’ so sure about your priorities.’

  ‘It’s why we’re speaking! I think we should turn roon and make back for Kinloch.’

  Apart from the crackle of static, there was silence on the other end of the line. ‘Davie, are you there?’

  ‘You’re supposed tae say, “Come in, Black Isle”!’

  ‘Well, what dae you think?’

  ‘Roger. I’ve been conversing wae the crew, and we’re o’ the same mind as yourself, over.’

  ‘And you’re certain sure, Davie?’

  ‘I’m in no hurry tae land on the Cock o’ Arran. We’ll make oor way back hame. I’ll pass it doon the fleet.’

  ‘What about Hoynes?’

  ‘No’ even a radio on board, has he?’

  ‘No, nor a glimmer o’ one. The man’s too tight.’

  ‘It’s for the good o’ the many. He’ll have tae take his chances. In this, who knows if any of us will make it back.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right. I’ll try and get the Coastguard and tell them he’s out there somewhere.’ McMichael squinted into the gloom. He’d never been the best of friends with Sandy Hoynes – the man was overbearing at the best of times; still, he wished him no harm. He lifted the radio to his mouth again and called Clyde Coastguard.

  Hoynes enjoyed his mug of tea. A great wave of warmth had spread into his belly. And now, despite the weather, he found himself quite relaxed in the wheelhouse.

  Idly, he watched Hamish swirl the line yet again. The whole process became strangely fascinating. The brass end seemed to be drawing shapes in the snowy sky. At first they were random, then he began to notice more discernible patterns.

  ‘You’re the clever one wae that line, Hamish,’ he said to his first mate. ‘I’m sure I can see my grandmother.’

  ‘You can what?’

  Hamish let the line go, and Hoynes watched it arc away until it disappeared into the blizzard. He rubbed his eyes. It was as though a rainbow had appeared where the line had landed. It was a tiny rainbow, but a rainbow nonetheless.

  ‘Well, in all my days, I’ve never seen the like. Have you, Hamish?’

  ‘No, this snow’s as thick as she comes.’

  ‘No, the rainbow, Hamish. You’ve got to say, that’s a phenomenon, if ever there was such a thing.’

  Hamish said nothing as he hauled at the rope, thinking that Hoynes was having him on. It wouldn’t be the first time the wily old skipper had set him up for some prank or other.

  Hoynes gasped as Hamish pulled the line back over the side. ‘Now, what’s the chances o’ that, eh?’

  ‘Of what?’ said Hamish, still unwilling to be taken in.

  ‘I’ve never seen it done before, man o’ man! It’s the biggest lobster I’ve ever set eyes on, and no mistake. Here, I’ll help you get they claws under control. A thing that bloody size could have your heid off, Hamish.’ Hoynes was framed in the door of the wheelhouse with a heavy spanner.

  ‘Right, what’s the joke? Are you sure this is the right time to be messing aboot, skipper?’

  ‘It’ll be no joke when that lobster has you in its clutches. You stand still, and I’ll whack it wae this.’ Hoynes edged towards Hamish on tiptoes across the snowy deck, the spanner clasped in his right fist.

  ‘You’re going to dae yourself a mischief. Whatever you’re playing at, well, it’s no’ funny!’ Hamish edged away from Hoynes.

  Without warning, Hoynes lunged forward, brandishing the spanner. Briefly he flew through the air until both he and the spanner landed with a crash on the deck. Thankfully, the deep snow broke his fall, though he cursed as he struggled on the deck.

  ‘What on earth are you at, Sandy? You damn near broke your neck.’

  Hoynes staggered back to his feet, seemingly no worse for his leap through the air. He looked about anxiously, as though he was frightened something would come out of the shifting curtains of snow and do him harm. ‘Would you believe it? How on earth did the big bugger get up there?’

  ‘What big bugger?’

  ‘The bloody lobster! It’s taken a fair jump tae get on top o’ the wheelhouse.’ He took off his bunnet and scratched his head for a moment. ‘Come tae think o’ it, I’ve never seen such a creature jump. Have you, Hamish?’

  ‘Sandy, you’re starting tae worry me.’ Hamish bit his lip. ‘I’ve heard o’ people seeing strange apparitions in the desert. Hallucinating water and palm trees where there’s none at all.’

  Hoynes looked at him in disbelief. ‘You might no’ have noticed, but we’re most certainly not in the desert. This is a blizzard, Hamish!’

  The first mate
sighed with relief. ‘Och, you’ve been winding me up, Sandy. You had me worried for a while, there.’

  ‘Ach, you’re never done worrying. You check the line while I work out what we’ll do.’

