Saints and Sailors

by Pam Rhodes

  “Actually, Arthur would love to see Iona, but the journey’s got nothing to do with it,” answered Jill, trying to ignore his patronizing tone. “It’s because he loves Scotch whisky, and he’s just realized we’re moored right next to the Tobermory Distillery. Something about a fifteen-year-old single malt that’s more than 46 per cent proof?”

  Rob whistled under his breath. “That could kill him.”

  “I think he’d die happy. Anyway, he’s off for a tasting, and Pete and Callum say they’ll have to go too, just to make sure he gets back to the ship in one piece.”

  “Right…!”

  “So if you fancy coming to Iona, it’ll be a wonderful drive. Iona’s full of history…”

  “You’re old. You’ll enjoy that.”

  Tears stung Jill’s eyes as she replied. “I’m the same age as you.”

  “The difference is, you’re old before your time,” retorted Rob. “You’re set in your ways, stuffy and predictable.”

  “Rob, that’s cruel and unfair.”

  “Oh, Jill, admit it! We’ve got nothing left to talk about. We don’t enjoy each other’s company. All we’ve got in common is the kids, and they don’t need us any more. And you’re right, we are the same age, but you seem to be happy with that. I just see the months and years slipping away from me. I’ll only live once, Jill. With you I feel as if I’m treading water, getting nowhere – with someone who’s lost the will to do anything except dress and act like a pensioner. If I didn’t have my job to get me out of the house and away from you, I’d go completely mad.”

  Gulping with indignation and hurt, Jill turned to head for the door. Then she looked back and said, “Well, you’re the one who can’t be bothered to get out of bed and see where we’re moored right now. I’m the one who’s going off to spend the day visiting a lovely island with people who value me. The only company you’re likely to keep is any bartender willing to pour you a drink or six. Who’s the boring one, Rob?”

  And with that she slammed the door, only to collapse against the corridor wall as hot tears coursed their way down her cheeks.

  As the coach wove its way out of the pretty town of Tobermory, Mark and Deirdre sat together looking out at the red, pink, yellow and blue houses clustered around the small harbour, which was sheltered on three sides by a steep wooded bank. At first, Deirdre tried to concentrate on what their guide was telling them about the three hundred miles of rugged coastline that encircled Mull, and the island’s native grey seals, red deer and white-tailed sea eagles with their wingspan the size of a barn door. It wasn’t long, though, before the words blurred as she gazed out in wonder at the wild beauty and vibrant colours of the landscape.

  I need to cherish these wonderful memories, she thought, feeling the warmth of Mark’s hand encircling hers. Tomorrow everything will be different. By tomorrow, this lovely man will know the truth about me – and he won’t want to know me then.

  “Look out to your left,” said their guide, who was adept at weaving local history and folklore into his description of the geology and wildlife of the island. “On a clear day like this, it’s often possible to catch a glimpse of the massive shape of Britain’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis. Over there on the mainland. Can you see it?”

  “No,” said Sheila, taking off her sunglasses to peer through the window. “Can you?”

  “I’m not keen on Scottish mountains,” said Betty in the seat alongside, her head turned away from the window.

  Sheila turned abruptly to check out her friend’s unexpected lack of enthusiasm. “That’s cryptic. Why not?”

  Betty shrugged. “Oh, I tried skiing in Scotland once. A woman at work asked me to fill in when her friend had to back out of a week’s holiday in Aviemore. I was so thrilled to be asked, although I did wonder why me? She was Miss Popular: tall, slim, always wore trendy clothes – quite the opposite of dumpy, frumpy me. I was the office comic, really. Very early on I worked out that everyone likes someone who makes them laugh, so that’s what I tried to do.”

  “How did you get on with skiing?”

  “Well, she’d been going on winter holidays for years, so once she’d dumped me in the beginners’ class, she was off up the mountain and I didn’t see her all day.”

  “Good idea to learn the basics, though,” said Sheila.

