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Authors: Allan Campbell McLean
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Beaton of the long face and the shifty eyes.
The kitchen table had been moved against the bench, and I joined Mairi on the bench. She did not look at me, but sat with her hands in her lap, her head down. The old woman sat at the end of the table, and I noticed for the first time how her fingers were swollen and twisted with rheumatism.
Murdo Beaton took his place at the head of the table, and took off his cap. He ran both his hands through his wispy red hair, cleared his throat, and said a long grace in Gaelic.
I glanced furtively at Mairi. Her head was bowed and her eyes tightly closed. The
cailleach’s
eyes were open, and I could hear her mumbling the words of the grace to herself. Murdo Beaton had his forehead bowed on his clasped hands, and he spoke slowly and with great deliberation.
He had finished the grace, and sat back in his chair and cleared his throat, before Mairi opened her eyes and took up her spoon.
How I enjoyed that first breakfast in Achmore. I was hungry after the tramp across the moor in the keen morning air, and not even the shock of the discovery of the Hill of the Red Fox couldblunt my appetite.
We had bowls of brose with fresh cream, and newly-baked girdle scones with home-made butter, and cups of strong, sweet tea. I was too hungry to notice the lack of conversation, and it was such an honest hunger that conversation would have interfered with the serious business of eating.
Murdo Beaton ate rapidly, stuffing spoonful after spoonful of brose into his mouth without pause. The spoon had no sooner reached his mouth than it was dipping down again to the bowl, and his mouth moved forward to meet it on its upward journey. He finished first, and leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, picking idly at his teeth with a matchstick.
When we had all finished, he clasped his hands and bent forward again, and delivered another long grace. I noticed that he had snatched up his cap and left the room before Mairi opened her eyes.
She looked at his empty chair, and stood up and started to gather the empty dishes. When she reached across for my bowl, she said softly, “Don’t be letting him know you went for the cows with me.”
She saw my eyes on the old woman, and added, “The
cailleach’s
deaf.”
I nodded, and she went on gathering the dishes as if nothing had passed between us.
Murdo Beaton was milking the big black cow when I went outside. I lay down on the grass in the hot sun, watching him.
He was crouched down on his heels, holding a small tin pail under the cow’s udder with his left hand. His right hand worked steadily at one teat at a time, and the milk spurted into the pail, rising in a creamy froth. When the pail was full he tipped it into a bucket by his side and went on milking.
When he had milked both cows, he called to Mairi, and she came running out carrying two old pails. He tipped a quantity of milk into each one of them, and she went off towards the byre.
I got up to follow her, and he said sharply, “Let her be, I want no fooling with the calves.” He saw the hot flush spreading over my cheeks, and added, in a more reasonable tone, “If it is work you areafter, bide a while. You can help with the peats.”
I lay down again on the grass, my hands behind my head. Murdo Beaton waited until Mairi had reappeared with the empty pails, and he said something to her in Gaelic, as she went into the house.
I watched him go into the byre and presently he came out again with a calf, jumping and bucking wildly on its tethering rope. He drove the tethering stake into the ground with his heel, and the calf rushed madly round and round, kicking its hind legs up in the air. He brought out the other calf and tethered it, and it made the same mad rush. I was afraid it would break its neck when it suddenly reached the end of its tether and was slewed round by the taut rope and jerked off its feet.
Murdo Beaton whistled the dog, Caileag, and she sprang up from the open cottage door and raced down
The kitchen table had been moved against the bench, and I joined Mairi on the bench. She did not look at me, but sat with her hands in her lap, her head down. The old woman sat at the end of the table, and I noticed for the first time how her fingers were swollen and twisted with rheumatism.
Murdo Beaton took his place at the head of the table, and took off his cap. He ran both his hands through his wispy red hair, cleared his throat, and said a long grace in Gaelic.
I glanced furtively at Mairi. Her head was bowed and her eyes tightly closed. The
cailleach’s
eyes were open, and I could hear her mumbling the words of the grace to herself. Murdo Beaton had his forehead bowed on his clasped hands, and he spoke slowly and with great deliberation.
He had finished the grace, and sat back in his chair and cleared his throat, before Mairi opened her eyes and took up her spoon.
How I enjoyed that first breakfast in Achmore. I was hungry after the tramp across the moor in the keen morning air, and not even the shock of the discovery of the Hill of the Red Fox couldblunt my appetite.
We had bowls of brose with fresh cream, and newly-baked girdle scones with home-made butter, and cups of strong, sweet tea. I was too hungry to notice the lack of conversation, and it was such an honest hunger that conversation would have interfered with the serious business of eating.
Murdo Beaton ate rapidly, stuffing spoonful after spoonful of brose into his mouth without pause. The spoon had no sooner reached his mouth than it was dipping down again to the bowl, and his mouth moved forward to meet it on its upward journey. He finished first, and leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, picking idly at his teeth with a matchstick.
When we had all finished, he clasped his hands and bent forward again, and delivered another long grace. I noticed that he had snatched up his cap and left the room before Mairi opened her eyes.
She looked at his empty chair, and stood up and started to gather the empty dishes. When she reached across for my bowl, she said softly, “Don’t be letting him know you went for the cows with me.”
She saw my eyes on the old woman, and added, “The
cailleach’s
deaf.”
I nodded, and she went on gathering the dishes as if nothing had passed between us.
Murdo Beaton was milking the big black cow when I went outside. I lay down on the grass in the hot sun, watching him.
He was crouched down on his heels, holding a small tin pail under the cow’s udder with his left hand. His right hand worked steadily at one teat at a time, and the milk spurted into the pail, rising in a creamy froth. When the pail was full he tipped it into a bucket by his side and went on milking.
When he had milked both cows, he called to Mairi, and she came running out carrying two old pails. He tipped a quantity of milk into each one of them, and she went off towards the byre.
I got up to follow her, and he said sharply, “Let her be, I want no fooling with the calves.” He saw the hot flush spreading over my cheeks, and added, in a more reasonable tone, “If it is work you areafter, bide a while. You can help with the peats.”
I lay down again on the grass, my hands behind my head. Murdo Beaton waited until Mairi had reappeared with the empty pails, and he said something to her in Gaelic, as she went into the house.
I watched him go into the byre and presently he came out again with a calf, jumping and bucking wildly on its tethering rope. He drove the tethering stake into the ground with his heel, and the calf rushed madly round and round, kicking its hind legs up in the air. He brought out the other calf and tethered it, and it made the same mad rush. I was afraid it would break its neck when it suddenly reached the end of its tether and was slewed round by the taut rope and jerked off its feet.
Murdo Beaton whistled the dog, Caileag, and she sprang up from the open cottage door and raced down
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