Rhanna at War

by Christine Marion Fraser

  When Lachlan reached the island he looked at the neat bandage Shona had made and patted her arm. ‘You’ve done well, mo ghaoil,’ he approved quietly before starting on a swift examination of Anton’s broken body.

  Fergus stood against the tree and watched Lachlan’s long, sensitive fingers. The doctor had removed his coat to cover Anton and his shoulder blades showed through his pullover. He was thin and still boyish with his dark curling hair that always strayed over his forehead when he bent over. So Fergus remembered the doctor Lachlan who had tended him so devotedly, and for a moment Fergus held his breath. How he loved the man who was both doctor and companion to him. But it hadn’t always been so. Fergus’s first wife, Helen, had died giving birth to Shona and in his grief Fergus had blamed Lachlan, and it was only many years later, at the time of Fergus’s accident, that the two men had healed the rift between them. Something caught in Fergus’s throat. How bitterly he regretted those lost years. He had wasted so much precious time that could have been richly spent with the man who healed with skill and unstinting devotion.

  As Lachlan began slowly to remove Anton’s helmet Fergus knocked his pipe out against the tree and went to kneel by the doctor. ‘Does he have a chance, Lachlan?’ he asked softly.

  ‘It’s difficult to say till I get him back to the house. I’ve sent Matthew over to fetch Biddy, and Phebie is getting the surgery ready. He ought to be in hospital,’ he continued. ‘With complete asepsis and every modern surgical technique . . . but I’ll do my best.’ He passed a hand over his brow. He was always doubtful about his abilities as a surgeon. Working on an island with limited facilities, he’d had to deal with many emergencies over the years – and the patients who had come healthily through surgery carried out in crude, makeshift conditions were a testimonial to his capabilities. But he was completely without ego and it was perhaps the lack of it which endeared him to so many.

  He paused as he lifted the helmet off the wounded man’s head. The young man had already reminded him of Niall with his youthful features and firm chin, but now, the crop of fair curling hair completed the illusion. He gently ran his fingers through the thick blond thatch. ‘He’s got concussion, but the helmet saved him from more serious damage. It’s the shock I’m worried about . . . he’s lost so much blood.’ He looked at the little boat rocking peacefully. ‘In my haste I brought only my bag – could you – all of you – take off any clothing you don’t need and pad out those planks a bit?’

  Wiry old Bob was coatless but he pulled off a tattered cardigan and stood in his shirt sleeves without the hint of a shiver. Fergus removed his jacket and felt the goose pimples rising, but he moved to the boat and began to lay the pitifully inadequate coverings on the bottom. Bob came at his back armed with a bundle of dead bracken which he pushed under the clothing.

  ‘You have a head on you, Bob,’ Fergus commented and he too began to gather moss and bracken. In minutes a soft bed was made and the arduous task began of getting Anton into the boat, which was no easy job, for, though slim, he was tall and muscular. Bob and Lachlan grasped his shoulders, Shona supported his middle in an effort to keep the wound from opening further, and Fergus took his ankles in the strong grasp of his right arm. Fergus got into the boat first and his stomach lurched as the frail little craft tilted alarmingly. For a moment he hesitated and looked down. There was no gradual shoreline from the tiny, rocky islet – the land dropped down immediately into deep black depths – and the sight of it made him shudder. Water had frightened him from boyhood. The land was his backbone, water something to be admired so long as his two feet were firmly on the ground. He stumbled against a thwart and the little boat responded by bucking alarmingly.

  ‘Steady, man,’ Lachlan said quietly, and the moment was over. Soon Anton was lying on his bed of mossy bracken but taking up most of the confined space.

  ‘Only two of us will get in wi’ him,’ Bob muttered, blowing his nose into a grimy hanky with a nonchalant air. ‘It’s how we’ll be managing on the other side that worries me.’

  No one looked at Fergus, for never by a word or glance had any man suggested that the loss of his arm was an inconvenience to him. But he was always quick to sense unspoken thoughts and he said roughly, ‘Get along over, I’ll wait here.’

  Shona slid a thin arm round his waist. ‘I’ll wait with you, we can keep each other warm.’

