Published: 12 Oct 2017

i

Under a foraye blue, cloud reefed, sky burnished by aureate sun; three boys, Bill Robert and Tom, hunched – hands to knees and pechin for breath – could see from atop the steeply sloping Dun Brae Hill how far the river flowed East to West. Running down from steel-tint mountains above Merrimuir town – weaving between meadows and fields of green and gold; burrowing through the ruch and runkle of the Barra Tye Wood – glimpses of the river’s surface catching sun and glinting silver in the gaps of hoary old pines; finally flowing into Kinharrald – and joining the loch’s head.

Three boys with eyes on meadows of uncut grass; harbouring sanguine golden buttercups atop shelpie green storks, electric violet pincushions of Devil’s bit scabious and islands of pink white daisies, rich and dense in billows of clover. Eyes on the orrals of the ancient Roman wall: around which blooms of Tufted vetch and Marigold gathered; and where pudgetie Bumble’s licked from posy to sprig. And eyes on a charm of Goldfinch and a few Collared Dove – flitting between the branches of the gnarled old elms ahead of the forests lip.

“Ho!” Bill, already, kicking off his shoes and tossing honey coloured unbarbered hair from his eyes. “A wager! Last man with toes buried inch deep in the river bed carries the winner on his shoulders back to the old woman’s.”

“No fair!” young Tom, already bracing knee and thigh. “You two are heads taller. If I lose it’ll be a painful slow walk back.”

“Not so for the winner though.” Robert, with a nudge of the elbow; then exploding forward from the hilltop.

As three tore down the hill in fits-and-giggles, arms whirling as the sails of windmills, the race left a trail of damp sweat ringed shirts and grass stained britches; of socks beyond another darn and of briefs, long past the need of replacement, in their wake.

Bare-assed and with a splash; it was Bill who first broke the water’s surface – hooting and hollering and claiming winner’s rights – Robert following and flipping forward from his feet at the bank… and finally Tom: whose shorter stride would always lose him the race.

ii

Robert still and silent in the grass – sitting: criss-cross applesauce – fingers digging between his toes: feeling the warm prickle of the sun on his bare shoulders and rising chest – quieted his heart and thoughts with deep considered breaths.

For a time he watched Bill and Tom – who stood bare-scud in the clear cool river – both laughing; each jauping the other with jilps of water that exploded from the surface like diamonds in the sunlight… Sunlight that burnished their muss of hair making flames of the tufts and curls in the raggle of golden peaks atop their heads. Smiling to himself, he closed his eyes to the sun and swam in a sea of deep pink while he listened to his friends splashing and sloshing in the river. I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen, And accrue what I hear into myself…and let sound contribute toward me.¹

iii

“How long have we been here?” Tom flat on his belly – backside presented to sky and fingers dancing in grass.

“You lose count of the days already?” Robert teasing.

“It feels like forever.” Bill – of the the long lashed slumberous eyes – yawning at a reid-back crawling along his arm. “In the best sense I mean.”

“Six weeks.” Robert – keeper of knowledge – Minerva with a peter. “Although it does feel longer, to be proper fair.”

“In the absolute best sense.” Tom flipped over onto his back forcing Roberts eyes to explore the length of his slender ribby nudity.

Bill twisted his arm to follow the reid-back’s trail through the soft pale hairs lighting his skin. “There’s not the fear out here. Not like back home. Time passes foreign for it.”

“It’s there.” Robert back down horizontal in the grass – squinting at the pillows of white clouds in the sky: a fat elephant on hind legs standing on tip-toe. “It’s just on the edges. You can see it when the Minister visits.”

“You ever notice how the Minister always comes to visit?” Tom twirling a blade of grass around his little finger.

“Same time every night.” Bill watching the reid-back fly from his skin as he tensed his bicep.

“Bathtime.”

“He stays for tea and toast and to pass on the latest from the wireless.” Robert without concern.

“Sits at the same spot every night so he can see us in the tin tub.” Tom rolled back onto his stomach and devils danced in the corners of his smiling lips.