  “Yes, I thought that too. I might even have enjoyed it if I hadn’t been the only person in the class who was over ten years old.”

  “Oh, I see…”

  “I stuck it out for the first day, and I really thought I was beginning to get the hang of it. You know, though, how the weather in Scotland can change so quickly? The next morning, I was going up in the chairlift in freezing fog, with my fringe hanging down in icicles in front of my eyes. I just wondered what on earth I was doing there. It was supposed to be fun.”

  “And was it, once you got going?” asked Sheila.

  “Well, I got up to the slope for the class, and I was struggling to get my skis on when a little show-off – she couldn’t have been more than about five – shimmied up and skidded to a halt right next to me. She asked if I’d been in her class the day before. I was ridiculously pleased to think I’d made a friend, even a small one, so I said I was and that it was nice to know she remembered me – and she said she didn’t really, but her mum told her there was a big girl at the back who kept falling down.”

  “Oh, Betty…” said Sheila, hands across her mouth as she struggled to stifle a giggle.

  “So that was it. I decided that if God had wanted us to walk on snow, he’d have made skis easier to put on. I was back on that chairlift like a shot, and spent the rest of the week on a bike cycling round the loch near our hotel. It was great, really beautiful down at ground level. I enjoyed it. But the Scots can keep their mountains.”

  Sheila laughed out loud as she hugged her friend. “Of course you enjoyed it. You always make the best of everything. That’s what I love about you. And I hope you spoke your mind to that heartless madam who abandoned you in the kids’ class.”

  A slow smile spread across Betty’s face. “She twisted her ankle…”

  “No!”

  “For the rest of our holiday, she was stuck in bed with her foot propped up on pillows. I was very sympathetic, of course.”

  “Well, you would be…”

  “… while I had a great week out in the fresh air all day, then lots of Scotch broth and hot toddies in the evening. Après-ski without the bother of skiing. I loved it.”

  The two friends collapsed into giggles together.

  “They sound as if they’re having fun,” smiled Claire. She and Neil were sitting just behind Betty and Sheila. “It’s been good introducing people from our new congregation to the crowd from Dunbridge. I think it’s working well. Don’t you?”

  Neil looked up from the book of Celtic prayers he’d been thumbing through in preparation for the service at Iona.

  “Yes. I reckon some genuine friendships are being forged this week. Of course, the exceptions are Carole and Garry. They seem to think the St Stephen’s crowd are their arch-rivals, for some unfathomable reason.”

  “I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed all our friends down in Dunbridge. I don’t mean Uncle Harry and Iris, because we’re always in touch with them – but people like Peter and Val. They’re obviously still in love, after all the difficulties his ex-wife put him through. And Clifford! He always makes me laugh because he’s so outrageous, but you can’t possibly take offence. And there’s Julia and Ida, although I didn’t know them so well. And Raymond’s a dear. He never changes, does he? Always smiling…”

  “Well, it’s easy to envy his attitude to life,” agreed Neil, smiling too. “He breezes through life loving everyone and everything.”

  “Especially singing…” grimaced Claire. “What key is that he sings in?”

  “A very loud one,” chuckled Neil.

  “And then there’s Brian and Sylvia.”

  “Yes, they’re great.”


  “Is it awkward for you? It’s not so long ago they had you lined up as their son-in-law…”

  “Until you came and claimed me from Wendy’s clutches,” grinned Neil, squeezing her hand.

  “Seriously, though,” Claire persisted, “how do they feel about that now?”

  Neil shrugged. “If Brian and Sylvia hold any grudge, they certainly don’t show it. I’ve noticed they’re inclined to mention Wendy quite a bit, just to make sure I know how wonderfully well she’s doing and how much she isn’t missing me.”

