by Ken Lussey
Bob tapped the map again. ‘To me, it looks as if Swordland Lodge is only a dozen or so miles west of where we last saw Mallory and Quinlan, at the west end of Loch Arkaig, and from what you say, it’s likely they will know that there are boats at Tarbet on Loch Nevis, a sea loch. They could have reached Tarbet by mid-evening yesterday, and if I were in their shoes I think that’s the first place I’d want to visit in my efforts to escape. I suspect that if the whole area hadn’t been stormbound, they’d have stolen a boat and sailed overnight, before the alarm was raised. But you say that you were able to talk to Swordland Lodge last night?’
‘Yes, we did, Group Captain,’ said Major Massingham. ‘But I agree with your assessment. He turned to Captain Smith. ‘I will telephone Swordland again, and this time tell them we believe it very likely that two armed and dangerous men are in their vicinity. I will also ask them to make sure the boats are properly guarded. Meanwhile, I think we also need to increase our security there. Ian, can you round up as many personnel as possible, especially anyone from 49 Field Security Section? Make sure they are armed and if the weather permits get them onto a boat at Morar. If it’s possible to sail from Mallaig in this storm, then getting men directly round to Tarbet via Loch Nevis might also help. I’ll coordinate things from here.’
Bob and Sergeant Potter waited, as asked, in the main hall of Arisaig House while Captain Smith rounded up men to accompany him to Swordland Lodge.
Then Major Massingham reappeared with a worried look on his face. ‘We can’t raise Swordland Lodge on the telephone. The line appears to be dead.’
‘When did you last speak to them?’ asked Bob.
‘Last night,’ said Massingham. ‘We immediately passed on the warning we’d received from Achnacarry. The fact that we cannot reach them now is therefore doubly worrying.’
At that point Captain Smith came into the hall. ‘I’ve got a dozen men together, sir. They should be bringing a lorry round in a few minutes.’
The major said, ‘There’s been a change of plan, Ian. I’d like you to hold the fort here, while I go to Swordland Lodge. We can’t reach them by telephone and I’m worried.’
‘Very well sir,’ said Captain Smith, who looked disappointed. ‘It could just be the weather, you know. It’s not getting any better out there.’
‘Possibly,’ said Major Massingham, ‘but I don’t want to take any chances.’
Bob said, ‘Lieutenant Colonel White was planning to move men to the eastern ends of Loch Morar and Loch Nevis in the early hours of this morning. I know he’s in communication by radio with Achnacarry. It ought to be possible to get them to ask him to move his men the few miles west to Tarbet and Swordland Lodge. And perhaps to Meoble Lodge as well, just in case.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea, sir.’ The major turned to Captain Smith. ‘Ian, can you get onto Achnacarry immediately, and ask them to forward a request to Lieutenant Colonel White that he does that as soon as possible?’
‘There’s another thing, Major,’ said Bob. ‘The lieutenant colonel also moved men round by road to Arisaig, Morar and Mallaig yesterday. It might be possible to get them to lend a hand.’
The major paused, in thought. ‘A dozen men is probably about all we can move up the loch from Morar to Swordland Lodge by boat in one go. Sir, would you be happy to go up to Mallaig and see if the conditions permit some of the commandos to travel around by boat via Loch Nevis to Tarbet?’
Bob had been considering whether he should join the group sailing to Swordland Lodge but realised that the major’s proposal was a better one. ‘Yes, of course, Major. Just remember that if my experience is anything to go by, these men are likely to shoot first and ask questions later.’
The major grinned. ‘I thought my days as an infantry platoon commander were long behind me, but I don’t think you ever forget how to ride a bicycle.’
Chapter Twenty
As Captain Smith had said, the weather wasn’t getting any better. Matters weren’t helped because Private Jenkins had been unable to resolve the problem with the windscreen wipers while at Arisaig House.
Despite that, they had no problem seeing the results of Lieutenant Colonel White’s efforts to ensure that Mallory and Quinlan would have difficulty leaving the area. Private Jenkins stopped at the first checkpoint, manned by trainee commandos on the main road leading into Arisaig. More men could be seen on patrol in Arisaig itself, and there was another checkpoint on the north side of the village.
