theo.tammes

Stories from the year 2003

by

Theo Tammes

Produced by Riverhouse Publishers

Howmore

Isle of South Uist

Scotland

2003

©

Copyright by

Theo Tammes

Casa Azul

Porto do Paul

Pernes

2000-500

Portugal

website http://theotammes.yolasite.com/

2

Contents

Chapter two A special way of hunting page 6

Chapter three A marvellous garage-door page 8

Chapter four The wonders of washing-up liquid page 10

Chapter five Don’t let anybody in page 14

Chapter six A hostel in a time-less place and the man who

could not stop talking page 15

Chapter seven A stove to begin with page 19

Chapter eight Corncrakes and cockerels page 20

Chapter nine Campers in the night page 22

Chapter ten Hamish knows the way page 24

3

HORSES DON`T TALK

It was one of those bleak autumn days, darkness was approaching and I was sitting in front of the fire, sipping my beer, in a small country-inn when this young man stumbled in.

He was as white as a ghost and looked slightly dishevelled. Up he goes to the bar and orders a large whisky. Downs it and orders another one. "What's your name?" he asked the barkeeper. "Jim", was the answer. "Well Jim, I'm going to tell you something. It is the weirdest thing that ever happened to me, and you are not going to believe it!"

Jim just nodded his head, handed over another whisky without being asked and said:" Well son,you just go and tell me then".

The young man took another sip, but then the story burst forth out of him.

"I was driving past here a while ago. It's the first time I've ever been in the highlands, you know. I borrowed a car to be able to get here and have a good look around. I've got a tent and a sleeping bag, you know. And I thought I could always sleep in the car when the weather gets too bad. I think I must have taken a wrong turning somewhere, and the road just went up and up. There were no more houses, the hills were getting steeper and steeper, the road turned into a track, and then the car started to have hick-ups. It spluttered. It is not my car, you know, I borrowed it. I don't know nothing about cars, I can just about drive them when I have to.

Just at the top of a steep slope the car stops. Coughs and splutters and stops.

So I get out and look around. Nothing and nobody to be seen, the rain lashing down at me. I was just about to get really desperate when I hear this voice. "Hi boy! Stuck in the middle of nowhere? Problems with your car, heh?"

So I looked around and I'm damned if I see anybody at all. Nobody there. Just a horse that appeared out of nowhere in the streaming rain! "I tell you son, you just open that bonnet, it is only a loose connection"

I look around again and then I stare at the horse. "It wasn't you that was talking?", I asked the horse.

"Oh yes, who else", was the answer, "I am the only one around here".

"But horses don't talk", I said.

"Well I do ", answered the horse," and if you want to go anywhere tonight you better open that bonnet and get your wires reconnected."

So in desperation I did as I was told. Opened the bonnet and indeed there are some loose wires dangling down. "Just you plug them back in", said the horse.

"Right, now you go and try to start her up!"

And I did just that, and damned if the car didn't start again! I just can't believe it.

"Have a good journey", said the horse and sauntered off. 4

See, that's why I came straight back here, said the young man. "Can you believe that, Jim?"

And Jim nodded his head wisely and smiled. "Let me ask you something", he said. "What colour was that horse?"

" Oh, it was brown with a white star above his eyes"

"Oh well son", said Jim, "You were very lucky. If it had been the checkered one you would still be up there. That one doesn't know anything about cars".

5

A SPECIAL WAY OF HUNTING

A friend of mine who has a bit more spare money than me, and who likes hobnobbing with the gentry and the famous and rich, one day came across this American.

He was at the time staying in one of those very fashionable and expensive hotels in Edinburgh, the Balmoral or the Caledonian, I can't remember which.

On that day, last autumn, an obviously wealthy American arrived and settled in nicely. He was free and easy with ordering drinks and inviting people to dinner, and soon he had made lots of new friends. Some were famous filmstars, others lairds of big highland estates, there were even a couple of real lords amongst his new friends.

As these things go, he was invited in due course to a duck-shoot, and seemingly he looked eagerly towards that. Since my friend was invited himself as well, naturally they talked about shooting ducks, and he explained some of the procedures of a duck-shoot to the American.