“He’s nice.” Robert watched for Tom’s thoughts.

“He does it so he can see our peters.”

“Is that a truth, you think?” Bill with scrunched forrid – brows knitted.

“Maybe he’s checking our growth.”

“Maybe he’s walking home every night sporting wood in his cassock…” Tom covering his grinning lips at the blasphemy he spoke.

“Aye. And Maybe…” said Bill reaching across to tickle Tom’s ribs, “Maybe he chugs it in the bushes halfway home thinking about your wee nuts on his chin as he sooks your tadger!”

Tom broke into a spreading soprano giggle under Bill’s slender hyte fingers – his legs kicking and body twisting as the older boy sat on his thighs and continued the assault. Robert rose up on his elbows and watched the boys wrestle nude in the grass with a grin.

iv

Fifteen boys and fifteen bunks; gas lamps inside, each a warm muted firefly copper, and sharp silver starlight through the billet’s unblemished windows. Wrestling and good humoured name calling; the voices of boys ricocheting from wall to wall. Three sit together, Bill Robert and Tom, adding to the catter and din with the soft slap of linen playing cards on the olive green bedspread.

“What you playing?” Angus, who was called Rabbit, moving to sit beside the three. Carrot red curls and snow white skin – nose and cheeks punctulated with freckles as if speckled by paprika – two buck teeth under a chief and easy lopsided smile.

“Rummy.” Suspicious Tom from the corner of his eyes.

“Deal me in?” Rabbit hopeful.

“Next hand.” Bill – who had to win – biting his bottom lip. Focused.

“Did you three miss dinner again?”

“We did.” Robert lay down four, five, six of hearts. “The old girl saved us some though.” Cold plates of casserole.

“Third night this week.” Rabbit digging in his nose deep – passed the first knuckle. “What do you do so late?”

“Exploring!” Tom – Ace, two, three of clubs.

“That’s not what Whitey says.” shitty grin.

“Whitey wouldn’t know arse from elbow.” Tom looked to Whitey across the room. A shock of white hair – his cowlick: silver, bright pink lips pulled to a toothy smile – while he watched one boy wrestle another to the ground.

“Whitey know’s plenty. Whitey knows you three are tugging each others peters in every inch of open space you can find.”

A furtive glance from Tom to Robert – Bill’s eyes still on the cards.

A knock on the billet door and boys scatter to their bunks like cockroaches under a swift light. Bill keeping cards in hand.

The old woman: Miss Black – a kindly loving smile and warm open eyes – prayers before bed.

The Minister’s Wireless

“…where this evening German forces are said to be occupying the Maas and Bourse railway stations in Rotterdam. It has been said that there are some conflicting reports about whether they are still in possession of Waalhaven airport.

“Sources inside Nazi Germany say that Herr Hitler had stated in a broadcast to the nation that he considers today’s overwhelming Blitzkrieg of Holland, Belgium and France as the end to the ‘Phoney war’.

“In reports from Belgium: sources say that British troops have been enthusiastically received; Their guns festooned with flowers and the soldiers plied with refreshments.

“And in Washington when President Franklin Roosevelt was asked at a news conference whether he thought Germany’s invasion of the Low Countries would lead to US involvement in the war, he replied that it would not.

“Again, our main story: Mister Neville Chamberlain has stepped down today as Prime Minister in the wake of a disastrous two months of the Norwegian Campaign and considerable pressure from within his own government. Stepping into the fray is new Prime Minister Winston Churchill. Mr Churchill received a rapturous reception on the steps of ten Downing Street today as he appointed himself Minister of Defence. In his speech earlier, Mr Chamberlain stated:

“‘For the hour has now come when we are to be put to the test, as the innocent people of Holland, Belgium, and France are being tested already. And you, and I, must rally behind our new leader, and with our united strength, and with unshakable courage, we must fight and work until this wild beast, which has sprung out of his lair upon us, has been finally disarmed and overthrown’².”

vi

A breakfast: porridge with water and salt in their guts – morning chores a distant memory – Bill, Robert and Tom saunter like ducklings one before the other – footsteps apart along the river bank and barefoot against the flow. Shoe laces of string tied together and hung over shoulders – the legs of their britches rolled up below the knee. A soft warm breeze under a near cloudless sky forced sprays of flowering sneezewort to set the air seething – twitching Bill’s nose while Tom popped the buttons of his britches.

