Murdoch recovered quickly. There were no bones broken, but he needed eight stitches in his leg. He was back at the site four days later with his tractor, as were Archie and Fergie with theirs. It took the combined efforts of all three to release the truck from the suction of the marshy ground. Murdoch maintained that the engine started at the first pull but we all felt that this was another of his jokes!
The patient seemed to recover rather better than the nurse and the helpers on this occasion. George, Archie, and Nick were stiff for a week. I just seemed to be sore everywhere.
Oh! And the cow did get milked that night—but not by Andy!
TWO
Grey Shadows
The croft house was not particularly remote, but the little row of fishermen’s cottages built in front of it and facing the harbour obscured it from the road: one could go to and from the cottages themselves without noticing the old place—it was so tucked away. But from the tiny back gardens of the cottages, the near derelict building could just be seen beyond the scrubby, overgrown bushes that surrounded it. Arthur and Aggie MacGilvery’s cottage was the nearest, and they had the best view of the ramshackle place.
I was calling twice daily to clean and dress a deep hole in Arthur’s foot caused by his garden fork. He had refused a tetanus immunisation in spite of considerable pressure from Doctor Mac.
‘I’ve stabbed myself often enough in my eighty years and I’ve never had any bother. I’m no havin’ this tetynus now!’
He had been lucky, but the lengthy healing process needed constant monitoring as he insisted on earthing up his tatties wearing only his slippers (pulling boots on was too painful), so the dressings were often full of soil by the time I arrived to change them.
‘Is it no right yet, Nurse?’ asked Aggie.
‘Not yet, Aggie. If this stubborn old husband of yours would just rest, it would heal much faster.’
‘Ach. The bodach! He’s that cantankerous!’
Arthur bridled. ‘Well, I’ve been stopping and sitting on the wall to rest sometimes. But, you know, Nurse, I’ve been seein’ some weird goings-on at yon house.’ Nodding his head, he indicated the old croft house behind his garden.
‘Who lives there?’ I asked.
‘Ach, ’tis in such a state that no one comes now, but it’s supposed to be for holidays. This funny body from down in England used to come.’
‘Ach, you’re haverin’.’ Aggie seemed uncomfortable and was trying to stop Arthur’s tale. This was odd, as all islanders love a bit of gossip.
‘I’m tellin’ you,’ resumed Arthur, taking no notice. ‘There is something goin’ on!’
‘What sort of something? And, would you please stay still so that I can dress this foot?’
On this occasion, I got no further as there was no more talk of unusual things. Presumably, Aggie had persuaded him to be quiet by a wink or a nod.
But the next morning, when I arrived, Arthur was sitting on the garden wall in the sunshine, staring at the old croft house.
‘See, Nurse. I told you!’
I looked where he indicated, but could see nothing unusual—just the bleak-looking old house with the sheep-nibbled grass growing right up to the door, which was almost obscured by a solitary rocky outcrop.
‘I can’t see anything, Arthur.’
‘Wait you—there!’ Arthur pointed.
I looked again and gradually I seemed to be able to pick out a grey figure standing in front of the rocky outcrop. Had she (he?) been there all the time? He or she was the same colour as the granite and the area was in a deep shadow, so perhaps I had just not seen him or her at first.
‘Who is that?’ I asked.
‘Who indeed?’ replied Arthur in sepulchral tones. ‘No one that you have ever seen.’
I glanced at him. He shrugged.
I looked back at the figure. He or she had gone!
‘Where has she gone? Into the house?’
‘Doubt it.’ He shook his head.
‘So where … ?’ I began.
‘Where indeed?’ This was all that Arthur would say.
I sensed something unnatural—one might say supernatural—about the incident, but perhaps it was just a trick of the light. Maybe there had not been a figure at all. There was a deep shadow by the rock and I had only glanced for an instant.
Arthur and Aggie seemed to be disturbed and had obviously been aware of something odd for some time, but, as I tended the grubby foot, they seemed to put the whole thing out of their minds and I was pressed to have the usual cuppie and dumpling. We talked about the weather, the price of sheep at the last sale, and all the usual things.