In due course they all set off to the laird's highland estate, in their big fourwheel-drive vehicles, and they were all most royally entertained, fed and watered.

The food was splendid, the wines were exceptional, and the weather about as dreich as you can get it in the scottish highlands in late autumn.

The big day came and everybody was up at dawn, getting ready. Guns were oiled and loaded, ammunition handed out and instructions given.

Dressed in their Macintoshes the rich and famous were escorted to the loch and stumbled through the pouring rain to their appointed places. At long last everybody was in hiding in the marshes, the game-keepers as thick on the ground like mice in a barn and the beaters began their job.

Big flocks of duck and geese drifted slowly towards the expecting hunters, and on a sign of the master of the hunt the shooting began.

It didn't matter much if you could shoot or not, there were that many guns firing on the poor duck and geese that hardly any of them had a chance to escape.

At long last the shooting was over and the dogs were released to collect the ducks, some of the game-keepers took to the rowing boats to collect the ducks floating on the loch.

The shoot had been a big succes, and they were all proud as punch with their prowess as hunters. A big dinner party followed at night, and the rivers ran with wine and lies. Well, exaggerated stories anyway.

Our American guest was beaming with pleasure, he thought that a duck-shoot was just absolutely fabulous.

Before the party broke up to return to the city he received another invitation to a duck-shoot. 6

He enjoyed himself just as much at his second duck-shoot, and the only thing he wondered about was the way the shot birds were retrieved.

All those wet and excited dogs, and the paddling around annoyed him slightly, and he started to think of easier ways to retrieve the birds.

Since he was in the aviation-business himself, he soon came up with the idea to install strong magnets underneath a helicopter, and they could be switched on after the hunt to retrieve the birds. He was very proud of his ideas and told everybody who wanted to listen about it.

His host was most impressed and encouraging, so our millionaire ordered a helicopter with the magnets installed soon enough.

He paid for that out of his own pocket of course, and then the waiting was for the next duck-shoot.

The helicopter was put to extremely good use after the shoot, the hunters and game-keepers were happy, but the dogs were not. They felt sorely hard done by, and hated the helicopter straight away.

Our American grinned from ear to ear, pleased with himself and the world.

Everything went very well for a while, but than desaster stroke.

The helicopter was just circling low and slowly over the loch, retrieving the birds, when suddenly it plunged down. And down, and whatever the pilot did made no difference at all, the machine touched the surface and slowly sank into the water.

Shortly afterwards two very wet pilots emerged from the deep and were rescued by rowing boat.

On being questioned they could only tell that they had tried everything to keep the helicopter in the air, but despite their efforts it had gone down and down.

A while later the Hydro-board provided the explanation.

Over the bottom of that loch ran a big electricity-cable, and the magnets on board the machine had just drawn the helicopter down.

A very sober American returned home and never told anyone about his new way of hunting.

7

A MARVELLOUS GARAGE-DOOR

Once upon a time a man lived in a wonderful little village, high up in the green mountains of Austria.

He liked his wife, he loved his children. He was contend with his job, admired the new house he had built himself, and he most certainly was deeply in love with his brand-new car. It was a big, shining B.M.W.

And he liked his food and drink, especially his drink.

In short, he was a perfect normal Austrian, and of course a very nice man.

Luckily there was an inn in the village, in fact there were two. More than that, there was also a third watering-hole, although that one didn't have rooms or food.

A sandwich and a drink, that was what you could get there, but it was enough for most of the simple folk that frequented the place.

As usual on a Saturday night he went out for a quiet drink with his friends, proudly parking his car in front of the pub. He could easily have walked of course, the distance from his house being less than a mile, but no, that would never do.

The car had to be seen as owned by him. After all it was his pride and joy.

It was newly polished and shone and sparkled in the setting sun.

For a while he stared at it and admired it. Then he went in for a drink.

The one drink turned into two, more old friends arrived and the drinks and the evening went by in a flash. Long after midnight the last revellers finally emerged from the pub, full of goodwill and friendship, and also full of alcohol.

He staggered to his car and managed to climb inside. Although his head was twirling badly, he eventually started the car and went on his way. Very careful and slowly.

Nobody saw him, by then the lights were all out and the people fast asleep.

