Cold, Lone and Still

3: A Change in the Weather

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It was as I came out again that I saw the gypsy. She was an old woman with a keen face and wispy grey hair coming from under a man’s felt hat.

‘Mind how you go, my pretty,’ she said to Hera. We stopped, although I hardly know why. She had sprigs of flowering rowan in her basket and some fronds of young bracken. Colour was provided by a collection of paper flowers, red, blue, yellow and mauve.

‘Mind how I go? Why?’ asked Hera, although I touched her arm to indicate that we should move on. I wanted to have a look round before we dined.

‘The Way is long,’ said the gypsy.

‘ “The wind was cold,

The minstrel was infirm and old,” ’

I quoted, and gave another slight touch to Hera’s arm.

‘You keep to The Way,’ said the gypsy, ignoring me. ‘It may be long, but there is danger if you stray. Buy a flower and a bit of green fern, lady. Green is a lucky colour for you. Buy a bit of rowan for the white soul of you. Come autumn, there will be berries red as pigeons’ blood, but the flower of the rowan, that’s white as milk, as pure as your heart, my lady.’

‘All right,’ said Hera. She picked a spray of rowan out of the gypsy’s basket and gave the old woman a fifty pence coin. ‘Now tell me why I’m to mind how I go. Go where?’

‘Come you apart from your gentleman.’

I was not very keen on this, but Hera motioned me to stay where I was. The gypsy took her aside far enough for me to be out of earshot. The conference was not a very long one. Hera came back to me with a couple of paper flowers as well as the spray of rowan for which she had paid such a ridiculously exorbitant price, but she refused to disclose any details of the conversation.

‘It’s all a lot of nonsense, I expect,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and look at the old canal.’

I saw that it would be useless for a time to ask any questions, but I guessed that she would come out with something later on. I spent a comfortable night, although I had no luck, as I say, with the sleeping arrangements because I had booked us in separately again at Hera’s insistence. I hoped she now regretted this as much as I did, but, short of telling them at the desk that we had got married since I had made the booking, there was nothing to be done about it.

We breakfasted at eight next day and went back to join The Way, but midway through the stop we made for our elevenses Hera came up with one of those bright ideas which might seem all right at the time, but end in disaster later.

‘You’ve got maps, haven’t you?’ she said.

‘Sure. Why?’ I asked, scenting danger.

‘When we get to Crianlarich we’ll study the map,’ said the temptress. ‘There might be a short cut we could take. So long as we don’t use public transport, nothing was said about having to keep strictly to The Way, was it?’

‘No. but I didn’t accept any bets and one doesn’t take short cuts in this sort of country unless one is a fool or has been born and brought up here.’

‘Oh, we won’t take a short cut unless it’s marked on the map,’ she said.

‘Well, it won’t be. The Way would follow it if it were.’

‘We’ll see,’ she said. Again, I did not argue. There were nearly seven miles to cover before we reached Crianlarich and I thought she would have forgotten about short cuts by the time we got there.

From Inverarnan to Crianlarich we were in Glen Falloch and had left Loch Lomond behind. We finished on the old military road constructed, I suppose, by Wade, who opened up parts of the Highlands in this way to assist in what was known as their pacification. This meant he had to move his troops about to get to the trouble spots during and after the Jacobite risings.

It was when we had left the river we had been following and were getting near our destination that we caught up with the first of Carbridge’s off-loadings. These were Perth and the students. One could not call them stragglers, since they had fallen behind only in order to get on with the job they had come to do. They were all busy with notebooks, maps, chisels and their little geological hammers and told us that they were having a great time and had booked beds at the youth hostel in Crianlarich, where they hoped to see us again.

We gave them our good wishes and asked how far ahead the rest of the party would be. It turned out that they had all booked in at the hostel, but Carbridge might have decided to push on towards Tyndrum without stopping in Crianlarich.

‘He must be mad,’ said Hera. ‘The hostel at Crianlarich is the last one on The Way until he gets to Fort William.’

‘He talked of camping and how much time they would save that way because they would be striking camp at the crack of dawn each day. I’m thinking we delayed the rest of them an unco’ time on Inchcailloch and he is impatient to be pushing on. Ye’ll mind ye of the lassies Green and Parks?‘ said Perth.

‘Would those be Rhoda and Tansy?’ I asked.

‘The same. They canna thole yon man Carbridge, I’ll be thinking, and they are to leave the rest of us and take to the train, but whether they will then go on to Fort William I dinna ken.’

‘When did they leave the party?’

