He woke up with a start.
A robin stood on the inside of the window ledge chirping "Get up ! Get up!"
It was a surprise to see a bird so close, particularly a bird that wasn't afraid of him or the house or even the slightly-drawn curtains gently moving to and fro in the breeze.
He leant forward and opened the curtains and looked out; not onto a terrace of grimy brick and dead matt black windows, not onto a busy road with cars, buses and juggernauts but onto a rocky outcrop with coloured heathers, clumps of grass and an enormous pink boulder. The bird, now perched on the bed headboard at the foot of the bed, chirruped "Get up ! Get up!". He got out of bed slowly, washed at the sink, dressed and climbed down the stairs. The smell was enticing, delightful and promising bacon, frying tomatoes and - was that a tang of fish ? Granny called him into the kitchen and gave him a bowl of porridge and a side plate of crispy bacon bits.
He mixed the bacon bits into the porridge, added pepper and began to eat. "A slice of fried bread for the fish
?" she called. "Yes, please, Granny" came the delighted response. "You're up late !" she said. "Did Ruaraidh not waken you ?" bringing the pan to the table. She moved the bowl and put the bread on the plate and then a piece of grilled mackerel on the bread. "Ruaraidh ?" he queried. "The robin" she replied. "I sent him up, an hour ago." Patrick stared at Granny, mouth agape, wondering what to say. "You sent him up ? How ? I thought it was just a stray bird. Can you talk to other birds ? How do you know his name is Ruaraidh ?"
"Too many questions" she replied, rather abruptly. Then, in a kinder tone, "Eat your breakfast." A long pause - Patrick began to eat the fish. "You'll get used to our ways soon enough" she stated. A door banged. She turned towards the sound and listened. "That'll be Tormod." "We need some peat for the fire, will you help him fetch it, please ?" "of course, Granny, but shouldn't I wait for Mum ?"
"She had a long drive, she said you got lost, so I think she should sleep in a bit." "I'll tell her where you've gone."
The back door opened and a short middle-aged man came in. He was dressed in grey tweed trousers and a blue tweed jacket. Under the jacket was a torn pullover over a pink shirt and he had a yellow cravat round his neck and a yellow pointed handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket.
He came towards Patrick, with a big smile, extending his hand "Hallo, I'm Tormod Og. Are you ready to set out ?"
Granny exclaimed "Give him a chance ! He'll need to have some milk, brush his teeth and put his shoes on and you could have a cuppa." Tormod looked up at the sky "Well, I'm thinking it'll rain soon and you know Horace doesn't like rain but half a cuppa would be fine." "Away and get ready, Patrick."
Just as Tormod drained the last drop of tea, Patrick arrived downstairs and put his shoes on. Tormod and Patrick went out the front door. "Who's Horace ?" Patrick asked. As they went through the gate, he saw a horse and a cart standing beside the pink boulder he had seen from the window. "Iph'm. That's Horace. He's a horse so we call him Horse."
To Patrick's surprise they didn't get into the cart; Horace walked with them pulling the cart. "The road out of the village is gey steep so he can't pull us and the cart." As they breasted an incline, Patrick saw six other houses and a shop. "Where's the rest of the village ?" he asked. "Iph'm. That's it, though Shore is about half a mile away in the next bay. It's a bit bigger but there's no shop nor road to get there. You'll see it tomorrow when we go to church."
On the road above the village, Tormod helped Patrick into the cart and took the reins and off they went, Patrick asking questions all the time, arriving about 20 minutes later at a field. Tormod drove the cart into the field turned round in a wide circle, stopping beside some mounds. "This is what we've come to collect - they're peats.
Load them into the cart like this, please" showing Patrick how to lift and stack them. Eventually the cart was full, and then Patrick wondered and asked where they would sit. "Iph'm. Horse can't pull us and the peats so we have to walk."
The walk back home took an hour and a quarter, Patrick asking questions occasionally. "Can Granny really talk to the birds ?" A long pause. "Iph'm. Well, she believes she can and the birds evidently believe she can because mostly they do what she tells them."
What language does she use ?" Another long pause. "Iph'm. Well, it tells us in the Bible that Gaelic was the language of the Garden of Eden, so she uses Gaelic and it's clear that the birds understand her otherwise they wouldn't ken what to do."
The last 20 minutes of the walk was spent descending the hill into the village with the brakes on and Tormod holding on to the cart with a long rope, Patrick beside him.
Horse stopped beside a shed next to the house and under Tormod's direction, they unloaded and stacked the peats and entered the house to find soup awaiting them.
© Peter Munro
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