He arrived at his home and stopped the car. Vaguely he remembered that he had to do something before he could put the car in the garage.

Ah! After a while his head cleared for a second or so, and he remembered!

He had to push a button to open the garage-door. He felt very proud of himself for remembering, for he was far gone and his memory was even further gone.

He pushed the button, and the automatic garage-door- which had been wide open so far- closed.

He never noticed. He let in the gear and touched the accelerator. With an incredible loud noise the car crashed through the garage-door, hit the side of the wall and crumbled up.

For a while he sat in the wreck of the car, to drunk and to shocked to do anything at all, then the wife came and rescued him, put him to bed. 8

For many years after the incident he worked harder and longer and saved more to repay for all the damage done to the car and the house.

To be able to buy another new shiny car was his dream, and everything else had to take second place.

He became such a penny-pincher that the wife left him in the end and sued for divorce.

He lost even the house in the process, and he turned more and more to the bottle. But his friends never deserted him, for he was a lot like them.

9

THE WONDERS OF WASHING-UP LIQUID

If you have ever been in a casino you will recognise the dimmed lights, the posh interior, the seemingly endless amounts of uniformed employees. You will also be familiar with the gleaming copper and brass, expensive wood-panelling, and the friendly, welcoming atmosphere. An undercurrent of expectation and a sense of adventure run through the building, together with the looks of expectation of the big win on the faces of the semi-professionals.

But behind all the glamour and the glitter there are the people who keep all the machinery running ever so smoothly by day and by night. The unseen but important people whose services are essential. The cleaners, the cooks, the waiters. The managers, security-guards and the delivery-men.

Although everyone is welcome to the casinos, some are more welcome then others. The Chinese are most certainly very welcome, because they are often confirmed gamblers, and some of them belong to the hard-nosed core of addicted players who spent a lot of their money and all of their time inside the gambling walls.

Because they spend so much money, they are very welcome, for the casino’s have to make money, by day and by night, year in and year out.

One day I came to work in such a casino. Originally I was send by an agency, and I will never forget how I arrived by the back door, and how I was escorted by a security-guard straight to the kitchen. Officially I arrived as a kitchen-assistant, in reality that mend that I was a washer-upper.

There were two shifts, the early one from ten in the morning until six at night, and then the evening shift from six at night until two in the morning. Well, that was officially, in reality you worked until the work was done, and many a night it was well past three o’clock in the morning before I could make my way home.

The kitchen was a very crowded space, really much to small for two chefs and a washer-upper, all moving around the space of a normal kitchen, but filled with enormous cookers, fridges and freezers and any amount of shelves and cupboards.

After a while you don’t even notice anymore, but in the beginning I often wished we could have some more space.

The casino opened it’s doors to the public at three o’clock in the afternoon, and stayed open until two o’clock at night.

Last orders for the restaurant were one o’clock, so we could close down in time, but then again, that didn’t always happen. The morning shift was by far the easiest, on good days there was time for a bit of gossip and for the traditional exchange between bar and kitchen. The waiters got some food, and we got some drinks. That was of course completely illegal, but somehow the management was unable to stop it. 10

We should officially all go up to the canteen if we wanted to eat anything, but we never went. In the canteen you had to pay and besides, often we just didn’t have the time. The nightshift was always busy, the restaurant mostly in full swing, although there were some quiet evenings. The weekends were often extremely busy, the casino filled by more then three-thousand people. There would be rows of people ten deep behind the bar, waiting to order, and each table in the restaurant would be double-booked. Often I had to hurry the waiters with returning the dirty dishes, for we would run out of fresh plates.

On one of these Saturday evenings one of the managers came into our crowded kitchen, to deliver a lecture on something we had done, or not done.

The man was severely in the way, we were all working at top speed, and nobody had any time to listen to him. Stubbornly he kept trying to catch our attention, until my patience ran out and my tongue ran away with me. "Mister Garcia, you know what?" I asked him. He shook his head, so I told him: "Piss off, fuck off, go away and don’t come back. For God’s sake can’t you see we are busy?"

He got the message and disappeared, and shortly afterwards something appeared. A big glass of beer, delivered by a grinning chef. "Well done" I was told.