‘Good grief, sir, look at that!’ They were following the twists and turns of the extremely narrow main road as it mirrored the convoluted line of the coast north of Arisaig. The tide seemed to be in and large waves were crashing into the rocks and beaches forming the shore. Jenkins had braked hard to avoid a plume of spray that had completely engulfed the road, just ahead of them.
‘I don’t see anyone putting to sea in this,’ said Sergeant Potter.
‘I just hope that the major and his men are able to get to Swordland Lodge along the loch,’ said Bob.
‘They stand a better chance of getting there than we do of getting out of Mallaig, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Were you able to reach Major Miller?’
‘Yes,’ said Bob. ‘Lieutenant Dixon hadn’t been in touch but will be asked to join us in Mallaig when he does. I’ve said we should use the harbourmaster’s office there as a point of coordination.’
‘Is there one, sir?’ asked the sergeant.
‘I’m assuming there has to be,’ said Bob. ‘Hello, another checkpoint.’ This one had been set up just before a level crossing on the way into the village of Morar. There was another on the road out of the village, and yet another on the road as it crested the hill to begin the final descent into Mallaig. Here Bob asked where he could find the patrol commander. It turned out he was looking for a Lieutenant Darlington, who had based himself at the police office in the village.
Visibility through the rain wasn’t good, but from the hill behind Mallaig it was possible to catch glimpses of large waves crashing against a pier at the north end of the harbour and forcing plumes of spray high into the air.
‘Is that a train on the pier?’ asked Sergeant Potter.
‘It certainly looks like a line of railway wagons,’ said Bob. ‘You’d have thought they’d have pulled them clear of the reach of the waves.’
As they drove through the storm down into Mallaig, Private Jenkins voiced the thought in Bob’s mind. ‘We aren’t seeing this place at its best, are we? I don’t see many postcard photographers coming out in this weather.’
There were glimpses of more substantial stone houses down by what Bob assumed was the railway line, to their left, and there was an imposing hotel on the right. But Bob had to admit that the storm gave Mallaig a rather dismal air. ‘I imagine that the harbourmaster’s office will be on the harbour, somewhere,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Private Jenkins. ‘I’ll stop and ask.’ Jenkins braved the rain and wind to ask directions from a pair of heavily-armed trainee commandos.
‘Any luck, Taffy?’ asked Bob.
‘It’s near this end of the smaller pier, sir. The harbour is not what you’d call picturesque. There must be half a dozen smokehouses over beyond where those commandos were standing, with smoke coming from one of them.’
They pulled up outside a small white building with a dark blue door and window. The sign on the door declared it to be the harbourmaster’s office.
Bob pulled his Denison smock on over his head, noticing that the pain in his side seemed to have eased slightly since the last time he’d performed that manoeuvre. ‘I suggest the two of you stay in the car.’
Bob knocked on the door but realised that any reply from within would be lost to the wind. He pushed the door, which flew open.
‘Hello, who might you be? Close the door, will you?’ Bob was greeted by a rather grizzled man of about sixty who was dre
ssed in an oilskin jacket topped off by a black peaked cap. He was sitting behind a counter that stretched across the middle of the small outer office. The air in the office was thick with pipe smoke.
‘Hello, my name’s Group Captain Sutherland. I’m with the War Office in Edinburgh. I wonder if you can help. I’m trying to find a way of getting around to Tarbet on Loch Nevis by boat. I take it you are the harbourmaster.’
‘Yes, John MacLean at your service. Sorry, Group Captain. You’ll not find anyone prepared to sail anywhere for a while. This isn’t the best protected of harbours, even since the railway pier was built at the turn of the century. The storm’s blowing from the west and anything trying to leave now runs a high risk of being swept onto the shore north east of here.’
‘Is there anywhere along the coast someone could sail from?’
‘Not if they value their life, Group Captain. The storm’s quite widespread. I don’t think there’s much moving off the west coast from Cape Wrath in the north to the Mull of Kintyre in the south.’
‘Do you know what the weather is forecast to do?’ asked Bob.
