It’s a dog’s life... but it wasn’t for one heroine

Fiona pays tribute to a woman deserving of remembrance on a trip to Dumfries and Galloway... but is always reminded of home

Iattend a service to mark Holocaust Memorial Day. It takes place in south-west Scotland – and we are remembering the only Scottish woman known to have died in the Auschwitz extermination camp. Jane Haining was born in the village of Dunscore near Dumfries. A farmer’s daughter, she attended local schools before going on to work as a secretary at the J.P. Coats weaving factory near Glasgow.

Jane was clever. She was also religious, teaching at Sunday school – and as she reached her mid-thirties she felt God was calling.

In 1932 the doughty Scotswoman set off to Hungary to work as a missionary. Her job was to be matron of a school for Jewish girls, some poor and orphaned, in Budapest. There were early happy days in Europe – and trips to Paris – but when war was declared the situation quickly became dangerous.

The Church of Scotland advised Jane to return home. She refused, saying: “If these girls need me in the days of sunshine, how much more will they need me in the days of darkness?”

Jane was accused by the Nazis of helping Jewish people. She was arrested and soon afterwards her death was recorded in Auschwitz.

Seventy-four years on, and we are recalling her courage and sacrifice.

We mark the opening of a new heritage centre that pays tribute to this daughter of the Dunscore hills. And we witness the unveiling of a plaque in the local church.

And here, among the crowd, I meet Elizabeth Clarkson. A former teacher who has travelled all the way down from Dundee to pay her own respects.

You see, Jane Haining was Elizabeth’s mother’s Sunday school teacher.

Elizabeth has researched the story of the heroine missionary. Now she gives talks about Jane’s life and work.

I could talk to her for hours. We speak of someone who gave her life for others, of the power of faith and love.

Then the conversation moves on to less serious matters. “You’re the person who writes about the MacNaughties, aren’t you?’

Yes, I am.

”And are they behaving themselves at the moment?”

Yes, funnily enough, they are… No major crimes to report lately.

I speak too soon. Walking through the door at home I follow a trail of chewedup micro-fibre. It goes along the hall and up the stairs to the window where they sit and keep watch for the rabbits.

I speak too soon. Walking through the door at home I follow a trail of chewed-up micro-fibre

And there it is. A new bed, bought two months ago at vast expense, lying torn on the carpet. Canine reactions say it all. Rummie the Norfolk terrier slinks off, head down. Barra the Cocker Spaniel’s ears start to droop more than usual. Both looks shame-faced.

A proper scolding ensues. And not just for them. After all, where was the chief while all this destruction was going on?

Yet on a day that we remember the horrors of the past – and salute a Scottish heroine – what matter is a dog bed…?