“What are you doing?” Robert turning to Tom – walking backwards.

“It’s friendlier to be naked don’t you think?” Stop, trousers down, briefs next.

“You’ll burn your pecker!” Bill at the front – pinching his nostrils – wet eyes on his own feet.

“It’s friendlier to be nude.” Robert turning back as Tom stopped to pull his buttoned shirt over his head.

“I don’t see the difference!”

“Nude is sensual. Artists paint and sculpt nudes. They pay attention to form, to the curves and the lines and the tone of every muscle. There’s no such thing as an ouglie nude, no matter the shape.” Robert stopped and turned again to watch Tom ball up his clothes and stumble over his own feet in a kevel to catch up. “Naked though… Naked aggression… Naked ambition… Naked can also mean helpless. It’s not a nice word. It can have bad connotations.”

Tom squinted as he looked up at Robert: “Still don’t think I see a difference.”

They walked, they dawdled, they jogged in a non-committal fudder; finally they stopped when Bill saw the fence ringing the ancient fearsome Barra Tye woods. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go any further.”

“In Sweden they have a thing called allemansrätten. Every man has the legal right to swim, roam, forage, camp… whatever in open country.”

“This isn’t Sweden.” Bill feeling more cautious than usual as he looked into the murk and mire between the densely packed pines.

Tom with clothes thrown over the wooden fence and feet already on the rail: “You read too much Robbie.” He smiled. “But I’m glad that you do. We’ll claim allamostrontz if anyone catches us.”

“Allemansrätten,” corrected Robert, joining Tom as he jumped the wooden waist high fence.

“The Swede’s sell Iron to the Nazi’s you know? I read it in a newspaper.” Bill followed.

“And the Irish are fighting for Hitler.” Tom landed with a dyst in the leaf trash skiddle.

Robert sat on the fence and watched Bill pull his shirt over his head and roll it into a ball. “With Ireland it’s more complicated than that. They’re Neutral. Most won’t fight at all and some are fighting in the British armed forces.” His eyes drank in Bill’s nut brown skin, fibrous shoulders and keenly-knitted chest. Bill smiled sunshine at Robert when he noticed him goavin – before dropping his trousers around his ankles and tugging them off over his feet – Robert’s eyes didn’t leave him while he spoke with Tom. “But the Republican Army are said to be meeting with the Nazi’s to get arms and training.”

“If you’re not on our side then you’re on their side.”

“Again: With Ireland it’s more complicated than that.”

Bill, in only his underwear, clambering chimp-nimble over the fence – stopping to beam that smile once more at Robert, whose cheeks turned a crimson scam, while he sat astride it.

Under leaf the shivelights lanced the green canopy overhead – casting a spider’s web of shadowtackle on the duff. Little sound but for three pairs of bare feet skiffing dead leaves and cracking twig; and the quick clear water of the river as it sung over lichen dashed stone. Little was their addition that changed the woodlands undersong.

“It’s deadweight quiet in here!” Tom, in nought but a cherub’s smile.

Robert, still clothed, sat on a hollow moss painted trunk: “It’s cooler than in the meadow.”

“The air smells wet.” Bill sitting next to him and dropping his balled up clothes to the ground. His barefoot next to Roberts: Touching. “I like it though. Like after a rain.”

“You think there are stag in here? Maybe the fence is to keep out poachers and gypsies.” Tom, flat on his back in the skiddle – picking out pathways of piercing blue through the crown shyness.

“Maybe.” Robert leaned into Bill – shoulder to shoulder.

“Venison would make for a nice change to casseroles, cornbeef and spam fritters.”

“You should be more grateful. The old woman and the Minister didn’t have to take us in. If not for them we might never have met.”

