The Loud Halo by Lillian Beckwith

school of porpoises plunged and tumbled with consummate grace. Close inshore a trio of shark fins cut lazily through the water. We were well into the second week of long days that began with the sun poking its fingers into one’s eyes in a morning and ended, after molten sunset, in a calm and soothing twilight that all too soon merged into another dawn. The cuckoos, who all day answered their own echoes until it seemed they would drive themselves and everyone else crazy, only decelerated their pace during the night—they did not cease altogether.
    â€˜Ach, mo ghaoil,’ puffed Janet as she struggled up the steep bank. ‘Whenever are we goin’ to see the last of this fine weather?’
    â€˜Are you tired of it?’ I asked her.
    â€˜Indeed, I’m no tired of the weather but I’m tired of bein’ short of water,’ she grumbled. ‘My brother’s complainin’ he has time for nothing else all day but going back and forwards to the well for me.’
    It was always the same when we got a nice spell in Bruach. We could not really enjoy it after the first few days because by then we had begun to fret about our water supply.
    â€˜I have that many sheets to wash,’ resumed Janet, ‘an’ there’s more visitors comin’ tonight. An’ even when I get the water the well is that low it looks like I’m washin’ the sheets in strong tea.’ She swung her sack of bread over from one shoulder to the other. ‘Indeed: that woman I have stayin’ with me just now came out to speak to me while I was doin’ my washin’ yesterday an’ you should have seen the look she gave to my water.’ Janet chuckled tranquilly.
    â€˜Is that the woman from Manchester you were telling me about?’ I enquired.
    â€˜It is so, mo ghaoil, an’ that’s what I was wantin’ to ask you about. She’s sayin’ she feels it that strange here an’ she’s just longin’ to meet another Englishwoman. I was wondering would you come over and have a wee crack with her this evenin’ and cheer her up a bitty?’
    â€˜I can’t come now,’ I apologised, for in Bruach ‘afternoon’ receives no recognition. It is morning until about two o’clock and then it becomes ‘evening’. ‘I’ve promised to take Fiona for a picnic and I don’t suppose I shall feel much like going anywhere but to my bed when I get back from that.’
    â€˜No, indeed,’ agreed Janet understanding, for Hector and Behag’s small daughter was a notoriously intractable child.
    â€˜Will I tell her you’ll come tomorrow, then?’ Janet pleaded, and when I agreed she grasped my hand thankfully. ‘She’ll be fine an’ pleased when she hears it, for she’s like as if she thinks she’s among a lot of savages.’ Janet’s laughter bubbled again. ‘Indeed, d’ you know she asked me the other day if there was coal mines beyond the hills because they reminded her so much of the “slack heaps” I think she called them she’s after seein’ in England.’
    â€˜Why ever did she come here?’ I asked, feeling vaguely affronted.
    â€˜Ach, well, I believe her husband used to come to these parts an’ he was always after praisin’ it up to her so when she lost him she thought she’d best come here an’ see what he liked so much.’
    â€˜What a good thing she didn’t come with him and spoil it for him.’ I said.
    â€˜That’s just what I was sayin’ there myself to Dugald. The woman’s a right misery to herself because she can’t see a single factory chimney no matter how hard she looks.’
    The sandwiches and cake for our picnic were already prepared and I had only to pack them into a bag and then collect Fiona. She was bobbing impatiently in the doorway and as soon as she detected me she ran towards me, shouting all