‘You are getting fey,’ scoffed George, when I told the family about it all. ‘You have been with these crofters too long.’
When I went to do the next dressing, it was as though the whole subject was now taboo. Nothing was said at all! So, apart from the usual discussion about the weather and the price of sheep and so on, we were silent. But Arthur and Aggie were not their usual selves. They were staunch Free Kirkers, and anything smacking of the unnatural or psychic was severely frowned upon by that denomination. Had the minister been to see them, I wondered? They would not have dared to tell him of the weird things but they might be feeling guilty or confused. Perhaps because of their simple lifestyle, crofters seemed to have some sort of connection with an extra dimension not experienced by the average person, so the stern doctrines of the Free Kirk must be difficult to reconcile with their intuitive acceptance of the unexplainable. So, apart from the inevitable discussion about the weather and the price of sheep (again), nothing was said.
Then I discovered that the infection in Arthur’s foot had worsened in spite of all my efforts. His temperature was up and there was an angry red line travelling up his leg.
He looked flushed.
‘Have you been taking the antibiotics?’
‘No, Nurse, he hasnae,’ burst out an exasperated Aggie. ‘I told you, Arthur, that it would go bad ways.’
‘Why, Arthur, why? It could have been healed up by now.’ Oh, these people, I thought. So stubborn, so aggravating and yet so likeable and so genuine.
‘Ach. All these pills and potions! ’Tis not natural.’ Arthur was not convinced even now.
I glanced at my watch. ‘I’ll take you to see Doctor Mac now, Arthur. He needs to see this. His morning surgery will not be finished yet.’
It was not far to the surgery but I knew that if I left them to organise a lift with a neighbour, it would never get done.
Arthur was bundled into his coat by an anxious Aggie and hopped to the car. I helped him into the seat and as I went round to the driver’s side, Aggie touched my arm and, nodding towards the weird old cottage, whispered, ‘Don’t let him get worked up about yon, Nurse. ’Tis not in the Lord’s plan, you know.’
But Arthur was not easily put off and brought the subject up right away. ‘Aggie worries that it’s no right. The Kirk will no like it at all. But we can’t help what we are seein’, can we, Nurse?’
‘What have we seen, Arthur?’ I wondered.
‘Ach, ’tis the old biddy as owns the house. She was that fond of the place at one time. I’ll get Ally [his son] to ring them down in England there and find out. But I know why she’s here—aye, I reckon I know why!’ He paused (for dramatic effect?). ‘She’s gone, you know, Nurse. That’s what it is. She’s gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘Aye. Gone. Passed on. Passed over. Gone!’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m thinkin’ ’tis her: come back.’
‘Come back?’
‘Aye.’
‘You mean as a … a … ?’
‘Aye—as one of them. The minister would no like to hear me sayin’ that, but I can’t help what I am seeing.’ He glanced at me. ‘You don’t believe a word of it, do you, Nurse?’
‘Well … ’ I floundered a bit. ‘We don’t actually know that the old lady has died, do we? But I have had one or two odd experiences si
nce I have been here on Papavray, so I’m not dead against it all. But I’m just not sure and I find it difficult.’
Having lived on the island for over two years now, I was not only getting used to the crofters’ beliefs in such things, but I felt myself becoming more open to possibilities that I would have rejected out of hand when I was living in the more sophisticated south. Scepticism and sophistication seem to go hand-in-hand but now, living ‘closer to the soil,’ I felt the freedom to consider the possibilities and, perhaps, the humility to realise that we do not know everything yet. Not by a long way!
‘Aye. Aggie gets feart. She’s too churchified, y’see.’
We were at the surgery by now. Doctor Mac was concerned and, after severely reprimanding Arthur for gardening in that state, he prescribed antibiotics by injection twice daily, in addition to the antiseptic dressings. He insisted that Arthur must rest the foot. Privately, I thought I knew where he would rest it—on the garden wall, watching the old croft house. It was also pretty clear that I would be visiting these two quite a lot, so I braced myself for more about the ‘old biddy.’