“There’s a thought.” Tom – a sudden shock at the idea sat him up straight, hands flat on the earth behind his back. “I wouldn’t have liked that.”

“If we hadn’t of met you wouldn’t have known what not to like.”

“Maybe we should be going home… Not back to the old woman’s but ‘Home’ home… Whitey was saying that a lot of the evacuees have gone back already. It’s why we were all rounded up into the billet.” Bill scrunching his toes amongst the dead leaves picturing a city by the sea and his mother in her Royal Blue housecoat.

“Whitey’s a howlin’ roaster!” Tom turning to the two boys on the moss dappled log. “You believe what he told Rabbit?”

“It’s true though isn’t it?” Bill, reflective. “There’s no point to a lie here. No harm is done and no evil committed.”

“Maybe so but he’s no right to be throwing clash around the billet.”

“Do you mean that?” Robert’s hand finding Bill’s beside his on the log. “About going home? Do you not want to be here anymore?” His thoughts to the letters Bill received and the quietness with which he read them – the desire for secrecy around them.

Bill softly massaged the pad of his thumb into Robert’s purlicue – running soft circles before releasing his hand and standing. “I dunno. I mean… this is great and everything and meeting you lads has been great too… more than great… really…” He looked between the faces of the two boys – finding different things in each part of each face. “Of course I wanna be here. With you two. Just a little homesick I guess.”

Greeks have a name for it

The Athenians called it diamerion.

viii

Robert and Bill and Tom – three boys sitting on a bench near the stone loch wall in Kinharrald – watching women gather and heckle and laugh around the fishmongers wagon. Bill in the middle, paper bag of pear drops in hand – all three working a boiled sweet with their tongue.

“You think all women are like that?” Tom popping the sugary yellow citrine looking sweet from between his pink lips.

“My Mum’s not!” Robert biting down hard and squinting, nearly chipping a tooth with the crack of boiled sugar.

“Mine is!” Bill reached into the bag and popped a second in his mouth. One for each cheek – a squirrel with nuts: “She’s worse maybe. You should see her when the rag and bone man comes down the street.”

“The old woman’s not like that!”

“That’s because she’s got religion.”

“You ask any of those women around that fish cart and they’ll tell you they love God and Jesus and the whole damn thing just as much as anybody can.” Robert thought for a moment. “You’re right though. She treats us kids nice…she’s half the reason we’re still here while the others have gone back to the cities. The old woman’s got religion proper. All the loving and the kindness and the heart of it.”

“Miss Black is rare one to be sure.” A voice behind them. “But most girls turn into those old hens when they get older.”

“Hey Connall!” Three boys turning and smiling at the handsome nineteen year-old Gamekeeper’s son standing behind them. An easy smile returned through ice-blue eyes. “You see that one there… in the blackwatch shawl?” He gripped the the back of the bench and dropped to their eye level. The boys following his finger as he pointed. “She’s my Mary’s mother.”

The woman seemed to be tearing verbal strips from the moustached man at the cart – a haddock sagging in hand.

“When I started courting her daughter, despite knowing me since I was knee high to a kipper, she asked question upon question: ‘why did I want to take Mary out?’ ‘what was I going to do with my life?’ ‘did I plan on leaving Kinharrald?’ Question upon question upon question. And every time I’ve been round since negotiating times to have her home by and and when our next encounter could be…”

“Seems like a lot of trouble for a girl.” Tom scrunching his nose at the very idea.

“You’re young. You’ll see. It’s worth it.” Ruffling the hair of a wincing and disbelieving Tom.

“Are you not working today Connall?” Robert finishing his pear-drop and looking to the open bag in Bill’s lap for another.

“I’m going to the knackers in Merrimuir to pick up their truck. Scrap metal drive!”

“What for?” Bill’s eyes watering – the skin inside his cheeks retracting and cracking at the double hit of sour.

“We’re collecting for the army navy, and airforce. Pots, pans, railings, car bumpers everything and anything metal… it’ll all get melted down and used for the war effort. You know, planes and tanks and guns.”

