Rhanna at War

by Christine Marion Fraser

  It was the cue everyone needed to let out a subdued bellow of laughter, for there, on the open moor, with the wraiths of haar curling into the hollows, the tale and the tone of old Andrew’s voice sent shivers up the spine. But the Commandos were in no laughing mood when not long afterwards most of the islanders drifted away in twos and threes as silently as their stoutly-booted feet would allow. And so, left without the willing guides they needed, the soldiers abandoned the caves and the moors, and now narrowed the search to Nigg and the Burnbreddie estate.

  On the hill track to Nigg they came upon Dodie leading Ealasaid home to her byre. The old eccentric had by now learnt to tell the difference between Germans and Commandos and at sight of them he began to gesticulate wildly and babble in Gaelic. He was in a pitiful state with his grey-green eyes sunk into his face like currants in a wizened treacle dumpling and the grey-black stubble on his chin heightening the illusion of a fungus-covered reject. Fortunately some staunch, if not daring, members of the Home Guard had remained and it soon transpired that Dodie had spent a harrowing, sleepless night.

  ‘The big Hun was here,’ Robbie translated for the Commandos. ‘Poor auld Dodie says the man burst into his house like a raving bull, took all Dodie’s food, and then slept most of the night and part of today in a chair by the fire. He went away only a wee whily ago and Dodie just galloped off to look for his cow . . . he loves the beast more than anything else in the world.’

  ‘Ask him if he knows which way the German went.’

  Dodie was now weeping into his big calloused hands, his stooped shoulders shuddering with long-drawn-out sobs, the tears running in dirty rivulets through his fingers. For the first time in his life Robbie thought seriously about Dodie and his lonely simple world. It was bad enough to know about things that went on in the war but to a simple soul like Dodie, his mind groping at half-formed notions and solitary imaginings, it might be utterly terrifying. Not one of them had ever spared the time to explain to him what went on in war and Robbie realised that the arrival of the big German into Dodie’s innocent world must have been a frightening ordeal. Robbie felt a great lump of self-reproach in his throat and he threw a firm arm round Dodie’s bent shoulders.

  ‘Look now, Dodie, I’m here, dinna greet any more. Just tell me which direction the big Jerry took.’

  Dodie waved his arms in the direction of Bumbreddie. ‘I saw him goin’ in there when I was looking for Ealasaid, by the wee rustic gate in the bushes!’

  Dunn looked at Robbie. ‘Will you stay with him for a while? He looks like he could be doing with some comfort.’

  Robbie was torn. He had looked forward to the Manse ceilidh, seeing it as a reprieve from Behag who was still giving him the ‘silent treatment’. ‘All day I am hearin’ nothing but silence,’ he had told his cronies dejectedly. ‘I used to think it would be heaven to hear her mouth shut; now I am thinkin’ she’s even more hell wi’ her lips closed.’

  ‘Ach, all right,’ he said finally, ‘I’ll bide a whily. Look you now, Dodie, I’m comin’ in to ceilidh wi’ you whether you like it or no’. I have some o’ Tam’s whisky here and we’ll have a fine old time.’

  Dodie raised a tear-stained face. It was grey and utterly woebegone in the pale glimmer of moonlight filtering through the haar, but a small ghost of a smile lit his weary face. ‘Will you really stay wi’ me, Robbie? My, it would be right nice, so it would . . . for a wee whily just. I’m – I’m feart o’ being alone till the big German is caught but at least . . .’ he blinked away the last of the tears, ‘I found my Ealasaid and will get some milk to drink, for that big mannie took all I had in the house.’

  It was an easy enough matter after that to trace Zeitler to one of the big haysheds inside Burnbreddie. His face was haggard and he succumbed quite meekly to the Commandos, though his look of arrogant disdain said quite plainly that he was proud of the trouble he had caused everyone in the last few days.

  Thomson was back in his place outside the Manse door, shakily lighting a cigarette, when old Angus drove the trap containing Zeitler and the Commandos up the steep brae. Madam Balfour of Burnbreddie had kindly and willingly loaned both her groom and the trap to the Commandos.

