Around the Rowan Tree, Day 13

At meal times Ronald would sit at the top of the long table and preside over his children, with pictures of stags and Highland game all round us, a huge log fire sparking in the hearth

Some time after Kathleen was born, one fine day Ronald said: “I think we should do something different this year for our holidays. He went on: “Let’s rent a house somewhere in the Highlands this time, for a fortnight.” We got hold of The Courier and looked down the column for holiday houses to let and came up with Clunes Lodge.

Or rather Ronald did. I thought it too big and grand but it cost only £17 a week.

“It could be fun,” said Ronald, “and you know the Robertsons who have come to live in the cottage down the road?

“They’ve just retired and have come back to live in Perthshire where they belong after living most of their lives in London.

“Jim Robertson was a butler there and his wife was the cook to some lord or other.

“I was talking to them the other day and they told me that every summer they used to come up to Scotland and work at a shooting lodge.

“I’ll ask them if they would come with us. I’d pay them, of course.”

Ronald and the children loved that first year we spent at Clunes.

The space and the freedom of it for the children and the grandeur of it for Ronald, who from time to time, liked to imagine himself as a duke.

And you could easily do that at Clunes with its solidly-furnished bedrooms, innumerable bathrooms, its broad staircase, wide hall and long dining room.

Preside

At mealtimes Ronald would sit at the top of the long table and preside over his children, with pictures of stags and Highland game all round us, a huge log fire sparking in the hearth and the delicious meals that Mrs Robertson had prepared for us.

Her husband kept the whole place warm by stoking the boiler.

I did have reservations about Clunes. In spite of the Robertsons’ contribution, it was a lot of work for me and a worry over the safety of the children.

The road that is now the A9 ran between the lodge and the River Garry and although the road had very little traffic compared with what it has today, it was still dangerous.

At the bottom of the sward of green wilderness that lay between the lodge and the road was a three-feet-high stone dyke.

The retired gamekeeper’s wife who lived nearby sympathised with me.

“I’ve seen the children,” she said in her soft Highland lilt. “You just can’t stop them. They’re over the wall like weasels.”

The River Garry was also a cause for some concern. It wasn’t exactly a safe river, especially when it was in spate.

The boys were always determined to go fishing and Michael, an especially dedicated fisher, used to stay away for hours and hours, coming back with enough trout for us all for breakfast.

There was a swing bridge over the river opposite the lodge which also left a lot to be desired from the safety angle.

It stood high above the river and had many of its boards rotten or missing altogether. However, that year we did all get home safely and everyone wanted to go again the following year.

By then the Robertsons had moved on and we took Jane with us instead.

We had quite a number of visitors that year. My mother and father, my sister and her family.

Caring

My sister was now married with two little children much the same age as Lindsay and Kathleen. A friend also came to stay for a few days with his four young daughters.

He had been recently widowed and left with the young girls. He made a most loving and caring father. The children did have fun.

I remember that year especially, transferring tadpoles from the river into a huge wooden tub of water.

I sometimes went with Ronald to the pub in the evenings. It was a couthy place where an alarm clock went off at 11pm to let everyone know it was closing time and then the party began!

When Ronald went there for the first time, he discovered that several of the gamekeepers had beaten him to it.

“Give the lads a beer,” said Ronald to the publican. “They’ll tak a nip,” was his response.

Another time when Ronald noticed a tadpole swimming in his glass of whisky, he showed it to the publican and was told: “Ach, the Garry always does that when it’s in spate.”

Whereupon the publican curled his finger inside the glass and removed the offending creature.

His wife had been, what she termed, “on the boards”. She could dance, sing, entertain and sometimes gave us a concert of her own making. All in all, it was always an enjoyable night.

I loved, also, all the outside things, the birds and butterflies, even the snakes.

I never saw any snakes on our first visit but this year there were quite a few, or was it that Jane was just good at finding them.

Great fuss

Jane had happened to hear there were adders around and had made a great fuss.

“Are they poisonous?” she asked. “I’m terrified of snakes.”

“There are adders and they are poisonous to certain people but don’t fuss, Jane, I never saw one last year.”

Typically, Jane managed to find half a dozen. I think she went looking for them on purpose and then one day, she shrieked: “Mrs Gillies, Mrs Gillies, a snake, a great big one!”

So we all trooped out to look at what she had found and there it lay on the greenest of moss, a real beauty with wonderful gold and black markings all the way down its back.

It had just changed skin and the old skin lay at its side. It didn’t move, even when we all crowded round it. It just lay there, enjoying the sun.

Alan, Jean’s husband, ran for his camera but the minute he came back with it, the snake slipped down a crack in the ground and was gone.

More tomorrow.