“They’re going to make spitfire’s out of Mrs MacPherson’s frying pan?” Tom finding the idea a stretch.

“Well no… not really… we collect it and send it to Edinburgh but most of it gets dumped. It’s really just a way of making everyone feel like they’re playing a part in the war.”

“It’s masterful propaganda.” Robert giving up waiting and reaching for the bag in Bill’s lap to pull out a sweet.

“That it is! If Mrs MacPherson feels like she’s helping by donating her frying pan or Mrs Kean by donating the railing outside the front of her house then that’s all good surely. Everyone wants to help, everyone wants to be seen to be doing something for the effort of it. There’s not a man, woman or child that can’t contribute with this or that.”

“What can we do?” Bill swallowing one of his pear drops.

“You can stay out of trouble is what.” Connall lay a hand on Robert and Bill’s shoulders. “If this keeps up you’ll be joining up by hook or by crook in a couple of years anyway. And the wee man,” Connall looking at Tom. “Won’t be more than a year or two behind you.”

Robert and Bill fearful at the thought. Tom smiling.

ix

Robert sat, back against antler chafed bark, in the shade of the weeping willow. The shafts of dust sprinkled sunlight that speared the awning of leaves dappled the grass at his feet with bright golden puddles of brilliance. Eyes on the pages of his book – Lysis. Symposium. Gorgias. – he would lift them at the laughter and splashes of Bill and Tom roughhousing in the river:

His gaze to those wheaten haired boys – his world enduring in: Bill’s skin of mohican copper and the firm adolescent muscles that tensed underneath; Tom’s golden smile and eyes that were deep pools of ever shifting gunmetal silver. The sun reflecting from the river danced light on their skin and both had the look of something more than man. Kelpies! That boys are to rivers as Trow are to holloways, he thought.

Bill stepped from the water and strode onto the riverbank with all the confidence and poise of his fifteen summer’s passed – Tom hauled over his shoulder: kicking – their laughter bouncing in the air.

“Help! Help me Robbie!” Tom wriggling wild and flapping his arms. “I’m assailed! Assailed a by a clarty river ogre!”

Bill, pushed through the drooping melancholy branches of the willow, dropped the boy laughing to the grass beside Robert and pounced on him – sitting astride his thighs – pinching at the skin on his ribs and stomach.

“Ogre Bill hungry! Ogre Bill gobble tasty little river fish!” Bill with deepened gravelled voice and stilted speech.

Robert had to admit that the impersonation would be uncanny… if he had ever met a river ogre to compare it with.

The pinching became tickling that in turn became soft slow strokes with the pads of fingertips… gentle low moaning caresses and the shuddering of electrified skin. Breathy and feckless – wandering hands on supple tawny flesh and soft wet lip snaps from bronzed shoulders to lean hips. A sideways smile at Robert here – a dawt of his thigh there… the book falling from his lap to the grass as the boys pulled him into their gameful embrace of eager young hands and warm wet mouths.

That Sacred Band

They lounged in the soft summer heat, Bill Robert and Tom, on resting riparian meadow in the shade cast from the long fat leaves of the weeping willow. Robert’s back to trunk, his fingers raking the leaf trash from Bill’s corn coloured hair, Bill’s head on his thigh and Tom’s cheek on Bill’s flat stomach.

“I love it when you give me my sparkles Bill.” Tom flexing his toes in a puddle of sun.

Bill walked his fingers along Tom’s shoulders.

“Tell us again about the Greeks Robbie.” Tom rolling to his side to smile at his friend.

“Which ones?”

“The Soldiers! The sexy ones!”

Robert smiled and thought. And then: “Did I tell you about the Battle of Leuctra?”

Tom shook his head.

“After the Spartan’s had marched North; conquering much of the Greek Peninsula during the Peloponnesian War, General Pelopidas and his friend Epaminondas, of the city state of Thebes, had stood together and called for a democratic free state where all men were equal and wicked warlords weren’t propped up by the muscle and iron of the fearsome Spartan army.