  “Isn’t it odd to think of her out in Australia with Ben, of all people? I mean, Ben was my boyfriend years ago when he was in Dunbridge – and he’s Sam’s dad, so he’ll always be in our lives to some extent. But when he belted back to Australia leaving me to bring Sam up on my own, I honestly thought I’d never see him again. It was shocking enough that he came back last year expecting I’d welcome him with open arms, but when he finally got the message that I wasn’t interested, I never thought he’d end up with Wendy. After all, she was still throwing her hat in your direction. And she always gave the impression she was so cultured and highbrow. It’s hard to imagine her taking off for a new life in the middle of nowhere with a humble garage mechanic. It was all so dramatic; a bit like joining the Foreign Legion!”

  Chuckling at the thought, Neil nodded in agreement.

  “Are they a couple now, do you think?” asked Claire.

  “Brian and Sylvia have never said and I haven’t asked. I know Wendy’s teaching at a school in his town, and from what her dad said, I think she’s already head of the music department there. Presumably she’s enjoying it, or she’d have been on the first plane back again.”

  “Do you have any regrets about making the choice you did?” There was a vulnerability in Claire’s expression as she asked the question.

  Holding her gaze, Neil leaned forward to kiss her with a tenderness that left her in no doubt of the answer.

  “I love you,” he whispered, “till death do us part. That means always. I will always love you, my darling Claire, always and forever.”

  With a sigh of contentment, Claire rested her head on his shoulder. “That’s OK, then.”

  Two seats ahead of them, Jill turned her face to the window. She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes with a now-sodden tissue. Sitting beside her, Marion’s voice was full of compassion as she spoke.

  “Look, love, marriages have their ups and downs, especially when you’ve been married for years. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been on the point of leaving Ron. Once, I even got as far as going to live with my sister for a whole month.”

  “But you came back.” Jill’s voice was barely audible. “You must have felt there was something in your marriage worth coming back for.”

  “Actually, my sister threw me out and said I was a pain to live with. She said I expected other people to do too much for me, and told me I was moody and didn’t pull my weight. It was a bit of an eye-opener, really. Of course, I had a huge list of things that irritated me about Ron, but it had never occurred to me that perhaps he had to put up with quite a bit from me too.”

  “Did you bore him? Did he think you looked and behaved like a pensioner? Did he make it perfectly clear that he had no interest in you whatsoever, and that his life would be considerably better if you just cleared off and left him to it?”

  “No, I think it was me who said all those things about him.”

  “But how can either of you step back from the point where you feel like that? Rob’s said it all now. It’s out there. I’ve heard it loud and clear. He doesn’t love me any more. How can I stay when I know that’s how he feels? Why would I want to?”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I thought I did, but then I thought he loved me too. What’s the point of even trying to love someone who really doesn’t want you? I’ve got to have some pride.”

  “Definitely. So give him something to notice – you. Prove to him and yourself how much you’re worth – and then you can decide if you think he’s worthy of you!”

  “Hmm,” grunted Jill, plainly not convinced.

  Marion squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Trust me. Wait till this evening after you’ve been top-to-toed at the beauty salon. Then see how you feel.”

  Jill’s face was filled with uncertainty, but she finally answered with a hint of a smile. “All right, fairy godmother, do your stuff! Of course, I’ll be back in rags by midnight, but tomorrow’s another day!”

  “That’s the spirit,” grinned Marion, and the two women relaxed back into their seats to gaze out at the magnificent countryside beyond the coach window.

  Just over an hour later, they drew up in front of the ferry terminal at Fionnphort, stopping alongside the other coach carrying passengers from The Pilgrim. Across the water they could see the outline of the Isle of Iona looking enticing and mysterious, just as pilgrims had seen it for centuries.

  “Those ancient pilgrims didn’t have a nice warm ferry boat to take them over to the island, though,” smiled the Reverend Ernie Rea, who was guiding the party during their visit. The passengers had gathered around him to gaze out towards the island as they watched the ferry make its steady way towards them.

  “You see before you a sacred island,” continued Ernie, “a place of inspiration, peace and healing where, more than one thousand four hundred years ago, the Celtic saint Columba founded a small monastic community which has inspired generations of Christians ever since.

