Tales From The Dark Past - Books 4-5

Chapter 4

We did not often have the opportunity to leave Kingsinch, so I grabbed the chance when Mrs Lunan wanted supplies.

“Coupar Angus?” I said. “I’ll go.”

Mrs Lunan nodded. “I’d send Agnes normally, but in her condition.” Mrs Lunan shook her head. “I’d prefer not to.”

I agreed. Agnes was well on in pregnancy and might give birth any day. It was better to keep her near the farm steading.

“Dougie can drive the cart,” Mrs Lunan said. “He knows what to do. You’ve to buy a hundredweight of flour, half a hundredweight of sugar and the rest on this list.” She handed me a folded piece of paper before asking: “you can read, can’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

The orphanage had hammered reading, writing and arithmetic into us with the aid of a stout leather belt. I remembered Miss Dea’s voice now as she leaned towards me, with her thick glasses magnifying her cold blue eyes and enhancing her glint of malicious pleasure as she announced my fate. “You misspelt three words, Ellen no-family. That will mean six strokes for you. Bend over my desk and lift your skirt!”

The orphanage had hammered reading, writing and arithmetic into us with the aid of a stout leather belt. I remembered Miss Dea’s voice now as she leaned towards me, with her thick glasses magnifying her cold blue eyes and enhancing her glint of malicious pleasure as she announced my fate. “You misspelt three words, Ellen no-family. That will mean six strokes for you. Bend over my desk and lift your skirt!”“You can read. Good.” Mrs Lunan dropped her voice. “You might have to help Dougie. I don’t think he was ever very academic, however good he is with the plough-team or the binder.”

“I will,” I said. Dougie would not like me helping him, but he would have to swallow his pride. Sometimes, a man’s vanity was the principal cause of his downfall. I had little time for pride. My life had quickly eroded any false images of self-importance. I was nothing, less than nothing, and would never amount to more.

Miss Deas had emphasised that with thorough efficiency.

“You are orphans,” Miss Deas told us every morning as we sat on the hard wooden chairs with our backs straight and our arms folded. “Nobody wants you. If it were not for the kindness of this orphanage, you would be starving on the streets. I hope you are grateful.”

“You are orphans,” Miss Deas told us every morning as we sat on the hard wooden chairs with our backs straight and our arms folded. “Nobody wants you. If it were not for the kindness of this orphanage, you would be starving on the streets. I hope you are grateful.”Miss Deas proved the orphanage’s kindness with the barbed lash of her tongue and the leather lash of her belt. We responded with subdued hatred and subtle acts of defiance. Sometimes the orphanage"s kindness proved too much for the fortunate inmates and children ran away, to be dragged back and half-killed in front of us all.

Miss Deas proved the orphanage’s kindness with the barbed lash of her tongue and the leather lash of her belt. We responded with subdued hatred and subtle acts of defiance. Sometimes the orphanage"s kindness proved too much for the fortunate inmates and children ran away, to be dragged back and half-killed in front of us all.On two occasions, orphans showed their gratitude by relieving the institution of their cost by ending their lives. One boy threw himself from the roof. One girl found a kitchen knife and sliced her wrists.

On two occasions, orphans showed their gratitude by relieving the institution of their cost by ending their lives. One boy threw himself from the roof. One girl found a kitchen knife and sliced her wrists.I continued to exist, with my self-respect long gone, no hope for the future and only the incessant whistling to mark me from the other unwanted.

I continued to exist, with my self-respect long gone, no hope for the future and only the incessant whistling to mark me from the other unwanted.“Are you ready, Ellen?”

Miraculously, there was a break in the clouds as Dougie took the reins and we rolled slowly away from Kingsinch. Dougie was an excellent driver, negotiating the track without a problem.

“Did you know this road is built on bales of straw?” he asked, puffing out smoke on either side of his stubby pipe with every word.

“No.” I sat slightly beside him on the driving seat, enjoying the movement and the feel of the wind in my face.