“With their refusal to submit to Sparta again and again, General’s Pelopidas and Epaminondas found themselves forced to defend their land against a massive Spartan army led by King Cleombrotus: who had decided to set an example to any who would oppose their domination and crush the two friends along with their uprising.

“Pelopidas and Epaminondas had been given word that Cleombrotus was coming and the King himself had warned them of a morning attack: where the Spartans would file through the narrow gorge leading to the small village of Leuctra allowing both armies to stand face to face before battle.

“Cleombrotus, however, had instead launched a sneak attack over the hills in dead of night: capturing the fortress at Creusis and a swathe of Theban warships. Boeotian Generals were torn. They had far fewer men and hadn’t the training of the Spartan War Machine. Fearing that they would be defeated by Cleombrotus, many of the Generals wanted to flee for their lives. Some even wanting to submit to Spartan rule.”

“Cowards!” Tom sat up from Bill’s thigh and crossed his legs under himself.

“The Spartan’s were the most feared army in the world at that time, Tom. Trained since they were younger than you are now. They were a deadly force and keen to assert their dominance over Greece… so the General’s were right to be cautious… They only had five or so thousand fighting men compared to Sparta’s ten and another thousand or more on horseback.”

“They were outnumbered?”

“Two to one if not more.”

“Cheating in numbers and sneak attacks… That’s not fair.”

“War rarely is…

“Epaminondas pleaded with the other generals. If they were going to stand up to Sparta and live as free men it had to be then… it had to be there. Victory was far from assured… They faced almost certain death at the hands of Cleombrotus and his greater, better trained force… After hours of debate that more than once became an exchange of fists; eventually they voted… And thanks to the strength of Epaminondas argument to ‘fight like free men now or die like dogs under Spartan rule later’ The General’s voted in favour of war.

“When the time for battle came, the Spartan’s launched a devastating attack on the the weaker side of the would be oppressed, crashing upon them like a wave. Under the sheer weight of the Spartan numbers, The Boeotians crumbled and broke… many fled or were killed while others were forced back into the Theban ranks that swelled their flank.”

From somewhere beneath the river’s surface Tom heard the screams and cries for help of the Boeotian forces: The voices of men raising up under the slash of sword and stab of spear. Their feet tripping over the bodies of fallen comrades and the clatter of their iron helms falling onto the rock strewn floor.

“The way that they used to fight was very different to how they do today. The Spartan (and therefore Greek) Tradition was that the greatest warriors and the King of Sparta himself would fight on the right wing of their advance. To be seen there during battle was to be seen as formidable and a badge of honour for any man who carried sword or spear. The right wings of each army would battle the weaker left of the opposing force before facing each other.

“General Pelopidas was the first to break from that tradition.”

“He fought though right?” Tom leaning forward – his knees at Roberts feet.

“He did!

“The Theban cavalry charged forward and engaged the Spartan infantry while they were mid maneuver – crashing hard into their flank. Outweighed by numbers and the ferocity of Sparta, what should have been a foolish flight of fancy instead sent the greater number of better trained warriors into disarray…”

Tom rocked back and forward on his bare backside in the grass – causing Bill to look up at Robert from his thigh and smile. “Yasss!” Tom with balled up fists saw the column of men on horseback charging on with spears pointed forward and shouts of honour ringing from their mouths.

“While The Spartans stood confused by such an audacious maneuver General Pelopidas led the Sacred Band of Thebes into the villain’s right wing.”

“The sexy soldiers!” Tom stood in the shade – his erect rose petal pink pecker back with renewed vigour.

Robert laughed with Bill at the excitable younger boy. “Comprised of three hundred men, one-hundred and fifty pairs of lovers… brothers in arms who trained, ate, slept and loved together, the Sacred Band of Thebes cut through the most feared army in the known world with a column of men: fifty deep. Expecting to face a far weaker force The Spartans were ill prepared for what turned out to be the best, most loyal and most honourable fighting force in all of Ancient Greece.”

Between the leaves; in the speckles of sun Tom watched the The Sacred Band, with spears in hand, crash hard into the line of the unnerved and disordered Spartan right.

