This is a work of fiction. It is a sequel to the other stories, beginning with "A Letter from America" that have appeared in adult/youth, young pals, and no sex. Not one single character is , or is based on, a real person. I have borrowed the names of places, and even of some buildings and institutions in those places, but their personnel remain fictitious. They do not represent real people. I have to point out that the story was written in 2020. The year 2020 was largely cancelled due to the Covid19 virus. You will find no reference to that emergency in this story, which represents things that might have happened if the virus hadn't. I hope you enjoy this story.
I'm grateful to Nifty for publishing it. Nifty makes no charge, neither for me to publish, nor for you to read these stories, but it does cost money to publish them. If you enjoy the stories, please consider making a donation to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html so that he can continue to bring these stories to you.
A Highland Fling Chapter 2 By Jonah
I liked the man immediately. I knew him to be seventy-nine years old, but his six foot frame, the ramrod straight back and the twinkling blue eyes, set beside his aquiline nose, spoke of less than sixty of those seventy-nine years. Certainly the high domed forehead sugested wisdom, but nothing hinted at age or infirmity.
"Please call me Jonah, Mr. McAndrew" I told him. "When people call me 'Mr. Cummins', it makes me nervous."
The smile disappeared, except from his eyes, as he boomed, in mock-offended tones.
"Tit for tat, Jonah, tit for tat. I'l be having none o' this 'Mr. McAndrew' now. Ye'll call me Fergus, and Luke can call me 'Grandpa' the same as the others."
We laughed. How was it possible not to feel at ease with this man?
"Well we've got twenty minutes to wait for the Inverness train, but ye'll not see much o' Perth in that time. Do ye like the station?"
It certainly looked to be a fine station, it's clean platforms and finely maintained granite buildings were not what Londoners were used to. It was a large station, and a pitched roof covered the part of it that we were in. A modern footbridge joined some of the platforms, but not the one on which we were standing.
"We like it," he continued. "There used to be an engine shed back there, we'd get lots of engines over there in the old days. There's only a couple of sixty-sixes in the bay now - you probably saw them as ye came in - DB ones - forty, and one-four-nine, I think."
The shock on Peter's face was almost comical. I couldn't help remarking,
"close your mouth Peter. We are not a codfish."
Simon and Luke (whom nothing ever surprised), smiled at this, but Fergus was busy consulting a notebook that he had pulled from his inside pocket.
"Aye, that's them," he remarked, oblivious of the effect he had just had on his grandson. "Just as I thought."
Our train, when it arrived was another surprise. It was in fact a HST, one of the 1980s classic Inter-city 125s. We took our seats in the standard class and were soon heading for the Highlands. First calling place was Dunkeld and Birnam. Now we were definately in Macbeth country. I knew my Shakespeare. "Macbeth shall never vanquished be until great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill shall march against you."
The next stop, Pitlochry, triggered a quite different literary memory - which I kept to myself.
By the time we stopped at Blair Athol it was easy to see that we were up in the mountains. Fergus even knew which was which. We stopped at Newtonmore, Kingussie and Aviemore, and it was possible to see snow on some of the peaks. Carrbridge was the next stop.
We alighted at the little timber built station and Fergus led us to a landrover pick-up truck in the car-park. I've met Landrovers before so I wasn't fazed by the apparent age and condition of the thing. Its dark green paintwork was touched up in several places with red oxide, but that meant nothing. You never scrap a Landrover. Whatever condition it is in, there will still be another fifty years use in it. Admittedly, this one looked to have already started that fifty years, but I wasn't worried.
Suitcases in the back and with five of us crammed into the cab there was no problem. Fergus drove us out of the car park and, after five minutes driving we were in the gravelled drive to a white painted cottage that backed onto the River Dulnain. High above us the railway crossed the river on its tall bridge, which was not the one after which the village was named. Even the one by which the B9153 crosses the river isn't that one, but the remains of the old stone bridge, after which the village IS named, can be seen crossing the river next to it.
"Go right in,"said Fergus. "It's not locked."
Peter immediately did so, or tried to. He didn't get past the door. As soon as the door was open Peter was flat on his back, in the driveway, beneath the hugest Pirranean mountain dog that ever was seen. The dog appeared to have a smile on its face as it licked Peter's face. There was nothing the boy could do.
