Call of the Heather

  CALL OF THE HEATHER

  by

  Gwen Kirkwood

  Victoria and Andrew Pringle are now happily married and working hard to make a success of Langmune Farm but in 1939 war is declared casting a long shadow over the people and the peaceful glens. Libby shares her parents love of the land and Billy Lennox, the laird’s illegitimate grandson, becomes a close friend when they cycle to school together. Then tragedy strikes and Billy is made to feel responsible. He is filled with doubts and dark moods and moves to Yorkshire to get away. But can he ever be happy away from the glens and friends of his childhood?

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  THE SKYLARK by James Hogg

  Bird of the wilderness,

  Blythesome and cumberless,

  Sweet may thy matin be o’er moorland and lea!

  Emblem of happiness,

  Blest is thy dwelling-place—

  O to abide in the desert with thee!

  Wild is thy lay and loud,

  Far in the downy cloud,

  Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

  Where, on thy dewy wing,

  Where art thou journeying?

  Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

  O’er fell and fountain sheen,

  O’er moor and mountain green,

  O’er the red steamer that heralds the day,

  Over the cloudlet dim,

  Over the rainbow’s rim,

  Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

  Then, when the gloaming comes,

  Low in the heather blooms,

  Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

  Emblem of happiness,

  Blest is thy dwelling-place—

  O to abide in the desert with thee!

  Chapter One

  Andrew and Victoria Pringle stood together on the highest point of Langmune Farm looking across to the distant sparkle of the Solway Firth. Beyond it the purple outline of the Galloway hills was rimmed in gold as the September sun began to sink below the horizon.

  Across the burn, high on the other side of the glen, they could see the small white farmhouse of High Bowie nestled against the hill. Andrew smiled.

  ‘That must be young Billy Lennox still playing in the garden, and I believe Maggie is in the doorway. I expect she’s calling him in for bed.’

  ‘You have excellent eyesight, Andrew. They’re just matchstick figures to me at this distance. It must be lonely for Billy, living at the head of the glen.’

  ‘He’s a nice bairn and he seems happy enough whenever I see him.’

  ‘What a glorious autumn day this has been. I expect Maggie and wee Billy are like us, reluctant to end it,’ Victoria said with a new awareness of how fragile the simple pleasures in life could be. ‘It feels good to be alive. It’s hard to believe the world is at war, with young men killing each other. It makes me feel guilty to have so much …’ she gestured with a sweep of her arm, ‘so much space and beauty, and peace.’ Almost at their feet a skylark rose and soared into the clear blue of the evening sky, revelling in the vastness of the heavens. Andrew’s own heart was filled with a deep appreciation of his surroundings. Please God let us keep our freedom and our country, he prayed silently. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, feeling the abundant softness of her hair, listening as she murmured lines from James Hogg’s poem.

  “Bird of the wilderness

  Blythesome and cumberless”

  Andrew knew the poem. Mr Nelson had taught it to them at Darlonachie Village School. He whispered part of the last verse close to her ear, his voice husky now.

  “Then, when the gloaming comes,

  Low in the heather blooms,

  Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be …”

  One finger traced a path down the silky skin of her neck. Victoria leaned into him, loving his warmth and the hard strength of his chest. His free hand rested lightly on her swollen stomach.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. In fact I feel I am the luckiest woman alive tonight. In another few weeks we shall have our second child and every night I thank God for our good fortune.’ She shivered involuntarily. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you have to go to war and leave wee Libby and me. I can’t help thinking of all the young men who will be leaving their wives and children to fight. What a waste of human life. I feel so sorry for them all whichever side they’re on.’

  ‘So do I, dearest Vicky.’ He sensed she was thinking of her twin brother in Edinburgh. ‘But please don’t distress yourself.’

  ‘I won’t, but I know Mark will volunteer. They’re bound to need doctors. I know it’s selfish, but I hope he doesn’t join the army.’ She half turned within the curve of his arm turning her face up to his. He lowered his head and sought her mouth in a lingering kiss.

  ‘I love you, Mrs Pringle,’ Andrew said gruffly. ‘I never tire of calling you my wife, Victoria.’

  ‘And I never tire of hearing you. It doesn’t seem three years since we were married. I needed to come up here this evening, the two of us, alone together.’ She sighed. ‘But I think we should be getting back now in case Libby has wakened and is leading Miss Traill a dance.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Andrew nodded, smiling as he turned them homeward, ‘but I think Miss Traill’s dancing days are over.’

  ‘They are, but Libby is too young to realise that. She loves to take her hand and toddle round the garden or through the orchard to see the pigs, and Miss Traill can never say no when Libby looks up at her with her beguiling smile.’

  ‘It’s those big brown eyes of hers. They’re irresistible, like her Mama.’ He grinned, then sobered. ‘Miss Traill has always been a sensible woman. I don’t think she will allow Libby to take advantage.’

