Free A Rope--In Case by Lillian Beckwith Page A

a ceilidh. It was no hardship for a household to have a party of say twenty to thirty people arriving around midnight without warning. Rather it was the reverse. In the lonely places of the Hebrides a hostess regards it as an honour for her home to be chosen by visitors and it is she on parting who thanks the guests for partaking of her hospitality. The moment the presence of a boatload of people was discerned near the harbour the kettle would go on the fire, a batch of girdle scones prepared and hopefully a male member of the house would make quickly for the shore to claim the privilege of offering entertainment.
    Tonight, Niall took over the helm Hector being too busy with his blonde to have time for attending to his boat. It soon became plain that Niall was taking us towards a small isolated bay where a tumbling burn edged with a white frill the skirts of a range of black craggy hills, dividing them from a tiny acreage of flat land and an opposing range of equally gaunt hills. A bothy built to house the river watchers stood near the river bank, its negligible chimney busy with smoke.
    There was no landing place so Erchy blew expertly into a cow’s horn to summon the launching of a dinghy to take us ashore. He blew several times before there was a sign of life. Then an old man appeared, waved exaggeratedly with both hands high above his head and came hurrying down to where the dinghy lay. He dragged it down to the water.
    â€˜That’s watchers for you,’ Johnny pointed out sarcastically. ‘They’re supposed to be keepin’ an eye open for poachers an’ here’s us could have netted the lot in the time it’s taken for him to see we’re here.’
    Hector lifted his head from the blonde’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know why we didn’t,’ he said ruefully. ‘Tsere’s a net ready under tse floorboards.
    â€˜Whist!’ Erchy cautioned him as the dinghy drew close. ‘Padruig will hear you.’
    Niall manoeuvred the boat as close inshore as the tide would permit to save lengthy ferrying and when all but he and Erchy and Hector were ashore it was suggested that we should go up to the house while they moored the boat at a safer distance from the shore. Erchy took over the dinghy while Padruig led us towards the bothy.
    There was no doubting our welcome and we crowded into the cell-like bothy, with its bare wood walls and uncovered cement floor. Except for a rough plank bed beside the fire the only furniture was a table and three chairs all obviously contrived from driftwood. Along one wall of the room was a line of nearly full sacks containing oatmeal, flour, sugar and potatoes. On a low shelf stood several rusty biscuit tins, doubtless containing such things as tea and bi-carbonate of soda and cream-of-tartar. The men sat themselves on the sacks and biscuit tins while Padruig dragged clumsily at a heap of rope fenders stored in a corner. Gallantly he handed me a fender, assuring me that it would be a very comfortable seat. There were still not enough seats so a long plank of wood was brought in and supported on two cans of paraffin.
    It was a full half hour later when Erchy and Niall arrived, followed by Hector shepherding in the three Americans who had been hesitant about following the rest of the crowd, fearing they might not be welcome. But of course they were.
    â€˜Come away in, mo ghaoils,’ invited Mairi, Padruig’s wife, in much the same tones she would have used if they had been her neighbours for years. ‘Come away in an’ seat yourselves.’ It was easier said than done but room was made for two of them on the plank. Hector, who had of course contrived to occupy one of the chairs, indicated to the blond that she should sit on his knee. She did so happily, amid light-hearted warnings.
    Mairi was already buttering scones while behind her a girdle containing another batch was hanging above a fire of driftwood piled high on the flat