  ‘I will. So you’re still of a mind tae turn back, skipper?’

  ‘Not in the slightest!’

  Hamish looked confused. ‘Well, what are you planning to do?’

  ‘I’m going tae get that huge bloody lobster doon off that wheelhouse, that’s what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Now, wait a minute, Sandy. I’m concerned, and that’s for sure. What did you have for your tea last night? It wisna shellfish, by any chance? A bad clam or a mussel can fair set a man’s heid awry.’

  Hoynes was now studying the wheelhouse like a mountaineer might Ben Nevis. ‘You’ll need tae gie me a hunker up, Hamish. Better still, get doon below and grab that set o’ ladders. I’ll catch the bugger yet!’

  ‘Get back in and steer the boat, Sandy. Less o’ the messing about!’

  ‘Aye, good idea. I’ll keep us on the straight and narrow while you get they steps.’ He entered the wheelhouse. ‘Man, you should hear the racket the damn thing’s making on this roof. Mind, it’ll fetch a pretty penny.’

  Hamish hesitated, then darted down the hatch to the cabin below.

  14

  Hamish stood by the stove in the small cabin wringing his hands. He’d seen his skipper drunk on many occasions. At such times, he was prone to bouts of immodesty, and could even become argumentative. But Hamish had never known him to have hallucinations. And, in any case, Hoynes hadn’t touched a drop.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ said Jo, stirring in the bunk and giving Hamish a fright. In his puzzlement about Hoynes, he’d forgotten all about the reporter.

  ‘The skipper’s behaving in a very strange fashion. I canna fathom it at all.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Och, I won’t burden you with it, you being so seasick and all.’

  Jo looked wary. ‘I’m feeling a bit better, actually. The lie down must have done me some good.’ She looked at Hamish from the corner of her eye. ‘Just what do you mean by “behaving in a very strange fashion”?’

  ‘He’s no’ himself, that’s all.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying, he seemed a bit odd to me from the start.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘A wee bit eccentric, perhaps?’

  ‘Not at all, he’s the most practical man I know.’

  ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘If I tell you, you’ve got tae promise you won’t put it in the paper.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Though she was trying to sound upbeat, Jo felt her heart sink. Suddenly, her seasickness was the last thing on her mind.

  ‘Well . . .’ began Hamish hesitantly, ‘he’s seeing things.’

  ‘Oh, what kind of things?’

  ‘Tae put it plainly, he thinks there’s a giant lobster atop the wheelhouse.’ Hamish looked at Jo with a desperate look etched across his face.

  ‘I see.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘You don’t look very surprised. I can assure you, this is far from the normal turn o’ events on a vessel like this. I’m worried he could be ill. My granny had a stroke and didna know who anybody was, even her own daughter.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Well, apart fae auld Joe Kennedy the undertaker, but apparently they’d been close years before. You can imagine how upset my poor mother felt.’

  ‘Right.’ Jo was sitting up now, biting her lip. ‘Hamish, I have a confession to make.’

  ‘For all that’s holy, you’re no’ seeing things as well, are you?’

  ‘No, but I think I know what’s wrong with Mr Hoynes.’

  ‘You dae?’

  ‘You’ll have heard of LSD, Hamish.’

  ‘Pounds, shillings and pence? Of course I’ve heard of it. I’m no’ some daftie!’

  ‘I mean the other LSD. You know – drugs. I assume that Kinloch isn’t so isolated that some notion of the swinging sixties hasn’t reached the place.’

  Hamish looked alarmed. ‘You mean like they Trolling Stones? No, Sandy widna have any truck wae that carry-on. In any case, Marjorie would make his life a misery if he was at such nonsense.’

  ‘No, you’re not getting this. Let me explain.’ Jo went on to tell the distressed mariner just how a sugar lump impregnated with LSD had landed in Hoynes’ mug of tea.

  It took Hamish a while to digest this information. He stood with his mouth open for a while, making to speak, but not quite managing it. Eventually he found his voice. ‘And jeest how long does this last, this LSD?’

  Jo shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell. Everyone reacts differently. It’s really interesting, sets your mind free.’

  ‘I’m quite happy wae my mind staying exactly where it is, thank you. I canna see any joy in conjuring up images of giant shellfish, or the like. What have you done?’

  ‘It’s okay, calm down.’ Jo made to lift herself out of the bunk, but a wave of nausea swept over her and she was forced to fall back on the old blankets.

  ‘Calm? How can any soul stay calm in these circumstances? We’re lost in a blizzard at sea, and the skipper’s turned intae a cabbage!’