‘The latest forecast is for this to keep up until well after dark this evening, and then for it to ease off gradually. I doubt if we’ll have anyone sailing out of here until midnight at least.’
‘What boats are in harbour?’
‘There are several small naval vessels either based here or taking shelter from the storm. Then there are a couple of Clyde puffers, the coastal steamers that carry supplies to the islands and remote communities. We’ve also got three or four small boats which are attached to the commando training unit at Inverie House. They get all their supplies from here.’
Bob was on the verge of correcting the harbourmaster about the nature of the activity at Inverie House before realising that ‘commando training unit’ probably made a good cover story for what they did.
‘We’ve also got the pretty dismal remains of what was a thriving fishing fleet before the war.’
‘What happened to the fleet?’ asked Bob.
‘At the beginning of the war it was decided that the larger and more modern fishing boats would be better employed supporting the war effort as minesweepers or fleet runabouts, and many of the skilled crews were taken into the navy. Fish landings here, and everywhere else, collapsed. Then, a little too late, the powers that be realised that people needed to eat, that fish and chips was important to the country’s morale, and that a shortage of supply had caused fish prices to soar. Given the idea was to avoid rationing fish, that was a self-defeating way to help feed the nation. They tried to make amends by encouraging retired fishermen back onto the boats that remained, and landings have increased over the past year or so as a result, but they are nothing like they were before the war. Ten years ago, enough fish was landed to support up to fifteen kippering sheds. Now we are lucky if there are more than one or two working at any one time.’
‘But you think that it might be possible for boats to get out to sea again late tonight?’ asked Bob.
‘Yes, and I suspect some of the fishing boats will sail as soon as they safely can, even though it’s more difficult to spot mines at night. This storm means that no fish will have been landed anywhere in western Scotland for well over twenty four hours. There are going to be very good prices on offer for the first boats to get back here tomorrow with fish they can get onto a train bound for Glasgow.’
‘Thank you, Mr MacLean, I’m very grateful,’ said Bob. ‘Could you tell me where I can find the police office? And if a naval lieutenant arrives, a Lieutenant Dixon, asking for me, could you direct him there as well?’
As Bob pulled the door closed against a gust of wind, he wondered how long it was since he had smoked his pipe. He realised he didn’t even know where it was.
Mallaig’s police office was a short distance from the more southerly and older of the two piers, near the start of a road that led around the southern and eastern sides of the broad harbour.
Bob had again left Potter and Jenkins in the car and introduced himself to the constable on duty. ‘I’m trying to find Lieutenant Darlington, commanding a patrol sent here from the Commando Basic Training Centre at Achnacarry.’
A man in a Denison smock and army officer’s peaked cap came through from a back room. ‘I’m Anthony Darlington, sir. How can I help you?’
‘I understand you are commanding the troops that Lieutenant Colonel White sent here yesterday?’
‘For my sins I’m in charge of the men we’ve got here, at Morar and at Arisaig, sir. You’ve just caught me, in fact. I was about to set out to check they’ve not been washed away by the rain.’
‘Well if it helps, I can tell you that your checkpoints are proving very effective between Arisaig and here, and I certainly didn’t see any lack of commitment from your men on the way up.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I’ll go and look anyway. When each section was dropped off I told them their performance would be assessed just as much as on an exercise at Achnacarry, and anyone caught shirking would be returned to their home unit immediately. Anyway, how can I help you?’
‘Have you been told why we are doing this?’ asked Bob.
The lieutenant nodded. ‘Mallory reported to me, sir. I tend to view what’s happened as a personal betrayal.’ There was something in the lieutenant’s eyes that left Bob feeling he would not be a good man to betray.
‘Alright. Well, a little earlier the Special Operations Executive people at Arisaig House found they couldn’t contact their training school at Swordland Lodge, on the north shore of Loch Morar and close to Tarbet, which is on the south shore of Loch Nevis. It is possible that Mallory and Quinlan are there, or that they have been there. I am hopeful that by now Lieutenant Colonel White will have been able to move his men west from the far ends of those lochs and the SOE commander at Arisaig House is on his way along Loch Morar to the lodge. I agreed to try to find a boat here that could take me round to Tarbet via Loch Nevis and was going to ask you for the loan of some men. But the harbourmaster tells me that nothing is likely to sail from Mallaig this side of midnight because of the storm.’
