A Last Goodbye Page 3

  4

  Sacrifices for the Greater Good

  Sir Angus MacPherson and his committee, smartly attired in dark suits and top hats, alighted from the first-class compartment of the southbound train. A soft rain was falling as they left the station and climbed into the wagons that were to carry them into the valley. Sir Angus had suggested this form of transport in order that the committee should obtain an uninterrupted view of the countryside. He chuckled into his bushy white beard at the sight of the group, none of whom appeared to be relishing a ride in an open wagon on such a day. Even with their legs swathed in tarpaulins, the rain would soon soak their suits and dampen their enthusiasm for the trip ahead.

  ‘What did I tell you, gentlemen? This part of the country has an average rainfall of fifty inches per annum. Where better to site the reservoir? The water quality is excellent and free from the stain of peat. The same cannot be said of much of the water in Scotland.’ The blue eyes of their chairman sparkled in merriment as he viewed the already bedraggled appearance of his fellow engineers. He sat back with a smile of satisfaction and gazed around at the land through which they were passing. All the negotiations had been worthwhile, even though they had taken three years and, up to now, not a spade had been wielded, nor a stone turned.

  It had taken him only six months to come to the conclusion, backed up by figures, that the existing water supply to the larger towns north of this stretch of countryside would be woefully inadequate, should there be a time of drought. An inadequacy that amounted to over two million gallons a day, no less. Not only this, but the population of these towns was increasing all the time and so was their need for a plentiful supply of clean water.

  He had considered the possibilities. He could have enlarged an existing reservoir a few miles distant. He might have devised a plan to construct an upper reservoir to feed into an existing lower one several miles in the other direction. But neither of these plans guaranteed a sufficient supply now, let alone in the future. In addition, any interruption to the supply during construction work would have been catastrophic.

  No, Sir Angus was a little man with a big vision. The ideal plan was the construction of a new reservoir here, at the head of the valley. He had visited several times. Its position was advantageous from an engineering perspective. That made it an economically sound proposition. It had, of course, meant planning for additional pipelines to connect to existing mains some miles away, and the diversion of some local roads to accommodate the alterations, but, even with this added cost, it was an excellent way to meet the growing need of the expanding towns.

  He and his fellow engineers had visited later that year and together they had studied the lie of the land and the most efficient way of channelling the water to where it was most needed. And then came the long wait – nearly a year – until the Water Act was passed by Parliament. But it was passed in its entirety… and so was a plan of afforestation to improve the land around the newly built reservoir.

  ‘Have we any need to worry about our scheme now that war has broken out, Sir Angus?’ The question came from James McEwan, a tall thin man with sparse grey side whiskers and a perpetual drip at the end of his nose, enhanced by the dampness of the day.

  ‘They say that it’ll be over by Christmas, so I can’t see it affecting our plans,’ the chief engineer, Andrew Lamb, interjected.

  ‘If anything, our scheme should be pushed forward. I hear there’s talk of building munitions factories further north, so even more water will be needed in that eventuality.’

  ‘But will we complete it within the ten years stipulated in the Act? Over a year of that has gone already and work hasn’t begun yet.’

  Sir Angus sighed. ‘I admit that is a problem, particularly if more and more men are encouraged to enlist. But there are some things over which I have no control. Parliament will surely make allowances if the war does continue for longer than everybody expects. And, look at it this way, gentlemen, the government is hardly going to put a stop on a much-needed scheme like this, once it is nearing completion, is it?’ His eyes twinkled playfully.

  The two wagons pursued their bumpy course into the hills, leaving the small village behind. Even the steady rain couldn’t disguise the beauty of their surroundings. Each rounded hill was painted purple with heather. Sheep grazed peacefully on every slope, their lambs almost as large as the mothers who had borne them. At scattered intervals, farmsteads interrupted the autumn colour.