Of course I could have lost my job over that, but I knew jobs like this were ten a penny, and I just didn’t care.

One day new plates arrived, beautiful new china, obviously expensive. During the early shift it was my task to put them all through the big industrial dish-washer, and then stack them up nicely for later use.

Late in the afternoon the same manager came to give me a lecture on how I had to be careful with the new plates, how much each plate cost and so on.

It went down the wrong side of me. No professional dishwasher will ever damage anything at all, accidents happen, like anywhere. Somehow the man managed to annoy me so much that I had to do something. Carrying a big stack of the brand new plates I walked past him, stumbled and dropped all the plates onto the floor.

Very satisfying things happened after that. First of all the stack of plates broke with a nice crashing sound, and second of all the manager left the kitchen speechless and rather in a hurry.

Ach well, I don’t like to be harassed. Funnily enough I liked that manager best of all, and after he had learned his lessons we became good friends, and he never tried to harass me again.

One of the funniest things I ever did in my life also happened in that casino. Some of you might know that these big industrial dish-washers use a special washing-up liquid. It comes in big canisters and is usually hidden somewhere underneath the machine. When a canister needs to be replaced a warning light comes on, and you do the job. 11

Because the storeroom was miles away, we normally kept a spare canister in the kitchen, but one evening the light came on and there wasn’t a spare one to be found. As it was quite buss right then I thought I would just put a drop of the normal washing-up liquid in the machine, until I could spare the time to go to the store-room.

The effects were most amazing. First of all the machine started to make much less noise, and I was just commenting on that to the chefs when the next thing happened. Foam started to come out of the machine. It came out in ever increasing amounts, and soon the foam was dripping onto the floor. Within seconds the floor started to fill up with a nice blanket of foam, and then the chefs, much alarmed, decided to flee, leaving me with a kitchen fast filling up with foam. What hero’s, these chefs.

Sooner or later I closed my gaping mouth and came to my senses. I switched the machine off and started to empty it. For the next two to three hours I was very busy mopping and cleaning the floor, the cupboards and all the worktops.

After all was done the kitchen shone like brand new, and forever after I was pestered with remarks about my skills with the dishwasher.

Never mind, looking back it was great fun, and seeing the chefs fleeing from the kitchen remains one of my favourite pictures.

12

DON’T LET ANYBODY IN!

When you arrive at a new job, you do as you are told. That makes perfect sense, and that is just what I did, and it almost got me into big troubles. I was working for an agency, and I was sent to the canteen of this big organisation, which had a whole big office-block to itself. This was in the city of "The Hague", the Dutch capital, where a lot of the administration for the whole country was done. Working through agencies is a very easy thing in the Netherlands, all you need is an address and a phone-number. You register with any agency you like, or even more than one, and after taking your details they send you home. I f there is any job they think you can do, they phone you up and tell you where to go and what time you are supposed to start. At the end of the week, or the day your job is finished, you take your worksheet to the office, duly signed by who-ever employed you, and you normally get paid on the Friday evening. That is the time when all the people who work for the agency meet up, there are free drinks laid on, there are nibbles on the tables, and you can have a chat to your fellow-workers. Sometimes you learn important facts about other employers, which can help you to make up your mind where you want to work or not for the future.

Generally speaking the agency will provide you with full employment, if you wish, after they have established that you are reliable. I arrived in the kitchen of this huge office block and introduced myself. The cook and his assistant smiled and poured coffee. "We are just off to the store-room", the chef told me. "You just sit down here and read the paper and relax. There is nothing much doing right now. And if anybody comes, you just tell them to go away. The kitchen is our place and nobody else has any rights to come in here."

"They always try, you know" he added. "Come for some milk or sugar or something to eat, any sort of excuse. You just kick them out, don’t let anybody in!" With those instructions I was left to my own devices, and I had a look around the kitchen. After a while I poured myself another cup of coffee and started reading the paper. Time went by, and here I was, getting paid for doing nothing. That was a very encouraging fact.
About three quarters of an hour later a man appeared. I looked at him questioningly, and when he didn’t react in any way, I told him politely but firmly to disappear. For good measure I added that nobody had anything to do in the kitchen but us, the kitchen-staff.

