by Ali Carter
Jane actually stamped her foot. ‘I just wish you didn’t all have to see my poor efforts.’
‘Jane,’ I said, trying to lift her mood, ‘you mustn’t say that. The hardest thing about creativity is the challenge. There is no formula. No medicine to make things better when they’re bad. It’s not like learning something and knowing it forever. Each new painting or drawing puts you right back on first base and just because past drawings and paintings have worked doesn’t mean future ones are going to.’
‘Mine hasn’t worked at all today.’
‘Well, I think it looks like Cailey.’
‘That’s because no one else wears such wacky make-up,’ said Shane.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Lianne. ‘Can we go?’
‘Yes, let’s call it a morning. We’re having lunch up on the moor and the minibus will be leaving here in ten minutes.’
I looked out of the window and my heart fell; grey clouds had swamped this morning’s blue sky.
‘Cheer up,’ said Louis over my shoulder.
‘I’m happy. I just don’t want it to rain.’
We’ve just finished a stand-up lunch of thick hot soup and cold lamb rolls in the bothy and are now out on the veranda, under an awning, contemplating the drizzle.
Stretched out in front of us is a loch, one long slick plane of deep brown sunk into the foreground of the heather moorland. The landscape behind tumbles for miles, eventually blending with the peaks on the horizon.
‘Look,’ exclaimed Rupert. ‘There’s a ptarmigan.’
‘So it is,’ said Fergus. ‘Well spotted.’
‘What did you say it was?’ said Felicity, all giggly with confusion.
‘A ptarmigan.’
‘Spelt P T A R M I G A N,’ said Jane.
‘Blast, he’s gone.’ Giles was disappointed. ‘I’ve never seen one before.’
‘Over there,’ said Minty.
‘You’s never seen a bird before?’ said Shane.
‘You’ll only see these birds in the Highlands.’ Fergus leant on the crook of his stick. ‘They’re a species of grouse. This one’s a male. You can tell from the black feathers round his face.’
‘I ain’t see no black feathers.’
‘It’s a bit far away, but if you look closely you’ll see them coming through his white winter plumage.’
‘Only birds in Britain to grow completely white plumage,’ said Rupert. ‘Talking of which, there’s a painting of them in my bathroom.’
‘Yes,’ said Fergus, ‘it’s by Thorburn.’
‘And…which Earl bought that?’ mocked Shane.
Fergus laughed. ‘The Countess suo jure’s husband bought it. He was wounded in the First World War, no quality of life after and bought art to cheer himself up. He had been a particularly keen sportsman before the war. There are some of Henry Alken’s wildfowl prints in one of the children’s rooms, I think?’
‘Mine,’ said Giles.
Fergus clapped his hands and Haggis barked at the ptarmigan’s rasp as it furiously flapped its short wings and grazed the heather in low flight.
‘I’m going to leave you all to it,’ Fergus said with a spring in his step as he bounced off the veranda into the heather. ‘Haggis and I have some inspecting of the butts to do.’
‘What?’ shrieked Lianne.
‘A butt’s a camouflaged hide you shoot from,’ said Rupert.
‘What’s a hide?’
‘A place of concealment, disguised to appear as part of the natural environment,’ said Jane.
‘I bet you’re good at Scrabble,’ teased Rupert but she wasn’t amused.
‘It would be a grand place for a wind farm here,’ said Giles. ‘My parents are longing for their application to be accepted. They’ve got an eighty-foot application mast up, like that one over there.’ He pointed into the distance.
‘I can’t see a thing,’ said Felicity.
‘I’m not lying, it’s the tip of a mast breaking the horizon. I can tell.’
‘Yeah right?’ said Minty.
‘Wind farms make you rich, don’t they?’ said Shane.
‘Mega rich,’ said Lianne.
‘They’re ghastly,’ said Minty.
‘Enough of this,’ I cut in, ‘it’s time to begin and if you’re all happy using my primed paper again, then help yourself to a sheet in the bothy. We’ll be painting outside.’
‘What about the rain?’ mumbled Lianne.
‘Yeah?’ said Louis.
‘You don’t have to paint it if you don’t like it.’
‘Ha ha.’