  “But it’s not only faithful pilgrims who have been drawn here over the years. For centuries this was the seat of the great Stone of Scone on which kings of Scotland were crowned. Even after the stone had been moved over to Scone on the mainland, the kings of Scotland came back to Iona to be buried. Duncan and Macbeth weren’t just fictional characters dreamed up by William Shakespeare. They were real Scottish kings whose bodies lie together somewhere on Iona.

  “When we approach the landing point on the island, take a look towards your left, because there you’ll see Martyrs’ Bay, where the bodies of the kings were brought to their final resting place. From there, the Street of the Dead led through the ancient town of Sodora to the churchyard and the Chapel of St Oran, the oldest surviving and most hallowed place on Iona, where many Scottish and Irish kings are laid to rest.

  “And somewhere on this island lies the body of St Columba, the monk whose teaching helped to establish the Christian faith in Scotland and eventually across the whole of the British Isles. When Columba and his fellow monks arrived here from Ireland on the day of Pentecost in 563, this island was wild and rugged, battered by strong winds and restless tides. Their lives were a daily struggle with the elements, illness and hardship. In the rawness of creation around them, they saw both the power and the love of God, and this oneness with God was reflected in their prayers and worship.

  “Today, members of the Iona Community are committed to seeking new ways to live out the gospel in our modern world. The community was established in the late 1930s by the Reverend George MacLeod, who worked with a team of volunteers from some of the poorest areas of Glasgow to renovate the ancient monastic buildings of Iona Abbey. The community there today echoes the lifestyle of St Columba himself, bringing together work and worship, prayer and politics, the sacred and the secular.”

  At this point, Ernie broke off as the ferry arrived, and the passengers clambered on board. Some of them stood in awed silence as the boat made its way across to the island. Others captured the moment on their cameras, or texted the image to their friends back home. But as the group finally disembarked and gathered around Ernie again beside the ferry landing point on the Isle of Iona, there was a palpable air of excitement among them.

  “You’re welcome to wander around the island with me,” said Ernie, “so I can explain the history of this place and the relevance of the buildings here. Or you may prefer to explore Iona quietly by yourself, as so many pilgrims have before you. Walk in their footsteps. Experience so
mething of what Columba and his founding monks felt here on this blessed island. Whatever you decide, please bear in mind that at one o’clock we’ll be holding our own act of worship in the Michael Chapel, at the back of the main abbey building. We look forward to you joining us then. But however you choose to fill your time, make sure you’re back at the ferry here by two. Is that clear?”

  There was a general murmur of agreement as the crowd started to disperse.

  “I’m heading for the Ladies, then a café and a cupcake,” announced Betty.

  “I thought you were on a diet?” asked Sheila.

  “My weight’s perfect,” retorted Betty. “Unfortunately, I’m about a foot shorter than I should be. Besides, I’ll be keeping my diet in mind when I tuck into that cupcake. I’ll ditch the sprinkles.” And with that she marched off in the direction of the main street.

  “Did she say cupcakes?” asked Raymond, his smile as broad as ever as he puffed up to join the group.

  “I thought she said chocolate cupcakes,” grinned Sheila, and with that she and Raymond turned to race after Betty, as Marion and Jill hurried along behind, hoping to catch up.

  “Carole!” called Neil, as he spotted her walking with Garry towards the abbey. “I’m so pleased you’re joining our choir for the service in the Michael Chapel today. I just wanted to check you’ve got everything you need.”

  “Why should I need anything?” Carole replied, turning to stare stonily at him. “I’m a professional. I can read music. I can sing anything asked of me.”

  “Of course,” mumbled Neil hastily.

  “Brian asked me specially. It’s plain he needed a singer with expertise – a commodity in very short supply on this trip, I must say.”

  “Well, it’s good of you to offer your services, and I’m sure it will be an enjoyable experience for us all.”

  “The setting will be very special,” Carole agreed. “As for the standard of the singing in general – well, my guess is that will leave a lot to be desired.”

  “We’re starting the service at one. I believe the choir are planning to gather a little earlier than that.”