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  I was right beside her now and held out my arms for the child. If I tried to grab her, I might make Valerie stumble… I might stumble myself and fail in my attempt… or I might provoke her to toss the baby aside. Anything was possible. But I might have to make a grab for her if all my entreaties failed.

  ‘Valerie, we are all very cold. You are shivering. Shall we go back to the shore? I will look after baby, I promise and you can get dry…’

  She stood still.

  I continued, ‘We’ll make some tea and have a nice warm up.’

  (The thought flitted through my mind: Here am I in deep, cold water with a deranged mother and a baby in danger – and I am talking about making tea?)

  But it worked! Valerie turned towards me, silently handed the baby to me, and strode off towards the shore and the young man.

  As I had been entreating the girl to give up the baby, I had been aware, out of the corner of my eye, of Audrey dragging a spluttering Sandra out of the sea and sitting her on the pebbles where she coughed up a lot of sea water and looked around fearfully. She tried to stand.

  ‘No, no,’ cautioned Audrey, ‘stay a moment to get your senses back. I can see that Nurse has the baby and your daughter is alright. Look! She is walking up the beach now.

  Valerie was, indeed, marching purposefully towards the man. He cowered as she stood before him. With a mighty swing, she whacked him so hard that he fell onto the pebbles where he crouched, whimpering.

  I was wading back to the shore carrying the damp little bundle which was so quiet that I had the sick feeling that we might be too late. I hadn’t even seen the child among all the shawls, but I knew she must be very young. Reaching the pebbles, I ran as fast as my stiff legs would allow towards Audrey’s house. I knew it to be warm and clean, and that it had a telephone.

  I smiled at Harry as I passed. He had seen it all but, of course, could do nothing. How terribly frustrating that must have been, I thought somewhere at the back of all the other thoughts running through my mind.

  Once in the warm kitchen, I unwrapped the little bundle. The child was alive, but cold and sleepy, her limbs floppy. She was unresponsive, her eyes open but unfocused. At this young age she would not focus well anyway, but this was bad. I took all the damp clothes off and, finding a folded sheet warming by the Rayburn, I wrapped her in it, trying to hold her away from my own wet, dripping clothes. Running into Harry’s room, I laid her on his bed, where I knew Audrey always kept an electric blanket ready to warm his bed. I switched it on.

  Audrey and Sandra appeared. Taking in the situation with the baby, Audrey said, ‘Upstairs, Nurse. Out of those wet things. There is a dressing gown on the door of my room.’

  Off I went while Audrey and Sandra took off the outer layers of their wet things and Audrey fetched a couple of pairs of pyjamas as being easy to get on to limbs stiff and blue with cold.

  Now dry, I could tend the baby without making her wet again. I wished she would cry, but she just gazed at the world with dull eyes.

  ‘Audrey, can you phone Doctor? Tell him it is urgent. I think baby is very dehydrated. And can you boil some water, meantime, and I will try to spoon it into her. Sandra, does Valerie breastfeed her?’

  ‘No. She won’t have anything to do with her. But I got milk powder and bottles when the baby was born. It is all in my house, but could we get it? What do you think is going on over there? I wonder if she – or perhaps Alf – will attack us if we try to go in.’

  Audrey spoke. ‘I think we should get the police as well as the doctor.’ She glanced apologetically at Sandra. ‘Your daughter is distraught and as for the young man…’

  Sandra dropped wearily into a chair. ‘Yes. Do that. I have tried but…’ She sounded defeated.

  While I spooned the warm water into the baby’s mouth, holding her closely to my own now warm, dry body, Audrey rang Doctor Mac and then John, our policeman. She gave them both an abbreviated account of the morning’s events and Valerie’s aggressive behaviour.

  ‘Bring someone with you,’ was her parting shot to John. Wise woman! He would probably bring our island giant – Rhuari.

  I suddenly thought, Has baby a name?