I took a step down from the veranda onto the heather. It was only drizzling but everyone else stuck under cover. Rupert and Shane were squeezed in the doorway, Minty, Giles, Felicity, Jane and Lianne spread out over two benches, and as Louis bent to perch on the step he reached out his hand and caught a drip from the peak of my hood.
‘Controversial subject these wind farms,’ bored on Rupert.
‘You should try talking to Fergus about it,’ said Louis.
‘Waste of time, there’d be no point applying for one here.’
‘Why?’ said Jane.
‘The ornithologist would have a field day.’
‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ said Shane.
‘A bird expert,’ said Jane.
‘Of course, you’d know that.’
‘Come on, enough of this.’ I tried to stop the conversation but it continued.
‘Why would an ornithologist have a field day?’ said Giles, and Rupert opened a discussion.
‘All of you must have seen the big black birds swooping around the house?’
‘I told you, Jane,’ said Felicity. ‘There was one on our window sill the other night.’
‘Do they make an eeeee, eeeee, eeeee noise?’ screeched Lianne.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s been keeping me awake.’
‘Me too,’ said Minty. ‘It’s a horrible haunting sound.’
‘They’re ravens,’ said Rupert, ‘a protected species. There’s a swell of them here.’
‘And?’ said Louis, clearly not well versed in wind farm regulations.
‘Even without the necessary step in the application, they’d win the case for the antis.’
‘How?’ said Felicity.
‘They’re protected and any disruption to their flight path such as a collision with turbines,’ Rupert could hardly sound smugger, ‘would instantly put an end to an application.’
‘Please,’ I begged. ‘We must get started.’
‘What do you have in store for us this afternoon then?’ lorded Rupert.
‘Yesterday, we covered mixing colours and the basics of beginning a picture. Today we’re going to focus on one colour.’
‘Yellow,’ said Shane.
‘No. What’s the dominant colour in the view behind me?’
‘Bleurgh.’ Shane’s tongue followed the word out of his mouth.
‘Blue,’ said Rupert.
‘Depends how much of the sky you’re looking at,’ said Jane.
‘As a photographer I can tell you everything fading into the horizon is a varying shade of blue.’
‘He’s right,’ said Minty.
‘Yes, and this afternoon I want to try and teach you to create perspective using one colour.’
‘Must we go out in the rain?’ grumbled Felicity.
‘If you’re happy working on your knees you don’t have to.’
‘I’m going to sit here.’ Shane plonked himself down next to Louis.
‘And I’m going to brave the drizzle,’ said Rupert. ‘Nothing like a blast of bad weather to get one out of the post-lunch slumber.’
‘There are easels in the bus.’
‘Please grab one for me too,’ said Minty.
‘Won’t their pictures smudge?’ asked Felicity.
‘No, water and oil don’t mix.’
‘So, you could paint in pouring rain?’
‘I wouldn’t recommend i
t.’
‘It will only add to my picture,’ said Rupert.
‘What are we painting, Miss?’
‘A view of the horizon.’
‘None of this foreground?’ said Giles.
‘Not today. I’d like you to start your picture in the far distance, where things begin to turn blue.’
‘I can’t paint the lake?’ said Lianne.
‘Loch,’ corrected Jane.
‘If you really want to you can, but I was hoping you’d try this exercise first.’
‘Anything for you, Miss.’
‘Please can you talk us through it?’ asked Rupert.
‘Okay. Here goes…’
The endless questions were driving me mad but I kept my patience, just, and the class eventually began.
Jane and Felicity both tried really hard and Minty and Rupert stuck it out until the drizzle stopped, the temperature rose and hundreds of midges descended on us. Tiny little black dots bite, bite, biting any exposed bit of flesh. It was ghastly. The session fell apart, everyone rushed inside the bothy and, last in, I banged the door shut.
‘I’m never coming to Scotland again,’ said Lianne. ‘That was the worst experience of my life.’
Felicity nudged Jane who was rubbing mosquito repellent all over her wrists. ‘Give her some of your spray.’
‘Hey, give us all some of that,’ said Shane, stretching an arm out for the bottle.
‘Please,’ said Jane.
‘Please.’