  He looked at her anxiously. She had divested herself of most of her warm clothing to cover Anton, and Fergus felt a rush of protectiveness. He pulled her close and she felt the warmth of his body burning into her, the very nearness of it dispelling the chilly tremors that were bringing her out in goose pimples.

  Bob pulled swiftly at the oars. In his days of tending sheep and cows he had seen many a sickening sight, but they were of things within his experience. The sight he had just witnessed was without those bounds, and his tough old stomach churned, making him row the harder. Dot saw him coming and her barks grew in volume, but her sense of devotion was lost on her disgruntled master. He lunged at her with his boot the minute he jumped ashore, whereupon she tucked her tail well between her haunches and slunk into the bushes.

  ‘Come back till I toe your arse, you bugger!’ Bob cried in frustration, and then turned his attention to helping Lachlan. Both men were grimly aware of Anton’s open wound and were able to ease him over the planks only a few inches at a time, a task made no easier by the swaying of the boat. Bob stopped to wipe watery mucus from his nose. ‘It’s no damt use, Doctor!’ he spat. ‘We’ll never manage the lad between us! I’d best go back for McKenzie! We need another pair o’ hands!’ Which last remark was proof of Bob’s invincible faith in Fergus. But before they could move, Dot began making a nuisance of herself again, whimpering in the bushes and making excited half-yelps. The distraction was too much for Bob and he roared, ‘Shut up, you brute, or I’ll skin your hide—’

  He wasn’t able to finish the threat. The dog suddenly shot out of the undergrowth, followed by the muzzle of a murderous-looking Tommy gun held by a man attired in khaki battledress and a tin helmet from which sprouted sprays of fir branches.

  ‘Your dog was causing a bit of a nuisance,’ he pleasantly told a surprised-looking Bob. The soldier then turned to Lachlan. ‘You look like you could be doing with a bit of help?’ but before Lachlan could answer he called into the trees, ‘Out of it, lads. We need some muscle here.’ Magically there appeared from bush and tree half a dozen young men all sporting a variety of natural camouflage. Without a word they went straight to the boat and lifted Anton out as if he were thistledown. Bob immediately climbed back into the boat to row to the island for Fergus and Shona, leaving Lachlan to introduce himself.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Doctor,’ said the thick-set, heavy-jawed young man whose gun had sent Dot yelping. ‘I’m Dunn, the officer in charge of this charade.’ His teeth showed in a flash of amusement before his eyes travelled to Anton. ‘I see you have found another of the bomber crew?’

  Lachlan nodded slowly. ‘Yes, he’s very badly wounded and needs immediate attention. My house is a fair distance from here but I’ve brought my trap to the clearing at the edge of the wood. We’ll have to carry him to it . . .’ He spread his fine hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I’m worried about the bumping he’ll get on the way down. The track is a rough one.’

  Dunn grinned reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, Doctor, we’ll get him back to your house.’ He turned to the others and there was a swift exchange. Before Bob was half-way over the loch the men had removed their battle-jackets, fashioning them into a strong, pliable stretcher into which they placed Anton. There was no regimental dividing line between officer and men. They worked together as an efficient team and Lachlan looked on admiringly. Soon they were all making their way through the dark, silent wood with a subdued Dot slinking at Bob’s heels. Fergus had wrapped his jacket around Shona who was carrying her bloodstained cloak over her arm.

  Dunn looked at it and his professional mask fell for a moment. ‘He’
s lost a lot of blood. Do you know how he came to injure himself?’

  ‘Probably on the mountain – coming down,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s a lot of jagged rocks on this side of the mountain.’

  ‘And you’ve just found him?’

  ‘Ay, the children heard moans from the island.’

  ‘So he’s spent most of the night in the open?’

  ‘And most of the morning. He’s suffering badly from exposure.’

  ‘A real tough-skinned Jerry!’ Dunn’s words were harsh but Shona knew they were only a cover.

  When they reached the clearing Dunn nodded towards the trap. ‘You get in, Doctor, and lead the way. It’s better that we should carry him, lessen the risk of rattling him around.’