“The Sacred Band tore apart the Spartan soldiers like they were paper; causing those who saw them at work to cry in anguish and flee in fear for their lives, watching in horror as the Sacred Band slew the fearsome Spartan King, Cleombrotus, on the battlefield.

“What was left of the Spartan Army retreated but Pelopidas, Epaminondas and The Sacred Band did not follow, theirs was an honourable victory and there is no honour in chasing down fleeing and wounded men, they had their hard won victory and had secured freedom for their people.”

Reaching for his side Tom held aloft an imaginary sword and pointed it’s invisible tip at Robert’s chest. “Foul Spartan Cur! I would see my people free!” He lunged forward and Robert feigned a mortal wound – clutching at his chest and damning the heavens.

Bill sprung to his feet and scooped Tom up throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift before calling out: “For Sparta!”, laughing and running to the river to dunk the wildly kicking giggling boy.

The Minister’s Wireless

“…the official time of Dutch surrender to the German forces was ten fifteen a.m.

“President Roosevelt appealed before US Congress yesterday, requesting money be spent on America’s National defense. “Surely, the developments of the past few weeks have made it clear to all of our citizens that the possibility of attack on vital American zones ought to make it essential that we have the physical, the ready ability to meet those attacks and to prevent them from reaching their objectives,”³ the President explained.

“Meanwhile sources close to Whitehall have stated that Mr Churchill has requested the loan of Destroyers, aircraft and anti-aircraft guns from America. We have not received word if this request for assistance will be answered…”

xii

Sunday mornings were for church in Kinharrald – a modest building of sandstone that stood over a century old: humble brickwork and reclaimed slate roofing – a source of pride for the succession of Ministers that had served it’s community. The singular nod toward extravagance: the stained glass window behind the pulpit – The Virgin Mary carrying her newly born child before the host of Heaven.

The fifteen boys of the billet lining two pews – villagers and outliers filling the rest – the old woman in front and the Minister in the pulpit.

Bill, Robert and Tom sat near the aisle – eyes on Whitey to their right – his hand working at speed down the front of his britches.

“If I can can keep it in my trousers this long, you’d think that Whitey could too!” Tom hushed voice pulling at the peak in the crotch of his britches.

Earwigging – Whitey turned his head to the three boys and poked his wet pink tongue out between his lips.

xiii

Between the weathered grey stones of the graveyard right of the kirk – boys played bulldog: laughter and cries ringing through a fair skyre Sunday morning. Robert sat on the low stone moss covered wall and watched, smiling, while Bill and Tom ducked the outstretched fingers of Rabbit, Whitey and the others.

“You not playing?” Connall sitting beside him.

“Church makes me sleepy.” Robert yawing for evidence. “I won’t wake again for another half hour. Not proper anyhow.”

“Aye, the Minister can fair waffle.”

“He’s nice though. He doesn’t talk about damnation nearly as much as mine does back home.”

“I think he knows he’d lose half his congregation if he did.” A smirk while Tom jumped a cracked stone with a smirtle.

They watched the Minister and Miss Black stand at the doors to the church talking in easy whispers while the other women fussed over their husbands or ignored them to talk amongst themselves.

“Why did Miss Black never marry? Do you know?” The thought occurring to Robert as she laughed at one of the Ministers jokes.

“Not rightly.” Connall running the nail of his thumb over his top lip. “She’s been a spinster the length of my life and I’d dare say the length of a few lives before mine. I’d say she’s married to God but that’d make her Nun and protestants don’t go in for such gypit styte.”

“She won’t always have been a spinster though. It’s not something you’re born to.” A smile as Robert imagined Miss Black a toddler, dressed in old-lady clothes – same spectacles and short gray curls she wore daily.

“My mother told me once, when I was young and asked a similar question, that Miss Black had been engaged once.”

“For real? To a man?” Robert startled at his own surprise.

“No. To a capercaillie… Of course to a man! For a smart kid you do talk dumb sometimes.”