  ‘We must all do what we can in these troubled times,’ she had imparted graciously, looking with disdain down her nose at Zeitler. She had fussed greatly over the Commandos since their arrival, inviting them to meals and at one point lending them her precious car that they might get about the island quicker. But the car had been of little use on the stony island roads and had got stuck in a bog on the Muir of Rhanna two nights previously where it still remained because no one had had the time to get it out.

  ‘You have been very kind,’ Dunn had said, taking the old lady’s hand. ‘First your car, now your trap. Thank you for all your hospitality.’

  ‘A pleasure, I’m sure,’ the old lady had fluttered, her veneer falling away for a moment to show a lonely old woman, but just as quickly she had been herself again saying, ‘I’ll get Angus my groom to drive you over to the Manse. He detests work you know but then, these people have no ambition, none at all! There’s talk that they’re brewing their own whisky, you know! Oh, I wouldn’t put it past them, drink all day if they could . . .’

  Old Angus had chortled wickedly as he guided the horses up to the Manse. ‘The old bugger has done me a favour sendin’ me out for I’ll be gettin’ to this ceilidh after all. I was rackin’ my brains all night for an excuse to come.’ He now glanced at Zeitler huddled in the back seat. ‘We’ll be showin’ the Jerries a bit o’ life right enough but I’m hopin’ this one will be changing his clothes and scrubbin’ himself. He smells terrible just!’

  When the crowd piled into the Manse Jon Jodl was playing a gay little melody which brought forth smiles of appreciation from the new arrivals. In the hubbub Carl Zeitler was whisked away to the wash tub in the scullery. There, watched over by two soldiers, his urgent need for hygiene was speedily undertaken. Mrs Gray, glad to get away from the hymn singing for a while, presided over gallons of water heating on the range in the kitchen while in the scullery the men divested Zeitler of his repulsive-smelling layers of outerwear. Sounds of merriment came from the drawing-room and Mrs Gray smiled to herself. It was going to be a good ceilidh after all.

  ‘I will just heat this – er – gentleman some food,’ she said politely, glancing at Zeitler’s brooding face. She looked up at the two Manse guards, Thomson and Cranwell, whose faces were rather haggard in the light of the lamp. ‘Poor lads,’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘You look done in . . . but never mind, there’s enough hot water for you all to have a nice wash. I’ve made lots of lovely food so nobody will starve.’

  Torquil Andrew came into the kitchen, a pretty dark-haired girl hanging on one arm and a basket of food on the other. ‘Some bannocks and scones,’ he explained with a flash of his white teeth. ‘I told Mother I was coming over to the Manse to sing hymns and she was that pleased to think I’ve changed my ways she started baking right away.’

  ‘Oh, Torquil, you shouldn’t,’ Mrs Gray beamed in delight while in the scullery Zeitler was making strangulated sounds of protest because someone had left the door open and he sat in his zinc tub for everyone to see.

  After Torquil there came a stream of people all bearing a little offering of some sort. Mairi handed over a pot of crowdie cheese. ‘It will be nice on the bannocks – the way Wullie likes it,’ she explained sadly before her brown, rather vacant, gaze came to rest on Zeitler. ‘My, my,’ she said with mild astonishment. ‘You would never think he was a German without his clothes – I suppose it’s just you expect that funny wee Hun sign to be everywhere on them – even their bodies!’

  The earlier arrivals breathed sighs of relief when the familiar faces of the more rumbustious islanders appeared through the door. In the excitement everyone forgot inward promises of abstinence in all things the minister might consider improper. Despite the restrictions caused by rationing, the generous islanders passed round packets
of cigarettes while the older men lit smelly pipes. Old Andrew, who, in the first part of the evening had done everything with his pipe except smoke it, thankfully accepted a good fill of ‘baccy’ from old Joe then reached for his fiddle to tune it. The Germans accepted cigarettes and, after introductions, smiled in some bemusement at the various nicknames bestowed on them. A shining Zeitler was brought in to join the company, one or two children sneaked in by the side door, and the once silent and empty room was soon filled to capacity.

  A rousing welcome greeted Niall’s entrance, ample proof of his popularity with everyone, while Babbie received a reserved introduction together with a swift appraisal from the womenfolk and sly glances of appreciation from the men.