  Miss Traill had been at Langmune longer than either of them. She had come to the farm as a young woman to be housekeeper to Mr Rennie, the previous tenant. Andrew had worked for him since the day he left Darlonachie Village School when he was almost fourteen. On his death Mr Rennie had left him his cattle, horses, and implements, plus a recommendation to the Laird that he should consider him as the next tenant. He had left Miss Traill enough money to give her a measure of independence but she had chosen to make her home with them. Andrew and Victoria had grown to love and respect her. She had suffered a badly broken leg during the fire which had caused Mr Rennie’s death and destroyed a large part of the once-beautiful house at Langmune.

  As they drew nearer the farm yard Victoria paused to look down the slope to the three farm cottages. Her eyes were troubled.

  ‘Do you think they will take any of our men to fight this awful war?’ she asked. Andrew remained silent, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. It was a question he had asked himself every day since the meeting he had attended almost a week ago.

  Last year he had joined the local branch of the National Farmers’ Union. He still missed the stimulating discus
sions he had shared with Mr Rennie so he sought the company and opinions of other farmers with serious views on farming trends. As a member of the Union he had also made sure Langmune was insured, a step the late Luke Crainby had neglected. The result of this failure had been there was no money to restore the farmhouse to its former beauty. Consequently only the back part remained standing, narrow and ugly to an onlooker, but to Andrew and Victoria it was their home and they were content, or they had been until Mr Chamberlain’s announcement three weeks ago, telling the world Great Britain was at war with Germany.

  ‘Andrew?’ Victoria squeezed his arm and repeated her question.

  ‘I don’t know Victoria.’ He sighed. ‘At the NFU meeting we were warned there would be a limit to the able-bodied men we shall be allowed to employ, even though farming and mining are considered priority occupations. According to Tom McBurnie, the local president, the government have had plans drawn up for some time, even though they only set up a Ministry of Food officially five days after war was declared. He says they’re already recruiting girls to join the Women’s Land Army and they’ll be sending city girls to replace our young men.’

  ‘City girls? Surely not? How will they manage?’

  ‘I don’t know, Vicky.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. ‘I hope they don’t take young Jocky Conley. He’s an excellent stockman. He’s keen to know everything about the cows, how they’re milking, how I feed them, and about the bull and the breeding. His father is a good horseman but he doesn’t have Jocky’s enquiring mind.’

  ‘What about Jem?’ Victoria asked anxiously. Before her own marriage to Andrew she had worked at Darlonachie Castle with Jem Wright’s wife, Milly. The couple had married in haste and come to work at Langmune as herdsman and dairy worker. A few months later they had a baby daughter named Gracie. The following year Milly had given birth to Miriam. A third baby, Sylvie, had been born three months ago. ‘I don’t know how Milly would cope if Jem had to join the army.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, for all our sakes,’ Andrew said. Jem Wright was not the brightest of young men but he was a hard worker. ‘The general opinion is that the government has allowed the country to become too dependent on imported food. Now they’re afraid our merchant ships will be targeted by the German navy in an effort to starve us into surrendering. It will be up to farmers to provide as much food as we can. Officials are drawing up lists of English farms which have lain uncultivated and unproductive during the Depression.’

  Thoughts of the war were temporarily forgotten when Victoria gave birth to a baby boy on the seventh of October, but less than a week later there followed a rude awakening. A German submarine had stolen unbelievably close and succeeded in destroying the Royal Oak in its home base of Scapa Flow with the loss of eight hundred men. As if that was not enough there was a German air raid over the Firth of Forth. The war was very real.

  On the following Sunday Andrew’s parents, Polly and Joe Pringle, made their way up the glen after attending the morning service at Darlonachie Kirk. Victoria had lived with them and their family throughout her teenage years and she loved them dearly. She knew at once that Polly had been crying. She had just finished feeding the baby but she rose to push the kettle onto the fire for a cup of tea. Her heart was heavy. All the families were losing young able-bodied men and the Pringles had four sons. At twenty-six Andrew was the oldest but as a working farmer producing food his labour was considered essential. Twenty-two year old Willie worked on a local sheep farm but his employer was elderly and Willie was his main man and also an essential worker, but George was one of three men on a beef and sheep farm.

  ‘Is it George, Ma?’ Andrew asked quietly, ‘has he had his call-up papers?’

  ‘How did you know?’ Polly turned startled, tear drenched eyes to her eldest son.

  ‘He’s been expecting them. He’s unmarried and he knew Mr Barras wouldn’t be allowed to keep three men. He’ll be lucky if he keeps the other two. He’s young enough to work himself if he wasna so damned lazy.’

  ‘He’ll have to now,’ Joe Pringle said, pulling hard on his pipe. ‘The other young fellow has had word to go for a medical. His wife’s only a wee bit of a lassie and they’re expecting a bairn.’

  ‘Oor Josh is only a wee bit laddie,’ Polly bit back a sob, ‘but they’ve sent him his papers …’

  ‘Josh?’ Andrew and Victoria repeated simultaneously, staring wide eyed at Joe and Polly.

  ‘The kettle is boiling. I’ll make some tea, shall I?’ Miss Traill interrupted gently. She knew instinctively that Polly Pringle was going to need some sustenance.