Robert red cheeked.

“But she can’t remember why the engagement never turned to marriage. Either her fiance died in the last war and she never recovered or he never went and she broke it off out of embarrassment. My dad said that he had thought she was one of those white feather girls…”

Robert and Connall turned eyes to amongst the graves as a cry went up: Whitey tackled Christopher to the ground – wrapping his arms around the slight framed dark haired boy’s bare tan legs and dropped him to the grass.

“Tom was telling me that you three climbed the fence and went walking through Barra Tye the other day.”

“I like it in those woods: quiet and peaceful and cool out of the sun.”

“Be careful in there.” Through a whisper from the corner of Connal’s lips: “A Bodach lives in those woods. Somewhere near the Diel’s Cauldron.”

Robert looked at Connall for the first time since he sat beside him: “A Bodach? What’s a Bodach?”

“Nasty trickster devils with peckers for horns and their tail at their front. They disguise themselves as old men with skin like the gnarled bark of old oaks or as clowns with puddle water sloshing in their shoes.”

Robert squinted looking for the joke on Connall’s face.

“They trick old men for the coin in their purse and women and girls for their first borns. For boys they devise riddles and lies so devilish that when you can’t answer they steal your pecker to add to the length of their tails.”

Roberts hands sought his peter and clutched it through his britches.

“You’re a smart kid though. Lots of reading behind you. Just don’t answer a question if he asks you one. Then he’s got you.”

Looking to Robert – Connal smiled before pulling him into a headlock and scuffing his knuckles through the boys hair.

Pulled close to the young man’s chest Robert breathed deep and laughed. He liked the smell of him – roasted chestnuts and fried red onion. Had done since they’d first met. Robert wriggled free and pulled himself from Connal’s grip with a wide grin. He straightened his hair and nudged his shoulder into the young man’s arm.

“If you think I’ll believe that some dancing devil with an old man face and clown shoes wants to steal my cock then you’ve another think coming Connal Stuart!”

“Aye well…” Connal standing from beside Robert and running his hands down the back of his thighs. “Steer clear of the woods at any rate. This time of year gypsies pass through. And if the Bodach doesn’t pilk your pecker, the Gypsies’ll be stealing you boys away with them.”

Robert smiled as Connal ruffled his hair and watched as he walked over to Mary – placing his hand on the small of her back. And removing it under the glow’r of her mother.

The Minister’s Wireless

“Having received His Majesty’s commission, I have formed an Administration of men and women of every Party and of almost every point of view. We have differed and quarreled in the past; but now one bond unites us all — to wage war until victory is won, and never to surrender ourselves to servitude and shame, whatever the cost and the agony may be. This is one of the most awe-striking periods in the long history of France and Britain. It is also beyond doubt the most sublime. Side by side, unaided except by their kith and kin in the great Dominions and by the wide empires which rest beneath their shield – side by side, the British and French peoples have advanced to rescue not only Europe but mankind from the foulest and most soul-destroying tyranny which has ever darkened and stained the pages of history. Behind them – behind us – behind the Armies and Fleets of Britain and France – gather a group of shattered States and bludgeoned races: the Czechs, the Poles, the Norwegians, the Danes, the Dutch, the Belgians – upon all of whom the long night of barbarism will descend, unbroken even by a star of hope, unless we conquer, as conquer we must; as conquer we shall.

“Today is Trinity Sunday. Centuries ago words were written to be a call and a spur to the faithful servants of Truth and Justice: “Arm yourselves, and be ye men of valour, and be in readiness for the conflict; for it is better for us to perish in battle than to look upon the outrage of our nation and our altar. As the Will of God is in Heaven, even so let it be”.”⁴

Wondering about this Story? Tell Ellio about it! Ellio Lee

1. Walt Whitman (Leaves of Grass)
2. From the resignation Speech of Neville Chamberlain May 10th 1940
3. US President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Message to Congress on Appropriations for National Defense May 16, 1940
4. Excerpt from a BBC broadcast on Sunday 19 May 1940 by UK Prime Minister Winston Churchill