  ‘Good! Good! We’re all here now!’ the Rev. Gray boomed, looking round the gathering with some dismay because he hadn’t expected such an enthusiastic turnout for a praise meeting. ‘Now we shall really raise the roof with our singing!’

  The door opened once more to admit a serenely contented Morag Ruadh who came on the arm of Dugald Donaldson. Dugald, determined to follow up the activities of the German invaders, had cycled over the rough moor road from Portvoynachan, his pockets bulging with notepads and pencils. Morag, having allowed herself some time in the fuel shed to ‘gather herself up’, had emerged to meet Dugald at the Manse door and had surprised him thoroughly by hanging on to his arm and chattering with unusual animation.

  ‘Ach, that is good, now!’ Tam McKinnon approved at the minister’s words. ‘Erchy has brought his bagpipes and we’ll have Andrew playin’ the fiddle. ’Tis a pity poor auld Todd is laid up for it’s handy to have two pipers at a ceilidh. When one gets out o’ breath you can just hand over the pipes to the other while the bag is still full of air.’

  The minister looked at Tam with disapproval. He had told Mrs Gray to ask only teetotallers to the ceilidh and here was Tam McKinnon who, it was rumoured, was actually brewing his own whisky. In fact, on looking over the new arrivals, the minister saw only those who were notoriously fond of ‘the devil’s brew’.

  ‘You cannot sing hymns to the bagpipes, Tam!’ he said sternly.

  Erchy grinned mischievously. ‘No, but she’ll play them. Wait you and you’ll hear what I mean.’ He patted his pipes affectionately. ‘Just right she is for a good blow. I’ve given her some treacle to keep her supple and a droppy whisky to give her a bit of life.’

  It was Erchy’s habit to fondly give his bagpipes a female gender but while everyone else smiled appreciatively the minister’s frown deepened. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Erchy, but there will be no whisky-drinking women in my house. Now . . .’ He turned to Morag Ruadh and smiled ingratiatingly. ‘Morag is here at last and only too ready, I’m sure, to relieve this young man at the piano – isn’t that right, Morag?’

  Before leaving the fuel shed Morag had consumed the remainder of her whisky and she was now seeing the world through a rosy glow. She smiled charmingly at the minister, and confounded him by replying, ‘Indeed, I will not! I’m for the skirl o’ the pipes and a good bit story from Andrew and Joe. ’Tis a night o’ fun I’m after.’

  The minister’s jaw fell and everyone looked at each other in astonishment.

  ‘It’s no natural, no’ natural at all! Morag Ruadh is no’ herself,’ was the general verdict.

  Jim Jim and his wife looked at each other. ‘Here,’ Isabel said, ‘was you thinkin’ earlier that Morag was actin’ a bit funny?’

  Jim Jim nodded. ‘Ay, indeed. I had a mind I was smellin’ the drink off her, but knowing Morag I thought it couldny be. My God, would you look at the smile on her face. She’s been havin’ a bit fun out there and well she looks on it too. I never thought o’ Morag as bein’ bonny before but tonight she has the look o’ a new woman.’

  The blast of the bagpipes filled the room and with a mad ‘hooch’ Morag was the first to get to her feet, turning to pull Dugald after her.

  Isabel nudged her husband. ‘Look at that now. She and Dugald Ban are right friendly all of a sudden.’

  Jim Jim removed his pipe from his mouth to make a faultlessly aimed spit at the coals, despite the swirling skirts that flounced wildly to the tunes of the pipes. ‘Well now, there’s a thing,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘A fine thing, just. Dugald Ban would be just right for Morag and him wi’ his ambitions will maybe become one o’ they famous people wi’ plenty money.’

  Jon Jodl and Ernst Foch had risen to their feet and were clapping their hands and stamping their feet in time to the pipes. Only Zeitler remained staring broodingly into the fire but even he could not resist the music and one foot tapped almost automatically on the hearth.

  Niall gripped Babbie’s arm. ‘Well, what do you think of the praise meeting?’