‘So, you don’t need anything from me at the moment, sir?’ asked the lieutenant.
‘No, I suspect we are going to have to play a waiting game,’ said Bob.
‘Do you have many men?’ asked the lieutenant.
‘Two at the moment, and I’m expecting two more in the near future.’
‘If it helps, sir, I’ve taken over the large guest house you can see on the opposite side of the road from the police station, just up the hill there. I think in happier times they made a living from passengers who’d arrived by rail and were planning to catch steamers to the islands. The two sisters who own it seemed very pleased to open the place up on the promise that we’d pay for all twelve rooms for a minimum of two nights, and for any more nights if necessary, and for all food and drink we consume. We don’t know how long it’s going to take to catch Mallory and Quinlan and some of my men spent the night there last night. I’m planning to have others sleep there this afternoon, so they can be fresher tonight. You and your men are very welcome to make full use of the facilities if you wish. There’s also a telephone there you can use if you need, though it connects via the public switchboard so isn’t secure.’
‘Clearly Lieutenant Colonel White picks his officers for their initiative,’ said Bob. ‘I’m very grateful.’
The wind could still be heard howling outside, but as Bob, Sergeant Potter and Private Jenkins followed a lady who introduced herself as one of the two Miss MacLeods into the lounge, it was like entering an oasis of tranquillity. They pulled armchairs around a table set in a large bay window and it immediately felt like they were returning to a totally different pre-war world. The storm still threw itself against the windows, but with a roaring fire in the fireplace, Bob felt oddly immune from the effects of the weather.
As he looked around, he thought that a passing AA hotel inspector might take issue with the dust, but as the place had been closed for the duration until only the previous day, it was a remarkable find by Lieutenant Darlington.
The slightly other-worldly feel continued when Bob, Gilbert and Taffy were served a reasonable wartime approximation to afternoon tea. Bob wondered how Lieutenant Darlington had been able to ensure the MacLeod sisters could get in supplies of food at such short notice and in such a remote location, then decided it might be better not to know.
Half a dozen very wet commandos came in and were led through to a separate lounge. Bob thought it ironic that the British managed to maintain class distinctions even in wartime. Then the door banged open again.
‘Bloody hell, sir, it’s like I’ve walked into Bettys in Harrogate for afternoon tea. How did you find this place?’
Lieutenant Dixon and Petty Officer MacDonald were both soaked. After they’d placed their Denison smocks on a fireguard to dry, they joined Bob and the others for tea and sandwiches.
‘How did it go at Lochailort?’ asked Bob.
‘It’s an impressive operation, sir. Obviously, the hatches are battened down during the storm, but they didn’t know we were coming and I’d say that security is excellent. They’d received the general security alert of course, but it was more than just that. I’m confident that if our fugitives make it to Lochailort, they’ll find it very hard to get their hands on a suitable vessel to get to Ireland. How did it go with the SOE?’
‘There we’ve got some cause for concern,’ said Bob. ‘They seem to have requisitioned every large house for miles in every direction, but one of them is a place called Swordland Lodge, on the north shore of Loch Morar. Three things are particularly interesting about it. The first is that it’s within easy reach of where you last saw Mallory and Quinlan. The second is that it is used for nautical training and has boats nearby on Loch Nevis, which is a sea loch. And the third is that Arisaig House lost telephone contact with Swordland Lodge sometime between last night and this morning. The major commanding the SOE at Arisaig House is trying to reach the place by boat along Loch Morar, and I hope that Lieutenant Colonel White will have sent men in from the other direction. I agreed to try to get to Tarbet by boat from Mallaig, but the harbourmaster tells me that nothing’s going to be sailing from Mallaig until at least midnight, so for the moment we have to sit and wait.’ Bob looked at his watch. ‘Waiting was never my strong suit, I’m afraid. I’m going to find the telephone I was told we could use and see what I can find out.’