‘Ladies first,’ said Rupert and Jane handed the bottle to Lianne who took some and handed it to Minty who then handed it to me. I gave my neck and wrists a good spray and passed it on to Louis, he passed it to Rupert, on to Giles and eventually it got to Shane who thankfully saw the funny side.
BANG went the door and in stumbled Ewen with a bottle of sloe gin in his hand.
‘Where did you come from?’ said Rupert.
‘Close the door, close the door,’ squealed Lianne, reaching to push it shut.
‘Thought I’d come see how you’re getting on.’
Judging by the amount of mud on Ewen’s boots he’d clearly walked here.
‘I knew you’d appreciate some of this.’ He held the sloe-gin bottle high in the air. I think he drank some on the way.
‘Get in there,’ said Shane, holding out his lunch mug.
‘Yes please,’ said Lianne, thrusting her mug at him too.
‘Anyone else?’ Ewen wobbled the bottle and, resigned to the fact the class had come to a crashing end, I thought why not round it off with a shot of sloe gin.
‘Well, if the tutor’s having some,’ said Giles, ‘I’ll have some too.’
It wasn’t ideal Ewen appearing like this but I had to hand it to him, he’d lifted the mood. Absolutely everyone accepted a shot and although it was not part of the curriculum, he couldn’t have appeared at a better moment.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ said Fergus, bursting through the doorway completely drenched.
‘Uh-oh.’ Ewen clenched his teeth for comic effect.
I was rather alarmed by Fergus’s sudden strength of character. But nothing could have stopped the others charging for the bus, desperate to be off the moor and back at the house. Fergus, Ewen and I were soon alone.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, taking the blame. ‘The class ended early because of the midges.’
It sounded a bit pathetic out loud but it was the truth.
‘Yeah, bro, I promise I didn’t interrupt them, they were already in here when I turned up.’
‘Okay,’ Fergus said, then turned and left the bothy. Zoe was right, fundamentally he’s wet.
‘Susie?’ said Ewen, his eyebrows raised like a cheeky little child. ‘Do you think there’s room for me on the bus?’
I couldn’t hold back a smile, this man was a charmer. ‘I’m sure there is, let’s go see.’
He squeezed in the back, pretty much sitting on Louis’ knee. I hopped in the front next to Haggis, and Fergus revved the engine. With wet paintings clasped tightly in cold hands, the bus was put through its paces, down the track and off the moor.
I’ve hidden myself away in my room. The smuggled electric heater is set to full blast, I’ve had a bath, got my nightie on and am lying under the bed covers wishing I had a gin and tonic in my hand. The failure of this afternoon’s class, which was neither fun nor productive, is preying on my mind. I clench my teeth at the stupidity of not having thought about rain or midges. We’re in Scotland for heaven’s sake.
Refusing to let a tear creep out, I shut my eyes tight and think about what I’m going to do if there is worse weather to come. This week’s residency advertised landscape painting and as the tutor I’m here to fulfil it. Oh help me, please, come up with a solution.
I roll onto my side and stare into the open wardrobe. What am I going to wear tonight? This decision always cheers me up. My new black mini skirt? Yes, I think so. Definitely my red satin underwear, it could hardly be more appropriate for a burlesque show and as it’s cold I’ll wear the matching camisole too. Would a see-through shirt on top be okay? Yes, loosen up, Susie, take the opportunity to have some fun. Now jewellery, I don’t have much choice. Hoop earrings and some gold bangles should do. Bangles…Wasn’t Zoe odd when I’d found her alone in the library before tea, musing over something on the Victorian writing bureau and I’d chosen my moment to suggest her bracelet could have been taken by a raven to line its nest. The tone in her reply took me by complete surprise: ‘It was a raven,’ she’d snapped and I’d jumped on the spot. Then, just as I was about to change the subject, Giles had come trundling in and Zoe, without another word, lifted up the front of the desk, inserted a mini key into a mini keyhole, locked the bureau and left the room.