  ‘Rather them than me,’ James McEwan said with a sniff, indicating the farms. ‘Give me the convenience and the pleasures of a town any time.’ One or two of his companions nodded in agreement, even though the speaker looked as though he derived very little pleasure from either town or countryside.

  At the place where the retaining wall of the reservoir was planned, the men dismounted. A further two officials had already arrived. They formed a deputation from the Board of Agriculture for Scotland.

  ‘Congratulations, Sir Angus. We understand you have been engaged to act as consultant for the duration of the project,’ the older of the two, Dougie Strachan, said, shaking the hand of the diminutive engineer.

  ‘Thank you, yes. I have that honour. It is an exciting prospect, is it not, gentlemen? I have invited you today to show you the area to be afforested. Obviously, we would like this area to be as scenic as possible when the project is completed.’ He swept his arm from one side to the other of the valley to take in the limits of the proposed reservoir. ‘The hillsides along both sides of the water are to be planted. The resulting view will be even better than it is now.’

  ‘It will indeed. But where will you find the money to plant so many trees?’

  ‘Ha! There the Local Authority is helping us out. It is to be given an advance to encourage planting… five pounds per acre has been suggested for this site. The Authority will pay back what it has borrowed, plus compound interest of three per cent, when the trees have matured. Everything over and above that belongs to them. A good scheme, is it not, gentlemen?’

  ‘Yes, we see no argument with it, none at all.’ Dougie Strachan looked at his colleague, a young man by the name of Allan Murdoch, who had recently been appointed to the Board of Agriculture.

  ‘I will have to put forward the idea to the treasury. The money comes from them, you understand. But I see no reason why there should be any delay.’ Sir Angus glanced at his sub-committee, who were talking among themselves, and turned back to the forestry officials. ‘If you would care to accompany us, sirs, we will show you the finer points of the design.’

  They rejoined the group and proceeded into the heart of the valley, where the hills appeared to meet in an unbroken amphitheatre behind the agreed position of the reservoir.

  ‘Where we are now walking, gentlemen, will be covered with water to a depth of ninety feet. It will contain over two thousand million gallons of water. Even I find that a difficult figure to assimilate!’

  ‘May I ask something, Sir?’ said the youthful Allan Murdoch. From his fresh face, idealism glowed like a beacon among his world-weary seniors.

  ‘Of course. What is it you wish to know?’

  ‘What will happen to these families… this farm we are passing and the one in the distance?’

  ‘Naturally, the farms will be sacrificed. The occupants will have to move. We will build them other houses, of course… and they will be compensated for the loss of their land and their farm, as will everyone who has land in the affected area.’

  ‘But their families must have farmed here for years and years.’

  ‘Of course. But these are small sacrifices for the greater good.’

  Allan Murdoch shrugged in disagreement. ‘My parents are farmers. The farm has belonged to my family for generations. I can’t imagine how they would cope if they were ordered to leave. It would break my mother’s heart.’

  ‘Have you considered this, my friend? There are many families that at present have no water supply of their own. They draw their water from a comm
unal tap in the street or from a well at the back of their garden. How many mothers’ hearts have been broken by the death of their children from diseases carried in such polluted water?’ The engineer fixed the young man with a steely stare. ‘Sometimes we need a bigger perspective on things than the loss of two farms and the removal of their occupants to dry land. Such considerations must not be allowed to stand in the way of progress.’

  With a nod of his head, Sir Angus stepped back to the waiting committee. The next moment he was discussing the timetable for widening and improving the existing road and laying down the lines for the railway that would carry construction materials to the site of the new reservoir. Alan Murdoch turned away with a sigh, the idealism in his face fading with Sir Angus's dismissive words.

  5

  Separate Paths

  The latest war bulletin being echoed from most newsvendors, as Tom made his hesitant way through the streets of Glasgow, was the sinking of a German U-boat by the HMS Dreadnought. Never having heard of the battleship, the story of the ramming of the enemy submarine nevertheless sent a shiver of horror down his spine. What worse ending could there be than drowning in a metal box from which there was no hope of escape?