‘They are bookit in at Crianlarich the night, sensible lassies, so we’ll meet up wi’ them there.’

‘We’ll meet them there, too, and you and the students, of course.’

‘Aye. We can do wi’ a bed the night, for we shall be into the hills the morn, and that may be hard going for the lassies, wi’ the digging and scraping and all.’

‘Does that mean you will spend more than tomorrow prospecting around these parts?’

‘We’re biding three nights. The students are awfu’ keen and we’re a wee thing weary o’yon man Carbridge and his haverings.’

‘We soon got bored with him, too. I don’t know much about geology, so what are the students actually looking for in these parts?’

‘We didna let on to the rest of them, but you and Miss Camden are sensible bodies, so I’ll tell ye. Ye’ll mind ye of a theory that, awa’ back in time, the geography of the world was vastly different from the way it is today? Well, what these laddies and lassies are after is to match the American dinosaurs wi’ bones found over on this side. There is muckle talk o’ the Cretaceous period and its giant sauropods — ’

‘Titanosaurus from Argentina,’ I said. ‘Go back to the Jurassic and we get Brachiosaurus, who was also four-footed, but during the Cretaceous time we also get Tyrannosaurus. He seems to have walked upright on massive hind legs and his forelegs were tiny and can’t have been of much use for any practical purpose. The Americans found a good specimen of this intimidating chap in Montana, I believe, and the Russians found another one in Mongolia.’

‘I thought ye kenned nothing about geology.’

‘Oh, everybody is interested in dinosaurs.’ We wished the working party luck again, said we would see them at the hostel supper and that we were leaving after next morning’s breakfast.

‘We must get provisions in Crianlarich if we are going to take a short cut across country,’ said Hera, when we came in sight of the hostel.

‘There are not going to be any short cuts. It’s crazy to think of such a thing,’ I said in my firmest tones.

‘We shall see,’ she said again, putting out her tongue at me.

The hostel was in a turning off the Tarbet-Crianlarich road and, further on, the turning led to the road between Tyndrum and Killin. A disused railway line was just beyond it.

The hostel itself was described by Hera as quaint. It was in two parts. One part was raised above the ground on piers. The entrance was up some steps to a building just behind the other. There were sixty-four beds, a members’ kitchen and a hostel store, but meals were not provided, so that conditioned our shopping. We went back with the food for the next day, but bought our supper from the hostel shop.

On enquiry of the warden at the hostel we learned that although Carbridge and his party had not cancelled their booking, they had not yet arrived. Perth and the students, as they had told us, were booked in for three nights. The office girls were booked in, too, but did not turn up, so we assumed that they had decided to take the train straightaway and we did not expect to see them again unless they were at the hostel in Fort William when we arrived there.

It looked as though Carbridge’s party had been reduced to four, himself and Todd and the brother and sister Jane and James Minch, but Perth that evening gave it as his opinion that the couple would leave The Way after Tyndrum, as Jane was footsore and James had quarrelled with Todd.

‘The quarrel was about Jane, I suppose,’ said Hera. ‘I don’t trust men where girls are concerned.’ But it was at me she looked. I laughed, and she went on: ‘Never mind that. We’ve got to pass Carbridge as soon as possible. If he’s got the two Minches in tow and poor Jane Minch with sore feet, we may be able to pass him between Tyndrum and Bridge of Orchy. After all the walking they’ve done, even Todd and Carbridge may be inclined to slow down a bit from now on.’

‘We shall never pass them if they’re camping and we are staying the night at a hotel,’ I said. ‘They’ll be away at first light and I’m certainly not going to get up at dawn and miss my breakfast. Who cares about Carbridge when a Scottish breakfast is in the offing?’

‘You are a pig where food is concerned!’

I grinned and told her to bear the fact in mind when we were married. All the same, I resented the unnecessary slur and said I would go for a walk. I strolled out with the intention of taking a look at the route we should be taking next day. I walked alongside the loch, but had not gone far when I met the Minch brother and sister. Jane was limping. I stopped.

‘I thought you were pushing on,’ I said. James indicated his sister.

‘We thought the same,’ he said, ‘but Jane can’t go any further without something being done about her feet. Like lunatics, we’ve brought no first-aid stuff except a crêpe bandage and some of those bits you stick on to cuts. We’re going back to the hostel to see whether we can pick up something more useful.’