He turned on his heels and disappeared, mumbling something in his non-existent beard that I didn’t quite catch, and I sat down again to finish reading the paper.

Another twenty minutes or so went by before the chef and his assistant returned, hysterical with laughter. They were giggling and laughing that much, that I wondered in what sort of madhouse I had landed. 13

Finally the chef managed to blurt out:" You know what you have done? You chucked the big boss out of the kitchen. That was the manager himself!"

Whereupon he collapsed with laughter again. I sat there just looking at them, dumfounded.
"But you told me to kick everybody out", I remonstrated.

Somehow it seemed I had endeared myself very much to all the staff by my firm expulsion of the manager.

I didn’t get the sack, although I expected it. For many weeks I kept working there, even being employed by the organisation itself for a while.

Having developed a sort of allergy to the big building I eventually moved to another job. I never got on with the manager after I had kicked him out of the kitchen, but I think there was a mutual dislike between us anyway.

It shows you that if you just do as you are told, you can still get into troubles.

14

A HOSTEL IN A TIME-LESS PLACE AND THE MAN WHO COULD NOT STOP TALKING

The bible tells us how God created the world in six days, and on the seventh day He rested.

That may well be true, but it is not the whole truth. For on the seventh day there was something nagging in God's mind. He tried to ignore it, and managed almost until lunch-time. Then God remembered, he had a handful of jewels left.

Since He wanted to be done with creating, God opened the Heavenly window and threw the jewels out into the sea.

In such a way the Hebrides were created on the seventh day.

But still something kept troubling God's mind, and then he remembered that there were also a couple of storms left over. So he opened the Heavenly window once again, and threw them after the jewels. Thus came the sometimes atrocious weather to the Hebrides.

Long before this happened on the seventh day God had also slipped up on the eve of the sixth day. For when He was almost done with creating Heaven and Earth, he became really tired and paid less attention then he might have done. Just for a short while, but in that time the Devil sneaked in the suggestion of the creation of some small, bloodsucking insects.

Thus were the midges created, late in the day, but a severe reminder of the power of the Devil for all times to come.

Why the little darlings have such a special attachment to Scotland is unbeknown, but it is a well established fact. Luckily for God's own people on the Hebrides life is very hard for the midges, a cool breeze keeping them at bay for most of the time. None-the-less, they are a reminder that even to the jewels in the sea the hand of the Devil has stretched. The islands that form the Hebrides together are a world of their own. Here the pace of time is different from elsewhere, actually, the Hebrides have a time all of their own.

Not only Time is different on the islands, Life is different tool.

A magical feeling spreads over the islands, and the attractions of the time-less realm are many. It is a most most dangerous place to visit for the innocent traveler.

For you either love the islands, or you hate them. But if you love them, then that is where you want to be and long to be.

Many unsuspecting people have returned year after year, because they can't stay away. Others have come to stay, because they just can't live anywhere else anymore.

That happened to me. I came and didn't want to go away again. I came back and stayed longer and still I didn't want to go.

In the end I took Rosie with me and asked her after a while if she would like to live here. The Hebrides had done their magic trick, Rosie had fallen in love with the islands as well, and she surely wanted to stay. 15

For a short while we had to go back to the city, but once my obligations were fulfilled we came back.

This time we had come to stay and start a new life on South Uist.

God's will be done in Heaven as upon Earth, and so it must have been in our case.

For a while we camped out at the hostel, using the facilities, but sleeping in our own tent. Oh, the privileges of your own space!

Since we stayed so long at the hostel we came to know many weird and wonderful characters, and some who were not all that wonderful.

The right place for any student of psychology, for a wide variation of individuals present themselves at the hostel. It was a simple thatched house, a kitchen on one side, a bedroom on the other, and the tiniest of rooms in between. The sink and the Loo were in the porch, and that was it. No hot water, no shower or bath. A stove to keep warm, two gas-rings to help with the cooking, and eight double bunks to sleep in. A wonderful, magical place. Every watch stopped working within a day, and you either loved it or hated it.

Volunteer-parties were organized for certain jobs, and many came and worked for a while. People from all over the world. Rosie took over the cooking, and I did a lot of the woodwork.