The following day, Ally popped in to say that, sure enough, the old lady had died just over a week ago.
‘Told you, didn’t I, Nurse?’ claimed Arthur in triumph.
But Aggie was frightened. She couldn’t eat and wasn’t sleeping well.
‘I wish the silly old bodach would stay inside. It’s doing no good to keep staring at that place, watchin’ for her. It will all stop in a whiley—when she’s laid to rest.’
‘How can you be so certain, Aggie?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘’Tis obvious, Nurse. She’s betwixt and between just now. When the minister—whoever they have in England—has asked for peace for her blessed soul, then she’ll be at rest.’ She sighed. ‘But that will no be too soon as her sons are both in Canada and have to get all the way back for the funeral.’
‘Why do you think she is hanging around here instead of her home in England?’ I asked.
Arthur spoke up. ‘I’m thinkin’ there’s something in there that she wants. She keeps going to the door—maybe through it, I can’t see—but there’s something in there. Aye.’
He had a faraway look in his eyes which I regarded with suspicion. He was planning something!
‘What are you up to, Arthur?’ I asked as I pumped antibiotics into his thigh.
‘Ouch! I felt that …’ He looked at me. ‘I know, Nurse—if I had taken the pills, I wouldn’t need the jabs …’
I smiled at his pretended discomfort. He was a tough old seaman: it would take more than a needle to upset him.
‘What are you up to?’ I repeated.
‘Well, it’s like this—Aggie knows this too.’ Aggie nodded. ‘She, old Martha, lived there with her parents when she was a wee girl. I knew her when we were young. She grew into a bonny lass indeed, but she took up with a tinker. Her parents didna like that. He moved on and she went off to the mainland for work. Well, that’s what we were told, but the truth came out eventually: she left to have a bairn.’
Aggie nodded sadly. ‘The wee soul was put out for adoption and we didn’t see aught of Martha for years, as her parents would have nothing to do with her. When they passed on, she came sometimes with her husband and her two sons. We had a talk one day and she told me that her husband was a hard, cruel man and she hadn’t dared to tell him about the bairn that she had had. She said that she had traced her wee daughter, “Trudy”—about thirty by then—and she was disabled and almost destitute. She used to save some of her housekeeping money secretly, to send to her, but no one knew about her—not the husband or the sons.’
‘We might be about the only ones still alive who remember all about it,’ Arthur took over. ‘I wonder if she’s no at peace because she wants her sons to know about the wee girl. They are two good lads who know only too well what their old father is like. If they knew that they had a half-sister and that the girl needed money or care or something, they could see that she got it. And they would, I’m sure. So, I think there is a letter in there—maybe a solicitor’s or a will—and she wants it.’ He slapped his thigh to emphasise his point.
‘That is a lot of supposition. Guess work really, Arthur. And how is she to get it? I don’t think ghosts or … um … whatever can change things—like picking a letter up and posting it …’ I was getting into ridiculous realms here.
‘Ha, that’s where I come in …’
‘No, Arthur. You canna go breaking in.’ Aggie was nearly in tears.
‘Breaking in? I’m not needin’ to, there’s plenty gaps in the walls and windows.’ He paused and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘But with this foot …’ He was staring at me. I couldn’t believe this!
‘No, Arthur. No, no, no. I can’t go breaking and entering.’
‘No breaking, just entering, Nurse. T’would be doin’ the right thing for the poor lass. Aye, the poor wee soul that she is. And we’d be free of old Martha.’
I refused. I protested. We drank tea and I protested some more.
I was still protesting as I pulled on one of Arthur’s old boiler suits over my uniform and began to push my way through the bushes towards the old house. The house that I was definitely not going to enter. Ha!
Arthur was right: there were plenty of gaps; the place was far from secure. I was able to wriggle through with ease, still wondering how on earth I had let myself be persuaded into this crazy stunt.