  Fergus fell into step with Dunn who was at the head of the stretcher party. ‘It’s been a wild-goose chase for you,’ Fergus said in his deep melodious voice. It wasn’t a question, but a blunt statement of fact.

  The officer appreciated it, and laughed. ‘Wild geese would be a bloody sight easier to catch than the ghosts we’ve been chasing. We were told the island was invaded by German paratroops and were sent over to investigate – can’t be too careful – never know what the bastards will be up to . . .’ He checked himself and went on pleasantly, ‘We’ve got on to Naval Patrol to let them know it’s a bit of a false alarm . . . some of us are staying though . . . there’s still the pig-headed one of the crew to locate and it seems your Home Guard are having a bit of trouble running him to ground. We met some of them over on the north side of the island but they didn’t seem too keen to hang around there.’

  Fergus smiled at this but Bob’s weatherbeaten countenance creased into a frown. ‘No one in their right senses will be staying round that damt place for long!’ It was a cryptic remark, one typical of the superstitious older generation, and Bob, being one of the best Seanachaidhs (story tellers), was renowned for his ability to arouse curiosity in the least imaginative beings, but the officer merely smiled politely and said nothing.

  Bob’s gnarled fingers curled tighter round his crook. ‘The De’il deals wi’ his own,’ he snarled, defensive yet assertive about his beliefs. ‘It is a consecrated place yonder at Dunuaigh. The monks will no’ be likin’ the intrusion that is goin’ on wi’ folks of all nationalities trampin’ over their restin’ places!’

  Shona smiled impishly. ‘But Bob, there is only one German likely to be wandering – and no doubt wishing he hadn’t been so hasty in escaping from the Manse this morning.’

  ‘’Tis enough! ’Tis enough!’ Bob barked and he stamped away to begin his belated work, calling impatiently on Dot who went scampering after him gladly enough.

  Tina was standing at the door of her cottage. She raised a languid arm in the manner of one acknowledging a carnival procession, her only betrayal of surprise manifested by the slightly breathless utterance, ‘You have caught the German laddie then?’ Which singular observation rendered the sturdy presence of the Commandos as of little import. ‘If any o’ you are seeing Matthew, send him home for his dinner,’ she added in slightly accusing tones, then turned to scoop Eve from the water barrel into which she was gleefully climbing.

  Shona ran ahead and climbed into the trap beside Lachlan who immediately tucked a rug round her legs. ‘You take care, mo ghaoil,’ he told her. ‘We must have a nice rosy lass waiting for Niall when he gets home.’

  She laughed, tucking her arm through his. ‘Don’t worry, Kirsteen has stuffed so much food into me since I came home Niall will think I’m a prize turkey when he sees me. A good excuse for him to thraw my neck!’

  Their laughter drifted back to Fergus who had just heard from the officer about the raids over Clydebank the previous night. First-hand news could be had from the accumulator-powered wireless sets owned by those interested and affluent enough to possess one. Fergus had one in his parlour but the morning had been too rushed for anyone in the household to think about switching on. The officer went on to say that it was believed the bomber that had crashed on Rhanna was one of a group which had taken part in the raids, and then, having been hit, had lost all sense of direction.

  ‘Oh God, no!’ Fergus breathed. ‘The doctor’s son stays in Clydebank. He and my daughter are sweethearts! Good God! Is there no end to it?’ It was a cry from the heart and Dunn looked at him in sympathetic enquiry. ‘Niall was injured at Dunkirk,’ Fergus explained. ‘Lachlan, his wife, Shona – all were wild with grief because they believed him to be dead – but he came back with a wound that meant no more fighting for him . . .’ He smiled wryly. ‘It would seem the war has caught up with him anyway. How am I to tell his parents that?’

  Dunn cleared his throat. ‘Would – you like me to do it?’

  Fergus hesitated as he watched the stretcher party marching carefully down the grass-rutted track. It was very peaceful there among the fields, with the crushed grasses releasing an almost forgotten scent of summer. The dairy cows, released from winter byres, let out soft little half-bellows which they blew into each other’s ears. The frost of the morning had disappeared and there was a gentle heat in the haze of the sun, a delicate promise of the green, Hebridean spring to come. Banners of blue smoke curled from croft and farm, rising to hang in tattered shrouds against the misted purple of the mountains.