  Sandra sighed, ‘Valerie wants to call her Marilyn and he wants Fredericka.’ She looked at us. ‘They are both subnormal,’ she continued. ‘I have yet to learn how they met but neither has any idea how to look after themselves let alone a baby. They had a huge row about the name: Alf’s father was ‘Frederick’, Valerie is crazy about Marilyn Monroe. Alf hates me; Valerie sides with him but sometimes attacks him. He has not even touched the baby – he’s afraid of her, in fact – thinks she is some sort of alien or something… I just don’t know where to turn. Valerie was in a home near Malcolm – my ex – but turned up here. He got her the cottage and then Alf arrived… it just goes on and on.’

  ‘Let’s call her “Bonny”, in the hope that she becomes “bonny”.’ Audrey was decisive and as it seemed ridiculous to discuss names at a time like this, we all agreed.

  Just then, there was a crunching on the pebbles as Doctor Mac drew up. I gave him a brief account of all the happenings so far and he briefly examined Bonny.

  ‘Are you three ladies alright after your ducking?’ he asked.

  We all agreed that, although shaken, we were alright, but very aware of our strange outfits.

  He gave a quick laugh at this.

  ‘Well, I shall take the baby to the hospital. She needs rehydration and nourishment and then a thorough assessment.’ He looked doubtfully at me in Audrey’s dressing gown. ‘Ahh. Can you come with me?’

  ‘Come,’ said Audrey, making for the stairs. A moment or two later, I reappeared clad in a pair of trousers several sizes too big and a voluminous jumper. Audrey was a big lady. Poor Doctor Mac was hard pressed not to laugh.

  Wrapping little Bonny in an eiderdown, the doctor and I left for the hospital just as John arrived with, yes, Rhuari.

  ‘We have to go,’ called Doctor Mac. ‘I’ll see you later, John. There has been violence so I suppose… the cells. Keep those two apart or we will have murder on our hands.’

  John’s police station – his house – had only two cells. It seemed that both would be in use for a few hours at least.

  Once we had handed over our little burden and Doctor Mac had thoroughly examined her, the hospital staff took over. A drip was put up and warmth applied. They would begin feeding in an hour or two, and then every three hours, as Bonny was only two weeks old and less than six pounds in weight.

  ‘She will be alright,’ Doctor Mac assured me. ‘Now we have to decide what to do with her when she is well.’

  ‘I don’t think the parents are fit to look after her. Perhaps Sandra, the grandmother…’ I wondered.

  ‘I get the impression that she is not very stable either. Or perhaps she is just tired and shocked – I only saw her for a moment.’ Doctor Mac was usually a good judge of people and I was surprised at his assessment of Sandra’s character and capabilities.

  Doctor took me back to Audrey’s house, where she and Sandra were drinking tea and Harry was back inside as the weather had turned cold. He was as excited about the events as any thirteen-year-old would be, and professed Alf to be ‘an idiot’ and Valerie to be ‘scary’.

  Audrey told me that John had had no trouble with Alf, who snivelled his way to the car; but that Valerie had had to be restrained as she was kicking and screaming. Rhuari was just the man for this as he combined great strength and determination with gentleness and compassion. John had ‘used his services’ on many occasions.

  I was happy to collect my wet clothes, go home, get into another uniform and set off to finish the day’s work.

  I was back at Audrey’s house in the evening to help with Harry.

  ‘Sandra is back in the bungalow but Doctor decided to send Valerie straight back to the maternity hospital on the mainland as she has some heavy bleeding,’ reported Audrey. ‘I don’t suppose her ducking helped.’

  �
��What about that young fellow?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s banged up,’ put in Harry in a satisfied tone.

  Audrey smiled. ‘He is staying in a cell for the night. Just to have somewhere to put him, I think,’ she said. ‘Sandra is going to have much to deal with, it seems.’

  I remembered Doctor Mac’s opinion and wondered how she would cope.

  ‘I’ll go to see her tomorrow,’ I said. Sufficient unto the day, I thought, as I thankfully drove home to family and fireside.

  When I went to help Audrey in the morning, there was a shining Daimler parked beside the bungalow.