Most of the volunteers were fine people, we all worked hard in the daytime, and at night we had ceilidhs. Stories, games and songs filled the evenings, fueled by increasing amounts of alcohol.

One day, when we were all busy working on the new hostel, we had a most amazing new arrival. An old man on an even older motorcycle, loaded with an incredible amount of packages and carrier-bags, all tied on with different bits of string, slowly drove up to the hostel.

He arrived talking, and he never stopped, for he answered his own questions. He was still talking when he left two days later.

He didn't really need any answers, his was a sort of unending monologue about everything under the sun and more.

The next morning we found out that he even talked in his sleep! That was enough to cause the exodus of all our volunteers, suddenly they decided to go to the hostel on Bernarey.

The old man talked through the morning, the afternoon and the evening. And he talked through the night. Even Rosie started to think of going somewhere else. But I needed to finish my job in the new hostel, so we stayed.

Lying on my back on a plank, high above the floor, I was busy nailing the wooden boards for the ceiling, when the old man stuck his head around the door and came inside to have a look at the new hostel. He kept talking, and I kept working, thinking feverishly of how I could get rid of the man.

16

My devious brain, God's little gift to help me through life, gave me an idea, and I tested it straight away. I waited carefully until he was standing right underneath me, still jabbering away.

Then I dropped the hammer making sure it would miss him. The results were entirely satisfactory.

He stopped talking, he left the new hostel. Two hours later he climbed somehow on the top of his motorcycle, hampered by an enormous amount of plastic bags and parcels.

Of he went to Bernarey.

That proved very fortunate for us, for by the next afternoon all our volunteers returned to Howmore.

We had a very nice ceilidh that evening, but all of us together talking at the top of our voices couldn't match the old man's power of speech, one of the best.

There are many things to do when you start thinking of building a house. You have to discuss the seize and shape, the amounts of rooms, the seize of them. After all your thinking and planning you have to start drawing up the plans, and then find a professional drawer to finish them in a presentable way. Of course there is the small matter of where the house is going to be, and you will have to acquire a piece of land to your liking. In short, there are hundreds of things that you will have to do, and to consider.

But the most important thing you have to do is to buy a stove. For you will want your heating, and luckily enough we knew what sort of heating we wanted, and what sort of stove. A solid fuel kitchen stove it had to be, and miraculously we found such a one advertised in our local co-op, long before there was any sign of building work going on.

The advertisement carried a phone number with it, and before long I was on the phone. In such a way I came to talk to Angus for the first time. "Oh yes, sure, you just come and have a look at the stove any time you like". Normally we don’t need much encouragement to go anywhere or visit anybody, and we were on our way to Angus soon enough.

We found a very friendly retired crofter, if there is such a thing, for a real crofter never retires. He might not work the land or keep livestock anymore, but he still keeps a keen eye on all his neighbours, and helps out where-ever it is needed.

Angus explained to us how he came by the stove himself. He had a small Rayburn, and thought to replace it with a bigger one. But once he had bought the new stove, he found that he would have to tunnel through three foot solid walls, to get the stove-pipe into the chimney. After that discovery he decided that the old stove was good enough, and would last him for his lifetime. So he decided to sell it again. We looked and studied the stove. It was not a new one of course, it came from the island of Harris, but it was in a fairly good shape, a foreign make called "Tyrolia", and we decided to buy it. "But Angus", I said, "We don’t have anywhere to put it. Would you mind keeping it for us until we have the space to put it in?" Angus agreed with that without hesitation, and so we left him and our stove with the promise to come and get it when we were ready.

About a year later we set of from our little village one nice day, on a truck with a crane, accompanied by several strong men, to retrieve our property. The midges were biting like demented, and we had to hurry loading the stove onto the truck for fear of our lives.

The stove arrived and was put in the house, and soon enough it was linked up to the chimney. After the plumber had connected the water we could put our first fire on. What a marvellous moment! 18

The stove has rarely gone out ever since, it heats the house, the water, and we cook on it. Buying the stove was one of the first things we did, and also one of the best.