  Her green eyes were sparkling. ‘It’s – it’s magic, I shouldn’t be feeling like this, all happy and bubbly inside, but I can’t help myself. Oh, I wish Shona had come. People will be wondering. Already we’re getting some queer looks.’

  ‘You, you mean, the men can’t keep their eyes off you. Shona could have come if she had wanted. She’s behaving like a spoilt baby!’

  ‘Och, c’mon, Niall, you know that’s not true! You were horrible to her today and fine you know it.’

  Niall’s brown eyes were full of misery. ‘I know, God, don’t rub it in! But it was seeing her with that – that German. If he hadn’t been in bed so badly broken up I swear I would have punched him. Don’t tell me either that you particularly like the idea of mending a German or have you changed your mind about that sort of thing?’

  She put her fingers to her forehead and shook her head angrily. ‘Of course I haven’t. When I saw him in Lachlan’s surgery I thought for a moment that I wanted him to die!’ She looked up suddenly and continued in a shocked voice, ‘Isn’t that a dreadful thing for a nurse to admit! I hated myself at the time and I hate myself now for ever having thought it! For three days now I’ve looked after him and now I don’t know what to think. I look at him and I see only a wounded young man who has lost all his family in the war. I have to force myself to be cool to him and all the time he’s so quiet and grateful for everything I do.’

  Niall’s nostrils flared. ‘The best killers have the nicest smiles. He’s a German and that’s all there is to it!’

  ‘Well, there’s Germans here, aren’t there? Why did you come tonight? After all, Niall, this ceilidh is in honour of them!’

  Niall looked contemptuously at Jon and Ernst who were now jigging round the room with the utmost enjoyment. Commandos, islanders, Germans, all mixed together, ‘hooching’ and skirling, caught up in the irresistible wild rhythm of the pipes and the fiddles. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’ Niall sounded defeated, with all the fight suddenly gone out of him. ‘I shouldn’t have done a lot of things today, but I did, and because of it Shona’s not speaking to me and I’m damned if I’m going crawling to her to say I’m sorry! I wasn’t the one fawning over a German!’

  ‘You’re jealous, Niall, so jealous you can’t even think straight! I think it might be a good thing if I leave Rhanna by the next boat! Heaven knows what Shona must be thinking about you and me, first finding that we know one another then coming here tonight together and leaving her out in the cold. I’m too fond of her to hurt her!’

  ‘And by God, no wonder. Both red-haired witches with tempers like devils! It would be fine of you to leave the island now with Biddy laid up, a spare nurse that’s got one foot in the grave, and my father with so much to do he looks ill on it! Granted I could hit him for taking that German under our roof but he is my father and he needs all the help he can get!’

  They were both shouting at one another but above the noise of the pipes no one heard except for those sitting close by. Old Isabel leaned forward confidentially. ‘Where is our Shona tonight, laddie? I had thought that we would all be comin’ to your weddin’ soon and here you are, at a ceilidh wi’ another lass. It’s no’ right, no’ right at all.’

  In Niall’s present mood i
t was fortunate for Isabel that the pipes stopped playing just then and everyone flopped exhausted into chairs. Jon Jodl came over to where Babbie was sitting and addressed her quietly in German.

  ‘He is asking how his Commander is keeping, Miss Cameron,’ the minister said.

  Babbie reddened as all eyes turned towards her. ‘Oh, tell him he is improving. He was very badly wounded but the doctor brought him back . . . from the dead. He has lost some of his fingers from frostbite but – otherwise he is perfectly whole.’

  ‘Ach, the soul,’ Kate sympathised solicitously. ‘We are hearing that he brought his plane over the village and took an awful risk jumping out over the mountains so that he wouldny harm anyone.’

  ‘Ay, he’s no’ bad for a Jerry,’ Tam said enthusiastically.

  ‘Speakin’ the English too,’ put in Erchy somewhat breathlessly. ‘But we are after teachin’ him some o’ the Gaelic. Already he can say a few words.’

  Tam looked at Ernst and Jon. ‘These lads are no’ like the real Nazis – except for the big Hun in the corner.’

  Ernst looked over at Tam and said carefully, ‘Uisge-beatha?’