  ‘Malcolm, Sandra’s ex, arrived late last night. She had phoned him. I’d asked her in for a drink, I felt sorry for all her troubles… you know, Nurse, I don’t think she’s up to coping with the baby; the daughter, perhaps, that hopeless young man, not at all – so I hope this Malcolm can sort everything out.’

  We were getting Harry installed in his chair when a very large man emerged from the bungalow and drove off.

  ‘That’s a super car,’ said Harry. ‘One day, when I am old enough, they are going to get an adapted car for me. Then, when I’m in it, I’ll be like everybody else.’ This was obviously a dream cherished by Harry – ‘to be like everybody else’. I was deeply affected by his cheerful acceptance of his condition and his simple ambitions.

  That evening, the news from the island hospital was devastating.

  Harry was near to tears. ‘The baby, Nurse. It died. Isn’t that awful? Was it the water, or the cold?’

  In fact, it was probably both because the child was warmed and rehydrated but did not respond and developed breathing problems. I was shocked and upset, as we had held high hopes for little Bonny’s recovery.

  ‘Malcolm seems a very caring and capable man and is going to deal with all that the baby’s death entails. He has packed Alf off to his parents in Aberdeen and Valerie is to go to a psychiatric unit when she is released from the maternity hospital.’

  ‘What about Sandra?’ I asked. ‘She must be so upset about the baby and her daughter.’

  Audrey shuddered. ‘No. In fact she said that it was a good thing that the baby died as she did not want to have to look after her or Valerie.’

  ‘Oh, my!’

  Harry was listening to every word. ‘That’s horrible,’ he said. ‘Suppose Mum had felt like that about me!’

  We were both quite astonished at his understanding of the attitude of Sandra as opposed to his mother’s.

  Audrey was near to tears as she hugged him. ‘I love you, Harry. How could I not care for you?’

  But he was still distressed. ‘But the poor little baby…’

  As I left, I whispered to Audrey, ‘You have a super boy there, Audrey. You have brought him up beautifully and you care for him so well.’

  She smiled. ‘Oh no, Nurse, we look after each other.’

  It seemed that Sandra had had a nervous breakdown some months ago. She had turned against Malcolm, attempting to harm him but he did not want to bring it all into the public arena, so they had agreed to part quietly.

  He had done his best for Sandra and Valerie and was now trying to arrange some sort of future for them both.

  Next morning, John’s car and another police vehicle were by the bungalow. Audrey met me on the beach.

  ‘Sandra has disappeared. They have been searching all night. Malcolm is distraught.’

  They searched the island, moved to other islands and the mainland – nothing! Weeks went by and then Malcolm received a letter from New Zealand. Sandra had met up with an old lover and was living in Christchurch. She was not at all concerned on hearing from Malcolm that everyone had been worried about her safety, and did not ask about her daughter at all. Doctor Mac’s instincts had been right – yet again.

  * * *

  About two years later, Malcolm and Audrey were married. He proved a great father for Harry, who eventually became a research scientist.

  6

  Josh

  SON JOHN AND girlfriend Joanna seemed at last to be settling into the life on Papavray. It was not easy for them as they were young and had lived in the centre of London with all its traffic and noise, excitement and interests. London was a very ‘now’ place, Joanna said. Places such as Papavray had appealed to John from childhood as holiday or camping destinations, so he appreciated the quietness, the empty roads of the island and the freedom to roam anywhere the fancy took him. But he missed the ‘buzz’ of city life: the nights out, the pop concerts, the bright lights and his many friends. Joanna missed all these things too and added to that list was – shopping. ‘Proper’ shopping – as in Oxford Street or the Portobello Road. Papavray was a decided shock to a shopaholic, as we were more than one hundred road miles and two sea crossings from shops (other than the small island ones). Even in Inverness, the range of goods and the styles of clothing were very limited, running to good tweeds, woolly jumpers and sturdy footwear. None of these things were to Joanna’s liking as she favoured flowing skirts, colourful beads and bandana-type headgear: all very attractive on such a lovely young girl. John could not get enthusiastic about shops, as he hated shopping with a passion. He still does!

  I think we did not fully understand the difficulties of the transition for them and should have expected a more prolonged settling-in period. We had made the move for very different reasons and were now becoming established in the community.