  Tom had no liking for the sea. Twice as a child he had been to Scarborough with his parents. On the first occasion, they had taken a pleasure steamer round the bay and he had been violently and repeatedly sick. On the second occasion, the strong winds and high tide had rendered seafaring impossible. Huge waves crashed over the promenade and sent holidaymakers scurrying for safety. From the vantage point of the castle walls, he watched intrepid and foolhardy young men risking their lives as they dodged in and out between the breakers.

  But his thoughts dwelled only briefly on the disaster, returning to the purpose of his visit… his first visit… to the city. He had decided at last, after nine months at the farm, to visit Clara. She had no idea of his intention and he was anxious as to her reaction when she answered the door to him. He had written to her the previous autumn, after he had served enough time on the farm to be sure that he liked working there and that Duncan was satisfied with the quality of his work. Aware that she would be curious as to his move to the Scottish Uplands, he had explained that he needed experience in all aspects of sheep farming and that there was no better place to gain such understanding than among the native breed of those parts, the Scottish blackface sheep or ‘Blackies’.

  She had replied promptly, expressing surprise and pleasure at his proximity and hoping that she might see him sometime. He had heard from her again at Christmas, when she had sent a greeting from Yorkshire, where she had gone to visit her father. He thought of acquainting her with his intended visit, but something made him hold back. Perhaps it was a rejection or a postponement that he feared. Having steeled his reserve, he didn’t want to have to do so a second time.

  In his jacket pocket was folded the letter she had written, with the address in her neat handwriting across the top of the page. He drew it out now and stopped to ask a passing man for directions. The reply he received might have been in a foreign language, so little did Tom understand. He asked the man if he would repeat his directions and was greeted with the same incomprehensible outpouring. He nodded his thanks and went on in the direction the man had pointed. No doubt his own Yorkshire speech caused as much head-scratching as the Glaswegian tongue did to him.

  Having stopped twice more to ask directions, he at last reached the address he had in his pocket. A narrow flight of steps led up to a front door painted black and a tall house of four floors, joined on both sides to similar ones, which, in their turn, were joined to others; so the whole formed a formidable row that dominated the street and blocked out every ray of sunshine. Screwing up his courage, he climbed the steps and rang the bell.

  For a long time no one came, and he was about to give up when the door swung open and a middle-aged woman stood there.

  ‘Can I help you, young man?’

  ‘I… er… thought Clara Moxon lived here. I’ve called to see her.’

  ‘And who might you be?’

  ‘My name’s Tom. I’m a friend of hers from home.’

  ‘Are you now? Are you not aware that young ladies are not allowed gentlemen visitors… not without prior arrangement anyway?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know. Well, could I see her just for a minute? She does live here, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Aye. But she’s no’ here now. She’s at the college. She has lectures during the day. Surely you must know that if you’re a friend of hers.’ The woman eyed him suspiciously.

  He cursed himself for not having thought that she would be at her studies. Smiling uncomfortably at the woman, he continued, ‘Of course. I’ll go there now. It’s Queen Margaret’s College, isn’t it?’

  The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘You know something then. You realise she may not be free… and you won’t be allowed in, even if she is.’

  ‘I only want a word with her. Thank you for your help.’ Tom was descending the steps as he spoke, her reprimand evoking an unwelcome memory of distant schooldays.

  ‘First left at the end of the road,’ she called after him. ‘Cross the main road, then ask again.’

  He waved his thanks and hurried along the street, his spirits rising. It was late morning now and he was conscious that the time he had intended to spend with Clara was ebbing away.

  At last he found himself in front of the college. He hesitated uncertainly at the bottom of the steps, fearing another rebuff. While he stood there, the doors were flung open and girls began to pour out of the building. Some looked at him as they passed and one nudged her neighbour and smirked. He stepped aside, so as not to interfere with their progress, and, glancing up, saw Clara emerge in the company of two other girls. She didn’t notice him at first and continued to chat animatedly with her friends.