  Down below Lachlan and Shona turned, curious as to why Fergus and the officer had stopped.

  Fergus wondered wildly what to do. How would Shona feel having an echo of the past brought back? Phebie would react typically, with a quiet display of normality hiding her deepest fears . . . And Lachlan, the doctor in him rising up out of his despair to try and save the life of a German . . . But how would Lachlan the man feel afterwards? How would they all feel till news of Niall filtered out of the confusion of an air raid? Shona . . . Again Fergus hesitated. She had come back to Rhanna for a holiday, to rest that tightly-strung little body which Fergus was still inclined to think of as belonging to a child. But even though she had been home such a short time he was seeing a change in her. She had gained a lot of poise, her emotions were under a tighter rein. Once, Rhanna and all it meant had been her only horizon, but now there were others which seemed to have broadened her whole outlook on life . . .

  Fergus straightened his shoulders. ‘I’ll tell them,’ he said abruptly to Dunn and ran down the rutted track to catch up with the trap.

  Lachlan heard him out in silence, a faint flush high on his cheekbones the only sign of his inner fears. Shona, her deep blue eyes wide, stared at her father as his firm lips formed halting words into some kind of meaning. She wanted to put her hands over her ears, to scream at her father to be quiet, to shut her mind to the facts. It had been easier in childhood when little fantasies had helped her over the many hurdles of her young life. But she wasn’t a child any more, there were no little illusions to help her now. In a dream she heard herself saying, ‘No one will be knowing the facts yet. It – will be some time before we hear any news?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Dunn murmured, coming up behind Fergus. ‘Everyone is too shattered and harassed to make much sense of anything. I believe it all started last night and the all-clear didn’t come till just before dawn this morning. Everything will be in a turmoil but I’ll get some enquiries through if I can . . .’ He smiled kindly and went on, ‘Mr McKenzie tells me the young man has had experience of battle and is at present with Civil Defence so I’m sure he knows how to look after himself.’ What he didn’t add was that there was a strong likelihood the German bombers would return to Glasgow and Clydebank that night but he felt he had already said enough on the subject.

  The stretcher party had halted some distance ahead, and Lachlan turned to Shona. ‘Go home, mo ghaoil. I’ll understand.’

  She put her small hand over his and shook her head vehemently, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘No! You’ll need all the help you can get! If I sit at home I’ll just dwell on all the things that might never happen. It would be useless to try and contact Niall, all the usual commun
ications will be down but . . .’ she turned appealingly to Dunn, ‘if you hear anything further or can get any sort of enquiries through would you let me know immediately?’

  ‘Count on it,’ Dunn nodded.

  Fergus took her other hand and crushed it tightly. ‘You take care, Ni-Cridhe,’ he told her softly.

  Shona caught her breath. ‘Ni-Cridhe’ was the Gaelic endearment for ‘my dear lassie’. It wasn’t often he expressed himself so freely in public and she knew that he was feeling something of her pain. It was his way of telling her how much he cared. ‘I’ll take care, Father,’ she whispered.

  ‘We’ll expect you in for tea,’ he said, and then turned abruptly on his heel and strode away.

  Chapter Eight

  A curious crowd had gathered outside Lachlan’s, ample proof that Matthew’s tongue had been busy. When the stretcher party hove into view everyone began to talk among themselves as if by doing so they were proving that their presence in that remote spot of Glen Fallan had no bearing whatsoever on the latest events. So absorbed did they appear that it seemed an impossibility their interest could lie in anything that was happening outside their own little circle. As Lachlan came by in the trap, heads lifted one by one in a great display of surprise.

  ‘It is yourself, Doctor,’ acknowledged Kate McKinnon innocently. ‘We were just thinkin’ over the things o’ last night and wondering where the other two German lads were hidin’ but I see you have another one there.’ With one accord they all turned to look upon the deathly pale face of Anton being marched past their vision.

  Lachlan got down from the trap and said with a deceptively charming smile, ‘And you have all left Portcull to have a little chin-wag in the middle of Glen Fallan?’