  But, gradually, they made friends: some being incomers like themselves. They revised their ideas of what constituted a good night out and got used to at least some of the island limitations. They went to ceilidhs, met friends in the pub and walked a lot. An added change for Joanna was being without a job: she had always worked in a variety of retail-related jobs and now she found time hanging on her hands. She eventually made friends with a girl who started a business making heavy jumpers, so was able to work with her and enjoy her company.

  At about this time, they went off to London and were married there. At least that is what they said they had done. Who were we to argue?

  Meantime, Joanna’s pregnancy was progressing. She kept very well and the usual arrangements were made for her to go to the mainland hospital about two weeks before her due date. All island births were expected to take place there. But, in this case, the baby seemed to have a sense of humour. Joanna would have pains off and on from seven months onwards. Everybody would be mobilised, John’s rather elderly car being kept filled and ready, bags packed, phone calls made… and then the pains would subside and the little joker would settle down again in the warmth of the womb. Well, it was cold outside!

  Eventually, the inevitable happened and no-one really believed that the pains, on that dark, windy night, were the real thing. But, of course, this time the labour progressed far more quickly than is normal for a first baby and we had to rush Joanna to the island hospital, as there was no time for the long journey to the mainland. We used my car as John’s was not over reliable and we completed the twenty-two tortuous miles in twenty minutes and arrived with only minutes to spare.

  A bonny boy entered the world at two in the morning, weighing eight pounds. My first grandchild! Mother and baby were well. Joanna gazed at the child as though surprised that he was there (which she might well have been after all the false alarms) and she seemed rather scared at the thought of being responsible for this vocal, but helpless, scrap of humanity. She had beautiful, blue eyes which were now wide with apprehension.

  A few days later, George and I brought her and the baby home – to our home, so that I could look after them. They stayed for a week, while Joanna got used to the baby’s demands; and John, looking slightly dazed, immediately became the proud father and took to the many baby chores with a will, appearing to enjoy every aspect of parenthood.

  Many names had been bandied about, predictably none of them were traditional, but the little chap was eventually called ‘Josiah’, or ‘Josh’ for short. I liked the diminutive more than the full name.

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bsp; None of our crofter friends could understand why they should have chosen this name, as they all named their children after a relative – or, as they said, for a relative. The result of this habit was the degree of confusion which so often reigned when several people had the same name within the same family. I was frequently asked if we had a Josiah in our family. Sometimes, it was assumed that the baby was named after the biblical character, and this seemed to these Free Kirk stalwarts to smack of Papism. Josh himself, however, was goo-ed over and admired: all crofter women seem to adore babies.

  John was now working for the Laird, restoring old estate buildings for holiday accommodation or for agricultural use. He enjoyed the outdoor life and the regular hours, while Joanna was happy to have him at home at night to help with the new baby.

  Nick was delighted with the little chap and often nursed him to sleep, while Andy was rather overwhelmed at the idea that he was an uncle at eight or nine years old, but was happy to boast about this amazing fact to the children at school. I think he was probably disappointed in their reactions for they would be completely unimpressed. The generations among the crofters often overlapped, as couples married at a very young age and had babies almost immediately, while many a forty-year-old grandma was astonished to find that she was pregnant, long after she thought her family to be complete. Apart from the financial aspect (which did not seem to bother anyone) this rather haphazard attitude towards family planning made little difference to the fairly modest expectations of most islanders.

  Very few young people had ‘careers’ on the island. Careers were only achieved by leaving Papavray for university or other training, and then the resulting employment, for which so much time had been invested, would almost always be in a mainland town; perhaps even overseas. The ordinary island jobs in hotels, at the harbour or on the croft could be managed easily with babies or young children in the family, because there was always a mother, aunt, sister or cousin who would be delighted to take a turn at ‘minding’ the child. So children grew up surrounded by members of the extended family and were usually well-adjusted and relaxed. This is something which has almost been lost in the busier South and I wonder how long the islands will be able to hold on to this culture of close-knit family care and loyalty?