‘I’ve got stuff,’ I said, ‘and she’s done enough walking.’ With this, I picked up the slightly-built girl and carried her like a baby. When we got to the hostel, I produced my kit and ministered to her small, tender feet. I knew all this would irritate Hera and it did, but I found I did not care. Looking after Jane was like caring for a child. I found it a pleasant experience. Her brother then took her up to bed.

Perth and the students arrived a bit later and the youngsters soon turned in, but Perth still stayed up. Looking out of the window he said, ‘Losh! Look who’s here!’ It was Carbridge and Todd. They had noticed that the weather was changing and, as they had not cancelled their booking at the hostel, they had decided to go back on their tracks and seek beds instead of camping out.

Hera congratulated them upon their common sense, at which Carbridge said, ‘Your commendation, fair one, is as the voice of the turtle dove,’ and he began to sing, as he showed signs of putting his arm around Hera:

‘If the heart of a man is depressed with cares,

the mist is dispelled when a woman appears.’

I did not allow him to finish. I leapt from my chair and choked the song into guttural incoherence by clutching his throat.

‘That’s enough of that, old boy, old boy!’ I said savagely. ‘Don’t push your luck!’ I flung him aside and he caught his heel and sat down hard on the floor. Perth took my arm.

‘Get ye to bed, man,’ he said. I looked at Hera, but she was looking at Todd.

Todd said to her, ‘This is no place for you. Now this has happened, you might be better off staying at the hotel for the night. Let me take you over to it and book you in. I was even thinking of taking a room there myself.’

‘Belt up!’ I said, furious with myself to find that I was shaking. ‘If she needs to stay in the hotel —’

‘All right, all right. Message received and understood,’ he said. ‘Don’t get your underpants in a twist. It was only a suggestion.’

‘Then keep the next one to yourself,’ I shouted. Hera turned her back on me.

Carbridge picked himself up. ‘Well, really!’ he said, dusting the seat of his trousers. ‘No need for that, old boy, old boy.’ He made for the men’s dormitory, for which the students had already left the common-room. I suppose he had decided he wanted no part in a further rough-house.

Perth took me by the sleeve again and said, ‘We’re all a wee thing weary, I’m thinking. The laddie meant no harm. Ye’ll see it in perspective come the morn’s morn.’ Before going to bed, however, I insisted on having it out with Todd.

The party of four were off at eight the next day. Hera and I breakfasted together, but it was a silent meal. The weather had held up, after all, and I wished with all my heart that Carbridge and the others could have known that it would, and had held on their way instead of returning to the hostel. The warden was not very friendly when I collected our membership cards, so I guessed that some account of the happenings had leaked out, although nobody but the people concerned had been present at the time of my outburst.

Perth and the students had also gone out early and Hera and I were off by nine. The walk was by way of Strath Fillan through forest and across a river. Then we were out on the moors with the mountains hemming us in. As the road to Tyndrum began to rise, we could look back at Ben More and Stobinian, and as we looked ahead we had a view of Ben Challum before the track sloped downwards to a stream.

The Way climbed again after that and, as we had made good time since leaving Crianlarich, I warned Hera that we had better look out for Carbridge and his party, but when we got to the bridge on the River Fillan and had had a look at the ruins of St Fillan’s Chapel a bit further on, there was still no sign of them.

In a village called Clifton — after a property magnate who had the right to mine the lead which was discovered near the place at some time in the eighteenth century — we found a shop which stocked food, so we replenished our own stores before going on. As we reached Tyndrum, I looked up at the sky and decided that Carbridge had not been so far wrong the night before. ‘I’ll ask at the hotel whether they can have us here for a night.’

‘Oh, no, you won’t. We’re going to catch Carbridge and pass him without his knowing it. He can’t possibly be far in front of us now if he’s got poor Jane Minch hanging on to him. All we need is that short cut I mentioned.’

‘I had no idea you were so obstinate,’ I said.

‘I am not obstinate. I have made up my mind that we are going to get to Fort William before he does, that’s all. After that exhibition you made of yourself last night, the least you can do is to help me over racing him to the finish.’

‘I told him we were packing up at Kinlochleven,’ I said weakly. ‘I don’t know why he gets my goat to the extent he does. If he weren’t such a worm, perhaps his stupid talk and the liberties he tries to take with you wouldn’t rile me so much.’

‘It was you who took the liberties. You made me look an utter fool. Thank goodness that spotty little Minch girl wasn’t present. She might have thought you the big, bold hero.’

‘Freckles are not spots.’

‘Yes, they are. The other name for them is sunspots.’

I tried to laugh, but she had not finished, so I tried to divert her from her criticism of my conduct of the night before by quoting Shakespeare. ‘All right, they are sunspots,’ I said.