There is a hostel in a little village on a small windswept island in the ocean, and funnily enough we live on that windswept island, and what’s more, we live almost next door to that hostel. Actually we do get many people knocking on our door, thinking that we are the hostel. Sometimes they think we are the wardens, others come just to tell us how much they like the house.

We get an endless stream of hostellers over the summer, for I sell eggs as well, and the demand for eggs is at times greater than the amount. Some hostellers think we are a regular shop, and they want to buy their vegetables and other things as well. Others see us as a source of information, and they ask us the queerest questions. Without fail they comment on the house, now that it is ready we get fewer questions, but in the beginning the questions came thick and fast.

Over the years we have become used to the hostellers coming and going, we meet many of them, some are nice, some are very nice, a few are weird, and the odd ones are clearly crazy, mentally disturbed. They come from all over the planet, and that shows how right I am when I tell our friends that we are the centre of the world.

They arrive on foot, by bus and on bicycle. Increasingly they arrive by car, something that keeps amazing me, to me hostellers are as a rule the less well off, and if you can travel by car you can surely afford a bed and breakfast or a hotel?

I must admit that normally the hostellers don’t disturb us at night, and our sleep is mostly uninterrupted and peaceful. But one night there was a lot of disturbance. The noise of a car-door being shut, and then voices in the night woke me up, and I peeked through the roof-window to see what was going on. Outside it was dark and raining, but in front of our neighbour’s house I could see a flashlight moving about.

The missus had meanwhile woken up as well, and I remarked to her why our neighbours, who are from Germany, hadn’t told us that they were coming.

For normally word gets about before they arrive. They come once a year, to stay for around three weeks. But this time we hadn’t heard anything about them coming.

Usually I have cup of tea when I wake up in the night, so I went down to prepare the tea. Coming back up the stairs I found the missus also in need of a drink, so I went and made some more tea. Sipping our tea we looked at the clock, and found it was around one o’clock in the night. What a strange time to arrive!

Slowly we went back to sleep, and for a while all was quiet. 22

Then we were abruptly woken up by a loud banging on the door and the wild barking of our dogs. I donned my bathrobe and stumbled down the stairs, putting the lights on as I went. Once downstairs I had to calm down the dogs, and then I opened the door. A bedraggled and very wet person stood in the pouring rain.

"Is it alright to put our tent up beside the hostel next door?" she asked.

So I explained that the hostel certainly was not next door, but that the house belonged to Germans who were not there right now, and that it would surely be fine by them.

After some excuses the person disappeared in the dark of the night and I went back to my bed once more. Slowly I was drifting off to sleep when about half an hour later there came another loud knocking on the door, more wild barking by the dogs, and I clambered down the stairs once more.

This time there was another bedraggled figure standing in the rain outside, asking if they please could have some blankets, for they were so cold!

Being ever helpful I asked her to come in, and went looking for some coverings. This was in the days before the house was ready, and we were not too well organized with our belongings. Eventually I found some sleeping bags and brought them down.

Handing them over I inquired if they now had everything they wanted, made some more tea, and retired to bed for another try. Could we have some sleep now?

By now it was around three o’clock in the morning, and soon enough it would be time to get up anyway.

Taking the dogs for a walk the next morning, I found the two lassies just starting to pack up their tent. "You might as well come for a coffee", I told them, "seeing you kept us awake all night."

Over breakfast we found out that they were both students from Germany, studying English. They turned out to be ever so nice, and we had a good laugh about their adventures in the night.

It shows you that even in the tiniest village, on a tiny island in the big blue sea, everybody can find their way to you.

23

HAMISH KNOWS THE WAY

Sometimes we go on a holiday. Not very often, not very far if we can help it, but if we go we take the dogs with us. Because of them and because of a certain restraint on the finances we mostly go camping. Between us we have two dogs, number one is Hamish, who belongs to the missus. He is a border terrier. Number two is Shielasan, daughter of Sheila, and she belongs to me and she is a Uist collie. She likes it best when you call her princess.

Hamish is small, wiry, and very lazy when he can get away with it. He also likes his walks, and his independence. In other words he used to be a big pain in the neck. But that was in his first couple of years, and he has bettered himself to such an extend that he sometimes looks at himself and can’t believe what he sees.

He still disappears at times, but lately only once a month or so.