  ‘But you can steer the boat, yes?’

  ‘Oh aye, I can steer the boat under normal circumstances. We call it navigation in the trade. But these are no’ normal circumstances, no’ by a long chalk. I’ve never sailed in such weather conditions.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Hamish! Where’s your confidence? It’s time to step up, show what you’re made of.’

  ‘I’ll tell you where my confidence is, up on top o’ the wheelhouse wae that great lobster. Sandy plays the fool fae time tae time, o’ that there’s no doubt. But there’s no’ a finer sailor on the west coast.’

  ‘Go up and see what’s happening. It shouldn’t be too hard to reason with him. Folk are usually quite placid under the influence.’

  ‘I widna say he was placid. No’ by a long shot. He’s determined tae beat the brains oot o’ this poor lobster. I mean, he’s no’ normally a cruel man.’

  ‘For a start, Hamish, there’s no lobster, so he can’t be cruel to it. Secondly, the worst thing that can happen is he falls overboard.’

  ‘I never thought o’ that.’ Hamish narrowed his eyes at the reporter.

  ‘Look, I’ve taken it a few times and there’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘That’s a matter o’ debate. Tae poison the skipper o’ a vessel when it’s lost in a blizzard isna normal behaviour as far as I’m concerned. You should be ashamed of yourself!’ With that he disappeared back through the hatch.

  When Hamish first scanned the snowy deck, his heart sank, for he could see no sign of Hoynes. It was only when he glimpsed the end of a long boat hook appearing above the wheelhouse did he realise that, far from falling overboard, Hoynes was still pursuing the lobster.

  Hamish hurried round the back of the wheelhouse and, sure enough, there he was, brandishing the boat hook wildly, as snow gathered on top of his bunnet.

  ‘Right,’ said Hamish, sensing that it was time to take direct action. ‘I’ve a plan.’

  Hoynes looked him up and down. ‘Why are you dressed in your faither’s suit?’

  ‘What? Oh, aye,’ said Hamish, playing along. ‘Nice day to gie it an airing.’

  ‘I know what you’re at. Trying tae impress that wee lassie instead o’ helping me subdue this monster. It’s already had a couple o’ goes at me wae they claws, but I managed tae evade them. Jeest in the nick o’ time, though.’ He gave Hamish a wild-eyed look.

  ‘I’ve had an idea, Sandy. Why don’t you head down below? This beast’s intentions are clearly malign, so he’ll likely chase you – and when he does I’ll whack it o’er the heid wae something substantial.’

  Hoynes looked at him as though working out a complex calculation in his head. His forefinger darted to and fro as the choreography of Hamish’s plan played out across his mind’s eye.

 
‘What dae you think?’

  ‘I reckon your plan might jeest work, Hamish,’ Hoynes whispered.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’

  ‘Are you daft? He can hear us! That bloody thing’s as fluent as you. It must have been brought up in the sea at Firdale, for he has a fair twang.’

  ‘You’ve spoken tae him?’

  ‘Och, we passed the time o’ day and the like. He’s never seen weather like this, neither. Quite cordial, he was, but I sense it’s jeest an act.’ He lowered his voice further. ‘On the count o’ three I’ll make a break for the hatch.’

  ‘Right you are, skipper,’ said Hamish, with an enthusiasm he didn’t feel.

  Without counting to three, Hoynes suddenly threw the boat hook to the deck and scurried off towards the cabin hatch. But instead of lowering himself feet first, Hoynes clasped his hands together as though in prayer and dived, head first, through the opening. For a moment, his girth held him fast in its narrow confines. But gravity soon did its work and, before Hamish could grab his legs, his skipper tumbled into the cabin.

  ‘What happened?’ shouted Jo.

  ‘I dread tae think,’ said Hamish, lowering himself down beside his skipper.

  15

  The old quay in Kinloch harbour was thronged with people. Constable Mann was there, so was the senior fire officer, Andy Semple. Doctor Fraser’s face bore a grave expression, as he puffed on his Woodbine. Peter Mitchell, the harbour master, who was staring desperately out over the loch, shook his head, as the snow piled up on the pier.

  Provost McMurdo, too, looked concerned, for such snowfall had rarely been seen on the peninsula. He turned to Mitchell. ‘And conditions are worse out in the sound, apparently?’

  ‘Aye, ten times worse. I’ve just had Davie Robertson on the radio. The signal is terrible because of the snow. But he and the rest of the fleet have turned round.’

  ‘All apart from Hoynes, that is?’

  ‘Aye. That thrawn old bugger refuses to carry a radio aboard. He says it upsets the fish.’