“Aye.” Dougie negotiated the dog-leg bend without stopping, watching me through the corner of his eyes. He was a handsome man, I allowed, tall and lithe, with clear brown eyes and neatly trimmed side-whiskers. I could understand why women would find him attractive. “This was all bogland – the King’s Moss they called it – and over the last hundred years or so, a succession of farmers drained it. Now it’s good growing land, but soft, ill to plough after heavy rain. The old-time monks, or whatever they were, built a causeway to the chapel there,” Dougie nodded to the old ruin. “That was fine in fair weather.”

“And?” I urged as Dougie stopped talking to examine one of the fields.

“And? Oh, aye. I was looking at the furrows there. Jim’s made them crooked at the head; that’s not good.” Dougie shook his head. “Aye, the road. The old monks built wooden causeways, and then the rains came. The ground flooded and cut off the inches, Chapel and Kings. So old man Lunan built up the road with bales of straw. The straw makes a foundation and floats on the water when it rains.” Dougie grinned at me. “He’s cleverer than he looks, is old man Lunan. Despite his obsessions.”

“His obsessions?” I probed further.

“You must have noticed.” Dougie inched closer to me on the seat so that I could feel his body heat even through my coat. “He patrols the steading every night with his dogs, and doesnae allow us into some of the buildings.”

“Aye, I said, looking ahead as we neared the road-end, where the farm-track joined the public road. “I noticed that all right.”

Dougie eased us onto the public road, flicked the reins and increased the speed of the cart. “We’ll be on the Black Yett soon, and then it’s hey-ho for Coupar Angus.”

“Why is it called the Black Yett?”

Dougie laughed, happy to share his knowledge. “It’s the only tarmacked road in the area,” he explained. “So, it’s black compared to the rough farm roads, and a yett is a gate, so it’s the black gate to the Sidlaw farms.”

I nodded. The explanation was mundane, somehow. I had expected tales of derring-do from the middle-ages, rather than a flat story about a made-up road. I settled down, enjoying the ride.

Coupar Angus is a pleasant little market town, with narrow streets and a long history. It was busy that day, with men and women, carts and wagons on the roads and more bustle than I had seen for quite some time.

Buying the supplies was easy. I just read the list and the storekeeper produced the goods, which Dougie then carried to the cart. While young Peter would have taken the opportunity to display his strength in carrying the heavy sacks, Dougie threw them around without thought, which was more impressive.

“Is that us ready to head back?” I was quite disappointed that our trip was so short. I found that I enjoyed the crowds, and for once, nobody gave me a second look. I was only another kitchen-maid visiting the town, nothing special and nothing to be sneered at.

“Wait.” Dougie held up his hand. “Wait for the army.”

I had been aware of the heart-stirring thrill of the bagpipes without thinking of the significance. Now I sat on the cart beside Dougie as the soldiers passed. Three pipers lead them, marching with a fine swagger and a slow swing of their kilts. An officer followed, sitting proudly on a glossy brown charger, and then a sergeant and hundreds of khaki-clad men with dark green kilts around their hips and a red hackle bright on their bonnets.

“See the red hackle?” Dougie asked. “That’s the Black Watch, the Royal Highland Regiment.”

“What are they doing?”

“They’re off to South Africa to fight the Boers,” Dougie said.

“Why?”

I watched the soldiers march past, every man wearing a neat khaki uniform, every man with a long bayonet at his belt and every man with a rifle over his shoulder. Mostly young, some no more than boys, they moved as one at the command of their officers, a mobile killing machine without thought or seeming emotion.

“Why?” Dougie stared at me. “We’re at war with the Boers.”

The Black Watch’s boots rose and fell in unison, like a multi-booted spider, crashing to the ground at the same time, a body of men trained to fight and kill.

I had never heard of the Boers and had no idea who they were. “Why?” I asked again. “Why are Scotsmen fighting in Africa?”

I closed my eyes as a sudden image came to be. I saw some of these young, brave, determined men lying broken on an open plain, with a series of low ridges in front. I heard the harsh rattle of musketry and the high screams of the wounded. I smelled the raw blood soaking into the hard ground and saw the pride broken as men cowered for shelter where there was none to be had. As I watched the soldiers march past, I could sense the black corbies hovering over them, choosing the slain, the wounded and the maimed.

I did not want this image. I wanted to be normal.

“The Black Watch is fighting for the Empire.” Dougie struggled to explain the concept to me. “The Boers have declared war on Queen Victoria and the British Empire.”