  ‘Yes please,’ Victoria said. Polly always resorted to tea in time of trouble. She laid the baby in his pram and went to hug her, as Polly had so often comforted her. ‘Surely they’ll not take Josh? Not yet? He’s only eighteen.’

  ‘He thinks he ought to go,’ Polly sniffed, and wiped her eyes. ‘He says he’ll apply for the RAF. He’s done well in his exams, especially in mathematics. Mr Nelson, the school master, says it’s young men like Josh they need in the air force.’ Joe moved aside to let Miss Traill pour the tea.

  ‘Have you chosen a name for the wee fellow yet?’ he asked in an effort to change the subject.

  ‘We thought we would call him Fraser. That was Mr Rennie’s name and he was very good to me,’ Andrew said.

  ‘Fraser Joseph Pringle,’ Victoria reminded him and saw Joe’s eyes brighten and a fleeting smile erase some of the lines on his weathered face. He was head gardener at Darlonachie Castle and spent most of his time outside in all weathers.

  ‘Are you making any changes to the gardens?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘One of the lads has gone off already. The other failed his medical. Bad eyesight I think, or bad ears. I reckon he has both, as well as a thick head,’ Joe grumbled. ‘Everybody is supposed to grow more vegetables. We’ll dig up some o’ the grass. Mrs Crainby says we’re not to grow them for the local folks. She’s going to sell them. You’ll have heard she’s putting up the rents? She thinks the tenants will be getting loads of money now the government are urging farmers to supply British produce.’

  ‘The only thing we know for sure is income tax is to be raised to seven and six in the pound,’ Andrew said.

  ‘It said on the radio the government are going to regulate prices to stop people taking advantage of shortages,’ Victoria said.

  ‘It’ll not stop Mistress Crainby frae putting up the rents if she’s made up her mind. The new factor is as mean as she is. It’s rumoured the estate office is in a real mess since Mr Forsythe left. She thought she could handle the estate herself. She demanded rent twice over from some of the tenants but some havena paid at all. I’ll bet Mr Forsythe is pleased he retired when the young laird died.’

  ‘I’ll bet he is,’ Andrew said with feeling. ‘Forsythe still calls in at Home Farm to see Luke Crainby’s father though. I’ve met him there once or twice.’

  ‘Aye, folks say it was Mr Forsythe who suggested Luke Crainby should extend the house at Home Farm so that Sir William could move out o’ the Castle before the young laird died. He’s away frae Mrs Crainby’s clutches at Home Farm.’

  About a week later Victoria had a phone call. Maggie Lennox lived across the glen at High Bowie Farm. She sounded upset.

  ‘I’m telephoning from Sir William’s house,’ she said. ‘I’m really worried. Can I come to Langmune in the morning, as soon as I’ve dropped Billy at school? I need to talk to someone who will understand.’

  ‘All right, Maggie. You sure it will wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘It is urgent, b-but I can’t talk now. Sir William is in the sitting room. I don’t want to upset him too.’

  ‘I understand. We’ll see you tomorrow.’ Victoria put the phone down with a puzzled frown. They all knew Doris listened in at the telephone exchange in the village but Maggie had seemed more concerned about upsetting Sir William Crainby. He had lost Luke: his only surviving son, while she had lo
st the man she loved: the father of her child. Luke Crianby’s death had united them and Maggie had grown fond of the old man. There was a growing attachment between six-year-old Billy and his grandfather too. Sir William had bought a pony which he kept at Home Farm, proof that he welcomed his illegitimate grandson.

  When Andrew came in for his midday meal Victoria told him of Maggie’s proposed visit.

  ‘She seems dreadfully worried about something.’

  They were just finishing their meal when a car pulled into the yard. Miss Traill was standing at the sink filling the kettle.

  ‘Why it’s the Bentley Mr Luke used to drive,’ she exclaimed. ‘The one he was driving the last time he came to Langmune.’ She had gone quite pale. ‘I think I’ll take my afternoon rest in my own room, Victoria. I don’t recognise the driver.’

  ‘Shall I bring you in a cup of tea?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘No thank you, dear.’ She frowned. ‘He looks a very haughty man.’ There was an impatient rap on the door so she hurried away. Both the baby and Libby had already settled down for their afternoon nap and Victoria hoped the man would not disturb them. She could hear Andrew speaking to him, his voice rising as though in anger.

  ‘You’d better come in and meet my wife.’ Andrew led the man into the large room which had sufficed as kitchen and living room since the fire destroyed the main part of the house. Victoria saw him looking around, his lip curling contemptuously, making his moustache bristle like an angry cat. She wanted to laugh but she could see the pulse beating in Andrew’s jaw and she knew he was either upset or angry. ‘Victoria, this is Mr Ward, the new factor for Darlonachie Estate. He says he has been instructed by Mrs Crainby to serve us with notice to quit Langmune within three months.’ Andrew was enunciating each word with exaggerated clarity. Victoria looked at him, her eyes wide and puzzled.