Inside, it was gloomy: the tiny windows shed very little light but my eyes gradually adjusted and I was able to see what had been a surprisingly comfortable room with some good quality furniture, pretty china, and various ornaments, all now covered in layers of dust and mouse droppings. I looked around, trying to imagine where ‘the old biddy’ might have hidden a letter or a will. I discounted the roll top desk as being too obvious a place. (After all, her husband had visited occasionally.) The usual ladder-like staircase led up to the only bedroom, and the toilet was in a ‘wee hoosie’ outside. Where to begin?
I searched in kitchen drawers, under the bed, behind cushions on the old settee, inside the jugs on the mantelpiece, behind and in the bookcase—no books, just a lot of rubber bands, old shopping lists, and some coppers, saved for a long forgotten purpose, no doubt. But no letter.
I was on my knees, peering beneath a chest of drawers, when I felt that I was being watched. I looked guiltily towards the window, thinking that I had been observed entering the house. There was no one there! But I felt a ‘presence’ of some sort. I was not convinced by Arthur’s theories, but I was not entirely sceptical either and I had not relished being a part of this spooky adventure. There was something there. The net curtain was moving, perhaps in the draught from the door? But as I looked, I realised that there was no curtain there at all—just a grey shadow that I could actually see through.
There was no sound either (except my heart, hammering on my ribs), but the shadow, almost formless, seemed to move across the room and gradually evaporate as it reached the dresser with all its cups and plates still waiting for the diners who would never use them.
What had I seen? Perhaps the changing light as the sun went in? Maybe the swaying of the bushes outside the window? I don’t know, even now, if I saw anything at all. But, suddenly, I wanted to get out of that house. I was mad to have come in the first place!
I turned to go, but my eye fell on a sewing box on the bottom shelf of the dresser. A memory flitted through my mind. Biddy! Chreileh! Her mother had hidden a letter in a sewing box, knowing that men are unlikely to use a sewing box. Perhaps … ? Just perhaps ‘the old biddy’ had done the same so that her husband would not find it.
I scrabbled among the buttons, pins, needles, and bits of ribbon. Nothing! Then something in the chintz lining crackled. I ripped the stitching away. There was a chunky letter. It was too dark to read anything but it looked official. I stuffed it in my pocket and went!
Back in the cottage, Arthur was ecstatic (if a little smug) as he and Ag
gie peered at the envelope. It had been opened and resealed and was obviously a document of some sort.
‘Should we read it, Nurse, do you think?’
‘After all this effort, I think you should. To be sure that it is what you imagine it to be.’
I was struggling out of the boiler suit. ‘Then you could get Ally to ring the sons in Canada and hope that they will help the girl. That way the husband won’t know anything until it is too late … hopefully.’
It was all getting too complicated for me—I had done my part. I needed to get on with my interrupted visits.
I left them to pore over the legal jargon, mull things over, and tell Ally, who lost no time in phoning the ‘old biddy’s sons.’ I hoped that a wrong would be righted. I like happy endings.
And, of course, when I went to visit the next day, Arthur couldn’t wait to tell me that the grey figure by the rock had gone. I didn’t tell them about the shadow I had seen in the old house. That was just between me and … what?
THREE
Clannan Beg
The road (scarcely more than a track but roughly tarmacked) leading out of our tiny village of Dhubaig followed the coast for a mile or two and then started the steep climb up to Loch Annan and Ben Criel. Over thousands of years, the waters flowing out of Loch Annan had carved a deep gorge in the granite rocks. The road now perched on one side of this gorge with the hillside rising above, while on the other side a deep dark chasm dropped to the waters of the burn many feet below. Gnarled and stunted trees grew in this ravine. Others waved their heads above the road to give dappled shade in the sunshine of a summer day or to rattle weirdly in the wind when covered with icicles in winter. Because of the tumbling burn, the air in the deep glen was always damp so that the trees and the rocks which rose up on all sides were blanketed with mosses and lichens.
Nurse, Come You Here! Page 2