I was going to ask “why?” again but changed my mind. I knew I would not understand the answer and doubted that Dougie knew the full facts. I knew that he was expert in farming but took little interest in international politics. In Dougie’s mind, the Boers were the enemy and must be defeated; he required no more thought.

“If I weren’t a horsemen, I’d have joined the Army.” Dougie looked sideways at me, trying to gauge my interest.

“Would you?” I led him on, wondering what tale he would spin.

“Oh, yes,” Dougie said. “Could you not see me in uniform, leading a charge against the Zulus or the Russians?”

I avoided Dougie’s eyes. I had met men like him before, boasting to girls how strong and brave they would be if only things were different. “I can see you on the rough edge of Mr Lunan’s tongue if we don’t get back soon.” I brought him back to reality.

Puffing at his pipe, Dougie cracked the reins over the horse’s rump, and we ambled out of Coupar Angus. The horse seemed to know the way, for it needed no directions as it headed home. Dougie lifted a hand in acknowledgement to half a dozen men in the town, for the farming community was tight knit, with men knowing each other by name or reputation.

As Dougie drove, he sang a military song to prove his soldiering credentials.

“Wha saw the Forty-second?

Wha saw the Forty-second?Wha saw the Forty-twa?

Wha saw the Forty-twa?Wha saw the bare-ersed buggers,

Wha saw the bare-ersed buggers,Coming frae the Ashanti war?”

Coming frae the Ashanti war?”Dougie looked sideways at me to check if I was offended by his coarse language.

“The Forty-second is the old name for the Black Watch,” he explained helpfully.

“Ah.” I nodded without interest.

The image of these soldiers marching to fight a war against an enemy they had never seen stayed in my head as Dougie drove us through the autumn countryside. The weather remained dry, with breaks in the cloud allowing bright sunshine to seep onto us, zebra-striping the Black Yett with alternate bands of light and dark. My head was clear, with not a whistle to be heard, so I enjoyed the movement and peace. Yet, as we drove, Dougie glanced across to me, with his eyes roving the length of my body. I guessed what was coming when he pulled off the road into a farm track and stopped in the shadow of a copse of trees.

“I’ve never met a woman quite like you,” Dougie said, leaning back in the driving seat and spreading his legs.

“I’m nothing special,” I said.

“I think you are very special,” Dougie said, trying to charm me with his smile.

I felt nothing, neither like nor dislike. I was not attracted to any man or any boy, and Dougie was no different. I regarded him coldly as if he mattered rather less than one of the cows I milked, or Mr Lunan’s dogs.

“Could we drive on, now?” I kept all emotion from my voice. “There is nothing of interest here.”

“Oh, I think there is something of great interest here,” Dougie said.

I deliberately looked around the surrounding woodland. “Trees,” I said. “We have both seen trees before.”

“I meant you.” Dougie leaned back and produced his stubby pipe from his pocket. He smiled at me as he filled the bowl with tobacco. “You are the most interesting lass I have ever met.”

“You can’t have met very many, then,” I told him. “We’d better be getting on, Douglas Mitchell. I have work to do.”

“There are other things in life besides work,” Dougie said, smiling to me. He was a handsome fellow, I admitted, tall enough and strong as a lifetime of physical labour could make him.

I shifted back slightly. “Douglas,” I put an edge to my voice, “I am not interested in you. Please drive me back to Kingsinch.”

“Only a kiss?” Dougie asked.

“If you come any closer,” I said, “I will slap you hard.”

I knew other methods of dealing with too-forward men like Douglas Mitchell, but he would be unable to drive us back if I used them. However, I clenched my fist ready for the underhanded blow that would damage more than his pride and felt the blade of the gutting knife that rested up my sleeve.

“Well, we don’t want that, do we?” Dougie knew when to withdraw. Sliding back to his side of the seat, he flicked the reins, and we moved off again. Although he hummed a little song to himself and assumed a nonchalant air, I knew I had not made a friend in Dougie.

I shivered as Mr Snodgrass’s face returned to me, with his mouth open as he panted with undisguised l**t. I did not know men, then, and I had no defence. I looked at the drab late-autumn countryside and hoped my tears would not betray me.