Birds always make me think of Dad; he’s a bit of a twitcher at heart and thanks to his spouting on the subject I’ve only ever associated ravens with the Tower of London. To this day there remains a small flock there, known as an ‘unkindness’, and the legend goes that if they leave, the Kingdom will fall. Highly unlikely considering their wings are clipped. When Dad first told me, the part I found most interesting was that breeding pairs must have their own territory, so cannot share the Tower’s enclosure. The Wildlife and Countryside Act – stick with me here – states that we should not resupply from birds in the wild. Therefore there’s an aviarist in the country, Alec Ronaldsay, with a dispensation for breeding captive ravens for the Tower of London. The sole purpose of this aviarist’s job is to repopulate and ensure the Tower’s precious flock thrives. How cool is that.
Lying here now, thinking about birds and that ridiculous discussion of wind farms this afternoon makes me want to prove Giles wrong. Surely Fergus, with his love for this place, can’t possibly have a wind farm application in progress? Google I’m sure will back me up…I typed muchton wind farm application into my browser and…dammit…I’m wrong. The very first search result proves that.
Application for new onshore wind farm plans
Planning application: 27/00126/EIA
The Proposal
Application for planning permission in conjunction with Anemoi Energy for a wind farm spread over 23 square miles of the Muchton Moor to include 140 turbines, associated infrastructure (site access roads) and ancillary development including turbine foundations, crane hardstandings, control building, grid connection and construction compound.
Giles is right, Fergus does have an application in progress. The proposal went on and on and on – Size; Speed; Megawatts; Location; Construction; Connection; Site Access; Decommissioning; Environment; Risk Assessment; Hazardous Sites; Impact on the Countryside; Noise & Shadow; etc., etc. – and the substantial document highlighted just how many different angles opposers can come from.
A hundred and forty turbines does seem an awful lot. However, I know nothing of such things, so, let’s see… Google: largest onshore wind farm uk.
215 turbines and a total capacity of 539 MW, with an average of 2.5 MW per turb
ine.
Next I searched: number of turbines in a wind farm uk.
Wind farms can have as few as 5 wind turbines or as many as 250.
Here it is in black and white, Fergus is trying hard to make big money from this. The company website of Anemoi Energy, one of the more pretentious names I’ve heard, gave a bit of blurb about the project.
Application
Pending A section of Muchton Moor, part of the Auchen Laggan Tosh Estate, is Anemoi Energy’s largest project to date, and is a joint venture between Anemoi Energy and Auchen Laggan Tosh Estate. The wind farm, located near the village of Muchton, Moray, will comprise 140 turbines – giving a total capacity of 322 MW of clean electricity, sufficient to power 200,000 homes.
The proposed site is 53 miles west of Inverness with striking views over the Torridon Hills to the north and the Beinn Eighe to the west. There is a plan for a network of wind farm tracks to be built which, when the turbines are in situ, will be open for the public to visit and use.
I very much doubt that final perk will stand up against the opposition. I wonder if I can find any objection letters…
The first link I clicked on threw up a whole spread from five months ago reporting on campaigners laying out their opposition to the Scottish government’s wind farm policy at an event organised by Communities Against Turbines Scotland (Cats). The key speaker was an MEP, the Chairman an MSP and the opening statement read: ‘The time has come for the government to think again about its wind farm policy.’ It was far too political for me to read on so I went back to the search results and found over fifty individual objections from the public, against a single letter of support from Archie and Hilda Stewart. Fergus, believe it or not, had sent in a response and I’m afraid what with his address and title I don’t think it will have helped him one iota. Here’s what it said:
Fergus, Earl of Muchton, Auchen Laggan Tosh
Looking at the problem from a broader angle, although we do not want these wind farms in the Highlands, we have come to the conclusion that, dire though the consequence of them coming is, for farms like ours to survive they are always going to be subsidy driven. Landowners with no private income do have to diversify and develop alternative practices to attract the subsidies on offer at the time. We cannot fight against opportunity for payment that would change landowners’ lives principally because they would spoil the view. I object (as you would) to being told what I can and cannot do on my own land. So, I suppose what I am saying is that the real argument is with the government for getting it so terribly wrong and not with the people, who quite reasonably take advantage of what could be the biggest input of cash into their pockets for a generation. My wife and I would not want you to think we had no respect for the beauty of our surroundings and were motivated purely by greed.