Fergus laughed outright and so, once we had got over the shock, did we.
"I see you've met Lady then Peter," said Fergus as he threw an affectionate arm around the dog's neck - thus gaining SOME control. "In fact it looks like you're her favourite person. Come on in."
He tugged the dog back into the cottage, and we all followed.
"Come and meet the family Janet," called Fergus.
From what I presumed was the kitchen came a wizzened old lady who would have looked every one of her seventy-eight years, if the smile on her face hadn't made her look younger.
"Ach! There y'are dearies," she almost sang. "Have ye a wee kiss for your grannie?"
It will probably surprise you to learn that each of the boys had exactly that.
"I'll get the cases in, and show ye where ye'll be sleeping," said Fergus. "I've put ye in the two rooms at the back of the house. One of the boys will need to room with you Jonah. Our room is at the front. The bathroom is just outside the back door, it's covered over to keep ye dry, but there's pots in case ye get taken short in the night. Nobody can see you going out there mind - unless they're on the railway. The bedrooms are not ower big, but they're snug."
"Ach fetch their cases Fergus," said Janet. "They'll starve while ye stand there blethering. Come through dears. I'm just about to serve up."
That explained the delicious aroma. We followed her to the kitchen where the table had been set for six. Steam was rising from the pans on the stove, and Lady had settled by the back door.
"Go through if you want to wash your hands or anything," Janet told us.
Well we did - so we did. The bathroom was a stone and glass building with a solid looking barn door. A sheet of wire-reinforced glass covered the gap between it and the cottage. It boasted an electric shower unit and a separate room in the corner which was the w.c. the handbasin had cold water only, but that was fine by us. The only furniture was a shelf next to the w.c., on which sat four clean chamber pots, a multiple towel rail, and a number of shallow wire trays around the walls which contained various toiletries, oh and an ancient paraffin heater, which I was glad we didn't need.
Dinner consisted of a mutton stew with mixed vegetables, dumplings and plenty of mint sauce. Janet had made a jam roly-poly for dessert - something which I had never given the boys.
Since the McAndrews did not possess a television, the evening was spent in card games, but Janet retired early, soon followed by the boys.
Fergus and I settled in the deep armchairs either side of the log fire in the living room.
"I hope ye're not too much of a Methodist to join me in a dram," he said.
The sight of the bottle of Glenlivet was sufficient to prompt me to assure him that I was not.
"We're Church of Scotland here," he told me, as he poured a generous glass for me, "and I hope ye'll not mind worshipping with us. It's the only Kirk we've got."
I assured him that neither I nor the boys would mind that.
"In fact," I told him, "if I know the boys, they'll be looking forward to it. They were brought up Anglican, and followed me into the Methodist Church when they came to live with me. I've always encouraged them to ask questions and to keep an open mind for the answers, but none of them has ever doubted the love of God, and none of them are backward in showing it either."
He smiled as he sipped his whisky.
"Aye, I can tell that from their letters Jonah," he said, "and I want to thank you for seeing that they keep writing. They're good boys, and ye're a good man. You say you never knew Madeleine?"
I shook my head.
"I knew Vijay had got married after he joined the police," I said, "but it was a four or five years before I saw him again, and by that time he already had both boys. He was thankful for that. He said Maddy had given him a lot to be thankful for."
"Do they ever ask about their mother?"
"I couldn't tell them anything, even if they did ... well... only one thing, and I'd never tell them that."
"Ah, so Peter doesn't know how she died." It was not a question.
"I don't think even Simon does," I replied, "or at least, if he does, he obviously agrees with me that Peter doesn't need to know. Vijay certainly never told them, and that's probably because he knew Maddy wouldn't have wanted him to."
"Aye, I'm sure ye're right." he said. "Well, this is me. We'll not put another log on the fire. If you keep your door latched, it'll keep Lady out. If you don't, she's sure to try to join you."
He drained his glass and stood up. I followed suit as he raked over the dying embers with the poker.
The bedroom was barely high enough to stand up in, except where the dormer window cut into the slope of the roof, and that was above the bed, but it was warm and comfortable. I climbed in beside Luke and enjoyed the clean, soft bedding. I think I'm going to like Carrbridge.
TO BE CONTINUED