  He stepped into her path and smiled… and smiled more broadly when he saw her surprise.

  ‘Tom! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you, of course. I thought you might be missing me.’

  Clara gave a quick glance at the two girls on either side of her and he saw her colour rise as she faced him again. ‘Tom, may I introduce my friends. This is Jessica Pattison.’ She indicated the small, dark-haired girl on her right. ‘And this is Annabel Hunter-Henderson.’ She turned to her left, to the tall girl in a beautifully cut green suit and large matching hat that accentuated her height. The girl was giving him a superior smile.

  ‘Well, well, Clara. You are a dark horse. You haven’t mentioned this young gentleman before. Is it one of your friends from the countryside?’ She looked him up and down, her eyes coming to rest on his mud-stained boots.

  ‘We were friends at school.’

  Tom, sensing Clara’s embarrassment and at pains to understand the reason for it, said, ‘We grew up together in t’ same village. We’ve always been friends, haven’t we, Clara?’

  ‘Yes, yes we have. Look, girls, will you give me a few minutes with Tom. I’ll meet you in the library after break.’

  ‘Of course,’ began Annabel. ‘We wouldn’t dream of depriving you of your little tête-à-tête, would we? Come along, Jessica. Let’s leave the two friends to renew their acquaintance.’ She linked arms with the smaller girl and the two set off down the steps and along the pavement, leaving Clara gazing down on Tom.

  Quickly, she glanced behind her and ran down the remaining steps to his side. ‘We can’t talk here, Tom. If any of the lecturers should see us, I will be severely reprimanded.’

  ‘You should have told me where I could see you then.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know you were coming,’ she replied, then continued, ‘Come on, let’s go into the park over there. I only have twenty minutes or so before I have to be back in class.’

  Tom, fighting disappointment that the meeting was not going as he had planned, took her elbow to guide her over the road. In the relative sanctuary of the trees, he stopped.

 
‘Are you pleased to see me?’

  ‘Of course… it’s just that you took me by surprise.’

  ‘And have you missed me?’

  The colour that had suffused Clara’s cheeks began to rise again. ‘Of course I have.’ She paused. ‘We’ve been friends for such a long time.’

  ‘I had hoped that we were more than just friends.’

  She looked away, frowning. ‘You know that’s not possible, Tom. I’ve all my studies… and the exams at the end of them.’

  ‘I’ll wait. I’m happy in t’ job. I can wait while you finish.’

  ‘I don’t know, Tom.’ Her tone was evasive. ‘I can’t think about all that just now.’

  ‘Happen not. I suppose your head is buzzing with all those books you have to read.’

  ‘Aye! That’s true.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘There’s plenty to read. You'll remember from our school days how I like reading.'

  ‘Promise me one thing,’ Tom said, when they retraced their steps to the road. ‘Promise me that you’ll come and stay on t’ farm in the holidays.’

  She hesitated and looked as if about to decline the invitation. Then she nodded and smiled. ‘I would like to… as long as I pass my next exams. And I won’t have much time off because we all have to work on the wards.’

  ‘A proper doctor then!’

  ‘Hardly. It will be a long time before I’m that.’

  They had reached the entrance to the college.

  ‘Look after yourself, Tom. And take care on those hills.’

  ‘Oh, you needn’t worry on that score. I know those hills like the back of my hand.’ He stood watching her as she climbed the steps and turned to wave. ‘I’ll see you in the summer. Let me know and I’ll meet you at the station.’

  She looked about to say something but a flurry of girls surrounded her and she was carried inside with the throng. Doors swung shut behind them and he was left standing alone. Glancing at his watch, he turned abruptly and began to walk swiftly in the direction of the station. He must not miss his train. He needed to check on the ewes as soon as he reached home. Lambing time would soon be upon them. He allowed himself a rare smile. After lambing came silage making and buying and selling at the markets and then she would be there… at the end of summer.