‘ “The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

In their gold coats spots you see;

These be rubies, fairy favours — ” ’

‘Oh, be quiet!’ she said impatiently. ‘What on earth induced you to behave like a jealous goat last night?’

‘You know as well as I do. I’m not prepared to stand by and watch one oaf trying to put an arm round you and listen to another oaf offering to take you to a hotel for the night.’

‘As for the first oaf, I could have managed him quite easily. I certainly didn’t need your protection. As for Todd — well, I noticed you didn’t try to choke the life out of him.’

‘He’s bigger than I am,’ I said.

At that her mood changed. She laughed. ‘I know what’s really the matter with you,’ she said. ‘It’s this enforced abstinence. However, we agreed on a celibate holiday and we’re sticking to it. I don’t suppose holding Jane Minch in your arms was much of a comfort, was it?’

‘You would be surprised,’ I said.

It was about half a dozen miles, or perhaps seven, from Tyndrum to Bridge of Orchy and we were following an old military road. It seemed easy going after some of the country we had passed through and we made good progress. We were not intending to break our journey at Bridge of Orchy anyway, but I still did not much like the look of the weather, although the view from the top of the hill had been fairly clear.

‘What are all those posts?’ asked Hera, after the road had descended from the hill.

‘Snow posts. Very handy guides in winter or if a Highland mist comes down.’ As though, by mentioning it, I had conjured it up, we had not reached the tiny settlement before a heavy mist blotted out everything except a short stretch of the road in front of us.

‘There’s a hotel at Bridge of Orchy,’ I said. ‘We’d better book in as soon as we get to it. If this mist means anything, we shall probably get rain, and I’m not walking in wet clothes if I can help it.’

‘Sugar baby!’

‘It’s you I’m thinking about.’

‘Yes,’ she said, to my surprise, ‘I really believe it was.’

As we approached Bridge of Orchy, the mist lifted and there were views which were not to be missed. We crossed a bridge and the railway came under the slopes of Beinn Doran on to an old road and then alongside a river. It was still easy walking and we loitered and I smoked while Hera gazed at the glen through which the river ran and the mountains which we were approaching.

We had spent so much time on this part of The Way that we decided to lunch at the Bridge of Orchy hotel before going on to Inveroran. The mist kept off, we had a fairly late and leisurely lunch and it was well past mid-afternoon by the time we took to The Way again and were headed for our overnight stop.

I took another look at the sky when we had left the hotel and did not much like what I saw, for the mountains were already beginning to be shrouded and I fancied that there was rain in the air. I began to wish that we had ended the day’s journey at Bridge of Orchy and felt that I ought to have insisted on this, but foolishly I had agreed to let Hera try her short cut. Anyway, it seemed more sensible to do the extra bit of walking on the one day and so reduce the next day’s stage to nine and a half miles instead of a dozen. Although Hera boasted of her fitness, I thought that mile after mile, day after day, was quite sufficient test of her capabilities.

For a long time that day our track had been running more or less beside the railway, but after Bridge of Orchy we knew we would lose both the railway and the main road. We expected to pick up the road at Kingshouse, for which we should be headed when we left Inveroran, but we would not see the railway again until we reached Fort William.

After about half an hour the mountains became nothing but looming, shadowy masses, amorphous giants, spectral, although not, so far, menacing. All the same, I began to appreciate the stories current in the Highlands of spooky manifestations and was only too willing to believe in witches, terrifying water-horses and all the rest of the legends and old wives’ tales.

I knew, too, that we must soon be on the fringes of Rannoch Moor, that wilderness of peat-bogs, water, heather and evil repute, but it was when I became aware that we must have covered a good deal more than the two and a half miles between Bridge of Orchy and Inveroran that it was borne in upon me that, with the mist thickening every minute, we must, at some time after leaving the village, have deviated from the signposted Way.

It was Hera who gave voice to my misgivings by observing that it seemed a long time since my torch, which I had needed to switch on, had picked out any markers.

‘I suppose we’re on the right track?’ she said.

‘I’ve been wondering that,’ I answered. ‘Perhaps we’d better go back to the village. It’s easy to get lost in a mist like this, and I’m beginning to think we’ve gone wrong somewhere.’

‘Oh, no, don’t let’s go back. We’re on a route of some sort. It must lead somewhere. Besides, we might not strike the road back. If we’re lost now, we could get lost again and might be worse off than we are at present. I’m sorry I ever mentioned a short cut. I don’t somehow think this is one.’