An Island Apart by Lillian Beckwith Page B

thought a lot of your parents,’ Kirsty said.
    â€˜Aye, indeed he did. And the Laird’s wife was almost like a sister to my mother, she used to say.’
    â€˜So they married and moved to the Island and lived happily ever after,’ Kirsty concluded.
    â€˜Aye, but my father took a whiley to think about it before he accepted the Laird’s offer,’ he told her. ‘See, he doubted my mother wouldn’t marry him because she might want for company after being used to having the other workers around at the big house, but when he did put it to her she said she was prepared to go if that was what he wanted. Once they married they ferried some cows and sheep and hens across to the Island and a few days later they had a good ceilidh for the wedding guests in their fine new house. I believe it was a great day indeed.’
    â€˜And were they happy there?’ Kirsty enquired.
    â€˜I doubt if they ever regretted what they’d done,’ he assured her. ‘And that’s where myself and my brother were born,’ he added.
    â€˜Your schooling?’ she probed.
    â€˜My father used to take us across the sound every Monday morning so long as it was good enough weather.’
    â€˜To the mainland?’
    â€˜No, no, to another Island where there was a school and several scholars. Then he’d come for us on Friday evenings. If the weather was bad we’d stay with one of the crofters for the week-end. My mother often used to get across with him too so she ‘d be able to call and see her folks for a strupak.’
    â€˜And you say you have good water on your Island? Good wells and good peat hags and shelter for the animals?’ Kirsty tried to make her tone sound congratulatory rather than inquisitive so he should not read too much interest into her questioning.
    â€˜We have very good water indeed on Westisle. Folks sometimes say they haven’t tasted such good water and it makes a grand cup of tea,’ he said glowingly. ‘But the peat hags on the Island are shallow and the peat is poor under the kettle so we cut our peats on a small Island that’s not so far away where there is more than plenty and no one to bother with it. We ferry it across in a flat bottomed cattle boat we have that’s grand for the peats just, and we can take all we need for the winter in no more than two loads.’ ‘Your brother is fond of fishing? Has he a fishing boat?’
    â€˜We have a fishing boat and mostly we fish together though I believe he is the better fisherman.’
    â€˜What is your fishing boat called?’
    â€˜It bears our joint names,’ he told her.
    â€˜You haven’t mentioned your brother’s name,’ she pointed out, suddenly realising that though they had been conversing companionably for more than two hours neither of them had used each other’s Christian name.
    â€˜My brother’s name is also Ruari,’ he admitted with a shy grin and in response to her quizzically raised eyebrows he explained, ‘see it was this way. My own father’s favourite brother was our Uncle Ruari and when he went off to Canada my father told my mother that he wanted his first born son to be named for him. That is why my brother is Ruari. My mother’s father, that is my grandfather on her side was also named Ruari and she wanted a second son to be named for him. So when I was born I was also Ruari. My brother is Ruari Mhor seeing he’s the eldest and I am Ruari Beag seeing I’m the youngest. Our fishing boat is named for the two of us: The Two Ruaris, ’
    â€˜Of course, I’d forgotten how the old folk clung to the family names,’ she observed with a wry smile.
    He too smiled. ‘The cattle ferry is also named The Two Ruaris ,’ he confided, his smile widening, ‘but we have a small dinghy that has an outboard motor which is handy enough for just one of us to manage.’
    â€˜Now you’re not going