A gamekeeper’s daughter: part two
This week we publish the second installment of Lochaline resident Mrs Elizabeth Wotherspoon’s recollections of her childhood days in Morvern.
‘Although there were many more men and women working on the estate when I was young – 12 gardeners, I believe – it was a very happy place and there was never any friction.
‘Torr Molach was a ceilidh house, and by that I mean a place where people were made welcome and seldom passed. There was always a cup of tea, cakes and scones at all times of the day. I never saw alcohol, except at Christmas and New Year. Visitors would come with bottles and pass them round.
‘We had a wireless with wet batteries, or accumulators, which were a nuisance if they went flat and had to be recharged down in the estate garage as often the acid would leak out of them and burn whatever it came into contact with. Despite her failing eyesight, Mother knitted long stockings to go with Dad’s tweed plus-fours; even when she became totally blind she always managed.
‘One of the highlights of the year was joining other children of our age on the estate on Saturday mornings, depending on the weather, at Dubh Dhoire (pronounced Dugorrie), behind Ardtornish House, to help Mr and Mrs Smith’s daughter Faith to gather sphagnum moss for field dressings during the Second World War.
‘It was carried down to the house in panniers, where it was dried before being sent away in bags to a depot in Oban. Of course the treat for us was the tea when the work was done which was laid out in the old kitchen.
‘Another was the annual Christmas party in the main hall. The cook would make a huge dumpling in a bucket in the outside boiler. We girls received various toys while the boys got red jumpers – something left over from the time of the previous owners when the parties were held in the stokehold in the cellars.
‘Mrs Sellar, it was said, used to come down half way through and say to the children, “Eat plenty, but pocket none”.
‘When we were pulling the moss at Dubh Dhoire we would sometimes look for the grave of a race horse belonging to the Sellars. He was quite famous and successful and when he died the silver cups he won were buried with him. There used to be a plaque on his grave with an inscription which read: “Here lies poor Peterkin, a noble horse was he, may his bones rest in peace on the planes of Dubh Dhoire”. We never found the spot and as far as I know his grave and the cups still lie there undisturbed.
‘We were in awe of a larger than life iron stag put up as a target for the guests to show if they were any good before being taken to the hill. It stood on wheels and could be turned to any angle. Looking at the placement of some of the bullet holes, many of them must have been pretty rotten shots and in need of practicing!
‘There was no electricity at Torr Molach and drying clothes, especially during the stalking and shooting season when it was often wet, could be difficult. Dad took a sandwich, or a ‘piece’ as it was called, to the hill for his lunch which was usually of eggs and cheese.
‘We had an old fashioned range for cooking on and Aladdin lamps fuelled by paraffin for light which was not good for reading as it was soft and low. Other families had Tilley lamps but Mum never liked the hissing noise they made. If a wildcat got among the hens or there was some other rumpus outside during the night, we would investigate by lantern.
‘For recreation, there was a lovely hall near Kinlochaline Castle with a library we could borrow books from. Bowls and badminton matches and competitions were held regularly
between the head of the loch and the village. Dances took place on Friday nights and whist drives on Saturdays. Often there were 20 or more tables, which is something unheard of nowadays in Morvern.
‘My sisters and I used to walk to the primary school at Claggan about a mile away. I always remember seeing rows and rows of turnips and potatoes in the fields below Willie’s Burn on the way. The teacher was Miss Jessie Robertson; some of her family farmed at Kinlochteacuis and Rahoy. She was the grandaunt of Lord Robertson, one of Scotland’s most distinguished statesmen. He was born at Port Ellen, Islay, and became Secretary General of NATO and Defence Secretary for the United Kingdom. I wasn’t surprised to hear this as Miss Robertson was a very clever and talented teacher adored by us all.
‘When we attended Claggan school there were 14 pupils, including some children from St Kilda who came to Morvern when their island home was evacuated in 1930. When the bombs started falling on the South of England in the Second World War, some of the Smith family were evacuated to Ardtornish and they too went to Claggan. I sat next to one of them, who became chairman of the London Stock Exchange. I can’t remember if he was particularly good at sums or not but I am sure he had much to thank Miss Jessie Robertson for to get that grand position!
‘Every week after the beginning of the Second World War, usually on a Saturday morning regardless of the weather, my sister Elsie and I made our way from Torr Molach to Corrospine (sometimes called ‘Crosben’) in the White Glen – a distance of almost five miles each way – to buy two pounds of butter from Mrs Livingstone, which was made from the milk of a cow which she and her husband Allan kept. The butter, which was carefully weighed out, was transported in a biscuit tin.
‘We got to Corrospine by sharing a bicycle. One of us would set off on it with the other walking behind. The bicycle would be left at a recognised place for the walker. When she caught up, we did the same again, arriving at our destination about noon.’
Final part, next week.