Shielasan is much bigger of course, has a very nice nature, wants to have attention preferably all the time, and suffers with jealousy. She is a marvellous pathfinder, and just following her in unknown terrain can save your life, if not at least many miles. They are so used to each other by now, that it has become a crime to separate them for any reason or any length of time.

After the house was finally nearly finished we decided to go on a holiday, just to get away from the never-ending work. I knew that there would be any amount of jobs to be done if we stayed at home, so we went.

Packing up is a routine; tent, sleeping bags, food and clothes, cookery-utensils, it all gets packed in a couple of hours, and we are ready to go.

But is the ferry ready? Phone them up and ask.

With a bit of luck there will be a ferry, and there will be a space for us. All we need now is the money to pay for the tickets, and to pay for that big scam, called the Skye-bridge. Why don’t they charge them five pounds to cross the Tower-bridge in London?

Enough of politics for now, let’s go and enjoy ourselves.

We are on the way to the Galloway forest, since we have both been there previously, if independently, and we both liked it and would like to see some more.

It is a beautiful drive down to Glasgow, if a long one as well, and after that there are still some more miles to go. First to Ayr, then down onto the smaller roads leading into the forest. By then it was getting very dark, but stubbornly I was going to sleep in the forest or not at all.

We put the tent up in the first clearing beside the road, which we could find, and went to sleep. Our little friends the midges woke me up early the next morning, making sure that I was fully dressed in record time. Now for that kettle, and that first cup of coffee! The dogs were sniffing around, the birds started singing and the day promised fair. 24

What else can you want?

We didn’t even know where we were exactly, but on the map it showed a campsite a little bit down our single-track road. Driving slowly through the endless forest we came to Glentrool village, where a signpost sent us on the right track to the campsite. We found a wonderful camping, plenty of space, sheltering trees, a little shop, showers and even washing machines. At the far end of the campsite there was a little house, for the campers on a wet day, where you could sit dry and warm, reading or cooking, a great luxury

Since the coast- to-coast trail passes the campsite, we walked bits of it, and got really interested in going the whole route one day. We even bought the guide-kook with the maps, so we could study and prepare for later. Nearby Newton Steward supplied us with shops and bars, Dumfriesshire was nearby to be explored, and we had a great time day after day. I showed Rosie some of the bits I had walked before, a couple of years ago.

One day we decided to climb the Merrick, the highest mountain in the area. The next morning we drove a couple of miles to the start of the track, parked up and shouldered our bags.

For hours we seemed to climb higher and higher, the dogs meandering around. The weather was not very nice, and the higher we came the denser the fog became.

In the end we decided to give up, we knew we were near the top, but we wouldn’t see anything anyway, and I don’t like going in dense fog over unknown terrain.

So we sat down to have a wee rest and to drink some coffee, eat some sandwiches. Until then we hadn’t seen any other people, maybe because we left so early.

We called the dogs to tell them we were turning round, and found that Hamish was missing. After calling and shouting for a while we decided to go down anyway, we thought he would sniff our trail easily enough, and we kept an eye out for him. We were worried about him right enough, but what could we do?

After a while we met a couple coming up. We talked a bit, and then the man said "You won’t believe it, but we just saw a fox running down the trail, going like the clappers". We smiled knowingly, for to us it was clear he hadn’t seen a fox, but a little border terrier. Somehow he must have turned back before us and now he was frantically trying to find us, running down.

About an hour later we met another couple on the way up. After the normal courtesies, the man told us that they had seen a dog running down the track like possessed by the devil. We smiled again; clearly Hamish would be waiting for us at the car.

But when we arrived back there, we didn’t see a sign of our missing dog. We called, whistled, shouted, all to no avail.

Where was he? What are we going to do when we can’t find him, we asked each- other? In the end we got in the car and drove slowly back to the campsite, stopping every so often, and calling Hamish. 25

But when we finally arrived back, who was there waiting for us but the missing culprit. He was tied up with the long rope we used at night for them, and a smiling neighbour came to explain that he had tied Hamish up, seeing that there was no sign of us. "Oh, he came back about two hours ago", he told us.

How the little fellow had known where to go, we still don’t know, but surely Hamish knows the way!

26